r life was certainly in the mind of Him who `knows all things from
the beginning,' and with whom even the falling of a sparrow is a matter
for consideration."

We do not assert that John Mitford's reasoning took the precise form of
these words, for many minds can think somewhat profoundly without being
able to express themselves clearly; but some such thoughts undoubtedly
coursed through John's mind, as he moved through that subterranean
labyrinth, and finally emerged--through a narrow crack, not so large as
an ordinary door--upon the inner margin of a stupendous cavern.

With a fervent "Thank God!" and a hopeful leap of the heart, the poor
man beheld the waters of the sea rushing up to his very feet; and beyond
the cave's mouth lay the grand ocean itself, like a bright picture in a
black frame. But what was that projecting from the water, not twenty
yards from where he stood? The broken mast of a sunken wreck!
Mitford's heart almost stood still, for he became aware that he had made
his way to the very cavern, in which the ill-fated _Lapwing_ had met her
doom, and around him were masses of wreckage that had been washed up and
thrown on the rocks at the inner end of the cave where he stood.

An involuntary shudder passed through the man's frame as he glanced
round expecting to see the dead bodies of his late shipmates. But
nothing of the kind was visible, and the spars, masts, and other
wreckage which had reached the rocks had been shattered into "matchwood"
by frequent gales.

John Mitford now hastened in eager hope along the sides of the cave
towards its mouth, intending to go out to the base of the cliffs,
forgetting, in his eagerness, that the mouth could not be reached
without a boat. He soon discovered this, and was then thrown into
another fit of despair by remembering that he could not swim.

Oh! how bitterly he blamed himself for having neglected to acquire such
a simple accomplishment. He might have learnt it when young, had he not
been indifferent, or lazy about it. Often had he been advised to learn
it by companions, but had treated the matter lightly and let the chance
go by--and now, only fifty yards or so of deep water intervened between
the end of the ledges of rock and the outside of the cavern, where he
might perhaps find foothold enough to scramble along the base of the
cliffs--but those fifty yards were equal to the Atlantic to him, he
could not swim that distance to save his life. Once or