The scene of the sufferings and death of our Saviour was a primary object of attraction. The spot is now enclosed by the church built by the Empress Helena, the mother of Constantine, over the Holy Sepulchre, the walls of which are in a state of perfect preservation. It is built in the Gothic style, of variegated marble, and has a very venerable appearance. The prominent object of interest that arrests the attention of the visitor upon first entering the church, is a long marble slab, upon which the body of Christ was washed, after being taken down from the cross. At either end, are massive brass candlesticks, six feet in length, with waxen candles of proportionate size. A flight of marble steps leads to Mount Cavalry-the scene of the divine interposition of mercy toward the human race. As I stood upon the spot, I could not avoid exclaiming, with a deep sense of awe almost overwhelming me, 'How awful is this piace!' A few hundred years ago, and the meek Redeemer stood where I now stand, reviled, scourged, spit upon, crucified! Here arose the roar of the maddening multitude; here flowed the crimson stream from his pierced side-here oozed the drops of tortured agony from his thorn-pressed brow; up this steep toiled the Saviour, followed by a few weeping daughters of Jerusalem, bearing the cross upon which he was to yield up his sinless life! The limits of this sacred spot are now so circumscribed, that there is little more than room enough for one large cross to stand. The situation of the cross on which the Redeemer suffered, is indicated by a large parti-colored marble platform: no one is permitted to profane it with unhallowed feet. About fourteen feet to the left, is pointed out to the visitor the spot where the cross was taken down; and near by, you see the rent rock where an altar is raised, and the two holes occupied by the crosses of the two thieves who were crucified with Christ. From the above-mentioned slab, there is a piece cut out, and the cavity filled by three bars of silver. On removing these, you perceive, by the aid of a taper, the chasms in the rock, caused by the earthquake which rent the veil of the temple in twain from the top to the bottom,' when the Messiah gave up the ghost. I passed two hours upon Calvary, without speaking a solitary word; and the thoughts which passed through my mind during this period, were of such deep intensity, that their impress will accompany me to the grave. I cannot, however, adequately define them, and I will not essay the task.

After obtaining some relics of the sacred spot, we descended the flight of steps by which we had arisen to the Mount. We passed through a semi-circular area, composed of marble slabs, and large pillars which support the roof, and arrived at a kind of ante-chapel, containing the Holy Sepulchre. Before the entrance to this chapel is raised a square piece of lime-stone, a part of the one which was rolled against the door of the sepulchre; it is inserted in another block on which, according to authentic tradition, the angel sat. The entrance to the Holy Sepulchre, as well as the sepulchre itself, to which we next proceeded, is composed of beautiful polished verdantique. We were singularly fortunate in being permitted to visit the sacred tomb, since it is rarely shown to strangers. The tomb which is built over the place where the Lord lay,' is of the purest

white marble, and is constantly lighted by resplendent lamps. Various ceremonies are observed by the attendants upon visitors to this spot, one of which is, the washing of the tomb with pure otto of roses; and opportunity is given to the devout pilgrim to perform the same office. Over the tomb, is a striking representation of Christ ascending into Heaven, and two holy angels with him,' one on either side.

On our way to the Holy Well, we were shown the stone on which Christ stood, when crowned with thorns. A marble inclosure is built around it, the front of which is secured by an iron grating, through which the stone is discovered, and over it a correct representation of the event. A short distance from this spot, you arrive, by an ascent of fourteen steps, to the Holy Well, the site of which is distinguished by a plain marble slab, which the visitor is not permitted to remove. On this spot, after clearing away the ancient ruins, the true cross on which Christ was crucified was found by the Empress Helena; and near by we were shown a chamber or grotto, where Christ was imprisoned while his enemies were plaiting the crown of thorns for his brow. Leaving this interesting scene, with many a sigh, and longing, lingering look behind,' we came to an arch, over against which is the Mosque of Omar, covering the site of the Temple of Solomon. We anticipated not a little gratification in an examination of this celebrated edifice; but on application for admission, we were refused-no Christian being allowed to enter. This last visit finished our first day's forenoon excursion.

After dinner, to which we returned with an excellent appetite, we took our departure for the Mount of Olives. Passing through the gates of Jaffa, we wound our way along Mount Zion, with the valley of Jehoshaphat on our right, watered by the brook Kedron, in the rainy season, and rich in vegetation. We paused a moment to drink at the well said by Moslem tradition to be the one which cured Job of his peculiar afflictions. The pool of Siloam, farther along the valley, next arrested our steps. It stands opposite a small village, of the same name. We tarried long enough to wash in the pool, and to saturate our spirits with the many associations which the spot is so well calculated to excite. A short distance beyond Siloam, we came upon the sepulchre where the Virgin Mary and her parents are said to be interred. It is now a subterranean church, with an imposing entrance, by a descent of forty-seven marble steps. Our arrival was at an opportune moment, as the edifice was brilliantly lighted up, for the purpose of public worship. The ceremonies were gorgeous, and the music, vocal and instrumental, rolling up and along the vast interior— the time the place all made an impression upon my mind which can never be obliterated.

I stood in the Garden of Gethsemane. It was near sunset, and a softened, mellow light rested on every object around, and clothed the distant landscape in hues soft as the first blush of the morning. The spirit of the place seemed to descend upon me, as I paused at the entrance, within the gate, near where the Redeemer left his disciples, and went up into the Mount to pray. How solemn was the scene! Here were poured forth those tokens of agony, as it were great drops of blood falling down to the ground!' Here the meek

sufferer — a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief'— a little while before he was led as a lamb to the slaughter, prayed in the anguish of his spirit, that the bitter cup might pass from his lips. The scene of the last supper, and the spot where the Saviour was betrayed, are designated by an altar, in which is inserted a piece of the table at which he sat with his disciples. The shades of evening had gathered around me as, all unconscious, I surveyed the various objects of interest in this sacred place; and joining the party from whom I had severed, we sought our way back to the Holy City, beneath the light of a cloudless moon, full of the pleasing anticipations of visiting other hallowed scenes on the morrow.

R.

ODE:

FOR THE SECOND ANNIVERSARY OF THE NEW-YORK YOUNG MEN'S TOTAL ABSTINENCE SOCIETY.

THE clock had long since struck the hour of midnight, and yet she still sat motionless, with her eyes fixed upon the sick man. Night after night, for weeks, she had kept her place at his couch, enduring fatigue and privation that would have broken a much stronger frame. No entreaties could remove her. The prayers of the invalid, the commands of the physican, had availed nothing. A love stronger and more enduring than that which gilds even the sweet bonds of married life, had thus far sustained her. Long after the rose had faded from her cheek, and the rich fullness of her figure had departed when her trembling limbs could scarcely support her, and her attenuated fingers could with difficulty convey the medicine to his lipsit had enabled her to minister unto him, and to watch over him, as the eye of affection can alone watch.

'Oh!' exclaims a writer deeply skilled in the human heart, ‘if there be one feeling which makes love, even guilty love, a god, it is the knowledge that in the midst of this breathing world, he reigns aloof and alone; and that those who are occupied with his worship, know nothing of the pettiness, the strife, the bustle, which pollute and agitate the ordinary inhabitants of earth!' A woman who has fallen, has but one source of pleasure or consolation. In the love of him for whom she has sacrificed all, she has her only compensation for the ties of home, kindred, and friendship she has broken-her only exchange for ruined reputation and lost character― the only balm for her wounded spirit the only shield against the finger of scorn or the voice of reproach. Her passions become concentrated, and every feeling of her heart is garnered up and devoted to the worship of one object. The world has nothing for her but contempt and contumely. The common occupations of woman's life, the little vanities, the rivalries, show, dress, all cease to move her feelings, or engage her attention; and she turns from them to him for whom this change has been wrought, and in his love she forgets all.

I REMEMBER Mary when she was a girl of fifteen. She had then just arrived from her native island in the West Indies, and her full dark eyes, mature form, and fair and brilliant complexion, even then clearly showed the union of opposites from whence she derived her extraction. Her father was a Dane, and her mother a Creole the cold in clime' and 'the warm in blood' — and from them sprang a creature as ardent, as passionate, as faulty — as lovely and as loving-as ever yet made shipwreck of her happiness, and brought misery and suffering upon herself, and those with whom she was connected. She was an orphan and an heiress, and had been brought to the city by her guardian, to complete her education at one of our fashionable boarding-schools.

I can hardly tell why it was that I was so much startled, when I first beheld her in the presence of young H. She was walking on the Battery, at the close of a warm summer day, with her arm entwined in that of her guardian's, yet listening with an expression of intense interest to the words which H-was pouring into her ear.

I think H was the most remarkable young man I ever knew. At the time of which I now speak, he was hardly of age. But although young, he had already distinguished himself in almost every walk of life, where he could bring his strong and powerful intellect to bear. From his childhood, he had been accustomed to close and continued mental application; and his acquirements in the various departments of learning, when he had numbered eighteen years, were most extraordinary. At this period of his life, the death of his father most unfortunately left him the sole heir of a very large estate. From this moment, except when some special purpose or some extraordinary occasion induced him to return to them, his studies were given up, and his books thrown aside. Pleasure seemed now his only pursuit, the gratification of his passions the only incentive to exertion. In these occupations he displayed energy, ingenuity, and perseverance, which, if properly directed, would have made him a useful and important member of society. His personal appear ance was unprepossessing. His features were harsh, and strongly marked. He had, however, that which, as far as my observation extended, amply compensated him for the want of personal beauty. His eyes were of the dark gray which light up so beautifully when the possessor is animated or excited. H's I have seen, at times, when their brilliancy was almost overpowering. In addition to this, he had the softest, sweetest voice that ever charmed the ear of maiden, or breathed persuasion to man. Its fascination is as indescribable as it was extraordinary. Let me stop. I am telling a tale, when I intended only to give a fragment of one.

A BEAM of the morning sun, struggling through a partly open fold of the window-curtain, rested on the pale face of a sleeping girl of eighteen. She was seated in a large easy-chair, her elbow resting upon one of its arms, and her little white hand, half hid in her loosened tresses, supported her head. Her sleep was broken and feverish. Ever and anon she would start, and clutching with a convulsive grasp her night dress, give utterance to low moans. On a couch, a few feet from her, was stretched the form of a young man apparently in the last stages of illness. His face was thin and wasted, and his eyes, which were fixed intently upon the sleeping girl, glowed with that startling and intense fire, that fearful beauty, which death so often gives to orbs soon about to be closed forever.

Mary' faintly breathed a low voice from the couch. The sleeping girl was at once aroused, and at the bed-side of the sufferer. Forgive me, dearest, for abridging the few moments of sleep you have enjoyed for these three long days and nights; but I feel that I am going fast very fast- and I would not lose, for one of the pre