Once upon a time, to prevent the ingress of an enemy's fleet, a chain was stretched across the harbour's mouth.  We had got just outside the harbour when we saw a man-of-war brig under all sail standing in.  A beautiful sight she was, her canvas so white, her sides so polished!--on she stood, not a brace nor tack slackened.  Papa looked at her with the affection of an old sailor.  It was an object which reminded him of his younger days.  "You don't see many like her now," he observed. Presently, as she was starting by us, a shrill whistle was heard.  Like magic the sails were clewed up, the hands, fine active lads--for she was a training vessel--flew aloft, and lay out on the yards.  While we were looking, the sails were furled; and it seemed scarcely a moment afterwards when we saw her round to and come to an anchor not far from the Saint Vincent.  "That's how I like to see things done," said papa. "I wish we had a hundred such craft afloat; our lads would learn to be real seamen!"