A PALACE OF MYSTERY.

PECULIAR fascination always seems to surround any object about which little is known or can be ascertained.

It is only necessary for its origin, age, and uses to be uncertain, or hidden in obscurity, to awaken deep and general interest; while the very fact that we "know all about" anything too often sinks it immediately to the level of the dull and commonplace. Among the architectural relics of a bygone age there is not another, perhaps, which is shrouded in such unfathomable mystery as the Zèrè-Batan Seraï, or Swallowed-up Palace" of Constantinople. The existence of this extraordinary structure was unknown until rather more than fifty years ago, when the falling in of a portion of ground in the capital city of Turkey revealed a vaulted hall or palace beneath of vast extent, and whose myriad pillars are founded in the depths of an inexplorable subterranean lake. A similar lapse of earth, occasioned by the sinking of some of the supporting arches, took place near the Sublime Porte; a third occurred at another time in the neighbourhood of the Mosque of St. Sophia; and a fourth such failure within the walls of the Record Office, proving that the stupendous Palace of Waters is of many square miles in extent.

The entrance to this subterranean edifice, from which it has been viewed by travellers (though evidently not the legitimate approach, which still remains undiscovered), is in the courtyard of a dwellinghouse. Here, after descending a steep slope, the visitor finds himself upon the brink of an immeasurable expanse of water, enshrouded in appalling silence and gloom; and rising from thence, rows upon rows of marble columns, about ten feet apart, supporting the massive arched roof. Each of these pillars is formed from a single block of stone; and, in addition to being adorned with Corinthian capitals, is in many instances elaborately sculptured, some entirely covered with beautiful carvings. In every direction they extend-dim, shadowy aisles of apparently interminable length, being lost in a perspective of impenetrable darkness. An awful stillness broods over all, but when broken by the sound of a human voice, weird and lingering echoes sweep far away into the invisible distance, or return in faint, sepulchral, yet strangely speech-like tones to the startled listener, who might almost imagine them to be the indistinct mutterings of a haunting spectre.

Such is the picture of Zèrè-Batan Seraï which is drawn for us by those writers who have had the privilege of viewing its wonders; gruesome enough in itself, but rendered still more so by the mournful

shadow of a tragedy once consummated somewhere amid its gloomy colonnades. In the year 1830, a young Englishman visiting Constantinople, not satisfied with gazing at the Palace of Waters from the opening above mentioned, pushed off from the land in a boat belonging to the effendi who owned the house, attended by a waterman who was accustomed to rowing the inmates about the margin of the lake, and who was probably induced to accompany him by the promise of a rich reward.

As the little craft glided away down those twilight avenues, the spectators upon the bank, growing alarmed, shouted to its occupants to return, or at least to limit their explorations to the entrance of the palace, but without effect. The rash young traveller produced a lamp, with which he had provided himself, and rowed on, and on, until its tiny spark was lost to the gaze of his anxious friends in the hitherto unexplored vaults beyond the farthest reach of daylight. In vain they watched for a returning glimmer! Hour after hour passed, day after day, but those two ill-starred men never again emerged into the open air, and until the resurrection of the dead their

fate will probably remain a secret, though full of dread possibilities; for they must either have perished through suffocation by a current of foul air, or from the more lingering agonies of hunger, as they wandered hopelessly in the darkness of that horrible labyrinth.

This melancholy incident was not, however, sufficient to deter another traveller, also an Englishman, from attempting to investigate the wonders and gauge the extent of this marvellous underground palace; though for some time the worthy Osmanli who owned the boat which replaced the one so unhappily lost, would not give his consent to such a dangerous expedition. But at length he was induced to comply, and the adventurer set forth; alone, however, for he could not prevail upon any one to accompany him into the unknown terrors to which he was, through curiosity and love of adventure, willing to expose himself. He took the precaution, however, to fasten one end of a quantity of strong twine to a column near the entrance of the hall, leaving the remainder to unravel itself from a reel as he went along; and having also fixed two torches to the stern of the boat, he boldly essayed to penetrate the mysterious building which had proved a tomb to the previous explorers.

With fearful misgivings those who remained upon the bank watched the burning torches fade farther and farther from their view; and as the time wore on the thought rose involuntarily in their minds, “Has this brave man also gone forth to his grave ?" Two hours passed; three, and there was no sign of the traveller's return. But towards the end of the fourth hour from his departure a feeble ray of light gleamed like a jewel in the Cimmerian distance, affording those who anxiously waited inexpressible relief; and shortly after, the wanderer sprang to shore, chilled and exhausted, to meet a torrent of inquiries from his overjoyed and curious friends.

There was not much to tell, however. He had proceeded in a direct ine along one of the aisles for two hours without discovering anything different from what was discernable at the brink-gloomy waters beneath, shadowy arches overhead; and on either hand, momentarily illuminated by the glare of torch-light, were the neverending pillars, which stretched in long colonnades around him in all directions, losing themselves in the darkness.

This account, which only served to supply additional evidence of the amazing vastness of that strange palace, so alarmed the master of the house and boat that he caused the latter to be forthwith destroyed, and subsequent visitors were compelled to content themselves with viewing the wonder from terra firma. Even that privilege has been since withdrawn, and as the Turkish authorities can throw no further light upon the subject, the history, extent, and original design of Zèrè-Batan Seraï are likely to remain among the inscrutable mysteries of the world. JENNIE CHAPPELL.

THE LEGEND OF THE TRUE CROSS.

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"Be the Cross our theme and story,
We who in the Cross's glory,

Shall exult for evermore.

By the Cross the warrior rises,
By the Cross the foe despises,

Till he gains the heavenly shore."

(Dr. Neale's translation of "Laudes Crucis Attollamus.")

OT a few of those legendary stories which were current in the Middle Ages embodied thoughts so beautiful, and breathed a spirit of such devotion, that a glance at some of them can hardly fail to be both interesting and profitable. We may benefit by the lessons they teach, while endeavouring to separate fact from fiction.

We begin with the legend of the HOLY ROOD or TRUE CROSS. We cannot doubt that a search for the true cross was instituted by the Empress Helena in the year 326, and that a belief in that search having proved successful exerted a wonderful influence upon the destinies of Christian nations. "The punishment of the Cross, as 'hanging on the tree' is interpreted, was used in very ancient times by the heathens, the criminal being sometimes bound to the cross or tree by cords, but more usually by nails," and it is a controverted point whether in the crucifixion three or four nails were employed, but four is considered by the best authorities to have been the number. It was a punishment accorded by the Romans to slaves and those convicted of the most heinous crimes. It was also a common mode of inflicting vengeance upon conquered enemies. It is a remarkable fact that one of the most terrible instances of the punishment recorded in history is the crucifixion by Titus of the Hebrews on the conquest of Jerusalem," when Josephus says the number was so great that wood was lacking for crosses, and we are told that Varus crucified 2,000 Jews at one time for sedition. There are two forms of cross familiar to us-the Greek, or St. Andrew's cross, shaped like the letter X, the Latin cross, which is portrayed in every picture of the crucifixion, with its transverse bar near the top, and there is another form-the Tau cross-which exactly resembles the letter T with a ring attached to the upper part of it. This form is not so well known as either the Greek or Latin cross. It was upon the latter that, according to our best commentators, our Lord was crucified, as it allowed room for the inscription to be placed over it, and it was composed of either two, or more probably