ROBERT MOFFAT, the missionary to Africa, on one of his visits to his native country had been engaged in a missionary service in the North of England, and was invited to repose for the night in the house of a friend. Here he met an aged minister named Caldwell, who had been one of the Haldane preachers in Wick. In the course of conversation Moffat adverted to his mother, for whom he entertained the most devoted regard.
Mr Caldwell, whom Moffat did not know, not even his name, mentioned that he perceived that he was a Scotsman. “Yes,” said the missionary; “the scenes of my boyhood and youth in my native land are very dear to my memory. I often think of them when far away among the heathen. I often think of my excellent mother leading me when a little fellow from Carron Shore to Falkirk to the old meeting-house to hear an excellent minister, whose name was Caldwell.” He then spoke with enthusiasm of his mother, of the minister, and of the impressions he had received then and there.
The venerable listener rose up, with tears coursing down his cheeks, and exclaimed: “Can it be? Are you little Bobby Moffat? Is Moffat, the missionary, the little fellow whom his mother used to lead to my meeting-house in Falkirk when I was minister there many years ago?” The mutual recognition, the embrace, the rapture, may be better conceived than described. The venerable Caldwell had not till then identified the little boy with the man who had done so much for Africa.
May there not be many such surprises in store for workers when they enter into their rest in heaven. We are favoured even now to enjoy some instances of this happy nature; but what will be the unfolding of the pages of our life history in the perfect light of eternity? Christian worker, faint not, even in the darkest hour of discouragement. The wintry days and stormy nights will soon pass away; and then eternal peace and rest.—William Wileman.