the chase, but ere this the steam‐tug had on her own account altered her coarse, and by some cause or other came round, and made again for the point whence she had started. Having described a complete circle, she again started off on a voyage _en zigzag_, and then made direct for Calshot lighthouse. Here the men on the look‐out descried her position, and having launched and manned their own boat, also started in pursuit. The race now became truly exciting, the course of the steam‐tug being utterly uncertain and irresponsible, according as her helm shifted to and fro at the sport of the waters of the Channel. By this time, however, she had run some distance, and at length her speed gradually diminished, her steam giving out, when her paddles stopped from sheer exhaustion. The crew from the lighthouse were the first to board her, and her own crew coming up about twenty minutes after, she was at length got into working order, and brought safely into dock. It appears that the crew had some justification for leaving her, the vessel leaking seriously, and being in imminent peril of going down. From Southampton Water to the beautiful Isle of Wight is a natural transition. To fully describe its coasts and fishing‐villages and watering‐places, and other points of interest, would occupy a large volume. Cowes and Ryde, with their regattas and generally festive look; Osborne, with its royal residence; Shanklin and Blackgang “Chines”; Ventnor and Niton; Alum Bay and “the Needles,” will be familiar to the larger number of our readers. Inseparably connected with the gay little island must ever be remembered an event which cast a gloom not merely over the households of hundreds of direct sufferers, but over the length and breadth of the entire land. Need it be said that we refer to the terrible loss of that fine training‐ship the _Eurydice_, with its living freight of three hundred young and promising sailor lads, in sight of land and home, and just as they were nearing, after long foreign service, the haven of their hopes. “For there came down a squall, and the snow swept the wave Like a white winding‐sheet for the brave man’s lone grave; And with scarce time to glance a farewell at the sky, The three hundred went down without e’en a cry.”