Our Cunarder, in the middle of the night, off the Irish coast, ran down and instantly sank a small schooner.
In a wonderfully short time we had come-to, and a boat's crew had succeeded in picking up and bringing all the poor people on board.

Among them was a wizened old woman, upon whom all sorts of kind attentions were naturally lavished by the ship's company.

She could not be persuaded to go into a cabin after she had recovered from the shock and the fright of the accident, but, comforted and clothed with new and dry garments, she took refuge under one of the companion-ways, and there, sitting huddled up, with her arms about her knees, she crooned and moaned to herself, "I was near being in a wetter and a warmer place; I was near being in a wetter and a warmer place!" by the half hour together.

We found that the poor old soul had been to Liverpool to see her son off on a sailing ship as an emigrant to America.

So a subscription was soon made up to send her on our arrival to New York there to await her son.