Above the attractive placard to which I have alluded, in the form of a hanging sign projecting over the sidewalk, was a most stirring nautical piece, illustrating one of those agreeable little episodes which diversify the life of the whaleman. The principal figure in the foreground of this masterpiece of art was a huge sea monster, intended, doubtless, to represent something "very like a whale," but which, in truth, bore rather more resemblance to a magnified codfish with a specific gravity something less than that of a cork, as he floated _on_ the water instead of _in_ it. Fragments of a devoted whaleboat, which had been nearly pulverized by a blow of his tail, filled the air, and rained back in showers upon the unfortunate leviathan, at the imminent hazard, as it seemed, of inflicting serious splinter wounds, while several sailors, apparently dressed for the occasion in span new blue and red shirts, cut pirouettes among the wreck at various altitudes between sky and water, and made spread eagles of themselves for the special diversion of a gaping public. From the head of the sea monster was ejected a stream of blood, which rose in a solid column to a height but little exceeding that of the topmasts of the ship, which appeared standing under all sail, in fearful proximity to the fast boats, and having no apparent intention of starting tack or sheet to avoid a collision. Hogarth's famous "Perspective" was quite eclipsed by this effort. I stood, for a time, regarding this picture in silent admiration, and especially commiserating the situation of one luckless mariner, for whom the fate of Jonah seemed inevitable, as he appeared suspended in mid-air, directly over the jaws of the whale, which were widely distended in his agony. "Now," said I to myself, "why wouldn't this be the sort of cruise for me? A long voyage, full of adventure and excitement. The very thing. I'll stop in here, and get some information about this business." Following the direction of a hand painted on a tin sign, the finger of which, as well as the inscription, indicated that Ramsay's shipping office was "up stairs," I entered a room where a middle-aged gentleman, with a florid countenance, evidently the great Ramsay himself, was seated at a desk fenced in by a railing, while a shabby clerk, who looked as if he had been kept up all night, hovered, like a familiar spirit, near his elbow. Two youths, fresh from the country like myself, were negotiating for enlistment with the elder gentleman, who was all smiles and affability, and who, at my entrance, elevated his eyebrows, and said something, _sotto voce_, to the sleepy clerk, whereat the latter smiled knowingly, and then, seeming fatigued by the exertion, relapsed into his former apathy.