preceding four or five months some thirty apprentices deserted, and then there was a sudden halt. Why? Some persons maintain that the things which previously tempted apprentices to desert-good work and wages, etc., on shore-were no longer present; but the fact remains that, in the months preceding the commencement of the Institute, times were as bad as they have ever been in California-work was slack and wages low, business was at a low ebb, and ships were laid up' all over the bay-and yet they deserted. The real reason of the decrease of desertions was, simply and solely, that a healthy and attractive alternative to the streets and their temptations was provided, of which frequently very large numbers took full advantage, and that a vigorous campaign was conducted amongst them, pointing out the dangers with which they were surrounded, and warning them in no uncertain manner of what would probably befall them if they left their ships. These, and no other, were the causes that made for the decrease in the numbers of deserting apprentices.

A number of apprentices who did desert during these past five years were found by those at the Institute-some of them in the

most extraordinary places--and persuaded to rejoin their ships; and not a few have told the writer, before they sailed from the port, that had it not been for the Institute, and the good influence that went out therefrom, they would inevitably have deserted.

Then, as regards seamen, what must we say of the great audiences which so frequently assembled within the walls of the Institute, consisting of well-dressed, respectable men? Was it not proved to them on scores of occasions that they could enjoy themselves and laugh as heartily as in any public music-hall or salon? Did it not appeal to numbers of them that enjoyment could be found there without the sting of temptation? Of course it did, and many a man and boy has left San Francisco as healthy, as sturdy, and as respectable, as when he entered the port, who, had there been no place or work of this kind, might have been debauched, and perhaps ruined, by the low places and company into which he would very likely have fallen. Is it not a proof of no small influence gained over men when, as happened last year, a number of seamen, paid off from British ships in San Francisco, walked past saloons, crimps, and dance-halls, and placed in the writer's

hands £1,300 in hard cash for transmission to their friends at home or for safe keeping?

In connection with these sailors bringing their money to the writer for safe keeping, a very touching incident occurred, which, if it does not 'point a moral,' yet adorns a tale.' A young seaman belonging to North Wales was paid off from the ship and brought

about £20 to the Seamer's Institute to be kept for him. He spent a month on shore trying to get a berth on some other vessel, during which time he boarded at the Sailor's Home. Every day he used to come down to the Institute, and passed much of his time there. No one who knew him could fail to become attached to him. He bore an excellent character from the ship, not only from the officers, but also his shipmates in the fo'c's'le, who declared he was one of the best fellows who ever set foot on board a ship. This character he more than maintained during the month he spent on shore in the midst of many temptations, and with the means at his disposal, if he had so wished, of having a so-called 'good time.' But he resisted the many allurements around, and it may with certainty be said that he spent that month soberly, righteously, and in the fear of God.

To his lasting credit may that be said, for it is not easy for a sailor paid off in San Francisco, far from his home, practically a stranger, to live as he did.

After being on shore a month, he managed to get a berth on the ship which was going up north in ballast to load for home, and he came to the writer and asked him to send the balance of his money-about £16to his father. This was done, and a note was also sent, telling the father that he ought to be proud of his son, as he was an excellent fellow.

On board the ship he found amongst the crew one of his relations, a middle-aged man, much addicted to drink. The same evening that he joined the ship, he brought him to the writer, and asked him to speak to him and advise him to live a steady life. A conversation ensued which clearly gave great pleasure to the young man, and then he took his charge away, and they went on board the ship.

The next afternoon about 4 p.m. the writer was walking along the wharves and stopped to look at the ship as she lay at anchor in the stream, half a mile from the shore, when suddenly the flag was hauled up half-mast.

The meaning was clear, someone was dead; but who was it? The answer soon came, for not long afterwards a boat put off from the ship and was pulled ashore, and carefully and reverently the body of this excellent young seaman was lifted out of the boat and carried

up the wharf. No help was needed, no medical aid was called, for life was extinct, and his kind and gentle eyes were glazed in death.

He had been working up aloft out on a yard-arm, when something smashed; he was hurled headlong to the deck and his back was broken.

Whom the gods love die young.'

The morning but one after this painful affair he was buried. On the rough hillside near the Cliff House overlooking the Golden Gate, the place where most seamen from British ships find their last resting-place, there might have been seen a gathering of some thirty or forty Welsh sailors, including several captains, assembled to see their young countryman laid beneath the sod. It was a wild and wet morning about 8.30 a.m., and a truly touching scene it was as the solemn words of the Burial Service were read over