Sinclair proposed that he should receive her son into his office, to take him without a premium. Two years after, her second son, Henry, obtained a situation as clerk in one of the banks of the town.

We must now pass over an interval of ten years. George Sinclair had so far gained the confidence of Mr. Williams, that, having no son of his own, he had taken him into partnership; and there were rumours current that he was likely to be related even more closely. Henry Sinclair was still in the bank; and their mother was still living. For a little time Mr. Brown prospered; but of late some transactions of his had greatly shaken the public confidence in his integrity, and several of the oldest clients of the former firm had transferred their business to Messrs. Williams and Sinclair. He had fallen into discreditable habits, and it was also known that his sons were a great source of trouble to him. Still nothing had transpired to clear up the mystery of the two thousand pounds.

About this time, however, something occurred which gave a clue to its explanation.

The draft of which we have spoken was drawn on the bank in which Henry Sinclair was now cashier; but it was, as is usual, made payable at a London banker's. We have already seen that it was there presented and cashed. In due course it was sent down to the bank on which it was drawn, and was, according to their custom, carefully preserved.

A complicated case of bankruptcy had arisen, which rendered it necessary that the bills and drafts of the year in which the draft was drawn should be examined; and the duty devolved on Henry Sinclair. As he turned over the papers, his eye lighted on the name of " Sinclair and Brown;" and though he was not in search of documents with which his father had had anything to do, a very natural curiosity prompted him to turn it over, and see what it was. To his surprise, it was the very draft whose loss had caused his family so much trouble. As he looked at it, the thought struck him, "That's very like my father's writing, and yet it is not like." Examining it more closely, he thought he discovered some pencil marks, as though the characters had been first traced with pencil and then written over with ink. "This is strange," he thought; "but I'm quite sure my father never took the trouble to write his signature in that way." At once the conclusion

flashed upon his mind, "It is a forgery, and that explains all !"

He showed the draft to the manager, and without saying for what purpose he intended it, he requested permission to take it away; and as soon as the bank closed, he took it straight to his brother's office.

Both his brother and Mr. Williams agreed with him that the signature was not their father's. Who, then, could have forged it?"

"The question is," said Mr. Williams, "who benefited by the forgery?"

To that of course there could only be one reply-it was Mr. Brown.

There was a long discussion as to what was best to be done. It was thought that there was little likelihood of the charge of forgery being substantiated against him, since it might be argued that he had a right to sign the name of the firm. It was possible, however, to bring home to him the charge of fraud. At length it was decided, that as in the first instance the draft had passed through the hands of Mr. Williams, it would be well for him to call on Mr. Brown, and hear what he had to say on the matter.

Mr. Williams could not but be struck, first of all, with the deterioration in the general appearance of Mr. Brown's office since he was last in it; everything seemed lost and deplorable, there were unmistakeable indications that the business had sunk from that of a solicitor in first class

practice to that of a mere pettifogger. "At all events," thought Mr. Williams, "if it be as we suspect, he has not gained much by it."

"I have called," said Mr.. Williams, "about an old subject, Mr. Brown; I mean that mortgage of Sir Giles Mosley."

"Indeed, sir: what about it?" "This," replied Mr. Williams; 66 we have reason to believe that you know more about the appropriation of the two thousand pounds, that was missing at the time of Mr. Sinclair's death, than you have ever admitted."

Mr. Brown turned ashy pale; but recovering himself, said, "What do you mean, sir? Do you mean to charge me with the fraud ?"

"Well, Mr. Brown," replied Mr. Williams, "a circumstance has transpired which throws some light on the subject. We have in our possession the draft, and we are

quite sure the endorsement is not in Mr. Sinclair's handwriting. We do not positively affirm that it is in yours; but I am bound to say that there are some strokes in it more like your writing than anybody else's that we

know."

Mr. Brown at first took high ground, and blustered considerably. Mr. Williams sat patiently till he was somewhat calmed, and then said: "I have only to say, Mr. Brown, that Mr. Sinclair's sons are determined to leave no stone unturned to bring the whole thing to light. I am not authorized to make any proposal to you; but I may say that their great solicitude is not about the moneythough of course that ought to be refunded-but to vindicate their father's memory."

So saying, he left the office.

Mr. Brown threw himself back in his chair, as soon as Mr. Williams had gone: "The game seems up," said he to himself. "They say, Ill-gotten gain never prospers." I sometimes thought it did; but at any rate mine has not prospered. I have done no good since I took that money. From that time everything has gone wrong with me. And now, what is to be done? I'll fight it out. They can't convict me." But as he thought the matter over, his fears prevailed, and he concluded it would be the safest plan to make a clean breast of the thing, and to throw himself on the mercy of the men whom he had wronged. Accordingly the following day he sent for Mr. Williams and confessed all.

At first Mr. Sinclair's sons were inclined to push the case to a criminal prosecution; but by-and-bye, gentler counsels prevailed. Their mother especially inclined to mercy. "Let us deem it enough," she said, "that your dear father's memory is vindicated; and let us forgive. I am sure it would be his wish for the sake of his Saviour and Lord."

And they did forgive. From that time, broken in health and bankrupt in character, Mr. Brown sunk into poverty. Even the third rate practice which had been left him dwindled completely away, and at the last he was deeply indebted to the Sinclairs for substantial help in his need. After his death, some one opening his Bible, which he had often read in his last illness, found strongly underlined in the epistles to Timothy the words, "But they that will be rich fall into temptation and a snare, and into many foolish and hurtful lusts, which drown men in destruction

and perdition. For the love of money is the root of all evil which while some coveted after, they have erred from the faith, and pierced themselves through with many soorows.'

TEACHING BY TRIALS.

Ir is beautiful to behold the sacred light that shines through periods of sorrow. Some of the hymns of Cowper transmit that light as an opal; for they were the childlike record of his own experience, and they have given a household language, as familiar as that of childhood, to some of the processes of the divine life.

Trials must and will befall,

But with humble faith to see
LOVE inscribed upon them all,
This is happiness to me.

Trials make the promise sweet,
Trials give new life to prayer,
Trials bring me to his feet,

Lay me low and keep me there.

Trials are among the most signal waymarks in the pilgrimage of faith-trials in the beginning, trials in the continuance, trials at the end. Yet not trials always nor trials unmingled, but enough constantly, or at intervals, to prove thee, and show thee what is in thy heart, and to lead that heart for healing and rest to God.

When comforts are declining,

He grants the soul again
A season of clear shining,
To cheer it after rain.

In holy contemplation

We sweetly then pursue
The theme of God's salvation,
And find it ever new.

The history of faith, and of God's discipline for its increase and perfection, ever has been and ever will be a record of trials. Character is read and known in the temper of the soul sustaining them, and they themselves are the costly instruments of God in refining and establishing the soul. We are in the hands of the Great Jeweller, preparing for our places in his palace above; and "they whom he means to make the most resplendent,"

said Leighton, "he hath oftenest his tools upon." Until this discipline of God has been applied to him, a man knows not of what elements his nature is composed, nor what hidden evils may be festering in his bosom. God must bring them out and redeem him from them, or he can never be prepared for the kingdom of heaven.

A jeweller may find, in making up a casket, a magnificent stone in which there seems to be a flaw. If it extends through the stone, it is useless for his purpose, and it is laid aside for some inferior end. Therefore he begins to file it to see how deep it goes, and it may be that, after a little of this operation, it will show itself clear; but if not, then it is unfit for the place he had designed it to fill. So it is with God in making up his jewels; there is much filing needed to prepare them for their heavenly setting. Sometimes there are such flaws that a Christian's usefulness here is well nigh destroyed, even if his hope of happiness hereafter be not ruined. How deep the interest, while the fires of God's discipline are at work upon a man to burn out his dross, or some keen file is applied to remove the evils in his character.

God sometimes sends trials not for general sanctification merely, but to thwart and break up particular schemes which were wrong, but which the Christian was trying to persuade himself he might lawfully accomplish. God may send a particular trial, on purpose to do this; it may be such a trial as removes away from a man's power some dear thing on which he had relied for the prosecution of his scheme. A man is driving on, and God takes off his chariot wheels, so that he drives heavily; withdraws the linch-pin, as it were, or takes away the main-spoke in the wheel of his plan, so that he is compelled to lay it aside. But ordinarily God proceeds more indirectly. He does not speak in a voice from heaven; he is not going to say from the sky, or in a supernatural dream by an angel, You must not go this way or that, or do this or that. He relies upon the common sense of his children for the right interpretation of his providences, and he leaves every man to draw his own inferences; only he says, "Be ye not as the horse, or as the mule, which have no understanding: whose mouth must be held in with bit and bridle :" that is not the way God takes to guide his children, but deals with them as free moral agents, and sometimes relies greatly upon their tenderness of conscience to see and feel quickly