The noble animal, discovering his mistake, scowled with sullen fierceness toward my place of shelter, and seemingly satisfied with the vengeance he had taken, strode onward.” “A most fortunate escape,” ejaculated Valerius; “you must present your gifts to-morrow at the temple.” A tear twinkled in the eye of Lactantius, and I fancied I saw his lips move as in the act of prayer. “Yes, Valerius, and it is not the first escape with which a guardian Providence has blessed me. Shipwreck and slavery I also have escaped.” “Shipwreck,” enquired Sergius, with anxiety, “will you tell us the sad story? I had a son who was shipwrecked,” and the old man trembled in the effort to subdue his grief. “I will. I left Rome on a voyage to Athens; we were driven by stress of weather into a port of Sicily. The storm abating, we pursued our course along the coast of Africa, being obliged to touch at Alexandria, but we were wrecked before we reached our haven, and nearly all the crew were swallowed by the waves.” “Pardon me for asking,” said Marcus, “but did you not write to Rome, after you secured your liberty, to discover whether your kindred were still living?” “I wrote many epistles, and to my uncle also, who told me they were all carried off by a terrible pestilence, which visited the city, and that my patrimony had been previously confiscated to the state, because of some act of my parent, and that if I ventured to Rome the rage of my father’s enemies would doubtless be turned against me. I had no wish, however, to undertake the voyage, since those most cherished were no more.” “And what was the name of your father?” asked Lactantius. “Lucius Sergius.” The venerable man paused for a moment in mute bewilderment, and then rushed into the arms of Mobilius, exclaiming, “Caius, my son, my long lost son!” “My sisters,” he cried, as they ran to embrace their beloved brother, and wept with joy. It was a touching scene, and the ecstacy of gladness brightened every face. Here let me drop the veil with the promise of ending the description of the trials and fortunes of my friend in my next epistle. Farewell. * * * * * THE LAY OF THE AFFECTIONS. Gently, gently, beating heart! Love not earthly things too well! Those who love too soon may part, Sorrow’s waves too quickly swell. Softly, softly, boding fear! Tell me not of fleeting bliss— Ever would I linger here With a joy so pure as this. Shame thee, shame thee, earthly love! Chain not thus my spirit here! Earth must change, and joy must prove Sure forerunner of despair. Cheer thee! cheer thee, child of God! Trust in Heaven, and all is well, Come the smile, or fall the rod, Cheer thee! cheer thee, all is well! M. S. B. D.