4 How the ‘ ‘ Mastiffs ’ ’ went to Iceland. The Mastiff is a vessel of 870 tons, 220 horse-power, lately built for the Scotch and Irish Royal Mail Service, which-is in the hands of Mr. Burns and his partner, and which had thus been put to purposes of pleasure as a yacht before it was relegated for ever to the arduous duties of its future life. On the quarter- deck, at the head of the companion-stairs, there is a little snuggery which had been fitted up as a library and boudoir, capable of containing ten or a dozen persons. It was supposed to be Mrs. Burns’s peculiar property where she might summon her ladies around her and occasionally admit the visit of a favourite virile visitor. Such was the idea when we started on the Saturday evening; before Monday afternoon was over it was taken possession of as a smoking- room by, I regret to say, a large portion of the gentlemen, who regarded it as a convenient spot for the comfortable consumption of tobacco and whisky and water. With this the mind of our host was so infuriated,—chiefly perhaps because he does not love tobacco and whisky himself,—that he resolved upon turning evil-doers out of the fortress. How he failed the picture shows. One traitor within, who was desirous of surrendering, we liberated head foremost through the window. The others held their ground. The thoroughly pugnacious head appearing at the window is that of an innocent and most injured indi- vidual, of a poor old gentleman who never smoked, and also very rarely partook of any strong drink. He, however, was present on the occasion, and was there- fore bound to stick to his guns. Mr. Burns, with a visage frightful with anger, but nevertheless as like as he can be, is attacking this gentleman with a rope’s end. Wilson,—why Wilson shall be explained before long,—is on the roof with a bucket of cold water. Mr. James Burns with great, but quite ineffectual fury, is endeavouring to defend what should have been the sacred recess of his sister-in-law. One of our fair equestrians is making a not altogether fair use of a tumbler of cold water. So we were all employed when we were told that through the fog the rocks of St. Kilda had burst into sudden sight.

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