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tional feeling or enthusiasm among them; though there are some exceptions, where these exist in an intense degree. In the city, they appear fearful and humbled; for the contempt in which they are held by the Turks is excessive, and they often go poorly clad to avoid exciting suspicion.

Yet it is an interesting sight, to meet with a Jew, wandering, with his staff in his hand, and a venerable beard sweeping his bosom, in the rich and silent plain of Jericho, on the sides of his native mountains, or on the banks of the ancient river Kish'on, where the arm of the mighty was withered in the battle of the Lord. Did a spark of the love of his country warm his heart, his feelings must be exquisite,—but his spirit is suited to his condition,

LESSON XCVI.

"—that ye, through his poverty, might be rich."-
W. RUSSELL.

Low in the dim and sultry west
Is the fierce sun of Syria's sky;
The evening's grateful hour of rest,
Its hour of feast and joy, is nigh.

But he, with thirst and hunger spent,
Lone, by the wayside faintly sinks;

A lowly hand the cup hath lent,

And from the humble well he drinks.

*

On the dark wave of Galilee

The gloom of twilight gathers fast,

And o'er the waters drearily

Sweeps the bleak evening blast.

The weary bird hath left the air,

And sunk into his sheltered rest;

The wandering beast hath sought his lair,
And laid him down to welcome rest.

Still, near the lake, with weary tread,
Lingers a form of human kind;

And, from his lone, unsheltered head,
Flows the chill night-damp on the wind.

Why seeks not he a home of rest?

Why seeks not he the pillowed bed?
Beasts have their dens, the bird its nest;---
He hath not where to lay his head!

Such was the lot he freely chose,

To bless, to save, the human race;
And, through his poverty, there flows
A rich, full stream of heavenly grace.

LESSON XCVII.

Elijah fed by Ravens.-GRAHAME.

SORE was the famine throughout all the bounds
Of Israel, when Elijah, by command

Of God, toiled on to Cherith's failing brook.
No rain-drops fall, no dew-fraught cloud, at morn,
Or closing eve, creeps slowly up the vale.
The withering herbage dies. Among the palms,
The shrivelled leaves send to the summer gale
An autumn rustle. No sweet songster's lay
Is warbled from the branches.

Scarce is heard

The rill's faint brawl. The prophet looks around,
And trusts in God, and lays his silvered head
Upon the flowerless bank. Serene he sleeps,

Nor wakes till dawning. Then, with hands enclasped,
And heavenward face, and eye-lids closed, he prays
To Him who manna on the desert showered,
To Him who from the rock made fountains gush.
Entranced the man of God remains; till, roused
By sound of wheeling wings, with grateful heart
He sees the ravens fearless by his side
Alight, and leave the heaven-provided food.

LESSON XCVIII.

Mount Sinai.-Letters froM THE EAST.

LEAVING the valley of Paran, the path led over a rocky wilderness, to render which more gloomy, the sky became clouded, and a shower of rain fell. By moonlight we ascended the hills, and, after some hours' progress, rested for the night on the sand. The dews had fallen heavy for some nights, and the clothes that covered us were quite wet in the morning; but, as we advanced, the dews ceased..

Our mode of life, though irregular, was quite to a wanderer's taste. We sometimes stopped for an hour, at mid-day, or, more frequently, took some bread and a draught of water on the camel's back; but we were repaid for our fatigues, when we halted for the evening, as the sun was sinking in the desert, and, having taken our supper, strolled amidst the solitudes, or spent the hours in conversation till dark.

But the bivouac* by night was the most striking, when, arriving, fatigued, long after dark, the two fires were lighted. I have frequently retired to some distance to gaze at the group of Arabs round theirs, it was so entirely in keep ing. They were sipping their coffee, and talking with expressive action and infinite vivacity; and, as they addressed each other, they often bent over the flame which glanced on their white turbans and drapery and dark countenances, and the camels stood behind, and stretched their long necks over their masters.

Having finished our repast, we wrapped ourselves in our cloaks, and lay down round the fire: and let not that couch be pitied; for it was delightful, as well as romantic, to sink to rest as you looked on that calm and glorious sky, the stars shining with a brilliancy you have no conception of in our climate. Then, in the morning, we were suddenly summoned to depart, and, the camels being loaded, we were soon on the march. Jouma frequently chanted his melancholy Arab song, for at this time we were seldom disposed to converse, and were frequently obliged to throw a blanket over our cloak, and walk for some hours, to guard against the chillness of the air.

The sunsets in Egypt are the finest; but to see a sunrise in its glory, you must be in the desert: nothing there obscures or obstructs it. You are travelling on, chill and silent, *Pron, bé-voo-ac; an encampment for a night,

your looks bent toward the east; a variety of glowing hues appear and die away again; and, for some time, the sky is blue and clear; when the sun suddenly darts above the horizon, and such a splendour is thrown instantly on the wide expanse of sand and rocks, that, if you were a Persian adorer, you would certainly break out, like the muezzin* from the minaret, in praise and blessing.

The way now became very interesting, and varied by several narrow, deep valleys, where a few stunted palms grew. The next morning, we entered a noble desert, lined on each side by lofty mountains of rock, many of them perfectly black, with sharp and ragged summits. In the midst of the plain, which rose with a continual yet gentle ascent, were isolated rocks of various forms and colours, and over its surface were scattered a number of shrubs of a lively green. Through all the route, we had met few passengers. One or two little caravans, or a lonely wanderer with his camel, had passed at times, and given us the usual salute of "Peace be unto you.'

99 * * * *

A few hours more we got sight of the mountains round Sinai. Their appearance was magnificent; when we drew nearer, and emerged out of a deep pass, the scenery was infinitely striking, and, on the right, extended a vast range of mountains as far as the eye could reach, from the vicinity of Sinai down to Tor. They were perfectly bare, but of grand and singular form. We had hoped to reach the convent by day-light, but the moon had risen some time, when we entered the mouth of a narrow pass, where our conductors advised us to dismount.

A gentle yet perpetual ascent, led on, mile after mile, up this mournful valley, whose aspect was terrific, yet ever varying. It was not above two hundred yards in width, and the mountains rose to an immense height on each side. The road wound at their feet along the edge of a precipice, and amidst masses of rock that had fallen from above. It was a toilsome path, generally over stones, placed like steps, probably by the Arabs; and the moonlight was of little service to us in this deep valley, as it only rested on the frowning summits above.

Where is Mount Sinai? was the inquiry of every one. The Arabs pointed before to Gabel Mousa, the Mount of

*Muezzin,-one of a religious order, among the Mahommedans, whose clear and sonorous voice, from the minaret, or steeple of a mosque, answers the purpose of bell, among Christians; to call the people to imorning and evening prayers.

Moses, as it is called, but we could not distinguish it. Again, and again, point after point was turned, and we saw but the same stern scenery. But what had the softness and beauty of nature to do here? Mount Sinai required an approach like this, where all seemed to proclaim the land of miracles, and to have been visited by the terrors of the Lord.

The scenes, as you gaze around, had an unearthly charac ter, suited to the sound of the fearful trumpet that was once heard there. We entered at last on the more open valley, about half a mile wide, and drew near this famous mountain. Sinai is not so lofty as some of the mountains around it, and in its form there is nothing graceful or peculiar, to distinguish it from others. * *

* *

On the third morning we set out early from the convent for the summit of Mount Sinai, with two Arab guides. The ascent was, for some time, over long and broken flights of stone steps, placed there by the Greeks. The path was often narrow and steep, and wound through lofty masses of rock on each side. In about half an hour, we came to a well of excellent water; a short distance above which is a small, ruined chapel.

About half way up was a verdant and pleasant spot, in the midst of which stood a high and solitary palm, and the rocks rose in a small and wild amphitheatre around. We were not very long now in reaching the summit, which is of limited extent, having two small buildings on it, used formerly by the Greek pilgrims, probably for worship.

But Sinai has four summits; and that of Moses stands almost in the middle of the others, and is not visible from below, so that the spot where he received the law must have been hid from the view of the multitudes around; and the smoke and flame, which, Scripture says, enveloped the entire Mount of Sinai, must have had the more awful appearance, by reason of its many summits and great extent; and the account delivered gives us reason to imagine, the summit or scene where God appeared was shrouded from the hosts around.

But what occasions no small surprise at first, is the scarcity of plains, valleys, or open places, where the children. of Israel could have stood conveniently to behold the glory on the mount. From the summit of Sinai you see only innumerable ranges of rocky mountains. One generally places, in imagination, around Sinai, extensive plains, or sandy deserts, where the camp of the hosts was placed, where the

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