I

er as the time came for us to embark. breathed more freely when we put to sea. I hoped, but it was not to be. The voy age down the rock-bound coast and along the burning sands of the heathen lands taxed severely her little remaining strength. In the Yellow Sea and in the channel off blue Formosa we met with typhoons, great winds, and swirling, circling seas and currents, which tossed our ship about as though it were a cockle - shell. I had begun to fear the worst, when at last we changed our course, and passing around the peninsula of the Malays, we entered upon a new world of smooth and tranquil seas, of soft summer airs. Every night as we sailed there went before and shone upon us a great silver star. It seemed to guide us as did the star of old the Magi-the Wise Men from the East-to the humble stable and the lowly manger where the hope of man was born.

"She grew weaker. We had to carry her upon the deck now. Still, the ship made good progress, and at last we ran out of the great tranquil ocean into the troubled strait, and into the Red Sea; and then vaguely-or was it a mirage of the imagination?-one afternoon as I looked eagerly across the sandy, wind-swept, and sun-beaten strand, I thought I saw rising over and beyond the great emptiness of the desert the grim dark outline of Sinai. Every morning as I saw how pale and white Nadia grew, and how her strength was ebbing with every hour, I trembled. But at night, when the bright star rose, I sang Ave Maris Stella,' and praised God for its light. It was to me the star of His covenant and promise. It was guiding us to the holy places, and we were sailing on in its silver wake in His charge and keeping. I thought it would not, could not, fail us.

"But it was not His will. One night she lay so still and quiet upon the deck I thought she was sleeping. As I stooped to kiss her brow, as I loved to do, I saw that her eyes were wide open and filled with tears of joy and thankfulness. For several moments in speechless amazement I looked and wondered at the change which had been wrought. She, too, could not speal for very joy, but softly stroked my hand.

"Oh, my dear sister, she began at last, and her voice was very low, through His infinite mercy the last and the supreme

blessing has been vouchsafed to me. This day my grave has been robbed of its sting, and death of its victory; for while you thought I slept I have travelled far, and, He leading me, I have been to the holy places. I stood in the shadow of Sinai, and I have heard the terrible voice of the Law that spoke there; and then I was led to the lowly mount, where I stood in the sunshine and listened to the Gospel of Love as it was spoken with infinite tenderness by the Son of Man, who had not where to lay His head. It was the Sabbath of the Lord, and I followed Him up to Jerusalem; and as we came up out of the valley vast multitudes streamed out of the Golden Gate-the Beautiful Gateand strawed branches and garlands of flowers in His path, as it was foretold beforetime.

66

"""Blessed be the kingdom of our father David," they sang; for that Peace which was promised of old, and which passeth the understanding of men, has come to Jerusalem."

"I saw the Christian conqueror coming to His throne, not as the Crusaders came, and not as the Moslem of old feared He would come, with a sword of fire to slay and to destroy. No; He came riding meekly upon an ass, with an olive branch of peace in His outstretched hand, and words of love upon His lips; and the granite bowlders rolled away before His glance, and the heavily barred gates that had been closed for centuries sprang open as He came; and among the thousands who streamed out to meet Him the sick were healed, the lame became straight, and those who mourned were comforted.'

"Then her face flushed, and her eyes flashed with a strange joy. Grasping me with unexpected strength, she said, 'Do you not see them, oh, my sister? They are coming in great numbers from every land; they spread branches of palms and chaplets of flowers in His path; they fall down and worship Him; they arise and call upon His holy name; and-and-here her voice sank, and her expression changed from one of rapture to deadly pallor-and Jerusalem, ah, peace be to Jerusalem! They shall prosper who love thee!' And so she died."

For some moments we walked on in silence; then Marta said, "Our sister sent you this as a remembrance of our meeting, as a reminder that though it has not been granted her to keep the

tryst in the Holy City, she is with you, and will remain with you always in spirit." It was the little cross of jade which a Buriat convert had given her the day we crossed the maelstrom of Baikal. I took it mechanically, and hid it hastily in my bosom. Marta was still speaking. "I asked her if she had any message for you--any word to send with it, but she only looked at it very long, and said, 'No, only the cross, and he will understand."

"Yes, I understand."

We walked on for several minutes, and then I said, “Shall we go to the wall by the Damascus Gate, where the Second Adventists are awaiting the coming of the Lord; or shall we go to where the German Templars are telling of the coming glory of the New Jerusalem?"

The day was dark. A chilling rain was falling. "No," she said, after some hesitation; "let us go to-day and together. Alone I have not dared, and who knows what the morrow may bring forth? Let us seek the Via Dolorosa, the way of suffering and of the cross, now, to-day and together."

We looked about us to discover where our footsteps had led us, as we walked without plan, with thoughts far away from our surroundings. By chance we had come to and were standing beneath the Tower of Antonia, which is part of the Prætorium of Pilate. It is the first station upon the way of suffering and of sorrow that leads to Calvary, for here the false judgment was rendered. The tower, though somewhat ruinous, is now the barrack of the Turkish garrison, and adjoins the great Mosque of Omar, which rises upon the site of the Temple. As we watched and wondered at the changes that time has wrought, the sound of a trumpet rang out shrilly through the echoing walls, and on the moment the slovenly soldiers ran hither and thither, making all ready for the inspection. Down in the Temple yard the recruits, and the veterans too, were assembling. They had been suddenly called to the colors, to take again the oath of allegiance to the Sultan; and were soon to be sent to harry, burn, and murder in the Hauran.

"See," said Sister Marta, with her eyes suddenly aflame and fixed sternly upon a strange lettering over the doorway of the tower, which even the hurrying sol

diers saluted as they went in and out. ""Tis the name of Abdul-Hamid, the assassin, the antichrist, whom they salute, to whom they bow down. Nineteen centuries and we have progressed-from Pilate to Abdul. How long, O Lord, how long? Yea, verily, even until the time of the Gentiles shall be fulfilled." ... Then her face softened, and her expression changed to one of touching gentleness.. "He will come meekly, riding upon an ass, an olive branch in His hand, not with a sword." An ́expression of almost saintly submission came over her as she added: "Peace be to Jerusalem! They shall prosper who love thee."

Then we turned and began the winding way of the cross which leads to Calvary. Overhead the clouds gathered darkly; the rain fell steadily, wetting us to the skin. Underfoot, the rock of the road - bed glistened, worn smooth and slippery by the feet of the thousands and thousands of pilgrims who had preceded us here, each staggering under the burden of his cross. "Here He placed His weary shoulder, and fain would have rested, and here He too fell under the weight of the sins of the world- our cross," said Marta, as we passed the hallowed places. Then the marking of the stations became less plain, and soon unwittingly we wandered and lost our way. First we took the turn to the right, which led us down hill to a swamp under Moriah, and then we took the turning to the left, which proved a blind alley, ending in a drinking-shop. Wearily we retraced our footsteps up the hill, and at last we reached the point from which we had started to stray. In a corner of a doorway, and under the protection of its ledge, crouched a Moslem pilgrim from Yemen, enveloped in rags, and with a tattered turban of apostolic green upon his head; as he heard our approach he babbled, his teeth chattering with the cold: "Tarik-el-alam, tarik-el-alam ”— "the way of suffering, 'tis the way of suffering;" but when we asked even him, in our confusion, which was the way, he could not or would not say. "I am going up to the sanctuary, El Kurds," he babbled, "and this is the way of suffering --tarik-el-alam-'tis the only way that leads to the sanctuary;" and that was all that he would say.

We hesitated. Behind us we could hear the neighing of the war-horses in

have never been able to look upon the battle of the 13th of September as adding anything of value to military knowledge. From a technical view it never attained the dignity of battle at any point, and only exceeded a skirmish in the heavy losses and the deaths of the leading Generals on each side.

The recognition of their efforts, and of those who so ably replaced them, by their respective governments and contemporaries, reads as a sorry commentary on the popular distribution of honors.

Wolfe, almost a tyro, at one bound won immortality and immediate applause from his countrymen; Montcalm, almost a veteran, though mourned by those about him, was persistently vilified, even after death,

been raised to his memory.

On the other hand, his successor, the Chevalier de Lévis, met with fitting reward and honorable advancement in his profession, and the titles of Duke and Marshal of France were borne with dig nity by one whose natural nobility of soul rendered him eminently worthy of such honors.

To complete the contrast, the Honorable James Murray, who succeeded Wolfe, held an unprotected city in the enemy's country throughout a distressing winter, handled his slender troops with contagious enthusiasm, fought and lost a desperate battle like a gallant soldier, governed a conquered people with consummate tact, and still serves his country with distinc

tion-to meet with no other reward, that I ever heard of, than the approbation of his conscience and the admiration of all honest men.

In writing thus openly I must disclaim any intention of carping, for I would scorn to deprive either of the illustrious dead of a single laurel in the crown so nobly won, but the very generosity of contemporary admiration has a tendency to work injustice towards the survivors.

I know personally, for I afterwards had abundant opportunity of judging, with what stoutness of heart did that admirable soldier, General Murray, support his misgivings when he saw the last English frigate sail from Quebec in the late autumn of '59, bearing his more fortunate comrades to the reward of their gallantry, while he and his little garrison were left in a ruined town to face all the chances of war, to which were added the unknown dangers of a dreaded winter season.

On our side we made our headquarters in Montreal, where the military were busy enough, whilst the officials and other unemployed classes — priests, women, and schoolboys-beguiled their inaction and cheated themselves into hopefulness by the most chimerical and fantastical projects for the retaking of Quebec that ever deluded the human mind.

The truth is, we were as miserable a lot of devils on both sides as one could well imagine. In Quebec, the English were half starved, half frozen, wholly without pay, and without reliable information. In Montreal, we had enough to eat, we were as gay as the clergy, M. de Vaudreuil, and our miserable plight would permit, we were without pay, it is true, but to that we had been long accustomed; but we had the most exact information as to what went on in Quebec, thanks to friends with in its walls. Whilst our non - fighting orders, ever at the height of certainty or the depth of despair, had so befooled themselves with their infallible schemes of conquest that they looked forward to the spring campaign with a confidence almost pitiable in the eyes of thinking men.

Early in April M. de Lévis gathered together his motley army-the remnants of the brigades of Béarn La Reine, La Sarre, Royal Rouissillon, Berri, and La Marine, less than four thousand in all, with about three thousand militia and volunteers and, supported by a few miserable cannon, marched forth to sit down before Quebec.

We were disappointed in our first plan of attack, but on the 28th of April, 1760, we had the good fortune to meet Murray face to face on almost the same ground where Wolfe and Montcalm had fought in the previous September.

Murray's force was somewhat smaller than ours, but more than equalled it in quality, being all regular troops, besides which he had somewhat the advantage of position; but, falling into the same error as Montcalm, he abandoned this to begin the attack, and the same result followed.

The battle of Ste. Foye will always command the respect of men of discretion without regard to the side which may engage their sympathies.

There we met a foe as brave as the heart of soldier could desire, who for hours disputed every foot of ground with us, and the one error of the action on our part was rectified with a precision so admirable that it but heightened the honors of the day. Before I record this I must note a personal incident.

Immediately in front of our left, where the regiments of Béarn and La Sarre were stationed, stood a mill and its dependencies, belonging, I believe, to one called Dumont, and though its possession was not of the slightest strategical importance, by one of those strange chances of battle it became the centre of the most obstinate fighting on both sides. Our grenadiers took possession of it, and held it until driven out at the point of dirk and claymore by the Highlanders, who in turn were dislodged after a desperate hand-tohand struggle, whereupon the whole contest recommenced. M. de Lévis, annoyed by the useless waste of men and the danger of expending such effort and attention on so misleading an object, sent me with orders to have our men withdrawn.

When I arrived the struggle was again at its height, both sides were fighting with the simple ferocity of savages, unmindful of every rule of war. There was neither direction nor command, it was man against man in a mad, unmeaning struggle for the pleasure of mastery.

"Pardon, monsieur," I said to the Chevalier d'Aiguebelle, who commanded the grenadiers, "but M. de Lévis sends positive orders that you must withdraw your men. You are distracting the attention of the whole left."

Then catching sight of the officer in command of Fraser's, I rode forward and