these things out of the life of his people, as we sat together one
night over fragrant cups of tea.

W. A. K.

Boston, January, 1904.




Can there be anything more poetic than this life of the Syrian
shepherd? It ought to be religious, too. Far, far away, out on
the lone mountain, with the everlasting hills around, and heaven
above, pure, blue, and high, and still. There go and worship in
solemn silence and soul-subduing solitude, worship the Most High
God in his temple not made with hands.

And now the lights are out in the village, the shepherds are asleep
by the side of their flocks, the tinkling bell from the fold falls
faintly on the still night air, and the watch-dog bays drowsily
from his kennel at the gate. Good night, fair world; 'tis time to
seek repose. Let us first read and meditate upon that delightful
chapter, the tenth of St. John, where our blessed Saviour
appropriates all these characters of a good shepherd to himself.

"The Land and the Book."