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March last year I stood on a piece of rising ground, some four or five miles out on the Appian Way. All around, the Campagna stretched out in its utter loneliness-no trees, no cattle, no sheep. The only thing which relieved the view was these noble arches, still standing after the lapse of 2,000 years. They formed a line along which the eye could travel to the distant hills, at the foot of which the fountain-head lay. Of this aqueduct, these arches are all that remain now. It is interesting, however, to know that, of similar works constructed by the Roman emperors about the beginning of the Christian era, two, if not three, are still in use. Only one new aqueduct has been added in recent times. Still, modern Rome enjoys a copious supply of water. What must it have been in the olden times, when the aqueducts were twice as numerous.

The engraving places before you a fountain in the Campagna. However

beautiful it looks, those in the city of Rome are still more magnificent. Every day I passed, in the Piazza di Spagna, a fountain at the foot of a great flight of stairs. The fountain is a stone boat, and commemorates a naval battle. In the Piazza Navona are three fountains. The central one has a great mass of rock, around which are figures of the gods of what were reckoned the four largest rivers the Nile, the Danube, the Ganges, the Plate. In the great square of St. Peter's, there is a fountain continually throwing up jets of water. If you turn back to the Dayspring' for February, you will find a fountain also in front of the Pantheon. But of all the fountains in Rome, the one which pleased me best was the fountain of Trevi. I am afraid I cannot describe it so as to give you anything like a correct idea of its beauty and magnificence, and so I advise you to save up your money and go and see it some day for yourselves. But imagine a great palace front, built of purest marble, filling in the side of an entire square. On the balustrade, above the four central columns, are four maidens sculptured in

marble. Below, in the great central niche, is Neptune with his horses, and his tritons blowing their horns. At his feet the water rushes out, falling over a precipice, and tumbling among broken rocks, till it finds its way into the great lake-like basin, around which are people filling their pitchers, or quenching their thirst, whilst jets of water from unseen crevices, or monsters in stone, are continually throwing_up their spray into the air. I stood by the Fountain of Trevi by day, but with the noise going on all around, I could see the rush of its waters, but I did not hear it. I stood by it at night, and its voice was as the sound of many waters. I drank from its huge marble basin. The water was delicious. It is the most salubrious in Rome, and flows from an old aqueduct built by Agrippa. It is called Aqua Virgo, in honour of the maiden who pointed out to the soldiers of Agrippa the spring from which it is supplied. I remembered the tradition, that whoever drinks of the water before leaving Rome, will be sure to be brought back to it again. And so, the last night I spent in Rome, my two companions and I marched to the fountain of Trevi. We took a hearty draught of the water. We bathed our faces in the little lake that looked so dark and solemn in the lamp light. We said, like playful school boys, 'Fountain of Trevi, good-bye, goodbye, and bring us soon back again.' And away we started to see the Capitol by night. In the dark, however, we lost our way. Our only resource was to hail the first empty carriage. Directing the driver to our hotel, away we rattled through the narrow streets. But what was our surprise to find that he drove us homeward right past the fountain of Trevi. The charm of the water had brought us back, but sooner than we bargained for.

There is a fountain purer and more blessed than Trevi. It springs from a nobler source, for it flows from the throne of God and of the Lamb. It rises higher, for it springs up unto eternal life. It is more satisfying, for it quenches the thirst of the soul. It is more easily got at. You

do not need to go to Rome for it. You have only to ask Christ, and He will give you the living water. It is free to all. The invitation is, 'Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters.' The supply is inexhaustible, for whosoever will may take the water of life freely. It comes purling into your homes; in your own hearts, on your knees, you may seek and obtain it. It is virgin water. Even a little maiden may point some thirsty one to the fountain, for the Spirit and the Bride say, Come. It is a fountain which, if you once come to, you are sure to come back to it again. Again and again you will return to it for new pardon, new strength, new supplies of the Spirit. Even in heaven, you will come to it for new supplies of love, and adoring gratitude. For the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them to living fountains of water.'

0

A. G. F.

STORIES OF THE HUGUENOTS.

ANTOINE COURT AND ROUSSEL.

A very young too-only seventeen when the story of his work begins. He was one of the Pastors of the Desert. So the people called their ministers-for the church was a Desert Church-persecuted and poor, worshipping in lonely places-feeling the world a wilderness with the Promised Land before.

NTOINE COURT was poor. He was

And the pastors who taught the people were not themselves taught. Antoine Court resolved to found a college on the banks of the Lake of Lausanne. From the year 1730 to the year 1812 all the pastors of the Protestant Church of France were educated at this French Academy. And here round this lovely lake were many of the poor exiles who had memories and traditions of the long years of persecution.

The child and the old man would talk beneath the shadow of the mountains of their distant home, and the stern things that had happened and were happening there.

Is it far away, grandfather?'

57

'Ay, very far, my child, over the blue mountains, lovely and soft land.'

Will you ever go back?'

The boy's dark eyes look up. He wonders and dreams of the vine lands with a strange sort of fear and desire.

'Me? no, my little one, I shall never go back. I am near the end of my life-I am waiting at the gates of God. I shall soon be at rest within. I can but go back in vision-the vision of an old man-to that land of terror and of blessing-without pastors now.'

'Grandfather, I love to hear your stories-they make me strong.'

'Listen then, boy, for the Church is captive still, and the captains need their strength, and the singers need the gift of God. And when the old are weary, and lay down sword and spear, the young must brighten their armour and make ready for the front.'

'Tell me of long, long ago—of the Clerk's Meadow first-you told me it yesternight when the sun was setting in the lake.'

'Oh, of the Clerk's Meadow, where the monks and the students met,-that was near beautiful Paris when Henry Second was king. The king hated the Protestants, but the Protestants increased; for the students heard of the strange new thoughts that were lit in Germany and England, and they met in the Clerk's Meadow, and disputed with the monks. Crowds, in the cool of the evening, gathered under the pleasant trees, and heard the monks and the students, and sang the new sweet psalms. Among them came many times the king and queen of Navarre-the father of Henry Fourth, and his mother, the Protestant Jeanne d'Albret. The psalms of David were then newly translated by a poet of Henry's court into melodious French, and all the lords and ladies sang them-not with lowly hearts like the people of the Religion, but as they sang the light strains of war and chivalry.'

"The Catholics,' exclaimed the boy, 'the cruel king?'

'Yes, for a time it was the fashion-even

58

wicked queen Catherine de Medici sang of Zion's towers, and of harps on the willows by the rivers of Babylon, and how as the mountains are round about Jerusalem, the Lord is round about His people, and how the good Shepherd led the soul into green pastures of peace. And all the time she was busied with her wicked and cruel plots.'

'And the king?'

'It is said he went out hunting, singing as he rode through the great forest, the forty-second psalm

"As pants the hart for cooling streams,
When heated in the chase,
So longs my soul, O God, for Thee
And Thy refreshing grace."

"Ah, in those days, at least, the people of the Religion were free.'

'Yes, for a time-it is said that once a thousand people followed the king and queen of Navarre from the Meadow to their house, singing these sweet psalms. But at length the priests became alarmedthe meeting in the Clerk's Meadow was pronounced an unlawful thing. Even the king's Parliament was said to be tainted by the heresy; and the cardinal urged Henry Second to find out if this were true. Ah, my little grandson, these were cruel and sad times. I have but heard the story from those who heard it from those who came before them. The king entered the Parliament when no man expected him. He spoke aloud to his lords. He said he bore ill-will to none. He wished them all to say openly what they thought of the new religion-those who loved it, and those who loved it not. Then the counsellors, Dubourg and Faur, deceived by the manner of the king, rose up frankly, and spoke out what they thought. Said Faur, looking with boldness on the deceitful cardinal of Lorraine,

"Let us seek the real author of these troubles, lest the answer be made to some of us, 'It is thou that troublest Israel.""

'The king had found out what he wanted to know-in wrath he commanded that Dubourg and Faur should be instantly cast

into prison. But in a few weeks the king died. Do I see Lausanne, little one? is yonder the gleaming of the lake?'

Yes, grandfather, the gleam is of the red sunset, the shadows, are but shadows on the lake.'

'I thought they were other shadows-I thought it was a redder gleam. I see another water, with the dead floating down upon it-the dead I loved too well-and the vine lands are without pastors, nowthe vine lands are without psalms.'

'Grandfather, I shall be a pastor. I shall go back and teach the poor people. Perhaps you shall hear their psalms among the clouds, as you heard them in the sad days.'

'To go back is to suffer, boy; art brave enough for that? Is Louis Fourteenth a prince more upright or gentle than Henry Second?'

'No, grandfather, I have heard not, but yet, surely I shall go-You have taught me -so also has M. Court. I shall study here at Lausanne; and when I am a man-how I weary to be a man, grandfather—I shall go and teach our own people. I shall go among the vineyards, and the little towns of Languedoc. I shall tell the people of God, and Christ, and we shall sing the psalms you

love.'

Thus, many brave young boys, inspired for the stern future, were taught in the new college beside the lake of Lausanne, and went back as pastors among their own people; and suffered-you shall hear how.

One of the first of these was the young pastor Roussel; of whom there is no history left, except in one rude old ballad.

'Dear children, now listen while sadly I tell
Of the tragical fate of the pastor Roussel,
Who was basely betrayed for a guerdon of gold,
As food every day from the market is sold.
In the district of Anlas the pastor was found,
By pitiless soldiers cruelly bound,
To be tried at Vigan, he was hurried along;
Yet still as he went he sang holiest song.

Thus fettered they dragged him before judge
Daudé,

No time was allowed him to think what to say.

No, what want you here?' the judge sternly cried;

'To preach the pure gospel of Christ,' he replied.

And where do you preach your heretical creed?'

'Wherever the faithful my services need.' 'And where do you live? what house do you own?'

'The blue vault above is my shelter alone.' 'Tis evening, the soldiers again seize their prey, And straight to Montpellier lead him away; When there, in their castle the pastor they leave,

Its dungeons too often the faithful receive.

His mother with friends came to visit his cell, And she said as she bade him her last fond farewell

'My son, if in France thou hast ventured to pray, They never will pardon; with life thou must pay.'

By a promise of pardon, the Jesuits try

If his faith the brave prisoner now will deny, But the truth he defends with a skill so profound,

[found.

They cannot ensnare him, they cannot con

When the guards and the chief executioners

His brave, trutsful psalm, floated far on the air. Then he mounted the scaffold with martyr-zeal fired.

And, like Stephen, with visions of glory inspired,

From his features upraised, joy had banished all care,

For he saw heaven open to welcome him there.

He spoke scarcely more-his last words were few,

'O pardon them, Lord, they know not what they do :'

Then he said to the deathsman, 'On thee and each foe

Who has wronged me, I hearty forgiveness

bestow.

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Thus ended his course, the thrice blessed
Roussel,

And departed in glory eternal to dwell.
And if God to like trials should call us, may we
Be as hearty, as pure, as devoted as he.

After the death of Roussel, many more pastors went from the college of Lausanne, to the country of the Huguenots to suffer the same fate.

PRIZE SCRIPTURE ALBUMS

THREE Prizes, of the value of £2, £1 10/, and £1, for the best Album of Pictures and Scripture Texts. The pictures may be either drawn or cut out, and an appropriate text or texts neatly written beneath. Each Album must contain not less than twenty pages, and be sent to REV. JOHN KAY, Coatbridge, not later than 1st November, 1877, accompanied by a note from the parent or guardian of the competitor, certifying that it is his or her own unaided work. Competitors not to be above 18 years of age. Unsuccessful competitors will have their Albums returned.

PRIZE BIBLE QUESTIONS.

In the Senior division, competitors not to be above eighteen years of age.

In the Junior division, Competitors not to be above thirteen years of age; and in both divisions the answers must be honestly the work of the individuals competing.

All answers to be sent, with the name and address of the competitor, not later than the 18th of each month, to the Rev. JOHN KAY, Coatbridge.

SENIOR DIVISION.

13 Give the name of a servant of God, who receives but once a royal title, and who, in dying, founded no dynasty.

14 Which of the twelve tribes preferred, in a crisis of their nation's history, to abide by their pastoral occupations, rather than go to war?

15 On what occasion did a mistaken idea as to the meaning of a heap of stones very nearly lead to bloodshed?

JUNIOR DIVISION.

13 Who is named as the companion of a king?

14 When did a king rise early to worship in the temple?

15 What command regarding God's Word was written for kings, before there was any king in Israel?

-1

:M

if :s❘m f 's :s

2 White robes! not armour-no!

While militant below,

They fought with many a foe,
And trod the tempter down;
But on life's battle field

They left their sword and shield,
And took-their wounds all heal'd-

The conqueror's garb and crown! 3 White robes-their pilgrim dress, Like that in which we press Earth's path of weariness

Within their grave is cast;

Paisley: J. AND R. PARLANE.]

And flowing raiment fair,

As child or bride might share
At home-sweet home-they wear;
For all their toils are past.

4 White robes! our garments here
Too oft defiled appear;

But in the heaven that's near

No sin its gladness taints;
And washed in streams that flow
To cleanse from guilt and woe,
Purer than winter snow

Are the white robes of saints!

[London: HOULSTON AND SONS.