Captain Blokstrop, in a bright red Havre shirt, eruptive with large pearl buttons, stood hanging to the weather mizzen-shrouds, nodding his approval of the way his ship and things generally were going, while the organ peal of the gale thundered and shrieked through the straining rigging, and a lone albatross, with a few yards of line hanging from his beak, followed on in the ship's wake. Now, when the wind is doing its best to make sixty miles an hour, and the sea to run fifty odd feet high, there are more comfortable places than the main deck of a long, sharp-nosed, narrow-beam ship, particularly when she is logging something like thirteen knots. The "City of New York" was scooping in tons upon tons of water, first over one rail, then the other, as she swept on over the tempest-tossed sea, the surges of which were dimly visible by the glimmer of a waning moon through the drifting scud overhead. The forecastle was afloat, the boys' room knee-deep in water, while the after-cabin was being "bailed out" by Wan Lung, the Chinese steward, who staggered to and fro with a mop and bucket, muttering to himself in broken Chinese. Four bells rang out through the din of the storm, conveying to Ned the cheerful prospect of a two hours' lookout in the slings of the fore-yard, for no one could live on the top-gallant forecastle. Both boys were clinging to the weather pin-rail, and, at the summons, Ned attempted to swing himself by Clarence, who had not spoken to him since his downfall. How it really happened Ned is not sure, but, as the ship gave a roll to the leeward, Clarence was thrown heavily against him, and a great sea, boarding the vessel just under the mainyard, swept poor Ned far out, over the rail, into the seething water. Providentially, he had, shortly before, thrown aside his drenched oil-clothes and water-soaked sea-boots as uncomfortable superfluities. He got his head above water, dimly conscious of seeing the ship disappear in a cloud of darkness, and felt himself flung like a cork to the summits of great waves. He had no time to think,fear swallowed up every other sensation,- for lo, as he struck out mechanically, something swooped down at him like a great white sea wraith! And let me tell you that a bird whose wings measure ten feet from tip to tip, whose bill is about six inches long, and whose red-rimmed eyes give it the appearance of an intoxicated demon of the marine species, is not a cheerful sight under the unpleasant circumstances in which Ned was placed. The albatross struck at the swimming boy with clashing beak. Ned involuntarily ducked his head, and then, with perhaps a suggestion of the instinct leading drowning men to clutch at a straw, grasped wildly at the great bird's leg at the same moment. Ned has since told me that he thinks he was a little crazed from the blows dealt him by the great pinions of the struggling bird. He dimly remembers grappling with it, after that, with a vague fancy that somehow he was Christian struggling with Apollyon, which changed to a sudden remembrance of a tussle that he once had in extreme youth with a vicious old turkey-gobbler! But he clung to the albatross, and when, half an hour later, the "City of New York's" life-boat, steered by the second mate, reached him, boy and bird were pulled on board together, for Ned's arm was not only thrown over and about the albatross's neck, but his fingers were fairly stiffened about its windpipe. He knew nothing of the awful pull back to the ship, which lay hove to, burning a blue light, a mile to the windward - not he. Poor Ned lay face down in the boat's bottom, insensible, the salt water running from his mouth in a small stream. However, the albatross, which had undoubtedly saved his life, was more than insensible-it was dead; and when Ned staggered rather feebly on deck next morning, if you will believe me, Clarence was in the act of cutting off one of the wings for his very own! "My line is in his mouth yet," remarked the ingenuous youth, with an agreeable smile, "and so you see, old fellow, that gives me a sort of claim to him, like a ship's iron does to a whale!" "Your line, eh?" replied Ned, quietly; and, to Clarence's manifest confusion, Ned composedly pointed out to his room-mate a fine white thread running through its strands. They had both been bought from the same lot, and Ned had said at the time that this was the only difference between them. It is not unnatural to presume that Clarence had abstracted Ned's from his chest and placed it in his own, and in his hurry taken the wrong one. Indeed, he afterward hinted that it was done only "in fun." But Ned was not magnanimous enough to share the wings with him—and I am not sure that I blame him either, under all the circumstances. And as they took no other albatross, Miss Doris is indebted to Ned for the feather fan which he had made from the wings, and which he sent to her from Melbourne, together with an account of his adventure, cut from the Melbourne Herald. And so, when I see her with it, I wonder if its cooling breath has not in it, not only suggestions of the salt sea, but also of the modern as well as the ancient mariner; for her boy friend is advancing rapidly in his chosen profession, and will no doubt some day be master of as fine a ship as the "City of New York." But Clarence has left the sea in disgust. does n't agree with him," he says. "It HE spreads his wings like banners to the breeze, Down the green gulfs he glides, or skims the He cleaves the air, afloat on pinions wide; Leagues upon leagues, across the lonely seas, He sweeps above the vast, uneasy tide. For days together through the trackless skies, foam, Searching for booty with an eager eye, Hovering aloft where the long breakers comb O'er wrecks forlorn, that topple helplessly. He loves the tempest; he is glad to see The roaring gale to heaven the billows toss, "This fine bird is possessed of wondrous powers of wing, sailing along for days together without requiring rest, hardly ever flapping its wings, merely swaying itself leisurely from side to side with extended pinions."--Wood's Natural History. "How they propel themselves in the air is difficult to understand; for they scarcely ever flap their wings, but sail gracefully along, swaying from side to side, sometimes skimming the water so closely that the point of one wing dips into it, then rising up like a boomerang into the air, then descending again and flying with the wind or against it with equal facility."-Rambles of a Naturalist. (Cuthbert Collingwood.) I AM half a Dutch boy. Grandfather is all Dutch, for he was born away over the sea in Hamburg; and so, though my name is Thomas Jefferson Adams, after Papa, I am considerably Dutch, for I look just like Grandfather Kayser. He lives with us, and I can't bear to think of his ever moving back to Hamburg. He makes me all sorts of things, tells me stories, and takes my part when the rest of the folks are down on me. One rainy Saturday, Mamma said I must stay in the house, because my throat was sore, and as I do not take to any quiet work, and she does not like noise, I had a lonely time. In the afternoon my throat grew worse, and I got bluer and bluer, till I suppose I looked very doleful. and that, if my throat gets much worse, I may die," and then I looked very serious. "You have an inflooinza." (Grandfather meant influenza, but you see he is Dutch.) "By to-morrow you will be much better," he added; "but it seems to me, my boy, you are threatened by a much worse disease." "What, Grandfather?" said I, so scared I was still, and then I saw the look in his eyes that is always in them when he is down on me, and I was frightened. He did not answer, but folded up his newspaper and invited me to go up to his room, which is a perfectly splendid place, full of books and pictures he brought from Hamburg. There is a big carved "What is the matter?" said Grandfather, as he chest, in which he keeps his clothes, that is very came in. curious, and a little sofa, as hard as a brick, on which he loves to lie. As soon as we got upstairs he took down a large, red book, with silver clasps, "I was thinking," said I, "that if I'm not well by Monday, I shall get behind the rest of the boys, which is full of writing. I do believe Grandfather made up everything in it out of his own head-he is 'cute enough to do anything. And after he had fixed me on that little sofa, he read to me the following story. Afterward, he let me copy it, word for word, out of the red book, because I never could have remembered it all as nice and smooth as it was written, and because—well, you will find out the second reason later. Once upon a time, in the land of Somewhere, in a great castle, there lived a family by the name of Supposing. There was Sir Timothy Supposing, and his wife, Lady Supposing, and their only son, Tobias Eliakim Supposing. 66 The day after Sir Timothy was twenty-one,- his birthday was also his wedding-day,--he went to bed, and refused ever to get up. “I have contemplated this step a long time," he said. "The floors in the castle are draughty, and if I go out-of-doors I may be caught in the rain or get my feet wet; so that, wherever I may be, I am in constant danger of catching cold. Then, too, if I go out in the carriage, the horses may run away, or an axle may break, and if I go on Jeremiah's back, he may plunge or rear or kick, or lie down and roll over. I don't care if he is fifteen years old: an old horse is up to all sorts of tricks a colt does not think of. Life is uncertain enough in bed. With oleomargerine in the butter, and glucose in the sugar, and willow leaves and copperas in the tea, and bad ventilation, and gas from the furnace, I am in great danger even here." His big bed was provided with all sorts of footwarmers, and clampers to hold the clothes down, and every day his valet, January, rubbed Sir Timothy with his soft, fat hands, to stimulate his circulation and keep his liver from growing torpid. As Sir Timothy was very much afraid of being poisoned by bad air, and also of catching cold, men with all sorts of patent ventilators and furnaces to sell came to the castle every day, the procession often reaching as far as the eye could see, and Sir Timothy had every one tried, so anxious was he to secure one to his mind. Lady Supposing was naturally of a happy disposition. Sometimes, when there had been an unusual number of patent things to try, she felt low-spirited, and thought what if Sir Timothy should not find the right sort of heating apparatus after all, and what if, with all the pains and care we take, he should die right there in his bed, and what if something should befall Tobias Eliakim? But a nap dispelled these forebodings, and then Lady Supposing would go about the castle singing as if," said her husband, "she never thought that anything might happen." Tobias Eliakim was a fine-looking boy, with blue eyes and waving brown hair like his mamma. He had two tutors, an old one named Socrates Quidquodibus, who taught him Latin, Greek, mathematics, and every sort of ology, and a young one, named Apollo Bangs, who taught him music and painting. But Tobias Eliakim was always saying to himself while he studied: "What if—oh ! what if I get to be just like Professor Quidquodibus, and instead of having to put spectacles over my poor, tired eyes, as he does, what if I become stoneblind from studying so many books? And what if a hump grows on my back, as there has upon his ? January once told me of a man who died of consumption brought on by excessive reading. What if I should have consumption?" The only way the good professor could make him study enough to learn anything was by asking him the still more terrible question: "What if you grow up a dunce, Tobias Eliakim? and you certainly will if you do not study." Professor Bangs, in giving him some finger exercises, unluckily told him that the composer Schumann broke one of his third fingers in his effort to make it do his will. Tobias Eliakim was off the stool in a minute. "I'll never touch the piano again!" he cried. "I should not be surprised if my fingers were injured now. They frequently feel as if they were coming off." And no amount of coaxing or scolding could make him change his mind. One day while he was painting, the professor, who was inclined to be a philosopher, began giving him a lecture on the pigments he was using. "Everything in the world, my dear boy, has some beneficent qualities. Arsenic, now, which is such a virulent poison that it causes the most intense suffering if taken into the stomach, furnishes us this brilliant green with which I shall touch up those beech trees in the foreground of your picture," and as he spoke he squeezed some of the color on his pallet and set to work. But this ended Tobias Eliakim's painting. "I will not handle poisons," he said; "what if I should accidentally swallow a tube of that paint?" And thereafter he would study nothing but drawing. Besides his tutors he had a dancing-master, and a fencing-master, who had also to teach him to shoot at a mark, to manage a horse, to swim, to skate, and to slide down-hill. He did very well with the dancing, but when he attempted to fence, he was so afraid that the buttons would come off from the tips of the foils that the lessons had to be continued as best they could be with wooden swords. The first time he fired a gun, the recoil of the weapon nearly knocked him down. "What if that gun had shot off backward,— When Tobias Eliakim saw his teacher swim into the clear waters of the lake that lay at one side of the castle, he was eager to follow him, and ran as fast as he could to don his bathing-suit; but when Master Middlebury had led him a few steps into the water he halted. "What if I should drown?" said he. "You can't with me," laughed his teacher. "You might lose hold of me." "But I wont lose hold of you," cried vexed Master Middlebury. 66 But you might have the cramp, or an attack of heart disease, or paralysis, or something," persisted Tobias Eliakim, now thoroughly determined not to swim. "Take me back to the shore directly, and I will sit down and watch you." Sir Timothy was anxious that his son should be a good swimmer. What if, when he grows up, the King should make him an admiral, and what if, in a storm or a naval engagement, something should happen to the flag-ship? What would Tobias Eliakim do then if he could not swim?" clothes-line to the wash-boiler, so as to be all ready. But they found the cannon were all spiked, and were sadly returning to the lake, when who should they see but Master Middlebury, dressed in plaid clothes and wearing a long, red neck-tie, cantering up the drive-way on old Jeremiah. Sir Timothy was desirous that Tobias Eliakim should be an expert horseman. "If there should be a war when he grows up," he said, "the King would undoubtedly want him to command an army, and there would be times when he would have to ride; but as there is no telling what a horse may do, in giving my son lessons, I want you to always ride the horse with him, and hold the reins, so as to be near in case of accident." Tobias Eliakim at first rode in front of Master Middlebury, but one day Jeremiah stumbled. "What if this horse should take a notion to kick his hind legs straight up?" said Tobias. “I should, no doubt, pitch over his head and break my neck." After that he rode behind, till one day, when they were going up a small hill, he noticed that under some circumstances he could slide off over the horse's tail only too easily, and then he would not ride at all. [Note by me, T. J. A. "I think Tobias Eliakim was a perfect baby. I have been on our horse, Black he said to Master Middlebury, when giving him Hawk, bare-back, and he rares around like a wild instructions as to what he wanted him to do. The poor teacher knew that Sir Timothy would blame him, and, completely out of patience, he went splashing into the lake and dived down to the bottom of it to cool his anger. He staid so long that Tobias Eliakim thought he was drowned, and ran off to the castle to get some one to rescue Master Middlebury. The cook took a wash-boiler, the chamber-maid took the clothes-line, and the men-servants dragged along one of the brass cannon that stood by the front steps. "We'll shoot it off," said they, "and that will fetch him to the surface in a few minutes, when we can scoop him in shore by means of the wash-boiler and the rope." cat, sometimes."] In the winter, the lake in which Master Middlebury tried to teach Tobias Eliakim to swim was covered with firm, blue ice, which made first-rate skating, and at the back of the castle was a long hill, just the place to slide. Tobias Eliakim had a handsome sled, the gift of his maternal grandfather, and one New Year's day, when the hill was white with snow, on which glittered a hard crust, Master Middlebury thought he would give his pupil a lesson in coasting. Tobias Eliakim put on his fur-lined coat, his fur-lined boots, his fur cap with ear-lappits, his fur mittens, and his red muffler, which went six times about his neck. As for trousers—well, he had on When they reached the lake, they found that the three pairs. "Really, Master Middlebury, I'm going cannon was not only empty, but spiked. "I reto catch cold," he said, when they had reached the member now," said one, "Sir Timothy would hill. "I feel very creepy in my back." never allow them to be loaded for fear they might burst, and after Tobias Eliakim was old enough to walk, he happened to think one day that the child might find a cannon-ball and some powder somewhere, and might load a cannon, and undertake to fire it off, so he ordered that they should be spiked." Being kind-hearted men, they ran back to the castle in the hope of finding a cannon they could use, while the cook and the chamber-maid tied the "Nonsense!" cried his teacher. "Hop on that sled, and I will have you warm in two minutes." Tobias Eliakim obeyed, and Master Middlebury had stretched out one of his long legs to steer, when Tobias Eliakim cried, "What if- -"But the sled was already darting down the hill, swift as an arrow flashing through the air. "Never," he gasped when they stopped,—“never will I get on that dreadful thing again! I might have been dashed in pieces if you had failed to |