and 3 or 4 feet deep. The sterns are remarkably high15 or 18 feet above the water.

The war canoes are also large and compactly built; the stern being low and covered, so as to afford shelter from stones and darts. A rude imitation of a head or some grotesque figure is usually carved on the stern while the stem is elevated, curved like the neck of a swan, and terminates frequently in the carved figure of a bird's head. These canoes are capable of holding fifty warriors. Captain Cook describes some as being 108 feet long. All of them, -whether single or double, mercantile or war canoes-are propelled by paddles, the men sitting with their faces in the direction in which they are going.

As may be supposed, these canoes are often upset in rough weather, but as the South Sea islanders are expert swimmers, they generally manage to right their canoes and scramble into them again. Their only fear on such occasions is being attacked by sharks. Ellis, in his fascinating book called "Polynesian Researches," relates an instance of this kind of attack which was made upon a number of chiefs and people-about thirty-two-who were passing from one island to another in a large double canoe: "They were overtaken by a tempest, the violence of which tore their canoes from the horizontal spars by which they were united. It was in vain for them to endeavour to place them upright or empty out the water, for they could not prevent their incessant overturning. As their only resource they collected the scattered spars and boards, and constructed a raft, on which they hoped they might drift to land. The weight of the whole number who were collected on the raft was so great as to sink it so far below the surface, that they stood above their knees in water. They

made very little progress, and soon became exhausted by fatigue and hunger. In this condition they were attacked by a number of sharks. Destitute of a knife or any other weapon of defence, they fell an easy prey to these rapacious monsters. One after another was seized and devoured, or carried away by them, and the survivors, who, with dreadful anguish beheld their companions thus destroyed, saw the number of their assailants apparently increasing, as each body was carried away, until only two or three remained.

"The raft, thus lightened of its load, rose to the surface of the water and placed them beyond the reach of the voracious jaws of their relentless destroyers. The tide and current soon carried them to the shore, where they landed to tell the melancholy fate of their fellow-voyagers."

The South Sea islanders, of whose canoes we have been writing, are some of them at least the fiercest savages on the face of the earth. They wear little or no clothing, and practise cannibalism, that is, man eating, from choice. They actually prefer human flesh to any other.

are informed on most unquestionable authority.

Of this we

Doubtless the canoes which we have just described are much the same now as they were a thousand years ago; so that, by visiting those parts of the earth where the natives are still savage, we may, as it were, leap backward into ancient times, and behold with our own eyes the state of marine architecture as it existed when our own forefathers were savages, and paddled about the Thames and the Clyde on logs, and rafts, and wicker-work canoes.

So goes the song, and thousands in all ages act as if that song were their creed. And yet how varied are the feelings with which men regard the sea! Our own early reminiseences of it are tinged with horror. Even to this day do we remember the cold clammy feel and the salt fishy smell of the flannel garment in which our trembling infant form was wrapt, preparatory to being carried to the sea beach and bathed! Oh, it was a hateful operation! Who can describe the gushing horror of the moment when the flannel garment was removed and our panting body was exposed to the fresh cold air. But worse, ten thousand fold,

the moment when our frantic yells were stifled in a bubbling gasp beneath the brine ! Ah, mothers, nurses, we doubt the tenderness of your hearts, when we behold your ruthless conduct to the sprawling, squalling, helpless little ones, who are partially drowned by you, daily, in the summer of the year! We are inclined to think that many a gallant sailor is nipped in the bud thus. Were we in power we would add a clause to Martin's Act, and constitute bathing babies against their will cruelty to animals.

Fortunately, the natural love of many for the great sea cannot be cooled even by the strong measures above referred to. Babies get used to bathing as eels do (it is said!) to being skinned, and when they become little boys, their delight in wading in the sea and tumbling on the shore is inexpressible as it is unquenchable.

Do you see yonder urchin with the flowing yellow hair, and the short frock, and the fat legs, and the little pair of shoes and socks, scampering over the sands? That fellow adores the sea; moreover, he revels in it, mentally and physically. Down he flies to its margin where the wavelets fall with a little hiss-s-s upon the sand, and in goes one foot, right over the shoe! He didn't intend that. Nurse, no doubt, told him he should be whipped if he wet his feet, and he had half promised to be very careful, but he ran down so fast that when he came to the edge of the water he could not pull up, and so the thing is done and can't be helped. What process of reasoning goes on in the brain of that child we cannot tell; perhaps he thinks that having wet one foot, common justice to the other requires that it should be wet too; at any rate, in it goes and away he scampers knee-deep, dashing up the water and yelling with delight. He'll catch it, he knows, on returning home,

-no matter, he is happy now. Presently he turns his face sea-ward and becomes grave. The little wretch is “outward bound!" The water is up to his knees now, and it is rather cold,—no matter, he loves it, and that keeps him warm. Deeper still, and the edge of his frock is wet, —no matter, he gathers his garments in a bundle under his armpits. Hah! he gave a gasp there, for the water swelled up to his waist and sent his heart into his mouth. Presently he turns in considerable trepidation to regain the shore; but the bed of the ocean is proverbially unequal; he staggers into a hole, up to the armpits-the frock is let go—a wild scramble, and he is down, over head and ears. Next instant he is up; the hole is but a small one, and he recovers his footing-but oh, reader, such a pair of eyes! Saucers? no, that's not the idea, if you mean white saucers with a large round black spot in the centre of each, you are not far wrong in your conception.

He goes home in a subdued condition, and probably he does “catch it,” but his love for the sea is not abated one jot. His passion for little boats and dockyards, for ropes and spars, and blocks and tar, goes on increasing with his growth, and, ten to one, you will see him some day in a blue jacket, white ducks, and a straw hat.

Most people love the sea; some delight in its foamspecked margin, where its waters kiss the land—others rejoice in its far-off solitudes, where its great billows heave, even in the deepest calm, or rage in the wildest storms. And well is it worthy of our admiration, for here the power, and majesty, and terrors of God are seen more forcibly and frequently than on the land. Here, too, his tender care of the smallest and apparently most insignificant of his creatures is exhibited in a wonderful degree.