begun, and to lose the companionship of our captain, now a friend and brother. Some of the men also seemed impressed; and we would willingly have prolonged our voyage to water the seed that had been sown, but the end of our ocean journey was at hand. The end of life's way was more near at hand to one of our fellow-voyagers; it was the Greek sailor, “Old Bob," as he was always called, a weatherbeaten, sun-burnt tar, some fifty years of age. His features were those of the Greek, and his costume had something of the air of his nation. The sailor's life is a hard one, and he was a broken-down old man, though far short of threescore years and ten. We had been but a few days at sea when he became sick, and he never returned to his duty. During the latter part of the voyage his breathing was most painful, and so violent as to be heard all over the ship; his limbs were swollen and diseased. The captain, whose heart was now full of love to all about him, lent him his arm-chair, and in this the poor man sat groaning and panting for breath day and night. When conversed with, at first, he showed some emotion, but latterly all feeling seemed to have left him. Kindness and attention were repaid by discontent and
