"You can form an imperfect idea of what this beach is in winter," remarked Philip, signing to her to seat herself upon the sand and throwing himself down beside her. "I was here once, late in the autumn, and saw a vessel go to pieces, scarcely a stone's throw from where we are now sitting. The sea was high, the wind blowing a perfect gale, and this schooner, having lost one of her most important sails, was at the mercy of the elements. She was cast upon the shore, and her crew, watching their opportunity, sprang overboard as the waves receded and reached firm ground in safety. Then came a monster billow, and lifting the vessel farther upon the sand, left her careened towards the land. It was pitiful to see the poor thing! So like life were her shudders and groans as the cruel surf beat against her, that my heart fairly ached. The spray at every dash rose nearly as high as her mast-head, and a cataract of water swept over her deck. Piece by piece she broke up, and we could only stand and look on, while the scattered portions were thrown to our feet. I shall never forget the sight. It taught me the truth of man's impotence and nature's strength as I had never read it before." "But there were no lives lost! You were spared the spectacle of that most terrible scene in the tragedy of shipwreck?" "Yes. But the light of many a life has been quenched in that raging caldron. A young man, a resident of Shrewsbury, with whom I hunted last year, described to me a catalogue of horrors which he had beheld here, that has visited me in dreams often since. An emigrant ship was cast away on this coast in midwinter. High above the roar of the wind and the booming surf was heard the cry of the doomed wretches, perishing within hail of the crowd of fellow-beings who had collected at news of the catastrophe. The cold was intense; mast and sail and rope were coated with ice, and the benumbed, freezing wretches were exposed every instant to the torrents of brine that swept over them like sleet. The agony was horrible beyond description, but it was soon over. Before the vessel parted, the accent of mortal woe was hushed. Not a man survived to tell the tale." For an hour they sat thus and talked. The subject had, for Sarah, a fearful fascination, and, led on by her absorbed attention, Philip rehearsed to her wonders and stories of the mysterious old ocean, that to-day stretched before them, blanched and angry, under the veil of summer cloud, until to his auditor there were bitter wailings blent with the surge's roar; arms, strained and bare, were tossed above the dark, serpent-like swell of water, in unavailing supplication, and livid, dead faces stared upon her from beneath the curling crests of the breakers.