Presently the heavy sound of the City-Hall bell began to give the signal of a fire. Almost immediately the engines were out, and a crowd began to gather. Ned and Joe were soon among the throng, and Frank saw nothing to do but to join them. Before they reached the place of the fire, Joe Denton stumbled over a rope, and in recovering himself thrust his elbow into the eye of a fireman, who struck him a smart blow. Joe and Ned were soon engaged in a brawl with the firemen; and Frank was trying to pull them away, when all on a sudden, he felt his arm roughly seized, and looking round perceived that he was in the hands of a sturdy man, whose gilt star showed that he was one of the police. Come, my young blade," said the officer, "I must give you a lodging; you begin early. I guess your mother does not know you're out?"

64

The word "mother" went to poor Frank's heart. "Indeed, indeed, sir," said he, "I am not doing any harm, I didn't want to be here,-I was only trying to get those big boys home."

"O yes, the old story; I've heard the like before. Nobody is never doing no harm. But I'll take care of you. What is your name?"

"Frank Harper."

"Where do you live?"

"I am in Boggs and Buncombe's store, John Street." "Where do you live?"

66 I board at Mrs. Maggs's, Dey Street, near Washington."

"Well, come on;" so he hurried him along, and soon arrived at the watchhouse. Here he was filled with horror, to find himself in a close room, heated by a stove

almost red hot, and occupied by three drunken vagrants, and a woman of tawdry dress and very red countenance. It was a night of wretchedness. In the morning, the chief clerk of Messrs. Boggs and Buncombe having heard of the boy, appeared for him, and had him released. Poor Frank could scarcely bear the looks of his employers; but he told them the whole truth. The clerks had their sport about it; but, what was most hard to bear, the larger boys, who had betrayed him into the snare and then escaped, made fun of his distress, almost every day, for weeks after.

This is not an uncommon occurrence in a great city. There are lads who, in trying to brave the ridicule which comes on them, after such things, only become more hardened. I am glad to say it was not so with Frank. He was confirmed in his determination to keep out of bad company, and especially never to be out at night. These hours of hunger, fear, shame, and imprisonment, and the disgrace which followed, were a lesson to him as long as he lived.

Most of the evils which befall youth in a great city are connected with the streets. It is hardly possible for a boy to be much out at night without becoming depraved. The only safe rule is, to stay within doors. Yet it is wonderful to observe, that you can scarcely walk the streets, at any hour before midnight, without meeting numbers of boys, even of tender years. They are to be found in gangs about the doors of the Circus and Theatre, and sometimes the money which gains them entrance is procured by theft.

CHAPTER III.

YOUTHFUL ANXIETIES.

Ir was on a bright Saturday evening in December, that Frank had an errand to the foot of Chambers Street, to receive some parcels by the steamboat from Peekskill. The boat was delayed, and this gave him half an hour to himself, which was unusual. He spent it in walking upon the pier, looking at the dark rapid waves, crested with light foam, at the numerous craft of the river, and especially at the low hills of his native Jersey, behind which the sun had just gone down, leaving all the west in a blush with the evening-red.

Frank was not less cheerful commonly than other boys of his age, but late events had made him serious. He looked across the river to the hills, in the direction where he thought the little village of Coventry must lie. He thought of his father. "I suppose he is now getting home the cattle, and making an end of the week's work. Mother is preparing everything for Sunday. Mary and Anne are looking over the clothes; or perhaps hearing one another say the Sunday-school lesson. And here am I, by myself, and in disgrace!" Here the little boy took out his blue handkerchief to wipe his eyes; but he wept the more when he saw on the corner of it the mark wrought by his mother's needle. "I am sorry, I am sorry!" said he, "I have done wrong--I have indeed; but I hope I have not done as wrong as people think." And he wept the more.

Be not cast down, my young friend; these are manly

tears! Let every youth who reads these lines know, that sorrow for sin is nothing to be ashamed of.

As Frank turned hastily, on reaching the corner of the pier, he found himself met by a young man of grave appearance and kind looks, who spoke to him in a civil tone, and said, "Good evening, my boy! So, I see, you have business here as well as myself."

Frank had not been accosted in a tone so pleasant for many a day. He felt as if he had almost met a friend. Yes, sir," he replied, "I am waiting for the Mountaineer; I am to get some parcels by one of the hands of the boat."

"( My business is with the same boat," said the stranger; "but it is not so pleasant. I am looking for news of a lad who has robbed our store, and has been pursued up the river by an officer."

"Ah! I had'nt heard of it. It is bad enough when boys get to robbing."

"Bad enough, indeed; but it is becoming too common. This young fellow broke open the safe of Mr. Brownley, and took a pocket-book, with four hundred dollars, and papers worth five times as much. New York boys are getting to be men in wickedness. Do you live in town?"

"Yes," said Frank, "I do now; but I have not been here long. I am a country boy."

“Then,” said the other, "let me give you a bit of advice, my young friend. I was a country boy too, not long ago, and I know something of the dangers of the city. Take care of bad companions."

This he said with so much seriousness, and with a look of so much cordiality, that Frank was encouraged to say,