HOSE who go to sea with the circus and have wild beasts for company certainly enjoy a novel and interesting experience. And the novelty begins at once, with the loading of the ship. When I was notified to be on board the "Massachusetts," of the Atlantic Transport Line, at the foot of Houston Street, at seven o'clock in the morning, to make the trip to London with a great circus, I had every reason to suppose that the ship would sail with the morning tide. But I found the pier and vicinity still littered with red vans, wagon gear, baggage, horses, elephants, and other circus bric-a-brac and menagerie paraphernalia. The loading had been going on for two days. Yet the great Chapman derrick still floated alongside, and heavy red

cages, covered with protecting canvas, were dangling in the air, or being ranged on deck. The little elephants had gaily trotted over the gang-plank, holding by each other's tails in the most comical manner, and were already safely installed below; but the big fellows, each in a stout cage of iron-bound planking, had to be swung over by means of the derrick, and lashed securely fore and aft. Horses were being led in by the hundred. The great forty-horse team that had thrilled millions of people in the street parades during the summer, was marched to a quarter of its own; and the seventy Kentucky thoroughbreds that appear in a single act in the ring were still more particularly housed.

All day the members of the circus company gather and huddle about the decks, and saunter up and down the dock, bidding friends good-by so many times that both

sides are heartily bored and wish to goodness the ship would pull out and get away. Our saloon list is composed of fifty persons -the limit of our cabin capacity-being the heads of the various departments of the big show, the "bosses" of this and the assistant " "bosses of that, and a few performers, male and female. The wives and children of the principal officials accompany them. Nearly every one of the passengers knows all the rest; and, in that respect, a more congenial company never assembled for a sea voyage. There is a marked esprit de corps among circus people; and it is at once apparent here. These doormen and ticket sellers, private secretaries, superintendents, animal experts, master mechanics, owners of trained animals, layers-out, are typical showmen, mostly veterans in the business. Performers are inclined to waive circus etiquette, and join social forces with them for the trip. But the performers are few-most of them having gone on ahead from week to week. Two lithe, young equestriennes, as many male riders, a charming young woman charioteer, some Arab acrobats, men and women with trained dogs, pigs, monkeys, geese, and seals-these are all.

All of the summer circus outfit forty

eight wagons with tents, horses, men, and so on-is to follow us in February. They are not needed during the London engagement. The total of wagons runs up to ninety-six, and of people to 474. The rest of the men required will be hired over the water. Seven more elephants are booked for the next vessel, for lack of room here.

We finally say good-by for good and allabout the dusk of the evening and pull out into the Hudson, to the tune of "Mr. Johnson, Turn me Loose," executed by the sideshow band. This is not "sprung" on us until it is too late to go ashore; but our friends on the dock, who have been knocking about all day half frozen, look so glad to see us go! We take the band with us.

How beautiful the lights of New York look when one is about to leave them behind indefinitely! Round the sweep of Sandy Hook they become merged in one vast red aurora of the North. We are at sea. The swell raises the deck under our feet, and the ship becomes a sentient thing. The pilot-boat, hovering near us the while, puts out a small boat to take off our pilot. frail shell, with its two hardy sailors, dances up and down in the darkness like a leaf. We watch the red lantern until it drifts under

The

our quarter. Then there is a wait, and presently a rushing to and fro on our bridge; then the clang of the engine bells, and the ship is brought to, lying idly rocking there for the next hour.

And then it is whispered about that the little pilot-boat was swamped, and that two more lives were given to the ocean's insatiate maw. And the news goes softly from deck to deck, and from cabin to cabin, and from hold to hold, until the ragged and grizzled animal man, between the

cages far down forward, has heard it, and roused his mate from the straw to impart the sad intelligence.

SS. MASS. Nov 1897

Meanwhile the ship is once more heading for the open sea, and the handle of the little dipper shines invitingly beyond the foremast.

THE DEATH OF THE GIRAFFE.

The third day out, we are startled by the announcement that our giraffe is dead. Poor "Daisy" was found doubled up in her roomy cage, under the forward hatch, with her neck broken in two places. She had evidently pitched forward in the heavy sea running the night before, and lost her balance. She had last been seen alive on Sunday, her keeper having made his usual inspection with some anxiety, owing to the

rough weather. An hour later, he saw her down and congratulated himself on the animal's good sense. The next morning, at eight o'clock, he found her doubled up in the same position. She was dead. The catastrophe

Grover

WHITE CAMET.

was especially depressing to the managers, for "Daisy" was one of their leading attractions. She belonged to a rare species, and one growing rarer year by year. She was the last giraffe in America, and had been heavily "billed" for London.

All hands and the cook gathered on deck to witness the burial of the dead giraffe. By means of a block and tackle rigged to a boom, the body was raised to the deck, and thence swung to the top of the elephants' cages. Here the animal was stripped of her beautiful hide. Then the sailors began to struggle with the denuded carcass. 'old of 'er rudder, you bloomin' lubber!" sang out the big boatswain's mate, a man with rings in his ears and a knife between his teeth. And overboard went all that remained of unfortunate "Daisy," the boatswain's mate saying tenderly, as she went, "Good-by, old sport!"

AMONG THE ELEPHANTS.

"Catch

The smaller elephants are ranged in narrow stalls in a row, on the side of the ship, aft, opposite the camels. There is just enough room for them to lie down, in elephant fashion, and, with their trunks, they can reach across the narrow passageway. Whenever the voice of Mr. Conklin, the elephant man, is heard, they set up a chorus of trumpetings. And, when he makes his appearance in the