Oh hail, diphtherial mildness, hail, and rain, and snow--and blossom! Perhaps the spring has really come, and may be playing possum! Wood writes rhymeless sea-stories with the grace of a Clark Russell. He turns to prose-verse only when the subject particularly suits it, as for instance in the story upon which Mr. Clarke, the night city editor, wrote the classic head--“Snygless the Seas Are--Wiig Rides the Waves No More--Back Come Banana Men--Skaal to the Vikings!” This is the text: While off the Honduranean coast, not far from Ruatan, the famous little fruiter Snyg on dirty weather ran. Her skipper, Wiig, was at the helm, the boatswain hove the lead; the air was thick; you could not see a half-ship’s length ahead. The mate said: “Reefs of Ruatan, I think, are off our bow.” The skipper answered: “You are right; they’re inside of us now.” The water filled the engine-room and put the fires out, and quickly o’er the weather rail the seas began to spout. When dawn appeared there also came three blacks from off the isle. They deftly managed their canoe, each wearing but a smile; but, clever as they were, their boat was smashed against the Snyg, and they were promptly hauled aboard by gallant Captain Wiig. “We had thirteen aboard this ship,” the fearful cook remarked. “I think we stand a chance for life, since three coons have embarked. Now let our good retriever, Nig, a life-line take ashore, and all hands of the steamship Snyg may see New York once more.” But Nig refused to leave the ship, and so the fearless crew the life-boat launched, but breakers stove the stout craft through and through. Said Captain Wiig: “Though foiled by Nig, our jig’s not up, I vow; I’ve still my gig, and I don’t care a fig--I’ll make the beach somehow!” And Mate Charles Christian of the Snyg (who got here yesterday) helped launch the stanch gig of the Snyg so the crew could get away. The gig was anchored far inshore; with raft and trolley-line all hands on the Snyg, including Nig, were hauled safe o’er the brine. Although the Snyg, of schooner rig, will ply the waves no more, let us hope that Wiig gets another Snyg for the sake of the bards ashore. The _Sun’s_ handling of the news of the brief war with Spain, in 1898, has an interest beyond the mere brilliance of its men’s work and the fact that this was the last war in which the newspaper correspondents had practically a free hand.