{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_76281/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_76281","id":"gutenberg_76281","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/76281","summary":null,"tags":["Adventure stories","Africa -- Description and travel -- Juvenile fiction","Category: Adventure","Category: British Literature","Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Novels","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Christian life -- Juvenile fiction","Faith -- Juvenile fiction","Repentance -- Juvenile fiction"],"text":"Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.\n\n\n\n[Illustration: The next moment the full moon fell on a large black\n poisonous snake, rapidly gilding away over the sand.]\n\n\n\n                                THE\n\n                         WANDERER IN AFRICA.\n\n\n                       A TALE ILLUSTRATIVE OF\n\n                      THE THIRTY-SECOND PSALM\n\n\n                                BY\n\n                            A. L. O. E.\n\n          AUTHORESS OF \"THE CLAREMONT TALES;\" \"NED FRANKS;\"\n                         \"SHEER OFF;\" ETC.\n\n\n\n                          [Illustration]\n\n\n\n                             London:\n              GALL AND INGLIS, 25 PATERNOSTER SQUARE;\n                         AND EDINBURGH.\n\n\n\n                            CONTENTS.\n\n                              \u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\n\nCHAP.\n\n    I. NIGHT ON THE WASTE\n\n   II. WANDERINGS\n\n  III. WANDERINGS\u2014_continued_\n\n   IV. FORSAKEN\n\n    V. NOT FORSAKEN\n\n   VI PERIL AT HAND\n\n  VII. RESOLUTIONS\n\n VIII. GUIDANCE\n\n   IX. THE STUBBORN SINNER\n\n    X. HOME\n\n\n\n                                THE\n\n                         WANDERER IN AFRICA,\n\n                Illustrating the Thirty-second Psalm.\n\n                          [Illustration]\n\nCHAPTER I.\n\nNIGHT ON THE WASTE.\n\n   _\"Blessed is he whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered.\nBlessed is the man unto whom the Lord imputeth not iniquity, and in\nwhose spirit there is no guile.\"_\u2014Psalm xxxii. 1, 2.\n\n\"No use, it won't do. Rhinoceros hide won't get another yard out of\nthem beasts! We must outspan * for the night!\" exclaimed Hans Kuhe,\nthe Dutch Boer, \u2020 after Pollux, his Hottentot driver, had been for an\nhour belabouring, with the huge whip, eight unfortunate oxen that were\nvainly trying to drag his waggon through a sandy African waste.\n\n   * Unyoke.     \u2020 Dutch farmer at the Cape Colony.\n\n\"If we could but have reached water\u2014the poor beasts are dying of\nthirst,\" observed David, an English lad who was servant to the Boer.\n\"Eight oxen are not enough to draw that heavy waggon.\"\n\nAnd he looked with pity at the panting creatures, whose sides were\nseamed with weals, and bleeding from the whip which Pollux had plied\nwith such merciless force.\n\nHans muttered a curse on the four oxen that had died on the road, and\na fiercer one upon the Bushmen who had carried off two others during\nthe night. He was a large, bulky man, with coarse features bloated by\nintemperance, his brandy-bottle and his pipe being his two constant\ncompanions.\n\n\"Help Pollux to outspan. Don't stand there like a lazy cur, as you\nare!\" exclaimed the Boer to the English lad, who had done nine-tenths\nof all the work since the expedition had started. \"No sulky looks for\nme,\u2014and why do you go limping like that?\" The question was asked in a\ntone of anger, by no means that of pity.\n\n\"That fore ox kicked me on the ankle,\" said David.\n\n\"You're an awkward cub!\" growled the Boer. \"No time to be lame\nnow\u2014you've a thirty miles' walk afore ye to-morrow, ere we got to the\nQuagga Fountain. Now make haste, will ye, and take the yoke off that\nbeast.\"\n\n\"Who will take the yoke off 'me?'\" thought the poor lad, as, biting his\nlip to repress either anger or pain, he proceeded to help to outspan\nthe oxen for the night.\n\nBut a year before, David Aspinall had been a fine specimen of an\nEnglish youth, with strength in his well-knit limbs, and careless\nmirth in his eyes, and a light heart in his bosom, which knew little\nof sorrow or care. \"Now,\" the sun-burnt cheek had grown hollow, and\nthe eye had lost all its brightness, and the clothes hung loosely on\nthe wasted limbs, and the expression of his face told of hardship and\ngrief, borne silently, but felt none the less.\n\n\"It has been my own choice, this path of misery; it has been my own\nputting on, this intolerable yoke of bondage!\" so thought David, as he\nwent on with his occupation. \"'The wages of sin'\u2014the wages of sin\u2014ay, I\nknow what they come to! I have none to blame but myself! I might have\nbeen\u2014\" but as that \"might have been\" was too bitter a reflection to\ndwell on, David tried to drive it away.\n\nThe evening's work was done. Hans, after a heavy meal of beltong *\ntaken with a large amount of brandy, sat on the waggon shaft, smoking\nhis pipe in lazy enjoyment, and his weary, almost worn-out servant was\nsuffered to take his food. There was nothing that would have refreshed\nDavid so much as to have plunged his aching head into cold water, and\nso have quenched his feverish thirst, but the small supply left in the\nwater-jar was precious, and he scarcely received enough to relieve his\nmost pressing need.\n\n   * Dried flesh.\n\n\"Now I'm going to turn in,\" said Hans Kuhe, who, after the fashion of\nAfrican travellers, made a house of his waggon; \"you must keep watch,\nDavy, to-night, for Pollux is not to be trusted; there he lies snoring\nalready! We may have some of the Bushmen thieves down on us again, or\nthe hyenas may come slinking to see what they can carry off, or a lion\nmay scent the cattle. I fancy I heard a roar in the distance. You keep\nthe double-barrelled gun beside you, and mind, no sleeping on watch, or\nI'll give you a taste of the rhinoceros hide!\"\n\nThe bulky form of the Boer soon disappeared under the tilt of the\nwaggon. David Aspinall was left to watch through the long weary\nhours in the dreary African waste. Night was there, but without its\nstillness. The painful lowing of the thirsty oxen, the occasional loud\nbarking of the dogs whom a sense of danger seemed to keep wakeful, the\nhowling of jackals, and the wild laugh of the hyenas in the distance,\nmade together a horrible concert, which combined with the pain in his\nankle to keep the weary lad from sleeping.\n\nWould you wish to know the thoughts that passed through his mind, as\nresting on the sands, with his back against one of the huge wheels of\nthe heavy waggon, and the double-barrelled gun close to his hand, David\nsat with his eyes fixed on the large round moon which seemed to hang so\nnear to earth, and which threw such black shadows of every object on\nthe waste?\n\n\"A blessing and a curse were set before me; I left the blessing, and\nchose the curse! I was taught the right way, I was told my duty, I had\nparents who tried to lead me heavenwards, both by their words and their\nexample. I had a conscience, but I would not listen to it; a Bible,\nbut I cared not to read it. What would I not give for that Bible now!\nI have not set eyes on one for months! I wonder if I could remember\nanything of what I learnt by heart when I was a child at Greenside\nFarm!\" and David began half aloud:\n\n   \"'The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down\nin green pastures; He leadeth me beside the still waters.'\n\n\"I can't go on with that,\" murmured the poor lad with a choking\nsensation at his throat, as his memory recalled soft green meadows,\nspangled with buttercups and daisies, in which he had sported when a\nchild, and the little gurgling stream sparkling in the sunshine, as it\nflowed from under the shadow of the one-arched bridge. \"That Psalm is\nnot for me, not for a wandering sheep; it is for God's own flock, who\nhear His voice, and follow Him. I'm afraid I can remember no other:\nyes, there's the thirty-second Psalm, my mother's favourite, perhaps I\ncould get through that.\n\n   \"'Blessed is he whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered.\nBlessed is the man unto whom the Lord imputeth not iniquity, and in\nwhose spirit there is no guile!'\"\n\nDavid stopped short, and pressed his feverish brow. \"'That' Psalm may\nbe for me, for it is for the wanderer; it speaks of transgression and\nsin,\u2014and oh! It speaks of forgiveness and blessing! Can it be that I,\nwretched, desolate as I am, can be 'blessed?'\"\n\nDavid looked earnestly up at the bright clear moon, as if to read an\nanswer to his question there. She could smile in the desert, even as\nshe had smiled on the meadows, and the trees, and the flowing stream by\nhis English home; nay, she looked larger and lovelier here, as the air\nwas clearer.\n\n\"Blessed\u2014blessed,\" repeated David to himself, as if he had difficulty\nin taking in the meaning of the words. \"But 'how' can transgression be\nforgiven, and 'how' can sin be covered?\"\n\nThen in that wild solitude there came back on the memory of the poor\nlad lessons learned on the knee of his mother, lessons which had seemed\ntill that moment forgotten; sermons heard in the quiet little church\non the hill, whither he had often gone so unwillingly, where he had\nlistened so carelessly to the message of \"good tidings\" from the lips\nof his pastor. David was not ignorant of the truths of the Gospel, but\nit had seemed as if, with him, the good seed had fallen by the wayside,\nand that pride, selfishness, and folly, like the birds of the air, had\ncarried it all away. But it was not really so; some had rested on his\nmemory, and now in the dreary African land were to spring up and bear\ngood fruit.\n\nVery familiar to the ear of David Aspinall had been the verse,\u2014\n\n   \"'The blood of Jesus Christ His Son cleanseth us from all sin.'\"\n\nBut he had never cared in his days of selfish mirth to apply its\nmeaning to himself. David then had taken his sins too little to heart\nto reflect whether his could ever be cleansed away. He had welcomed\nChristmas year after year, but merely as a time of mirth and feasting;\nit had seemed little to him that a Saviour had deigned to be born into\nthe world which He had made,\u2014for David had felt no need of a Saviour.\n\nIt was different now: all the lad's earthly hopes had been crushed, all\nhis earthly happiness had vanished away. David had offended against the\nlaws of his country; he had found no mercy from man, and he feared the\njust anger of God. David had nothing left to cling to but the hope of\nforgiveness, and he knew, he had been taught from his childhood, that\nforgiveness, though freely offered to \"all,\" could only be procured by\n\"any\" through faith in a crucified Saviour, who \"died, the Just for the\nunjust\"!\n\nIt was long since David had prayed. Perhaps it might more truly be\nsaid that he had never prayed in his life, for what are words without\nthoughts, the service of the lips without the love of the heart?\nDavid's first real prayer for forgiveness arose as he sat by the wheel\nof that great waggon, with the yells of wild beasts sounding in his\nears. In his spirit there was at least \"no guile.\" He did not deceive\nhimself as to his state before God; he made no excuses for his errors;\nhe felt from the bottom of his heart that he was a sinner, and deserved\nall the misery that he endured. He knew that it would be a mockery of\nGod to ask pardon for the \"past,\" without also asking for grace for\nthe \"future,\" to lead a new and better life. David was honest in his\nrepentance, sincere in his sorrow for sin. Alas! There are too many\nwho mistake the mere cry of distress, under sharp affliction, for the\npenitent grief of a broken and contrite heart!\n\nDavid had unconsciously clasped his hands in prayer; when he had\nunclasped them, he accidentally put his left hand down towards the\nground, and he started as it touched something clammy, which moved\nunder his touch as if alive. The next moment the full moonlight fell\non a large black poisonous snake, rapidly gliding away over the sand!\nIt had been coiled up quite close to the lad, so close as to have\nbeen concealed by his own shadow! There had David rested in perfect\nunconsciousness of the deadly enemy so near, that an incautious\nmovement on his part, by hurting and irritating the reptile, might\nhave cost him his life! David made no attempt to pursue the serpent;\nhis foot had by this time swelled so much that he could hardly have\nput it to the ground, and to have broken the heavy sleep of Hans for\nso commonplace an event (in Africa) as the appearance of a poisonous\nsnake, would only have drawn upon himself the savage anger of the Boer.\n\nBut the visit of the reptile had not been without its effect on the\nmind of David, occurring as it had done at an hour of penitence and\nprayer. He felt that a pitying Providence had been watching over him,\nand a hope arose that he had been saved for future good, that his\npainful life had not been lengthened but for some purpose of mercy and\nlove. As David silently returned thanks to God for having saved him\nfrom the fangs of the serpent, he almost felt as if this deliverance\nwere a pledge that his prayer had been heard, and that his sins were\nforgiven. Oh! If he could but be at peace with God, then indeed might\nhe face all his miseries with a firm and undaunted soul!\n\nThen followed other thoughts, suggested by the wild howls of the\njackals and hyenas, snuffing the scent of food, yet not daring to\nattack the travelling party. \"Those sounds used to frighten me when\nI was new to them,\" thought David, \"and even now they sent a thrill\nthrough me which was something like fear. I listened to them, and\nlooked to my musket, and kept watchful and ready. But I was utterly\ncareless of the far greater danger close by, the venomous serpent\ncoiling so near! It is like what happens to us in life. We are watchful\nagainst outer dangers, we try to guard against poverty, sickness and\npain, and we let the venomed serpent of sin lie in our bosom, though we\nknow that its bite is death!\"\n\nDavid remained wakeful at his post, till the approach of the morn made\nthe wild creatures of the desert retire. Then indeed his thoughts\nbecame very dim and confused; a sound as of church bells was in his\nears, like the invitation to come and worship which he had so often\nheard in the country of his birth, and so often of late months refused\nto accept. Then he was no longer in the dry and thirsty waste, the\nheavy waggon with its great canvas tilt, the broad wheels\u2014the tired\noxen resting around,\u2014all had disappeared from his view. David dreamed\nthat he was in the little church on the hill, sitting by the side\nof his mother in the well-remembered seat close to the pillar. He\nhad often sat there when he was a boy, impatient for the end of the\nservice, with thoughts intent on the thrush's nest that he had seen in\nthe thicket, or the jackdaw's brood that he hoped to bring down from\nthe old ruined tower. David had grudged the time spent in church, and\nnow that church in his dream appeared to him almost like heaven!\n\nThere was the well-known hymn\u2014\"Rock of Ages, cleft for me!\"\u2014swelling\nin the slumberer's ear, and David could distinguish the tones of his\nmother's voice, but sweeter than they ever had sounded before! And\nthen he seemed to be listening to the aged white-headed pastor, whose\nsermons he once had thought so long,\u2014and the silver hair above his\nbrow looked to the dreaming youth like a glory! He was preaching about\nthe Prodigal Son, and the joy in the father's home\u2014and the father's\nheart\u2014when the lost one again was found! David fancied that he caught\nthe sound of his mother's sob, and that the old clergyman's eyes were\nfixed on him, and that he knew that he \"himself\" was the prodigal\nwelcomed back,\u2014never to wander again! The last words that rang in\nDavid's ear before his sweet dream was rudely broken, were the words\nof the Psalm that his mother loved,\u2014the words that had brought to him\ncomfort and hope,\u2014\n\n   \"'Blessed is he whose transgression is forgiven, and whose sin is\ncovered.'\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II.\n\nWANDERINGS.\n\n   _\"When I kept silence, my bones waxed old through my roaring all the\nday long. For day and night Thy hand was heavy upon me: my moisture is\nturned into the drought of summer.\"_\u2014Psalm xxxii. 3, 4.\n\nWHILE the exhausted lad is sleeping on his hard couch of sand, I will\nbriefly relate the story of his past life, and tell the circumstances\nwhich led to his being a Wanderer in Africa, and in the service of Hans\nKuhe, the Boer.\n\nDavid Aspinall was the son of a small farmer in Dorsetshire,\u2014an honest,\nGod-fearing man, who had held a blameless course through life, looking\nto the Life beyond the tomb. He had no other son than David, but he had\nfive little daughters, all of whom were younger than their brother.\nWith so many mouths to feed, the farmer had little to spare, though\nmany a poor neighbour had a slice of bacon, or a jug of skimmed milk\nfrom his good wife's dairy.\n\nJohn Aspinall's strong wish was to bring up this only boy as his\nhelper, and then successor at Greenside Farm. He felt that his own\nhealth was frail, and his life even more uncertain than that of most\nother men.\n\n\"It's a comfort to me,\" he would say to himself, when he was more\npoorly than usual, \"that there will be Davy to look after the place,\nand take care of his mother and sisters, if so be as God should please\nto take me.\"\n\nBut David's plans for himself were very different from those of his\nfather for him. He wanted to see life, to go into the world, to have\nsomething more exciting to do than foddering cattle, or shearing sheep,\nor driving the plough a-field. David was a sharp, clever lad, sure to\nmake his way to fortune, at least so his vanity told him, and not the\nboy to be buried in a small out of the way farm!\n\nThe time came when a decision must be made. After a sharp attack of\nrheumatic fever, which had made him feel more than ever that he needed\nthe help of his son, John Aspinall, one day late in April, explained\nhis wishes and those of his wife to David. The lad was somewhat taken\naback. He had that very morning been poring over the advertisements in\na newspaper, and calculating how much money it would take to carry him\nup to London, and thinking what grand things he might do, and what a\ngreat man he might become, if he could once \"get a fair start in life.\"\nDavid had always been a wild and wilful boy, ready for any sport or\nfun, and the idea of being shut up all his life at Greenside Farm was\nmore than his spirit would bear.\n\nHere now were two paths open before David Aspinall; the way of\nduty,\u2014\"God's way,\" and his own way,\u2014the path of \"Self-will.\" The lad\nwas not long in choosing between them. He said, indeed, how much he\nshould like to please his father, only he could not please him in\n\"this.\" He kissed his mother fondly, but he grieved her none the less.\nHe made little presents to all his sisters, and promised them fine\nthings from London, but he would not give up for their sakes that upon\nwhich he had set his own heart.\n\nJohn Aspinall was not a man of words: his face sharpened by pain, and\nthe crutch which he used, said more than he could say; he let his son\nknow his wishes, and then suffered him to follow his own.\n\n\"We can't make the lad bide here against his will,\" observed the farmer\nto his wife: \"it may please God to give me back health,\u2014and if not,\nHe'll care for you and our poor little lasses.\"\n\nThe mother turned aside to dry her tearful eyes, and hoped and prayed\nthat all might turn out for the best. It was a sore disappointment\nnot to be able to keep Davy at home\u2014but she would send him to her own\nworthy brother, the grocer in London; he could learn nothing but good\nwith him, and would be kept out of the way of temptation.\n\nSo two of the pigs were sold to pay expenses, and David, in high glee,\nprepared to bid farewell to the little farm in the valley, and the\nsad and loving hearts that he would leave behind him. It touched him\na little, indeed, to see how pale his mother's cheek had grown, and\nhow red and tearful were the eyes of poor Jenny, the eldest but one of\nhis sisters, as she sat stitching at his new shirts. She had been his\nespecial playmate and pet, and loved him more than she loved anyone\nelse upon earth.\n\n\"Well, Jenny, don't look so down-hearted!\" cried the lad, as he came\nand seated himself by her side. \"I can't bear to see you so doleful.\"\n\n\"And I can't bear to see you so merry just when you're going to leave\nus all,\" answered the girl, with a broken voice.\n\n\"I'm not so merry now, Jenny; I can't help having a bit of a twinge\nwhen I think of saying Good-bye.\"\n\n\"Then why should you say it?\" exclaimed Jenny, dropping her work in\nher eagerness to speak. \"O Davy, Davy! Stay with us\u2014we cannot get on\nwithout you,\u2014the farm will seem so lonely\u2014so dreary! Even little Nelly\nwill miss you so,\u2014there will be no brother to dance her on his knee, or\nwhistle her favourite songs! I shall never care to see the green leaves\nbudding again, nor to hear the cuckoo, for they will always remind me\nof the time when Davy went to London! Oh! Don't go,\u2014stay with us, Davy!\nWhy should we not all be happy together?\" And the poor girl burst into\ntears.\n\nDavy kissed away the tears, and patted his sister on the shoulder, and\nsaid that he would be always thinking of her, that he would often write\nhome, and maybe would come to old Greenside Farm at Christmas,\u2014and\nwould not they have rare fun then! David felt the appeal to his\naffections: he loved his parents, and his little sisters, and the dear\nold home, but he loved \"himself\" best of all. Therefore, he resolved to\ngo up to London.\n\nAnother effort was made to keep the wilful lad at his home. Minnie,\nthe eldest of the girls, gentle, thoughtful, and good, her father's\ncomfort, her mother's right hand, felt that it would be right to try\none more appeal to her brother's sense of duty. As Davy was on his\nknees, on the evening before the day fixed on for his departure,\nbeginning to pack his box, he heard her gentle tap at the door.\n\n\"Come in,\" said Davy, looking up. \"So, Minnie, you've come to help me,\nlike a dear good child as you are!\"\n\n\"Not exactly that,\" said his sister, \"though I should be glad to help\nyou to pack if\u2014if you indeed must go. But, O Davy! I wish to speak a\nfew words to you first. I want to tell you what I heard dear father say\nto mother to-day.\" Minnie found it difficult to command her voice,\u2014but\nshe was determined to say what she had to say, though her brother\nlooked a little impatient, as if afraid of a lecture. \"Father said, 'I\nsometimes think I won't last long, Mary, and if I go, you'll have to\ngive up the farm, as you'll have no son to help you.'\"\n\n\"I hope that father is better than he thinks himself,\" said David,\nlooking grave.\n\n\"I hope and trust that he is,\" faltered Minnie, \"but he has been so\nmuch pulled down by pain!\"\n\n\"Yes, that makes him take care about this thing and that. I believe\nwhat ails him is more worry than anything else.\"\n\n\"And if a son could take off any of those cares, could prevent any of\nthe worry, would it not be right\u2014\" began Minnie, but David impatiently\ncut her short.\n\n\"Don't bother me about that,\u2014I've made up my mind to go, and I'm going!\nFather hasn't thriven well as a farmer; I mean to thrive in some other\nline, and come back rich, and make you all comfortable and happy!\"\n\nThere was a verse of Scripture in Minnie's mind, and she felt that she\nmust repeat it, though it made her heart beat faster to do so, for she\nknew her brother's dislike to \"religious talk.\"\n\n\"Davy,\" she said very softly, \"'The blessing of the Lord, it maketh\nrich, and He addeth no sorrow with it.' Can we look for that blessing\nif we turn away from our duty?\"\n\n\"Minnie, it's a pity you're not a parson, but I don't want sermons out\nof church!\" cried David, half inclined to be angry, and yet aware in\nhis conscience that his sister was in the right. \"Go and fetch me a bit\nof rope, will you,\u2014and ask Jenny if the last shirt is ready. Come what\nmay, nothing shall change me,\u2014I'm off to London to-morrow!\"\n\n\nAnd so the lad set off on the following morning: and if a little\nsadness came over his heart as he received his mother's kiss and his\nfather's blessing, and saw his sisters crying, it soon passed away. By\nthe time that David had lost sight of the clump of elm-trees on the\nhill, and the church spire, which was a landmark for miles around,\nrising amongst them, and had crossed the little one-arch which marked\nthe boundary of the parish, his thoughts flowed as merrily and freely\nas the brook which sparkled below.\n\nDavid found amusing companions in the train, whose talk beguiled the\nlong journey to London. Great was his pleasure and excitement on\narriving at the great bustling city, where everything was to him so new\nand so strange. David felt himself in a new world! He soon got into an\nomnibus and went off to the house of his uncle, the grocer, who had\nagreed to receive him, and put him into the way of earning an honest\nliving.\n\nThe farmer's son did not much fancy the look of his new home, which\nwas in rather a narrow, smoky street in the east end of London; he\nmissed the clear air, the bright sunshine, the sweet scents to which\nhe had been accustomed at Greenside. Nor was the lad much pleased with\nthe manner and appearance of his uncle. Mr. White was a quiet, sober\nman of business, who went on year after year in the same routine of\noccupation, without himself requiring amusement or change, or ever\nthinking that others might require them.\n\nHis uncle, however, was kind to him; that is to say, he provided all\nthat was needful for him, did not overwork his nephew, nor treat him\nwith any harshness. But he naturally expected him to be punctual and\nsteady, and do his allotted work. David soon tired of this; he found\nthat standing behind a counter, weighing out pounds of sugar and half\npounds of tea, was no more exciting or amusing than threshing out\ncorn in a barn. Besides this, David disliked the ways of his uncle's\nhouse; he could not bear the regular hours; he found the family prayer\nirksome, and he was angry at being warned against companions and\namusements that were a great deal more to his taste.\n\n\"I can't stand this sort of thing!\" said David to himself, after he had\nbeen but five days in London.\n\nShort as his visit had been, he had already managed to pick up\nacquaintance with three or four wild lads whom he fancied, as being\n\"fellows up to a lark!\"\n\nOne of them put him in the way of getting another place\u2014\"Quite a\ndifferent thing, a place where he wouldn't be hunted after by a prosing\nold Methodist uncle; where he would have the evenings and nights to\nspend as he pleased, and where he might be as jolly and free as ever he\nliked!\"\n\nDavid knew perfectly well that his parents would wish him to stay\nwith his uncle White; that they would be uneasy if they knew him to\nbe exposed to the numberless temptations of a great city, and seeking\nthe society of such comrades as would only lead him into evil. Again,\ntwo paths lay before David Aspinall,\u2014God's path of duty,\u2014his own of\nself-will.\n\nAgain the lad turned from the right, in his careless pursuit after\npleasure. He left his uncle, telling him that he thought he could\n\"better himself\" in another place, and that after giving it a trial, he\nwas convinced that he never could settle down to the grocery business.\n\n\nDavid soon found that he had indeed chosen a downward way; he would\nhardly have believed it possible, but a month before, that he could\nhave made such quick progress in evil. The lad had always been careless\nand thoughtless as regarded religion, but he had not hitherto been\n\"profane,\" he had never uttered an oath in his life. He had behaved\ndecently, both when at his father's home and when under the roof of his\nuncle. Now all restraint was removed, and David became like one of his\nGodless companions. He could laugh at what once would have made him\nblush. He never prayed, he never opened his Bible, he never entered the\ndoor of a church. He frequented the public-houses, the theatres, and\nplaces of low amusement. Sunday excursions were his delight. His guilt\nwas all the greater that he knew what was his duty.\n\nDavid did not care to write to his parents; he scarcely liked to\nremember them at all, for a pang of conscience would sometimes shoot\nthrough his soul, when the thought would come, \"What would father say\nif he could see me now?\" \"Poor mother! If she knew what I am after, it\nwould well-nigh break her heart!\"\n\nDavid even hated the sight of letters from home, they always made him\nso dull. He often wished that his family did not know his address.\n\nThis career of folly and sin lasted almost to the end of that year,\nand then it was brought suddenly to a close. David and a party of his\ncompanions were returning from Greenwich one Sunday night, heated with\ndrink, when they took to breaking windows, and insulting or knocking\ndown peaceable citizens whom they met. Young Aspinall, indeed, took\nless part than the rest in the more serious mischief, but he was mixed\nup in the whole affair, and accordingly found himself, with one of the\nothers, in the lock-up before morning.\n\nIt was a dreadful trial to the lad, who had by no means lost his sense\nof shame, to be brought to a police-court on the Monday morning,\ncharged with breaking the law. Some delay occurred, from the absence\nof an important witness, and David was remanded till the next day, so\nhad to spend another miserable night in the company of pickpockets and\ndrunkards. But if he had been wretched on his first appearance before\na magistrate, David was far more wretched on his second, for as the\nprisoner entered the crowded, heated court, and raised his eyes for a\nmoment (for he had hitherto kept them bent on the floor), they fell on\nthe form of his father leaning on his crutch, his honest face looking\nold and haggard, and with such an expression of grief and shame upon it\nas cut his son to the soul.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III.\n\nWANDERINGS\u2014_continued._\n\nJOHN ASPINALL had come up by the night train to London\u2014a place which\nhe had never visited before\u2014on account of a telegram received from\nMr. White on the preceding day at Greenside Farm. Never before had a\ntelegram been seen, or scarcely heard of, in that quiet secluded spot,\nand its contents had filled the hitherto peaceful home with mourning\nand woe. Had the tidings been those of David's death, they would not\nhave caused more anguish. His sisters cried bitterly, little Nelly the\nloudest of all, though she could not, of course, understand the cause\nof the trouble; she only knew that something dreadful had happened to\nDavy.\n\nJenny was indignant at the thought of her brother\u2014her darling\nbrother\u2014being brought before a magistrate.\n\n\"He is as innocent as a lamb, I'm certain that he is,\" she exclaimed\nthrough her sobs. \"This is the doing of some wicked, cruel enemy, who\nwants to ruin our Davy. Are you not sure that he is innocent, Minnie?\"\n\nPoor Minnie could only hope so. Her love was as tender as Jenny's, but\nnot so blind. She was too well-aware that poor Davy had not made duty\nthe rule of his conduct at home, and she knew that when a stone is set\nrolling down a steep hill, no one can tell where it will stop. The\ntone of the very few short notes which David had written home during\nthe last six months had made his sister very uneasy; of late he had\nwritten none at all. Minnie was less surprised than distressed when\nthe sad news came. She tried, though with a very sore heart, to cheer\nher mother, and speak hope to her father, but her great resource was\npouring out her heart in prayer to God.\n\nMrs. Aspinall could not weep, and would not complain, but she trembled,\nand a feeling of faint sickness came over her frame. Her boy, her\ndarling, her pride, he to whom she had once looked as her future\ncomfort and the support of the family, was he to bring down the grey\nhairs of his parents with sorrow to the grave?\n\n\"Wife,\" said the farmer abruptly, \"I must be up to London; there's a\ntrain starts at ten to-night.\"\n\nMrs. Aspinall cast a sad look out at the chill wintry landscape, but\nshe knew it would be vain to attempt to prevent her husband from taking\nthe journey. She pulled out of her large pocket a purse, for she\nusually had charge of the money of the family. She emptied the purse on\nthe deal table with her cold trembling fingers; there were a few small\npieces of silver, and several of copper, but \"not\" one of gold.\n\nThe farmer looked at the little store for a moment or two with a\nknitted brow, then muttered as if to himself, \"Cobbs said last week as\nhow he'd be glad to buy Crummie; I'll just step over and see if he's in\nthe same mind.\"\n\n\"We'd spare anything for our boy,\" said Mary Aspinall. These were the\nfirst words which she had trusted herself to utter since the arrival of\nthat dreadful telegram paper.\n\nSo Crummie was sold, the favourite cow that the farmer had reared from\na calf; that had been the pride and pet of his children, and whose\nmilk had been the chief means, as his wife often said, of bringing\nhim through his long illness. With a full purse but a fuller heart,\nthe unhappy father started on his journey to London, on a dark, cold,\ndrizzly night. He would not have started alone, for Mary yearned to go\nwith him, had the mother not feared that all the spare cash would be\nwanted for David, and had she not felt that it was needful for her to\nstop and take care of the girls and the farm.\n\n\nAfter once catching a glimpse of his father in the police-court,\nDavid could hardly give his mind to attend to what was passing around\nhim. The voices sounded like a confused babble in his ears; he seemed\nconscious only of one thing, that he was a guilty wretch, deserving\nany amount of punishment that might be inflicted upon him. How had he\nrepaid all the love that had been lavished on him since his birth; how\nhad he fulfilled the fond hopes of which he had long been the object?\n\nDavid Aspinall was convicted of misdemeanour; the sentence was fine or\nimprisonment. John paid the fine at once; his son, who was well-aware\nhow scanty were the means of his parents, could not bear to think,\nthough he could easily guess, how the money had been procured. His\nuncle White, who was present, led the unhappy father, and yet more\nunhappy son, out of the court, called a cab, and took them at once to\nhis home. Not a word was uttered during the long rattling drive. The\nfarmer sat opposite to David, leaning both hands on his crutch, with\nhis head bowed down; a heavier weight than that of years was crushing\nthe honest man to the dust!\n\nAnd then could David realise to some extent the misery described in the\nwords of the Psalmist, the anguish of remorse \"without\" confession,\nremorse uncheered by the hope of God's forgiveness. The Lord's hand was\nheavy upon him; his moisture was indeed \"changed into the drought of\nsummer!\"\n\nDavid made a not uncommon mistake at this time of shame and anguish. He\nthought that \"remorse\" was \"repentance;\" he hated himself for his sin;\nbut he had yet to learn that to \"hate self\" is not always to \"give up\nself,\" and that the heart may be wrung with misery, yet the stubborn\nwill remain unbroken.\n\n\"You'll come back with me, lad? Your mother won't be easy till she sees\nyou; you're wanted more than over at the farm.\"\n\nThese were the first words which John Aspinall addressed on that day to\nhis son, and they were uttered in a hoarse, husky voice.\n\n\"I'll never go back!\" exclaimed David, with passionate excitement.\n\"This will be known all over the village\u2014I could not look any one in\nthe face! No, no; I'd sooner die than go back!\"\n\n\"But what if it be your duty to go,\" said Mr. White, in a tone of grave\nreproof. \"We must sometimes put our likes and dislikes out of the\nquestion, and try\u2014to make up for the past.\"\n\n\"I'll go out to one of the colonies, and work my way in a place where I\nam not known,\" exclaimed David, who had hardly listened to his uncle,\nand who dared not look at his father.\n\nYet again the two ways, the right and the wrong, were before the young\nlad. Had \"his\" been true godly repentance, he would \"at any cost\" have\ntried to make the only amends that he could make to his family for\nall the grief that he had caused them. He would have sacrificed his\nself-will to what he knew to be the clear duty before him. He would\nhave obeyed the wishes of his earthly father, and so have followed the\nguidance of his heavenly Father. But David was not prepared to do this.\nOnce again, after all the bitter lessons of the past, he chose the\nway of his own inclination, and decided on working his way out to the\nAfrican coast.\n\nDavid did not even go back with his afflicted father to spend Christmas\nat Greenside Farm. He would not have done so, even could he have\nafforded the expense of the journey. As it was, all his wages had gone\nin selfish pleasures, and he had to borrow from his uncle what was\nrequired for bare necessaries to fit him out for the voyage.\n\nBefore a fortnight had passed, David was tossing in the British\nChannel, encountering the hardships of life at sea, and in vain\nstraining his eyes, as he passed the Dorsetshire coast, to catch a\nglimpse of the distant church spire rising from the clump of old elms.\n\n   \"The way of transgressors is hard.\"\n\nThis is declared in the Bible, and millions, by sad experience, can\ntestify to its truth. Every one who habitually chooses to follow his\nown will, disregarding duty and conscience, will find in the end\u2014if he\nfind not at once\u2014that sorrow follows as the shadow of sin.\n\nDavid was no longer a thoughtless, light-hearted lad, he was a burdened\nsinner, ashamed to think of his home, afraid to think of his God! After\na \"miserable\" voyage, which had seemed to him as if it never would end,\nDavid arrived at the Cape of Good Hope. He was almost unprovided with\nmoney, and did not find it as easy as he had expected to obtain good\nemployment. He got a few odd jobs, but no permanent engagement.\n\nAfter a while he was tempted by the offer of high wages, and also by\nthe hope of adventure and sport, to go a considerable way inland, to\nenter the service of Hans Kuhe, the Dutch Boer, to whom I have already\nintroduced the reader. The lad spent all his little means in making the\nlong journey, and then found himself at Heinbok Kloof in the position\nalmost of a prisoner, or rather of a slave, to the coarse-minded\nhard-hearted man whom he had chosen as master. David had no power to\nget away, for it was impossible for him, without money or oxen, to\nreturn to Cape Town through a dry barren tract, the haunt of wild\nbeasts, and of tribes of men almost as wild.\n\nYoung Aspinall was chained to the service of one who so disliked\nEngland and the English that he gave the name of \"Britain\" to his most\nobstinate ox, for the express purpose of having something to thrash\nwhich bore that hated name. Oh how bitterly did David contrast the\nrude dwelling of Hans, seen under the furnace-like glare of an African\nsun, to his own peaceful home in the valley; the yellow thick-lipped\nHottentots, who, whenever they dared, left their work to be done by the\nEnglish lad, to the dear ones whose faces and forms were so familiar to\nmemory; his father, with his broad sun-burnt brow; his gentle mother,\nhis rosy-checked sisters. David even contrasted the lean long-legged\noxen with sides seamed by the traces of the cruel rhinoceros hide, to\nthe sleek cattle that grazed in English pastures, or stood, as he so\noften had seen them, in the pool enjoying the fresh cool waters in the\nstillness of a summer eve. Sorely did David repent that he had ever\nwandered from Greenside Farm.\n\nBut still David's was not that repentance which leads the sinner to\nGod, it was not laying down the burden of his sins and his sorrows\nat the feet of his Saviour, and trusting to that Saviour's mercy and\nmerits for pardon and peace. It was not until the night on which\nmy story opens, when David was returning from an expedition still\nfurther inland, undertaken by his master for purposes of barter with\nthe natives, that the poor Wanderer had had a glimpse of the blessed\ntruth that he might yet return to his heavenly Father, that his\ntransgressions might be forgiven and all his sins blotted out.\n\nGreat as were his sufferings and dangers, that was a night of blessing\nto the penitent lad. It was then that he found his God and looked up to\nHim in faith, not as the stern Judge who would execute judgment upon\na criminal, not as the awful King who would crush the rebel who had\nbroken His laws, but as the compassionate Saviour, deeply wronged, yet\nloving still, stretching forth those sacred hands once pierced for the\nsake of sinners, and calling to His wandering sheep, \"Turn ye, turn ye,\nwhy will ye die?\"\n\n                               \u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV.\n\nFORSAKEN.\n\n   _\"I acknowledged my sin unto Thee, and mine iniquity have I not hid.\nI said, I will confess my transgressions unto the Lord and Thou forgavest\nthe iniquity of my sin.\"_\u2014Psalm xxxii. 5.\n\n\"Up with you, English cur!\" were the words, uttered in a harsh guttural\ntone of command, which awoke David Aspinall from his short sweet dream,\nand roused him in a moment to a sense of the pain fill realities around\nhim. \"Up with you, English cur!\" repeated the Boer, laying a stress on\nthe word English so as to convey an insult in the sound. \"Kick that\nfellow Pollux; these Totties * are always eating or sleeping! We must\nin-span and be off before the sun grows hot.\"\n\n   * Abbreviation for Hottentot.\n\nDavid sprang to his feet, but could hardly keep down an exclamation of\npain as he did so, for so sharp was the pang which shot through his\ninjured ankle. He, however, awoke Pollux, and with the help of the\nlazy Hottentot, at once set about the labour of yoking the unwilling\noxen. Hans, seated on the fore-part of the waggon, eating his breakfast\nmeanwhile, and then smoking his pipe at ease, as he watched the efforts\nof his servants, which he tried to quicken now and then with an oath or\na threat.\n\n\"How I hate and despise that man! How I should like to serve him out!\"\nSuch had often been the thought of the English youth, and had sometimes\nbeen conveyed to its object in looks, if not in words. But on this\nmorning there was something in the heart of David which softened the\nbitterness of his feelings even towards his tyrant.\n\nThe labour of in-spanning was rendered very severe by the pain which\nDavid suffered, and the toil-drops stood on his brow. He felt how\nimpossible it would be for him to follow the waggon on foot, and when\nall was ready for a start, he limped up to his master,\u2014\n\n\"Sir, you see how my ankle is swelled; I doubt whether I could walk a\nmile to save my life.\"\n\n\"Swelled,\u2014I should think it was!\" exclaimed the Boer. \"Why, you'll be\nno more use for the next month than a lame dog in hunting, or a lame ox\nin the yoke! What am I to make of you all that time, for you'll eat if\nyou won't work?\"\n\n\"I hope, sir, you'll let me sit on the waggon,\u2014you see that I cannot\nwalk.\"\n\n\"Sit on my waggon, when those wretched beasts can hardly drag the\nload over the sand!\" exclaimed the large heavy Boer, who had himself\nlittle intention of walking. \"No, no, if you can't follow on foot,\nyou may stay behind!\" And the Dutchman put again into his mouth the\npipe which he had taken out in order to speak, and puffed away in calm\ncontent, after uttering what was to his poor young servant almost like\na sentence of death.\n\nCommanding his voice and temper as well as he could, David made reply\nto his master, \"You can hardly mean to leave me here, sir, in the midst\nof a desert, thirty miles from water, to perish by thirst, if not by\nwild beasts!\"\n\n\"Pollux, lash the oxen, and let us be off!\" shouted the Boer.\n\n\"To leave me thus would be murder!\" exclaimed David with indignation.\n\n\"You'll find your legs, I warrant you, and follow the spoor (track) of\nthe waggon,\" observed Hans, as he resumed his pipe.\n\n\"At least\u2014at least you will give me water\u2014and a musket to defend myself\nfrom attacks of beasts, and to procure food\u2014\"\n\n\"Can't spare a musket\u2014have but three; you may have that!\" said the\nBoer, throwing down from the waggon a short spear of native make, on\nwhich he set little value, and which was likely to be of little use.\n\"As for water,\" added the Boer, \"I've just emptied the last drop from\nthe cask.\"\n\nSo frightful was the fate to which the unfortunate youth was likely to\nbe left, that limping painfully by the waggon, which was now in motion,\nhe attempted by entreaty to move the heart of his cruel master. David\nknew well that Hans had but to sacrifice a little of his property, to\ncast out of the waggon some of the heavy goods within it, or go on foot\nhimself, to enable him easily to give that help on which a life might\ndepend. But Hans seemed as insensible to feelings either of honour or\npity as the oxen which dragged him. And David, unable to keep up with\nthe waggon, and in severe pain from the attempt to do so, was soon\nforced to fall behind.\n\nHe threw himself on the ground, and for some moments a feeling of\nsullen despair stole over the deserted youth, as he listened to the\ncreaking sound of the wheels, and the crack of the whip, and the\nshouting of Pollux growing fainter in the distance.\n\n\"My God\u2014O my God!\" he murmured. \"Am I to perish thus?\"\n\nDavid had never felt death so near, and he now tried to prepare his\nsoul to look it calmly in the face. He might soon have to stand before\nhis offended Maker\u2014how should he appear? What plea could he offer for\nmercy? What hope had he that heaven would be his portion when he should\nlay down the weary burden of the flesh? David felt that his life was\nprobably now to be counted by days, if not by hours; for on that most\nlonesome track, it was highly improbable that any human being would\ncome to his succour. Time was precious indeed. Had David yet made his\npeace with God?\n\nThe first clear duty before the youth was to make humble confession\nof sin before God. As David lay on the sand, leaning his brow on his\nclasped hands, he went over in thought the events of his past life,\ntrying his own conduct by the standard of God's commands. Had he loved\nthe Lord his God with all his heart, his soul, and his strength? Nay,\nhe had forgotten his Maker in the days of his youth\u2014had broken His\nlaws\u2014had profaned His day\u2014mocked at His people\u2014slighted His word\u2014even\ntaken His name in vain! Had David done his duty towards his neighbour?\nNay, he had treated with ingratitude and disobedience even the parents\nwhom he loved; he had spoken many a word of anger; he had harboured\nthoughts of revenge; he had not indeed defrauded others of their\ndue, for he had scorned dishonesty, but by his evil example, he had\nencouraged others in sin. He had \"not\" kept his heart pure; he had\n\"not\" kept his lips clean; he had done what he ought not to have done,\nand left undone what he ought to have done, and from the depths of his\nsoul the poor sinner confessed that there was no health in him.\n\nThe act of confession was in itself painful, and yet it brought a\nfeeling of sweet relief. David had told God all\u2014even as a child who has\ndone wrong comes and confesses to a parent, feeling that any punishment\nis more tolerable than concealment would be. David had the blessed\nhope that his punishment, as regarded suffering for sin \"after\" death,\nhad \"already\" been borne, that it had all been endured by the blessed\nSaviour when He hung on the awful cross.\n\n   \"There is no condemnation for them that are in Christ Jesus.\"\n\nSin might indeed bring\u2014had already brought\u2014affliction in this present\nlife. The psalmist was forgiven, yet tasted to the end of his days the\nbitter consequences of his sin. But very different is the correcting\nrod of a loving Father, who will make \"all things to work for good\" to\nHis penitent child, from the crushing wrath of the Almighty descending\nupon a rebel who will not repent!\n\nAfter pouring out his heart in confession and prayer, David felt more\ncalm, more resigned. He now raised himself a little and looked around.\nThe prospect was indeed most desolate and dreary, and very painful was\nthe reflected heat of the sun from the barren sands. There was scarcely\na breath of air stirring, and what came seemed to have passed through\na furnace. David's mouth was parched and dry from thirst. He could see\nsome wild creatures, probably zebras, galloping in the distance. But\nthere was not the slightest chance of his being able to reach them,\neven had he possessed a musket, they would have been beyond its range.\n\nThe only other object that in the least varied the dreary sameness\nof the prospect, was a patch of what seemed to be scarcely worthy of\nthe name of vegetation, a few hundred yards to the left of the youth,\nand almost hidden from view by a little rising. This patch looked so\nparched up and dry, that under other circumstances, David would not\nhave cared to go near enough to see what plants had found root in such\na desolate place. Now, however, the shelter of even the smallest bush\nwas not to be despised, and David, using the spear as a staff, slowly\nmade his way over the rising ground towards the low clump.\n\nHe was rewarded for the effort by a joyful surprise. With a delight\nwhich only those who have suffered from severe thirst can understand,\nDavid beheld a water-melon, large and juicy, lying on the ground\u2014that\nplant which grows in African wastes, as if expressly designed by a\ngracious Providence to supply the want of water in a dry and parched\nup land. David seized the fruit with feverish haste, cut it open with\na large clasp-knife which he carried about him, and partook with keen\nenjoyment of its melting contents, which are said to relieve thirst\neven better than water.\n\nNor was this all. David had not been for months in the Damara land\nwithout learning the value of what, to a stranger's eye, might have\nlooked nothing but a few bare twigs. There was a treasure lying below,\nand David soon dug up with his spear a large juicy root, wholesome and\nmost refreshing, which is often eaten by the natives. These plants,\ngrowing in the wilderness, not only supplied the poor Wanderer's\npresent need, but spoke a lesson of hope to his heart, like that which\na little moss once taught the traveller Bruce. Here they grew in the\nlonely waste, living proofs of the care of Providence, that in some way\nunseen, supplied their roots with nourishment, and made them live and\nspread where scarcely a blade of grass would grow.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V.\n\nNOT FORSAKEN.\n\n   _\"For this shall every one that is godly pray unto Thee in a time when\nThou mayest be found: surely in the floods of great waters they shall\nnot come nigh unto him.\"_\u2014Psalm xxxii. 6.\n\nDAVID was still thankfully partaking of the root called Markrohae, when\nhis attention was arrested by the appearance, on the sandy horizon,\nof a four-footed creature approaching towards him at full speed. He\nsoon distinguished that it was a Springbok, a kind of antelope of the\ndesert, moving rapidly forward in bounds such as perhaps no other\nquadruped can make. It was coming straight in his direction, and David\ncrouched down low, grasping his spear, and hiding himself as well as\nhe could behind the scraggy bushes. He was surprised to see a solitary\nindividual of a species that generally travels in herds, and still more\nso that a creature so timid and shy should not have perceived him, so\nimperfectly concealed as he was, and have started off in some other\ndirection.\n\nThe cause for this was soon evident, as David perceived that three wild\ndogs were in hot pursuit of the Springbok, which they had probably\nsingled out from a herd. The chase must have been a long and severe\none, for the antelope was now slackening its speed, and the terrified\ncreature was too much alarmed by the close pursuit behind to take\nnotice of danger in front. Before it could reach the bushes, the\nforemost dog had pulled it down, and in a few seconds the other two\nwere on their already lifeless prey.\n\n[Illustration: The chase must have been a long and severe one,\n for the antelope was now slackening its speed.]\n\nNow was the moment for David! With steady aim, he sent his light spear\nwhirling through the air and right amongst the ravenous wolf-like\ncreatures that had just run down their quarry. It glanced from the\nshoulder of one of the dogs, which uttered a yell of pain. David sprang\nto his foot, threw up his arms, and shouted!\n\nWhether it was his sudden appearance, or the sound of a human voice,\nwhich is said to have such strange power over the beasts of which man\nwas made the lord, it is not needful to decide. The savage creatures\ndid not await the approach of the unarmed youth, but a second shout\nsent them galloping off with such speed as their already half-exhausted\nstrength would allow, flying from the face of man, and leaving their\nprey behind them.\n\n\"This is indeed wonderful!\" murmured David, as he painfully made his\nway to the spot where the dead antelope lay. \"God has made the very\nbeasts of prey provide me food in the desert! 'Thou preparest a table\nbefore me.' That is from the twenty-third Psalm. I can no longer say\nthat it is not a Psalm for me. 'Yea, though I walk through the valley\nof the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me.' I\nwill no longer think myself alone. Even after all my guilty wanderings,\nGod has not forsaken me. I will trust Him in life and in death, 'for\nHis mercy endureth for ever.'\"\n\nTaking the spear again as his staff, David, with considerable\ndifficulty, dragged the body of the dead Springbok to the small thicket\nwhich he had just quitted. He had learned from the Bushmen their way of\nprocuring fire without match, flint, or steel, and now his knowledge\nstood him in good stead. He first gathered together some leaves, which\nthe fierce sun had made almost as dry as tinder; next he cut two sticks\nwith his knife, making a small notch in the first, and sharpening the\npoint of the second; he then put this point into the notch, and twirled\nthe second stick round between the palms of his hands so rapidly, as to\nproduce sufficient heat to set fire to the little dry heap. He threw on\nthis some withered twigs, and soon a thin cloud of blue smoke curled up\nin the clear desert air.\n\nDavid's cooking of a portion of his antelope was of a very rough\ndescription, but he sat down to his hastily prepared meal with a very\nthankful heart. He had always been accustomed at Greenside Farm to hear\nhis father say a grace before dinner, but since leaving England, David\nhad never himself thought of returning thanks to God for his food,\nuntil he partook of this meal which Providence had spread for him in\nthe desert. It was no mere cold form now when David Aspinall uttered\nthe words,\u2014\n\n   \"For these, and 'all' His mercies, the Lord's name be praised!\"\n\nDavid was not only refreshed and strengthened by the food, but he was\ncheered by the thought that for one night at least he might be able to\nkeep off attacks from wild beasts by lighting a fire. His supply of\nfuel was indeed very scanty, but then he would use it sparingly. He\nhad not sufficient wood for the morrow, but \"why take thought for the\nmorrow?\" The God who has amply supplied the need of to-day, would not\ndesert him then.\n\nDavid found occupation in gathering together materials for his\nnight-fire, and then made up for his short broken rest by a refreshing\nafternoon sleep.\n\nWhen the youth awoke, he again partook of food, and relieved his thirst\nby finishing what he had left of the melon in the morning. Then,\nreclining on the sand by the heap of dried sticks and leaves which\nhe would light after sunset, David gave himself up to holy thoughts,\nrepeating to himself the thirty-second Psalm, and dwelling upon its\nmeaning verse by verse.\n\n   \"'For this shall every one that is godly pray unto Thee.'\"\n\nDavid paused that he might try better to understand this passage of\nScripture.\n\n\"As this Psalm tells of mercy to him 'whose transgression is forgiven,\nwhose sin is covered,' I should have thought that the word would rather\nhave been, 'For this shall every one that is \"ungodly\" pray unto Thee.'\nIt is only they who want the mercy. But who are the godly, who are the\nrighteous mentioned so often in the Bible? Do we not read in another\npart,\u2014\n\n   \"'There is none that doeth good, no, not one'?\n\n\"Did not our Saviour Himself say,\u2014\n\n   \"'There is none good but one, that is God'?\n\n\"What is meant, then, by godly, and why should the godly pray because\nGod has mercy on sinners?\"\n\nThis was a difficult question, and David could not for a long time\nthink of a satisfactory reply. Would not St. Peter be counted \"godly?\"\nAnd yet St. Peter three times denied his Lord. Surely St. Paul was\n\"righteous,\" yet he had been a persecutor and blasphemer. At length the\ntruth seemed to dawn upon David as the words recurred to his mind,\u2014\n\n   \"'In the Lord have I righteousness and strength.'\"\n\nSurely the \"godly\" in the sixth verse of the Psalm must be the very\nsame as the \"blessed one\" mentioned in the first, whose \"transgression\nis forgiven, whose sin is covered,\" who is counted righteous before\nGod, because through faith, he is made a partaker of the spotless\nrighteousness of Christ. It is to such that it is said in the Psalm,\n\"The Lord imputed not iniquity.\" Yes, the \"godly\" is not, cannot be the\nman who has committed \"no\" sin, for in that case there would be none\ngodly upon earth; but rather he that loveth much, because he hath been\nmuch forgiven!\n\n\"Now I remember,\" thought David, \"the large picture of the Deluge,\nwhich used to hang between the two lattice windows in my dear old room\nat Greenside, and what my mother said to us about it on one wintry\nSunday, when we were almost blocked up by snow.\"\n\nDavid sighed heavily as he recalled the bright blaze of the wood-fire,\nrendered so welcome by the sharp keen air, and how those lattice\nwindows had been all feathery with frost, and the trees without,\nsilvered with frozen dew. To the poor Wanderer, half burnt up by\nAfrican heat, ice and snow and sharp crisp air seemed the greatest of\nluxuries.\n\nDavid went on with his train of thought in reference to the picture of\nthe Deluge. \"My dear mother pointed out to us the Ark floating on the\nsurface of the waters, while the rain poured in torrents from the sky,\nand poor wretches were drowning even on the tops of the highest hills.\n\n\"'Mind you, my children,' she said, 'the family of Noah were safe,\n\"not\" because they were good swimmers or good sailors, \"but\" just\nbecause they had faith and obedience to make them go into the Ark. That\nwas the place of safety which God had provided, and \"no other\" was\nsafe. And so Christ is our Ark and our Refuge now. If we are in Him, we\nare safe; even at the last awful day, the great waters of destruction\nshall not come nigh us!'\"\n\nAnd what is it to be \"in Christ\"? Is it not to come to Him as a poor,\nhelpless, perishing sinner, whose only hope is in His mercy? Has He not\nsaid of such,\u2014\n\n   \"'He that cometh unto me I will in nowise cast out'\"?\n\nReader, I ask you not whether you have ever been a wanderer like David,\nor whether you have led what men may call a blameless life. I ask, have\nyou ever come to Christ; have you given your heart to Him? If so, He is\nwilling, ready to clothe you with His own righteousness, to give you\nHis Spirit to make you holy, and render you, by that Spirit's power,\none of the \"godly\" that pray unto Him!\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI.\n\nPERIL AT HAND.\n\n   _\"Thou art my hiding-place; Thou shalt preserve me from trouble; Thou\nshalt compass me about with songs of deliverance.\"_\u2014Psalm xxxii. 7.\n\nTHE glowing red sun went down, just as David, after much difficulty,\nhad succeeded in kindling his small dry heap of firewood. There was\nlittle or no twilight; in a short space all was dark (for the moon\nhad not yet risen), save when the English youth, on his lonely watch,\ncarefully placed one crackling branch after another upon his little\nfire.\n\n\"I must not go to sleep,\" thought David, \"or my fire will go out,\nespecially as I dare not waste my precious fuel to make it large enough\nto last without constant care. The desert seems to me to be more than\nusually still: even the jackals are silent, and I cannot hear the\nhyena's horrible laugh!\"\n\nDavid put his ear close to the ground to listen, and then,\u2014even on that\nsultry night and close to a fire,\u2014there came over him a feeling like\na chill, and he hastily threw on more fuel, and made the flumes leap\nhigh, while he looked anxiously in one particular direction, and then\nbent down again and listened.\n\n\"Yes, I could not mistake that sound, though uttered, perhaps, miles\nfrom hence! That was the roar of the lion himself! I must not suffer\nthe fire to die down, for that is my only protection now, except the\nmercy\u2014the watchful care of my God!\"\n\nIt was no small comfort to David to feel the night-breeze blowing from\nthe direction in which he had heard the roar,\u2014for as he was to windward\nof the lion, the terrible king of the desert was not so likely to scent\neither him or the remains of the Springbok which he was heating at the\nfire. Still it was an awful position for him; alone in the waste, with\nthe knowledge that a fierce wild beast was roaming abroad, and that\nthere was not so much as the barrier of a wall or a hedge between it\nand him! It was somewhat natural that David, in this strange peril,\nshould recall to mind a verse from St. Peter's epistle.\n\n   \"'Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary, the Devil, as a\nroaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour.'\"\n\n\"How much more carefully, how much more anxiously I guard against the\nlion which can only destroy my body, than I did against him who so\nnearly destroyed my soul!\" thought David. \"Here am I now, giving up\nsleep, treasuring every dry stick as if it were worth its weight in\ngold, stirring my fire to a blaze, listening, watching, waiting, ready\nto start up any moment with my spear in my hand! How was it with me in\nmy careless days of sin? Why, I have profanely laughed at the notion\nof danger; I have been angry at warnings, however wisely given; I have\nscarcely believed that there was a Devil at all, and I have actually\njested with the soul-destroyer's name on my lips! I was no more afraid\nof the Lion that goeth about to devour, than yon 'dead' antelope is of\nthe fierce wild beast that may swallow it up in a moment. And why was I\nso easy and careless? It was because I was 'dead in sin;' my conscience\nwas dead! Thank God, the God of mercy, that I did not then perish\nfor ever,\u2014called to the bar of judgment unrepenting, and therefore\nunforgiven!\"\n\nFor hours the Wanderer sat feeding his fire, while the full moonlight\nfell around him, and thousands of twinkling stars glimmered in the deep\nblue sky above. The fire, kept up to scare away lions and other beasts\nof prey, was like the grace of God in the heart, which every Christian\nmust carefully tend by watchfulness and prayer. Oh! Dear reader, when\nwe find our hearts growing cold towards God, when our light does \"not\"\nshine before men, when we become sleepy and careless in religion, let\nus tremble and rouse ourselves to greater vigilance. For \"our enemy is\nnot asleep,\" temptation and danger are near, far greater peril than any\nthat can threaten the body alone!\n\nSometimes David fancied that he saw dim forms, like shadows, moving in\nthe distance. And once again, but still afar off, he heard the sound\nof the deep low roar which strikes such terror to the heart. He tried\nto keep his soul calm and composed, trusting in God;\u2014to realise the\nprecious assurance contained in the words of the Saviour:\n\n   \"'Are not five sparrows sold for two farthings, and not one of them\nis forgotten before God? But even the very hairs of your head are\nall numbered. Fear not, therefore: ye are of more value than many\nsparrows.'\"\n\nWho should be so fearless as the Christian who rests under the shadow\nof the Almighty's wings? Of what need he be afraid to whom death\nitself, whenever or howsoever it comes, is but a messenger of love to\nbear him to the presence of a Father!\n\nThough David found comfort in such thoughts, he was thankful when the\nlong, long night wore away, though, oh, how slowly! At length a glow\nappeared in the eastern sky, the morning broke at last, and there was\nthe Wanderer, alive and unharmed.\n\nHow much during the night had David thought of his home and every\nindividual in it; memory calling up each dear familiar face, till he\ncould almost fancy himself again seated with his family round the\ncheerful board, with little Nelly on his knee. And how fondly he had\nprayed for every one at Greenside\u2014his good father, his tender mother,\nthe sisters who had been his playmates and friends! What earnest\nresolutions David had made, that if God should please to spare his\nlife, and let him return to England, he would be the comfort and\nhelp of his parents, a true brother and guardian to the girls. How\ncheerfully would he labour, not for a cruel master, but for a loving\nfather; not as a bondsman, but as a son! And even in such a spirit\nwould he try to work for his God. His service should not be that of\nslavish fear, but of grateful adoring love! He would think no duty\ntoo hard, no duty too painful, if called to do it for the sake of his\nmerciful Saviour!\n\nIt was now broad daylight, the sun had risen, and David beheld with\nsurprise the change in the scene before him. Not half a mile distant\nappeared a large and beautiful lake, reflecting like a polished mirror\nthe glittering sunshine! Here and there a soft isle appeared to dot the\nblue expanse of the waters. The scene was lovely, and all the more so\nas contrasted with the barren wildness of that upon which the sun had\nset on the preceding evening. David gazed with admiration indeed, but\nnot with pleasure. He knew that he looked upon a mirage, that all was\nas false as it was fair; that with that shining lake before him, he\nmight yet perish with thirst! Wide as the waters appeared, the Wanderer\nknew that there was not a drop of real moisture with which he could\ncool his burning lips, and he would have thankfully exchanged all the\ngoodly show for a single cup of cold water!\n\n\"Ah!\" said David to himself, with a sigh. \"Had I but reached this spot\nat night, and so not have known but too well the nature of the country\naround, with what eager hope and delight the sight of that lake would\nhave filled me! How, at the cost of any pain, I would have rushed\ntowards it, from the longing to plunge myself into its cool refreshing\nwaters! In the days of my ignorance, it was thus that I looked upon\nsinful pleasure; it was a mirage to my soul; I must and would reach\nit, and no one should keep me back! I had what I resolved to obtain,\nand what did I find? Not cooling waters, but barren sand! Oh! How much\nof sorrow was needed to teach me the lesson that the soul's thirst for\nhappiness cannot be quenched by the world's mirage! It can only be\nsatisfied by the love of Him who said,\u2014\n\n   \"'He that believeth on Me shall never thirst.'\"\n\nDavid had imagined that with the night his greatest danger from wild\nbeasts would pass away, that whatever his sufferings might be from its\nheat, at least some degree of safety would come from the sun. But when,\nafter watching the mirage for some time, he chanced to turn his eyes in\na different direction, he started in sudden alarm! What is that coming\ntowards him?\u2014A single creature, and a large one; it is neither giraffe\nnor zebra!\n\nDavid, alone and unprotected, felt his heart throb fast at the\nsuspicion which flashed across his mind as to the nature of the\ncreature that came on so rapidly over the sand! It was not long that he\ncould cling to a doubt, it was a large lion that was galloping towards\nhim, and it saw him; for straight as an arrow it came in the Wanderer's\ndirection. The wild beast slackened its pace as it drew nearer; the\nbounding gallop was changed to a crouching walk. David would willingly\nat that moment have given his left hand to have had a double-barrelled\ngun in his right. For well he knew that his small spear would be of\nlittle use in a struggle with an enemy so powerful as the desert\nking. He would not attempt to fling the weapon\u2014it would only serve to\nirritate, not to inflict a mortal wound.\n\nIt was a fearful thing to stand watching the gradual approach of\nthe lion, and yet David was calmer and more resolute than under\ncircumstances far less trying to flesh and blood. Even at that awful\ntime there was a sense of the presence of God, which strengthened his\nsoul to meet danger, and, if needs be, death itself as a man and a\nChristian should meet them!\n\nDavid kept his eyes fixed on the lion; and the glaring eyes of the lion\nwere fixed upon him. The youth had often heard tales amongst Hottentots\nof adventures with wild beasts in which the power of the human eye had\nbeen mentioned, and when it had been said that even the lion fears to\nattack a man who looks him full in the face. David had not put much\nfaith in such stories, but had often said that he believed the best use\nof the eye in such cases was to direct a heavy bullet aright. But the\nyoung Englishman had now no other resource, and he dared scarcely so\nmuch as let an eyelid quiver, as he surveyed the lion with so fixed a\nstare that a dimness seemed to come over his sight from the intensity\nof his gaze. As if half spell-bound, more and more slowly advanced\nthe lion, crouching catlike on the sand, lashing his tawny tail, and\nuttering ever and anon a low fierce growl.\n\nFive, ten minutes thus passed\u2014every minute seemed an hour: suspense\nbecame almost intolerable; but the end appeared now to be at hand. The\nlion was not many yards from the English youth, and suddenly, with an\nangry shake of his mane, drew himself together in the act to spring! At\nthis instant, a sharp report rang through the air, then another, and\nanother,\u2014and almost before the dizzied brain of David could realise the\nfact that deliverers must be near, the lion, with a wild roar of agony\nand rage, rolled over on the sand, and lay quivering in death but a few\npaces from the feet of its destined victim.\n\n                               \u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\u2014\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII.\n\nRESOLUTIONS.\n\n   _\"I will instruct thee and teach thee in the way which thou shalt go:\nI will guide thee with mine eye.\"_\u2014Psalm xxxii. 8.\n\n\"A RIGHT good shot, and a splendid prize!\" exclaimed a loud cheerful\nvoice in English, as, musket in hand, a young mounted hunter galloped\nup to the spot, followed by another, a few years older than himself,\nwhose face, bearded and bronzed, was unmistakeably English.\n\n\"You've had a narrow escape!\" cried the second rider to David, who\nstill stood as if rooted to the ground.\n\n\"A merciful deliverance!\" gasped the youth.\n\n\"Aye, a merciful deliverance indeed!\" repeated the first rider, whose\nname was Carlton. \"We had to make a circuit to get a fair broadside\nshot, and feared, every moment, that the beast would spring on you\nbefore we got near enough to take a sure aim. I had to fire at last at\nso long a range, that I scarcely expected the bullet would strike. What\na splendid creature this lion is, Manners! Of all our hunting spoils,\nthis is the noblest by far!\"\n\nAnd dismounting, the young Englishman surveyed with admiration the\nimmense carcass of the once formidable lion.\n\n\"You are a lad of mettle!\" observed Manners to David. \"You stood your\nground like a hero!\"\n\n\"I could neither fight nor fly,\" answered David simply, \"or I'd have\nbeen glad enough to do either.\"\n\n\"How came you,\u2014and without a gun,\u2014to be here all alone in such a wild\nplace as this?\" asked Carlton with some curiosity and interest.\n\n\"I served Hans Kuhe, the Boer, the track of whose waggon you may\nsee yonder. I fell lame; he would not let me ride, and I could not\nwalk,\u2014and so he left me behind.\"\n\n\"The brute!\" exclaimed the young hunter.\n\n\"But notwithstanding your lameness, you seem to have had some luck in\nhunting,\" observed Manners, glancing at what remained of the Springbok.\n\n\"I could not follow the game,\u2014the game was sent to me,\" answered David,\nhis heart glowing with gratitude as he spoke; \"wild dogs pulled it down\nnear to this spot, and with my spear I was able to frighten them away,\nand take what God had provided. It was He, too, who brought you here,\ngentlemen\u2014you to whom I owe my life, for which I thank you from my\nsoul!\"\n\n\"We were but just in time,\" observed Manners.\n\nCarlton had already begun a rough measurement of the lion, which was\none of the largest size,\u2014and he conversed eagerly as he went on with\nhis occupation.\n\n\"This king of beasts\u2014he deserves the name\u2014has led us a good chase this\nmorning over his desert domain. He was prowling last night round the\nspot where we had outspanned, and made our oxen half mad with terror.\nBut I suppose he thought discretion the better part of valour, for he\ndid not venture on an attack, and made off before we could get a fair\nshot. We mounted, and have been following on his spoor ever since there\nwas light enough to see it. But I doubt whether we should ever have\ncome up with our game, had you not headed him, and kept him at bay. You\nare certainly the hero of this lion adventure, and deserve the tail as\na trophy.\"\n\n\"You will, of course, join our party,\" said Mr. Manners kindly to\nDavid; \"our waggons will be up in an hour or so, for we intend to\noutspan to-night at Quagga Fountain.\"\n\n\"And Manners will play surgeon to your hurt,\" said Carlton gaily; \"he\nis doctor-in-chief to our party, and can set a bone or cut off a leg in\na twinkling!\"\n\nDavid joyfully accepted the offers of his fellow-countrymen. The sound\nof his native tongue, in its purity, was as music to his ears, and the\nfrank, cordial kindness which he met with was all the more delightful,\nfrom the contrast which it presented to the harsh conduct of the Boer.\nHow marvellously had the Wanderer been watched over and cared for\u2014to\nthe hungry, food had been sent; to the friendless, friends; and to the\nhelpless, great deliverance! It sweetened every blessing to David, to\nregard it as coming directly from God. Thankfulness is the parent of\ncheerfulness. We may safely affirm, that he who has a heart to praise\nwill never lack something to praise for.\n\nThe hunters now proposed galloping back to their waggons, and sending\nsome of the \"Totties\" to help to skin the lion.\n\n\"And probably feast on the carcass,\" laughed Carlton. \"So that they can\nhave plenty of flesh, these fellows are not particular as to what it\ncomes from.\"\n\n\"Shall I take you up behind me on my horse?\" said Manners to David.\n\nDavid declined the kindly offer, the state of his ankle being such\nas would have rendered the ride extremely painful. Besides, he was\nunwilling to cause inconvenience to one of his preservers. He would\nrather remain where he was, he said, and watch by the dead lion until\nthe waggons came up.\n\n\"I'll just load my gun and leave it with you, then,\" said Manners; \"you\nmight have other unpleasant visitors while left alone here.\"\n\n\"And we'll not forget to send you, by the Totties, something to help\nyour breakfast,\" added Carlton; \"you have plenty to eat, as I see, but\nthe liquor must not be wanting.\"\n\nIn few but fervent words David again thanked his new friends, who did\nnot care to wait to be thanked. Off they rode, blithe and merry, joyful\nat having slain their lion, and still more delighted at having been the\nmeans of saving a gallant lad from a terrible fate.\n\n\nOnce more was David left to himself, and solitude was not unwelcome,\nfor with it he could more freely pour out his heart's deep thanksgiving\nto God. He could also more quietly form resolutions for the future. He\nwould now plead for the fulfilment of that gracious promise contained\nin his mother's favourite Psalm,\u2014\n\n   \"'I will instruct thee and teach thee in the way which thou shalt go.'\"\n\nDavid resolved that from that day forth, he would never take any\nimportant step in life without praying for heavenly guidance. Nor would\nhe\u2014God's Spirit helping his resolve\u2014ever suffer his own wayward will to\ndraw him from the straight path.\n\n\"What is meant by 'I will guide thee with mine eye?'\" David reflected\non the expression.\n\nIt is always well to ponder over such passages until their full meaning\nbecomes clear to our minds.\n\n\"I remember,\" thought young Aspinall, \"that when Minnie and I were\nchildren together, mother gave an account of our behaviour during his\nabsence to father, who had been on business away from home three days.\n\n\"'I've had a little trouble with Davy,' she said ('I' daresay that it\nwas not a 'little'), 'for he does not always mind what is said to him;\nbut as for my little Minnie, a \"look\" is enough for her. Minnie was so\nobedient to her mother that she could be guided by \"the eye.\"'\n\n\"That must be the meaning of those words in the Psalm, and what a\nbeautiful meaning it is! I have been through life like a wilful,\ndisobedient child, and God has had to draw me back to Himself by\nmeans that were rough and painful. I have had shame and loss, pain\nand danger, and all these trials were needed, not one could have been\nspared me. It would not have been thus with me if I had obeyed from\nthe first the voice of conscience within. Yes, 'Conscience' applying\nScripture must be the 'directing look' of the Lord; and the man who\nfollows it fully and faithfully, he it is whom God 'guides by His eye.'\"\n\nThe greatest earthly desire David now had was to return to his home\nand fulfil those wishes of his parents, which had now become his own.\nEven the recollection of the painful passage in his life in London\nwhich had once made him so shrink from going back to Greenside was now\ninsufficient to damp that desire. The thought of treading again the\nwell-known fields, and hearing the dear familiar voices,\u2014climbing the\norchard-trees in autumn, and flinging down sweet apples to Eliza, whose\ngood-humoured face would look almost as round and rosy as they,\u2014or\nsitting by the fire, on winter evenings, telling tales of African\nlife,\u2014how delightful would this be! Then the walk with his father and\nmother along the green lanes to the church on the hill with Jenny close\nat his side, or listening to the soft music of Minnie's voice teaching\nNelly the evening hymn\u2014all was like a dream of happiness to the poor\nWanderer in Africa, too bright to be ever realised!\n\nBut how could David get back to England? Doubtless the generous hunters\nwho had already shown so much kindness would take him in safety to\nsome part of the colony where he would at least be in no danger of\nstarvation, or of perishing by attacks of beasts, or Bushmen. But David\nfelt that he had no right to expect anything more from them. The injury\nto his ankle was so severe that he feared lest it would be long indeed\nbefore he could have a chance of working his way home: and though, at\nthe Cape, he might earn something by the labour of his hands, he knew\nfrom experience that a tedious time must elapse before he could save\nenough to pay for a passage to England. In the meantime what might not\nhappen!\n\nDavid was in a feverish state from heat, thirst, and the pain in his\nankle. It is likely, too, that the adventure with the lion had, for the\ntime, shaken his nerves; indeed, to face such a fearful creature alone,\nand for so long a time, was enough to try the firmest\u2014all these causes\ntogether produced a depressing effect upon his spirits. A horrible fear\ncame over him that he should never see his father again, never be able\nto ask his forgiveness, that he should arrive in England \"just too\nlate,\" and find the farm in the hands of strangers, his family gone,\nnothing of theirs left but a new tombstone in the churchyard!\n\nDavid groaned aloud as his feverish fancy presented all this to his\nmind with the vividness of reality. Oh, that he had wings to fly home!\nHow could he endure to wait for months, perhaps for years, before he\ncould embark for Old England! Could it be wrong to wish, to pray for\nmoney, when money could take him to his home? David did pray, and very\nearnestly, that the way might be opened before him, and that his father\nmight be spared to rejoice in his prodigal's return.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII.\n\nGUIDANCE.\n\n   _\"I will guide thee by mine eye.\"_\u2014Psalm xxxii. 8.\n\nTHE movements of the two waggons belonging to the English hunters,\nthough certainly quicker than those of the Boer who had lost so many of\nhis span, * were tedious to the impatient David. He did not, however,\nhave to remain suffering from thirst until they came up, for a party\nof Hottentots, sent by the hunters, who were themselves engaged in\nshooting, came up to carry off the skin and claws of the lion, and\nManners had not forgotten to forward by them water, and other things\nneedful.\n\n   * A \"span\" usually consists of fourteen oxen.\n\nDavid, though to a certain degree refreshed, longed for the shelter of\nthe waggon-tilt to shield him from the blazing sun. He was not exactly\nin the track along which the waggons would pass, having left it, as the\nreader is aware, for the little low clump of bushes. David, to whom the\nsight and scent of the Hottentots engaged in their task were anything\nbut agreeable, took the musket and spear to support his painful steps,\nand made his way back to the road, if road it could be called, where he\nsaw on the sand the broad marks of the wheels of Hans' waggon, and the\nhoof-prints of his weary oxen.\n\nThe youth was now not many yards from the spot where he had pleaded,\nthough in vain, to be taken up on that waggon,\u2014perhaps some fifty paces\nfarther on the road than where he had stood at that time. Emotions of\nfiery indignation rose in the Wanderer's breast, when he thought of the\ncruel wrong that had been done him, and how nearly the conduct of his\nheartless master had given him over as a prey to the lion.\n\nDavid was turning over these reflections in his mind, when his eye\nchanced to fall on an object lying not far from his feet, on the track\nof the Boer's waggon. He knew in an instant what it was, and hastening\nto the spot, as fast as pain would let him, he raised from the sand a\nlarge leathern purse heavy with gold, that gold which Hans Kuhe prized\nmore than anything else upon earth, except perhaps, his brandy-flask\nand his pipe.\n\nA crowd of conflicting feelings pressed upon the mind of David as he\ngrasped the heavy purse, dropped on the road by the man who had almost\nbeen his murderer. The very first thought which arose was, \"This is\nsent in answer to prayer; this money will take me home!\" Then there\nfollowed a strange conflict within, a kind of dialogue which David held\nwith his own soul; or rather, there was the Tempter of man speaking\non the one hand, and Conscience answering on the other. If the reader\nknows nothing of such an inward struggle, it is to be feared that it is\nbecause Conscience is silent, not because sin is dead.\n\n   TEMPTER.\u2014Why should you doubt for a moment whether it is lawful for you\nto take this money which Providence has placed in your very path?\n\n   CONSCIENCE.\u2014It is written, \"Thou shalt not covet.\"\u2014\"Thou shalt not\nsteal.\"\n\n   TEMPTER.\u2014The hateful Boer owes you wages; it is lawful to take your\nown.\n\n   CONSCIENCE.\u2014He owes you but \"one\" piece of gold, which alone can be\nrightfully yours; that purse, by its weight, contains at least forty.\n\n   TEMPTER.\u2014But think of the good you might do with that money. In the\nhands of the Boer it will be spent on drunken revels, or still worse.\nWith you it will make your parents happy; it will take you back to the\nhome which it was sin in you ever to leave.\n\n   CONSCIENCE.\u2014How that money will be spent by another is not the point\nto decide. It is not the Boer's conduct, but your own, that \"you\" must\nanswer for before God. Ill-gotten wealth brings no blessing, but a\ncurse. Let none \"do evil, that good may come.\"\n\n   TEMPTER.\u2014But think on your cruel wrongs. Remember the insulting\nwords,\u2014nay, even the blows which you have had to endure. Think on the\nbarbarity of him who could leave a faithful follower to die a lingering\ndeath, and that, too, from a hurt received in his service. If you\ncannot keep the purse for yourself, throw it away. Let it be found by\nsome one else who will use the money without a scruple. Take out the\none piece which is your own, and then scatter the gold to the right and\nthe left. You may scorn to keep another man's money, but you may enjoy\nthe \"sweetness of revenge.\" Your tyrant will have to bear a heavy loss,\nand it is to be hoped that he will look upon it as a just punishment\nfor his conduct to you.\n\n   CONSCIENCE.\u2014It is written, \"Do good to them that hate you; pray for\nthem that despitefully use you and persecute you.\" It is written, \"If\nye do not forgive, neither will your Father which is in Heaven forgive\nyour trespasses.\" There is a safe and simple rule which every servant\nof Christ is bound to follow, \"Be not overcome of evil, but overcome\nevil with good.\"\n\nConscience had won the victory, and David enjoyed the blessed\nexperience of what it is for God's child to be guided by His eye.\n\nThe youth resolved to restore the purse, at the first opportunity,\nto its rightful owner; but human nature is weak, and he knew that if\nsuch opportunity were long delayed, the temptation which he had just\nconquered might come back again with irresistible force. Reason told\nhim that it would be better to put it out of his power to take from\nthat store of gold in case his need should be very great or a length of\ntime should elapse before he should meet Hans Kuhe again. The Boer was,\nas David believed, more than a day's march before him, and his road\nwould turn off at Quagga Fountain in quite a different direction from\nthat which the English party were likely to take. The gentlemen would\nknow better than David could how to send money across a wild country;\nthe lad therefore made up his mind to place the purse in their hands,\nafter taking from it the small amount of wages actually due to himself.\n\nBefore the hunters came riding up towards him, a little in advance of\ntheir waggons, David had decided on the right course to be pursued. As\nsoon as they had dismounted and had come up to the place where he was\nawaiting their arrival, young Aspinall gave the parse into the hands of\nManners, and told him that he had picked it up on the road, but that he\nknew it belonged to Hans Kuhe, a Dutch Boer, who lived at Heinbok Moot\nand that he hoped the gentlemen would kindly take charge of it, and\nhave it restored to its owner.\n\n\"How came you to identify a common-looking purse so readily?\" inquired\nMr. Carlton.\n\n\"I have seen it dozens of times in the hands of its owner; I know well\nthat tobacco-stain left by his fingers.\"\n\n\"He is some friend of yours then, I suppose?\"\n\n\"Hardly to be called so,\" answered David with a smile; \"only yesterday\nhe was my master.\"\n\n\"Your master!\" exclaimed Carlton. \"What\u2014the fellow who left you to die\nin the desert!\"\n\nCarlton whistled, and turned on his heel.\n\nManners smiled, placed the heavy purse in one of his pockets, and told\nDavid that he would take care not only that it should reach its owner,\nbut that the Boer should be informed who had been its finder.\n\n\"And now, my boy,\" said the Englishman, \"let me play the surgeon, and\nlook at your ankle.\"\n\nVery skilfully and very kindly did Manners, like the good Samaritan,\nbind up the hurt of the young traveller whom he had met by the way,\nCarlton looking on with interest as he did so. The three then mounted\nthe waggon, whose tilt, lined with many a trophy of the chase, offered\na refreshing shelter from the blazing heat of noon. Manners made\nDavid rest on his own bed in the waggon, where the lad enjoyed a long\ndeep sleep, from which he awoke quite free from fever, and much more\ndisposed to look upon everything in a cheerful light.\n\nIt was very pleasant indeed to David, who had been treated as a dog\nby Hans Kuhe, to find himself not only in the society of countrymen\nand gentlemen, but to be aware that they were both very favourably\ndisposed towards him, and that they admired his courage and honesty.\nIt was not merely the hope that Manners and Carlton might in some way\nhelp his return to England that made this knowledge so delightful to\nDavid; he had a heart that warmed to kindness, especially in a foreign\nland, and after having experienced so much of the reverse, the youth\nwas naturally desirous to keep the good opinion of the hunters, and was\nanxious not to say or do anything which might lower him in their eyes.\n\nAs the three sat in the waggon together, the gentlemen asked David a\nfew questions as to his parentage and birthplace, and seemed pleased\nwhen they heard that he was the son of an English farmer.\n\n\"One might have guessed that you came of the race of our bold yeomen,\"\nobserved Carlton, \"when you would face a lion for half an hour without\nwinking!\"\n\nDavid's cheek glowed with pleasure at the praise, and he could not\nrefrain from telling of a brave deed performed by his father in early\nyouth, when John Aspinall had been the means of saving a girl from an\ninfuriated bull.\n\nBoth the gentlemen listened with much interest, and Manners quoted\nsomething from Goldsmith about a \"bold peasantry, their country's\npride,\" which raised David's spirits still higher. The conversation\nthen took another turn. The subject was that of shooting, and the\nhunters were glad to find that their young comrade knew very well how\nto handle a musket or rifle.\n\n\"Almost the best shot that ever I met with was our gamekeeper's son,\"\nobserved Manners. \"I've seen him bring down a small bird on the wing\nwhen it looked a mere speck in the sky! He was such a clever lad too;\nhe could turn his hand to anything. He'd have been invaluable on an\nexpedition like ours\u2014he'd have dressed a dinner or mended a shaft, or\nhave made a pair of velt-shoen, or have driven a span of oxen, as if\nhe'd been brought up to the business of cook, carpenter, cobbler, and\ndriver! The poor fellow was wild to come with me to Africa!\"\n\n\"And why did you not bring him?\" asked Carlton.\n\n\"Well,\" began Manners slowly, as if he scarcely dared to give his\nreasons; \"you see\u2014he had got into a scrape\u2014had been before the\nmagistrate, and had seen the inside of a prison. I don't choose to have\nanyone about me whose character bears a stain.\"\n\n\"Quite right,\u2014don't you think so?\" said Carlton, tuning towards David.\n\nThe poor youth's face flushed again, but not this time with pleasure.\nHe felt uneasy, mortified, ashamed, and knew not what to reply.\n\n\"Why,\" continued Carlton, seeing that he hesitated, \"you would not keep\ncompany with a gaolbird, would you?\"\n\nAgain there was a struggle within, a dialogue between the Tempter and\nConscience, only carried on far more rapidly than I can write, or the\nreader peruse it.\n\n   TEMPTER.\u2014Put a bold face on the matter; say \"no\" at once.\n\n   CONSCIENCE.\u2014That would be a lie.\n\n   TEMPTER.\u2014Only a white lie; it will do no one harm.\n\n   CONSCIENCE.\u2014It will do you grievous harm, for it is sin. \"Lying lips\nare an abomination to the Lord.\"\n\nOnce more David felt Conscience to represent his God's guiding eye.\n\n\"You would not keep company with a gaolbird?\" repeated Carlton,\nresolved to have a reply.\n\n\"I\u2014I have been in a scrape myself,\" said David with a desperate effort.\n\n\"Then I'll be bound, it was on some false charge!\" exclaimed Manners.\n\n\"I wish I could say so,\" murmured poor David, heartily wishing himself\nfifty miles off.\n\nThere was silence for two or three seconds, and then Manners observed\nto Carlton, \"whatever he was 'then,' he is a noble fellow 'now;' we'll\nnever come on this subject again.\"\n\nThe effort was over\u2014the truth had been told, and David had the comfort\nof finding that his candour had raised him as much in the favour of his\nfriends, as he had feared that his confession would have lowered him.\nManners and Carlton treated him with even more kindness than before,\nwhile he had the comfort of feeling that he had followed the dictates\nof Conscience, and spoken the truth, as a Christian should ever do.\nNever yet had any being cause to regret having followed, whether in\nsmall things or in great, the gentle leading of Him who guideth His\nsaints by His eye!\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX.\n\nTHE STUBBORN SINNER.\n\n   _\"Be ye not as the horse, or as the mule, which have no understanding:\nwhose mouth must be held in with bit and bridle, lest they come near\nunto thee.\"_\u2014Psalm xxxii. 9.\n\nDAVID was reminded of the verse which heads this chapter while watching\nthe struggles of one of the draught-oxen, which was young, obstinate,\nand not yet well broken-in to the yoke. Restive and stubborn, it seemed\ndisposed to pull in any way but the right one, though its very life, as\nDavid knew, depended on its obeying the driver, who was directing it to\nthe nearest point where a large fountain of water was to be found. The\nox kicked, tried to gore with its horns,\u2014to break from the waggon, to\ndo anything rather than \"obey,\" and drew down upon itself heavy blow\nafter heavy blow\u2014punishment carried to an extent that would have been\ncruel, had it not been actually needful.\n\n\"My conduct was once very much like that of yon wretched ox,\"\nthought David, \"though I could not plead its excuse of having 'no\nunderstanding.' I have had terrible blows that have made my very heart\nbleed; but it was long before I would give way and bow my proud spirit\nto the yoke. But I will call it a yoke no longer; those who obey\nConscience are released from the 'bit and the bridle;' they follow the\nsteps of their Master; they are not driven, but led.\"\n\nThe sun was sloping towards the west, and the Hottentot drivers said\nthat the waggons would reach Quagga Fountain before he set. It was\nthere that they would outspan for the night.\n\n\"We shall not be alone,\" observed Carlton, \"for I see a waggon not half\na mile ahead.\"\n\nThis was rather a subject of surprise, as David was certain that none\nhad passed on the tract since Hans Kuhe had gone that way.\n\n\"It must be that of the Boer,\" he observed, \"but still it is strange\nto see it there. He counted upon leaving Quagga Fountain early this\nmorning, and if that be his waggon yonder, he can never have reached\nthe water at all.\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" suggested Manners, \"his oxen were too feeble to draw the\nwaggon, and so he has outspanned, and taken on the weary beasts to the\nfountain, leaving the waggon until they were able to pull it again.\"\n\n\"We shall soon know the truth,\" said Carlton. \"I hope the Boer may be\nthere, that he has stuck fast in the sand, and that David may have the\npleasure of giving back the purse himself, and seeing if it be possible\nto make such a fellow blush.\"\n\nAfter the waggons had advanced some way, David spoke again, anxiously.\n\"Certainly there are none of the oxen with the waggon, and, strange to\nsay, there does not seem to be anyone left in charge. Hans Kuhe is not\nthe man to desert his goods like that.\"\n\n\"Though he could desert his faithful servant,\" observed Carlton.\n\n\"There is a man,\u2014and it must be the Boer himself, for he is certainly\nnot a Tottie, laying flat upon the ground, about five yards to the left\nof the waggon, and he looks as if he had been stripped of half his\nclothes!\" said Manners.\n\n\"Something must have happened to him!\" exclaimed David, starting up.\n\"Hans Kuhe must have been attacked by the Bushmen. Let us hasten on and\nsee.\"\n\nThe oxen were urged to their best speed. Every yard that they advanced\nserved to confirm the fears of David. He saw before him the waggon\nof Kuhe, but it was utterly empty, stripped of all the innumerable\narticles of furniture, dress, trade, the karosses, cooking-utensils,\nivory tusks, skins, ostrich-eggs and feathers, that had made it appear\nsomething between a house on wheels, and a travelling museum. One\nwounded dog which came barking up to David, as if delighted to see his\nfamiliar face, was the only thing that showed life and motion. One or\ntwo arrows such as are used by Bushmen, a biscuit-cask robbed of its\nstores, and some broken pipes and empty bottles lay on the sand, which\nhad evidently been trampled by many feet that had never worn shoes.\n\nThe first care of the three Englishmen was to hasten up to what had\nappeared to be the lifeless body of the Boer. David, in his eagerness,\nsprang down from the waggon, almost forgetful of his lameness.\n\n\"He is not dead!\" exclaimed the youth. \"He is not dead! See\u2014he moves\u2014he\nopens his eyes. If we had water\u2014\"\n\n\"Brandy\u2014brandy!\" groaned the Boer.\n\nBoth water and brandy were brought. The wretched man, who had lain\nthere for twenty-four hours, drank as if he never would cease from\ndrinking.\n\n\"He's not much hurt, I hope!\" cried David. \"That wound from the dart in\nhis shoulder may not be deep; it has scarcely bled at all, and it is\nnear no vital part.\"\n\n\"But the flesh is dreadfully swollen around it,\" said Manners, gravely\nshaking his head. He then quickly returned to his own waggon, to bring\nfrom it other things that might be needed by the wounded man.\n\n\"How came 'you' here!\" exclaimed Hans Kuhe suddenly, fixing his eyes\nwith a wild startled expression upon David, who had been supporting the\nBoer's head on his knee, while holding a flask to his lips.\n\n\"You may well ask that question,\" muttered Carlton, \"for it is no\nthanks to you that he is here, or anywhere on this earth!\"\n\nHe probably did not intend that his words should reach the Dutchman's\near, but they had been both heard and understood, for Hans exclaimed\nwith vehemence, raising himself with an effort to a sitting posture as\nhe spoke, \"Ay, ay, it was that, that has brought the ruin upon me! He\nwould have watched, have kept awake; the savages would not have stolen\nupon us, and struck before I could snatch up a musket! Ay, ay, I've had\nnothing but ill-luck since I left him alone! First I dropped my purse\u2014\"\n\n\"Which David found\u2014and which David restores to you!\" said Manners, who\ncame up at the moment, as he drew forth the purse, and gave it to the\nyouth, who was still on his knees beside his former master.\n\n\"Take it\u2014all your money is there, save the one piece which you owed\nme,\" said David, putting the heavy purse close to the coarse brown\nfingers that were wont to clutch gold so eagerly, and to hold it so\nfast. But, to his surprise, Hans Kuhe made no attempt to take up the\npurse.\n\n\"What's money to me!\" groaned the miserable man, sinking back on the\nsand. \"Can it keep back death for one hour\u2014one moment?\"\n\n\"Not death!\" exclaimed David, cheeringly. \"You have but a flesh-wound\nfrom an arrow.\"\n\n\"But the arrow was 'poisoned!'\" muttered Hans. \"There's nothing on\nearth that can save me!\"\n\n\"He speaks too truly,\" said Manners, who had been examining the wound.\n\"Spend what time is left you, unhappy man, in making your peace with\nGod, for no human skill can help you now.\"\n\n\"Peace with God!\" repeated the sufferer gloomily. \"It is too late. I\nnever cared for religion in health, and now\u2014\"\n\n\"Pray, oh! Pray!\" exclaimed David. \"God is so merciful\u2014I have found Him\nso merciful,\u2014if we but repent.\"\n\n\"I cannot repent,\" groaned the dying sinner, whose life had been one\nlong course of rebellion, who had closed his ears and his heart to\noffers of mercy, till he had become stubborn and hardened in guilt.\n\n\"Let me but repeat to you what has been my own comfort\u2014my own hope,\"\nsaid David with emotion, for Conscience bade him make yet one effort\nmore for the soul of the miserable man,\u2014though the presence of the\nhunters, and his own consciousness of unworthiness, made it very\ndifficult for him to speak. \"'Blessed is he whose\u2014'\"\n\n\"There's no blessing for me\u2014none!\" interrupted the Boer. \"Go, boy,\ngo,\u2014you mean kindly, but it is too late! Take that purse\u2014keep it\u2014I have\nwronged you,\u2014I've met my deserts,\u2014money\u2014oxen\u2014goods\u2014life\u2014all gone! I\nshall want nothing more\u2014but a grave!\"\n\nThese were the last words which Hans ever spoke. He was gently placed\nin a waggon, and there David, with such care and kindness as a son\nmight have shown, tended his enemy while life ebbed away. How awful\nis the deathbed of the wicked! David had prayed to his God \"in a time\nwhen He might be found.\" Hans was like those unhappy ones who neglected\nNoah's warnings till God's people had entered the Ark, and the door was\nshut, and they who had been offered mercy in vain were swept away by\nthe flood of great waters!\n\nIt is scarcely necessary to relate how the misfortune of Hans had come\nupon him. After eating and drinking to excess, the Boer had fallen\ninto a heavy sleep in his waggon. Pollux, who never worked if he could\npossibly be idle, followed his master's example and slept, while the\ntired oxen halted on the way. A crouching Bushman who had come as a\nspy saw the state of affairs, which was such as to invite an attack.\nAnd gathering some of his tribe, they made an onslaught on the waggon,\nfirst sending a shower of poisoned arrows, for the Boer was known to\nbe heavily armed, was a dead shot, and a very powerful man. The reader\nknows the result: Pollux fled,\u2014the oxen and everything that could be\ncarried off were taken, and the Boer was left to die! There he lay,\nthirsting, and in misery, dreading attacks from wild beasts, in far\nmore woeful state than that to which his selfish cruelty had doomed his\npoor young servant.\n\nThat night the remains of Hans Kuhe were buried near the Quagga\nFountain. There was no tear shed over his grave. His life had been\nwithout faith or repentance; his death was without hope or peace.\n\n   \"There is no peace, saith my God, to the wicked.\"\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X.\n\nHOME.\n\n   _\"Many sorrows shall be to the wicked: but he that trusteth in\nthe Lord, mercy shall compass him about. Be glad in the Lord, and\nrejoice, ye righteous: and shout for joy, all ye that are upright in\nheart.\"_\u2014Psalm xxxii. 10, 11.\n\nI will now pass over some months, and change the scene of my story from\nthe wild glowing wastes of Africa, to a quiet little English farm,\u2014and\nask my reader to unfasten in thought the latch of its little gate,\nwhich is whitened with silvery frost, cross the small garden where the\nsnow lies so thick that every footstep leaves its print, and through\nthe low porch, icicle-hung, enter the old picturesque dwelling, which\nfeels so warm and comfortable after the sharp evening air without.\n\nWarm it is,\u2014for large logs are blazing in the old-fashioned fireplace,\nwhich is so wide that it holds a seat on either side. And on one of\nthese seats is Farmer Aspinall, warming his hands by the kindly blaze,\nafter a good day's work. His wife is stirring something in a large\niron pot which is simmering on the fire, and giving out a very savoury\nsmell. Five girls of different heights, from Minnie, a gentle-looking\nyoung maiden now almost as tall as her mother,\u2014to Nelly who is hardly\nhigher than the table, are busy with a quantity of bright holly and\nmistletoe, which Eliza had just brought in. For this is Christmas eve,\nand the farmer's family keep up the old English custom of decking their\nhome with evergreens, and making it gay with berries.\n\n\"Why do you look so sad, Jenny?\" asked Nelly, glancing up inquiringly\ninto the face of her sister. \"Is not this Christmas time, and should we\nnot all be glad?\"\n\n\"Christmas has never seemed the same to me,\" said Jenny with a deep\nsigh, \"since Davy went away.\"\n\n\"Ah! Yes,\" cried chubby-cheeked Eliza, \"how merry he used to make us\nall!\"\n\n\"His going has been a trial,\u2014a very great trial to us,\" said Minnie, to\nwhom the events related in the second chapter had been like a blight in\nthe spring-time of life. \"But our 'trials' must not make us forget our\n'blessings,'\u2014and we have had so many of these lately.\"\n\n\"Yes, there's the cow that uncle White gave us,\" interrupted Nelly.\n\n\"I shall never care for it as I cared for poor Crummie,\" said Bessy,\nthe second youngest of the girls.\n\n\"And there's the famous harvest!\" cried Eliza. \"Our barn was never so\nfull before!\"\n\n\"And father is better\u2014dear father! He don't want his crutch,\" said\nNelly.\n\n\"Oh!\" exclaimed Minnie, her eyes filling with tears. \"When I look at\nthat crutch hung up there, and think of all father once suffered, I\nfeel that we can never be thankful enough to see him so well again!\"\n\n\"He has a sore heart though, I know he has, and so has mother,\" said\nJenny, lowering her voice that her parents might not overhear her; \"I\ndaresay they are both thinking of poor Davy now. I'm sure since we\ngot that last dull letter from Heinbok Kloof (what a horrid place it\nmust be!) I've scarce thought of anything else. I wish Christmas time\nwere over\u2014just think what a Christmas our Davy will have!\" And a tear\ndropped on the spray of holly which Jenny held in her hand.\n\n\"Dear Jenny, is it not a comfort that, though parted, we can pray for\nhim still?\" said Minnie.\n\n\"I always pray for Davy,\" cried little Nelly; \"I say,\u2014\n\n   \"'Please, God, take care of brother, and bring him safe back.'\n\n\"And so,\" added the child with simple faith, \"I think he'll come home\nat last.\"\n\n\"Hark!\" cried Jenny suddenly. \"Isn't there a footstep outside?\"\n\n\"Some one is tapping at the pane!\" exclaimed Nelly.\n\n\"There's a face at the window!\" cried Minnie.\n\nBut it was the mother's eye which first caught sight of that face, and\nknew it in the reflected glow from the fire-light within. There was a\nwild rash of all the sisters to the door, but it was the mother's hand\nthat drew back the bolt, and let in the Wanderer\u2014the beloved. And the\nfirst kiss of welcome to David was the kiss of the mother who, sobbing,\npressed him to her heart!\n\nYes, it was David himself, though a good deal changed, as his family\nsaw when they were calm enough to think of anything but the one delight\nof meeting. He was taller, thinner, and much more sun-burnt than\nwhen they had parted. But the change \"within\" was far greater than\nthe change \"without.\" The proud, wilful, wayward lad had come back\nthe brave, unselfish, earnest Christian, who was resolved, by God's\nhelp, to lead a new life, ever setting duty before pleasure, or rather\nfinding his pleasure in duty:\n\n   \"Not slothful in business, fervent in spirit, serving the Lord.\"\n\nThe farmer had started to his feet at the first joyful cry from\nhis girls, and went forward to meet his son with such deep, quiet\nthankfulness as no words, no outward sign could express. The sisters\nwere full of eager questionings, the father hardly uttered a word: the\nmother wept for joy, but the father shed no tear. Yet no one could\nhave looked at his honest manly face on that evening, as John Aspinall\nsat listening to the account of the wonderful deliverances of his son,\nwithout seeing that in none of the breathless listeners was feeling\nmore true and deep. The Christian man had gone through a life of toil,\nhardship, and trial; he had known sickness and suffering, poverty\nand disappointment. But he had put his trust in God, and God had now\nbrought him safely through all. To Him who had been his Rock and\nFortress in the time of sorrow, John Aspinall now looked up in his hour\nof exceeding joy.\n\n\"Many sorrows shall be to the wicked.\" Yes, the reader may observe, but\nis it not also written, \"Many are the afflictions of the righteous\"?\nTrue, but it is added, \"The Lord delivereth him out of them all.\" The\ntroubles of those who love God do not last for ever, and they leave a\nblessing behind\u2014like:\n\n   \"Summer showers that make the world the greener,\n    The air still fresher, and the sky serener;\"\n\nor like the overflowings of the river Nile, which cover the fields for\na while, only that they may, at a future time of the year, be covered\nwith a more abundant harvest.\n\nReader, my tale is ended. Ere you lay it down, suffer me to ask you a\nfew brief questions. Do you know anything of the blessedness of him\nwhose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered; or are you\nputting off repentance to a more convenient season, which may never\narrive?\n\nAre you one of those whom the Lord, through the voice of conscience,\nguides with His eye; or are you the stubborn self-seeking sinner, for\nwhom is needed the bit, the bridle, and the blow?\n\nDo you pray to the Lord in your troubles, or only seek help from man?\n\nIf you be willing \"now\" to seek the Lord \"while He may be found,\" to\ncome to your Saviour for pardon and peace, and the grace of His Holy\nSpirit, to make you love and obey Him, you will find that He is the\nbest of masters, the truest of friends, the most tender of fathers.\nWalking in His ways, and doing His will, you will experience in the end\nthe truth of the closing verses of this beautiful Psalm,\u2014\n\n   \"'He that trusteth in the Lord, mercy shall compass him about. Be glad\nin the Lord, and rejoice, ye righteous; and shout for joy, all ye that\nare upright in heart.'\"\n\n\n\n                           PSALM XXXII.\n\n    \"Blessed is he whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered.\n     Blessed is the man unto whom the Lord imputeth not iniquity, and in\n whose spirit there is no guile.\n     When I kept silence, my bones waxed old through my roaring all the\n day long. For day and night Thy hand was heavy upon me: my moisture is\n turned into the drought of summer. Selah.\n     I acknowledged my sin unto Thee, and mine iniquity have I not hid.\n I said, I will confess my transgressions unto the Lord, and Thou forgavest\n the iniquity of my sin. Selah.\n     For this shall every one that is godly pray unto Thee in a time when\n Thou mayest be found: surely in the floods of great waters they shall not\n come nigh unto him.\n     Thou art my hiding-place; Thou shalt preserve me from trouble; Thou\n shalt compass me about with songs of deliverance. Selah.\n     I will instruct thee and teach thee in the way which thou shalt go:\n I will guide thee with mine eye.\n     Be ye not as the horse, or as the mule, which have no understanding:\n whose mouth must be held in with bit and bridle, lest they come near unto\n thee.\n     Many sorrows shall be to the wicked: but he that trusteth in the Lord,\n mercy shall compass him about.\n     Be glad in the Lord, and rejoice, ye righteous: and shout for joy,\n all ye that are upright in heart.\"\n\n\n\n                               THE END.","title":"The wanderer in Africa : $b A tale illustrative of the thirty-second Psalm","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":19899}