THE GAZELLE’S LOG. 165 
them before, and wondered, when we finally separated, if we 
should ever meet in this world again. 
The yachting circles to which we were attached, form clusters 
of unfading flowers in the garden of memory. They were com- 
posed of persons as enthusiastic as we were in their expressions 
of delight when viewing the exquisite beauties of the Bahama 
isles and waters. Some were successful merchants from. the 
cities of the great west, who had run away from business, and 
left all their heavy cares behind them. They seemed as gay and 
sportive as children at play. Light-hearted and joyous, they 
winged with a peculiar pleasure the flying hours. A log was 
kept, and it was the source of much amusement. Its keeper, 
being the head of the log, was voted to be, without any inten- 
tional disrespect to the turtles, a loggerhead.’ Many wandering 
ideas and gay fancies were shot on the wing, captured, and em- 
balmed in its pages. It contained much entirely new matter, 
which never had been before and never will be again added to 
the wide. domain of letters. 
Several portable mills ground out upon the water detached 
stanzas of machine poetry. It was soon suspected tHat some of 
our party, when preparing to enter upon the voyage of life, had 
made mistakes, and gotten on board the wrong boats, “Teds and 
not tragedies, sugars and not songs, pork instead of poetry, had 
occupied their time and engrossed their thoughts, to the great 
loss of themselves and the world. 
A dignified, courtly gentleman, who, several years before, had 
crossed the dividing line which runs mid-way between youth and 
old age, and in whose bright and pleasant eyes humor was lurk- 
ing in ambush, on one of our sailing excursions perpetrated the 
following: 
We venture in the gay Gazelle, 
Because with Amos all is well, 
But what may happen none can tell. 
