thing. A sailor's life is a dog's life at best! Besides, you
are not fit for a sailor, either by habits, taste, or
constitution. With such a pale face, and slight figure, and
sheepish look, how can you expect to fight the battle of life on
the ocean, and endure all the crosses, the perils, and the rough-
and-tumble of a sailor's life? Hawser, you are not fit for a
sailor. You had much better go home and try something else."

Finding me unconvinced by his arguments, and unshaken in my
determination, he concluded his remarks by asking me abruptly the
startling question, "Are you ready to die?"

I replied, that I had not bestowed much thought on the subject;
but frankly admitted I was not altogether prepared for such a
solemn event.

"Then, Hawser," said he with marked emphasis, "if you are not
prepared to die to die of YELLOW FEVER don't go to Demarara
at this season of the year!" And he left the room abruptly,
apparently disgusted at my obstinacy.

On the following day, Captain Tilton took me on board the brig
Dolphin. I did not mark her imperfections, which were many. She
was a vessel, bound on a voyage to a foreign port, and,
therefore, I was charmed with her appearance. In my eyes she was
a model of excellence; as beautiful and graceful as the
celebrated barge in which Cleopatra descended the Cyndnus to meet
Mark Antony.

The captain led me to the mate, who was busily engaged about the