Year: 1875

Just where Que of our beautiful western
rivers widen to the sea, nestlcs the little
iisher-hamlet of Ferrybank; its low
thatched cottage clustered on the rugged
beach, and dotted here and there upon the
noble cliffs which rise behind-brilliant in
summer time with furze and broom and
heather. On the other side the river, the
quiet and picturesque watering-place OF
Lianvrior lies cool and white among the
rich warm blossoms on the hillside, and
between the hamlet and the town plies the
little ferry boat which gives the village its
name. But the trusty little sailing vessel
is but rarely used: for at least half its
time it lies IN utter idlness under the fer
| ryman's cottage while the waters lap il
softly as they pass. and laugh that they are
close upon the sea at last.


But the fishing boats at terrybank have
no such holiday. When they rest they do
| it 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 those, which,
from month to month, lies useless and
rudderless upon an isolated shelf of rocks.
And the Instrumentation rough voices
softened a little-tell how one evening the
Squire's yacht found that boat tossing ten
antless upon the waves not quite three
miles from shore, and towed it slowly
home landing it on the beach just where
the missing fisherman's son stood waiting
and watching for his fathers signal. None
of them can tell how Owen Vaughan-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
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 such
things may be like Oft-told tales in lives
like theirs, yet the shock they bring is new
er the less keen for that, nor the bereave-
ment 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 unbOyish
silence, while his mother let her sorrow
overwhelm her, and the baby -girl-herselt
an unconscious comforter-cried wonder
| ingly in the gloom Of the darkened cot
tage.


But this grief grew less as years went
on. The mother earned scanty liveli-
hood by her washing. and little Duddgha


in spite of the weight of her Welsh
name-grcw from babyhood to girlhood,
tall and 1.-THE and active. ever ready with
her nimble feet or fingers to tighten her
mothers toll while Owen won his way so
rapidly in the village school, that the lame
schoolmaster began most painfully to feel
the narrowness of his own erudition under
the boys wide questioning. He was even
right, too, when he muttered suggestively
among the villagers that "Owen was an
odd child, and would not associate with
his schoollellows.'


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 Lianvriar. Sir Bulkley. always
quick to see the help which it was to give,
and always proud and glad when he found
unexpected gifts and powers among his
people, examined the boy himself-start-
led without puzzling him, frightened with
out bewilderins him-and then dismissed
him with few curt words OF advice but
no encouragement. Yet only few days
afterward he visited 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 condi-
ton of the boys progress being satisfactory
here the Squire hand, which was upon
Owens shoulder now, grew q little
heavier. and his voice little more en-
phatic--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 protege's
gratitude when Owen found that this
school to which he was sent was one of
the first private schools in Wales, nor with
what intense earnestness the lad pursued
this new path which his generous patron
had opened for him, and which it was
such happiness 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 3, who
was going abroad, and wanted a secreta.
ry and interpreter, heard of Owens won
deriu facility in acquiring languages, and
offered to take him. The baronet, always
ready and kind, travelled himself to the
inland Welsh town, and started Owen of
to London, handing him note for f1OO.
with few kind words of encouragement,
which Owen never forgot through all his
life, and telling him that when his en-
| gagement was over, if he would like to
stay abroad and study, this would give
the power to do so.


Through France and Germany and Italy
went Owen with his patron, pertecting
himself in each language with that extra
ordinary power which seemed born with
him, and his patron, returning TO England