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who would discredit the Scriptures, because some his yoke, which is wrapped up with the promise things are not now as they were described three of rest to all who labour and all who bear, point thousand years ago, are founded on misconcep- to the perfect union, actively and passively, that tion and ignorance. They resemble those formid- should subsist between Christ and his disciple ! able-looking pistols carried by the Arabs, which Learning from his meekness in labour and lowlionly maim the man who uses them. In the hol- ness in suffering, the disciple shall do and endure lows among the mountains there are little bits under Christ's easy yoke, and find rest to his of fields cultivated. These are generally very soul in united service. We are "joint-heirs fertile, as all the fatness of the surrounding hills with Christ,” and fellow-labourers with him; has been washed down into them. In one of and as the yoke can only be laid upon two, and these a pair of little black oxen are ploughing as the essential idea of yoke (švyov) is that which The yoke is a piece of wood laid evenly across joins two together, we trust that this suggested both their necks, slightly curved towards each interpretation, which, fully believed, would extremity, so as to fit to the part of the animal lighten our labour and sustain us in sufferings, which it touches. A piece of wood passing may not appear too “far fetched.”
down through the yoke in each side of the neck The sun went down behind Sidon with one of
keeps it in its place, or it is sometimes made fast those rare gorgeous sunsets seldom seen in this by thongs passing under the chest of the animal. land, but which, when seen, rouses memories of The beam of the plough, which is attached to home, like some old strain of music, or pleasant the yoke, comes up between the animals like a perfume with which we were once familiar. carriage-pole. See how evenly those two animals We soon had less pleasant memories of home, move along under the same yoke! They look for the rain came down without the long home into each other's large dark eyes, as if they twilight to give us time to finish our journey. wished to keep their wills in perfect accord; and Our host and his horse, familiar with the road, they go, turn, and return together, turning up dashed on before, and we galloped blindly after, the gravelly soil, the perfect emblem of quiet, over rocks and through water, illustrating fully sustained union and resolute strength. These the definition which describes walking as “a are“ true yoke-fellows." And what an effective series of leaps and falls.” We were soon, howsermon that yoke preaches, on united and cordial | ever, in “the prophet's chamber,” receiving the action, to all who labour in the Lord's work! warm welcome of a body of men, backed up by And may not that command of Christ's, to take an outer circle of women and children.
DAMASCUS 21 STRAIGHT STREET.
LOVE LOST, AND FOUND.
“The Comforter be always with thee, good Christian." —Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress.
And face so sweetly sorrowful-
A sweeter could not be.
“ Tell me, stranger, what thou seekest ?" Weeping more and more:
And he answered—“Thee."
Love's music in his voice, and bright
Her sunbeam in his eye;
And when I stood and seemed afraid
To let my lover by,
He chid my unbelief with tears,
And whispered—“It is I.”
Then to his welcome step at once
I widely flung the door ;
And there he stood—so marred a man
I never saw before :
The earth was heaven, the man was
And at his feet did fall
Of creatures great and small ;
Foremost of them all !
All on his head, and hands, and feet,
Fresh were the wounds he bore.
I faint, and groan, and bleed;
Nor suffering break my speel;
Nor helpless in thy need."
For it burned low and dim,
And weary wounded limb;
And I did sup with him.
Into his wondrous face,
I there could clearly trace,-
Rose, and shook the place.
It was a dream-the cold gray morn
Was breaking on the floor;
No stranger at the door;
And felt my fear no more.
With morning birds I poured forth praise,
For glad my heart was made:
In straits a present aid ;
IT last that brilliant column of picked will not mind, Renée; you need Our Lady's
troops came to an end. Little did grace and help for your brother. And in her we think they had that day begun own stately cathedral—at whose hallowed shrines their death-march almost as a body; so many
sainted knees have been bent, so many for few indeed were the survivors of those de- royal heads have been bowed, so many costly voted regiments after the fearful fields on which offerings have been made —she will surely hear they at least so well and nobly upheld the old and pity us. And her altars shall not want for traditionary fame of France. While the stirring the costliest gifts I can bring, if she will watch strains of the band that brought up its rear were over my Henri, and bring him back to me. Will still sounding proudly in our ears, Uncle Lucien she not remember how the sword pierced her put us in our carriage, and asked us if he should own sacred heart when she watched in faithful tell the man to drive home. Madame de l'Orme love all through her Son's awful death-agony?" bent forward, eagerly exclaiming—“No, no; to So we stopped at the hoary cathedral, and Notre Dame." And the order was given ac- went up the time-worn steps, through the mascordingly.
sive doors, into the solemn gloom of the grand Presently she said, through her tears : "You l old pile. Others were there before us : a mass was being said at the high altar as we went for- like quiet that drops like a pall over a household ward and knelt before it.
from which a dearly-loved member has lately Madame de l'Orme remained so long on her departed, even at hours when the lost presence knees that I grew restless and uneasy. I was was not wont to gladden us? We seem to speak anxious about my mother-left so long alone in with bated breath, and to move with noiseless the first hours of her sorrow. I tried vainly to steps—as we do when the journey taken has been repeat a certain number of Ave Marias, but in- the last one, and cold and still in its darkened variably lost count, and found my thoughts hope- chamber lies what was, but is no longer, parent, lessly wandering-Léon, mamma, Nina, all came brother, friend. between me and the prayers I would fain have Nina had not returned. I found my mother repeated. It was nothing new: many a penance lying, faint and exhausted, on her couch, opposite had I endured for the same fault. But the thought a picture of the Virgin that always hung in her that those prayers might have helped Léon, if I dressing-room, with a crucifix clasped to her could only have said them acceptably, was very breast. I knew she had taken no food that painful. I knew my mother said enough, but morning, and her time had been entirely spent then it was all that was left me to do for him; in prayer. When she had taken the wine I and I could not help thinking that surely, if the brought her, she said, Holy Virgin did remember her own earthly "We must leave our dear Léon to the good sorrows, she must know how hard it was, when God, Renée. The Blessed Mother's heart will every nerve and fibre was strained to the utmost, be touched with our anxiety and sorrow, for hers to repeat a certain number of fixed words with has known and felt grief greater than ours. She no wanderings of heart. Then I shuddered at will plead for us with her Son.-And, Renée," my presumption.
she continued, after a time, “I do not think it Altogether that visit to Notre Dame was no can be so difficult as many seem to think, for comfort to me-very much the reverse. Madame her to induce the Lord Christ to listen to her de l'Orme seemed to find it such; but then she and help us. Those who have gone through the had made so many good prayers, and given an bitterest sufferings sympathize best with even offering—which, from the priest's manner, I felt the little pains of others; and surely none have sure was a costly one—and I had done neither; suffered as much as he did on his dreadful only, I knew, drawn a penance on myself for
He must have loved us, Renée, or he wandering and presumptuous thoughts next time would not have done it; for it was for ús he I went to confess. For I could not help a sug- died. So I think he must be ready to listen to gestion that seemed to force itself into my mind, his mother's pleading for us, when she tells him that perhaps, after all, it would not matter my of our need and sorrow. But, of course," she trying. I had apparently no vocation for re- added sadly, “it is our great unworthiness and ligion; and if Our Lady would not help of her sinfulness that make it so difficult. He cannot own free will and sympathy, I certainly could love us till our sins are subdued; and so few not deserve her favour. Madame de l'Orme did have
them!” not seem very sure of it, in spite of her far greater Then I told her of our visit to Notre Dame, merit. My unkindness to Nina, too, weighed and my trouble about the prayers ; and she upon me. Would the Blessed Virgin, with her answered, pure, loving mother's heart, listen to, or care for, “I know it is so sometimes; and then I think one who had been so harsh to the orphan girl it is best to speak to Our Lady in our own words. who had never known a mother's gentle love and I think she must care for them as much as the training ?
Latin, which does not seem to mean half so I left Madame de l'Orme at her lonely and much, or, indeed, to express at all what we wish desolate home, and returned to my own, on which to say. Of course, in the public worship all due a strange stillness seemed to have fallen. Do we form and ceremonial must be observed ; but not all know the curious sense of hush and grave- when we are alone, it appears to me it is best to
remember it is a woman's heart with which we lasting day. Would he reject such faint glimmerhave to do. And I do not think she will be ings of faith and hope as breathed even then in offended at us thinking her too kind and too my mother's words, “He must have loved us, good. When people count upon our kindness, Renée, or he would not have done it"? His does it not make us feel bound to help them if Word says, “ The bruised reed will He not possible--us, who are so weak, and narrow, and break, nor quench the dimly-burning flax;"" as selfish? How much more, then, One who is all many as touched the hem of His garment were goodness, and purity, and kindness? With God made perfectly whole.” And to me those words it is different. His majesty is so terrible, it are enough. As the magnet attracts the needle, would indeed be presumption to approach him so I believe he will draw all hearts, asking truly otherwise than in the forms our Holy Mother in their depth of need, “What must I do to be the Church gives us. But it is hard to know saved ?” to himself. Very faint may be the what is right, Renée.” And she sighed a long, light, very dim and shrouded and interrupted weary sigh.
the vision, very feeble and fearful the hope ; but Ah, my mother! hard, indeed, for those from the love, the power, the salvation are all in him. whose straining sight the only pure and living “Salvation is of the Lord ;" he is the Alpha Fountain of light is sealed. Hard for those and the Omega, the First and the Last, the whose eyes are blinded with the gathered dust Beginning and the End.” of long ages of huinan error, and pride, and But alas for those who are lulled to the folly—whose minds are fettered with the iron charmed sleep of false security on the Delilah chains of priestly arrogance and presumption- lap of Rome, heart and conscience alike deadened, whose hearts are weighed down with the crush- and with no friendly voice to break in upon the ing burden of a servile and loveless faith-on fleeting dream of time with the solemn realities whose ears the faintest echoes of the glad tidings of eternity! And doubly alas for those on whose of great joy have never fallen.
careless ears the gospel message falls unbeeded, And such were ours then,-mine, and my or only as “ a very lovely song of one that hath gentle, pious mother's. And hers most. With a pleasant voice, and can play well on an instrufeet lingering still on the slopes of Jordan, with ment”! the dark stream flowing ever full in her sight, My mother and I were still alone when Nina her eyes were straining through the thick dark- returned. Madame de Salmy left her at the ness— darkness that might be felt, indeed-her door, and she entered the house alone. We helpless hands were stretched out imploringly, heard her voice speaking gaily to Louis, and her shrinking spirit breathing ever its voiceless then her quick light foot on the stairs. She prayers for help and guidance, to those whom the came into the room bright and joyous, with gay false teachings of a delusive creed had taught her words of greeting on her smiling lips. But our possessed those attributes of love and tenderness grave, sorrowful faces were enough; no need of and pity which belong to Him alone of whom the words that were so slow to come. She we then thought only vaguely as the Virgin's turned deadly white; stood a few seconds, fixed Son, or the terrible Judge of an awful day to and silent, in the centre of the room, not heedcome. But, blessed be his name! no darkness, ing, apparently not hearing, my mother's gentle no ignorance, no shrouding curtain drawn by words; then slowly and silently left it. mortal hands, can come between the purposes of I was about to follow her at once; but mamma his grace and love, or rob him of the joy of drew me back, saying—" Leave her alone, for a seeing “ of the travail of his soul,” and being little time only, Renée. It will be better so. " satisfied.” When he wakens the need and Poor child! it is very trying for her. I wish I yearning of the soul, as he alone can do, he will had prevented her going yesterday; but I never never-no, never fail to supply it. And I doubt supposed she would remain the night." not many of those whose suns have set in clouds “O mamma," I exclaimed, “it was my fault. and darkness will rise to the brightness of ever- I might have persuaded her; but I was angry
and vexed with her, and did not. Oh, how I for the heart's most passionate cry. And even regret it now!”
while I wept with Nina, and pitied from my Mamma soothed me in her own tender way. heart the remorseful grief from which I might But she little knew how much cause I had for have saved her, I felt that perhaps this might be self-reproach, as Léon had asked me not to tell the very lesson she needed to begin the cure of her of what had passed between him and Nina, her waywardness; for from the broken words saying she would have enough to trouble her she sobbed out to mamma when she sought to about him without the knowledge of his dis- comfort her, I learned that, even as I feared, she appointment added to it : our troubles and sor- had only gone to Madame de Salmy's out of rows—we had not known many then-- were so sheer contradiction of Léon's wishes. She had entirely hers.
been asked in his presence to join the party, he In a few minutes she sent me to Nina. Re- had ventured to beg her not to go, as his time ceiving no answer to my inquiry whether I was so short, and, in the wilful waywardness she might come in, I opened the door. She was now so sadly deplored, she had given her prolying, dressed as she was, with her face buried in mise to do so—and kept it, though haunted with the cushions of her couch. She did not look up the foreboding that Léon might be ordered off until I went to her, and kneeling by it, put my next day. But she had not anticipated the arm round her, and spoke some tender, soothing possibility of his leaving in her absence; and it was words. Then she raised her poor white face, and not until the message had been despatched that gazed piteously into mine.
she found that Madame de Salmy, requiring her “Darling Nina," I said, “ do not grieve so carriage for other purposes, had determined to very much. You did not know that Léon would retain her for the night. leave to-day, and he did not blame you. He Poor Nina! she was very humble and broken bid me say farewell for him.”
that night; but next morning, though her cheek Either the sight of my tears or the mention of was pale and her eyes heavy, she was quiet and his name broke down the unnatural calm of her composed, and from that time rarely spoke of face, and, with a smothered cry, she flung her Léon–I think, never voluntarily—and in a few arms passionately round my neck, and broke into days she appeared, outwardly at least, her old a fit of hysterical tears. Poor child! she had bright self, only a little more subdued and gentle. yet to learn control in a hard school. It was not I was no longer doubtful as to her real feelings; until she was quite exhausted with the violence but I judged it best to leave things to take their of her emotion that I could give her Léon's message of forgiveness. At last I did so, but without alluding to the terrible contingency of
CHAPTER VII. which he had spoken, but of which I dared not think myself; and even then a fresh outburst followed. To all my attempts at consolation,
“News of battle! news of battle! she answered by the wailing cry,
Hark! 'tis ringing down the street:
And the archways and the pavement “Oh, you do not know, Renée; you do not
Bear the clang of hurrying feet." know."
Avtour's Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers. “I do know, Nina," I answered.
VERY quiet were the days after Léon left us“No, no; not all, not all. He would not tell quiet, at least, to our saddened perceptions. We you all — even you; I know him too well. If had fewer visitors, as most of Léon's friends had you did, you would hate me, Renée. Oh, if gone to the front. It seemed long since the war that day could but come back again! But it is had been declared, and people were already imtoo late now !”
patient to hear of something having been done. Too late! ah, too late! Yes; the spilt wine The delay of the Emperor's departure, and the can never be gathered again into the broken tardiness of military operations, were the chief chalice, and lost opportunities can never return subject of conversation. Twice we had brief