THE UNHAPPY WANDERER.

BY THE REV. AARON Duffy.

"Have you heard anything about John, Sir?" enquired Mrs. Kewen of her minister one day when he called to see her. "No," he replied, "nothing more than usual;" and then supposing from the question and manner of Mrs. Kewen that there was something which she wished to mention, he added, "Has anything serious happened?" With tears in her eyes the good woman at once responded,

"Well, Sir, John has been going on very strangely lately. He has been in such a low, miserable way for some time, that we cannot make him out, or tell what to do with him. He says that every body is against him, and that something dreadful is going to happen. Only a day or two ago he came to me and said that he was sure you knew all about him, and that you preached last Sunday night about him; and he says that he cannot go to chapel next Sunday, for he is sure that everybody will look at him."

"I assure you, Mrs. Kewen," said Mr. Aydie, "that this is the first time I have heard of your son's state of mind, and you may tell him from me that it is all a delusion his supposing that at any time in preaching I have had him in view more than any other person in the congregation."

Mr. Aydie then enquired how long John had been as his mother described, and what was the probable cause of his peculiar condition. The poor mother answered that she understood that some of his companions had been making fun of him, on account of his supposed attachment to a young female who was only about half his own age. Still she did not think that this alone accounted for his depression and distressing forebodings. She thought that his mind had of late been a good deal exercised about his spiritual condition, while at the same time he seemed to be in a bad state of health.

John Kewen was a person in whom Mr. Aydie felt much interested, and he was deeply concerned to hear such an account of him. John was the leader of the chapel choir. He had great talent as a musician, and had been extremely kind and persevering in teaching the elements of music to a class

of young men, who very justly held him in great esteem. He was now about thirtyfive years of age, but being always at home with several brothers and sisters younger than himself, and not being naturally very energetic, he did not display the intellectual strength which might have been expected at his age. He was gentle and quiet, always agreeable, and rather disposed to be gloomy. His character was blameless in the eyes of men, and he had all his life been a regular hearer of the preaching of the gospel. So retiring was he, that he had not visited the next town, which was about four miles from his native place, more than once within the last three years. It was therefore very surprising to all who knew him, that now, without any apparent cause, he was continually saying, "I can't stop at home any longer; I must go somewhere." When he was asked why he talked so, he would reply, "You will know all about it one day. If I stay here I shall bring disgrace upon you all; I must go."

All attempts to ascertain the cause of this singular behaviour were in vain. Nothing that was said could comfort him. The minister and the various members of his family reasoned much with him. Sometimes his mother pitied him, and sometimes his brothers blamed him, but all to no purpose. Finding that he grew worse, medical means were used, but with no apparent benefit. One morning his father advised him to leave him to attend to the shop, and go for a walk, and see whether that would not do him good. He seemed at first unwilling to comply, but soon after consented. Dressing himself much as usual, he prepared to go out. His mother mentioned the time when the dinner would be ready, and he went for his walk. The dinner hour came, and the family enquired for John, but he had not returned. An hour more elapsed, and all began to wonder that John was not back. The afternoon passed away, and all became very unhappy about the absent one. Fears were now excited that he had really effected the purpose, which he had so long talked of. Yet, till it happened, none could ever have believed that he would forsake his home, to which he had seemed to be inseparably attached. It was soon discovered that he had taken with him a few sovereigns, and

a map of the county in which he had lived, and another of the county between that and London. What an anxious night was that which followed to the distressed household which the poor wanderer had deserted! Enquiry had been made of persons who had come in various directions, but no one had seen the missing one. The darkness of night came on without bringing any tidings of the hapless fugitive. Reluctantly the family retired to bed. The distressed mother had little sleep. Her thoughts and heart were with the only one of all her children of whom she could not tell the abode. Tears soaked her pillow; and many a fervent prayer did she present to the Great Preserver of men, that he would protect and restore her lost son.

Day after day of painful suspense and fruitless grief passed slowly away without anything being learnt of John. After several days a letter came, with the direction in John's neat writing. In this he said that he had walked across the country about twenty miles, and at night slept upon a heap of stones near a railway town. Next morning he went by train to London. The letter contained no information as to where he was when he wrote it, or where he might be found. He said that he had hired a lodging for a week, but could not remain in it, for everybody there knew all about him, just as they did at home. And then he added, "The dogs in the street bark at me; all the boys who pass me point and laugh at me. I am afraid the people will burn the house down before I can get away; and where I am to go, or what I am to do, I cannot tell. Dear mother, pray for me." This strange epistle was concluded with a false name, and the only thing which afforded any clue to the locality in which it was written was the post-office mark on the envelope.

There was reason to fear that John would leave London before any one could get there to search for him. However it was determined to make the attempt to find him, and one of his brothers at once set out in the pursuit. Fortunately, on enquiring at the police station in the locality in which the letter was posted, the policeman present stated that he had found the person described in the street after twelve o'clock on the last Sunday night. He had taken him to the lodging to which he now conducted the anxious brother. The woman of the house informed them that

the man who was brought to her house by the policeman had suddenly left the evening before. His candle was burning in the room when she entered it and missed him. He had taken his few things, and she remembered that her little girl had bought him a railway guide. This was the sum of the tidings which James Kewen was able to take home respecting his brother.

The poor mother's cup of misery seemed now full. Dear to her as her other children were, John had become more the object of her affectionate concern, because he had been always with her at home, and was more dependent upon her for direction and sympathy than the rest. It wrung her heart to think of her affectionate son at one time footsore and wretched, laying his throbbing head and exhausted frame on a heap of stones, in the open air, on a cold, damp November night, and again wandering miserable and aimless on the blessed Sabbath eve among unsympathising crowds of London Sabbath-breakers. A hundred times a day, as her tears copiously streamed forth afresh at the thought, she contrasted that night's slumber with the comfortable repose which he had enjoyed in his own home, and that unhappy Sabbath-day with those delightful times when none more than he had enjoyed or aided the sweet sanctuary songs. There seemed now nothing left for the deeply-tried parents to do but as christians to cast their care on God. Most appropriate to them at that time seemed those words of sacred Scripture: "Who is among you that feareth the Lord, that obeyeth the voice of his servant, that walketh in darkness, and hath no light? let him trust in the name of the Lord, and stay upon his God." This they did, earnestly praying for what parental affection constrained them to seek, yet endeavouring patiently to await the disclosure of the Divine will in the result of his providential operations.

The darkness was great, but light ere long broke forth.

(To be continued.)

THE LOST KEY AND ITS RESULT.

One Sunday afternoon, not many years since, there might have been seen a number of individuals standing together in a narrow street in one of England's large county towns. It was in January, and the weather was bitterly cold; and, therefore,

the passers-by were surprised to see such a group standing together. If not rich in their attire, their cleanliness, their neatness, and their general appearance, conveyed the impression that they were at least respectable people, and that their object could not be otherwise than good. Some few of their number were walking backwards and forwards in the vicinity, but the great majority still remained in one place, some deliberating with each other, some trying a gate in order to gain admission-for the gate was shut and locked, and the key could not be found.

But what place was this of which you are writing? the reader will ask. We reply, it was a place of spiritual worship. Although it had never been sprinkled with holy water, although no mitred head had ever been seen within its walls,-although no gentleman with lawn sleeves had ever walked along its floor, yet it had been truly consecrated in a way acceptable to God; for from generation to generation the Lord God of Israel had there raised up a remnant according to the election of grace, to call upon his name, to engage in his service, to hear, believe, and obey his Word. On the present occasion, however, they were denied their accustomed privilege, because, by some accident or other, the door-keeper could not find the key. What was to be done? Must they return to their homes, and have no meeting? No; that would not do, if they could possibly avoid it, because they delighted to talk one to another, and to worship the God of their fathers in company. Several of their number offered their houses for the use of the congregation. After a little deliberation, the offer of one of them was accepted. Soon the congregation was on their way to this brother's house, to make it, by their presence and worship, a temple of the living God.

One of those to whom we have thus introduced the reader was a poor woman, a widow, but one who feared the Lord with all her heart. On her way she met with another poor woman, a widow too.

"What brought you here, Hannah ?" said the latter. "I thought it was your chapel time."

"Yes," Hannah replied, "it is, but we can't find the key, so we are going to meet in Mr. Dawson's large kitchen. Will you go with me?"

Her friend complied and went. The subject discoursed upon was Jonah fleeing

"They

from the presence of the Lord. that observe lying vanities forsake their own mercy," were the words upon which the discourse was founded. Facts in illustration of this subject were drawn from the history of Jonah himself,-the history of the Jews, the history of different characters referred to in the Word of God,-and the general history of the ungodly in our own day. The discourse was simple, plain, pointed, practical, and fervent. It was adapted to the humblest capacity, yet it was such that even the more refined mind could not refrain from admiring for its fervour and simplicity. "I never heard anything so much like Pike's Persuasives to Early Piety' in my life," was the opinion of one who was present.

The meeting was soon over. The congregation dispersed to their respective habitations. Before another Sunday the lost key was found.

Time rolled on and produced changes. The widow who invited was taken to the rest which remains for the people of God. The widow who was invited removed to another town. The preacher too was called away to another sphere of labour. Other changes took place amongst the small congregation. By some the circumstance of the lost key was quite forgotten. By some it was never known. However, the incident, though forgotten by some, was remembered by one. Simple as it was, and unworthy of record in the estimate of the man of the world, it was a great event, for thereby a soul was convinced, converted, and prepared for glory!

Years have now passed away, and bring us down to a period not many weeks passed by. In that town, and at that place of worship, a young man was preaching the truth as it is in Jesus. After the services of the day were over, he spent the evening in company with other christian friends, at the house of the very Mr. Dawson, at whose house the service to which we have referred was held. In course of conversation the incident of the lost key was revived. The preacher listened to the circumstances. He was interested in them; yea, he found that he had a very personal interest in them; for it was his own mother who had been invited by the other widow to attend the service held in Mr. Dawson's kitchen.

She was that afternoon on her way to a relative's, at whose house her son was staying. In order to gratify her curiosity, and