unceremonious manner in which the dragoman | money, though not amounting to a very large insisted upon an Arab giving up a donkey he sum, was still more than I could afford to lose, was keeping for another rider who had already I began to question the chances of my being mounted the first steed to hand and gone on. able to identify any of the wandering Arabs I The dragoman's first words being unsuccessful met-most of whom were one-eyed-and I in obtaining possession of the donkey, he at admit the conclusion I arrived at was not of a once, and without further preface, began to very cheering nature; and I was by no means belabour the Arab with a stout stick. The sorry to find that the wayfarers passed me argumentum ad bacculum had soon the desired without much parley. It seemed strange to me effect, and relinquishing his hold of the bridle, at first sight to observe that almost every second the Arab, though apparently fully a match for Arab I passed was blind of one eye. This I his assailant, threw himself at full length in the naturally attributed to the prevalence of ophthalsand growling out what I supposed to be mic disease; an opinion I had subsequent imprecations on the foe. As soon as the drago- reason to modify on learning that it was, at all man had put me in possession per fas aut nefas events, in part attributable to the habit of of a donkey and attendant boy, he rode on after, voluntary self-mutilation in order to escape the general party now some way ahead; so forced military service. To such an extent had that by the time I had my stirrups adjusted, this barbarous practice gone, that it was only pendant as they were from a high carpet covered stopped by the expedient of embodying a onepack saddle, I discovered that, with the exception eyed regiment. The late Pacha, I was told had, of my donkey-boy and a companion of his, after much annoyance from this difficulty in companions I had none. Feeling rather raising levies, hit upon the happy thought of uncomfortable at being thus cut off from the forming one especial corps for the reception of party to which I belonged, I used my best all conscripts whose only disqualification for endeavours to urge the donkey forward, trusting others was the loss of one eye. To return, howto his instructive recollection of the road, and ever, to my solitary journey, I continued my thus made my way successfully through the way without molestation for some time longer; village Chized, devoutly hoping that I was in and beginning now to approach the wished-for the right track. Emerging from the village, I goal, had time to pause and admire the scene. was soon wending my way by a shady road, No grander sight could well be imagined than the same I hoped as had been taken by my that now meeting my eyes. Before me stood the brother officers. European society I now had Pyramids, giant memorials of the past, memennone, and the English vocabulary of the two toes of the mighty dead; whilst yonder, rose donkey-boys who accompanied me was of so the sun all bright and glorious, the same that limited a nature, that I was forced to be silent. had risen to smile on their birth, and to set From silence I must have gone on to abstrac- upon the first day's work; aye, and to rise and tion and inattention; nor did I return to a sense set on many a weary day ere they were finished. of passing events till my donkey first stumbled, How easily might the busy fancy of anyone beand then rolled over in the sand. On extri- holding the Pyramids, people the surrounding cating myself from the stirrups and holding a plains with hosts of workmen and beasts of hurried survey of damages, I found these latter burden, clustering like bees around a monster to be a grazed skin and torn trowsers, which hive! In scenes like this, the mind seems to combination, I was happy to find, made up the acquire a power of dropping, as it were, a great whole sum of results of my misadventure. The parenthesis out of time and reproducing the principal donkey-boy now rushed forward with past as present. Everyone has felt the congreat show of zeal and anxiety, to brush the trasted insignificance of him who nearly sand from my clothes ere he would allow me to approaches some lofty mountain; nor is this remount, gladly compounding by this officious feeling wholly absent in presence of the Pyraservice for the castigation he evidently had mids, even though they be structures of man's expected to receive for the misdeeds of his rearing. A truce to reveries was now however donkey. When once more remounted, I pro- proclaimed by a joyous shout I heard from ceeded without further adventure, following cum some tourists more adventurous than the longo intervallo those with whom I had hoped rest, who thus announced that they had gained to have ridden side-by-side. Arab peasants the summit of Cheops, the larger Pyramid. passed us from time to time by the way, On looking thitherwards I was able to descry and always answered in a way that we gladly the figures of men upon the sides of the pole interpreted as affirmative when we shouted the and at its top; but the distance and height word Inglese, pointing ahead at the same time. caused them to look no larger than, and not unlike birds clustering upon the face of some lofty cliff. Urging forward my now weary donkey, I was soon at the base of the larger Pyramid; and here dismounting, I must with the kind permission of the reader, leave the subject for the present, hoping to resume it in a future chapter, descriptive of the Pyramids. Cheered by even this slight encouragement, I kept my donkey in motion till the Pyramids were broad in sight. The memory of stories I had heard of robberies cammitted by lawless Arabs, now presenting itself to my mind, isolated as I was from my own party, was, I must confess, not such as to make me over comfortable. Reflecting on the fact that my A TENTH FOR HEA V E N. His neighbours might go in through the wide gate and along the "broad way," if they chose; but Hartly Ambler looked to the "strait gate" and the "narrow way." He had no faith in that blind policy which gains the world and loses the soul. Quite early in life, he set about the work of "making his calling and election sure." Others might do as they liked, but he meant to be safe. So he become a church member-one of the most punctual and devout. He was a leading spirit in the Sunday-school, in the Missionary Society, and in the various " Aids," established in the cause of Christian charity not so much, we are compelled to say, out of good-will to his neighbour, as for self-salvation. All these were the means by which heaven was to be gained, and to this end he embraced them. Hartly Ambler's religion was not one of love, but observance. It had no foundation in charity -it did not regard the neighbour-it was selflove manifesting itself in pious acts. "Let others go to destruction if they will, I shall save my own soul." This was the sentiment of his heart, if not the utterance of his lips. So his life became devoted to soul-saving. There can be no sweetness, no tenderness in such a life. In the very nature of things, it must be hard on the outside: hard in the degree of its selfishness. "How will this affect another?" was never asked by Mr. Ambler, but, "How will it affect me?" It was natural, therefore, that in his earlier married years, he should leave his wife lonely at home three or four evenings in every week, that he might look after his soul's welfare in religious meetings and other means of grace." It was but natural that, as his children grew up around him, he should continue to give more time and thought to his religious than to his parental duties. Certain laws for family government were laid down-he was a believer in law and obedience-and all violations were sternly punished. But, there being no other love than self-love in his heart, his home was, consequently, a stranger to the law of love. As Hartly Ambler grew older, he became more and more literal in his observance of divine statutes, and less and less charitable towards the world and its ways. He had acquired property through diligence in business, and was regarded in his church as a liberal man. He gave, because in so doing he thought to lay up treasure in Heaven. But, this giving was always attended by a certain inward reluctance. Love of worldly goods and love of his own soul came often in conflict, and disturbed him sorely. He felt poor after making any gift to the church, and contracted his purse-strings; pinching and denying here and there in his family or among his employés-that he might recover back a portion. At last, Mr. Ambler determined to act on an entirely new principle. His mind was led to consider the subject of tithing. The fact that, under the divine law, it was observed in the Jewish Church was, with him, a strong argument in its favour. To set apart one-tenth of his income for pious uses, could not, he felt, but be acceptable to God. "I really shall be the gainer by such an arrangement," he said to himself, as his mind dwelt on the subject, not really perceiving the full meaning of his remark. "If every halfcrown now given in a year were counted up, I'm satisfied that the sum would exceed a tenth of my income. If I fix this giving at a tenth, I shall know just where I stand." A further argument in favour of the new method, which did not find its way into speech, was the impression that, for his systematic setting apart of a tenth of his income, God would so prosper him in business that the remaining nine-tenths would exceed the gains of former years. Viewed on all sides, it was clear to Mr. Ambler, that, for him, a system of tithing would make him the gainer in every way, both for this world and the next. So he commenced the work of setting apart, as he called it, a tenth for heaven." 66 "If my income this year should be a thousand pound," said Mr. Ambler, talking to himself, "I shall have to set aside one hundred." What a large sum to be given away, did this appear in his eyes! It was more than ten times what he had contributed for church purposes in any former year. "A hundred pounds!" Mr. Ambler dwelt upon it. Well, the system began. No matter what might be the income—if not over a thousanda tenth must be given. There were times when Mr. Ambler felt uncomfortable, as his mind rested on the subject, and various contingences were imagined. His hand began to contract on the home purse-strings. He cut off here, and he carved down there. He exacted selfdenial from wife, and children, and servants, in order to help on the salvation of his own soul. At the close of each month, Mr. Ambler made up an estimated account of his profits, and set apart the tithe. He always left a wide margin for contingencies-took good care to be on the safe side. He could make all right at the annual adjustment. Beyond the tithe, he would not give a farthing to the church, nor in charity, no matter how pressing the case might be. He had done his part. Heaven had got its share-the rest was his own! It is almost inconceivable how blind he was! How utterly unconscious of his real state. He was a full-blooded Pharisee, trying to merit heaven by external deeds, while his heart was given over to selfishness-believing himself on the high road to salvation, and thanking God that he was not as other men. He paid over the church proportion of his income quite as formally and coldly as he paid a bill or a note, and considered his obligations to heaven as so far settled. A case of touching interest was presented to him one day, just after the last pound of his periodic tithe had been transferred to the church. "I have nothing to do with it," he said, without any sign of feeling. "The poor ye have always with you," suggested the person who had brought the case to his notice. "If all of you would do as much for the poor as I do, there would be no poor among us," Mr. Ambler replied, with some asperity of manner, like one who felt himself in a position to utter rebuke. "I give one-tenth of all my income to God's treasury. The account is made up faithfully, and not a shilling withheld. Yesterday I settled the account, and paid over an accurate proportion. So my part is done. You must go somewhere else. Have you seen Cartwright?" "No." "Try him. He doesn't give a fortieth part of his income in charity." "Thank you! I will see Mr. Cartwright. Much obliged for the suggestion." Now, Mr. Cartwright, a member of the same church to which Ambler belonged, was a man of another quality. He had a warm side towards every one. Was tender-hearted, considerate, and self-denying for the good of others. "I'll do my duty and trust God for the rest," he would sometimes say, when very pious people talked to him about the "witness of the Spirit" as a thing essential to salvation. "He knows my heart, and he sees my life. The witness of a good conscience is, in my view, the surest witness. I am more concerned for that than for anything else. When I look down into my heart, it is for no vague signs or impressions, but for motives. If I find only selfseeking as the spring of action, I am troubled; ifl find a neighbourly good will-a desire to serve another's good as well as my own-a shrinking from what is wrong in the sight of God, I feel at peace, and my soul rests in a consciousness of safety." Such was Mr. Cartwright, of whom our tithegiving Pharisee spoke so lightly, and with intended depreciation. To him the case referred to was submitted. It stood thus: There was a poor woman whose only daughter, a beautiful and intelligent girl, was residing in a distant city with a relative, where she was engaged in a public school. It had come to the mother's knowledge that a man of doubtful reputation had succeeded in gaining favour with her child. She had written to her on the subject, and received only evasive answers. In consequence, her distress of mind was very great. She knew | how blind a woman's heart will sometimes make her, and trembled for the peril of her child. A letter came at last from the relative with whom her daughter lived, saying: "If you would save Mary from a life of misery, you must take her home. Come to us if you can. Our influence with her is at an end; but you might save her. The man's reputation is bad; but Mary will listen to nothing against him." The poor mother had no money with which to defray the expense of a long journey. Unless she were helped, the daughter must be abandoned to her fate-a human soul might be lost. In her distress, she sought for help, telling her story with tearful eyes, even to the laying bare of things which, but for the imminence of her child's danger, would have been guarded as home secrets. Deeply touched by the case, presented with all the eloquence of a mother's pleading tongue, a gentleman undertook to procure for her the money she required. His first call was upon Mr. Ambler. We have seen the result. He had just paid over, as per contract with himself and an imaginary God, his monthly instalment into the treasury of heaven. That made his soul safe, and he had no interest beyond. The next call was upon Mr. Cartwright, who, according to Mr. Ambler, "did'nt give a fortieth part of his income in charity." His ears were always an open way to his heart. He listened to the story, became interested, and said— "She must be helped, of course. The case admits of no delay. Poor mother! I imagine her distress, her suspense, her eagerness to fly to the rescue of her child. Have you spoken of this to others?" 66 Only to a single person." "The case is a delicate one, and, if much is said, unjust scandal about the young girl may arise. You know how apt some people are to go beyond what is told them, and suggest evil things that have never existed. Who is the person to whom you refer?" "Mr. Ambler." "Oh! Did he take any interest in the case?" "None." "What did he say?" "That he had settled his account with heaven and had nothing more to give in charity." "You are jesting." "Not as to the meaning of what he said. I only put it in other words. He tithes himself." "Indeed!" "So he informed me; and having just paid over his periodic tithe, he could not give a shilling more, if it were to keep a mother's heart from breaking, or save a human soul from misery or ruin." Mr. Cartwright mused for a little while, then asked— "How much did you wish to raise for her?" "Ten pounds." Mr. Cartwright mused again. "This thing," he said, "should not be known to many; harm to the young girl might come of it. I remember her very well. She was a sweet, interesting girl. There is no evil in her, I am sure; but she may not have strength of will or insight into character. By all means she should be back into her mother's house. I will give the ten pounds." "And save a soul, perhaps." "A human soul!" Mr. Cartwright uttered the sentence partly to himself. "How little," he added, are we accustomed to think of its value. How completely does the Lord lift it out of all finite computation in these memorable sentences. For what shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose his own soul? Or whaat shall a man give in exchange for his soul?"" much your tithe will amount to this year? The inquiry is not from curiosity. I shall not speak of it to another." "My business is good; I shall, probably, set aside a hundred." "And have nine or ten hundred left for yourself?" "Yes that would be the proportion." "And, knowing that this large balance would remain, you refused to help a poor woman whose heart was almost breaking at the peril of her child; refused to give a guinea that a life might be saved from wretchedness, or a soul from perdition! Do you think, Mr. Ambler, that, if A few weeks afterwards, Mr. Ambler and Mr. this soul had been lost through your refusal of Cartwright happened to meet. The latter was help, God would accept your little tithe, and an outspoken man, The case of the pos- square the account? I tell you no! He pus woman and her daughter had dwelt upon his a higher value upon a human soul, weighing mind; and, on seeing Ambler, he remembered all the world against it as lighter than a feather. his refusal to give anything, and also the Think of what He did for the salvation of a ground of that refusal So he saidsoul! He did not give the tenth of a poor "I'm sorry you didn't help Mrs. Her human love, but the infinite treasures of Divioe case was one of pressing interest." love. Depend upon it, Mr. Ambler, this system of tithing is a snare, and it will prove to you a curse instead of a blessing. God does not measure our fitness for heaven by the sum of money we give, but by the neighbourly love that is in our hearts." ?" Mr. Ambler's voice was husky and unsteady. He saw by a new light, and fear for his soul's safety crept into his heart. It was not from any Christian interest in Mrs. - that he asked after her, but that he might do something towards his own acceptance with heaven by helping her if she till needed help. "The world is full of such cases," replied Mr. Ambler, drawing himself up in a cold, selfsatisfied manner, "and if you all gave in the same proportion that I do, there would be no lack of means." "You tithe your income, I have heard," said Mr. Cartwright. "I do." The man looked more erect and self-satisfied. "And never give Why should I? gives as much ?” beyond the tithe ?" Isn't that enough? "The poor widow cast in all her living. a tenth, but the whole mite." Who No There was a visible change in Mr. Ambler. He didn't stand quite so erectly, nor look quite so well satisfied with himself. "What of Mrs. "She has been for her daughter." "Oh, yes. When you turned from her, God found other friends. Her daughter is now at Mr. Ambler drew a long breath of relief. "I shall reconsider this matter of tithing," he said. "You may be right, and I wrong.' "All we have is from God," said Mr. Cart-home, and safe." wright. "Not the tenth to be paid back, as we would settle an account, man with man, and so cancel all obligations. Does the steward fix the sum he shall expend or his lord, and keep the rest for himself?" "Do you give a tenth of your income?" asked Mr. Ambler. "I don't know. I keep no account of my gifts. I never think of the annual sum.' دو "But, sir, should we not be as orderly and as equitable in our gifts asi n our business? Is it not best to set apart a certain portion of our income for pious and charitable uses, and see that it is paid into God's treasury?” "No, not if, after such payment, the man is to regard himself as having settled his account with heaven. No, not if, after such payment, the man shut up his bowels of compassion, and refuse to stretch forth a hand, though a soul sink into the gulf of misery, perhaps eternal ruin, before his eyes! Depend upon it, Mr. Ambler, the gift of a tenth, or even a twentieth part of his income, will not put the balance on the right side of his soul's account with God, if, with his coffers still full, he turn a deaf ear to the cry of the widow and fatherless, May I ask how "It is not by the giving of money—not by setting apart a certain portion of our incomes for church and charitable purposes," said Mr. Cartwright, "that we lay up treasure for heaven. There is only one kind of treasure possible to be laid up there-only one kind of treasure that will make us rich when we pass to the other side." "And what is that?" asked Mr. Ambler. "Love to God and our fellow creatures," answered Mr. Cartwright. "If we do not take that with us into the next world, we shall be poor indeed-poor, miserable, outcast. The money we have bestowed will not save us. It is not the hand-giving that avails, but the heart-giving. It is my opinion that a cold, calculating system like that of the tithe shuts the heart. We must do good as we have opportunity, and not by pre-arranged methods. Depend upon it, this keeping of a ledger account with heaven is a great mistake. "It will not result in a clean balance sheet." T. S. A. OUR LIBRARY TABLE. "l Cri ODD FELLOWS' QUARTERLY. (Published by and do likewise. Of the graver papers the G. M. and Board of Directors, Manchester).minal Stupidity," by H. Owgan, L.L.D., and -In the new-year s number of this Quarterly the Editor's own article, condensed from "The the majority of the articles are by lady con- Registrar's Annual Report," are the most imtributors, hence it is more than an ordinarily portantly suggestive; for instance, "In the year bright and pleasant number. We have read 1867" the Registrar had examined and certified with pleasure the first part of a tale by Silverpen, the rules of 1,134 friendly societies, and alsc (Miss Meteyard), "Amidst the Corn," written alterations of the rules of 1,542, making a total with that pleasant power of word-painting of of 2,676 certificates, while in Ireland he has rustic-scenery, and of depicting quaintly charm- certified the rules of 22 societies and 35 amending characters, like Miss Poole of the present ments of rules. These figures, observes Mr. story, which delighted us in her "Three Hya- Hardwick, attest two distinct facts, viz., "that cinths," and the "Buttercup-spoon" of long the mass of the working population living on ago. There are the little simple traits that we Irish soil are both relatively poorer and rela smile at though we love them, and touches of tively of a less provident habit of mind when pathos that half awaken tears. This is how contrasted with their compeers in Great Britain. the story commences : How a beneficial change in these respects could be brought about, is well worthy the earnest consideration of both the patriotic statesmen of every party, and the Christian philanthropist of every sect or creed." It was an August afternoon, and the sun glared hotly over the wide landscapes of Southern England, yet in some districts the great heat was tempered by the shadows of fir and beech woods. In others the embrowned commons showed islets and nooks of greenness, for fern and gorse, and scattered trees broke the baldness of the waste. The villages were silent and half tenantless at this hour, for reapers and gleaners were alike in the fields. In a retired nook of one of these commons which lie around Esher, and steal up and within the fir-woods about Claremont, stands a small low-roofed cottage. A forecourt or garden separates it from the gorsedotted waste in front, whilst a far larger garden lies on either side and stretches away to the rear. Beyond this is an orchard, of which the farthest trees mingled their shadows with those of the gloomy pine-woods. Yet, on this afternoon, all was bright about the little cottage. As you unlatched the wicket, you heard the hum of countless bees; as you ascended the path a cloud of sweet old-fashioned perfumes stole upwards from the flowers; and as you glanced through an open casement which stood wide, you saw a plainly-attired old lady asleep in her chair. Her fat dog lay asleep, too, on the hearth-rug, a favourite black cat dozed and winked on a table near, and the loud tick of a clock in the not distant kitchen added to the somnolent, drowsy air of the scene and hour. A simple, home-like, pretty scene, with that vraisemblance that makes the charm of this lady's writing; just as simple are the characters and incidents of the story, and just as true to nature and humanity. Miss Munro finishes her pretty story of "The Three Weddings," founded on the old Dutch custom of renewing the marriagevows on the anniversary of the twenty-fifth and fiftieth wedding-day. There is also an interesting paper by the author of "Scattered Seed anent The Flowers of Spring and Summer in Switzerland." But, having thus remembered Place au Dames, we turn back to re-read "An Old Nest," by Mr. Edwin Waugh, a well written description of a visit to Beverly Minster, or rather of the author's impressions of the fine old fane, It is a description to make others go 66 SHAKESPERIAN GEMS, in French and English. By the Chevalier de Chatelain. (London, Wm. Tegg.)-Few Frenchmen are more intimately acquainted with our greatest poet than the Chevalier de Chatelain; and few have done more to make him familiar and appreciated by his countrymen. His clever translation of many of Shakesperian plays are well known; and these gems" appear to have been a natural result of the study necessitated by the former work, and the matured admiration and feeling for what is exquisite in his author. But our readers must not suppose that the book before them is a mere modern form of "elegant extracts;" on the contrary, the Chevalier has so arranged his selections that they outline the story of the play from which they are taken, and thus engage the interest and awaken the curiosity of the reader. THE LIFE BOAT; a Journal of the National Life-Boat Institution.-The January number of this quarterly which, from press of matter, we were reluctantly obliged to forego noticing last month, is rich in records of noble acts on the part of the brave fellows who, with heroic resolution and unselfishness, volunteer on every occasion of need, to man the Life-Boats of the Institution, and in the face of death pluck the expectant victims from their fate. We are glad to find that the first article in the current part is devoted to the task of setting the public right upon the subject of these services. The institution does its duty by placing Life-Boats (as far as the funds will permit them) at proper places, but there is no organized body of men receiving wages and bound by the terms of their engagement, to be forthcoming at any point on our coast where a Life-Boat station exists, and their services are required. Every man who seeing the blue lights flash through the hazy daylight, or the blackness of the stormy night, or hearing signals of distress through the |