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join us for a few months of tent-life on the hills of the Holy Land. He did at length join us, and was one of our little family of four who went wandering in the footsteps of the Lord and the apostles last spring, and whom, as the companion of many thrilling scenes, I shall never forget until I forget Jerusalem.

"We bathed together in the Jordan, and in the Dead Sea; we studied together the page on which Abraham read the number of his children, as brilliant nowhere as it is above the oaks of Mamre; we were together cast away by a gale of wind on the Sea of Galilee; snowed under three days on the side of Mount Hermon; went to Damascus, to Baalbec, Beyrout, Tarsus, Rhodes, Smyrna, and Constantinople together: and during all this time of constant hourly intercourse by day and night, there was not one word of jarring, no difference of plan, nor anything that I can now recall of him, other than the most entire amiability, warm-heartedness (if I may use the word), and earnestness of desire to make all of us happy. You will not think it strange that M- and myself formed a warm attachment to him, and feel this affliction, as you said last week, like the loss of a brother.

"I remember with the utmost pleasure his constant cheerfulness. Nothing overcame it. First up in the morning, he would always make the air around the tents ring with a pleasant morning song, and when, as not unfrequently, our position was perilous or disheartening, he was never discouraged.

"His frank, hearty piety was always before us. He never yielded in a matter of duty one hair's-breadth. I remember especially the day of our approach to Damascus. It was Saturday. We had been under snow three days

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on Hermon, but determined this morning to reach the plain and the city if possible. As the sun was setting, my chief muleteer informed me that the mules could not

It was still eight miles to Damascus, of which the minarets and domes were shining in the red sunlight above its groves and gardens. I ordered a halt around the baggage, and soon found that it was probably impossible to reach the city. Righter alone differed from me, but solely on his own account. He had told me in starting with us, that he could not travel on Sunday, and such was my own intention also. I now regarded it as my duty to remain with the 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 shew 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,

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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.

"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."

R

258

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 cherish'd,
He walk'd unhurt, where countless thousands bled;
And where his suffering fellow-creatures perish'd,
The "strong right hand" his steps in safety led.

Beside the bed where dying ones in anguish
Appeal'd 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.

* Mr Righter" especially dwelt on the goodness of God, 'How good God is! Oh, how good He is !'"-Mr WALKER.

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Not the mere form, oh, not the sculptured image;

Not the carved ivory, nor the senseless wood;

Not the rack'd form, the marr'd and blood-stain'd visage, With pierced hands extended on the rood!

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 brighten'd at thy words of gentle power!
How many a heart has open'd glad and willing,
As to the rain, the parch'd and dying flower!

Glorious thy mission in that field of sadness,
And well fulfill'd, until thou journey'd 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, gleam'd forth His power divine,
He gave thee there to quaff the living fountains,
Sweeter and purer than earth's costliest wine.

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