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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