Now, therefore, it was past a doubt; so, getting up early the third morning, he repairs alone, with a mattock in his hand, to the mill, and began to undermine that part of the wall which the vision directed. The first omen of success that he met was a broken mug; digging still deeper, he turns up a house tile, quite new and entire. At last, after much digging, he came to the broad flat stone, but then so large, that it was beyond one man's strength to remove it. "Here," cried he, in raptures, to himself, "here it is! under this stone there is room for a very large pan of diamonds indeed! I must e'en go home to my wife, and tell her the whole affair, and get her to assist me in turning it up." Away, therefore, he goes, and acquaints his wife with every circumstance of their good fortune. Her raptures on this occasion may easily be imagined; she flew round his neck, and embraced him in an agony of joy: but those transports, however, did not delay their eagerness to know the exact sum; returning, therefore, speedily together to the place where Whang had been digging, there they found--not indeed the expected treasure, but the mill, their only support, undermined and fallen. GOLDSMITH. [Note: _He stood for a child of mine_, i.e., stood as godfather for a child of mine.] * * * * * A SEA SONG. A wet sheet and a flowing sea, A wind that follows fast, And fills the white and rustling sail And bends the gallant mast. And bends the gallant mast, my boys, While, like the eagle free, Away the good ship flies, and leaves Old England on the lee. Oh, for a soft and gentle wind, I heard a fair one cry: But give to me the snoring breeze And white waves heaving high. And white waves heaving high, my lads, A good ship, tight and free, The world of waters is our home, And merry men are we. There's tempest in yon horned moon, And lightning in yon cloud; And hark the music, mariners! The wind is piping loud. The wind is piping loud, my boys, The lightning flashes free; While the hollow oak our palace is, Our heritage the sea. CUNNINGHAM. [Note: _A wet sheet_. The _sheet_ is the rope fastened to the lower corner of a sail to retain it in position.] * * * * * ON THE LOSS OF THE 'ROYAL GEORGE.' Toll for the brave! The brave that are no more; All sunk beneath the wave, Fast by their native shore! Eight hundred of the brave, Whose courage well was tried, Had made the vessel heel, And laid her on her side.