fe inside the breakwater. This is about a mile up the
Sound, running east and west, the two ends inclining to the northward.

We passed by so quickly that we had but little time to examine it; but
we could see what a magnificent structure it was, being composed
entirely of huge masses of granite. Papa told us that it was commenced
in 1812, "a few years before he was born." In the first instance
enormous blocks of stone were thrown down, such as the tides could not
move, until the foundation was formed in the required shape, and nearly
a mile in length. When this artificial reef rose almost on a level with
the water, after it had had time to settle, blocks of hewn stone were
cemented on to it, so that it now has the appearance of a long broad
wall with a lighthouse at the western end.

It has stood so many severe gales that there is no probability of its
giving way, unless some unexpected movement of the ground below should
occur. Until the Portland Breakwater was built, that at Plymouth was
considered the finest structure of the sort in the world. In those days
engineering skill had not advanced as far as it has at present. The
stones were conveyed from the quarries in boats, so contrived that they
could be dropped through the bottom, over the spot where it was desired
to place them. The whole cost of the work was a million and a half of
money, although a third less in length than the Portland Breakwater.
Just inside this ocean barrier several large ships were at anchor,
perfectly secure from the gale raging outside it; but we continued our
course up the Sound, with the tack triced up and the peak dropped, and
even then we had as much sail as we could stagger under. We were very
glad after rounding the Cobbler Rock to bring up in Catwater, which is
the eastern harbour of Plymouth. Passing beneath the citadel, which
completely commands the Sound, as soon as we had stowed sails, we went
on board the Dolphin. We found our cousin sitting up in bed.

"How are you, Jack?" I asked.

"Somewhat weak, and very queer," he answered. "I want to thank you,
Uncle Westerton, for saving me; for if you hadn't come when you did, I
believe that I should have gone to the bottom."

"Don't talk about it, Jack," said papa; "you are not the first fellow--
I'm thankful to say--I've picked out of the water; and for your father's
sake, as well as your own, we should have been sorry to lose you.
Praise God for His mercy that you ar