through the fog. One time, indeed-and this was the last we saw of her—she came down upon us so suddenly that we were obliged to put on full speed to avoid a crash. It unusual to meet with such fogs in that region-s fog that kept us for twenty-four hours lying within a few miles of Valetta. is very For the passengers it was altogether a gloomy, uncom fortable day. Our range of vision was limited principally to the vessel itself. The fog seemed to penetrate everywhere. The rigging had become soaked with damp, that kept dripping down upon us as we walked the quarter-deck; and for sitting down, that was out of the question, as the chairs and benches had shared the general fate of everything erposed to the fog. There was something very amusing in the appearance of the passengers during this eventful day. We had all risen very early, with the expectation of going on shore some time during the morning, and had made every preparation in the way of dress for doing so. The simple wearing of the black hat, so utterly out of the ques tion at sea, so altered the appearance of one or two that it was some time before I could recognise them. With the hope that the fog would soon disappear, the dress of the morning had not been exchanged. It was rather amusing to watch a certain "exquisite" dressed out in the very height of fashion, picking his way along the deck amongst damp uncoiled ropes, his white gloves bearing many a trace of thoughtless contact with the dank ropes around. It was only as the afternoon wore on that we had a return to the usual style of things that had prevailed during the previous part of the voyage. (To be continued.) servant hastened with a lighted torch, and set fire to the place, and they were all consumed. The Bishop, who had planned this horrid deed, then exclaimed, "Thus I've got rid of the rats, who only lived to consume my corn." Ah miserable man. He was greatly mistaken; that night he went to bed and slept, but it was for the last time. As soon as he entered his banqueting room in the morning, he saw that the picture of himself, hanging on the wall, had been eaten through and through by rats. Scarcely had he recovered from his surprise, when in came a servant, all breathless-like the messenger of evil that came to Job-shouting, "Oh my lord, ten thousand rats have got into your granaries, and have nearly destroyed all your corn." Scarcely had he finished before another servant came rushing in saying, "Fly, my lord, fly! | thousands of rats, thousands on thousands, are now approaching. May God forgive you for the work of yesterday." The conscience-stricken Bishop took the alarm, and hastened away to the tower you see in the distance in the middle of the picture, which is called the Rat Tower, and there he thought himself secure, surrounded by the water; he shut himself up, barricaded every window, and then laid himself down on his bed and closed his eyes; but he was disturbed by the hideous cries of a cat, that looked about in wild dismay; and soon he was dreadfully alarmed himself, for he discovered that the rats had actually swam the river in pursuit of him, had climbed the walls, and were gnawing their way through the doors to get at him. And what took place further you will see if you read the following lines by the post who tells the tale :— Then down on his knees the Bishop fell, As louder and louder, drawing near. The saw of their teeth without he could hear, And in at the windows, and in at the door, And in through the walls by thousands they pour, And down through the ceiling, and up through the door, From right and from left, from behind and before, From within and without, from shove and below; And all at once to the bishop they go. They have whetted their teeth against the stones, Such is the old story-it may be only a fable, but it is a fable with a good moral; it reminds us that sin and selfishness are sure, sooner or later, to bring remorse and sorrow; so the Bible says, "To do good and to communicate, forget not, for with such sacrifices God is well pleased." "GRANDMA HAS ONLY MOVED TO HEAVEN." WOULDN'T you like to see grandma's flowers, auntie?" asked little Nellie, on the afternoon of my arrival at her father's house. I looked into the child's face inquiringly. Her grandma, my own. dear mother, had been dead nearly two months; what had she to do with earthly flowers? Perhaps you think I haven't any grandma," said the child, apparently comprehending my look; but I bave: she has only moved to heaven; he went last spring, before the flow ers came-but then, she has them all the time up there;" and her face brightened at the thought, for she knew how grandma loved flowers, and she loved grandma dearly. Yes, I will go," I said, taking the proffered hand. "Allie go see gamma's flowers, too," lisped a wee thing, scarcely two years old, who came toddling towards us, with outstretched arms. So another tiny hand was clasped, and we three went into the garden. These are grandma's," said my little attendant, pointing to the flowers that bordered the walk we were just entering. "She planted them all herself, just before she went to the Promised Land' to live." These flowers, then, my mother had planted with her own feeble, trembling hands. It was her last work, a work she had always loved; but this time she had done it for others, for she knew she should not watch their growth, she should not see them bud or blossom. "Don't cry, auntie," said the child, "for she has all the flowers she wants now, and she is never tired, and will never be sick any more." "Who told you this?" I inquired, stooping down to kiss the flowers, and the sweet faces that looked so sympathisingly up to mine. "Why, grandma used to tell us about it every day, until one morning she went to sleep, and they carried her away. And she said we might come and live with her too, by-and-by, if we were good children; and we are going some time, ain't we, Allie ? And the two went down the walk singing in their clear, sweet voices "I have a grandma in the Promised 2 Land; My grandma calls me, I must go;" a verse of their own rendering, which they had added to the hymn―. "I have a Father in the Promised Land. I had mourned a dead mother. Bitter tears and anguish of heart had been poured out, as I thought of her dark, cold, dreary resting-place. But there was no grave, no dead grandmother to these trustful, hopeful little ones. I accepted the lesson. My tears were dried. I have no dead mother, I said. She has only "moved to heaven." She lives in the "Promised Land." |