go there; and Frank soon found that he had to choose between his home without his friend and the companionship of Arthur somewhere else; and I grieve to say that he made the wrong choice.

When a bank has several branches, it often happens that clerks are sent to one or other of them; and in the course of about two years and a half Frank was told that it had been decided he should go to Woolborough, a large town in Yorkshire. Frank was much pleased. It was a step up for him, and he would get a much larger salary. His parents, however, though gratified by the confidence which it showed in Frank on the part of the directors, were very sorry. It is always an anxious time for parents when they have to send their sons out into the world, especially when they have no reason to believe that they have sought and found the grace of God. This, however, in some degree lessened their regret, that Frank would be removed from Godwin's influence, and that he would have the opportunity of making a new start.

I had a friend in Woolborough, the father of a large family, and I wrote to him, begging him to show Frank some little attention. At the same time I told him frankly how much he had disappointed me, but that I hoped his removal to Woolborough would prove for him the beginning of a better life. My friend very kindly replied, saying how glad he would be to see him. For some time Frank went to the house with tolerable frequency, but by-and-by he dropped off; he had found associates too much of Godwin's stamp, and he liked them better.

Two years passed away, during which Frank paid an occasional visit to Meldish, but I saw very little of him. At the end of that time Mr. Redford called in great trouble to tell me that Frank had thrown up his situation in the bank, and that he did not know what he would do. The fact was, it had been so put to him by the manager that he had no alternative but to resign. He had committed no fraud, but his habits had of late been very irregular, and it

had come to the manager's ears that he was addicted to gambling, and also that he was largely in debt, all of which was only too true. I do not know how much his father had to pay for him, but it was a large sum.

Frank tried to get another situation, but without success. It was a time of bad trade, when large numbers of clerks were out of employment; and then, too, whilst the manager said what he could for him, the best character he could give him was unsatisfactory. His father told him he might go home and render what help he could in the office till something arose, but he was too proud for that. If, he said, his father would pay his passage to Australia, he would go and try to make a fresh start there; but he would not go home.

He went, and for a long time nothing was heard either from him or about him. As he afterwards said, he had made up his mind not to write to his friends till he had something to tell them worth hearing. At length we ceased to mention his name.

One morning, however, about five years after Frank had left England, Mr. Redford called to see me. I saw at once that he had something important to tell me, for he was so deeply moved that he could scarcely speak. I led the way into my study, and there we sat down together.

"My boy," he said, "my poor boy!"

At first I thought he had received evil tidings, and I suppose my looks showed my fears.

"No, no," he said, "it is not that. It is all right. Our prayers have been heard."

He tried to say more, but failed. Then he put his hand into his pocket and produced a letter. I knew the hand

writing at once-it was Frank's.

The letter opened with expressions of deep regret for all the trouble and grief Frank had caused his parents, and with entreaties for their forgiveness. He then recounted all that time he left England till the

had happened to him from the day he wrote. He had found that his way of transgression

was very hard; but through Divine mercy he had forsaken it, and he had found peace with God.

The voyage out had been a sad one. The home he had left rose before him most vividly, and his conscience told him how ill he had requited his mother's and his father's love. Still his thoughts centred chiefly on himself. He had been a great fool to throw away his chances as he had done; but he would retrieve his fortunes, and show to everybody who knew him that he was a man after all.

On his arrival at Sydney he soon learnt that the market for clerks of every kind was overstocked.

"Clerks!" said somebody to whom he spoke, "they are as plentiful as blackberries here, and as useless. We want men who have a trade in their fingers and who can work."

But Frank had learnt no trade, and in his desperation he hired himself to a sheep and stock farmer up the country. It was hard work; he sometimes bitterly compared himself, he said, to the Prodigal in the parable, when he was sent into the fields to feed swine.

His hard toil brought him little more than food and clothing. Mary a long day and many a dreary night he passed on the hills; and the rough huts, which were the best shelter he ever had, were in sad contrast with the home in which he was born. Still he proudly said he had made his bed and he would lie on it. Nobody should hear him whine or complain. What cared he so long as he was healthy and strong?

But his health failed; he had a severe illness, and then how he longed for his mother! As yet he did not know it; but God was gradually bringing him back to Himself.

One day, as he sat alone in his hut, still weak and unequal to anything like work, his eye caught sight of a Bible which belonged to one of his fellow-stockmen, a Scotchman. More for the sake of whiling away the time than anything else, he crawled to the place where it was, and took it back to his seat.

Here and there, when he opened it he found some passages

marked. They had been marked by the owner's mother, in the hope that some day her son might see and ponder them. One of the passages was this: "But if from thence thou shalt seek the Lord thy God, thou shalt find Him, if thou shalt seek Him with all thy heart and with all thy soul."

"Why," he said, "this might have been written for me. Here am I, like Israel, far from home, and, like Israel, driven hither by my sins; and yet it tells me that if I cry to God, He will hear me just as readily as if I were at home in England."

Then he turned to the New Testament, and opened it at the parable of the Prodigal Son. The stockman's loving mother had marked that also. Tears streamed fast down his cheeks, and he cried, "This too is for me!"

He read on and on; fresh light broke in on his mind, and at length, penitent and believing, he cast himself on the Divine mercy, and found peace with God. So, too, did the stockman, whom he told at once what he had found in the Bible his mother had marked.

I need not say how delighted I was to read all this.

A pressing entreaty was sent to Frank to come back at once; and he returned with the least possible delay. Fortunately, just about the time of his return, his next brother, who had taken his place in his father's office, received an offer of an excellent situation at a distance; and Frank was glad and thankful to take his place. I have good hope that he will do well; though I am afraid he will never make up for the loss of those wasted years.

Deut. iv. 29.

BY REV. P. B, POWER, M.A.,

Author of" The I Wills' of the Psalms," "The Oiled Feather," &c.

HIS is about the very last
think Christ would do.

thing which most people

They think that religion

makes "sneaks," "cowards," "milk-sops," "old women," and no one knows what, that's miserable " of a person, they

and poor; but as to its making "a man never heard of such a thing in their lives.

Well, if you never heard of such a thing in your life, perhaps you won't object to hear of it now-people are always ready for a bit of news, and this may be news to you. Perhaps it may also be news that no one but Christ can make a real man of you, and that He is as willing as He is able.