a
broad path of the silvery light. Watch the tranquil luminary glide also
through her destined course, till once more the sun rushes upward from
his ocean-bed in a sheet of fire, and claims supremacy over the world.
This is one of the many grand and wonderful objects beheld by those who
sail across the ocean, and amply does it repay for a long voyage those
who have taste to appreciate its beauties.

Now let us return to the scene as I first described it, and, by looking
closer into the picture, we shall observe a boat floating in its very
centre. There are no masts or sails, nor are there any oars moving.
The boat lies motionless like a log on the water. She is a large boat,
a ship's launch; her gunwale seems battered in as if she had undergone
some hard usage. Above it nothing is seen moving; and, at the first
glance, it would seem that there are no human beings on board. On
looking down into the boat, however, we discover several persons, but
whether dead or alive it is difficult to say, they are so quiet and so
silent. Towards the bow are the forms of two men. They are on their
backs--one is at the bottom of the boat, the other stretched along the
thwarts, in uneasy postures. Their eyes are open and glaring unmoved at
the bright sun; their lips are parted, black, and dry; the hand of death
has, alas! at all events, fallen on them; nothing living could present
such an aspect. By their dress and their complexion they seem to be
British seamen. There is a small breaker or keg in the boat, but the
hung is out--it is empty. There is also a bag, containing some hard
ship-biscuit; it is still half full, but there is no other provision.

In the after part of the boat there is a sort of awning, formed of a
shawl stretched across the gunwale, with a mat on the top of it, so as
to form a thick shade. Near it, with her back leaning against the side
of the boat, sits a dark-skinned woman. She has a turban on her head,
and massive gold ear-rings in her ears, and bracelets round her arms,
and anklets of gold round her legs, and her loose dress is of
gay-coloured striped cotton of delicate texture. She is alive, but
faint and weak; and, by her dim eye and short-coming breath, death seems
to be approaching with stealthy strides to claim her as his own. Still,
the soul is struggling to triumph over the weakness of the flesh. With
an anxious gaze she looks beneath the awning, for there is something
there which claims h