history of his life, the bulk of his property was devised to our litlle Ella. If she dies before attaining her majority, it goes to enrich charitable institutions."

Prescot paused.

"A most romantic story indeed," said his companion. "I shall guard the life of this precious child with three fold care since so much depends on its continuance."

66

'Ah my friend," replied the father, with serious emphasis, "I have questioned my own heart, to learn from it if my little darling is of more importance to me now, than before this magnificent accession of fortune, which comes through her; and if I know myself, I may answer no. She was the jewel in our crown of life, before this event; she cannot become dearer to us through any adventitious aid. Of more value to us than untold gold is that frail little form which embodies a soul for whose developement we are accountable; a tablet which shall be unrolled in eternity, and proclaim to angels the lessons we imprinted there. Oh my friend, it is a divine employment to train a young spirit for Heaven!"

At that instant, a bright glare flashed over the waters, paling the moonlight by its ruddy gleam. Prescot sprang from his seat.

"God of Heaven the boat is on fire! My wife -my child!"

He sprang toward the stairway, which King had already cleared at a bound, in search of his sister.

When Prescot reached the cabin, he found the throng of passengers in a state of wild excitement -shrieks, cries, and prayers for mercy arose from the confused mass which struggled to reach the guards. The cabin was already filled with thick smoke, and the rushing noise of flames was distinctly heard.

He reached his state-room, he scarcely knew how, and found his wife lying senseless across the berth, with her shrieking child clasped in her arms. On seeing her father, the little girl ceased her cries, but his voice failed to arouse his wife from the deathlike insensibility into which she had fallen. For the moment he felt as if endowed with the strength of a giant-he raised his wife with one arm, and with the other clasped the wondering child to his breast. The door which opened on the guard was unclosed, and he passed toward the stern of the boat; a glance showed him that the efforts of the pilot to run the boat ashore had been unavailing, and a prison of fire, she floated at the mercy of the current. The mass of the passengers had crowded to the bow in the vain hope that they would be better able to escape if the officers could effect a landing.

The cries of the suffocating, burning and drowning wretches arose in a chorus of horror, which

made the strong man reel and shudder as a reed in the wind. The guard on which Prescot stood was entirely deserted; he paused to gain strength for the effort before him, and then the terrible conviction came to him that it would be impossible for him to save both his beloved burdens. Two thirds of the boat were already wrapped in flames, and they were rushing forward with a velocity which mocked the wind; another moment, and it would be too late to save either.

He looked upon the pallid face which rested upon his breast, and then upon his child, and an agonized prayer arose to Heaven for assistancewithout it, one must perish-but which? Would his wife thank him for the boon of life purchased at so fearful a price? Might not his daughter in after years, amid the struggles and sorrows of life, reproach him that he did not offer her innocent existence for the preservation of a mother?

The flames approached-he felt their hot breath upon his face-decide-decide he must. It was a moment of unutterable horror. With a smothered cry he kissed the sweet face of the cherub, and muttering

"At least thou shalt not perish by fire; it would be too horrible"-he raised her, and threw her from him with all his force.

Without a look toward the spot on which she fell, he wrenched away the wooden railing, and sprang with his precious burden into the rapid current. His wife was slight and delicate, and Prescot was a dextrous swimmer, but the powerful stream he had to buffet was near sweeping them under more than once.

A number of the passengers had already escaped to the shore by swimming; among whom were Mr. King and his sister; and he was.now anxiously seeking the means of assisting his friend. Prescot's strength was nearly exhausted when he reached the land, and deposited his still senseless wife in safety on the grass. Consigning her to the care of their friends, he again rushed to the shore, in the almost hopeless quest of his child.

The spot on which he had landed was a small bend into which the water flowed smoothly and tranquilly; at the moment of throwing the little creature from him, Prescot had instinctively remarked this, and he had cast her toward the bank, that the melancholy pleasure of recovering her body, and giving it sepulture, might yet be theirs.

As he rushed wildly toward the shore, he stopped as one suddenly turned to stone: then dropping on his knees he exclaimed

"God in Heaven I thank thee! that in my dire extremity my prayer was heard."

Before him, within a few yards of the shore, buoyed on the surface of the calm water by her clothing, was an angelic infant form, playing with

"I WONDER where mother and Alfred are this evening," said Margaret Leslie, as she placed her father's arm chair by the blazing fire, and set the slippers for his feet; "is it not time we heard from them, father?"

"No, I think not. They could scarcely have arrived when the last intelligence left, and your mother would wait till the fatigues of the voyage were somewhat over before she could tell us its effect on Alfred. Heaven grant," he added, in a fervent tone," that the tidings may be favorable!"

Margaret moved the cushion on which she sat nearer to her father's feet, and put her hand silently in his as if to echo the petition. After a pause she said:

"Do you believe in presentiments, father?" "I believe in nothing, child, which militates against the wise and perfect government of a benevolent Creator-and shadows of coming evil would but alarm and distress the mind without preparing it to meet it. But why do you ask the question?"

"Because the geraniums which Alfred planted have withered since he sailed; the bird he brought last Spring died to-day; and nurse says she has such fearful dreams in which he and mother are constantly associated."

We will not affirm that Mr. Leslie's cheek did not blanch a little, for his mind was in that state of anxious excitement which grasps at everything connected with the object of its solicitude, but he saw the danger of quickening the susceptibilities of a young and lively imagination, and replied with assumed calinness :

"Your flowers have faded, I suppose, because the temperature of your green room has been unequal; the bird you know has long been ailing ; and for nurse's dreams, I never heard that hearty suppers were favorable to quiet sleep, and the good woman must moderate her appetite for the former if she wishes the enjoyment of the latter. But where is our little Addy? I have missed her from the moment I came in. The gaiety of that little creature's spirits is a sunshine to our household."

"She had an invitation to take tea with the

little Raymonds, and so eager did she seem to go that I promised to reconcile you to her absence. But she was to come home early-I think I hear her now."

There was a pattering of childish feet upon the stoop-a good night said-and a child of some eight or nine years sprang into the apartment

"Oh, uncle !-oh, Margaret! we have had such a time. Julia Raymond's father has come and brought them a heap of things-a doll, and a bedstead, and a bureau, and some books, and a Chinese puzzle that pestered us all so long. Oh, it would puzzle even you, uncle."

"Do you think so, Addy? I am excellent at mysteries-am I not, Margaret?" said Mr. Leslie, with a smile, to his daughter.

"If it were only here," began Adeline again; "could not Joseph go for it?-just next door-I know they would lend it; and I should so like to see if you could do it, uncle."

The request was assented to-the game was brought-and the two gathered round the table. Adeline watched the movements with eagerness.

“Oh, not that piece-yes, that's the right one." And to her astonishment Mr. Leslie succeeded in completing it without the card to look on.

Well, uncle, I know no one else could! But if I have all my lessons perfect, and have been very obedient, aunt Leslie is to give me the choice of anything I want when she comes home, and I'll choose a puzzle. Alfred thinks he can do anything, but I am sure he would never get it together without looking-do you think he could, Margaret?"

"I hope you will have an opportunity of trying," said Margaret, tears rushing to her eyes.

A silence of some minutes ensued. Mr. Leslie had his own thoughts. Margaret watched the expression of his countenance, and Adeline felt troubled she knew not why. It was broken by Mr. Leslie.

"It is getting late-open the Bible, my daughter, and ring for the servants."

A chapter was read. Questions were asked with eagerness by the children, and with respectful deference by the servants, and then the family

gathered round the household altar. It seemed that none were forgotten in that prayer--all miseries-all necessities were presented; and forgiveness and relief implored on the plea of that atonement sufficient for all sin-all want; but when the father spoke of those who "went down to the sea in ships," when he pleaded for invalids who were languishing in a foreign clime, and prayed for his own beloved ones that the grave might not be opened there, but that they might return to cheer the hearts that were desolate without them, the deep and heartfelt amen of all who were assembled showed that that petition was the language of every heart.

Mr. Leslie was a merchant residing some years since in one of our large and flourishing cities. He belonged to a family which had ever filled high and honorable stations in their community, and had from time to time been possessed of great wealth-he had himself inherited a considerable property from his parents-but having in early life the prospect of a numerous offspring, and wishing to afford them the advantages of a liberal education, and refined society, he had embarked in mercantile pursuits. In these he had been eminently successful; riches had filled his coffers-honors had been showered upon him-and there were few whose wide-spread influence was more readily and cheerfully acknowledged ;-but of all the flowerets that had bloomed by his side it had pleased Heaven to spare but two. Of these, Alfred, the younger, had shown strong tendencies to the pulmonary diseases which had laid one young brow after another in the dust-and to avert these dreaded symptoms, three winters had his anxious mother relinquished the comforts of home and friends and sought for her son the tempered atmosphere of a more genial climate. Thus far the efforts had been blessed; and the physicians were sanguine in their hopes that the renovation of this last season would be sufficient and that the delicate

boy would then spring into the active and healthy man. Yet, though the end for which Mr. Leslie had sought wealth, viz. the establishment of his beloved children, had been frustrated, he could not regret its pursuit. Besides the advantages of employment (and who can tell their number? he had gained an important talent for the service of his Creator. From his fulness the needy and perishing around him were constantly relievedand through his instrumentality the light of hope had arisen to cheer the spiritual darkness and desolation of pagan lands. During the absence of the mother and son many such evenings as the one we have described were spent by that hoping, trusting family-and at length those prayers were answered. Spring came, and with it came the absent, and but one glance was sufficient to show that hope had not deceived them. The cheek of Alfred had mantled with the hue of health-there was elasticity in his footsteps, and fullness in his form. But joy and sorrow journey hand in hand, and the travellers brought the intelligence of the death of Mr. Henry Leslie, with his will and papers, which had been forwarded to them; in which he had constituted his brother executor to his estate, and sole guardian of the property and actions of his orphan daughter. Mrs. Leslie now reiterated the promise she had made the dying mother of the child, when she gave her to her care-and in gratitude for the restored health of their own darling, both parents resolved that she should never have cause to know her loss.

From that hour the little Adaline was taught to call father and mother-and she became to the

Leslies in all respects their own. And time passed on-undiversified but by the interchange of social feeling and the exercise of daily charity-and if it took aught from the elder Leslies they were more than repaid by the graces of mind and person which it daily developed in the growing blooming family around them. (To be continued.)

A THOUGHTLES pair, with streamers gay,

O'er Hymen's waters sweep,

Profusion dancing at the helm,

And Prudence laid to sleep;

At Labor's ancient chart they scoff,

On murdered hours they tread.

And lavish waste another's gold

When all their own is fled.

Reof sails! Reef sails! a whirlpool's pigh, The angry breakers sound;

Haste, change your reckoning, ere ye plunge
In gulphs profound.

Young Beauty, in her painted barque
Like Egypt's boasted queen,

For whom, 'tis said, the world was lost,
With haughty brow is seen;
The morn is fair, the breeze is rare,
And gliding on her way,

SIGOURNEY.

She deems each billow's flashing crest
To her doth homage pay;

Reef sails, my lady! there's a cloud
To threat thy noontide skies,

A wrecking sand, a lonely strand,
Be timely wise.

Pride launches bold, with canvas spread
And top-mast towering high,
Regardless of the warning blast

That through the shrouds doth sigh
Reef sails! 'tis not for him of dust,
Whose fall the worm doth wait,

To magnify the fleeting pomp

That seeks his high estate;

Reef sails! Reef sails! life's bubble breaks, The s'ern grave claims its part,

But heaven's eternal favor crowns

The lowly heart.

THE incident or passage in the earthly life of the Redeemer is but lightly mentioned in the sacred record; we may say, indeed, that it is but simply mentioned as it were in passing, as though it had not, or was not perceived to have, any especial significance. In five or six lines only it is recorded that, his parents having missed him on their journey homeward, "it came to pass that after three days they found him in the temple, sitting in the midst of the doctors, both hearing them and asking them questions. And all that heard him were astonished at his understanding and answers."

Almost any other writer, ancient or modern, would have expatiated on this remarkable occurrence. The account of it would have been given in large detail, with at least some description of the questions and answers whose wisdom so amazed the learned Jewish theologians; and most certainly there would be some comment upon the miraculous precocity of the unknown stripling, pointing it out as evidence of his supernatural character and mission. But Luke the beloved physician gives us nothing of all this; he merely relates the fact and then passes on, without a word of remark, to other matters.

Are we to suppose from this that Luke was not aware of the significance pertaining to the incident? By no means. When he wrote he had become a follower of Jesus, knew that he had died and risen again, and was thoroughly imbued with the conviction of his divinity. He, therefore, must have understood that precocity of knowledge and wisdom by which others were only astonished. That he makes no remark upon it, then, must be accounted for by some consideration other than that of indifference or stupidity.

But the question is easily solved when we consider that the fact is characteristic of all the evangelical narratives. Throughout every one of them

there is a manifest and striking suppression, so to speak, of the narrator; his opinions, his impressions, the effect wrought upon his own mind, the inferences or deductions he might be able or moved to draw from the occurrence which he describes or records of all this we see nothing. Every one of the evangelists seems to have addressed himself to his work with a rare and allsufficient understanding or consciousness that in the office of preparing the GOSPEL for perpetuation and universal dissemination there were two classes of workmen, each having a distinct share of labor to perform. For one class was reserved the duty of expounding, commenting, arguing, exhorting. To the other belonged simply that of narrating. It was for the Apostles to preach the Gospel; for the evangelists to write its history. And the heedful student of the New Testament will readily perceive how strictly each of these two classes of co-workers confined itself to its legitimate province. The epistles are hortatory, argumentative, explanatory; the Gospels are exclusively narrative. Not to speak it irreverently, the writers of the latter may be described as officiating rigidly in the capacity of the reporter for modern journalism, who is content to be but the unreasoning, idea-less instrument or hand by which the mind, the active intellect, of some other is clothed in speech for thousands or millions between whom and his audible, actual speech distance or time has interposed a barrier impassable. And if the mission of the reporter derives a certain nobleness from its vast utility, to say nothing of the qualifications and efforts it demands, how noble and reverend we must feel that of the Evangelists to have been, when we bear in mind that the dictation under which they wrote was the direct inspiration, as the Church teaches us to believe, of the Infinite Mind, of the Eternal and Unchangeable Truth.