surmounted with spiders'- web work.
The yachts, which had come stealing in
during the daytime, had now folded up
thrir white wings for the night. Far
off little white splashes could be made
out on the purple- grey clouds of the
horizon, fast becoming black, which were
other yachts posting up, as it were, to reach
an hotel, and get to bed comfortably. Down
at the jetty's edge were other groups of
seafaring men, sitting on benches or turned-
over boats; whilst the most eloquent pro-
claimed the merits of "our craft," and
boasted how the Diver could beat the Mary
Tanner any day—names which figured in the
yachting list as La Diva and the Maritana.

In accordance with the delightful
vagabondage of yachting life, the St. Arthur's
Regatta, at this time in its infancy, and
"good-naturedly encouraged," had drawn
many noble strangers, noble creatures, the
beauties of yacht creation, elegant
symmetrical beings, to contend with each
other; but, as with the beauty of the ballroom
no matter how fine the lines of her
neck and figure, no matter what the
Lapthornian milliner may have done for her,
this year's belle is certain to give place
to the new one of next year.

Sometimes, indeed, the existing queen
will not give way without a petulant and
spiteful struggle, disdaining to be
vanquished by a mere chit of a thing just out.
And once, perhaps, it is positively a pleasure
to see an almost veteran stager like
the Alarm hold her own for season after
season; lead off every ball triumphantly,
and draw away all admirers from
generations of younger rivals.

Down below could be seen indistinctly the
huge Morna, a boat of surprising reputation,
and whose vast mainsail it took twenty
men to get in. It was thought greedy on
her part to come to snatch up the St.
Arthur's prizes, and as nine o'clock came
that night it was thought they were saved
from her. But a little white speck began
presently to enlarge and grow larger again,
with such speed that the angry yachting
men found themselves stamping fretfully,
and saying, "that's her," or something like
her. In a few minutes she was rolling in
among them, her great sail like a vast cloud,
which in a few moments more seemed to
dissipate like a vapour, sending consternation
and disgust among the yachtsmen on
shore.

But well in the centre of the little haven
reposed a handsome schooner, which lay
haughtily, sullenly, and in the place of

honour. She inspired respect, and
belonged to the peerage of the craft. For
from her bows floated the white flag,
which translated, means R. Y. S., and over
her bulwarks were seen little white dots,
the clean and snowy uniform of her crew.
She was known to be the Almandine, one
hundred and seventy, and belonging to
Lord Formanton, though she had not the
noble owner on board. His son,
however, the Honourable George Conway, was
there with a very distinguished nautical
party, His Royal Highness the Prince of
Saxe-Groningen, with Baron Bachmann,
Lieutenant Bruce, and others. It was from
this august craft that Doctor Bailey was
returning on this fine June evening. He had
gone on board to pay his respects, just as
her Majesty's consul goes on board at some
foreign port. The German prince, indeed,
from his imposing presence and manner,
at first took him for some such public
officer; but the doctor soon opened his
proposals. He came, he said, to give them
a cordial welcome to their regatta, and they
would try to make everything as agreeable
as possible during their stay. Two years
ago, Count Lalande, of the Paris club, looked
in on them, and was delighted. He (Doctor
Bailey) did everything for him, Now
to-morrow was Sunday—a dull day. Would
they so far honour him by coming to take
a bit of lunch with him and Mrs. Bailey
at The Beeches? They could walk about
the grounds afterwards. Count Lalande
had done so. Then, by the way, there was
to be an appeal made by his unworthy
lips for a meritorious charity—The Disabled
Yachtsmen's Fund. In a place like this a
little religion was no harm; but, of course,
administered with discretion. No one had
more experience among seamen than he
had, but there was an art in insinuating
the Sacred Word among them. He hoped
Lord Formanton was in good health.

The Honourable George Conway and
the German prince listened to these
proposals. The truth was they rather shrank
from the dull Sunday, and the pleasant
wandering ways of their ship made a sudden
introduction and acquaintance of ten
minutes' age quite familiar. They accepted
the doctor's invitation as a matter of course,
and promised to attend both lunch and
sermon. The doctor strode home very
happy and complacent, planning his lunch,
looking at it fixedly, as though it were
"laid " before him, up in the welkin. He
stamped and creaked into his hall, letting
the door slam behind him, then turning