happy, but for one thing. He longed to see
his little brother John, whom he had parted with at Toulon.

One day, to his great delight, Bernard received a letter from his
father, telling him that John was also to be sent to America, and
that he would take passage from Marseilles by the first vessel bound
for Boston.

[Illustration]

At that time there were no steamships and no regular packets from
Europe. The only way of coming was by a merchant-vessel. So Bernard,
who was looking and longing for the arrival of his brother, did not
think it strange when six weeks passed away without bringing him.
But when two months passed, and he did not appear, poor Bernard
began to be anxious. Four months, five months, six months, passed.
Nothing was heard of John. Not a word came from Mr. Trainier. More
than a year passed away, and still there was no news. Bernard was in
despair.

One August day (it must have been, I think, in the year 1805), when
my father had occasion to visit Boston, he took Bernard with him;
and, while there, went with him to call on Mr. Duprez, from whom
they hoped to hear some good news.

But there was no comfort for poor Bernard in what Mr. Duprez had to
tell. He had learned from friends in Toulon that Mr. Trainier, soon
after sending his youngest son to America, had gone to St. Domingo
to look after some estates. St. Domingo was then in a state of
insurrection. The slaves had risen against their masters. When last
heard from, Mr. Trainier had been taken prisoner, and it was feared
that he had been put to death. As to John Trainier, all that could
be learned was that he had been put on board a vessel bound from
Marseilles to Boston, but the name of the vessel or what had become
of her nobody knew.

You may imagine the distress of Bernard at hearing this, and how sad
my father was when he took the poor boy's hand to return with him to
Hingham. The packet station was at the head of Long Wharf. They
reached it long before the vessel was ready to sail: so, to pass
away the time, they walked slowly down the wharf,--my father still
holding Bernard by the hand. They stopped a few minutes at the end
of the wharf, then walked back again.

They had got about half way up the wharf when they heard a shout
behind them. They looked around. The voice seemed to come from t