Phenix Gazette

THE LAST OF THE YEAR.
From the Portland Advertiser.
It is the great characteristic of a good seaman, to keep his ship and his reckonings in such a state of perfection, as will enable him to meet a storm at any moment, without either fears or doubts. In pleasant weather, he is always on the alert; the ship from the water's edge to the royal truck, undergoes the severe examination of a seaman's eye. No imperfection escapes him. Nothing is left undone that ought to be done, and nothing put off for to-morrow that can be done to-day. The strictest attention is paid to the ship's way; the events of each hour are noted in a book kept for that purpose, so that he can look back at the day's or the week's end and see what he has been doing, and where he was when any important event took place. No opportunity escapes, for determining the true situation if the ship, if on a long voyage, he has to pass many land-falls, which is not unfrequently the case. These opportunities for correcting his journal pass not by unimproved. If he find his reckoning in error, he proves, and if necessary, corrects his instruments tries his compasses-examines his journal, and thus endeavors to find where the error originated, so that he may be enabled to avoid similar ones in future. By strictly adhering to these rules, he is enabled, generally. to make his destined port with certainty and enter it with safety But by neglecting his duty, by attending, neither to the ship, or the way she is making, his journal may be incorrect, he may have been thrown out of his course by currents. He knows nothing, he can know nothing, of her true situation, and if overtaken by a storm, he may be driven, unexpectedly upon the rocks, or sands of some unknown coast, where no art can save him. The lightning flashing through the Heavens, at the same moment, reveals the grandeur and the horror of a midnight tempest; and gives him a momentary view of the awful, unavoidable fate that awaits him. The thunder mingles its terrible notes with the deafening roar of the ocean, as one after another, its mighty waves tumble in regular confusion upon the shore. But this terrible scene is of short duration, one tremendous crash, and all is over. The ship is broken in a thousand pieces and the mingled bodies of the crew are mingled with the sand and sea weed of a strange land-

The life of a sailor may be aptly compared to the situation of all, who are embarked in the voyage of life; and the life of a good seaman presents us with no unprofitable example for imitation. The longest life can hardly be said constitute a point on the great map of eternity Therefore every hour, not absolutely required for the restoration of exhausted nature, should be employed, for some valuable purpose, for correcting past errors, and preparing for future events.

The mind is the great journal book of life, on which every action, and the motives that induced them should be recorded; and at the end of each day, week, month and year, a review and correction should take place. But more especially at the latter period, as the end of each year, represents so many land-falls, scattered along our way, in the voyage of life.

This is the last of the year; land is now in sight; if its latitude and longitude agree with our journal, it is well; if not, there is a fault somewhere. And now is a time, and a proper time to find and correct it. and to do this we ought, with honest perseverance, to apply the energies of the mind. Our instruments may have been, out of order, or our compass wrong; or we may have neglected to take the Sun, the current may have imperceptibly swept us out of our course. Any, or all of these things may have happened; it becomes us, therefore, to enter, at once, upon a close and careful examination, to endeavor to find the error and so far as possible correct it, and above all to avoid a similar one in future. For awful beyond description will be his situation, who having neglected this duty, shall find himself, in a shattered and disabled ship, tempest-driven upon a lee shore, with no other than the narrow harbor of the grave opening before him. The Heavens having gathered in blackness around him, are pouring down their fire upon his devoted head. His canvass, deserting the yards, is borne away by the wind; his vessel is creaking and working in every joint; the current, the heaving ocean, and the tempest are driving him landward: anchors cannot hold him, Pilots cannot board him; and-no hope remains; he must perish forever.

A. F.