when I loved to seek a glimpse of inspiration in such scenes, to imitate Moore's poetry, and throw rhymes together, about the rills and hills, streams and beams, and even and heaven, and fancy I was a genius!" "Tis gone'tis gone 'tis gone!" as old Capulet says.

But let us recall it for a moment. Have the com/plaisance to indulge me in a day-dream, and fan y, if you can, that you sit beside me on the bank. We are beyond the hearing of the turmoil and bustle of the town; "the city's voice itself is soft, like solitude's ;" and there is a hush around us that is delightful-the beautiful repose of the evening. The sun, that, but a few minutes since, rushed down the west with the speed of a wandering star, pauses, ere he shall set, upon the very verge of the horizon, and smiles upon his own handiwork-the creation of his fostering fervour.

us.

Hark! one sound alone reaches us here; and how grand, and solemn, and harmonious, in its monotony! These are the great bells of St. Mary's. Their deep-toned vibrations undulate so as to produce a sensible effect on the air around The peculiar fineness of the sound has been often remarked; but there is an old story connected with their history, which, whenever I hear them ring out over the silent city, gives a something more than harmony to the peal. I shall merely say, that what I am about to relate is told as a real occurrence; and I consider it so touchingly poetical in itself, that I shall not dare to supply a fictitious name, and fictitious circumstances, where I have been unable to procure the actual ones.

They were originally brought from Italy; they had been manufactured by a young native (whose name the tradition has not preserved,) and finished after the toil of many years; and he prided himself upon his work. They were consequently purchased by the prior of a neighbouring convent; and, with the profits of this sale, the young Italian procured a little villa, where he had the pleasure of hearing the tolling of his bells from the convent cliff, and of growing olà in the bosom of domestic happiness.

This, howeve., was not to continue. In some of those broils, whether civil or foreign, which are the undying worm in the peace of a fallen land, the good Italian was a sufferer amongst many. He lost his all; and, after the passing of the storm, found himself preserved alone amid the wreck of fortune, friends, family, and home. The convent, in which the bells, the master-pieces of his skill, were hung,

was razed to the earth, and these last carried away inte another land.

The unfortunate owner, haunted by his memories, and deserted by his hopes, became a wanderer over Europe. His hair grew gray, and his heart withered, before he again found a home or a friend. In this desolation of spirit, he formed a resolution of seeking the place, to which those treasures of his memory had been finally borne. He sailed for Ireland; proceeded up the Shannon; the vessel anchored in the Pool, near Limerick, and he hired a small boat for the purpose of landing.

The city was now before him; and he beheld St. Mary's steeple, lifting its turreted head above the smoke and mist of the Old Town. He sat in the stern, and looked fondly toward it. It was at evening, so calm and beautiful, as to remind him of his own native haven in the sweetest time of the year-the death of the spring. The broad stream appeared like one smooth mirror, and the little vessel glided through it with almost a noiseless expedition.

On a sudden, amid the general stillness, the bells tolled from the cathedral; the rowers rested on their oars, and the vessel went forward with the impulse it had received. The old Italian looked towards the city, crossed his arms on his breast, and lay back in his seat. Home, happiness, early recollections, friends, family-all were in the sound, and went with it to his heart. When the rowers looked round, they beheld him with his face still turned toward the cathedral; but his eyes were closed, and, when they landed-they found him cold!

Such are the associations, which the ringing of St. Mary's bells brings to my recollection. I do not know how I can better conclude this letter than with the little melody, from which I have taken the line above. It is a good specimen of the peculiar tingling melody of the author's poetry-a quality in which he never has been equalled in his own language, nor exceeded in any other:-Why! you can almost fancy you hear them ringing!

"Those evening bells--those evening bells-
How many a tale their music tells

Of youth, and home, and native clime,
When I last heard their soothing chime.

"Those pleasant hours have passed awav,
And many a heart, that then was gay,
Within the tomb now darkly dwells,
And hears no more those evening bells.

"And so 'twill be when I am gone :
That tuneful peal will still ring on,
When other bards shall walk those dells,
And sing your praise, sweet evening bells!"

LESSON XCIV.

Description of Jerusalem and the surrounding Country.-
LETTERS FROM THE EAST.

ALTHOUGH the size of Jerusalem was not extensive, its very situation, on the brink of rugged hills, encircled by deep and wild valleys, bounded by eminences whose sides were covered with groves and gardens, added to its numerous towers, and temple, must have given it a singular and gloomy magnificence scarcely possessed by any other city in the world.

The most pleasing feature in the scenery around the city is the valley of Jehoshaphat. Passing out of the gate of St. Stephen, you descend the hill to the torrent of the Kěd'ron: a bridge leads over its dry and deep bed: it must have been a very narrow, though, in winter, a rapid stream. On the left is a grotto, handsomely fitted up, and called the tomb of the Virgin Mary, though, it is well known, she neither died nor was buried near Jerusalem. Being surprised, however, on the hills by a long and heavy shower of rain, we were glad to take shelter beneath the doorway of this grotto.

A few steps beyond the Kedron, you come to the garden of Gethsem'ǎně, of all gardens the most interesting and hallowed; but how neglected and decayed! It is surrounded by a kind of low hedge; but the soil is bare; no verdure grows on it, save six fine venerable olive-trees, which have stood here for many centuries. This spot is at the foot of Olivet, and is beautifully situated: you look up and down the romantic valley; close behind rises the mountain; before you are the walls of the devoted city.

While lingering here, at evening, and solitary,—for it is not often a footstep passes by, that night of sorrow and dismay rushes on the imagination, when the Redeemer was betrayed, and forsaken by all, even by the loved disciple.Hence the path winds up the Mount of Olives: it is a beautiful hill: the words of the Psalmist, “the mountains around Jerusalem," must not be literally applied, as none are within

view, save those of Arabia. It is verdant, and covered, in some parts, with olive-trees. From the summit you enjoy an admirable view of the city: it is beneath, and very near; and looks, with its valleys around it, exactly like a panorama.* Its noble temple of Omar, and large area planted with palms; its narrow streets, ruinous places, and towers, are all laid out before you.

On the summit are the remains of a church, built by the Empress Hěl'ĕna; and, in a small edifice, containing one large and lofty apartment, is shown the print of the last footstep of Christ, when he took his leave of earth. The fathers should have placed it nearer to Bethany, in order to accord with the account given us in Scripture; but it answers the purpose of drawing crowds of pilgrims to the spot. Descending Olivet to the narrow valley of Jehoshaphat, you soon come to the pillar of Absalom: it has a very antiquet appearance, and is a pleasing object in the valley. it is of a yellow stone, adorned with half columns, formed into three stages, and terminates in a cupola.

The tomb of Zacharias, adjoining, is square, with four or five pillars, and is cut out of the rock. Near these is a sort of grotto, hewn out of an elevated part of the rock, with four pillars in front, which is said to have been the apostles' prison at the time they were confined by the rulers. The small and wretched village of Siloa is built on the rugged sides of the hill above; and just here the valleys of Hinnom and Jehoshaphat meet, at the south-east corner of Mount Zion: they are both sprinkled with olive-trees.

Over the ravinet of Hinnom, and directly opposite the city, is the Mount of Judgment, or of Evil Counsel; because there, they say, the rulers took counsel against Christ, and the palace of Caiaphas stood. It is a broad and barren hill, without any of the picturesque|| beauty of Olivet, though loftier. On its side is pointed out the Aceldama,¶ or field where Judas hung himself: a small and rude edifice stands on it, and it is used as a burying-place.

But the most in'teresting portion of this hill, is where its rocks descend precipitously into the valley of Hinnom, and are mingled with many a straggling olive-tree. All these rocks are hewn into sepulchres of various forms and sizes: no doubt they were the tombs of the ancient Jews, and are in general cut with considerable care and skill. They are often the resting-place of the benighted passenger. Some

* Pron. pan-o-ra'-ma-a as in father. § Cay'-ǎ-phas. || pic-tshu-resk'

+ an-teek'.
TA-sel'-dă-ma.

‡ra-veen'.

of them open into inner apartments, and are provided with small windows or apertures cut in the rock.

In these there is none of the darkness or sadness of the tomb; but in many, so elevated and picturesque is the situation, a traveller may pass hours, with a book in his hand, while valley and hill are beneath and around him. Before the door of one large sepulchre stood a tree on the brink of the rock; the sun was going down on Olivet on the right, and the resting-place of the dead commanded a sweeter scene than any of the abodes of the living.

Many of the tombs have flights of steps leading up to them: it was in one of these that a celebrated traveller would fix the site of the holy sepulchre: it is certainly more picturesque; but why more just, is hard to conceive; since the words of Scripture do not fix the identity of the sacred tomb to any particular spot, and tradition, on so memorable an occasion, could hardly err. The fathers declare, it long since became absolutely necessary to cover. the native rock with marble, in order to prevent the pilgrims from destroying it, in their zeal to carry off pieces to their homes; and on this point their relation may, one would suppose, be believed.

The valley of Hinnom now turns to the west of the city, and extends rather beyond the north wall: here the plain of Jeremiah commences, and is the best wooded tract in the whole neighbourhood. In this direction, but further on, the historian of the siege speaks" of a tower, that afforded a prospect of Arabia at sunrising, and of the utmost limits of the Hebrew possessions at the sea westward." The former is still enjoyed from the city; but the latter could only be had at a much greater distance north, where there is no hill in front.

Above half a mile from the wall, are the tombs of the kings. In the midst of a hollow, rocky, and adorned with a few trees, is the entrance; you then find a large apartment, above fifty feet long, at the side of which a low door, over which is a beautiful frieze,* leads into a series† of smal chambers, in the walls of which are several deep recesses, hewn out of the rock, of the size of the human body. There are six or seven of these low and dark apartments, one or two of which are adorned with vine-leaves and clusters of grapes. Many parts of the stone coffins, beautifully orna