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The name of LADY RACHEL Russell deserves an honorable place in the calendar of those who by their virtues and talents, have adorned and illustrated the female character. Belonging to one of the noblest families in Britain, passing a long series of years in the uninterrupted enjoyment of all the dangerous gifts of rank and wealth, and happily requited affection; then a lonely widow, the full cup of felicity suddenly dashed with a rude hand from her lips, the husband of her youth murdered on the scaffold, and his name vilified by the minions of tyranny;-prosperity never spoiled the humility of her disposition, nor did bitter adversity ever wring from her a murmur against the wisdom or the justice of the most afflicting dispensations of the providence of her God. This distinguished woman was the daughter of the Earl of Southhampton, and the wife of the illustrious Lord William Russell, whose memory is so dear to every patriot as the martyr of liberty, and the fellow sufferer of Hampden and Sidney. To Lord Russell she was an object of the most devoted attachment which she nobly requited, adhering to him with all a woman's constancy, through good report and through evil report, sharing with him the blessings of fortune and “troops of friends,” and breasting by his side the torrent of persecution by which the close of his short but brilliant career was embittered. For sixteen years she enjoyed in his society as much of happiness as falls to the lot of human nature; when he was arrested for a pretended participation in the “Rye-House Plot,” she enlisted by her ef. forts some of the most distinguished men in the country in his favor; on his mock trial she assisted him in taking notes and making out his defence; and after he was executed in pursuance of a sentence of judicial murder, she devoted her exalted talents to the vindicating of his character. Her letter to King Charles the Second is a standing monument of her devotion to his memory; it might have moved the heart of a stone, though it made no impression upon that of a voluptuary.
Lady Russell survived her husband many years. She was repeatedly solicited in marriage by the admirers of her virtues, but she chose to spend the remainder of her life in widowhood, seeking the alleviation of her sorrows in the education of her children, the society and correspondence of her numerous literary friends, and above all in the inestimable comforts of religion. Her letters, in which her talents served' as the handmaids of her virtues, and portrayed her beautiful character in all its simplicity and purity, were collected long after her death and published. They furnish a model well worthy of imitation. Among her correspondents we find the names of Archbishop Tillotson, Bishop Burnet, Bishop Patrick, the Princess of Orange, the truly pious Dr. Fitzwilliam, and many other persons equally distinguished for rank, talent, piety and learning. Some of the letters of these eminent individuals are introduced into the volume with those of Lady Russell, and they uniformly bespeak the highest respect for her character. We might, perhaps, usefully extend the present article by a few extracts from the letters we have named, but we must content ourselves with giving one entire, which was written to Dr. Fitzwilliam soon after her husband's death, and which gives an admirable view of her truly amiable character. Lord Russell was brought to the scaffold on the 21st of July, 1683, and this letter is dated the 30th of September in the same year. To Dr. Fitzwilliam.—I need not tell you, my good Doctor, how little capable I have been of such an exercise as this. You will soon find how unfit I am still for it, since my yet disodered thoughts can offer me no other than such words as express the deepest sorrows, confused as my yet amazed mind is. But such men as you, and particularly one so much my friend, will I know bear with my weakness and compassionate my distress, as you have already done by your good letter and excellent prayer. I endeavor to make the best use I can of both; but I am so evil and unworthy a creature that though I have desires, yet I have no dispositions or worthiness towards receiving comfort. You that knew us both, and how we lived, must admit I have just cause to bewail my loss. I know it is common with others to lose a friend; but to have lived with such a one, it may be questioned how few can glory in the like happiness, so consequently lament the like loss. Who can but shrink at such a blow, till by the mighty aids of his holy spirit, we will let the gift of God which he hath put into our hearts interpose? That reason which sets a measure to our souls in prosperity, will
then suggest many things which we have seen and heard, to moderate us in such sad
No. 7. Castle and Port of Seyda. 169
circumstances as mine. But alas! my un-snot be dejected; for I will not injure myself derstanding is clouded, my faith weak, sense to say, I offer my mind any inferior consolastrong, and the devil busy to fill my thoughts|tion to supply this loss. , No; I most willingwith false notions, difficulties, and doubts;|ly forsake this world—this vexatious, troublebut this I hope to make a matter of humilia- some world, in which I have no other busition, not sin. Lord, let me understand the ness, but to rid my soul from sin; secure by reason of these dark and wounding provi-|faith and a good conscience my eternal indences, that I sink not under the discourage-|terests; with patience and courage bear my ments of my own thoughts. I know I have|eminent misfortunes, and ever hereafter be deserved my punishment and I will be silent||above the smiles and frowns of it. And under it; but yet secretly my heart mourns, when I have done the remnant of the work too sadly I fear, and cannot be comforted, be-appointed me on earth, then joyfully wait for cause I have not the dear companion and |the heavenly perfection in God's good time, sharer of all my joys and sorrows. I want|when by his infinite mercy 1 "may be achim to talk with, to walk with, to eat and ||counted worthy to enter into the same place sleep with; all these things are irksome to of rest and repose where he is goné, for me now; the day unwelcome, and the nights|whom only I grieve. From that contemplaso too; all company and meals I would avoid, [tion must come my best support. Good docif it might be ; yet all this is, that I enjoy ||tor, you will think, as you have reason, that I not the world in my own way; and this sure|set no bounds, when I let myself loose to my hinders my comfort: when I see my children ||complaints; but I will release you, first fer. before me, I remember the pleasure he took|vently asking the continuance of your prayers in them; this makes my heart shrink. Can for I regret his quitting a lesser good for a great- Your infinitely afflicted, er ? O ! if I did steadfastly believe, I could But very faithful servant.
The present town of Seyda extends along some other port, or for convenience while the sea shore for a space of less than a miles|discharging and taking in their cargoes here. in length, and is not more than half a mile in The buildings of Seyda are not at all suits general breadth from the water to its in- perior to the common order of Mahommedan ner border; standing on a gradually ascend-edifices in the modern towns of Syria; the ing slope, from the sea to the more elevated|streets are extremely narrow, the mosques ground behind, its appearance, from without mean, the caravansaries small and incommois more pleasing than many other towns of *|dious, and the bazaars few and badly furbetter description in their interior. Towards |nished with even the necessaries in general the sea side an old castle, said to have been request. The inhabitants are variously estibuilt by the crusaders of France, and themated, at from 5,000 to 10,000; perhaps the ruins of another, running out at the extremitrue number would be found to be between ty of a ledge of rocks, with arches, tend to 7,000 and 8,000. The great majority of these give the harbour a picturesque appearance, are Mahommedans, the Christians not exparticularly when a few of the native vessels, ceeding 1,000, and the Jews less than 500– of the coast are seen behind this ledge, where Buckingham's Travels among the Arab they usually anchor for shelter, if bound to Tribes.
of the Mount of Olives.
There in dark bowers embosomed, Jesus flings
The scenery of Palestine is alive with holy recollections. The modern traveler, at this distance of time from the date of the grand transactions which have rendered Judea a land of sacred classics forever, can scarcely wlace his foot where there is not a fragrance exhaling from ancient story connected with the dust, the rocks, the hills, vales and tombs, of the land of Canaan. So striking is the face of nature now, that the mind is lost in wonder in striving to conceive the glorious appearance of the country, when it was emphatically the glory of all lands—when the hills were green to the summits, the vales warm and irriguous, and the tops of the ele. vations crowned with fortresses and battlements, that frowned defiance to the invader. But Jerusalem itself, with its temple-crested mountain, and the scenery around it, may be supposed the diádem of beauty, sublimity and strength to the whole country. In Croly's lively pencillings we give the outlines of the temple as it rose on the adoring eyes of the chosen nation. “I see the court of the Gentiles circling the whole; a fortress of the whitest marble, with its wall rising six hundred feet from the valley; its kingly entrance, worthy of the fame of Solomon; its innumerable and stately dwellings for the
priests and officers of the temple, and above them, glittering like a succession of diadems, those alabaster porticos and colonades, in which the chiefs and sages of Jerusalem sat teaching the people, or walked, breathing the pure air and gazing on the grandeur of a landscape, which swept the whole amphitheatre of the mountains. I see, rising above this stupendous boundary, the court of the Jewish women, separated by its porphyry pillars and richly sculptured wall; above this, the separated court of the men; still higher, the court of the priests; and highest, the crowning splendor of all, the central temple, the place of the sanctuary and of the Holy of Holies covered with plates of gold, its roof planted with lofty spear heads of gold, the most precious marbles and metals every where flashing back the day till Mount Moriah stood forth to the ey-of the stranger approaching Jerusalem, what it had so often been described by its bards and people, a mountain of snow, studded with jewels o' But a little way from this glorious mountain, eastward, over the valley of Jehoshaphat, through which Cedron flows, is the Mount of Olives, now a lonely place, where contemplation loves to dwell and muse on two events in our Saviour's life which have consecrated its scenery—the mental agony in the garden, and his final ascension from the earth. Of the first named incident, the evangelists speak in tones of sorrow—and, although Jesus ascended into heaven to prepare mansions for all his followers, the elevated and original Bossuet speaks thus despondingly of his separation from the church :—“but she has only heard his enchanting voice, she has . only enjoyed his mild and engaging presence for a moment. Suddenly he has taken to flight with a rapid course, and, swifter than the fawn of a hind, has ascended to the high
Written on the Last Page of a Lady’s Album.
est mountains. Like a desolate wife, the church has done nothing but groan, and the song of the forsaken turtle is in her mouth; in short, she is a stranger and a wanderer .upon the earth.” The Mount of Olives, even now shaded in part by the tree from whence it derives its name, is situated to the east of Jerusalem, from which it is separated by the brook Cedron and the valley of Jehoshaphat. The garden of Gethsemane lies over the brook on the acclivity of the mountain. . As the traveler approaches Jerusalem, through the village of Jeremiah, Olivet bursts upon his sight along with Moriah and Zion. It has three eminences or summits, one of which stretches away to a sabbath day's journey from Jerusalem. The engraving which we present in this number gives its appearance from the city. It was up this elevation that King David three thousand years ago went weeping when Absalom's rebellion forced him to abdicate his throne for a season; and from its elevation Jesus beheld and wept over the devoted city. We close this article with a few extracts from the journal of the lamented missionary to Palestine, Fisk, who with his friends, Parsons, King and Wolff, frequently repaired to Olivet to gaze on Jerusalem, and ponder on the sublime and melancholy associations connected with its scenery. ‘We made our first visit to Mount Olivet, and there bowed down before Him, who, from thence ascended to glory, and sat down on the right hand of the Majesty on high. There we held our first monthly concert of prayer in the holy land. There is no doubt that this is the mount from which the Mediator ascended to his Father and to our Father. On this interesting spot, with Jerusalem before us, and on this interesting day, when thousands of Christians are praying for Zion, it was delightful to mingle our petitions with theirs, and pray for our friends, for ministers, for churches, for missionaries and the worid. From this Mount we have a view of the Dead Sea where Sodom and Gomorrha stood, and the mountains beyond Jordan from which Moses beheld, in distant prospect, the promised land. “With some olive branches from Olivet, and some flowers from the mansion house of Lazarus in our hands, we returned by a winding way around the south of Mount Olivet, till we came to the brook Cedron, where it enters the valley of Jehoshaphat. This valley seems like a frightful chasm in the earth, and when you stand in it, and see Mount Zion and Moriah towering above it with steep hills and precipices, on your right hand and left, you can easily feel the force of those sublime passages in the prophet Joel, in which
JA Christmas Hymn—Beauties of Salathiel.
The cavern so splendidly decorated into
which they penetrated, proved to be the resort of a band of pirates, who shortly returned; and our adventurers hardly escaped with their lives; and were indebted for their safety to the commander. As the retreat of the pirates had been discovered by the Romans, they anticipated an immediate attack, as soon as the storm, which at that time raged with unparalleled fury, should subside. With the first hush of the elements the marauders put to sea. But to our author. We stretched far out to sea for the double purpose of falling by surprise upon the Roman squadron, and avoiding the shoals. The wind lulled at intervals so much, that we had recourse to our oars; it would then burst down with a violence, that all but hurled us out of the water. I now saw more of the captain, and was witness of the extraordinary energy, activity, and skill of this singular young man. Never was there a more expert seaman. For every change of sea or wind, he had a new expedient: and when the hearts of the stoutest sank, he took the helm into his hands, and carried us through the chaos of waters, foam, whirlwind, and lightning, with the vigor and daring of one born to sport with the storm. As I was gazing over the vessel's side, on the phosphoric gleams that danced along the
ridge of the billows, he came up to me.
“I am sorry,” said he, “that we have been y
compelled to give you so rough a specimen of our hospitality; and this is not altogether a summer sea; but you saw how the matter stood. The enemy would have been upon us; and the whole advantage of our staying at home, would be, to have our throats cut in company.” Odd and rambling as his style was, there was something in his manner and voice that had struck me before, even in the boisterous. ness of the convivial crowd. But now in the solitary ocean, there was a melancholy sweetness in histones, that made me start with sad recollection. Yet, when by the lightning I attempted to discover in his features any clue to memory, and saw but the tall figure wrapped in the sailor's cloak, the hair streaming over his face in the spray, and every line of his powerful physiognomy at its full stretch in the agitation of the time, the thought vanished again. “I hinted,” said he, after an interval of silence, “at your taking chance with us.If you will, you may. But the hint was thrown out merely to draw off the fellows about me, and you are at full liberty to forget it.” “It is impossible to join you,” was my answer; “my life is due to my country.” “Oh for that matter, so is mine; and due a long time ago: my only wonder is, how I have evaded payment till now. But I am a man of few words. I have taken a sort of liking to you, and would wish to have a few such at hand. But let this pass. The point between us is, will you take service?” “No —I feel the strongest gratitude for the manliness and generosity of your protection. You saved our lives; and our only hope of revisiting Judea in freedom is through you. But, young man, I have a great cause in hand. I have risked every thing for it.— Family, wealth, rank, life, are at stake; and I look upon every hour given to other things as so far a fraud upon my country.” I heard him sigh. There was silence on both sides for a while, and he paced the deck; then suddenly returning, laid his hand on my shoulder. “I am convinced of your honor,” said he, “and far be it from me to betray a man who has indeed a purpose worthy of manhood, into our broken and unhappy—aye, let the word come out, infamous career. But you tell me that I have been of some use to you; [now demand the return. You have refused to take service with me. Let me take service with you.” I stared at him. He smiled sadly, and said, “You will not associate with, one stained like me. Aye; for the robber there is no repentance. Yet why shall the world,” and his voice
was full of anguish, “why shall the ungener