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On leaving Damascus, Dr. Robinson visited the ruins of Abila, which have acquired some notoriety, from the recent attempt made by M. de Sauley to claim the site as a discovery of his own. The delusion, in itself of no importance whatsoever, obtained such from its having been argued that it was no delusion at all, and that the learned academician was as well aware of the site as others. Certain it is that the very inscription, which he believed never to have been published, appears in Dr. Wilson's book, as also in the Journal des Savans for March, 1827. The historical notices marshalled forth by Dr. Robinson would make of it one of the most marked places in the country in which it occurs.

The great point, and indeed the only site of importance discovered on the road from Damascus to Baalbek, was Chalcis, under Lebanon, which the doctor identifies with the ruins at Anjar. It is questionable even if this can be called a discovery, for a writer in the Dictionary of Greek and Roman Geography (art. Chalcis), after discussing the evidence in favour of there being two cities of that name, one of which is the wellknown Kinnisnir, south of Aleppo, suggests that the second may be perhaps at Majdel Anjar, where Abu-l-feda (Tab. Syriæ, p. 20) speaks of great ruins of hewn stones. This, however, apparently from Robinson himself (Biblioth. Sacr. vol. v. p. 90). At all events, we are indebted to the doctor for a minute description of the locality, of its great fountain and its intermitting spring, and also of the existing ruins.

On the way from Baalbek to El Husn, the position of a few unimportant sites marked in the Antonine Itinerary were also determined; the sources of the Orontes were examined; the site of ancient Ribleh, by some confounded with Antioch, was established; and some details, but not from personal examination, are given of the cities in Colo-Syria. Dr. Robinson is in error, however, when he says the first to discover and describe the extensive ruins of Apamea was Mr. Thomson, in 1846-a minute description of the existing ruins will be found in Ainsworth's Magazine, vol. vi., for 1844.

Lastly, it is suggested that the well-known fortress, El Husn, may be the Mamonga of Ptolemy; the entrance into Hamath is identified with the great depression between Lebanon and the Nusairiyeh mountains; Jisr el Abyad is supposed to represent Eleutherus; Arka and its tell, ancient Arca, seat of the Arkites; and Afka with Apheca, with its adjacent temple to Venus.

These constitute, we believe, apart from the many valuable and interesting descriptions of known sites, the chief new points determined by Dr. Robinson in this his last journey. Few, it will be seen, are of much real importance to Biblical geography, although some, as Dothan, Cana, Emmaus, and a few others, possess high claims to interest. The new sites determined amount, we believe, to some fifty-a noble monument to the perseverance and laborious travel of one man. But we do not hesitate to say that, when the same system of exploration shall have been introduced into the Holy Land that has been practised in Assyria and in Chaldea, and the numerous tells shall have been excavated and laid bare, a new era in Biblical archæology will be established. The success that attended upon the Rev. Mr. Porter's first attempts at such a mode of exploration at Tell al Salahiyah, near Damascus, is sufficient to attest this great fact.

THE MAGIC BELL.

FROM THE SWEDISH OF UNCLE ADAM.*

THE memory of childhood is very retentive. I can even now recal, at any moment I please, the gardener at Mellingsta, Master Peter (I have forgotten his surname), in his white nightcap and his threadbare coat, just as he used to wander about the garden, or gaze in at the windows of the hot-house, to see if there were any melons or grapes. Master Peter was a person who particularly attracted my attention during my childhood; he was, I must tell you, the first scholar I had ever met. Pray do not laugh at the appellation scholar being applied to an old domestic; would that all learned men had as little pretence about them as he had, and that they studied the face of nature with as honest and unprejudiced a spirit as he did.

His small neat cottage was situated in the garden, and looked upon the high road; and whenever Master Peter happened to see any poor boy loitering on the road, he used to tap on the narrow window-frames to call him, and welcomed the little wayfarer under his hospitable though homely roof. If the child were a beggar, he would give him food; if he were not hungry, he would treat his little guest to fruit, present him with flowers, and display to him the numerous curiosities which he had gathered during a long life, and had arranged in his study as, with a sort of childish pride, he named a small room with the windows facing the road. Here he had his scanty library, among which was conspicuous Euler's Letters in a gilded binding, an invaluable acquisition from the auction of a deceased nobleman; then came Cavallo on Etiquette, Thunberg's Travels, and Hoffberg's Flora-every one books that Master Peter considered classical.

Master Peter was an indefatigable observer of meteorological changes. He had found it necessary, in pursuing his calling, to study the weather, and to make himself acquainted with all its prognostics and signs; it was necessary he should know whether he ought to place mats over the hothouses, or whether he should water the cucumber-beds; hence his knowledge of the weather was for him indispensable. No one knew better than he how to discern the skies; no one understood better the difference between the pale red hue which betokens an approaching storm, and the more decided purple which announces fine weather. He also possessed instruments to facilitate his favourite study. He was the owner of a thermometer and a barometer, and considered so weatherwise in the neighbourhood, that he was looked upon as an oracle throughout the parish, the peasantry leaving their corn with perfect confidence in stacks upon the fields, as long as Master Peter did not prophesy rain; but if, after church on Sunday, Master Peter said, "We shall have rain before the week is out," far and near one saw the harvest being gathered in.

"Uncle Adam" is the nom de plume of a popular Swedish author.

Mellingsta was an ancient baronial castle, one of those massive buildings which bear witness to a period long gone by; a time one loves to dwell upon, owing to its numerous and great recollections, which float before us in mysterious obscurity. It was a relic of the epoch when the nobility were at the height of their glory, when wealth, honour, and education were still their especial prerogative; when as yet the prosaic middle classes had not forced themselves forward, and obliterated the poetry of chivalry. It is sad to mark the changes of time. To a simple, fervent mind it must be somewhat distressing to see a great historical name eclipsed by a name of yesterday; yet this must sometimes happen, for the energetic power, ever pressing forward, does not lie in individuals, but in the whole human race.

Mellingsta was built in the olden style, although it had undergone many alterations. It was a three-story house, with high windows, which of old used to be arched, but which more recently had been changed, as a semicircle over each window clearly proved. A round tower, which rose somewhat above the pointed roof, stood forth like a colossal pillar ; within this tower a spiral staircase led to each floor; the steps were worn away, which one generation after another had ascended and descended. Behind this large gloomy building was an extensive garden with its straight alleys, and quite in the background lay the small cottage in which Master Peter dwelt. But even here the pointed black roof of the castle was visible, and likewise one of its greatest peculiarities, namely, a bell, which hung beneath a dark green copper covering. This bell had no other inscription than an "Ave Maria," most probably traced by the hand of some monk; for the bell was believed to have been carried off from a monastery by one of the ancestors of the baronial family during the time of the Reformation. Even in my childhood that bell hung there. It was never used, for no bell-rope was attached to it; but tradition relates that it rings of itself at midnight when any great misfortune is about to take place in the family. Further, it is told that several of the former proprietors of the castle, not liking this evil-prophesying bell, determined to take it down and have it melted; but when people were sent up to remove it, one of the men was always hurled down by an invisible power, and hence no soul now dared to make any further attempt to dislodge it. The bell, therefore, still hung in its old place, and was regarded by the surrounding peasantry with a mysterious dread.

Even Master Peter could not free himself of this popular belief; on the contrary, he had carefully noted down how often he had heard the hollow tones, and added an account of the misfortune which immediately after, or at the same moment, had overtaken the family. Now this one, now that one had died, now one of the family estates had been laid waste by lightning, now a member of the noble race had fallen into disgrace with some high personage-an event which was always deeply lamented

in those old aristocratic families.

In the evenings, when Master Peter was making his daily observations on the weather, if by chance he cast his eyes in the direction of the castle, and beheld the bell, which hung in its elevated position, silent, like inscrutable fate, with its motionless iron tongue suspended from its wide and gaping throat, the old man's brow would contract, and he would turn

quickly away. If you watched the play of his countenance at such a moment, you would see an expression of pain pass over his features, and at the same moment you would hear a deep-drawn sigh. There was something in all this which naturally attracted the attention of us children. His usual mild, cheerful expression changed so suddenly. Children are faithful and sharp-sighted physiognomists; they understand better than grown-up people the workings of the soul portrayed upon the features, and they draw their own little conclusions. Hence we settled in our own minds that Master Peter was afraid of the bell, that he feared he might suddenly see its ponderous tongue set in motion by an invisible hand, and hear its ominous and dreaded toll. We ourselves were in fear lest this might take place, and we could scarcely look up to where the bell was hanging without shuddering. But we were mistaken. Master Peter had other causes for pain, which were awakened afresh whenever he cast his eyes upon this fatal bell.

The good man had not always lived like a hermit. Many years ago he had an amiable wife, who superintended his limited household, and helped him in his work. She was a charming person-just such a benevolent, kind-hearted creature as himself. They lived happily together, and if they ever did disagree, it was never very seriously; they were both too good and sensible for that. Thus they spent many peaceful years, but at length cruel death robbed the poor gardener of his sweet wife, and all that now remained to him was a son, to whom he gave a good education to fit him for one of the learned professions.

His son did not disappoint his ambitious hopes; but, alas! the mother died on very day on which the son, amidst the sound of music and the din of cannon, received the wreath of laurels.*

Johannes-so the son was called-returned home to his father. That was a day of mingled joy and sadness to the old man. His son accompanied him to the village churchyard to pay a first visit to his beloved mother's grave. There they sat recalling the time when Johannes was a child, and used to help his father with his instruments and his humble researches. Now the youth had outstripped the old man in the career of learning, but the parent felt no envy at this; on the contrary, he was proud that he possessed a son who excelled himself-all his ambition was centred in him; Johannes was more than himself-he was the joy and pride of his old age.

They had sat thus a long time absorbed in the recollections of the past, when they were suddenly aroused from their meditations by a cheerful "Good evening!" Master Peter sprang up and bowed low. Johannes, however, merely smiled and offered his hand familiarly to the new comer as he said, "Good evening! dear Johanna."

"Of what are you thinking?" exclaimed the father. "It is the daughter of our noble lord; it is the Lady Johanna—”

"No, no," said the young girl, seizing the proffered hand of the son"no, no, Master Peter! Johannes knew me in times gone by, when we used to play with each other. He is quite right."

*

Every three years, in Sweden, a public examination is held, when those who have distinguished themselves at college receive the title of Master of Arts, the badge of which is a wreath of laurel.

"Pardon me!" stammered Johannes, embarrassed at having forgotten the change a few years had wrought in their relative positions" pardon me, my lady! At the moment I thought only of my former playfellow,

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and not

"And not," continued the damsel, laughing, "that I have become a tall girl, and you a tall gentleman, with stiff collars, instead of those very becoming turn-down collars you used to wear of old. Dear Johannes, you really do not look half so handsome now as then."

"I cannot,” replied Johannes, fixing his eyes upon the lovely, blooming girl" I cannot say the same of you, my lady!"

"I beg pardon in my son's name," exclaimed Master Peter. "He still preserves his Upsala manners, and is somewhat free and easy, but that will pass off. He means no harm by it, my noble lady."

The young girl smiled at the good old man's excuses, and without answering him a word, she plucked a rose, and offering it to Johannes, she said,

"My dear master of arts! do not allow yourself to be appalled by the title of lady. Johanna, alas! is just as childish as she was formerly; and, what is worse, she has hardly sufficient respect for learned men."

They now separated, but Johanna's image had again found its way into the young man's susceptible heart, and now no power could banish it.

At the sight of his former playfellow all his boyish love for the beautiful child was reawakened, and he determined to quit his home before his feelings acquired too great a mastery over his reason. But Providence had willed it otherwise. The proprietor of the castle, Baron Kronswärd, was in want of a tutor for his son, it so happened that he fixed upon Johannes to fill the place. The young man clearly perceived the dangerous consequences which such a situation might entail upon him, therefore he did his best to escape it; but Master Peter worked against him, and he was obliged to submit. The baron could do so much for him, he could be of such assistance to him in his future career, that he was at length forced to accept the dangerous offer.

Baron Kronswärd was an upright man, of honest old Swedish principles. He never suspected deceit, and still less that he might awaken wild and impetuous feelings. He himself had always been free from tender passions, and therefore he imagined that every one resembled himself. Hence it was sheer ignorance of the human heart which induced him to invite the playfellow of his daughter's childhood to be a daily guest in his house; ignorance also made him as little suspect the folly of which he was guilty, when one evening, after Johannes had shown himself a perfect master of the pianoforte, he proposed that he should give his daughter lessons on that instrument.

If the good baron had caught the slightest glimpse of the quick glance of joy which Johanna cast upon the young master of arts, he most probably would have let the matter drop, but he observed nothing; on the contrary, he forced Johannes to begin at once his musical instruction.

A young man and a young girl ought never to play a duet. Music is the language of passion and love; it is the language of the heart, and betrays our inmost feelings even without our consent. The young people had not long continued their musical studies before he was aware that he

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