standing near the helm, and I asked the steersman if there was any hope of saving the vessel, or our lives.  He replied, “Sir, it is a bad affair, no boat could live for a minute in this sea, and in less than an hour the ship will have her broadside on Finisterre, where the strongest man-of-war ever built must go to shivers instantly—­ none of us will see the morning.”  The captain, likewise, informed the other passengers in the cabin to the same effect, telling them to prepare themselves; and having done so, he ordered the door to be fastened, and none to be permitted to come on deck.  I, however, kept my station, though almost drowned with water, immense waves continually breaking over our windward side and flooding the ship.  The water casks broke from their lashings, and one of them struck me down, and crushed the foot of the unfortunate man at the helm, whose place was instantly taken by the captain.  We were now close to the rocks, when a horrid convulsion of the elements took place.  The lightning enveloped us as with a mantle, the thunders were louder than the roar of a million cannon, the dregs of the ocean seemed to be cast up, and in the midst of all this turmoil, the wind, without the slightest intimation, veered right about, and pushed us from the horrible coast faster than it had previously driven us towards it.

The oldest sailors on board acknowledged that they had never witnessed so providential an escape.  I said, from the bottom of my heart, “Our Father—­hallowed be thy name.”

The next day we were near foundering, for the sea was exceedingly high, and our vessel, which was not intended for sailing, laboured terribly, and leaked much.  The pumps were continually working.  She likewise took fire, but the flames were extinguished.  In the evening the steam-engine was partially repaired, and we reached Lisbon on the thirteenth, where in a few days we completed our repairs.

I found my excellent friend W- in good health.  During my absence he had been doing everything in his power to further the sale of the sacred volume in Portuguese:  his zeal and devotedness were quite admirable.  The distracted state of the country, however, during the last six months, had sadly impeded his efforts.  The minds of the people had been so engrossed with politics, that they found scarcely any time to think of the welfare of their souls.  The political history of Portugal had of late afforded a striking parallel to that of the neighbouring country.  In both a struggle for supremacy had arisen between the court and the democratic party; in both the latter had triumphed, whilst two distinguished individuals had fallen a sacrifice to the popular fury—­Freire in Portugal, and Quesada in Spain.  The news which reached me at Lisbon from the latter country was rather startling.  The hordes of Gomez were ravaging Andalusia, which I was about to visit on my way to Madrid; Cordova had been sacked and abandoned after a three days’ occupation by the Carlists.  I was told that if I persisted in my attempt to enter Spain in the direction which I proposed, I should probably fall into their hands at Seville.  I had, however, no fears, and had full confidence that the Lord would open the path before me to Madrid.