25. There's a woman clinging to the rigging!' 26. It was little Tims who shouted that. We remembered it afterwards; but just then we were all scattered along the margin of the cliff, watching the rope, that had broken away from the ball and was buffeting the waves. If we could only get possession of it, the safety of all on the ship would be secured. It was but a moment, and then I saw some dark object going down, down, down. The master shouted, 'Good heavens! What has the boy done?' And we were all in a desperate confusion. 27. 'It's Little Tims! Little Tims!' as we saw his pale, frightened face rise above the enraged water and look up at us an instant. 28. Of what happened next all I can recall is that somehow we followed the master down the jagged side of the cliff, and in six or seven minutes seized Little Tims from the swell that dashed him ashore, gripping the rope with both hands and looking dead. Then we hurried with him up to the fire, and ran about frantically for wood to feed the blaze and warm his numb body. I remember that when we had drawn the strong hawser-rope to the land, and secured it taut around a tree, the great, burly captain crept ashore on it, and fell down before Little Tims, excitedly saying, two or three times: 'God bless the boy! God bless him!' Then he rolled him to and fro on the ground, rubbed his feet and hands madly, and, finally, throwing off his coat, wrapped it about Little Tims and ran with him in his arms all the way to the school. 29. You may be sure that we followed and gathered in that great kitchen before the open fire, awestruck and scarcely daring to breathe, while they were trying to bring Little Tims back to life. How frightfully white and cold he looked! It seemed as if he never would grow warm again, as though hours had passed while we were waiting. The crew of the vessel all got ashore and came up to the school, the doctor rode over from Seabright, and the vessel on the rocks went down. At last, however, he opened his eyes. 30. You are feeling better now, my boy!' said the doctor, cheerfully. 31. The rope-I meant to get the rope,' he said, looking at us as though he were dreaming. 32. 'Yes, yes, you did get it bravely,' answered the big captain. You have saved us all.' 33. We boys waited to hear no more; but ran and rang the old school-bell for joy as it never was rung before. And then we all went on the playground and gave three mighty cheers for Little TimsFeatherstone's hero. next day! What a Such a storm, they for years. Then a 34. And the city papers the glorious account they had of it! said, had not been on our coast description of the wreck was given, and an account of our school. Little Tims's name was printed in full, and it was explained that he leaped from the highest cliff along the Cumberland shore, and swam out for the rope. That when it was obtained and drawn over the water the sailors rigged a basket on it, in which the captain's wife and they, one after another, were brought across safely to the land. Fag-Doing the drudgery for an older scholar. Doré-A celebrated French artist. THE STEPPES OF THE CASPIAN.1 I. Towards the eastern extremity of Europe the great plain assumes the peculiar character of desert called a steppe, a word supposed to be of Tartar origin, signifying a level waste destitute of trees; hence the steppes may vary according to the nature of the soil. They commence at the river Dnieper and extend along the shores of the Black Sea. They include all the country north and east of the Caspian Lake and Independent Tartary; and passing between the Ural and Altai Mountains, they may be said to occupy all the low lands of Siberia. Hundreds of leagues may be traversed east from the Dnieper without variation of scene. A dead level of thin but luxuriant pasture, bounded only by the horizon, day after day the same unbroken monotony fatigues the eye. Sometimes there is the appearance of a lake, which vanishes on approach. Horses and cattle beyond number give some animation to the scene, so long as the steppes are green; but winter comes in October, and then they become a trackless field of spotless snow. Fearful storms rage, and the dry snow is driven by the gale with a violence which neither man nor animal can resist, while the sky is clear and the sun shines cold and bright above the earthly turmoil. The contest between spring and winter is long and severe, for 1 Somerville's Physical Geography, by permission. Winter oft at once resumes the breeze, Chills the pale morn, and bids his driving sleets 2. Yet when gentler gales succeed, and the waters run off in torrents through the channels which they cut in the soft soil, the earth is again verdant. The scorching summer's sun is as severe in its consequences in these wild regions as the winter's cold. In June the steppes are parched, no shower falls, nor does a drop of dew refresh the thirsty and rent earth. The sun rises and sets like a globe of fire, and during the day he is obscured by a thick mist from the evaporation. In some seasons the drought is excessive: the air is filled with dust in impalpable powder, the springs become dry, and cattle perish in thousands. Death triumphs over animal and vegetable nature, and desolation tracks the scene to the utmost verge of the horizon, a hideous wreck. 3. Much of the country is covered by an excellent but thin soil, fit for corn, which grows luxuriantly wherever it has been sown; but a stiff cold clay at a small distance below the surface kills every herb that has deep roots, and no plants thrive but those which can resist the extreme vicissitudes of climate. A very wide range is hopelessly barren. The country from the Caucasus, along the shores of the Black and Caspian Seas-a dead flat, twice the size of the British Islands-is a desert destitute of fresh water. Saline efflorescences cover the surface like hoar frost. Even the atmosphere is saline, and many salt lakes in the neighbourhood of Astrakan furnish great quantities of common salt. Saline plants with patches of verdure few and far between, are the only |