ice I had done them, remitted the remainder of
my sentence; and some kind gentlemen interested themselves about me, gave
me good books and good advice, and, being satisfied with my conduct,
procured me employ in an exploring expedition, by which I earned money.
In fact, the being sent to Sydney was the best thing that ever happened
to me in all my life."

"And you have now returned to your native country. Longing to see home
brought you from New South Wales."

"There you are mistaken," said the man. "Wish to see England again would
never have brought me so far; for, to tell you the truth, master, England
was a hard mother to me, as she has proved to many. No, a wish to see
another kind of mother--a poor old woman whose son I am--has brought me
back."

"You have a mother, then?" said I. "Does she reside in London?"

"She used to live in London," said the man; "but I am afraid she is long
since dead."

"How did she support herself?" said I.

"Support herself! with difficulty enough; she used to keep a small stall
on London Bridge, where she sold fruit; I am afraid she is dead, and that
she died perhaps in misery. She was a poor sinful creature; but I loved
her, and she loved me. I came all the way back merely for the chance of
seeing her."

"Did you ever write to her," said I, "or cause others to write to her?"

"I wrote to her myself," said the man, "about two years ago; but I never
received an answer. I learned to write very tolerably over there, by the
assistance of the good people I spoke of. As for reading, I could do
that very well before I went--my poor mother taught me to read, out of a
book that she was very fond of; a strange book it was, I remember. Poor
dear!--what would I give only to know that she is alive."

"Life is very uncertain," said I.

"That is true," said the man, with a sigh.

"We are here one moment, and gone the next," I continued. "As I passed
through the streets of a neighbouring town, I saw a respectable woman
drop down, and people said she was dead. Who knows but that she too had
a son coming to see her from a distance, at that very time."

"Who knows, indeed," said the man. "Ah, I am afraid my mother is dead.
Well, God's will be done."

"However," said I, "I should not wonder at your finding your mother
alive."

"You wouldn't?" said the man, looking at me wistfully.

"I should not wonder at all," said I; "indeed something within me seems
to tell me you will; I