MARTIN RATTLER. 275

sat on the poop gazing at the receding shore while
thick-coming memories crowded on his brain.

His imagination flew back to the day when he first
landed on the coast and escaped with his friend Barney
from the pirates—to the hermit’s cottage in the lonely
valley, where he first made acquaintance with monkeys,
iguanas, jaguars, armadillos, and all the wonderful,
beautiful, and curious birds, beasts, and reptiles, plants,
trees, and flowers, that live and flourish in that
romantic country. Once more, in fancy, he was sail-
ing up the mighty Amazon, shooting alligators on its
banks, spearing fish in its waters, paddling through
its curious Gapo, and swinging in his hammock under
its luxuriant forests. Once again he was a prisoner
among the wild Indians, and he started convulsively
as he thought of the terrible leap over the precipice
into the stream that flowed into the heart of the earth.
Then he wandered in the lonely forest. Suddenly
the diamond mines were before him, and Barney’s
jovial voice rang in his ears, and he replied to it with
energy, for now he was bounding on a fiery steed over
the grassy campos. With a deep sigh he awoke from
his reverie to find himself surrounded by the great

wide sea,