early age of twelve, his imagination had become so excited by the stories he had read of a life at sea, that hearing of a vessel, bound to the Mediterranean, and about to sail, he collected his small wardrobe together, left his home in the dead of night, and, unknown to any one, set off in search of her. He was a boy of strong passions and determined will, and, arriving at the place from which the vessel was to sail, by his remarkable energy and perseverance, succeeded in obtaining the berth of cabin-boy on board of her. Great was the surprise and grief of his parents, as day after day passed without his return; and when at length the rumor of his having gone to sea in the "Orico" reached them, it only deepened their anxiety and distress. A few weeks after this strange and melancholy event, Mr. Harley, suffering deeply from the conduct of his son, and the partial loss of his little property at the same time, was taken violently ill, and soon carried to the grave, thus leaving his sweet wife to struggle alone with this heavy accumulation of sorrow. Since that time, no tidings of either Frank or the vessel had been heard-conjecture became useless, and the fond mother was forced to believe her son entirely estranged from home and friends, or lost at sea. But she never forgot him in her prayers, and though for three years she had apparently prayed in vain, she ceased not to importune still that God would bless and restore him. Were her prayers answered? We shall see. A week passed happily away in this quiet little family. Alice was never weary of entertaining her mother with the wonderful conduct of her pet kitten, or the history of her favorite doll; while Mary, more sedate, loved better to read pretty stories, and ask mamma to tell her what they meant. They were twins, of five summers-happy little creatures, blooming with health and beauty. I have said this week glided pleasantly away; but when the sweet Sabbath twilight came again, Mrs. Harley was laid on a bed of sickness and suffering. Attacked by a violent fever, which hourly increased in malignancy, her form soon became emaciated, and her strength gone. But could it be that she was going to die, and leave her lovely orphans to the care of strangers? Must so great a sacrifice be required of her the giving up of her cherished idols, poor, helpless, and dependent, to the cold charity of a selfish world? Thoughts like these filled her mind, and destroyed her peace, during the early part of her sickness. But she had yet to learn that she must cast all her care on "Him who careth for her," and be able to say with sincerity of heart, "Thy will, not mine, be done." Severe and unexpected as the trial was, yet strength was given to her, in her hour of weakness-grace triumphed over the deepest earthly affection-she became submissive and resigned. It was a sad hour when the fond mother clasped her children to her bosom for the last time, and imprinted the last kiss of love upon their lips. "Mary," said the soft, low voice of the dying woman, "you and little Ally will soon be orphans-God is going to take your mamma to himself. When I am gone, will you and Ally kneel down, at morning and evening, and ask God to take care of you, and love you, and make you good children ?" "Yes, dear mamma; but oh, there won't be any body to pray for then, but Ally and me," sobbed the sweet child, whose maturity of character enabled her, in some measure, to comprehend the dreadful meaning of her mother's words. 66 Yes, Mary; do you forget your brother? will you not love him, and pray for him too? Perhaps God will hear your little prayers, and send him back to you again after I am gone." Turning to Alice, she said, "You won't forget your dear mamma, Ally, when she is laid away in the cold ground, will you ? You will come to me, my children." Then, clasping their little hands together, she kissed them, and murmuring, "O God! bless my poor orphans!" sank back on her pillow, and died. Kind friends and neighbors, who had assisted in the painful sickness, now came forward, and made all needful preparation for the melancholy burial. Mrs. Harley was beloved by all who knew her, and no sooner were the sad tidings of her death known, than the helpless orphans were kindly taken home by good Mrs. Mellworth, who cared for them as her own children. * * Three years rolled rapidly away-the grass had grown over that grave in the village churchyard-the beautiful twins had become still more blooming and beautiful with the flight of years, but no tidings of the wanderer had been received. It was a wild and stormy evening in November-the wind had been increasing in violence till it blew a hurricane, and the rain dashed unceasingly against the window-pane. The peaceful inhabitants of the village of M- gathered around their large fires, and talked of the poor sailors exposed to the pitiless peltings of the storm, and blessed God for their happy firesides. Those who were compelled to go out, and test the violence of the gale, hastened homeward with rapid step, shrugging their shoulders, and exclaiming, "A terrible night for poor Jack," while around many a blazing fire, the laugh and song rang loudly in contrast to the roaring of the winds without. Many miles off, on the seacoast, a sadder sight was seen, and sadder sounds were heard, which even the howl of the angry elements could not drown. Two noble vessels, with their precious burden, had gone down, and another, with masts and rigging partially torn away, was fast nearing the rocky shore. Among the crew on her deck, who were running to and fro in wild confusion, trying to the latest to prevent the fatal shock, was a young man of eighteen, whose dress, conversation, and careless intrepidity denoted him a reckless sailor. He was boldest among that bold crew, apparently the most indifferent of them all to the fearful danger they were in; but when, at last, all was done that could be devised to prolong life, secluding himself from observation, and folding his arms over his capacious chest, he fell into a deep and prolonged revery. Frank Harley (for it was he) had become a wild and dissipated youth, steeped in sin and sensuality; but, amid all his wickness, one holy affection still burned brightly in his bosom. He still loved his mother-and this seemed the only redeeming trait in the character of that once pure-hearted and innocent boy. Six years of sea life had done a desolating work upon his mind and heart, and he would never have revisited his childhood's home, but for the promptings of that pure affection which was still, and had ever been, unclouded. Amid all the wild excesses in which he had indulged, during a four years' voyage in a whale ship, the memory of his far-off and affectionate mother, had swept, like a strain of sweet music, across his heartstrings, waking, amid the sad discord which sin had made, the harmony of love. Her wild countenance had appeared to him in his dreams, glancing reproachfully upon him, as if upbraiding him for his desertion, till at length, having an opportunity to obtain a passage in a vessel homeward bound, he eagerly embraced it, and after so long a time, set his face once more toward his native village. But he had no intention of remaining on shore-the wild and fitful sea was his home-his attachment to it, and to his sins, was too strong to be easily broken. Secretly, and effectually disguised, he hoped to obtain one glimpse of his sweet mother's face, to hear again her low voice, to listen unnoticed to the artless prattle of his twin sisters, and then leave them for ever. This was the subject of his meditations, during his long revery, on that fearful night. Swiftly, as if driven by all the winds of heaven, the noble ship neared the shore, while the loud roaring of the waves, as they dashed against the rocks before them, fell, like a funeral knell, upon many hearts. In another moment the vessel struck, and yielded up her living multitude to the raving sea. The sun had been long up on the following morning, when Frank Harley awoke to consciousness. He was lying on a projecting ledge of rock, where he had been washed by the waves on the preceding night. Around him was a scene of melancholy, ruin, and desolation. Pieces of the wrecked ship were floating on every side, while the dead bodies of many of her ill-fated crew and passengers lay in the niches of the rocks, or on the sandy shore, with the fierce waves, which had not yet subsided, dashing wildly around them. Sad as the sight was which lay spread out before him, Frank heeded it not; with one bright vision still alluring him onward, he only paused long enough to find himself the sole survivor of the night's fearful tragedy, and immediately set out for home. It was late in the afternoon when he arrived at MNot wishing to be seen or recognized by any one, and endeavoring to loiter away the time till evening, when he could steal unnoticed to his quiet cottage home, and look once more upon the faces that were still dear to him, he entered the village churchyard. There, the green mound, the white marble, the simple inscription, which met his eye, told a tale of sadness for which he was unprepared. "My mother!" broke from the pale lips of the hardened sailor, while an expression of intense agony passed over his features. The shock was too sudden, the blow too severe for even his iron nature to bear, and, weakened as he was by fatigue and fasting, he sank insensible upon his mother's grave. The shades of twilight gradually deepened into night-the light breeze ceased to play among the graceful branches of the elm and willow-one by one the stars glistened in the blue vault of heaven, but he awoke not; and when, at last, he did awake, it was to insupportable anguish and bitter remorse. Feelings that he had never known swept his soul-his father and mother lay side by side in that grave beneath him—perhaps he had caused their death. In the wildness of his grief he threw himself upon the green mound, clasped it in his arms, laid his cheek upon the sod, and called loudly on his mother for forgiveness. * * * * Day had faintly begun to dawn in the east when he rose from that hallowed spot, but he arose a changed man, and gazed upon every thing around him with new sensations of pleasure and delight. The stars looked mildly down from their pure height upon him, telling him of a Father's love, while the slender spire of the church near by, seemed to proclaim peace and pardon to the guilty, through a crucified Saviour. We may not know the deep agony which racked his soul, the bitter communings with his own heart during that long night; but on that lonely grave, in the darkness of midnight, with no eye upon him but the All-Seeing, a mother's prayers were answered her son "was dead, but is alive again-was lost, but is found." Need I add any thing more to finish this little sketch? Cannot every one imagine the happy conclusion, how Frank became a devoted Christian, abandoned the sea, and was soon engaged in prosperous business on shore, how he toiled night and day for the support of his lovely twin sisters, fitted up the little cottage, |