They waited for that falling leaf,
Of which the wondering Jogees sing;
Which lends once more to wintry age
The greenness of its spring.

Oh! if these poor and blinded ones
In trustful patience wait to feel,
O'er torpid pulse and failing limb,
A youthful freshness steal;

Shall we, who sit beneath that tree,
Whose healing leaves of life are shed,
In answer to the breath of prayer,
Upon the waiting head:

Not to restore our failing forms,
And build the spirit's broken shrine,
But, on the fainting SOUL to shed
A light and life divine:

Shall we grow weary in our watch,
And murmur at the long delay ?
Impatient of our Father's time,
And his appointed way?

Or, shall the stir of outward things
Allure and claim the Christian's eye,
When on the heathen watcher's ear
Their powerless murmurs die?

Alas! a deeper test of faith

Than prison cell or martyr's stake,

The self-abasing watchfulness

Of silent prayer may make.

Easier to smite with Peter's sword,

Than "watch one hour" in humbling prayer:

Life's "great things," like the Syrian lord,

Our hearts can do and dare.

But oh! we shrink from Jordan's side,

From waters which alone can save;

And murmur for Abana's banks,
And Pharpar's brighter wave.

O Thou, who in the garden's shade
Didst wake the weary ones again,
Who slumbered at that fearful hour,
Forgetful of thy pain;

Bend o'er us now, as over them,

And set our sleep-bound spirits free, Nor leave us slumbering in the watch Our souls should keep with Thee!

THE WILFUL WANDERER.
(A True Story.)

PART I. "The way of transgressors is hard."

It was a chilly autumn evening, and Mrs. Brown had set the tea-things, two cups and saucers, only two now, brushed up the little grate, put the kettle to boil, and then, as she was never idle, sat down again to her sewing until it was time to call her daughter down to tea.

Presently a light footstep tripped down the creaky stair, and a fair young girl, dressed in all the finery she could muster, came into the room. There was no way out of the

JUNE. 1864.

house from the upper floor but through the one where her mother sat, or possibly she might have escaped unseen. Her hair was dressed in the newest fashion, her frock was of light material, with low body and short sleeves, which she had but half concealed with her mother's best summer shawl; and she flattered herself she looked very much like one of the ladies she sometimes helped to adorn.

66

Letty!" cried her mother with a start of surprise, and a thought of the black crape on her own gown, and the widow's cap that betokened the heart's deepest mourning "Letty, surely you are not going out that figure!"

"Of course I am. Why not?" replied the girl pertly. "I can't be always indoors, working from morning to night, and never seeing any pleasure in life just because"- she paused-just because you choose to keep mourning for father, she had nearly added, but the widow's shocked face checked her.

"Oh Letty, your wilful ways fretted him to the last; but don't forget your promise to him to keep away from those evil companions and places. Think of your dying father, if you take no heed to me."

"Oh how you do worry! What signifies me? Can't I take care of myself for an hour or two? I've done that work, and you can take it home if you like; and now I'm going to enjoy myself a little. You needn't sit up, mother, and I'm sure you needn't fret about me.”

"Letty, Letty, you are going to your ruin. I charge you to keep away from that place; but if you are determined to go, I'll come with you, and never lose sight of

you are safe back again.'

you until

"Indeed but you won't though, for I'm not going anywhere that you can find out, so you'd best sit still;" and tossing a hat on to her head, she darted out at the door, and off along two or three turnings before stopping to see if her mother were behind her.

The kettle sung and steamed away, but Mrs. Brown did not hear it; she wanted no tea then, and the two cups and saucers were put unused away. To pursue the runaway would only be to expose herself to defeat, and she sat for awhile like one in a dream, and a dreadful dream it

was.

How peacefully might have passed the days of the widow and her only child, as they worked together, if Letty had had a daughter's loving heart; but she was wrapped up in

self, vain of her beauty, and spent all she earned on her own fancies; she would not much have cared if mother as well as father had been in the grave-for restraint was irksome, and her rebellious will was ever stirring up contention against authority or advice, however tenderly ministered.

After a while Mrs. Brown roused herself and went forth to follow her child. She knew one of the fearful traps from which a friendly hand had rescued her before, and thither she first bent her steps.

She entered the hated precincts of a flaring gin-palace; she heard the sound of music, and smelt the fumes of drink; but on she went up the flight of lighted stairs, and saw the gay dancers in the height of their glee. There were young creatures like her own child, and her heart yearned over them, and she would have opened her motherly arms to gather them all away from their danger; but they laughed scornfully in her pitying face and bade her begone. Letty was not among them, and sick at heart she went out again.

Into many such scenes she looked on her weary search, and saw many a fair bark drifting to destruction! She saw the fiery spirit poured into youthful lips, and knew they were doing it because they were lost, lost, LOST, and they knew it too themselves; and seeds of madness, and disease, and suicide were drunk in at every draught.

"Oh Letty, my own Letty, your father's pride and pet, can you ever come to this?" And the poor mother groaned aloud as she turned homeward, and gave up the search.

The fire was out; all was still, except the ticking of the old clock. She lighted her candle, refreshed her exhausted frame with a bit of crust, and a little water, and then sat down with her Bible before her to feed on the bread of life."

She had lived many years without God in the world, and had not trained the early life of her child in wisdom's holy ways; but by the bedside of her husband whom she had tended through a long illness, she had learned to know her need of a Saviour and his wondrous love to sinners. The Lord had received and forgiven her, and had been her stay and trust in the hour of bereavement. An almighty Friend so loving, so helpful, so full of sympathy, could not be forgotten in this new sorrow; and laying hold of the bright promises to faith and prayer she called upon him in her trouble; she "cast her burden on the Lord," and he sus

tained her. But, oh! it was a burden indeed-a fondly loved, yet heartless child, choosing the paths of destruction and the way of death.

The night wore wearily away, and Letty did not come home. For three days, early and late, she was sought in every direction; and then she suddenly re-appeared. She affected penitence for the sorrow she had caused, but would give no account of herself. She could not settle to her work, and was abstracted and fitful; nothing pleased her, and she scoffed at her mother's tender efforts to win her confidence, and make her happy.

One evening, on returning from a distant errand, Mrs. Brown was surprised to find her usually neat little rooms in confusion, and to miss several portable articles of her household treasures from their places. Her best clothes were gone, and the little box in her drawer had been rifled of her savings for her quarter's rent. She hastened to inquire of the neighbours, but she was not intimate with any of them, and all she could learn from them was that Letty had been seen carrying off some large bundles with the assistance of a young girl like herself. The intention to inform the police was arrested; the heart-stricken mother was driven to the conclusion that Letty had robbed her, and would return no more. The evident deliberation upon, and the moment chosen for executing the plot, prevented any idea of sudden temptation, or unwilling acquiescence, and the cup of bitter anguish must be meekly drank. The loss of the rent was a serious distress, for it must be long before it could again be scraped together; but by the sale of the few things left, and reducing herself to one room, the poor widow tried to prepare for any emergency. She had now to struggle with deep sorrow, poverty, and privation, and work hard alone; but still she looked unto her Lord, and was lightened, and was never sent from his presence empty away; nay she even smiled through her tears, and rejoiced even in the midst of tribulation. 66 'Once," reflected she, "I must have borne my griefs by myself, and must have been crushed beneath them, but now, thanks for ever to the lovingkindness of my God, I have his strong arm to lean on, his bosom to weep on; once there would have been neither hope nor light in the darkness, but now I know that all things work together for good even to me, and I would rather be with God and my trouble, than without trouble and without him."