but the tide was flowing now.) She evidently was not aware of the hidden danger till she had struck, and then appeared immoveably wedged into the rock. She was seen to hoist signals of distress, and the roar of a solitary gun came shoreward on the wind. Mr. Trevor and his son were watching her from the beach along with many others, and the former now offered a handsome gratuity to those who would launch and man a boat, and go off to her assistance; but all shook their heads, for, truth to say, the marine of A-was in a very discreditable condition; and, except one middling-sized pinnace, they had no craft fit for such a sea as was then running and raging before them. On this Henry Trevorleaping into the pinnace, which was rocking in a little cove, protected by a broad flat stone from the sea-declared he would go alone, when four young fellows, who often had rowed him in his fishing expeditions, started forward to share his enterprise and his danger; "it was but half a mile to the reef" "the wind was lulling-the tide at the full-and they would go for the love they had for the young master." The cheek of Mr. Trevor waxed deadly pale, but he was a brave and noblehearted man, and thought his son was in the path of duty; he was a pious man, too, and felt that God would surely not forsake him.

The boat was shoved into the surf amidst the cheers of the men, and the prayers and tears of the women; and, though every ten seconds it appeared sunk and lost in the trough of the wave, yet it would mount the next watery hill, and was fast reaching the reef under the long, steady stroke of the practised hardy oarsmen. Henry's form was seen in the fast receding light, sitting erect in the stern sheets, and steering with coolness and skill; a little grey cloth cap was pulled tightly down over his small and classical head, and the ends of his long black silk handkerchief blew back in the gale from his fine throat.

In a short time they appeared to have reached the reef and boarded the brig, the strong little pinnace riding under the shelter of her lee. It had been comparatively calm for a brief space, but in a moment a black squall which had been gathering at sea, came rushing and roaring towards the shore, covering the sky and producing in

stantaneous night; a mountain wave swept the vessel, in a moment or two a second, and a third succeeded, till the ship, gradually weakened by these reiterated shocks, entirely broke up, and became a total wreck.

"

But where was her crew? They were all saved. In the pale moonlight which succeeded the sudden passing away of the gale, the hardy pinnace might be seen riding amidst the long furrows of the sea, and drifting rapidly in to the shore. Tossed, broken, half engulfed, and nearly full of water, she was hurled by the last wave she ever floated on high on the beach, and her crew drenched, stunned and bruised, yet all preserved from a watery grave. The four young fishermen were there, too, but one was missing-Edward Trevor was not amongst the number, and was not found. He had been last seen on the brig's deck assisting a mother and her child into the pinnace, then the "big wave had broken over them, drenching and stunning all, and they had hastily" cast off" and set to work to "bale the boat, supposing they had the young master on board, but seeing nothing owing to the darkness and confusion, and the difficulty of keeping the boat at all afloat, so crowded and in such a sea. The agony of Mr. Trevor at this discovery knew no bounds. The unfortunate father would have rushed into the sea to seek his lost son, had he not been prevented by the woman whose life Henry had saved. What was now to be done? The pinnace could not go back-her keel was broken, and her gunwale stove in; nor was there any boat to be found which could live in such a sea. All the night long the distracted parents and sisters, hand locked in hand, paced the sands, looking and watching, and listening, and peering into the darkness; but there was neither voice nor sound, and Henry came not. At a little after two o'clock, the dawn beginning to show, and the sea much calmed, three boats, in one of which was the father, proceeded to the reef, which now stood up in grey and rugged outline above the ebb of tide. Here not a vestige of the wreck appeared, and alas! no trace of the brave and beloved one who had perilled his young life, and thrown it away in the cause of humanity. All day long the boats continned their search on the reef, and along the neigh

bouring shore. The highest rewards were offered-grappling irons were used for the discovery of the poor body, but it was not to be found. At evening his blue pea-jacket floated on shore, and alas! its identity could not be doubted, for, in a small side-pocket was Mrs. Trevor's portrait set in blue enamel and pearl, all marred by the action of the sea water, a gift from his mother on his going to college some years ago, but nothing more of his came to shore.

Days and days passed on, and everything that wealth, and influence, and restless, anxious energy could effect, was put in practice, but Henry's loved remains were no where found.

All language were faint to portray the black shadow which now settled down in terrible darkness over the Trevors. The loud weeping of the gentle girls, the hysterical passion of their mother, continuing for hours, and breaking the health and the heart. The dry, sleepless agony of the father, ever accusing himself as the cause of his son's death, and pacing up and down the room in silent misery-for

"The grief which does not speak,

Whispers the o'er-wrought heart, and bids it break."

Their affliction drew them more than ever together. If they were one in the day of joy, how much more in the night of sorrow. Their piety, too, deepened under the trial; and often, when unable to master their cruel agony, they would fling themselves on their knees, and pour out the overflowings of their distracted spirits in prayer to their hea venly Father; and comfort came down for the time, though hope was dead.

Weeks passed on, but the work of years had wrought on their appearance. Mr. Trevor's once shining black hair was all streaked with grey-silver lines which grief's pale finger had drawn there. His wife's health, like her poor boy's life, was wrecked away.

She

was always unwell-a martyr to shattered nerves. While the fair girls were like two young trees bent and drooping from the shock of a terrible tempest.

They now determined to leave A—, the scene of their misery. Their carriage and servants arrived next day, along with an old spaniel, which had belonged to Henry. The sight of this dog affected the grief-stricken family greatly. Their luggage was all packed,

and their carriage ordered to be at the door at day-break, for they had a long day's journey to go. Late in the evening the sisters walked on the beach. The sea was calm and beautiful, and the sun dying over it in thin cloudlets of black and gold. They went to the flat rock, from whence Henry had leaped into the pinnace. They did not speak one word, but, weeping abun dantly, each bent down her face to kiss the spot on the rock which their brother's steps had last pressed. The poor girls mingled their tears with the remorseless brine, which now gently came in to caress their feet, as if sorrowing and plaining for its fault. Silently they returned home, and now they all sat together in their little drawingroom. It was their last evening at A—, the scene of such happiness, and suck misery. It was the hour of family prayer, and Mr. Trevor read that divine chapter, the 14th of John's Gospel, which has brought comfort to thousands of mourners "Let not your heart be troubled;" sweet words, yet sad. His deep, melodious voice qui vered as he read them, for he thought of his fair son lying in the cold sea. Mrs. Trevor hid her face in the cushions of the sofa, and her daughters bent over and tried to soothe her. They knelt in prayer-it was their little wonted evening worship which he had often shared, and always enjoyed. Perhaps they thought of that now, and the remembrance might have calmed their spirit.

The old dog had been very nervous for the last few minutes, circling and smelling round the room, and whining at the window. Mr. Trevor threw it up.

"I see a man on the gravel walk," he said, "who, I think, is our new postillion. I hope Carlo will not hurt him ;" for the dog had leaped out over the window-sill. The next minute a figure sprang in over the low sash, and with a loud cry precipitated himself towards the party. It was their lost one, whom God had sent them back.

"Mother, mother!- take me to your heart, dearest, dearest, mother! Beloved father, kiss me! Ellen, Susan, I am come again, never more to part in this world!"

Oh! the deep, the unutterable joy of that moment!

"Oh, God of heaven! oh, my mer

ciful Saviour!" exclaimed the transported father, "it is my son-so wan, so worn; but it is indeed my son-my own son !"

All this time the mother could not speak; her face was on her son's shoulder, locked in his tight embrace, and silently straining him again and again to her heart. At length, disengaging herself, and pushing him towards the two fair girls who stood trembling, and all wild and weeping for joy, she turned her to her husband's faithful bosom, saw on his face the old smile come back, which she thought had gone for ever, fell into his extended arms, and, lifting up her happy voice, exclaimed

"Oh, our God, we thank thee for thy unspeakable mercy, for this our 'son was dead and is alive; he was lost, and is found!'"

His tale was soon told; he had been knocked down by the giant wave; his forehead was cut, and he lay senseless under the bulwarks of the deck; a mast had fallen obliquely over him, but had not touched or hurt him. When consciousness returned, he had just time to throw off his coat to swim, when the brig went to pieces, and the recoil of a wave washed him outside the reef into the rapid current which sets strongly there to the north, and completely off the shore. He said he swam but feebly, only using his feet; for the mast had floated with him, and his hands were locked in the rigging, as they drifted together in the sea. He said the last thing he thought he saw,

a

was the light in his father's house on shore; but his eyes were dim; and the last sound he thought he heard, was a wail of soft music played on his sister's harp. His head was very much astray, he said, just then, and the mu sic appeared to come floating along the waters, but it was a mere phantasy, though he said it made him smile; and so he committed his soul and his life to Him who once trod the waves to stillness; and then all was a blank, till he awoke faint and feeble in a strange bed, and among strange faces -yet saved, most wonderfully saved. He had been picked up by Scotch fishing smack (which was returning to the island of Skye) at the first break of light. He was all but exanimate when found, and a fierce fever set in on his exhausted frame at once; but his kind captors took him to their wild but healthy home, where he was tenderly nursed by their women; and though delirious for a long time, his youth finally triumphed, and he was spared for the enjoyment and all the bliss of the present moment. He had written on his recovery twice from Skye, but his letters miscarried, and having had a purse of gold with him, which these honest fishermen never interfered with, he went to Glasgow in a fishing boat, and from thence home, where his presence was hailed as a resurrection indeed, and life from the dead; and surely I may be permitted, in bringing my narrative to so happy a close, to class the terminating event of it as A DOMESTIC PARALLEL.

B.