other on the
Mississippi, some distance from its mouth, had been strongly garrisoned
by the Confederates, who considered them a perfect protection to New
Orleans. These had to be passed. That perilous feat was performed by the
fleet in the dark hours of the morning of April 24, when a terrific
scene was witnessed. Farragut, in the wooden ship _Hartford_, led the
way. Forts, gun-boats, mortar-boats, and marine monsters called "rams"
opened their great guns at the same time. Earth and waters for miles
around were shaken. The forts were silenced, the fleet passed, and then
met a strong Confederate flotilla in the gloom. After one of the most
desperate combats of the war, this flotilla was vanquished, and Farragut
pushed on toward New Orleans, which he had virtually captured before the
arrival of General Butler. This event gave great joy to the loyal people
of the country.

Meanwhile a stirring event had occurred in Hampton Roads. Early in March
the Confederates sent down from Norfolk a powerful iron-clad "ram" named
_Merrimac_ to destroy national vessels near Fortress Monroe. This raid
was destructive, and its repetition was expected the next morning. At
midnight a strange craft came into the Roads. It seemed to consist of
only a huge cylinder floating on a platform. She was under the command
of Lieutenant J. L. Worden. That cylinder was a revolving turret of
heavy iron, containing two enormous guns. The almost submerged platform
was also of iron. It was called the _Monitor_.

[Illustration: FIGHT BETWEEN THE "MONITOR" AND "MERRIMAC."--DRAWN BY
J. O. DAVIDSON.]

The _Merrimac_ came down the next morning to attack the frigate
_Minnesota_. The little _Monitor_ went to her defense--in size a little
child defending a giant. Slowly her turret began to revolve. Her cannon
sent forth 100-pound shot, and very soon the _Merrimac_ was so crippled
that she fled with difficulty back to Norfolk, and did not come out
again. After that, Monitors were favorites as defenders of land-locked
waters.

[TO BE CONTINUED.]

[Illustration: AT THE SEA-SIDE.]

IN SEPTEMBER.

BY MARY DENSEL.

It had been a hot summer, and Cassy Deane, shut up in a close street,
had been treated to every atom of heat that the city contained. So at
least it seemed to her, for the family had only lately moved into town
from the country, and Cassy was like a little wind-flower that had been
transplanted from a cool wood into a box of earth near