It was on one of those brilliant, cloudless days, to be enjoyed under the sky of Italy, that I slowly ascended the Campanile of San Marco, thinking of times long ago. On 23rd August, 1609, Galileo mounted the same steps, perhaps more rapidly than I did, and he was not, like me, alone, but was followed by a crowd of senators and nobles awaiting with eager suspense the sight he was to show them with his magic instrument. At last I had mastered the thirtytwo ascents which Henry IV. of France is said to have ridden up, passed the open belfry, and found myself on the upper gallery. Here then, where a fire-watchman now coolly lends the stranger a telescope for a few centesime, Galileo set the whole city in excitement nearly 270 years ago by the first exhibition of such an instrument. He may well have seemed like a magician to the patricians when he showed them, by means of his apparatus, vessels which were not visible to the naked eye till two hours later. And the continent looked so near as if it could be touched! Those who went down told the marvels to the crowd waiting on the Piazza San Marco below, and on that and the following day there was such a going up and down the Campanile as it has probably never witnessed before or since. After these two days, when every one had convinced himself with his own. eyes of the value of the invention, Galileo appeared with his instrument in the meeting of the Senate and presented it to the august assembly. In grateful acknowledgment the Republic conferred the professorship of the University of Padua on him for life, with an increase of salary from 520 to 1,000 gulden. Galileo returned to Padua, and it was there that the idea occurred to his genius which was alone sufficient to immortalise his name-that of directing his telescope to the heavens.

(To be concluded in next Number.)

THE BLOOD OF CHRIST.

Matthew xxvii. 24, 25: "I am innocent of the blood of that just person; see ye to it. Then answered all the people, His blood be on us and on our children."

Acts v. 28: "Behold.

upon us."

ye intend to bring this man's blood

Acts vi. 7: "The number of the disciples multiplied in Jerusalem greatly; and a great company of the priests were obedient unto the faith."

1 Timothy i. 15, 16: "This is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am chief. Howbeit, for this cause I obtained mercy, that in me first Jesus Christ might show forth all longsuffering, for a pattern to them which should hereafter believe on Him to life everlasting."

1 John i. 7: "The blood of Jesus Christ His Son cleanseth us from all sin."

O MARVELLOUS forbearance of the Son of God

Toward sinners-self-condemned!

His life-blood flowed for them :

They called for it to rest upon them as a curse!
And yet He bore with them.

Their work of death they finished,

Silenced those lips which even in His agony

Pathetically pleaded, "Father, forgive them."
Yet in that very deed, did matchless Love complete
The work of their redemption!

Ere long, there came a time when Christ in risen power, Wrought by His servants wondrously,

Then those craven souls, oblivious of the curse

They had themselves invoked, cowards through conscious guilt,

Trembled before the fishermen of Galilee.

"Ye think to bring on us and ours, the blood we shed."
Had they not dared the Lord to bring it on them?
Are they now afraid of its approach in vengeance?
"Better than all your guilty fears, ye murderers,
Is He, the God of infinite compassion, who yet
Bears with you-condescends with you to plead."

"For the sake of that dear life your hands have outraged,Of that most precious blood you, pitiless, have shed,

Be

ye

e'en now among my reconciled.”

Then, indeed, His blood shall be on you and yours,-
Not as ye cried for it, in infidel defiance,

But as the priceless gift of Him you once despised.
The promise is to you, and to those very children
Whom your own presumption doomed to dire perdition."
God is more merciful than man-man has no plummet
That can gauge the depths of God's forbearance.

Hearts that were hard as nether-millstone to His woes,
Melt as His cleansing blood is sprinkled on them;-
Hands that were mercilessly set to shed that blood
Are folded now in prayer and blood-bought sorrow ;-
Voices that long and harshly clamoured for His blood,
Now herald forth salvation through the blood of Jesus:
"It is the blood that makes atonement for the soul."
His life for ours was given to quench the power of sin,
And make the sinner whole !

ANN F. FOWLER.

R

TWO SUNRISINGS.

THE RHIGI-SALISBURY PLAIN.

"The bright morning-star, day's harbinger."-Milton.
"Until the day dawn, and the day-star arise in your
hearts."-2 Peter i. 19.

DISCORDANT sounds disturb the traveller amid those deep slumbers which the labour of a stiff mountain climb have induced, and their arousing is all the more unwelcome to him for that the night still prevails, and a chilling blast, steeled with the keenness of a height of 6,000 feet, sweeps through the corridors into the opened rooms. The instinct is to draw closer the coverlids, and renew the sleep those blowings of the ram's-horn have ruthlessly awakened; but the slumberer feels that to lie longer in warmth is to miss the object of his night on the Rhigi Kulm. So, with wrap and wrapper around him, he turns out of doors like all the rest of the awakened throng. His first sensation, on gazing around him, is one of inexpressible awe, and the silence that prevails shows others are feeling it as well as himself. They can scarce see one another—it is so dark; but the girdle of snow-clad mountains stand ghastly white against the sable sky. Stars glitter overhead, as if in ebon settings, and all nature wears that funereal pomp which an unilluminated whiteness lends to the dark drapings of the tomb. You would shiver, but that the gaze is fixed on the solemn majesty of that pallid snow; it rises to those glittering stars-it searches that aeriel depth, to be lost in the unfathomable vault of that sunless heaven. Night, in her sable majesty,

seems unassailably supreme. Her departure appears impossible, and, if possible, the spell of those voices of the Alpine darkness would be gone.

You are in a little crowd-assembled, like yourself, at the blast of those hideous rams'-horns. Men and women of all nations stand in groups, blanketed and bewrapped, with a ghastly pallor on their scarce-discovered features, and a half-bewildered look of "What came we here for to see?" universally prevails. The darkness as you watch it seems to deepen, and all prospect of warmth, or life, or light in the heavens, so to fail, that returning day becomes an impossibility to conceive. But, lo! there is a flush on the distant snows; it has deepened suddenly to blushing tones; those mountain peaks have caught its ensanguined hue, and here and there in the mighty range some towering crag glows as a tongue of fire amid unmelting ice.

The gaze is lifted to the heavens, and, behold! a soft diffusion of sapphires has supplanted the ebon hues of brooding night; and she who seemed but a moment before so supreme is gone-her myriad stars are vanished, lost in that soft radiance which casts no shade in suffusing its azure tenderness over earth and crag and Alpine snow. It is the dawn on the mountain that has transformed the scene from deathlike darkness to a flush of renewed life; the atmosphere thrills with the pulse of coming day, and the day-star shines alone to herald the swift advance of the lord of the heavens.

The traveller forgets his broken slumbers, the scared look of bewilderment among the assembled watchers is lost, and quiet joy succeeds. All (of whatever nation) seem to stand there as brethren, under the influence of this day-star, which shines so clear, casts no shadow, and courts and rewards the steadfast gaze as it presides over the brilliant snows.