these last three days, and the Doctor, who was here just now, says that it is typhus, and has ordered me to cut off his hair, and keep his head cold with these damp cloths."

"I wish I had seen him, before he became so ill," said Mr. Pearson. "And so do I," replied his mother, "with all my heart: it might have been a comfort to him, for he has been very low ever since he was taken ill." "Do you mean that he has been in care about himself," asked Mr. Pearson, and seemed sorry for what is past?" "Yes, that he has," said she; "he has been in great distress, and looked so wretched; I could not bear to hear or see him and yet somehow it was a comfort to me. I wished very much to send for you, but he would not hear of it: he said he could not bear that you should reprove him. I told him that I was sure you would be very kind; and when you saw him so ill and unhappy, you would try to comfort him, but he would not believe it he was sure, he said, that you would bring up all his sins against him; it was your place to do it, and he deserved it. And then he would

turn away, and hide his face, when he thought how you would look at him."

"Poor fellow!" said Mr. Pearson, very much moved. "I pray God that he may be raised up again, so that I may have an opportunity of shewing that I would not reprove him, but try to lead him on from shame and sorrow to thorough repentance. Let us kneel down and call upon God for him: it is all we can do at present: but from what you have told me, distressing as it is, I cannot help hoping that there is mercy in store for your child." And so they knelt down; and very earnest were the supplications which went up before the Majesty of the

Great God, from the bedside of that unconscious young man, that God would spare him a little, that he might recover his strength before he was removed hence, and was no

more seen.

After a few more words of sympathy and encouragement Mr. Pearson went away. It was with an anxious heart that he closed the cottage door behind him, and turned towards his own house: for Thomas Hooper was one of the last persons in the whole parish, whom he could venture to think of as prepared for a sudden death, such as there was at present too great reason to apprehend. He had scarcely ever had any communication with him, for just about the time that he came to Elmhurst, Thomas was removed from school, and taken to work with his father, who was a carpenter on the Elmhurst estate. Still he knew enough of his character and course of life to make him feel the deepest alarm at the thought of his being taken off suddenly.

:

Thomas was an only child, and had been sadly indulged by his parents, when he was young. They could not bear to thwart him in anything and so from being a disobedient and selfish child, he became a wilful and rebellious boy, and then a profligate young man. It was of little avail to attempt to correct him now he cared neither for his parents' kindness nor reproof. There were indeed times when he seemed softened, and shewed that he had not lost all feeling for his mother: and she was glad, poor woman, to take advantage of such times, and reason with him as quietly and affectionately as she could, on the ruin, both of body and soul, which he was bringing on himself by his evil ways. He used to listen to what she had to say, but seldom made any reply, so that she

could not tell whether her words had any effect or no. She only knew that he went on in the same bad way;-indeed it seemed to be from bad to worse; - until at last after a very violent outbreak, in which he and some of his companions had caused a great disturbance in the village, the steward recommended his master, Mr. Barlow, to discharge him. This was a blow, which though repeatedly threatened, he had never really espered. Mr. Newton, the steward, was a kind man, and Thomas thought that for his father's sake he should be spared. It came like a thunderclap therefore upon him, when it really came, and when, in the presence of his fellow-workmen, he heard himself spoken of as a disgrace to the parish and a grief to his parents, and he was told that he must look out for employment elsewhere, for Mr. Barlow could no longer encourage so worthless and so mischievous a young man. had nothing to say however: he felt that he had brought the punishment upon himself, and that his friends, though they might pity him, would not interfere. Deeply ashamed and distressed, he gathered up his tools, and withdrew quietly. But he dared not go home: he could not be himself the bearer of the sad news to his mother: he feared that it would almost break her heart. He wandered about therefore the whole day, until he was sure that his father had been home and told her all. For some time he was extremely low, and seemed so much ashamed of himself, that his poor mother began to hope that his disgrace, overwhelming as it was, would in the end prove a real benefit. She was very careful not to reproach him. She would speak of it as a great trial, which had come upon them, but a trial, which she should rejoice in, if it might be the

He

means of inducing him to leave off his wicked habits. But idleness brought with it temptations, which Thomas could not resist. His father had tried to get him work at home, and partially succeeded, but there were many days when he was altogether without employment; and the thought that he was a burden to his parents, and disgraced in the eyes of the whole parish, was more than he could bear. Even his mother's kind manner only made him more unhappy. And these feelings of remorse and despondency, as they did not awaken any real sense of the guilt and danger of his sins, as offences against God, had the contrary effect of driving him to get rid of all disturbing thoughts by further indulgence. So that by degrees, to the inexpressible disappointment and alarm of his parents, he relapsed entirely into his former evil ways: 'and at the end of two years he was again the talk of the village for his wildness and folly. It was no wonder therefore that Mr. Pearson was full of sorrow and alarm, when he saw him lying, almost without any previous warning, in so precarious a state. Still he felt to a great degree the hope, which he encouraged in Mrs. Hooper, namely, that the work of repentance had begun in the young man's mind, and that he would be mercifully spared to complete it. And he was confirmed in this hope by what he heard from her, when he called the next day. She told him that from the first Thomas had thought that he was going to be dangerously ill, and had been very much troubled in mind about his sins. He talked a great deal, she said, about his past life, and the ruin which he had brought upon himself. At times he was quite overcome. 'What a wretch I have been,' he would say, 'I have had every thing to help me to go on

well,-kind parents, good instruc- | tion, mercies. warnings: but I would not attend to them. If I made a good resolution and kept it for a little while, I soon broke it again and feli away worse than before. My sins have been like the sin of Judas, because I have had so many opportunities of knowing better, and so much grace to help me in doing it. And now I fear the end is come. God has

tried me long enough; and He will not try me any more, and I shall die in my sins. Oh! the misery which I have brought upon myself and on those around me!" The more Mr. Pearson heard of his state of mind, the more anxious he was for his recovery, and the more confidently did he look forward to it. His daily visits were a great comfort to the afflicted parents. Besides the prayers which he offered with them continually, he made great use of the Psalms, which are so full of comfort to those who are in affliction, and he read to them several passages of Scripture, which he thought would cheer and support them, especially those which speak of our Lord's readiness to hear the prayers of those who came to Him in distress, when He was upon earth such as the history of the Syrophoenician woman (St. Matthew xv.), of the boy who had a deaf and dumb spirit (St. Mark ix.), of the sickness and raising of Lazarus (St. John xi.).

Meanwhile Thomas lay much in the same unconscious state. Day and night his parents watched him; and very thankful were they, when morning after morning came, and there still was no decided change for the worse. Two full weeks, however, passed before they could flatter themselves that there was any real improvement.

At length, one morning, when his mother came to wait on him, and relieve her husband who had

been watching all night, she fancied that he knew her; and when she spoke to him, she was sure that he understood her, though he made no answer. With an overflowing heart she knelt down to thank God for His goodness in hearing their prayers. There were occasional rays of consciousness during the day but the doctor insisted on his being kept very quiet at first, in order to prevent the danger of a relapse. In a few days he was sufficiently recovered to hold a little conversation with his mother; and she ventured to tell him how ill he had been, and that Mr. Pearson had visited him every day, so that he must not be surprised at finding him by his bedside: "but he is so very kind," she added, "and so anxious about you, that I am sure you could not help being glad to see him. Your father and I shall always think that it was chiefly through his prayers that you have been restored to us, and through his kind words and frequent visits that we have been strengthened to bear so heavy a trial." Thomas had not sufficiently recovered his recollection to be so much afraid of Mr. Pearson's visit, as he had been in the early part of his illness: so he made no objection to his mother's proposal, and accordingly, when he called in the course of the day, he was at once shewn into his room.

THE BEST STUDY.

Next to the study of the Scriptures, history best becometh a gentleman, tish history an Englishman.—Fuller. Church history a Christian, the Bri

Personal self-sufficiency and arrogance are the certain attendants upon all those who have not by reading the works of the great minds of all ages, experienced a wisdom greater than their own.-Burke.

THE SISTERS OF THE POOR

A French Sketch.

[The following simple recital is a literal translation of an article which appeared some time ago in a French newspaper. It is put forward as a striking illustration of a truth which seems to be well nigh forgotten among us, that the prayer of faith is all-powerful.-" Whatsoever ye shall ask the Father in My name, believing, ye shall receive."]

SOME religious women, bearing this humble name, founded a short time since a house in our town. The object of this institution is to receive the aged poor, and to bestow upon them all the love that charity can inspire. Once admitted into the house, they have no longer any anxiety as to the means of supplying their wants. It is not that the Sisters rely upon their own resources-they have none at all; but trusting in Providence, they go about themselves to receive at the hands of charitable persons all that is necessary for the objects of their solicitude. As public journalists, we desire to further the developement of this work, by laying before our readers some details relative to the first beginnings of this scheme, and showing how God has blessed it. Some years ago, a devoted ecclesiastic, vicar of St. Servan, was struck with the great number of aged people destitute of all resources, and in a state of utter neglect both of body and soul. Eager to come to the rescue of these unhappy objects, he communicated his thoughts to two young persons, the one sixteen, the other eighteen years old. Being both of an ardent piety, they readily associated themselves with him in his scheme.

This idea was conceived in 1838, and on the 15th of October, 1840, the two young persons of whom we have just spoken went forth in quest of a poor blind woman, 78 years old, who had just lost her sister, who begged for them both. They

carried her in their arms and deposited her in an attic, inhabited by Jeanne Jugan, an old servant. This woman had always been good and pious. She not only cheerfully accepted the deposit with which she had been intrusted, but also determined to devote herself entirely to the work. Soon after this they received another very old woman, who was deprived of the use of her limbs.

Jeanne Jugan took charge of them, and the two young sisters carried on their work to a later hour of the night, in order to meet the incidental expenses. In 1841 they hired a miserable ground floor, and almost immediately received twelve poor women, as many as they had room for. Those who were able to do so continued to beg; but God, Who was willing to show further His love and providence for the poor, inspired the sisters with the thought of sparing these old women the shame and the fatigue of begging, and taking this office upon themselves. Jeanne Jugan, the eldest of them, immediately took a basket, and went to the houses where the poor were generally relieved, to receive in their stead the farthings and broken food. The sisters added to that visits to the markets, to the butchers' shops, &c. This change was very well received by charitable persons, who thenceforward were certain that their alms would go to their proper destination, and would not be a premium upon lying, idleness, and disorderly habits, seeing that a discriminating sister had come to place herself between the benevolent hand of the giver, and the needy receiver. Immediately upon this the house provided entirely for the lodging, food, and maintenance of the poor women.

Very soon unhappy objects presented themselves from all quarters, and the locale became insuffi