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uncle had been right. The perfect change of a new strange feeling of liberty and gladness, scene and constant amusement of travel had that Clara made the third of that little party, and proved most useful in establishing Will's health, was rowed by Harold and Madge a long way which the terrible accident had so fearfully farther down the river than she ever before had shaken. He was once more able to study in ventured. When they reached the willows, moderation, with ease and pleasure; while a there was a short stoppage; and the spot of the great deal of his spare time he spent in parish terrible accident was pointed out to Clarawork among the sick and destitute, and ac- small need, however; for full well Clara knew quainting himself as much as lay in his power the spot before. And at the mention of Will's with the duties which the future spread before name, and his narrow escape from death just him. And in thus actively working Will was there, Madge's colour deepened, and tears ga not unhappy, though the shadow of estrange-thered in her eyes; while Clara turned pale, and ment which he felt must be thickening between shuddered. himself and Madge from the long, long, silence, did sometimes press heavily upon him. But the patient waiting-time nevertheless was good for him as well as for Madge, and was destined, in the end, to be shortened by some months, from what Will had gloomily anticipated.

but sometimes the

"Harold," Madge asked of her brother, as on the afternoon of his arrival at Rockwood she was pacing with him up and down the terrace, "do you think Will has forgotten his old friends? It be may thought will come into my mind. He has not written to papa nor aunt for so long; and, though I know he cannot forget, yet I fancy they do not quite understand it."

wrong;

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Clara," Harold said, as he walked home with her to the Heights that evening, having somewhat unceremoniously dismissed the car. riage which had been sent to fetch her "dear Clara, I want you to say one word that will make me happy for the rest of my life."

ther by surprise, or whether during that day, Whether Clara Campbell was taken altoge or perhaps even for months past, some little happy feeling had been lurking in her heart, I cannot say, though I am disposed to think the used to words of fondness and affection; and latter. Be that as it may, she was wholly un even the one word which Harold asked for was given at last through tears. But it was given; and Harold, as he parted from her in the great porch, before he rang the bell, left one kiss on that calmly-radiant face, saying: "To-morrow morning, darling, I shall come and make all right with colonel Campbell and your mother. Do not be afraid. I know there will be no dif ficulties." And then he returned home very happy in himself, and determined also that the had assured Will should attend his love-making exhilarating effect"-which months before he pro-should not be restricted to himself, but should speedily extend to other parties in whom he was deeply interested.

"I know one old friend whom he has not forgotten," Harold answered so significantly that the colour came deeply into Madge's face; and she resolved within herself that she would question her brother no more on the subject of Will's forgetfulness.

"Does Clara Campbell ever come to see you, Madge, now that aunt Christine is gone Harold asked after a pause, during which he did not fail to compliment himself on the skill with which he was fulfilling his long-ago

Imise to Will.

"Yes, now and then," Madge answered; "but I do not know how it is though, Harold. I fancy Mrs. Campbell does not much favour her coming to see me. I do not think she will ever be able to forget my wild childish days and doings, and fancies that even now Clara may be contaminated. And yet Clara is a nice girl, very; and I believe rather likes me, and likes coming here whenever she can get away, which is not often."

"Write and ask her to spend the day with you to-morrow, will you, Madge darling ?"

"O yes; I shall only be too glad. And, if I mention the fact of your being at home, Mrs. Campbell may not be afraid to trust her."

Which surmise was perhaps a correct one; for the following day brought Clara, calmly dignified and beautiful as ever, but far more free and approachable than when within the chill influence of her mother's presence. The day was warm and bright; and after luncheon Harold proposed a row on the river, which both girls willingly acceded to; only Clara feared they might prove too weighty a cargo for one rower.

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In the course of two days Will Karney re ceived the following letter:

"Dear Mr. Karney,-You will be surprised to hear from me; but, after a conversation with mamma this morning, in which I became acquainted for the first time with circumstances which filled me with vexation and surprise, I feel I cannot for a single hour delay writing to you, to express my own sorrow and mortification, and at the same time to entreat you not to feel bound for a moment longer to any promise which mamma, acting under so mistaken an idea, exacted from you. You will hear from my mother herself by this post; and I am friendship to forgive, and to try and forget the past. I sure we can only throw ourselves upon your goodness and need not ask you to believe in my total ignorance of the whole transaction, which, from the little that has been told me, must have shocked alike your honour and your generosity. Harold Raymond knows that I am writing, and has given me your address. Again asking your forgiveness and the continuation of your friendship, I am, yours very sincerely,

"CLARA CAMPBELL."

Will felt as though he could have embraced "O as to that, I can easily take an oar," the very paper with gratitude and delight. Madge said, gaily. "Clara, you scarcely know"Excellent girl!" he exclaimed, as the new my capabilities in that way."

Ah, Madge, Clara knew them far better than you fancied; but it was very happily, and with

light flashed into his mind. "As my Madge's sister, how truly shall I love you!" And then he maryelled at himself for accrediting Mrs,

Campbell's suspicions, when he recalled Clara's | the same; for I cannot remember at all the time constant ease and unrestraint of manner, when it began. Will, does papa know ?" blended at the same time with so true an in- "Yes indeed; he sent me to you. And terest and friendliness of action. "I was weak Harold, I met him on his way to the Heights,' and easily deceived," he said to himself; "but Madge remembered his last words and misI did what appeared to be my duty; and now chievous smile, and thought herself very stupid the trial is over, long, long, before I had antici- not to have guessed more from them than she pated." had done; but she only said: "Dear Harold, he is so happy, Will, and Clara too!"

The following afternoon-it was the last day of April, and as bright and charming a day as that month can ever boast of-Madge said to her brother: "Harold, you know that auntie and Mr. Paget are coming to dinner this evening; and you must go and fetch Clara."

"Just what I intended, in your pony-carriage. Will you come along?"

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"Madge, should you like to go as far as the willows? there would be time before half-past five."

Madge did not need to be asked twice; and the old days seemed brought back with added brightness, as she took her place once more in the "Margaret."

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*

*

Not for a moment should I think of being so thoughtless and intrusive; besides, I am Harold," Clara said, that afternoon; for going down to the shrubberies by the river, to Harold found there was time for a little stroll gather coloured primroses for auntie. She through the romantic gardens of the Heights never could learn to arrange them in wheels before driving Clara back to Rockwoodand stars, like as madame Guy taught me to do," Harold, you have never been into my obserand so she always gets me to put her up a few bunches."

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All right; and you do not expect any other company ?" Harold asked, putting his head in at the door again.

vatory: it is worth the trouble of climbing the stairs just for once-the view is so lovely."

Harold very willingly climbed the stairs, walking almost backwards too, that he might give Clara the assistance of his hand; which, though kind in him, and not wholly disagreeable to her, was a self-infliction not altogether necessary.

"Put up the window, please, Harold, and we shall see better. No one takes the trouble to come up here but me; and I have not been for a very long time; so no wonder the glass is thick and dusty."

"None that I am aware of: why?" Madge asked; but her brother was gone; and very Soon Madge herself was as busy and happy as a child, picking coloured primroses on the sunny shrubby banks of the river. She might have been so occupied for an hour, perhaps more, when a short quick bark from little Sphynx, who was still her constant attendant, caused her to turn her head, and there who should be Then Clara knelt down on the matting, and standing not a dozen yards off, and looking O❘ drew out her little glass. After gazing a few so strangely natural, but her old true child-moments, while Harold looked on rather wonhood's friend, Will! There was only one exclamation of surprised delight, and the next moment both hands were held firm in Will's. "Madge!"

"O Will," she answered; and the words came from her lips so gladly, so heartily, that Will's heart leapt within him-“O Will, I thought you would never come!"

"My Madge, my darling little Madge," he exclaimed, "only say one word-that you have not thought very hardly of me."

"How could I?" she asked. "I have always known you would never do anything but what is right and best; though I have missed you, Will, sometimes-O so much!"

"A terrible shadow came across me, Madge, that evening-that very evening when I saw you last-just when I thought I might be happy. But it seemed like duty then; and I felt certain, Madge, that you would never wish me to shrink from that."

"O no, no," Madge interrapted him. She did not ask Will what the shadow was, though possibly some faint idea might have crossed her mind (for Madge's perceptions were not dull; and the strange events of the past two days had rendered them perhaps somewhat keener); enough for her that it was vanished now, and that he was happy.

"I have loved you almost ever since I knew you, Madge," Will said; and Madge replied quietly: "I almost think I must have dong

deringly, and it must be confessed more admiringly at her, than at the well-known scene stretched out before him, Clara gave the glass into his hands. "Look straight down there, Harold," she said, and tell me if you know the place."

"Know it-rather, I should think! Andgoodness, my darling Clara-here they come!" "Who come?" Clara asked eagerly, and with the colour coming into her beautiful and now happy face.

"Look for yourself, dear. Ah! Clara, I will engage this is not the first time you have investigated those willows."

"Yes,

Clara gazed, gazed until tears dimmed her vision at the little boat which lay to, but only for a few moments beneath the willows. Harold dear, you are right. I used to be very, very, foolish," she murmured. "But I have had my punishment."

"Your reward rather, you ought to say, you naughty child," Harold said. "But I am not going to have these tears, you need not think it. I once vowed to Will that my love-making should have a cheering effect on every one's spirits; and remember you are bound now to help me in keeping that pledge. You must welcome my 'brother,' you know, darling, with your brightest face. And now we must see about going indeed, or Madge and Will will be home before us.” A. S. W.

THE BLIND TEACHING THE LAME*.

OUR friend, Mr. John Macgregor, launched his canoe, the "Rob Roy," on the waters of the Nile, where Moses was once cradled among bulrushes, and is now gliding along the Abana and Pharpar, rivers of Damascus, into the mysterious regions of the Giant cities, where he finds a nightly shelter in the homesteads of the sons of Anak; thence to explore the springs of Jordan and float on the Lake of Gennesareth

so dear to the heart of the Christian.

Doubtless the feats of this wondrous skiff

will be interwoven into many an Arabian tale; but it will also be linked with " Words from the Book" which the Christian steersman never fails to bring before the gazing crowd.

We have read with pleasure his own account of his visit to the Syrian schools and bible-missions. We select some passages which have more special reference to the blind; for we cannot doubt that he, who chooses the weak things of the world to confound the wise, will make them a powerful agency for commending the gospel to the Moslems. Nothing, indeed, appears to have impressed them so much as beholding the loving care of our Christian friends in taking these helpless little ones by the hand and leading them out of darkness and ignorance into light and comfort-not only by teaching them to read, but to acquire the knowledge of many useful manual occupations. "This is true religion: this is real love," they exclaim, as they look upon those poor unhappy beings who form such a numerous class in Syria.

They had long been a subject of special prayer, when the brother-in-law of Mrs. Bowen Thompson, Mr. Mentor Mott, on his return to Syria, in February, 1868, having made himself master of Moon's system of raised character, prepared in it large portions of scripture in Arabic for the blind. He hired a small room; and, the master of Mrs. Thompson's boys' school having charged each of his pupils to bring one blind person, a goodly number were collected.

The story of blind Bartimeus excited their liveliest interest, and they sang many hymns, such as,

"My faith looks up to thee,

Thou Lamb of Calvary.”

"How sweet the name of Jesus sounds"-&c. The pupils, above twenty in number, are of the most various conditions and ages; from the sightless mother, with her blind babe, to the old muezzin who calls the hour of prayer from the Turkish minaret.

After examining the Normal Training School, Mr. Macgregor says:

"But there are several branch schools besides at mountain outposts in connexion with the head-quarters of Mrs. Thompson's work in Beirut. These, or some of them, I hope to see. A very interesting but very difficult work has also been commenced for the blind, and one for the maimed, as well as that for the hapless orphans and the ignorant. Mr. Mott's little class *Printed for private circulation, and kindly forwarded to 18.-ED.

of blind men reading is a sight indeed for us who have eyes. Only in February last that poor blind fellow who sits on the form there fingers run over the raised types of his bible, was utterly ignorant. See how his delicate and he reads aloud and blesses God in his heart for the precious news, and for those who gave him the new avenue for truth to his heart. Jesus Christ will be the first person I shall ever see,' he says, 'for my eyes will be opened in heaven.' Thus even this man becomes a missionary.

"Down in that dark room again, below the printing-press of the American mission (for he needs no sunlight in his work), you will find him actually printing the bible in raised type, letter by letter, for his sightless brethren. have ever looked at. As we leave the place, This is one of the most impressive wonders I some of the maimed, and lame, and halt scram ble along the road to their special class for a lesson, so that all kinds of suffering are pro vided for, and the mission of Christians is fol lowing closely in the actual personal work which he, the great Missionary himself, des cribed as his mission to mankind."

This graphic scene has been placed before representing the actual personages in the above our English eyes by an interesting photograph sketch. Here sits blind Gantoor, whose sightless eyes are looking upward in faith to him hears the welcome Ephphatha. This humble whom he expects to see eye to eye when he Druse is full of practical ideas. He not only prints and corrects the press, as Mr. Macgregor describes, but he has also invented a method for communicating some of his favourite texts to his sightless brethren in the kindred school at Damascus. Nor are his sympathies restricted to his own class. He was among the first who commenced reading the scriptures to the halt, the lame, and the crippled, who throng the highways of Beirut. The words of Jesus' love come with irresistible power and sweetness to their desolate hearts; nor did they rest till their blind guides had prevailed upon their cripples. generous friend to open a school for the

Another upturned face rivets our We eye. ask his story. A poor boy of gentle mien, who, having been present with other blind pupils at the large annual examination of Mrs. Thomp son's school, replied in unconscious simplicity to the questions of the astonished Turkish offi cials: "I am a little blind boy. Once I could see; but then I fell asleep-a long, long, sleep

I thought I should never wake. And I slept till a kind gentleman called Mr. Mott came and opened my eyes; not these eyes," pointing to his sightless eyeballs, "but these," lifting up his tiny fingers-"these eyes; and O, they see such sweet words of Jesus, and how he loved the blind." Another near him, placing his fingers first on his poor blind eyes, and then on his heart, said, "It is dark here; but it is light there."

There were few in that large assembly who

were not affected even to tears.

We now turn to another beautifully-executed photograph, the cripples' school, in which the

happy Gantoor is reading the words of Jesus to the halt and withered. They have gained their point: above sixty assembled in the room provided by Mr. Mott, "Indeed it was the blind who led, and in many instances carried, these impotent folk to the school to hear the sweet words about Jesus. On one occasion above sixty of these outcasts were collected, one being carried a distance of six miles. Here the 'old, old, story' of Jesus healing the lame, the halt, and the sinner was read to them; and, when they were told the service was over, and it was time to go, they set up one piteous cry, 'Dachelih, dachelih-let us stay-to hear more sweet words.' 'Come unto me, all ye that are weary and heavy laden.' And thus the cripples' school is now formed and nursed by the kind originator of the blind school, who will, however, rejoice if fellow-Christians in England will share with him in its support." In truth, he has drawn up a petition for aid to purchase at a moderate sum some very suitable premises closely adjoining his own property, which the owner will sell in preference to an English family.

THE SUSPENDED GLOBE*.

S. H. S.

ALTHOUGH the labours of modern astronomers have given us with great exactness the motion of the earth, and its relation to the other parts of the solar system, they have not contradicted but confirmed the words of the early patriarch. It is true: God "hangeth the earth upon nothing" (Job xxvi. 7). It has undergone great changes, and will yet undergo them; but as long as it endures it hangs upon nothing. All the innumerable host of heavenly bodies, too, have no prop to sustain them, any more than our globe has a basis on which it rests: each may be compared to a ball hung in the air, without a line to uphold it from falling, or any substance beneath to bear it all are in a state of suspension. The same Almighty Power, which gave existence to all worlds, keeps them in their several spheres, in their order, and in their harmony.

It may be well to reflect upon that perfection of God to which the preservation of our world is owing. How should that power be acknowledged and adored! How much concerned should we be to avoid provoking it, and to secure its friendly regard! It can accomplish anything consistent with the holy will and glory of God. It can destroy as well as save; and often on our globe has that power raised fearful monuments of his displeasure against the sins of men. That power could at his plea sure disorganize our world, break it up, tear it to pieces, and scatter it in fragments in the illimitable space. Or, if God saw fit, he could cast it beyond the range of those influences which keep it in its place. What, then, would become of it P-whither would it go?-into what fathomless abyss of destruction would it fall with its millions of inhabitants? The very thought of such an event is appalling. The observations of astronomers testify that several of * Extracted from a tract under that title.

the orbs of heaven, after shining from time immemorial, have totally disappeared; so that an event so awful would not be an entirely new thing in the universe. Think, then, how dependent we are on the sovereign will of God, and how entirely we are at his disposal, with this our commodious habitation. What gratitude and love should every rational being evince to the great Preserver and Benefactor! what concern to know and do his will, and to secure his favour! And what serious mind, having right views of the holiness of God, but must be astonished at his forbearance and bounty toward a race of creatures, who for the most part seem to live only to rebel against him, to abuse his mercies, and to try his patience! O how is our globe stained all around its surface with innumerable and abominable crimes, from age to age, and from hour to hour! And it is equally distressing to know that the very religions of hundreds of millions is nothing else but the grossest insult to the one only living and true God.

It is evident that this globe was designed to be the dwelling-place of creatures endowed with sense and intellect. Thus holy writ informs us that God created it not in vain-that he formed it to be inhabited-that he gave it to the children of men. "We are the creatures of his hand, and the sheep of his pasture"; accommodated with everything necessary to our We have also the highest advantages for contemporary sojourn, by his providential bounty. templation and improvement, from the view of word of truth given to teach us how to turn the creation, the discoveries of science, and the holy whole to the most important benefit, and to make us wise to salvation.

What a powerful though silent proclamation have we here before us, that there is one great First Cause, to whom the existence and preservation of all creation is owing! How irrational and blasphemous is atheism! How low must that mind be sunk which can entertain the notion that there is no God! To suppose that ours and other worlds are self-existent and selfmoving is the grossest absurdity. Effects demonstrate causes. What demonstrative eviIt has been well redence then is here! marked, "Either there is a God, or there is nothing." That God is is the first of all truths.

This earthly globe is not eternal. There was a period when it was created out of nothing. Like everything else, created and material, when it shall have fulfilled the will of its Creator, it will be dissolved. Such is the divine decree. Such is the declaration of divine truth. No signs of such an event at present appear; but he who formed it has told us that it shall be even so. It is well known that it contains within itself materials in preparation quite sufficient for its destruction. It is contingent on the sovereign will of God. Immortal man should then make little account of so perishing a portion; and be on the inquiry for a permanent residence. Happy are they who are the subjects of a new and spiritual creation, a work of God the Holy Spirit in the soul; whose inheritance remains untouched; and who can

say when they shall witness the dissolution of this world, "I lose nothing."

Above all, let it be considered that our globe is the theatre of redemption. As the scene of transgression and guilt, it might have been blotted out of the creation long ago, without being missed among innumerable worlds. Yet, amazing to relate, the joyful announcement has been made to our rebellious race, "God so loved the world that he gave his only-begotten Son, that whosover believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life." It is therefore our wisdom and interest, as sinful, accountable, immortal beings, to seck, while the brief moment of this life lasts, a share in that salvation which the glorious gospel unfolds.

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"As the precious oil that was poured on the head of Aaron went down to the skirts of his garments, so the joy poured on Jesus, as the head of his church, descends to all his members; and the meanest of his people share in his fulness. He is gone into the kingdom of peace, and of glory, as the forerunner of his saints; for they are said to be raised up together with him, and made to sit together in heavenly places. Now the peace spoken of by Christ is, first, peace with God,' a share in that close union which subsists between him and his beloved Son; and, secondly, it is 'inward peace,' peace of mind, peace of the same kind as that which Christ himself enjoys in the kingdom of glory. It must indeed be inferior to it in degree; but it is of the same nature, and flows from the same living fountain as the happiness of heaven. Turn then, my brethren, from the lying vanities of a sceptical and foolish world, and seek with your whole heart the peace of Christ.' Seek at the cross of Jesus reconciliation with your offended God. Seek an interest in that blood which cleanseth from all sin. Draw near, with a true heart, in full assurance of faith, to this

fountain of blessedness; and you shall at length find rest to your wearied souls. Having your hearts sprinkled from an evil conscience, a peace shall be poured out upon you which passeth all understanding-a peace which none of the calamities of life can materially affect-a peace which will keep your souls serene amidst the wreck of a perishing universe-a peace which will endure for ever in the kingdom of your God. ...... Let not therefore your hearts be troubled, brethren, neither let them be afraid. Possessed of such blessings as these, peace in your own conscience and peace with your God, let your souls magnify the Lord, let your spirits rejoice in God your Saviour. every hour of trial and of sorrow, and every season of poverty and anxiety, think of the legacy of Christ, Peace I leave with you,' and be comforted" (Rev. C. Bradley).

THE CURSE REMOVED:

A Sermon,

RY THE REV. J. STEWART, Rector of Gautby, Lincolnshire. REV. xxii. 3.

H. S.

In

"And there shall be no more curse; but the throne of God and of the Lamb shall be in it; and his servants shall serve him."

WE read of the curse very soon after the commencement of revelation, and we find it also towards the close of the inspired re cord-that book of which it is said: "If any man shall add unto these things, God shall add unto him the plagues that are written in this book; and, if any man shall take away from the words of the book of this prophecy, God shall take ont of the book of life, and out of the holy away his part city, and from the things which are written in this book." But in the words of the text we read of the curse being taken away: it is said of the heavenly Jerusalem that it shall be free from that which attaches to this lower world of sin and tribulation: "And he showed me a pure river of water of life, clear as crystal, proceeding out of the throne of God and of the Lamb. In the midst of the street of it, and on either side of the river, was there the tree of life, which bare twelve manner of fruits, and yielded her fruit every month; and the leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations." The conclusion of Revelation describes the final blessedness of the redeemed, describes it briefly indeed, but expressively; not exactly to tell men all the particular ways in which the servants of God shall be employed, but enough to

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