that she might ween this terrible truth, Mr. P, concluded that there was
nothing to do but to spring a leak.

But he found this difficult. Kick as hard as he might, he could not
loosen a bottom board. And he had no auger! The Lime Rocks were getting
nearer and nearer. Would he drift safely ashore?

"Oh! how can I wreck myself, 'ere it be too late?" he cried, in the
agony of his heart. Wild with apprehensions of reaching the land without
danger, he sat down and madly whittled a hole in the bottom of the boat,
making it, as nearly as possible, such a one as a sword fish would be
likely to cut. When he got it done, the water bubbled through it like an
oil-well. In fact, Mr. P. was afraid that his vessel would fill up
before he was near enough for the maiden on the rocks to hear his
heart-rending cries for succor. He could see her plainly now. 'Twas
certainly she. He knew her by her photograph--("Twenty-five cents, sir.
The American female GRACE DARLING, sir. Likeness warranted, sir.")

But she turned not towards him. Confound it! Would she finish that
eternal tidy ere she glanced around?

The boat was almost full now. It would sink before she saw it! That hole
must be stopped until he had drifted near enough to give vent to an
agonizing cry for help.

Having nothing else convenient, Mr. P. clapped into the hole a lot of
manuscripts which he had brought with him for consideration.
(Correspondents who may experience apparent neglect will please take
notice. It is presumed, of course, that every one who writes anything
worth reading, will keep a copy of it.)