In the year 1806, when the Asia East Indiaman was conveying a detachment of dragoons to Madras, the ship encountered very severe weather. Amongst the troops was a blithe "boy" named Pat Murphy, and he had also a pretty wife on board, who, instead of taking the roughs with the smooths, was continually upbraiding her husband. "Arrah, Pat, why did yez bring me here into this dark hole now? Oh! whirrasthrue and it's smashed and kilt entirely I'll be in regard o' the say-sickness and the kicking of the ship." "Och, cooshla-machree," returned Pat, trying to soften her, "rest aisy, darling. Shure an it was yerself as wanted to come and wouldn't stay behind. Small blame to you for that anyhow, seeing that Pat Murphy's the man as owns you. But rest aisy awhile, an it's the bright sun and the smooth wather we'll get, and go sailing away like a duck over a pond." "Oh, thin, Pat, but it's little feeling you've got for my misfortunate state," uttered Judy, as she burst into tears. "Never again shall I see the green-hill tops tinged with the goulden glory of the sun—never again shall I thravail free-footed through the bogs and over the moors. Oh! it's a dessolute woman I am this very day—och hone—och hone."

This sort of complaining was continually repeated, till the temper of the warm-hearted Irishman began to give way; but he struggled hard to bear up against her petulance and peevishness. One day, however, the gale increased to a downright hurricane—the ship had sprung a leak, the water was gaining on the pumps, the sea ran fearfully high, and it was evident, unless the storm abated, that the "Asia must yield to the war of elements and go down."

Pat, who had been relieved from the pumps, contrived to get below to see Judy, and was greeted with the usual reception. "Haven't I been a faithful and thrue wife to yez? and here I am smothered with the say-sickness, an' the noise and the bother!" "An' how can I help it, Judy?" remonstrated Pat. "Shure an I've done my best, and been a dootiful husband. I carn't conthrol the say or the ship as I would a horse upon the turf—long life to it—what would you have?" Judy, however, still continued her clamour, till Pat's patience was at length worn completely out, and he voiciferated in no very gentle voice, "Och, thin, howld your peace, woman; is it meself as you'd be breaking the heart of afore I'm dead? Arrah, rest aisy with yer tongue!"

At this moment, a heavy sea struck the ship on the bows, ranged fore and aft, and rushed down every cavity, causing considerable confusion. Judy shrieked and cried out, "Oh! Pat, an why did yez bring me here?" Pat, who really thought the ship was sinking, turned round, and exclaimed with vehemence, "Arrah, howld yer bodther, woman—you'll be a widdaw to-night."

This terrible announcement of her becoming a widow silenced poor Judy; and before Pat was summoned to renew his labour at the pumps, she had thrown her arms about his neck, and in loving accents implored him to avert so dreadful a calamity. The storm abated—fine weather returned—Judy grew more accustomed to the ship, but ever afterwards went by the name of "Pat Murphy's widow;" and it was nothing uncommon to hear both soldiers and sailors calling out, "Pat, Pat Murphy, your widow wants you." The Old Sailor.