the New Testament is of great authority. The translations of the Old Testament were made from the Septuagint, and not from the Hebrew scriptures: they are therefore of great use in determining the readings of the Septuagint, and in fixing the meaning of many expressions.

We now turn, with a sense of renewed enjoyment, to the contemplation of the delightful pictures of oriental life and scenery, presented by the fair artist, and which are stamped by her discriminating pencil with such striking individuality and happy fidelity of colouring, that the only difficulty we experience, in the selection of these sketches from her talented productions, arises from the superabundance of admirable pieces that challenge a preference. We at length decide to transfer to our collection the following view of the ruins of Karnac:

Passing through the village, [Luxor] we turned towards the gigantic Ruins of Karnac, which are nearly two miles from the former place. An avenue of Sphinxes, some half buried, leads to the Grand Entrance, opposite Luxor; and there are still remains of others, along the whole of the road connecting the two Temples. After passing through a lofty gateway, we were at once enclosed by the most imposing scene of ruins imaginable! Travellers may give some idea of the smaller Temples of Western Thebes; but Karnac baffles all description. The most accurate statements must appear as exaggerations; but here there is no need for any stretch of imagination in the beholder: the eye wanders over a vast field of fallen grandeur, which the mind in vain attempts to grasp. To realize all this as the work of man-and that at a period when we are disposed to doubt the very existence of the means of raising such mighty buildings-is indeed difficult. It is impossible for a stranger to form any adequate conception of the almost endless extent of ground they occupy; of the colossal size of the innumerable pillars, colonnades, and statues; the huge blocks of granite, nearly buried in deep sand; the beauty of the sculpture, covering every separate part; and the still brilliant hue of the colouring,

The first visit to Thebes must, to every traveller, be exhausting. Its high antiquity, in comparison of which all other ruins are modern-the crowds that have worshipped in its temples, and gloried in their unrivalled city-and the ever-recurring thought of what it then was, when every gateway poured in the joyous throng, and all those now silent halls echoed back the loud shout of the proud possessors-when every towering obelisk, and every giant statue, appeared in the perfection of youth, to add to the sublimity of the immense edifice-its heroes, its priests, its gorgeous ceremonies-its last overthrow-above all, its present desolation, a wreck of man's glory, pride, and power;-all these sad thoughts rush across the mind, depressing the spirits; and yet leading to the contemplation of that future day, when all that the world can boast, will exhibit a scene of destruction greater than that of the once beauteous, but now prostrate Diospolis.

Page after page, teeming with the same coincidence of apt description and powerful feeling, and combining thus lively a perception of

the varied features of moral and religious interest associated with the subjects under review, successively occupies our delighted attention, and never fails to impress us with the warmest admiration of the talent, erudition, and deep tone of devotional sentiment, possessed by the writer.

Nay, we seem to be accompanied at every step of our sympathetic wanderings, whether amid the picturesque solitudes, or beneath the stately arcs and domes of the old and storied land of the Pharaohs, or amongst the "olive-crowned hills and grassy vales," or the wild sands and barren mountains of Holy Palestine, by a fair and geniilike conductress, at whose creative wand are revealed, in all their longvanished splendour, or stern and awful colouring, the far-off scenes of other years; flinging an alternate light and shadow over the revived features of the past, and reflecting a sacred interest on the vacant or obscure lineaments of the present. In sooth, in perusing these animated and richly graphic pages, so engagingly stored with the treasures of taste, feeling, and imagination, we bow to the subtle spell of intellectual enchantment that renders us forgetful of every object and incident save those recorded in the presiding narrative; and we cordially submit ourselves to the happy illusion which constitutes us the privileged companion of one so splendidly gifted. At one moment we retire to the deep shades of "the cool grotto, and listen to the splashing of the clear stream, as it falls over the shells, and trickles into the little lake below." At another, we take boat on the Nile, and "in the dusk of evening enjoy the pure breeze on deck, beneath the clear blue heavens, and watch the setting sun, as it sheds a beautiful light on the long chains of rocky mountains." Now we gaze upon the Queen of Night as she rises in full glory above the rugged peaks of Gebel Moneh, and reflects a brilliant stream of light across the placid river. A broad opening in the eastern chain of mountains discovers the distant wilderness, with a few dark, solitary palms-a boundary between the luxuriant valley and the barren plain beyond. The pure blue above is scarcely dimmed by the shades of night; while the light clouds around, silvered by the moonbeams, are strikingly contrasted with the sombre hue of the sterile rocks on shore." Anon, we glance on the fair transparent bosom of an Italian sky, as pictured in colours of equal intensity by the fervid and graceful pencil of the accomplished artist; or we stretch our delighted vision over the purple tide of sun-enamoured waves that reflect, in placid beauty, the wooded promontories or golden sands of "the Isles of Greece." And again we transport our thoughts to the scenes rendered sacred by the presence and ministry of the great prophet. We visit the "city chosen of God." We shall preface our extracts from the portion of these volumes which treats of the Holy Land with the following apposite and beautiful reflection:

VOL. II. (1843) No. I.

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We could not look round upon the beautiful scenery spread out beforeus and not recollect, with feelings of deepest interest, whose feet, in years long past, had trod the olive-crowned hills and grassy vales of Hebron. To the imagination of childhood the touching incidents of Scripture history are invested with a charm, which riper years cannot obliterate. The depth of that veneration which absorbs the mind of the Christian traveller, when he looks back upon the warm pictures which his youthful fancy drew of the sacred scenes that then first attracted his attention, may be imagined by many an enthusiastic spirit, even amidst the quietness of a home circle; but can only be fully understood by those, who, with the same feelings of excitement mingled with solemnity, have trod the same hallowed ground.

We now approach Jerusalem :

We left the convent and passed over the high ridge of hills leading towards Jerusalem; where we found the wind strong, and severely cold; so much so, that we were glad of our cloaks. We then crossed the plain of Rephaim: beyond which we came upon the hills surrounding the holy city, which, after passing over the valley of Hinnom, we entered, by the Jaffa or Bethlehem gate, about one o'clock. A winding rocky path, by the side of the hills, leads to this gate; descending from the plain before mentioned into a deep ravine, and thence again ascending to the city walls. The last half hour we had a threatening of rain; which, as we advanced towards the city, came down in torrents. We had long been unaccustomed to such heavy rain; and now, in particular, it seemed a thing so strange and unwelcome, that it certainly destroyed much of that spirit of enthusiasm which the first view of Jerusalem is calculated to create. But, notwithstanding this evident disadvantage, our only impression on approaching this far-famed and highlyfavoured city, was one of admiration. Its situation is indeed one of the most imposing that could have been selected for the site of a city. The luxuriant green that gladdened the eye on every side-the rippling brooks that flow through the deep dells around its walls-and the noble mountains that encompass it like a belt-all struck us with wonder and with awe : for while we looked upon its beauty, we were at once reminded that it was hallowed ground-the city chosen of God, in which He had set his name and glory. With hearts sensibly alive to the privilege that was permitted us, we repeated the Psalmist's words, "Our feet shall stand within thy gates, O Jerusalem!" Nor was the fervent wish for her future prosperity forgotten in the ardour of the moment; but, "because of the house of the Lord our God"-that house long rased to its foundations-we earnestly desired her good.

The Church of the Holy Sepulchre is next described, and we shall not apologise for the more than ordinary length of the extract:

A winding path between the houses leads, by a very gradual descent, out of the main street, to the court before the entrance-door of the church; which place is usually occupied by persons who bring the mother-of-pearl boxes and other curiosities from Bethlehem for sale; and troublesome enough they are, particularly to such travellers as, having previously visited that place, have laid in a stock of these articles, and are now too highly excited

by more interesting objects to pay any regard to smaller and less sublime attractions. Other things are also exposed for sale here; and consequently the commotion that salutes the ears of the visitor, on his approach to the holy spot, is little in accordance with the solemnity of his feelings. On entering the door of the church from this place, the first object presented to view is the "stone of unction," a long white marble slab, on which, the visitor is informed, the body of Christ was anointed after his crucifixion, and before being taken to the place of burial. At the head and foot of this slab stand three very large wax candles, and above are hung many silver lamps. Turning to the left, we were led into a rotunda, containing the Holy Sepulchre itself; above which is a dome, and galleries encircling it, supported by sixteen marble columns. The sepulchre is an oblong building, resembling a small church; one end being circular, and containing on the outer side little oratories, belonging to some of the minor Christian sects who claim their share of interest in the sacred edifice. The entrance is at the opposite end, with steps in front, and a low wall of marble guarding the door-way on either side. On the top is a cupola, resting on six small pillars. Within are two separate chambers; the first capable of holding only about seven or eight persons, in the centre of which is a small marble block, where, we were informed, sat the angel who announced the Saviour's resurrection to the women, who, early in the morning of the now Christian sabbath, sought the place where their crucified Lord was laid. The flooring of this chamber is also of marble. Here we were requested to take off our shoes, before enter. ing the inner part, containing the tomb itself. This place, which is regarded by all the numerous Christian sects of the holy city as one of great sanctity, is so small, that not more than three persons at a time can stand within, before the sarcophagus, which occupies a half of the whole space, and in length reaches from wall to wall, which are rather more than six feet apart; the breadth being about three feet, and the height from the ground two feet and one inch. It is of white marble, and the walls of the chamber are lined with green marble. A great number of very beautiful silver lamps are suspended from the ceiling, and reflect a dazzling light; rendered doubly painful to the eyes on emerging from the ante-chamber, which is in total darkness. These lamps, which are never extinguished, have been presented, at various periods, by illustrious persons of different denominations. There is something exceedingly impressive, and almost overpowering, in the effect produced by the sight of this little spot, so highly venerated, so gorgeously illuminated. Could the enlightened Christian pilgrim admit the belief that this very ground, now adorned with outward splendour, had really borne the corpse of our crucified Redeemer, he might, in the ardour of his devotion, forget the sad delusion to which such ardour has led the misguided mortals who hither crowd to do homage, and fall instinctively upon his knees to worship his now exalted Lord; but the mask with which fanaticism has enshrouded all that would make a site like this worthy of veneration, tends only to destroy it. The form of devotion often appears within this house of prayer," but alas! it is too frequently made the scene of every sinful passion; and very responsible is the sincere Protestant for the conduct which he here manifests in the sight of those who, whether "deceivers, or being deceived," profess to hallow all that Christ's presence has rendered

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sacred for while he should evince a marked seriousness in the contemplation of every object with which the name of Christ is blended, he should carefully guard against leaving an impression upon the minds of the blind worshippers around him, that he places a like faith with them in his visit to their sacred localities, and thus gives to a sinful adoration of place that efficacy in procuring salvation which an "inward and spiritual" reception of Christ crucified can alone procure.

We next visited the place called Calvary; to which we ascended by about eighteen or twenty steps, with scarcely any light. At the foot of this stair-case we were each supplied with a lighted wax taper, on account of the darkness of the chapel above, called the "chapel of the crucifixion." This is a small chamber, on a considerably higher elevation than the other parts of the church, where the monks pretend to show the true spot on which the cross stood. Here are three large wax figures, representing the body of the suffering Redeemer, and those of the two malefactors, nailed to the cross. Near them, in a glass-case, is a figure of the weeping mother. I turned away from the profane exhibition before me; and my mind sought relief in the contemplation of that approaching period, when these revolting mummeries shall be swept from the spot, to be replaced by the pure worship of those who shall offer a spiritual service to their glorified Saviour and God.

After sharing in the just indignation expressed by the fair writer, in reference to the monkish cheats and delusions practised in the Holy city, we enjoy with heightened zest the calm, natural loveliness of the following exquisite sketch of the romantic scenery around the walls of Jerusalem.

On arriving at the summit of the mountain, a fine prospect presented itself to our view. The city lay stretched out before us, with its domes and minarets, its mosques and churches, its towers and embattled walls; and, as the deep glow of the declining sun cast over all a look of brightness which a nearer view would have destroyed, we could find much that appeared still beautiful in the now desolate Jerusalem. On the east, a part of the Dead Sea was distinctly visible-a dark bluish surface, closely hemmed in by the lofty mountains of Moab, and appearing not more than two hours distant. In the same direction might be distinctly traced the Valley of the Jordan, though its waters were not visible. On the south were seen the mountains in the neighbourhood of Bethlehem; and on the north, above the hills surrounding the city, appear the distant mountains of Galilee. On the summit of Mount Olivet is a small building, of an octagonal form, erected over what is supposed to be the place of our Lord's ascension. Tradition states, that the Empress Helena built here a church and convent, both which have been long since destroyed. We remained for a considerable time on this interesting spot, absorbed by many solemn recollections: and when the sinking sun warned us to bend our steps towards the city, it was not without a look of regret that we descended the mount; and passing again by the Garden of Gethsemane, and continuing along the Valley of Jehoshaphat, we returned by the village of Siloam, the Valley of Hinnom, the south-west end of Mount Sion, and the valley of Gihon; entering the city through the