cuit, I pressed my cap down
over my eyes, and stepped into the surf. It was scarcely more than over
mid-leg, but the clay-like, spongy bottom made it tiresome walking.
I had only gone a few hundred yards, when a loud cheer struck me; I
turned: it was the boat's crew, giving me a parting salute. I tried to
answer it, but my voice failed me; the next moment they had turned the
point, and I saw them no more!

I now plodded wearily on, and in about half an hour reached the land;
and whether from weariness, or some strange instinct of security on
touching shore, I know not, but I threw myself heavily down upon the
shingly stones, and slept soundly,--ay, and dreamed too! dreamed of fair
lands far away, such as I have often read of in books of travels, where
bright flowers and delicious fruits were growing, and where birds and
insects of gaudiest colors floated past with a sweet murmuring song that
made the air tremble.

Who has not read "Robinson Crusoe;" and who has not imagined himself
combating with some of the difficulties of his fortune, and pictured to
his mind what his conduct might have been under this or that emergency?

No speculations are pleasanter, when indulged at our own fireside, in an
easy-chair, after having solaced our "material" nature by a good dinner,
and satisfied the "moral" man by the "City Article," which assures us
that the Three per Cents are rising, and that Consols for the Account
are in a very prosperous state. Then, indeed, if our thoughts by any
accident stray to the shipwrecked sailor, they are blended with
a wholesome philanthropy, born of good digestion and fair worldly
prospects; we assure ourselves that we should have made precisely the
same exertions that he did, and comported ourselves in all the varied
walks of carpenter, tailor, hosier, sail-maker, and boat-builder exactly
like him. The chances are, too, that if accidentally out of temper with
our neighbors, we cordially acknowledge that the retirement was not
the worst feature in his history; and if provoked by John Thomas, the
footman, we are ready to swear that there was more gratitude in Friday's
little black finger than in the whole body corporate of flunkeys, from
Richmond to Blackwall.

While these very laudable sentiments are easy enough in the
circumstances I have mentioned, they are marvellously difficult to
practise at the touch of stern reality. At least I found them so, as
I set out to seek the "Refuge" on Anti-costi.