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the city of Tyre.

The narrow streets, built as in other Oriental towns, with a thorough contempt for straight lines, are shaded by mats, stretched across a little above the shops. First, you wind round and round through the so-called bazaars. On either sides are the shops, little cramped stalls, raised a few feet above the ground, and so small that their turbaned keepers can almost reach every article without rising. Below them, seated on little stools, with huge trays on their knees, are rows of noisy vendors of sweetmeats, or vegetables, while the remaining narrow space, of not more than six feet, is for the rest of the world. It is indeed amazing that, in such a hopeless jam of bearded merchants, armed mountaineers, veiled women, and half-naked children, mixed up with heavily loaded camels, spirited horses, donkeys carrying bundles of sticks for the oven, and, lastly, dogs, that no more accidents, or, at least, quarrels, occur. Soon enough through with the bazaars of Tyre, you find yourself turning one sharp corner after another, among low and mean houses, the street also being as narrow and dirty as it is crooked. The sound of dashing waves now falls on the ear, and suddenly you emerge upon a wide, open space or field, which runs the whole length of the western shore of the old island. This being on the sea, may have been the business part of the city. Who knows but along here stood the Tyrian Exchange? But whatever it was then, it is now a tobacco patch, except the small south-west corner, which, being somewhat removed from the miseries of the city, is the best camping ground for travellers.

Having pitched our tent, we hastened to take a stroll before the sun should set. The whole western shore, along which we first walked, is bounded by a ledge of surf-beaten rocks, oft strewn with noble granite pillars, several of which are of immense size. Towards the northern end the rocks become somewhat higher; and we have never passed them without seeing the fishermen's

nets spread over them to dry. Truly we have a sure word of prophecy ! Tyre is now celebrated for the quantity of its fish, which form one of the chief articles of export; and Beyrout market is often wholly supplied by it, though they are said not to be of so fine a quality as those caught farther north. Besides fish, it exports charcoal, straw, and some tobacco a sad falling off from its market 2,500 years ago. On the northern side we suddenly came to the beautiful semi-circular, artificial harbour, whose entrance was anciently guarded by a strong wall. Fragments of this wall yet remain, standing picturesquely among the restless waves, like grave-stones of a maritime glory long extinct. The harbour is now so choked up with heavy columns and hewn stone, that none but small boats can enter; and as we looked on its graceful, circular sweep, we could not help sighing that in the paucity of harbours on this coast, this should thus remain in the hands of a government and people who have not the remotest conception of a "Harbour Improvement Bill."

Continuing round the harbour, we came on its eastern side to a great pier, constructed wholly of hundreds of granite columns, laid side by side. This is the work, most probably, of the Turks, who, if they build at all, use the materials of their greater predecessors, so that now many an Osmanli structure is a ruin of a ruin. Nothing can impress one more with the wealth and enterprise of the Old Tyrians than the vast number of these monolith granite columns, for doubtless each one was brought from Upper Egypt, as no granite rocks are to be found in Palestine. We procured a boat to row us around the island back to our tent. passing out of the limits of the abovementioned wall, we were greatly struck with the appearance of the sea below. As far as the eye could penetrate the green depths, we could see the bottom strewn with unnumbered columns and finely hewn stones; and indeed it is puzzling to account how they all got there. We

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The singularly literal fulfilment of inspired prediction, with respect to this city, naturally causes it to be often cited by religious authors as a clear proof and decisive witness to the divine origin of prophecy. This frequency of appeal to Tyre, I own, had resulted in a sort of depreciating familiarity with the argument, so that I did not feel its strength so fully before a visit to Tyre itself. But as silent night dropped her veil over sea and land, and we sat on our small Persian carpet at the tent door, listening to the solemn dash of the waves, no other sound falling on the ear; where once the tread of thousands was heard, the impression was deep and indescribable. The heaviest structures and the proudest pillars we saw before us humbled and prostrate; but as they lay there, they spoke in mute but unmistakable language, "The word of the Lord shall stand for ever."

SELECTIONS FROM BENGEL.

"As from every point in the circumference of a circle we may imagine straight lines converging to the centre, not one of which is exactly coincident with another, so is each individual drawn towards God in communion, by a way more or less peculiar to that individual."

"Good works are such as a believer practises in the order of God" (our will being in harmony with the will of God). "It becomes us to present ourselves before God as empty vessels, that require to be continually replenished, and put to use by the indwelling power of Christ. A soul, possessed of true faith, learns to care so supremely for him, as to be ever secretly longing to depart and be with him."

"To pray is to be engaged in a kind of audience, as well as converse with God, 1 John v. 15. It is more than an utterance of our requests;

it includes a waiting for his answers. Let us be inwardly retired, self-observant, and waiting upon him; and though we hear no voice, we shall experience a plain, certain, and consoling reply. God makes this reply not vocally, but by those acts of his providence and influences of his grace, whereby he relieves our necessities. When we listen to the petitions of the needy, we do it, not for the sake of hearing them talk, but for the sake of rendering them some help."

"I consider it to be more than a mere permission that a pastor should 'be the husband of one wife:' to me it seems all but a matter of necessity. God often teaches us more by our domestic experiences, family illnesses, deaths of children, and the like, than we can learn by any independent speculations, however spiritual they seem. A pious family may be compared to a cheerful hive of bees; but a monastery or nunnery full of unmarried persons, to a gloomy nest of wasps."

"Worship more consists in affiance than affection. Affiance in uncertain riches, rather than in the living God, characterizes the lover of money. He who commits other sins, commits them chiefly in single acts; but covetousness engages the whole man. Therefore covetousness is peculiarly called idolatry."

"Friendship is not a topic of practical divinity, but brotherly love is; which both includes friendship and gives it additional charms."

"Traces of sacred history occurring in pagan writers as to the Deluge, Joshua, and other incidents, are far less pure than the accounts of the inspired historians. Otherwise it might have been suggested, that these pagan writers had borrowed from Scripture; whereas now it is plain, that the facts reached them by independent and very ancient traditions, which in process of time had become more corrupt and fabulous."

"The day of atonement was not a festival. It was a day for calling sin to remembrance, and was perhaps the anniversary of the fall of man;

for no particular national sin of Israel is expressly named upon it: it was therefore a day of solemn remembrance for sin in general, the sin of mankind."

"God's general treatment of His people was that of a Father. He led them step by step. He might have announced to them the manna before they fell a murmuring, but that their heart was to be made manifest. Their first offences were rebuked gently with words alone; but after the delivery of the law on Sinai, where they had sworn allegiance, their transgressions no longer were, nor could be, so mildly dealt with. Deuteronomy, addressed to the new generation, treats much of the kindness and love of God, whose righteous severity had been manifested towards their fathers."

"Israel possessed Canaan under Jehovah as his feudatories; hence they were annually to present to him of their cattle and fruits, by way of homage and quit-rent."

"One would have thought David's errors much greater than those of Saul, but his heart was steadfast to the Lord. Saul's great guilt was not his persecution of David, but his unbelief towards God. As a swan, plying equally both feet, gains upon the water, however turbulent, so David's spirit, with all his faults, struggled through every difficulty in one general direction. This consoles me about many a disaster, yea, and fault of God's true servants at present."

"The Hebrew П, todah (praise, literally acknowledgment or confession), is beautifully emphatic. In praising a fellow-creature, we may easily surpass the truth; but in praising God, we have only to go on confessing what he really is to us. Here it is impossible to exceed the truth, and here is genuine praise."

"It is good to have to pass through humiliations and a lowly condition, and that our course in life should be like that of a homeward-bound ship, direct for the haven, and leaving behind it no track of its pathway in the waves."

1 John iv. 2, 3, 15.-" Confessing

(Christ) means a decided and entire abandonment of ourselves to that which we have made up our minds to; that therein rests our total complacency and delight."

As Scripture was given principally for believers, it speaks of their resurrection expressly, and of the resurrection of the unjust only by the way.

THE MARTYRS AND CONFESSORS OF DELHI. We lay before our readers, with feelings of intense interest, the following narrative of Fatima, the wife of our estimable native brother, Walayat Ali, whose constancy in the hour of trial and heroic death it so touchingly narrates. In forwarding the document, Mr. Evans says: "With a heavy heart she told her sad tale. But the recollection of the noble testimony which her husband had borne for Christ gave her at times an air of triumphant satisfaction, and seemed to quell the sorrow of a deeply-wounded heart. She would wipe off her tears, and say, 'Well, why should I sorrow? He gave his life for Christ, who died for him; and he is now with Jesus.' Her narrative I give in her own words, as nearly as the translation will admit. The fact that she is a truly Christian woman, so that we can take all she states as the simple truth, adds much to the interest of the narrative." It is a tale worthy of the best days of the Christian church.

Fatima's Narrative.

On Monday, the 11th of May, about nine o'clock in the morning, my husband was preparing to go out to preach when a native preacher, named Thakoor, of the Church Mission, came in, and told us that all the gates of the city had been closed, that the Sepoys had mutinied, and that the Mohammedans of the city were going about robbing and killing every Christian. He pressed hard on my husband to escape at once, if possible, else that we would all be killed. My husband said, "No, no, brother: the Lord's work cannot be stopped by any one." In the meanwhile fifty horsemen were seen coming, sword in hand, and setting fire to the houses around. Thakoor said, "Here they are come! Now what will you do? Run! run! I will, and you had better come." My husband said, "This is no time to flee, except to God in prayer." Poor

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Thakoor ran, was seen by the horsemen, and killed. My husband called us all to prayer, when, as far as I recollect, he said:

"O Lord, many of thy people have been slain before this by the sword, and burned in the fire, for thy name's sake. Thou didst give them help to hold fast in the faith. Now, O Lord, we have fallen into the fiery trial. Lord, may it please thee to help us to suffer with firmness. Let us not fall nor faint in heart under this sore temptation.

"Even to the death, O, help us to confess, and not to deny thee, our dear Lord. O, help us to bear this cross, that we may, if we die, obtain a crown of glory."

After we had prayers, my husband kissed us all, and said:

"See that, whatever comes, you do not deny Christ; for if you confide in him, and confess him, you will be blessed, and have a crown of glory. True, our dear Saviour has told us to be wise as the serpent, as well as innocent as the dove: so if you can flee, do so, but, come what will, don't deny Christ."

Now I began to weep bitterly, when he said, "Wife, dear, I thought your faith was stronger in the Saviour than mine. Why are you so troubled? Remember God's Word, and be comforted. Know that, if you die, you die to go to Jesus. And if you are spared, Christ is your keeper. I feel confident that if any of our Missionaries live, you will all be taken care of; and should they all perish, yet Christ lives for ever. If the children are killed before your face, O, then take care that you do not deny him who died for us. This is my last charge; and God help you!"

Now some horsemen came up, and the fakirs (devotees) who lived near us told them to kill my husband-that he was an infidel preacher-and that he had destroyed the faith of many by preaching about Jesus Christ. The troopers now asked him to repeat the "Kulma" (the Mohammedan creed), but he would not. Two of them now fired at us, and one shot passed close by my husband's ear, and went into the wall behind us. Now all the children fled through a back-door towards the house of Mirza Hajee, one of the Shazadas (or princes), who respected my husband, and was fond of hearing of the love of God through

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Christ. He dressed like a fakir, and seemed partial to the Gospel. He took in my seven children, who fled for refuge. One of the troopers now interposed, saying, "Don't kill them: Walayat Ali's father was a very pious Mussulman, who went on a pilgrimage to Mecca; and it is likely that this man is a Christian only for the sake of money, and he may again become a good Mussulman." Another trooper now asked my husband, "Who then are you, and what are you?" answered, "I was at one time blind, but now I see. God mercifully opened my eyes, and I have found a refuge in Christ. Yes, I am a Christian, and I am resolved to live and die a Christian." "Ah," said the trooper, "you see that he is a Kaffir (barbarian): kill him." Again he was threatened with loaded muskets pointed at his breast, and asked to repeat the "Kulma," with a promise of our lives and protection. My husband said, "I have repented once, and I have also believed in Christ, so I have no need of further repentance." At this time two European gentlemen were seen running down the road leading to the river, when the troopers said, "Let us run after these Feringhees first, then we can return and kill these infidels." So they went.

My husband now said to me, "Flee, flee now is the time before they return." He told me to go to the fakirs, while he would go to the Rev. Mr. Mackay's house to try to save him. I went; but the fakirs would not allow me to go in, and would have had me killed, but for the interposition of Mirza Hajee, the Shazada, who said to the troopers, "This woman and her husband are my friends; if you kill them, I will get you all blown up." Through fear of this they let me go, when I began to cry about my children; but Mirza Hajee told me that he had them all safe. I now went after my husband towards Mr. Mackay's house, the house formerly occupied by Mr. Parry, of the Delhi Bank. On the way I saw a crowd of the city Mohammedans, and my husband in the midst of them. They were dragging him about on the ground, beating him on the head and in the face with their shoes; some saying, "Now preach Christ to us." "Now where is the Christ in whom you boast?" And others asking him to forsake Christianity, and repeat the Kulma. My

husband said, "No; I never will: my Saviour took up his cross, and went to God-I take up my life as a cross, and will follow him to heaven." They now asked him mockingly if he were thirsty, saying, "I suppose you would like some water?" He said, "When my Saviour died, he got vinegar mingled with gall: I don't need your water. But, if you mean to kill me, do so at once, and don't keep me in this pain. You are the true children of your prophet Mohammed. He

went about converting with his sword, and he got thousands to submit from fear; but I won't. Your sword has no terror for me. Let it fall, and I fall a martyr for Christ."

Now a trooper came up, and asked what all this was about. The Mussulmans said, "Here we have a devil of a Christian, who will not recant: so do you kill him,” At this the Sepoy aimed a blow with his sword, which nearly cut off his head. His last words were, "O Jesus, receive my soul !"

I was close by, under a tree, where I could see and hear all this. I was much terrified, and I shrieked out when I saw my poor husband was dead. It was of no use my staying there: so I went back to the Chapel Compound, when I found my house in a blaze, and people busy plundering it. I now went to my children, to the house of Mirza Hajee, where I stayed three days, when orders were issued to the effect that, should any one be found guilty of harbouring or concealing Christians, they would be put to death. The Queen, Zeenut Mahal, had some fifty Europeans concealed, and she did all in her power to save them, but was compelled to give them up. Mirza Gohur, a nephew of the King, knew that I was with Mirza Hajee, and he remonstrated

with him, and warned him of the consequences of keeping me. Mirza Hajee now told me that I must at once take one of two steps-either become a Mohammedan, or leave his house. Both of them urged upon me to leave Christianity, saying, that every Christian in India had been killed, and that for me to hold out would be great folly. I was promised a house to live in, and thirty rupees per month to support myself and children, and that no one should molest me. God helped me to resist the temptation, and I said, "No, I cannot forsake

Christ: I will work to support my children; and if I must be killed God's will be done." I had now to go, out with my seven children. A coolie (porter) who came with me led me to the Kotwali (police station), and some Sepoys there attempted to kill us. One man, however, knowing who I was, told them that I was under the protection of the King. I now went about seeking for some place to dwell in; but no one would take us in, lest they should be murdered on our account. So I had to wander from one place to another for some ten days, having no place to rest, and hardly anything to eat. Out of the city we could not go; for all the gates were closed, and strict orders given not to allow any woman to go out.

Ön the thirteenth day, a large body of the Sepoys went out, and I managed to mix with the crowd and got out with my children. I now went to a place in the suburbs of Delhi, called Tulwaree, where I got a room for eight annas a month. Six rupees was all the money I. had, all the rest having been taken from us by the Mohammedans.

When the English soldiers arrived before Delhi, I found my position anything but safe; for the Sepoys had a strong party there, and we were exposed to the fire of friends and foes. Cannon-balls came near us again and again, and one day one even got into our room, but did us no harm.

I heard that many people went to a place called Soonput, twenty coss (forty miles) from Delhi: so I accompanied some people there.

In this place I remained for three months, working hard to keep my little children from starvation. I was chiefly engaged in grinding corn, getting but one anna for grinding nine seers (181b), and in order to get a little food for all, I often had to work night and day; yet the Lord was good, and we did not

starve.

When I heard that the English troops had taken Delhi from the city people, many of whom came into Soonput in a great terror, I left with two other women, who went in search of their husbands. I again came to Tulwaree, where the whole of my children were taken ill of fevers and colds, and I was in great distress. The youngest child died in a few days, and I had not a pice to pay for help to get it buried. No one would touch it. So I went about the sad task myself. They, in

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