EMMA.  “Before proceeding any further, I wish to read the enclosed account.  I received it with two or three other papers, from our friend Dora, a few minutes before we assembled.  She knew we should be explaining the Atlantic to-night, and begged I would introduce this at the meeting.

#The Seaboy’s Grave.#

“’There was a poor little middy on board, so delicate and fragile, that the sea was clearly no fit profession for him; but he or his friends thought otherwise; and as he had a spirit for which his frame was no match, he soon gave token of decay.  This boy was a great favorite with everybody; the sailors smiled whenever he passed, as they would have done to a child; the officers patted him, and coddled him up with all sorts of good things; and his messmates, in a style which did not altogether please him, but which he could not well resist, as it was meant most kindly, nicknamed him, “Dolly.”  Poor fellow! he was long remembered afterwards.  I forget what his particular complaint was, but he gradually sank, and at last went out just as a taper might have done, exposed to such gusts of wind as blew in that tempestuous region.  He died in the morning, but it was not until the evening that he was prepared for a seaman’s grave.

“’I remember in the course of the day, going to the side of the boy’s hammock; and, on laying my hand upon his breast, being astonished to find it still warm; so much so, that I almost imagined I could feel the heart beat.  This, of course, was a vain fancy; but I was greatly attached to my little companion, being then not much taller myself, and I was soothed and gratified, in a childish way, by discovering that my friend, though many hours dead, had not yet acquired the usual revolting chilliness.

“’Something occurred during the day to prevent the funeral taking place at the usual hour; and the ceremony was deferred until long after sunset.  The evening was extremely dark, and it was blowing a treble-reefed topsail breeze.  We had just sent down the top-gallant yards, and had made all snug for a boisterous winter’s night.  As it became necessary to have lights to see what was done, several signal lanterns were placed on the break of the quarter-deck, and others along the hammock railing on the lee-gangway.  The whole ship’s company and officers were assembled; some on the booms, others in the boats; while the main-rigging was crowded half-way up to the cat-harpings.  Overhead the mainsail, illuminated as high as the yard by the lamps, was bulging forwards under the gale, which was rising every minute, and straining so violently at the main-sheet, that there was some doubt whether it might not be necessary to interrupt the funeral in order to take sail off the ship.  The lower-deck ports lay completely under water, and several times the muzzles of the main-deck guns were plunged into the sea; so that the ends of the grating on which the remains of poor “Dolly” were laid, once or twice nearly touched the tops of the waves, as they foamed and hissed past.  The rain fell fast on the bare heads of the crew, dropping also on the officers during all the ceremony, from the foot of the mainsail, and wetting the leaves of the prayer-book.  The wind sighed over us amongst the wet shrouds, with a note so mournful, that there could not have been a more appropriate dirge.