was assessed by a friend of mine, who is a good judge of such things, when it went to the Academy; and I shall take no more. Please to write out one hundred pounds.'

'I am afraid, papa,' said Lotty softly, that we have offended this gentleman; and that, therefore, he will not be beholden to us.'

'I did not mean any offence, young man,' said Mr Brown. It seems to me that folks are very sensitive nowadays; there is no knowing where to have them. I wished to make a fair bargain with you, Mr Litton; that is my notion of doing business, and it has served me for the last fifty years; but I certainly had no intention of ruffling your feathers. Well, there is your hundred pounds.'

'O papa!' said Lotty.

'My dear, I have only done as the young gentleman has directed me; I conclude he knows his own mind.'

'You are very right, sir,' answered Walter. The picture shall be sent to you directly the Exhibition is over.'

'Very good. I won't offer to shake hands with you, young man, because I can't; but I am truly obliged to you' (this he pronounced 'obleeged,' but in a friendly and even grateful tone). If the obligation were on your side instead of mine, I should venture to ask a favour of you.'

'Pray, ask it, sir,' said Walter, all the same.' 'Well, then, stay and dine with us. We are none of your fashionables, who wear white ties and that; and there are only our two selves.' A sort of pathos mingled with his speech, that touched the young fellow. 'We dine early-that is, what I daresay you will call early, though I call it late; the time I used to sup at. My daughter here will shew you about the place in the mean

time.'

This invitation, which, an hour ago, would have been a temptation against which he would have struggled in vain, had now no charms for him. And yet, he had a mind to accept it, if it were only that it would give him the opportunity of reproaching Lotty for her repudiation of him-for what he no longer hesitated to term her ungrateful behaviour towards him. There was some reason for it, of course; but if it was in consequence of anything that Mrs Sheldon had said to her, she ought not to have listened to it; and if it was for any cause connected with her father, she surely might have acknowledged his identity to himself, without betraying the recognition to his host.

'I shall be very glad to shew Mr Litton the garden,' said she, in cold but courteous tones: 'it is not very extensive, but still, for London '

'I will stay and dine, with pleasure,' interrupted Walter with decision. This woman's hypocrisy was beyond all bearing, and he longed to tell her what he thought about it; that cool 'still, for London,' of hers, when she was in all probability at that very moment contrasting the place in her own mind with the wild luxuriance of the garden at Penaddon, in which he had walked in her company so often, and not six months ago, was too much for his patience.

'Well, come, that's settled,' said the old man, not without some irritation, for it was plain that his invitation had 'hung' in the young painter's mind, and Mr Christopher Brown, of Willowbank, was not accustomed to give invitations that were

accepted only with reluctance. There, take him out, Lily, and shew him the ducks.'

Lily! The quiet utterance of that simple name staggered Walter like a thunderbolt, for it was accompanied by a flash of intelligence that altered all things to his mental vision. This, then, was not Lotty, but Lotty's sister; a twin-sister, without doubt (though she had never mentioned that she was a twin), since even to his eyes there had seemed absolutely no difference between them. The same bright trustful face, that had haunted his dreams as though an angel had hovered over him; the same delicate features; the same abundance of rich brown hair; the same sweet, gentle voice, that he had thought was without its peer in woman, belonged to both-only tender gratitude had been lacking, as was natural enough; it was not to be expected that Lotty's sister should feel towards him like Lotty. Still, it was incomprehensible that even Lily should not have recognised his name.

She led the way out of doors, and he followed her, tongue-tied, stunned by this inexplicable fact. Surely, surely she would now tell him, now that they were alone, that she knew him well by her sister's report, though it had not been advisable to say so before her father, on account of the hand he had had in Lotty's elopement.

"This view from the lawn, Mr Litton, we think is very pretty,' were her first words, spoken in pleasant conversational tones, such as befitted a cicerone who was also his hostess. Some people object to its looking out upon the Park with its nurserymaids and children, but I am not so exclusive.'

There can be nothing objectionable in seeing people enjoy themselves, I should think,' said Walter; his voice was cold and rather 'huffy,' but she did not seem to notice that.

'No, indeed,' she replied; that is quite my opinion: I like to see them, and I flatter myself that we give as well as take, for our garden looks very pretty from that side of the water, though I can't say as much for the house. If you wanted to paint a picturesque residence, you would not choose Willowbank for your model, I am afraid. It is scarcely one's ideal of a dwelling-place.'

'I

'It has some good points,' said Walter. should take them, and reject others; that is how the "ideal" is represented, I fancy, by most artists.'

'Is that how you painted "Supplication?" said Lily, stopping suddenly, and looking up at him. They were now on the winding path that fringed the water, and shut out from the view of the house by trees and shrubs.

Yes,' said he, after a moment's hesitation; 'I drew it, that is, partly from memory, and partly from imagination.'

'Then there really was an original, was there ?' 'I can scarcely say that; the person that sat for it was not the person I had in my mind. I think, to judge from what your father said about it, when you entered yonder room, that he at least recognised the original.'

'He hinted that it was like myself,' said Lily quietly, though I think that was an outrageous compliment.'

'I do not say that,' said Walter brusquely; but it is certainly not so like you as it is like your sister.'

Ah, it was taken from life, then!' exclaimed she. I always thought that a likeness such as that could not have been a mere coincidence. It is not so much in form or feature, as in expression, that it so much reminds me of dear Lotty. You have known her, then'-and here she heaved an involuntary sigh-since her marriage?'

'No, not since, but before it. She must surely have told you how I chanced to be in the train with Selwyn when he went down to Cornwall, and how it all happened?'

'She told me that he had a friend with him, but did not mention his name.'

'Why, it was I who gave her away!' said Walter bitterly.

His disappointment and humiliation were so excessive that they could not be concealed.

'You must forgive her,' said Lilian gently, 'in consideration of her position. Love is a great monopoliser, and leaves little room in us save for the beloved object. Besides, she had a good reason for not mentioning your name; it would have set us, she knew, against you. You would not have been made welcome, for example, in this house, had my father known that it was you who helped to'- Her voice quivered, the tears began to fall. 'O Mr Litton,' sighed she, 'it was an evil day that took dear Lotty from us!'

I am grieved, indeed, to hear it,' answered Walter gravely. It was no fault of mine, I do assure you. I may seem to you a culprit, but I am wholly innocent in the matter; indeed, what little I did do, was to dissuade Selwyn. If she told you all, she must have told you that.'

'It is done now, Mr Litton, and cannot be undone,' answered Lilian. But it is better that you should not speak of this to my father. Your picture has touched his heart, and made it more tender towards her who was once his darling, and I am grateful to you on that account; but do not let him know what you have just told me. He might think, perhaps, that you had been set on to do it by-by Reginald.'

They walked on together slowly, and in silence; then Lily spoke again: "You have not seen her since her marriage, you say; how did you know, then, that she was so changed?'

This was a question that was not easy for him to answer. He could not tell her that Lotty's supposed misery was constantly presenting itself to him; that his imagination had been coloured with sadness because of her, and had pictured her to him accordingly.

'I have seen her husband,' said he evasively.

And he told you, did he?' answered she with a pleased air. No doubt, he is less indifferent than he seems-not that he is unkind,' added she hastily. Do not suppose that I wish to be hard upon your friend; only it seemed to me that he did not notice her changed looks.'

'Is she much changed?' asked Walter softly. 'Yes; greatly changed from what you must remember her before her marriage. She has been -nay, she still is-in sad trouble, banished from her home. Perhaps I ought not to speak of such things,' said Lily plaintively, but my tongue has kept involuntary silence so long, and it is so hard to brood and brood over a sorrow, and have none to whom to tell it.'

It is very hard, as I know myself,' answered Walter gravely; 'if it is any comfort to you, pray

speak to me as to one who has your sister's happiness at heart. I may say so much, I hope, without impertinence; since, though I was acquainted with her for so short a time, and there has been so great an interval since, it was under such circumstances as make acquaintance friendship. It was I who telegraphed to you at the drawing-school from the Reading Station.'

'Then you cost me the severest pang, Mr Litton, that my heart has known,' said Lilian, with a shudder. The sudden shock of it, the terror of the thought that I had to tell papa of it, and the dreadful, dreadful hour in which I did tell him!' and she hid her face, as though to shut out the recollection of another's-Walter pictured to himself Mr Christopher Brown's, the possessor of an income that could perhaps be counted by tens of thousands, when he first heard that his daughter had run away with a penniless soldier, and pitied her from the bottom of his soul. You see, Lotty was his favourite,' continued she, doubtless in unconscious apology for some outbreak of paternal wrath; 'and her leaving us stabbed him to the heart. It seemed to him ingratitude as well as rebellion. Dear Lotty herself understands that, as she told me before I was forbidden to see her. Papa's life was wrapped up in us two-in her especially-and when he found she had left him for a stranger- O indeed, he has suffered too!' chance of a reconciliation between them?'

'I have no doubt of that. But is there no

'Two days ago, Mr Litton, I should have said: None whatever. He was very resolute against her; very angry that I had been to see her; and forbade me ever to write to her, or to mention her name within his hearing. But yesterday morning, at the Academy, he saw your picture, and I could see he recognised it, though her face was not as he had known it. I had told him how weary and worn she looked, but had not moved him; but when he saw her on your canvas "

'Take time, take time,' said Walter kindly, for the girl was sobbing bitterly; 'I would not pain you to recount all this, but that it may be better for your sister's sake that I should hear it; that I should know how to answer your father, when he comes to question me, as perhaps he will.'

'No, no; he will never speak of it to you or anybody,' answered she despondingly but when he comes to possess the picture, when he looks upon it daily, as I shall take care he does, I shall have hopes. That he should have mentioned the likeness in your presence, was an unlooked-for tenderness. He loves her still, I know, but he is ashamed to own it. It will be very, very long, I fear, if ever, before he forgives her. O sir, do tell me truly she looked up at him with clasped hands and streaming eyes-is Captain Selwyn a good man?"

A good man? Well, men are not good, Miss Lilian, as young ladies are '-he should not have called her by her Christian name, but she looked so pitiful and childlike in her sorrow, that he was moved to do so but he is a brave soldier and a gentleman, and such are always kind to women, even when they are not their wives, and how much more when they have given up home and friends and fortune to become their brides! I was at school and college with him, where he was most popular with all of us, and I was his dearest friend.' "Why do you say "was," Mr Litton? A friend is a friend for ever, is he not?'

'But Selwyn is proud; and being poor, as I am afraid he is, he has withdrawn himself from me of late, though I myself am poor enough, Heaven knows. If he were rich, this marriage would have taken place as a matter of course; he would have been a welcome son-in-law; and you, the sister of his wife, would never have had these doubts about him.'

'That is true, Mr Litton, and you give me much comfort,' answered Lilian gratefully. I have not felt so hopeful since since Lotty left us. How dreadful it is that money-or the want of itshould work such ruin !'

Money is much, Miss Lilian,' answered Walter; and if not a blessing to those who have it, a sad

lack to those who have it not.'

'Yet you do not care for money, Mr Litton, or you would not have returned my father's cheque.'

'O yes, I do,' replied he, smiling; only, other things are as dear to me, or dearer. Besides, though I have but little, I do not need it, as poor Selwyn does.'

"Yes, indeed,' sighed she; they are very poor. She told me, that if it had not been for some small sum advanced them by a friend of Captain Selwyn's-I think it was but fifty pounds-they would have been in absolute want. Oh, is it not terrible to think of that, while I am living here in comfort-splendour! Don't think harshly of me for it; I have done what I could'

'I am sure of that,' interrupted Walter earnestly; indeed, Selwyn told me so himself.' 'Did he ?' answered she eagerly. I am glad of that. I mean to say, I was afraid he thought I had not done my best; that I might have parted with -things my father gave me. He does not understand papa, or that such a course would have injured Lotty in the end. As it is, there is some hope thanks to you for the first gleam of it-that nature is asserting herself within him. He is jealous of my suspecting such a change, but it is at work. This desire to have your picture is evidence of it; and especially the pains he took to conceal his own part in the matter. It was at his request that I wrote to you in the name of Mr Burroughes -his solicitor-so that you should not discover, in case you were really acquainted with Lotty-that the application came from her father.'

I see,' said Walter thoughtfully, and I agree with you that it augurs well. Should all come right by the help of my poor picture, I shall be glad indeed.'

'I am sure you will; and you may be proud as well as glad, for never can Art have achieved a nobler end than to restore a daughter to her father.'

'If it had but been designed,' sighed Walter. 'Nay, but no less the skill,' answered Lilian promptly. It was not only that you remembered Lotty's face, and drew it, but that you portrayed the story of her sorrow, and touched my father's heart with its relation. We are your debtors for that, at all events, and I, for one, shall not easily forget it.'

sensations he felt now

Where was it, and on what occasion, that Walter had once before-and only once-experienced the that bliss of grateful acknowledgment; the thrill of a tone more exquisite than any music; the sunshine of a smile more beautiful than Murillo ever painted? At Penaddon, when Lotty had thanked him for his

WE are almost afraid to mention horse-racing: that species of outdoor amusement in England-professedly maintained for the improvement of the breed of horses-having latterly degenerated into little better than a despicable system of gambling. A great national sport has sunk so low, and is now so fruitful in demoralisation, as to be almost universally spoken of as disreputable. It is also beginning to be doubted whether the cultivation of horses for the sake of excessive speed in running short distances on a race-course is of any general advantage. Mere fleetness to this extent is not a greatly desirable attribute in the horse. Strength, power of endurance, activity, and shapeliness are the primary qualities required; and draughthorses, riding-horses, carriage and omnibus horses, ponies of various sorts, have all been vastly improved of late years. But race-courses have, unfortunately, become the scene of outrageous betting and excitement.

While horse-racing has thus begun, with us, to be looked down upon-drifting into the category of disowned abominations, such as boxing and cock-fighting-it is curious to observe that it has been taken up as a reputable and fashionable amusement in France. So much so, that, through the effects of culture, various French race-horses have latterly defeated the fleetest horses that the English could bring into the field. The regular organisation of races in France dates no farther back than 1833, when a Society most generally known as the French Jockey Club was set on foot. Old traditions and prejudices were abandoned, and the English methods of selection were to be rigorously carried out through the importation, from England, of thoroughbreds. The Society encountered a fierce opposition from an old institution, the Administration des Haras, or administration of studs, which had been founded by Colbert in the time of Louis XIV. This administration, which had hitherto held undisputed sway in all matters connected with the breeding of French horses, considered its existence threatened by the new Society, against which it commenced a sullen and implacable war, interrupted by short periods of truce, but renewed from time to time, as opportunity offered, with unprecedented virulence, and with some appearance of success. But when the Duke of Orleans took the new Society under his patronage, open hostility was scarcely possible; and so the Administration, pretending to swim with a stream which it could not stem, instituted races of its own. Only, as it was absolutely necessary to have some flag to fight under, a dispute was begun about the races themselves; it was said that, in the form which they assumed under the auspices of the Society, they were spoilt by the Anglomania apparent in them, and could exercise no favourable influence upon the general improvement of the breeds of horses: so the Administration itself would undertake to

and

found proper races, under conditions which would have a real and positive effect upon breeding. In point of fact, the Administration was determined to draw up programmes with conditions directly opposed to those of the Society. The aim was, above all, to flatter that mania which distinguishes the ignorant public, who are always inclined to believe that a horse, just because he can accomplish a moderate distance at tremendous speed, is incapable of keeping up for a long while a more moderate pace.

The Administration, accordingly, became the patrons of races over distances of four thousand metres (about two and a half miles), and, particularly, of races in heats, that untrustworthy test, which, however, could not but exercise an irresistible fascination over a certain portion of the public. The Society had adopted a code of rules to regulate the organisation of the new creation. That was the first document of importance in the institution of racing. The Administration, of course, concocted one for itself, with different conditions. For it the point was, above all things, to establish its existence, its utility, and the impossibility of doing without its intervention, notwithstanding the foundation of a Society which was coming forward and taking, at its very side, the title of Society for improving the Breed of Horses-that is to say, wresting from it its hitherto undisputed sceptre. At the outset, the resources of the Society were not considerable. Moreover, in its desire to do good, it accepted the Administration's hostile and dangerous co-operation. And it did well in so doing; for it was not long before the imperfections and impotence of the Administration's ideas, in reference to the races, became revealed by experience. The course of the races went on for some few years amidst all these feuds, which increased in animosity in proportion as the importance of the Society increased, the soundness of its principle asserted itself, and its resources received greater development. At last, after the retirement of M. Gayot, the particular member of the Administration, during this period, whose name may be taken as the personification of this intestine war, the races came under the sole direction of the Society, and, owing to its intelligent action, and to a growing taste on the part of the public, were not long in entering upon a course of rapid development.

Up to this time, the races had taken place at the Champ de Mars and at Chantilly. The former was a place by no means worthy of their new splendour. The Champ de Mars, moreover, was not a race-course; owners, trainers, and all persons with special knowledge of the subject, were incessantly complaining of this course, hard and yet sandy in dry weather, and a marsh at rainy seasons. A private society, of short duration, had already established a cosmopolitan race-course on the meadows of Longchamps, situated between the western border of the Bois de Boulogne and the Seine. The attention of the Society was aroused by this attempt; and negotiations were opened with the Administration of the city of Paris. Ultimately, in 1856, the city ceded to the Society the ownership of the present racecourse of Longchamps, the Society being bound to build permanent 'stands' upon it. Thanks to this contract, opportunity was given for creating the magnificent hippodrome' which now exists there. The ground contains about sixty-six hectares (about

The

166 acres). This vast extent has rendered it possible to mark off several courses of different lengths, and so to avoid frequent and sharp turns. The hippodrome is entirely covered with turf. course has, for several years, under the direction of Mr Mackenzie-Grieves, received constant attention; the nature of the soil has been completely modified, and now leaves absolutely nothing to be desired. The transformation is such that the ground was enabled to successfully withstand the strange uses to which it was put during the siege

strange, that is, if its original destination be considered, and was discovered to be in excellent order at the renewal of the races in 1871. The inauguration, as the French call it, of the hippodrome took place on the 27th of April 1857; and both the course of Longchamps and the development of racing in France were destined to receive on one and the same day 'a glorious consecration,' to use the words of our authority, 'by the inauguration of the Grand Prix de Paris, which took place on the 31st of May 1863.'

It is just forty years, then, since horse-racing became an organised institution in France; and the way in which it arrived at its present flourishing condition has been sketched. Of the French horses which have made themselves more or less celebrated, during that interval, by victories won either on English ground or over English horses, may be mentioned: Jouvence, the first French-bred winner of the Goodwood Cup, in 1853; Monarque, winner of the Goodwood Cup, in 1857; Fille de l'Air, winner of the Epsom Oaks, in 1864; Vermout, the vanquisher of Blair Athol for the Grand Prix, in 1864; Gladiateur, winner of everything he could possibly win (for he was impossibly weighted for the Cambridgeshire), in 1865; Sornette, winner of the Grand Prix, in 1870; Mortemer, winner of the Ascot Cup, in 1871; Flagéolet, winner of the Goodwood Cup, in 1873; and Boiard, winner of the Grand Prix, in 1873, and of the Ascot Cup, in 1874. Nor should Trocadéro, a formidable antagonist on the English racecourse, and one of the very best of Monarque's progeny, be omitted from the list. After this, it can hardly be necessary to state that, during the forty years which France has taken to reach its present state as regards horse-flesh, some, if not inost of our very best horses found their way by purchase into French hands; but it is so curious as to be worthy of observation, that some of the very best racers did not turn out to be the best sires-for instance, the celebrated Flying Dutchman and the very brilliant West Australian could not be compared, for the value of their produce, with many horses for which the French paid less money, and of which they expected less things. The French language has not yet adapted itself, apparently, to the position won by the nation in horse-racing, so as to have a native vocabulary for all things and persons connected with the turf; our authority uses such terms as 'le betting,' 'le betting-room, le betting-man,' 'le backer,' 'le bookmaker,' 'le jockey,' 'le tipster,' 'le tout,' and so on, down to 'le welsher; but it is to be feared that the absence of a native word to express the worst of the things and persons cannot be taken to imply an absence of native specimens thereof. Paris is now so easily reached from London, that it has not escaped from that wholesale and methodised betting on horses which has latterly

disgraced English racing, and, in its worst features, called for legislative interference. Viewing the matter in its social aspect, our neighbours, unfortunately, cannot be congratulated on their successful imitation of what was once an esteemed English sport.

THE LIFE-BOAT AND ITS WORK. Ir almost invariably happens that the honour of having been the first inventor of anything great and useful is disputed; and so it is, according to Mr Richard Lewis, Secretary of the Royal National Life-boat Institution, in the case of the life-boat. There may still be seen in the churchyard of Hythe, in Kent, a tombstone bearing an inscription which testifies that a certain 'LIONEL LUKIN was the first who built a Life-boat, and was the original Inventor of that quality of safety, by which many lives and much property have been preserved from Shipwreck, and he obtained for it the King's patent in the year 1785.' But there may be differences of opinion even amongst inscriptions engraved upon tombstones; for it appears that, in the parish church of St Hilda, South Shields, there is a stone 'Sacred to the Memory of WILLIAM WOULD HAVE, who died September 28, 1821, aged 70 years, Clerk of this Church, and Inventor of that invaluable blessing to mankind, the Life-boat.' So that we have already two different 'inventors' of the same 'invaluable blessing.' But it happens, again, that Mr HENRY GREATHEAD, a shrewd boat-builder at South Shields, has very generally been credited with designing and building the first life-boat about the year 1789.' The fact seems to be 'that Mr LIONEL LUKIN, a coach-builder in Long Acre, London, had designed and fitted a boat for saving life in cases of shipwreck, which he called an "Unimmergible Boat," some four or five years before GREATHEAD brought forward his plan for a life-boat; and that, in 1789, from certain plans offered to a certain committee, which had proposed 'premiums for the best models of a life-boat,' there were two selected-one sent in 'by Mr WILLIAM WOULDHAVE, and the other by Mr HENRY GREATHEAD,' the preference having, apparently, been given to the latter.

We may as well just refer to the disastrous event which resulted in the plans of WOULDHAVE and GREATHEAD. In the year 1789, 'the Adventure, of Newcastle, was wrecked at the mouth of the Tyne; and, while the 'vessel lay stranded on the Herd Sand at the entrance of the river, in the midst of tremendous breakers, her crew "dropped off one by one from her rigging," only three hundred yards from the shore, and in the presence of thousands of spectators, not one of whom could be induced to venture to her assistance in any boat or coble of the ordinary construction.' No wonder that 'strong feelings were excited; no wonder that premiums were offered for the invention of a life-boat; and no wonder that, when the good that could be effected by the life-boat had been clearly established between 1791 and 1803, 'Mr GREATHEAD received many orders to build life-boats,' so that 'before the end of 1803 he had built no fewer than thirty-one-five for Scotland, eight for foreign countries, and eighteen for England. At the commencement of the year 1802, 'two hundred lives had been saved at the entrance of the Tyne alone,' and 'GREATHEAD applied to parliament for a national

reward;' whereupon, 'a committee of the House of Commons' having taken evidence, and reported on the value of the invention, the sum of L.1200 was voted to him. The Trinity House added L.105; Lloyd's, the same sum; the Society of Arts, its gold medal and fifty guineas; and the Emperor of Russia, a diamond ring.' But, for all this, the cause of the life-boat did not gain ground, nor did the number of life-boats increase to the extent one would naturally suppose; and the true reason may lie somewhere between the Englishman's innate suspicion of anything 'new-fangled,' and his by no means groundless mistrust of an invention which, in some instances, turned out so disastrously as to create a doubt whether the remedy was not worse than the disease. In fact, the subject of the preservation of life from shipwreck on our coast gradually languished until improvements were effected on the principle of buoyancy of a boat in a stormy sea by Mr R. Peake of Her Majesty's Dockyard at Woolwich. His efforts were very successful, and the Royal National Institution for the Preservation of Life from Shipwreck (which was established in 1824) adopted his model as the standard for the boats they should thereafter establish on the coasts.

So improved, the life-boat is thirty feet in length by eight in breadth, flat in the bottom, and provided at the ends and sides with air-tight chambers. Between the outer bottom and what may be called the floor or deck of the boat, there is a space stuffed with cork and light hard-wood. Were a rent, therefore, made in the outer covering, the vessel would still float. A heavy iron keel keeps the boat straight; and by a proper adjustment of parts, it is scarcely possible in the stormiest sea to turn a life-boat upside down. One of the most beautiful arrangements for insuring the safety of the boat consists of tubes with valves for clearing out the water which may be thrown in by the waves. Thus, rightly constructed, the vessel can neither sink nor be capsized. It floats like a cork on the wildest sea, and the loss of life in guiding it is a very rare occurrence.

Stories of the most extraordinary daring appear from time to time in the newspapers regarding the gallant operations of the crews of life-boats. We can give a specimen, by narrating what occurred on a late occasion.

'On the north side of the Annat Bank, at the entrance to the harbour of Montrose, was wrecked the schooner Active, just before the break of day on the 25th October 1874. The vessel had been discerned from Montrose making for the bar, and was known by pilots and boatmen to have missed it, and immediately the life-boat Mincing Lane was launched to the rescue: a heavy gale from the south, driving rain, a cross sea, and no more light than that of the faint struggling dawn of a stormy autumn morning, made the life-boatmen's work severe and perilous. The wreck, moreover, was perpetually shifting her position, and driving and thumping helplessly over the shoal in the midst of a wide turmoil of broken waters. Into this chaos plunged the life-boat, the energies of her crew being exerted to the utmost, and their endeavours stimulated by the recollection that their most determined efforts had failed of success when the Hermes was wrecked on the same spot five years previously. The difficulty of remaining close to the wreck long enough for only one man even to