with less violence above them, and the gale had spent its utmost fury.

In the first certainty of safety, no one thought of the losses and inconveniences that they had suffered. Yet, by the time the sea began to subside, captain, crew and passengers seemed to forget the awful danger, in fretting about losses, trifling in themselves, at least in comparison to their escape. Not a trace of fresh provisions now could be found, more than half the water and meat casks had disappeared in company with the mast. The "doctor," as the cook was called by the sailors, mourned vainly over absenting pots, pans and coppers, that had gone to cook, this "food for fishes," and the cabin table vented their disgust to half-raw ham, and coffee, which had more the flavor of beef tea,-on his devoted head. The sunshine of mate and captain vanished with the serene sky, as the rigging of the jury-mast was retarded, and the sailors exercised their ancient privilege of grumbling on every thing that "turned up," or "didn't turn up," as the case might be. Five, ten, fifteen disconsolate days above and below, until from the change in the vessel's course, and a

momentary condescension on the captain's part, it was discovered that the Swiftsure was nearing Rio, to refit and take in fresh provisions.

Perhaps no one but the very youngest among them remembered with more than a passing thought how near they had been to the end of life. The danger, though he had not known it until it was over, had been a sermon which Sam could not but listen to, and he wondered at first with child-like undoubting belief in a future life, how they could all seem so indifferent to it. Then the recollection became less vivid, as the sea and sky returned to their calm beauty, and were absorbed, except in some just waking or sleeping moment, in the eager anticipation of land; and above all, first setting foot in a foreign country.

Nothing could be more welcome, or more beautiful, than the first distant, then gradually deepening view of Rio and the country around it. "Land ho," had a magical sound, that brought every passenger to crowd the deck. For the last week the discomforts of the ship had become almost intolerable. Head winds, increasing heat, salt provisions adding to the cra

vings of thirst, that could only make the thick slimy water doled out to them endurable, were included in the list of grievances. The "Swiftsure," was declared to belie her name entirely. The owners were rated and blamed from morning till night for crowding freight and passengers into a vessel scarcely sea-worthy, as they now suddenly discovered. Sam usually kept out of the way of his old comrades, the sailors, unless especially invited to join them, and they in turn crossed the Captain's path as seldom as possible. Now every thing was changed, even the wind. The men moved with alacrity, the passengers clustered sociably together, talking of tropical fruits and wines, and were even heard to mention springwater complacently.

It was the realization of some of his many dreams of enchantment to Sam, as the shore became more defined. The rocks and foliage of New Hampshire, for his home had been in one of its least fertile parts, gave him very little idea of the luxuriance of tropical countries, or the vivid beauty of color of the earth, and sea and sky, in the glowing sunset which welcomed them. It was so strange, after the isolation of the voy

age, to see other ships passing, even steamboats, trailing their lines of smoke and vapor in the distance. The sharp summits of the Sugar Loaf, and the other mountains that gird this fine harbor, were touched by the very clouds.

The city, picturesque and novel, in the first distant view, grew stranger still as they came nearer and nearer, and cast anchor at last in the far-famed harbor of Rio Janeiro.

CHAPTER VII.

THE FIRST LETTER.

"WHERE do you suppose they are now,mother ?" Hannah Gilman kept her finger on the map, as she looked up to ask the question. She was tracing out for the twentieth time, the track of the vessel, by the aid of an Olney's Atlas.

"Let me see," answered the mother musingly, waxing the linen thread more slowly, as she dwelt on the thought of her absent ones. It was almost the only pleasure Mrs. Gilman allowed herself, a stolen respite from her neverending daily labor. "What day of the month is it, Abby?"

"Twenty-ninth-Hannah, you won't get your hat done-Mother, just see Hannah's short straws scattered all 'round."

"Perhaps it would be just as well if you would attend to your own work, Abby,—how of