SAILORS' SONGS.

The songs of the sea offer a field for research, and one who could trace the origin and use of some of them would doubtless discover interesting, romantic histories. No information can be obtained from sailors themselves on this point. No one knows who their favorite "Reuben Ranzo" was, or whether "Johnny Boker" ever did what he is so often requested to "do," nor can any one say more concerning the virtues and vices of "Sally Brown" than is declared in song.

Sailors' songs may be divided into two classes. First, are the sentimental songs sung in the forecastle, or on the deck in the leisure hours of the dog-watch, when the crew assemble around the fore-hatch to indulge in yarns and music. Dibdin's songs, which the orthodox sailor of the last half century was supposed to adhere to as closely as the Scotch Presbyterian to his Psalter, are falling into disuse, and the negro melodies and the popular shore songs of the day are now most frequently heard. The second class of songs is used at work, and they form so interesting a feature of life at sea, that a sketch of that life would be incomplete without some allusion to them. These working songs may be divided into three sets:

First, those used where a few strong pulls are needed, as in boarding a tack, hauling aft a sheet, or tautening a weather-brace. "Haul the Bowline," is a favorite for this purpose. The shantyman, as the solo singer is called, standing up "beforehand," as high above the rest of the crew as he can reach, sings with as many quirks, variations and quavers as his ingenuity and ability can attempt, "Haul the bow-line, Kitty is my darling;" then all hands join in the chorus, "Haul the bow-line, the bow-line haul," shouting the last word with great energy and suiting action to it by a combined pull, which must once be witnessed by one who desires an exemplification of "a long pull, a strong pull, and a pull altogether." This seldom fails to make the ropes "come home."

HAUL THE BOW-LINE.

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Haul the bow-line, Kit-ty is my dar-ling;

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Chorus. Haul the bow-line, the bow-line haul.

Then the song is repeated with a slight change in words, "Haul the bow-line, the clipper ship's a rolling," &c., and next time perhaps, "Haul the bow-line, our bully mate is growling."

Great latitude is allowed in the words and the shantyman exercises his own discretion. If he be a man of little comprehension or versatility, he will say the same words over and over, but if he possesses some wit, he will insert a phrase alluding to some peculiarity of the ship, or event of the time, which will cause mouths to open wider and eyes to roll gleefully, while a lively pull follows that rouses the sheet home and elicits the mate's order "Belay!" A good shantyman is highly prized, both by officers and crew. His leadership saves many a dry pull, and his vocal effort is believed to secure so much physical force, that he is sometimes allowed to spare his own exertions and reserve all his energies for the inspiriting shanty.

Another common song is:—

HAUL AWAY, JOE.

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Way, haul away; O, haul away, my Ro-sey.

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Chorus. Way, haul a-way; O, haul a-way, Joe.

And another:—

JOHNNY BOKER.

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Oh do, my Johnny Boker, Come rock and roll me o-ver,

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Chorus. Do, my Johnny Bo-ker, do.

In both of these, the emphasis and the pull come at the last word of the chorus: "Joe" and "do," as they end the strain, put a severe strain on the rope.

In the second set of working songs, I would place those that are used in long hoists, or where so large a number of pulls is required that more frequent exertion must be used, than is called for by the first set, lest too much time be occupied. The topsail halyards call most frequently for these songs. One of the most universal, and to my ear the most musical of the songs, is "Reuben Ranzo." A good shantyman, who with fitting pathos recounts the sorrows of "poor Reuben" never fails to send the topsail to the mast-head at quick notice, nor to create a passing interest in the listener to the touching melody:—

REUBEN RANZO.

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Oh, poor Reuben Ranzo,

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Chorus. Ranzo, boys, Ranzo! Oh, poor Reuben Ran-zo, Ranzo, boys, Ranzo!

Oh, Reuben was no sailor,
Chorus, and repeat with chorus.
He shipped on board of a whaler,
Chorus, &c.
He could not do his duty,
Chorus, &c.
The captain was a bad man,
Chorus, &c.
He put him in the rigging,
Chorus, &c.
He gave him six and thirty,
Chorus, &c.
Oh, poor Reuben Ranzo.
Chorus, &c.

In this song the pulls are given at the first word "Ranzo" in the chorus, sometimes at its next occurrence in addition.

Of all the heroines of deck song Sally Brown's name is most frequently uttered, and a lively pull always attends it. She figures in several of these songs; one has as its chorus "Shantyman and Sally Brown." But it is used more frequently, I think, in connection with the song:—

BLOW, MY BULLY BOYS, BLOW.

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Oh, Sal-ly Brown's a bright mu-lat-to;

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Chorus. Blow, boys, blow! Oh, she drinks rum

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and chews to-bac-co, Chorus. Blow, my bully boys, blow!

Oh, Sally Brown's a Creole lady,
Chorus, and repeat with chorus.
Oh, Sally Brown, I long to see you,
Chorus, &c.
Oh, Sally Brown, I'll ne'er deceive you.
Chorus, &c.

It will be noticed that neither rhyme nor sentiment has much place in these songs. Each line is usually repeated twice, even if there be a rhyme impending, for the shantyman's stock must be carefully husbanded.

A favorite and frequently used song, in which Bonaparte's fortunes are portrayed in a manner startling to the historian, as well as to those who may have the fortune to hear it sung at any time, is:—

JOHN FRANCOIS.[2]

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Oh, Bo-ney was a war-rior, A-way, hey way!

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Oh, Bo-ney was a war-rior, John Fran-cois.

Oh, Boney went to Roo-shy,
Chorus.
Oh, Boney went to Proo-shy,
Chorus.
He crossed the Rocky Mountains,
Chorus.
He made a mistake at Waterloo,
Chorus.
He died at Saint Helena.
Chorus.

Where Tommy actually proceeded to when he went "a high low" nobody knows, but the fact is related with continual gusto nevertheless:—

TOMMY'S GONE, A HIGH LOW.

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My Tom-my's gone and I'll go, too;

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Chorus. Hur-rah, you high low. For with-out Tom-my I can't do.

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Chorus. My Tommy's gone a high low.

My Tommy's gone on the Eastern Shore,
Chorus.
My Tommy's gone to Baltimore,
Chorus.

A person who knows a little of geography can send Tommy around the world according to his own discretion.

One of the best illustrations of the absolute nothingness that characterizes the words of these songs, is given by the utterances attending the melody called "Shanadore," which probably means Shenandoah, a river in Virginia. I often have heard such confusing statements as the following:—

SHANADORE.

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Sha-na-dore's a roll-ing riv-er,

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Chorus. Hur-rah, you roll-ing riv-er.

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Oh, Sha-na-dore's a roll-ing riv-er,

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Chorus. Ah hah, I'm bound a-way o'er the wild Mis-sou-ri.

Shanadore's a packet sailor,
Chorus.
Shanadore's a bright mulatto,
Chorus.
Shanadore I long to hear you.
Chorus.

and so the song goes on, according to the ingenuity of the impromptu composer.

Sailors are not total abstainers as a rule, and one would suspect that a song like "Whiskey Johnny" might find frequent utterance:—

WHISKEY JOHNNY.

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Whis-key is the life of man,

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Chorus.Whis-key John-ny. We'll drink our whis-key when we can,

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Chorus.Whis-key for my John-ny.

I drink whiskey, and my wife drinks gin,
Chorus.
And the way she drinks it is a sin.
Chorus.
I and my wife cannot agree,
Chorus.
For she drinks whiskey in her tea.
Chorus.
I had a girl, her name was Lize,
Chorus.
And she put whiskey in her pies.
Chorus.
Whiskey's gone and I'll go too,
Chorus.
For without whiskey I can't do.
Chorus.

Another popular song is:—

KNOCK A MAN DOWN.

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I wish I was in Mo-bile Bay.

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Chorus.Way, hey, knock a man down. A-roll-ing cot-ton night and day.

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Chorus.This is the time to knock a man down.

The words already quoted will enable a person to sing this and nearly all the songs of this set. He can wish he was in every known port in the world, to whose name he can find a rhyme. If New Orleans was selected, he would add, "Where Jackson gave the British beans." At "Boston city," his desire would be, "a-walking with my lovely Kitty." At "New York town," he would be, "a-walking Broadway up and down," or at Liverpool he would finish his education, "a-going to a Yankee school."

The third set of working songs comprises those used at the pumps, capstan and windlass, where continuous force is applied, instead of the pulls at intervals, as when hauling on ropes. Many of the second set of songs are used on such occasions, but there are a few peculiar to this use and of such are the following:

RIO GRANDE.

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I'm bound a-way this ve-ry day.

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Chorus. Oh, you Ri-o!

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I'm bound a-way this ve-ry day, I'm bound for the Ri-o Grande.

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Chorus. And a-way you Ri-o!
Oh, you Ri-o, I'm bound a-way this ve-ry day,

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I'm bound for the Ri-o Grande.

PADDY, COME WORK ON THE RAILWAY

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In eigh-teen hun-dred and six-ty three,

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I came across the stormy sea. My dung'ree breech-es I put on

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Chorus. To work up-on the rail-way, the rail-way,

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To work up-on the rail-way.

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Oh, poor Pad-dy, come work on the rail-way.

Many other songs might be named, some of which, peculiar to the Liverpool packets, are of a rowdy nature.

One cannot but regret that a more rational set of words has not been introduced to this service of song. A sphere offers for some philanthropic poet to provide a more elevating style of composition. On the old theory, the ballad-maker may accomplish more reform than the law-giver.

In addition to these songs are the unnameable and unearthly howls and yells that characterize the true sailor, which are only acquired by years of sea service. There is the continuous running solo of "way-hey he, ho, ya," &c., &c., accompanying the hand-over-hand hoisting of jibs and staysails. Then for short "swigs" at the halyards, we have such utterances as "hey lee, ho lip, or yu," the emphasis and pull coming on the italicized syllables on which the voice is raised a tone. Then comes the more measured "singing out," for the long and regular pulls at the "braces." Each sailor has his own "howl" peculiar to himself, but fortunately only one performs at a time on the same rope. The effect, however, when all hands are on deck at a time, and a dozen ropes are pulled on at once, is most suggestive of Babel. One learns to recognize the sailors' method of singing: when lying in his berth in the cabin he can tell what man is leading and by the measure of his cadence can judge what class of ropes is being pulled. He thus can often divine the changes of wind and weather without going on deck. The wakeful captain with nerves harassed by contrary winds will recognize the hauling in of the weather braces by the cry, and with only this evidence of a fair wind will drop off into the slumber he so greatly needs. At other times he will be impelled to go on deck by the evidence that the outcries betoken the hauling of clew-lines and bunt-lines at the approach of a threatening squall. By attention to these and other sounds, and the motions of the vessel, an experienced mariner knows the condition of affairs above deck without personal inspection.

The songs of the sea, as I have said, invite attention and research, and I shall be glad if this brief sketch may incite another to more thorough investigation.

How do you get along with your sailors? is a question often asked, to which I will now endeavor to give a practical answer. The first captain that I went to sea with remarked to a gentleman in my hearing: "If it were not for sailors it would be only a pleasure to go to sea." Many a time have I heard this echoed since and perhaps have repeated it myself. No one has ever suggested how to do without sailors, so the most rational question is, How shall we manage them? The only approach to a quarrel on this passage was with "Little Hans," a diminutive Swede, who was very great in temper and irritability. He was ordered to do some work, but pleaded illness in excuse. Some passionate words ensued, as the mate doubted his sincerity, but in the end Little Hans made most ample apologies and confessed with tears what a bad temper he had.

There must be these frictions on shipboard. They occur in every vessel. They cannot be prevented entirely, and the only question is how to deal with them. Shall authority be maintained on the instant by the assertion of brute force, or shall the man by patient, judicious, but firm treatment be in time subdued. The latter is the course I advocate. It involves momentary mortification and great self-control, but gives more abiding peace and great self-satisfaction.

Who overcomes by force
Hath but half o'ercome his foe.

An officer once said to me, "There are only two ways to treat sailors; you must either bully them or coax them." Accepting this definition of my theorizings I would say:

"By all means, coax them!"

But our success in controlling the men was not due alone to the method of discipline adopted. In many ways they were made to feel that a friendly spirit existed towards them, and that a desire to benefit them ran through all the rules and customs of the ship. Some of the methods I have tried successfully are the following: Saturday afternoons were given up to the crew as a time for mending clothes and cleaning themselves, and on Sunday morning when called aft to attend religious services they had no excuse for not putting in a neat appearance. The effect of this was often noticeable in creating more cleanly habits, and I have repeatedly been complimented upon the unusually good looks of my sailors when on shore or attending services. Wednesday evenings a Bible Class was held, at which the men were encouraged to read aloud the passages in the Bible which they were directed to search out, illustrating the topic in hand. The valuable libraries furnished by the Seamen's Friend Society, with other reading matter, were placed at the disposal of the crew. Frequently on Saturday evenings lectures were given upon matters of interest to the sailor, as, The Winds, The Currents, The Stars, The Sea Serpent, &c. In the afternoons, when weather permitted, the young men of the crew in their watch below attended a navigation class, and took the first lessons in a science which many of them will practice when commanding vessels in time to come. I never found that such familiarity bred contempt, for all this intercourse was dignified. On the contrary it rather heightened their respect for the captain, as was evidenced by the remark of one after a lecture, "I tell you when a man sees what a head our old man's got, it makes him feel what a little pimple he's got on his own shoulders."

I have narrated methods of control which I have used with tolerable success, but I am well aware that government cannot be reduced to an exact science. With the help of the best systems some will fail to control those under them, and others from the simple character and energy of their natures, without extraneous aid, will command the respect and obedience of those subject to them.

While human nature is what it is there will exist a conflict between service and power. As the mind and heart are elevated and renewed these conflicts will decrease, but it is only to a higher and purer sphere, where sin will not exist and where all is perfect as God is perfect, that we can look for continued and entire harmony.

Lest my reader should be tempted to yawn at this rather prosy effusion, I append our artist's sketch of the result of such an indulgence on shipboard.

When near the latitude of Bermuda, one afternoon when it was nearly calm, we spied a schooner ahead drifting toward us. Visions of Nova Scotia potatoes excited our enthusiasm; the boat was got ready and when the vessels were near each other, the mate, passenger and two sailors went off to board her in search of news and supplies. The passenger had on a new cap of white duck made in naval style, and his imposing appearance perhaps accounted for the trepidation of the captain of the schooner, who stood on deck in his stockings trembling, as though he might be fearing the attack of a pirate. When the mate politely presented my compliments and asked for a few potatoes, his assurance returned and he was enthusiastic in his desires to serve us.

pic

The effects of a yawn.

The schooner was the "Jane" of Shelburne, Nova Scotia, ten days out for Barbadoes. The supplies obtained were salt-fish and a few potatoes. But the captain, in the kindness of his heart, sent me a jar of preserved wild strawberries gathered and prepared by his wife, which he repeatedly assured the mate were "real nice," and, as though he might not be believed, he turned to the man at the wheel and said, "Ai'n't they, John." They certainly proved deserving of his encomium. We got a little country newspaper, that gave a few items of news, and a "New York Ledger," which proved to be a year old.

She reported a heavy gale two days before, when we had been in calm weather.

Discussions of this event, the news obtained, and a salt-fish dinner enlivened a few days.

The last Saturday afternoon of the passage, the decks were washed down early and at four o'clock all hands were called aft. The captain took his stand at the capstan and the crew sitting on boards laid upon deck-buckets, listened attentively to a temperance lecture, and some warnings and instructions about the dangers of life on shore soon to be encountered. Several signed the pledge afterwards, "Old Brown" among them.

The first sign of our approach to land was the meeting with some fifty schooners mackerel fishing, south of Nantucket Shoals. As we came among them one put his helm up, and running down on us till his bowsprit seemed nearly to touch us, he sheered alongside and shouted, "Cap'n, do you want some fish?"

"Aye! aye!" I replied.

Then the air was filled with mackerel aimed at my head by a half-dozen men, and some of them came near the mark. Three schooners in succession paid us this compliment, and all hands had a good supper and breakfast of mackerel in consequence.

We generally expect a gale when coming on the coast and always promote our fears by recalling the old rhyme:

"If the Bermudas let you pass,
Oh then beware of Hatteras;
If safely you get by Cape May
You'll catch it sure in Boston Bay."

This time our fears were not realized.

We bent the chains and put the anchors in the shoes, and on a Friday evening were almost within range of the Highland Light when a dense fog set in and deferred our hope of seeing it. The wind was moderate from the southward and we rounded to every two hours for soundings, and then kept on the course. A man was stationed on the top-gallant forecastle with a fog horn, which he sounded vigorously, and now and then received similar responses from neighboring vessels. The blast of one horn continued to draw nearer until it seemed close by us, then we heard a dog barking and a hoarse voice sounded through the fog, "How are you steering?"

"No'th by west," said I.

"I'm heading east south east," said the stranger.

Then close alongside of us we saw a schooner.

"How does Cape Cod bear?" I asked.

"Nor' nor' west thirty miles," replied the skipper, as his craft vanished in the fog.

"Just agrees with the chronometer," said I to myself. "That's doing well."

"Pretty soon came another approaching blast of the horn, and in time came the same question, "How are you steering?" and a voice shouted, "Keep her to the no'th'ard and east'ard; I'm just going in stays."

"Hard a-port," I shouted to the man at the wheel, and just as the ship's head began to answer to the helm, a cry sounded from right under our bow, "Hard a-starboard, or you'll run into me." I sprang to the wheel and lent the man a hand to shift the helm over, and then we saw a large three-masted schooner with her jib-boom almost grazing our fore channels.

"All right, Cap'n, you'll go clear; I've got my jibs aback," shouted a cheery voice, and then he, too, drifted away into the darkness.

In the morning the fog lifted and the wind came out dead ahead. Two pilot boats came running down from the Cape Ann shore, and the leading one, being intent on securing both our vessel and a ship to leeward, dropped a pilot in a "canoe" while sailing ten knots an hour, and sped on to the other ship, thus successfully cutting out her rival. The pilot pulled alongside of us, and we took both himself and his boat on board. Many eager questions were asked, one of the first being, if the "F——" had arrived? We were told she had not, and we had the satisfaction of beating her eight days on the passage. All day we were beating up the Bay, and at 10 P.M. took a tow boat off Boston Light which soon brought us alongside Central Wharf, where we made fast early on a Sunday morning after ninety-three days passage from Padang. In the morning I stepped on to the wharf to take a survey from a new point of view of what had been my home for so many months. As I was standing near the stern I noticed some sailors belonging to the Revenue Cutter, sitting down with their backs toward me and their legs hanging over the edge of the wharf. They were discussing the looks of the vessel, and I heard one of them say, "I wouldn't want to go to sea in that bark. She must be a regular workhouse. Everything aboard of her is scraped bright from her trucks to her fenders. Just see how that royal-yard shines!"

I walked up to them and said: "Boys, does she look well?"

"Yes," answered the one that had just spoken; "a neater looking vessel than that never came into this harbor."

"Well," said I, "her crew haven't lost a watch below the whole voyage."

"Oh! that's a different thing then," said he; "if a man has watch and watch he's got no right to complain. Of course he expects to work in his watch on deck."

The next day the crew were paid off, all being sober except Murphy. I handed him his money and said, "Take good care of that and don't throw it away." Murphy was already well past a condition to take care of anything. He had indulged in one good spree the night before, and was now what would be called "ugly drunk." His thick black hair was tossed about in confusion over his head, and his dark eyes fairly snapped with passion. Holding his money in his clenched fist he brandished it aloft and said, "Cap'n, all that's going for rum," and off he went with a waiting land-shark, who no doubt sent him to sea within a week, penniless and ragged. But everybody else was sober, and on the whole the crew made a very creditable appearance, so much so that it excited remarks from many who saw them.

As I went on shore I met the shipping master, old Capt. Harding. "Your crew make a good show for themselves to-day," said he. "I never saw a more orderly set, or heard any crack their ship up quite so much. There was one man standing by me while I was talking to a gentleman, and hearing me say something about the bark he put in his handspike and said he, 'That's the best ship that sails out of this port. The captain of her is a gentleman and a sailor and a Christian. We obeyed him just out of the respect we had for him. There's nothing of the humbug about him. He doesn't go round the decks trying to scare up work just to haze men. The officers were good men, too. They've kept us at work pretty sharp, but we had watch and watch the whole time, south-east trades and all. She's in fine order and we did all the work up except to scrape the belaying pins. We had to let those go. I'm sorry we didn't have time to scrape them.'"

"After he went away the gentleman said, 'That sounds well, doesn't it? That's better than broken heads and curses and lawsuits.' I told him I thought I knew all the ins and outs of a sailor, but it was something new to me to hear one regret he 'didn't have time to scrape the belaying-pins.'"

The crew all went to the Sailors' Home, except Murphy, and behaved well. Old Brown was a well-known character in Boston, and I was told this was the first time he had ever kept sober in port. His friends were quite astonished at such good conduct. He went to San Francisco on his next voyage, and I heard afterwards that the mate of the ship had selected him as a good man to "bully," he being quiet and inoffensive. He beat him and drove him about the decks in a way that completely disheartened him, and on reaching port he took to drinking again and was "beastly drunk" all the time he was on shore.

In a few weeks the crew all scattered on different voyages, excepting four who waited to sail again with me in another ship. I remember them with affectionate interest and am sure they hold fast a pleasant recollection of the days

ON BOARD THE ROCKET.

THE END.

Judge Burnham's Daughters. By "Pansy" (Mrs. G.B. Alden.) Boston: D. Lothrop Co. Price $1.50. The multitude of readers of Mrs. Alden's stories will remember Ruth Erskine's Crosses, and will be glad to meet its principal character once more in her new character of wife and mother, ripened by experience and strengthened by trial. Her marriage will be remembered, and the radiant prospects of the future which attended it. Her husband was kindness itself, but he cared little for religious matters, and could not sympathize with what seemed to him the very ridiculous and puritanical ideas of his wife regarding many things. Still he always gave way to her. The great trouble of her new life, however, was the disposition evinced by her two step-daughters to resist her authority and cause her pain by their recklessness and disobedience. Her husband, Judge Burnham, was wealthy, and occupied a high social position. He was exceedingly proud of his family and sensitive as to his reputation. He was strongly opposed to Ruth's being actively connected with religious or temperance movements, and this fact sometimes brought them dangerously near serious misunderstanding. The pressure was constant, and made many unhappy hours for her, especially when questions of right and propriety arose between her and her step-daughters and an appeal was made to the father. Suddenly a blow fell upon the house. The younger daughter fled from home to marry a gambler and forger, and was disowned by her father and forbidden the house. A few months later the other daughter fell a victim to quick consumption, but in her later days turned to the mother whom she had disliked and disobeyed, and finally died in her arms. The story with its later incidents is a sad one, but its darkness is lighted by the surprise which awaits the reader at the close. It is written in Mrs. Alden's usual fascinating style, and like all her books, is transfixed with a purpose.

The Secrets at Roseladies. By Mary Hartwell Catherwood. Boston: D. Lothrop Company. Price $1.00. This charming story of the life on the Wabash, which originally appeared as a serial in Wide Awake, will be read by boys and girls with equal pleasure, for the action of the story is pretty well divided between the two. The boys will be immensely entertained with the adventures of the four young treasure-seekers, particularly with that which ends in their capture by the crazy half-breed Shawnee, who proposes to cut off their thumbs to bury in the excavation they have made in the burial mound. The girls' secret, which is of a very different character, is just as amusing in its way. Mrs. Catherwood has a wonderful fund of humor, and a talent for description which many a better-known author might envy. The character of old Mr. Roseladies is capitally drawn, and the account of his journey to the depot after Aunt Jane's trunk is really mirth-provoking. Cousin Sarah and "Sister" and little Nonie are all charming, and the reader will close the book with regret that there is not more of it.

Brownies and Bogles. By Louise Imogen Guiney. Ill. Boston: D. Lothrop Co. Price $1.00. This little volume might be fitly styled a fairy handbook, as in it the author describes every kind of the "little people" that is found in traditions or literature in all the countries of the world. There are the brownies and waterkelpies of Scotland, the troll and necken of Sweden, the German kobalds, the English fairies, pixies and elves, the Norwegian and Danish dwarfs and bjergfalls, the Irish leprechauns, and a score of others, some of whom are mischievous, some malicious, some house-helpers, and some who are always waiting to do a good turn to those they like. The author mingles her descriptions with anecdotes illustrative of the different qualities and dispositions of the various fairy folk described.

Story of the American Sailor. By E.S. Brooks. Ill. Boston: D. Lothrop Co. Price $2.50. Although several volumes have been written descriptive of the rise and development of the American navy, this is the first and only work of which we have knowledge that takes wide ground, and deals with the American sailor. In its preparation Mr. Brooks has not been actuated by a desire to merely make a readable book for boys; he has given it the attention which the subject demands as a part of the history of the country.

It would be a difficult matter to get at the first American sailor, or to even guess when he existed, but that our continent was once well populated, and that its prehistoric inhabitants sailed the lakes and seas as well as trod the land, is a matter of certainty. Later, when America became known to Europeans, the new comers found Indians well provided with excellent canoes, built of bark or fashioned from logs, but they were "near shore" sailors. The author quotes one instance where a deep sea voyage was undertaken by them in the early days of the English settlers. Certain Carolina Indians, he says, wearied of the white man's sinful ways in trade, thought themselves able to deal direct with the consumers across the "Big Sea Water." So they built several large canoes and loading these with furs and tobacco paddled straight out to sea bound for England. But their ignorance of navigation speedily got the best of their valor. They were never heard of more.

The early white navigators of our waters can hardly be considered American sailors. The new found continent was to them of value only for what could be brought away from them in treasure or in merchantable produce, and it was only when an actual and permanent colonization began that a race of native-born sailors was developed on the Atlantic coasts.

Old Concord: Her Highways and Byways. Ill. By Margaret Sidney. Boston: D. Lothrop Co. Price $3.00. Of all the books of the year there is not one which carries within it such an aroma of peculiar delight as this series of sketches and descriptions of the highways and byways of that most picturesque of towns, Old Concord. Concord is like no other place in New England. There may be other places as beautiful in their way; there are others, perhaps, of more importance in the Commonwealth, and we know there are hundreds of places where there is more active life to the square foot, but with all these admissions Concord still remains a place of special charm, the result and consequence of more causes than we care to analyze. Its picturesqueness and a certain quaintness of the village has always been noticed by visitors, no matter from what part of the globe they may have come. Added to this is the flavor of Revolutionary history, and the atmosphere created by the daily lives and presence for years of three or four of the giants in American literature. Here lived Hawthorne, and Emerson, and Thoreau, and the Alcotts, father and daughter, and the work that they did here has made it a literary Mecca for all time.

These sketches have all the accuracy of photographs, together with that charm of color and life which a photograph never possesses. The author is a resident of Concord, and a dweller in one of its historic mansions, and is thoroughly acquainted with every nook and corner of the town as well as with every legend which belongs to them. The task which she assumes of guiding readers to the places made famous by pen and sword, is a labor of love. She tells us how the pilgrimage should be undertaken, and what should be seen. We visit with her the ancient landmarks which belong to past generations, and the more modern ones which have even more interest to the multitude.