The captain of the Indiaman was well enough aware of the rarity of the sight to call all the passengers on deck to see what they would never see again; and on asking our captain, he assured us that he had not only never seen, but never heard of the appearance in the West Indies.

One curious fact, then, was verified that night.
The next morning gave us unmistakable tokens that we were nearing the home of the summer and the sun.

A north-east wind, which would in England keep the air at least at freezing in the shade, gave here a temperature just over 60 degrees; and gave clouds, too, which made us fancy for a moment that we were looking at an April thunder sky, soft, fantastic, barred, and feathered, bright white where they ballooned out above into cumuli, rich purple in their massive shadows, and dropping from their under edges long sheets of inky rain.

Thanks to the brave North-Easter, we had gained in five days thirty degrees of heat, and had slipped out of December into May.

The North-Easter, too, was transforming itself more and more into the likeness of a south-west wind; say, rather, renewing its own youth, and becoming once more what it was when it started on its long journey from the Tropics towards the Pole.