dashed along her side, "Watch! watch! watch about ship, or you'll be aground on rocks."

"Of course," muttered Steymore in answer, "Of course, 'Watch, for ye know not- -.' That is how my father would talk. The old boy is a rattling good preacher. Grand! But what does he do? He takes his glass, and taught me at his own table to take my glass. Now where are we? I'm a full blown Naval man, and he's a cleric, or 'sky-pilot' as we say. If I go to the rocks I'll court-martial him as‘pilot.' If I go to join the 'rich man lifting up his eyes in torments' whilst he calls to Lazarus for a drop of water, I'll call to my Dad to 'Pass the wine along; do'nt let the decanter stand, pass it on; or a drop of brandy will do if you havn't any wine handy.

"Let the bottle pass,

'I'll stop the Oh! its rich. Ha!'"

And we'll toss another glass

To the girls of merrie, merrie England!!'

old boy's enjoyment up there I guess. What a treat-He! He! Ha! Ha!

So laughing heartily with the contorted thoughts of his brain, heated by brandy, he woke himself up.

"I'll take another nip on the strength of that joke," he said, as he struggled up, took out his brandy bottle and helped himself again.

"That will do the trick," he said, as he drank off with a relish his third "nip."

"Your good sister would say," the voice within commenced again, and Lieutenant Steymore groaned as he sat upon his cot. "Your sister would

"Oh! Alice, spare me," muttered he.

"Your sister Alice would say," firmly continued

the voice within, "that you are as really a slave as any poor wretch in that 'prize' yonder was a slave, before the slave-ship was caught, and the slaves became protected passengers, free, under the British Union Jack, and St. George's Cross."

"Oh! I'm a fool," he groaned, as he threw himself down on his cot again. No more warning voice did he hear just then, and his senses being dulled and paralysed, he soon became unconscious, and his heavy breathing proclaimed that he was fast asleep.

CHAPTER V.

ON PAXTON MOOR.

N dear old England, the home of freedom, Mrs. Taffrell and her daughter, Amy, moved away from the "Lion Rock" on their way homewards. They lowered themselves with careful steps from the rock base into a field, and by so doing passed a recognized boundary line, and were on Paxton Moor.

A pleasant westerly wind blew gently from the direction of the mountains of Wales, and the moor being situated on a tall hill, the air was both invigorating and refreshing. Mrs. Taffrell's father was the Rector of Paxton Moor, and was known as the Rev. John Steymore, M.A. His ministrations were highly valued by his numerous parishioners, who, in in many small farms cultivated the moor, or, upon pasture land kept cows, and supplied the neighbouring towns with milk, butter, and other produce.

These affectionate people not only loved their Rector and his wife, but also their two children. One only daughter was now known as Mrs. Taffrell, and the one son was understood to be a great Naval hero, and his occasional visits to his father's Rectory caused talk and excitement.

Mrs. Taffrell was also understood to have married