Meanwhile, having refreshed our horses, and partaken of the hospitality of our worthy host, we once more took the field for vengeance on the gorged and lazy foe. As the wings of these birds have a sweep of seventeen feet, they are not readily unfurled, so that when the Condor has alighted on the plain, he is only enabled to rise by running over a space of fifteen or twenty rods, and gradually gathering wind to lift himself on high. While in the midst of their ravenous feast, a few of the hunters warily approached and closed the opening; and thus, unable to soar aloft from a spot so confined and crowded, the Condors were captive. But a Chilian scorns thus to slay a foe. Armed with a lasso, each of the natives sits upon his horse, eagerly awaiting the turning loose of half a dozen birds from the inclosure. They are out—and away scamper the Condor, fleet as the winds of heaven—and away, in rapid pursuit, wheels the mounted Chilian, swinging around his head the noose of the unerring lasso, which, falling upon the neck of the bird, makes him captive. The line is played out, and away sweeps the powerful bird, and away the practiced horseman after him. Springing upward, the Condor now unfolds his wings and flutters in such width of circle as the rope will permit—and now shoots perpendicularly upward—and now falls headlong, and is trailed exhausted on the ground. The lengthened shadows of evening had fallen along the plain before the sport was up, and the last Condor was captured. We returned to our ship, well pleased with the entertainment, and swinging into our hammocks sunk into deep slumber, for which the exercise of the day had prepared us—but our sleep was not too sound for refreshing visitations from friends far away, “O’er the glad waters of the dark blue sea.” ----- [2] From Naval Life, published by Chas. Scribner, N. Y. * * * * * BEAUTIE. BY MRS. E. J. EAMES. Thou wert a worship in the ages olden, Thou bright-veiled image of divinity; Crowned with such gleams, imperial and golden, As Phidias gave to Immortality! A type exquisite of the pure Ideal, Forth shadowed in perfect loveliness— Embodied and existent in the Real, A peerless shape to kneel before, and bless! With the world’s childhood didst thou spring to being! A thing of light!—a _felt_ divinity! A stainless spirit, born of Love undying, Nurst in that Eden of an earlier day. Thence wandering on the morn of thy _awakening_, Like a Dream-vision through the world didst go, Filling its darkness with bright things, and making The wild waste blossom, and the desert glow.