SOFTLY the blended light of evening rests
Upon thee, lovely stream! Thy gentle tide,
Picturing the gorgeous beauty of the sky,
Onward, unbroken by the ruffling wind,
Majestically flows. -Oh! by thy side,
Far from the tumults and the throng of men,
And the vain cares that vex poor human life,
"Twere happiness to dwell, alone with thee,
And the wide solemn grandeur of the scene!
From thy green shores, the mountains that enclose
In their vast sweep the beauties of the plain,
Slowly receding, toward the skies ascend,
Enrobed with clustering woods, o'er which the smile
Of Autumn in his loveliness hath passed,
Touching their foliage with his brilliant hues,
And flinging o'er the lowliest leaf and shrub
His golden livery. On the distant heights
Soft clouds, earth-based, repose, and stretch afar
Their burnished summits, in the clear blue heaven,
Flooded with splendour, that the dazzled eye
Turns drooping from the sight. — Nature is here
Like a throned sovereign; and thy voice doth tell, –
In music never silent, of her power.

Nor are thy tones unanswered, where she builds
Such monuments of regal sway. These wide,
Untrodden forests eloquently speak,

Whether the breath of Summer stir their depths,
Or the hoarse moaning of November's blast
Strip from the boughs their covering.

All the air

Is now instinct with life. The merry hum
Of the returning bee, and the blithe song
Of fluttering bird, mocking the solitude,
Swell upward; and the play of dashing streams,
From the green mountain side, is faintly heard.
The wild swan swims the water's azure breast
With graceful sweep, or startled, soars away,
Cleaving with mounting wing the clear bright air

where each mound

Oh! in the boasted lands beyond the deep,
Where beauty hath a birth-right,
And mouldering ruin tells of ages past, -
And every breeze, as with a spirit's tone,
Doth waft the voices of oblivion back,
Waking the soul to lofty memories,-
Is there a scene whose loveliness could fill

The heart with peace more pure?—Nor yet art thou,
Proud stream! without thy records, -

graven deep
On yon eternal hills, which shall endure
Long as their summits breast the wintry storm,
Or smile in the warm sunshine. They have been
The chroniclers of centuries gone by,

Of a strange race, who trod perchance their sides,
Ere these gray woods had sprouted from the earth
Which now they shade. Here onward swept thy waves,
When tones now silent mingled with their sound,
And the wide shore was vocal with the song
Of hunter chief, or lover's gentle strain.
Those passed away,- forgotten as they passed;
But holier recollections dwell with thee:
Here hath immortal Freedom built her proud
And solemn monuments. The mighty dust
Of heroes in her cause of glory fallen,
Hath mingled with the soil, and hallowed it.
Thy waters in their brilliant path have seen
The desperate strife that won a rescued world,-
The deeds of men who live in grateful hearts,
And hymned their requiem.

Far beyond this vale That sends to heaven its incense of lone flowers, Gay village spires ascend, and the glad voice Of industry is heard. — So, in the lapse

Of future years, these ancient woods shall bow
Beneath the levelling axe, and Man's abodes
Displace their sylvan honours. They will pass
In turn away; - yet, heedless of all change,
Surviving all, thou still wilt murmur on,
Lessoning the fleeting race that look on thee,
To mark the wrecks of time, and read their doom.

I SET Out, one day, from Damascus, to visit Balbec and its ruins. My friend the Pacha had referred me to the charge of the Sheik Nasel, who was the chief of fifty Arabs. My people followed me at the distance of a day's journey.

We travelled on, sometimes in the night, and sometimes in the day; and the sun had thrice risen since my departure, when a messenger, mounted on a dromedary, sped forward towards our caravan. He addressed a word to the Sheik Nasel, who became troubled, and changed countenance.

"What is the matter?" said I. "Nothing," he replied, and we proceeded on our route. Presently a second dromedary reached us; and the result much increased the depression evinced by Nasel. I insisted on knowing the cause of it.

"Well, then, Cid Milady," answered he, "since I must tell you, my father is pursuing me with a force three times superior to mine, and will shortly overtake us. He seeks my life, I am certain. The offence demands blood; but you have been intrusted to my care; and I will rather die than abandon you.".

"For me, I will

"Make your escape; fly!" exclaimed I. sooner abide singly in the desert, than see you slain by your father's hand. I will await his coming, and attempt your reconciliation. In any case, Balbec cannot be far off; and the sun shall be my guide." With these words I quitted him. He sprang forward, and disappeared with his fifty Arabs.

I had been left alone, nearly an hour, with no other com pany than the animal that carried me, and no other protection than my dagger, when a cloud of dust showed itself in the horizon: horsemen approached at full gallop; and, in a few moments, Nasel was at my side.

"Honoured be the Cid Milady!" was his exclamation, — " he wears the heart of a warrior! All that I have pretended to him, has only been to prove his courage. Come, my ather is at hand to receive you."

*Forgetting her sex, in the hardihood and fearless bearing which sometimes almost concealed it, the wild Arabs were accustomed, it seems, to address Lady Stanhope in the masculine gender.

I followed him, and was welcomed beneath his tent, with all the state and ceremony of the desert. Gazelles and young camels supplied our repast; and poets celebrated th exploits of past times. I cultivated the alliance of their trib who, from that day, have loved and respected me.

AMONG the dwellers in the silent fields,
The natural heart is touched; and public way
And crowded street resound with ballad strains,
Inspired by ONE whose very name bespeaks
Favour divine, exalting human love;

· Whom, since her birth, on bleak Northumbria's coast, Known unto few, but prized as far as known,

A single act endears to high and low,

Through the whole land, to manhood, moved in spite
Of the world's freezing cares,

- to generous youth,-
To infancy, that lisps her praise, and age,
Whose eye reflects it, glistening through a tear
Of tremulous admiration. Such true fame
Awaits her now. But, verily, good deeds
Do no imperishable record find

Save in the rolls of heaven, where hers may live
A theme for angels, when they celebrate

The high-souled virtues which forgetful earth

Has witnessed. Oh! that winds and waves could speak
Of things which their united power calls forth
From the pure depths of her humanity!

A maiden gentle, yet, at duty's call,
Firm and unflinching as the lighthouse reared
On the island rock, her lonely dwelling-place;
Or like the invincible rock itself, that braves,
Age after
age, the hostile elements,

As when it guarded holy Cuthbert's cell:

All night the storm had raged, nor ceased nor paused,
When, as day broke, the maid, through misty air,
Espies, far off, a wreck, amid the surf

"After these things Jesus went over the Sea of Galilee, which is the Sea of Tiberias. And a great multitude followed him, because they saw his miracles which he did on them that were diseased."

How familiar, now, this sounds to every reader! Every phrase comes upon the ear like an oft-told tale; but it makes a very slight impression upon the mind. The next verse, though perhaps few of my readers know now what it is, will sound equally familiar, when they read it here.

"And Jesus went up into a mountain, and there he sat with his disciples."

Now, suppose this passage and the verses which follow it, were read at morning prayer by the master of a family; how many of the children would hear it without being interested, or receiving any clear and vivid ideas from the description! And how many would there be, who, if they were asked, two hours afterward, what had been read that morning, would be utterly unable to tell!

But now suppose that this same father could, by some magic power, show to his children the real scene which these verses describe. Suppose he could go back through the eighteen hundred years which have elapsed since these events occurred, and taking his family to some elevation in the romantic scenery of Palestine, from which they might overlook the country of Galilee, actually see all that this chapter describes.

"Do you see," he might say, "that wide sea which spreads out beneath us, and occupies the whole extent of the valley? That is the Sea of Tiberias; it is also called the Sea of Galilee. All this country which spreads around it, is Galilee. Those distant mountains are in Galilee, and that beautiful wood which skirts the shore, is a Galilean forest."

'Why is it called the Sea of Tiberias?" a child might ask. "Do you see at the foot of that hill, on the opposite shore of the lake, a small town? It extends along the margin of the water, for a considerable distance. That is Tiberias; and the lake sometimes takes its name.

"But look, there is a small boat coming round a point of land which juts out beautifully from this side of the lake. It is slowly making its way across the water, we can almost hear the splashing of the oars. It contains the Saviour and some of his disciples. They are steering towards Tiberias, now they approach the shore, they stop at the landing, and the Saviour, followed by his disciples, walks upon the shore