astern; the lee rail was continually under water, and the chafing of the sheets, the rattling of the blocks, and the whistling of the gale in the shrouds, made conversation an impossibility. Alice left the cabin and curled herself up at the heel of the bowsprit, heedless of the spray which stung the face like hail as it was driven against it, and straining her eyes to catch sight of any object which might resemble her father's boat.

"A wild goose chase, this," muttered Harrison to himself, as the yacht neared one of the boundary posts, and he was in the act of putting the helm over for another tack. A piercing shriek came from the bows, and he saw Alice standing up and pointing to the posts. Sure enough he saw some dark mass attached to it. Hesitating a little in his management of the helm, the yacht missed stays, and drifting back, two more tacks had to be made before they reached the post again. Brown, pushing frenzied Alice back, grappled it with the irons. There was poor Jack lashed to a mooring staple in the post with his neckcloth and braces and the shoulder strap of his shot pouch. It appeared that he had drifted against the post when just on the point of sinking, and he had sufficient strength left to lash himself securely to it. He was cold and apparently lifeless. While Alice and Brown, who was fortunately a doctor, did what they

Here they

could to revive him in the cabin, Harrison and Huke worked the yacht up to the Berney Arms. stopped and made the yacht fast. After a great deal of knocking and shouting, they succeeded in getting the people up, and a fire lit in one of the rooms. Poor Jack was taken in there, and then began the slow and doubtful process of arousing life in the cold and inanimate body. After a long time-and a time of agony to Alice-Jack began to breathe and give signs of returning consciousness. During this anxious time Huke won favour in the eyes of the maiden by his ready and efficient assistance.

By means of unremitting care and attention for many hours, Breydon Jack recovered. His naturally strong constitution, rendered hardy by his mode of life, pulled him through, but he was never afterwards the same man as he had been previously. Rheumatism seized him in its clutches, and left him powerless to resume his old occupations. He was made comfortable for the rest of his life by his son and his son-in-law,— for the upshot of it was that Alice married Huke. Jack died the other day, and I learned the story from Harrison on board the same yacht, and on Breydon Water, but under far different circumstances. The wind was abaft; the sun was shining brightly, and the wavelets danced merrily in its beams. The topsail and balloon

jib were set, for we had come in, the winners of a race, and were sailing home to the westward under racing canvas. The waterman who steered the yacht in the match was sailing her then, and we were in the cabin discussing some lunch when the story was told. Harrison says, that exciting as the race was, it was not half so exciting as the slow and dangerous beat up Breydon the night he rescued "Breydon Jack."