course into the path of morality. We | himself went. Thither they retired behold her, at this age, for the first duly as the shades of evening appeared; time since the christening of her last she with her basket on her head, and child, going to church, and for what he walking with a tottering step close purpose? To be married! Yes, blind at her heels. It was in vain that he Jenny is led thither by one of her proffered his assistance to carry the ancient admirers, apparently resolved basket, and share in the proceeds. Jenny to settle down to steadiness at last. But considered the basket as "part and her countenance was no true index of parcel" of herself, and indignantly reher heart; the first could wear the fused both offers. This point was long mask of sorrow while the other was contested between them, and Jenny's rejoicing, and change it, as the scene conduct told the villagers that she strove or circumstances might require. But hard to rule in all temporal matters, to proceed; I well remember that day's the only matters which engaged her scene. At the door of each cottage attention. Poor blind Jenny came from stood its inmates, waiting to greet the the contest a victor, and her lord was heroine of the day, as she went forth compelled to submit to her rule; to go and returned; and in the churchyard were where she was pleased to lead him; gathered mischievous wags, and some to do what she was pleased to tell him; of the most giddy of her own sex who and to be content with what she was had been plucking the green grass, and pleased to allow him. the daisies, and the buttercups from the sod that covered the bones of the departed, to strew her pathway as she walked along. Another than Jenny might have paused to consider whether this was irony or respect; but Jenny neither saw nor speculated upon it, but went laughing along. Well, the ceremony is over. Jenny has changed her name, and for the first time she takes her seat in her cottage as a married woman. But will this bond, to be dissolved only by death, keep her at home? Hard, indeed, is it to give up old usages! And, besides, it turns out that this prudential step has been no voluntary and unprompted one; it has sprung from no late but sincere repentance, from no sudden perception of moral duty and the charms of self-restraining virtue. Our good old morality-loving rector, partly by dint of eloquent persuasion, for which he was justly celebrated, and partly by a promise of foregoing his own fees, and paying the clerk's fee, which that functionary was never known to forego, had persuaded her to this course, that she might no longer live in open profligacy; that she might cease to be the disgrace she had been to her sex and to his parish, over which he tenderly yearned. It was no wonder, therefore, that home had still no charm for Jenny. Her occupation and inclination still led her to the village inns. Now, however, she did not go alone. Her late step had, at least, given her a husband to guard her, and prevent her from going further astray than he But the confidence which she withheld from her husband, Jenny somewhat too freely extended to strangers. Scorning even the Bank of England, as an old-fashioned and scarcely trustworthy place for laying up money, it was Jenny's wont to entrust sums with this or that friend on whom she relied for secrecy, by which means she realized her very fears, and learned by experience that Scripture truth which says of riches that they make to themselves wings and fly away. Some abused her confidence whilst on this side the grave; and when she was no more, the residue of her savings was found wanting. And thus were scattered the wages of iniquity, the hoarded treasures of deceit. We have now to view Jenny in the time of affliction. She who had stumped about for many years without once missing her daily round of pleasure and business, now is writhing on a bed of sickness. And who is seated by her miserable couch? It is our aged rector. Long had he marked this wandering sheep, and long had he endeavoured to bring her to the fold of Christ. Heretofore his efforts had been thwarted; but now he has hopes; for well he knows that "man's extremity is God's opportunity." As soon as he heard that Jenny had ceased to take her usual rounds, and that she was visited by affliction, he flew to her cottage on the errand of mercy, animated with the hope that the poor wanderer might be reclaimed. Nor did Jenny's reception of the man of God damp these expect as he had been good to all within his sphere; as he had stretched out the hand of charity from morning even till night, all who possessed the slightest feeling of grateful recollection followed his corpse with weeping eyes. Among these stood poor Jenny, and her tears flowed as copiously as those of any mourner present. The event, solemn as it was, soon passed from the memory of most of the villagers, but it remained fixed in Jenny's. She dated her change from the solemn hour when she heard the beautiful burial service read over the tomb of that pious Christian nobleman. Such was the substance of Jenny's answer to the rector's inquiry. ations. In her eyes were tears, and from her tongue flowed copiously expressions of contrition. She confessed herself a sinner, a miserable sinner, and Vowed with apparent fervour that if it pleased God to restore her, she would never more visit the dens of infamy, but would lead a life of holiness. The good man listened to her with delight, and hoped her character was changed. Some of the neighbours shared his generous delusion, and Jenny was thought to be amongst the penitent. Others, knowing her better, or judging of her by their own profligate pertinacity in evil courses, shook their heads, and foretold that if Jenny recovered, they should yet hear her loud laugh, and laugh loudly themselves at her profane wit. They went farther, and averred that the bounties she was receiving, on every hand, from the Christian community, constituted the motives for her profession; and that were these withdrawn, she would despise all pious counsel. And the event justified this opinion; for Jenny got better, and as soon as her strength allowed, was again seen in her accustomed haunts. Again, attended by her willing spouse, she was found sitting on the ale bench as merry and careless as when in the bloom of youth. And she had now something new with which to amuse her companions, a subject which she thought worthy of her wit. She had to laugh over her deception, and at the dupes of and lest her companions should call her by that most odious of all names to such as she associated with, "saint," the poor creature would boisterously proclaim her total want of sympathy with all to whom the term might justly be applied. it; But once again was Jenny occasionally seen at church. This was when she began to feel the waning of her strength: when her ability to indulge in former excesses was ceasing, she re-assumed the garb of sanctity, and so well was it worn that many a Christian gazed with sympathy upon the contrite expression of her countenance, and our rector once more visited her and inquired into the cause of the change. Jenny was not unprepared for this inquiry. Shortly before this period, one of the noblest, best, and most charitable of all our village residents, whom every one loved, was lowered into his long-prepared and lonely tomb. And As usual there were not wanting those who doubted the sincerity of Jenny's second change, and who talked shrewdly of her eye to the benevolent lady whom his lordship had left behind to perpetuate his charities, and of the many loving friends who were likely to be kind to her for his sake. Whatever might be her motive, Jenny had now assuredly identified herself with the departed in the estimation of his lady and her friends. The delicacies of their tables found their way into Jenny's deal chest on which she dined, nor were they less sparing of their pecuniary bounties, so that she no longer depended upon her basket. The little villagers, for whom Jenny expressed so much fondness, might now seek their sweetmeats elsewhere, and the old ladies in want of tea cakes might look for another slave. She felt assured that a provision was made for her during the remainder of her life, if she could but crawl to church on Sunday, and abstain from her old haunts during the week. This abstinence no longer required an effort. She had arrived at that age when she could awake at the voice of the twittering sparrow, when the grasshopper becomes a burden, and all the daughters of mirth and music are brought low. It was therefore pleasant rather than painful to Jenny to abstain from what she could no longer enjoy. So long as Jenny's strength continued, she was to be seen apparently giving to her Maker the dregs of her life, coming to his courts on the sabbath, and mingling with his people in the most solemn ordinances. And it was wonderful to see with what tenderness they regarded her. They imagined that they saw before them the contrite spirit and the changed heart, broken perhaps by the continual struggle between despairing recollection of past evil and hope of ultimate forgiveness. Now I will not pronounce Jenny to have been a hypocrite at this the last stage of her long and sad career. It is for Heaven alone to judge of man's sincerity. But I shall be free, I trust, from the charge of want of charity if I acknowledge that I shared in the suspicions of some of Jenny's neighbours, and fancied that sordid motives had something to do with Jenny's seeming sanctity. The best test of our Christian sincerity is a holy and consistent walk during the days of our earthly pilgrimage. Tenderness towards all men no doubt is becoming; but it should not lead us to exalt the sinner at the last period of his life for a few penitential expressions. It is forgetting the truth so forcibly expressed, that we have but one example of a sinner 66 saved at the eleventh hour, recorded in Holy Writ, and that one (the thief on the cross) is recorded, that while none need despair, none may dare presume." The remainder of blind Jenny's history is soon told. Worn out, partly by age, and partly by the irregularities of her life, she did not long survive to enjoy the favours of her kind and affluent friends. When stretched on her dying bed, she was surrounded by the pious portion of our village community, who said that she was constantly exclaiming that "she would not take a room full of gold in exchange for the happiness she enjoyed in the prospect of death." And since her decease, they have raised a monument to her memory. I presume not to pass any opinion on the last hours of blind Jenny; but I do appeal to the living, to admonish them against trifling and delay, to exhort them to early piety and holy consistency of conduct. THE RECORder. Antioch occupies not more than one fifth of the ancient enclosure. The most remarkable features in the houses here, as differing with the rest of Syria, are that, besides being low, they have sloping roofs covered with thin tiles, instead of flat terraces; and have only one story above ground, built of slight materials. This style of building probably originated in the necessity of preparing for the shocks of earthquakes, which are very frequent in these parts. Antioch was almost demolished by them in the years A.D. 340, 394, 396, 456, 526, 528, and 568. By this last calamity, about sixty thousand persons are said to have perished. There are in the city ten or twelve mosques, mostly mean structures. The inhabitants may amount to about six thousand, and are governed by a mutzellim, tributary to the pacha of Aleppo. SAGACITY OF DOGS. Or a Newfoundland dog, purchased by his father, and of a smaller one that had been bred in the house, the Rev. S. Drew used to relate the following story. Our dairy was under a room which was used occasionally as a barn and apple room, into which the fowls sometimes found their way, and, in scratching among the chaff, scattered the dust on the pans of milk below, to the great annoyance of my mother-in-law. In this, a favourite cock of hers was the chief transgressor. One day, in harvest, she went into the dairy, followed by the little dog; and finding dust again thrown into the milk pans, she exclaimed, "I wish that cock was dead." Not long after, she being with us in the harvest field, we observed the little dog dragging along the cock, just killed, which, with an air of triumph, he laid at my mother-in-law's feet. Highly exasperated at the literal fulfilment of her hastily uttered wish, she snatched a stick from the hedge, and attempted to give the dog a beating. The luckless animal seeing the reception he was likely to meet with, where he expected to have received marks of approbation, left the bird, and ran off; she brandishing her stick, and saying, in a loud angry tone, "I'll pay thee for this, by-and-by." In the evening, when about to put her threat into execution, she found the little dog established in a corner of the room, and the large one standing before it. Endeavouring to fulfil her intention, by first driving off In the large dog, he plainly gave her to understand, that he was not at all disposed to relinquish his post. She then sought to get at the small dog behind him; but the threatening gesture and fiercer growl of the large one, sufficiently indicated that the attempt would not be a little perilous. The result was, that she was obliged to abandon her design. killing the cock, I can scarcely think that the dog understood the precise import of my stepmother's wish, as his immediate execution of it would seem to imply. The cock was a more recent favourite, and had received some attentions, which had previously been bestowed upon himself. This, I think, had led him to entertain a feeling of hostility to the bird, which he did not presume to indulge, until my mother's tone and manner indicated that the cock was no longer under her protection. In the power of communicating with each other, which these dogs evidently possessed, and which, in some instances, has been displayed by other species of animals, a faculty seems to be developed, of which we know very little. On the whole, I never remember to have met with a case in which it was more perceptible, than in that of my father's two dogs. TURKISH FESTIVAL. THE grand procession of the paschal orison took place this morning within the time prescribed by the Mohammedan law, which permits its celebration at any hour before noon on the tenth of the month Zilhijjeh. It issued from the principal gate of the seraglio, soon after sunrise, and appeared in the following order. First came the inferior officers of the court on horse, followed by the pashas and principal functionaries of state mounted on beautiful steeds, whose furniture was richly decked with precious stones. After these came a band of young men on foot, gaily dressed in lively colours and distinguished by their beauty and knightly bearing. They bore in their hands long waving plumes of the most brilliant hues, which they held high over their heads, as if to secure the royal person whom they surrounded from the vulgar gaze. In the midst of this bright band, his face just discernible through the forest of bending plumes, rode the sultan, on a noble Arabian charger, which, from his proud and graceful step, seemed conscious that he was bearing the weight of majesty. The service, which was but little longer than the ordinary service of the morning, being ended, the procession returned in the order in which it came, and disappeared within the walls of the seraglio. What transpired there I will not pretend to say, excepting that an order soon came out for the marines to enter, and the rumour was circulated among the multitude that the sultan had sent for them to inspect them in their new dress. They entered, preceded by the band playing a Greek air. Presently, a line of cavalry issued from the gate, well mounted and wearing the new cap. As I was crossing the harbour on my return home, I observed that the ships of war were decorated with flags, and their yards manned with marines, who saluted the sultan as the royal barge shot out from the quay of the seraglio, and swept by them on its way to the palace of Beshiktash. His saddle cloth and reins were thickly | Turkish maids and matrons, on foot and studded with diamonds set in flowers, in arabas, idle spectators of a ceremony the stirrups were of solid gold, and his of their religion in which they could gorgeous head piece bore a frontlet, in not participate. the centre of which was a magnificent emerald surrounded with diamonds. The sultan himself appeared, as he always does on horse, with his most regal look and bearing. His face wore that grave and mild aspect that commonly sits upon it in public. After him followed a band of musicians who closed the procession. The whole body moved slowly towards the mosque of sultan Ahmed, in the vicinity of the seraglio, between double ranks of artillery men and musicians. A shout ran along their lines as the sultan passed. They all wore European military caps, and their entire dress was conformable. The habiliments of the marines were red jackets and white pantaloons, which, with the caps, were entirely new. The latter, indeed, were now introduced into the army for the first time, the common head gear of the soldiers being the thick woollen fez with a huge blue silk tassel pendent behind, the same as is worn by the sultan and the greater part of those in civil employ, but which, with the unshorn heads that are coming into vogue, are (this my own experience afterwards taught me) insupportable on a summer march. The sultan and his cortége dismounted in the átmeidan, a public square on which the spacious court of the mosque of Ahmed opens, and entered the sacred temple. The morning service immediately began, while another assemblage | was formed in the atmeidan, of the soldiers from the adjacent barracks; for the companies that had served in the pageant of the morning, contrary to many a precept of the koran, stood by their arms. The service without the mosque was the same as that within. A temporary platform was erected for the Imam, and straw mats were spread for the assembly to kneel upon. I could not, at the moment, discover anything in the various prostrations, genuflexions, and divers other postures of the worshippers different from the common devotions of the mosque, nor indeed is there anything peculiar in this distinguished service of the Mussulman liturgy more than some slight deviations of form from the great prayer of Friday. So much of the ample space of the atmeidan as was not occupied by the worshippers was filled with throngs of Such was the pageant which accompanied the sacrificial prayer of Bairam. But the festivity which followed was not confined to the court. It extended to every class and condition of society. On the first day, the call to prayer at the five canonical hours was followed by a salute from the fleet. During the whole of the first feast and the first three days of the second, shops were shut and all labour suspended. The entire Mussulman population was poured into the streets. The cafés were thronged. Every man, woman, and child, appeared in a new dress. The white turbans were never so clean and neatly plaited. Turkish females, in groups of five or six, with their children, in the gayest and richest dresses, strolled through the streets. Friends visited friends, and wished them a happy Bairam, or embraced them as they met without, kissing each other on both cheeks. The inferior paid the same deference to the hand of his patron or superior. Effendis on horseback and ladies in arabas covered the bridge between Stamboul and Galata. Strolling players performed with impunity in the highways. The sellers of sweetmeats proclaimed their delicacies, and the beggars again plied their importunities in the name of Bairam. There seemed in the very word an incentive to mirth and light heartedness. Yet all was |