Year: 1878

with the home-lke aspect it has grown to
wear through long familiarity, which holds
the secret of its charm for me. From the
moment when, nearing the end Of the long,
cross-country ride from the railway station,
the cool salt air strikes my face, thrilling ev-
cry nerve with that wonderful exhilaration
which makes all things seem possible of
achievement, until the last narrow, crumpled
ribbon of blue fades upon my lingering, back
ward gaze, the sea is itself n satisfying por-
ton to heart and sense II is called cruel,
relentless-a soulless force which crushes
those who trust it but to me, who knows its
tender summer aspect best, it is n mighty
mother, with face no more monOtonous than
that one, always the same, yet changing ever,
which hung above your cradle or smiled away
your childish tears. Only this mothers
smiles are the rosy flush of sunrises, the
white light flashing from the tops of the rip
pies, or shivered into prsmatc tnts on the
lip of the breaker for lingering goodnight
is the tender lambent glow of the the setting
sun fading slowly from the far line where sky
and water meet; and her luabies through
the long, glorious nights keep time TO the
rhythm of planets.


lodge, year by year. in the same small,
old-fashioned cottage, whose one spare suite of
rooms sweet with lavender, opens on a wide
veranda, so near the sea that the wind blow
ing inland sometimes drives fine mist of salt
spray against my cheek.


The mistress of the house is a quaint little
figure, that in her soft black gown and folded
lace stomacher might have stepped out of
one of the old genre pictures. Her widows
cap was put on when her hair was as brown
the chestnuts that drop on the rocky hill
side behind the COTTAGE but now its snowy
frill is scarcely whittier than the soft smooth
bands parted on her forehead beneath it. The
expression of her undmmed eyes is refined
and kindly, and her face is still fair, with a
little pink flush lingering yet in the cheek,
the refracted glow Of youth which set long
beneath the waves of years.


There is a hotel at the end of the beach. a
mile away, and, day after day, we may hear
the rumble of carriage wheels and clatter of
rapid hoofs on the smooth sand floor, or
watch the bright dresses of the bathers rising
and falling with the surf We care for no
nearer view,-my little hostess and l. She
sits patiently upon some rock with her knit
ting, while 1 wander here and there, tracing
evanescent fancies on the wonderful palimp-
sest of sand, wading in the shadows at low
tide for prisoned star-fsh and sea-urchins,
detaching with infinite pains the pretty frag-
lie sand.mold left, like Pompeian cast, by
some stranded jdly.fsh, or vainly trying to
approach the focks of sand d-pipers that keep
pace with the edge of the wave in rapid al
ttllllt duu ItlTtuls II II ~ llltitA-
ant once year, to be- free. aimless. an alb
sorbent only Then, when come back deli
ciously weary from such childish oscapades,
she talks to me with her gentle voice and old
time accent She has dwelt so long by the
sea that she seems part of it all, and am
never tired of her stories.


The one which l shall try to tell you, as
nearly as possible in her own words, is per
haps the saddest and sweetest of them all.
"A Bit of Flotsam' have called it, for the
back is secret of love and sacrifice. Remem-
Der that the story is hers, and spare me the
device of quotation.


1t was twenty years ago this very summer.
My rooms had been engaged for an English
lady and her daughter travelling in this coun-
try who had been directed TO Inc for quiet
boarding place. They would not arrive be-
fore the middle of July, and early in May l
received letter from Harry Willoughby, ask
| ing to come and stay with me for few weeks.
He was 'overworked, used up, good for moth
| ing lie wrote and wanted the sea air and
q motherly face to set him upagain. Now Har-
| rvs mother and l had been friends in our
| girlhood She married early wealthy Bos-
! ton gentleman, and died when Harry was n
! babe. Her husband survived her but few
wears and the lad was left with large for
tune and no near kin in the world. II would
have been small wonder if the dangerous leg
acy had been his ruin but Providence was
faithful to the dying mothers trust, and the
boy seemed to walk through his early years with
a guardian angel at his right hand He went
abroad at last TO study-at Heidelberg, think
and heard no more of him for some years,
| until all at once, he was at home again, and
recognized very soon as the most brilliantand
hardworking, too, of all the young barristers
of Boston.


was very glad to know that his wealth
had not made him content with life of idle
luxury, but that he had chosen his work and
put into it all the best powers of heart and
brain, Just as if he had been poor young
fellow with his own way to make i'll the
world


If had been a less timid traveller, | think
| might have made special journey to the
city to hear him plead some time for read
so much of his wonderful persuasiveness, the
strange, sympathetic power he exercised ovei


Judges and iuries, whether they would or no


One liberty, it was said, he always gave him


self-to decline whatever cases he chose. Ii,


would never plead for what he believed to b,


guilty cause. Perhaps it was the secret o.


his power, that he could always mean wha


he said.


1t being still SO long to the time for whicl


my rooms were engaged, Iwrote him to com,


as soon as he wished All the old time whel


Jane Willoughby-Jane Barton then-and


were together came back to me and he


sweet face seemed plain TO me yesterday


1t was so strange 10 Inc to think of her sol


older by years than she when l saw her last.


1t was Just at the edge of evening when th


coach stopped at my door, and tall younl


man got out-a little slowly and YEARLY
thought. l went down to the gate to NEE


him. James own boy! If only his mothe


cnuld hova caat, him Such n clpar-out hond
some face, and dark, true, straight, gazinI
eyes! He grasped my hand with smile tina


won my heart in moment. They tell m


you loved my mother" he said.


As he came into the lighted room l saw tina
he was very pale, and there was a drawn lool
about the lines of his face, which did no
/. like. Supper was waiting, but he searcel
tasted it, 1T must be the tedious ride tina


has made me feel SO ill.," he said at last -


think I'll 90 to bed now, and wake in tn
, morning quite made over newt"


But he did not rise next morning, poo


boy nor for many morning after. Nhe
Q the breakfast bell had rung two or three time


end he did not come, l went to his room t
, see what was the matter. There he lay
4 moaning to himself, half wild, and every vel
one throb Of fever.


As good luck would have it-though indee
, l doubt if it is right to call such things luc
Q Rt All-A great DOCTOR from boston was stay
ing at the house, who had been i'll himself
, and forced to leave his practice awhile for
! rest. So l had the best advice for Harr


from the first. sent for no one from abroa
. to help me nurse him for, as told you, h
l. had no near relatives, and l thought my ol
Q love for his mother, which had seemed
n pass over to him as soon as l saw him, migl
D stand him in better stead than the bare ski
j. of hired nurses. But with all that we coul


do, it was three weeks before the fever turned
s and he began to mend, SO slowly at first, thi
: we could scarcely trace the change from da
y to day.


/ just then what should my old black coo
" Rosetta do but fall i'll and have to go ava,


leaving me with only young, inexperience
q girl in her place l was at my wits end, fC
p Harry was in Just that state of half-childis