and difficulties. One day while I was in the very act of ruminating on them in my study, an esteemed friend, Mr. Tennent, of Wellpark, who had heard of my perplexity, came in and accosted me in some such words as these-"My yacht, the St. Ursula, is getting ready for sea. the Mediterranean. Come with me. into a warmer climate. I shall go where you like to Italy, Egypt, or the Holy Land!" In a fortnight I sail for Here was an offer worth all the prescriptions of all the Medical Faculties in the world. I grew well at the very thought of it. I had had my day-dreams, many a time, about the Nile and the pyramids, about Jerusalem and the Dead Sea; but that I should ever tread the soil of the land of the Pharaohs, or see that city where my Lord was crucified, had, up till that moment, appeared to be among the unlikeliest of human things. To enhance the attractiveness of this proposal, it was made, by its kind author, part and parcel of it that my wife and one of the members of my family should accompany me. It needs not to say that this somewhat exciting interview decided my course. The requisite preparations were quickly made, and at three P.M. on Wednesday, the 4th of March, we left Glasgow by rail to join the yacht. At Greenock we got into one of the Clyde steamers, and by six o'clock we were on board the St. Ursula, which was lying at anchor in the bay of the beautiful village of Fairlie, on the coast of Ayrshire, about a mile off from her owner's countryhouse. It had been blowing hard all day, but towards evening the wind fell, the sky cleared, and everything seemed to promise well for the morrow, when we were to proceed upon our voyage. Our sailing party, eight in number, had all arrived. They consisted of three ladies, Mrs. H. P., Miss L., and Mrs. B.; of four gentlemen,-Mr. Tennent and his brother, the Rev. Mr. Grant Brown, my son Laurence, a boy of ten years of age, and myself. Mr. Brown had been a missionary to the Jews in Syria and Egypt, and his knowledge of these countries and of the THE FIRTH OF CLYDE. 11 Arabic tongue promised to make him of much service to us, both as an interpreter and as a guide. The yacht had a crew, including the active and intelligent master, Mr. Cairney, of ten seamen, besides a cook and steward. We were, therefore, in all twenty souls. As for the gallant craft in which we had embarked, she was a Cowes-built, schooner-rigged yacht, of nearly 200 tons burden; fit for all weathers and for any sea. Save the anchor watch, all hands mustered in the saloon to join in our evening worship, in which, before quitting our native shores, we committed both ourselves and the friends we were leaving behind to the care of Him who is Lord equally of the sea and of the dry land. About six o'clock on the following morning we weighed. anchor and made sail. The beginning of our voyage was somewhat discouraging. During the night the wind had gone round from north to south, and when I went on deck an hour after we left Fairlie Bay, it was already blowing half a gale, and right in our teeth. In the face of it we held on, beating down channel, till we were abreast of Pladda, when it was deemed advisable, instead of crashing any longer into the continually rising sea, to run into Lamlash. As that noble natural harbour of refuge was under our lee, we swept into it in little more than half-an-hour after putting about, and dropped our anchor in the midst of a fleet of fifty or sixty vessels, which had already sought shelter there the same morning or the day before. Here we lay all that day and the next, the weather showing no signs of improvement. It was rather trying, at the end of two days, to find ourselves not more than five or six hours' sail from home. The incident, however, was not without its use. It gave us a lesson in sea life-showing us its great uncertainties and compelling us to feel and to realize that dependence on a Higher Power which we are naturally so unwilling to acknowledge, and so slow to learn. In the course of the second day, and during a temporary lull of the storm, some of us went ashore, and had an invigorating walk round the head of the bay; while Mr. Tennent, "on hospitable thoughts intent," contrived at the same time to make purchase, at a farm-house on the hill side, of a fat sheep, which was forthwith slain and sent on board in the evening. The sky, for a few hours that afternoon, had looked so promising than many of the vessels in the bay had got up the second anchor which they had all been compelled to let go, and seemed to be preparing for a start. Before the night fell, however, the rack had become as wild, and the wind as fierce as ever, and the second anchors were all again dropped into the sea. As for us of the St. Ursula, we were resolved at all hazards to venture out next morning, even if we should get no farther than Campbeltown Bay. At eight A.M., accordingly, on Saturday, the 7th of March, we bade farewell to Lamlash. The morning sun, gleaming at intervals through the hurrying clouds, was gilding the snowy peaks of Goatfell as we glided out between the Holy Isle and the mainland of Arran. The wind had come up to the west, and we had comparatively smooth water so long as we were under the wing of the land-beyond it all was storm and fury as before. On however the gallant ship sped at the rate of ten-and-a-half knots an hour, and by three o'clock in the afternoon we were off Donaghadee. Already we were counting on a fine run down the Irish Channel, when gradually, as the day closed in and night came on, the wind fell off more and more to the south, and it became increasingly evident that the best thing we could do would be to fight our way into Kingston harbour, and see what better fortune another day might bring. The sea was very rough, and sounded below like minute guns as it banged in successive billows against the weather-bow. Wondering what it could mean, when midnight had passed and there were still no symptoms of smoother water, I went on deck to see what was going on, and where we were. We were opposite the hill of Howth. Both wind and tide were coming strong out of Dublin Bay, and there was no possibility of entering it without a long tack seaward to the south-east. It was a fine sight to see our brave ship battling with the gale, as, AT ANCHOR IN KINGSTON HARBOUR. 13 with her foresail washed half way up with the foam and spray, and with a treble reef in her mainsail, she bounded along over the raging deep. I remained on deck till we got to our anchorage at two in the morning. The roaring of the sea and the howling of the wind through the rigging, as she was put about to run in towards the land, were terrific. The night was wild in the extreme, but there was good moonlight. With the exception of a pilot-boat that was hanging about the weathershore, keeping herself out of harm's way, there was not a sail to be seen. Not a man of the crew had left the deck, save to snatch a hasty dinner, since we left Lamlash. They had had a rough day of it; and were, doubtless, as well pleased as the rest of us when we were at length folded within the long arms of the mole harbour of Kingston, as snug and quiet as if we had been anchored in a mill-pond. Here we spent the Sabbath, throughout the whole of which the gale continued. About five A.M. on Monday the yacht began to rock like a cradle. Knowing that she lay nearly opposite the harbour mouth, it was easy to conjecture the cause of this phenomenon: the wind had shifted to the north, and was now sending the swell right in upon us. This was some consolation for having our rest disturbed at so early an hour. The weather-glasses, of which we had three-the common mercurial barometer, the aneroid, and the sympesometer-were all on the rise, a further indication of the "clear weather that cometh out of the north." By-and-by the clank of the lever and chain gave note of preparation for again putting to sea. On reaching the deck all my auguries were verified. The anchor was already hove short; and as soon as the men had breakfasted, the order was given to sail. It is always an interesting moment the getting under weigh. In this particular case the excitement was not a little increased by the circumstances of our position. A strong breeze was blowing into the harbour mouth, and a great swell was tumbling in along with it. A coasting vessel that had been lying beside us had just lifted her anchor, and while Mr. Tennent, "on hospitable thoughts intent," contrived at the same time to make purchase, at a farm-house on the hill side, of a fat sheep, which was forthwith slain and sent on board in the evening. The sky, for a few hours that afternoon, had looked so promising than many of the vessels in the bay had got up the second anchor which they had all been compelled to let go, and seemed to be preparing for a start. Before the night fell, however, the rack had become as wild, and the wind as fierce as ever, and the second anchors were all again dropped into the sea. As for us of the St. Ursula, we were resolved at all hazards to venture out next morning, even if we should get no farther than Campbeltown Bay. At eight A.M., accordingly, on Saturday, the 7th of March, we bade farewell to Lamlash. The morning sun, gleaming at intervals through the hurrying clouds, was gilding the snowy peaks of Goatfell as we glided out between the Holy Isle and the mainland of Arran. The wind had come up to the west, and we had comparatively smooth water so long as we were under the wing of the land-beyond it all was storm and fury as before. On however the gallant ship sped at the rate of ten-and-a-half knots an hour, and by three o'clock in the afternoon we were off Donaghadee. Already we were counting on a fine run down the Irish Channel, when gradually, as the day closed in and night came on, the wind fell off more and more to the south, and it became increasingly evident that the best thing we could do would be to fight our way into Kingston harbour, and see what better fortune another day might bring. The sea was very rough, and sounded below like minute guns as it banged in successive billows against the weather-bow. Wondering what it could mean, when midnight had passed and there were still no symptoms of smoother water, I went on deck to see what was going on, and where we were. We were opposite the hill of Howth. Both wind and tide were coming strong out of Dublin Bay, and there was no possibility of entering it without a long tack seaward to the south-east. It was a fine sight to see our brave ship battling with the gale, as, |