IT is a lovely morning in July, the morning after the Royal St. George's Regatta.

Kingstown Harbour is bright and beautiful with the taper masts and snowy canvas of a whole fleet of yachts. An " ocean race" is about to begin, from Kingstown to Cork—a race that will try the mettle and the seamanship of those that enter on it.

Seventeen yachts are to contend; the largest, a schooner of 140 tons — the smallest, a cutter of 25. At half-past ten they are off, with a fair working breeze from the north-west and every stitch of canvas set. We—you and I, reader—are on board the Sybil, neither a Leviathan nor a Minnow, but a comfortable yacht of nineand- thirty tons. We are somewhat late in starting, for we are detained by a salmon that we have ordered for our ocean meal; but at last the noble fish is received on board, and when we round Wicklow Head we have made up for lost time and are in the middle of the fleet. There is rough work before us, for the wind has been drawing round off the land from northwest to west, and has now settled down a south-south-west, " a regular dead noser.' There is dirty weather brewing. On and on we go, passing one competitor after another, until at last the little Wild-flower alone remains to conquer. A fierce race it is, but at last we head her, and lead the fleet. Meanwhile, the weather has grown worse: the wind comes in heavier puffs the sea rises, and the yacht " jumps like a greyhound-in the slips." A rough night is before us, but we make everything fast on deck, and descend with a view to the salmon. " He appeared to leer pleasantly at us as he was deposited upon the table; but scarcely had the captain made the firs) flourish of the fish-slice over his devoted head than the little ship gave a convulsive jump :" the salmon, with an expression of the wildest jollity, 'leaps right into one gentleman's shirt front and strikes another on the nose! " At last we were forced to polish him off in detail, so wherever a bit of him was found, it was punished on the spot." And now, though the night drew on, and the darkness closed in, the little ship put forth her full speed. At half-past eleven the Blackwater Bank light ship " shimmered like a star through the haze of rain and wave-drift." The full surge of the Atlantic has now to be met. Our gallant foes must be near us, and some, from their superior size, ought to beat us in such heavy weather.

" Eager to hear and watchful to see were we through the hours of darkness for aught that could betoken the whereabouts of our powerful rivals; but nought smote the ear save the howl of the tempest through the rigging, or the eye but the white glare of seething foam as we dashed it in triumph from our path. Dark and cold and weary were those hours; but we heeded them not: our little bark was bounding along like a wilful, breathing, living thing, frolicking with the storm as if in very wantonness.

At length an almost palpable darkness enshrouded us: it made the heart beat from its intensity. There accompanied it a cold moaning blast that reached the very vitals : the hoarse roar of the storm was lulled as if in fear; it became softer and more fitful, until at last it was a sullen throb—it was the dying gasp of the night. ITp from the east came glinting tiny pale gray streaks; by-and-by, rosier and warmer pillars of light gradually reared their heads above the horizon; golden streaks scintillated playfully from wave to wave; then a great flood of glorious sunshine burst over the sea and up through the heavens; and the young day was boni, as it were, in a moment. The change from that dark cold hour—thrilling in its touch as the hand of death—to the bright, life-imparting, balmy breath of morning, I shall never forget.

WitH the sun's earliest ray the very waters seemed to teem with new-born life. Porpoises gambolled joyously around us, gulls screamed a discordant matin-welcome, illfavoured cormorants sped their rapid flight, and guillemots and puffins, as they plumed themselves for the. fray, croaked in merry conceit." Now to work again. "Speedily the canvas rose fold over fold above the hardy little Sybil; her storm-mantle of the night was swiftly cast aside, and en gronde tenne, she was careering proudly over the long Atlantic swells." It was high time; for, at a few minutes past five, lo and behold our two most dreaded antagonists, the Kingfisher (90) and Peri (80) are visible —and ahead! Others are near us, but with these two will our last -desperate struggle have to be. And now for a long day's work: we run between the Saltee [slands with perilously little water: for two hours we are abreast of the Hook Tower Light, near the entrance to Water- Ford Harbour, in a " terribly ugly cross sea;" so that it is all we can do to hold our own, until at last we dash suddenly ' through a weak spot in the running water," and are again away. " Our second night's vigil commenced, and never was the first glint of dawn more longingly watched for. . At two A.M. the wind flew round to north by west. At the first wink )f daylight we discovered the Kingfisher and Peri just ahead of us. With a rattling cheer all hands were turned up, and now commenced the tug of war in right earnest: every rope and sail was overhauled, and not a precaution that could secure another inch of speed was neglected in our little ship." Queenstown is at length in sight: both Kingfisher and Peri are still ahead: the race seems lost; "in fact, to ordinary observers, it was all over but shouting: but we had a man at the helm who had not yet expended half his cunning lore of the sea. I have sailed many a match, but I never saw a more brilliant piece of helmsmanship in my life than on that morning.

The race was won by steersmanship and steersmanship alone!" Here are the times at which we pass the flag-ship, goal of victory :— , H. M. s.

Sybil. . . . 5 20 OAM.

Peri . . . . 5 23 0 A.M.

Kingfisher . . 5 25 0 A.M.

We have sailed two hundred miles round the Irish coast, and we have won the oceanrace by three minutes! We have given this sketch to illustrate one of the aspects in which the sea presents itself to us—its most pleasant and delightful aspect, with just enough of peril to spice the enjoyment.

And now, leaving this joyous summer aspect of the sea, we have to suggest, by way of contrast, another sketch, depicting scenes through which our life-boatmen pass.

It is a sad, short, painful story; but very eloquent with the eloquence of fact. The vessel it concerns was called the Lovely Nelly, of Seaham, to which we briefly referred in our last Number.

The present year came in on our English north-eastern coast in storm and fury. For the two last days of the dying year a tempest had been brewing; and on New-Year's Day, when we quiet city folks were exchanging " compliments of the season," many anxious eyes were turned to seaward, and many an anxious heart grew sick as the wind rose, and rose, and still rose.

Many vessels, southward-bound, put about, and had to run as far as Leith Roads for shelter. Soon after dayb/eak, on the 1st of January, the coast-guard men on the lookout at the Spanish Battery, Tynemouth, saw a vessel, deeply laden, with a flag of distress flying. She was struggling to get to the northward, but struggling in vain, and rapidly driving in upon the coast. The coast-guard men followed her along the shore with the rocket apparatus, and, as they went on, the people of the villages turned out to join them; so that, ere long, each headland had its anxious crowd, looking—pitying —trembling. It was a very sad sight to see. Some of the vessel's sails had been blown away, and she grew more and more unmanageable amid the terrible seas that broke around and over her. At length, abandoning the desperate effort to get to the northward, her crew, as the last chance of life, ran her for Whitley Sands, 5 miles north of Shields. She was so deeply laden, that she struck on a ridge of sunken rocks and was still three-quarters of a mile from the shore. It was impossible to reach her with rockets. Only one hope remained— the Life-boat! As fast as they could run through the snow, driving wind, and rain, life-boat men and fishermen made off for Cullercoats, where was stationed the Percy life-boat, belonging to the NATIONAL LIFEBOAT INSTITUTION. Six horses were fastened to her carriage, and down they came at a gallop to the sands. She was speedily manned—by a gallant crew of Cullercoats men, and Mr. Byrne of the Coast-guard volunteering as bowman—pulled out as for their own lives; and not a moment too soon did they reach the ship, which was now broadside on to the sea, her crew in the rigging, and the waves breaking over her half-mast high. Cleverly and deftly was the life-boat laid alongside; the vessel was grappled, and the boat held to her by a strong rope. Instantly the crew made towards their deliverers; but even as 'they left the rigging, one man was much cut inthe face and head, the mate had his shoulder dislocated, and three of them were swept into the sea. The life-boat was handled with a glorious skill; two of the crew were at once picked up, and as the third man went down to his death, a strong hand seized him, with a grasp of iron, by his hair, and dragged him up to life. Two other men were got into the boat. Did any remain on board the ship ? Yes : how overlooked, how so left to die, we know not—but the little cabin-boy remained. The boy's cry for help grew very pitiful: for some time he dared not venture out of the weather-rigging; at last he did so, and was seen in the lee shrouds: " he had got wounded in the head, and was covered with blood." One of the life-boat's crew has since said that every face round him grew white and sick, and tears came from eyes little used to shed them—" They clenched their teeth, and with their own lives in their hands," dashed in their boat to save him. The sea beat her back. They dashed in again, to be swept back once more. Again and again they tried: the poor boy, meanwhile, crying terribly in his great loneliness and despair.

He was so young, and the coast was so near I Bat the vessel began to part, and the uastepped masts must fall, and would crush the life-boat if she stayed one minute longer in her then position. Then, sacrificing, one life to save many, a brave man gave the order, in a hoarse broken voice, to " cut the rope." In an instant she was swept away under the vessel's stern—not a second too soon, for at once the mainmast fell, with an awful crush, on the very spot she had just left, and the vessel immediately broke up. The boy—" his lace was covered with blood "— fell into the sea. Clenched in agony or clasped in prayer, his little hands were seen once—twice—lifted above the waves! the life-boat again rushed towards him, but the tempest swept away his poor boyish cry before the roar and tumult of the winds: he did not rise again. The life-boat was pulled back to the land.

Imagine, if you can, how every heart on shore beat fast and hot: how, running to the life-boat, dashing into the surf, the men would drag her ashore; imagine, if you can, how the saved would feel, and how the brave would sorrow for the lost! . . . and is not such work infinitely grand and noble ? has it not somewhat special claims upon our aid? This account is but one of many—very many—of life-boat services performed during the past winter. The accompanying illustration of the wreck of the Lovely Ndly, and the rescue of her crew, is from a sketch by Mr. J. SCOTT, a talented marine artist of South Shields, from which a painting has since been made and presented to the Cullercoats fishermen's reading-room..