body. Four porters carried out the bier on their shoulders; and thus bore the body, head foremost, to the grave.

The women followed to the door, making a tremendous outcry. Each of them had a white handkerchief in her hand, alternately waving it up and down. A number of shieks and dervishes walked before, chanting in a low voice a lugubrious psalm, which consisted, I believe, entirely of the ninety-nine names of God. The friends

marched behind, in a sorrowful manner, some of them weeping bitterly. Having carried the remains to the side of the grave, they prayed for a few minutes: the interment then proceeded without a coffin, and every one went his way.-Madden's Travels.

JERUSALEM FROM THE MOUNT OF OLIVES.

THE Mount of Olives, on the summit of which I am sitting, descends in a sudden and steep declivity to the deep abyss which divides it from Jerusalem, and which is called the valley of Jehoshaphat. From the bottom of this gloomy and narrow vale, whose naked sides are streaked with white and black stones, the dismal stones of death, arises an immense and broad hill, whose precipitous inclination resembles that of a high tottering rampart; no tree can fix its roots, not even moss can hang its filaments: the declivity is so steep, that the soil and the stones are perpetually sinking down, and nothing is presented to the eye but a surface of dry and withered earth, like heaps of ashes. About the middle of this hill, or natural rampart, high and strong walls of broad stones, unchiselled on their exterior, are planted, their Roman and Hebraic foundations concealed under the ashes which are collected round their bases, and elevated fifty, a hundred, and, farther on, two and three hundred feet, high. The walls are pierced by three gates, two of which are built up; and one of them, open before us, seems as void and deserted as if it gave entrance to an uninhabited town. The walls rise also above these gates, and support a wide and extensive terrace, which stretches two-thirds of the length of Jerusalem, on the side which looks to the east; this terrace, computed by the eye, may be 1000 ft. long, and from 600 to 700 wide; it is almost perfectly level, except at

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its centre, where it sinks insensibly, as if to recal to the eye the shallow valley which formerly separated the hill of Sion from the city of Jerusalem. This magnificent platform, doubtless prepared by nature, but evidently finished by the hand of man, was the sublime pedestal on which arose the Temple of Solomon; it bears, at the present day, two Turkish mosques; the one, El-Sakara, in the centre of the platform, on the very site where the temple must have stood; the other, at the south-east extremity of the terrace, touching the walls of the town. The mosque of Omar, or El-Sakara, an admirable edifice of Arabian architecture, is of immense dimensions, with eight sides, and built of stone and marble. Each front is ornamented with seven arcades, terminated in ogive; above this first range a terraced roof stretches, whence springs another tier of narrower arcades, crowned by a graceful dome covered with copper, formerly gilded with gold. The walls of the mosque are decorated with a blue enamel; to the right and to the left extend broad partition walls, terminated by light Moorish colonnades, corresponding to the eight doors of the mosque. Beyond these detached colonnades the platform continues and terminates, on one of its sides, at the north part of the town, on the other, at the walls on the south. Lofty cypress trees, scattered as if by chance, olives and green plants growing here and there between the mosques, heighten the effect of their elegant architecture, and the dazzling colour of their walls, by their pyramidal form and sombre verdure.

Above the two mosques and the site of the temple, all Jerusalem stretches out and spouts up, if I may say so, before us, without the eye losing a roof or a stone, like the plan of a town in relief, which an artist exhibits on a table. The city, not as it has been represented to us, a shapeless and confused heap of ruins and ashes, on which a few Arab huts are erected, or Bedouin tents planted-not like Athens, a chaos of dust and crumbled walls, in which the traveller vainly seeks the outline of edifices, the track of streets, the image of a town-but a city brilliant in aspect and colouring!-offering nobly to the eye its unbroken and embattled walls, its blue mosque with white colonnades, its thousands of resplendent domes, on which the rays of an autumnal sun fall, and are reflected in

dazzling vapour; the façades of houses, tinted by the suns of summer with the yellow and golden hue of the edifices of Pæstum or of Rome, its old towers, the guardians of its walls, in which not a stone, not a loop-hole, not a battlement, is deficient; and from the midst of this ocean of houses, and multitude of little domes surmounting them, a black and elliptic dome larger than the others, towered over by another white dome-it is the Holy Sepulchre and Calvary. They are confounded, and, as it were, drowned, in the immense labyrinth of domes, edifices, and streets which surround them; and it is thus difficult to account for the site of Cavalry and that of the sepulchre, which, according to the ideas given us by the Gospel, should be found upon a detached hill, beyond the walls, and not in the centre of Jerusalem! The city, contracted on the side of Sion, has been doubtlessly enlarged towards the north, to embrace within its compass the two spots which cause its shame and glory-the place of punishment of the Just, and that of the resurrection of the incarnate God!-Lamartine's Travels in the East.

THE HIMALAYAS.

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THE Himalayan mountains form a chain nearly a thousand miles in length, and about a hundred and fifty miles in breadth. They consist in many places of rugged and bare rocks, shooting aloft into the sky, and divided by deep ravines, often ending in dark chasms, which are sometimes wooded, but in other cases totally devoid of vegetation, as if they had been worn by torrents. Here," says a writer on the subject, "is concentrated all that is sublime in the scenery of nature. On every side rise snowy summits of stupendous height, and various forms, mingled with conical volcanic peaks, regularly rounded hills, and rugged and frightful precipices." In some places, "the traveller has to scale the most terrific heights by a path so narrow as not to admit two abreast, which winds along the mountain, and often along bare and perpendicular precipices, by a narrow and irregular flight of steps, or by natural irregularities in the face of the polished marble rock, and sometimes by a projecting ledge not more than a foot broad, whilst a declivity of 600 or 700

feet in depth, opens on the outer side. The steps, at certain projecting points, where the rock is perpendicular, wind in lines of zigzag, not more than ten or twelve feet in length, at angles so sharp that, in a length of twentyfour feet, the actual height gained is not more than ten feet; and they are often placed at most inconvenient distances, which greatly increases the danger and difficulty of access."

In some places these paths would be quite inaccessible, if it were not for the help of the natives, who carry travellers in wooden chairs upon their backs. Even with this assistance, we may easily imagine the terror and inconvenience to which travellers are exposed in traversing those fearful regions. Exposed alike to the burning heat of the sun, and to piercing winds, which come laden with cold from sweeping over the masses of snow which cover lofty mountain peaks even in the hottest regions; oppressed with a difficulty of breathing, which is always felt as we ascend higher into the atmosphere, and the air becomes rarified; and giddy with looking down frightful precipices, we may almost wonder how human beings can ever live through the perils of such a journey, particularly Europeans, who have not had their sense of the dangers to which they are exposed lessened by the force of habit. Yet we find every day the restless energy of the human mind overcoming personal fear, and men encountering the most fearful risks from the love of fame—the wish to acquire money, and sometimes merely from curiosity. Youth and strength have a pleasure in conquering difficulties; and a love for travelling seems almost inherent in some active minds. Mountain scenery is also inexpressibly grand, and man seems brought nearer to his Creator when surveying these gigantic proofs of the Almighty Power.

It is, perhaps, from some feeling of this kind, that we generally find lofty mountains the resort of pilgrims; who, though they repair there ostensibly to offer homage to different deities, must, in such places, all feel impressed with one sentiment, namely, the feebleness of man, when compared with the majesty of nature. How poor and insignificant, indeed, must the petty struggles of humanity appear amidst these tremendous mountains, where, as Bishop Heber tells us, "the horizon is terminated by a

vast range of ice and snow, extending its battalion of white and shining spears from east to west, as far as the eye can follow it; the principal hills rising like towers in a glittering rampart." The Himalayas are traversed by means of what are called ghauts or passes; and which, though they are sunk like valleys among the peaks, are yet at the enormous height of from 3000 to 4000 feet above the level of the sea; or about the same height as the summit of the loftiest Scotch and Welsh mountains. The ghauts are generally free from snow, and are frequently covered with the richest vegetation, while the lofty peaks which rise on each side, and all that are around and above them, are glittering with ice. Whenever an opening occurs in the rocks, a long vista of icy peaks is seen glistening in the sun, and reflecting a thousand brilliant colours; and these are so distinct, and stand so boldly out from the clear blue sky behind them, that peaks of a remarkable form and height have been seen and recognized at the distance of 150 miles. The highest mountains of the Himalayas are called Chumalarae, and Dhawala-giri, or the white mountains; and as both of these are between 28,000 and 29,000 feet high, they are supposed to be the loftiest mountains in the world. Neither of them has yet been ascended; and indeed, from the steepness of their sides, and their enormous height, it seems almost impossible that any ordinary mortals should possess sufficient strength to reach their summits. The valleys of the Himalayas are covered with wood, and some of the finest pines and firs we possess have been brought from them; the rocks are also frequently covered with splendid orchideous plants of the richest colours, and most fantastic forms. The birds and insects are also of splendid colours.

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The meaning of the word Himalaya, is seat of snow, allusion to the eternal snows which rest on the highest summits of the peaks.-The World of Nature, by Mrs. Loudon.

RUINS OF PETRA.

THE desolate city of Petra is without a single human being living near it. "The screaming of the eagles, hawks,