Year: 1874

Just where one oI our beautiful western rivers widens to the sea, nestles the little l fisher -hamlet.o of Ferrybank; it's low, thatch

 ed cottages clustered on the rugged beach

 and dotted here and there upon the noble

 cliffs which rise behind-brilliant in sum. mer-time with furz and broom and heath.

 CT. On the other side the river, the quiet

 and picturesque watering-place of Llan.

 vriar lies cool and white among the rich,

 warm blossoms on the hillside, and be.

 tween the hamlet and the town plies the little ferry-boat which gives the village its

 name. But the trusty little sailing ves-

 sel'' Is rarely useo for at least half its

 time it leans in utter idieness under the ferryman's cottage, while the waters lap ] 1t softly as they pass, and laugh that they

 are close upon the sea at last.

 But the fishing boats at Ferrybank have no such holiday. When they rest they do 1 1t in an uncertain manner, standing ready for action, though high and dry upon the rocky beach, and waiting to be dragged down amid those busy shouts, as they are dragged so many times in every year. But one there is even of these, which from month to month lies useless and 1 rudderless upon an isolated shelf of rocks. And the fshermen-their rough voices softened lttle-tell how one eve | ming the Squire's yacht found that boat tossing tenantless upon the waves not quite three miles from shore, and lowed it slow ly home; landing it on the beach just | where the missing tisherman's son stood | waiting and watching for his fathers sig 1 nal. None of them can tell how Owen 1 Vaughen-the ablest and most fearless sailor on the coast-met his death upon the secret sea; but they will tell how the boy, through all the night that followed. sat alone upon the cliffs, and how, when he came home at last, he had look upon his face as if he had borne the sorrow of mans life-a look which they tell you he can never lose again. And then they add, turning little from your face to look, beyond the very sea itself, to where the sky spreads wide and bright above, that though h such things may be like oft told tales in lives like theirs, yet that the shock they bring never is the less keen for that, nor the bereavement the less deep and sore. This Is how in Owen Vaughan's cottage there fell the great hush of sudden grief, which the boy who had loved his father with that strength and tenderness of devotion which it is given us sometimes to see in boy na- tures-battled with in strange, unboy- lsh silence, while his mother let her sor- SOW overwhelm her, and the baby-girl, herself an unconscious comforter, cried wonderingly in the gloom of the darkened cottage.

 But this grief grew less as years went on. The mother earned scanty ivei hood by her washing, and little Duddgha in spite of the weight of her Welsh name grew from babyhood to girlhood, tall and 1.-the and active, ever ready with her nimble feet or fingers to tighten her moth CTS toll while Owen won his way so rap idly in the village school, that the lame schoolmaster began most painfully to feel the boys wide questioning. He was even right too when he muttered sugeestively among the villagers that "Owen was an odd child, and would not associate with his scl1ool-f fellows. --- -ewrn- -r0vso-~a.4 4a1ld child. Since he had lost that one friend who shared every thought, he had let the reserve and soltariness which character ized him grow and deepen. And little sympathy had the restless village lads with Owens deep and concentrated love for the studies which to them meant on- ly imprisonment. Nothing could they un- derstand of the still bright dreams in which he sat alone by the whispering sea, or of the brave and fearless resolutions which he gathered strength to keep when he stood and watched the storm beaten waters, finding perhaps an echo in his own longing heart to the wild, mystic voice which was to make all doubt. and wonder clear to him one day.

 At last the village schoolmaster, seeing he could take the boy no farther on the path he trod so rapidly, mentioned gener- ally the advisability of his leaving school now, and mentioned it particularly to Sir Bulkley Gwynne, the rich, eccentric bach elor who owned all Ferrybank, and lived in the great house upon the wooded bank above Llanvriar. Sir Bulkley, always quick to see the help which it was wise to give, and always proud and glad when he found unexpected gifts and powers among his people, examined the boy himself startling without puzzling him, frightened without bewildering him-and then dis missed him with few curt words of ad- vice, but no encouragement. Yet only Q few. days afterwards he appeared again in the village school, and, walking through the rows of standing boys to where Owen waited with his head raised from his open book, he told him he had chosen another school for him, and that the master had promised, on condition of the boys pro- gress being satisfactory-here the Squire's hand, which was upon Owens shoulder now, grew little heavier, and his voice 8 little more emphatic-to retain him as tutor and pay him according to his services.

 Sir Bulkley, making nothing of his own share in this, and saying nothing of the great hope he entertained for the lad, felt that he had given him just the start in life which, by his own industry and talent, might lead him safely to the end; but he never guessed the depth of his pro- teges gratitude when Owen found that his school was in Wales. nor with what in- tense earnestness the lad pursued this new path which his generous patron had open ed for him, and which it was such happi- ness to walk in.

 One day new light broke upon this path for Owen, showing him the track for which he had been unconsciously longing. A friend of Sir Bulkley Gwynne's, who was going abroad, and wanted a secretary and interpreter, heard of Owens wonder fnl facility in acquiring languages. and offered to take him. The baronet, al- ways ready and kind, travelled himself to the inland Welsh town, and started Owen SAA " AOA0OA1 AsAAOA06 A1xx d IIVb0 1OE e1OO, with few kind words of encour- agement, which Owen never forgot through all his life. and telling him that when his engagement was over, if he would like to stay abroad and study, this would give him the power.

 To fisherman's widow who has never been twenty miles from her cottage on the beach, who knows nothing of the world but its vague immensity. and noth- ing of the sea beyond the shore but it's treachery, journey to the Continent was terrible as exile. And SO Owen-fearine anxious days and sleepless nights for his mother while she could fancy him upon his journey-would not tell her of his projected departure. Then what proud and bright sstonishment there was in the cottage on the beach when Ovens first letter came from Paris! The mothers eyes had for years been weak and easily tried, but they never tired of reading those loving words, nor did her lips ever tire of kissing them. With the letter there came a portrait, which was tenderly plac- H