six-inch cigar.

And after this has been duly lighted and screwed into his mouth, you may venture to speak to him, as I did.

"That schooner of yours is a tidy little craft," I remarked.

"Yes," he assented, rather pleased; "there ain't much amiss about her."

"What a great press of sail you carry!"

Why yes; we want to cram on a lot o' canvas when we're racing."

"Racing! When do you race?"

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Why, when there's two of us sight a ship at once, we crowd sail to get down first. We have some mighty excitin' races 'times."

"And does the ship always take the pilot that reaches her first?"

"I guess so; there ain't any difference."

"What is the tonnage, now, of your schooner?" "A trifle inside o' fifty. We have a lot of room on board."

"

And how many pilots do you carry?"

"We leave the port o' Noo York with five pilots and six of a working crew; then, you see, we cruise about, and lay off and on, till the pilots are all taken off by ships. When the last pilot goes off, the schooner runs back to port, takes us aboard again, and off once more."

"How long has the schooner generally to cruise till she gets quit of all her pilots?"

"Why, it's all uncertain. Sometimes she'll have good luck and be able to run home in a week; then, again, if ships be scarce, she'll stop out till the larder's empty—a month, may be."

That is a long time to wait."

"Competition is mighty brisk, and there are twenty-nine certified pilot boats in the port of Noo York. In the summer months you'll see us running five hundred miles off the land, to be the first in the track of the incoming ships."

"Five hundred miles-you don't say so!"

"It's a good thing to be the first to catch an inward ship, for, you see, it's the custom for the same pilot that takes a ship in to take her out again when she leaves."

"Indeed? And how do you arrange about taking ships outward? What if your schooner is cruising at sea with all her pilots when the ship is ready to leave port?"

"Why, the senior pilot belonging to each boat lives on shore always, and goes down the river with all outgoing ships. The vessel drops him at Sandy Hook, so he's back in Noo York city same day."

"Then there are six pilots connected with each

schooner-five on board, and one permanently on

shore?"

"I guess that's 'bout how it is." "And what is the pilotage fee?"

"Five dollars a foot for every foot the ship or steamer draws."

"Then the larger and more deeply-laden the vessel, the better for the pilot."

"You must have some very heavy weather at times. How do the schooners behave?"

"We're out at all seasons, but there ain't cleverer craft anywhere in a gale o' wind or a seaway. Fore-an'-after's are always weatherly; and the pilot boats have both the beam and the depth. You'll seldom hear of an accident to a pilot boat."

"I should think that in fine summer weather you must have rare good times cruising about."

"It's no ways unpleasant. We have an elegant cabin, and always something to read or to amuse us. And gentlemen from the city often come out with us for a holiday."

"Why, that's not at all a bad idea."

"Some o' them are main pleasant company, and perhaps bring down a stock o' wine, and a bit extra for the larder. But they're apt to

get sick when it comes on to blow a reg'lar gale o' wind."

During the day the pilot schooner flies a large blue flag at the masthead as a signal, to which the steamer replies if she has not yet got a pilot; and at night she burns a "flare up" whenever she sights a ship's light. Pilotage off the port of New York is a paying business, and many of the pilots retire from sea with a handsome competence.

As we drew nearer the land, coasting craft appeared on all sides, for the most part pretty centre-board schooners, with either two or three masts, and very white sails. Their sails are of cotton, and there is little fog or smoke to blacken them; the absence of smoke being accounted for by the fact that hard coal is used in American cities and steamboats.

The American tug-boats attracted our notice, as essentially different from those at home. They are all screw launches, small and low in the water, but powerful withal. The steersman stands in a glass wheelhouse forward the funnel-the universal plan on all American steamers,—and one which, as protecting that important functionary from wind and sun, is an improvement on our system. Each of those tug-boats bore upon the top of the wheelhouse a large gilt Eagle of Liberty, with outspread wings: and the unhappy birds always appeared to us to be trying

hard to escape from the land of the free, as if in protest against some unfitness of the emblem. But they could not make good their flight, for they were tethered by the feet. Luckless eagles of Liberty!

After steaming up fifteen miles through one of the most noble harbours in the world, we reached the quarantine station-Staten Island-where the doctor came on board. His examination was not formidable; and the company being duly passed, we proceeded upwards, marvelling much as we went at the great white unwieldy river steamboats which passed and re-passed all around. Soon we landed at New York City, solemnly swore that we had no "new or dutyable" articles, submitted our effects to inspection by the customs' officer, and then took a cab for the Fifth Avenue Hotel.

The cab merits a word. It was a large and solemn vehicle, eminently suited to any serious occasion, such as a marriage or a funeral, but scarcely adapted for rapid transit through the streets. It was drawn by two horses; and we were charged by the rapacious cabman two dollars and fifty cents, or ten shillings, for the two mile drive. So notably extortionate are cab-fares in New York, and indeed in most American cities, that Americans themselves