water; but our men got used to it, and soon could cast a grapnel almost as straight as an old whaler throws a harpoon. Our fishing line was of formidable size. It was made of rope, twisted with wires of steel, so as to bear a strain of thirty tons. It took about two hours for the grapnel to reach bottom; but we could tell when it struck. I often went to the bow, and sat on the rope, and could feel by the quiver that the grapnel was dragging on the bottom two miles under us.

But it was a very slow business. We had storms and calms, and fogs and squalls. Still we worked on, day after day. Once, on the 17th of August, we got the cable up, and had it in full sight for five minutes,—a long, slimy monster, fresh from the ooze of the ocean's bed; but our men began to cheer so wildly, that it seemed to be frightened, and suddenly broke away, and went down into the sea. This accident kept us at work two weeks longer; but finally, on the last night of August, we caught it. We had cast the grapnel thirty times.

It was a little before midnight on Friday that we hooked the cable; and it was a little after midnight, Sunday morning, when we got it on board. What was the anxiety of those twenty-six hours! The strain on every man's life was like the strain on the cable itself. When, finally, it appeared, it was midnight; the lights of the ship, and in the boats around our bows, as they flashed in the faces of the men, showed them eagerly watching for the cable to appear on the water.

At length it was brought to the surface. All who were allowed to approach crowded forward to see it. Yet not a word was spoken: only the voices of the officers in command were heard giving orders. All felt as if life and death hung on the issue. It was only when it was brought over the bow, and on to the deck, that men

dared to breathe. Even then they hardly believed their eyes. Some crept toward it to feel it, to be sure it was there.

Then we carried it along to the electricians' room, to see if our long-sought treasure was alive or dead. A few minutes of suspense, and a flash told of the lightning current again set free Then did the feeling long pent

up burst forth. Some turned away their heads and wept; others broke into cheers; and the cry ran from man to man, and was heard down in the engine-rooms, deck below deck, and from the boats on the water, and the other ships, while rockets lighted up the darkness of the sea.

Then, with thankful hearts, we turned our faces again to the west. But soon the wind arose, and for thirty-six

VI-Mo'f's Fr. Reader.

8

hours we were exposed to all the dangers of a storm on the Atlantic. Yet, in the very height and fury of the gale, as I sat in the electricians' room, a flash of light came up from the deep, which, having crossed to Ireland, came back to me in mid-ocean, telling that those so dear to me, whom I had left on the banks of the Hudson, were well, and following us with their wishes and their prayers. This was like a whisper of God from the sea, bidding me keep heart and hope.

The Great Eastern bore herself proudly through the storm, as if she knew that the vital chord, which was to join two hemispheres, hung at her stern; and so, on Saturday, the 7th of September, we brought our second cable safely to the shore. Even the sailors caught the enthusiasm of the enterprise, and were eager to share in 'the honour of the achievement. 5 Brave, stalwart men

they were at home on the ocean and in the storm-of that sort that have carried the flag of England around the globe. I see them now as they dragged the shore-end up the beach at Heart's Content, hugging it in their brawny arms as if it were a shipwrecked child, whom they had rescued from the dangers of the sea. God bless them all!

Such, in brief, is the story of the telegraph. It has been a long, hard struggle,-nearly thirteen years of anxious watching and ceaseless toil. Often my heart has been ready to sink. Many times, when wandering in the forests of Newfoundland, in the pelting rain, or on the decks of ships, on dark, stormy nights,-alone, far from home,-I have almost accused myself of madness and folly to sacrifice the peace of my family, and all the hopes of life, for what might prove, after all, but a dream. have seen my companions one and another falling by my side, and feared that I, too, might not live to see the end. And yet one hope has led me on, and I have prayed that

I

I might live till this work was accomplished. That prayer is answered and now beyond all acknowledgments to men is the feeling of gratitude to Almighty God. CYRUS W. FIELD.

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1achievement, a great deed. 2 nautical, belonging to seamen or to navigation. trail, track; marks left on the ground by footsteps; scent left on the ground by a wild animal. grapnel, grappling iron; an instrument with hooks or claws used for seizing ships or other objects. 5 stalwart, bold, strong, stout-hearted. "Heart's Content, a harbour in Trinity Bay, Newfoundland.

MARCH 6TH.-Fine weather: boisterous, blustering, much wind and squalls of rain; and yet the sky, where the clouds are swept away, deliciously blue, with snatches of sunshine, bright and clear and healthful, and the roads, in spite of the slight glittering showers, crisply dry. Altogether the day is tempting, very tempting. It will not do for the dear common, that windmill of a walk; but the close sheltered lanes at the bottom of the hill, which keep out just enough of the stormy air, and let in all the sun, will be delightful. Past our old house, and round by the winding lanes and the workhouse, and across the lea, and so into the turnpike road again—that is our route for to-day. Forth we set, 1Mayflower and I, rejoicing in the sunshine, and still more in the wind, which gives such an intense feeling of existence, and 2 co-operating with brisk motion, sets our blood and our spirits in a glow. For mere physical pleasure, there is nothing perhaps equal to the enjoyment of being drawn in a light carriage against such a wind as this,

by a blood-horse at his height of speed. Walking comes next to it; but walking is not quite so luxurious or so spiritual, not quite so much what one fancies of flying, or being carried above the clouds in a balloon.

Nevertheless, a walk is a good thing; especially under this southern hedgerow, where nature is just beginning to live again: the periwinkles, with their starry blue flowers and their shining myrtle like leaves, garlanding the bushes; woodbines and elder-trees pushing out their small swelling buds; and grasses and mosses springing forth in every variety of brown and green. Here we are at the corner where four lanes meet, or rather where a passable road of stones and gravel crosses one of beautiful but treacherous turf, and where the small white farm-house, scarcely larger than a cottage, and the wellstocked rick-yard behind, tell of comfort and order, but leave all unguessed the great riches of the master. How he became so rich is almost a puzzle; for, though the farm be his own, it is not large; and though prudent and frugal on ordinary occasions, Farmer Barnard is no miser. His horses, dogs, and pigs are the best kept in the parish; his wife's shawls and gowns cost as much again as any shawls or gowns in the parish; his dinner parties (to be sure they are not frequent) display twice the ordinary quantity of good things-two couples of ducks, two dishes of green peas, two turkey "poults; two gammons of bacon, two plum-puddings; moreover, he keeps a singlehorse chaise, and has built and endowed a Methodist chapel. Yet he is the richest man in these parts. Everything prospers with him. Money drifts about like snow. He looks like a rich man. There is a sturdy squareness of face and figure; a good-humoured obstinacy; a civil importance. He never boasts of his wealth, or gives himself undue airs; but nobody can meet him at