In consequence of the excessive heat usual in this month, an evaporation takes place from the surface of the earth and waters, and large clouds are formed, which pour down their watery stores, and deluge the country with floods, frequently laying the full-grown corn. A rainy day in the country, must, undoubtedly, be a day of great suffer-ing to those who have no mental resources; and quite insupportable to the votaries of the beau monde, who cannot exist without their diurnal whirl of frivolities. See an excellent sketch in the Hermit in London, vol. ii, p. 123. The preparation for a rainy day in town is certainly not the pleasantest thing in the world, especially for those who have neither health nor imagination to make their own sunshine. The comparative silence in the streets, which is made dull by our knowing the cause of it, the window-panes drenched and ever-streaming, like so many helpless cheeks, the darkened rooms, and, at this season of the year, the having left off fires;-all fall like a chill shade upon the spirits. But we know not how much pleasantry can be made out of unpleasantness, till we bestir ourselves. The exercise of our bodies will make us bear the weather better, even mentally; and the exercise of our minds will enable us to bear it with patient bodies indoors, if we cannot go out. Above all, some people seem to think that they cannot have a fire made in a chill day, because it is summer-time,—a notion which, under the guise of being seasonable, is quite the reverse, and one against which we protest. A fire is a thing to warm us when cold; not to go out because the month begins with J. Besides, the sound of it helps to dissipate that of the rain. It is justly called a companion. It looks glad in our faces; it talks to us; it is vivified at our touch; it vivifies in return; it puts life, and warmth, and comfort in the room. A good fellow is bound to see that he leaves this substitute for his company when he goes out, especially to a lady; whose solitary work-table in a chill room on such a day is a very melancholy refuge. We exhort her, if she can afford it, to take a book and a footstool, and sit by a good fire. We know of few baulks more complete than coming down of a chill morning to breakfast, turning one's chair as usual to the fire-side, planting one's feet on the fender and one's eyes on a book, and suddenly discovering that there is no fire in the grate. In this uncertain month, the birds of fashion' are frequently surprised by a passing shower, and the beauty of their plumage is somewhat injured by a sudden storm; this, however, is of little import, as trade is benefitted, and the industrious shopkeeper obtains more orders for silks, sarsnets, and feathers. To civic belles, however, who take their Sunday promenade in the parks to exhibit their pretty persons and handsome dresses, a shower of rain is indeed a misfortune almost irreparable. Towards the close of this month the flower-garden exhibits symptoms of decay; and Time, who thins the ranks of all animated beings, does not spare those of the ornamented and highly fascinating Flora :The garlands fade that Spring so lately wove, Each simple flower which she had nursed in dew; Anemonies, that spangled every grove, The primrose wan, and harebell mildly blue. No more shall violets linger in the dell, Or purple orchis variegate the plain, Till Spring again shall call forth every bell, And dress with humid hands her wreaths I softly seized th' unguarded power, He gazed, he thrilled, with deep delight, COLERIDGE.. The damask rose produces white and red flowers on the same tree, and has been celebrated in English history,as the emblems of the Houses of York and Lancaster. When those families contended for the crown, the white rose distinguished the partizans of the house of York; the red, the party of Lancaster and in an old author we have this beautiful Epigram on a White Rose being presented to a Lancastrian Lady: If this fair rose offend thy sight, The busy bee' still pursues his ceaseless task of collecting his varied sweets to form the honey for his destroyer man, who in a month or two, will close the labours of this industrious insect by the suffocating fumes of brim stone. Child of patient industry, Then on eager wing art flown, Or suck the clover's crimson bloom; Mr. White, the naturalist, of Selborne, relates a curious anecdote of an idiot boy who was a determined enemy to bees. They were his food, his amusement, his sole object. In the winter he dozed away his time in his father's house, by the fire-side, in a torpid state, seldom leaving the chimney-corner: but in summer he was all alert and in quest of his game. Hivebees, humble-bees, and wasps, were his prey, wherever he found them. He had no apprehension from their stings, but would seize them with naked hands, and at once disarm them of their weapons, and suck their bodies for the sake of their honey-bags. Sometimes he would fill his bosom between his shirt and skin with these animals; and sometimes he endeavoured to confine them in bottles. He was very injurious to men that kept bees; for he would glide into their bee-gardens, and sitting down before the stools, would rap with his fingers, and so take the bees as they came out. He has even been known to overturn the hives for the sake of the honey, of which he was passionately fond. Where metheglin was making, he would linger round the tubs and Vessels, begging, a draught of what This lad was he called bee-wine. lean and sallow, and of a cadaverous complexion; and, except in his favourite pursuit, in which he was wonderfully adroit, discovered no manner of understanding. It is now the weather for bathing, a refreshment too little taken in this country, either summer or winter. We say in winter, because with very little care in placing it near a cistern, and having a leathern pipe for it, a bath may be easily filled once or twice a week with warm water; and it is a vulgar error that the warm bath relax es. An excess, either warm or cold, will relax; and so will any other excess; but the sole effect of the warm bath moderately taken is, that it throws off the bad humours of the body by opening and clearing the pores. As to summer bathing, a father may soon teach his children to swim, and thus perhaps might be the means of saving their lives some day or other, as well as health. Ladies also, though they cannot bathe in the open air as they do in some of the West Indian islands and other countries, by means of nat ural basins among the rocks, might of tener, we think, make a substitute for it at home in tepid baths. The most beautiful aspects under which Venus has been painted or sculptured, has been connected with bathing; and indeed there is perhaps no one thing that so equally contributes to the three graces of health, beauty, and good temper; -to health, in putting the body into its best state; to beauty, in clearing and tinting the skin; and to good temper, in rescuing the spirits from the irritability occasioned by those formidable personages the nerves,' which nothing else allays in so quick and entire a manner. Travels IN GREECE, TURKEY, AND THE HOLY LAND. CESAREA, named by the Arabs For the space of two leagues we had still to follow the track of a rugged and desolate strand: we then quitted the sea shore to cross the barren plains which lie in front of Humcalad. Disgusted by the smallness and dirtiness of the kan, the caravan drew up in close order beneath a sycamore, near an abundant well: young females, not devoid of beauty, brought thither, with majestic steps, Rachel's pitcher. The cheykh-el-beled,* a venerable old man, presented to us a kid, oaten cakes, and fuel. Our supper was not long in preparing, for we were both oppressed with hunger and in much need of repose. After this frugal repast, and a refreshing sleep, we proceeded on our route to Jaffa, where we arrived on the 15th of November. In keeping along the seashore, the traveller's feet sinks into a sand, the dazzling whiteness of which fatigues the sight, and it is not until his near approach to the city that he suddenly finds enormous fig-trees, fountains, orange-trees, and tombs. Jaffa, the ancient Joppa, named by the Arabs Yafa, has recently been enlarged, embellished and fortified, by Mehemet Aga, the governor of whom I shall have occasion to speak hereaf ter: he was absent, having very recently set out for Nabalos, the ancient Sichem, to quell an insurrection. The port of Jaffa is small, and dangerous during nine months of the year. I alighted at the convent of the Fathers, the reverend missionaries of the Holy Land. These monks received us with a degree of coolness, for which they afterwards made amends by an excess of kindness. Their house is very poor; few alms are collected; the pilgrimages are difficult of accomplishment; and the lot of the Christians in Syria is more deplorable than ever. They come, with trembling steps, to hear the mass in a small, vaulted, subterraneous, and obscure chapel, which brings to mind the worship of the primitive Christians in the catacombs. Subject to unceasing persecutions; these poor creatures repair hither, to forget at the foot of the altar, their sacrifices, and the profound misery in which they are plunged. On my return from Jerusalem, I shall have some observations to offer on Jaffa. We set out for Rama at three in the afternoon; and this place I The commandant of the village, he is usually selected from among the old men. reached at night followed by an interpreter. The horse on which I was mounted was so high mettled, that I was obliged to leave my fellow-travellers behind. We were recommended to the superior of the convent at Rama, a Spaniard, naturally blunt, of a large stature, and possessed of a Stentorian voice. This good monk did not appear to me to be resigned to the martyrdom with which these poor ecclesiastics are constantly menaced. The Convent of Rama is spacious, vaulted, and has the air of a fortress: my chamber, which was very neat and clean, and the best that could be provided, was on a terrace surrounded by palm trees. To reach Jerusalem, the traveller has to cross, for the extent of two or three miles, plains tolerably well cultivated, those of the ancient Arimathea and Lydda. The rising sun illumined our route, and we reached the hills of Latroun. "This," said the Drogoman to me, "is the birth place "of Barabbas, the murderer and thief: "those who look down into this well "for a considerable time are sure to "see the figure of this man of blood." We next entered deep valleys, the vegetation gradually becoming weaker and more scanty, until it ceased altogether. From these valleys to Jerusalem, the soil is broken, reddish, and ungrateful; while, in the distance, the only objects which meet the view are immense mounds of ruins, the beds of dried-up torrents, and winding roads, covered with flints. Decayed cisterns, at the bottom of which is a greeenish water; steep and naked mountains in the contour :-such agreeably to the lament of Jeremiah, is the terebinthine vale which prepares the mind for the strong and terrible impression made on it by the sight of Jerusalem. The sun was about to set, when, from the summit of a mountain, in passing along a flinty road, separated by two walls from fields which were also covered with flints, I perceived at length long ramparts, towers and vast edifices, surrounded by a barren soil, and blackened points of rock which seemed to have felt the lightning's stroke: this was Jerusalem. A few Chapels, fallen in ruins, were here and there to be seen, with Mount Sion, and, in the back ground, the naked chain of the Mountains of Arabia Deserta. Appalled and seized with an involuntary terror, we saluted the Holy City, the first sight of which has as powerful an effect on the senses, as the existence and dispersion of the Jewish nation can produce on the mind. The Gate of Bethlehem or Ephraim, by which our caravan made its entry, is not far distant from the Convent of the Reverend Fathers, Missionaries of the Holy Land, by whose exemplary display of charity our reception was marked. They inhabit an immense house, the gate of which, while it is constantly open to pilgrims, and to all who suffer, is as constantly exposed to the insults of the Mussulmans: it is low and decayed, with iron fastenings. Having entered it, a vaulted passage terminates in an inner court, provided with dark and winding staircases, which leads to several cloisters, and to the Church. It is there that these courageous monks lead a secluded life, having to struggle daily against the persecution of the Turks, the hatred of the Greeks, and a fond yearning for their native homes. Although belonging to so many different nations I heard them blend their voices in sweet accordance, with that of the native inhabitants of Israel. A Monk, whose skill in the arts had once acquired him celebrity in Europe, played on the organ; and incense smoked in the sanctuary, where the words of the God of Horeb and of Sinai still resounded. I shall not attempt to describeJerusasalem after the great writer by whose brilliant and animated pen it has been so admirably delineated. It is difficult to see Palestine under any other aspect beside that of M. de Châteaubriand, and impossible to speak of it after him: he has carried in all the harvest of the land of Canaan. Notwithstanding the malediction with which this land is struck, his crop has been abundant: he has exhausted the fields of Zabulon and Magedo, and the plains of Pharan. It would be useless, at the same time that it would betray a want of skill, to endeavour to glean after his footsteps. I pity the traveller who, amid these noble ruins, is solely influenced by the doubts that perplex him, and the mazes in which he is plunged. I envy, on the other hand, the happiness of the man who has seen this singular land with a lively and confident faith. But whatever the religious opinions may be, intellectual torpor alone can resist the sensation of surprise and respect Jerusalem inspires. Around this city all is mute and silent the last exclamation of the Son of God seems to have been the latest sound repeated by the echoes of Siloé and Gehennon. From the summits of Abarim, of Phasga, and Achor, desolated nature presents herself to the view, like a witness still struck with terror by the scene which has just passed. The imagination portrays the sanguinary wars of the Crusaders, like those aerial combats which forebode great disasters to the children of the earth. On the day of my arrival, I saw the whole of the Hebrew population of Jerusalem collected in the valley of Jehosaphat the Motsallam* had sold the Jews the permission to celebrate there the festival of the tombs. On seeing these captives seated in silence on the tomb-stones of their ancestors, one might have said that the clamour of the last trumpet was heard, that generations, were crowding to the banks of the Cedron, and that the words of joy and of tribulation had already burst from the cloud. The quarter of the Jews was what attracted my earliest attention. Eight or nine thousand of the children of the masters of Jerusalem still inhabit this capital of the past. A narrow, craggy space, covered with filth, which can scarcely be called a street, divides the houses of this quarter, which are falling in ruins. Pale and sickly beings with a strongly marked physiognomy, there engage in warm disputes about a few medins.* Having descended, by a flight * Governor. A small Turkish coin. of broken steps, into cellars, the falling roofs of which were propped by pillars once sculptured and gilt, I learned with surprise that this was the great synagogue: children in tatters there learned from an old blind man the history of this city, where their ancestors adored the God of Israel and of Judah, beneath marble porticoes, and roofs supported by the cedars of Libanon. They counted over again the miracles of him whom they also expected, of him who had guided the footsteps of their ancestors in the Deserts of Madian, and who so often brought them back triumphantly into this land of Canaan, where were to flow mountains of milk and honey.† Such are the remains of this nation, whose captivity left on every side such great remembrances, and who raised with their hands, and bathed with the sweat of their brows, the proudest monuments of Memphis and of Rome. On the same day I paid a visit to Abdil-Kerym, the Agamotsallam, Governor of Jerusalem: this city is dependent on the Pachalik of Damascus, from which it is distant four stations, or days' journey. He is a native of Constantinople, and enjoyed a certain portion of favour at the Court of Selim: on the death of the latter, however, he fell into complete disgrace, and was banished to Jerusalem, over which as governor, he now exercises a mild sway. His maners are polished: he entertained us with pipes and coffee,after having in token of submission and respect, approached to his forehead the firman of the Grand-Seignior. I next presented to him the persons who accompanied me, and the letters addressed to him. The drogoman of the convent of the Holy Sepulchre was our interpreter. I insisted on being allowed to take views of the city and adjoining territory. Abdil-Kerym, after a long explanation respecting the object and the means, at length granted me this favour. He cheerfully offered me an escort for my journey to the Dead Sea, which I was desirous to undertake after my visit to Bethlehem. Andil-Kerym had at his side a lovely infant on whom I lavished my ca+ Exodus. |