ief
upon the shore.

"Good-bye to dear England, father!" said the beautiful girl; "shall we
ever see it again?"

"_You_ may, dear Julia, probably _I_ never shall."

"Well, let us hope that we may."

"Yes, we will hope, it will be a proud day for me, if it ever come,
when I go back to London and pay my creditors every cent I owe them,
when no man shall have reason to curse me for the injury I have done
him, however unintentional."

"No man will do so now, dear father, no one but knows you did all you
could to avert the calamity, and when it came, surrendered all your
property to meet the demands of your creditors. You did all that an
honest man should do, father; and you can have no reason to reproach
yourself."

"True, girl, true! I do not; yet I hate to think that I, whose name
was once as good as the bank, should now owe, when I cannot
pay--that's all; a bad feeling, but a few years in India may make all
right again."

"O, yes! but, father, it is time for you to take your morning glass.
You know you wont feel well if you forget it."

"Never fear my forgetting that; my stomach always tell me, and I know
by that when it is 11 o'clock, A.M., as well as by my time-piece."

"Well, John, bring Mr. Williams his morning glass."

Julia spoke to their servant, a worthy, clever fellow, who had long
lived in their family, and would not leave it now. He had never been
upon the ocean before, and already began to be sea-sick. He however
managed to reach the cabin-door, and after a long time returned with
the glass, which he got to his master's hand, spilling half its
contents on the way.

"There, master, I haint been drinking none on't, but this plaguey ship
is so dommed uneasy, I can't walk steady, and I feels very sick, I
does; I think I be's going to die."

"You are only a little sea-sick, John."

"Not so dommed little, either."

"You are not yet used to your new situation, John; in a few days
you'll be quite a sailor."

"Will I though? Well, the way I feels now, I'd just as lief die as
not--oh!--ugh"--and John rushed to the gunwale.

"Heave yo!" sung out a jolly tar; "pitch your cargo overboard. You'll
sail better if you lighten ship."

"Dom this ere sailing--ugh--I will die."

Thus resolving, John laid himself down by the galley, and closed his
eyes with a heroic determination.

Such an event, as might be expected, was a great joke to the crew--a
land-lubber at sea being with sailors always a fair but