Dillon and the cockswain were now the sole occupants of their dreadful station. The former stood in a kind of stupid despair, a witness of the scene we have related; but as his curdled blood began again to flow more warmly through his heart, he crept close to the side of Tom, with that sort of selfish feeling that makes even hopeless misery more tolerable when endured in participation with another.

"When the tide falls," he said, in a voice that betrayed the agony of fear, though his words expressed the renewal of hope, "we shall be able to walk to land."

"There was one and only One to whose feet the waters were the same as a dry deck," returned the cocks wain; " and none but such as have His power will ever be able to walk from these rocks to the sands." The old seaman paused, and turning his eyes, which exhibited a mingled expression of disgust and compassion, on his companion, he added, with reverence: "Had you thought more of Him in fair weather, your case would be less to be pitied in this tempest."

"Do you still think there is much danger?" asked Dillon. "To them that have reason to fear death.

hear that hollow noise beneath ye?"

""Tis the wind driving by the vessel!"

Listen! do you

""Tis the poor thing herself," said the affected cockswain, "giving her last groans. The water is breaking up her decks, and in a few minutes more, the handsomest model that ever cut a wave will be like the chips that fell from her timbers in framing!"

"Why then did you remain here!" cried Dillon, wildly.

"To die in my coffin, if it should be the will of God," returned Tom. "These waves, to me, are what the land is to you; I was born on them, and I have always meant that they should be my grave."

"But II," shrieked Dillon, "I am not ready to die! I can not die! I will not die!"

"Poor wretch!" muttered his companion; "you must go, like the rest of us; when the death-watch is called, none can skulk from the muster."

"I can swim,” Dillon continued, rushing with frantic eagerness to the side of the wreck. "Is there no billet of wood, no rope, that I can take with me."

"None; everything has been cut away, or carried off by the sea. If ye are about to strive for your life, take with ye

a stout heart and a clean conscience, and trust the rest to

God!"

"God!" echoed Dillon, in the madness of his frenzy; "I know no God! there is no God that knows me!"

"Peace!" said the deep tones of the cockswain, in a voice that seemed to speak in the elements; "blasphemer, peace!"

The heavy groaning, produced by the water in the timbers. of the "Ariel," at that moment added its impulse to the raging feelings of Dillon, and he cast himself headlong into the sea.

The water, thrown by the rolling of the surf on the beach, was necessarily returned to the ocean in eddies in different places favorable to such an action of the element. Into the edge of one of these counter-currents, that was produced by the very rocks on which the schooner lay, and which the watermen call the "under-tow," Dillon had, unknowingly, thrown his person; and when the waves had driven him a short distance from the wreck, he was met by a stream that his most desperate efforts could not overcome. He was a light and powerful swimmer, and the struggle was hard and protracted. With the shore immediately before his eyes, and at no great distance, he was led, as by a false phantom, to continue his efforts, although they did not advance him a foot. The old seaman, who at first had watched his motions with careless indifference, understood the danger of his situation at a glance; and, forgetful of his own fate, he shouted aloud, in voice that was driven over the struggling victim to the ears of his shipmates on the sands :

"Sheer to port, and clear the under-tow! sheer to the southward!"

The

Dillon heard the sounds, but his faculties were too much obscured by terror to distinguish their object; he, however, blindly yielded to the call, and gradually changed his direction, until his face was once more turned toward the vessel. current swept him diagonally by the rocks, and he was forced into an eddy, where he had nothing to contend against but the waves, whose violence was much broken by the wreck. In this state, he continued still to struggle, but with a force that was too much weakened to overcome the resistance he met. Tom looked around him for a rope, but all had gone over with the spars, or been swept away by the waves. At this moment of disappointment his eyes met those of the desperate Dillon. Calm, and inured to horrors, as was the veteran seaman, he

involuntarily passed his hand before his brow to exclude the look of despair he encountered; and when, a moment afterward, he removed the rigid member, he beheld the sinking form of the victim as it gradually settled in the ocean, still struggling, with regular but impotent strokes of the arms and feet, to gain the wreck, and to preserve an existence that had been so much abused in its hour of allotted probation.

"He will soon know his God, and learn that his God knows him!" murmured the cockswain to himself. As he yet spoke, the wreck of the "Ariel" yielded to an overwhelming sea, and after a universal shudder her timbers and planks gave way, and were swept toward the cliffs, bearing the body of the simple-hearted cockswain among the ruins.

BATTLE OF THE FLEETS.

(From "The Two Admirals.")

THE eventful day opened with most of the glories of a summer's morning. The wind alone prevented it from being one of the finest sun-risings in July. That continued fresh at north-west and consequently cool for the season. The seas of the south-west gale had entirely subsided, and were already succeeded by the regular but comparatively trifling swell of the new breeze. For large ships it might be called smooth water; though the "Driver" and "Active" showed by their pitching and unsteadiness, and even the two-deckers by their waving masts, that the unquiet ocean was yet in motion. The wind seemed likely to stand, and was what seamen would be apt to call a six-knot breeze.

To leeward, still distant about a league, lay the French vessels, drawn up in beautiful array and in an order so close and a line so regular as to induce the belief that M. de Vervillin had made. his dispositions to receive the expected attack in his present position. All his maintop sails lay flat aback; the topgallant sails were flying loose but with buntlines and clew-lines hauled up; the jibs were fluttering to leeward of their booms, and the courses were hanging in festoons about their yards. This was gallant fighting canvas and it excited the admiration of even his enemies. To increase this feeling, just as Sir Gervaise's foot reached the poop the whole French line displayed their ensigns and the "Le Foudroyant" fired a gun to windward.

"Hey, Greenly!" exclaimed the English commander-in-chief;

"this is a manly defiance, and coming from M. de Vervillin it means something! He wishes to take the day for it; though as I think half that time will answer, we will wash up the cups before we go at it. Make the signals, Bunting, for the ships to heave-to, and then to get their breakfasts as fast as possible. Steady breeze-steady breeze, Greenly, and all we want!"

Five minutes later, while Sir Gervaise was running his eye over the signal-book, the "Plantagenet's" calls were piping the people to their morning meal at least an hour earlier than common; the people repaired to their messes with a sort of stern joy; every man in the ship understanding the reason of a summons so unusual. The calls of the vessels astern were heard soon after, and one of the officers, who was watching the enemy with a glass, reported that he thought the French were breakfasting also. Orders being given to the officers to employ the next half hour in the same manner, nearly everybody was soon engaged in eating, few thinking that the meal might probably be their last. Sir Gervaise felt a concern which he succeeded in concealing, however, at the circumstance that the ships to windward made no more sail; though he refrained from signalling the rear-admiral to that effect from tenderness to his friend and a vague apprehension of what might be the consequences. While the crews were eating, he stood gazing thoughtfully at the noble spectacle the enemy offered to leeward, occasionallyturning wistful glances at the division that was constantly drawing nearer to windward. At length Greenly himself reported that the "Plantagenet" had "turned the hands to" again. At this intelligence Sir Gervaise started as from a reverie, smiled, and spoke. We will here remark that now, as on the previous day, all the natural excitability of manner had disappeared from the commander-in-chief, and he was quiet and exceedingly gentle in his deportment. This all who knew him understood to denote a serious determination to engage.

"I have desired Galleygo to set my little table half an hour hence, in the after-cabin, Greenly, and you will share the meal with me. Sir Wycherly will be of our party, and I hope it will not be the last time we may meet at the same board. It is necessary everything should be in fighting order to-day!"

"So I understand it, Sir Gervaise. We are ready to begin as soon as the order shall be received."

"Wait one moment until Bunting comes up from his breakfast. Ah! here he is, and we are quite ready for him, having