m being spoilt by the flatteries and
indulgences he might receive as an elder son, advising that, if he
appeared the worse for them, to effect a radical cure he should be
forthwith packed off to sea.

Story 9--Chapter 1.

PAUL PETHERWICK THE PILOT--A TALE OF THE CORNISH COAST.

The _Sea-Gull_ Pilot-boat, hailing from Penzance, and owned and
commanded by old Paul Petherwick, lay hove-to, one winter's day many
years back, in the chops of the Channel. The dark-green seas rose up
like walls capped with snow on either side of the little craft; now she
floated on the foaming, hissing summit of one of them, again to sink
down into the deep watery trench from which she had risen. Thus, as
rising and falling, her white staysail glancing brightly, she looked not
unlike the sea-bird whose name she bore.

Old Paul was the only person on deck, and he had lashed himself to the
bulwarks. His white hair, escaping from under his "sou'-wester,"
streamed in the wind, and ever and anon he turned his head aside to
avoid the showers of spray which flew over him, covering his flushing
coat with wet. Again he would look out in search of any homeward-bound
vessel which might need his services. His heart was heavy, for the
previous night a fearful sea had struck the cutter, and washed his mate,
Peter Buddock, and another man overboard. The latter had seized a rope,
but it had slipped from his grasp; and poor Buddock was carried far
away, his shriek of despair as he sank beneath the waves being his last
utterance which reached the ears of his shipmates.

Another of Paul's crew, an old hand, had been injured by a blow from a
block, and the rest were young men, willing and active enough, but not
able to take entire charge of the cutter. Still, old Paul was a
determined man, and as long as there was a chance of meeting a vessel to
pilot up Channel, and as long as the cutter could keep the sea, he would
not give in.

Hour after hour passed by. Suddenly the crew, sitting round the stove
in the little after-cabin, heard a loud report, followed by a deep
groan. The trysail gaff had parted, and, falling, had struck the old
pilot to the deck. They carried him below, and placed him in his berth.
Not a moment was to be lost if their own lives were to be saved. The
helm was put up, and the little craft, paying off under her head-sail,
before the rough sea, which came roaring onwards, had reached her, was
running up Channel towards the C