LESSON LXIII.

THE WRONG TURNING.

WHEN I was a boy-but that is a long time ago, for many a crop of corn has been gathered into the garner, and many a fall of snow has covered the hills and the valleys since then: ay! and many a friend and companion has been carried to the cold grave, but, as I said, when I was a boy, my father sent me on an errand to a farm-house a few miles in the country. "You must go," said he, "straight along the turnpike road, till you come to the second milestone, and then, passing the big house with the rookery in the elm trees, you must take the first turn to the right, which will lead you to Farmer Gilbert's fold-yard; but mind, whatever you do, be sure that you do not take the wrong turning."

Boy-like, I was so pleased with the prospect of a pleasant walk into the country, that I did not attend so carefully as I ought to have done to the directions which my father gave me, so that when I had passed the second mile-stone, and arrived at the big house with the rookery in the elm-trees, I could not at all remember whether I was to take the first turn to the right hand, or to the left. After puzzling for some time, I made up my mind to go to the left. I did so, and thereby took the wrong turning.

Well! on I went, as I thought, for Farmer Gilbert's, till the lane got very narrow and the road very dirty.

At one part there was a gate across it, and in getting over the gate, I did not perceive that the bottom hinge was off it; no sooner had I mounted the gate than it swung on one side and flung me into the mire, and a sad predicament I was in. A dog came growling out of a cottage by the road side; to get rid of the dog I clambered over a hedge, and in my haste almost tore off the skirt of my jacket. With the intention of defending myself from the dog when I should return, I pulled out my pocket-knife to cut a stick, but in doing this I cut my finger, and dropped my knife into the ditch, and could not find it again. After all my misfortunes, no Farmer Gilbert's could I find. Indeed, it would have been strange if I had, for every step I had taken, since leaving the turnpike road, had led me further and further from his house. At last I asked an old man whom I met, working in a field, to tell me the nearest way to Farmer Gilbert's, mentioning at the same time which way I had come. "I don't wonder," said the man, "at your being a little puzzled; why, my lad! you have taken the wrong turning !"

I soon set off back again, blaming myself for not having paid more attention to the direction of my father. I found no further difficulty in my way to Farmer Gilbert's; and having done my errand, I returned home heartily repenting the error I had committed in taking the wrong turning.

No sooner did my father see me, than he began thus: "Why, Robert! where have you been? You have been long enough to do the errand twice over ; what a condition your shoes and stockings are in;

and the skirt of your jacket is almost off! What have you been about?"

I then told my father the whole of my mishaps, just as they had occurred to me; how the gate had flung me into the mire; how the dog had attacked me; and how I tore my jacket, cut my finger, and lost my pocket-knife; and I acknowledged that all these things had been brought about by my foolishly taking the wrong turning.

"Ah, my lad!" said my father, "you are not the first, by a great many, who have smarted by neglecting their father's directions, and taking the wrong turning.

"All of us who live in the world have an errand to perform, and have to find our way to heaven. The path of duty is the road along which we are to go, and the Bible contains the instructions of our heavenly Father, giving us the plainest directions that we may not be pained and perplexed by losing our road. Those who attend to these directions find their way easily, but they who neglect them get into a thousand troubles; when travelling heavenward, it is a terrible thing to make a wrong turning."

LESSON LXIV.

THE DISINTERESTED BOY.

IT was just at night. The sun had set, and the curtains of night were fast hanging themselves over hill-top and valley, the lonely wood and the busy village. While the night winds were beginning to sweep through the trees, lights were here and there peeping through the windows, to tell that though the wind was cold and blustering without, there might be peace and comfort within.

At this hour, my friend Mr. Bradley, passed through a little village among the Hampshire hills, and urging his horse forward as the night became darker, took his way through the main road toward the next town, where he intended to pass the night. As he passed the last house in the village, he thought he heard some one call, but supposing it might be some boy shouting to his fellow, he thought little of it. He heard the call again and again, and at last, on hearing it repeated several times in succession, it occurred to him that some one might wish to speak to him, and he slackened the pace of his horse, and looked behind the chaise to see if he could discover who was calling. "Stop, sir," said a little boy who was running with all his might to overtake him.

Mr. Bradley stopped his horse, and a little boy of eight or ten years old came up, the blood almost ready to burst from his face, and panting at every breath.

"Well, my little fellow, what do you wish for?" said Mr. Bradley.

"You are losing your trunk, sir," answered the boy, as soon as he could speak.

"And so you have run all this way to tell me of it, have you, my good boy?"

"Yes, sir."

Mr. Bradley jumped out of the chaise, and saw that his trunk, which was strapped underneath his carriage, was unfastened at one end, so that a sudden jolt might have loosened it altogether, and he would have lost it without knowing how it had gone.

"You are very kind, my little lad," said the gentleman, "to take all this trouble; you have saved me from losing my trunk, and I feel much obliged to you."

"You are welcome," answered the boy.

"And now are you tall enough to hold my horse while I fasten the trunk as it should be?" said Mr. Bradley.