a rocky lee-shore, her captain had sufficient confidence in the goodness of his gear to begin sailing his ship instead of keeping her hove to.  One rope faulty, one light wrong, one hand out of his place at the critical time, and the bones of a pleasant ship’s company would have been strewn on a bleak shore:  but everything was right, and the tiny craft drew away like a seagull when she was made to sail.  Of course the sea ran clean over her, but she forged quietly on until she was thirty miles clear of those foaming breakers that roared on the cliffs.  During that night more good seamen were drowned than one would like to number; ships worth a king’s ransom were utterly lost.  And why?  Simply because they had not the perfect gear which saved the little schooner.  Even had the little craft been sent over until she refused to rise again to the sea, the boats were ready, and everybody on board had a good chance.  Care first of all is needed, and then fear may be banished.  The smart agent reads his report glibly to the directors of a steamboat company—­and yet I have seen such smart agents superintending the departure of vessels whereof the appearance was enough to make a good judge quake for the safety of crew and cargo.

What do I advise?  Well, in the first place, I must remind shoregoing folk that a sound well-found vessel will live through anything.  Let passengers beware of lines which pay a large dividend and show nothing on their balance-sheets to allow for depreciation.  In the next place, if any passenger on a long voyage should see that the proper lights are not shown, he ought to wake up his fellow passengers at any hour of the night, and go with his friends to threaten the captain.  Never mind bluster or oaths—­merely say, “If your lights are not shown, you may regard your certificate as gone.”  If that does not bring the gentleman to his senses, nothing will.  Again, take care in any case that no raw foreign seamen are allowed to go on the look-out in any vessel, for a misunderstood shout at a critical moment may bring sudden doom on hundreds of unsuspecting fellow-creatures.  Above all, see that the water-casks in every boat are kept full.  In this way the sea tragedies may be a little lessened in their hateful number.

March, 1889.

A RHAPSODY OF SUMMER.

There came into my life a time of strenuous effort, and I drank all the joys of labour to the lees.  When the rich dark midnights of summer drooped over the earth, I could hardly bear to think of the hours of oblivion which must pass ere I felt the delight of work once more.  And the world seemed very beautiful; and, when I looked up to the solemn sky, so sweetly sown with stars, I could see stirring words like “Fame” and “Gladness” and “Triumph” written dimly across the vault; so that my heart was full of rejoicing, and all the world promised fair.  In those immortal midnights the sea spoke wonderful things to me, and the long rollers glittering under the high moon bore