"Is it father?" Who is father? Where has he been? Is this he? Most likely a brave tar, or sailor. Possibly he went out last night in his fishing scallop. A storm arose. All night long it has lashed the sea, and piled up its roaring, foaming waves. At home sat the wife and children in sleepless suspense. Thinking of father in the storm, perhaps praying for him, anxiously longing for the dawn of day. Surely he and his boat will be swallowed up by the raging sea. Oh, that he had not gone out last night!

Perhaps he is a sailor, just returning from a long voyage. They know that his ship is due; that it approaches the shore in this terrible storm; that it is in danger of being dashed on the rocks.

"Have you a family and home anywhere?" I once asked a storm-worn tar on mid-ocean. "Yes, sir, both," was his laconic reply. I had watched him climbing up the rigging in a storm, singing his sailor songs, and seen him munching his frugal meals. Seen him, too, at the end of the long saloon, listening with uncovered head, to the word of life, which I tried to proclaim. "Would you not rather be at home than on sea?" I asked. "Much rather."

"Why then not stay there?"

That

"On every voyage I resolve that it shall be my last. thereafter I will stay at home, with my family. A few weeks at home make me home-sick for the sea. The sea is my home, not

the land. I shall be very glad to meet my wife and little ones again. Only, I cannot stay on land.".

"A life on the ocean wave,

A home on the rolling deep,
Where the scattered waters rave,
And the winds their revels keep;
Like an eagle caged, I pine,

On this dull, unchanging shore;
Ob give me the flashing brine,

The spray and the tempest's roar."

Perhaps this father is just returning from a long voyage. His ship is wrecked, in sight of home. The night is cold and dark. The sailor wraps a piece of sail around him, seizes a broken mast on which he hopes to gain the shore. At early dawn the anxious mother and her two children hasten along the wave-beaten coast. Perhaps they can catch a glimpse of the coming ship, or hear some news about it. In the gray dawn of morning they cautiously pick their way along the shore, beneath high over-hanging rocks. At a distance they see an object lying. It looks like a bale of goods, wrapped in coarse sail-cloth. With fearful tread they approach it. They discover the limbs of a person, partly uncovered. Quickly the sorrow-stricken wife tries to uncover the body. The few moments of uncovering seem to be long years, or it is the spell of painful suspense, when the hearts of mother and children ask : "Is it father?" The wild waves washed him ashore, folded in a sail, for his winding sheet. And now there is sorrow in the seaman's home. Alas! for this poor mother and her fatherless children.

Thus many of earth's voyagers sail heedlessly over the ocean of life. The memories of a Christian home, and unimproved early training, haunt them like a pleasant dream. Often they are almost a Christian; but never quite. Fruitful in good resolutions, but barren in good works and a saving faith. All the while coasting along the shores of Christ's Kingdom, but never landing on it. Always putting off the one thing needful, till "the next year." At length the soul is wrecked, in sight of the land of the blest. The means of grace and unimproved mercies of God, like the sail of the seaman, in the end become a savor of death unto death, a winding sheet to the wrecked spirit! wrecked on the ocean of a worldly, impenitent life; wrecked within sight of the harbor and home of the spirit, but never reaching it.

"The race of life becomes a hopeless flight,
To those who walk in darkness on the sea;
The boldest steer but where their ports invite,
But there are wanderers o'er eternity,

Whose bark drives on and on, and anchor'd ne'er shall be."

THE FORESTER AND THE ORPHAN BOY.

A Christmas Story for Children, by Christoph von Schmid. Translated from the German, by Lewis Henry Steiner.

CHAPTER VIII.

WHAT HAPPENED STILL FURTHER WITH THE FORESTER.

UNDER such sorrowful circumstances holy Christmas Eve arrived. It became dark much earlier than usual, for the whole sky was covered with darkness. The storm raged through the old oaks and the swaying trees of the forest. It snowed and rained very heavily, and the water roared as it rushed down the spout from the roof like a torrent playing over the rocks. "Oh heavenly Father," said the old forester's wife, after they had been gazing out of the window for a long time, "they have not yet come. If they stay away this holy Christmas Eve, some misfortune must have befallen them. I feel unusually anxious. The storm is so terribie, that one would not drive a dog out into it from his door,--and the road is wretched. Oh, if they were only here, let everything as it may

go

י !

She opened the window again, looked out and said: "God be praised, they are here!" All hastened to meet them at the door, and all shouted: "How did you get along in the city?" "I hope all will be for the best!" replied the forester. "You must have

been very uneasy on our account, for we were absent a long time. But I was taken sick on the road and could not go any further; and then when I was better, the streams and brooks had been so swelled by the incessant rains, that we were delayed some days. But, God be praised, here we are again!" He entered the house, put on dry clothes and seated himself by the warm stove in his armchair. His wife brought out a flask of wine and two glasses, and lighted a lamp. lamp. "Refresh yourselves a little," she said, giving them the wine. "Each of you need it. Supper will soon be ready." "Very good!" said the forester, looking around, "it is very pleasant to be home again with one's family, where he can see nothing but pleasant happy faces!"

The young forester, in the meantime, said confidentially to his wife: "Oh, the news is not good; we shall probably have to seek

employment." This frightened her and she told it secretly to the others. The old forester saw how the countenances were growing darker, and testifying to their anxiety and fear. "Christian has

already let it out," he said; "well, nothing must be concealed. You shall hear all, but you must not be so sad. A Redeemer was born this very eve; in the sight of this great joy, we must forget our little earthly sorrows; at any rate, we must not take them too much to heart."

"When we reached the city late in the evening," he added, “ I went immediately to old Forest-counsellor Miller. He is a very upright man; and formerly was my Head-forester and has always been my friend. The other Counsellors, who were acquainted with me, were all dead or retired from office. Although at his age he has partially withdrawn from business, still he can give me good advice. Thus I reasoned to myself. The honest man received me indeed with great affection. I told him my situation. He said:

In the Head-forester you have a very bitter enemy, who has powerful friends here. He wishes to give your place to a young man who was his servant, and he has been continually sending in reports prejudicial to yourself and your son. I fear very much lest he may succeed and deprive the good Christian of his father's office.' 'Oh!' I said, 'that cannot be!' 'It is my intention to see the Prince himself.' 'Do it,' said the Counsellor. 'I will go with you. But you are here now at a most unsuitable time. The Prince has a great deal of business. You can hardly gain admittance. You must also go to the Head Forest-master, and the Forest-counsellors. But I fear that you will accomplish nothing. Herr von Schilf has perfectly blinded every one.' I found that the Counsellor was perfectly right. I made many a painful visit. The Head Forest-master received me very coolly and dismissed me very unceremoniously. The other Counsellors treated me no better. I saw nothing but dark faces and was obliged to listen to many hard speeches. I was not admitted to the Prince, the Head Forest-master had just been with him. The Head-forester had vilely abused me and Christian. I cannot tell you all in detail; it has relation to business which you do not understand. All that we can hope for is an investigation, but we must fear lest it be placed in hands, from which we have but little to expect. But this conversation is making us too sad, and all persons throughout Christendom should be happy this evening. This is indeed holy Christmas Eve; let us think of the birth of our Redeemer. That will lighten our sorrowful minds."

He directed his eyes to the painting of Jesus that Anthony had sent him. It hung on the place formerly occupied by the mirror, and was covered with fine white gauze to protect it from injury.

The little grand-children, Francis and Clara, had been for some weeks looking forward with great joy to the celebration of holy Christmas Eve. They sprang up and quickly wiped the tears from their happy faces. "Grandmother," said Francis, "take the gauze away from the picture and light the candles, as you did last year, so we can see it plain." "And you Grandfather," said Clara, "take your harp, let us sing our little Christmas hymn that mother has taught us."

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Very well," said the forester, "we will sing a Christmas hymn. But stay, tell me first, whether anything special has occurred during my absence?" "Nothing," said the wife, "only, alas! a letter, that came from the Head-forester's office after your departure. What can it mean?" She gave him the sealed letter. He opened itturned pale-and said with eyes turned heavenward: "Now, Lord, Thy will be done!" All frightened looked anxiously at him. "What is it then?" asked the grandmother. "We must leave this house," he said, "yes, we shall be soon ejected. The Headforester, in this letter, orders that the Forester's house be vacated and cleared at furthest by Christmas Eve, so that the new forester may take possession on Christmas day. He threatens, if his orders are not obeyed, to have us removed by the officers of the law. I am surprised that they are not already here; we are not certain that we may not be ejected any moment."

"Oh heavenly Father!" cried the young wife, "now in this fearful, stormy night! Only listen, how the storm rages without! How it rains! Where shall we find protection against storm and rain?" She sank down upon a stool and embraced her two children. "Oh good Lord!" she sighed, "have mercy upon these innocent children!" The young forester with folded hands stood speechless before her and gazed at her and the children with eyes full of tears.

"Oh heavenly Father!" said the old wife, sobbing and wringing her hands, "to be driven with children and grand-children out of the house in which I was born, in which my father and grandfather lived-oh! it is terrible. Gracious Lord! let me die in the house in which I was born!"

Catharine wept in silence, and Louisa stood trembling and shaking as a lamb about to be slaughtered. But the old forester, with his venerable face, high bald forehead and gray side locks, looked for a long while upwards in silence, and then said calmly and composedly: "Yes, my dearest children, the thing has been pushed so far that we must leave this house. I know no person, who would be able to take us all into his house. We shall certainly now be separated from one another. True, I had entertained the hope, that I might enjoy a peaceful old age in your midst—that