A woman and two children had been sent on board the "St. Jean d'Acre" at Gibraltar to be taken to England. Her name was Crompton, and she was the widow of a carpenter who had been accidentally killed at the New Mole two or three months previous to our departure. Of the children, both boys, one was still unweaned, and the poor mother and her offspring appeared to be miserably destitute. Their scanty clothing was squalid and ragged, and her health had been seriously impaired. She said that her native place was in Durham, and that on arriving at Plymouth she should apply to be transmitted home by the parochial authorities. We were not forty-eight hours at sea before she and her infants were comfortably and neatly clad, the outer garments being made of blue serge, and the others of checkered stuff. She and her elder boy were furnished with hats and boots, fitting perfectly, the uppers of the latter being made of canvas darkly varnished. I was greatly surprised at the skill displayed in attiring the poor creatures, for the needlework was faultless. The younger child was made the favorite plaything of the crew, who seemed delighted to pet and nurse him. When our voyage was completed, a subscription amongst the officers, seamen, and marines provided her with twenty-two pounds, to which I added half a sovereign. The boatswain was the principal collector for the poor widow, whom he described in nautical phraseology, to be "at dead low water." A DEATH AND FUNERAL. The progress of the "St. Jean d'Acre" did not appear to me to be very speedy after our departure from Cadiz until we arrived off Cape St. Vincent. The vessel was propelled solely by the steam-screw. She was large and heavy, and the weather was quite calm, so that sails were useless. I did not regret the delay, for I could not be in more agreeable society, and I never experienced any tendency whatever to sea-sickness. However, just as we sighted St. Vincent, a strong and very favorable breeze sprung up, and the sails were ordered to be set. Whilst all hands were engaged aloft, I was sitting on the quarter-deck, enjoying the novelty of the scene before me, and admiring the celerity with which the work was accomplished. The men were beginning to descend, when a poor fellow named Parkes dropped from a great height. I think he fell from what is termed the mizen-topsail-yard, and he came down very close to me. I instantly took him under the armpits and drew him lengthways on his back. He muttered, "Too much tobacco," and died instantly. It appeared that he had been cautioned by the medical officers against the excessive chewing of tobacco, but his neglect of the warning, and a persistent indulgence in the unwholesome mastication, produced a very fatal fall. In the evening of the following day, his body was committed to the deep. It was sewn in his hammock, in which a large cannon ball was also enclosed. The band played some mournful music