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RECOLLECTIONS.

baggage, and come on to the city early on Sunday. There was none such on his part, and he hired a guide and a fresh horse, paying a guinea for the two, and set off alone for the city. I remember right well his cheerful face as he rode off that evening across the magnificent plain, waving his hand back to us as long as we could see him, and riding his horse as if he were born on horseback. He was the best horseman, for an American, that I have ever seen, riding always freely and gracefully.

"You have said nothing of your adventure at Nablous, in which he saved you from Bedouin spears. There was nothing in all my journey that pleased me more in Righter than his modesty at that spot. The Bedouins were again in commotion when we were there, and the Governor of Jerusalem, with two hundred men, was a close prisoner in the walls of Nablous, not daring to venture out to go to Jerusalem, on account of the state of the Arabs. We were unmolested here, though we had to show our pistols the next day near Samaria. But his account of your adventure, on the ground precisely where it occurred, modest as it was, gave me a more thrilling idea of your danger, and of his noble interposition, than any previous descriptions had given. It was characteristic of him. He was impetuous in his feelings and actions, frank, faithful and noble.

1

RECOLLECTIONS.

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"This journey to Mosul he had in mind when we were at Damascus. M. and myself intended to go on from Damascus, across the country, but the state of the interior forbade a lady to attempt this, and we reluctantly abandoned it. Still we talked with him of accompanying him this winter, a plan that was forbidden by our sad call to return to America. When we read his letter last week in the Observer, describing his voyage down the Tigris, we again and again expressed our regret that we were not with him, and the very day that you sent me word of his death, M. had been saying 'Don't you wish we were with Righter on the Tigris?' I have often before me the pleasures of that journey, yet to be made, but I know no spot in all the East to which I shall direct my steps with so much of interest and grief, as to the grave of our friend. You have already printed much that has been said by those who knew him as a missionary, perhaps it will not be out of place to print these memories of him by one who knew him as a companion and friend.

"W. C. P."

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TRIBUTE.

From the Bible Society Record.

ON THE DEATH OF THE REV. C. N. RIGHTER.

THE PILGRIM AT REST.

AND he is gone, the young, the noble hearted,
Who tenderest ties for his Redeemer burst,
And strong in faith, the Word of Life imparted
To those who for its precious tidings thirst.

Yes, God was good;* for by his mercy cherished,
He walked unhurt, where countless thousands bled;
And where his suffering fellow-creatures perished,
The "strong right hand" his steps in safety led.

Beside the bed where dying ones in anguish
Appealed for aid to light them on their way,
And where the weary in their sadness languish,
He stood, "a gentle presence," day by day.

I see the failing eye his face exploring,

Which, like an angel's, beams with lucid light; I hear his voice, God's precious words outpouring And holding Christ before the sinner's sight.

Not the mere form, oh, not the sculptured image;
Not the carved ivory, nor the senseless wood;

Not the racked form, the marred and blood-stained visage,

With pierced hands extended on the rood!

*Mr. Righter" especially dwelt on the goodness of God: 'How good God is: O how good He is.'"-MR. WALKER.

TRIBUTE.

Not this, but as a God of rich compassion,
The trembling sinner waiting to forgive;
Ready to wash him from each past transgression,
Receive him to His arms, and bid him live.

How many an eye, the mists of death o'erfilming,
Has brightened at thy words of gentle power!
How many a heart has opened glad and willing,
As to the rain, the parched and dying flower!

Glorious thy mission in that field of sadness,
And well fulfilled, until thou journeyed on,
With constant heart, upborne in Christian gladness,
To other lands, by Christ already won.

And as in devious ways thy feet were turning,
The Book of God still scattering by the way,
How brightly in thy heart His love was burning,
A fire by night, a sheltering cloud by day.

God was with thee, when o'er the current slowly
Floated thy raft, borne on with praise to Him;
He never left thee, pilgrim pure and holy,

In morning sunshine, or when day grew dim.

God was with thee! and when amid the mountains,
And in the glens, gleamed forth His power divine,
He gave thee there to quaff the living fountains,
Sweeter and purer than earth's costliest wine.

His goodness led thee till thy feet had entered

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The little "Tadmor" where his children dwell, And gave thee rest where his dear Church has centred, Within the music of the Sabbath bell.

And then He called thee-oh, that voice so thrilling,
All that it said we cannot learn below;

But that with triumph all thy heart was filling,
Thy broken words have taught us well to know.

Oh, what a Sabbath of intense communion

Was that which God bestowed upon his child! And, with his Saviour what a perfect union!

Oh, with what brightness the Deliverer smiled!

God's glory there was round about him shining,
His holy presence all the place imbued,
More and yet more the dying saint refining,

While round him crowds of weeping brethren stood.

As o'er her darling's couch a mother bending,
Lest fright or pain should make the loved one weep,
So by his couch his Saviour was attending,
Until He gave "to his beloved sleep."

Yes, thus He comes, and with his sweet caressing,
Soothes the dear child that He had died to save;
Lays hands upon him richly filled with blessing;
And guards his ashes in a foreign grave.

H. A. L.

Fahrmary, 1857

THE END.