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the two-and-thirty, which lay a helpless wreck, rolling on the unruly seas that were 'rudely tossing her on their wanton billows. The frigate last engaged was running along the edge of the ripple, with her torn sails flying loosely in the air, her ragged spars tottering in the breeze, and everything above her hull exhibiting the confusion of a sudden and unlooked-for check to her progress.
The exulting taunts and mirthful congratulations of the seamen, as they gazed at the English ships, were, however, soon forgotten in the attention that was required to their own vessel. The drums beat the retreat, the guns were lashed, the wounded again removed, and every individual able to keep the deck was required to lend his assistance in repairing the damages to the frigate and securing her masts.
The promised hour carried the ship safely through all the dangers, which were much lessened by daylight; and by the time the sun had begun to fall over the land, Griffith, who had not quitted the deck during the day, beheld his vessel once more cleared of the confusion of the chase and battle, and ready to meet another foe.
DEFINITIONS. — Frig'ate, a war vessel, usually carrying from twentyeight to forty-four guns, arranged in two tiers on each side. Eq'ui page (pro. ěk' wî pěj), furniture, fitting out. Ar’ti fiçe, skillful contrivance, trick. Broad'sīde, a discharge of all the guns on one side of a ship, above and below, at the same time. Măn'i fest, visible to the eye, apparent.
As sūr'ançe (pro. ash-shur'ançe), full confidence, courage. Swāy, control, rule.
Notes.— This story is extracted from “The Pilot,” a famous romance of the sea and of naval warfare during the Revolution, written by James Fenimore Cooper in 1823.
The Pilot, who appears under disguise, is John Paul Jones, a celebrated American naval officer during the Revolution. The Devil's Grip, is a dangerous reef in the English Channel.
BY HENRY VAN DYKE.
Do you remember, father, —
It seems so long ago,
Along the Pocono ?
Beside the lumber mill,
That chanted “whip-poor-will."
The place was all deserted ;
The mill wheel hung at rest ; The lonely star of evening
Was quivering in the west ; The veil of night was falling ;
The winds were folded still ; And everywhere the trembling air
Reëchoed “ whip-poor-will.”
You seemed so long in coming,
I felt so much alone;
And life was all unknown;
And made my senses thrill With all the pain that haunts the strain
Of mournful “ whip-poor-will."
What did I know of trouble ?
An idle little lad,
I had not learned the lessons
That make men wise and sad.
And something seemed to fill
Resounded " whip-poor-will.”
'Twas but a shadowy sadness,
That lightly passed away ;
Of sorrow since that day.
Beside the silent mill,
And hear the whip-poor- vill.
But if you still remember,
In that fair land of light,
Along this edge of night,
And all our mortal ill,
Who hears the whip-poor-will. From “ The Builders and Other Poems,” by permission. Copy right, 1897, by Charles Scribner's Sons.
DEFINITIONS. Whip’-poor-will, an American bird seldom seen except in the twilight; so called from the peculiar notes which it utters in the evening. Põ'eo no, a creek in Pennsylvania. De şērt'ed, left alone. Hąunts, persists in staying with. Re şound'ed, sounded again. Shăd’owỹ, not having much substance. Twi'light, the time between sunset and darkness or between darkness and sunrise. Môr'tal, belonging to the present life.
A BALLOON ASCENSION.
By Willis GAYLORD CLARK.
My hour had now come and I entered the car. With a singular taste, the band struck up, at this moment, the melting air of “Sweet Home. It almost overcame me. A thousand associations of youth, friends, of all that I must leave, rushed upon my mind. But I had no leisure for sentiment. A buzz ran through the assemblage ; unnumbered hands were clapping, unnumbered hearts beating high ; and I was the cause. Every eye was upon me. There was pride in the thought.
“Let go ” was the word. The cheers redoubled, handkerchiefs waved from many a fair hand; bright faces beamed from every window and on every side. One dash with my knife, and I rose aloft, a habitant of air. How magnificent was the sight which now burst upon me! How sublime were my sensations ! I waved the flag of my country ; the cheers of the multitude from a thousand housetops reached me on the breeze; and a taste of the rarer atmosphere elevated my spirits into ecstasy.
The city, with a brilliant sunshine striking the spires and domes, now unfolded to view a sight incomparably beautiful. My gondola went easily upward, cleaving the depths of heaven like a vital thing. A diagram placed before you, on the table, could not permit you to trace more definitely than I now could the streets, the highways, basins, wharves, and squares of the town. The hum of the city arose to my ear, as from a vast beehive ; and I seemed the monarch bee, directing the swarm.
I heard the rattling of carriages, the hearty “yo-heaveohs!” of sailors from the docks that, begirt with spars,
hemmed the city round. I was a spectator of all, yet aloof and alone. Increasing stillness attended my way; and, at last, the murmurs of earth came to my ear like the vast vibrations of a bell. My car tilted and trembled, as I
A swift wind sometimes gave the balloon a rotary motion, which made me deathly sick for a moment; but strong emotion conquered all my physical ailings.
My brain ached with the intensity of my rapture. Human sounds had fainted from my ear. I was in the abyss of heaven and alone with my God. I could tell my direction by the sun on my left; and, as his rays played on the aerostat, it seemed only a bright bubble wavering in the sky, and I, a suspended mote, hung by chance to its train. Looking below me, the distant Sound and Long Island appeared to the east; the bay lay to the south, sprinkled with shipping ; under me, the city girded with bright rivers and sparry forests.
The free wind was on my cheek and in my locks; afar, the ocean rolled its long, blue waves, checkered with masses of shadow and gushes of ruby sunlight; to the north and west, the interminable land, variegated like a map, dotted with purple and green and silver, faded to
The atmosphere which I now breathed seemed to dilate my heart at every breath. I uttered some audible expressions. My voice was weaker than the faintest sound of a reed. There was no object near to make it reverberate or echo.
My barometer now denoted an immense height; and as I looked upward and around, the concave above seemed like a mighty waste of purple air, verging to blackness. Below, it was lighter ; but a long, lurid bar of cloud stretched along the west, temporarily excluding the sun.