CHRISTMAS IN THE CANAL.

Once landed, another gang besieged us, trying to palm off old dates on us as new, sealing-wax as Red Sea coral, Brummagem ware as Oriental manufacture, and Italian olive as wood from Jerusalem. All their attempts to force pipes and cigarettes on us ended in smoke, we cared not a fig for the fruiterers, and were compelled to turn our backs on the applicants for "Backsheesh," for their name was "Legion." If we sat down in La Place de la Fontaine, we were immediately accosted by vendors of all sorts, and by shoeblack boys, who were quite prepared to cause our boots to shine after the most approved London style. Seated or promenading, we were the butts of every mercantile and mendicant shaft, the only wonder being that we ran the gauntlet so successfully with so many blood-suckers thirsting on every side.

In one dirty street (they were all alike in that particular) we came across an infant-school, with all the youngsters swaying to and fro as they muttered the sacred sentences from the Koran, apparently oblivious of the fact that any quantity of flies had pitched their tents in and about their half-blinded eyes. The old pedagogue himself smoked the inevitable cigarette, and flourished the equally essential cane (not a sugar-cane). It was very evident that he accepted his most responsible post in the spirit of entire resignation, and performed his duties in a very take-it-for-granted fashion. school, where a company of tidy girls were busy at fancy-work, the Thence we wandered to a Greek familiar click of a sewing-machine (presumably a silent one) resounding from a distant corner. books with wonderful diligence when the Dominie was looking, and, Next door, a batch of boys pored over their much like British boys, exercised themselves in artistic practices, by drawing on desks and walls, when the magisterial eyes were turned away. This was, however, a pleasing contrast to the native academy, which was remarkable specially for flies and filth.

In an old, ramshackle mosque, we beheld a venerable Mahomedan reverently bowing and scraping before an invisible presence, and soon after visited a substantial building, in course of erection, for the same religionists, proving all too plainly that the crescent has not yet yielded to the all-conquering Cross. We made unsuccessful enquiries for the English missionary who labours here, and could not but feel for him, located as he is in so unpromising a field of service. Spirit can turn the wilderness into a garden, and make the desert blosThe Living som as the rose. May this be his encouragement, and the help of all such lone labourers in every quarter of the globe!

Port Said is entirely the outgrowth of the great work of M. de Lesseps. Its mixed population lives on the traffic of the canal, coaling the vessels outward and homeward-bound, and fleecing the visitors who wander on land for a few hours. that it can be interesting to Christians simply as its streets afford slight The town is so hot, sandy, and filthy pictures of Eastern life and customs. There the maidens carry their pitchers from the well as Rebekah did, and the married women veil their faces with a hideous black covering below the eyes. There the bottles are of skin, and the robes loose and flowing. One would almost fancy that Bass's ale was the one thing for which Englishmen lived, for at every turn we Even pointing to our Blue Ribbons did not rid us of the were pestered to turn in and taste

it.

plague, for the persistent parties immediately turned their tune to Leemonade! leemonade!" I could wish that all our passengers had contented themselves with "leemonade." As it was, many of them staggered on board half-seas-over. I was pleased to find that those who brought bottles of spirits with them to the ship were relieved of their burden as soon as they arrived on deck. The rule of the company is, very properly, against these private importations of strong drink. In these cases the drink was of the vilest and fieriest sort" chain lightning," I think they called it, and it was a wise precaution that stationed a lightning-conductor at the top of the gangway, in the shape of an official, who conveyed the dangerous fluid into the canal. Would God the contents of every brandy-bottle were mixed with the same proportion of water!

It was no small comfort to be on board our floating residence again, and under weigh by two o'clock. Then began the squirting, and splashing, and "squeegeeing," which alone could rid our awnings, and seats, and decks of the grime and grit which came originally from some Welsh coal-pit. Smoothly we glided down the strange track through the desert, until night prevented further progress. And what a night it was clear, and cold, and crisp, with the brightest of stars, and the most silvery of moons above us, and the stillest of waters round us! Yet to some sleep was impossible, and for a strange reason. They who, at first, could get no rest because of the many noises, and the incessant thud of the machinery, now slept not because the screw had stopped, and silence reigned supreme. Such is the force of use and habitude.

Soon after daybreak we were again moving on, hoping to make good progress toward the port of Suez. But, by breakfast-time we were warped to the bank once more, to wait, as it afterwards appeared, till almost the same time next morning. Hour after hour we had to gaze at the sandy banks beside us, at vessels in a similar predicament before and behind us, or (as a great variety) at the Arab fishing-craft which ventured alongside, or the puffing launches, which pressed on where our bulk forbade us. We were thus delayed because a steamer had run athwart the canal at an awkward curve lower down, and effectually blocked the way. Probably more than a couple of dozen steamers, many of them flying, as we did, the Royal Mail flag, were hindered by the misadventure of a much smaller and less-important vessel. So do the backslidings and misbehaviour of the meanest members often retard the progress of nobler spirits, and throw the whole church out of working order from Port Said to Suez. Slow coaches in the road, loungers on the side-walk, and whatever may be the plural of a "stick-in-the-mud" in a canal, are abominable nuisances to all whose motto is "Drive on," "Now then, do it," or "Full steam ahead." Some of our passengers, during the monotonous 24th, made an excursion ashore. Several of them were Scotch folk, and doubtless Sandy felt at home on that sandy waste (as he does everywhere). Others of them were Irish, their own green isle seeming, I expect, the more emerald to their mind's eye contrasted with the wilderness. Britishers, of course, rejoiced to set their feet on another nation's shore, for "'tis their nature too."

Meanwhile, great preparations were being made on the quarter-deck for evening festivities of no mean order. All the flags in the locker were

pressed into the service for decorative purposes, together with such green boughs and shrubs as the desert afforded. The ball-room was curtained all round with canvas, brilliantly illuminated with lamps, and festooned with flags. The Liguria banner beautified one end of the salon, while on either side of it were the flags of the Pacific and Orient Steam Navigation Companies. P. S. N. C. has been interpreted by the officials to mean "Passengers Should Never Complain," but there are some of us to whom it plainly spells "Poor Sinners Need Christ." However

correct the first translation may or may not be, the second rendering remains on sea or land unalterably true. How great the mercy which supplies exactly what poor sinners need by Jesus, and then with him also freely gives us all things!

The dance commenced at 8 p.m.,-but not for us! Very kindly, the captain had enquired if we objected to the passengers thus enjoying themselves. "No, indeed," was our answer: "why should we?" They were wearied with the monotony of the day, and grieving over absence from loved ones: let them dance their cares away by all means, and in their "close-bosomed whirlings forget their sorrows. Who could deny them their only comfort? For ourselves, however, the giddy mazes of the dance had no attraction. How strange our taste! We actually preferred to retire to our cabin (four of us), and spend an hour reading "The Treasury of David," and praying for our kith and kin, as we are wont to do every evening. Verily, there is no accounting for taste! Give me an exercise of faith and prayer, rather than the exertion of tripping it on the light fantastic toe; and the refreshment of communion with one another, and with God, before the sweets and beverages of the refreshment stall. Ballets and buffets may please the worldling; devotion and communion delight the Christian. The 81st Psalm seemed particularly appropriate to the occasion, especially the trenchant remarks of the commentator respecting Christmas and other man-appointed feasts. We were, however, a good deal interrupted by the noise o'erhead; and having spent our profitable hour, we turned judiciously from grave to gay, and enjoyed the next in merriment and laughter, as tale succeeded tale, and fun and frolic whiled the time away; for Christians can have their pleasure as well as others, only, thank God, it is after a godly sort, and does not leave a headache for next morning. The gaieties above closed at the reasonable hour of 11.30, and then began another calm, cold night. So ended Christmas-eve.

The first word I remember in the morning was from one steward requesting another to ask the chief cook for the key of the ice-chest. By this time the genial sun had peeped over the sandy banks, and mirrored the stately ship in the tranquil water. But to hear of ice helped to make it feel like an English Christmas, and this was about all the aid we had! So lovely a morning I have seldom seen. Even Australia and New Zealand could scarcely rival it.

Reaching deck, one of my companions informed me that a mail had arrived for me, and a minute after I was in possession of a packet which had been entrusted to my cabin-mate by loved ones in England. Christmas cards and greetings were never so precious as on this occasion. Yet no proof was needed that I was not forgotten, for not one of all my kindred would fail to lift a prayer to God for the best

welfare of myself and those with whom I sail. Breakfast was unusually glorious, with fowls, and ducks, and turkeys dressed in Christmas suits of various styles of garnishing; and greetings came from almost every passenger, while happy children romped above us with the presents "Santa Claus" had placed in their hung-up stockings. Ere this it had occurred to me to have a chat with readers of "The Sword and the Trowel," so I spent my Christmas-day sitting in the sun, till it got too warm, and then taking the shady side of the ship, and chatting with my absent friends. Past Ismailia, and through the Bitter Lakes, we gently glided, the Anglican party on board celebrating the "festive season with a service in the saloon, and the Nonconformists as grateful as they for the man Christ Jesus, thouga not celebrating his supposed birthday with intonations and other human inventions.

Who could help wondering all day long what the dear ones in England were "up to"? Off flew one set of thoughts towards Albion's white cliffs, and "Westwood," and the Stockwell Orphanage; while another took a still longer flight across the southern seas, and visited the Auckland Christmas picnic, and wished our fellow-workers joy. Christmas to me is much the same as other times, and had I had a chance of "holding forth" during the morning service, the first portion of my sermon would have shown how improbable it is that Jesus was born on Dec. 25; the middle would have pointed out, even if so, how inappropriately the event is celebrated; yet I could hardly have concluded without urging a constant recognition of the glad fact that the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us, and a never-ceasing gratitude for all the blessings which flow from the Incarnation. And now the sun dips down, and leaves us nearing Suez. Our uneventful, yet novel, Christmas-day is virtually closed. In the hollow of HIS hand we rest. His own dear Son our only Saviour, ourselves his people, himself our Shepherd King.

So near to where the scenes we love to think and talk of were enacted, hard by Jerusalem, and the Red Sea, and the land of bondage, we join again to pray for the coming of our Saviour's kingdom, and the welfare of his universal church. His birth, his life, his death, his resurrection, seem all the more real to us within the latitudes in which he journeyed, and we are "at home" in Egypt, as in England, when he draws nigh to make our Christmas truly happy.

Happier still will our fellowship and intercourse be when canals and steamers are things of the past, as also the separations that they cause; when, indeed, there shall be

An unreasonable Complaint.

NGODLY men sometimes complain of Christians for appearing miserable when they have themselves made them so. Pharaoh exacted a full tale of bricks from the children of Israel, took away the straw with which the bricks were to be made, and then, when they did not come up to his cruel standard, he cried out, "Ye are idle, ye are idle." Ungodly men imitate Pharaoh to the life. Let us look at some of them in family life. They demand more of Christians than they ought to expect from human beings; and when, after cruel experiences, their victims have not come up to the highest possible mark, they accuse them of shortcomings. Watching them to find out their weaknesses, wounding them with malicious skill, twisting their words, twitting them with trifles unworthy of notice, and in general treating them like dogs, they make them feel sad, and then they turn round upon them, and call them melancholy creatures. When King John pulled out the Jews' teeth, did he afterwards punish them for having sore gums?

When a profligate young man complains that his godly mother is so cast down; has he any right to find fault? When he is the main cause of her sorrow, can he upbraid her? When a husband ridicules his wife for following the ways of God; ought he to blame her for being pensive? When a child has hard usage from a father because it is thoughtful and serious; should the father turn round, and call the child moody and sulky? Yet so it is in thousands of cases, and we invite our reader to consider whether it may not be so in his own, if he is ready to complain of the gloom of his Christian relatives.

Well may saints sorrow when they see how sinners transgress! If our worldly friends would have us merry, let them be holy. Nothing would give us more delight than their repentance. No music and dancing has such true merriment in it as that which is made over returning prodigals. If we could see all our relatives going to heaven, we should ourselves enjoy a heaven here below. Till that is the case, they must not blame us if our hearts are heavy with the foresight of the ruin which awaits them: as we love them, we must lament for them, knowing that their day is coming.

About three hundred years after the time of the apostles, Caius Marius Victorius, an old pagan, was converted from his impiety, and brought over to the Christian faith; and when the people of God heard this, there was a wonderful rejoicing, and shouting, and leaping for gladness, and psalms were sung in every church, while the people joyously said one to another, "Caius Marius Victorius is become a Christian! Caius Marius Victorius is become a Christian!" Dear reader, it may be that you are an old offender. What joy would be made among the best of people by your conversion! Some of your dearest friends would be ready to dance with delight; and hundreds, who know what a hardened rebel you have been, would sing and shout for joy of heart, "Old has become a Christian!" Oh, that you might be led to cause this happiness on earth; and there is this at the back of it,the holy mirth would reach to the highest heaven!

C. H. S.