He was de firzt man dat zailed in a zloop all de way from Albany to New York."

"We can't have higher authority. Come, captain,-I see your pipe is just filled,-tell us the story, and then I will go to sleep."

The worthy skipper said he was no great hand at telling a story, but he would try, if they would promise not to hurry him, and accordingly began:

"Onze tere was an olt woman-Tuyvel! dare zhe is again!" exclaimed Baltus, as a long quaver echoed from the shore.

"Well, well, never mind her: go on." "Onze tere was an olt womanHere another quaver, apparently from the mast-head, stopped Baltus. again, and made Catalina start.

"Tuyvel!" cried Baltus; "put if I ton't pelieve zhe is goming apoard of us!"

"Well, never mind," said the colonel again: "she wants to hear whether you do her full justice, I suppose. Go on, captain."

"Onze tere was an olt woman," he began, almost in a whisper; when he was again interrupted by the black pilot, who came aft with the light and asked Baltus whether it would not be better to haul down the sails, as he saw some appearance of wind towards the northeast, where the clouds had now obscured the moon entirely. "Ton't pe in zuch a hurry, Brom," quoth the skipper; "dime enough when de wind gomes."

"Onze tere was an olt woman- -" At that moment Brom's light was suddenly extinguished, and Baltus received a blow in the face that laid him sprawling on the quarter-deck, at the same instant that a tremendous scream broke forth from some invisible being that seemed close at their ears. Baltus roared manfully, and Catalina was not

a little frightened at these incomprehensible manœuvres of the old woman. The colonel, however, insisted that he should go on,-bidding him get up and tell his story. "Onze tere was an olt woman- But the legend of honest Baltus, like Corporal Trim's story of "a certain king of Bohemia," seemed destined never to get beyond the first sentence. He was again interrupted by a strange, mysterious scratching and fluttering, accompanied by a mighty cackling and confusion, in the chicken-coop, which the provident captain had stored with poultry for the benefit of the colonel and his daughter.

"Tuyvel! what's dat?" cried Captain Baltus, in great consternation.

"Oh, it's only the old woman robbing your hen-roost," replied the colonel.

"Den I must loog to it," said Baltus, and, mustering the courage of desperation, went to see what was the matter. In a few moments he returned, bringing with him a large owl, which had, from some freak or other, or perhaps attracted by the charms of Baltus's poultry, first lighted on the mast, and then, either seduced or confused by Brom's light, darted from thence into the capacious platter-face of the worthy skipper, as before stated.

"Here is de tuyvel!" exclaimed Baltus.

"And the old woman," said the colonel, laughing. "But come, captain, I am more anxious than ever to hear the rest of the story."

A hollow murmur

"Onze tere was an olt womanamong the mountains again suddenly interrupted him. "There is the old woman again," said the colonel. ""Tis de olt Tuyvel!" said Baltus, starting up and calling all hands to let go the halyards. But, before this could be accomplished, one of those sudden squalls so common in the highlands in autumn struck the vessel and threw her

almost on her beam ends. The violence of the motion carried Colonel Vancour and Catalina with it, and had they not been arrested by the railings of the quarter-deck they must inevitably have gone overboard. The Watervliet was, however, an honest Dutch vessel, of a most convenient breadth of beam, and it was no easy matter to capsize her entirely. For a minute or two she lay quivering and struggling with the fury of the squall that roared among the mountains and whistled through the shrouds, until, acquiring a little headway, she slowly luffed up in the wind, righted, and flapped her sails in defiance. The next minute all was calm again. The cloud passed over, the moon shone bright, and the waters slept as if they had never been disturbed. Whereupon Captain Baltus, like a prudent skipper as he was, ordered all sail to be lowered, and the anchor to be let go, sagely observing that it was "high time to look out for squalls."

"Such an accident at sea would have been rather serious," observed the colonel.

"I ton't know what you dink, golonel," said Baltus, "put, in my obinion, id ton't make much odts wedder a man is trownet in te zea or in a river." The colonel could not well gainsay this, and soon after retired with his daughter to the cabin.

Bright and early the next morning, Captain Baltus, having looked round in every direction, east, west, north, and south, to see if there were any squalls brewing, and perceiving not a cloud in the sky, cautiously ordered half the jib and main-sail to be hoisted, to catch the little land-breeze that just rippled the surface of the river. In a few hours they emerged from the pass at the foot of the great Donderberg, and slowly opened upon that beautiful amphitheatre into which Nature has thrown all her treasures and all her beauties. Nothing material occurred

during the rest of the passage. True it is that Skipper Baltus ran the good sloop Watervliet two or three times upon the oyster-banks of the since renowned Tappan Bay; but this was so common a circumstance that it scarcely deserved commemoration, nor would I have recorded it here but for the apprehension that its omission might at a future period, peradventure, seduce some industrious scribe to write an entirely new history of these adventures, solely to rescue such an important matter from oblivion. Suffice it to say that at the expiration of ten days from the commencement of the voyage the good sloop Watervliet arrived safe at Coenties Slip, where all the Albany sloops congregated at that time. This extraordinary passage was much talked of in both cities, and finally found its way into "The Weekly News-Letter," then the only paper published in the whole New World, as may be seen by a copy now, or lately, in the possession of the worthy Mr. Dustan, of the Narrows. It is further recorded that some of the vessels which passed the Watervliet as she lay aground on the Overslaugh did not arrive until nearly a fortnight after her; owing, as Captain Baltus observed, "to deir peing in zuch a hurry." After so famous an exploit the Watervliet had always a full freight, and as many passengers as she could accommodate; so that in good time this adventurous navigator gave up following the water, and built himself a fine brick house, with the gable end to the street, and the edges of the roof projecting like the teeth of a saw, where he sat on his stoop and smoked his pipe, time out of mind.

A TIGER-HUNT IN INDIA.

W. T. HORNADAY.

[The author of the Half-Hour reading here given, William T. Hornaday, a "mighty hunter" of the modern era, did not dare the perils of the tropic wilderness and face the wild beast in its lair from the ordinary motives of sport. His purpose was a mercantile one, that of collecting skins and skeletons for Ward's Natural History Museum. It would have been difficult to select an abler or more enthusiastic agent for this purpose, and in every chapter of Mr. Hornaday's work, "Two Years in the Jungle," the true spirit of the daring hunter shows itself. We select a description of tiger-hunting in general, with a spirited relation of the. author's first victory over "the monarch of the jungle."]

ACCORDING to their habits in procuring their food, tigers are divided by the people of India into three classes.

The least harmful is the "game-killer," who lives in the hills and dense forests where wild game is abundant, and leads the life of a bold, honest hunter. He feeds chiefly upon deer and wild hog, and so long as he remains a gamekiller he is a real blessing to the poor ryots, who have hard work to protect their crops from the droves of deer and wild hog which sally forth from the jungle at nightfall to depredate upon them. But the trouble is, there is no knowing when this striped sportsman will take it into his head to try his teeth and claws on cattle or men; in fact, he is not to be trusted for a moment.

The "cattle-lifter" is a big, fat, lazy thief, too indolent to pull down fleet-footed wild animals, who prowls around the villages after nightfall, or the edge of the jungle where the cattle are herded, and kills a bullock every four or five days. The annual loss to the cattle-owners whose herds are thus preyed upon by the cattle-lifter is very