Pleading For The Fire.

In great anguish of soul, he left the service and spent the night in great mental distress. The chief joy of his life seemed to be vanishing, notwithstanding his sincere attempts at its retention. Something was wrong. On the following day he was on his way to a village handy—Blaenannerch—and called at the house of the Rev. Evan Phillips. The first man he met was a well-known local railway-guard, and to him he laid bare the secrets of his breaking heart. “I am like flint,’’ were his pathetic words. I feel as if someone had swept me clean of every feeling.” Sympathetically did the elder Christian listen to the plaint of the student, and the words he uttered somewhat salved the young man’s heart. Looking back upon that experience, he says: “It was my conviction then that I must either be cast upon a bed of affliction, or receive the Spirit mightily.” It was the latter that happened. While he was speaking to the guard a prayer-meeting was in progress in another part of the house. But he did not go in. And this for two reasons. First, lest they should reprimand him for venturing out while in delicate health; and secondly, because he wished to speak to one of the family ‘‘about the state of her soul.’’ The interview between “Mag“ Phillips and Roberts was singularly pathetic. After some conversation on Scriptural matters, the young man said: ‘‘You pray for me, and I’ll pray for you,’’ whereupon the other burst forth into tears. Yes; he felt his need of Divine help. Apart from his natural weakness, nothing but the Sun of Righteousness could thaw the icy hardness of his heart. And He did. “Both of us were blessed the same day,’’ he avers. ‘‘I in the morning, and she in the afternoon. I received something about half-past three. I asked Mag if she had been praying for me at that time, and she said: “I was praying for you all day, Roberts bach “ (a Welsh term of endearment). The rays of the Heavenly sunshine were piercing the gloom; but still there were clouds, and the young man’s sadness remained. On the way home front Blaenannerch lie spoke to several who had attended the prayer-meeting regarding the state in which he found himself. But relief came not. ‘‘We can do nothing for you?‘‘ they wistfully queried. “No,’’ was the sad reply ‘‘I have only to wait for the Fire.’’ And he had not long to wait, for at half-past nine next morning the Fire fell, and it has been burning over since. But even that experience did not completely lift the clouds of depression that hung about him. He brooded over—not so much himself now, but the apparent failure of Christian agencies. He took a walk in his garden, and there saw a vision which was as remarkable as it was significant.