WE have extracted the following account of a Shipwreck and Life-boat service from an entertaining work, A Marine Residence, by the Author of Lost Sir Massingbred, published by Messrs. CHAPMAN and HALL.

The incidents detailed in it have been accurately drawn; and we might name almost with certainty where they occurred on the West Coast of England a winter or two ago. We are often satisfied with giving the bare facts of a noble life- boat service, and leave others, as in the present instance, to elaborate on them faithfully. " The pilchards, as has been said, were safely housed ; but had the shoal arrived but a few days later, not a fish would have been taken. The soft calm summer days came suddenly to an end, and winds arose, and the waves with them. I never heard such wind. The first night of it,I thought the " Look-out" must have been carried bodily away, and become an inland residence. It began by a few angry nourishes of trumpets—the summons to surrender; and then, when we didn't, the assault.

The whole force of that north-wester was formed, as it were, into a storming-party, and threw itself en masse, not upon Boddlecombe, as it seemed, but upon our dwelling. Its onslaught was so terrific that o»e could not imagine it had any superfluous energy to bestow elsewhere. It did not ebb and flow, as the winds within our experience had been wont to do. It never paused to take breath, but having once fallen upon us, continued to heave and push till the house rocked to its foundations.

Those lines of the poet occurred to me in which the seaman expresses his wonder how the lands- man can endure the storms which bring falling chimneys and house-tops upon his head; yet even then I shuddered at what the raging ocean must be like, and how much more terrible it must be to be out yonder than in my rocking bed. Nothing could be seen of the sea, for both moon and stars were hidden; but the roar of it was beyond measure appalling, and the spray was poured upon our windows—high as we stood —in floods.

OVL might have thought they were being cleaned by a garden-engine. Notwithstanding the frequent thought, ' Come, this must be the worst of it,' the storm yet increased in strength, and also in literal violence. Besides the broadside rush of it, its sharpshooters rattled and volleyed through every creek and cranny, and swore in the most horrible manner through the closed doors.

" The Boddlecombe life-boat lived in an edifice expressly built for her accommodation; and when she took the air, was drawn on wheels by four horses, so that she could be launched from any part of the coast as wind permitted. She was a gaily-painted affair; but she had done excellent work, and all Boddlecombe—nay, all England - was justly proud of her. Of no war-ship' could more nobler annals have been written than those of the little Satteall; and she was manned by as brave a crew as ever put to sea from an English harbour. To see them in their uniforms of blue and white, or clothed in waterproof, with hats to match, cleaving the seas with that long even stroke of theirs, was a pleasant sight to any eyes; but what must it have been to those in peril, clinging to rope and spar, and drenched with spray, who saw in them the helping-hand of Heaven! This had happened many times, and it was fated to happen again that very day.

News came from the watch-towers, that far-out at sea—miles off—there was a large vessel scud- ding bare-poled before the wind, with signals of distress. We brought our telescope to bear; and through the flying foam, and, as it seemed, on the horizon's verge, we could just discern her.

She looked like a huge log, and, though more experienced eyes had remarked her reversed ensign, we could see no flag at all. Without one Z ck of colour to relieve its wretched aspect, and lost without shape, this floating object floundered on apace, more and more out to sea; for the wind, though still blowing fiercely—and far too much for life-boat practice—had changed its course, till at last we could see her no longer.

We were told she was then seven miles off the land. It was the great distance from the shore, and not the fury of the sea, which for a time deterred the crew of the Saveall from pulling out after her. She was scudding almost as fast as the life-boat itself could sail, and they might not come up with her—even if they did so at all— till she was a score of miles away. Then, how should they return in the teeth of such a wind as this ? It was not to be expected, even of Cornish seamen, that they should run so desperate a hazard.

" But there WM one in the place who had, on occasion, shown himself as brave a man as ever pulled an oar, though that was not his calling.

This was the clergyman. In many a riskful rescue on t&at coast he had greatly distinguished himself; and his purse, though not a full one, was always open when the poor had need. A rich man, »f generous but mistaken feeling, might have gone down to the pier-head—where the crew were standing with their sou'-westers and cork jackets on, but despairing of the ship on account of the great distance—and offered five pounds a man to whomsoever would venture. But life-boat men do not sell their liy-es in that fashion. It may be noticed that they will often not put out to sea after mere property—that is, when a ship is known to be deserted—though, in much stormier weather, they will do «o to save human life. It is not gain which tempts them, though God forbid that they should lack such inadequate rewards as man can give them. Nor are they so blind to peril, but that the remembrance of wife and little ones, dependent on their toil for daily bread, will sometimes make them pause. The thought of those to-day, and of the weary miles of hostile wind and sea that must needs intervene between them and home, and would possibly cut them off from it for ever, compelled them to be prudent: they were not afraid-of the sea, not they; but they mistrusted their own powers of endurance, as well they might. Still, they felt for the poor souls out yonder driving to their doom, and passed their telescopes from hand to hand, and growled their discontent—divinest pity.

" I was on the pier myself, when down the parson came, with his grave resolute face, and asked the men to go. He made no speech—platform oratory is quite unknown at Boddlecombe—but addressed to each singly a few earnest words. There was no attempt to moderate the peril—far from that, but he all the more insisted on the duty. He asked it, too,just as though it were a personal favour; and not a man denied him—no, not one. The nearest approach to a refusal was an irresolute scratching of the head, or an ' I suppose I must.' His hardest i task was to persuade the women to let the men go; ' for you can't pick out your single men, or those who have no ' ties'—no old or young folks de- ! pendent on them for such a service; the quickest eyes, the strongest arms, the coolest heads, must alone be chosen.

"' What! would you take our WILLIE from us —our only bairn ?' cried one old woman.

"' It is for God's own work,' said the parson, gravely,' and you will never repent his going.' " But I could see that he spoke like a man under the sense of a great responsibility; one who felt that at his door, if WILLIE was drowned, she would lay the death of her son. The father, a weather- beaten old sailor, by name MICHAEL STUART, whose age incapacitated him from doing any work beyond pottering about the shore and picking up drift wood, I had often spoken with, and he had told me that their WILLIE maintained both him and the ' old woman ;' but now he said nothing, and only pressed his lips tight to- gether when the brave young fellow, with his smiling handsome face, answered: ' Well, Par- son, I'll go!" There were nine of them in all, stalwart and well-looking men, and with a certain stamp of nobility in their faces (but without pride), which the consciousness of a great enterprise had set there. There was a gripe of the hand for their male friends, and a kiss for their wives and mothers; but now that it was settled that the boat should go, the women forbore to hang about them, or melt those hearts which had such urgent need to be strong and unmelting. Scarcely a moment wag now let slip. The life-boat was brought down to the harbour at the gallop, and the crew stepped in. High as the waves were, there was no difficulty in leaving port. With an ! upright oar for sail, they would have scudded fast ; before the wind; but speed was now their chief object, and with all the canvas set that the boat could bear, she flew out into the open amid three ringing cheers. They had not gone thirty yards before we lost sight of them. The little Saveatt was quite hidden by the great green mountains of the sea.

"It was curious to mark what a change this absence and peril of its heroes—for they were I such in truth—effected in Boddlecombe. All day long, notwithstanding the bitter wind, the women hung about the harbour or sought the cliff-top, | with their babes at their breast, or bringing such work as they could into the open air. Even the field-labourers, so soon as they were free to do so, came down to watch for their absent brothers.

Not a jest was anywhere heard. All the men's talk was about the admirable qualities of the little Saveall, and of the gallant deeds which Bod- dlecombe sailors had of old effected. I found old MICHAEL STDRT sitting under the shelter of a rock on the north headland, disinclined for speech on any subject; while his wife, who sat by his side, spoke never a word. She had lifted up her voice against her WILLIE'S departure, but she had not been heeded, and there was nothing more to be said—nothing remained but to watch and to pray.

"' We have always had good parsons here,' said MICHAEL, ' though none better than this one; and the best oar as our life-boat ever had —though it was not the Saveatt then—was a parson's son.

RICHARD MEADE was the young feller's.name; and as strong and fine-made a lad he was as our WILLIE. Nothing daunted him on sea or shore.

His father was very poor, not much richer than some of ourselves, and he could not afford to send him to college and such-like. He lived here—the boy did—all his days, until he was a grown man, and not a soul in the place but liked Dare-devil Dick; and when he went away- at eighteen on board of some Plymouth ship bound for the other side of the world, as second mate, we were all sorry to lose him." " That morrow was one of the darkest days that Boddlecombe had ever known; the Saveatt had not returned, and the wind, which had in no degree abated, still continued contrary. A few biscuits, two bottles of water, and one of brandy, were all the provisions the men had taken with them. It was not usual to put food on board of i life-boats, but then it was not usual to go out so i far. Suppose they had missed the ship, and could j not make head against the gale on their return, what would they do for food ? We seemed to see them toiling at their oars in vain, and growing weaker at every stroke; their sails, we knew, would have been worse than useless. There was never much work going on in the little town, but on this day there seemed to be none. I found : MICHAEL and his wife sitting in the same spot ; they had occupied on the preceding evening; to look at them you would have thought they had been there all night. There was not a sail in sight—not one: all ships near shore had put to sea, or sought the nearest haven, when the first landward gale had set in, and they did not now care to venture out in such a sea as was still running. 'Still it was not such very dirty weather,' said MICHAEL ; but his old wife shook her head. She knew that no boat could return to Boddlecombe in the teeth of such a wind, and she knew that he knew it. The men were very silent, sweeping the horizon with their glasses. One of them offered his telescope to MICHAEL, but the old fellow declined to take it. ' Man, I couldna hold it,' said he. His poor limbs were all of a tremble. The gallant crew of the Saveall had never been so long away from home.

"But sad as it was to watch the anxiety of those who had fathers, husbands, sons, on board the life-boat, the clergyman was the man we pitied most. It was true his flesh-and-blood were not in peril, though the men who were so were almost as dear to him, for he loved his people; but it was under his advice, nay, at his earnest entreaty, that they had started on that dangerous errand, and it was plain he felt it bitterly. All day long he remained upon the cliff-top among his flock. He did not spare himself the sight of their distress, though it wounded him so keenly.

And Oiey on their part—even the women, who sat with their little ones under the lee of the watch-tower, and every now and then burst into uncontrollable grief—forbore to reproach him.

They felt his heart was bleeding for them—at the worst he had but made a mistake, yet one which all his life, they knew right well, he would bitterly rue.

"Even WILLIE'S mother, perceiving him afar off among the crowd, only murmured : ' Ah, but he should ha' let me keep my WILLIE !' And MICHAEL, who was a just man, replied: ' And yet parson would ha' taken his place himself; yes, and would do it now for any one of them, no matter in what risk they stood.' "'Yes,' said his wife; 'but parson's sure of heaven, and some of them—though not our WiLLiE, God bless him, for he's an angel whether he's dead or alive—is not so fit to die.' " She was thinking, I suppose, of some social misdeeds which some of the crew might have committed—with which public scandal had been at one time busy—though it would never surely be whispered of again.

"' I should think this must pay for all,' said I, involuntarily. ' To lose one's life in such a cause as this should take a man straight to heaven.' I spoke my honest thought, and not only to comfort her. But the old woman gave a reproving glance; it was evident the impulsive heterodoxy of Pall Mall was not acceptable to her. She was a genuine good and humble-hearted creature, and there were many like her at Boddlecombe. It was made plain that day that the minister who had 'a hundred a year and his meat' was no idler, any more than the clergyman, and that neither had worked in vain.

" Night fell and morning dawned upon a sorrowful and almost despairing people. Nine men, and those of their best and bravest, were a great loss in such a town : they were connected by ties of blood and marriage with no small portion of the population, and they were known personally to every one in the place—even to ourselves. We were scheming, as everybody else who had any- thing to bestow was doing, as to what best could be done for those whom this calamity had rendered widows and orphans, before we went out on the cliff-top as usual that morning, we felt so certain that all was over with the gallant Savell.

And so felt everybody that we found there. The wind had not changed a point, though perhaps the sea was a trifle less violent. It was just forty- eight hours from the time that the life-boat had left the harbour, when a sudden shout was heard from the town.

" ' By Heaven, they've come!' cried the coast- guard lieutenant, a very excellent fellow, whom severe illness had alone incapacitated from being amongst them; he had always been hopeful about their ' making some other port,' and had done his best to keep up our spirits. But this was too sanguine a view to be taken. The shout was not repeated, and, indeed, how the few people left in the town could have made themselves heard so far at first, is still a marvel to me. But presently we saw a man upon a pony galloping out towards us, followed by a crowd of boys, and having in bis hand a piece of white paper.

"' They're come!' reiterated the lieutenant joy- fully. ' I knew they'd come—never say die, men.

It's a messenger to say they've come to port.' " And so it proved. That blessed Boddlecombe telegraph had been of use at last, and brought us the glad tidings. Nor have I ever seen folks so happy—or half so grateful, though they had various ways of showing it. CLEMENTINA, and the girls, with FOLJAHBE, for instance, shed tears for twenty minutes; and I had the exquisite pleasure of run- ning down to the rock where old Michael and bis wife were, as usual, sitting withdrawn from the rest of the crowd, to tell them that their Willie had touched land.

"' God be praised for all His mercies," cried the old man. But his wife covered her face with her hands, and thanked Him in silence.

" The Saveall, fast as she flew before the wind, had not come up with the distressed vessel until she was nearly twenty miles from land, and found her in the saddest plight. She was a large passenger ship, bound for the far west. Three boats full of people had been launched in safety, but the fourth | had been stove in alongside, and all that were in ! her had gone to the bottom before the eyes of the i rest. This had so terrified the women, that they i had refused to leave the ship; and, indeed, in such a sea it was most hazardous to get them and the i children over the side. The captain was still on board. He had been urged to save himself with the others, but, while wishing them God-speed to land, and giving them his best advice at parting, he had announced his determination to stick to | the ship. ' It shall never be said that I left ; women and children to go down.' he said; ' it is | no use for you to stay, men, but I am the captain.' " Some male passengers, husbands and fathers, also remained with their people, and when the i life-boat came up with the vessel, these were seen on deck, sheltering the women and children as well as they could, and trying to comfort them.

There are degrees of delight, so I suppose those poor creatures must have been even more pleased to see their preservers, than we were to welcome them home. They were all drenched to the skin, but, fortunately, thanks to the captain's care, had no lack of food, and had even some to spare; which was well indeed, for our men were in sore need of it, and, without it, could certainly never have reached land. So that the captain of the ship did save his passengers' lives by standing by them. They had scarcely got all on board the Saveall, which was a difficult and tedious matter to effect, when the wreck went down.

" Then all that night, and all next day, and fer into the second night, they toiled against wind and sea, and at last made the land.

" The Saveall was sent round by steamer a day or two after, but the crew arrived at Boddlecome, by road, late that afternoon.

" Ton may imagine how we welcomed them!'.