ging iridescent parasols to a yacht out in the harbor long enough to remark that it was real nice of the Germans. It seemed a pity to learn a few moments later that the Fourth of July had nothing to do with it. It was the Emperor leaving the Hohenzollern to go aboard the Meteor for the race! Pondering over that, we began to understand more clearly that when the Emperor sets out to do any thing, the nation, or at least that part of it on the official pay-roll, must stand by and hold its breath, except, of course, those who are cheering or manning the yards.

The Meteor crossed the line, with the Emperor on her quarter, and then followed her escort: first, the Hohenzollern, in all her cream-and-gold magnificence, and long as some ocean liners; secondly, the cruiser Nymphe, three hundred and fifty feet long, twenty-one knots, four hundred men, guard to the Hohenzollern; after her, the Sleipner, tender, or errand-boy, two hundred feet long, and twenty-five knots; and beside her the Alice Roosevelt, messenger, or despatchboat, twenty-five knots or so; and to tail out the procession, four long, low, black torpedo-boats, known by letters and numbers-S8, S75, S 79, S 80,-with a speed of from twenty-eight to thirty knotsthese eight as escort to the schooneryacht Meteor while she should be sailing a race from Kiel to Travemünde on a placid July day. It was a man on the observation - steamer, to leeward, who gave it out, after a good deal of what appeared to be careful thought, that it was his opinion that even if the Meteor did carry away her spinnaker-boom or incur some equally grave peril—even if she did, the Emperor had still a chance to escape with his life.

Tacked on to the wake of the Emperor's escort was a fleet of steam-yachts, of large size mostly, and of expensive decorations, nearly all. The people aboard of them did not seem to be too deeply concerned with the more technical manœuvres of the racing-craft, but they were enjoying their racing, nevertheless. In creased white ducks, buttoned blue coats, and yachting-caps of the correct model, and with the proper club button on front, they lounged under the awnings on upper decks and watched the

Meteor. There were craft there that were doing queer things with the Meteor; but the Emperor was on the Meteor, and on him the glasses were levelled. Probably a better-equipped fleet of steamyachts, in the line of varnish, brass, upholstery, and good things in the locker, never left port. The owners of some of them had boats entered in the smaller classes-they knew their entries by the numbers on their sails, if they could but distinguish the numbers. However, it was glorious sport. They sipped cool drinks and had luncheon on the bridge; kept the steward busy, and watched the Meteor.

Throughout all of that day the breeze stayed light. Four, five, and six knots an hour was as good as they could do, with the small boats getting along about as well as the big ones. The squadron of national ships-of-escort to the Emperor were hanging on respectfully in the rear, and there, with one other, torpedoboat S 37 in attendance on the Empress's yacht, the Iduna, they remained until along in the middle of the afternoon, when the Hohenzollern and the Nymphe, being signalled to prepare things ahead, steamed on to Travemünde, where by and by they were joined by the Sleipner and the Alice Roosevelt, whereat all cast anchor near the judges' boats, to be ready to receive the Meteor when she should arrive.

It was slow waiting in Travemünde. The long-enduring twilight of a summer's day at fifty-four north began to settle down. It had been a sort of holiday in Travemünde, with visitors and residents gazing out from the benches or parading the long sea-wall in anticipation of the coming of the fleet. Flags were flying from the balconies of the cottages, the restaurants were doing a great business, and every fisherman's boat in the place was sailing about the harbor, all chartered by parties who wished to be close by when the Meteor should cross the line. After a long time there was seen to the north long trails of smoke. All hands are stretching their necks. The trails of smoke came nearer. There were three of them, and they were seen to be issuing from three torpedo-boats that were coming on like black comets. It was not in

the official book of Kiel Week, but these were having the only race of the day. At twenty-six or twenty-eight knots an hour they came on, each with a quarterwave higher than her hull. They ripped up the harbor, and went tearing on by for the inner harbor, leaving three long trails of smoke hanging low, and all the little fishing-craft dancing in the swell of the quarter-waves they left behind.

The dusk comes on, and on the ships of war they seem to be getting nervous. From the deck of the Nymphe is heard a piping to quarters, with the hurrying of feet on deck. Then follows the lowering of the flag, with one swelling bar of the national hymn, and after that up goes the night light. On the Hohenzollern there seemed to be a similar ceremony, with frequent looks out to sea. One member keeps a long telescope pointed over the rail, and another patrols the little balcony astern. It is a great day when the Emperor races.

The dusk deepens. The people ashore are still promenading the long walk, but colored lanterns have replaced the flags on the balconies. The bunting of the restaurants has also given place to evening decorations. The judges' boats flash search-lights seaward, but there is nothing to see. A passenger-steamer coming in hails to say that she left a bunch of yachts an hour's run astern, which means that it will be two hours or more before they arrive.

It is getting chilly in the night air, with the rations running low, and the charterers of some of the fishing-boats decide to go home. Never before had such ceremony been made ready for the finish of the race, and now in the dark no more than a dozen people would be by to see it-half of them on the judges' boats, and the other half in the little fishingboats. It is eleven o'clock-dark nightand the breeze is freshening, when the first of the fleet heaves in sight. It is a big knockabout that has probably gone the inside, or shorter, course. She is felt and heard long before she is seen. Whoever has been there will know-the swish of the sharp stem through the placid sea; the long low hull coming toward one in the dark. Her great sail flashes up all at once-unnaturally white under the search-lights. They pinch her up, and

then, finding themselves across, swing her off and let her run. One waiting spectator looks up her number, and finding her to be from Stockholm, gives her a cheer in Swedish.

"We are first?" they hail in reply.
"Yes."

"Good," and they go on up the harbor. The Nymphe and the Hohenzollern bring search-lights to bear on her as she goes bowling by, but she is not the Meteor, and there is no explosion. She goes on toward the lights of the inner harbor, where it is long odds they will soon tie up, make snug, go ashore, have a good supper for themselves, and be in fine condition to tell the next crew in how it was they did it.

After that they arrive rapidly. A halfdozen of the smaller craft come before there is any word of the schooner class. At length one of them works across the line of light and past that again into the darkness. Even in the gloom of a dark night she bears the impress of speed. Her hull is invisible except for the shine of the paint above the phosphorescence. "The Cicely," says somebody; "The Clara," says another; but the night breeze having its swing, her port side-light rushes by-a red point in the blackness.

At midnight there is still no Meteor. The only intelligible report of her, and that in a strange language, comes from the deck of a big sloop. "Oh, somewhere behind," is their hail. The last two of the little fishing-boats, tacking back and forth, and, tired of dodging each other in the gloom, decide to leave for home, and they do. Five minutes later the Meteor comes. The search-lights pick her up, her number is taken, and she passes on to her berth in the inner harbor up between the jetties-and that is all there is to it. In the morning, at Kiel, the whole navy standing by, guns booming, ensigns dipping, thousands cheering, tens of thousands looking on, and ships of the navy to see that nothing happened to her; at night, at Travemünde, no guns, no cheering, no flags, and in her rear only the wake of an outclassed vessel as she goes on by in the gloom; and for an audience,-half a dozen on the judges' boats-and they of course wouldn't dare to leave.