Sam knew that the other had suffered solely on his account, and in all his complaints, he said that if he alone had been flogged, it would have been nothing; but that he never could see that man without thinking what had been the means of bringing that disgrace upon him; and John never, by word or deed, let anything escape him to remind the other that it was by interfering to save his shipmate, that he had suffered.

Having got all our spare room filled with hides, we hove up our anchor and made sail for San Diego. In no operation can the disposition of a crew be discovered better than in getting under way.

Where things are done "with a will," every one is like a cat aloft; sails are loosed in an instant; each one lays out his strength on his handspike, and the windlass goes briskly round with the loud cry of "Yo heave ho! Heave and pawl! Heave hearty ho!" But with us, at this time, it was all dragging work. No one went aloft beyond his ordinary gait, and the chain came slowly in over the windlass.

The mate, between the knightheads, exhausted all his official rhetoric in calls of "Heave with a will!"-"Heave hearty, men! heave hearty!"-"Heave and raise the dead!". "Heave, and away!" etc., etc.; but it would not do. Nobody broke his back or his handspike by his efforts.

And when the cat tackle fall was strung along, and all hands cook, steward, and all-laid hold, to cat the anchor, instead of the lively song of "Cheerily, men!" in which all hands join in the chorus, we pulled a long, heavy, silent pull, and as sailors say a song is as good as ten men - the anchor came to the cathead pretty slowly. "Give us Cheerily!'' said the mate; but there was no "cheerily" for us, and we did without it.

The captain walked the quarter-deck, and said not a word. He must have seen the change, but there was nothing which he could notice officially.

We sailed leisurely down the coast before a light, fair wind, keeping the land well aboard, and saw two other missions, looking like blocks of white plaster, shining in the distance, one of which, situated on the top of a high hill, was San Juan Campestrano, under which vessels sometimes come to anchor, in the summer season, and take off hides. The most distant one was St. Louis Rey, which the third mate said was only fifteen miles from San Diego. At sunset on the second day,

we had a large and well-wooded headland directly before us, behind which lay the little harbor of San Diego. We were becalmed off this point all night, but the next morning, which was Saturday, the 14th of March, having a good breeze, we stood round the point, and hauling our wind brought the little harbor which is rather the outlet of a small river, right before us.

Every one was anxious to get a view of the new place. A chain of high hills, beginning at the point (which was on our larboard hand, coming in), protected the harbor on the north and west, and ran off into the interior, as far as the eye could reach. On the other sides, the land was low, and green, but without trees. The entrance is so narrow as to admit but one vessel at a time, the current swift, and the channel runs so near to a low stony point that the ship's sides appeared almost to touch it.

There was no town in sight, but on the smooth sand beach, abreast, and within a cable's length of which three vessels lay moored, were four large houses, built of rough boards, and looking like the great barns in which ice is stored on the borders of the large ponds near Boston; with piles of hides standing round them, and men in red shirts and large straw hats walking in and out of the doors. These were the hide houses.

Of the vessels: one, a short, clumsy, little hermaphrodite brig, we recognized as our old acquaintance the "Loriotte" another, with sharp bows and raking masts, newly painted and tarred, and glittering in the morning's sun, with the blood-red banner and cross of St. George at her peak, was the handsome "Ayacucho." The third was a large ship, with topgallant masts housed, and sails unbent, and looking as rusty and worn as two years'"hide droghing" could make her. This was the

"Lagoda."

As we drew near, carried rapidly along by the current, we overhauled our chain, and clewed up the topsails. "Let go the anchor!" said the captain; but either there was not chain enough forward of the windlass, or the anchor went down foul, or we had too much headway on, for it did not bring us up. "Pay out chain !" shouted the captain; and we gave it to her; but it would not do.

Before the other anchor could be let go, we drifted down, broadside on, and went smash into the "Lagoda." Lagoda." Her crew were at breakfast in the forecastle, and the cook, seeing us com

ing, rushed out of his galley and called up the officers and

men.

Fortunately, no great harm was done. Her jib boom ran between our fore and main masts, carrying away some of our rigging, and breaking down the rail. She lost her martingale. This brought us up, and as they paid out chain, we swung clear of them, and let go the other anchor; but this had as bad luck as the first, for before any one perceived it, we were drifting on to the "Loriotte.”

The captain now gave out his orders rapidly and fiercely, sheeting home the topsails, and backing and filling the sails, in hope of starting or clearing the anchors; but it was all in vain, and he sat down on the rail, taking it very leisurely, and calling out to Captain Nye, that he was coming to pay him a visit.

We drifted fairly into the "Loriotte," her larboard bow into our starboard quarter, carrying away a part of our starboard quarter railing, and breaking off her larboard bumpkin, and one or two stanchions above the deck. We saw our handsome sailor, Jackson, on the forecastle, with the Sandwich Islanders, working away to get us clear. After paying out chain, we swung clear, but our anchors were no doubt afoul of hers. We manned the windlass, and hove and hove away, but to no purpose. Sometimes we got a little upon the cable, but a good surge would take it all back again.

We now began to drift down toward the "Ayacucho," when her boat put off and brought her commander, Captain Wilson, on board. He was a short, active, well-built man, between fifty and sixty years of age; being nearly thirty years older than our captain, and a thorough seaman, he did not hesitate to give his advice, and from giving advice, he gradually came to taking the command; ordering us when to heave and when to haul, and backing and filling the topsails, setting and taking in jib and trysail, whenever he thought best.

Our captain gave a few orders, but as Wilson generally countermanded them, saying in an easy, fatherly kind of way, "Oh no! Captain T-, you don't want the jib on her," or, "It isn't time yet to heave!" he soon gave it up. We had no objections to this state of things, for Wilson was a kind old man, and had an encouraging and pleasant way of speaking to us, which made everything go easily. After two or three hours of constant labor at the windlass, heaving and "Yo ho!"-ing

with all our might, we brought up an anchor, with the "Loriotte's" small bower fast to it. Having cleared this and let it go, and cleared our hawse, we soon got our other anchor, which had dragged half over the harbor.

"Now," said Wilson, "I'll find you a good berth;" and setting both the topsails, he carried us down, and brought us to anchor in handsome style, directly abreast of the hide house which we were to use. Having done this, he took his leave, while we furled the sails, and got our breakfast, which was welcome to us, for we had worked hard, and it was nearly twelve o'clock. After breakfast, and until night, we were employed in getting out the boats, and mooring ship.

After supper, two of us took the captain on board the "Lagoda." As he came alongside, he gave his name, and the mate, in the gangway, called out to the captain down the companionway" Captain T- has come aboard, sir!" "Has

he brought his brig with him?" said the rough old fellow, in a tone which made itself heard fore and aft. This mortified our captain a little, and it became a standing joke among us for the rest of the voyage.

THE THREE FISHERS.

BY CHARLES KINGSLEY.

THREE fishers went sailing out into the west-
Out into the west as the sun went down;

Each thought of the woman who loved him the best,
And the children stood watching them out of the town;
For men must work, and women must weep;

And there's little to earn, and many to keep,

Though the harbor bar be moaning.

Three wives sat up in the lighthouse tower,

And trimmed the lamps as the sun went down;

They looked at the squall, and they looked at the shower,
And the night rack came rolling up, ragged and brown;
But men must work, and women must weep,
Though storms be sudden, and waters deep,
And the harbor bar be moaning.

Three corpses lay out on the shining sands

In the morning gleam as the tide went down,
And the women are weeping and wringing their hands,
For those who will never come back to the town;
For men must work, and women must weep,
And the sooner it's over, the sooner to sleep, –
And good-by to the bar and its moaning.

-

THE MYSTERY OF THE "OCEAN STAR."

BY W. CLARK RUSSELL.

[WILLIAM CLARK RUSSELL, the popular English writer of sea stories, was born in New York city, February 24, 1844; son of the vocalist Henry Russell, author of "Cheer, Boys, Cheer" and "A Life on the Ocean Wave," and of Isabella Lloyd, niece of the poet Charles Lloyd. He was in the British merchant service from thirteen to twenty, when he abandoned the sea for journalism. Since 1887 he has devoted himself entirely to writing fiction. Among the most popular of his nautical novels are: "John Holdsworth, Chief Mate" (1874), "The Wreck of the Grosvenor," "The Lady Maud," "Jack's Courtship," "Frozen Pirate," "Marooned," "Romance of Jenny Harlowe,' "An Ocean Tragedy," "My Danish Sweetheart," "The Convict Ship," "The Last Entry." He has also written a sketch of Nelson (1890), and a life of Collingwood (1891).]

ON the 22d of August in the year 1877, a steamer named the "Guide," of about twelve hundred tons burden, was in latitude 12° North and in longitude 31° West. The weather, during the last twenty-four hours, had been curious. The northeast trade wind had two days earlier fined down into a faint draught, and then for a spell all the breeze that the vessel found she made for herself. There was a long swell from the westward, which came along in slopes of liquid violet, so polished that the glory of the sunshine slipped from one deeply dark-blue brow to another, as though indeed it were a substantial gushing of fiery gold sliding over the heads of rolling hills of glass. The oddness of the weather lay in peculiar appearances of snow-white vapor low down upon the sea. The atmosphere was brilliantly clear, the sky a hard pale blue, brightening into needlelike scintillations of new tin as it swept out of a bald brassy dye round about the sun to the sheer white dazzle of the luminary; and where the line of the horizon was visible the rim of the waving circle was as sharp and