Shall it be written that this day is the finest of all? It is even so, and I pray the reader to bear with me, and to remember that if he were in my place he would no doubt give expression to the same thought. If the entire voyage, except that part lying in the Pacific between the southern tropic and the equator, were composed of gales and snow-storms, it seems as though these winds would atone for any amount of previous distress and inconvenience. It seems wonderful that the atmosphere can possess simultaneously such exhilaration and such a smooth, luscious balminess. Oh, superb, glorious southeast Trades, thy equal is not in the world! THE TRADE-WIND’S SONG. Oh, I am the wind that the seamen love, I am steady and strong and true; They follow my track by the clouds above O’er the fathomless, tropic blue. For close by the shores of the sunny Azores Their ships I await to convoy; When into their sails my constant breath pours, They hail me with turbulent joy. I bring them a rest from tiresome toil, Of trimming the sail to the blast; For I love to keep gear all snug in the coil, And the sheets and the braces all fast. From the deck to the truck I pour all my force, In spanker and jib I am strong; For I make every course to pull like a horse. And worry the great ship along. As I fly o’er the blue I sing to the crew Who answer me back with a hail; I whistle a note as I slip by the throat Of the buoyant and bellying sail. I laugh when the wave leaps over the head, And the jibs through the spray-bow shine; For an acre of foam is broken and spread When she shoulders and tosses the brine. Through daylight and dark I follow the bark, I keep like a hound on her trail; I’m strongest at noon, yet under the moon I stiffen the bunt of her sail. The wide ocean through for days I pursue, Till slowly my forces all wane; Then in whispers of calm I bid them adieu, And vanish in thunder and rain. Oh, I am the wind that the seamen love, I am steady and strong and true; They follow my track by the clouds above O’er the fathomless, tropic blue. Thus has Thomas Fleming Day delightfully written of the flowing Trades.