THE WANDERER’S RETURN.

His elder brother took off his knapsack; and Mary
drew hima chair. Edward seated himself, and they all
gathered around him. The old dog got within the
circle, and lay at his feet.

“QO, how glad I am to see you all again!’ were
Vidward’s first words. ‘“ How well you look, mother!
but father’s grown thinner. As for the rest, I should
have known none of you, unless 16 were Thomas and
old Isaac.”

“What a sun-burnt face you have jrot—but you
look brave end hearty,” cried his mother.

“Ay, mcther, 1 have been enough im the sun, I
assure you. From seventeen to five-and-twenty L have
been a wanderer upon the face of tle earth, and
I have seen more in that time than most men in the
course of their lives.

“Our young landlord, you know, took such a
liking to me at school, that he would have me go with
him onthis travels. We went through most of the
countries of Europe, and at last to Naples, where
iny poor master took a fever and died. I never knew
what gricf was till then; and I believe the thoughts of
leaving me in a strange country went as much to his
heart as his illness. An intimate acquaintance of his,
arich young West Indian, secing my distress, engaged
me to go with him, in a voyage he was about to take to
Jamaica. We were too short a time in England before
we sailed for me to come and sce you. first, but 1 wrote
you a letter from the Downs.”

“We never received it,” said his father.

“That was a pity,’ returned Edward; “for you
must have concluded I was either dead or had for-
gotten you. Well—vwe arrived safe in the West
Indies, and there I stayed till I buried that master too ;
for young men die fast in that country. J was very
well treated, but I could never like the place ; and yet
Jamaica is a very fine island, and has many good
people in it. But for me, used to see freemen work
cheerfully along with then masters—to beheld nothing

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