treasurer, and secretary; often his own cook and gardener, and not unfrequently both judge and executioner in the same instant. Such is the account given of this extraordinary man by Baron de Tott, Volney, and Dr. Clarke. Yet with the short-sighted and narrow-minded policy of an Oriental despot, he sacrificed to his avarice the permanent prosperity of the districts which he governed. His successor is described by Dr. Richardson as a man of milder, if not more enlightened character. He was a venerable looking old man, and his manner was kind and unaffected. Acre, more properly Akka, the ancient Ptolemais (Acts xxi. 7.), is situ ated at the north angle of the bay to which it gives its name, and which extends in a semicircle of three leagues as far as the point of Carmel. During the Crusades, it sustained several seiges. After the expulsion of the Knights of St. John of Jerusalem, it fell rapidly into decay, and was almost deserted, till Djezzar Pasha, by repairing the town and harbour, made it one of the first towns on the coast. In modern times it has been rendered celebrated for the successful stand it made, with the aid of the British under Sir Sidney Smith, against the French troops commanded by General Bonaparte, who was obliged to raise the seige after failing in his twelfth assault. Its present population is estimated at 20,000. Few traces remain of its former splendour. The external view of Acre, says Dr. Clarke, like that of any other town on the Levant, is the only prospect of it worth beholding. There are two roads from Acre to the Holy City; that by Cesarea and Joppa, which runs for some way along the coast, by which St. Paul came to Jerusalem, on his return from Macedonia (Acts xxi.), and that by Nazareth, taken by Dr. Clarke. We shall pursue the first route as far as Jaffa, on the authority chiefly of Dr. Pococke. Opposite to Caypha, the learned traveller ascended Mount Carmel, to the Latin convent of the Carmelites, inhabited at that time by only two or three monks. Great part of the present convent, and particularly the church and rectory, are grots cut out of the rock, this place not long having been made a monastry, at the period of Dr. Pococke's visit. Towards the foot of the hill is a grot, one of the finest, he says, that he ever saw. "It is like a grand saloon, and is about forty feet long, twenty wide, and fifteen high. It is cut out of the rock, and is now converted into a Mosque. Near it is a chapel in a grot, where they say Elias sometimes lived, which is resorted to with great devotion, even by the Turks, as well as by the Christians and Jews, on the festival of that saint. (TO BE CONTINUED.) MILES ATHERTON. (From the Edinburgh Literary Almanack.) THERE are many beautiful little dwellings of industrious men scattered through the suburbs of Manchester; and none who have viewed with consideration their honey-suckled walls and the flowery gardens in which they stand just out of the reach of the smoke and stir of the town, will doubt the good feeling and intelligence of the working classes. Manufactures have by no means that deteriorating influence on the character which some moralists would draw in such frightful colours. Industry at the loom may not be so poetical as industry at the plough, but surely it is not less intellectual. In manufacturing districts, where multitudes are gathered together, the vice that exists will force itself painfully on observation, while retired virtue often escapes notice; and in the din issuing at evening from the licensed haunts of the profligate, the passer-by is apt to forget the stillness of many a neighbouring fireside, where the operative is sitting happy with his wife and children, reading, perhaps aloud, for their instruction and his own, or eking out, should wages be low, the week's means by an occasional by-hour of skill and ingenuity. In one of those dwellings, for which, if beautiful be too strong an epithet, let us substitute neat and comfortable, Miles Atherton had lived for ten years, and in his own little world of labour had enjoyed an equable contentment, the only human felicity. His wife was from Scotland, the daughter of a shepherd,—brought when just woman-grown, from her native pastoral braes, into the midst of a new life. But, in the watchfulness of affection, she soon became familiarized with objects and occupations very different from every thing about her father's house, and in a few years the murmur of the sylvan Jed visited her ear only in some sabbath-dream. The working-days were exclusively filled with delights and duties, joys and griefs, born and dying, within the room where husband and her children slept. Her parents had both died since she left Scotland; and though Mary Atherton and a few distant relations still mutually lived in each other's memory, yet in time and separation the living are almost like the dead, and, as they sometimes rise from oblivion, are but pleasant phantoms. But seldom as Mary Atherton perhaps now thought of Scotland, her simple and heartfelt voice spoke of her birth beyond the border, and now and then a wanderer from the "North Countrie," directed by the neighbours to her house, repaid her charities by telling her that he had been in her native parish,-had seen the spire of the kirk, and the plaided shepherds on the hill. The evil of poverty is not in the suffering with which it wrings the heart, but in the poison which it too often mingles with the affections. Bread steeped in tears it is too difficult to eat in thankfulness; and there is no blessing in the prayer in which there is no present hope. When earth stops its bounty, we despair of help from Heaven; and the piety which worshiped God by the warm hearth, faints over the dead embers. The change on our whole moral nature may be slow, but it is sure;-each successive day is darkened and disturbed to the sullen or angry heart;-beloved objects lose their charm;-and things formerly abhorrent to our nature possess a spell over us, which, loathsome though it be, we cannot break, and under whose infatuation we hurry on to guilt, despair, and death. For three months Miles Atherton was poor-miserably poor,-and in other three, just as winter came, with all its severities, he was also profligate-miserably profligate. His pretty children-a boy and a girl -were taken from school;-their mother's face had undergone a change like that of many years sickness;-and their house, so long the pride of the suburban village, looked as if it were uninhabited. Mary Atherton, before the neighbours, endeavoured to look cheerful, and an honest pride sometimes supported her when better feelings had worked themselves out; but that strength was of avail only in the open daylight. When the door was shut, No. 10. PALESTINE OR THE HOLY LAND. THE DEAD SEA. (From the Modern Traveller.) THIS celebrated lake, which the prevailing passion for the marvellous long invested with imaginary horrors, and of which the natives themselves still speak with a degree of terror, has different names expressive of its character and origin. In Scripture, it is called the Sea of the Plain, the Salt Sea, and the East Sea. By Josephus, and the Greek and Roman writers, it is spoken of under the appellation of Lake Asphaltites, that is, the Bituminous Lake. St. Jerome styles it the Dead Sea, because, according to the tradition, nothing could live in it. It is a Lake lying between two ranges of mountains, which enclose it on the east and the west; on the north it receives the Jordan from the plain of Jericho; while, on the south, it is equally open, its margin being the plain already described, and yet it has no outlet for its waters. Ryland, Pococke, and other travellers, have supposed that it must throw off its superfluous waters by some subterraneous channel, but although it has been calculated that the Jordan daily discharges into it 6,090,000 tons of water, besides what it receives from the Arnon and several smaller streams, it is now known, that the loss by evaporation is adequate to explain the absorption of the waters. Its occasional rise and fall at certain seasons, is doubtless owing to the greater or less volume which the Jordan and other streams bring down from the mountains. Pococke noticed the evident effect of recent inundations of the sea, on trees which had been killed by the salt water. At such seasons it spreads itself into what Captain Mangles describes as the backwater. The high-water mark, at the period of his visit, (the beginning of June,) was a mile distant from the waters' edge. The backwater, however is never quite dry. This periodical rise and fall may possibly explain, in some degree, the different accounts which have been given of the extent of the Lake. Pliny makes it 110 miles long, 25 miles broad in the widest part, and 6 where it is narrowest. Josephus states, that it is 72 miles long, by 18 broad; whereas, the observations taken by Mr. Banks and his companions, from several elevated heights, enabled them, they say, to ascertain that the utmost extent of the lake, including the backwater, does not exceed 30 miles. The Jordan, in its embouchure, is deep and rapid, rolling a volume of waters from two to three hundred feet in width, with a current so violent that an expert swimmer, who attended Mr. Jolliffe, found it impracticable to cross it. It was the old opinion, that the waters of the river passed through the lake without mingling with it; and "I thought I saw,' says Pococke, "the stream of a different colour." The fact is, the water of the lake is clear and the colour of the sea, while that of the Jordan is muddy, and of course discolours the lake with its yellow current. The specific gravity of the water of the Dead Sea is supposed to be much exaggerated by the ancient writers, but their statements are now proved to be by no means very wide of the truth. Pliny says that no living body would sink in it; and Strabo, that persons who went into it were borne up to their middle. Maundrell says; "Being willing to make an experiment of its strength, I went into it, and found it bore up my body in swimming with an uncommon force." Pococke says, I was much pleased with what I observed of this extraordinary water. I found I could lay on it in any posture, without motion and without sinking.' Captain Mangles says, "The water is as bitter and as buoyant as people have reported. Those of our party who could not swim, floated on its surface like corks. On dipping the head in, the eyes smarted dreadfully." Dr. Marcet's accurate analysis has determined the specific gravity to be 1,211, (that of fresh water being 1000) a degree of density not to be met with in any other natural water. With regard to the agents employed in this catastrophe, there might seem reason to suppose that Volcanic phenomena had some share in producing it; but Chateaubriand's remark is deserving of attention. "I cannot," he says, "coincide in opinion with those who suppose the Dead Sea to be the crater of a Volcano. I have seen Vesuvius, Solfaterra, Monte Nuovo in the lake of Fusino, the peak of the Azores, the Mamalif opposite to Carthage, the extinguished Volcanoes of Auvergni; and remarked in all of them the same characters; that is to say, mountains excavated in the form of a tunnel, lava, and ashes, which exhibited incontestible proofs of the agency of fire." After noticing the very different shape and position of the Dead Sea, he adds; "Bituminous warm springs, and phosphoric stones are found, it is true, in the mountains of Arabia; but then, the presence of the hot springs, sulphur, and asphaltos, is not sufficient to attest the anterior existence of a Volcano." The learned Frenchman inclines to adopt the idea of Proffessors Michaelis and Büsching, that Sodom and Gomorrah were built upon a mine of bitumen; that the lightning kindled the combustible mass, and that the cities sunk in the subterraneous conflagration. We learn from the Mosaic account, that the vale of Siddim, which is now occupied by the Dead Sea, was full of "slime pits," or pits of bitumen. Pococke says, "It is observed, that the bitumen floats on the water, and comes ashore after windy weather; the Arabs gather it up, and it serves as pitch for all uses, goes into the composition of medicine, and is thought to have been a very great ingredient in bitumen used in embalming the bodies in Egypt: it has been much used for cerecloths, and has an ill smell when burnt. Dr.Shaw supposes that the bitumen, as it rises, is accompanied with sulphur, "inasmuch as both of them are found promiscuously upon the wash of the shore." But his conjectures are not founded on observation. It was long a received tradition, that no living thing could pass over this lake without being suffocated by the vapours, and that no fish could endure the deadly waters. But Captains Irby and Mangles saw a pair of Egyptian geese, and afterwards a flight of pigeons which passed over the Sea. And Maundrell saw several birds, he does not say of what species, flying about and over the sea, without any visible harm. ODE TO PEACE OF MIND. Come peace of mind, celestial guest Just as they seize the pleasing toy, St. Austle September. 1826. J. M. PROSPERITY. In secundissimis rebus, maxime est utendum consilio amicorum. Cicero. Off. L. 1. C. 26. NOTHING is more natural than for men, in adversity, to apply to their friends for advice and consolation; and however reluctant they may generally feel to submit to the judgment of others, there are few whose wills do not bend beneath affliction, or who refuse to yield to the council of those to whose opinions they have been accustomed to pay but little deference. But it is a maxim of equal importance to our happiness and safety, though one commonly overlooked,-that the advice of friends is no less needful in the most prosperous periods of life, than during its most adverse and afflictive scenes. It has been generally remarked that great success in the world, though anticipated with confidence, suspends for a while the cool exercise of the judgment, produces an instant change in our views and feelings, unfits us to apply immediately to the affairs of life with our wonted calmness and circumspection, affects more or less our whole character, and often determines our future career: that if, on the other hand, it arrives suddenly and unexpectedly, it is attended with all these effects in a more extensive and perhaps in a fatal degree. Prosperity, in short, is commonly found to banish from her presence, Prudence, Humility, and Caution; and to introduce into her service, Vanity, Presumption, and Folly, in their stead. It does not unfrequently happen that men, who from their circumscribed means, have rather aimed to escape the miseries of want, than aspired to the fulness of plenty, become by some sudden turn of fortune, possessed of riches, such as their hopes could not have anticipated, nor their prospects have warranted. After a long night of toil, Prosperity suddenly shines upon them,-like the sun bursting forth in all his glory, amidst darkness and tempests, the clouds instantly dispersing at his appearance, and the fury of the blast becoming exhausted. It happens as frequently that dazzled by their splendour, and puffed up by their newly-acquired wealth, they soon forget their former associates, and begin to regard with indifference those whom they once esteemed for their talents and virtues, to shun their company, and to treat them with neglect. Such should remember, however, that independent of their folly and ingratitude, at no period is the advice of their friends more needful, both as it regards their general conduct, and the future management of their affairs. It should be the aim of every man to demean himself, under all the changes of life, according to the dictates of wisdom and prudence. And as sudden prosperity often causes men to forget those practical lessons by which they have been usually guided; as by the height to which it elevates them, or by the difference it may occasion in their relative situation, it opens new duties, and requires in many respects a mode of conduct to which they have been unaccustomed, it becomes as much their duty fas their interest to solicit the council of those whose longtried friendship entitles them to confidence, and whose judgment and experience qualify them to become advisers. Nor should the advice of friends be thought by them less necessary with regard to their future proceedings. Possessed of riches, they may be inclined to retire from the active scenes of life, to enjoy in calmness and tranquillity the fruits of their good fortune: or they may be disposed to commence an establishment at once troublesome and expensive, to launch forth into all the pleasures and gaieties of a dissipated life: or they may propose to enter on extensive and perhaps flattering speculations, such as their ample means enable them to undertake. But before you determine on your future career, be careful to consult your friends; remembering that from their long intimacy, they are well acquainted with the peculiarities of your temper, and the nature and extent of your abilities; that they are therefore qualified to judge readily and correctly what pursuits may ultimately prove most congenial to the one, and best |