have yet committed against him." He then explained to him in a few words, as well as he was able, the nature of repentance, and forgiveness through a Savior, and warned him earnestly against unbelief and hardness of heart.

Poor Jack grew much refreshed in body with the comfortable things he had taken; and a little cheered with Stock's kindness in coming so far to see and to forgive such a forlorn outcast, sick of an infectious distemper, and locked within the walls of a prison. Surely, said he to himself, there must be some mighty power in a religion which can lead men to do such things! things so much against the grain as to forgive such an injury, and to risk catching such a distemper: but he was so weak, he could not express this in words. He tried to pray, but he could not; at length, overpowered with weariness, he fell asleep.

When Mr. Stock came back, he was surprised to find him so much better in body; but his agonies of mind were dreadful, and he had now got strength to express part of the horrors which he felt. "James," said he (looking wildly), “it is all over with me. I am a lost creature. Even your prayers cannot save me." "Dear Jack," replied Mr. Stock, "I am no minister; it does not become me to talk much to thee; but I know I may venture to say whatever is in the Bible. As ignorant as I am, I shall be safe enough while I stick to that." "Ay," said the sick man, "you used to be ready enough to read to me, and I would not listen, or if I did, it was only to make fun of what I heard, and now you will not so much as read a bit of a chapter to me."

This was the very point to which Stock longed to bring him. So he took a little Bible out of his pocket, which he always carried with him on a journey, and read slowly, verse by verse, the 55th chapter of Isaiah. When he came to the

sixth and seventh verses, poor Jack cried so much, that Stock was forced to stop. The words were, "Let the wicked man forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts, and let him 'return unto the Lord." Here Brown stopped him, saying, "O, it is too late, too late for me." "Let me finish the verse," said Stock, "and you will see your error; you will see that it is never too late." So he read on-"Let him return unto the Lord, and he will have mercy upon him; and to our God, and he will abundantly pardon.' Here Brown started up, snatched the book out of his hand, and cried out, Is that really there? No, no; that's of your own putting in, in order to comfort me; let me look at the words myself." "No, indeed," said Stock, "I

would not for the world give you unfounded comfort, or put off any notion of my own for a Scripture doctrine." "But is it possible!" cried the sick man, "that God may really pardon me? Dost think he can? Dost think he will?" "I am sure of it," said Stock; "I dare not give thee false hopes, or indeed any hopes of my own. But these are God's own words, and the only difficulty is to know when we are really brought into such a state as that the words may be applied to us. For a text may be full of comfort, and yet may not belong to us."

Mr. Stock was afraid of saying more. He would not venture out of his depth; nor, indeed, was poor Brown able to bear more discourse just now. So he made him a present of the Bible, folding down such places as he thought might be best suited to his state, and took his leave, being obliged to return home that night. He left a little money with the gaoler, to add a few comforts to the allowance of the prison, and promised to return in a short time.

When he got home, he described the sufferings and misery of Brown in a very moving manner; but Tommy Williams, instead of being properly affected at it, only said, "Indeed, master, I am not very sorry; he is rightly served." "How, Tommy," said Mr. Stock (rather sternly), "not sorry to see a fellow-creature brought to the lowest state of misery; one, too, whom you have known so prosperous?" "No, master, I can't say I am; for Mr. Brown used to make fun of you, and laugh at you for being so godly, and reading your Bible."

"Let me say a few words to you, Tommy," said Mr. Stock. "In the first place, you should never watch for the time of a man's being brought low by trouble, to tell of his faults. Next, you should never rejoice at his trouble, but pity him, and pray for him. Lastly, as to his ridiculing me for my religion, if I cannot stand an idle jest, I am not worthy the name of a Christian. He that is ashamed of me and my word,'-dost remember what follows, Tommy?" "Yes, master, 'twas last Sunday's text,—' of him shall the Son of man be ashamed, when he shall judge the world.'”

Mr. Stock soon went back to the prison. But he did not go alone. He took with him Mr. Thomas, the worthy minister who had been the guide and instructor of his youth, who was so kind as to go at his request, and visit this forlorn prisoner. When they got to Brown's door, they found him sitting up in his bed with the Bible in his hand. This was a joyful sight to Mr. Stock, who secretly thanked God for it.

Brown was reading aloud; they listened; it was the fifteenth of Saint Luke. The circumstances of this beautiful parable of the prodigal son were so much like his own, that the story pierced him to the soul; and he stopped every minute, to compare his own case with that of the prodigal. He was just got to the eighteenth verse, "I will arise and go to my father," at that moment he spied his two friends; joy darted into his eyes. "O, dear Jem," said he, "it is not too late: I will arise and go to my Father, my heavenly Father; and you, sir, will show me the way, won't you?" said he to Mr. Thomas, whom he recollected. "I am very glad to see you in so hopeful a disposition," said the good minister. "O, sir," said Brown, "what a place is this to receive you in! O, see to what I have brought myself!"

"Your condition, as to this world, is indeed very low," replied the good divine. "But what are mines, dungeons, or galleys, to that eternal, hopeless prison to which your unrepented sins must soon have consigned you! Even in this gloomy prison, on this bed of straw, worn down by pain, poverty, and want; forsaken by your worldly friends, an object of scorn to those with whom you used to carouse and riot; yet here, I say, brought thus low, if you have at last found out your own vileness, and your utterly undone state by sin, you may still be more an object of favor in the sight of God, than when you thought yourself prosperous and happy; when the world smiled upon you, and you passed your days and nights in envied gayety and unchristian riot. If you will but improve the present awful visitation; if you do but heartily renounce and abhor your present evil courses; if you even now turn to the Lord your Savior, with lively faith, deep repentance, and unfeigned obedience, I shall still have more hope of you than of many who are going on quite happy, because quite insensible. The heavy-laden sinner, who has discovered the iniquity of his own heart, and his utter inability to help himself, may be restored to God's favor, and become happy, though in a dungeon. And be assured, that he who, from deep and humble contrition, dares not so much as lift up his eyes to heaven, when with a hearty faith he sighs out, 'Lord, be merciful to me a sinner,' shall in no wise be cast out. These are the words of Him who cannot lie."

It is impossible to describe the self-abasement, the grief, the joy, the shame, the hope, and the fear, which filled the mind of this poor man. A dawn of comfort at length shone on his benighted mind. His humility, and fear of falling back into his former sins, if he should ever recover, Mr. Thomas

thought, were strong symptoms of a sound repentance. He improved and cherished every good disposition he saw arising in his heart; and particularly warned him against self-deceit, self-confidence, and hypocrisy.

After Brown had deeply expressed his sorrow for his of fences, Mr. Thomas thus addressed him::-"There are two ways of being sorry for sin. Are you, Mr. Brown, afraid of the guilt of sin because of the punishment annexed to it, or are you afraid of sin itself? Do you wish to be delivered from the power of sin? do you hate sin because you know it is offensive to a pure and holy God? or are you only ashamed of it because it has brought you to a prison, and exposed you to the contempt of the world? It is not said that the wages of this or that particular sin is death, but of sin in general; there is no exception made because it is a more creditable, or a favorite sin, or because it is a little one. There are, I repeat, two ways of being sorry for sin. Cain was sorry-' My punishment is greater than I can bear,' said he; but here you see the punishment seemed to be the cause of concern, not of sin. David seems to have had a true notion of godly sorrow, when he says, 'Wash me from mine iniquity, cleanse me from my sin.' And when Job 'repented in dust and ashes,' it is not said he excused himself, but 'he abhorred himself.' And the prophet Isaiah called himself 'undone,' because he was a man of unclean lips;' for, said he, 'I have seen the King, the Lord of hosts; that is, he could not take the proper measure of his own iniquity till he had considered the perfect holiness of God."

One day, when Mr. Thomas and Mr. Stock came to see him, they found him more than commonly affected. His face was more ghastly pale than usual; and his eyes were red with crying. "Oh, sir," said he, "what a sight have I just seen! Jolly George, as we used to call him, the ringleader of all our mirth, who was at the bottom of all the fun, and tricks, and wickedness, that are carried on within these walls, Jolly George is just dead of the jail distemper! he taken, and I left! I would be carried into his room to speak to him, to beg him to take warning by me, and that I might take warning by him. But what did I see! what did I hear! not one sign of repentance; not one dawn of hope. Agony of body, blasphemies on his tongue, despair in his soul; while I am spared, and comforted with hopes of mercy and acceptance. O, if all my old friends at the Greyhound could but then have seen Jolly George! a hundred sermons about death, sir, don't speak so home, and cut so deep, as the sight of one dying sinner."

Brown grew gradually better in his health; that is, the fe ver mended; but the distemper settled in his limbs, so that he seemed likely to be a poor, weakly cripple the rest of his life, But as he spent much of his time in prayer, and in reading such parts of the Bible as Mr. Thomas directed, he improved every day in knowledge and piety, and, of course, grew more resigned to pain and infirmity.

Some months after this, his hard-hearted father, who had never been prevailed upon to see him, or offer him the least relief, was taken off suddenly by a fit of apoplexy; and, after all his threatenings, he died without a will. He was one of those silly, superstitious men, who fancy they shall die the sooner for having made one; and who love the world and the things that are in the world, so dearly, that they dread to set about any business which may put them in mind that they are not always to live in it. As, by this neglect, his father had not fulfilled his threat of cutting him off with a shilling, Jack, of course, went shares with his brothers in what their father left. What fell to him proved to be just enough to discharge him from prison, and to pay all his debts, but he had nothing left. His joy at being thus enabled to make restitution was so great, that he thought little of his own wants. He did not desire to conceal the most trifling debt, nor to keep a shilling for himself.

Mr. Stock undertook to settle all his affairs. There did not remain money enough, after every creditor was satisfied, even to pay for his removal home. Mr. Stock kindly sent his own cart for him, with a bed in it, made as comfortable as possible, for he was too weak and lame to be removed any other way; and Mrs. Stock gave the driver a particular charge to be tender and careful of him, and not to drive hard, nor to leave the cart a moment.

Mr. Stock would fain have taken him into his own house, at least for a time, so convinced was he of his sincere reformation, both of heart and life; but Brown would not be prevailed on to be further burdensome to this generous friend. He insisted on being carried to the parish work-house, which he said was a far better place than he deserved. In this house Mr. Stock furnished a small room for him, and sent him every day a morsel of meat from his own dinner. Tommy Williams begged that he might always be allowed to carry it, as some atonement for his having for a moment so far forgotten his duty, as rather to rejoice than sympathize in Brown's misfortunes. He never thought of this fault without sorrow, and often thanked his master for the whole