the hand for the last time, you would have seen, in the falling tears and the quivering lip, that Willie was loved by them all.

There he sits, on the rustic bench in the little porch, beside his mother, with his hand in hers, just as he used to do, years ago; and, by the kindling of his eye, and the flashing of its light, I think he is telling her what he means to do for the kind mother who has cared for him, and prayed for him, ever since he was a helpless infant. How fondly the mother's eye beams upon him! How serene and happy she looks! And, as they retire into the house, and she hands him the old and worn Bible, and he reads its precious lessons, and then bows with her in prayer, it seems as though the spirit of her sainted husband had returned, and, with his clear, manly voice, was again leading the devotions at the evening sacrifice.

But where is Edward? Need I tell you the

end of sin? Come with me to yonder city. Here, we will stop at this great stone building. Do you see the high walls around it, with the sharp spikes upon their top? Let us enter. How dark and gloomy it is! How still and deathlike everything appears! The cold stone walls, and the hard stone floor, that seems colder still, are enough to make one shiver, even on this bright June morning.

Do you see those men yonder, hammering stone? How curiously they are dressed, and how sad they look! But mark that youth who stands in their midst, now leaning upon his hammer, as though lost in thought. Do you not know him? That is Edward Saunders, the little "Thieving Ned," whom we saw last riding off with the sheriff. From robbing orchards he went to robbing money-drawers. From scaling stone walls, and climbing peach-trees, to climbing into windows, and robbing houses. And, at

last, he was detected in some bold crime, and sent to this prison. Here he has been these three years, and here he must stay seven long years more! Do you wonder that he looks sad, and stands and thinks?

Poor fellow! Let us go away, and leave him. How sad it is to do wrong! How much better to love truth, and be honest! Young reader, whose example will you follow, "Truthful Willie's," or "Thieving Ned's?"

THE BOY WHO TOLD A LIE.

THE mother look'd pale, and her face was sad;
She seem'd to have nothing to make her glad:
She silently sat, with tears in her eye,
For her dear little boy had told a lie.

He was a pleasant, affectionate child;

His ways were winning, his temper was mild;
There was joy and love in his soft, blue eye;
But, O, this sweet boy had told a lie!

He stood by the window alone within,
And he felt that his soul was stain'd with sin;
And his mother could hear him sob and cry,
Because he had told her that wicked lie.

Then he came and lean'd by his mother's side,
And ask'd for a kiss, which she denied;
And he told her, with many a penitent sigh,
That he never would tell another lie.

Then she took his small hands within her own, And bade him before her kneel gently down; And she kiss'd his cheek while he look'd on high, And pray'd to be pardon'd for telling a lie.

Third Step-Honesty.

He that walketh uprightly, walketh surely.-Prov. x, 9.

S Deacon Seward was sitting one Sabbath evening in his beautiful arbor, in the rear of his garden, meditating upon the sermons he had heard during the day, and enjoying sweet communion with God, his attention was ar

rested by the conversation of two little boys, who were standing outside of the garden, with their eyes fastened on a pear-tree, loaded with