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Saul among his people. It is, however, by no means the largest plane tree in existence, for this species seems to have been a sort of Anak amongst trees. At Buyukdere, on the banks of the Bosphorous, there stands a plane tree, said to be 2,000 years old, whose circumference at the base is 140 feet.

The plane is not, as is commonly supposed, identical with the sycamore, which is closely allied to the fig tree. The true plane belongs to a genus of its own-platanacea; and the handsome tree, found so frequently in Greece and Asia Minor, is the platanus orientalis, to which order the plane trees of Damascus and Buyukdere belong.

Undoubtedly the ancient city owes its beauty and fertility to its rivers, the excellence of which were in ancient days so loudly extolled by Naaman, the Syrian. The river which immediately concerns Damascus is the Barada (Abana). We saw a swift-flowing stream rippling over pebbles, and making that gurgling music which Arabs love to listen to, especially amongst the fumes of their nargillehs.

On entering Damascus the Barada performs the duties of a watering can. Innumerable offshoots sap the main stream, which is not unlike one of our Northumbrian trout streams, and makes one long for a twelve foot rod, and a cast of flies. These offshoots and canals, in their turn, are tapped by nearly every house in the city, and in this wise the Barada shoots up its cooling spray, inside the courtyard of the Pasha and the people. Aqueducts and canals also connect the Nahr-el-Awaj (Pharpar) with Damascus, so that in the droughty summer time the city has more than one river to depend upon for its life-giving water.

(To be continued.)



QUAINT little woman is before us. Her jet black hair-as much of it as we can see under a worn straw bonnet-waves over a singularly low forehead; her cheeks wear the bloom of health; and her active steps are scarcely restrained to meet the pace of a wan creature who hangs upon her arm. The tongue of this small personage, too, is doing double duty in tones which-now eager, sometimes angry, often merry--give one the idea of a busy, bustling body, fond of gossip, quick in temper, but warm of heart; one with a bump for "order," and another for "fuss;" thorough cleanliness, and a spice of intolerance for others less particular; ever ready to do an act of kindness, but it must be done in her own time We can picture such a woman, in

and way.

some mechanic's three roomed home, ruling husband and children-aye, and on the whole, ruling well and comfortably.


In strange contrast moves the girl at her side; she has a pure, sweet face, but the hollow eyes are darkly underlined, and the general pallor is only relieved by a hectic spot on either cheek. Her form is attenuated, and the bones sharp for such transparent skin; the entire pose denotes utter lassitude, and she breathes in troubled gasps. Her light brown hair is smooth and shining; and she is well wrapped in a warm cloth cloak; a knitted "cloud" twisted round her neck; and the feet protected from damp by india-rubber over-shoes. age is possibly about twenty-two or twentythree, not more. That quiet countenance, with its lines of suffering, tells its own taleand, as she passes out of sight, we ponder : "Can this once have been a hearty, laughing girl? Has she been a flower worker, and has the subtle arsenical poison crept into the system and sapped its life springs? Or, is she but another of the victims who sew, make, and machine life away; devoted to a confinement wherein is neither rest nor relaxation, in order that the instant demands of our 'beau monde' may be satisfied, whatever the cost?" Who can tell? At least, we gather one happy thought: She has a mother who tends her lovingly during these latter days.

But, who comes here? A sailor by his gait, rolling from side to side, "like a ship in distress," and evidently forgetting that he is not "still on board and pacing all the deck!" There is an expression of courage and generosity on his bronzed visage, yet, we cannot but notice the voluptuous underlip; nor, alas, are other signs absent, that even this strong frame bows at times to the demon of "drink."

Even while we think, and heave a burdened sigh, there reels along something in the form of man, but oh, how degraded, how fallen. We venture but a glance of mingled pity and disgust, and pass rapidly on from the storm of evil words uttered by those maudlin lips—and, surely that is a policeman hastening forward? Yes! See, he takes the unhappy wretch by the arm, and away he is marched, to sleep off his debauch in the "lock-up."

comes a

"Wull ee buy enny feesh-h-h-h! shrill cry, so discordant that we turn round sharply and observe a stout, burly woman, clad in a navy blue petticoat and blouse; a huge creel hangs over her shoulders; and she knits her brows preparatory to each reiteration of her harsh cry. The face is not an unpleasant one; it is clean, rather weatherbeaten, and stolid looking, with a good natured twinkle in the keen gray eyes; and now and then, when a possible customer hies in sight, a broad

220 A STROLL THROUGH M— grin ushers once more that prolonged call: "Wull ee buy enny feesh-h-h-h!"

But we have watched her too long. Look now at the character coming slowly forward, himself seeing no one, so evidently is he lost in thought. What a start! A lady has bowed, expressing a bright, "Good morning," as she wends her way townwards. For a moment he is roused, off comes the hat-a trifle late to be sure, but no matter, the action is that of a gentleman. You may perhaps smile at this, reader, but we confess to a fancy that there is " expression" in the manner in which a man lifts his hat; just as much as there is in the various modifications of a lady's bow! In this case there are no half measures; the hat comes off without pretence, disclosing a bald head, fair complexion, iron grey whiskers, and a well marked forehead-especially where lie the perceptive faculties. His eyes are His eyes are deeply sunk, and he looks by nature a silent man. There is evident ability here-but, of what order? Without that depression of skull between the eyes, which is supposed to indicate small brain power, he is also without those bright prominent eyes which stamp those who, although their organ of retention is small, can yet grasp the bearings of a subject instantly and wholly. We imagine that he will acquire systematically, and so arrange his daily increasing possessions of knowledge, that they may never be wanting when sought. It is an "Orderly" brain; and we observe, that the organ of "Number," in addition to that of Language," is largely developed. Who and what is he? He may be a historian, or, perchance, a mathematician; at the least we conclude him one of the College Professors; and so leave him to proceed upon his thoughtful way. Amongst the many-hastening to and fro, as the morning advances-we distinguish a tall, dark, and graceful lady, with good features, and a countenance which looks as though its wonted aspect was calmness and strength; the curves of the mouth are womanly and not ungentle, but the picture is at present one of mingled feelings--one in which indignation, sorrow, and suppressed suffering all take part. Yet the dark eyes are steadfast, the lips firmly compressed, and the very walk resolute. Whatever else is at fault, self-command assuredly reigns, and permits no rebellion against its dictates! She has something to do, and she means to do it-it is something unpleasant too, but that will not hinder her. She is one of the few who, at the call of duty, will be found foremost in the ranks, and whose reward is not here. This, at least--if every rule of phrenology does not play us false-is our inference. So busy have we been, how ever, with the face that we have forgotten the



dress. Oh, culpable negligence and misuse of speeding moments! Can we ever be forgiven?

Behold next, a collision between two men, whom we judge as entirely opposite in likeness and character, as it is possible for any bearing the common name of man to be. "Mother Nature" at times thus brings her striking shades of contrast upon the stage of life. One is a lanky, serpent sort of man, with "Deceit " written legibly upon his brow; his left eye is notably black and blue; and a squint perhaps partially gives the sinister "caste" to his face, as the upward tendency of the nose does to


Cunning!" It has been well said: "How little we know what is in the bosom of those around us. Could we look into the heart, we should often pity where we hate-love where we think we can never forget and admire where we feel indignation. To judge without reserve is culpable temerity." True, most true-and yet, if it were but faithfully studied, we believe that the countenance is a wonderful index to the mind, and one that seldom mistakes. We, therefore, no longer withhold our opinion that-thus judging the individual under our notice is an idle, skulking, oilytongued, scamp! Examine for a moment his "opposite." He is a tall, noble man, and his clearly cut Grecian face looks calm and selfreliant, and speaks of genuineness and individuality. His eyes of that indescribable colour which seems to alter and deepen with each varying thought-shine with a beauty from within, and light up the white, expansive brow, in its frame of dark brown hair. Not often seen are the characters of this face, but when seen they are not to be mistaken or forgotten. Nor does his voice dispel the charm; it is musical and cultivated, though the words are only "I beg your pardon," as he recovers from the unexpected shock, and walks onward with a smile.

A nurse advances, bearing in her arms such a laughing, dimpled, blue-eyed baby! Two rosycheeked boys prance by her side-intelligent lads they are, though nurse has some difficulty to keep them in the order she considers seemly for the public streets. More sedately and in front, walks a perfect little "fairy queen," slight of form and graceful in every movement; her face fair and delicate; a profusion of golden hair waving over her shoulders; and her soul looking out upon the world, from large hazel eyes, shaded by long dark lashes.


But we have almost reached our destination, and as we approach the welcome door, which is already opened for our admittance, we instinctively turn and take another look at this happy party. It is, indeed, a lovely picture, upon which our memory in after years will often turn with a refreshing remembrance of innocence and joy.


was Christmas, that time of year when the outer world is left to take care of itself, and all is mirth and cheerfulness indoors-when we throw off the clinging care which surrounds us and receive pleasure with outstretched arms, either in the quiet cottage, the fashionable ballroom, or the theatre-when distant relatives again gather round the once united hearth to partake of the welcome which they know will be theirs. Such was the custom in the ancient Hall of Amore, which had been followed for many years.

Thus I would advise you to trust not to nature. She is proud and soon offended; and if she cannot take away that which she has given, she will intrigue with this world's vanity, and end your lives in delusions and blighted hopes. I see you grow weary under my philosophy, therefore I will not trouble you longer, but proceed.

An old-fashioned castle was that of Amore. It stood on a broad green meadow, surrounded by a tall forest. It is now mostly a ruin, and ivy decks the battlements where once the bustle and din of war was heard, and in many parts the bare stone walls only remain as monuments of bygone days. One of the most interesting features of the castle is, that it has always descended without interruption from father to son from the first founder of the family.

Hubert Larelle, who was what you would call superintendent, or to be more correct, and what he generally called himself, secretary to Lord Amore, had been connected with the family from his birth, and his father had also filled the post of steward for several years prior to his death. His greatest delight was to dwell upon the legends which tradition had handed down to posterity in connection with illustrious personages of the Amore family, their deeds of chivalry, and several warlike tendencies; in fact, his life was bound to that antique house. To that individual we were indebted for the startling story he revealed, as we sat round the brilliant Christmas fire which burned brightly in the old-fashioned fireplace in the ancient Hall of Amore.

It is now so long since I first heard it, that my memory on several points misgives me, but I will endeavour to relate it, as far as possible, as I originally heard it.

"You will have heard," he began, "of Roland, who disappeared so suddenly-he was the eldest son of the late lord. I was young then, but still remember him as of yesterday, gay, liberal, handsome, beloved by all who knew him. He was one of those beings enamoured by nature; and all the charms that nature could insert had entered him. She had even robbed others to make him a perfect man. Such was Roland, God bless him! Yet with all these charms and endowments, his life was blighted by one never-to-be-forgotten tragedy.

could be desired. "Roland, in his younger days, was all that His mother doated on him, and her life was centred in his happiness. She loved him as only a mother can love; and dreams of future greatness would flash before her eyes. His father was devoted to his heir.

"Time rolled on, and soon Roland could no longer be called a boy. At the age of nineteen his father obtained a commission for him in the army. He was ordered at once to join his regiment, which was preparing to proceed to India for a three years' service.

"A youth of handsome appearance, and with round him a goodly number of associates. prospects of no mean order, would soon gather Such was the case with Roland, who, with a spirit of animation and liveliness which is seldom equalled, soon made way in his new quarters, and received a name for gallantry which made many an envious heart.

"However, the time passed quickly away, and Roland returned home-returned to bis own native place, fair Amore. What a day we had! Well do I remember it. His mother wept with joy. His father was in ecstasy. We were eager to behold the young soldier, and every little anecdote which came to a more favoured domestic's ears, was eagerly sought after, and, of course, in the process of passing from mouth to mouth, it was greatly enlarged, until it reached most alarming dimensions.

"An observant eye could, however, see that he was not the same Roland of three years ago. There was not that kind and sympathetic look in his dark blue eyes, but an unintelligible and unsettled appearance, which gave a gloomy mien to his handsome features; but, for all that, he was Roland-the dear, affectionate Roland, whom we all loved so much.

"He had obtained a six months' leave of absence, and, as we thought, had given himself entirely up to enjoyment; but suddenly, without any apparent reason, he became sullen and dejected, and very seldom went out of doors, but wandered about the hall more like a condemned criminal than the heir to this handsome property and the many opportunities of enjoyment it afforded.

"His strange conduct and inexplicable disposition could not fail to be observed. Many were the reasons advanced, but all were wide of the mark.


'Roland, from my infancy, had treated me

more as an equal than an inferior. In our boyhood we shared alike our joys and sorrows, and I was always a ready associate in whatever enterprise he ventured to undertake. Thus, you will understand, as my lot was cast in the service of the Amore's, I have always honoured them, but more so Roland; and you will see, by the sequel, how it was reciprocated.

"You cannot picture, therefore, how deeply I was concerned about his strange behaviour, and I determined, if possible, to become acquainted with its cause, but my determination was of no avail, as it was spontaneously told me by himself.

"One evening, while proceeding to the library for a book (the works of Catullas) for my lord, I happened to meet Roland alone in the corridor leading to the library. So absorbed was he that he did not observe my approach. His thoughts must have been keen, for his hands were firmly clinched, and his eyes were wild, and he gazed with a vacant stare. His long hair in exuberant clusters hung o'er his forehead, giving his features, which were naturally of a pensive character, a gloomy yet determined aspect.

"Suddenly he started and looked scared, then recovering himself, he said, 'Hubert, is that you? What brings you here?' I replied that his father desired me to bring him the works of Catullas.

"Catullas,' he said in an abstracted tone, 'it was you that loved the fair Lesbia, but when she grew weary of thee, and went with other paramours, yet thou did'st still love her, and found consolation in thy constancy. Oh! that it had been the case with me.' Before, however, I had time to speak, he beckoned me to enter the room he had just left.


"Hubert,' he said, when we had stood for several minutes in silence, we have known each other from childhood. You have ever been my constant companion and my best friend; therefore, not without reluctance, I have resolved to disclose to you my secret. I am sure my unnatural and almost unaccountable behaviour has been observed by you, but when I communicate this most terrible misfortune you will abhor me. Nay, even day, as if ashamed of so horrible a deed being told in her face, shudders at me, and I deem that I take advantage of her brightness; for such an act as I have committed is fit only for darksome night to listen to.

"Before I unburden my soul, Hubert,' he continued, 'you must first give me your solemn promise not to repeat one word you hear. You must even think of it yourself not as a reality, but a horrible dream. Promise me this, for I know your word is reliable.' I gave him what he required, and he proceeded as follows:

"You know not that I have been married for some months to one of the sweetest creatures that nature ever formed. I often think she was not human, but a spirit which had passed the stage of earthly existence, and had already entered the world of ethereal beings. Whenever I think of her, Hubert, my heart beats faster, and my imagination is more vivid. Her society was like a blissful dream, but when away from her, my soul was depressed, and I was miserable, for I loved her with a strange and amorous passion-a passion that the wildest dream of a poet ever invented.

"These months soon passed away; each day seemed but an hour, each hour a minute. I often thought it was a glorious dream, but one look into her large expressive eyes reassured me of its reality. Oh! that fate had ordained me for ever to sit by her side and gaze into that smiling face; but, even as the sun precedes the cloud, and the cloud precedes the storm, so was it with our love. All was bright and shining; but clouds began to gather, and then the rain fell, aye, and a dreadful shower it was.

"One day, as I paid her my usual visit, she seemed flushed and agitated. Her bright and lovely smile played upon her dimpled cheek no more, but in its place there was a dismal, gloomy look, and, instead of her pleasant welcome, a tear stood in her once lucid eye. I tried to comfort her, but, not knowing what her sorrow was, my words had no effect. Why such a change had come over her I never could find out. When I asked her what the cause was, she evaded my question by asking me another.

"Several days elapsed, still there was no change in her demeanour. Her behaviour altogether was strange in the extreme.

"Once, when going to pay her an unexpected visit, and as I was proceeding to the house, I saw the door ajar, and heard voices in earnest conversation. Oh! that my destiny had been to die at that moment; then what a boon it would have conferred on me.

"Love, as Plato says, is a madness, and therefore we cannot, I hope, be answerable for deeds we commit when under its influence. It is a passion that brings to light all the better qualities of human nature. To love! to be loved! what jocund music is there. Two hearts bound together by no other tie than what Nature can insert. A man at that time of his existence is a slave to Venus. All other objects are but temporal; he is distracted, therefore not under his own control. He breathes and walks only on this earth; his soul rises to such an elevated height, and cannot see his lunacy, which others not so exalted observe. But, oh! Hubert, there is a passion, the extreme of love, that has a likeness in death-death, that treads

upon life's fading steps, and at the last stands triumphant with horrid glare on our graves. Thus it is, oh! Jealousy, Love's infernal son: it is thee that follows in the wake of divine love, and the slightest invitation thou art ready to accept. It is thee that feeds on her ambrosia, and intoxicates thyself with her nectar. Oh! Hubert, had it not been for that infernal passion, life hereafter would have been a paradise.

"While standing listening, against my will, to their conversation, a horrible thought entered my brain-a thought that would to God I had never entertained.

"My head became giddy; a sickly sensation crept over me, and if I had not caught hold of the door I would have fallen to the ground. When I had recovered a little, I asked myself the question, What meant her strange and incomprehensible manner? Then would come that one same answerr-deceived. I cast it away, but again and again it would penetrate my brain, and would not be offended.

"To one who was unaware that he possessed so terrible a passion (for you know, Hubert, I was always of a mild disposition) it came with terrific force, even as love comes at first sight. I was mad and insensible to all around, and the conversation which I heard, my burning brain took up with more emphasis. I could stand it no longer; with one wild leap I rushed into the room, unsusceptible to everything-unheeding alike her shrieks and entreaties--and with one heavy blow I laid him prostrate at my feet.' "At this juncture so excited Roland became, so haggard and wild were his looks, that I prayed him to desist for awhile. At my voice he revived, looked at me full in the face, then, overcome with emotion, tears ran down his cheeks, and he could not speak. I tried my best to comfort him, but at first my efforts were of no avail. His only answer was, ' To die! To die !' At last, after several vain attempts, I succeeded in pacifying him, and he proceeded in broken accents

"Oh, Hubert, pity me! pity me! I am now guilty of the greatest sin before heaven, and justly deserve its punishment. But what followed? Be calm, my soul! be calm! Hubert, he whom I had slain was her father. Oh, Heaven! Her father! Who had returned from abroad; her father! the subject of our constant conversation; he whom she loved with more than filial affection.

"Nature is treacherous; the most desperate passion it brings to termination, and just as soon plunges in the extreme. My sorrow, my anguish, at that moment, I cannot describe-it is beyond description.

"Amy's wild cry for her father to speak, to say one word of comfort, pierced me to the

heart. At last a stupefaction came over me, and I gazed upon her weeping over his body, kissing that white face over and over again, with only a faint knowledge of where I was, who they were, and what had happened. I cannot describe it, but it soon passed away, and a perfect blank ensued.

"Hours must have elapsed, for when I again became conscious it was dark. For several minutes I stood in silence, not daring to make the least noise. At last I ventured to call Amy -that name I once loved to hear-but there was no answer; yet stay, there was an echo in the silent air which whispered as if in mockery, and as I imagined, in her own voice. I shuddered, for a strange presentiment possessed me. I durst not call again, but waited for what would come next; and, as if to give a more horrible aspect to the scene around, the moon suddenly rose from amidst some straggling clouds, and what a sight presented itself to my gaze! There lay my young, beautiful, and beloved wife, prostrate upon her father's form. The blow had been too much for her soft and tender nature, and her spirit had fled to the plains above-that world of future thought, where, if we believe in transmigration, it should never have left.

"Fear had left me now, and anguish took its place. Oh! my life! my love! I cried, as I fell beside her form, whose face rested on her father's, as if she were in the act of kissing it, when her spirit fled. Oh! what a wretch am I. My Amy, my Amy, speak one word; say that blessed syllable love, and I will never ask you more. But I might as well have asked night to vanish instantaneously, as ask my Amy to speak again. She belonged not to me.

"Long, long, I lay by her side, kissing her face over and over again; bathing her with tears which rained upon her pale face even as she had done to her father before. Long, long, I lay; then I feared not death, but wished that it would come. What length of time I stayed I do not know; all that I can remember is that I awakened to find Selene had mounted her car, and was casting her brilliant light upon the broad earth.

"With one long last sorrowful look I departed, and returned here. But there is now no rest for me. I always imagine that she is looking upon me with a sad yet living gaze; with a look that seems to say 'I forgive you, Roland.' Then a change comes over her placid features; her eyes sparkle with love; she waves her hand (that hand I so often kissed) as if beckoning me to go with her; and soon I shall be there. Life is now a burden; light has no charms, and portentous night brings horrid dreams.


'Hubert, you shudder; you look pale. Do not think harsh of me; speak but one word of

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