RICHARD LEDDAM was a poor man, who obtained a subsistence by toiling in all weathers in catching fish and oysters, which he sold to persons whose business it was to supply the city market. The village in which he lived was exposed on one side to the ocean waves, the other was washed by the calmer waters of a bay. Here a few families were induced to dwell, invited by the facilities for procuring fish.Lonely as the village was, it was not an unpleasant spot; the grounds were shaded by fine trees, and the constant sea breeze rendered the atmosphere cool and healthy. On a little indenture of the shore, where the bay setting in formed a cove, stood the cabin of the fisherman. It was built of logs, and a sloping shed protected the house from winter storms and summer suns. Beneath this shelter were kept, when not in use, the fishing boat and the fishing tackle. Here too the family assembled in fine weather, and thence the anxious wife sent many a wishful glance, when expecting her husband’s return.

Their family consisted of two boys, John and Henry, and three daughters.

Here they lived in rude comfort—poor, but not destitute; and when, after a successful day, the family met in their humble home, from which they looked out on the sparkling waters, while the father related his adventures, they might be called happy, as far as exemption from care could make immortal beings happy.

But of his glorious birthright as an immortal spirit, Richard Leddam thought not. If he mentioned the name of his Creator, it was only to profane it. There was no prayer offered to God in that family, and Sabbaths came and went, not reverenced, almost unheeded. Once, while at a neighbouring city, where he had gone with a boat load, his little vessel was visited by a Christian gentleman, who gave him a Bible, which he brought to his wife; but whether it was prized as it deserved to be, or whether the fisherman, in his solitary hours upon the sea, ever turned in repentance to his God and Saviour, none can tell.

One boisterous day in November he left the cove, thinking that the wind would lull by noon. His wife remembered that when he had gone a few steps from the door he returned to bid them farewell again, and placing his hand on John’s head, told him to be good, and help his mother.

The wind increased through the day, and the tempest was fearful all night. When the light dawned, the distressed family beheld the boat floating upwards,—but their only friend they never saw again.

With the assistance of a neighbour the boat was drawn up, and placed in its usual resting-place in the shed. The children gathered around it with sorrowful faces, as if it had been their father’s coffin. The mother looked silently on the helpless little ones; then, leaning her face on her hand, as she rested on the side of the boat, she wept piteously. One of the neighbours perceiving a Bible, which lay on a shelf, took it down and read the eleventh chapter of John. The word of God soothed the poor widow’s grief; and when they were alone she said to her son, ‘Read to me those good words again.’ How many sorrowful hearts have those good words relieved!