adventure his own life lightly. His head reeled, his mouth was parched, and his eyes throbbed with an intolerable pain. Then almost without knowing what he did, he rose to his feet and tried to call out. At first he could not articulate the words, but his voice died away in a feeble murmur. How near he seemed! the spars stood out plainly against the sky, and the lights were burning clear and bright. He thought once he could hear the sound of the mariners calling as they lay out on the spars of the brig that was riding nearest to him. Again he called out--"Ship Ahoy!" and this time his voice came strong and full, but though he stood and listened there was no response to his shout. A third time he called out, and then to his inexpressible delight he heard a hoarse voice coming over the water, “Ahoy! what boat is that?” Rising once more to his feet he called through his hands, “Help! Help!” and sank exhausted in the bottom of the boat, incapable of making any further effort. He waited anxiously but there came no further response, and the little boat went drifting down with the tide. He began to fear that they had not heard his second call. Then--hours after it seemed--he heard the measured sweep of oars and the sound of voices coming nearer. But for his life he could not raise himself above the gunwhale; his strength had left him, and he was as feeble as a child. But they had caught sight of the little craft where it tossed about in the space of moonlit water, and in a minute or two the ship´s boat was alongside. Gervase was trying without success to answer the questions the mate of the brig was putting to him. Divining at a glance his condition they lifted him into the boat, and one of the seamen with kindly pity threw his rough jacket over him as they rowed to the brig. He lay in the bottom of the boat utterly helpless and unable to move; but his heart was full of inexpressible emotion, for he had accomplished his work and saved the city. He remembered rowing round the brig and seeing the words “Phoenix of Coleraine” painted in large white letters on the stern, but he fainted away as they lifted him over the side of the boat, and knew nothing more till he found himself lying in the round-house of the brig. “What piece of goods have ye got there, McKeller?” the master said, standing by the shrouds, and looking over the bulwark as they lifted Gervase aboard. “As fine a lad as ever I saw in my life, but thin as a whipping-post--a messenger I think, from Londonderry. Gently, my lads, easy with his head. Six feet two of manhood, and I guess a rare good one with his whinger if he had his senses about him.” They carried him to the round-house, and laying him on the floor, poured a dram of aqua-vitæ down his throat, but for a long time he showed no sign of life. Then they noticed the letter where it was secured.