And the winds did loud-ly roar, When cold and sad there corned a lad Into a farimier’s door. “‘Can you tell me,’ says he, ‘if any there be Who want to give emplo-o-o-o-o-o-y For to plough and to sow, and to reap and to mow, And to be a farmier’s bo-o-o-o-o-o-o-y-- To--be--a--farmier’s bo-o-o-o-o-o-o-y?’” Another song referred to the charms of domestic life, and was evidently directed with a fell, satirical purpose against Messrs. Simmons and Long, who were both hardened bachelors, and who, in Captain Corbet’s estimation, had shown a degree of callousness and indifference to the sweet attractions of domestic happiness which could not be too strongly rebuked. Meantime the Antelope was drawing nearer to Blomidon, and while listening to Captain Corbet’s dulcet strains, they were gazing with admiration at the dark promontory. None noticed that they were approaching a place where the water, agitated by the wind, and driven by conflicting currents, was tossing itself up into foaming waves; but all stood carelessly about, and the song and the laugh went on. Suddenly the vessel seemed to give a jump, and then a plunge downward. At that instant a wave came dashing over the bows, saturating to the skin a little crowd that had gathered there. Then, with a rush, and a crack, and a wild singing among the rigging, a squall struck the vessel. Over she went on one side, while fresh waves dashed over her gunwale. In an instant all was confusion. Every boy grasped some rope, and held on for his life. The boys who had been drenched at the bows looked forlornly at their companions. Then--poof! came another blast, and away, away went five dark objects careering through the air to leeward. A cry from the “B. O. W. C.” followed this last mishap. They had lost their hats, their beautiful plumed felt hats, their pride, their joy--lost them ingloriously and beyond all hope of recovery. With doleful faces they looked at one another, wondering what they could do. There were no more hats on board. They thought of handkerchiefs, and so one after another bound his handkerchief around his head. But now there was not much chance for lamentation over wet jackets or lost hats. A more dismal fate was lowering over them. Each one knew it, saw it, felt it in his inmost soul. For the sea was rough, and the little schooner pitched and tossed every way, rolling, and leaping, and jumping, more than flesh and blood could bear. At any rate, their flesh and blood could not bear it. A feeling of wretchedness came to every heart; every face grew pale, and assumed an expression of woe. Suddenly Messrs. Long and Simmons disappeared into the cabin. This was the signal for others. Many followed. A few, however, preferred the deck, with its fresh air, to the close air and the sickening smell of bilge-water and potatoes, that predominated below.