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celebrity; the fortunes of none were fostered more sincerely by the generous good wishes of his assóciates, or the hopes and encouraging presages of his superiours. Being a patriot upon principle, and an enthusiast in a cause, which appealed equally to his sense of justice and love of liberty, he was among the first to take up arms in his country's defence. The news of the battle of Lexington roused his martial spirit, and called him immediately to the field. He obtained a commission in the army, and marched with his company to Cambridge. His promptness, activity, and assiduous attention to discipline, were early observed. He prevailed upon his men to adopt a simple uniform, which improved their appearance, attracted notice, and procured applause. The example was followed by others, and its influence was beneficial. Nor were his hours wholly absorbed by his military duties. A rigid economy of time enabled him to gratify his zeal for study and mental culture.

At length the theatre of action was changed, and the army was removed to the southward. The battle of Long Island was fought, and the American forces were drawn together in the city of New York. At this moment it was extremely important for Washington to know the situation of the British army on the heights of Brooklyn, its numbers, and the indications as to its future movements. Having confidence in the discretion and judgement of the gallant Colonel Knowlton, who commanded a Connecticut regiment of infantry, he explained his wishes to that officer, and requested him to ascertain if any suitable person could be found in his regiment, who would undertake so hazardous and responsible a service. It was essential, that he should be a man of capacity, address, and military knowledge.

Colonel Knowlton assembled several of his officers, stated to them the views and desires of the General, and left the subject to their reflections, without proposing the enterprise to any individual. The officers then separated. Captain Hale considered deliberately what had been said, and finding himself by a sense of duty inclined to the undertaking, he called at the quarters of his intimate friend, Captain Hull, (afterwards General Hull,) and asked his opinion. Hull, endeavoured to dissuade him from the service, as not befitting his rank in the army, and as being of a kind for which his openness of character disqualified him; adding that no glory could accrue from success, and a detection would inevitably be followed by an ignominious death.

Captain Hale replied, that all these considerations had been duly weighed, that "every kind of service necessary to the publick good was honourable by being necessary," that he did not accept a commission for the sake of fame alone, or personal advancement: that he had been for some time in the army without being able to render any signal aid to the cause of his country, and that he felt impelled by high motives of duty not to shrink from the opportunity now presented.

The arguments of his friend were unavailing, and Captain Hale passed over to Long Island in disguise. He had gained the desired information, and was just on the point of stepping into a boat to return to the eity of New York, when he was arrested and taken before the British commander. Like Andre, he had assumed a character, which he could not sustain: he was too little accustomed to duplicity to succeed." The proof against him was so conclusive, that he made no effort at self-defence, but frankly confessed his object; and, again like Andre, without further remarks" left the facts to operate with his judges."He was sentenced to be executed as a spy, and was accordingly hanged the next morning.

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The sentence was conformable to the laws of war, and the prisoner was prepared to meet it with a fortitude becoming his character. But the circumstan

ces of his death aggravated his sufferings, and placed him in a situation widely different from that of Andre. The facts were narrated to General Hull by an officer of the British commissary department, who was present at the execution, and deeply moved by the conduct and fate of the unfortunate victim, and the treatment he received. The provost-martial, to whose charge he was consigned, was a refugee, and behaved towards him in the most unfeeling manner; refusing the attendance of a clergyman and the use of a bible, and destroying the letters he had written to his mother and friends.

In the midst of these barbarities, Hale was calm, collected, firm; pitying the malice that could insult a fallen foe and dying man, but displaying to the last his native elevation of soul, dignity of deportment, and an undaunted courage. Alone, unfriended, without consolation or sympathy, he closed his mortal career with the declaration, "that he only lamented he had but one life to lose for his country." When Andre stood upon the scaffold, he called on all around him to bear witness, that he died like a brave man. The dying words of Hale imbodied a nobler and more sublime sentiment; breathing a spirit of satisfaction, that, although brought to an untimely end, it was his lot to die a martyr in his country's cause. The whole tenour of his conduct, and this declaration itself, were such proofs of his bravery, that it required not to be more audibly proclaimed. The following tribute is from the muse of Dr. Dwight:

"Thus, while fond virtue wished in vain to save,
Hale, bright and generous, found a hapless grave;
With genius' living flame his bosom glowed,
And science charmed him to her sweet abode;
In worth's fair path his feet adventured far,
The pride of peace, the rising grace of war."

There was a striking similarity between the character and acts of Hale and Andre, but in one essential point of difference the former appears to much the greater advantage. Hale was promised no reward, nor did he expect any. It was necessary that the service should be undertaken from purely virtuous motives, without a hope of gain or of honour; because it was of a nature not to be executed by the common class of spies, who are influenced by pecuniary consideration; and promotion could not be offered as an inducement, since that would be a temptation for an officer to hazard his life as a spy, which a commander could not with propriety hold out. Viewed in any light, the act must be allowed to bear unequivocal marks of patriotick disinterestedness and self-denial. But Andre had a glorious prize before him; the chance of distinguishing himself in a military enterprise, honours, renown, and every allurement, that could flatter hope and stimulate ambition. To say the least, his personal advantages were to be commensurate with the benefit to his country. But whatever may have been the parallel between these two individuals while living, it ceased with their death. A monument was raised and consecrated to the memory of Andre by the bounty of a grateful sovereign. His ashes have been removed from their obscure resting place, transported across the ocean, and deposited with the remains of the illustrious dead in Westminster Abbey. Where is the memento of the virtues, the patriotick sacrifice, the early fate of Hale? It is not inscribed in marble, it is hardly recorded in books. Let it be the more deeply cherished in the hearts of his countrymen.-Sparks.

"A farmer in the neighbourhood of Doncaster, was once met by his landlord, who told him he had some thoughts of raising his rent: to which the farmer replied, 'I am very much obliged to you, sir; for indeed I cannot raise it myself.""

FEMALE EDUCATION. The destination of females in life is much more easily foreseen than that of the other sex; women above a certain rank are seldom required to earn their living, and even where this is the case, the modes in which it can be done are few; whereas the professions which men pursue are numerous.

The absence of all right motives, and the substitution of what are termed accomplishments," for mental culture, are the great defects in the present system of female education. It is wholly overlooked that all excellence beyond mere mechanical power must arise from mind, and that accomplishments have no value without intellectual acquirements.

Persons of limited income, whether derived from trade or other sources, often educate their daughters with a view to their becoming governesses, under the idea that such a course will best advance them in life. It is generally expected, and supposed, that a governess should teach, or at least be able to superintend, every branch of instruction, and it is consequently necessary that she should learn every thing. As soon, therefore, as she can read or write, she is placed upon a musick stool, and devotes from one to three hours a day to the practice of the piano-forte, the harp, and singing. A French master is also engaged, and, after the lapse of two or three years, probably dancing and an Italian master are added. The parents generally take the qualifications of the instructer upon trusts; and the expense being an important consideration, when a school is chosen, it is most commonly one which gives the greatest apparent quantity of instruction for the least money.

The early education of children mostly falls under the direction of females, and this task requires few or none of the ornamental arts of life; it calls for the exercise of a sound judgement, calm temper, steady perseverance, unrelaxed energy, warm affection, and subdued sensibility, combined with a simplicity of taste and feeling which can enter into the thoughts, action, and disposition of childhood. The cultivation of these qualities, then, should be the aim of those whose position in life obliges them to educate their daughters for the situation of instructers. A person so educated would rise merely from the force of her superiour character; and she would not despise those whose honest ambition had made her what she was, nor would she be unfitted to fulfil her duties in the same sphere with them pleasurably and advantageously. The more wealthy classes, who are generally sensible of the importance of a good education, need persons who can be trusted with the early management of their children; and they daily feel and lament the small number of those who are really fitted for the task. Those, then, who are possessed of judgement, temper, and practical knowledge, will be more sought and better rewarded than the mere musician, artist, and linguist. We do not mean to exclude these arts from education; but we protest against their cultivation to the total neglect of all the higher qualities of the mind.

It is vain to imagine that what are called accomplishments will alone enable a female to advance her rank by marriage, even if that should be considered as the great object of her life. Birth, fortune, and the conventional manners which belong to the wealthiest classes must still be wanting, and the lack of these will generally be a bar to the desired elevation. If the only object proposed to a woman be marriage, and she remain single, the end not being obtained, what other object has she to turn to? If her ambition has been directed to a union with rank, wealth or great talent, and if, when all these have slipped from her grasp, she connects herself in despair with inferiour station, poverty, ignorance or folly, she will despise both herself and him whom she has promised to love; she will have sinned against truth, and having forfeited

self-respect, will be indifferent to the respect of those around her.

On the contrary, when a woman has been taught that her highest ambition must be limited to the quiet and unostentatious fulfilment of the duties which will inevitably fall to her lot, whether it be high or low, to the acquirement of those virtues, the cultivation of those talents, which will embellish her own existence, and lighten the toil or charm or leisure of others,— whatever may be the event, her ambition cannot be blighted, for such qualities must be always called into exercise; they are confined to no station, and will be valued, loved, and admired in every relation of life.

In order, then, to direct all female education right, there are three points to be considered-the general temperament of the sex, and next the individual character; the general nature of their intellect, and the nature of the individual intellect; and, finally, the probable destination of the individual educated. Women generally possess an acuteness of sensibility, and a liveliness of imagination, which render them peculiarly susceptible to impressions, but often prevent those inipressions from being either deep or lasting; this has given rise to a caprice and versatility which are proverbial. This excess of feeling and imagination produces two apparent contradictions in the female character-a tendency to be easily diverted from any line of conduct, and a disposition to prejudice. Our faculties, however they may be classed, are all good in themselves, and are bad only in their excess. Thus, the sensibility of women produces those sentiments of tenderness and compassion which fit them for the various offices which nature has assigned to them; their lively imagination leads them to embellish the monotony of their existence by all those harmless allusions which give a value and a charm to their slightest duties and employments; but where this sensibility is too much indulged, it begets an over-wrought excitability, which is content to feel rather than to act; and this, united with unrestrained imagination, magnifies trifles into evils, inconveniences into miseries; the mind sinks under supposed suffering, and converts the realities of existence into an imagined succession of fictitious pains and pleasures. In this state of mind, mere ideas are assumed as practical truths, opinions which are the growth of a sickly intellect, become prejudices which can neither be dispelled nor contia dicted by the force of reason or experience. Thus a woman becomes a mere dreamer, or only acts from the impulse of feeling; no importance is attached to the necessary details of her life, while an undue value is given to its trifles; exertion is palsied or misapplied, and conduct is controlled by external and accidental circumstances, rather than by settled principles; while the reasoning powers are perverted or subdued for want of exercise. Where reason is wanting, judgement cannot act, and thus the woman becomes the wayward, capricious, irrational and frivolous being, which it is but too much the custom to represent her. She is not, however, adapted to be merely a useless or mischievous member of society any more than man, although she becomes so by misapplication of her powers. Her duties are as numerous as those of the other sex, her influence as great, indeed we believe greater; for if the conveying of the first rudiments of morals to the young, and the enforcing them by example, be her duty, and if upon the attainment of virtuous habits depends the future goodness of a rising generation, surely the importance of woman in society cannot be denied."

By importance we do not mean any overbearing superiority or assumption of influence; the strict performance of the task assigned to her demands far different qualities-gentle firmness, patience, tenderness, and quiet but steady devotion to the great object of her life.

It is, therefore, necessary to inspire women early

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with a just sense of their true position in society, and to show them that their future respectability and worth will depend upon the practice of the virtues we have pointed out rather than upon the short-lived charms of beauty and youth, or the advantages which mere accomplishments confer.

We have indicated some of the errours induced by an over-excited sensibility acting upon a lively imagination; these can only be counteracted by strengthening the reason. But a deficiency in the sentiments and imagination lead to want of mental energy and to dulness in the natural affections. When this occurs, the feelings and the imagination must be cultivated and stimulated, and this may best be affected by placing the pupil in situations where her sensibility will be excited; where she will be called upon to act in the defence, protection, or assistance of others; where she will be made to feel herself of value, and capable of contributing to the welfare of her fellow creatures.

hence the constitutions of men often sink under mental exertion; it is however probable that in such cases the evil might have been prevented, and the intellectual strength have remained equally great, or greater, by attention to exercise.-Among females it is generally the case that a sickly mind accompanies a sickly constitution; it is also true that the proper exercise and attendance to the preservation of health might prevent both evils.-Household Year-book.

ELEPHANT HUNT.

We are greatly governed by feelings, and some of these require subjection, others encouragement. Moderation in their exercise is the point to be insisted on. Excess of benevolence produces thoughtless profusion; excess of maternal affection leads to foolish and pernicious indulgence; and excess of sensibility to quickness of temper, defect of judgement, and many When the chiefs call their men together for the exmore fatal errours; but without sensibility there will press purpose of hunting, the inglovu (elephant,) and be no natural affections, no admiration of the great and panther, or amaputi, most frequently constitute the obbeautiful, and consequently no incitement. to exertion.jects of the chase. On those occasions, which howAs the feelings prompt to action, so must they be guided ever do not occur very often, the concourse is considand regulated by the reason. erable; and they sometimes remain in the fields or woods for several days together. Connected with their pursuit of the first-mentioned animal are various particulars that may, probably, be interesting to the curious, as they furnish further evidence of the strength of their superstitious prejudices. By these they are literally kept in bondage unto fear; from whin dreadful chain nothing less than a knowledge of that Divine and gracious Providence which mercifully presides over the children of men can possibly deliver them. For lack of this knowledge, they are perishing daily. On Saturday, the 6th of May, 1826, a numerous herd of elephants was discovered in the immediate vicinity of the station, which gave me an opportunity of witnessing the astonishing excitement produced by circumstances of this nature, and the manner in which they are accustomed to pursue those prodigious creatures. The signal was given by certain individuals, perched on the different highlands round about, whose stentorian powers served as telegraphick mediums of On the contrary, where sensibility and imagination intelligence, each responding to the shouts of the other. prevail to excess, truth only should be the intellectual. By this means an immense concourse of men and dogs food; the mind should be accustomed to separate the were speedily assembled near the deep and bushy probable from the real; it should be taught to look upon ravine, in which the animals had taken refuge. The the miseries of the world rather than the fancied woes clamour of the hunters and the howlings of dogs, reof poets, or the imagined sufferings of heroes and verberated by the precipices, and echoing in the disheroines; the excited feelings should expand them-turbed recesses, now became tremendous. selves in action; constant healthy employment should be found for the mind, and it will then cease to waste its energies upon fictitious or exaggerated distress.

Truth, as in every thing, should here also be the basis of education; but to a mind so constituted, it may be presented with the embellishments of language, poetry and art. Fiction, which has a moral tendency, may be judiciously mingled with graver studies to quicken the powers of the imagination.

Bodily and mental indolence, to which females are prone both from nature and education, ought to be vigorously contended against-health of mind and body can only be ensured by action; they are so intimately connected that they mutually injure or assist each other. And here we may advise mothers upon the great importance of attending to the dress of their daughters. Entire freedom from bodily restraint is indispensable. Boys enjoy it-why should not girls be allowed the same advantages? Tight stays, tight shoes, back-boards, braces, and stocks, those inhuman inventions of a barbarous age, limit and distort the natural movements of the body, and sympathetically cramp the healthy operations of the mind. Such restraints are supposed to give elegance of carriage and perfection of form, while in fact they only produce deformity. The contracted waist, constrained movements, and helpless limbs, which result from tight lacing, are no more consistent with, grace than the hectick bloom on the transparent skin of consumption with real beauty.

The occupations of women, being mostly sedentary, require to be counteracted by exercise. Females, from physical causes, frequently find walking painful, and shelter themselves under some excuse to avoid this most healthful of all recreations. They should, therefore, he early taught that attention to their personal eaith is of equal importance with mental culture, and that in truth the mind can neither work wisely nor ́usefully unless it be supported by bodily health; and

The march of the herd to and fro in their umbrageous covert below sounded not much unlike the rolling of immense stones, making every thing bend or break before them. The cracking of trees and the falling of branches, together with the hideous screams of the wounded, furnished terrifick proof of their fury, and of the havock they were making. Three out of their number were at length brought to the ground, and several others severely speared. I was frequently constrained to tremble for the safety of the pursuers, while witnessing their fearless advances towards the huge and irritated victim, seeing that a slender lance constituted the whole of their armour. To see them, in a state of perfect nudity, boldly proceeding to within reach of one of these powerful brutes, which, by a single stroke of his. proboscis, might have laid them lifeless in the dust, could not but give rise to the most serious apprehensions.

Although crowds be engaged in the chase on those occasions, the law enables the man who first pierces the elephant to claim both the honour and benefit of its death. The latter, however, is but small, as he only gets one of the tusks, the chief laying claim to the other; and custom requires him to furnish a cow or an ox for slaughter at the close of the chase, which is usually concluded with mirth and festivity. Of this feast no chief, I am told, is allowed to partake, because the elephant is considered to be of equal rank with the greatest of their chiefs.

Their attack upon this noble quadruped is usually made from behind, in which position they are able for some time to elude the keen glance of his extraordinarily small eyc; and sometimes even to hamstring him

before he is aware of the approach of an assailant. His huge and unwieldly carcass, together with a disproportionately short neck, render him but ill able to turn quickly round upon his adversary. Of this the natives are fully aware, and advantageously avail themselves of his want of agility. When thus engaged in the act of killing him, it is not a little amusing, as well as singular, to hear them lauding the animal, and crying, "Don't kill us, great captain-don't strike or tread upon us, mighty chief;" while in the intervals between those different entreaties, they cast showers of spears into his tortured carcass. The instant he falls, all set up as loud a shout as their exhausted strength will enable them to raise. The tuft of hair on the extremity of the tail is then cut off and taken to the chief, who generally places it on a pole at the isangue, or entrance of his cattle-fold. It there hangs as one of the ensigns of royalty, and as a trophy of victory, achieved by his subjects over the inhabitants of the forest. The extremities of the ear and proboscis are likewise cut off, and with much ceremony deposited in some secret place, where they are left to decay; no one daring to disturb them afterward. This being done, and the tusks extracted, the remains are left to be devoured by dogs, wolves, and vultures.

ANIMALS OF SOUTH AFRICA.

It is remarkable that, notwithstanding the singular barrenness of many parts of the country, there should have been found within eight or nine degrees of latitude from the Cape point, the largest, as well as the most minute, objects in almost every class of the animal world. Thus, like the ostrich and creeper among the feathered tribes, among the beasts we have the elephant and the black-streaked mouse; the one weighing four thousand pounds, the other about the fourth part of an ounce; the camelopardalis, seventeen feet high, and the little elegant zenik, or viverra, of three inches. Here too, as above stated, is the abode of the prodigious hippopotamus, more bulky, though not so high as the elephant: and also the rhinoceros, equally ponderous and sow-like in its formation. Of the thirty different species of antelope known in natural history, this country alone possesses eighteen. Besides these, there is the largest of the eland or oreas that exists, six feet high; together with the little pigmy, or royal antelope, which is little more than six inches. The spring-bok, or leaping antelope, is, as before observed, sometimes met with in herds of four or five thousand. The lion, the leopard, the panther, and various species of the tiger-cat are likewise indigenous; but not the striped tiger of India. The wolf, hyæna, and three or four different kinds of jackals are every where found; as also the ant-eater, the iron hog, or crested porcupine, the viverra, that burrows in the ground, the jerboa, nearly allied to the kangaroo, and several species of hares. Buffaloes infest the woods and thickets; and many of the plains abound with zebras; with the stronger and more elegant-shaped quacha; as well as with whole herds of the singular knoo, partaking of the form of the ox, the horse, the antelope, and the stag. In the mountains there are numerous and large troops of that disgusting animal, the dog-faced baboon; and likewise swarms of apes and monkeys of all sizes.

REVOLUTIONARY BATTLES.

The following table may be useful for occasional reference:

Battle of Concord, April 20, 1775.
Battle of Bunker Hill, June 15, 1775.

Battle of Old Hampton, Va., where the Americans took 5 deck vessels, November, 1775.

Battle of Great Bridge, near Norfolk, Va. Dec. 18, 1775.

Battle of Fort Washington, Nov. 17, 1775.

Battle of Fort Lee, Nov. 19, 1775.

Battle of Trenton, where Washington and his army
took 1000 Hessians, Dec. 26, 1776.
Battle of Princeton, Jan. 2, 1777.
Battle of Brandywine, Sept. 11, 1777. `
Battle of Germantown, Oct. 4, 1777.
Burgoyne's army taken near Saratoga, Oct. 17, 1777.
Battle of Red Banks, Oct. 22, 1777.
Battle of Monmouth, June 19, 1778.
Battle of Stony Point, July 16, 1779.
Battle of Long Island, Aug. 27, 1779.
Cornwallis and his army taken at York Town,
Va., Oct. 12, 1781.

Battle of King's Mountain, Oct. 1781.
Battle of Guilford, N. C., March 17, 1781.

THE WESTERN EMIGRANT.

Amid these forest shades that proudly reared
Their unshorn beauty towards the favouring skies,
An axe rang sharply. There, with vigorous arm,
Wrought a bold emigrant, while by his side
His little son with question and response
Beguiled the toil.

"Boy, thou hast never seen
Such glorious trees, and when the giant trunks
Fall, how the firm earth groans. Rememberest thou
The mighty river on whose breast we sailed
So many days on toward the setting sun?
Compared to that our own Connecticut
Is but a creeping stream."

"Father, the brook,
That by our door went singing, when I launched
My tiny boat with all the sportive boys,
When school was o'er, is dearer far to me
Than all these deep broad waters. To my eye
They are as strangers. And those little trees
My mother planted in the garden, bound,

Of our first home, from whence the fragrant peach
Fell in its ripening gold, were fairer sure
Than this dark forest shutting out the day."

"What, ho! my little girl," and with light step
A fairy creature hasted toward her sire,
And setting down the basket that contained
The noon's repast, looked upward to his face
With sweet, confiding smile.

"See, dearest, see
Yon bright-winged paroquet, and hear the song
Of the gay red-bird echoing through the trees,
Making rich musick. Did'st thou ever hear
In far New England such a mellow tone?"

"I had a robin that did take the crumbs
Each night and morning, and his chirping voice
Did make me joyful, as I went to tend
My snow-drops. I was always laughing there,
In that first home. I should be happier now,
Methinks, if I could find among these dells
The same fresh violets."

Slow night drew on,

And round the rude hut of the emigrant,
The wrathful spirit of the autumn storm
Spake bitter things. His wearied children slept,
And he, with head declined, sat listening long
To the swollen waters of the Illinois,
Dashing against their shores. Starting, he spake :
"Wife! did I see thee brush away a tear?
Say, was it so? Thy heart was with the halls
Of thy nativity. Their sparkling lights,
Carpets and sofas, and admiring guests,
Befit thee better than these rugged walls
Of shapeless logs, and this lone hermit-home."
"No, No! all was so still around, methought,
Upon my ear that echoed hymn did steal
Which 'mid the church, where erst we paid our vows,
So tuneful pealed. But tenderly thy voice
Dissolved the illusion;" and the gentle smile
Lighting her brow, the fond caress that soothed
Her waking infant, re-assured his soul
That whereso'er the pure affections dwell
And strike a healthful root, is happiness.
Placid and grateful to his rest he sank;

But dreams, those wild magicians, which do play
Such pranks when reason slumbers, tireless wrought
Their will with him. Up rose the busy mart
Of his own native city: roof and spire
All glittering bright, in fancy's frost-work ray.
Forth came remembered forms; with curving neck
The steed his boyhood nurtured, proudly neighed
The favourite dog, exulting round his feet,
Frisked, with shrill, joyous bark; familiar doors
Flew open; greeting hands with his were linked
In friendship's grasp; he heard the keen debate
From congregated haunts, where mind with mind
Doth blend and brighten; and till morning roved
'Mid the loved scenery of his father-land.

MRS. SIGOURNEY.

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an extensive prospect; but the latter is esteemed more remarkable, as containing the piece of rock imprinted with the mark of our Saviour's foot while in the act of ascension.

In proceeding from Jerusalem towards Bethany, the by the sight of a cavern where the apostles were taught traveller skirts the mount of Olives; or, if he wishes to the Lord's Prayer; and of another where the same indienjoy the magnificent view which it presents, both of the viduals at a later period met together to compose their eity and of the extensive tract watered by the Jordan, he Creed. On the principal top of the Mount of Olives.ascends its heights, and at the same time inspects the for the elevated ground presents three separate summits, remains of sacred architecture still to be seen on its -are a mosque and the remains of a church. The forsummit. As he passes from the eastern gate, the Gar-mer is distinguished by a lofty minaret which commands den of Gethsemane meets his eyes, as well as the tomb which bears the name of the Blessed Virgin. This has a building over it with a pretty front, although the Grecian ornaments sculptured in marble are not in harmony with the pointed arch at the entrance. It is approached by a paved court, now a raised way, leading from the Mount of Olives over the Brook Kedron. The descent into it is formed by a handsome flight of steps composed of marble, being about fifty in number and of a noble breadth. About midway down are two arched recesses in the sides, said to contain the ashes of St. Anne, the mother of Mary, and of Joseph her husband. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, the visiter is shown he tomb of the holy Virgin herself, which is in the orm of a simple bench coated with marble. Here the Greeks and Armenians say mass by turns, and near it there is an humble altar for the Syrian Christians; while opposite to it is one for the Copts, consisting of earth, and entirely destitute of lamps, pictures, covering, and every other species of ornament. Chateaubriand tells us that the Turks had a portion of this grotto: Buckingham asserts that they have no right to enter it, nor could he "learn from the keepers of the place that they ever had;" whereas the author of the Anonymous Journal, from which we have already quoted, states distinctly that "there is a place reserved for the Mussulmans to pray, which at the Virgin's Tomb one would not expect to be much in request." So much for the clashing of authorities on the part of writers who could have no wish to deceive!

There are various other grottoes on the acclivity of the hill, meant to keep alive the remembrance of certain occurrences which are either mentioned in the gospel, or have been transmitted to the present age by oral tradition. Among these is one which is supposed to be the scene of the agony and the bloody sweat; a second, that marks the place where St. Peter and the two sons of Zebedee fell asleep when their Master retired to pray; and a third, indicating the spot whereon Judas betrayed the Son of Man with a kiss. Here also is pointed out the rock from which our Saviour predicted the sack of Jerusalem and the destruction of the Temple,--that dreadful visitation. of which the traces are still most visible both within and around the walls. The curious pilgrim is further edified

But the view of the venerable metropolis itself, which stretches out its lanes and sacred enclosures under the eye of the traveller, is still more interesting than the recapitulation of ambiguous relicks. It occupies an irregular square of about two miles and a half in circumference, Eusebius gave a measurement of twenty-seven stadia, amounting to nearly a mile more than its present dimensions ; a difference which can easily be explained, by adverting to the alterations made on the line of fortifications by the Saracens and Turks, especially on the north-west and western extremities of the town. Its shortest apparent side is that which faces the east, and in this is the supposed gate of the ancient Temple, shut up by the Mussulmans from a superstitious motive, and the small projecting stone on which their prophet is to sit when he shall judge the world assembled in the vale below. The southern side is exceedingly irregular, taking quite a zigzag direction; the south-western entrance being terminated by a mosque built over the supposed sepulchre of David, on the elevation of Mount Zion. The form and exact direction of the western and northern walls are not distinctly seen from the position now assumed; but every part of them appears to be a modern work, and executed at the same time. They are flanked at certain distances by square towers, and have battlements all along their summits, with loopholes for arrows or musketry close to the top. Their height is about fifty feet, but they are not surrounded by a ditch. The northern wall runs over ground which declines slightly outward; the eastern wall passes straight along the brow of Mount Moriah, with the deep valley of Jehoshaphat below; the southern wall crosses Mount Zion, with the vale of Hinnom at its feet; and the western wall is carried over a more uniform level, near the summit of the bare hills which terminate at the Jaffa gate.

Turning towards the east, the traveller sees at the foot of the hill the little village of Pethany, so often mentioned in the history of our Lord and of his personal

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