.

.

.

.
And if ye gang to sea, master, I fear we'll come to harm."' We added much to the effect of this stanza by flinging ourselves on the turf and embracing Sir Patrick's knees, with which touch of melodrama he was enchanted.
Then came a storm so terrible that I can hardly trust myself to describe its fury.

The entire corps dramatique personated the elements, and tore the gallant ship in twain, while Sir Patrick shouted in the teeth of the gale-- '"O whaur will I get a gude sailor To tak' my helm in hand, Till I get up to the tall topmast To see if I can spy land ?"' I knew the words a trifle better than Francesca, and thus succeeded in forestalling her as the fortunate hero-- '"O here I am, a sailor gude, To tak' the helm in hand, Till you go up to the tall topmast; But I fear ye'll ne'er spy land."' And the heroic sailor was right, for 'He hadna gone a step, a step, A step but only ane, When a bout flew out o' our goodly ship, And the saut sea it came in.' Then we fetched a web o' the silken claith, and anither o' the twine, as our captain bade us; we wapped them into our ship's side and letna the sea come in; but in vain, in vain.