“Here I am, sir,” shouted Mackey, sitting at his ease on the bitts, looking on with perfect indifference and composure. “What in the name of goodness are you doing there?” “You told me to stay here till you called me, sir,” said Mackey, not loving work well enough to offer his services until he was called on. “Get down out of that, you blackguard, and come here where the work is.” Mackey left his stand amid the roars of the crew; the mate himself, who could always appreciate a good joke, could not refrain from joining in the general laugh. On Tuesday, May 28th, we had most delightful weather, and the evening was one of those beautiful, mild, calm nights so common to the Pacific. With gentle breezes, we were slowly plowing our way to the Marquesas Islands. The stars shone forth in all their resplendent beauty, and not a cloud was to be seen in the whole face of the heavens. It was truly a lovely night, and the all-pervading stillness seemed to remind us of our own loneliness, and our thoughts naturally reverted to other scenes—to the far-distant home; to the dear friends and loved ones to whom we bid a hasty but sad farewell. Do these dear friends ever bestow a thought or breathe a prayer for the welfare of the wanderer? Were they thinking of the one far, far away? and when they assemble around the festive board, or form the family circle about the fireside, do they miss the absent one? Oh, what joy would it have been to have known that there were some in the land of our birth that missed us, and prayed for the return of the wanderer! What joy would it have been to know that our friends were enjoying that blessing, _health_! What a consolation to have been assured that they were spared the ravages of disease and death! But this pleasure was denied us. Thousands of miles of blue water rolled between us and our homes. What recollections crowd upon the mind at the mention of _home_! The dear old village, where we have sported with all the joys of youth—the old school-house, where we for hours and hours have sat trying the patience of the teacher, conning our lesson, perhaps, or engaged in some mischief—the stream, along whose banks we have so often strolled, listening to the merry carol of the birds, and annoying the finny tribe—the hills, over which we have rambled with boyish glee—the woods, in whose pleasant retreats we have passed so many happy hours—schoolmates, the beautiful fair ones—and lastly, though not least, dear parents, brothers and sisters—all rushed through the brain in a tumultuous whirl, and we found ourselves unconsciously sighing for the pleasures of home. But, alas! we awoke to the sad reality of our situation. Thousands and tens of thousands of miles of blue water, must be beat ere we could again clasp in our arms those we held so dear; and we could only look up to Him who “ruleth the waves,” and trust in His protection. What consolation to our fainting heart these words: “Be still, and know that I am GOD.”