sides, supported by eleven very ancient columns of a red and very precious gray stone. In the centre of this building is a small cupola supported by six columns in a circle, having a place for prayers between two of the columns. This cupola is held in great veneration, as tradition makes it the actual tribunal of king David. Other interesting localities, including the holy sepulchre, the rock of Calvary, &c. may perhaps be described in another chapter.

DREAM OF THE WILDERNESS.

BY CHARLES LANMAN.

'And I was in the wilderness alone.'-BRYANT.

I entered the forest just as the glorious summer sun was sinking behind the far-off hills. The evening star rose in the west, and in a little while from the zenith a thousand other bright constellations looked smilingly down upon the earth. Something whispered me that I must spend the long watches of that night in wandering in the wilderness; and I departed with the silence of a shadow, and the speed of an antelope. Strange, and wild, and beautiful, were the scenes I beheld.

The mighty trees-pine, oak, ash, maple, walnut, and bass-
wood-which rose on every side, seemed like the columns of
a vast temple, whose mysterious winding aisles, overhung with
a multitudinous foliage, were deserted and desolate. No mov-
ing objects met my eye, save the fire-flies that darted in all di-
rections, floating and sinking like burning flakes of snow. The
gloomy silence was broken only by the drone of the beetle, the
chirp of the cricket, and the song of the katy-did. At intervals
too, the clear soothing voice of the whip-poor-will would echo
far and near.
The huge masses of foliage above, reminded
me of thunder clouds, and like them oppressed my spirit:

‘O what a still bright night! the dropping dew,
Woke startling echoes in the sleeping wood.'

My pathway was not smooth, for I was forced to leap, now over some dead tree, and now over a pile of brush; and again over a mossy hillock, or some gurgling brooklet. Ever and

anon I caught a glimpse of the deep blue sky; but in a moment it was lost to view, and I was in total darkness. My vision was wonderful. I saw all surrounding objects with in

tense clearness; for to me, 'the darkness was as the light of day.' At times, I paused to listen, startled by some distant sound; the howl of a wolf, the hooting of an owl, or the 'trumpet tone' of a flying swan; and as I listened, it would become a murmur, then a whisper, and at last die into a breathless stillness.

At the foot of a gnarled and stunted oak, I saw the manly form of an Indian, wrapped in his scarlet blanket, and extended upon a bear-skin. He was fast asleep. On one side of him, and within his reach, lay a bundle of arrows and an unstrung bow; on the other, a knapsack of provisions and a wolfish-looking dog. But this guardian of the slumbering savage was also fast asleep. As I looked upon this simple picture, the feeelings of my heart responded to my thoughts, and I exclaimed, though there was no echo to my words; poor lone Indian ! Is that dog thy only friend? Art thou indeed alone in the wide, wide world? Hast thou no wife to sympathize with thee, to love thee in hours of disappointment and trouble, incident to all human life? No children to play around thy knees, and make thee happy in some comfortable wigwam, when the blue and scarlet birds make melody in summer, and the wind Euroclydon howls and roars among the forest trees in winter? Hast thou no daughter to protect and nourish, that she may be the bride of some future warrior? No son to listen with flashing eye to thy hunting-lessons, to smite his breast with pride and anger, as thou tellest him of the bravery and wrongs of thy ancestors? O that I knew thy history! But I will not disturb thy slumber. May thy dreams be of that land beyond the sunset clouds, where perpetual summer reigns—the land of the Great Spirit—the God of thy fathers."

How vividly do the scenes and incidents of that night rise before my vision! I see them now with the same distinctness that I beheld them then. I stand upon the shore of that dark stream, rolling through the dense woods, where the full blaze of day-light has not rested for centuries. I hear that uncouth but solemn funeral hymn, and see that band of stern in heart and strong in hand,

'Come winding down beside the wave,
To lay the red chief in his grave.
A dark cloak of the roebuck's skin
Covered the warrior, and within
Its heavy folds, the weapons, made
For the hard toils of war, were laid;
The cuirass, woven of plaited reeds,
And the broad belt, of shells and beads.

Before, a dark-haired virgin train
Chanted the death dirge of the slain;
Behind, the long procession came
Of hoary men and chiefs of fame,
With heavy hearts, and eyes of grief,
Leading the war-horse of their chief.

Stripped of his proud and martial dress,
Uncurbed, unreined, and riderless.
With darting eye, and nostril spread,
And heavy and impatient tread,
He came; and oft that eye so proud,
Asked for his rider in the crowd.'

They buried the dark warrior; and beside his grave tney loosed his noble steed; and swiftly an arrow cleared its way to his stern heart. One bound, one piercing neigh, and on a prairie in the spirit-land,

The rider grasps his steed again.'

On

Not less sudden than varied are the scenes I behold. that high dry limb, under a canopy of leaves, a flock of turkeys are roosting. They are all asleep save one, and he is acting the part of a sentinel, darting out his long_neck, now this way, now that, as if he beheld an enemy. Fat, sleepy fellow! There was a time when it would be temerity to look at me thus. I am not a hunter now, else would I bring you' down from your lofty resting place!

The

My course is onward. Hark! I hear a yell and a rushing sound. Two wolves are chasing a beautiful doe. Poor creature! Its strength is already lessening, its race is run. wolves have seized it. There is a struggle; the blood issues from its graceful neck; one gasp more, and the tender mother of two sweet fawns lies dead. Its bones will moulder and mingle with the earth, giving nourishment to that cluster of hazel-bushes, which stands beside her mossy death-bed. Awakened by the scent, a croaking raven is wheeling in the distance. Its wings flap heavily-and there are two-and still another.

See! we come to a kind of opening-a place where the trees grow less closely together. A cloud of thin white smoke is rising, as if from yon pile of underbrush. It is an Indian encampment; a dozen bark wigwams, shaped like a sugar-loaf. But why this bustle at so late an hour? The braves have just returned from a three-day's hunting tour, and they are now releasing their pack-horses from their loads of spoil. The blaze from a fire gives all surrounding objects a ruddy glow. In dire confusion upon the ground, lie haunches of venison, red and

gray squirrels, and raccoons; turkeys, grouse, ducks, pheasants, and many other lesser birds, mingled with guns, bows and arrows, shot pouches, powder-horns, skins, halters, brass kettles, and the like. The men are busy, and the women too. Roused from a four hours' nap, several children are coming out from the huts, rubbing their eyes. They seem to be the only playmates of the whining dogs.

Lo! what a beauteous sight! A herd of deer, reposing like a family of wood-sprites, near yonder clump of young maples! There are three bucks, five does, and two lovely spotted fawns. Upon that decayed stump' beyond, a solitary American nightingale is resting. It is my favorite bird. Would that I knew the cause of its complainings and chastisement; for every now and then it utters forth the cry: Why whip poor Will? What silver rays are those darting down through the leafy boughs? The moon!-the moon! High in heaven she sails, in queenly beauty. The very heart of the forest is not beyond her vivifying influence. Festoons of creeping plants hang from the surrounding limbs; and the ivy and grape-vine have twined themselves so closely around the ash, as entirely to hide from view the bark of the trunk. I thrust my hand against a bush, and a thousand dew-drops fall to the earth, glittering in the moonbeams. If my lady-love were with me, what a gorgeous wreath could I now weave for her beautiful brow; of the purple and scarlet iris, the blue larchspur, the moccasinflower, and the crimson and green lichen, and other mosses, flowers, and vines too delicate to have a name.

A gentle breeze is stirring. The tops of the trees are moving to and fro with the strong but gentle motion of a groundswell. Soothing is the music of the leaves; they seem to murmur with excess of joy. Another sound echoes through the listening wilderness. It is but a scuffle between a panther and bear. Let them growl and fight; who cares? How like two hot-headed politicians do they seem!

6

Again are the trees becoming thinner, and my steps are tending downward. The green-sward I press is without a single stick or bramble. Here am I upon the brink of a little lake of the very purest water! The breeze has spent its force, and every thing is still. It is the bridal of the earth and sky!' What a perfect mirror is this liquid element ! The counterpart of two willows, a grass-grown rock, tall reeds, and beyond all, a row of slender elms, and a lightning shivered pine, are distinctly seen, pointing downward, downward to the moon and stars in the cerulean void beneath. And in yon deep shadow a flock of ducks are floating silently, amid the sweet perfume

of the wild lotus and white water-lily, which are growing near. One or two have wandered out into the lake, making no ripple, but moving as if lured away by the glossy loveliness of their shadows. The same mysterious influence which has brought me thus far, will transport me to the opposite shore.

I am there; yet still my course is 'onward.' I am come to a little lawn, so smooth and beautiful that it seems a fit playground for the fairies. Perhaps it is here the water-sprites and wood-nymphs are wont to meet, to revel and rejoice at midnight, 'the dawn of the fairy day.'

What sound is that!-so like the far-off tones of a hundred musical instruments, faintly murmuring? Ah! I thought so! Here they are:

'They come from beds of lichen green,

They creep from the mullen's velvet screen;
Some on the backs of beetles fly

From the silver tops of moon-touched trees,

Where they swing in their cobweb hammocks high,

And rocked about in the evening breeze;

Some from the humbird's downy nest

They had driven him out by elfin power,

And pillowed on plumes of his rainbow breast

Have slumbered there till the charmed hour;

Some had lain in the scoop of the rock,

With glittering ising-stars inlaid;

And some had opened the four-o'clock,

And stole within its purple shade.

And now they throng the moonlight glade,
Above-below-on every side,

Their little minum forms arrayed

In the trickey pomp of fairy pride!'

That was but a flight of fancy. I look again and instead of the fairies, I behold a myriad of fair flowers, peeping at the sky from the green luxuriant grass.

But see! I have reached-surely it can be none other-a prairie. What dark cloud is brooding over this motionless ocean?-a mighty flame bursting from its centre? It comes! The prairie is on fire! The wind is swelling, and swift as the wind speeds the flame. Maddened by fear, the buffalo, the wild horse, the wolf, the deer, all birds and living creatures, are fleeing for their lives. Roaring and hissing, the fireflood rolls on, swallowing up every thing in its course. now it has gone, leaving behind it a wide path of blackness. The smoke obscures the moon and stars. Far off its coming shone; the incense of a sacrifice offered to the great God by.

And