“When I awoke, I knew, if it were only by the dull glimmer of the cabin-lamp, and the capers the rats were cutting along the deck, that it must be near the hour when Captain Catherton had settled to call me himself. Looking across the cabin to his berth I saw that it was empty, and feeling sure that he was on deck, I again closed my eyes against the light. However, the mood was past for the time, and between the smell of the oil, the rats and the roaches, and the captain, as I supposed, walking the deck over my head, I found it useless to close an eyelid. So, gentlemen, I lay wide awake listening to the tramp above, as of some one in a spell of deep thought, and watching the pranks of the long-tailed gentry as they manœuvred around the stands of arms on the bulkhead, or marched in squads under the berths; the boldest of them climbing up repeatedly into the foot of mine, and plumping down again when I stirred, as if they were bent upon rousing me out for some end of their own, which, as I afterward discovered, was for free admission into a cabinet of marine curiosities, which the mate, who was dead and gone, had been collecting for some scientific gentlemen of the Granite state. Where the rats came from should have been submitted to these same savants, when, as I heard afterward, they boarded every ship which come into Bedford Bay for months after the Tartar was expected home, inquiring after their curiosity-box, then lying snugly enough at the bottom of the cove of Muscat. [_Conclusion in our next._ ----- [4] Scimetars. [5] Went down. [6] Separated. [7] This was only used early in the cruise. [8] The crew of a whaleman are all on shares, or _lays_, according to their stations in the ship. [9] Governor. * * * * * CARRIE. BY LILIAN MAY. “She hath laid her down by the crystal river, To bathe in its waters of life forever.” We have lain the bud of our promise down To rest in the darksome mold, For the light within had flickered and flown, And the pure warm heart was cold. Now the crisping snow lies above her head, And low is the wind’s chill moan, That ruffles the sheet on her narrow bed, But the spirit afar hath flown. The glorious dawn of immortal life Gilds the hope of our joy above, And the heavy grief of this bitter strife Is sunk in the light of His love. With a golden harp in her little hand, An emerald crown on her brow, She walketh the halls of the better land, And hymneth a sweet strain now. * * * * * NELLY NOWLAN TO HER AUNT AFTER HER VISIT TO A LONDON CHURCH. BY MRS. B. C. HALL.