e, the qualities of boldness and energy with the kindest, the
tenderest, and most generous feelings. These were wrought into beautiful
harmony, by the Christian principles which had long governed his life,
and from which he had learned to be, at the same time, "diligent in
business" and "kindly affectioned"--to have no _fear_ of man, and to
love his brother, whom he had seen, as the best manifestation of
devotion to God, whom he had not seen. Perhaps he had escaped the usual
effect of his rough trade, in hardening the manners, at least, by the
influence on him of his only child, a little girl, now six years old,
who was his constant companion, even in his voyages. Little Emily Durbin
had lost her mother when she was only two years old. The circumstances
of her own childhood had wrought into the mind of the dying Mrs. Durbin,
the conviction that only a parent is a fitting guardian for a child. To
all argument on this subject she would reply, "It seems to me that God
has put so much love into a parent's heart, only that he may bear with
all a child's waywardness, which other people can't be expected to bear
with."

True to her principles, she had exacted a promise from her husband, in
her dying hour, that he would never part from their Emily. The promise
had been sacredly kept.

"I will retire from sea as soon as I have enough to buy a place on
shore, for Emily's sake; but till then, her home must be in my cabin.
She is under God's care there, as well as on shore, and perhaps it would
be better for her, should I be lost at sea, to share my fate." Such were
the remarks of Captain Durbin, in reply to the well-meant remonstrances
of his friends.

Emily had a little hammock slung beside his own--the books in which he
taught her made a large part of his library; and he who had seen her
kneel beside her father to lisp her childish prayer, or who had heard
the simple, beautiful faith with which she commended herself to the care
of her Father in Heaven, when the waves roared and the winds howled
around her floating home, would have felt, perhaps, that the most
important end of life, the cultivation of those affections that connect
us with God and with our fellow-creatures, might be attained as
perfectly there as elsewhere.

The astonishment of Captain Durbin and the pity of his gentle child may
be conceived, at the sight of the poor boy, who was brought up from the
boat by his captor and owner, as he considered himself, and l