stood on the Pra du Tour, the scene of many battles and meeting-places in the history of their forefathers, so hidden amongst the mountains that it formed a stronghold for a handful of men against an army of soldiers.

A number of men and boys had assembled on the grass in front of the little church, but the proportion of women and girls was small. Only the inhabitants of the village itself, and a few hardy women from the mountain huts, had ventured on that long walk so late in the season. But the usual congregation was much swollen, and the service was held outside, instead of in the church.

They began by singing, in a French metrical version, part of that glorious 18th Psalm, a favourite one, at all times, among the Vaudois-" I will love Thee, O Lord, my strength.* The Lord is my strong rock and my defence, my Saviour, my God, and my might, in Whom

* These words are now over the entrance to the church at Pra du Tour.

I will trust; my buckler, the horn also of my salvation, and my refuge. I will call upon the Lord, which is worthy to be praised: so shall I be safe from mine enemies." Then all stood up (for, like the Scotch, the Vaudois always sit to sing and stand to pray), and prayers were read from their own liturgy, followed by a lesson from the Old Testament, the pastor choosing the second chapter of Isaiah, one of our own lessons for Advent Sunday "And it shall come to pass in the last days, that the mountain of the Lord's house shall be established in the top of the mountains." Then the voices of the men sounded deep and brave as they sung the second portion of the Psalm, "It is God that girdeth me with strength of war, and maketh my way perfect. He maketh my feet like harts' feet, and setteth me up on high. He teacheth mine hands to fight, and mine arms shall break even a bow of steel;" after which they listened to the description of the Christian

soldier's armour of light, in Ephesians vi. More prayers followed, and then Henri Arnaud, the pastor, mounted the rude pulpit, formed by a door laid over two rocks, and began to address the people.* My brothers," he said, "I asked you

66

to meet here to-day, because I think it is only right that all should be warned of coming danger. I hold in my hand a letter from our brave countryman, Janavel, now exiled for his faith. He hears more about the events which are taking place in Europe in his land of exile than we do amongst our mountains, and he bids us be warned, lest the enemy should surprise us unarmed. You have heard, in the lesson we have just read, how the soldiers of Christ are exhorted to keep their armour ever bright and shining; and it behoves us in these days of warfare to be ever on the alert, to awake from sleep and lethargy. We have now

* This is an exact description of a Vaudois service at the present day. The pastors often choose the lessons to suit their sermon.

enjoyed several years of peace, and our weapons have been laid aside; but we must never suffer them to get rusty. Janavel's chief counsel is that we should be well united. He bids the pastors assemble the people, and, after having exhorted them from the Word of God, make them swear, with hand lifted up to heaven, to be faithful to their church · and country, even unto death. In the event of war, he says, we must divide our men into companies of not more than eighteen or twenty in each, and, if possible, convey a little wheat to the mountains and hide it, to be ready for the day of flight. And for ammunition he has a reserve store, hidden in some caverns he will tell us of. Once more, my brothers, let me pray you, be warned. Let our motto-our war-cry—be the Christian motto, Watch and pray.' There is something for all to do, even for the weakest and youngest amongst

118.

Each one needs to pray continually,

B

that, when the trial comes, he may be kept true to his faith, even unto death. Watch, with sword in hand and shoes on feet, ready to fly to work at the first alarm; watch, as if the great Day of Judgment were at hand. I bid you, I entreat you-watch and pray."

The service over, and the last hymn. sung, the congregation dispersed, some to their homes around, others to enjoy the bread and wine and the little piece of meat they had brought to eat before the long walk back. Reynaudin and his son Martin seated themselves on a little grassy knoll, near a clear spring of water, to enjoy their well-earned food, exchanging many a friendly greeting with friends and acquaintances who passed by. The faces of the men were grave and stern, for the very air-as a calm before a storm-seemed to speak of the impending danger; and they knew they might soon be called upon again to defend home, wife, and child, even to