The inspiring and wonderful sight of the Liverpool docks, a forest of the masts of English and American clippers; the river Mersey at high water, alive with splendid sailing vessels leaving or entering our docks, and at anchor in a line extending from the Sloyne to New Brighton, or towing out to sea, or may be sailing in from sea under their own canvas--all was activity and full of life and motion. I remember seeing one of Brocklebank's ships--the "Martaban," of 600 tons--sailing into the George's Dock Basin under full canvas; her halliards were let go, and sails were clewed up so smartly that the ship as she passed the Pierhead was able to throw a line on shore and make fast. It is difficult in these days to realise such a thing being possible. It was skill supported by discipline. When I was young I was a keen yachtsman, and had the good fortune to make a voyage to Australia in one of the most famous of our clipper ships, the "Red Jacket." Some account of the first few days of my voyage may be of interest, and bring into contrast the ease and luxury enjoyed on board an Atlantic liner, with the hard life on board a first-class clipper ship. It is not too much to say that on board an Atlantic liner the weather does not count; on board an old sailing-ship the weather meant everything. [Illustration: "Red Jacket," 1854] The "Red Jacket" was built in Maine, in 1854. She was 2,006 tons. Her length was 260 feet, and her beam 44 feet. She was an extremely good-looking ship. Her figurehead was a full-length representation of "Red Jacket," a noted Indian chieftain. She had been purchased by Pilkington & Wilson for £30,000, for their White Star Line of Australian packets. On her voyage from New York she had made the passage in thirteen days one hour--on one day she logged 415 miles. On the morning of the 20th November, 1857, I embarked by a tender from the Liverpool Pierhead. It was nearly the top of high water. The crew were mustered on the forecastle, under the 1st Mate, Mr. Taylor. An order comes from the quarter-deck, "Heave up the anchor and get under way." "Aye, aye, sir." "Now then, my boys, man the windlass," shouts the Mate, and to a merry chantie: In 1847 Paddy Murphy went to heaven To work upon the railway, A-working on the railway, the railway, the railway, Oh, poor Paddy works upon the railway.