THE RUNAWAY'S RETURN. WELL! here am I, after my night's walk, once more in the village where I was born. The sun is up now, and shining brightly. Things appear the same, and yet different. How is it? There was a big tree used to stand at that corner; and where is Carver's cottage?

Three days ago I landed at Portsmouth. It was on my birthday. For ten long years have I been sailing about on the sea, and wandering about on the land. How things come over me! I am a man now; but for all that I could sit down and cry like a child.

It seems but as yesterday since I ran away from home. It was the worst day's work that I ever did. I got up in the morning at sunrise, while my father and my mother were asleep. Many and many a time had I been unkind to my dear mother, and undutiful to my father, and the day before he had told me how wrong I was. He spoke kindly and in sorrow, but my pride would not bear it. I thought I would leave homewhat is it that makes me tremble so now ?

My father coughed as I crept along by his door, and I thought that I heard my mother speak to him; so I stood a moment with my little bundle in my hand holding my breath. He coughed again. I have seemed to hear that cough in every quarter of the world.

When I had unlocked the door, my heart failed me, for my sister had kissed me over night, and told me she had something to tell me in the morning. I knew what it was; she had been knitting me a pair of garters to give me on my birthday. I turned back, opened the door of her little room, and looked at her; but my tears fell on the bed

clothes, and I was afraid it would wake her. Half blinded, I groped downstairs.

Just as I had gently closed the door, the casement rattled above my head. I looked up, and there was my mother. She spoke to me, and when I did not answer, she cried out loud to me. That cry has rung in my ears ever since; ay, in my very dreams!

As I hurried away, I felt, I suppose, as Cain felt when he had murdered his brother. My father, my mother, and my sister, had been kind to me; but I had been unkind to them, and in leaving them thus, I felt as if I were murdering

them all.

Had I been a robber, I could not have felt more guilty. But what do I say that for? I was a robber! I was robbing them of their peace. I was stealing that from them that the whole world could not make up to them; yet on I went. that I could bring back that hour!

Oh

The hills look as purple as they did when I used to climb up them. The rooks are cawing among the high elm trees by the church. whether they are the same rooks!

I wonder
There's a

shivering comes over me as I get nearer home. Home! I feel that there's no home for me.

Here is the corner of the hedge, and the old seat; but my father is not sitting there. There is the patch of ground that my sister called her garden, but she is not walking in it. And yonder is the bedroom window: my mother's not looking out of it now. That cry! that cry!

I see how it is. They are none of them here, or things would not look as they do. Father would not let the weeds grow in this fashion, nor the thatch fall in; and my mother and my sister never stuffed that straw through the broken panes.

I'll rap at the door, anyhow. How hollow it sounds! Nobody stirs. All is as silent as the grave. I'll peep in at the window. It's an empty house, that's clear. Ten long years. How could I expect it to be otherwise! I can bear hard work and hunger and thirst; but I can't bear this.

The elderberry is in blossom as it was when I ran away; and the woodbine is as fresh as ever, running up to the window that my mother opened to call after me. I could call after her now, loud enough to be heard a mile, if I thought she would

hear me.

It's of no use stopping here. I'll cross the churchyard, and see if the clerk lives where he did: but he wouldn't know me. My cheek was like the rose when I went away; but the sun has made it of another colour. This is a new gate. How narrow the path is between the graves! it used to be wider, at least I thought so: no matter. The old sundial I see is standing there yet.

The last time I was in that church my father was with me; and the text was, "My son, hear the instruction of thy father, and forsake not the law of thy mother" (Prov. i. 8). Oh, what a curse do we bring upon us when we despise God's holy word! My uncle lies under the yew tree there, and he had a gravestone. Here it is. It's written all over now, quite to the bottom: "IN MEMORY OF HUMPHREY HAYCROFT!" But what is the name under, "WALTER HAYCROFT!" My father! my father! and “MARY HIS WIFE." Oh, my mother! and are you both gone? God's hand is heavy upon me. I feel it in my heart and soul.

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And there's another name yet, and it's freshly cut," ESTHER HAYCROFT, THEIR DAUGHTER, AGED 24. My father! my mother! and my sister! Why did not the sea swallow me up when I was

wrecked? I deserved it. What is the world to me now? I feel, bitterly feel, the sin of disobedience; the words come home to me now: "The eye that mocketh at his father, and despiseth to obey his mother, the ravens of the valley shall pick it out, and the young eagles shall eat it” (Prov. xxx. 17).—Old Humphrey.

WATCHING ONE'S SELF.

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"WHEN I was a boy," said an old man, we had a schoolmaster who had an odd way of catching idle boys. One day he called to us,

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Boys, I must have closer attention to your books. The first one of you that sees another boy idle, I want you to inform me, and I will attend to the case.'

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'Ah!' thought I to myself, 'there is Joe Simmonds, that I don't like. I'll watch him, and if I see him look off his book, I'll tell.' It was not long before I saw Joe look off his book, and immediately I informed the master.

"Indeed!' said he; "how did you know he was idle ?'

"I saw him,' said I,

"You did! and were your eyes on your book, when you saw him ?'

"I was caught, and I never watched for idle boys again."

If we are sufficiently watchful over our own conduct, we shall have but little time to find fault with the conduct of others.