pleasing, all things
considered, that it is calculated to leave even cheerful impressions on
the mind."

(Even Captain Hall, however, admits that a sea-funeral may sometimes
be a scene of unmixed sadness; and he records the following as the most
impressive of all the hundreds he has witnessed. It occurred in the
Leander, off the coast of North America.)

"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 favourite with
every body--the sailors smiled whenever he passed, as they would have
done to a child--the officers petted 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 sunk; 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, was 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 much 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 chillness.

"In after years I have sometimes thought of this incident, when
reflecting on the pleasing doctrine of the Spaniards--that as soon as
children die, they are translated into angels, without any of those cold
obstructions, which, they pretend, intercept and retard the souls of
other mortals. The peculiar circumstances connected with the funeral
which I am about to describe, and the fanciful superstitions of the
sailors upon the occasion, have combined to fix the whole scene in
my memory.

"Something occurred during the day to prevent the funeral taking place
at the usual hour, and the ceremony was deferred till long after sunset.
The evening was extremely dark,