on of the clouds that were floating
in masses of amber and gold; rising over each other--piled up, mass upon
mass--grotesque sometimes in form, solid yet soft in aspect, and
inexpressibly grand, as a whole, in their towering magnificence.

There were signs, however, among the gorgeous beauties of this
cloud-land, that were significant to eyes accustomed to read the face of
the sky. Various lurid and luminous clouds of grey and Indian-red hues
told of approaching storm, and the men of Deal knew that the sea, which
just then pictured every cloud in its glassy depths as clearly as if
there had been another cloud-land below its surface, would, ere long, be
ruffled with a stiffish breeze; perhaps be tossed by a heavy gale.

Men in general are not prone to meditate very deeply on what is going on
around them beyond the reach of their own vision. This is natural and
right to some extent. If we were to be deeply touched by the joys,
sorrows, calamities, and incidents that at all times affect humanity, we
should cease to enjoy existence. Life would become a burden. The end
of our creation would not be attained. Yet there is an evil of an
opposite kind which often mars our usefulness, and makes us
unconsciously participators in acts of injustice. This evil is, partial
ignorance of, and indifference to, much that goes on around us beyond
the range of our vision, but which nevertheless claims our attention and
regard.

Every one who reflects will admit that it is pleasant to think, when we
retire to rest, that a splendid system of police renders our home a
place of safety, and that, although there are villains more than enough
who would do their best to get at our purses and plate, we need not make
ourselves uneasy so long as the stout guardians of the night are on the
beat. Do we not congratulate ourselves on this? and do we not pay the
police-tax without grumbling, or at least with less grumbling than we
vent when paying other taxes?

Should it, good reader, be less a subject of pleasant contemplation
that, when the midnight storm threatens to burst upon our shores, there
are men abroad who are skilled in the perilous work of snatching its
prey from the raging sea; that, when the howling gale rattles our
windows and shakes our very walls, inducing us perchance to utter the
mental prayer, "God have mercy on all who are on the sea this night,"
that then--at that very time--the heroes of our coast are abroad all
round th