I happened to observe it, because I was stranded at the old Mission House in Mackinaw, waiting for a Lake Superior steamer which did not choose to come, and I was devouring to the very stubble all the current literature I could get hold of, even down to the deaths and marriages in the Herald.  My memory for names and people is good, and the reader will see, as he goes on, that I had reason enough to remember Philip Nolan.  There are hundreds of readers who would have paused at that announcement, if the officer of the Levant who reported it had chosen to make it thus:  “Died May 11th, THE MAN WITHOUT A COUNTRY.”  For it was as “The Man without a Country” that poor Philip Nolan had generally been known by the officers who had him in charge during some fifty years, as, indeed, by all the men who sailed under them.  I dare say there is many a man who has taken wine with him once a fortnight, in a three years’ cruise, who never knew that his name was “Nolan,” or whether the poor wretch had any name at all.

There can now be no possible harm in telling this poor creature’s story.  Reason enough there has been till now ever since Madison’s administration went out in 1817, for very strict secrecy, the secrecy of honour itself, among the gentlemen of the navy who have had Nolan in successive charge.  And certainly it speaks well for the esprit de corps of the profession, and the personal honour of its members, that to the press this man’s story has been wholly unknown—­and, I think, to the country at large also.  I have reason to think, from some investigations I made in the Naval Archives when I was attached to the Bureau of Construction, that every official report relating to him was burned when Ross burned the public buildings at Washington.  One of the Tuckers, or possibly one of the Watsons, had Nolan in charge at the end of the war; and when, on returning from his cruise, he reported at Washington to one of the Crowninshields—­who was in the Navy Department when he came home—­he found that the Department ignored the whole business.  Whether they really knew nothing about it, or whether it was a “Non mi ricordo,” determined on as a piece of policy I do not know.  But this I do know, that since 1817, and possibly before, no naval officer has mentioned Nolan in his report of a cruise.

But, as I say, there is no need for secrecy any longer.  And now the poor creature is dead, it seems to me worth while to tell a little of his story, by way of showing young Americans of to-day what it is to be A MAN WITHOUT A COUNTRY.

PHILIP NOLAN was as fine a young officer as there was in the “Legion of the West,” as the Western division of our army was then called.  When Aaron Burr made his first dashing expedition down to New Orleans in 1805, at Fort Massac, or somewhere above on the river, he met, as the Devil would have it, this gay, dashing, bright young fellow; at some dinner-party, I think.  Burr marked him, talked