o luggage had he to encumber the hold, not a copper in his pockets, not
a change of raiment for his back; the clothes he wore, being of the
lightest and cheapest description. A checked shirt and coarse white
canvass jacket and trowsers, comprised his whole wardrobe. He had laid
in no provisions for the voyage, but lived upon the contributions of the
poor emigrants, with whom he was the most popular man on board, and no
one was better fed, or seemed to enjoy better health or spirits. The
latter commodity appeared perfectly inexhaustible. He laughed and sung,
told long yarns, and made love to all the young women, whose especial
darling and idol he seemed to be. The first on deck, and the last to
leave, he was a living embodiment of the long-sought-for principle of
perpetual motion: his legs and tongue never seemed to tire, and his
loud, clear voice and joyous peals of laughter, rang unceasingly through
the ship. When not singing, whistling, shouting, or making fun for all
around him, he danced hornpipes, making his fingers keep time with his
feet, by a continual snapping, which resembled the strokes of the
tambourine or castanets. A more mercurial jovial fellow never set old
Time at defiance, or laughed in the grisly face of Care.

Tall and lithe of limb, his complexion was what the Scotch term _sandy_;
his short curling hair and whiskers resembling the tint of red gravel,
profuse in quantity, fine in quality, and clustering round his high,
white forehead with most artistic grace. His features were both regular
and well-cut, his large bright blue eyes overflowing with mirth and
reckless audacity. When he laughed, which was every other minute, he
showed a dazzling set of snow-white teeth, and looked so happy and free
from care, that every one laughed with him, and echoed the droll sayings
which fell from his lips.

Stephen Corrie was one whom the world generally calls an
"_excellent-hearted fellow_, an enemy to no one but himself."

We must confess that our faith in this class of excellent fellows is
very small;--these men who are always sinning, and tempting others to
sin, in the most amiable manner. There are few individuals who do more
mischief in their day and generation than these _good-hearted_ young
men, these sworn enemies to temperance and morality. Like phosphoric
wood, they only shine in the dark, concealing under a gay, brilliant
exterior, the hollowness and corruption that festers within. Stephen
Corrie was