emotion among the trees of a garden adjoining the house. Here Alypius followed him, to soothe his distress, and to sympathize in his penitent and self-condemning feelings.

"His presence," wrote Augustine-when describing in his "Confessions" this important hour of his life, "his presence did not lessen my feeling of privacy. Indeed how could he forsake me, so distressed!"

The friends sat down together as far as possible from the house; and they communed together of the things which concerned their immortal souls-the worth and the danger of which they had never before so clearly perceived.

Augustine was sorely troubled in spirit; and such was the anguish of his soul, that the calmer Alypius even feared for his reason, and forgot his own anxiety in his care for his beloved friend.

Again Augustine turned a deaf ear to all that Alypius could say in the way of comfort or encouragement. Again he started up, and left his companion, to seek for more entire solitude in a distant and secluded part of the garden; and there Alypius heard him giving way to his long pent-up and tumultuous feelings, and crying out in a tone of piteous appeal: “How long? how long? To-morrow and to-morrow shall I find the way? Why not now?"

While in this state of deep distress, he threw himself on the ground beneath a sycamore tree, and gave himself up to selfreproach, and almost to despair. All seemed dark within him and around him, and he hid his face in his hands to shut out the light of day.

Suddenly his attention was aroused by a sweet sound that

I

came to him from above, and seemed to his excited imagination as an angel's voice calling to him in a melodious chant.

"Take and read! Take and read;" were the words that reached his ear; and he received them as a Divine message sent for his guidance in this moment of sore tribulation. The voice was indeed that of a young child singing to her companions as they were at play together in an adjoining house that overlooked the garden; but who shall say that this simple circumstance was not one appointed link in the chain of events that was designed and overruled for the conversion of Augustine, and his preparation to be a chosen vessel in the hand of his Master?

Augustine listened to the words as to a special answer to his plaintive appeal. He immediately rose up and returned to the house, and opened the copy of St. Paul's Epistles, to which his attention had of late been so much directed. His eyes fell on the concluding verses of the 13th chapter of the Epistle to the Romans: "The night is far spent, the day is at hand: let us therefore cast off the works of darkness, and let us put on the armour of light. Let us walk honestly, as in the day; not in rioting and drunkenness, not in chambering and wantonness, not in strife and envying. But put ye on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make not provision for the flesh, to fulfil the lusts thereof."

These words appeared to Augustine to be words of light and life-words of guidance and of hope. Instantly, by a light, as it were, infused into his heart, all the darkness of doubt vanished away. He closed the sacred volume, and went to Alypius; who at once perceived, by the calmness of his

manner, and the serenity of his countenance, that the anguish and the struggle of his soul had passed away.

"Where have you found such peace, my friend?" he asked, with much emotion.

"Behold the blessed words!" replied Augustine. "Read for yourself, Alypius; and rejoice, as I do, in the hope of salvation."

Alypius took the book, and read what Augustine pointed out to him. Then he went on to the following verse, and uttered these words: "Him that is weak in the faith receive." This he applied to himself and to Augustine; and they both derived great comfort and encouragement from meditating on these words of inspiration.

"O Alypius!" exclaimed Augustine; "your calm resolution, and ready reception of the truth, are an example to me. It is in accordance with your character, which was always far better than mine, and not given to such turbulent doubts and indecisions. Let us go to my mother."

"How will the pious Monica rejoice to see you in your present frame of mind!" said Alypius. "Me, too, she has treated as a son, and has sought to lead me into the right way. We will return together to Milan this very evening, and tell her that we have found that peace which we have both so long sought in vain."

Pontianus saw them re-enter the apartment in which they had so lately left him, under such great trouble and agitation. Now their countenances expressed the serenity of their hearts; and he glorified God for them and with them.

Then they all returned to the city; and Augustine hastened with his friend to his mother's dwelling.

Monica had mourned over her son's infidelity and depravity for many long and weary years; she had wept, and prayed, and hoped-yes, hoped even against hope, for his precious, erring, obdurate soul. And now we may imagine better than we can describe her feelings, when at length the prodigal came home, and confessed that he had sinned against heaven and against her!

She did not now doubt his sincerity as she had once done, when, in his boyhood, he had begged to receive the rite of baptism. Then she saw that he was merely influenced by a temporary fear of death, and that no real change had taken place in him. Now she felt assured that he was moved by the Holy Spirit; and that he looked back with real abhorrence on his past life of scepticism and sin. In Augustine's own words, "She triumphed, and blessed God."

Through all Augustine's years of guilt and perversity, he had always continued affectionately attached to his mother, and had habitually treated her with great openness and can-. dour. Monica knew all the workings of his active mind; and she had ever retained his confidence and respect, as well as his love. She had never lost her influence over him; and, therefore, his first impulse was to seek his excellent and devoted mother, and to tell her what he well knew would repay her for years of anxious watching and bitter disappoint

ment.

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I knew," she cried, as she fondly embraced the penitent, and tears of joy flowed down her pale and furrowed cheeks, that had so often been wetted with the bitter drops of anguish and of dread; "Oh, I knew that the words would be at length

fulfilled: The son of so many prayers and tears could never be suffered to perish!""

Then, kneeling down with the two young men-who were both deeply moved-she prayed and gave thanks to the Lord for his great mercy vouchsafed unto her; and, as she rose, she laid her hand on Augustine's head, and said solemnly: "Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace; for mine eyes have seen thy salvation. I have prayed to see this day; and thou, O my God, hast mercifully answered my prayer."

From this time Augustine resolved that his conduct should be in conformity with his new thoughts and feelings. He broke off all connection with his heathen friends and associates. The vacation of the vintage was near at hand; and until that time he made up his mind to endure the society which was now so uncongenial to him; but when these trying days were over, he resigned his office of teacher of rhetoric, and took leave of all his pupils, whose affection he had won by his engaging and affable manners; while his brilliant talents had commanded

their admiration and respect.

His friendship for Alypius had long been warm and sincere; and now the bond which united them was strengthened by their fellowship in Christian feeling. They had passed through much of their spiritual conflicts together; and they resolved to be united in the public act of being enrolled among the members of Christ's visible church on earth.

In preparation for this solemn act, Augustine and Alypius retired from Milan to a village at some distance, where they might devote themselves to prayer and meditation, and to the reading of God's word. In this journey they were accompanied