bit, and I could see nothing of them. Then I remembered the death struggles of the whale. Almost at the same moment they began; and there was I, who with fearful admiration had so often watched the titanic convulsions of a dying cachalot, actually involved in them. The turns were off my body, but I was able to twist a couple of turns round my arms, which, in case of his sounding, I could readily let go.

Then all was lost in roar and rush, as of the heart of some mighty cataract, during which I was sometimes above, sometimes beneath, the water, but always clinging, with every ounce of energy still left, to the line. Now one thought was uppermost "What if he should breach?" I had seen them do so when in the last struggles, leaping full twenty feet in the air. Then I prayed.

Quickly as all the preceding changes had passed came perfect peace. There I lay, still alive, but so weak that although I could feel the turns slipping off my arms, and knew that I should slide off the slope of the whale's side into the sea if they did, I could make no effort to secure myself. Everything then passed away from me, just as if I had gone to sleep.

I do not at all understand how I kept my position, nor how long, but I awoke to the blessed sound of voices, and saw the second mate's boat alongside. Very gently and tenderly they lifted me into the boat, although I could hardly help screaming with agony when they touched me, so bruised and broken up did I feel. My arms must have been nearly torn from their sockets, for the strands of the whale line had cut deep into their flesh with the strain upon it, while my thigh was swollen enormously from the blow I received at the onset.

Mr. Cruce was the most surprised man I ever saw. For full ten minutes he stared at me with wide-open eyes. When at last he spoke, it was with difficulty, as if wanting words to express his astonishment. Then, in his

broad sailor's brogue, he blurted out: "Where have you been all the time, anyhow? 'Cause if you've been hanging on that whale ever since your boat was smashed, why aren't you all to bits, hey?" I smiled feebly, but was too weak to talk, and presently went off again into a dead faint.

When I recovered, I was snug in my bunk aboard, but aching in every joint, and as sore as if I had been pounded with a club until I was bruised all over. During the day the first mate was kind enough to pay me a visit. With his usual luck, he had escaped without the slightest injury; neither was any other member of the boat's crew the worse for the ducking but myself. He told me that the whale was one of the largest he had ever seen, and as fat as butter. The boat was an entire loss, so completely smashed to pieces that nothing of her or her gear had been recovered.

When my poor, weary shipmates came below from their heavy toil of cutting in, they were almost inclined to be envious of my comfort small blame to them — though I would gladly have taken my place among them again could I have got rid of my hurts. But I was condemned to lie there for nearly three weeks before I was able to get about once more.

At last I managed to get on deck, quite a differentlooking man from what I was when I went below, and feeling about ten years older. I found the same sullen quiet reigning that I had noticed several times before

when we had been unfortunate, and was told that although three whales had been taken, all were small and comparatively worthless.

changing events.

DEFINITIONS. Vi cis'si tūdeş, An tiç'i pātes, looks forward to. Op' ti mis' tic, inclined to look at the bright side of things. Căch'a lot, a sperm whale. Lŏll'ing, lying quietly. Au'di ble, that can be heard. Ev o lū'tions, movements. Căt'a pults, engines of war, used for throwing stones. Por'tals, gates, passageways. Gul'let, throat. Dé'bris (dā brē'), materials from a wreck. Ti tăn'ic, gigantic.

NOTE. - This extract is from "The Cruise of the Cachalot," one of the most interesting of all books on whaling.

THE MARINER'S DREAM.

BY WILLIAM DIMOND.

In slumbers of midnight the sailor boy lay;

His hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind;
But watch-worn and weary, his cares flew away,
And visions of happiness danced o'er his mind.

He dreamed of his home, of his dear native bowers,
And pleasures that waited on life's merry morn;
While Memory each scene gayly covered with flowers,
And restored every rose, but secreted the thorn.

Then Fancy her magical pinions spread wide,
And bade the young dreamer in ecstasy rise;
Now, far, far behind him the green waters glide,
And the cot of his forefathers blesses his eyes.

The jessamine clambers in flowers o'er the thatch,
And the swallow chirps sweet from her nest in the wall;
All trembling with transport, he raises the latch,

And the voices of loved ones reply to his call.

A father bends o'er him with looks of delight;

His cheek is impearled with a mother's warm tear; And the lips of a boy in a love kiss unite

With the lips of a maid whom his bosom holds dear.

The heart of the sleeper beats high in his breast ;

Joy quickens his pulses, all his hardships seem o'er; And a murmur of happiness steals through his rest,— "O God! thou hast blest me, I ask for no more.

Ah! whence is that flame which now bursts on his eye? Ah! what is that sound that now 'larums his ear? 'Tis the lightning's red glare painting hell on the sky! 'Tis the crashing of thunders, the groan of the sphere !

He springs from his hammock,

he flies to the deck; Amazement confronts him with images dire ;

Wild winds and mad waves drive the vessel a wreck;
The masts fly in splinters; the shrouds are on fire.

Like mountains the billows tremendously swell;

In vain the lost wretch calls on Mercy to save; Unseen hands of spirits are ringing his knell,

And the death angel flaps his broad wings o'er the wave!

O sailor boy, woe to thy dream of delight!

In darkness dissolves the gay frost work of bliss! Where now is the picture that Fancy touched bright, Thy parents' fond pressure, and love's honeyed kiss?

O sailor boy! sailor boy! never again

Shall home, love, or kindred thy wishes repay; Unblessed and unhonored, down deep in the main, Full many a fathom, thy frame shall decay.

No tomb shall e'er plead to remembrance for thee,

Or redeem form or fame from the merciless surge; But the white foam of waves shall thy winding sheet be, And winds in the midnight of winter thy dirge.

On a bed of green sea flowers thy limbs shall be laid,—
Around thy white bones the red coral shall grow ;
Of thy fair yellow locks threads of amber be made,
And every part suit to thy mansion below.

Days, months, years, and ages shall circle away,
And still the vast waters above thee shall roll;
Earth loses thy pattern forever and aye;

O sailor boy! sailor boy! peace to thy soul!

DEFINITIONS.-Hăm'mock, a hanging or swinging bed, usually made of netting or hempen cloth. Trăns'pōrt, ecstasy, rapture. Im pearled' (pro. im pērled'), decorated with pearls, or with things resembling pearls. 'Lăr'umş (an abbreviation of alarums, for alarms), affrights, terrifies. Dîrġe, funeral music.

A CHASE IN THE ENGLISH CHANNEL.

BY JAMES FENIMORE COOPER.

The ship which the American frigate had now to oppose was a vessel of near her own size and equipage; and when Griffith looked at her again, he perceived that she had made her preparations to assert her equality in manful fight.

Her sails had been gradually reduced to the usual quantity, and, by certain movements on her decks, the lieutenant and his constant attendant, the Pilot, well understood that she only wanted to lessen the distance a few hundred yards to begin the action.