ammock, and throwing off
the dreadful black vomit, harbinger of his doom--'tis horrible! too
horrible!

And the anxiety which we would in vain suppress--the reckless laugh of
some, raised but to conceal their fear from human penetration--the
intoxicating draught, poured down by others to dull the excited senses--
the follies of years reviewed in one short minute--our life, how spent--
how much to answer for!--a world how overvalued--a God how much
neglected!--the feeling that we ought to pray, the inclination that
propels us to do so, checked by the mistaken yet indomitable pride which
puts the question to our manhood, "Will ye pray in fear, when ye
neglected it in fancied security?" Down, stubborn knees! Pride is but
folly towards men--insanity towards God!

But why dwell upon such a scene? Let it suffice to state, that seventy
of the _Aspasia's_ men fell victims to the baneful climate, and that
many more, who did recover, were left in such a state of exhaustion, as
to require their immediate return to their native shores. Except
O'Keefe, the purser, all the officers whom I have introduced to the
reader escaped. Three, from the midshipmen's berth, who had served
their time, and who for many months had been drinking the toast of "A
bloody war and sickly season," fell a sacrifice to their own thoughtless
and selfish desire; and the clerk, who anticipated promotion when he
heard that the purser was attacked, died before him.

When all was over, Jerry observed to Prose, "Well, Prose, `it's an ill
wind that blows nobody any good.' We have had not one single thrashing
during the sickness; but I suppose, now that their courage is returned,
we must prepare for both principal and interest."

"Well now, Jerry, I do declare that's very likely, but I never thought
of it before."

The large convoys of merchantmen that came out supplied the men that
were required to man the disabled ships; and transports brought out
cargoes from the depots to fill up the skeleton ranks of the different
companies. Among the various blessings left us in this life of
suffering is forgetfulness of past evils; and the yellow fever was in a
short time no longer the theme of dread, or even of conversation.

"Well, Tom, what sort of a place is this here West Hinges?" inquired a
soldier who had been just landed from a transport, of an old
acquaintance in the regiment, whom he encountered.

"Capital place, Bill," returned the other to his inter