A SAND STORM IN THE DESERT.

glory of God, not only, but to the love of Christ; and to have such a consciousness of God's presence as to feel that, whichever way things go, they go right, and that whatever happens is right. -Beecher.

A SAND STORM IN THE DESERT.

THE day after we encamped, when I sallied out in the morning, the sky was blue and cloudless, and the sun shone even more brightly than usual. Making my way for a short distance down the wady, I reached a kind of natural bath in a cave, under the shelving rocks. A part of the stream trickled into it, so that it formed a delightful place for bathing, and no person can have any idea how refreshing a good plunge into the water is to one who has been travelling over the sandy ground.

By the time I had completed my bathing, I noticed that the atmosphere was becoming dim, as if the clouds had obscured the sun; then, as I hurried out of my cave, fitful puffs of wind came sweeping round the rocks, bearing along quantities of fine sand and dust.

I knew what was coming-that scourge of the desert, a sand storm. The Bedouins were scampering in every direction, in pursuit of their camels, the dragomans were hard at it, making taut their tent ropes, and rolling large stones upon the tent pegs to keep them from drawing.

The rapidity with which the wind increased in force was astounding, and the like of which I had never witnessed before. All surrounding objects began to rapidly disappear, and often were completely hidden by the sheets or clouds of sand that came whirling past like mist.

It drove against my face with such violence and force as to cause a feeling of prickling heat, like the sensation of a blister.

It got into my ears, into my eyes, and through my mouth down into my throat.

I had really no little difficulty to make my way to my tent, for I felt completely bewildered, a sensation I had before experienced when caught in a snow storm upon the prairies. Nothing we could do served in the slightest degree to keep the sand out of the tents; everything we had was actually, and not in a mere figure of speech, buried.

There was nothing to be done but to quietly bear it until the

THE SNAKE-CHARMER.

tempest lulled. Fortunately Fortunately we were not travelling, or it would have proved vastly more annoying.

The Bedouins squatted upon the ground behind their camel saddles, with their backs toward the storm, and wrapping their heads in their shawls, waited patiently until it was over. The camels, too, clearly knew all about it, for they at once, when the storm came on, lay as closely to the ground as they could, and tried every manoeuvre to keep the sand from out their nostrils.

The sand tempest lasted till late in the afternoon, when the wind suddenly dropped, and in ten or fifteen minutes everything, except ourselves and our tents, was as bright, and clear, and calm, as though no storm had passed over us.

These desert storms of sand and wind come on exactly like a storm at sea, continue for nearly a day, and blow with a steady but average force. If you can imagine a dense snow storm, accompanied with a fierce gale of wind, and that, in lieu of snow, fine sand is the material falling and drifting, you can form a tolerably good mental picture of the desert sand storm.

THE SNAKE-CHARMER.

AMONG the sights bordering on the marvellous which attract the traveller's attention in Egypt, beyond even the mysterious proceedings of the Cairene magician who professes to summon the dead to life, may be mentioned the interesting performances of the snake-charmers. These men belong to the order of Riface Dervises. They profess to discover the presence of any venomous snakes which may be concealed in the house-a very common occurrence in the warm climate of Egypt-and, if there be such snakes, to allure them from their hiding places.

The first measure usually resorted to by the wary spectator is to cause the performers to be thoroughly searched in the courtyard previously to their being introduced into the interior of the house, lest they may have snakes hidden either in the folds of their "caftans," or long flowing robes, or in those of their "libas," or baggy trowsers. Sometimes they are forced to deposit their voluminous garments in some corner of the court-yard, and as an additional precaution they are made to tuck up the loose sleeves of their "kamis," or shirts, after these have been as closely examined as the rest of their clothes.

When all possible precautions have been taken, the snake

POETRY.

charmers are allowed to enter the house. Immediately on admission they assume an air of mystery, strike the walls and floor with a short palm stick, whistle, make a chuckling noise with the tongue, and spit on the ground, exclaiming, "I adjure ye, if ye be above or below, that ye come forth;" "I adjure ye by the most great name, if ye be obedient, come forth, and if ye be disobedient, die! die!" However close may have been the previous search in every corner of the apartment, and in every piece of furniture and hanging drapery, in about ten minutes, generally speaking, after these exclamations, a snake is dislodged from one of the projecting cupboards with which most rooms are lined, or drops from the woodwork of the ceiling. The result of any incredulous expressions on the part of the spectator, who may imagine the snake to be harmless, is to make the snake-charmer excessively indignant. He generally seizes one of the snakes by the neck, and after displaying his fangs, tears him to pieces with his teeth, spitting out the bits on the ground with an excited, defiant air.

The only solution of this mystery is that as these dervises make it a practice to tame snakes, live habitually with them, and are not very cleanly in their habits, their bodies and clothes become deeply impregnated with the pungent oil which collects on the surface of the snake's skin, and thus the latter reptile, being gifted with strong olfactory nerves, is immediately made aware of an odour which appears to indicate the presence of members of his family, and comes forth from his hiding place to greet them.

Poetry.

TREASURES.

I HAVE Some withered flowers
That are softly laid away,

Not because they were so beautiful

And fragrant in their day;

But little fingers clasped them,

And little lips caressed,

And little hands so tenderly

Placed them on "mother's" breast.

The paper that enfolds them

Was white in other years,

But 'tis yellow now and crumpled,
And stained with many tears;
Yet, though they look so worthless,
This paper and the flowers,

POETRY.

They clasp and hold, like links of gold,
Memories of jewel-hours.

I have some little ringlets;
They are safely stored away;
Their lustre and their beauty
Are like the sun's glad ray.
But 'tis not for this I prize them-
It is that they restore
The tender grace of a loving face
That gladdens earth no more.
As shipwrecked men at midnight
Have oft been known to cling-
With a silent prayer, in wild despair,-
To some frail, floating thing,

So I, in darkened moments,

Clasp, with a voiceless prayer,

Whilst wandering wide on grief's deep tide,-
These locks of golden hair.

I have some broken playthings
That are softly laid away,
With some dainty little garments
Made in a long past day.
To each there is a history;
But this I may not tell,
Lest the old, old flood of sorrow
Again should rise and swell.
Now that the stars are brightened,
And the fearful storm is o'er,
Let me sit, in tender calmness,
On memory's silent shore,
And count the simple treasures
That still remain to show

Where hope's fair freight, by saddest fate,
Was shipwrecked long ago.

I have another treasure,
That is softly laid away,
And though I have not seen it
This many a weary day,
From everything around me
Comes a token and a sign

That 'tis fondly watched and guarded,
And that it still is mine.

When the flowers lie dead in winter,

In their winding-sheets of snow,

We know they'll rise to charm our eyes

Again in summer's glow.

Thus I, in this chill season,

When frost and darkness reign,

Wait the blessed spring, whose warmth shall bring

Life to my flower again.

ANECDOTES AND SELECTIONS.

Anecdotes and Selections.

THE ABIDING WORD.-No army ever survived so many battles as the Bible; no citadel ever stood so many sieges; no rock was ever battered by so many hurricanes and so swept by storms. And yet it stands. It has seen the rise and downfall of Daniel's four empires. Assyria bequeaths a few mutilated figures to the riches of the British Museum. Media and Persia, like Babylon, which they conquered, have been weighed in the balance and long ago found wanting. Greece faintly survives in its historic name: Tis living Greece no more;" and the iron dome of the Cæsars is held in precarious occupation by a feeble hand. And yet the book that foretells all this survives. While nations, kings, philosophers, systems, institutions, have died away, and the Bible now exercises man's deepest thoughts, is examined by the keenest intellects, stands revered before the highest tribunals, is more read, and sifted, and debated, more devotedly loved, and more vehemently assailed, more defended and more denied, more industriously translated and freely given to the world, more honoured and abused, than any other book the world ever saw. It survives all changes, itself unchanged; it sees all things decay, itself incorruptible; it sees myriads of other books engulfed in the stream of time, yet it is borne along triumphantly on the wave; and it will be borne along, until the mystic angel shall plant his foot upon the sea, and swear by Him that liveth forever and ever, that time shall be no longer. "For all flesh is as grass, and all the glory of man as the flower of grass. The grass withereth, and the flower thereof falleth away; but the word of the Lord endureth forever."

SIEGES OF PARIS.-Paris has had to withstand a considerable number of sieges in the course of its history. Sometimes the assailants have been successful, but on other occasions they have failed. We subjoin a list of the principal sieges :-53 B.C. the Romans fought a successful battle outside the city, and then entered it. 463 A.D. Childeric I. drove out the Romans. 845, the Normans pillaged and burned the city. 887, Charles the Fat surrendered the city to the Normans after standing a twelvemonth's siege. 1358, the Dauphin, afterwards Charles V., laid siege to Paris without success, and the attempt of Edward III., in the following year, was attended with a similar result. 1420, the English troops captured the city, and held it for sixteen years, notwithstanding the attempts of Charles VII. to reduce it in 1427. 1464, the Count of Charolais attempted its capture, and failed. 1536, the Emperor, Charles V., of Germany, likewise failed to capture it. 1593, Paris sustained a memorable siege during the civil war, and opened its gates to Henry IV. in the following year. 1814, the Allied troops occupied Paris, and