188 THE OCEAN. 



horizon, and every day the meridian sun reaches to 

 a higher and yet a higher point, until it appears al- 

 most vertical. The wind gradually becomes lighter, 

 until we arrive at the " calm latitudes," where we 

 lie weeks without making any progress. The cap- 

 tain and crew whistle for wind with as much per- 

 severance as if they had never been disappointed, 

 and every one watches anxiously for the least breath- 

 ings of a breeze. Nothing can exceed the tantaliz- 

 ing tedium of this condition ; the wearied eye gazes 

 intently upon the glistening sea, and eagerly catches 

 the slightest ruffling of the mirror-like smoothness, 

 in hopes that it may be an indication of wind ; but 

 on glancing at the feather- vane upon the ship's quar- 

 ter, the hope fades on perceiving it hang motionless 

 from its staff. A still more delicate test is then re- 

 sorted to, that of throwing a live coal overboard, 

 and marking if the little cloud of white steam has 

 any lateral motion ; but no ! it ascends perpendi- 

 cularly till dispersed in the air. Now and then, 

 the polished surface of the sea is suddenly changed 

 to a blue ripple; expectation becomes strong, for 

 there is no doubt of the reality of the motion; but 

 before the sails can feel the breeze, it has died away 

 again ; the air is as still, and the sea as glassy, as ' 

 before. Coleridge has well described such a state in 

 his "Ancient Mariner:" — 



"The sun came up upon the left, 

 Out of the sea came he ; 

 And he shone bright and on the right 

 Went down into the sea. 



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