THE YOUTH’S CABINET.

ner as you can command, and then come
back tome. I will give you his history.”

Charlie hesitated, but he saw that his
mother was in earnest, and when she
commanded, he never thought it best to
disobey ; he therefore walked leisurely
down the road, picked up the hat, and
walking back, presented it with a low
‘bow to the old man. He also restored
to him the cane, which he had been try-
ing in vain to regain.

«Thank you, my little man—a thou-
sand thanks,” said the old gentleman,
looking kindly into his face. “‘ Iam glad
to find that there are some warm-hearted,
benevolent boys left in the world yet.
After the treatment that I received yes-
terday, I began to despair of finding
such. I thought that I had rather die
than not—the grave, perhaps, would be
the best place for an old man, so very
miserable, that even the boys hoot after
him.”

As the old man said this, he raised
his hand and wiped a tear from his eye.

“T was once a rosy, happy little fel-
low, like yourself,” he continued. ‘I
could skip and hop all day long, as hap-
py as a lark, but age and disease have
done sad work for me. Heaven pre-
serve you from the like! Yes, God will
bless you, I know, for being so good to
a poor, unfortunate old man.”

Charlie’s heart swelled within him,
and it was with difficulty that he could
keep the tears from forcing themselves
into his eyes.

“T do not deserve this praise,” he said
mentally, “oh! how I wish that I did /
I have a great mind to tell the old man
that I was with the academy boys who
abused him yesterday, and ask him to
forgive me.”

| were buried in one grave.

This was the very thing that Charlie
should have done, but he was full of a
false kind of pride, which kept him from
doing what his better feelings dictated.
Had he done this, he would have felt
happy once more with himself. But he
did not. He turned away, and walked

slowly back to his mother.

“What did he say to you, Charlie,
when you gave him his. hat?” said
Emma.

‘“ He thanked me,” said Charlie, “ and
said that he was once as'gay and happy
a boy as myself. Who would think it!
Is it possible that I ever shall be in such
a wretched condition ?”

“Tt is possible, my son,” said Mrs,
Cleaveland, “that your old age may
present as sad a spectacle as his. We
are not the directors of our own lives.
‘Boast not thyself of to-morrow,” says
the inspired penman, ‘for thou knowest
not what a day may bring forth.’”

“Do tell us all about him, mamma!”
said Emma, drawing her mother to ;
bench which stood in the porch. “
feel very much interested in the poor
old creature.”

«“ When I first knew him,” said Mrs.
Cleaveland, “he was a respectable law-
yer in a neighboring village. He was
doing a comfortable business, and main-
tained his family, if not in luxury, at
least in comfort. But by and by, death
entered his family—his children died
with the scarlet fever, and two of them
His wife was
a delicate, sickly lady, and grief for the
loss of her darling offspring probably
hastened her decease. She, too, died
before the end of the same year.

“The poor lawyer was now almost
heart-broken, but he ‘struggled on from