e breeze, the line to shore is slipped, and we are sailing
from Woolwich, never to have any person aboard in her progress but the
captain, until she returns to the builders' yard.

[Picture: Drawing of the Rob Roy]

Often as a boy I had thought of the pleasure of being one's own master in
one's own boat; but the reality far exceeded the imagination of it, and
it was not a transient pleasure. Next day it was stronger, and so to the
end, until at last, only duty forced me reluctantly from my floating
freehold to another home founded on London clay, sternly immovable, and
with the quarter's rent to pay.

At Erith then the Royal Canoe Club held its first sailing match, when
five little paddling craft set up their bamboo masts and pure white
sails, and scudded along in a rattling breeze, and twice crossed the
Thames. They were so closely matched that the winner was only by a few
seconds first. Then a Club dinner toasted the prizemen, and "farewell,"
"bon voyage" to the captain, who retired on board for the first sleep in
his yawl.

The Sunday service on board the Training-ship 'Worcester,' at Erith, is a
sight to see and to remember. The bell rings and boats arrive, some of
them with ladies. Here in the 'tween decks, with airy ports open, and
glancing water seen through them, are 100 fresh-cheeked manly boys, the
future captains of Taepings and Ariels, and as fine specimens of the
gentleman sailor-lad as any Englishman would wish to see. Such neatness
and order without nonsense or prim awe. Health and brightness of
boyhood, with seamen's smartness and silence: I hope they do not get too
much trigonometry. However, for the past week they have been skurrying
up aloft "to learn the ropes," skylarking among the rigging for play, and
rowing and cricketing to expand muscle and limb; and now on the day of
rest they sing beautifully to the well-played harmonium, then quietly
listen to the clergyman of the "Thames Mission," who has been rowed down
here from his floating church, anchored then in another bay of his liquid
parish, but now removed entirely.

The Royal National Lifeboat Institution had most kindly presented to the
Rob Roy one of its best lifeboat compasses. The card of this compass
floats in a mixture of spirits, so as to steady its oscillations in a
boat, and a deft-like lamp alongside will light it up for use by night.
Only a sailor knows the peculiar feeling of regard and mystery with w