escorted to the police-office, where he was charged with being "drunk and disorderly." The charge having been duly recorded, he was forced to enter a dark cell, in which he was immured, with a keen sense of insult and outrage, which was only mitigated by falling into a sound sleep upon the floor of his prison.

CHAPTER II.

GREENAWAY TAKEN BEFORE THE MAGISTRATES-HIS

SENTENCE-UNEXPECTED LIBERATION.

It is necessary, before we proceed farther, to give the reader some information regarding Greenaway Goodfellow. He was the son of a farmer, who rented a number of acres of arable land on the road between Lisburn and Glenavy, and who had contrived to bring up a large family in respectability and comfort. Greenaway was considered a most talented youth. He was sent to Belfast to a mercantile establishment to serve his apprenticeship. After the expiration of four years, he was made assistant cashier. His conduct had been uniformly good. His habits had been correct and regular, and he was highly esteemed by the principal of the establishment. His manner was grave; he was taciturn, but of a decisive character; and appeared to have all the sober qualities of a man advanced in life, while he was only yet a boy.

Greenaway, in course of time, had been promoted to the position of chief accountant. Large sums of money passed through his hands. He attended to the banking business, and remitted cash to agents connected with the firm all over the country. The utmost confidence was reposed in his probity and conscientiousness. Gradually, his society began to be courted. He was flattered and admired by young men of a higher status, whom he met in the course of business. He was invited to pleasant little social meetings, composed of very select and intellectual young men, who dressed fine, and eschewed vulgarity. These meetings turned out to be more favourable to the gratification of the sensual appetite than to the development of the mental powers. "The feast of reason

and the flow of soul" was represented by hot punch and broiled kidneys. When the "regular" houses were closed, it was not uncommon to adjourn to certain places where music and liquor could be obtained all through the night. This kind of thing was opposed to Greenaway's taste. If he had been let alone, he would have chosen to live soberly and righteously. But he was not strong enough to say "No" to a pleasant companion, who was so happy in the enjoyment of his company! So he yielded to hot punch, late hours, and all the other etceteras which characterise fast men who are denizens of a large town.

The result was as is usual in such cases. Greenaway failed to show his accustomed order and attention to business. His conduct was observed, and he was more attentively watched. The final consequence was, that Greenaway was expelled from his situation; leaving the business with which he was entrusted in a state of confusion, not creditable to himself nor satisfactory to his employers.

This was a heavy blow to Greenaway. As soon as it was known, most of his old companions, who relished his society, felt a passing feeling of regret for his "misfortune," as they called it. They did not, however, desire to be longer associated with him. So they did not recognise him in the street, if they happened to meet him; and they gave him "the cold shoulder" if he had the hardihood to enter into their accustomed haunts. Such was the position of the young man when he met Harry Welsh, one of his friends, who, unlike the rest, was not inclined to leave him to founder in his distress. Harry cheered him with kind words, and invited him to Kitty Cowan's

to have a chat, and something else. While they were regaling themselves with sympathy, and a potation stronger than soda water, who should come in but Mr. Sampson Clarke, who passed Greenaway that morning without deigning to look at him-" cutting him dead," to use a phrase understood in the circles of polite young men of fast-going habits. Greenaway reproached him with meanness: he was hollow as a rotten egg, and unworthy of the society of Greenaway Goodfellow, who was immeasurably his supe. rior, &c., &c. A long personal altercation ensued: words came to blows; and the result was, that, in a scuffle, Greenaway was thrown into the street, and left to the tender mercies of one of the guardians of order, who, as we have already seen, pounced upon him like a vulture, and dragged him to the policeoffice.

Greenaway slept in his cell; but when he awoke, and became conscious of the fact that he was confined as a prisoner, with a charge of misconduct hanging over him, which would lead to a public exposure, his feelings were painfully excited, and he was depressed with a sensation of personal humiliation which moved him to tears. At length the hour came when he was summoned to appear before the Court. In company with a number of the lowest order-the thief, the confirmed mendicant, the unhappy woman who knows no shame-he was driven to the police court, and placed in the dock, where he was scrutinised by many keen eyes which were directed towards him. Greenaway held down his head, and stole sidelong glances at the attorneys, and reporters, and those who were permitted to occupy places on the elevated seats of the court. What would be his fate? he asked himself. Perhaps he would be imprisoned for three months in jail. He was charged with being disorderly; and that was a serious offence; and perhaps the constable who arrested him might prefer a more grave accusation. Who could tell what a constable might do? They are so reckless in their "brief authority," and so well protected by the magistrates against any violence, real or assumed, which they may allege to have been perpetrated against them. But one thing was certain: if he would only get clear, he would "turn over a new leaf." He had not a bad heart, and was well disposed: how strange that he should be brought into such a degraded position! True, it was many a good fellow's fate to be unfairly charged with offences; but he could not say that he was wholly guiltless. Where were all his friends now? Had they all forsaken him? And then he stole another glance around to assure himself. Ah! what a sensation of relief he suddenly experienced! He discovered the face of one who was no stranger to him-his friend, Harry Welsh. Yonder he stood, looking as rosy and jovial as was his wont. He had been watching Greenaway for some minutes, anxious to convey to him the idea that he was prepared to stand his friend. A reciprocal glance was sufficient for this purpose. Hope immediately began to irradiate the darkened mind of the desponding pri

soner.

A number of "custody cases" were brought forward, and severally disposed of, and then the name of Greenaway Goodfellow was called out. "I appear for this man, your worship," said a vivacious little attorney, with a remarkably sonorous voice for one so small in stature. Greenaway was surprised; and he mentally expressed thanks to his friend for his generous interference in securing him professional assistance.

The night-policeman preferred his charge mildly: the prisoner was not very disorderly, he admitted; he had been caught in the act of knocking loudly at the door of a public-house after the hour of closing,

thereby alarming the neighbourhood. This was the most flagrant item advanced against the defendant. The attorney made light of the matter: it was "only the erratic freak of a thoughtless young gentleman, who had been performing his bacchanalian rites, and had yielded to the potential influence of the jolly divinity." The magistrate was sorry to find a respectable young man, as he appeared to be, in a position so unworthy of him; he hoped that this would be a lesson to him, and induce him to amend his ways. Fined 30s. and costs, or a month's imprisonment. "I have the money to pay for him," said the attorney, in a clear voice, to the Clerk of the Court. "Allow him to be set at liberty as soon as possible." "Thank God!" said Greenaway, internally.

As soon as he was free to leave the court, Harry Welsh rushed down to express his congratulation at his friend's escape.

"I owe you much, Harry," said Greenaway.

You

"Oh!" said Greenaway, "you don't want to acknowledge it. Who else would? I know nobody." "Come along, Greenaway, and never mind. must get something to refresh yourself. You look as famished as a wolf that hadn't tasted flesh for a fortnight. Come along, old fellow."

Harry hailed a car-driver, and the two young men drove to a restaurant, to make themselves comfortable, and enjoy a long talk over the eventful incidents of the preceding night.

CHAPTER III.

THE FRIEND IN NEED.

Men do not know their friends until overtaken by misfortune. Like the shadows of night, adversity brings into prominence lights which were before hidden; and the mild virtues of sympathy and benevolence come to the desponding heart like starlight through the darkened sky to the tempest-tossed mariner, who struggles for life against the fury of the elements.

effect;

Mr. Stewart was a gentleman whose regard for philanthropy was not confined to theoretical speculation. When he thought he could perform what he believed to be a good thing, he did not wait till he was solicited to take action. His own heart was his monitor, and he followed its impulses: sometimes foolishly indeed, as regards beneficial but frequently with a wholesome influence, which, though obscure in its action, was potent for social good. When he recollected the incident of the preceding night, Mr. Stewart was resolved to atone for what he believed was a culpable thing on his part-namely, leaving a fellow-creature, who had been grossly maltreated, as it appeared to him, to be forcibly taken to the lock-up. So he said to himself— "I'll try and settle things by-and-by; and redeem that young man from his downward course." preliminary step, he called upon an advocate who attended the local police-court, and secured his services for Greenaway. The result of this interposition has already been described.

As a

We now turn to Greenaway. When he left his friend Harry, and returned to his lodging, he began to feel disconsolate and sad as he communed with himself upon his position and prospects. While thus indulging in his melancholy mood, a gentle tap was

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"Stewart-James Stewart, Esq.! How strange! A most singular coincidence, truly!" he observed, in an audible tone, although he was only giving expression to a train of thought which rushed upon his mind with electric rapidity. "Was I not dreaming of this gentleman," he continued, "in that infernal dungeon where I was pushed into last night? Show him up, please."

It should be remarked that Mr. Stewart knew Greenaway perfectly well when in the situation he had lately occupied, and was partially acquainted with some of his relatives.

"Well, young man," said Mr. Stewart, on his introduction, "I was sorry to find you last night in what seemed to be a drunken brawl."

Goodfellow was somewhat taken by surprise at these plainly-spoken words. In truth, he felt his choleric passion suddenly take possession of his mind, and was inclined to retort with bitterness. But a glance at the benevolent aspect of the gentleman who addressed him was sufficient to quell the perturbation of his active feelings.

"Sir," said Greenaway, "I do not think you would

"'Tis untrue!" said Greenaway, interrupting him. "'Tis ungenerous to repeat a statement which is unfounded, to the prejudice of any man. Sir, your age alone protects you from the consequences of repeating such a slander."

"I did not say that you were guilty of peculation, young man. I trust you are not. Drunkenness, however, leads to all manner of sin. Last night, I myself saw you the worse of liquor." "And have you come to tell me so ?" "Yes; that and more. 1 want to tell you that you are on the way to destruction; that ruin is before you; that your moral and social degradation will be completed if you do not at once cease to do evil and learn to do well. Now, stay-don't interrupt me! I have been making inquiries about you, and I think that you are not irreclaimable. You must not encourage the demon of idleness; action is what is needed for you-mental and bodily. You must work, sir-work so that you will have no leisure to run into the highways and byways of error. Will you consent to work?" asked Mr. Stewart, abruptly. "You are right, sir; of course, I shall be very glad."

Greenaway was unable to say more. A choking sensation oppressed him. While his visitor was speaking, the mind of the auditor had been reverting to old faces and to old scenes, and he could not repress the rising tide of feeling, although he struggled hard to dam it in. He at once divined that Mr. Stewart had acted the part of a generous friend to him by his interference in connexion with the recent brawl. He was now satisfied that it could be none other than he who had secured the services of the able little attorney who had defended him, and when he became assured of the fact, a sense of gratitude deprived him of the power of voluble expression.

"I'll place you," said Mr. Stewart, observing the effect of his words-" I'll place you in a post that will serve you. Let me see-to-morrow morning-yes, at half-past ten o'clock, call at my office in Municipal Buildings. Be punctual. Good morning."

Greenaway had scarcely time to express his thanks. His visitor was off in an instant as soon as he had thus spoken, and left the young man to his reflections. "A curious old boy, that," said he, in a soliloquy, his mercurial temperament running into a new vein of thought. "Good-natured, no doubt-full of the milk of human kindness. And that's what I wantkindness from somebody that I can respect-somebody that I can look upon with a sort of veneration. Bedad, I was a little nettled at first to hear him talk so sharp. But then his mild eyes, looking apparently into your very soul, had the power of utterly subduing me. It was a weakness-just a passing qualm. Psha! its unmanly to give way to such feelings. At any rate, I'll go and seek the old gent, who has so kindly taken a fancy to me. Well, who knows what may come of it! He has raised hope in my heart. I feel I am capable of great things, if I could only get into the right position for a fit exercise of my peculiar qualities."

That night Greenaway made strong internal resolve that he would amend. He would never enter into a Bacchanalian temple, high or low; he would eschew all his old companions who indulged in a diurnal tipple; he would attend regularly to hear the “ reverend doctor," who had always evinced such a kind interest in his spiritual welfare,

Then he sat down, and wrote a long letter to his mother, with an enclosure to his sister; and when he had performed this duty he felt satisfied, and his mind began to indulge in pleasant prospective visions, which were afterwards, when he had fallen into a state of somnolency, changed into a paradisiacal enjoyment of all the delights of this world, mingled with that vague, undefinable happiness associated with the invisible glory of a more exalted condition of spiritual existence.

CHAPTER IV.

HOW GREENAWAY GOT ON.

Mr. James Stewart, merchant, of Municipal Buildings, was a gentleman of esteemed probity and extensive local influence. He was engaged in trade-a branch which contributed to the beauty and utility of architectural development. He enjoyed civic honours, moreover; and in his sphere of action, as town councillor, was acknowledged a useful and honest public servant.

Of course Greenaway was punctual in calling at Mr. Stewart's office at the hour he had mentioned. A week after, and he might have been found in that gentleman's office, where he had been installed in the position of a junior clerk, at a salary sufficient for his present purposes.

It now becomes necessary to take a rapid glance over the incidents of several years, in order to condense our narrative within the prescribed limit assigned by editorial proportion.

And how did Greenaway conduct himself in his new sphere of labour? Most satisfactorily! After the lapse of twelve months, his master was so well pleased with him that he increased his salary and introduced him into a more confidential position. And he had reason for so doing. The aims of Greenaway had become elevated by association with unselfish men-men who labour to assist poor weak souls, pining in spiritual destitution, down at the very lowest rung of the social ladder. He had been learning to control himself, and was beginning to look

upon life as a state of transition, where the highest happiness is only secured by labouring for the eleva tion of mind. In this duty he began to take a part. The way had been opened by old Robert Raikes, whose memory is honoured and revered by thousands of young men, who have devoted their ener gies to the spiritual instruction of the indigent and ignorant youth that swarm in the metropolitan and manufacturing towns of these kingdoms.

The death of Greenaway's mother left him the master of a few hundred pounds, by the disposal of the farm on which she had been located. His sister came to town to live with him. But Greenaway did not long enjoy the pleasure of her society; for it turned out that there was "a nearer one still, and a dearer one" whom she had left behind, and who asserted a stronger claim upon her affections than all the world beside. He came to Greenaway one day, and pressed his claim, which had been already acknowledged in the proper quarter. Of course Greenaway couldn't stand in the way of his sister's happiness. So, ere long, an interesting ceremony was performed in a certain church, by a clergyman who, like Zaccheus, was of small stature, but of great good-humour; and, in another week, the happy couple-to use the familiar phrase of the newspapers -sailed away for Australia, to reclaim the wilderness and replenish the earth.

In due time, a letter was received from the far land; and Greenaway's mind was captivated by the glowing description written by his sister of the strange country in which she had settled. She was now so very happy. Her husband had bought a sheep-run at a distance of ten miles from Sydney. He had stocked it; built a comfortable domicile, and would likely be the owner of a grand fortune in a very few years. Oh, what a glorious country; and if dear Greenaway were only there, how he would get on! Oh, that he might come, and make his loving sister happy, and open his own pathway to fame and fortune!

This letter filled Greenaway's mind with thankfulness, and kindled a desire for new scenes. The idea of going to that "land of promise" which his sister eulogised caused him to be abstracted, and not so efficient in his usual duties. In the course of business, one day, he made a serious blunder, which caused Mr. Stewart to speak to him in very sharp language. On that particular day, the good gentleman had been at the Council chamber, and a member of the august body had charged him with dishonesty in the supply of a public contract. Mr. Stewart was vexed and irritated in consequence of the attack which had been directed against his character. Everybody who knew him believed that he was incapable of the offence with which he had been charged. His friends had told him not to mind the bully of the Council chamber; that he was speaking for effect, regardless of truth, and so-forth; his aim being to damage the party with which Mr. Stewart had been identified. The latter felt that these assurances were true; but he was not the less annoyed at the vituperation of his loquacious slanderer. So when he came into his own office, and discovered the mistake of his clerk, which might have had the effect of damaging his credit, and injuring his mercantile status, he ac costed Greenaway, as we have already observed, in a style unusually harsh and severe.

Greenaway retorted angrily. He was stunned by Mr. Stewart's demeanour, and lost all control over his temper. The paroxyism was momentary, but it lasted long enough to make a yawning chasm in the relative position of the two men.

A year and a-half has elapsed since the altercation between Greenaway and Mr. Stewart. It has been a

time of change and trial-of success and depression. We find Greenaway has become an adventurer in the gold-fields of Australia. He had rejoined his sister; and after resting for a while in her happy home, and welcoming a minor Greenaway into existence, he started for the diggings. He was one of the most successful miners that ever prospected "upon his own hook," to use a phrase common among the cradle-rockers of Australia. He found one solid piece of pure gold which weighed upwards of sixty pounds. Fortunate fellow! In a few days he succeeded in realising what to him was exceeding wealth. Having become rich enough to satisfy himself he abandoned the toilsome life of the miner, and established himself in business in Victoria.

He had not been long in his new vocation when he was one day startled by the entrance of a gentleman with whose face he had been familiar.

"Well, Greenaway," said he, "I'm glad to see you alive. I hope you've not forgotten your old master." Poor Greenaway! His heart leaped with joy. "Oh, sir!" said he, "how glad I am to see you."

Then Greenaway took his old friend into his private office, and he asked Mr. Stewart's forgiveness for one action, the remembrance of which had caused him so much bitterness.

"I was too abrupt," said Greenaway. "I forgot your kindness to me in a moment of passion; and I made a decision on the instant from which I could not force myself to draw back."

"Greenaway, perhaps it is I that owes the apology," said Mr. Stewart, "but I am too poor to make it. Perhaps, however, Providence has ordered things aright. I hope that you have had no reason to regret leaving the old country. You seem to be in the way of doing well."

Yes, Greenaway was doingwell, hewas thankful to say. "But you have not come alone to this country ?" Greenaway ventured to inquire.

He had not come alone. His wife was with him, and his daughter Julia.

The blood coursed quickly through the arterial system of the fortunate miner, and his heart palpitated with strange emotion. He could not speak. His mind was in a whirlpool of excitement. Mr. Stewart relieved him by observing that he had only landed a few days ago; and while making a survey of the town, he had accidentally happened to observe his name upon the doorway; and thinking that it must be an indication of the whereabouts of his runaway young friend, he had called to satisfy himself upon the point.

Not many days after the above agreeable interview, we find Greenaway a visitor in the lodgings of Mr. and Mrs. Stewart; and his interesting attentions are freely bestowed upon the lovely Julia, and graciously permitted by her fond mother. Greenaway's social position placed him upon an equality with his old master; but he still felt for him that innate respect and regard which he entertained under different cir

cumstances.

After Greenaway had left Ireland, Mr. Stewart encountered a series of losses in business, which forced him to abandon the position he had occupied. Being a sensitive man, and imbued with a degree of pride which imparted a tone of firmness to his character, he resolved not to remain in the old sphere of his mercantile activity. So, he gathered up the remnant of his means, and emigrated with his wife and daughter to the Land of Gold. And thus it was that Mr. Stewart and Greenaway were again brought together.

A mutual feeling of confidence and attachment sprung up between Mr. Stewart and Greenaway, which ripened into friendship. The first result of

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this was that they became partners in business. At the present time, it may be said without disrespect to their rivals, that Messrs. Stewart & Goodfellow are the most eminent importers of agricultural implements in the colony of Victoria.

A word in regard to one who has been incidentally referred to in this narrative-the fair little Julia. After the usual term of probation, and the usual interchange of the little etceteras which are so dear to hearts fluttering all over in the fragrant atmosphere of love, Julia became Mrs. Goodfellow. And she made Greenaway so happy, and her father and mother were so happy, and she was so pleased and so happy herself, that we might well believe if only one-half of the enjoyment they all felt could be imparted to the rest of the wide family of mankind, the world would send up to Heaven such a shout of exultation as was not heard since the morning when the sympathising angels sang out-" Glory to God in the highest, on earth peace-good-will towards men!" THOMAS HENRY.

The Carollers.

UNDERNEATH my window,

Where the snow lies white,

I can hear sweet voices
Singing in the night:
As the night-wind varies,
So they rise and fall,
In this quaint old carol
Joining one and all :---
"In the East a grey light
Prophesies the morn;
Up, and hail the daylight-
Christ the Lord is born!"

As a child, how often,

Till the midnight dim, Have I waked and waited

For that Christmas hymnHeard the footsteps coming,

Heard them stop beneathFor the burst of music

Watched with bated breath :

:

"In the East a grey light," &c.

Simple words of wisdom,

"Christ the Lord is born!" Up, then, and be doing,

On the Christmas morn! Up, and raise the fallen!

Up, and aid the poor! Keep for all your fellows

Open heart and door!

"In the East a grey light," &c.
Up! if one have wronged thee,
Be the wrong forgiven!
Up! if any love thee,

Render thanks to Heaven!
So my heart interprets,
This old melody,
That beneath my window
Voices sing to me :-

"In the East a grey light, &c.

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Rough Waters.

CHAPTER XX.

66

TELLS HOW BREAD CAST UPON THE WATERS" WAS

FOUND.

THEY were now at the door, when Mr. Letstieg said, "Catchwell, don't we require a warrant, or an order from a magistrate ?"

"All right, sir. I have that ar document in my pocket here."

Just as he was about to knock, he saw the detective, who had been engaged as a clerk by Wriggles, coming out of the public-house opposite.

"Hollo, Sayers, is the chick safe ?" "Begad, sir, he's off."

"God of Heaven

"Off!" exclaimed Mr. Letstieg. have pity upon me! Strengthen me, O Lord!" were the exclamations forced from his lips.

To describe the overwhelming anguish of Mr. Letstieg is beyond our power. Have you ever seen a fair child, dangled in a father's arms at an open window, fall to the pavement below, and the father, powerless to save, flinging back his head, and hiding his eyes with stiffened hands, in vain tries to shut out the terrible sight; in vain, for it is lithographed on his heart? Have you ever seen the agony which wrings the life-blood from loving hearts when parting, perhaps for ever? Have you seen the despair of the miser, who worshipped wealth, and knew no greater joy than to look upon it, come to find all-all gone-not a stiver remaining? If you have seen any of these sights of woe, you can then imagine Mr. Letstieg's grief. The grief of another was added to his own as he leaned against the wall for support. "How can I ever tell this to Louisa? It will kill her!"

"Talk not of grief till thou hast seen
The tears of warlike men,"

says Mrs. Hemans. Leave out "warlike," and you have a prosaic stern truth. Although Mr. Letstieg had been schooled in affliction-though he had the strength and consolation of religion, he could not check the tears that came unbidden.

The door of Mr. Wriggle's house opened, and it was with mutual surprise he and Mrs. Hunter looked at each other. The reader remembers that Mrs. Hunter was Mr. Wriggle's sister. Mr. Letstieg could not abide her vulgarity, but Mrs. Letstieg still said "there was a great deal of good in her;" but, then, kind-hearted Mrs. Letstieg had a good word to say for every one.

'Why, dear me, sir, who would have thought that you, of all people, would come here. I know how much you blamed my brother; but, then, you are so very forgiving. Many a time Hunter said you were a pattern to the congregation. You have heard how my poor brother has got into trouble something about papers. He wrote to me yesterday to come up at once, and though it was Sunday, I came with Tommy."

There was little occasion to tell that Master Tommy was with her, for, eschewing the natural and old-fashioned way of coming down stairs, by the steps, he was sliding down the banisters cross-legs, when, seeing his mother in the hall, and expecting the box in the ear with which she visited such pranks, he stopped short, and, losing his balance, fell on his head, causing a shock like a miniature earthquake, followed by a roar which testified that Master Tommy's lungs were no way affected.

"Gracious me! there's that young villain at his old

tricks, wearing the seat out of his trousers sliding along the banisters; and going over, she gave him a shake that, if any bones were out of joint by the fall, was sufficient to replace them.

"That boy, sir, gives me a great deal of annoyance. The only one that could ever control him or teach him anything was that Miss Singtrel or Singletree, or some name of that kind. What a pity she turned out so badly. I hope she did not impose on dear Mrs. Letstieg, who is as innocent as a child."

Mr. Letstieg listened quietly; he was in no humour to interrupt her, and, besides, he was waiting for Catchwell, who seemed to be holding an angry consultation with his brother detective outside, in which he caught the words "Drunk" and "Report."

"Wont you come into the drawing-room, Mr. Letstieg ?"

“No, thank you. When did the child that was here go away?"

"Bless me, Tommy is bad enough; but that lad was ten times worse. We were not an hour in the house when both of them began to fight. He gave Tommy a black eye, and then slung himself like a wild cat out of the window. Tobias told me, in his letter, not to let that young scapegrace out of my sight; but except I had eyes in the back of my head I could not watch him."

"I would give five hundred pounds to lay my eyes upon that child. Alas! how I seem to be mocked by hope!"

"Five hundred pounds, did I ever!"

"Mrs. Hunter, I suspect that boy is my lost child." "Your lost child, that there was such a great trial about!"

"Yes."

"Well, I often read of such things. Sir Walter Scott mentions a child that was stolen and turned up again; and in the London Journal and Family Herald I read how-but, bless me, there's that boy at some mischief again ;" and away went this thoughtless and, we blush to say it, good-for-nothing woman to correct her young hopeful, perhaps with a box in the ear. When she returned-"I hope my brother may get this affair of his settled, and that I may be able to return to-morrow-but you were saying that you thought that was your child."

Mr. Letstieg rose to depart; he did not care to enter into explanations or prolong the conversation with a woman incapable of feeling any sympathy with him in his trouble. The first shock of disappointment over, hope again filled his heart, and he went to see what Catchwell might now suggest.

"Don't be the least uneasy, sir, I'll nab him soon again, except he gets away in some of these forren vessels; sometimes they are glad to pick up lads like him."

"See, Catchwell, I'll double the reward; employ all the hands you can, and don't keep his poor mother and myself in this terrible suspense."

"This moment, sir, I am going to three or four haunts, and in all probability he is at some one of them. Good night, sir."

They parted, Catchwell on his search, and Mr. Letstieg, with a heavy heart, to tell again of "hope deferred."

When he reached Mr. Gilby's he stopt a moment before knocking. He knew how his poor wife would run down at that knock, and he pictured the look of agony with which she would hear of his want of success. He looked up to the windows, and saw the lights flitting from room to room; heard footsteps running hastily up and down stairs, and as the door opened, he heard the doctor, who was leaving, say

"Keep them quiet, now, and in a few hours all danger will be over,"