in a few minutes, her mast-heads were seen bobbing about over the brig's lee quarter.
Less than half a minute sufficed to transfer the fishermen and their, belongings from one deck to the other, and then, hands shaking,—caps waving,—hoist away the lugs,—and up-helm for merry England.
Away flew the lugger, "her white wings flying,"—it could not be added " never from her foes," for she turned out afterwards to be a noted smuggler that no revenue cutter could ever catch. Up rose the white cliffs,—plainer and plainer grew the objects on shore: now the white houses of Dover came in view,—then the sheep on the downs, and the men on the piers,—then the rising sunbeams flashed back a merry welcome from the windows,—then the pier-heads opened, with the tide bubbling up against them like a river in flood, which, taking the lugger under the counter, gave her a final slew, as she rushed between them,—then through the inner harbour, and down sails, carrying on with the way already acquired,—then run up alongside the Custom-house quay. "Home at last!" said the Captain, as he leaped on shore.
Hie longæ finis chartæque viæque.
THE END.
PRINTED BY COX (BROS.) AND WYMAN, GREAT QUEEN STREET.
