remarkable group of tombs around the city of Jerusalem. The first on the left is square, hewn from the solid rock, ornamented with Ionic pillars, and having a singularly shaped top, which, though rather heavy, is not without a certain grace of outline and detail. This passes for the Tomb of Absalom. The next, hewn in the rock itself, has a regular Doric portal. The third, standing in a square, cut out from the rock, with a pyramidal top, is heavy and inelegant; it is called the Tomb of Zechariah. It is in vain to speculate for whom they were really erected, certainly never for those whose names tradition has given them. They may be anterior to Herod, of the period when Greek architecture was first known in Palestine, or even of a later date.

At the Tomb of Absalom, (so called,) we may pause and drink from a well, the resort of women from the neighbouring village of Siloam.

As we ascend from the Jewish burial-ground, the valley changes its gloomy character for one more cheerful; the tombs give place to a thin sprinkling of corn and olives, and we soon reach again the hallowed shades of Gethsemane.

Beyond this spot, in the centre as it is of the places mentioned in the life of Jesus, few, we believe, pursue the course of the Valley of Jehoshaphat any further. But though tradition has not visited this, its upper and more retired portion, it is equally interesting. The valley is full of olive trees, and the hill-sides are broken into caverns. As we proceed it becomes more open and cheerful, forming a small, round, cultivated plain, and having on the right gardens and vineyards in very good order; it is quiet and sheltered,

and abounds in more pastoral beauty than any other part of the environs of the city. May we not believe that HE, whose presence has for ever consecrated the spot, was here often touched with the gentle and soothing influence of the scene that among these chequered shades of the rustling olive, shut out from the turbulent city, he has often wandered in solitary meditation, or knelt in holy prayer?

"Cold mountains and the midnight air,
Witnessed the fervour of his prayer;
The desert his temptation knew,

His conflict and his victory too."

A SONG FOR JANUARY.

BY H. G. ADANS.

FLING sad memories to the wind;
Wipe regretful tears away;
Cast no ling'ring looks behind;
Time will not his progress stay,
Therefore now his call obey;
He hath turned another leaf,

And he says "Make no delay,
Write thereon, the time is brief."

On the past we'll look no more;
Unto most it is a page
Sadly blurred and blotted o'er;

As we pass from youth to age,
Foolish thoughts our hearts engage,
And the record of our deeds

Shames us in our moments sage;
Ground o'er grown with idle weeds
Is this record of our deeds.