TWELVE o'clock the day following this sad event, found Monson P. Tracy seated in the cars, steaming away in the direction of Maytown. He was the only passenger in the first division of the car. And as he for the third time perused the brief telegram, his thoughts naturally turned back to his first acquaintance with the deceased. To make my story more plain I will take this opportunity to describe some events which occurred about twenty-five years earlier. Mr. Edmond, who at that time resided in the city, was one morning passing into his counting-house when he heard one of his clerks, threatening a youth with imprisonment if he did not take himself from the premises. "What has the young man done, that he should be treated so roughly?" inquired the gentleman. "No good, sir! I can bear testimony to that. I've seen him hanging round for days in company with some jailbirds. I've no doubt he is well acquainted with the police already." "What have you to say for yourself?" urged Mr. Edmond, after gazing for a moment in the hungry face before him. "I should like to tell you all about it, sir," stammered the boy, "but not before him. I don't know anything about jailbirds." "Come with me into my counting-room." When alone with the gentleman, the youth recited a tale of destitution which touched the heart of the listener. Only a month before, he had publicly professed his faith in Christ and had devoted himself with all his powers of body and mind to the service of his Saviour. Only that very morning he had asked his heavenly Father to give him opportunities to win souls. Was not this meeting with a fatherless boy just launched on the stage of active life a direct answer to his prayer? He drew from the youth the facts that after the death of his parents an uncle had taken him home, but had treated him with such cruelty that he resolved to run away, and make his own fortune. He had but a dollar, given him by the hired man, who deeply sympathized with him, and with this small sum he had worked his way mostly on foot, nearly a hundred miles to the city. The first night he slept in the wagon of the drover who had brought him the last few miles. The following day he visited the wharves and counting-houses, begging for work, without one morsel of food passing his lips, and at night was thankful to accept a crust from a youth near his own age, and to share his couch on the floor of a cellar. Three days passed in nearly the same manner, and this was the commencement of the fourth. Leaving Monson, for it was he, in his office, Mr. Edmond dispatched a lad to a bake-shop near by for a loaf of bread. It was reward enough to watch the hungry boy devour the food. Then the gentleman pushed a sheet of paper before the child, saying: "Write these words: 'Fear God and keep His commandments, for this is the whole duty of man.'"