an the _nor-aist coorse_,
and God help any that comes betune me an' it,--I'd run him down if he
was my father."

"Well, good by, Barny."

"Good by, and God bless you, your honor, and send you safe."

"That's a wish you want for yourself, Barny,--never fear for me, but
mind yourself well."

"O, sure, I'm as good as at home wanst I know the way, barrin' the wind
is conthrary; sure the nor-aist coorse'll do the business complate. Good
by, your honor, and long life to you, and more power to your elbow, and
a light heart and a heavy purse to you evermore, I pray the blessed
Virgin and all the saints, amin!" And so saying, Barny descended the
ship's side, and once more assumed the helm of the "hardy hooker."

The two vessels now separated on their opposite courses. What a contrast
their relative situations afforded! Proudly the ship bore away under her
lofty and spreading canvas, cleaving the billows before her, manned by
an able crew, and under the guidance of experienced officers; the finger
of science to point the course of her progress, the faithful chart to
warn of the hidden rock and the shoal, the long line and the quadrant to
measure her march and prove her position. The poor little hooker cleft
not the billows, each wave lifted her on its crest like a sea-bird; but
the three inexperienced fishermen to manage her; no certain means to
guide them over the vast ocean they had to traverse, and the holding of
the "fickle wind" the only _chance_ of their escape from perishing in
the wilderness of waters. By the one, the feeling excited is supremely
that of man's power. By the other, of his utter helplessness. To the
one, the expanse of ocean could scarcely be considered "trackless." To
the other, it was a waste indeed.

Yet the cheer that burst from the ship, at parting, was answered as
gayly from the hooker as though the odds had not been so fearfully
against her, and no blither heart beat on board the ship than that of
Barny O'Reirdon.

Happy light-heartedness of my countrymen! How kindly have they been
fortified by nature against the assaults of adversity; and if they
blindly rush into dangers, they cannot be denied the possession of
gallant hearts to fight their way out of them.

But each hurrah became less audible; by degrees the cheers dwindled into
faintness, and finally were lost in the eddies of the breeze.

The first feeling of loneliness that poor Barny experienced was when he
could no longer hear the