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asses, and the muleteers were on guard near them, so that snorting and snoring, kicking and quarrelling, distant howling of jackals, and nearer croaking of frogs broke our night's repose. Then there was no making up for interrupted slumber by late morning hours. Sometimes at four, sometimes at five, as the coming day's journey necessitated, the bell was rung; in an hour afterwards the servants appeared, and the tents were taken down unceremoniously, whether the inmates were ready or not. Woe to the hapless fair whose toilet was not completed-neither rank nor sex availed; when the allotted time had expired, the poles were taken down and the tent was removed.1 How striking an emblem of the undeniable messenger of death. those who had risen at the warning call, packed up their goods and were waiting in readiness, there was no alarm nor agitation; they had done with their tents and were ready to move forward. But for the procrastinating mortals who lingered, who had slept on after the summons had been given, and then in reckless haste endeavoured to make up for lost time, all was hurry and confusion, their possessions had to take their chance, and they themselves to rue their carelessness when too late.


Pleasant as the tents were in sunny weather, it was a very different thing when they were soaking wet, and when the ground was a mass of miry clay. Such was once our experience when encamping in the Lebanon. We had left Damascus in pouring rain, and that evening we literally pitched in a marsh. About five o'clock next morning there were loud and earnest cries for help from unfortunate ladies whose frail house had fallen over and left them houseless. But very soon compassion for these shelterless dames was exchanged for fears for ourselves as slowly, yet surely, the canvas walls descended over myself and one of the young ladies who shared my tent, her sister having wisely arisen earlier and escaped the danger. "Pietro, Pietro !"

1 Isa. xxxviii. 12.

we called loudly, but for some time in vain, his services being needed by the first applicants. Happily, two gentlemen came to our assistance and extricated us from our forlorn position, removing us in our beds to a snow-covered sward, and from thence to an empty tent. Laughable as it is to look back upon, it was no joke then, the piercing cold benumbing our hands and rendering them powerless, notwithstanding the hot, black coffee, which was kindly offered us in tiny handleless cups. When, at length, we were dressed, it was found impossible to secure the tents while the ground was so wet, and we lived for two days and nights in Arab houses, which, though destitute of furniture and one of them windowless, were at least a protection against the weather.

That evening, as we gathered to family worship, one of our number read to us 2 Cor. v., commencing, "For we know that if our earthly house of this tabernacle were dissolved, we have a building of God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens."

Never surely did the words come with more realising force. We felt that our earthly house was indeed only a tent, liable at any moment to fall. Could we say that we knew we had a home above, eternal in the heavens ?

Jesus said, "In My Father's house are many mansions (which means abiding places); I go to prepare a place for you." He has bought for each of us a home there, and is willing to give it us freely. "He died for us, the just for the unjust, that He might bring us to God."

He has the key, and He Himself stands at the door to welcome each of His children when their earthly tent is broken up. He has welcomed many dear children


One of these mansions is preparing for you, if you are His. He says, Come to Me now; be not afraid. I will be thy guide even unto death, and after death will give thee life eternal.


"Come to the Saviour, make no delay;

Here in His Word He has shown us the way,
Here in our midst He is standing to-day,
Tenderly saying, "Come!"

Joyful, joyful will the meeting be,

When from sin our hearts are pure and free,
And we shall gather, Saviour, with Thee
In our eternal home."

Two Little Waifs, and the way they Drifted.


HE boy and his young associates introduced Walter to many things besides sweeping a crossing; their haunts and ways were not improving to the morals of their protégé, and for a time he seemed likely to be as ingeniously wicked as the worst of them. The remembrance of lost Maggie began to fade, the intention to move all London in her behalf broke down, street life amused him as well as occupied and fed him, and conscience ceased to speak warningly concerning the wrong doings he joined in. Breaking eggs, and drinking milk that belonged to other people seemed nothing now, in comparison with the thefts and tricks of the young fraternity. They had delightful recreations too, in dodging policemen and disappearing into unknown regions, and always had the best of every sight from the top of the lamp-posts, or the spikes of a railing.

Among many enjoyments, at the risk of their lives, was a favourite one of jumping up at the back of carriages, and getting a ride in laughing defiance of angry coachmen and their long whips.

One day a comfortable-looking carriage, driven by a stout elderly coachman, came temptingly along; there was no footman to interrupt the frolic, and Walter flew after it, swung himself up behind, flourishing his broom at his young associates of the pavement. Certain signs there induced

the coachman to look round, with indignant use of his whip, which Watty dodged with saucy triumph, until the horses coming to a sudden halt, the boy was shaken from his precarious foothold, and, before he could spring to the ground, they dashed forward again, and he was thrown violently across the road and against the wheels of another carriage. "Oh, mother, we have run over somebody!" cried one of the occupants of the carriage, attempting to open the door. "Stop, Hartley! oh, stop a moment !"

"Wait, dear child, you cannot go into the crowd; let Hartley inquire what has happened."

But Hartley could not leave his horses, and answering that it was "nothing at all, only one of them little vagrants had got his deserts for once," was for driving on; but his young mistress insisted on alighting, and, followed by her mother, hurried back to the gathering, crowd.

"Poor child! He meant no harm; they all do it,” said the kind woman who helped to pick him up, and assisted a policeman to carry him to the nearest druggist's shop.

"His leg is broken, and his head seems bruised,” said the shopkeeper, after a short examination. "Does anybody know where he lives ?"

"Please, sir, I knows," cried a dirty, ragged urchin, with two brooms in his hands, edging himself into the middle of the group in the shop. "Please he don't live nowheres; me and him goes shares mostly under carts, or down alleys; but if anybody 'll pay, I can find a place for him in less time nor none; may I, sir ?" and, in his anxiety for Watty's fate, the street boy forgot all fear of a policeman.

"Poor boy! he is unconscious," said the young lady, stroking the hair from the wounded forehead. "Mother, can't we take him home?"

"Better let him go to the hospital, ladies; he'll be carefully tended there at once," was the decisive verdict of the shopkeeper and the policeman; and, to the immense astonishment of the crowd, street boys included, the ladies' carriage was called up, and into it, with tender care, was

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lifted the fainting child, the policeman and the two ladies following, while poor Walter's patron cut a wonderful caper, and ran by the side, as the party was gently driven to the nearest hospital.

"Oh, Maggie, Maggie !" moaned the boy, as conscious intervals occurred in agonies of pain. "Where are you? You said your mother prayed for me as well as you; but it ain't no use. Oh no, I'm a bad boy. I ain't minded nothink that lady said." Then starting wildly: "What have you done to her? If you've drownded her I'll tell the Queen, and you'll all be hung."

"There is something terrible in his short history, I fear,” said the elder lady; "but we will not lose sight of him if he lives." And her young daughter smiled through tears, and knew how that dear mother would keep her word.

In the hospital, on a clean bed, his leg set, his face bathed, kindness and care surrounding him, Walter's tone changed.

"Oh, is it heaven? Maggie's mother, be you here? Then you did pray for me; and Maggie's here too." "Hush, dear child," whispered a gentle voice; "keep very quiet, and you will soon get well."

"Isn't it heaven, then? I never had a bed like this before ?"

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Perhaps the Lord Jesus Christ wants you to live to serve Him a little while on earth before you go to heaven," said the nurse softly.

"If he

"That's Him! that's the name !" cried Walter. want's me, I know it's all right; for Maggie's mother asked Him, and now He'll make me a good boy; don't you think

so ?"

"I do think so, dear child; I pray that it may be so; but you must keep quiet, and presently you will fall asleep." "And if I sweep crossings again, I'll never snatch another han'kercher, and I'll tell Davy about Him; he's a queer un ; but he's been good to me, Davy has."

And finding no response from the quiet figure by his side,

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