danger of hurting the vessel almost an impossibility, we write

these pages.

Let us then suppose the party consists of three or four, no paid hands, and all fully prepared to take the rough and the smooth as they come, well believing that the enjoyment will be great, the gain to health, muscle, and vigour considerable, and the exercise of brain and eye beneficial.

To work then. We have taken in our stores, everything is on board. Shall we act messmen for the party? Let the cook speak up. The Cordon bleu is a very big man. In case of accident we are to be provisioned for a week; able to be severed from civilisation, that is outward civilisation, for we carry much inward culture with us, for a whole week. Three or four people can eat a good deal in a week, and we have known some drink a fair quantity too.

If they

Of tinned meats let us take a varied assortment. are not all used on the voyage they can always be utilised afterwards. Halford's curries are excellent, and with sardines, preserved soups, sausages, turkey, chicken and ham roll, potted and tinned game, with other luxuries, life can be supported fairly well. For fresher meats, a good start can be made with a beef-steak pie or two, pressed beef, ham, pickled pork, bacon, eggs-in fact, we could give quite a pantagruelesque bill of fare, which should make the mouth water at the mere mention of the delicacies, but we forbear. Did we not boast of being the reverse of sybarites? Don't let us forget a good cheese, plenty of potatoes, and such sweets as will keep. Of jams and marmalade we lay in a stock. Let us take oatmeal biscuits or other such as are most liked. Tinned coffee and milk some think good. Cocoa and chocolate are easily made, while the cellar can be attended to by those who best understand it.

With a choice assortment of the few necessaries suggested above, we believe body and soul can be kept together for a week, and very likely we may never be far removed from fresh meat after all; but if the worst comes to the worst, we feel we shall not absolutely starve.

The mention of the Cordon bleu suggests the necessity and importance of the kitchen-range. Without a doubt the handiest and most economical are the oil-stoves; they require no dirty coals or coke, are lighted without difficulty, and can be put out at will. In ten minutes water is boiling, and eggs and bacon, soup, or chops are ready at the same time. The advantages of the oil-stoves over coal-kitcheners are beyond dispute.

Many a good dinner have we enjoyed cooked by the oilstoves. There is no smell from the paraffin if the stove and oil-containers are kept clean. They can be had at all prices and make; but we do not recommend the very cheapest, as these have a tendency to smell, and the machinery for working the wicks is apt to get out of order.

From stoves to lamps is a short step. We have tried in many places for a good, reliable paraffin-lamp, such as will do for riding and side-lights, and we have recently met with one that seems to answer all purposes, and that is coming more into public use. Good lamps are most important, as well as a good compass fitted with a trustworthy binnacle-lamp.

Among the stores it is as well to have a small stock of gear, such as a few spare blocks, a ball or two of marline and spunyarn, a fid or marline-spike, a few tools-such as a hammer, saw, axe, files, and other common tools-a stout warp of at least 60 fathoms, and enough spare rope to supply a new sheet or halyard, if either should give out. Of course we must take a sufficient supply of water either in tanks or in our breakers. And now, having taken all our supplies on board, we are ready to start.

The breeze sits in the shoulder of our peak, the crisp curl of the lapping wavelet bubbles past the stem, there is an air of brisk impatience in the flapping mainsail, the taut shrouds hum with a merry air, the jib is blowing free, the warp is cast off, the rattling of the ropes and sails grows suddenly quiet, each sheet is stretched, the sails are swelling to the wind, a satisfying calm steals over our minds as the curling eddies astern tell of the gathering speed of our tidy little craft. We feel we are running out to freedom and the vague unknown.

CHAPTER II.

FROM TEDDINGTON TO WOOLWICH.

AND so we have started. But where from? Well we can start, of course, anywhere; but let us take London as the great centre of all adventure, and as being the most typical starting place in the world. However, in small yachts or large ones either, London certainly is not a good port to lie in. If we keep our craft up the river, we will suppose that she is in charge of some such excellent builder of smart racing craft as the well-known Kingston firm of Burgoyne; perhaps we have left her to the care of some honest hand at Erith. Either place is good, and there may be many places in between, but we have chosen extremes where at least tranquility and cleanliness can be enjoyed.

If we start from Teddington with a fair breeze right aft, we see no very strong reason why we should not run down with the tide, only it is best to be tolerably sure there will be a good steady breeze, as we shall want it all to carry us down far enough, so as to clear all the bustle and bother of the port of London. But it would be better to secure the services of a tug perhaps, if there is any doubt, for the bridges are troublesome things, and barges are no respecters of persons, or paint, or language. Their bows are bluff, their crews are bluffer, and their vocabulary is of the bluffest. To tow a boat such as we have described, the master would probably ask 255., no doubt many would ask more; but we have known the

trip from Teddington to Greenwich done for 15s. In any case, we should advise taking a man who knows the river with us as far as Greenwich or Woolwich, for the Thames, at London, is unlike any other river in the world. The bridges seem innumerable, the tides and eddies are very strong, and the whole sailing space is crowded with barges, lighters, and steamboats. Of course, it is quite possible to save a little expense by sailing as far as Hammersmith or Putney Bridge, and thence taking a tug, but little would be saved, and a tide would most likely be lost. Should it be decided to run the gauntlet and boldly sail right through, let us remember in going through Westminster Bridge to keep to the Surrey side, passing under the third arch, as there is very little water in the fourth at low springs; but, as we shall be there probably about half ebb, we shall have water enough anywhere. After leaving Westminster Bridge, steer across towards the Middlesex shore, and pass Charing Cross railway bridge about one-third of the river's breadth from the embankment; keep at this distance from the embankment till off the Temple, when it is better to go a little more amid stream, in order to avoid the mud between the Temple and Paul's Stairs.

With a westerly wind, we shall have no difficulty in running out. From London Bridge our work will be pretty lively, if it was not so before. Keep her in mid-stream, let us calm ourselves, and have the fenders all ready. Go to windward of all steamers, and since we are running free, although we are on the starboard tack, it is our duty to get out of the way of all sailing craft that are not going freer than we are, which can hardly be.

Let those who have nothing much to do, do it. There is plenty to look at. For the skipper, his work is all to hand, judgment and caution are decidedly needed. Steering a raft on the Neckar is as nothing to it.

When abreast of the West India Docks we shall bring the sails more on the wind, if it is westerly. If it is north-westerly we shall have to look out for gybing; should it be southwesterly, the chances are we shall have to go-about half-way

down the reach off Rotherhithe. In making a tack be careful not to reach over too far to the Surrey side, as the mud stretches out some way on the Rotherhithe shore, especially opposite to the entrance to the West India South Dock.

Having stood in to about the distance of Rotherhithe Pierhead, go about, and, close hauled with the help of the dying ebb, we shall gradually ease our sheets as we fly round the Isle of Dogs; but before passing Greenwich, adventurers as we are, let us think of that Prince of adventurers and great seacaptain, worthy Master Drake.

Let us shut our eyes and think-all but the skipper-it won't take long, or if we keep our eyes open let us draw aside that mass of stained and murky buildings, let the chimneys sink into the ground, let the vile smells of pestiferous chemicals fade away, and let the fresh breeze from the Surrey hills and heather blow sweetly by. In their place arise quaint buildings, old houses here and there clustering around a wooden jetty. Peeping out of the trees, now putting on the first green of spring, there is old Sayes Court, with Greenwich Park, while in the distance headland looms beyond headland, clothed in thick wood. Against this dark background are flags and banneroles, red, white, and blue, fluttering in their gay bravery. Across the gleaming river the green meadows of the Middlesex shore simmer calm and peaceful under the April sun.

Moored off the Deptford jetty lies a weatherworn craft, her opened seams and battered sides hidden with fresh paint as far as may be. She is dressed in flags from jib-boom to taffrail ; from main-truck to dolphin-striker.

Hark! how merrily the violins go. The tuck of drum and blare of trumpet; see how the red fire shoots from her side, how the blue smoke curls aloft, how it hangs over the ancient trees of the Royal Forest, lingering among the gables and chimneys of the old Franciscan Halls.

"Ping" after "ping" go the guns, as "the great ordnance" -things about as big as stove-pipes set on wheelbarrows-salute the Queen of the "Lion port," the Lady Gloriana, the majesty of England. And so Master Francis Drake, "the little man