He reddened still more deeply at this remark, and replied, angrily, "What do you cry out in that way for? I am not deaf."

Vane now quickened his pace, fancying, in his conceited self-importance, that his torn trousers were an object of curious scrutiny to almost every body he met.

But a greater annoyance awaited him. He had not proceeded far from the place where he met with Arthur Jones before he came full upon Edward Vernon. Edward's father was a rich man, and Henry Vane had courted his acquaintance, indeed somewhat servilely.

"Wherever have you been, Vane ?" said Edward, gazing at the rent knees.

"Where have I been !-why, I fell down, and you see what a fright I have made of myself," replied Henry, in confusion.

"Well, you do look strange," said Edward, rudely laughing at the figure which Vane made.

At length he reached home. But his troubles were not yet over; for on the following morning, Arthur Jones saluted him with the inquiry, "Have you condescended to send your trousers to a tailor yet, Vane ?" to which he replied, in somewhat humble tones, that he had.

A few days after this affair, Henry and his friend Edward Vernon went along the bank of the river which runs past Sunnyvale, on a visit to a relative of Henry's, who lived about a mile out of the town. As they returned, a clump of hazel bushes caught their attention, and they resolved to gather some of the nuts. As Henry was eagerly stretching forwards to reach a fine cluster which hung over the river, his foot slipped, and he was cast into the water. The current was strong from recent rains, and the water deep, so that Henry was in no little danger. He screamed loudly, and his companion tossed his arms into the air, calling for help, although no one appeared to be near. Just at this moment George Osborne came round a turn in the river, and Edward Vernon rushed wildly towards him. But he had already seen Henry in the river, and he ran forward a few yards to a place where

he knew the water was not beyond his depth. The current bore Henry along, and he appeared to be rapidly sinking; but as soon as he came within about ten yards of George Osborne, the latter sprang into the stream and caught him by the hand. George pulled his drowning schoolfellow to the shore, and after some time he was able to walk home.

In a few days he again made his appearance at school. A crowd assembled round him on the playground as soon as he entered it; but George Osborne modestly stood aloof. Henry hastened towards George, and, warmly grasping his hand, said, "Osborne, I have already written to you, to tell you how sorry I am that I behaved to you as I did; and I will now again beg your pardon before all my schoolfellows. I hope to be different from what I have been."

George and Henry shook hands warmly, and from that day they were bosom friends. Henry became generally liked by his schoolfellows, and what was still better, he became a truly pious youth. He is now an earnest thoughtful young man; and it is but a few days ago since I heard from him the above events of his life, which he gave me as a comment upon that truth of Scripture, “A man that hath friends must show himself friendly." Prov. xviii, 24.-Child's Companion.

THE MOTHER'S TOUCH.

In a long room, one winter's evening, in an old yard in the depths of London, a missionary had been holding a religious meeting; he had just dismissed it, and was still standing at his desk, when four young men, out of the number of his hearers, came and placed themselves before him. They were thieves. The missionary looked at the filthy, ragged, and destitute beings in silence. "Sir," they said, can you reclaim us?" "What! four of you?" "Yes." "Have you ever been in prison?" "We have." "Well," he said, "if you are sincere, I will do what I can for you, but I must know a little more about you first; I

66

will meet you to-morrow morning at your lodging-house. If you are sincere, you will follow the advice which I now give you, Go home and pray for yourselves." At the hour the missionary was at the house. He saw each separately, and when the second entered, asked, What is your name?" "George -." The missionary looked at him; long experience had made him apt in detecting sin. He felt sure that the young man had given a wrong name. "How old are you?" "Twenty," "Have you a mother?" "Yes, sir." The missionary paused and looked at him: there he stood,-a complete wreck; clothed in a ragged pair of trowsers, a filthy ragged shirt, with an old

66

cap

in his hand, shivering with cold. Young man," asked the missionary again, "have you got a mother, and does that mother know where you are? does she know the condition of her child? He struggled against the emotion which these words excited, but he could not overcome it, he wept aloud. Again the missionary asked his name; this time he told him the truth. He then related his sad history. He went back to the time when he was a good and happy child, dwelling in the house of his poor but honest parents, in a market-town in a distant county. He told of his mother's care and love, and how he used to go to school-both to the Sabbath and the daily school-of the approbation of his teachers, and of the prizes he had gained. Then came the days of youth, and the hour of temptation; he committed a sin against the laws of man, and, terrified at the consequences, he ran away from his father's house, without telling any one where he was going. He came to London, where he thought no one would be able to find him; but he forgot that no man can earn his living without a character,—that the honest person, who earns an honest living, must have as good a character for honesty as the richest merchant. Then he told how he fell from poverty to beggary, from beggary to robbery, from robbery to imprisonment, and how he came out of prison the companion of thieves and beggars, with no other means to keep himself from starving but stealing or begging, no other home but the lodging- |

house or the streets. Such he was, when, amidst his fellows in the crowded cellar, he had first seen the missionary. It was on a Sabbath evening, when the shouting, the brawls, the riots, the fightings, the noise of the thieves bringing in their booty,-where the police dared not follow, were hushed for a moment, and a short silence was obtained, while the missionary's voice was heard declaring God's message of love, and the invitation to return to holiness and Him. From the cellar he had come to the meeting, and there, hearing again the declaration of God's mercy to sinners in Christ, which he had been taught in his childhood, he conceived the hope of an accepted repentance. He spoke again of his mother's love. "I used," he said, "to keep rabbits, and my mother used to come and stroke them while I held them, and it's like as if I can feel my mother's hand touching me,-I cannot forget my mother's touch."

The missionary was appalled at the details of sin and crime which had been poured into his ear; "but when I heard this," he said, "I felt that there was hope for him,— that his heart was not irrecoverably hardened." Upon inquiry, he found the father and mother were still living in the same place. "But I cannot go home, sir," he said; "I dare not go home for what I did there, and," he added, looking at himself, "in such a state." "Well," said the missionary, "we will see. I will write to your parents this day." When he heard this he wept again, and blessed and thanked him, and said, "If ever I get home I will never leave it again." The missionary hastened to a friend whom he thought likely to assist him. This friend encouraged him to write to the parents of George. In a few days came two letters, one to the missionary, the other to the friend he had named. The letter to the missionary was from a stranger; it told him that the father was very poor, but that yet, out of his poverty, he had found means to arrange the matter for which his son had fled from home; he therefore need not fear to return; "and if," continued the writer, "he has indeed been brought to repentance, the joy will be unmeasurable to his

father and mother, who knew not until now whether he was alive or dead." The letter to the friend was from the father: "Since he left his home, we have never heard of him till now, to the great grief of his mother and me, and all friends; and this day I cannot describe my feelings only by saying, I am happy, I am distressed; I am happy God has spared his life, I am sorry he is in such a condition, I am distressed that I cannot help him. But, dear sir, if you can but restore our son to us, we shall be for ever indebted to you, and I hope the Lord will open his eyes that he may see aright." But how was he to return home?-not half-naked, and in rags. By the help of his friend, the missionary procured him a comfortable suit of clothes, and also the money to pay his journey. It was a happy evening when George and another, rescued in the same manner, met at the missionary's house. Very early next morning, before it was light, they were to leave; all that night the missionary sat up with them, reading, praying, and giving them advice. When the hour drew near, he himself went with them to the train. The missionary parted with them in prayer. A few days afterwards he received from George the following letter:

"This is to inform you of my passage home, and how I was received. My father was waiting at the station for me; he had been there two hours; he did not know me, but as soon as I got hold of his hand, and said, ' Father! he began to cry. I got home, and was so gladly received. One had hold of my hand, another was caressing me, and others were crying, but all so glad to receive me. I then told my father of your kindness to me, and the kindness of your friends to me when I was in distress, and I hope you will tell them I am getting ready to go to the place of worship this morning; I do cherish a hope that I am come to be a prop to my father's house. The words that Mr. said to me I shall never forget. My friends, I do indeed intend to follow your course of life, and it is a pleasure to me. All give you all their best respects, and do thank God for my return. I thank God too. I am happy now."