"How sweet, when billows heave their head, And shake their arrowy crests on high, Serene, in Ocean's sapphire bed, Beneath the trembling surge to lie!

"To trace with tranquil step the deep, Where pearly drops of frozen dew, In concave shells, unconscious sleep, Or shine with lustre, silvery blue.

"Then shall the summer's sun from far Pour through the waves a softer ray, While diamonds, in a bower of spar, At eve shall shed a brighter day."

Others, however, with fancies equally vigorous, but less ornate or refined, give us different sketches of the doings in Neptune's dominions. They picture the bottom of ocean as un uninviting spot, replete with objects calculated to chill the blood and sadden the heart of man; inhabited by beings of a character rather repulsive than prepossessing, as salt-water satyrs, krakens, polypuses, and marine monsters of frightful aspects and hideous habits; glimpses of which are occasionally seen by favored inhabitants of these upper regions, sometimes in the shape of monstrous sea-serpents, with flowing manes and goggle eyes, lashing with their tails the astonished waters of Massachusetts Bay.

In "Clarence's Dream: we find Shakespeare's idea of the sights exhibited far down beneath the ocean waves:

"Methought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks; A thousand men that fishes gnawed upon; Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl; Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels; All scattered in the bottom of the sea. Some lay in dead men's skulls!"

Although man can fathom the depths of the sea, and may by scientific experiments, conducted with immense labor and expense, succeed in mapping out the great ocean basins, and obtaining an accurate idea of the configuration of that part of the earth which lies beneath the waters, yet the true character of the scenery, vegetation, and inhabitants of that region must remain unknown until some new philosophical and mechanical principles shall be discovered to pave the way to a system of submarine navigation, and the enterprise confided to some daring Yankee, with the promise of an exclusive patent right to its use for a century to come.

In the mean time we may rest assured that no valuable gems or lumps of gold have yet been brought up by the plummet. Indeed, so far as is shown by the soundings, the bottom of the ocean is covered with microscopic shells, so wonderfully minute that thousands may be counted on the surface of a single square inch. We know also that the bed of ocean, for at least four hundred years, has served as a repository, a burial-place, not only for earth's choicest productions and myriads of human beings, gone to the bottom in sunken ships, but for disappointed hopes, false calculations, and sanguine schemes for the realization of fortune and honor.

The immensity, the majesty, and the wonders of the sea are manifest, and acknowledged by all. But what can surpass its beauty when in repose! What scene can be more sublimely beautiful than the sea when gazed upon from the mast-head of a ship, gliding along as if impelled by the breath of a fairy! Every thing in the vicinity, as well as the vast expanse stretching out on every side, is calculated to inspire confidence, invite security, and give complete reliance on its gentle and pacific character. While enjoying the delightful scene, the passions are hushed. The sea seems the blest abode of tranquillity. We are alive only to its beauty, its grace, its magnitude, its power to interest and charm, to benefit mankind and beautify the world.

And how calmly beautiful is the close of day! What nameless charms cluster around a sunset at sea! The heavens and light clouds are not clad in purple and gold; but the western sky is attractive and lovely in the richness of its sober brilliancy. The sun, with undivided glory, goes down in the west, sinking gently and gradually beneath the well-defined horizon, like the spirit of a good man in the evening of life, departing for a better world.

Night drops her curtain only to change the scene and invest it with holier attributes. The moon sheds her light on the surface of the ocean. No sounds break the stillness of the hour as the ship, urged by the favored breeze, quietly, yet perseveringly, pursues her course, save the murmuring ripple of the waves, the measured tread of the officer of the watch as he walks the deck, the low, half-stifled creaking of a block as if impatient of inactivity, the occasional flap of a sail awakened out of its sleep, and the stroke of the bell every half hour to mark the lapse of time, sending its musical, ringing notes far over the water. What a time is this for study, for contemplation, for enjoyment! The poet Gilfillan, in describing a lovely night at sea, says, with true poetic warmth and energy,

"Night closed around the ship; no sound Save of the splashing sea Was heard. The waters all around Murmured so pleasantly, You would have thought the mermaids sung Down in their coral caves, So softly and so sweetly rang The music of the waves!"

Were such scenes always met with at sea, was its surface always smooth, the winds favorable and the sky unclouded, little resolution or physical endurance would be required to navigate the ocean; the energies which call THE SAILOR into life would no longer be necessary; the sea would be covered with pleasure yachts of the most fanciful description, manned by exquisites in snow-white gloves, propelled with silken sails, and decked with streamers, perhaps with flowers, while their broad decks would be thronged with a gay and happy bevy, of both sexes and every age, bent on pleasure and eager to enjoy the beauties of the sea.

But this attractive spectacle is sometimes changed with magical rapidity! The scene shifts; and instead of gentle zephyrs and smooth seas, the elements pour forth all their pent-up wrath on the devoted ship, and events are conjured into being which rouse into action the noblest faculties of man. If the records of the sea were truly kept, they would tell of hurricanes, shipwrecks, sufferings, and perils too numerous and appalling to be imagined, to struggle successfully against which demands those manifestations of courage and energy, that, when witnessed on the land, elicit the admiration of mankind. These chronicles, if faithfully kept, would tell of desperate encounters, of piracies where whole crews were massacred, of dark deeds of cruelty and oppression, of pestilence on shipboard, without medical aid and with no Florence Nightingale to soothe the pains and whisper comfort and peace to the dying!

And what may be said of the mariners, the life-long actors on this strange, eventful theatre, the sea, who perform their unwritten and unrecorded parts, face danger and death in every shape, and are heard and seen no more? Is it remarkable that, estranged from the enjoyments which cluster around the most humble fireside, and familiar with scenes differing so widely from those met with on the land, they should acquire habits peculiar to themselves and form a character of their own?

The failings of this isolated class of men are well known; a catalogue of their imperfections is scattered abroad by every wind that blows; they are acknowledged, even by themselves, and enlarged upon and exaggerated by those who know them not. True are the words of the poet,

"Men's evil manners live in brass; Their virtues we write in water."

Those who are familiar with a seafaring life, and have had opportunities for analyzing the character of the sailor, know that it possesses many brilliant spots as well as blemishes, and that it would be cruel and unjust on the part of those more favored with the smiles of fortune, to steel their hearts against sympathy for his sufferings, or respect for his intrinsic worth.

The sailor is said to be rough and unpolished, as well as addicted to vices. It is true he is seldom a proficient in classical studies, or versed in the logic of the schools. But he is conversant with men and manners in various parts of the globe, and his habits of life, and opportunities for observation, supply him with a fund of worldly wisdom and practical knowledge, which qualify him to render good service when strong hands and bold hearts are in demand on the land as well as on the sea. It should be remembered, also, that the sailor has few opportunities of receiving instruction in polite literature, of learning lessons of moral culture, and of sharing the pleasures and refinements of domestic life. The many temptations to which he is exposed should also be remembered, and it will be found that, with his generous heart and noble spirit, he is far more worthy of confidence and respect than the thousands we meet with in society, who, in spite of words of warning and the example of good men, with every inducement to pursue the path of rectitude, voluntarily embrace a life of dissipation, consume their substance in riotous living, and become slaves to habits of a degrading character.

The same records that tell of stormy passions, profligate habits, thrilling disasters, and violent deaths on the sea, also chronicle the manifold deeds of philanthropy, heroism, self-devotion, and patriotism of those,

"Whose march is on the mountain wave, Whose home is on the deep!"

Of those who, however rough and unpolished, are ever ready to lend a protecting hand to the weak, to spend their last dollar in encouraging the unfortunate or relieving distress, and to risk their lives in defence of the honor of their country, and the flag which waves over their heads.

When we look at the hardships, sufferings, and perils of the sailor, with his few enjoyments and recreations, and consider the services he renders society, that by his courage and energy we enjoy the countless advantages of commerce, and that through his means are spread abroad the blessings of civilization and Christianity, while for HIM "no Sabbath bell awakes the Sabbath morn," we ought to cherish a sense of gratitude and indulgence for that class of men "who go down to the sea in ships and do business on the great waters;" to that class of men to whom we intrust, with confidence, not only our golden treasures, but our wives and our children, all which are most dear to us.

So far from despising the character and calling of the sailor, and regarding him with an eye of distrust, let us throw a veil over his faults, appreciate his virtues, be ready at all times to give him words of good cheer, and encourage him to keep within his bosom a clear conscience and an honest heart. Let us not grudge our influence or mite in favor of measures to elevate his character and promote his comfort while sailing over the tempestuous sea of life; or in preparing for his reception, towards the close of the voyage, when broken down with toil and suffering, a quiet haven, a SNUG HARBOR, where, safely moored, secure from storms and troubles, he can calmly await the inevitable summons aloft.

*****

My task is finished. I have given, in the foregoing pages, a brief, but strictly truthful, summary of my adventures during a few years of my early life. It would have been comparatively easy to concoct a series of incidents far more wild, romantic, and improbable, and, therefore, more interesting, than any thing contained in this simple narrative. But I have preferred to give a faithful transcript of events which actually occurred.

If the tale of my trials, temptations, resources, and enjoyments will tend to brighten a passing hour of the indulgent reader, throw light on the character, habits of life, recreations, and perils of the common sailor; guard an unsuspecting young man against temptations to vice, and encourage him to exert all his energies, and boldly press forward in the channel which leads to usefulness and honor; my labors will not have been in vain, and I shall never regret having attempted to lift a corner of the curtain, which has for centuries screened from public view, JACK IN THE FORECASTLE.

The End