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two of them after an absence.
"How are you
? Oh,
George, how is your health? May it please God you
return safe and well? I trust you have had a suc-
cessful journey? How are your family?" &c., &c.
The other, taking the hand of his neighbour in both
his, returns all these inquiries with cordiality and cheer-
fulness. If relations, they embrace, as also if they
are very dear friends; a father and son fall on each
other's neck, in the old scriptural fashion, which is very
touching and pleasant to see.

In the family where I am staying there frequently come "poor relations," who are so different from the more wealthy and educated members of the family that it is hardly possible to conceive them to be even distant cousins; but, like the old Highland clans, these are never coldly kept at a distance or unacknowledged, but most kindly welcomed; and, however slight their relationship, they all address the aged head of the family as "uncle." From a sort of tact or good taste native to the people, these simple poor relations do not wish to join guests of more distinction, but sit contentedly round a large straw tray called a tabac, and sup with the servants; in fact, one of the servants is sometimes a poor relation. Here one is, though not a relation, a connection of the family; yet not the slightest disrespect is ever observed in her manners. There is a great deal of equality here, as in the East generally, but the distinctions of position, wealth, and education are all fully acknowledged. It was curious to see the profound respect with which a person of distinction was welcomed on his arrival the other day, -the kissing of his hand by all the humbler people, who hastened to meet him, and gladly assisted the servants of the family in serving the sherbet and coffee, and taking care of his horses, &c. Yet when all this was over, the poorest labourers crowded into the room and took their seats on the mat to hear the conversation, and even join in it occasionally. It looked quite patriarchal (but for the pipes, which I presume are modern, comparatively speaking); the guest and his host with one or two friends and relatives at the upper end of the divan, then the farmers and labourers, the stone-mason (who is rather a superior young man, by the way), the schoolmaster, and others; most of these Protestants, like the visitor himself, and no doubt not a little proud at the thought that the most talented and learned man in Syria, and one who is frequently consulted by the Pasha, belongs to their faith. Besides these, however, were several Maronites and a few Druses. The room was crammed with men, from the wealthy land-owner in good. cloth dress to the most patched and ragged of the labourers of our host. The servants, male and female, came in, as soon as the dishes were washed, for prayers; and our esteemed friend gave an exhortation after reading the chapter in our course, which could not fail to profit the hearers, and prayed with much fervour and spirituality.

Maronites and Greeks of course keep this day much as those of their persuasion do elsewhere, but more quietly; there is no noisy announcement, and only a little work carried on, except among Druses, who do not keep Sunday at all.

The Protestants assemble at an early hour in their humble chapel, and I must do them the justice to observe that, though mostly very poor people, and dirty enough all the week, they come to church as clean and neat as could be desired; even the little boys have evidently had their curly locks well attended to, and their vests or long tunics of gay print or plain white calico carefully washed by their mothers. All sit on the floor-men on one side, women on the other-except a few of the most respectable men, who have the dignity of a bench. I cannot say much for their singing, as it is more like the growling of bears than anything else, there being no one in the village capable of leading.

The native minister reads some portions of Scripture, and preaches from some written notes beside him. The doctrine is sound; but the people, mostly ignorant and hard-working, and occupied in the open air all day, are inclined to sleep easily when sitting still, and would require a good deal of liveliness, energy, and tact to keep up their attention, and keep them awake.

After the service, which is but short, most of the women remain with me when I am here for a little instruction in the gospel, and of course I do all I can to rouse their attention by illustrations, anecdotes, and frequent questions. Just after church is not the best time; but they got dispersed and would not be collected when I tried a "cottage meeting."

As every one takes off his or her shoes at entering a room, it may be supposed what a shuffling goes on at the chapel door as the congregation goes out. As all are nearly alike, it is a mystery to me how each finds his own; and the same when the women go in their turn. At last it is done, the slippers all appropriated, and the babies shouldered (they being, like soldiers' muskets, carried on the shoulder), and amidst a flood of salutations we retreat, and the white-veiled throng disperses. Scarcely any of the old costume remains in this village, except on a few old women; all wear prints or strong linen dyed dark blue.

Perhaps it is more cleanly than the more valuable, but less frequently washed, dresses of old time, made of fine woollen cloth; but it is far less picturesque.

One day I amused a party of neighbours by making a sketch of one of the family attired in the real old costume, which she had to borrow for the purpose. It consisted of a curiously cut gown of dark green cloth, embroidered tastefully in white silk cord all down the seams and round the borders, which were also edged with red; the sleeves were tight, and just came to the elbows, a calico or linen dress with long sleeves appearing within. But the great curiosity was a horn, called a "tantoor," such as was formerly worn by all females

You will expect some notice of our Sundays. The in the mountains, Christians and Druses alike,-though

I have heard it called the "Druse horn,” as if peculiar to them. It is now so entirely gone out, that it can only be met with in a few remote spots; and the only one in this place had not been worn for many years. Our hostess told me she had worn it, like all her neighbours, till the invasion of the Lebanon by Ibrahim Pasha, from Egypt, when he and his Moslem soldiers spoiled the villages, and took all the "tantoors" away by force. The people were robbed of so many valuables that no one could spare money afterwards to replace an article which cost at the lowest price 400 piastres (about £2), as it must be made of silver; so the fashion was abandoned.

The "tantoor" is a hollow horn, or tube, about four inches round, and from half to three-quarters of a foot high, made of embossed silver, thin enough to be no great weight, though tolerably solid. It is fixed on by rings, through which a string is passed; and a coloured muslin or silk handkerchief round the forehead secures it in its place. Then the veil of white muslin is thrown over it in such a way as to show a part in front only, and to hang gracefully round the shoulders. I thought, on examining this curious head-dress, that it was amazing what women could mean by encumbering themselves with such an inconvenient concern, and one with so little beauty. But when my young friend had put it on I soon saw their reason (though far from thinking it worth the cost): it was so becoming, strange as it may seem, that a rather ordinary-looking girl appeared all at once really handsome in this new equipment. I cannot say how Europeans would look in it-my subject had thoroughly Oriental features, though without much regularity and beauty-but I could at once see that the Lebanon fair ones knew what they were about in wearing "tantoors." The pretty looked beautiful, and the ordinary ones pretty, under its strange power. Their attention is now, however, I hope, beginning to be turned to some matters of higher importance than outside looks; and the fathers are more anxious to buy books for their girls than silver horns.

We were all much diverted, however, at the antique costume; and I was interested in hearing one or two of the old matrons telling anecdotes of Ibrahim Pasha's invasion, and how their fatted sheep, as well as their beloved horns, had been confiscated by the Moslems.

Poor things, first persecuted by the Mohammedan power, and then by the Druse; always robbed and injured! It surely becomes foreign Christians to be liberal in assisting them, both in endeavouring to give them the unadulterated gospel, and in raising them by education and civilization, not to what they once were, but much higher. Some Europeans who come here to teach, or merely to visit, express much surprise at the primitive and often rough ways of the mountaineers; but these persons have probably mixed little, if at all, with the peasantry in remote country districts, even in our own islands. The humblest Lebanon dwelling is far above an Irish cabin in Galway or Derry; and in

mixing with the people all seems to show that they formerly enjoyed much more wealth, and in some respects more civilization, than at present.

The almost total absence of drunkenness is one most important point in which they are superior to the beer and whisky-drinking population of too many agricultural districts in Europe. Their vines produce excellent wine; but it is rarely used, except on festive occasions and in illness, and this in great moderation. The juice of the grape is made by long boiling into a thick syrup or honey called dibs; and this is eaten with bread, and used in cookery. Raisins are also made in quantities, but for want of a market and roads are all consumed at home. In September the people are all busy raisin-making; and the business, being done at the vineyards, partakes of the nature of a festival. All relations and friends in town who can get a holiday select this time for it; children come home from school; and parties are made to eat grapes at each other's vineyards.

It is pleasant to see so much innocent enjoyment at so cheap a rate; and the family groups wending their way up the steep mountains forms a pleasant sight. With their simple habits and social nature, the gathering together in the open air, with the enjoyment of the delicious climate, and the abundance of beautiful grapes, supply all they require.

I thought the other day, when seeing a party of young people setting off on one of these little excursions, of the expression of the prophet, "There shall be wailing in the vineyards;" and how evidently this was meant as a peculiarly emphatic description of universal gloom.

But, indeed, all through the summer in this country, we are perpetually reminded of Scripture images and expressions, by the very habits and language of the people. Earlier in the season I used to hear one and another say, "Let us get up early to go up to the vineyards and see how the grapes are advancing;" and again, "Let us go down to the valley to the nut-trees;" and soon it will be, "Let us go and see them treading the grapes in the press," this being done for grape honey as well as for wine.

The "cottage in a vineyard" spoken of in Isaiah, ought more correctly to be called a hut, or shed, as it is not a residence of a permanent sort, but a temporary abode (made usually of boughs and reeds) for the notoor, or keeper of the vineyards; a man appointed by each village to watch them and drive away "the little foxes (here called wawee) that destroy the vines," and also thieves. He is always provided with a staff and a loaded gun; and at certain seasons has to be awake all night. He has a rather solitary life for the time; and his lonely little wigwam, perched generally on the summit of some eminence, so as to command a wide view, is a conspicuous object in the landscape; and the Scripture comparison seems strikingly appropriate when one views the natoor's hut from a distance.

There is a beautiful bird which at this time frequents

the vineyards, and remains for about six or seven weeks, coming when the grapes are sweet enough to attract a number of bees and wasps, which form its food, and flying away to some other region when the vintage is over. I could not learn from the inhabitants whence it comes, but all agree it is a migratory bird, and never breeds here. This lovely visitor is called the "wa-warr." It is about the size of a thrush, with plumage of delicately shaded green, the head crowned with reddish-brown feathers, a throat of brilliant yellow, and a green breast; its bill long, hard, and jet-black, and black circles round the eyes, which are of a crimson colour: the effect is not gaudy but dazzling, the hues being blended so exquisitely together. The hen bird is less brilliant than the male, but very gaily clad, nevertheless. They come in flocks, and make a cheerful piping as they dart about after their prey. These pretty birds, unluckily, are good to eat, and so are often snared by the peasants; they taste much like a snipe. No one was able to stuff one for me, so I was obliged to be content with painting them, having tied a pair by a string round the feet. But they were not agreeable sitters, being fierce little things; they snapped at me with their beaks whenever I ventured near them, and even pecked at each other. Linnets and larks abound here, as well as some other birds I do not know. But all are rather hunted down to eat, as the scarcity of meat makes it a temptation to catch the humblest game. The people's diet is somewhat meagre, consisting principally of very dark, coarse bread, baked in thin flaps (usually mixed with more or less grit, from the nature of the grindstone), sour milk, and dried curds, with vegetables, which in the summer consist of small gourds or pumpkins, kidney beans, and tomatoes, besides potatoes and black egg-plants. These are cooked with the fat of their sheep instead of butter or oil. Eggs, and now and then a fowl, as a treat, make up the summer bill of fare; not forgetting rice, which, however, though relished by all, is not cheap enough for the poorer people to obtain habitually. The bread is not palatable to any but those early accustomed to it, but is wholesome and nutritious to the hardy mountaineers, who often make a meal of nothing else but their coarse bread and a handful of the sweet herbs so abundant.on the Lebanon, which are eaten both fresh and dried as a relish. Dry pease and lentils are much used, but when possible, rice is always cooked with them, and either prepared fat or oil is never omitted, so that Europeans think the food too greasy; but as they have no butter, and meat very rarely, these supply the place. A goat is now and then slain, but its flesh is very coarse, and it is not till autumn is far advanced that the fat sheep, which have given so much trouble, and which by that time can hardly walk, are killed, and the fat fried down for winter use. It is very delicate, superior to lard, which it much resembles.

While speaking of food, I may mention here how we eat in the mountains, where modern ways have not penetrated. We all sit round a little table a few inches

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high upon the floor; and as we are a mixed party, we have some forks for those accustomed to them, and plates also. Those who eat in the old fashion, take a bit of bread in the fingers and hook up a morsel out of the dish thereby. But I observe knives and forks are much used in the towns by the better families, and certainly are more cleanly and comfortable; though they manage more cleverly than one would expect, and rarely drip the sauce in conveying it in that primitive manner to the mouth. At least, this is the case with well-bred persons; but a circle of rough labourers or hungry boys at a meal is not a pleasant sight. The thing I like least, however, is the custom of each despatching his meal as quickly and silently as possible, and then jumping up and running off, so that one who cannot eat so fast is left in solitary dignity at the table! Those who have mixed much with Europeans generally catch our habit of chatting during the meal, and then cannot leave it off; but the former is the old fashion. Children rarely find room at the small table if many are present, and indeed have the bad habit of going about all day munching something, so that they cannot take a hearty meal at once. The splendid air and constant exercise keep them from being sick with such a system; but in a town it would never answer. The hospitality shown to strangers and visitors I have already alluded to; but in nothing is it more remarkable than in the readiness with which a "table is spread" (this is the term, a strictly scriptural one, observe, for providing a meal) for strangers. Every muleteer, every traveller, every lad who comes with a message, or labourer who brings wood from the hills, no matter what hour of the day he comes, has a table prepared at once, with half-a-dozen little plates, supplied with fried eggs or salad or cooked food, if such is ready; if not, sour milk, grape-honey, or cheese, olives, &c., is set out, with a heap of bread, more than three men could consume. But it is in order to let him see he is welcome that such an immense allowance must be set before him. In families where there is no servant (and but few, even of those comfortably off, keep any), the mistress and her daughters often have to prepare these tables half-a-dozen times a day, if chance sends so many guests; but it is always done cheerfully and cordially, want of hospitality being looked on as something horrible. And though the mountaineers have the character of being stingy as regards money, no one can say they are so as to provisions, or in taking trouble, especially for travellers. When guests are departing, it is the custom to urge them to delay till next day, or at least for several hours, and if they are persuaded to do so, the hosts always seem delighted. Of course there must be cases where there is no particular friendship or any reason for trying to prevail on them to delay; but it is a point of honour to insist on it. "Tarry a little till the afternoon and rest yourselves, and after that you can depart," in almost scriptural language, is urged on the departing guest. If at last he must go, his

saddle-bag is stored with whatever portable food can be found; and if he is a poor man going on foot, a napkin is tied up with bread, eggs, &c., and all the family bid him a kind farewell, and commend him to the care of God. These may be words of course sometimes, but certainly arise from a right feeling, and are often sincere prayers in Christian persons.

I need hardly say that a good many superstitions still linger among the villagers, amongst which the fear of the evil eye is the most troublesome; it is going out, however, among the younger inhabitants. Some of their fancies are rather droll. For instance, the other day, a young woman who had a few years ago been servant to some of our party, and had since married, called to pay her respects. She carried her first child, a fine little girl a few months old, in her arms. After noticing it, and asking the age, &c., I inquired the baby's name, and to my surprise the mother said, "She is called Dtheby" (I cannot write the curious sound more nearly than this), the meaning of which is "she wolf!" "What a very singular name," I said, and not common here, where the meaning of names is even more thought of than sound.

I was then informed that the young woman was a second wife, and that her husband had lost all his children by the first wife in infancy, therefore when this little one by the second marriage was born, the old women all assured her that it must be given the name of some wild beast, and that then the spell would be broken. Wild beasts are supposed to be very long-lived, and boys are not unfrequently named Lion and Tiger on this account. As the second wife is a remarkably strong, vigorous person, and her child the image of its mother, the superstition will probably be confirmed in the ignorant family, to whom it would never occur that the sickly woman who died early had naturally weak children.

A benevolent superstition is, that it is unlucky to

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refuse a beggar, especially if a gipsy, and the pieces of stale bread are kept for the purpose of giving to tramps by those who have a household on a sufficiently liberal scale to have more than is needed absolutely from day to day. I own the mountain bread, when stale, is indeed "bread of affliction," and needs the appetite of a very hungry beggar to swallow it!

Our last day having come, we had quite an assembly in the large room, which has to do duty as reception room for female guests, as well as for-I am afraid to say how many purposes besides. Every one of the Protestant women, amounting to about twenty-five or more, and several of the Greek and Maronite Churches also, came in to bid farewell, and spend part of the evening, and the mat was quite covered with guests, most of them carrying children. We endeavoured to improve the opportunity, and read from the Scripture, and conversed with our poor friends, of whom only two or three could read, and most of whom were very ignorant. Their husbands were in the other room having a similar meeting with the heads of the family, so that the house was full. Nor was this a final leave-taking. All the neighbours who were able to spare time from their work collected at sunrise to see us off, and many of the men walked a considerable way over the rough mountain path down to the river in the valley ere they would say farewell. This friendly courtesy to parting guests is a very pleasing trait, and makes people go off with kindly feelings to their neighbours. May the light of the gospel, which shines as yet but here and there over the mountains of Lebanon, soon illuminate them with a spiritual brightness more lovely to the Christian than the fair sunshine was to the eye as we wound our way up and down its steep tracks; and may the day soon come when Lebanon and the isles of the sea shall rejoice together in the coming of the glorious Redeemer!

BREATHINGS ON THE BORDER.-NO. IV.

BY ELIZABETH C. CLEPHANE.

INTO His summer garden-into His pleasant garden—
In the dawn of the morning, the Master bade me go;
And the place he showed to me was beneath a spreading
tree,

Where I only saw the sunbeams as they passed to and fro.

Yet when the Master cometh-when the dear Master
cometh-

In the cool of the evening, to see the garden green,
I have flowers too to give, that in the shadow live,
And lift up their leaves, all shining, where heaven's dew
hath been.

I was glad of that shelter-of that broad branching I will bring him tall lilies the white, patient lilies— shelter;

It was green in that shelter, so quiet and so fair:

Out beyond the cooling shade weak flowers droop and fade;

And I was one weaker than the weakest flower there.

Far out amid the sunshine-the bright, happy sunshine-
They walk in the sunshine, where I shall never be:
And roses red they bring, for the Master's welcoming;
But pale, pale the roses are that grow round me.

Like the crowns of the angels, so stainless and so fair;
I have violets, dark and sweet, to lay before his feet;

I have pale flowers that blossom but to scent the night air.

So when the day shall darken-when the long day shall darken

I shall rise from my shadow, I shall listen for his word. And oh, that it may be, looking on my flowers and me"Thou art my good servant; thou hast watched for thy Lord!".

Apologetics for the People.

BY DR. R. PATERSON, CHICAGO.

[We propose to present a series of papers on the Christian evidences, from the pen of an eminent American minister. They will differ from most treatises on that subject in that the theoretic and the practical will freely intermingle. Logical and scientific argument will alternate with the most loving and pungent appeals to the heart and conscience.

We on this side may gain something at the present crisis by seeing the subject treated by competent hands from an American view-point. For a long time the line between belief and unbelief has been much more sharply drawn across the surface of society in the West than in our own country. This circumstance gives more definiteness and directness to the utterances of Christian men there on the questions that rise between themselves and their non-believing neighbours. There is thus more, if not of uprightness, at least of downrightness in their methods and expressions. Our readers will, we are persuaded, find and welcome in these papers the skill of an acute dialectician in union with the warmth of a Christian heart.-EDITOR.]

I.

A MAN'S RESPONSIBILITY FOR HIS BELIEF.

DON'T believe in religion." So a great many people say, and a greater number think. When one of this class is urged to love Christ, to pray to God, to read the Bible, to keep the Sabbath holy, to worship God in his family, and bring them to church, or any other plainly commanded duty which he dislikes, he will coolly reply, "I am not a member of the Church; I don't believe in religion." As if he supposed that the authority of God's law depended on his pleasure, or the truth of religion upon his belief of it.

Some of these unbelievers will lament their unbelief as a misfortune which somehow or other has befallen them. They would like to enjoy that high religious feeling which Christians possess, but really they are unable to believe the dogmas of religion. And as their opinions are the inevitable result of their education and circumstances, if they should happen to be wrong, they cannot help it, but must just rely upon the infinite mercy of God to preserve them from the consequences of error, and do not see why they may not please God as well as the rest of the world, most of whom do not give themselves very much trouble about religion.

But this convenient creed is short at both ends. For the teaching of the Bible is, that the rest of the world does not please God at all, but is crowding down the broad road to destruction; and the particular business of the Holy Spirit is to convince the world of this sin of unbelief. And if unbelief of the truth be a misfortune, and the mercy of God has not prevented it from falling upon them, it may happen that it will not prevent a further misfortune of the belief of a lie from falling upon them, for misfortunes never come single. If a blind man shall undertake to walk a crooked road, sincerely believing it to be straight, neither God's mercy nor his sincerity shall prevent him from falling into the ditch. So, if a worldly-minded man shall persist in the belief that ungodliness is just as pleasing to God as piety, and contemptuously despise mercy and salvation through Christ, and sincerely believe that he is better off in the devil's service than in God's worship, I see no good reason why God's mercy, which allowed all these

unfortunate delusions to come upon him, may not as well allow them to remain upon him—and as he has had the misfortune to live in his sins because of his unbelief, why he may not have the misfortune to die in his sins because of his unbelief-and, as God's mercy did not prevent him from despising the service of God in this world, why it may not well enough consist with allowing him to remain of the same opinion in the next world; ay, and to continue of the same opinion throughout eternity-and as his opinion led him to serve the devil on earth, notwithstanding God's mercy, why the same opinion may not lead him to continue in the devil's service in hell notwithstanding God's mercy; for surely God's mercy is not bound to drag people to heaven whether they will or no. If unbelief, then, be a misfortune merely, it is certainly a great one, the cause and beginning of many others, a fire that will surely burn the house it has caught on, a sickness that will be the death of the sufferer. The man who will not believe God's truth must of necessity believe the devil's lie-for there is no third theory-and so live in error and die in error, and find himself as far astray from truth and hap piness in the next world as he was when he left this. And so unbelief and perdition are as firmly chained together by common sense as they are by Holy Scripture, which says, "He that believeth not shall be damned."

But still you may urge that "it is very hard that God should damn a man for his opinions, seeing he cannot help them-that belief or unbelief is wholly involuntary. We believe where we have sufficient evidence; and where we do not see sufficient evidence, we cannot be lieve if we would. If I see anything with my own eyes, I cannot help believing it. If I have had experience of any feeling, I cannot help believing its reality. If any scientific problem is mathematically proved to me, I cannot help believing it. But religion gives no such proof to me, therefore I cannot believe it. Its doctrines are beyond my comprehension. The miracles recorded in Scripture are contrary to all my experience, and the duties it requires are utterly beyond my power to perform. How can I believe such a mass of mysteries, or live up to such a standard of piety?"

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