s whose
parting sighs were all they could yield them on this side the grave.
'Push off the boat, and, officer, see that no women are permitted on
board,' said the superintending lieutenant of the depot, with a voice
and manner hard and unfeeling as the iron oracle of authority. My heart
sickened at the sight, and the thrilling scream of a widowed wife,
as she fell senseless on the causeway, created an impression that my
pitying Muse could not resist recording.

'THE SOLDIER'S WIPE.

'There's a pang which no pencil nor pen can express,
A heart-broken sigh which despondency breathes,
When the soul, overcharged with oppressive distress,
Of the tear of relief the sad bosom bereaves.
'Twas thus on the shore, like a statue of grief,
The wife of the soldier her babe fondly press'd;
Not a word could she utter, no tear gave relief,
But sorrow convulsively heaved her soft breast.
Now nearer she presses--now severed for life
The waves bear the lord of her bosom from view;
Distraction suspends the red current of life,
And she sinks on the beach as he sighs out adieu.'"

"Zounds, old fellow, how sentimental you are growing!" said Horace: "you
must read these pathetic pieces to the marines; they will never do for
the sailors. Here, steward, bear a hand, muster the crew aft, and let us
have a tune, Jack's Alive, Malbrook, or the College Hornpipe;" an order
that was quickly carried into execution, as most of the ~162~~men on
board I found played some wind instrument, the effect of which upon the
stillness of the water was enchantingly sweet. During the occasional
rests of the band, Horace sung one of those delightful melodies, written
in imitation of Moore, for which he was celebrated when a boy at Eton.

THE EVENING TIDE.

Tune--" The Young May Moon."
Whither so fast away, my dear?
The star of Eve is bright and clear,
And the parting day, as it fades away,
To lovers brings delight, my dear:
Then 'neath night's spangled veil, my dear,
Come list t' the young heart's tale sincere;
Yon orb of light, so chaste and bright,
Love's magic yields within her sphere.
Then through the shady grove, my love,
Let's wander with the cooing dove,
Till the starry night, to morning's light,