When each kind of grain has been been threshed out and winnowed, it is put into a heap, which is called a saleebé, or Baraké-the blessing. This saleebé is generally placed so that one side, the head, points to the south, the other to the north.

The Fatha, or Mohammedan prayer, is then recited, and the farmer measures a number of saas, or measures, of the grain as he thinks fit, and places them in a heap at the head of the saleebé. This is for the Levite, whose place the dervish supplies, the orphan, the widow, and the stranger. This custom, which I am sorry to say will soon be a thing of the past, is a very old one, and bears close affinity to the law enjoined by Moses: "When thou gatherest in thy corn thou shalt not forget the orphan, the widow, and the stranger."

After this is done, the farmer gives each servant his due, and carries the remainder home.

So loved and shielded, though the path at length
Turns sharply towards a desolated vale,
Chill with the snows no burning tears avail
To melt for ever; leaning on His strength,
How should we fear, though heart and flesh must fail?
He tarried there long since in sleep serene,

And waking, opened wide that inner door
Through whose bright portals light for evermore
Falls softly on the rippling waves between,
And backward o'er the path unseen before.
Ah, when, beyond, His hidden meanings break
In full-orbed beauty from the eternal calm,
When earth's low minors trembling through the psalm
The ransomed sing shall half its rapture make,
And the dim cross shall glorify the palm;

Not these, at first, shall win our eager thought;
All blindness, even of tears, for ever past,
"The Lamb shall lead them" where no shades are east,
And we shall find our central heaven enwrought
In that one vision-"face to face" at last!

MARY ROWLES.

Guidance.

Isalah xlii. 16.

The veil that hides from us His presence sweet
Keeps closely hidden all the way unknown;
For paths that lead the nearest to His throne
Might show most darkly to our sin-worn feet:
But ever onward God shall guide His own.
Sometimes through dewy pastures, green and still,
Where quiet streams new thoughts of patience teach,
He leads mistaken souls that vainly reach
To know the wherefore of His steadfast will,

Until His silence shows them more than speech.
Sometimes the nearness of His presence gleams
Reflected softly in dear lights of earth;
And joys that but for Him had little worth,
Illume our footsteps till their glory seems
Unchangeable as that which gave it birth.

A little while, and then His tender care
Takes from our lingering hearts the gifts divine,
Lest we should miss the goal of His design;
We yield them, murmuring low in our despair,
"Shall these no more about our pathway shine?"

O hopes that lived to make our heaven below,
Heart-dreams that blossomed but no fruitage bore!
How can we bear through spring and winter hoar
That these in wayside graves should slumber low,
Or bloom and ripen, but for us no more?

If but together! "O our God," we cry,

"Let not these precious human ties be riven;
Still let us keep the treasures Thou hast given,
Our love, in Thine, would surely bring them nigh."
But gently falls His answering word from heaven:
"Nay, I will bring them." And the veil between
Grows luminous and holy as we gaze;
Perchance we dreamed not in earth-lighted ways
How perfectly when sorrows intervene

His love illumes the cross it may not raise!

IT

Sabbath Thoughts.

PROPRIETORSHIP.

"Ye are not your own."-1 Cor. vi, 19.

"I am Thine."-Psalm cxix. 94.

T is a great thing for the Christian to be quite clear on this point, that he is not his own, but that he belongs to Christ. The firm belief that Christ is his master and that he is Christ's servant helps him greatly in finding and filling his right place in this world, while it affords him the strongest comfort amidst the trials he meets with on earth. He is "bought with a price, even with the precious blood of Christ;" he is therefore of value in the eye of his Master, however valueless he may seem either to his fellow men, or to himself. Whatever may be his faults there is something which his Lord knows he can do and expects him to do. He has the privilege of obtaining strength for his work and help in every time of need from the one Lord to whom he is responsible. Other lords have had dominion over him to his sorrow; but his own true Lord has found him and claimed him, and it is now the business of his life to glorify God in his body and in his spirit which are God's. "Ye are not " is a word not addressed to every one; it your own is addressed to those who know their Lord and own His claim to them. He challenges them as His purchase, and He would have them in return to claim Him as their own.

If the thought of Christ's proprietorship in hin is a help to a man in all that is holy and and pure true and good, it is also a marvellous solace and comfort in affliction. For the blood-bought child of God ought to feel that the sorrows of life are not sent to destroy one who is so precious as he is in the eye of his Lord. His afflictions come not by chance, but are sent with a high purpose. They ought not to make him doubt that he is the Lord's, for it is written, "Whom the Lord loveth, He chasteneth." His cry is, "I am Thine, save me! Save me from doubting Thy love, save me from dishonouring Thy

name."

than usual in the sick room. “It's true, I tell you," cried the boy. Gran? Can't you walk ever so little? I s'pose."

"What will you do, You're too big to carry,

In his eagerness Kester clambered on the bed, and, perched there on his hands and knees, he regarded, somewhat ruefully and as if anxiously weighing this last possibility in his mind, the outline of the gaunt limbs lying inert and feeble under the quilt. And so Dolly, entering with the two strangers, found him.

The foremost gentleman, seeing the invalid, apologised for their intrusion. "I am seeking," he said to the women, "the wife of a fisherman about here, a Mrs. Dorothy Martin."

"You've come too late, sir," answered one. "She's dead and buried years ago."

"Dead too, sir; worse luck for these poor child'en and his mother here. Sit down, sir; maybe you'd like to talk to the old body. She's a bit hard o' hearin'; but speak up, she'll mind ye."

So saying, the women, much wondering, and secretly congratulating themselves on their good luck in being present, hastened to place chairs by the bedside. The lad who had been called Cyril, remained however standing; his brother accepted the proffered seat; and Kester, seeing this, could not refrain from an anxious glance towards the door. "The light will be gone," he whispered plaintively; "it never stays."

Now in the few minutes that Dolly had held his hand, and guided him to the cottage, the stranger had won her confidence, and had heard of the vague hopes and wishes which she believed he had come to realise. Therefore, he quite understood the little fellow's speech, and nodded kindly as he answered, "No matter if it go; I know the way. Or wait," he added, suddenly, "Cyril, failing Dorothy, our mother would like to see these little oddities. What say you to rowing them over to the yacht, while I have a chat with this good woman, if she has no objection? You could return for me in an hour?" "I am willing,” replied Cyril, “if they will come.”

Gran making no objection, and the children assured that they would soon be back "for her," joyfully acceding to the proposal, the lad bade them follow him, and ran down to the beach to unfasten his boat,

The name of her mistress was Lady Wallace," continued the young man, and I am her son. She has been abroad for several years, but for the last few months we have cruised about nearer home; and the other day, sighting a place my mother recognised as Battlebay, she wished to hear how her old favourite was getting on; but poor Dorothy, it seems, is dead."

A great many more words were needed to make this all intelligible to the old woman; but at length she comprehended it; and when Dorothy's death was mentioned her dim eyes filled with tears that ran helplessly down her furrowed cheeks. "Dead and gone, dead and gone!" she repeated. "And I'm a follerin' her fast. Well, what must be, must!"

The stranger gazed long and pityingly on the poor trembling features. A graver look stole into his kindly eyes; he spoke again in a low clear voice.

"Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord.' St. Paul wrote: 'To die is gain.""

“Ay! but he hadn't two little bits of grandchild'en to leave behind him, may be," said Gran, with simplicity.

"Say, rather, he was going to be with the Lord;' and he who has that hope, does not fear. He knew the God in whom he trusted to be a gracious Friend; and whoever feels that can, when called upon to do so, leave his dearest and his best without anxiety to His care."

"It's easy to talk," muttered Gran, fretfully, "but it ain't so easy to do! And what right I've got to expect God to be troublin' Hisself about me, is more than I can see, or ever could; though it didn't worry me when I had my health and strength."

66

And who gave you your health and strength but God?” said the stranger gently. "You gain your right by trusting Him, and taking His promises as yours through the merits of our Lord Jesus Christ. Then it is to you He says, 'I will never leave thee nor forsake thee.' And 'Leave thy fatherless children, I will preserve them alive.'”

Gran sighed, shook her head, and said, "Them was fine words, and she wished she had thought more on 'em." "Think of them now," urged the visitor. "Please God it is not too late even yet. The same Lord over all is rich unto all 'For whosoever shall call upon the name saved.' 'Draw nigh to God, and He will

that call upon Him.' of the Lord shall be draw nigh to you.'" "Whosoever shall call!" said Gran slowly. "My Will called. I mind he said 'God be marciful to me a sinner.' I know now all he meant, poor chap, by that. I've said it myself many a time since. But how be I to know if He's heard me?"

The words were not so much a question as the expression of a despairing helplessness. Gran did not expect her difficulty to be met with an answer; but an answer came nevertheless.

"You may be very sure He has heard. Thou shalt call, and the Lord will answer; thou shalt cry, and He shall say, Here am I.' 'It shall come to pass that before they call I will answer, and while they are yet speaking I will hear.' 'He will be very gracious unto thee at the voice of thy cry; when He shall hear it He will answer thee.' Now these are not my sayings, you know; they are written in the Bible, which is God's own word."

"He talks better nor the parson-more gentle and kind like,' whispered one of the women to the other. And then-for the room with its small windows grew dark-she softly moved the logs that were mouldering on the hearth; and a ruddy fans

shot up, and fell on the stranger's earnest handsome face, and on the restless wrinkled one upraised to his.

It was a goodly sight, the youthful fair-haired gentleman in the first flush of his manhood and his strength bending over the humble couch of the poor old fish-wife; bringing home to her ignorant and failing heart the saving truths she had imperfectly apprehended; and mindful of nothing but that she, like himself, had need of the Saviour. A great calm seemed to come over Gran as she listened; and when he paused, she whispered feebly, "Thank you, sir. The child'en thought you come straight from heaven; and I could a'most think so too."

"Well," said the stranger, smiling, "the message I bring you does come straight from Heaven. And when I come again we will have another talk about it. And now let me see what we can do to make you more comfortable here."

Thus encouraged, Gran entered into a catalogue of her ailments and trials; enjoying to the utmost the rare pleasure of narrating them to a sympathising hearer.

The two gossips now came forward, and were eager to edge in a word and thereby bring themselves into notice; and so another half hour sped quickly by.

Meantime, while in the cottage, with its closed door and narrow lattice, it was already nearly dark, outside there still lingered the mellow light of evening. A tender flush of amber, melting here and there into palest crimson, yet lined the west; and along the dying line of light left by the sunset on the water, the boat, with young Cyril Wallace and the two children, moved swiftly. The former, plying the oars, looked as they went, on the grey receding shore. But in the wondering and expectant eyes of the latter was mirrored the parting brightness of the day. Would they really gain those radiant portals to another land? Would it be theirs to behold more closely the splendours they had watched so often, theirs to wander at will in the golden lustre, to breathe the saffron-tinted air, and feel the warmth of the crimson glory?

Ah, no; not yet. As the vision of green oasis flies before the eager steps of the desert traveller, the beautiful pageant seemed ever to retreat as they advanced; and while the little bark still bore them bravely onward, it paled and faded slowly, slowly, until they saw it vanish quite away.

But there was no time for regret. Absorbed in these fancies, they had almost forgotten the white-sailed ship; and now they were by her side, and in another minute on her deck. Here their guide left them in charge of a sailor while he disappeared down some steps; and in a few minutes an order came up for them to follow. Then, the descent being safely accomplished, Cyril ushered them into a saloon of moderate size; and Dolly and Kester began to wonder whether they had not arrived at some place very near akin to heaven after all; so new and marvellous was the scene to them.

The saloon was tastefully and luxuriously furnished. The couches, chairs and settees that ran along either side were covered with crimson velvet. Pictures and mirrors gleamed between hangings of the same that depended from the walls. A soft carpet brought instant and strange sense of comfort to the little bare feet that now trod one for the first time; and a swinging lamp of rare beauty shed light and a pleasant perfume like that of some sweet flower around. At a small table laden with books and papers and delicate needlework, a lady sat. A strong resemblance could be traced between her and the gentleman who had remained on shore. There was the same refined and rather pale face; the same mild and steadfast eye; the same firm but gentle expression about the mouth. Only, while his hair was bright and sunny, hers, partly hidden under the head-dress of white lace and violet ribbons, had lost the gloss of youth, and showed more of silver than of gold.

This was Lady Wallace, before whom our little barefooted orphans stood abashed; scarcely venturing to lift their eyes higher than the white hands lying on her lap, where a single diamond caught the rays of the lamp and Kesler's eyes, und

671 made him fancy it must be a stray star held captive in the cabin.

Cyril's voice helped to break the spell. In these novel and bewildering surroundings their acquaintance of an hour seemed by comparison to become quite an old friend.

"Well, mother mine," said the lad; "do they remind you of your old handmaid ?”

Lady Wallace did not answer directly, but those white hands drew Dolly to her side, and she looked attentively at the little girl.

"And so," she said presently, "these are poor Dorothy's children. I did not think I should never see her again when she left me nine years ago on her wedding morning. And the father is dead also, you say, Cyril? I am glad it occurred to me to seek them out; they appear neglected and uncared forand Dorothy was so neat and nice in everything."

"Yes; I can remember," answered Cyril, her clean white caps and collars; and how, if I wanted to plague her, I used to rumple her muslin aprons. From all you have said about her I should fancy it would break her heart to see these poor little things as they are now. She was a good woman too, was she not? But upon my word, mother," continued the boy, lowering his voice, "it strikes me that they are dreadfully iguorant; and that the old grandmother, who is ill, and with whom I left Herbert, may not be much better. They-the children I mean— have the oddest notions! actually thought when they saw us we had come to take them to heaven!"

"Dear Cyril," said his mother, in the same low tone, and, stately lady as she was, there were tears in her fine eyes, "perhaps it may be ours to show them the way."

Some biscuits, some fruit, and more than all, a few kind words soon enabled Dolly and Kester to find their tongues, and answer in their own simple fashion the questions addressed to them.

Of their mother, remembering nothing, they could not speak; but they told how father used to carry them on his back, and take them out in the boat; and how, before he went away, he said that some one would come and fetch them to be with him and mammy. How in the fine evenings they watched the glittering pathway which led, as they supposed, to the better land; and how to-night the boat floated towards them in the sunshine; and they knew when Dolly's name was mentioned that the promised messenger had surely come.

Lady Wallace could not find it in her heart to disturb too rudely and hastily their childish faith; indeed, she thought it better wisdom to make that a stepping-stone to higher things. She did not therefore distress the little ones by any appearance of doubt or ridicule. On the contrary, she assured them that heaven was truly the country they were bound for, a bright and happy region beyond the sky; and she took occasion to speak a few words about that loving Saviour through whom alone they could hope there to gain admittance. Then she heard how Gran's aches and pains had grown worse and worse, until she was quite laid up; how Nanny Bond and Betsy Freeman had taken it in turns to come and make her bed and cook the dinner; and even how father's boat, once their pride and greatest treasure, was lying ashore "all spoilt and broke," because Long Jem was an idle man and did not take care of her; and Kester wasn't old enough to have her for himself.

So the children prattled and the lady listened with a word of encouragement now and then; and presently Cyril, who, leaning at the back of his mother's chair, had remained an amused spectator, drew out his watch and announced that the hour was up and Herbert would be waiting. There was some slight delay, however, for Lady Wallace wished to send a few things for the grandmother. Laden with what her thoughtfulness provided they soon reached the shore again; and while the brothers rowed back by the light of a young moon, Dolly and Kester scrambled up the beach and into the cottage to dieplay their treasures, and to lie down, tired out and happy, and dream of the wonders they had seen,