native. Fancy, then, an expanse of water, with its still bosom sending back to the sky the moonbeams which she pours out upon the almost unrippled surface, but which is ruffled sufficiently to indicate that the gentlest breeze, so grateful to the cheek, is passing by, The main land, in the distance, is extending either way, northwest and southeast, and the distant cupolas and domes and steeples of the city of Vera Cruz, line themselves, though but faintly, in the distance on the horizon, which looms more brightly than the heavens higher above it. The Castle of San Juan de Ullua traces its upper line of the ramparts darkly but distinctly on the distant sky; and still more distant north, the bosom of the eternal ocean spreads out its wide expanse. Nearer sleeps the little island of Sacrificios, a coral circlet, covered with a growth of evergreen vines and bamboo, which serve to yield a beautiful contrast of dark shade to the lighter rim of the moon-lit beach. And off from this island, a few hundred yards, lie at moorings our noble fleet. The ships are palaces of the sea, which repose on their native element, tonight, as still as the noiseless dwellings of any city or village home. No voice is heard throughout the fleet. No light is The tall masts of the different ships point to the hea vens as they taper in their height; and their fine cordage and cross-spars serve to mark the outlines of their beautiful proportions, while their hulls throw their heavier shadows upon the moon-lit bosom of the sea. Occasionally, the tramp of the watch-officer may be heard as it comes from one ship to the other, as he who has the watch paces fore and aft the deck. More than a thousand sleepers are in their hammocks, at this near mid hour of the night. At the door of the cabin a single light is burning; and the "orderly" is moving backwards and forwards, in front of the Commodore's apart. ments. Nothing could be more hushed, than is the stillness that hath settled on these ships. But, one tap of the drum at

seen.

this moment would send every man to his quarters; and five minutes scarcely should be passed before a broadside from each ship should be fired, if the occasion required it and the order commanded it. But all, save the watch officer and the look-outs and the sentinels, now sleep; when, at the moment of twelve o'clock, the "orderly " from the cabin door raises his head above the upper deck, and cries 'eight bells!' The quarter-master reports the hour to the officer of the deck, and the next moment eight strokes tell the hour of midnight on the ship's bell. The sound is borne over the decks of the ship, and echoes, still on, over the water to the neighboring frigates, and is repeated from ship to ship as each look-out in his place cries aloud, "All's well !"" all's well !" and then all is hushed again throughout the squadron, as if no voice had been heard—as if the tongue of no bell had struck-and as if the night of death had now gathered on those profound sleepers on the deep. And yet the murmur of the sea-surf breaks still on the distant shore, in its monotony and night-hour sublimity, and bears to the sad heart yet deeper melancholy. And the moon still goes on in her still path of the soft and pure heavens. And the bright stars smile or weep, though the tears they wake, are only in the eyes of their worshipers. So, at midnight, have I stood on the deck of our fine frigate, and thought on the hours of other days, when the heart was happy, but which now wept for some beloved who are not.

There can be no hour more powerful in its influences on the heart, than such an hour as I have described. The thoughts are rendered doubly intense, whatever may be the train of association on which they go-whether sad or joyous. The heart is bettered, as it melts in grief, or softens in devouter affection for those we love, or yields its holier emotion in worship of the God who spread out the beautiful expanse of the heavens, and placed those innumerable and silent

spheres in their eternal and bright positions. How ceaslessly do they shine! How noislessly move on their nightly but ever-repeated courses! And they yield their silent sympathy to every shade of the heart, that muses on their beautiful spheres. And as one thinks of them, as rolling on from the east to the west, to the homes of those he loves, he almost dreams that he can speak a message to those bright stars, which they shall bear to the ears of his friends, and repeat it as they shall pass the meridian of their chambers. Or as they come on their way from the east to the gazers at a yet more western point of his wandering, he thinks he can hear a low murmur from them of some affectionate message, which his friends have spoken to them in their bright passage, as those friends gazed in their bright faces, and commanded them to deliver it to him who has far gone from them, but whom they follow with their prayers and their loves. One of my last letters told me, that my own sweet boy, "who loves the stars," sent a message by them, "to his own dear papa; though, as yet, he but looks upon those gems as some bright attendants on "the madam moon, " whom he nightly invites to come down from her bright halls and "take a cup of tea For his sweet message, his “ Own papa" "returned

with him.

to him the following acknowledgment:

Come, son, and we will gaze upon the stars,

As they, successive, drive their evening cars,

And from the East ride up the velvet sky,

When night her spangled arch springs wide and high.

The Lyra is thy natal star, my boy,

That nightly sings for thee its lay of joy;
And down it throws its coruscating light,
As streams its diamond-changing fires, at night.

List! list! my son, and hear the music wake,
As from that star the gentlest voices speak,
But in a tone so sweetly soft and low,

Thou scarce, my son, canst hear its music now:

"Thou beautiful, thou blue-eyed boy,
Thou art thy father's fondest joy,
Nor is there in the world beside
A pearl so wakes his love and pride.
"And when he looks upon the Lyre,
That lovely star of changing fire,
He muses and he hopes for thee
A bright and holy destiny.

"And if on other gems of light
He gazes, at the hours of night,
The holiest thoughts that wake of his,
All ask for thee a cherub's bliss-

"A bliss beyond those shining gems
Where heaven holds out its diadems,
And woos the holy to their rest,

Where homes are bright, and always blest.

"And in those bright, sweet homes above,
Where angels and the happy rove,
Thy dear mamma, thou sweetest boy,
Gives forth, for thee, her smile of joy.

"And as she looks adown on thee,
Her dear, sweet son, sometimes to see,
She says, as Angel she will come,
And take thee to her own bright home.

"Nor only when he reads the stars,
Thine own papa awakes his prayers,
But each wing'd hour he prays for thee,

While bounding o'er the deep blue sea."

Then gaze upon the bright-eyed stars, my son,

My motherless, my blue-eyed one;

They'll tell thee, in their hymn, my sweetest boy,

Thou art thy father's only, earthly joy !

LETTERS FROM BLESSED HOME.

It is the first budget of letters when one has been a time from home, which he awaits with the greatest impatience,

and receives with a joyousness that no one but the traveler can duly estimate, who has left behind him those with whom his heart, in its memories, often stays, and for whom, in his most hallowed hours, he often prays. In the chances and the changes of this life, often so sudden, no one knows what a day, a week, a month, may write of grief for him. Once, it was an occurrence in my own experience, that a package of letters reached me abroad, which conveyed the intelligence of the death of thirteen acquaintances, a number of whom were kindred. Six months had intervened between the time of the letters which I had before received, and those I was then perusing. And I remember, at the same time, there were those in the squadron who had their hearts broken by the news of the death of those who were near and dear to them, to an extent of mournful intelligence, that a good Providence but seldom metes out on similar absences. As our own ship was expected to touch at Pensacola, from Boston, on our way to Vera Cruz, one or two vessels left Pensacola for our fleet, without bringing our letters. But on the 29th of March, the steamer Mississippi was descried in the offing, coming steadily in, and all hearts of our frigate bounded in expectation of those blessed messengers from home, which so delight the wanderers on their necessitated track, which leads them distant from those they love. And when the noble vessel came in, gliding under the pressure of steam, and presenting the fine proportions of a noble frigate, she had but a moment anchored, before a well-proportioned letter-bag was borne to the Flag Ship, and its contents, in right good quantities, were poured out. My own budget assured me, that however my own heart may often bleed, there are friends and kindred who would gladly bind it up and make it happy. I had preached on board the John Adams, during the morning, a signal having been made from our frigate, saying that "the Chaplain would hold ser