"Ah, my poor woman," said Natalie, her eyes still fixed upon that spiritual face, "I trust such has never been your lot."

"Bress you! missy, dem is de only kind words I hear dis many a day, since dey take me way from my poor ole man, and de young uns! but I's not sure now but you's de spirit ob dat pure cretur, (pointing to the Madonna) dat's speakin a few words, jus to cheer me like."

"And where are your children now? and your poor old man?"

"O! missy," said the woman, drawing a parcel from her bosom, carefully unfolding it, and holding a large red handkerchief up to view,—"if I tinks I eber find de mate to dat, I'specks I die wid de joy! but it am a long story, missy, it begins way back, a long fore your sweet eyes see de light ob dis wicked world."

"Do not call it a wicked world; it is a beautiful world, which God has given us to live in!"

"Ah, missy, if oder white folks like you, I 'specks it be jus no world at all; it be all one great heaben!"

"But what is this mark upon the handkerchief?" asked Natalie, for she had seen a fac-simile of the little device, upon old Vingo's bandanna, which he used to lend her when she was a child, and she had handled it so carefully, because he had told her that it was the most valuable thing he owned in the world, beside his Bible, and she had looked up into his face, with her great blue eyes, and asked him what the two little crooked marks were made to represent; and he had told her they were to represent himself and his poor Phillis, for they were bent with the sorrows of the world; and now, here were the same crooked marks, wrought upon the corner of this black woman's handkerchief, which she seemed to treasure so much! What could it mean? Natalie looked upon it in astonishment.

"Where did you get this?" she asked.

"My poor ole man gabe it to me, de last time I sees him, and he takes anoder like it, and say, 'Phillis, we will keep dem; dey's not quite as 'spressive as de garultypes ob missus's, but when you sees dat, you may know dat old Bingo am tinking ob you."

"And do you ever think to meet him again?" asked Natalie, without betraying her emotion at such a discovery.

"Oh, missy, if he know anyting about heaven, I might 'speck to meet him dar; but we not know anyting 'bout dat good place den, and I 'specks he am clean used up by dis time; clean gone, widout eber hearin' ob de good Lor'!"

"And your children,—you have never forgotten them?"

"No, missy, I neber forgets dem, and though dey brack as dar mammy, I lub dem as much as dat pure creter dar; and I takes dem in my arms, and press dem to my heart de same, but I rudder be called to part wid dem, dan dat such as she hab to gib up her chilen, for 'pears like I can bear it better, cause I's brack."

"My good woman, you have a forgiving spirit for your oppressors, and, thank God, I have it in my power to make two of my fellow mortals happy. What should you say, if I were to tell you where you may find your husband?"

The woman looked at her, without speaking a word.

"Your husband is alive and well; and faithful old Vingo is at this moment in my mother's family, where his wants, spiritual and temporal, are cared for; and he has often told me, if he could but once again see his wife, Phillis, he should die happy."

The woman gave one long, piercing cry, and sank upon the floor. At this instant the artist issued from an adjoining apartment, and stood gazing upon the scene.

"My God! what do I see?" exclaimed the gentleman, in a voice which instantly riveted the Sea-flower's attention upon him.

"Tell me! in mercy tell me who thou art!" and he leaned against a column for support.

Had Natalie been heir to that weakness which is somewhat characteristic of the gentler sex, she might have been terrified at such deep, impassioned language from a perfect stranger, trembling with the certainty that she stood face to face with a lunatic; but no such fear was hers. Advancing, she bowed low, in honor to his superior age, saying, "pardon me, if I am an intruder here; yet, sir, an apology is needless, for who can resist the grace and beauty which is here displayed? My presence, sir, has evidently disturbed you, and if you will permit me to ask one question, I will retire;—the Madonna, that face of an angel, is she the pure production of your own soul, or can it be that such as she has indeed been amongst us?"

"She has been, and has passed away!—has passed away," he repeated to himself; "I never thought to meet her again until the dark river had been crossed! but what do I see?" and he passed his hand over his eyes, as if to assure himself that he were not dreaming.

No, it was no dream; a gentle, living form stood before him who had sorrowed for his only child nearly twenty long years, and was devoutly regarding those inanimate features to which his soul had clung, as if it were of life; and his eye now wandered from the animate to the inanimate,—the beauteous countenance of the Madonna. It was not unlike that of the Sea-flower; the features were the same. Regaining his composure, the artist proceeded, in a peculiarly mellow tone of voice—

"Dear lady, you will pardon my seemingly ill-mannered reception of you, I know, when you have heard what has never yet passed my lips to any mortal! Near twenty years have expired since I left my cherished home, on the other side of the Atlantic, and came to America. I met with sorrow at an early age; the young wife of my choice was taken from me, and I should have been overwhelmed with grief, had not the precious boon left to me by her, claimed my heart-felt love; the beautiful babe smiled upon me, and I felt rebuked in spirit that I should thus murmur at God's will, when in his loving kindness he had spared to me this, her very likeness, and I came to smile again. I could then smile upon his chastening rod, but,"—and a deep shudder thrilled his frame, "I have since been led to ask myself if there is a God! O! can a good God thus afflict his children?"

"Pause, sir, I beseech you, ere you give utterance to such dreadful thoughts! Think of the countless mercies which you have received at his hand,—weigh them well in a balance with your sorrows, whatever they may have been, and you will find the measure of your blessings tenfold."

"Your words are as balm to my calloused heart; yet listen to me, and judge if my cruel fate would not engender a dark distrust in a purer heart than mine. My child grew in strength and beauty,—grew to be like her who had left us; she was the pride of my luxuriant home, the main spring of my life! Yes, I could realize it then, while I could yet gaze upon her face and dream of heaven; but other days drew near. It was in her twentieth year when my Natalie knelt before the altar—a bride. She had given her hand to a noble-hearted American gentleman, upon whom I looked as being worthy of my darling's choice; and as she placed one hand within his, she took the hand of her father with the other, and whispered,—'you now give your daughter to another, yet it shall only serve to bind me still closer to my father.' I was happy then; and when two years later, I pressed my daughter to my heart, and bade her adieu, for the first time, without a thought that it might be the last, I was happy; and when I pressed a kiss on the cheek of her infant child, and grasped the hand of my noble son, her husband, I was happy; for so full was my cup of joy, that I had forgotten the drop of bitterness which I had tasted therefrom. But, alas! it was not so full to overflowing that there was not room for the draught that was to be my portion. They sailed for America, to visit his home, when, after the settlement of his estate in this Western world, they would return to make glad their father's home; that day has not yet come! A year elapsed, and I had no tidings of them, yet I would not permit the thought to dwell with me that I should never hear from them more, and another year passed on before the despair entered my soul, which has been to me a burning flame ever since. I gave my possessions to the keeping of another, and left my native Italy, to cross the deep, if I might learn of the fate of my children. I went to the place he had told me was his home, but I met with only strangers there. I inquired for the noble vessel in which my child had sailed; she had not belonged on this coast, and thus were my earnest inquiries repulsed, day after day, with a heartless—'we can give you no information.' I travelled from place to place, in hopes to get some clue to the mystery which hung around my lost ones; but, alas, that was not to be! I sought in vain. It was then a change came over me; I hardly knew myself. I concealed my name, and lived a recluse, never disclosing to any one the history of my sorrows. But I could not live thus, and I endeavored to divert my mind from this state of frenzy, by making use of the talent, for which, in my heart of stone, I would not thank my God for bestowing upon me! And so I have lived, as you find me,—'the unknown artist.' It is needless to add, the beautiful Madonna, which was never designed for the rude gaze of public curiosity, is the likeness of my child; and though I had no other than the impress of her features upon my heart, to guide my trembling hand, yet I have got a soul upon that canvas! Sometimes I have fancied that some good angel had not forgotten me, and had breathed her soul into those pure eyes!"

"And the child?" asked Natalie, in a suppressed breath, scarcely above a whisper.

"Her child was but a tiny babe; her features were not sufficiently developed to leave its memory on my mind; yet they told me the little creature was like her mother. This, the Madonna's child, is from life. In my wanderings I visited the island of Nantucket. I spent some little time there, as I found the great hearts of those people more congenial to my weary spirits, than the chilling air of avarice, which, in a measure, marks this western world. One morning, as I strolled along the shore, looking out upon the sea, depressed in spirits, I observed a pretty sight not far from me; an old negro sat upon the beach, and by his side an infant, some eighteen months old, with her arms clasped about the neck of a large Newfoundland dog, while her eyes, which were of the blue of heaven, were fixed upon the waves which rolled and broke in harmless ripples at her feet. She was a beauteous child. I have never seen another upon whom I could look, as the little angel that had gone. I traced her beautiful features, as I was so fortunate as to have pencil and paper by me, and was about to pass on, when I observed the brother of the child approaching; he was a noble little fellow, with the air of a young prince, and I never shall forget his proud answer, when I asked him of his sister,—'We call her Sea-flower, sir, for she came to us from God, and he smiles upon each little flower, as it lifts up its head, all trembling with dew.' I breathed a blessing upon them both, for they had drawn a tear from my heart of stone."

"Sir," said Natalie, as he paused, "Nantucket is my home; often have I listened to my dear brother, as he has told me the pretty story of the sad gentleman whom he met, when I was but an infant, and how he spoke to me so tenderly, and sighed for his own Natalie. I had no other name then but Sea-flower, and I have been called by that name ever since; yet after that day, my Christian name was Natalie."

The artist gazed upon her, and pointing to the Madonna, exclaimed,—"Thou art the child! you are like the Madonna! Can it be that I have unconsciously restored to the mother her child? None other than her own could thus resemble her!"

"In my innermost heart there has ever dwelt a mystery, which I can find no language to describe! In my dreams I have had sweet visions of a beauteous being, who has smiled upon me, and made me happy. The Madonna awakens all those pure feelings, and I cannot but look upon her as in some way connected with my being; yet my own mother lives, and my affection for her is as for no other being upon the earth."

"She is in heaven," mused the artist.

At this moment the door opened, and who should enter but Clarence Delwood, who was much surprised to find Natalie thus unattended, in earnest conversation with the mysterious artist. She arose as he entered, and presented him to the gentleman, but she had not yet learned his name. The artist presented his card to Delwood, assuming the same frigid manner which had become his nature. Delwood gave one glance at the Madonna.

"How is this, sir," asked he, in an excited manner, "that you have made use of this lady's face to attract the notice of a vulgar public to your works? Who gave you authority for such assurance as this, sir?"

"Calm yourself, Clarence," said the Sea-flower, mildly, "the gentleman had never seen me, to his knowledge, until this morning. It rather becomes us to apologize for this intrusion upon the sacred memory of his child."

Mr. Delwood listened with astonishment to the information which we have just learned, and his eyes wandered from the beautiful Madonna to the no less beautiful being, whom he hoped, at no distant day, to call his own, while a thought filled his soul with delight, and he said to himself,—"I knew that she was infinitely above me, though outward circumstances would make her of no particular distinction."

"Yes, there is a meaning in this, a mystery to be solved. Who is she?—this pure being. And your mother still lives," mused the artist; "do you resemble her?"

"I am unlike any one of my family, so much so that strangers have noted it."

"And your father?"

"Is in heaven."

"Truly," mused the gentleman, "and your sainted mother likewise."

"Permit me to ask your address, gentle lady," said the artist, as his visitors prepared to retire.

"And in return you will allow me to come every day, and look upon this dear face?"

"You are the only person whom I have bade a welcome to my presence for years;" and bidding them a "good morning," the artist retired to brood over other than his sorrows.

It was then that Natalie remembered the poor black woman, though not a thought of the object of her own visit thither, crossed her mind. The woman was silently contemplating the Sea-flower, as if she were an angel of mercy.

"Where do you live, my good woman?" inquired Natalie.

"One spot am not my home more dan anoder, missy; de wide earth am my home. But tell me, missy, did ole Phillis hear you straight, or am she so warped troughout, dat she hot get de right comprehensions?"

"What I have told you, you may rely upon; come here in a day or two again, and you shall hear farther."

"Bress de Lor'! bress de good Lor', for sending de bright angel!" shouted the woman, as she ran out of the house, throwing about her long arms, (now freed from slavery's chains,) and making sundry other uncouth manifestations of her joy, so characteristic of her race, which caused a policeman to realize the dignity of his station, by actually opening one eye, and puffing diligently at the cloud of tobacco smoke which encircled the other.

A week later, and Natalie received a letter from her mother, in reply to her account of her visit to the mysterious artist. It ran thus:—

"MY DEAR DAUGHTER,—It was with joy, mingled with a shade of sadness, that I perused your last. Not that you, my innocent child, could impart other than pleasure to the meanest of weak mortals, yet it brought afresh to my mind a subject, which, though it marks one of the happiest moments of my life, owing to peculiar circumstances,—the memory of my dear husband being closely associated therewith,—brings to my heart, also, a shadow of grief. That which I would say has to do with yourself, my daughter, yet I cannot commission my pen to the revealing of this long-buried secret. I would tell you with my own lips, of the mystery which hangs around your birth, for I would seal the tale with a mother's kiss, looking upon my foster-child for an assurance of love undiminished. You must now come home to us. I can bear this separation no longer. The time has come when our dear little Sea-flower, for so many years the sunshine of our home, shall test the strength of her affection for those who will ever regard her—a blessing from that heavenly shore. Say to the author of the Madonna and child, that I would earnestly wish that he may accompany you home, as he may be informed of that which so nearly concerns his happiness. Adieu, my daughter, until I shall see you once more. From your affectionate mother."

Natalie folded the letter, and repeating aloud, "can I ever love my mother less?" she leaned her head upon her hand, and wept.

The day drew near when the Sea-flower, accompanied by Mr. Alboni, (for such was the name of the gentlemanly artist,) and Clarence Delwood, should seek her island home. This was anything but a pleasant anticipation for Winnie, for since her mother's death she had learned to lean upon Natalie, though younger than herself, and had received from her in times of trial, such sweet counsel as would sink into her heart, giving her new strength, making her a wiser and a better being. In the time which Natalie had been in the Santon family, there had been a perceptible change in the character of the beautiful coquettish heiress. Those blemishes which the faithful mother had discovered, upspringing in her daughter's youthful heart, marring her otherwise lovable character, had been erased; not that she had lost in any degree that gay, cheery openness of heart which we love so well to meet,—she was yet the Winnie Santon of days which had known no lowering skies, the singing bird of a June morning,—save that an occasional plaintive note, breathed out upon youth's freshness of life's realities.

It was the last night in which these maidens, Winnie and Natalie, might pour out to each other the fulness of their hearts. The last, did we say, the last? distance would separate them ere another sunset, and ocean would intervene; yet we have said,—the last. Folded in each other's arms, they sat in the pale moonlight, each reading within the other's soul, an appreciation of this holy hour. Holy hours are they indeed, which lead our thoughts far up beyond this mortal sphere, pointing us to other than earth's vanities. Beautiful, yet so unlike, they were; and ah, what is more beautiful than maiden purity? Woman,—she fell, yet her name will ever stand foremost in the ranks of all that is exalting.

"And who will there be to love me, when you are gone? Who will talk with me so gently, and keep my feet from the dangerous paths which surround me?" asked Winnie, as the discordant tones of Mrs. Santon's voice stole in upon their quietude, from an adjoining apartment.

"If there is anything in this beautiful world of ours which can make me sad, it is the parting from those whom I love; yet I know it is but for a little while. Dear Winnie, can you realize how kind our Father is, that he has given us the promise of a home where there will be no more parting,—never a farewell? and he will guide your footsteps; make him your friend, and though all others should forsake you, you will be happy. He will be a better friend to you than ever I have been, and remember, Winnie dear, when I am gone, should sorrow come to you, or bitter trials mark your way, go to our Father for counsel, and he will give you sweet rest."

Thus did the Sea-flower endeavor to leave upon Winnie's heart that which should prepare her for meeting the trials which she but too plainly foresaw would be her lot, from the unmotherly spirit evinced by Mrs. Santon. Blessings on thee, noble girl! would there were more like thee to be found in this sinful world below! But what is a blessing craved by the lips of frail mortal, compared with the seraph blessings showered upon thy gentle head, from her who is looking down upon her child, as thy voice is raised in prayer to the God of this motherless one, that she may find refuge beneath the shadow of his wing.

The last farewell was spoken by poor Winnie, with an aching heart, Mr. Santon had pressed the Sea-flower's hand, with a tear in his eye, as if reluctant to let her go, lest the severing of one of the last ties which bound him to happy days, should be too much for his sorrowing heart,—and she had gone, leaving her impress upon the hearts of all who had met and loved her. Her spirit was the spirit of love, forgiving as she hoped to be forgiven,—her sins, which, had it not been said of man, "not one is perfect," we should have looked upon as of no deeper stains than are of the newly washen lambs, gambolling in fresh pastures of innocence. Even to Mrs. Santon's unpardonable slight, in not giving her a parting salutation, pleading one of her timely headaches as an excuse for her non-appearance at the hour of separation,—the Sea-flower had left for her a kind farewell.

After an absence of nearly three years, Natalie stood once again upon the shores of her island home. Everything was as when she had left, for the bustle and change of the outer world does not disturb the quiet of this sea-girt isle. Her mother received her with tears of joy, that fulness of joy which only the mother can feel, who, after a long separation from the child whose beauty of character sheds a halo of honor around the household name, holds her to her heart again, where she knows her to be safest from the world's contumely. Harry welcomed his sister home, with the wild delight of his boyish days, regardless of the presence of strangers in their family circle; while old Vingo, who had been beside himself for a week past, with the prospect of at last actually beholding his missy face to face, capered about the room, as if he were not so near his second childhood. The Sea-flower pressed his bony, black hand to her lips.

"Ah! I know dat you neber change, missy; I know you always be de same! I tells mysef dat, dese long years past, and bress de Lord, poor old Bingo hab one friend as long as he hab a hope ob libin'!"

"Yes, my good Vingo," said the Sea-flower, "you may truly rely upon one friend,—that best of friends, he will never forsake you; but," and she spread out the veritable handkerchief, so precious to the poor black woman, before his wondering eyes, "you are deserving of the rich blessings of earthly friends; for had I been tried, as it has been the will of an overruling providence that you should be, I doubt if I had borne my cross with the submissive spirit which you have manifested. Tell me," added she, pointing out the crooked marks in the corner of the handkerchief, "do you recognize that?"

Vingo drew forth the bandanna, which always accompanied him in his wanderings, and laid it by the side of the other. They were just alike; there were the two crooked marks upon each, speaking as accurately as the most highly finished ambrotype of the day.

"Praise de Lord foreber!" shouted the negro; "I neber 'speck to see dat sight, while I not'ing but ole brack Bingo! I can lib to de end ob my days wid joy at de sight ob dat! it am next to finding poor Phillis hersef. Pray, missy, did you find dat in some accidental cotton bag? or am Bosting only the Christian name for wicked old Kintuck? I shouldn't tink dat angels could lib in dat cannibal hemisphere!"

It was with difficulty that those who witnessed the fellow's ludicrous movements, could refrain from a smile; but when, at a summons from Natalie, the door opened, and the black woman, so nearly allied to the human family as to have manifested an appreciation of the beautiful, stood before them, there was not a dry eye in the room. It was an affecting sight, to witness the meeting of this man and wife, who had been separated for so many long years, and under such trying circumstances. To be sure, they were poor ignorant negroes, who are looked upon by a large portion of the world, as only fit to be ranked with dogs and other dumb animals: yet they have souls, hearts which had been given to Christ, and the meek and lowly Jesus, were he now upon the earth, would not be ashamed to take this down-trodden race by the hand and lift them up. God looks down from his throne above with pitying eye; he pities his children; we grow strong in the assurance of his tender mercies; but let us remember,—he will avenge with a powerful arm, the wrongs inflicted upon his feebler ones; for he hath said,—"My children, love ye one another, even as your heavenly Father loveth you."

This meeting of old Vingo and Phillis, was enough to have softened the heart of the vilest "Legree;" but probably, had one of those gentlemen, whose highly respectable occupation it is to deal in the traffic of buying and selling—man, been present, they might have been led to remark, "The silly creatures seem to imagine they have some feeling."

The evening shades descended. The night was wild, and the voices of the breakers rose loud, as if responding to the angry aspect of nature; yet peace sat beneath the roof of Mrs. Grosvenor's dwelling. The evening lamps were lit, and as Mrs. Grosvenor produced a small casket and laid it on the centre-table, she thought within herself,—it was much such a storm only a few days after our dear one came to us. Mr. Alboni sat with bowed head, as the mother proceeded to bring forth evidences which should identify her darling child as being of the descent and lineage of another line of ancestors than hers; while the Sea-flower, her hand clasped within that of him who had found favor in the mother's eyes, prepared herself to receive any information in regard to her destiny, which it should be the will of a just God to decree. The tiny lace dress, which the infant had worn, when she was first placed in her foster-mother's arms, was held up to view. It was of a costly fabric, embroidered heavily with needle-work, evidently the production of the industry of some lone sister of convent life. The casket, the contents of which had been so long treasured as things sacred was opened and the bands of gold placed in Mr. Alboni's hands. He examined them closely; there were no initials, not the least mark whereby he might learn of that which was of such vast interest to him, when lo! he pressed the spring which had before yielded to Mrs. Grosvenor's touch, and behold!—the same features which he had looked upon day by day, for twenty years, were revealed to him,—the features of his Madonna—his child!

"My God!" exclaimed he, "I thank thee that thou hast brought me from darkness to light, not only that I may acknowledge thy supremacy, but to bless thee during the brief remainder of my days; if I may atone for my deep sin in living so long without thee, even doubting thy existence! This is truly a convincing proof that thou art all in all. I here vow, that should the gracious Lord see fit to chasten his servant, by taking away this, my last support, it shall only serve to increase my faith in the love of my most precious Redeemer!" and with tearful eyes the old gentleman held his grand-daughter to his heart.

"And is it really thus?" asked Natalie; "can it be that my mother has been looking down upon me, from her home in the skies?"

"Your sainted mother is in heaven," spake Mr. Alboni.

The Sea-flower glanced towards her from whom she had ever received a mother's tenderness; there was a smile upon her countenance, yet Natalie observed, though she would fain be happy that her loved one was restored to her kindred, undoubtedly an advantageous discovery in every point of view, it was like an arrow to her heart; for was she not her child? Natalie arose, and giving one hand to her mother, the other to him whom she would henceforth look upon as a father, she said,—"Yes, my own mother has gone to her home; she is an angel there, where I shall meet her at the last; but you, my mother, can never be less dear to me; I must always look upon you as my mother!" and throwing her arms about Mrs. Grosvenor's neck, she exclaimed, "though others shall claim me by the ties of kindred, they never shall part me from you; your child will never forsake you!"

It was enough; the widowed mother was not "written childless." Then it was that Mrs. Grosvenor related every minute particular in regard to the child's discovery, and how she had been a blessing to them all, repaying them doubly for their care. It was a long and interesting story, to which this little circle listened, regardless of the raging elements without, with the exception of the Sea-flower, who drank in every note of nature's mighty chorus, scarcely thinking of the perils to which those who were riding at the mercy of the waves, might be exposed; for her young heart shrank not from ocean's awe; she had always looked upon an ocean grave as a hallowed place of burial.

"And your daughter's name was Natalie," remarked Mr. Delwood; "it is a singular coincidence that the child should be named for the mother."

"It is all a miracle," said Harry, "and sometimes I have thought old Vingo not far out of the way, when he declared 'Missy Sea-flower to have been left upon the beach by no other than the Lord.'"

Gradually Mr. Alboni came to be like himself again. He was a remarkably handsome man, his countenance denoting his generosity of heart. His delight in the society of the Sea-flower, as she pointed out to him each day, some new attraction about her island home, knew no bounds. It was now that Mr. Alboni directed his attention to his unsettled affairs in Italy. Had he lived out his days as the unknown artist, without discovering an heiress to his vast estates, he would probably never have given the subject a thought, and strangers, or some public institution, would have realized a handsome legacy; but his every nerve thrilled now with new life for her; every advantage which wealth could procure would be hers. But it was not only to look after his pecuniary affairs that he laid the question before Mrs. Grosvenor, if her child should accompany him to the land of her birth, but that she might become acquainted with the position in life which she was every way capable of filling. And so it was arranged that Natalie, with her grandfather, should make the tour of the eastern world, whither Mr. Delwood should accompany them. After disposing of Mr. Alboni's estates, and visiting the lions of the East, they would return, to make America their home; and it being left for Natalie to decide what spot should be chosen as their future home, she said, stealing a glance towards Clarence Delwood,—"we will return to my mother's peaceful island home, for we can be happy here."

Accordingly the day was fixed when they should depart, but the very evening before they would sail, brought news to Mr. Delwood of the dangerous, and probably fatal illness of his father. It was with a sad heart that he looked upon such a separation from his betrothed, for he would necessarily resign the pleasure which he had anticipated, in escorting her to countries which he had visited, and which had become dear to him. It was a great disappointment also to Natalie; yet she sought to persuade him it was for the best; "she would soon return, and the separation would bring a thrice joyful meeting."

It was a glorious evening; the soft moonlight kissed the white sea-caps, as each strove to lift its head above its fellows, as if to gaze upon night's purity,—or, mayhap, they would beckon that gentle one, who smiled upon their wild joy, as she reclined upon her lover's breast, to join them, in their revellings. Upon the broad bank of the old South Shore they sat,—a favorite resort of the youth and maidens of this little island of a mid-summer's eve,—old Sankoty to the eastward, lifting high his head, imparting a flood of radiance in pity to thousands, who watch with an intensity, to make the well-known light, rejoicing no less when they have left it far behind, for well do they realize that they have passed one of the most dangerous shoals to be found on the American coast. Behind them, distance about three miles, is the town; there is no din and bustle borne on the night air to their ears,—naught is heard but the moaning voice of the night wind, mingled with the ceaseless roar of the ocean. Here, far from the world's contumely, no eye to see, no ear to hear, save that of Him who is omnipresent, were those vows of love renewed, and registered above. Many a fair maiden has here since plighted her faith, here given her hand to the loved one of her choice, (heaven bless the union of Nantucket's fair ones!) yet the night has never since looked down upon two of more perfect oneness of heart, than those of whom this serene night bore witness.

"And will you still retain your foster-name?" asked Delwood, "or will you travel under your grandfather's Italian name? By the way, I have not heard the name of your father."

"Paul Sunderland was my father's name."

"Sunderland! the Lady Sunderland! I have seen your mother, Natalie!" exclaimed he. "It was none other than she, the kind, beautiful lady who sang to me when I was but a child, in Italy; she whom I begged to take me to that beautiful place again! Ah, it comes to me now, in no dream, but a reality; I have always thought, since I first beheld you, that I had somewhere, at some unknown time, seen a picture which was like you; but, strange, it was none other than the mother of my own dear Sea-flower!"

"And your eyes have looked upon my mother, Clarence," said she, gazing into his very soul,—"and she has smiled upon you? Oh, I shall love you with a holier love for this!" and the young girl paused, and trembled, as he held her to his heart, for the thought came rushing into her soul,—"Oh, what a fearful thing is this,—this depth of fervent love!"

The morrow came; came to all of our friends who were gathered around the hearthstone of the widow Grosvenor, with joy, for genial rays, other than of a May morning's sun, were in their hearts; yet those indescribable tones, which under any circumstances hang around the word—farewell, were gradually, unawares, jarring, jarring those gentler notes of peace, even before spoken.

"Farewell!"—the mother strained her child to her heart again, and again put her from her, to embrace her more closely. Farewell, came welling up from that proud brother's heart, with the same breath, thanking God for giving him a sister. Broken sobs measured the bitterness of the parting of those down-trodden ones, who, "by an angel of mercy," had been lifted up, to taste one drop of that bliss upon earth, which the white man holds within his power to give or withhold. Farewell!—was it not that one word, which marked the parting of those two, whose hearts had been united above? "Adieu to my island home," said the Sea-flower, and the wild waves whispered,—"we are lonely."



CHAPTER XI.

WE ARE GOING HOME.

"The sounds that fall on mortal ear As dew-drops pure at even, That soothe the breast, or start the tear, Are Mother, Home, and Heaven.

"A home, that paradise below, Of sunshine and of flowers, Where hallowed joys perennial flow, By calm celestial bowers."

ANONYMOUS.

Time wore heavily on with Winnie Santon, after Natalie had left them. Left as she was, much in her unnatural mother's society, who seemed to be never more pleased than when she might thwart her designs, or, in some manner act so as to make those about her uncomfortable, it was not to be wondered at, if she did sigh for other days, and a confidant, to whom she might unburden her heart. Her father spent but a small portion of his time at home; on the contrary, he rather sought to avoid the fireside, which had once been so dear to him. His feelings, whatever they might have been, were kept locked up within his own breast, yet Winnie could read the look of sympathy which he bent upon her, as he grasped her by the hand, ere he hurried away to banish painful recollections by duties "on change." When difficulties, which Natalie had foreseen, caused Winnie's heart to ache, she would school herself to meet the injustice as she knew she would have done; and the timely advice of the Sea-flower proved to the lone girl a valuable legacy. She had heard from Natalie, through the correspondence which for some time she had kept up with our friend Harry Grosvenor, the which letters were anticipated and perused with no common interest; indeed, her happiness, scarcely realized by herself, was closely allied therewith. Mrs. Santon looked upon these ever punctual letters, which appeared so frequently among the post-boy's morning deposits, with an evil eye, yet they did not serve to banish the schemes of her invention in regard to Mr. Montague, as a favored competitor for the hand of the heiress; and it was his unwelcome visits, which were not unfrequent, that counted among the numerous trials which weighed more and more heavily upon her spirits. Poor Winnie! each life is made of joys and sorrows.

The death of Mr. Delwood was a deep affliction to his son, for although he was an austere man, forbidding in his manners, he had always manifested a spirit of tenderness for his only remaining relative, and Clarence now sought to dispel the loneliness which was creeping over him, by directing his attention to his father's unsettled estates, which was no light task, as Mr. Delwood had been a gentleman of great property. The life-like specimens of artistical skill, executed by Mr. Alboni, known only to Boston lovers of the fine arts as "the unknown artist," were disposed of by Clarence Delwood, in accordance with the wishes of Mr. Alboni, who, in entrusting the Madonna to his keeping until his return, placed not only the likeness of the mother before him, but it possessed him of a correct likeness of his betrothed.

The noble steamer Atlantic, after a most favorable passage of twelve days, carried our friends safely to the desired port of Liverpool. As Natalie stood once again upon terra firma, she could hardly credit that over three thousand miles of ocean separated her from her home,—that the same waves which washed the shores of her cherished island, broke upon the shores of this Eastern world.

Mr. Alboni was in the happiest frame of mind as they made the tour of England and Scotland, for from thence they would repair to his own loved Italy. Over the mind of the tourist, visiting the Old World for the first time,—countries where have transpired thrilling events recorded in history, what an immensity of thought and feeling sweeps! It was thus with Natalie; she could not realize that she was treading in the footsteps of royalty, who living in long past days, had held sway over this land, had looked upon this land of "merrie England" as their home. London, like a mighty Babel, rose before them, her gigantic towers telling of man's greatness, while the resplendent shining of the sun, reflected from a million turrets, proclaimed that there was one above all. St. Paul's, with its dome of grandeur, reflecting not only honor upon her world-renowned architect, Sir Christopher Wren, but standing a living memento that Christ hath built his church upon earth.

Westminster must be visited by every stranger. As Natalie roamed over this vast structure, in itself a world of curiosity, like so many small churches roofed in by one great canopy, she lingered in the south transept, in what is called the Poet's Corner. Here are the tombs of many of the most famous poets of England. Chaucer, Edmund Spencer, Francis Beaumont, and others, have tablets here erected to their memory, while in other chapels are monuments erected in memory of sovereigns, who have long since gone to render an account of their deeds done here, to the one great Sovereign of the universe. As the eye of Natalie rested upon the tomb of the gentle Mary, Queen of Scots, the history of whose brief life, and the many cruel indignities which were heaped upon her, rushing to her memory, she stood as if riveted to the spot, when a voice near her attracted her attention, and a rough-looking old sailor, tarpaulin in hand, threw himself at her feet, exclaiming,—"Bless the memory of old England! She is more sensible than I ever thought for. They couldn't have done a nobler thing than to have placed her likeness here!" and thus the jolly fellow's tongue flew, as if he would re-spin all the forecastle yarns of his lifetime, much to the discomfiture of the eagle-eyed guide, who bade the intruder begone; but our nautical friend, deigning to give this polite invitation to depart no further notice than he would have given to the juvenile whales, as they were taking first lessons in spouting of their maternal protector, the guide seized him by the shoulder, and was about to show honest Jack what virtue there was in "force of arms," when Mr. Alboni interfered, saying,—let us at least hear what the honest fellow would say for himself."

"Your honor,", exclaimed Jack, whose very countenance spoke as plainly as a nose which appeared as if it had been imitating the feathered tribes, in their efforts to satisfy thirst, for so long, that its tendency had become upward in sympathy, and eyes which it were difficult to follow in the direction of both at the same time, could speak, that he who had been accustomed to guiding his bark by stars of the first magnitude, all his days, would not now, at this age of life, be guided by this "star" of diminutive light. "Your honor," said the astonished tar, as he discovered the beautiful form before him to be actually possessed of life and breath, and was no senseless piece of statuary, "shiver my topsails, but if I didn't take the lady to be her representation, my name's not John Sampson!"

"Sampson!" exclaimed Natalie, actually taking him by the hand, "Are you John Sampson?"

"I'm Sampson the world over, my lady," replied the tar, "and why shouldn't I be? I've come all the way from Yankee America, to visit my native dust-heap, which never produced, beside its daily growth of what might be known the other side of the water, as nature's own pie-plant and sausage-improver, but one Sampson; but," added he, in a subdued voice, "may I ask who can take enough interest in a poor fellow, who never belonged to nothing, as to speak his name? If I had not seen her go down with my own eyes, I should say that the noblest lady that ever lived was standing before me; but she's gone where only her kind do go;" and the rough man drew the sleeve of his jacket across his eyes.

"I am the sister of a little sailor-boy, whom you once rescued from imminent peril,—perhaps death; and I rejoice that fortune has favored me with a sight of your honest face, that I may repay in part, at least, the debt of gratitude which we owe to you,—Harry Grosvenor, do you remember him?" asked she, placing her well-filled purse in his hand.

"Ah, that noble little specimen of young America! a young hero!—could have jumped over two Johnny Bulls, although my dust-heap happened to be this side of the water. Well do I remember him! and you are the sister that he used to talk about, till I really thought the fellow had got into a lunatic's overall?"

"Yes, I am his sister," said the Sea-flower, and she might have added,—your name has never been forgotten in my prayers; but this was no place for the illiterate, though good-hearted sailor's ludicrous expressions, and having doubly feed the guide, who did not witness a scene like this often, within these walls, which were looked upon as sacred by other than his eagle eye, our friends sought the Adelphi, whither, at Mr. Alboni's request, Sampson joined them; for there was something in the words which he had uttered, that struck upon that gentleman's ear; and yet, what it was, was not clear to his mind.

"You have spoken of some noble lady," remarked Mr. Alboni; "pray tell me if you have never met with but one whom you could distinguish by that title, in all your travels?"

"And for a very sensible reason; there never was but one like her; or, that is, I have always thought so until to-day," replied the tar, glancing toward Natalie; "for my old eyes have seen pretty much everything they have got in this little world. Ha! I should like to see the inch of land or water that my foot hasn't measured."

"Let us hear a little of your history, my good fellow: begin with the beautiful lady," said Mr. Alboni, proudly contemplating his grand-daughter.

"It's a yarn, your honor, that hasn't been spun to every jack tar that's sailed the seas, for I've a sort of feeling about me, that her memory shouldn't be used to gratify common curiosity; and, sir, it's only through the lady's sweet face, so much like her, that I am induced to tell the story, word for word. Ye see, it was about twenty years ago, come September, and I shipped for a voyage to America in the De—De—, well, never mind the name; those Frenchmen always spile their crafts with a jaw-breaker of a name. Well, we had a fair time of it, till we got pretty well on to the American shores; and as for me, I never expect to enjoy myself again, as I did the first part of that voyage. We had quite a crowd of passengers, and among them was a gentleman, with his lady and child; if that wasn't the handsomest couple that I ever sot eyes on, then I've missed my reckonings! The lady,—why, your honor, it fairly dazzled my eyes to look at her! She always had a kind word for everybody; even us old tars she would talk with, as if she wasn't the best lady in the world; there wasn't one of us but would have gone to the mast-head feet first, to do her a favor; and as for gold, she wasted a young fortune on our ugly selves. We were within a couple o' days sail of New York, when one of those moist fogs came up, such as will make a fellow lose a whisk of his patience, if he happens to have any. Well, we kept on, as we thought, in the same course, for about twelve hours, when, like a clap of thunder, we struck fast upon a rock! It was as calm as any day I ever saw, but our sails were all set, and that with the run of the sea, gave us no small shock; but our captain hoped we might not have received any serious damages, and set the carpenters to work to find what our situation was. Well, your honor, it wasn't ten minutes after we struck, afore we began to settle down. I knew I'd sailed the ocean longer than our captain, and when I found that we were going down, I ran below, and found the gentleman and his lady, and told them just how matters stood with us, and offered to stand by them till the last; for we had but two boats aboard, and I knew there'd be a scene. When the lady heard this, she turned to her husband, and said,—'I am prepared, to share whatever is to be your fate, Paul; but God in mercy save our child!" We went aloft to the hurricane deck, and such a sight I have never seen since! every man, woman, and child that we met there, was looking for something, if no more than a straw, to save themselves. We had now settled down even with the water, when I, 'spying a large trough floating near, made for it, and the gentleman taking the babe from its mother's arms, spread a few clothes in it, and lashed the little thing into this curious looking craft; both gave it one last kiss, and it was launched on the wide ocean. At this instant the lady drew from her pocket a roll of parchment, and handing it to me, said,—"You may be saved; if you ever hear from my child again, put this into safe hands for her; but if you should never hear of her, keep it for yourself, and may God be with us all." At that moment we were carried down, and as I rose again, I caught at a spar which was floating near, and looking after my friends, I saw them rise far to leeward; they were still clasped in each other's arms. I would willingly have gone down if she might have been saved; but that could not be, and I was borne far out to sea. The fog lifted, but I was not able to make my whereabouts, and in this condition I was left for two days, when I was picked up by a vessel bound to Liverpool direct. I told the captain my story, and found that we had missed our bearings, that our vessel had been wrecked upon the Nantucket shoals. Our voyage proved to be a long and stormy one, for the September gales took us on to the coast of Africa; and when a year after I shipped for New York, I heard nothing of the child, and have always supposed her little bark took her to a better land."

"And so it did!" exclaimed the weeping Natalie, holding the great rough hand of the tar within her own; "the little bark bore her in safety to a peaceful shore, where she was received with open arms by those who have filled the place of her natural parents. You see before you, my honest friend, no other than the child of that gentle mother, whose parting from her babe you witnessed."

Sampson gazed upon her with astonishment, and clapping both hands to his head, as if to assure himself that his exterior was yet in a healthful condition, whatever transmogrification the interior might have undergone, he exclaimed,—"I'm not so sure, after all, that my name's Sampson! I really begin to think that I must have gone down, with the rest; and yet, I could swear to it that I'm a portion of that dust-heap! If my topsails aren't shivered this time; clean gone by the board!" and as if to verify his words, he sank deeper into his chair, and broke into such a train of musing, as caused the little son of Africa in attendance, to jingle his glasses right merrily, that the wild bursts of his uncontrollable mirth might sound the less.

Mr. Alboni could scarce credit what he had heard. "And the parchment," inquired he, "what was the purport of that?"

The tar sat as one in a trance, but by certain gesticulations, it appeared that his skysails were not so shattered that he did not comprehend the drift of the question, and after much tugging and pulling at an old waistcoat, which was worn beneath the round-about, he produced a roll, which, from twenty years' wear, it having been his constant companion during that time, by sea and by land, had become in appearance of an uncertain nature, and handing it to the gentleman, he said, after examining the miniature which Natalie put into his hand, of her mother, "The document belongs to her, and if I'd a happened to have met her on the sea, I might have known it, even If I hadn't seen the picture of the noble lady, for she's the exact imitation; but I never can get the land fog out of my eyes when I'm ashore. That's a sorry looking bit of paper, your honor, but it's what'll buy more than one twist of pig-tail."

Mr. Alboni perused the document. He was astounded!—not so much at the contents of that soiled bit of parchment, which was the instrument by which Natalie, or the holder, could come into possession of a handsome fortune; but it was at the honesty of this whole-souled sailor. Was it possible that this poor fellow, who gained his bread by dint of hard labor, having a fortune within his grasp, which he conscientiously could have called his own, had not disturbed a farthing thereof?—choosing rather to reap the fruits of his own industry, treasuring this rich legacy, as sacred to the memory of a friend.

Is there indeed such honor to be found in the breast of fallen man? Aye, 't is the heart of the noble sailor that beats with a heroism like this! To him who goeth down to the great waters in ships, such honor is due!

"And you have had this in your possession for more than twenty years," said Mr. Alboni, "and yet have never helped yourself to a cent of that which was rightly your own? Pray tell me, how would you have disposed of this wealth at last, had you never heard of an heiress to the estate?"

"D' ye see, sir, I haven't travelled this world over so many times, without making a beacon light occasionally. Now there's a difference in light-houses, yer honor. There's the revolving light, and many other kinds of light, but the brightest of all is that steady light which shines into the darkness of the poor sailor's soul. I first made that light, sir, at the Seamen's Home, in New York, and it was there I made up my mind that I would lend this money to the Lord, for I was convinced that that would be the most profitable investment; and I've been thinking of it more and more, for these last few days, if I hadn't better settle this on the Home, for you know these iron frames will give out after a while; men don't live to see nine hundred years nowadays, though I'm named after the strongest fellow that ever handled a harpoon."

Mr. Alboni read the document to his grand-daughter, the effect of which was, that certain sums of specie, deposited in the bank of ——, by the Honorable Paul Sunderland, could by the bearer of this instrument, be withdrawn at sight.

Sampson's tongue was still flying with rapidity, as if his auditors had not been void of a number, while Mr. Alboni and Natalie were holding a consultation aside.

"You are right, my child; you will never miss this from the wealth, which I thank God I have it in my power to place in your hands. Let it be as you say,—divide this sum between your protectors."

"I thank you, my dear, generous father," said Natalie, imprinting a kiss upon the cheek of her relative; "you have made me happy. I will send this most acceptable gift to my dear mother, not paining her feelings with the thought that I would seek to repay her love for her child with gold, but as an expression of her daughter's filial affection; and not only will I reward this honest man with the half of this sum, but he shall have the pleasure of presenting with his own hand this offering to my mother."

To this latter proposition Sampson acquiesced with pleasure; he was delighted with the prospect of once more seeing his young shipmate, whose mysterious allusions to the Sea-flower he could now comprehend; but as to himself receiving so liberal a legacy, he was not prepared to look upon the proposition as favorably.

"Take it, my good fellow," said Mr. Alboni, "it is rightly your own; and should you ever have anything to spare, you cannot do better than to make the investment which you had purposed."

They parted,—the honest tar to take his way to Columbia's happy land, while Mr. Alboni and the Sea-flower would prolong their visit for a little here, then depart to feast their eyes upon Italian skies. Sampson looked long after the gentle form of the Sea-flower, as he left them, for when might he see so fair a sight again?

* * * * *

"And this was the home of my mother," mused Natalie, as arrived in Florence, our tourists entered the arched gateway, which led to the broad domains of the long absent master, just as the sun was sinking to rest, his soft lingering rays kissing the fleecy clouds, o'er which a blush came and went, now deepening as the rose carmine, giving place to the most delicate tinge that e'er sat upon a maiden's cheek,—born of pure modesty. The scent of the delicate jasmine perfumed the air, while the pensive strains of some fair one, soft and clear as the tones of a wind-harp, was borne on the stillness of evening to the ear of the lovely Sea-flower, who, reclining upon the bosom of her father, her sunny tresses mingling with the silvery locks, which told that he had seen many winters, whispered in words low and musical,—"My angel mother,—I can feel her presence near; she has breathed this blissful air; can it be more heavenly there?" With her eyes still upturned, as if their mildness might pierce the veil of azure, her lips moved, as they had ofttimes done before, in praise and thanksgiving for the wondrous beauty which our Father, in his boundless love, hath set before his children. As Mr. Alboni gazed upon each familiar object, surrounding his beautiful villa, he was greatly surprised to find everything in the same state of preservation as when he had last beheld his home, once so dear; instead of an air of desolation, everything falling to decay, as would be a natural consequence attendant upon the long absence of the family, the scrupulous care and attention of some interested one, was apparent on all sides. Even the little ivied bower, which Mr. Sunderland had arranged with his own hands, when he first smiled upon his beautiful bride, was still in existence; and here did Natalie dream away many a happy hour, during her stay in dear Florence.

The old man and his frugal wife, to whose keeping the premises had been entrusted, and who occupied a small tenement upon the grounds, could not have been more surprised if one had appeared to them from the dead, than were they when Mr. Alboni stood in the door of their cottage.

"I told you his honor would come again!" said the woman, turning to her husband; "but I was really afeared it mightn't be in our time; and as we've no one to leave in our shoes, I'm of the 'pinion that the place would've dropped off to some stranger."

"Ha, yes," replied the husband, "my old woman's never far out o' the way, though she does sometimes talk as if she expected to become extinguished; but for all that, she's equal to two common ones. But I'm particularly glad you've come home, on a good many 'counts, for if the place must go into any other hands than an Alboni, I'm not over anxious to witness the change in the coat of arms."

Mr. Alboni received this compliment as it was intended, and as one motive in visiting his native land again was to dispose of this estate, he now directed his attention to the future comfort of this most worthy couple; for the domestics who had served in the family of Alboni, must not suffer from want. Accordingly a comfortable cottage, adjoining these lands, was obtained for their use, and an annual income, sufficient to supply their wants, settled upon them for life; and so with the estate of the Albonis, whose last representative of the name would soon depart, for a memorial of days past, this aged couple hoped to spend in contentment the residue of their days.

Amid all the splendor and gayety of fashionable life in Italy, the Sea-flower was never so happy as when seated in the ivy bower, which looked out upon a little lake, the same which had been her mother's favorite place of retreat, where she might watch the ever-changing face of the mellow skies, or roaming through those ancient halls, she might feast her eyes on the many antique surroundings; but most of all, she loved to linger in the great reception hall, whose walls were hung with the portraits of her mother's family, for many past generations. Some of those countenances denoted men of much strength of character, amounting almost to a fierceness, but in nearly every female face Natalie discerned that same gentleness of spirit, which, unknown to herself, was the expression of her own spiritual countenance. Beneath the portrait of the last Mrs. Alboni was a place reserved for that of her child,—the Lady Sunderland; but by some circumstance it had never been placed there. During the period of our heroine's stay in Italy, she spent much of her time in the home of her ancestors, to which she became greatly attached; but once having been introduced to an admiring Italian assembly, it was no easy matter to remain in seclusion. This new star, so mild, yet brilliant, was the theme of present conversation. She never appeared in public, but the blessings of high and low marked her way; and as she knelt in public worship, meekly bowing at the name of Christ, there was not one who looked upon her, but this passage of Scripture was brought to their minds,—"If the righteous scarcely are saved, where shall the ungodly and the sinner appear?"

But all times come to an end; passing away, is written upon everything pertaining to earth; and the time when our friends should return to their island home, drew near.

It was the day before they would bid adieu to pleasant scenes here, to journey to Liverpool, for business led Mr. Alboni to sail for America from that port. The sun had gone down,—the last sunset which the Sea-flower would look upon here,—the last sunset! Pause, dear reader,—when will that same sun set to us for the last time? It may be soon, it may be later; yet it is the same, for all time is present with God. The evening shades began to claim their reign, regardless of the smiles and entreaties of lingering day, that he would delay his approach,—fit symbol of sunny youth, who would banish from his presence death's unrelenting grasp. And yet, who does not love night with earnest tenderness? and has no one a smile for death?

Natalie still lingered beneath the ivy trellis, her feet drawn upon the cushions, for she would not crush the gentle flowers, which told to her their love in the rich perfume of the air; and yet, if trodden under foot, the flowers, with their dying breath, the beauteous flowers, do, with their richest perfume, breathe forgiveness.

Her eye was fixed upon the lake,—its glassy ripples a striking contrast to the giant waves upon which she had ever looked with delight. Ah, who may divine her thoughts, as she muses thus? A faint smile plays with the dimples around her mouth, and but for the words she whispers, one might indeed think her intent upon the ripples which kiss the shore at her feet; but no, she is transported to where the breaker's roar is heard, and a proud, noble form she sees,—his piercing eye bent upon the sea. Full well she knows for whom his heart thus wildly beats; "dear, good Clarence," she whispers, and starting from her revery, she kneels in prayer. "My Father, God, thou art merciful unto the weakest of thy frail ones, keep thou my heart to thee alone; may I have no other gods before thee; cast out all idols, if any there be, and breathe thy spirit within my soul; and may thy will be done."

"Amen," was the response of bright ones, of upper spheres, and may we receive strength to say,—"Thy will be done."

"Adieu, dear home of my childhood," spake Mr. Alboni, as the dim outlines of the land of his nativity at last faded in the distance; and burying his face in his hands, he gave himself up to his own reflections, from which Natalie would not recall him.

Arrived in Liverpool, the steamer in which they were to have embarked had sailed; consequently a few more days were added to their sojourn there; but when at length their proud steamer left her pier, accompanied by many heartfelt good wishes that she might be attended with all success, that her voyage might prove most favorable, the Sea-flower wept tears of delight, that she might once more listen to those voices of the deep; and calmly gazing upon the countenance of Mr. Alboni, she said,—

"Father, we are going home."

Her words fell upon the ear of an officer of the ship, a gentleman of that nobleness of soul which alone constitutes a true man; one whose kind and gentlemanly consideration of the comfort and pleasure of those who have, from time to time, crossed that three thousand miles of ocean which separates Liverpool from New York, have before been publicly mentioned, and will long be remembered by those who have before come under his guidance. "We are going home,"—the officer raised his hat as he passed the Sea-flower, involuntarily repeating her words,—words which many times have been idly spoken, but how full of meaning.

As that gallant steamship made her way over the rolling billows, like "a thing of life," as if indeed she recognized the course o'er which she had so many times borne aloft her proud head, in seasons of tempest as well as of sunshine, there was not one who walked her decks, but looked upon her gigantic form as an ark of safety, rather than the frail plank which only separated not far from three hundred immortal beings from an ocean grave. Several days' sail left "merrie England" far behind, and as they drew nearer the American shores, many an eye was deluded with the belief that it had been the successful one, in being the first to make the outline of the nearest shore of this land of the free. There was the eye of youth, lit up with the light of innocence, which when riper years should have left their impress, might have given place to more of guile; while hand in hand, along her peaceful decks, roamed old age and infancy, alike joyous in the air of cheerfulness which reigned with all around.

It was near the hour of mid-day, weather favorable, with the exception of a fog which had suddenly sprung up. Occasionally the signal bell sounded, that if any vessel were in their neighborhood, she might know of their whereabouts. The fog as suddenly lifted as it had shut in upon them, but to close down again heavier than before. Natalie had not, as most of the ladies, gone below, but stood, intent upon those new thoughts which the veil of fog, which had shut out all sight and sound, save an occasional tone of the bell, had inspired, when,—a crash, which shook their vessel from stem to stern, caused every one to look upon the countenance of his fellow, there to read the words which he had no power to utter. A propeller was at that instant seen moving athwart their bows, and from the severity of the shock, it was thought that the smaller vessel must have sustained serious damage. Accordingly a boat was lowered from the steamer, under command of the first officer, to render the unfortunates such assistance as was in their power, believing their own damages to be but slight; but the boat had not been long gone, when word was passed to their captain that they were in a sinking condition. Upon examination it was found that a large breakage had been made, directly under their bows, and the sea was rushing in terrifically.

All was now a scene of confusion; some applied themselves diligently to the pumps, and others sought to diminish the leak by stretching a sail across the gap, while the passengers hurried, some one way, and some another, as if in a state of frenzy. To seek assistance from the propeller, even if she might not be in as disastrous a condition as themselves, was out of the question; for both vessels being under full headway at the moment of the collision, she was now again enveloped in fog. Oh, God! must it be thus? no escape for these three hundred beings? What an awful moment of suspense! Still the steamer settles down; what is done must be done speedily. The captain is without his first officer, with whom he might consult, his absence necessarily detracting from the number of boats; but had the boats been suffered to remain unmolested, for the benefit of the passengers, it were doubtful if they could have contained so large a number. Where now are those gladsome little children, those aged men and women, who, listening to those voices of childhood, would fain have believed themselves young again? Ah! where are they? Wringing their hands in wild despair! clambering over the sides of the ship, endeavoring to save themselves on rafts, spars, or articles affording inferior protection.

The Sea-flower,—where is she? where is her aged protector? Upon the deck of that ill-fated steamer the Sea-flower kneels, with eyes meekly turned heavenward. She asks that peace may be shed upon the hearts of that agonized throng; that they may fitly receive this will of divine dispensation. Never was her countenance more serene. Just then a voice was heard at her side,—"we are going home;" it was the voice of the noble officer, who had before noted her words.

"I was happy," replied Natalie, "when I said we are going home, but I did not realize we would so soon meet the loved ones in that celestial home, where we shall part no more forever; and I am happy now; yet this terrible cry of anguish incites my deep, deep sympathies."

"Thank God for this presence of an angel, to shed light over my last hour!" said the officer; "I now go down through that dark valley of death, unattended by that gloom which had seized upon my soul. My God, in mercy wilt thou sustain my wife and children, when they shall look for my coming, and I shall never return to them more! and may they soon meet me there." (He knew not that 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 bent, and with the raven of his hair is blended the faintest tinge of gray, though he is evidently a man to whom the meridian of life is yet far in the distance; his fine countenance is sad, yet as he gazes far out o'er the sea, deep in his piercing eye is a subdued look of resignation, shedding light over his features, which a stranger might attribute to a mind of happiness; and yet that look of sadness is oftenest triumphant, leading those who meet him for the first time to ask from whence he came, for his countenance betrays that his has been not the common lot of man. Ah, who is he,—on whom young men and maidens look with pitying eye? to whom the old man lifts his hat, and little children cease from their sports as he passes, and quietly slip the innocent daisy, or the sweet-scented arbutus into his hand, which they have culled from the wide commons, where, they have been told, the good Sea-flower loved to stray.

It is Clarence Delwood! his has been a bitter, bitter draught; yet its dregs have in a measure lost their power, for he has learned that 't is his Father holds the cup. Little, did he think, as they sat together there on that high bank, which overlooks the sea, upon that last evening spent with his cherished one in her island home, that it was to be the last forever! that her voice would no more be heard! in glad response to nature's shouts of joyousness. Yet, as alone he sits beneath the silent night, there where she last told to him her love, he fancies that the stars in pity smile upon him, and as one more gentle than the rest, leaves its place in the heavens and slowly descends, drawing nearer and nearer, finally resting upon the bosom of ocean,—he listens, for the music of her harp strikes upon his soul, and in the crested billows which play at his feet, a shining form he sees, her robe all sparkling with the pearly drops of the sea. He would fain go to her, as she smiles upon him, as was ever her wont, but a voice he hears, saying, "not yet," and the bright one recedes from his view.

Reader, you may visit Nantucket's sea-girt isle, you may walk those peaceful shores where she loved to roam; you may meet there that lone man on the shore; you will approach him with feelings of deep regard, not unlike reverence; but do not hesitate to inquire of him for the grave of the Sea-flower. With eyes fixed upon the ocean's blue, pointing with his finger heavenward, he will direct you to a grassy mound, at whose head is a weeping willow, upon the broad trunk of which is wrought in letters of pearl,—"The Sea-flower awaits for thee." With a tear you turn away, with the resolve in your heart that you will henceforth so live, as that when this mortal life is ended, you may "attain everlasting joy and felicity, through Jesus Christ, our Lord."

You will seek the fireside of the widow Grosvenor, where from a mother's lips, you will be assured of the blessings which accompany a dutiful child. That fireside is not desolate, for the members of the household have been led to say,—"Thy will, O Lord, not mine, be done." Mrs. Grosvenor, though somewhat advanced in life, still retains that peculiar freshness of her earlier days; and as she proudly glances upon the young man by her side, calling him "my son," you can hardly recognize in his athletic form the little sailor-boy of other days; yet it is none other, although he has arrived to the dignity of captain, and as Sampson prophesied, a smarter man never sailed the ocean. But who is this witching beauty at his side, who would fain impress you with a belief that that mischief which will not remain concealed for the briefest period, is not her entire composition? Do you not mistrust? who other than Miss Winnie Santon? she who having tired of the gallants of the wild West, or rather of their numbers, came to the wise conclusion that a city life was designed for such as she; she the coquettish heiress, who once stood very much in doubt as to the state of civilization among these "poor fishermen."

Yes, it is our Winnie, and she is now the wife of Capt. Harry Grosvenor. And is she happy in this her choice? Ask her if she would exchange her brave husband for one of those superfine niceties, who suing for favor at her feet, had at the same time lined their vows of love and constancy with the yellow dust, which had they known the strong chest to have been at their backs, while in this humble posture, it were uncertain to which might have been made an apology,—the fair lady or her dowry.

But what is the cause of that little commotion among sundry flowered blankets, juvenile counterpanes, etc., etc., which you have but this moment discovered in a neighboring niche? Is it old Nep who has ensconced himself in this dainty little nest? No, for you left him sleeping under the shade of the weeping willow. Surely, those seven kits, with fourteen blue eyes, have not lived to this green old age! Ah, the mystery is solved, by the presence of a tiny hand, which elevates itself above the little heap of whiteness, and a smiling baby face has contrived to work its way into the no less smiling sunlight, the which baby must not partake of too freely; consequently the owner of said property appears, to alleviate the difficulty, which is done by giving miss baby a toss into mid-air, and with a ringing laugh, not unlike those wild bursts of merriment which were wont to be heard reverberating through the halls of Santon Mansion.

Yes, it is Winnie's child; and she tells you, while a more thoughtful look sits upon her countenance, that the name of the little one is "Natalie;" although she adds, "as earnestly as I love my child, I know there can never be another like her"—and pointing to a portrait, draped in white, she presses her child more closely to her heart.

You look long and earnestly upon that countenance of the Madonna,—the one face representing mother and child. The portrait is the property of Clarence Delwood, he who is now known as 'the lone man of the shore;' and while you are yet gazing upon it, he enters, and pressing his lips to the canvas, he takes a bible from the case and reads. You accidentally observe the fly-leaf, upon which is written,—"To the Sea-flower, from her mother, on her second birthday;" and as he reads a smile lights up his countenance, for it is there written,—"thou shalt labor unto the Lord," and a more cheerful expression is his; for it is through his ready pen that the alms chest of the poor receives its liberal supplies.

Ere you depart, you inquire as to the fate of Mr. Sampson, learning that through his agency the widow Grosvenor has come in possession of a handsome fortune,—the daughter's gift to her mother,—so that now she is enabled to make comfortable many a cheerless fireside, where poverty, through the loss of a husband and father, as he went down to do business on the great deep, had reigned. Honest Mr. Sampson, after so many years spent upon the ocean, has concluded to live the remainder of his days on shore; and in the darkest night, when the hurricane roars, and the waves break high, the brilliant light entrusted to his care, may be seen for many miles around, by the voyager who may be sailing in the neighborhood of old Nantucket. Capt. Harry Grosvenor has also bade adieu to his much-loved home on the sea; for together with Winnie's entreaties, and the goodly amount of wealth, which she declares as rightly belonging to her husband as to herself, he has been induced to give his little wife the promise that he will sail the seas no more.

But there is one, who is no unimportant member of this happy family, for whom you have forgotten to inquire, so intent are you, as you pass out from them into the silent night, upon what you have seen and heard; but you are minded of this negligence by a voice near, and a negro, tottering from beneath the weight of years, whom you recognize at once as old Vingo, stands before you. His mind is much impaired, for he has attained his second childhood; yet from his disconnected remarks, it is evident that he still retains a pleasant remembrance of the past.

"Old Bingo neber want noting more," he replies to your question of what you can do for him; "nobody neber can do noting more for Bingo; for Missy Sea-flower hab gib Bingo, Phillis, and gib him Heaben, and what more does he want?"

"And where is your mistress's home?" you ask.

"Dar," said the negro, pointing to the skies, "dar is Heaben, dar am my missus's home; and dat is whar she tell me dat she wait for me if she go home first. If it hadn't been missy dat tole me, I couldn't beliebe dat such an ole brack fellow like me, go to dat white place; but I beliebes it now, for since missy gone home I's seen a new star up dar; and I knows it am her, for didn't she say she look down to me, jus' like ole Massa Grobener and dat poor brack Injin look down upon her! Yes, I know dat I shall meet her dar, and what am better, Phillis am going dar too! only sometimes she get skeered like, when she remember what her ole cotton massa tell her; for he tells her dat de hounds go to dat bright place, afore good for notin' niggar like her get dar; and she's afeared dey remember dar ole habits and hunt her up, for she run away from her ole massa, and gets sabed in dese free states, whar de folks don't mistake poor niggar for someting else dan a man."

"Farewell, faithful Vingo, and may the remainder of your days shed peace along your way. Thy portion here has not indeed been to sit in 'kings' courts,' yet thou hast so used the one talent lent unto thee, that at the last, when every 'island shall have fled away, and the mountains shall not be found,' thou shalt have a place at the right hand of that glorious throne, whose king is our God; thou shalt hear those blessed words,—'well done, good and faithful servant,' and the morning star shalt be thine; and there thou shalt again find that pure gem, who, in her little day on earth, led thee to the bright river of life, where thou hast sought and found that 'pearl of great price.'"

The blue waves have not yet tired of their unceasing sports; they still chase each other in mad glee from far over the sea, each striving to outdo his fellows, as they come tumbling in with deep-toned voices. The beaming beacon still keeps vigil over Nantucket's peaceful slumberers, while her little ones, in their gladsome dreams of childhood, wander up and down those shores, intent upon their search for the most delicate sea-mosses, exclaiming with each new found treasure,—"See! I have found a gem among the sea-weeds."

Gentle reader, you are weary, and I will here seek to bid you adieu, with many thanks for your kind attention; and great is my joy, if haply any have been impressed in spirit with that meek and holy submission which shall lead them to say,—"Thy will, O Lord, not mine, be done;" and when loved ones shall be borne away from us, may we take up our cross with renewed love for Him who gave, and hath taken away,—and say, "blessed be the name of the Lord," forever.

THE END