outside the church door, to exchange the greetings of the season. Last time Harry was there, and no wonder that Mrs. Lamore's thoughts are far away with her sailor lad on the salt sea, and that she scarcely hears what is said. But presently the greetings of friends rouse her again.

"How deep the snow is," says Dick, "Anson here says his horse stuck fast in a drift up the Wheatley lane. He'd ever such work to get him out."

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How's your mother, Anson?" Mrs. Lamore asked of the boy.

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Very well, thank you.

Father's been a bit sick,

but he's better to-day. Is Nelly at home ?"

"Oh yes, come in some time when you go by. Good morning, Bessy-a merry Christmas to you!"

"Same to you, Mary," replies the woman addressed. "I've just heard from Willy, at Worcester; he's very well settled and happy. Good news for Christmas, isn't it? Good bye, I'm going."

With nods and shakes of the hand the little groups break up, and wend homewards. Tramping through deep crisp snow, the Lamores soon reach their house, Dick looking eagerly forward to the feast within.

Nelly is watching for them, and quickly appears at the door. "Oh mother! Mrs. Holmes has sent down such a pie! Look here—isn't it a big one? And then, see! here's a letter from Harry!" She holds it up, and as her mother snatches it from her hand, runs off with a laugh to keep the child from the fire. Lamore looks pleased, and Dick stares at the huge pie with his mouth wide open.

"Come and hear Harry's letter," says Mrs. Lamore. "Good fellow, how glad I am! Listen now while I make it out."

"Let's have dinner first, mother," says Dick.

"I'm sure I'd a great deal rather have the letter," says his father. "Read on, mother."

By dint of some help from Nelly, who stands looking over the back of her chair, Mrs. Lamore deciphers the precious epistle.

"Dear mother," it begins, "I've a little bit of time to spare, for a wonder, so write to wish you a merry

Christmas, hoping this will find you well, as it leaves me. If we meet a vessel homeward bound, she will bring any letters, so I don't know when you'll get this. I'm very well, but we're having a rough time of it, and you'll be sorry to hear that Dick Atwell is on board. However, if he'll let me alone, I shan't meddle with him. You should hear the wind at night in the rigging-you can't think how it screams be frightened to see me out on the blowing a gale. I don't suppose we shall be long at New York when we get there-it's a wonderful fine place, and bigger than Liverpool a long way. Some time when I can get away, I'll come over and tell you all about it. My duty to my father, and love to Dick and Nelly. The ink's all gone, so no more at present from Your dutiful son,

The Corunna, Nov. 30."

- and you would yards when it's

HARRY LAMORE.

"Bless the lad," says his mother, joyfully.

"How

nicely he writes, doesn't he, John? I hope he'll have

a merry Christmas too.

young Atwell is on board."

But I am very sorry that

"Oh never fear, mother," replied her husband. Harry's a good lad, and they'll find no fault with him.'

"How nice to have the letter to-day," says Nelly, looking intensely satisfied. "Dick, keep the child out of the fire! It might have come on purpose, mightn't it, mother?"

Very joyful and very happy the little family sit down to their Christmas dinner. And there we will leave them, and look after some one else, who also left the church to go home through the snow.

She was an old lady, scarcely strong enough for such heavy walking. She was neatly dressed in black, and turned up a lane towards a small, old house, standing by itself. A path had been swept for some little distance, and into this path she turned.

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"Well, grandmamma," cried a little child, running to the door, I am so glad you are come back. I've been feeding the sparrows, and they're getting so tame. Come in. Are not you very wet?"

"Yes, very," replied Mrs. Atwell; for it was no other than she. "Is dinner ready? Did any letters come.?" "No, only a newspaper. Shall I fetch you some dry shoes? Do you think mamma or papa w.ll drive over to-day to see you?"

Mrs. Atwell answered all these questions, and then, having changed her wet clothes, the two sat down to their meal, and afterwards drew round the fire.

"Now, puss, give me the newspaper. I hope there is something about uncle's ship in it. Poor fellow, he won't spend much of a Christmas on the sea!"

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She opened, cut, and folded the paper. Now then," 'Fatal Accident in a Coal Mine'" No."- Man found drowned,' Loss of a Life Boat'-' Foundering of a Vessel at Sea-Loss of Life.' "What's that?" She read.

"We regret to have to chronicle the loss of the Corunna, from Liverpool to She paused,

with an exclamation.

.

'What is it, grandmama?" demanded the child— "What is the matter?"

The Corunna! your uncle's ship, child-O dear, dear!"

Her hand trembled till the paper almost fell from it. "Read it," she said, pushing it towards the little frightened girl—“I can't see; have you got it? Read, make haste.'

The child took it and read "We regret to have to chronicle the loss of the Corunna, Captain Samley, from Liverpool to New York. She had for a considerable time experienced heavy weather, which at last increased into a gale. Every exertion was made, but in the midst of the storm Captain Samley was disabled, and the command fell on the mate. The crew, incessantly employed in pumping, found that the water gained so fast that it became impossible to save the ship. The boats were resorted to. Of these, one containing most of the crew, and their captain, survived; the other, it is supposed, was lost, as nothing has been heard of it. Her Majesty's brig, Ella, picked up the survivors, and landed them in safety at Liverpool.

The list includes-"

"Ay, the names-read the names, child!"

'Bates, Dickson

"Is your uncle's there?"

"Yes-Herries and Atwell."

"Thank heaven! Give it to me now."

She took the paper, and ran rapidly over its contents. Oh, what a fright it gave me! Yes, Atwell sure enough. O, what a mercy!"

"Where is uncle, grandmamma?"

"Where is he? Why he must be at Liverpool. He'll surely come down or write. I never thought of that. How dark it gets. No, don't light the candlewe'll sit by the fire; dear, dear, to think of it!"

Heavy mist and twilight hung over the fields, and darkened the windows - firelight flashed upon the bright dark leaves and glowing berries that decked the snow lay level and white on the dusky roads, when Mrs. Atwell was startled by hearing the door latch lifted. She looked round, and in a minute a tall figure entered the room.

room

"Who is there?" she cried,

"Don't you know me, mother?" was the answer. She sprang up.. "Dick my dear, dear son! Oh, thank God! thank God!"

He held her up, for she could scarcely stand. It was for this brief minute that a brave soul had gone to its account! And if the dead boy could have arisen from his rest in the still dark water, and looked upon that meeting, he had surely been rewarded for all suffering and strife!

They sat down by the fire, her hand in his. Wet, weary, and travel-worn, he was still ready to answer every question; to narrate "perils on the deep;" to tell of the strife of men with raging winds and waves. His voice sank lower as he told of those gathering dangers-when the boat was lowered-when she left the ship-and then paused altogether. Mrs. Atwell looked at him, and shuddered to think through what he had passed.

"Some ship picked you up, didn't it? I saw the account in the paper, and that the second boat was lost."

"In the paper? Let me look. There was no second boat, mother.'

"Not! Then what became of all the rest?"

Atwell shivered-" Drowned, dead! Oh, don't talk of it. Four at least."

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Poor fellows! Oh how thankful I am that you are safe. How was it? tell me."

Atwell was silent for some time.

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'Oh, while I think of it, is young Lamore safe? His name was among the list—is it the same who left here?"

66 Mother-don't ask me! He's drowned-drowned. Oh what a wretch I am!" He leant his arms on the

table, and hid his face on them.

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'Dick, Dick! what's the matter? What do you mean? You couldn't have helped him

66

no one could."

Mother, you'll drive me mad! If you only knew what I have done! But, at the time at the timeI didn't think of anything but getting on deck in time. I wasn't to blamewas I?"

"What do you mean?"

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Mother, I murdered that boy!" cried Atwell, fiercely, looking up-" Ay-as if I had stabbed him! it was murder all the same! And I'm here, who ought to be thirty fathom deep-and he's in his grave—and all through me."

"You don't mean that you threw him overboard!" "No- not that. Mother-I injured that boy shamefully and when he might have left me to drown, he saved me—and was drowned himself. May heaven forgive me!" He covered his face, and was silent for a long while. At last Mrs. Atwell spoke. dear fellow, don't take on so."

"Dick
He looked up·

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'Ay, but the worst's to come-I shall have to tell his mother. O, to bring myself to this! I'm rightly served!"

66 'I'll go and tell her, lad."

"No, no, no one but I. I've got a lesson that I shan't soon forget. Well, let that go, mother, I shall have to give up America and go to Liverpool." "Why to Liverpool?"

"I've lost everything-I must do something — and