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detail. The first thought when you enter Jerusalem, is the tomb of our Saviour! Nor food nor drink should pass the pilgrim's lips until he has bent before that shrine of shrines! We care not in what faith he was educated, nor to what creed he adheres-if a Christian, he worships the Mediator and Saviour-the God-man who put on mortality, and suffered for the redemption of his creatures; how his heart must melt, and his soul dilate, at the contemplation of a spot hallowed as the last restingplace of Christ! Even if an infidel as to the Divinity of Jesus, as the Apostle of the sublimest and purest creed that ever bound man in the brotherhood of love, he must adore his memory, and venerate every association connected with his earthly mission!

It was with feelings of awe and veneration, difficult to describe, that I entered the little marble temple which enshrines the tomb. It is divided into two compartments; the innermost of which, where in golden lamps they feed a perpetual flame, contains the sarcophagus in which the good Joseph buried Jesus. We see nothing of the original, which has been dug or cut around until it stands about two feet high, encased in superb marble. Above this hung the most beautiful portrait of Christ I ever saw it is by one of the old masters, which, I did not learn, and represents a countenance radiant with glory, and full of beneficence-'tis a heavenly face! I found a priest busily engaged mumbling some of the formulas of the church over a pile of beads which lay on the tomb to be consecrated. Within the grounds covered by the cathedral, there are other localities shown, which are more apocryphal. The position where the cross stood on Mount Calvary the place where the rocks were rent at the crucifixion-where Christ was crowned with thorns, and where the soldiers parted his garments: from these, however, I turned with more interest to the relics of the Crusades. As my feelings of religious awe abated, Romance claimed its due, and I caught as eagerly as one fresh from the pages of Sir Walter Scott might be supposed to do, at all that was offered me and the good monks have a wonderful proclivity to gratify the stranger's curiosity. The sword and spurs of GODFREY DE BOULLION! Ah! here was something tangible to carry me back to the days of chivalry-something that had actually been in the possession of a crusader-one of the bravest champions of the cross! The sword was a plain, short, double-edged Norman onc, so pon

derous that it would require a strong arm to poise it: we were assured, however, that the valiant king of Jerusalem had, with that very sword, slain three hundred Saracens in a day! Of course we believed what we heard; but it was rather more difficult to do so with regard to the knightly spurs, which they told us were pure gold, but to my apprehension were plain brass. However, curiosity hunters have no right to be over critical, and much good, honest enthusiasm would be lost if the truth were always known.

Our visit to Bethlehem was a brief and unsatisfactory one; though we all enjoyed the ride, especially as an opportunity was afforded of seeing a tribe of wild Arabs of the desert who were camping near the city, because, as we learned, of some trouble among the tribes. There is a magnificent church, somewhat in decay, built over the spot where Christ lay in the manger, and they pretend to show the very spot where the infant was when the wise men visited him, which is marked by a large silver star inserted into the rock of the floor. The monks of the convent at Bethlehem appeared to us rather more intelligent than those at Jerusalem-they amused us with stories, gave us a good dinner, seemed less anxious for a contribution to their charities, and sent us back in the afternoon, if not much improved in antiquarian lore, quite well satisfied with our treatment. On our return to Jerusalem, it was so late that we found the large gates closed, and were obliged to dismount and lead our mules through the small side gate which is always found in the walled cities of Syria, and which is called, in the figurative language of the East, "the eye of the needle." A recent English traveler remarks upon this, as affording a clew to a Scriptural text which has puzzled many an inquiring brain, and been a great stumblingblock to honest but ignorant piety, as well as ignorant but ambitious commentators: "It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God." When it is understood that if the camel is freed of his burden and compelled to kneel, he may, in a case of necessity be taken through the "eye of the needle," the appropriateness and beauty of the simile will be readily seen.

But I fear to grow prolix. Mellowed by time and distance, the reminiscences of the Holy City rise before me like a beautiful phantasmagoria seen through the mist, dim yet perfect, but which fades when we attempt to draw

near. The Mount of Olives from whence I
overlooked the city, and caught the only
glimpse granted to a Christian of the ruins of
the Temple of Solomon, out of which the gor-
geous Mosque of Omar is built; the Garden of
Gethsemane, with its olive-trees which tradi-
tion consecrates as contemporary with our
Saviour; the tomb of the Virgin mother; the
Valley of Jehoshaphat, with its ruined sepul-
chres of the kings; the Pool of Siloam, whose
waters possess to this day medicinal qualities
all and each were the objects of deep interest
and meditation; and when I turned my back

upon the scenes so fraught with inspiring associations, I was older in reflection and thought, by years!

I have thus attempted to evoke from memory a few scenes and sentiments to interest the readers of the REPUBLIC; if I have suc ceeded, even faintly, I shall be more than repaid: and through its pages, which are destined to exercise more than ordinary control over the minds and sentiments of “Young America," I shall ere long endeavor to contribute some leaves more worthy from the Journal of a Pilgrim of Many Lands.

SCRAPS FROM THE NOTE BOOK OF A TRAVELER.

THE UPPER

MISSISSIPPI.

WE left the city of Galena on Friday morn-, ject of interest to the mind of the traveler. ing, on board the steamboat Agnes, and hav- The place, selected by himself, is one of the ing run down to the mouth of Fever River, most romantic on the whole route. A small between eight and nine o'clock commenced our stone building or monument has been erected upward passage over the amber-tinted waters directly over his remains, and this again is of the Mississippi; the sun, who had for many surmounted by a large, rude cross, indicating days hid himself from sight, now shone forth the religion of him who sleeps beneath it. The to cheer us with his enlivening rays, and every spot is about ninety or one hundred feet above mile of travel as we progressed presented to the river, and but a few feet from the brink of the eye and to the mind a succession of new a double precipice, one side of which faces the and exciting means of enjoyment. stream, and the others running at right angles, faces the north. The monument may be approached on the south side by a smooth but rapid ascent, and it is only from this drection and from the east that it can be seen.

The scenery upon this route is exceedingly beautiful; in many places it is grand, even to sublimity; and at others it is softened down into the no less imposing yet more fascinating phases of the picturesque. The western bank presents an almost continuous front of crag, and cliff, and hill, rising perpendicularly from the shore, covered at times with the foliage of primeval forests, and at others presenting upon their lofty sides the bright, smooth green of the open prairie; the whole appearing to have been thrown together "in most admired disorder"-hills piled upon hills, cliff upon cliff, and all together driven in one close mass, as though some huge, convulsive effort of the earth had spent its force in raising them so far, and then subsiding, with its work but half accomplished, left them in the confusion of unfinished

nature.

The grave of Mons. Dubuque is situated upon one of those eminences, and affords a sub

The scenery upon the east side of the river is essentially different from that upon the west; the land being low, level, and covered with almost unbroken forest for many miles in length, which extending backward from the river, is met, at distances varying from one to six miles, by bluffs and high rolling prairie and woodland similar to that upon the west side, affording conclusive evidence that the waters of the Mis sissippi once flowed in one broad sheet over the whole space embraced within those high embankments; and that, by the gradual accumulation of alluvial deposit, they have been turned into one narrow stream, which, thus concentrated, affords sufficient depth for the purposes of navigation, and enables us to probe the very wilderness with vessels of compara

tively heavy burden. Many places upon the river remind me very forcibly of the scenery upon the Hudson between New-York and Albany; occasionally we meet with little clusters of islands, covered with dense dark foliage, and reposing in the very solitude of nature-a solitude that is unbroken by the voice of the white man, and undisturbed by the footfall of the savage; then again we are led through narrow winding passes, bounded on the one hand by cliff and crag, and upon the other by the low, dense forests of the vast and fertile "bottoms." Our boat stopped for an hour at a place called "Parson's Landing," above Dubuque; it is a spot of level land upon the west side of the river, containing, as an uncertain deed would express it, "about two acres, be the same more or less," and forms a sort of triangular recess among the mass of hills that are thrown confusedly around it. Close upon the shore, and at about the middle of the front line of the triangle, stands the "settlement," consisting of one dwelling-house, a pig-sty, and a dilapi ́dated log barn; and from the northern corner of the triangle rises in the form of a pyramid, as seen from the river, a peak of some two hundred and fifty feet in height: the ascent from this point to its summit is gradual and easy, while the front or river side presents a stupendous perpendicular cliff from the base to the top. In company with three or four others, I ascended to the very pinnacle, and was repaid for my labor with one of the most

magnificent natural scenic exhibitions that was ever presented to the eye.

On every side lay an unobstructed view of the surrounding country, with here and there a village starting up from the forest, or resting upon the slope of some distant prairie-the Mississippi, dotted with islands, and winding afar upon the North and the South, lost at times behind some jutting promontory, and again appearing in the distance, seemed like a stream of liquid silver. Several miles below us, struggling against the current, and puffing her white steam among the trees, might be seen our little competitor, the "Rock River." We had passed her at Dubuque, and notwithstanding our incumbrance of a keel-boat, had left her far behind.

On descending from our lofty position, I inquired of our pilot (who was one of the party) the name of the spot that we were upon. He replied that he was not aware that it had ever yet been christened; so deeming it important that a point of such high standing should have a place in the nomenclature of the things of earth, we forthwith invested it with the name of PARSON'S PEAK.

Evening soon shed her mantle of darkness over the earth, and shut from our senses the scenes of terrestrial beauty; yet, as if to finish the enjoyment of the day with something of more than usual interest, we were regaled at its close with a brilliant exhibition of the aurora borealis.

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THE DEEP.

BY URIAH H. JUDAH.

"On the deep is the mariner's danger,

On the deep is the mariner's death,
Who, to fear of the tempest a stranger,
Sees the last bubble burst of his breath?
'Tis the sea-bird, sea-bird, sea-bird,
Lone looker on despair;
The sea-bird, sea-bird, sea-bird,
The only witness there."

How many a noble spirit has taken its flight to Heaven from the vast depths of the great sea, while the mortal part, which contained the divinity within, will remain in that fathomless abyss until the "last trump" proclaims that the Lord of lords and the King of kings shall judge the quick and the dead!

"There's beauty in the deep,

The wave is bluer than the sky;

And, though the lights shine bright on high,
More softly do the sea-gems glow
That sparkle in the depths below;
The rainbow's tints are only made
When on the waters they are laid,
And sun and moon most sweetly shine
Upon the ocean's level brine.

There's beauty in the deep."

Thousands upon thousands lie slumbering, sweetly and calmly, in this boundless cemetery of the dead, where no "storied urn or animated bust" marks the spot where genius reposes in that sleep which is dreamless-the sleep of the grave.

Here no line of separation defines the grave of the monarch who so proudly sat upon his throne and swayed the destinies of his loyal subjects. Alike, in peaceful repose, the king and the peasant-the rich man and the poorthe great and the lowly-are side by side; alike, in the tranquil slumbers of death, the man of mighty intellect and the fool-him whose eloquence commanded the applause of admiring thousands, and him whose ignorance was a barrier to his success-are at rest in the same watery grave their tomb the jewelry of the ocean, and their dirge the eternal music of its roar:

"There's music in the deep:-
It is not in the surf's rough roar,
Nor in the whispering, shelly shore-
They are but earthly sounds, that tell
How little of the sea-nymph's shell,

That sends its loud, clear note abroad,
Or winds its softness through the flood,
Echoes through groves with coral gay,
And dies, on spongy banks, away.
There's music in the deep."

Oh! how perilous the life of the mariner, and yet how grand and how sublime! When the winds blow with unabated fury, and the tempest roars with increased violence, he beholds the wrath of an offended God; and as he views the returning brilliancy of the sky, he witnesses the abatement of his anger.

'Tis night!-and the evening sky is illumined with inimitable beauty; countless stars shine o'er the mighty deep in matchless grandeur; the moon reflects her peerless rays of dazzling brightness on this fallen on this inferior world. Oh! behold the beauty, the softness, the loveliness of such an eve:-ah! then, indeed,

"There's quiet in the deep:-
Above let tides and tempests rave,
And earth-born whirlwinds wake the wave;
Above let care and fear contend,
With sin and sorrow to the end;
Here, far beneath the tainted foam
That frets above our peaceful home,
We dream in joy, and wake in love,
Nor know the rage that yells above,-
There's quiet in the deep."

A bark glides swiftly o'er the mighty deep, bearing the "star-spangled banner" of Columbia, and freighted with the rich products of a foreign clime; land, land is visible to all on board that gallant ship. Soon think they to reach their destined port, and all the perils of that voyage be ended. Soon think they to grasp the hands of all the heart holds dear, never, no never to part! But see! see! the sky, but a little while since so superbly beautiful, has become overcast and lustreless; the stars have ceased their brilliancy, and are lost in the threatening darkness, and the moon, which just glowed so brightly, is now obscured; hear, oh! hear the angry roaring of the winds, and listen, oh! listen to the rapid bursts of thunder, and behold, oh! behold the vivid

flashes of lightning as they illumine the dark and gloomy waves; terrible, and yet more terrible grows the storm; a wreck! a wreck!-and all on board have perished,―ay! gone down, gone down to the deep, deep sea, and not a rescuing hand was extended to save them from that watery bier :

"Sleep on, sleep on; the fearful wrath

Of mingling cloud and deep
May leave its wild and stormy tract
Above thy place of sleep;

But, when the wave has sunk to rest,

As now, 'twill murmur o'er thy breast,

And the bright victims of the sea

Perchance will make their home with thee."

beautiful language of that accomplished scholar and distinguished author, Mr. Giles:

"The same waye rolls over all-the same requiem, by the minstrels of ocean, is sung to their honor. Over their remains the same storm beats and the same sun shines, and there, unmarked, the weak and the powerful, the plumed and the honored, will sleep on, until, awakened by the same trumpet, the sea shall give up its dead. I thought of sailing over the slumbering but devoted Cookman, who, after his brief but brilliant career, perished in the President-over laughter-loving Power, who went down in the same ill-fated vessel, we may

The sea will continue for ages to engulf the have passed. In that cemetery sleeps the acwanderer in its ruins; "as it was in the begin-complished and pious Fisher; where he and ning, so it will be in the ending." That God who designated "the dry land as the final depository of humanity, also destined the waters as the bural-place of mortality, even until the end of time.

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thousands of the noblest spirits of the earth lie, no one but God knoweth. No marble rises to point out where their ashes are gathered, or where the lover of the good and wise can go to shed tears of sympathy. Who can tell where lie the tens of thousands of Africa's sons who perished in the "middle passage ?" Yet that cemetery hath ornaments of which no one can boast. On no other are the heavenly orbs reflected in so much splendor. Over no other is heard such noble melody. In no other are so many inimitable traces of Jehovah. Never can I forget the days and nights as I passed the noblest of cemeteries, without a single human monument."

JERUSALEM.

BY C. D. STUART.

How fallen that city! once pride of the world,
When Herod's red banners were proudly unfurled;
Its temples are riven, its altars o'erturned,
The place of its prophets by Infidels spurned.
The Turk, in the court-yard, is quaffing his wine;
The Arab lies drunken on Solomon's shrine;
The tombs of the chosen bear ruin and stain,
And the Saracen's Mosque o'ershadows their fane.
Ah, pass'd is her glory-O, God! I could weep
Where tread the blasphemers by Olivet's steep;
Could gird me in sackcloth, and watch by the place
Where tramples the Crescent, Thy Cross to disgrace.

A wail for the fallen! Genesareth's sea,
The Jordan, and Siloam, and dark Galilee-
Gethsemane's garden, the Rock, and the Tree
Where Christ was rejected, shall answer to me!

How long must they trample thy vineyards, O Lord?
How long beat thy children, and smite with the sword?
How long o'er thy altars with curses prevail,
While thine are outdriven in silence to wail?

Their harps on the willow thy children have hung,
And sorrow is only the psalm they have sung,
While Sharon's bright roses are bent to the plain,
O, God, in thy mercy, revive them again!

For Christ's sake, Thy vial of vengeance withhold;
Let Jerusalem rise to her triumph of old;
The Rock be her altar, her fane be the Tree,

Her worship, thanksgiving and glory to Thee.

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