By a singular coincidence, the grouping of the parties at this moment was nearly the same as when we first introduced our little hero to the reader,--the officers and marines on the after part of the deck, the ship's company forward, and little Willy standing between the two. Again he appears in the same position;--but what a change of feeling had taken place! As if he had been a little spirit of good, waving his fairy talisman, evil passions, which in the former scene were let loose, had retired to their darkest recesses, and all the better feelings of humanity were called forth and displayed in one universal, spontaneous, and unfeigned tribute to the melancholy and affecting scene. The silence was first broken by Willy--"Where are you going, father; and why do you wear that night-cap?" "I am going to sleep, child,--to an eternal sleep! God bless and protect you," said Peters, taking him up and kissing him. "And now, sir, I am ready," continued Peters, who had recovered his self-possession; "Captain A---, I forgive you, as I trust to be forgiven myself. Mr ---," said he, addressing the first-lieutenant, "take this child by the hand, and do not permit him to come forward--remember, he is the `King's Own.'" Then, bowing to the chaplain, who had scarcely recovered from the effects that the scene had produced upon him, and looking significantly at the provost-marshal, Peters bent his steps forward by the gangway--the noose was fastened--the gun fired, and, in a moment, all was over. Loud as was the report of the gun, those who were appointed to the unpleasant duty of running aft with the rope on the main-deck, which swung Peters to the yard-arm, heard a shriek that even that deafening noise could not overpower. It was the soul of Ellen joining that of her husband--and, before the day closed, their bodies were consigned to the same grave-- "Where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest." CHAPTER FIVE. Lord of himself, that heritage of woe. BYRON. Our novel may, to a certain degree, be compared to one of the pantomimes which rival theatres annually bring forth for the amusement of the holiday children. We open with dark and solemn scenes, introducing occasionally a bright image which appears with the greater lustre from the contrast around it; and thus we proceed, until Harlequin is fairly provided with his wand, and despatched to seek his adventures by land and by sea. To complete the parallel, the whole should wind up with a blaze of light and beauty, till our dazzled eyes are relieved, and the illusion disappears, at the fall of the green curtain, which, like the "FINIS" at the end of the third volume, tells us that all is over.