ONE day, more than two hundred years ago, an elderly woman and a young girl were on their way from Weilerstadt to Stuttgart. They were in haste.

They would have rejoiced to have had wings, for once at least, and to have flown as the birds fly. But they were obliged to walk slowly and in fear, looking this way and that. The young girl was in peasant dress — clothes to which she was evidently not accustomed. She seemed, moreover, to find the exertion of walking very tiresome. Suddenly, with a cry of terror, she clung to her companion, whispering, "Look! He comes! One of my master's guards! He will seize me and carry me back."

The two turned, in their fright, into a by-path, and the horseman dashed on without noticing them. “God kept him from seeing us," said the girl reverently. "Yesterday I read in your prophets, He is wonderful in counsel and excellent in working.'" As yet she was not accustomed to the delightful truth that the Bible belonged to her as really as to her older friend.  In that moment of terror it happened to her as it sometimes does to those who are drowning,—the whole of her life seemed to come back- to her.  She saw herself a child again, the daughter of a Turkish merchant in the city of Belgrade.  She was dressed in the robes of a rich Turkish maiden, and surrounded by slaves whose business it was to wait upon her.

There was little variety in her life from day to day. There were but few things to give her pleasure—nothing really that she cared much for, except the love of a little playmate.

But this picture passed quickly. There came another scene, in which she was older. Meanwhile, her father had died,- believing in the false prophet Mohammed, and crying, "Allah Akbar!" ("God is great").

Setma remembered that then her brother became master of the house and of the family treasures, and that he had the right to tell her just what she must do, even in so great a matter as her marriage.

He chose a man for her husband whom she had never seen, and fixed the day for the wedding, which, however, he said should not take place till he had made a certain journey.  While the brother was away, a war arose between the Turks and the Germans. The city was besieged; the Germans succeeded in getting into it; many persons were killed in the streets, or seized and carried away to be slaves. Among the latter was Setma.  She was captured by a general, who gave her to his wife.

Poor Setma wrung her hands and cried with terror at the thought of falling into the hands of Christians.  She would rather have been murdered in the streets. She had never heard of the Bible; she knew only about the Koran, the holy book of the Mohammedans, and about Mohammed, whom the Turks believed to be the prophet of God. She had heard prayer called the "key of Paradise,"

and she knew well the sound of "the call to prayer," as it was chanted from the minarets of the mosques five times in every twenty-four hours.  Setma believed that the most holy act was for one to make a pilgrimage to Mecca, the birthplace of Mohammed. If a man took this journey and performed all the ceremonies, he was sure, it was supposed, of a home in heaven. She had seen her father leave home, with a caravan, on this pilgrimage, and the remembrance of this pilgrimage helped him to die in peace.

Poor Setma believed all that was taught by her religion, and regarded falling into the hands of Christians as a terrible misfortune. At first she had reason to think so. Her master and mistress did not deserve the name of Christian; no

Turk could have been more cruel, than was her mistress. But God was guiding her, as indeed it is sweet to believe that he is doing with each of us.

We do not forget those words of Jesus about the sparrows.  We know that we are more precious in God's sight than many sparrows.

Just, when Setma's troubles seemed more grievous than she could bear, she came for a time into the family of her master's brother. There was a good Christian man in the family, who was kind and thoughtful,' anxious that all should know and love God. Perhaps he did 'not understand who

Setma' was. She, however, watched him, heard his kind words, saw his good deeds, and learned that he prayed to God without believing in Mohammed.  She heard him talk about the Lord Jesus Christ, the Saviour.

All this was new to her. The light came into her mind slowly, as the sunlight follows the dawn-

She was glad to believe in Jesus. At length, after months of suffering, she was full of delight and gratitude that she, a little Turkish maiden, had fallen into the hands of Christians.

Her troubles were not over, however. Her mistress was a drunkard, and abused her as much as ever.  One day Setma found a way to escape. She put on the peasant dress, and began the journey from Weilerstadt to Stuttgart in the company of a woman who had felt very pitiful toward her. It was a long distance for Setma to walk, especially as she had spent much with her life shut up in her own home. But she would have made the effort had the journey been ten times as long.

It is just here that we meet her, and see her pass safely through one danger. The horsemen did not even look toward them, little knowing that just in his way was the young girl for whom his master was searching.  As Setma said, God saved her.

When she got to Stuttgart, she was frightened by the rough guards.  Finding from her accent that she was a foreigner, they teased her with many questions, till a good peasant-woman, passing at the moment, took her home and made her rest two days, and then found the friends for whom Setma was inquiring. Afterward she became maid of honor in the household of the princess Magdalena Sibylla, a good Christian woman, and lived at court many years. At her baptism,

Setma gave up her Turkish name, and received that of Christina Magdalena Eherhardina, to which was afterward added the name of Gottlieben.

In the days of her prosperity she was liberal in her charities to the poor and sick, and consoled many of the dying by her ministrations. God says: "I will bring the blind by a way that they know not; I will lead them in paths that they have not known; I will make darkness light before them, and crooked things straight.

“These things will I do unto them, and not forsake them." Isaiah. 42:16.



Meade Middleton.