at the youngling of his flock would so
soon join him in singing the songs of the redeemed.)

He said no more; they were going down; a life-preserver was in his
hands, which he would have secured about the Sea-flower, but she waved
her hand to him, saying,--"Take it to yourself. Farewell."

Supported by her grand-parent's arm, she gazed upon the waters; they
were not angry. Peacefully sighing, they met her touch, as if they would
welcome her home. "Mother," she breathed, with her last of mortal
breath;--was it a farewell to that loved one of earth, or did she
joyfully greet her sainted mother, who awaited the coming of her child
to her home in the skies, where "the Lamb which is in the midst of the
throne shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of
waters, and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes?"

The blue waves rolled on, in their untiring way, and the sun went calmly
down upon this day,--the twenty-seventh of September, eighteen hundred
and fifty-four,--a day long to be remembered, both in the Eastern and
Western world, for in it was the sundering of many mortal ties. Many a
family circle wept as they looked upon the familiar places, which would
know their lost ones no more; but ah, chide me not, kind reader, in thus
leading you adown to the coldness of death, in setting before you that
which causes your tender heart to shudder. Mourn not for these departed;
for would we not wish to meet them there, when, ere long, this mortal
shall have put on immortality? Grieve not because that gentle one has
passed away! say not that she met with an untimely end, when in her
summer of life all was pleasantness before her. Think of her not as one
gone far away, never to be on earth more; cast her not from your heart,
where, during her little day here, in innocence she entwined herself
within its recesses. Oh, no, for she is nearer to us now; she is not
dead, but has passed from death to life; and may her memory remain with
us, in freshness as the ivy green, which loves best the churchyard's
place of holy quietude,--and by her influence may we in spirit come to
be more Christ-like.

CHAPTER XII.

ALONE.

"Shall I not listen to the sea-shell's moaning,
That strangely vibrates like the swelling sea,
And fancy it an echoed storm, intoning
A solemn dirge in memory of thee?"

MISS MARY M. CHASE.

A lone man walks the shores of Nantucket; his noble form is slightly