believed in, loved, and followed, is the guardian of character on earth, as well as the hope of salvation in heaven. Therefore to be men of honour, men of truth, honest men, true and just in all our dealings, let us be "men of God," and all the rest is safe.

The evidence was sadly clear, the jury were unanimous, and the verdict "guilty" caused no further sensation in court than general glances of pain and pity on the pale haggard face of the prisoner. No defence was set up, and sentence was passed.

Henry Morrison," said the judge, "you are convicted before a jury of your countrymen, of fraud and forgery;" and then he went on, threading back through the maze of sin, extravagance, and folly, and drawing a solemn moral from the disgraceful tale; ending with sentence of transportation for life to a penal settlement.

There was dead silence, the features of the prisoner worked fearfully, he attempted to speak, and after a violent struggle for self-command, his hoarse voice broke the stillness.

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And

My lord, gentlemen, one word. I acknowledge that you have done justly and your duty. I knew there was no escape for me since the hour of my apprehension. that would never have come had I but dared to rush, as I had purposed, on self-destruction. Would you know what withheld me? It is good to tell while time yet remains for repentance-it was the remembrance of my mother. I have neglected her precepts or I had not come to this. I have disobeyed her commands, and but for one recollection should yet further have defied her God. But I saw her in my mind and memory; I saw her as she sat once, years ago, not long before he took her from me, weeping tears of sorrow over my first debt. That debt was the beginning of my ruin, those tears act yet as ministers of mercy. Young men," he added, vehemently, "young men, boys even; beware of debt, beware of a first debt, beware of expenses beyond your means. They must make you live a tortured wretch; they may lead you to a felon's grave."

Ernest worked hard and well; his salary was very small at first, and it was difficult to pay his lodging, and buy wholesome food enough; but he earned a little more after a time by keeping a set of books for a small trades

He denied himself

man during his evening leisure. every indulgence, he took no holiday, being resolved that his first recreation should be a journey home with the amount of the vicar's loan in his pocket.

Time flies, whether in work or pleasure, and at last the first object of his toil was accomplished, and Ernest rejoicingly took his way homeward, assured by his kind employer that he would be much missed and that all would be glad to see him back again. Of a good son's welcome home after long absence who can tell pleasantly enough? So Ernest's shall not be told at all, except that it was downright genuine happiness on all sides. The vicar was glad that he had trusted him, and that Ernest had so well deserved the trust.

"But now, my dear boy," said he, as they sat together as in former times when Ernest used to come with some knotty point in his studies, "now, what about the other debt?"

"The other debt, sir?"

"Yes, you remember I hope. How much owest thou unto my Lord ?"

"Nothing, sir," replied Ernest with a flush rising over his honest face. "It is written, Owe no man anything,' I could not get beyond that."

"Then what have you done about it, Ernest?"

"I confessed, sir, that I had nothing to pay Him with, and he frankly forgave' me all."

"This is good news to me, my boy-it was all I wanted to know, for it assures me that all will go well with you in the right and best sense; and perhaps, too, it lies at the root of the self-denial and perseverance with which you have laboured to repay your debt to me."

"It lies at the root of the motive, sir. My pride began it, but I scarcely think pride would have held on through temptations and difficulties for so long as several years. Your parting prayer that God would give me health and power to do my duty, often came back with the reminder of my dependence upon him for everything, On Sundays especially I thought about it, and each shilling I put away for you, seemed to speak of my debt to him. From this I

looked to find what sort of a return I was making for all that God was doing for me, until I got sick at heart of myself and my doings, and was obliged to feel worthless and ashamed. It was not a loan could serve me then, but

the free gift of a forgiving Father in his Son Jesus Christ. Safe in him by faith, under the operation of his Holy Spirit, I have been guarded from much evil, and saved through many a temptation; God kept and helped me, sir, and changed the pride that had mingled with my gratitude to you, into a loving desire to do right for his sake."

"That's the trustworthy thing," said the good man, with delight;" and the great debt that was paid for you and me, rightly believed and appreciated, is the true starting point for all that is noble in manhood, and righteous in life, as well as all that is glorious and blessed in a better world."

LIGHT IN DARKNESS.

Ir was autumn. The leaves were falling, the flowers fading, and the wind sighing, as if in sorrow to see so much beauty pass away, when a lady, dressed in deep mourning, sat reading the Bible by a half-opened window in her country home. She read of Abraham's sacrifice of Isaac, and of the raising to life of the widow of Nain's only son. As she read the tears fell thick and fast, yet there was in them more of joy than of sorrow.

She read how God said to Abraham, "Take now thy son, thine only son Isaac, whom thou lovest, and get thee into the land of Moriah, and offer him there for a burnt offering upon one of the mountains that I will tell thee of;" and it seemed as though God had spoken to her the same words. Then when she turned to the New Testament, where Luke tells of a "dead man carried out, the only son of his mother, and she was a widow;" that sad funeral procession seemed so like one yet fresh in her memory. She had had, like Abraham, to give up her only son, whom she loved; and like the woman of Nain she was a widow. Once she had a husband, in whose protection she felt so safe, guided by whose wisdom she felt so sure, comforted by whose love she felt so happy; but he was gone, and she was alone!

Yet not quite alone; for before her husband's grave was green, there was given to her a son, as if to fill his father's place. The mother's love and hope helped to heal the widow's wounds; the wants of her child called her thoughts away from her own loss, and as he grew in years and

stature her home was brightened with his sunny head and gleeful eye, and made to ring with the merriment and music of his voice. Then she thanked God for his goodness, and her heart grew bigger, and she loved the child yet more and more.

Months and years went by, hastened by motherly hopes and cares. For the time went fast as she attended to her boy's physical and intellectual wants. And when she laboured for him with her hands, her thoughts would run on into the future and build up for him a glorious life. She loved to picture him doing his part nobly and well in the world's great work. She felt sure that he would be honourable and brave, if all besides were mean and cowardly; he would be pure and fond if none were so but him; and if all the world was unfaithful to conscience and God, he would be faithful. "For is he not already all this though so young?" thought she to herself; " and he grows in goodness and intelligence with his years."

But when the twelfth year of her widowhood and motherhood was numbered, with one rude blow all her goodly hopes were cut off. A fever seized the child, and he died. So to her, a widow, God said, "Give me thy son, thine only son, whom thou lovest."

Sorrow "makes the whole world kin," and so also does joy. So that autumn evening this widowed woman and childless mother felt she had true kinship with Abraham and the widow of Nain-kinship in both sorrow and joy. Kinship in sorrow assuredly. For was she not, like the woman of Nain, a widow? and had she not had, like Abraham, to give up her only son-even as a widow, like the widow of Nain, to give him up? And oh, the anguish of that giving up! Those nights and days of watching beside her child, who she knew was doomed to die, seemed to her like Abraham's three days' journey to the place that God would tell him of. She knew the way was shortening; soon she saw the mount of sacrifice; at the foot of that awful mountain she left her attendants and her friends, going up with her child alone into the sacred heights of sacrifice and death.

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But she could claim kinship with Abraham and the widow of Nain in joy as well as in sorrow. God gave back Isaac to Abraham, and Jesus said to the widow, Weep not," and also delivered to her her son; and so had she likewise heard the words " Weep not," and received back

her son. For when she had come back from the grave to her lone home, hastening to the chamber where the body of her buried child had lain, she threw herself upon the bed and gave vent in tears to the pent-up woe of her breaking heart. Overcome with the weariness of watching and weeping she fell asleep, and in her sleep she dreamed., In her dream she thought she was laid low with a grievous sickness, and there came to her bedside a venerable man with a gift for her from a far off land. She thought she had never seen a thing so rich and beautiful as this present was. It was a casket, which for the beauty of its form and workmanship surpassed all that human skill could contrive or execute, and for the costliness of its material outrivalled all the precious things of kings and emperors. Then the venerable man seeing how the beauty of the casket delighted her, tenderly and earnestly warned her against forgetting its inside in her admiration of its outside; and that said, he went his way. Now when she was left alone she fell again to admiring the casket, and forgot what it might contain. The more she looked upon it the more her admiration rose, until it acted on her as a charm, engaging all her thought and love. But while she was thus engrossed in love and wonder at the exceeding beauty of the casket, one fair as an angel stood by her, and with a look of tender, loving rebuke bade her give it to him. Then she wept loud and bitterly, and clasped the casket to her heart. But he spake as one having authority, and she yielded it up to him. When she gave it to him she thought he would carry it away; but great was her surprise when he broke it, laid aside the fragments, and gave to her the jewel therein contained. When she saw the jewel her tears for the lost casket dried; for if the casket was beautiful and precious, it yet could not compare with the heavenly beauty of the jewel. Then turning her eyes upon him who had given her the jewel when she before had had only the casket, the look that she met was full of such Divine love and wisdom, that she wished he would take care of the jewel too, till she should be loving and wise enough to care for it herself. With that she awoke.

And she awoke with Divine peace and comfort in her soul. She knew the interpretation of the dream, and blessed God for the consolation it had brought to her. Her boy was God's gift to her, but she in her admiration and love for what she saw had left unheeded the heavenly