d upon the dead
seaman's breast, and kissed his cold lips and brow with devoted
affection. Then, rising from her knees, she went to her pale, weeping,
distressed mother, and, taking her gently by the hand, led her up to the
object of her search.

The winds and waves are sad disfigurers; but Mrs. Grimshawe instantly
recognised, in the distorted features, so marred in their conflict with
the elements, the husband of her youth, the father of her orphan
children; and, with a loud shriek, she fell upon the bosom of the dead.
Rough, pitiful hands lifted her up, and unclasped the rigid fingers
that tightened about his neck, and bore the widow tenderly back to her
desolate home.

Weeks went by, and the fisherman slept in his peaceful grave. His little
children had ceased to weep and ask for their father, before Dorothy
Grimshawe awoke to a consciousness of her terrible loss and altered
fortunes. During the period of her mental derangement, her wants had
been supplied by some charitable ladies in the neighbourhood. Shortly
after her restoration to reason, a further trial awaited her--she became
the victim of palsy. In the meridian of life she found her physical
strength prostrate, and her body a useless broken machine, no longer
responsive to the guidance, or obedient to the will of its possessor. An
active mind shut up in a dead body,--an imprisoned bird, vainly beating
itself against the walls of its cage. Human nature could scarcely
furnish a more melancholy spectacle; speech, sight, and hearing, were
still hers; but the means of locomotion were lost to her for ever.

The full extent of her calamity did not strike her at first. Hope
whispered that the loss of the use of her lower limbs was only
temporary, brought on by the anguish of her mind; that time, and the
doctor's medicines, would restore her to health and usefulness.

Alas! poor Dorothy. How long did you cling to these vain hopes! How
reluctantly did you at last admit that your case was hopeless,--that
death could alone release you from a state of helpless suffering! Then
came terrible thoughts of the workhouse for yourself and your children;
and the drop was ever upon your cheek--the sigh rising constantly to
your lips. Be patient, poor afflicted one! God has smitten, but not
forsaken you. Pity still lives in the human heart, and help is nearer
than you think.

In her early life Dorothy had lived for several years nursery-maid in a
clergyman's family. One of th