than the loud ocean, like a crash
Of echoing thunder; and then all was hushed,
Save the wild wind, and the remorseless dash
Of billows; but at intervals there gushed,
Accompanied by a convulsive splash,
A solitary shriek, the bubbling cry
Of some strong swimmer in his agony."--Byron.

It seems a sudden transition to turn from summer pic-nics to
shipwrecks; but every reader knows how often, even in the midst of the
world's pleasures and gaieties, mankind is startled by thrilling
stories of the tragic experiences of some of the great human family.

It has already been said that Grace Darling, in her lonely life upon
the Longstone rocks, surrounded only by the changeful elements, must
often have found in them her unconscious tutors. Who has not felt his
soul expand under the influence of a boundless ocean-prospect! But it
is the sea in storms, when it tosses about the ships which have dared
to invade it, as an angry child throws away its toys, that it is most
grand and awful. And this object is the one that is often present to
those who live by it. It may be that the best lessons which the sea
taught the lighthouse girl were those connected with its angry hours;
and that the repetition of startling casualties which she witnessed, or
of which she heard, may have played an important part in schooling her
to that degree of coolness and intrepidity which were necessary for the
sublime act which made her famous.

It is only natural that, in our island, great interest should be
manifested with regard to those who "go down to the sea in ships," and
it may not therefore be deemed out of place to make in this book a
reference to some of the most remarkable, and saddest, of the marine
disasters which have occurred to make the people of our nation mourn.
Every one who is at all acquainted with wreck returns will know how
impossible it would be to notice, in the space available, more than a
hundredth part of such occurrences. But two or three examples will
suffice.

The name of the "Royal George" will at once suggest itself to the
reader's memory. On August 29th, 1782, this ship, with many hundred
souls aboard, sunk, at anchor, in the broad glare of day and in full
sight of all on land, in the roadstead at Spithead. The British
sailors were exceedingly proud of this vessel, and amongst her
commanders had been such men as Admirals Anson, Boscawen, Rodney, and
Howe, and although she was not considered equal in