some unseen, outlying ship, came faint and far, and full of mystic
suggestion.

About a year ago a well-to-do middle-aged broker of San Francisco found
himself at nightfall the sole occupant of a "plunger," encompassed in
a dense fog, and drifting toward the Golden Gate. This unexpected
termination of an afternoon's sail was partly attributable to his want
of nautical skill, and partly to the effect of his usually sanguine
nature. Having given up the guidance of his boat to the wind and tide,
he had trusted too implicitly for that reaction which his business
experience assured him was certain to occur in all affairs, aquatic
as well as terrestrial. "The tide will turn soon," said the broker,
confidently, "or something will happen." He had scarcely settled himself
back again in the stern-sheets, before the bow of the plunger, obeying
some mysterious impulse, veered slowly around and a dark object loomed
up before him. A gentle eddy carried the boat further in shore, until
at last it was completely embayed under the lee of a rocky point now
faintly discernible through the fog. He looked around him in the vain
hope of recognizing some familiar headland. The tops of the high hills
which rose on either side were hidden in the fog. As the boat swung
around, he succeeded in fastening a line to the rocks, and sat down
again with a feeling of renewed confidence and security.

It was very cold. The insidious fog penetrated his tightly buttoned
coat, and set his teeth to chattering in spite of the aid he sometimes
drew from a pocket-flask. His clothes were wet and the stern-sheets were
covered with spray. The comforts of fire and shelter continually rose
before his fancy as he gazed wistfully on the rocks. In sheer despair he
finally drew the boat toward the most accessible part of the cliff and
essayed to ascend. This was less difficult than it appeared, and in
a few moments he had gained the hill above. A dark object at a little
distance attracted his attention, and on approaching it proved to be a
deserted cabin. The story goes on to say, that having built a roaring
fire of stakes pulled from the adjoining corral, with the aid of a flask
of excellent brandy, he managed to pass the early part of the evening
with comparative comfort.

There was no door in the cabin, and the windows were simply square
openings, which freely admitted the searching fog. But in spite of these
discomforts,--being a man of cheerful, sanguine tempera