face grim hunger and death.  At noonday they sighted land ahead; and as each eager eye strained for the welcome sight, it seemed rising from the ocean in a dim line of haze.  Slowly, as they neared, did it come bolder and bolder to view, until it shone out a long belt of white panoramic banks.  Low, and to the unpractised eye deceptive of distance, the mate pronounced it not many miles off, and, the wind freshening fair, kept the little bark steadily on her course, hoping thereby to gain it before night came on:  but the sun sank in a heavy cloud when yet some four miles intervened.  Distinctly they saw a cluster of houses on a projecting point nearly ahead; but not a sail was off shore, to which the increasing wind was driving them with great violence.

And now that object which had been sighted with so much welcome in the morning-that had cheered many a drooping heart, and seemed a haven of safety, threatened their destruction.  The water shoaled; the sea broke and surged in sharp cones; the little craft tippled and yawed confusedly; the counter eddies twirled and whirled in foaming concaves; and leaden clouds again hung their threatening festoons over the awful sea.  To lay her head to the sea was impracticable-an attempt to “lay-to” under the little sail would be madness; onward she rode, hurrying to an inevitable fate.  Away she swept through the white crests, as the wind murmured and the sea roared, and the anxious countenance of the mate, still guiding the craft with a steady hand, seemed masked in watchfulness.  His hand remained firm to the helm, his eyes peered into the black prospect ahead:  but not a word did he utter.

It was near ten o’clock, when a noise as of thunder rolling in the distance, and re-echoing in booming accents, broke fearfully upon their ears.  The sea, every moment threatening to engulph the little craft, to sweep its freight of human beings into eternity, and to seal for ever all traces of their fate, was now the lesser enemy.  Not a word had escaped the lips of a being on board for several minutes; all seemed resigned to whatever fate Providence awarded.

“The beach roars, Mr. Slade-”

The mate interrupted before the seaman in the sheets had time to finish his sentence:  “I have not been deaf to the breakers; but there is no hope for us but upon the beach; and may heaven save us there!  Passengers, be calm! let me enjoin you to remain firm to your places, and, if it be God’s will that we strike, the curling surf may be our deliverer.  If it carry you to the sand in its sweep, press quickly and resolutely forward, lest it drag you back in its grasp, and bury you beneath its angry surge.  Be firm, and hope for the best!” he said, with great firmness.  The man who first spoke sat near Franconia, and during the five days they had been in the boat exhibited great sympathy and kindness of heart.  He had served her with food, and, though a common sailor, displayed those traits of tenderness for the suffering which it were well if those in higher spheres of life did but imitate.  As the mate ceased speaking, the man took his pilot coat from his shoulder and placed it about Franconia’s, saying, “I will save this lady, or die with her in the very same sea.”