"Pat was a bricklayer by trade, and painting was only a 'side line' with him. "He started to put the inscription on the casket, and got along bravely till he came to 'age of twenty-eight.' Then he realized that he could not make the figures. He puzzled over it a long while, for he did not like to ask and thus show up his ignorance. "Finally a bright idea struck him. Four sevens make twenty-eight--why not put down four sevens--that was easy! "The job was finished just in time. "The relatives and friends were gathered round to pay their last respects. One friend was asked to get up and make a few remarks. He did so and began as follows: "'I am glad to be able to say a few words on this sad occasion, a few words of praise for our beloved friend; for other words than praise could not be said of him. I am proud to have known him and to have been numbered among his friends. His virtues need hardly be repeated. You knew him well. His generosity, his friendliness, and all the rest he possessed. I knew him from his youth up, and I am well aware of his goodness, as are you. He was a good husband, a good father, and a good friend. It is hard to give him up, but it must be. He died at the age of----' "Here the speaker glanced at the casket beside which he stood, and read the following: MICHAEL DOOLEY DEPARTED THIS LIFE IN HIS PRIME, AT THE AGE OF 7777. "'Yis, my bereaved friends,' he continued, 'he was a good father, husband, and friend, and none knows that better than I. He was cut off in the pride of manhood, you might say--in his prime, at the age of----' "He glanced at the inscription again, then, after a painful pause, blurted forth: 'Well, how the divil did he escape the flood?'" The sound of "tattoo" interrupted our laughter at this point, and all Hands tumbled below. The following day we got rid of the last of the ammunition to the "Massachusetts." A sigh of relief and thankfulness went up as the last charge of powder was taken over the side. The same day we saw some of our prize money vanish into thin air. The "Burton" was released, and steamed out of the harbor. It was about this time that a well-authenticated rumor went the rounds to the effect that we were to go with a formidable fleet to Spain, harass her coasts, and do up Camara's fleet. This rumor was so well founded that many of us believed it, and, consequently, much time was spent in writing farewell letters. The prospect of soon seeing the "land of the free and the home of the brave" was not very bright. The consensus of opinion at this time was that we would see our year out in Uncle Sam's service. There was considerable gloom. The start once made and the "Yankee" actually on her way to the land of the Dons, all would be well and all hands would be cheerful; but the contemplation of the long trip in the wrong direction was a very different matter.