Even as he spoke the Eagle rounded to and hailed, her brass howitzer glimmering in the sun.

'Smack Yankee, of New York,' returned the skipper. 'Live stock aboard?'

'Aye' said the skipper, his words strongly borne out by Mr. Penn, who by a timely insinuation had greatly increased the wrath of the goose.

'What else?'

'Nothing.'

'All geese aboard?' was the next question, followed by a peal of laughter.

'Birds of a feather,' replied Mr. Percival with an unmoved face.

'Sail away then,' returned the man in the Eagle'make a straight line for the Commodore, five miles down.'

'Aye, aye, sir,' said the skipper, putting up the helm as if to obey. This brought the smack alongside the Eagle, and not more than three yards off; but the next word came like a cannon-shot from the little vessel.

'Lawrence!'-shouted Mr. Percival; in a moment the Yankee's deck was covered with armed men. Pouring forth from the cabin and fore peak where they had been concealed, the little band, some thirty in number, saluted the Eagle with a fierce volley from their muskets, before which her startled crew sank back into the hold without even attempting to discharge their howitzer. The deck was clear.

'Cease firing!' called out Mr. Percival. And with that a man cautiously emerging from the hold came forth and struck the Eagle's colours. In another minute the stars and stripes stretched off upon the breeze, and Mr. Percival and Penn Raynor were on the deck.

It was no joyous thing to take possession of. The

master's mate of the Poictiers lay there dead, and near him a midshipman mortally wounded; and of two marines that had fallen one was also dead. Nine other seamen and marines were in the hold. Briefly and gravely Mr. Percival made known his orders.

The Eagle changed her course again and stood for Sandy Hook. There the body of the mate was sent ashore and buried with military honours. The wounded men were carefully attended to; the prisoners sccured: and the Eagle set sail for New York.

'I call this a decided improvement on the Yankee,' said Penn Raynor, as he stood by sailing-master Percival who had taken his old place at the helm. We shall make quicker time to New York too, by something.'

At the Battery before sundown,' was the reply.

But why the mischief, Mr. Percival, don't you use that howitzer for a speaking trumpet, and talk a little? The quiet of your vessel has been unheard of, all day. Talk of 'darkness visible!'-Why don't you?"

The skipper's look for a moment betokened a stern reply, but he only said,

Your cousin would not have asked that question, Mr. Penn.'

'Very likely,' said Penn; and the same might be said of all the questions I ever did ask, probably, but I like to have 'em answered nevertheless."

'Go down in the cabin then,' said the sailing master briefly.

"Silence more pro

'What's in the cabin ?' said Penn. found?" I suppose if I went to the bottom of the sea it might be deeper yet.'

Again Mr. Percival looked at him, and then forward to where the sloop's prow was cleaving the blue water; and half musingly half in answer, he said,

'I cannot fire rejoicings over my prisoners' heads, Mr. Penn, nor one gun to reach a vessel that is bound on her last voyage.'

The prisoners' heads are intelligible,' said Penn,' though I should think they might come on deck; but as for your poetical effusion, it might go on the shelf with all the Greek books I used at College. I say why not fire half a dozen shots?'

And I tell you,' said the master, speaking with an emphasis that brought his voice down below its usual pitch, 'that there is one below who is nigh done with the world for ever,-do you want to roar into his ears that the world is all alive and kicking?'

6

'Is he so much hurt as that?' said Penn with a sobered face. You might have known that I didn't know what I was talking about, Mr. Percival.'

'I knew it,' said the skipper. Then in a quieter voice he added, 'I wish we had your cousin here, Mr. Penn.'

'Here!' said Penn-Henry Raynor on a privateering expedition! Then will you see me chief confidant of the Great Mogul and adviser extraordinary to the Kham of Tartary.'

'He can fight,' said the skipper coolly. a better man of all that the Paul Jones took

There was not from that brig.' "Fight-yes, with anybody,' said Penn, but what do you There's no work for him now on board

want of him now?

the Eagle, that I see.'

'You don't see far, Mr. Penn,' said the master.

'There

is work for him-and not one of us is fit to do it-work below, to give that craft a chart and compass and set her off on the right tack. Think of that man dying there, and not a soul that can speak a word to him.'

"We shall be at the Battery by sundown,' said Penn, who preferred to choose his own thoughts.

THE BATTERY BY SUNDOWN.

159

'Aye,' said Mr. Percival, and the conversation ceased. It blew lightly from the south now, and the Eagle skimmed along with a full sail and a motionless rudder. In the west the sun was rapidly nearing the Jersey hills, and light streaks and flakes of cloud bedecked the sky, and embroidered its blue with their own gold and rose colour. The bay caught the bright tints, and glowed and shone in competition; and on shore everything glittered that could, and those better things that could not, shone with a more refreshing light.

In a perfect bath of sunbeams the Eagle came up the bay; the American flag fluttering lightly out, and the English colours which hung too low for the breeze, drooping down and scarce stirring their folds. On and on-till she neared the Battery-and from the crowds assembled there went up a shout as from one voice.

Then every gun roared out its welcome, and the vessel was made fast and her captors sprang ashore; and quiet found but one resting-place-it was where the two wounded men were gently carried through the crowd, and their nine comrades came after as prisoners.

CHAPTER XVIII.

Just so romances are, for what else

Is in them all but love and battles?

O' th' first of these we have no great matter
To treat of, but a world o' th' latter.

Hudibras.

'You don't mean to say, Tom Skiddy,' said Martha, as she stood leaning against the breakfast room door one morning with her hands behind her; 'you don't mean to tell me that he never comes in ?'

Never comes in- replied Tom, who was assiduously dressing the line of knives and forks.

'Why I let him in once myself' said Martha with a very triumphant twist of her mouth. Now what do you say to that, Tom Skiddy?'

'I say he never comes in, Martha Jumps. I don't say he never did come in, in the course of his existence-I've let him in myself, maybe two or three times; but he never does come in,-not this whole summer.'

'And so many times as Hulda's been there, too,' said Martha parenthetically.

'Just brings her up the steps and sets her down in the hall,' said Tom, and then off he goes before you can say Jack Robinson.'

""Taint likely he'd stop if you did get it out, seeing it