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LETTERS.ESTHETIC, SOCIAL, AND MORAL,'WRITTEN FROM
EUROPET, EGYPT, AND PALESTINE.
BY
TIHOMAS C. UIPIIAM,
PROFESSOR OF MIENT.AL AND MIORAL PI[ILOSOPIIY IN BOWDOIN COLLEGE.
PI-TILADELPIITA:
I-IENRY LONGSTRETJt, 915 MiATIKET ST.
1857.




Enltered 5according to 5act of Collgress, ill the year 1855, by
TIIOMAS C. UP'ItAM,
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Maine.
STEREOTYPED BY L. JOItNSON  & CO.
PIILADELPHIA.




PREFACE
TO  A  PRIVATE  EDITION.
I HAVE assented to the wishes of a few friends, and allowed this small edition of four hundred copies of these
letters to be published. I have no personal preferences to
gratify, either in publishing or withholding. But I cannot
at present persuade myself, that they would be likely to
possess any special interest beyond a very limited circle.
The letters will, for the most part, explain their own history. It will not be necessary, therefore, to go into details here. I should do injustice, however, to my feelings,
if I did not refer in a few words to my fellow-travellers,
Rev. Mr. Thompson, and Mr. and Mrs. Walcott. Mr.
Thompson is the pastor of the Tabernacle Church in New
York. I had previously known him in America; and it
was with pleasure I met him in London. Mr. Thompson
is the editor of the popular and able religious paper, the
Independent; and is the author of a number of valuable
works. Since his return from his travels, he has published
an interesting and well-written volume on Egypt.  With3




4                     PREFACE.
out saying anything of its high literary merits, I can venture, from having been with him in all the places which he
visited in that country, to bear testimony to the strict accuracy of its details. It was chiefly through his encouragement and aid that I was enabled to pursue my journey.
MIr. Walcott, whom I also met in London, is the founder
and owner of a large manufacturing-establishment near
Utica, N. Y., known as the "New York Mills."  Around
this establishment there has grown up a large and beautiful
village. The operatives, many of whom are from foreign
countries, experience from Mr. W. a friendly and judicious
interest in their welfare, which more than satisfies all their
reasonable expectations; and he has thus laid the foundation of a sincere and permanent friendship. The public
and joyous reception which his operatives and others gave
him on his return from his long travels was an evidence
both of their strong attachment, and of the personal
virtues which have given rise to it. In these feelings
Mrs. Walcott, who was also the much-respected and valued
companion of our travels, is a full sharer. I could say
much of the kindness which I received from these highlyesteemed friends, but am restrained from feelings of delicacy; and will only add my earnest desire, that they may
long experience in their own persons the happiness which
they have been the means of communicating to others.
Nearly all the letters were first published, as they were
written, in the Congregationalist, a well-known and able
religious newspaper issued at Boston. And I wish here to
express my obligations to its editors and publishers for the
kindness I have received from them. As to the letters
themselves, it will be enough perhaps to say here that they




PREFACE.                        5
were written for the most part in ill health and under unfavorable circumstances. If they have any merits, (which
must be left to others to decide,) they are certainly not free
from  imperfections.  And this will be some excuse for
limiting their circulation. With these few words I leave
them in the hands of those whose kindness, I am confident,
will go far in disarming criticism.
THOMAS C. UPHAM.
BRUNSWICK, MAINE, March 24, 1855.








CONTENTS.
PAGES
Letter from  the Ocean..................................   9-  14
juetters from  England.................................       14-129
Letters from  France......................129-158
Letters from  Savoy and  Italy................................158-249
Letters from  Egypt.......................................               249-326
Letters from  the Desert of Sinai and Gaza.............326-407
Letters from  Palestine........................................407-561
On the Religious Uses of Travel..........................561-582








LETTERS
ILSTIIETIC, SOCIAL, AND MORAL.
(I.)
New York Bay-The steamship-Remarks on the character of the
passengers-The merchant from Buenos Ayres-The lady from
Missouri —Relation of woman to home-Lines to my wife.
AT SEA,-STEAMSHIP ARCTIC, SEPT. 25, 1852.
WE sailed from New York for Liverpool on
Saturday, the 18th of September, in the steamship
Arctic, Captain Luce commander.  The day was
bright and beautiful. As the majestic steamer
sailed down the broad and noble Hudson, a magnificent scene presented itself. The wide expanse
of water which opened to view, the hills and
woods of Hoboken, the shipping and the spires of
Jersey City, the Battery and Castle Garden, the
mighty throng of masts in the East River, the
splendid residences and churches of Brooklyn, the
frowning fortifications, the boats passing and repassing amid the shipping that floated lazily in
the river and in the New York Bay, formed a
group of unsurpassed beauty and magnificence.
In a few hours we crossed the Bay of New York,
passed through the Narrows, and were moving
swiftly over the broad ocean.
9




10            LETTERS —AESTHETIC,
The introduction of the steamship, in itself and
in its relations, constitutes an event of no small
moment in the history of man. It is not only an
indication of the progress of the arts and of the extension of commerce, but of the advancement of
civilization. Those who first discovered the uses
and applications of steam, and those who by their
expanded thought and generous efforts have secured
its highest practical results, have deserved and won
the gratitude of men. Why should not the names
of Collins and of Cunard, in their appropriate place
and degree, be associated on the pages of history
with the memorable name of Fulton?
Every thing which exists or takes place not only
has its history but its teachings, but the lesson
which it reveals will be differently read and interpreted by different minds. The steamship carries
not merely merchandise, but MEN; a congregation,
or if you prefer it, a cargo of human hearts, each
of which has strong and often tender ties, reaching
in every direction. Other persons will read different lessons on board the steamship, as it thus carries forth its precious load of immortal beings; but
that which I read first and with very deep interest
was the great lesson on social humanity. The great
problems of SOCIALITY —its foundation, its infinitely
varied ties, its mighty strength-were forcibly illustrated by the occurrences which presented themselves.
On the very afternoon of our departure, as I was
walking alone on the deck, I encountered a gentleman, whose manners and intelligent countenance
arrested my attention. We entered into conversa



SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          11
tion. Asking me of what country I was, I told
him I was an American; and in reply to the same
interrogation put to himself; he said he was a
Dane. Pleased to find one who was ready to converse and to yield him his confidence, he sat down
with me and told me his history. He left his na.
tive country at an early period, and for more than
twenty years had been a merchant in Buenos
Ayres. He gave me the history of Rosas, whose
remarkable but bloody administration of that country is so well known. He knew him well, and expected to meet him in England. "But," said he,
"I am going home; back to my native land, back to
the enjoyment of early ties and early associations.
My mother still lives. I have closed my commercial relations in Buenos Ayres. Having business
in the United States, and wishing to see the people
of a nation so remarkable, I came this way; but I
have sent my wife and children to the place of our
future residence, by another and more direct route.
After a life of toil and exposure, I wish to spend
the remainder of my days in peace, in the bosom
of my family." He then took from his pocket a
beautiful daguerreotype of his wife, and another
of his three children, two beautiful daughters and
his little boy, whom the artist had placed between
them, and showed them to me; and we gazed upon
them together. And I could not help saying to
myself; as I saw the strong emotions working in
his countenance, "How sacred are the relations of
family! How strong and wonderful are those ties
which God has implanted in our nature 1"
But this was only one of many similar instances




12            LETTERS —  STHETIC,
which came under my notice. Strangers on board
an Atlantic steamer, and standing in need of each
other's aid and sympathy, soon get acquainted. A
lady was pointed out to my notice, who had come
from the State of Missouri. Her story, as I understood it, partly from her own lips, was this. Her
husband was a military man, and some years since,
in some of the revolutionary movements in Germany, held the rank of captain.  Experiencing
reverses, they had fled to America, and established
themselves on a farm in Missouri. Even now it
would be dangerous for her husband to return; and
hence she was travelling with her three little children, unattended and unprotected by their father,
on this long journey of four thousand miles, that
she might see once more in her native land the
faces of her parents and brothers.
The mighty principle of family love, stronger
perhaps than any other in our nature, operates in
a great variety of directions. Sometimes, in conseqcuence of the variety of its objects, it becomes antagonistical to itself, and has the effect to separate
very near friends, and to lead the objects of it into
distant lands.  On board of our vessel was an
American lady, estimable for every virtue, who
was leaving her native land and its many pleasant
associations and joys, in order to take up a permanent residence in Scotland. I had known her in
our own country; had been well acquainted with
her parents while they lived, and her brothers and
sisters, who are still living; and could not therefore be ignorant, how much she suffered, and how
much she sacrificed in fulfilling her purpose. I




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.            13
asked her one day why she did not take a different
course, and permit her husband to go abroad, and
transact his business without her. Her answer,
disinterested as it was beautiful, was, that undoubtedly her husband would consent to such a
course, but that she could not bear to see him
spend his life in labor without the consolations of
a home. In this generous answer I recognized the
expression of a great truth, which seems to me to
have a close connection with man's happiness.  It
is, that man without woman has not, and cannot
have, a HOME. He may have a place, a locality, a
country perhaps; but a home, the resting-place of
hopes and desires, the locality of the heart's sacred
affections, he has not and cannot have, without
woman.
And on such a subject could I not speak from my
own experience? Could I be insensible, as I thus
left my native land, to the ties which bound me to
home and kindred? Without professing to be more
or less susceptible of affections than others, I am
obliged to say, that my heart involuntarily turned
to a beloved object in a distant place.  Faithful
in its homage to its unchanging attachments, it
thought of one who thought of me. I gave expression to my feelings; but how inadequate is language to embody and give substance to cherished
remembrances and affections!
The wind has heaved the billow's breast;
The ship is rocking on the sea;
And time and tide, that never rest,
Have brought the' destined hour to me.
2




1 {                LETTERS-IESTHIETIC,
I leave thee, Mary! Oh, how dear,None but thyself can ever know.
Hide from my heart that scalding tear,
Unfold thine arms, and let me go.
Oft on the dark and raging sea,
Or when in distant lands I roam,
My aching heart shall think of thee,
Think of our dear and cherished home.
Oceans-may roll between; but never
Can rend our mutual souls apart.
Mountains may rise; but cannot sever
The bond that binds us, heart to heart.
For lands and oceans have a place,
And lines and limits gird them round;
But LOVE is conqueror of space,
And lives a life that knows no bound.
(II.)
Captain of the Arctic-Man an aesthetic as well as social being-On
the sublimity of the ocean —Remarks on the subject of beauty
and sublimity-The moral effect of the ocean-Poetry.
LIVERPOOL, ENGLAND, SEPT. 30, 1852.
WHEN I went on board  the  steamship, a friend
pointed  out the commander, Captain  L.  As the
commander necessarily embodies in himself, to a
considerable extent, the destiny of the ship and of
those who sail in it, my attention was at once fastened upon the man who held, as it were, the bond
of my life. My judgment of him at that time was
of course based upon slight premises; but I think
it will be found correct. He passed silently through
the crowd, bowing slightly but gracefully to those
whom  he knew.  His firm  step indicated habits of




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          15
command; but without any display. It was ob.
vious to me, that he possesses a mind which is
conscious of no inconsiderable resources, but which
generally concentrates its action within itself; so
that he develops what he really is, not so much by
words, as by occasions.  Moderate in stature, and
quiet and unassuming in his general deportment,
still, there is something in his keen black eye and
in his weatherbeaten and sunburnt countenance,
which indicates that he is abundantly equal both
to duty and danger. He may be relied upon as
a man who, in those emergencies which test men's
characters, will boldly and skilfully fulfil all that
he promises.
As we were about to start, I saw him move to
an elevated position above the wheel; and it was
interesting to see how quickly and completely the
inward thought or purpose alters the outward man.
He stood a few moments silent and thoughtful.
He gave a quick glance to every part of the ship.
He cast his eye over the multitude coming on board
the ship, among whom was the American ambassador to England, who, if the captain may be said to
embody the ship, may be said with equal truth to
embody in his official person a nation's rights and
a nation's honor. He saw the husbands and the
wives, the mothers and the children, entrusted to
his care; and his slender form, as he gave the
orders for our departure, seemed at once to grow
more erect and firm; the muscles of his face
swelled; his dark eye glowed with a new fire; and
his whole person expanded and beautified itself by
the power of inward emotion.




16           LETTERS —AESTIIETIG,
I have often noticed this interesting phenomenon; and have come to the conclusion, if man or
woman wishes to realize the full power of personal
beauty, it must be by cherishing noble hopes and
purposes; by having something to do and something
to live for, which is worthy of humanity; and which,
by expanding the capacities of the soul, gives expansion and symmetry to the body which contains it.
In my last letter I gave the lesson which a voyage
on the ocean furnishes on the subject of our social
nature. But man is an cmsthetic, as well as a social
being. That is to say, he is not only the subject
of those desires and sympathies which are the foundation of his social nature and which bind him in
various ways to his fellow-man, but is also the subject of emotion, —those emotions which we experience in witnessing the great objects and works of
art and nature, the emotions of beauty and sublimnity.  The ocean is spoken of by aesthetic writers
as a sublime object. And it must be conceded, if
sublimity can properly be ascribed to any object
whatever, it would be difficult to find one which has
higher claims. I acknowledge, that, in relation to
this subject, I was desirous to test my own feelings.
I remarked to you that we sailed on the eighteenth,
which was Saturday; and, experiencing the common
fate of those who are making their first voyage, I
was confined to my room by sickness for some days.
On the next Tuesday morning,when we were already
far off on the broad Atlantic, I went on deck; and
taking a position where I should not be likely to be
disturbed, I watched for a long time the vast and
wonderful scene before me. There was nothing in




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           17
sight as far as the eye could reach, but the boundless waters, which were agitated and tossed in every
direction by a strong head-wind. My soul dilated
and swelled with emotion.
The conception itself was vast —as if there opened
before me a window of eternity, in the reflection
and imaging of which I could behold the infinite
of the future; or as if the mighty and boundless
Divinity himself had condescended to assume a
form, which corresponded in some degree to the
infinite of his existence. And this enlarged and
mighty conception was followed by a correspondent
intensity of feeling in the emotional nature.
On only two occasions before, have I had the
same expansion and intensity of thought and feeling. Many years ago I visited the celebrated mountain region in the northern part of New Hampshire.
I succeeded in reaching the top of Mount Washington, more than six thousand feet above the level of
the sea. It was a clear, bright day of July. Not
a cloud was upon the sky. And standing on the
small rocky platform, which formed the summit of
the mountain, I had' before me, distinctly visible
in every direction, a sixty miles' circuit of thickly
wooded and dark forest, not on a plain, but thrown
into every variety of mountainous position  -a
vast, boundless sea of mighty wooded summits,
standing side by side, and varying in height from
two thousand to four thousand feet. The whole
scene was on such a vast scale, that the soul, laboring with thought and emotion, could scarcely endure
it. The other occasion to which I refer was more
recent and different in character.  It was a visit
2*




1 8           LETTERS-ESTHETIC,
to the Falls of Niagara. The contemplation of that
immense cataract, that world of waters, apparently
broken loose and poured out from some higher and
unseen world,-a scene in nature so often described,
and yet never fully realized and understood except
by those who have witnessed it,-constitutes an era
in a man's life. He can never forget it; and in natural scenery he can never again see anything equal
to it or like it. The emotions which I experienced
on these two occasions, were similar in character,
and at least as intense in degree, as those which I
now experienced on viewing the vast and agitated
ocean.
The development of mind, in connection with
situation and action, and in all the various forms
in which it takes place, has been a somewhat favorite subject with me. And as I write not merely
for the purpose of giving a momentary amusement,
but also in the hopes either of imparting some instruction to others or of settling more fully some
opinions of my own, I will briefly express my views
on some controverted doctrines which have relation
to the Sublime and Beautiful.
And one obvious principle on this interesting subject is this: —that the beautiful will be found, in all
cases, to be the basis of the grand and the sublime.
Take the sublime scenes, to which we have referred.
The tossing wave of the ocean, for instance, thrown
into every variety of position and flashing out in
many varieties of color as it rolls in the shade or
the sunshine, is a beautiful object, and nothing more
than beautiful. But when the wave is expanded
and raised to a great height by the wind, and when




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           19
wave is added to wave in the multiplications of
infinity, it then exhibits an aspect of grandeur or
of sublimity.  And so in other cases. In a multitude of instances I have endeavored to analyze the
foundation of these emotions. And I cannot doubt,
that there must be law, order, symmetry, beauty
at the bottom; otherwise there can be nothing
which is truly grand or sublime. There is order
and truth, there is harmony, although it may perhaps be the violence of harmony, even in the movements of an angry ocean.
A second remark, which I have to make in relation to some of the controverted topics of esthetics,
is this. The emotions which we are considering,
have their foundation in the immutable condition
of things, in the constitution and permanencies of
-nature, and therefore may be spoken of as intrinsic
and original; and are not as some valuable writers
seem to suppose, the result of mere cassociation. This
opinion, which in my own case is a very decided one,'is founded on personal experience. Previously to
the occasions which I have mentioned, I had never
ascended the summit of Mount Washington, nor
stood at the foot of the cataract of Niagara. And
in the experience of those strong emotions, which
then agitated my breast, what did I, or could I owe
to any previous association? I agree with Alison and
Jeffries and other writers, to whom I have alluded,
that in many cases much may be ascribed to the associating principle. But association does not and
cannot explain all. It'was far, very far, from explaining the mighty revelations of thought and feeling which then crowded upon me. A voice, which




20            LETTERS —A-STIETIC,
I had never heard or known before, came out from
the depths of nature,-an utterance which I was
confident was not fabricated out of any previous experience by means of some associating process; but
deep, mighty, as if God himself were speaking, it
seemed to rush from the immensity of its original
hiding-place, and to sound from eternity to eternity.
A third remark, which I wish to make, is this.
I cannot agree with Mr. Burke and other writers
who think with him, that the true emotion of the
sublime is really heightened by conceptions of dan.ger and by feelings of dread. Upon this point also
I have taken every favorable opportunity to test my
own feelings. But I will mention only one here,
which occurred upon this voyage, and which, therefore, is appropriate in this letter. On Tuesday morning, the 28th of September, we came in sight of the
coast of Ireland, which arose in a clear sky and dazzling sunlight, fresh and beautiful from the morning
wave. Absorbed in the historic associations which
are connected with this celebrated c" Isle of the ocean,"
the hours flew rapidly by, as we passed in succession
Cape Clear, the light of Kinsale, the cove of Cork,
the city of Waterford, and other places on the coast.
In the afternoon we entered the mouth of the Irish
or St. George's Channel, and were rapidly approaching the well-known point of land called Holyhead,
which is situated on the English side of the channel.
We were about sixty-five miles distant from this
place, and in a position which is considered a dangerous one without the aid of a pilot, when suddenly
a very violent storm commenced. The rain fell in
torrents. The wind blew from the north-east, a full




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.            21
gale, and directly ahead.  The sea rolled in terrible
fury, in one vast sheet of foam. The vast ship,
with all the steam she could bear, made but slow
way, as the infuriated waves, rent asunder as they
came in terrible contact with the struggling Arctic,
rushed by on each side, foaming and roaring like a
two-fold cataract of Niagara,. The storm continued
ten hours; and so violently agitated was the sea
that no pilot was able to approach the vessel the
next morning until ten o'clock.
At this time, it may well be supposed, we had
around us and before us, above and beneath, all the
mingling elements which are understood to furnish
occasion for the highest emotions of the sublime.
But the result was not such, (and I think it will
never be found to be such,) as the asthetical theories
on the subject would lead us to anticipate.  That
the soul was deeply agitated, is true. But the agitation was not caused exclusively, nor chiefly, by the
exercise of a pure and tinmixed emotion of sublimity.  The simultaneous discharge of an hundred
pieces of cannon in itself considered, lis sublime; but
it ceases to be sublime in the view of a person who
is standing within range of the balls, because the
emotion of sublimity, instead of being increased, is
perplexed, and would be likely to be entirely annulled, by the sentiment of danger.  And it will be
so, in a greater or less degree, in every similar case.
It was so in the magnificent but terrific scene which
I have attempted to describe.  If we had felt perfectly secure, the scene would have been one of unparalleled sublimity; but the sense of danger transferred the action of the mind from the contempla



22            LETTERS- ESTHETIG,
tion of the sublime object to the consideration of
our personal exposure.
The mistake of writers on the subject is, that
they confound things together which are very unlike. The emotion or rather the passion of fear,
if carefully analyzed, will be found to be very different from an emotion of grandeur or sublimity.
Both, it is true, may agitate the soul. But one does
it in view of the beauty and greatness of its object;
the other on account of its deformity and hatefulness, or because it causes dread. In order to experience the highest possible emotion of sublimity,
there may be an enlargement or intensity of the
object to any extent whatever, but the object thus
expanded and intense must merely occupy the soul
with the corresponding expansion and intensity of
feeling, without causing personal alarm or anything
else which might perplex the mind's attention.
I will only add one remark more. There is a
voice in the ocean, which addresses the moral as
well as the emotional and aesthetic nature.  In its
vastness and its agitations, it has a subduing and
devotional effect upon the mind, like that which
one experiences who dwells in the midst of the
forests, and pointed rocks, and solitary echoes of
lofty mountains. It is impossible to look upon it, especially when it is greatly agitated, without receiving the impression, that there is somewhere in the
universe of things, a strength, a substantial greatness,
which can have its foundation and be fully realized
only in God. And this suggestion of strength in the
Infinite is connected with the idea-never brought
home so closely before-of our own feebleness.




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.                     23
Oh God! When tost upon the wave,
My heart instinctive turns to Thee;
Thou hast the power to smite or save,
The arbiter of destiny.
Though wide and wild this vast expanse,
It brings this solace of the soul,That'tis not accident or chance,
Which makes these mighty billows roll.'Tis God, who gives the high behest,
Which makes them fall or makes them rise:
Which sinks the caverns in their breast,
Or sends them foaming to the skies.
He guards the sparrow on the shore;
He rocks the sea-bird on the sea;
And here, amid the billows' roar,
Will not my Father think of me?
(III.)
Arrival at Liverpool-Appearance of the city-American ambassador —Death of the Duke of Wellington-Emigration to Australia
-American books and authors.
LIvERPOOL, ENGLAND, OCT. 4, 1852.
WE reached Liverpool, Wednesday, the 29th of
September, early in the afternoon.  The city ascends
gradually from the water, and displays itself advantageously; although the first view gives but an imperfect idea of its great extent and wealth. The
crowded sails in the river Mersey and in the artificial
docks on the borders of the river, with the passing
and repassing of numerous boats in every direction,
confirmed the reputation which this city has long
enjoyed for commercial enterprise. In a short time
we went on shore. I felt, on stepping for the first
time on the soil of England, like the man who




24            LETTE RS —ESTHETIC,
returns, after many years' absence, to his father's
home.  The unity of origin more than counterbalanced the difference of nationality. I had come
to my own people,-to the land of my ancestors.
The growth of Liverpool has been very rapid.
The number of its inhabitants in the year 1700 was
five thousand. Its population is estimated at the
present time at 350,000. As I walked along its
wharves and among its crowded streets, everything
indicated intelligence, boldness of enterprise, and
successful activity. Liverpool is a place of cominerce rather than of the arts; and has greater
attractions for the merchant and the man of business than for the scholar and the man of artistic
taste.  It has, however, its valuable philanthropic
and literary institutions; and a number of well constructed and even elegant public buildings. Among
these St. George's Hall and the Exchange are likely
to attract the particular attention of strangers. The
latter is a building of great size and beauty, well
adapted to the purposes of business and of the interchlanges of commerce for which it was erected;and may justly be regarded as one of the great
centres of the commercial intercourse of the world.
In the area of this building is an imposing naval
monument, erected in honor of Lord Nelson.
But I must recur a moment to some other topics,
which may be better noticed here than elsewhere.
Perhaps I ought to say, that in mny contemplated
and yet uncertain wanderings from place to place,
I shall endeavor to keep some record, so far as my
health will permit, not only of places and things
and of the outwyard man, but of the associations,




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          25
emotions, and other facts and operations of the
human mind. And in saying this, I do not mean
to exclude my own mind. I have already referred
to the powerful effect upon my feelings produced
by a view of the ocean soon after leaving America.
And I spoke of this experience as throwing some
light, as it seemed to me, on those emotions of the
sublime and beautiful, which in works of art and
taste are often denominated cesthetic emotions. At
another time, in the course of our voyage across
the Atlantic, I was personally the subject of some
mental experiences, which illustrated in a remarkable manner the operations of the human mind in
another respect, namely, the workings of the associating principle. To detail them distinctly would
require a letter of some length; but you shall have
them at some future time. I omit to give an account of them now, through fear of forgetting or
omitting some incidents which have given variety
and interest to our voyage.
I have already referred to the fact, that we had
on board, the American ambassador to England,
Mr. Ingersoll of Philadelphia. I had formed a
slight acquaintance with this truly excellent and
distinguished man many years ago; and was happy
to renew it at this time. Every one found him
easy of access, when his health permitted him to be
about the ship; and the day before our arrival in
Liverpool, being called upon for that purpose, in an
appropriate manner he made a chaste and graceful address in the presence of the passengers and
others, which was characterized by kind and patriotic sentiments.
3




26            LETTERS- ISTIETIC,
There is great significancy in the intercourse of
nations at the present time. It not only indicates
the progress of social and international humanity,
but is also an index of the intellectual character,
and of the political morality and honor of particular nations. And I do not doubt that the American government, in assigning this important
embassy to Mr. Ingersoll, has consulted its reputation and honor, as well as its interests. The new
American ambassador to the Court of St. James is
not a mere political or party man; but a scholar
in a high and commendable sense of that term,a man of wide information and cultivated literary
taste. Nothing will be likely to come from his
pen which will discredit the high place which
is already assigned to the diplomatic papers of
America.
Mr. Ingersoll was well received in Liverpool, but
being met there, even before leaving the Arctic, by
letters from Mr. Lawrence, his predecessor in the
imnportant office to which he had been appointed,
he proceeded almost immediately to London.
Mr. Lawrence leaves this country with the respect of Englishmen, and with the respect and gratitude of American citizens. Nothing can be more
unlike than these two ambassadors. The personal
appearance of Mr. Ingersoll, though entirely good,
is not of such a marked kind as to attract attention, by distinguishing him, either physically or
in dress, from  the common mass of men.  He
is modest and rather retiring in his manners;
and everything about him-indicates the plainest
republican citizen; so much so that I am inclined




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.            27
to think his great merit must be sought before
it is known. He certainly will never proclaim it
himself.
Mr. Lawrence is differently constituted in all respects.  He is not a man of public or liberal education; and in matters of literature, of taste, and
in the knowledge of civil and political history, must
probably yield in place to his accomplished successor. Mr. Lawrence, however, is a man of great
natural intellect, and of thorough practical knowledge on a wide variety of subjects.  He is a man
noble and graceful in his person; but his easy eloquence and generous heart relieve it from the dignity
of distance. Mr. Lawrence has sometimes been characterized as aristocratic; —an epithet which is sometimes applied hastily and improperly.  If, however,
by aristocracy be merely meant wealth, it must be
admitted that he belongs to the class of those who
possess great riches.  But it is equally well known
that his wealth has always been accessible for the
poor man's benefit: and no man, whether rich or
poor, ever goes from his presence without feeling
that he has a sympathetic and republican heart.
On our arrival at Liverpool three topics seemed
at that moment to be uppermost in the public mind,
(in addition to the anomalous and amazing movements in France, which are laying the foundations
of a new dynasty and empire,) namely, the death
and fiuneral obsequies, not yet determined upon, of
the Duke of Wellington, the emigration to Australia,
and the disclosures contained in that remarkable
advent in American literature, entitled Uncle Tom's
Cabin. Expecting to be present at the opening of




28            LETTERS —ESTIIETIC,
Parliament, and to witness the funeral solemnities
which a grateful nation proposes to enact in honor
of a name which stands prominent and perhaps first
in British military history, I shall defer what I have
to say upon this remarkable man to some future
occasion. The vast emigration to Australia, which
seems to be chiefly of Englishmen, at first strikes
one as merely a commercial incident, a new development of the courses of trade and of the intercourse
of men and nations; but to the eye of the reflecting and philosophical observer it carries with it the
seeds of empires, and new and important destinies
of the human race. The vast countries in that part
of the world are destined to be occupied by the AngloSaxon race; carrying with them intelligence and the
arts, the Protestant religion, and the indomitable
spirit of independence. At such a distance they
cannot remain long dependent upon a predominant
power, but will set up for themselves, and fulfil the
destiny which Providence has allotted them.
You will perhaps be surprised to hear me intimate that the work of Mrs. Stowe, interesting and
valuable as it undoubtedly is, is one of the things
which at the present time occupies to a considerable
extent the attention of the British nation. It is
not often that a literary work, whatever its merits,
produces what may be called a national sensation.
But such is the fact in the present case. Partly
owing to the nature of the subject, and partly to
the intrinsic merits of the work, it is universally
read; and it has been asserted, on what seemed to
be good authority, that the popular writings of
Walter Scott and of Dickens have had at no time




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.            29
a circulation so general and rapid as Uncle Tom's
Cabin. It is published by a multitude of booksellers in all forms, and with all sorts and degrees
of decorations and prices, and is found in all bookstalls and booksellers' shops.
The effect of this work upon the English mind
seems to be favorable.  I do not know that it increases the Englishman's hostility to slavery, which
was sufficiently decided and emphatic before. But
it reveals to him the multiplied alliances and intricacies of the system; the impossibility of removing
or re-adjusting it without great wisdom and kindness; and the real benevolence of many slaveholders,
who are ready as Christians and as patriots to do
what they ought to do as soon as they can ascertain what it is. It also opens to the English reader,
by means of intimations and statements in the latter
part of the work, some new light in another direction. The allusions to the Liberian Republic disclose very clearly the tendencies and anticipations
which exist at the present time in the mind of the
talented and benevolent authoress. And they are
not only understood, but they have their effect here.
The inquiry arises in thinking minds, Are there not
some designs of Providence, connected with the history of the African race in America, which have
been as yet imperfectly appreciated among us? Is
it not possible that the Supreme Being, in permitting this race to be carried to America, has done it
with the design of giving them a knowledge of the
English language, of modern arts and civilization,
of free political institutions, and especially of the
Christian religion,-in order that, in due time and
82*




30            LETTERS-A-STHIETIC,
under the providence of God, they may carry back
the arts, and freedom, and Christianity, to benighted
and suffering Africa? And if such is the design of
Providence, may we not soon expect, by consulta,
tion and proper co-operation of effort, to see Christian States and republics arising on the coast of
Africa which shall vie in all that is great and good
with the Christian States of Europe and America?
If the effect of the work is to suggest such considerations, and to subdue in some degree the bitterness of feeling which unhappily has existed towards
the Southern States of our Republic, we must certainly regard it as favorable. But Mrs. Stowe's is
not the only American book which is read in England.  In many bookstores I have found works by
American authors; and it was pleasant, in reading
advertisements and lists of publications at so great
a distance from my native land, to meet very frequently the familiar and popular names of Irving,
Cooper, Webster, Story, Longfellow, Abbott, Bryant,
IIawthorne, and others.
There are other evidences of a public sentiment
increasingly favorable. The newspapers of England, which seem to me to be conducted in general
with greater ability than our own, indicate the estimation in which America is held. A larger space
is given in these papers to the commercial, political,
and local news from the American States, than is
given to the events occurring in other foreign countries, unless there is something very peculiar in
their situation, which is the case in France at the
present time. On the whole, it seems to me very
obvious, even from the limited opportunities of




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          31
observation which I have already enjoyed, that
England, laying aside the jealousies which might
naturally be expected, is preparing with increased
cordiality to open her heart and arms to young
America.
Before I left America, letters had reached me in
my retired and almost obscure residence, from a
gentleman of Liverpool, who had become acquainted with some imperfect works which bear
my name. He received me at his house with the
utmost cordiality and kindness; which confirmed
the impression to which I have already alluded,
that, in going to England, I did not go among an
unknown and foreign people. His marked and
unexpected kindness to one who had never seen
him before, left impressions upon my mind which
can never be effaced. I shall have occasion in another place to refer again to this excellent and
much-esteemed friend.
I have visited and spent a day at Manchester,
which is but a short distance from Liverpool by
the railroad conveyance. Of this busy and great
city, so often mentioned and so well known in the
United States, I could have wished to say something;-though it would have been only the statement of an imperfect and passing impression. But
as I am just starting for Oxford, it is possible that
I may find something of more interest for you there.




32             LETTERS-ASTHETIC,
(IV.)
Arrival at Oxford-Story of the martyrs, Cranmer, Ridley and Latimer-Place of their martyrdom-The martyr's memorial-Inscription-Poetry.
OXFORD, ENGLAND, OCT. 7, 1852.
As I intimated in my last, I have found my way
to Oxford. I left Liverpool, after remaining there
and at Manchester a week, and arrived here yesterday: a distance, I should judge of at least an hundred and fifty miles, through a well cultivated
country, but not so beautiful to my eye as New
England. I must say, however, that England, in
all the attributes of comfort, general prosperity,
education, and morals, exceeds my expectations. I
have seen as yet but little evidence of want and
suffering; not so much as I have witnessed in
New York, with the exception perhaps of the city
of Manchester, where there is a large manufacturing population, many of whom undoubtedly
suffer much.
In the religious department of my mind, if I
may so express it, Jerusalem, of all earthly localities, stands first, and beyond all comparison. In
the merely intellectual or literary department,
there are other distinguished names and places
which attract much of thought and memory; and
among them Oxford stands side by side with Rome
and Athens. And here I am in Oxford, —amidst
walls and towers and colleges that carry me back
a thousand years; —and on the banks of that Isis,




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           33
flowing as beautiful as ever, which was associated
in my early reading and recollections with the
Tiber and the Illissus. I will endeavor, in a few
days, to give you some account of what is before
me.
Before proceeding to do this, I must do homage
to my own feelings, my sacred attachments to the
doctrines and the cross of Christ, which remind me
that in Oxford, and near the place where I now
am, the celebrated martyrs, Cranmer, Ridley and
Latimer, were burnt at the stake. Their deeply
interesting story had been familiar to me from
childhood; but it naturally assumed in my mind
a new clearness and strength of reality, when I
found myself near the place where they were tried
and imprisoned and at last put to death. I had
been in the city but a few hours when I employed
a person, who is acquainted with its interesting
localities, to guide me to the place. The precise
spot where those justly renowned men and Christians perished in defence of the Protestant faith, is
in the northern part of the city, in Broad street,
and directly opposite to Baliol College, and is
marked by a stone cross of moderate dimensions
laid horizontally in the ground. At a little distance is a large memorial cross or monument,
nearly eighty feet in height, in which sculpture
has combined its aid with architecture to do honor
to their memory. Repeatedly, since I have been
here, have I visited this sacred place, and gazed
with deep emotion upon the horizontal cross which
indicates, after the lapse of centuries, where the
flames were kindled, and where the martyrs died.




34            LETTERS-E STHIETIC,
And I can assure youf it has required but little.
effort of the imagination, to see those venerable.
men chained to the stake, to hear their last prayers, and to witness the agonies of their fiery dissolution.
When a man is willing to die for his principles,
I feel that human nature is hofiored; or rather that
God is honored, who inspires within him the inflexible faith, the indomitable will, without which
he would not be enabled to endure such suffering.
It is true, that persons of different forms of faith
have died as martyrs. But what does that indicate but that there is a principle beneath the form;
and that religion, or that principle which recognizes
the God of the Bible and has confidence in him, is
essentially the same under a variety of forms.
These noble martyrs belonged to a form of faith
different in some respects from that in which I
have been brought up; but I do not cherish and
honor their memory the less on that account. And
I cannot doubt, (saying nothing of multitudes who
sympathized fully in their personal religious relations and in the peculiar form of their belief,) that
their willingness to die that cruel death has
strengthened the faith, and giver -'new impulse to
the piety, and encouraged the hopes of multitudes
in other communions.
On the lofty monument to which I have referred,
called the MARTYRS' MEMORIAL, a sketch of which
I send you, on the north face of the basement
story, is the following inscription:



SOCIAL, AND  MORAL.                     35
TO THE GLORY OF GOD,
AND IN GRATEFUL COMMEMORATION OF HIS SERVANTS,
THOMAS CRANNBMER,
NICHOLAS RIDLEY,
HUGH LATIMER,
PRELATES OF THE CHURCH OF ENGLAND,
WHO, NEAR THIS SPOT —
YIELDED THEIR BODIES TO Bi BURNED;
BEARING WITNESS
TO TIIE SACRED TRUTHS
WHICH THEY HAD.'AFFIRMED AND MAINTAINED
AGAIiNST THE ERRORS OF THE CHURCH OF ROME;
AND REJOICING
THAT TO THEM IT WAS GIVEN
NOT ONLY TO BELIEVE IN CHRIST,
BUT ALSO TO SUFFER FOR HIS SAKE;
THIS MONUMENT'WAS ERECTED BY PUBLIC SUBSCRIPTION,
IN THE YEAR OF OUR LORD
MDCCCXLI.
And now  you will allow  me to add a little testimonial of my own, which, without claiming any
other merit, certainly has that of being written
upon  the  spot, in  deep sympathy with the events
which-occurred  there, and  by  a stranger from   a
foreign land.
My feet have press'd the place of fire,
Where Oxford's holy martyrs died;
Led by ajust and high desire
Not to deny the Crucified.
It was no strife for earthly fame,
No selfish contest for the wrong;
But homage to a Saviour's name,
Which made them true and made them strong.'Twas here they stood beside the stake;
In chains, but still in faith and love;,:
willing the cup of flame to take,
And find their recompense above.




36               LETTERS —AjSTHETIC,
And standing round their fiery cross,
They still had power to pray and praise;
And while their bodies burned like dross,
Their souls grew brighter in the blaze.
Oh, life of love that cannot die!
From earth by fire and fagot driven,
Angels shall welcome thee on high,
And thou shalt bless thy native heaven.
(V.)
General view of the city of Oxford-Visit to Magdalen College-Its
eminent men-Addison's walk —Character of his writingsBotanic Gardens-University College-Christ Church College.
OXFORD, ENGLAND, OCT. 9, 1852.
THE city of Oxford, renowned for its historical
and literary associations, is situated near the junction of the beautiful rivers, the Isis and the Cherwell. These two rivers, which have their place
in history and in  English song, particularly the
classic Isis, unite together, after nearly insulating
the city; and flowing on through Abingdon as far
as Dorchester, mingle their waters with the still
more celebrated Thames.   Ascending one of the
eminences to the east of the city, I had, in one
sudden and wide view, before me, a scene of remarkable beauty; the fields and gardens, limited
and shut in with green hedges, and bearing everywhere the marks of high cultivation; the humble
but comfortable home of the laboring cottager;
the more splendid residence of the wealthy; hills,
valleys, rivers, forests, intermingled, especially in
the direction and in the vicinity of the city, with
spires, domes, and towers,-the vast and venerable




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.             37
representatives of different ages and of different
degrees of civilization.  Afterwards, going up to
the outer balustrade of the celebrated edifice known
as the Radcliffe Library, I obtained another and
nearer panoramic view of the city,-its streets,
squares, churches, monuments, halls, bridges, colleges,-which, although the scene will change continually in itself, will remain a picture in my own
mind, distinct as life and lasting as memory.
I have no hesitation in saying, limited as my
acquaintance in these things is, that Oxford may
justly be regarded as one of the most remarkable
and most interesting cities in Europe. With more
than twenty thousand inhabitants, and carrying
back its history a thousand years, it is not without
interest in its civil, political, and historical relations. But to us, on the other side of the Atlantic,
it is known chiefly by its University, and by the
relations which it thus sustains, through its justlycelebrated schools of learning, to English literature
and intellectual culture generally.  It was her
University which interested me most.
As you enter the city in the eastern direction,
over a bridge of beautiful architecture which
crosses the Cherwell, you first come in sight of
Magdalen College; one of the noblest in the sisterhood of colleges which constitutes the University
of Oxford.  Its large and magnificent tower, an
hundred and fifty feet in height, and which dates
back in its origin as far as 1492, attracts particular notice.  At this point commences the street
called the High Street, which is distinguished by
the number and remarkable character of its public
4




3 8           LETTERS —-STHETIC,
buildings. On the right of this street the stranger
enters the college, through a gateway in the Gothic
style, which is quite recent in its construction, and
was erected from a design by Pugin.  Over the
gate is a Latin inscription, indicating that the
founders and administrators of the college are willing to recognize their dependence on a higher power,
which may be translated into English as follows:
" He, whose name is holy, hath done great things
for me."  On entering the court and passing on to
the interior, the various parts of the Gothic gateway and of the college building, including the
chapel, present points and objects which arrest
the attention and please the eye of persons who
are capable of appreciating the beauties of architecture and sculpture;-figures of the Virgin and
Child; —figures in niches over the west windows
of the chapel, representing St. John the Baptist,
Edward IV., and others; —stained windows, on one
of which is a representation of the last judgment;Corinthian pillars of great beauty, canopied statues,
and monuments of no small elegance. One of these
monuments enlists the notice of the visitor from
the circumstance that it is erected to the memory
of two brothers, members of the college, who were
drowned in the Cherwell, one in endeavoring to
save the other.
The library is ornamented with portraits and busts,
among which are the busts of Locke and Baconand what is of more consequence, contains a large
and valuable collection of books. There is obviously
no want of the opportunities and means of mental
improvement. I entered a number of the rooms of




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           39
the inmates and members of this college fraternity,
and found them, though dating far back in their
origin, sufficiently convenient and well adapted to
purposes of study. Among the men who pursued
their studies here, and whose names are familiar on
both sides of the Atlantic, were Cardinal Wolsey,
Fox the martyrologist, Collins the poet, Gibbon the
historian, and Addison.
The mention of Addison reminds me of the picturesque grove, with its large old elms, which forms
a part of the college grounds, and particularly of
the beautiful walk near the banks of the Cherwell,
known as Addison's walk. This walk, which has
been elevated with much labor above the low and
green meadows around, is of considerable length,
and is shaded with lofty trees. And the tradition
is, that Addison, while connected with Magdalen
College, spent much of his time here; and that it
was here that he either completed or planned many
of his admirable writings. Addison has always
been a favorite with me. To his writings I was
early directed as models of style; and these soon
became interesting to me for other reasons. His
merits were not always understood at first; but
they become more and more obvious on a close acquaintance. So perfect is his mastery of the English language, that it is difficult to alter his sentences, even in a slight degree, without taking something from their simplicity or beauty. Everything
which he says is true to nature and in excellent
taste; and is often heightened in its effect upon the
mind by its high moral tone or its sweet quiet humor. Many have been the pleasant and profitable




40           LETTERS-.ESTHETIC7
hours which I have spent over his writings; and I
can assure you it was with no small emotion that
I found myself treading on the place Which aided
the contemplations, and contributed to the happiness, of this great and good man.
Opposite Magdalen College, are the Botanic Gardens; occupying the place which, at some former period, is said to have been used as a burying-ground
by the Jews, many of whom dwelt here anciently.
These beautiful gardens, auxiliary to study and improvement in a very important department of knowledge, are worthy of the especial attention of travellers. They may be visited without expense;
and the courteous curator, who has the reputation
of being a learned and skilful botanist, is ready to
give any information which may be desired. It'
may not be out of place to add, that they are entered through a handsome gateway, which, independently of its own beauty, naturally attracted notice
from the circumstance of its being built from a design by the celebrated architect, Inigo Jones.
On the opposite side of High Street, and very
near where I have found a quiet and comfortable
residence in the Angel Hotel, is another of the old
and distinguished members of the great Oxford
University; the college, founded in 1249, and which
is known as the University College. This college
presents a front on the street of two hundred and
sixty feet. It is divided in its interior into two
courts, and is entered by two towered gateways.
The chapel, which constitutes a part of the college
edifice, is an object of much attraction. Like the
other chapels, it is ornamented with many monu



SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           41
ments, which are more or less chaste and beautiful
in their design. There is one, made by Flaxman,
which is erected to the memory of Sir William
Jones. This is particularly interesting, not only
for its own beauty, but also on account of the great
name which it honors, the author of the " Digest
of the Hiindoo Laws," distinguished as a Judge, and
still more for his knowledge of Oriental literature.
The window in what is denominated the AnteChapel, representing " Christ driving the buyers and
sellers out of the temple," was painted by Henry
Giles, an English artist. The paintings on the windows in the Inner Chapel, which are more rich and
beautiful in their execution and coloring, are by an
artist more generally known, Van Linge. Jacob's
Vision of the Ladder, Elijah's Ascent to Heaven in
a chariot of fire, Abraham preparing to offer up
Isaac, and other Scripture scenes and events, are
represented on them. They were painted in 1641.
The HALL of the college, small in size but remarkable for its beauty, is adorned with a number
of portraits of distinguished men. Among the
eminent men who have been members of this college, it may be proper to mention Dr. Radcliffe,
the founder of the Radcliffe Library; Archbishop
Potter, the author of the C'Archxologia Graeca," a
work so well known to Greek scholars; Earl Eldon,
late Lord Chancellor of England; Lord Stowell,
Judge of the Court of Admiralty, whose clear and
able admiralty decisions cannot have escaped the
notice of American lawyers, and Sir William Jones.
This college is of great antiquity. Some writers
carry the date of its origin further back than I
4*




42             LETTERS —-   STHETIC,
have mentioned, the year 1249.  And portions of
the building, discolored and crumbling with age,
show that the works of man, however skilfully
and laboriously made, have not that inward principle of renovation and life which characterizes the
works of God.  This is the source of one of the
unpleasant and unfavorable impressions which all
persons, especially those from the New World, are
liable to receive here.  The Isis flows as beautiful
as ever; the gardens put off their splendor only to
remodel and restore it with original freshness; and
in the lofty and magnificent trees, which stand as
guards to walls and towers and monuments, there
is a principle of reproduction, which gives a lease
of perpetuity; but upon everything which man has
made, though wrought out of the solid rock, and
with ages of labour, there are marks of decay and
dissolution. The very marble, struck with the sickness of centuries, crumbled in my hand, and I felt
that there is no true and permanent life but in the
great SOURCE OF LIFE.
Oxford is a city of colleges and public institutions; and they are found not in a particular locality, as one would be likely to suppose, but scattered
over its whole extent. Christ Church College, for
instance, is situated at some distance from those
which I have mentioned, on St. Aldgates' Street.
This college -was founded in 1524 by Cardinal
Wolsey.  It displays a front of four hundred feet
in length; and as it is viewed in certain positions,
with its turrets and battlements, has something of
the appearance of a castle. In the centre is a large
octagonal Gothic tower, which is truly a magnificent




SOCIAL, AND MIORAL.           43
object. It is here, through the large gateway called
Torn Gate, that the visitor enters, and finds himself
at once in the quadrangle of the college, which is
said to be the most spacious and beautiful in the
city.  The gateway has its name from the large
bell which is suspended in the cupola above; which
is seventeen thousand pounds in weight, being double
the weight of the large bell of St. Paul's Church in
London, and is known by.the name of the "Great
Tom of Oxford." This bell is a great favorite of the
Oxford students, particularly those of Christ Church
College, who insist upon it that it is the best bell in
England, which, however, is said to be a matter of
considerable discussion. This bell has an important
part to perform in the discipline of the college, especially in the night.  It is tolled every night at
five minutes past nine; at which time, under penalty
of being reported as delinquent to the college authorities, every undergraduate is expected to be at
his room. The students insist, however, that it shall
be struck one hundred and one times, and this has become the fixed and invariable custom in the matter.
In speaking of these colleges, I have had occasion
to refer to paintings and sculpture. I do not pretend to any technical knowledge in these matters;
and yet I have an vesthetical system of my own,
founded in some degree upon an analysis of my own
emotions, which enables me to give some opinion
or judgment upon works of art, which is tolerably
satisfactory to myself. It has seemed to me, however, that the highest results of art are not generally secured in that class of works, whether of
painting, architecture, or sculpture, which are con



44            LETTERS —-iE STHE TIC
structed on the principle of a hieroglyphical or allegorical significancy.  The full effect upon the mind
is disturbed and diminished by the thoughts being
divided between the consideration of the object in
itself, and its relation to the moral or other meaning which it is intended to convey.
Perhaps the best illustration of this topic will be
found at Magdalen College. In the great quadrangle
of the college, southwest corner, are two figures, the
Lion and the Pelican. And they are placed here,
the Lion, to indicate emblematically the attributes
of courage and vigilance;-the Pelican as an emblem of parental tenderness and affection. And
by combination they are intended to shadow forth
the character of a good governor of a college. And
accordingly we find them, in connection with these
important intimations, appropriately placed under
the windows of the head or president of the college.
At a little distance is the figure of a Hippopotamus
or river-horse, carrying his young one upon. his
shoulders.  This, we are told, is the emblematic
representation of a good Tutor or Fellow of a college, who is more intimately related to particular
pupils in the college, and through whose prudence
and labors they are to be guarded and kept amid
the dangers to which they are exposed on first
entering into the world.
All this would have done in the days of the
Egyptian -or Assyrian empires, when it found its
justification in the imperfection of language, but
does not harmonize with the nineteenth century.
I did not notice anything precisely of this kind at
Christ Church College.




SOCIAL, AND MOR A2L.         45
The Refectory or Dining Hall of this college,
although it may be thought to have a closer connection with the material than the mental wants
of its members, is worthy of notice on account of
its great extent, being an hundred and fifteen feet
in length, forty in width, and fifty high; and also
on account of its various and rich decorations. The
roof is of richly-carved oak, and is ornamented with
the numerous armorial bearings of Henry VIII. and
Cardinal Wolsey. The walls are adorned with an
hundred and twenty original portraits of persons
who had been at various times members of the college. Some of these pictures are by the hands of
the most distinguished artists. In this capacious
and richly-ornamented hall a grand entertainment
was given in 1814 to the allied sovereigns of Europe
and to Metternich and Blucher, and other renowned
statesmen and warriors, at the time of their visit
to England after the defeat and fall of Napoleon.
Of the Chapel of Christ Church College, which
possesses great historical and antiquarian interest,
and of the noble library, adorned with busts and
paintings from the most celebrated masters, I cannot stop to speak. Tired with looking at these interesting'objects, without being able to stop and
examine them as they deserve to be examined, I
walked out, and gave rest and refreshment to my
mind, in the beautiful meadow in the immediate
vicinity. This meadow which I understand to be
the property of the college, is bounded on two sides
by the Cherwell and Isis, which here meet and
mingle their waters; and, adorned as it is with spa.
cious walks and noble avenues of trees, it is justly




46            LETTERS —LTSTHETIC,
regarded as one of its valuable acccessories and
ornaments.
Among the distinguished men, who have been at
different periods members of this college, were Atterbury, Bishop of Rochester, Dr. Robert South, the
Earl of Mansfield, Bolingbroke, Boyle, Philip Sidney,
the author of the Arcadia, the poets Ben Jonson
and Otway, George Canning, and Sir Robert Peel.
At Oxford, as everywhere else since I have been in
England, I have been reminded of America. Numberless are the remembrances and ties which bind
us together. And here, in reading over the list of
those, whose powers were developed and disciplined
in Christ Church College, these sympathetic and fraternal remembrances flowed up within me as I
stopped at the name of William Penn, the founder
of Pennsylvania. Most persons have an idea of
William Penn as a man of portly form, wearing a
plain coat with large buttons, with an amplified hat
and a cane in his hand; adding perhaps the accessory
conception, which they have imbibed traditionally,
that he made some amicable treaties with the Indians. But this, although it is well as far as it goes,
is not all. Penn was a man not only of deep religious sensibility, but of vast grasp of intellect. If
he wore a coat which indicated his relationship to
a particular party or sect, he nevertheless had a
soul of great dimensions, which took in the past,
the present and the future; and which, moved as it
were by a divine inspiration, foresaw, anticipated,
and in part regulated, the destinies of' humanity.
And his numerous writings, when examined on the
principles which decide literary merit, showed that




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           47
he was an accomplished scholar. In his remarkable Treatise entitled "' No Cross, no Crown,"
which was written at an early period of his life,
there are many passages characterized by chasteness of taste and beauty of expression, as well as
truth and sublimity of thought; and which, as it
seems to me, cannot well be explained, except in
connection with the fact, which perhaps is not
well known even to his own people, that his mind,
in its intellectual department, was trained and disciplined in this seat of learning.
This is the college of Locke also, who took an
interest in, and whose name is associated historically with, the affairs of America.  But Locke, the
author of the Essay on the Human Understanding,
like Plato and Fenelon, does not belong to any one
age or country; but transmits himself, by means
of his great qualities, into all ages and lands.
Undoubtedly those who have succeeded him  in
some of the departments of mental philosophy
have seen further'and understood better in some
things; but this is the necessary result of human
progress, and suggestions and criticisms of this
nature will apply to the great names of all periods.
What is imperfect is completed by time. And it
still remains true, that, owing to the clearness and
originality of his perceptions, the variety and extent of his learning, the excellence of his character, and the vast and favorable influence he has
exerted, that his name may be said to have transcended the limits of nationality, and to have taken
its place in the catalogue and in the brotherhood




4 8             LETTERS-.-ESTHETIC,
of those great men who belong not so much to a
nation as to the human race.
I ought to add, that there is, at this college,
a whole-length statue of Locke, in marble, by
IRoubillac.
(VI.)
Trinity College-Its library- Distinguished members-Bodleian
Library- Chantrey Gallery —Statue of Cicero —Copies of the
Cartoons of Raphael.
OXFORD, ENGLAND, OCT. 11, 1852.
THERE is necessarily a similarity in institutions
founded for the same object. However they may
differ in extent and decorations, there must be in
all, rooms for the students, libraries, places of worship, rooms and galleries for the arts, and whatever else may be necessary for convenience, or for
developing intellectual and moral culture. When
you have a knowledge of one, you have essentially
a knowledge of the elements of all.  Of the other
colleges which contribute to constitute the great
Oxford University, Oriel, Baliol, Trinity, Pembroke, Worcester, Merton, Queen's College and
others, each has its advantages and attractions;
and each its distinct and honorable history.  Trinity College, founded in 1554, is later in origin
than some of the others to which I have directed
your attention, but it has a high reputation.
The library of this college, not deficient in other
respects, is particularly valuable for the many ancient works it contains.  Among others there is a
Latin manuscript of Euclid, which is said to be six




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.            49
hundred years old. And it is stated further in relation to it, that it was translated into Latin from
the Arabic, before the original Greek was discovered.
In the list of the distinguished members of Trinity College are found the names of Archbishop
Sheldon, Selden the Antiquarian, Chillingworth, so
celebrated for his controversial writings, and the
poets Denham, Warton, and Bowles.  It was a
matter of interest to me, as it would naturally be
to an American, to notice also among its celebrated
members the names of Ireton and Ludlow, who held
a rank so distinguished among the generals of the
time of the English Commonwealth.  On the catalogue of this college, also, is the name of the elder
Pitt, the Earl of Chatham, so renowned in the annals of the British Senate, the friend of revolted
America, because, in allowing to Americans the
principles and rights which he claimed for Englishmen, he deemed the cause of America to be just;a great and memorable orator, whose reasonings
had the aspect of intuitions, and whose declamations were a flame of fire.
I must confess to you that I was solicitous to
know what sort of men these colleges had produced.
You are aware that much has been said in relation
to the position of Oxford and the practical value
of its system of education.  The attacks which are
made upon it both in and out of England, the statements and intimations unfavorable to the idea of
its usefulness, are very frequent. Perhaps there is
some foundation for this. It is quite probable that
this great University-vast in its relations and interests, and restricted by ancient charters, which it
5




5 0           LETTERS-/ESTHETIC,
is bound not to violate-has found it difficult -tG
adjust itself at once and in all respects to the real
improvements and the true spirit of the age. It
may not be suitable for me, the citizen of another
country and educated under different influences, to
give an opinion on the subject-matter of this controversy; but one thing is certain, that Oxford, like
every other college or university, has the right to
point to the sons she has educated, and to require
that they shall be taken into account in forming
a judgment.  Others may explain it and modify
it as they think proper; but the fact still remains
imperishable as history, that in this university, in
different periods of its progress, minds have been
trained and have gone out into the world, that have
explored and successfully expanded the departments
of science, —men whose perfected literary culture
has approached that of Rome and Athens;-religious and civil reformers and republicans, who have
defended and illustrated liberty by reason and eloquence, and who have fought at the head of armies,
or shed their blood at the stake.
Her monuments may decay, her busts and statues
may be broken, the massy walls of her colleges may
crumble into dust; but her imperishable minds,
brought out into strength and symmetry by her cherishing culture, will testify in all coming ages, whatever may be true of her imperfections or her faults,
that she is, nevertheless, a child of Providence and
an heir of immortality.
Among the places which no person should leave
Oxford without seeing, are the Bodleian Library
and the University Galleries. In noticing the books




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.            51
contained in the Bodleian Library, the attention of
the visitor is called to the fact, that the valuable
library of the learned Selden, consisting of more
than 8000 volumes of printed books and manuscripts, makes a part of it. There is also deposited
in the same library a celebrated collection of Greek
manuscripts, more than 200 in number, formed by
Giacomo Barocci, a Venetian nobleman. This
library, beside its ancient manuscripts and its immense collection of books, is the depository of numerous valuable manuscripts, containing the researches
of learned men in more recent times, which have
been deposited at different periods. Entering the
painting-galleries in an upper story of the building,
which is occupied in part by some beautiful models
of ancient and modern buildings, my attention was
arrested by the portraits of distinguished men which
grace its walls; particularly of Sir Kenelm Digby
and the unfortunate Earl of Strafford, by Vandyck;
-and of Handel, the great musical composer, a portrait taken by Hudson, cand the only one for itch/ie he
ever sat. Among the curiosities to be found in this
room, some of them calculated to suggest painful recollections, I saw in a window-place near the entrance
of the gallery a fac-simile of the death-warrant of
Charles First. I had nearly forgotten to say, that, on
entering this gallery, I complied, like other visitors,
with an invitation to seat myself in a venerable chair,
made of part of the ship in which Admiral Drake
sailed round the world. To this chair is appended
an inscription in verse, in his peculiar style of
writing, by the old English poet, Abraham Cowley,
as follows:



5 2              LETTERS —iESTIIETiC,
To this great ship, which round the globe has run,
And match'd in race the chariot of the sun,
This Pythagorean ship, (for it may claim,
Without presumption, so deserved a name,)
By knowledge once, and transformation now,
In her new shape this sacred port allow.
Drake and his ship could not have wish'd from Fate
A happier station or more blest estate;
For, lo! a seat of endless rest is given,
To her in Oxford, and to him in heaven.
(ABRAHAM COWLEY, 1662.)
Not less interesting td the stranger than this celebrated library, is the recent but important establishment called the University Galleries, designed
expressly and almost exclusively for the reception
of statues, paintings, engravings and other curiosities, belonging to or which may be left to the Oxford
University.  In the building of the University Galleries, is the gallery called the I'Chantrey Gallery;"
a large apartment, an hundred and eighty feet in
lhngth, by twenty-eight in width, containing the
original models of the greatest works of the late Sir
Francis Chantrey.  Among them  are the busts and
statues of Bishop Heber;-of the second Pitt, whose
majestic form  and ample brow harmonize with the
idea which we naturally attach to this great master
of the destiny of nations;-of James Watt the engineer, Roscoe of Liverpool, and Sir Joseph Banks; —
of General Rollo Gillespie, of Grattan, Canning,
and Washington.  Another apartment, the principal Sculpture Gallery, contains numerous casts of
antique statues and busts, the greater part of which
were taken at Rome, from  moulds made for the
Emperor Napoleon. Among them are casts of the
Laocoon and his sons, of the Torso of Belvidere, and




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           53
of the Venus de Medici. These, as also the models
in the Chantrey Gallery, have been recently presented to the University by the widow of Chantrey.
In another part of the building, amid a multiplicity of works of ancient art, I was struck with an
ancient statue of Cicero, of marble, about seven feet
high. I know nothing of the history of this statue,
but I felt that it was, or might be, the true representation of the mighty orator himself, of the real
Cicero of the Senate of Rome. The drapery in
which he is clothed is of remarkable propriety and
beauty. He stands as if preparing to speak;-a
scroll in his left hand, the SUDARIUMI in his right;
-every line of his countenance full of intelligence,
made alive and intense by flashes of indignation;
-in a word, such as I can imagine him to have
been and to have appeared, when preparing to utter
his orations against Catiline or Mark Antony.
In the Picture -Gallery, which is a room ninetysix feet long, by twenty-eight wide, are admirable
copies, by an English painter of the name of Cooke,
of the celebrated colored drawings on paper, of
Raphael, called the Cartoons.  I believe that the
Cartoons are regarded, by those who are intimately
acquainted with his works, as among the most
striking evidences and results of the wonderful genius and skill of Raphael. To describe them fully
and properly, would seem to require something of
the genius of the author of them;-and at any rate
I will not undertake anything of the kind now, as
I am not without some hopes of seeing, and of examining more at leisure, the originals at the palace
of Hampton Court. I will merely name the sub5*




54            LETTERS —ESTHETIC,
jects of them:-(1) The intended sacrifice to Paul
and Barnabas by the people of Lystra, Acts xiv.;(2) The miraculous draught of fishes, Luke v.:(3) Christ's charge to Peter, John xxi.:-(4) Peter
and John healing the lame at the gate of the temple,
Acts iii.: —(5) The death of Ananias, Acts v.:(6) Elymas the Sorcerer struck with blindness, Acts
xiii.:-(7) Paul preaching at Athens, Acts xvii.
In the University Galleries are to be seen the
original sketches and drawings, in different degrees
of completeness, of many of the works of Raphael
and of Michael Angelo; an hundred and sixty-two
of Raphael, and seventy-nine of Angelo.  One will
notice here, in this remarkable collection, which
probably has not its parallel'in the world, how the
various striking and sublime conceptions, which are
discoverable in their works, gradually broke in upon
their minds; and how by repeated touches and afterthoughts they were raised from the first imperfect
outline to their ultimate perfection.  So true it is
that the greatest geniuses master their subjects by
degrees; and that men, who aill to produce anything truly worthy and enduring, accept the pains
of labor as the purchase of renown.
In closing this letter, you will allow me to refer
to the name of one man whose influence is widely
felt in America, that of John Wesley. It would be
doing injustice to rank Wesley with the ordinary
leaders of religious sects; at least as far as intellectual power and literary culture are concerned.
Take him in the various combination of his qualities, the clearness and breadth of his perceptions,
the warmth of his heart, the purity and vigor of




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.                55
his style of speech and writing, his moral daring,
his unconquerable perseverance, and where will
you look for his superior or even his equal? It
was at Oxford, at first, in Christ Church College,
and  subsequently  in  Lincoln  College, that the
powers of this remarkable man were trained.
(VII.)
Visit to the palace of Blenheim, the residence of the Duke of Marlborough-Town of Woodstock —Triumphal arch-General appearance of the park and palace of Blenheim-Works of artStatue of Queen Anne-Rosamond's bower-Roman villa.
OXFORD, ENGLAND, OCT. 11, 1852.
ABOUT eight miles distant from Oxford, is the
palace of Blenheim, the residence of Churchill,
the justly-celebrated Duke of Marlborough.  This
splendid pile of architecture, named the palace of
Blenheim, fromn the village of Blenheim  on the
banks of the Danube, where Marlborough successfully fought the French and Bavarians, was erected
under the direction of Sir John Vanbrugh, an eminent architect in the reign of Queen Anne. Thenumerous works of Vanbrugh are characterized by
architectural skill; but the evidences of genius
which they display have not exempted them  from
the criticism of heaviness in their appearance;-a
criticism which was so frequently and in some cases
so justly made, that it gave rise to the caustic
couplet, which it was thought might appropriately
form a part of his epitaph:"Lie heavy on him, earth; for he
Laid many a heavy load on thee."




56            LETTERS —ESTHETIC,
It is not clear to me, that strictures of this kind,
if they are meant to imply an architectural defect,
are justly applicable to the palace of Blenheim,
which combines beauty with strength and solidity,
and is certainly a magnificent building. Blenheim
palace was built, chiefly though not exclusively, at
the expense of the English nation, for the Duke of
Marlborough; and in acknowledgment of his great
services, both in council and in many a hard-fought
field of battle. Among the distinguished men of
England, Marlborough stands prominent; and the
remark is sometimes made, that in many of his
traits of character, and especially in the incidents
of his political and military history, he resembled
the Duke of Wellington, whose recent death has
produced so profound a sensation.
In visiting the palace of Blenheim, it was a pleasure to me to pass through the ancient town of
Woodstock, which was once a flourishing place, and
has some historical celebrity. I found none of the
smaller towns of England, in the arrangement and
appearance of their streets and buildings, carrying
back my mind so distinctly to the state of things
as it probably existed two centuries ago. It may
be proper to remark here, that Chaucer, who may
justly be regarded as the father of English poetry,
and who will compare well with the poets of any
age or country, resided here for some time, and has
made a number of allusions in his writings to the
beautiful scenery in its neighbourhood. Some of
the most interesting scenes in Scott's novel of
Woodstock are laid in this vicinity.
In going to the palace, I passed from Woodstock




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           57
through a quadrangular space on the right hand of
which Chaucer resided, and then through a large
triumphal arch, erected by the Duchess of Marlborough, the year after the decease of the Duke.
This arch, which is of the Corinthian order, is an
object of considerable attraction. On the side next
to Woodstock is a Latin inscription, with an English
translation on the opposite side, to this effect: —that
it was erected by his wife as a monument of her husband's glory and a testimonial of her own affection.
I had adavanced within the gateway of this arch
but a few paces, when I felt myself to be in the presence of a combined scene of the works of art and
nature, rarely exceeded in extent and beauty;before me in a southern direction the vast palace,
with its turrets and minarets, obscured in part, but
not with any unfavorable effect on the general outline, by the luxuriant beeches and elms; in another
direction a fine sheet of water spanned by a superb
stone bridge; on the rising grounds beyond the
bridge, a lofty column erected to the memory of the
duke; —and on every side the park with its undulating grounds, its green openings, its herds of deer
reposing quietly or standing gracefully erect at
gaze, and its clumps and groups of trees. The column, erected in honor of the duke, stands on an
elevated piece of ground; and being itself of the
great height of an hundred and thirty feet, and
surmounted at its summit by a lofty statue of the
distinguished man to whom it is erected, with no
buildings or other objects near, which might have
the effect to divert one's attention from it, it has
the aspect of some mighty but solitary existence,




5 8           LETTERS —— IESTHETIC,
standing in the calm repose of conscious majesty
and strength, and surveying at leisure the splendid
domain around him.
Passing on to the MALL, which is a wide and
thickly-shaded avenue, leading from another gate
of the Blenheim domain, called the Kensington
Gate, and turning to the right and passing through
the vast iron doors of the Eastern Gateway, I found
myself within the walls of this splendid palatial
monument, erected by a nation's munificence in
honor of the public services of one of her distinguished sons. Blenheim is not only a palace, but
a great repository of the works of art; and on entering within it I almost forgot the vast extent and
strength of the building and the genius displayed
in its construction, in the contemplation of the
sculptures, statuary, and paintings which adorn it
within. I will-not undertake to give an account of
the various rooms which are politely opened to the
visitor, any further than to say they are adorned on
every side with works from the hands of the most
distinguished masters; —painting on the ceiling by
Thornhill; bronze statues by Benzi; busts and statues by Rysbrach;-paintings, which require no
interpreter to explain their merit, by Hudson, Holbein, Reynolds, Rubens, Vandyck, Raphael, Carlo
Dolce, Kneller, Teniers, Rembrandt, Titian, and
others. In different places I have seen excellent
paintings from some or all of these masters; but in
the various attributes of invention, arrangement,
coloring, and whatever else constitutes the excelfence of a painting, I think some of the best of
their works are to be found at Blenheim. The first




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.              59
and second State Drawing Rooms are hung, in part,
with beautiful tapestries, representing some of the
successful battles and sieges which were conducted
under the lead of Marlborough;-among others the
battle of Dunnewert on the Danube, in Bavaria,
which was fought July 3d, 1704, the battle of Lisle,
which was fought Dec. 9th, 1708, and the siege of
Lisle, which took place in the same year. I was
surprised to find in this palace, erected as it was
without any specific view to literary or scientific
objects, a very valuable library, consisting of seventeen thousand volumes.  The Library Room, an
hundred and eighty-three feet in length, occupies
the entire south-west front of the palace, and favorably impresses the visitor by its size, proportions, and numerous and rich decorations. In this
room there is a white marble statue of Queen Anne,
highly finished, by Rysbrach.  She is represented
in her coronation robes, and on the pedestal is the
following inscription:TO THE MEMORY OF QUEEN ANNE!
UNDER WHOSE AUSPICES
JOHN DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH
CONQUERED,
AND TO WHOSE MUNIFICENCE
HE AND HIS POSTERITY
WITH GRATITUDE
OWE THE POSSESSION OF BLENHEIM.
A.D. MDCCXXVI.
England is to me classic ground.  It is not only
the place of the residence of my ancestors, and
thus endeared by a series of associations which are
strong and peculiar, but almost every spot which a
stranger visits has some close and interesting con



60            LETTEnS —E STHETIC,
nection with history and literature. In this vicinity,
for instance, was the residence of Chaucer; here is
the scene of one of the popular novels of Scott; here
are the memorials of a man who fills, with one or
two exceptions, the most conspicuous place in Enfglish history; and here within these very domains,
its site marked by two large sycamore-trees, was
once an ancient palace which had its attractions in
its day and was the frequent resort of royalty; of
which, however, there are at present no remains. It
was within the.walls of this ancient royal residence,
that the princess Elizabeth, afterwards Elizabeth,
Queen of England, was confined as a prisoner by
her sister, Queen Mary. During her imprisonment
here, the room assigned her was once on fire, (whether by design or otherwise is not known,) and her
life was endangered by it. With that high and impassioned spirit of which she afterwards gave evidence, she felt her imprisonment very keenly; and
one day when she saw a milkmaid passing by her
window and singing in the gaiety of her humble
heart, the tears rolled down the cheek of the princess, and the wish escaped her lips-a wish expressed by many others in high stations-that a
condition in life equally happy and equally humble
had been her own.  She composed,while immured
here, a number of verses, written with charcoal on
the window-shutter of her prison-room, which have
been preserved,-beginning as follows:"Oh, fortune! How thy restless wavering state
Hath fraught with cares my troubled wit."
Here also-a place not uninteresting to those who
wish to know the history and resources of guilty pas



SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          61
sion-is Rosamond's spring or well, the supposed
place of Rosamond's bower, and of the secret labyrinth which connected the bower and the old palace; the "fair Rosamond," well known in tradition and song, who was so wrongfully loved and
sought by Henry Second.
About three miles distant from the palace of
Blenheim, but on the lands of the Duke of Marlborough, a small quadrangular Roman villa has
lately been discovered. Like many ancient towns
and cities, it had been covered up and hidden for
centuries in the earth which had gathered around
it, but has been brought to light within a few years.
Time did not allow me to go and see it, but I learned
that the foundations of an ancient building had
been traced; that rooms and passages, ornamented
with tesselated pavements, had been discovered,also, baths, urns, and articles of earthenware. lt is
said, that numerous coins, some of them silver, have
been excavated.  The Romans evacuated Britain
in the year 448; and the supposition, therefore, is,
that the remains of this villa must be at least fourteen hundred years old.
I do not know that I have anything further to
say of Oxford and its vicinity at present. What I
have said is only an outline, a sketch; made partly
to assist my own remembrances. My visit has been
a pleasant and profitable one; though I cannot
deny, that here and elsewhere I have found one
drawback from that happiness which I might otherwise have experienced. It is that very many of
the public works and monuments, and also many
private works of art, have relation, in various ways,
G.




62              LETTERS-AESTHETIC,
to a state of war, and to those sentiments of ambition and military glory which have connection with
war.  Bolingbroke, in speaking of Marlborough,
says, As I honor his memory as the greatest general
and as the greatest minister that our country, or
perhaps any other, has produced." The inscription
on the lofty column erected to his memory, which
is said to have been written by Bolingbroke, speaks
of his military achievements, "' performed within a
few years, as sufficient to adorn the annals of ages."
Happy will be the day when it shall be understood
that peace has its trophies;-that the whole system
of war, which may be described as a system that
arrays selfishness against selfishness, is based upon
wrong principles and wrong feelings;-that the doctrines of the gospel, which have never had their
full effect, contemplate the substitution of confidence for jealousy, of love for hatred, and the establishment of universal pacification and harmony.
(VIII.)
Visit to Dover in England, and to Calais in France —Remarks upon
Dover —Shakspeare's Cliff —Explanations of emotions of beauty
and sublimity —IHistorical associations connected with the English channel —Siege of Calais by Edward III.-Story of Eustace
de Pierre.
LONDON, ENGLAND, NOV. 2,1852.
AFTER the date of my last letter, I came to London. Since then, for a practical purpose, I have
made a short excursion to France, and returned'
here again. In this excursion I made a little stay
at Dover and Calais.




SOCIAL, AND )MORAL.           63
The town of Dover is situated at the straits of
the English channel. It derives its name from a
Saxon word which means declivity or steep place, and
which indicates, therefore, one of its striking natural
features. Dover is interesting by its locality and its
history. From this point, more frequently perhaps
than from any other, the traveller to the continent
starts on his tour of pleasure, of knowledge, or of
mercantile speculation. From this point fleets and
armies have set out on their destination of blood
and conquest; and here, justified, as I suppose, by
a necessity which would not exist if men were
what God requires them to be,  the meteor-flag of
England" still floats, but not as an emblem of pacification and confidence, amid the bayonets and cannon of her castle and numerous fortifications.  The
town is imbosomed in high hills, which are cultivated to the top; but which, on the side of the
ocean, break down perpendicularly, and present, for
many miles in length and hundreds of feet in height,
their white chalky bosoms to the gaze of the mariner. One of these remarkable eminences, three
hundred feet in height, is known as cc Shakspeare's
Cliff."  Early in the morning, inspired by my recollection of what Shakspeare has said of it in the tragedy of Lear, I ascended to the summit of this cliff,
and, approaching cautiously to its very edge, and
looking down upon the beach and the wide-expanded ocean, I can bear testimony, in this instance
at least, to the remarkable truth and power of his
description.
The morning was dark and lowering, and heavy
mists hung over the distant coasts of France. The




64               LETTERS- ESTHETIC,
ocean's wave broke angrily upon the shore, but
I could scarcely hear its sound so high.   Large
ships were in sight, though diminished to the eye
in the distance; the fishermen's boats, of which a
number could be seen, were but small, moving specks
upon the ocean. The sea-birds, small as I looked
down upon them, floated lazily by; and I experienced at this great height the very sensation to
which the great poet has alluded in the first lines
of his description:-'' How fearful
And dizzy'tis, to cast one's eye so low!
The crows and choughs, that wing the midway air,
Show scarce so gross as beetles. Half-way down
Hangs one that gathers sanmphire,-dreadful trade!
Methinks he seems no bigger than his head.
The fishermen, that walk upon the beach,
Appear like mice.
I'll look no more,
Lest my brain turn, and the deficient sight
Topple down headlong,"
There was one feature in this scene as it was presented to my eyes, which Shakspeare has not described, and which I am at a loss to conjecture how
he would have disposed of.  While I was standing
upon this giddy eminence, the railroad-cars for London came suddenly in sight; and with lightning speed,
as if they had the power of sundering mountains,
dashed through the tunnelled base of the vast cliff
which bears his name. When will a moving rail-car
with its iron steed take its placae in the imagination
and be embodied in the language of a Shakspeare?
The incidents which I have related naturally
lead to another topic. When the feelings are excited in any considerable degree, it is difficult to




SOCIAL, ANTD MORAL.           65
analyze them, and to ascertain the laws by which
they arise and by which they are regulated. What
I experienced on this occasion, however, as it appeared both at the time and in my subsequent reflections, tended to confirm  the opinions I had
entertained, and to which I have referred in a former
letter, in relation to the principles of the sublime
and beautiful. Undoubtedly one of the elements
of sublimity is great height; but it is also true,
I think, (and this is the view which is taken in
Burke's treatise on the subject,) that great depth,
opened distinctly before us, is likewise calculated
to excite sublime emotions.  But to my mind it is
clear also, that these emotions are not heightened
by our being in a position where we suppose that
there is some personal danger, and where the feeling of dread arises. It is true there is generally
greater mental agitation, there is really at the moment more development and exercise of the mental
susceptibilities; but it is a mixed state, and not exclusively and purely the experience of sublime emotions. Fear is a painful feeling; it is always based
either upon a sense of wrong-doing or a conviction
of comparative littleness and feebleness; and although it agitates the mind, and has great power,
it is a power rather to convulse and to detract, than
to harmonize and to add. But the experience of
sublimity, when that experience exists in the highest degree, is always attended with tranquillity: the
soul gives itself fully and peaceably to the influence
of the sublime object; it discovers there truth and
beauty, as well as power and magnitude; and receiving, therefore, the influence of the sublime object
6*




66            LETTERS —ESTHETIC,
into itself without the mental diversions and himl
derances occasioned by personal danger and fear, it
becomes conscious of new elements of beauty and
sublimity, hidden in its own nature, and expands and
ascends-I think it may be said in something more
than a metaphorical sense —into a higher sphere
of existence. And therefore I think that angels
(and all pure and holy beings, whatever may be
their name) have a truer and deeper sense of the
sublimity of things, than impure and wicked beings
can possibly have; although the iatter may probably
have as clear a perception of height and depth, and
other natural elements of greatness, as the former.
When standing upon the Dover Cliffs, and casting my eye abroad upon the English channel, I could
not but remember how often these seas, destined
under better auspices to float the navies of a peaceful commerce, have borne hostile fleets and. armies,
and have been red with blood. Upon these very
waters have passed and repassed, again and again,
the kingly invaders of France and England, —flushed
with victory, or trembling with defeat. It was here,
inl part at least and in combats disgraceful to humanity, and especially disgraceful to those who bear the
Christian and Protestant name, that Van Tromp and
De Ruyter, names baptized in English blood, gained
their terrible celebrity. It was here at an earlier
period that the Spanish Armada, vainly styled the
Invincible, floated in strength and in terror, till,
awakening the displeasure of a higher power, it was
touched by the breath of the Almighty, and scattered
by the ordinance of God.
The reminiscences of those sanguinary times and




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           67
wars, and of the jealousies and hatreds which characterized them, are to be found on both sides of the
channel. Dover and other accessible places on the
English coast are bristling with fortifications, and
with the various appurtenances and implements of
war; but not more so than the towns on the other
side, both on the coast and in the near vicinity. If
it would be folly for France to attempt the invasion of England, it would be equal folly for England to attempt to invade France, which, if my
eye has not deceived me, has placed herself in a
state of formidable preparation at every assailable
point. As a general thing, I took but little pleasure in examining the numerous and massive fortifications to which I have referred, and which are in
poor keeping with modern civilization and hopes;
but I must confess my curiosity led me to make an
exception in favor of the old walls of Calais, which
are still in a great measure standing as they stood
centuries ago. Walls and fortifications are added,
but the old one, in its great strength, still exists;
-Calais being an exposed point of France, and
having been the theatre of many sieges and battles.
There is one incident in the history of this ancient
city which was recalled to my mind during the short
visit which I was enabled to make to it. The student of English history will perhaps recollect that
the city of Calais was besieged in 1346 by Edward
III. of England. It was for a long time obstinately
defended by its inhabitants, until, having exhausted
all their provisions, and being in the extremities of
famine, their governor, John de Vienne, appeared.
upon the walls of the city, and offered to capitulate.




68            LETTERS —-ZESTHETIC,
The King of England, incensed at their obstinate
resistance, which had kept him eleven months before
the city, sent one of his distinguished officers, Sir
Walter Manny, to acquaint the governor that the
only terms he would either propose or accept would
be a surrender at discretion. The patriotic governor
remonstrated, and, at the suggestion and advice of
many, Edward at last consented to grant their lives
to all the soldiers and citizens, on the condition
that six of the principal inhabitants should come
to him with the keys of the city, and with ropes
about their necks. And there was no doubt on the
minds of any, that their immediate death was to
be made the expiation of the obstinate bravery
which had been manifested in the siege.
As would naturally be expected, the proposition
thus to give up six of their principal citizens to certain death in order to save their own lives plunged
the people of Calais in the greatest distress, and
they knew not what to do. In the agony of silence
and tears which followed, a citizen of distinction
and wealth, Eustace de Pierre, came forth before
the multitude, and offered himself as one of the
six who should thus devote their lives for the people.
Animated by his example, another patriotic and
distinguished citizen soon came forward, and then
another and another, till the numlber was completed.
With a generosity of which we have hardly an equal
example in all history, these noble-minded men
passed through the opened gates of Calais; and
bare-headed and bare-footed, with ropes about their
necks, came into the presence of the incensed and
revengeful Edward.  Everything indicated that




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.            69
they were soon to die. Tears, remonstrances, advice, had no effect upon the king; till at last his
queen, whose virtuous and noble character is the
theme of historians, seeing him about to commit an
act disgraceful to himself and dishonorable to humanity, appeared before him in their behalf, and did
not hesitate, with earnestness and on her knees, to
supplicate their lives. It was thus that woman occupied the sphere of beneficence which Providence has
assigned her. Love conquered vengeance. The
king, yielding to affection what he had designed as
the victim of his hatred, granted her request. And
this noble princess, not satisfied with this, conducted
the excellent citizens whom she had saved to her
apartments, treated them with marks of kindness
and distinction, and dismissed them with presents.
In connection with this subject I will mention one
or two incidents further, which have some relation
to it. I was walking alone in the streets of Calais,
amusing and instructing myself with notices of its ancient streets and buildings, and also with the groups
of men, women and children, with countenances,
costumes and habits quite different in many respects
from those. to which I had been accustomed; and as
I looked upon them, conversing, chattering, laughing, buying, selling, singing, weeping, each acting
out his own dispositions in his own way, I found my
own identity, if I may so express it, enlarging itself
and mysteriously entering into a partnership with
the common feeling. "LIt is good," I said to myself,'Cto see men and nations, if for no other reason, because it teaches us the lesson of a community of
hearts, and that the distinctions of nationality do




70           LETTERS-AESTHETIC,
not and cannot destroy the wider bond of universal
brotherhood." And as I stood thus talking with my
own heart, a French gentleman came near me, obviously a man of intelligence, who understood English better than I did French, and who told me, in
answer to my inquiries, that the public square of
Calais, on one side of which I was then standing,
was the place in which the people assembled, with
grief and dismay, when the terrible ultimtatum of
Edward was announced to them. And, with the
kindness and grace which I found everywhere in
Frenchmen, he invited me, perceiving me to be a
stranger, into the ancient town-hall of Calais, and
showed me a large painting, (the name of the painter
has escaped my memory, but the painting seemed to
me to be a work of very considerable merit,) which
had for its subject the touching transactions which
I have mentioned. And I must confess it made a
strong appeal to my feelings, when I saw before me,
in figures as large as life, and on the very spot of
their proffered martyrdom, the noble and self-sacrificing men who offered their lives for their country,
bearing to the English tents the keys of the city,
and with ropes about their necks, and followed by
their distracted wives and children and the agitated
multitude of the people. The memory of these
transactions lives indelibly in the hearts of the
people of Calais,-both a monument and a stimulant to great virtue.
This is one of those affecting incidents which
give interest to history, and which show, amid the
degradation and crimes of our race, that there is
still something which imparts dignity to man.




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.             71
In passing the channel from Dover, my eye rested
for a long time upon the long line of chalky cliffs
which terminate the coast of England; but the similarity of geological appearance in some places onthe Calais side suggested the idea that France and
England at some former period may have been united
at this point, and subsequently rent asunder by the
action of the ocean. Worthy of notice, and in the
vicinity of Calais, (at least in its vicinity since the
establishment of railroads,) are the cities of St.Omer
and Lille;-St. Omer known for its seminaries, and
Lille for its manufactories;-both strongly fortified,
and both of them, especially Lille, memorable by
their historical associations. In Lille, which has
been in a remarkable degree the theatre of sieges and
battles, is one of the strongest citadels in Europe,
erected under the direction of the celebrated Vauban.
The country in this part of France is low, level, and
marshy. It appeared to me to be neither fertile nor
well cultivated; at least as compared with the fertility and the cultivation which are often seen in England and in many parts of America. But I was told
that I should find it different in the south of France.
(IX.)
ILLUSTRATIONS OF MENTAL ACTION.
LONDON, ENGLAND, NOV. 5, 1852.
IN one of my former letters I referred to some
mental experiences of which I was the subject
during my passage across the Atlantic, which seemed
to me to illustrate and confirm some general prin



72            LETTERS —-EST1IETIC,
ciples of mind. One of the questions of interest
in mental philosophy is the inquiry, —Whether the
mind is so constitutedc that it is susceptible, by its
own laws of action, of reviving entirely its past
history,-however distant that history may be in
time, or however indistinct its outline.
Lord Bacon has somewhere expressed the opinion very distinctly, that such is the fact; and that
whatever has been a portion of man's mental history can never be absolutely lost, but remains forever in allegiance to and in connection with the
mind, although it is not always a subject of immediate consciousness. And this, as is well known,
was a favorite opinion of Coleridge; and I infer,
from some passages in his writings, that it was an
opinion also of President Edwards, as it has been
undoubtedly, and is, of many others. My own
mental history confirms this view, of which I will
now give an illustration, —with which, however,
I am obliged to connect a few prefatory details.
Many years since, in the earlier period of my
life, news came to the village in which I resided,
that one of our esteemed citizens, the captain of a
merchant-vessel, was lost at sea. When the sad
and unexpected news reached his wife, who loved
him tenderly, she was entirely overcome, and died
in a short time of a broken heart.  Seeing in the
street one day a little boy, who seemed lonely and
sad, I learned that he was the child of the parents
who had thus been taken away; and, feeling pity
for him, I took him home, gave him. my own name,
and adopted him as a son. I allowed my affections
to twine around him; and endeavored, with God's




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.            73
assistance, to be not only a friend but a father.
When he became of fourteen or fifteen years of
age, that instinct of the ocean which had led his
father to be a sailor began to exhibit itself, and he
expressed to me a wish to follow the same course
of life. My recollection of the sorrowful fate of
his parents, and (I may add) my desire to do my
whole duty to him and for him, led me to refuse at
the time my assent to his wishes,-qualified by the
remark, however, that when he should reach his
nineteenth year, if these views and wishes continued, I should probably feel it my duty to let him
decide for himself. In the mean while I taught
him daily, both in human knowledge, and in the
principles of religion; and for some time he was
a member of a college. Continually he grew in
my affections; and had become, I may perhaps
say, a part of my existence. When he reached
the period of life which I have specified, I found
that the same strong desire of a seafaring life existed; and the commander of a merchant-vessel
from our own place, a man to whom he was related
and of great excellence of character, offering to take
a special interest in him, I consented, not without
sorrow and misgiving, to his departure.
The vessel sailed from a port in Massachusetts.
It was the unfavorable month of December. And
on the fourth day of its departure it was overtaken
by a most violent storm.  Some of the vessels that
sailed about the same time returned to port dismasted or otherwise injured; but, after some weeks
of suspense, the news came that this vessel was
lost. When I heard the intelligence, I was greatly
7




74            LETTERS-iE STHETIC,
affected; and, retiring to my private room, I. r(,
mained for some time alone, without being able to
communicate it to others. My imagination placed
before me those sufferings and that last cry of
agony which I could neither share nor control.
But while I was thus mourning alone, that sympathetic instinct which interprets the signs of calamity almost without knowing them. spread a gloom
over the family; and in a little time a knock was
heard at mlly door, and the only sister of my shipwrecked son came in, whom I had also taken and
adopted as a daughter. There were only two of
them, and they loved each other with great affection. With a lip tremulous with emotion, she
asked me if her brother was lost. I was obliged
to answer, such was the nature of the intelligence,
that I had no hope of seeing him again. We sat
together, and wept bitterly.
Under those impulses of our nature which those
understand who have lost beloved friends, I visited
the place from which the vessel sailed. It was a
melancholy satisfaction to me to tread the place
which was marked by his last footsteps when he
left the shore. I learned the course of the winds,
the direction of the vessel, the probable distance
at sea; and, ascertaining afterwards that a portion
of the cargo had been found in a particular latitude,
my own mind at last located, with some degree of
precision, the scene of this heavy calamity. And
there, in that definite spot of the ocean, which had
become settled in my thoughts and imagination, I
buried the orphan boy whom I had adopted and
loved. Always afterwards when I thought of himn,




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           75
it was in that particular locality. Imagination, acting upon a few facts and probabilities, had selected
a burial-place and erected a tomb in the depths of
the sea, and had even adorned it with flowers, and
affection accepted and sanctified the memorial; and
after that there was no change. So painful was this
event that I seldom alluded to it in conversation.
Perhaps I may say that I never told my sorrow,
because language has no expression for it. And yet
I nourished it in my memory. Often, very often,
has my heart alone gone down into the depths of
the ocean, and held communion with that solitary
and sea-beaten tomb.
When recently I sailed from New York in the
Arctic, about to trust myself to the same uncertain
ocean, it is strange to me that I did not think of
this poor boy. But so it was. It was perhaps
owing to the many trying thoughts and feelings
which then crowded upon me. We had sailed more
than a thousand miles, when he first recurred to
my memory; and when the ship was passing in
that region, and perhaps I may say over the very
spot, where I had located his tomb. And in a moment, under these peculiar circumstances, my awakened memory placed him before me; distinct as
life; not a trace in his form or features altered.
There he stood, like one coming up from the midst
of the waves. And to my quickened imagination,
and to my agitated heart which converted a vision
into reality, he threw his arms around my neck and
said, cc Father, you are come." Men may call such
things an illusion, but they have a truth, a basis of
reality, in them; and my heart felt its power. My




76            LETTERS-IESTIIETIC,
emotions became uncontrollable. I was obliged to
go to the little room assigned me in the ship; and
there I shut myself up all the day; and this sad
and dear image was with me all the time. It was
not an ordinary form of remembrance, but a combined action of imagination and memory, and so
vivid as to make the image it presented a virtual
reality. My lost boy was bef6re me. And all his
early life was recalled, our walks and our conversations, and the home which he loved so much, and
our happy hours, and his sister, and the other orphans I had taken and brought up with him. I
wept continually, but I had no power and no disposition to remove him from my side.
But I find I cannot go on with this subject. The
very recollection overcomes me. I will only add, in
relation to the topic with which I began this letter,the power of restoration which exists in the mind,I am quite certain of one thing, that my own soul
has not, in any proper and absolute sense of the
term, lost anything which it ever knew; at least it
has lost nothing wzhich it ever loved.  There are
depths and lodging-places in it which may be hidden for a while; but which decay can never reach,
which time can never alter, which seem to me to
be beyond the explanations of atheism and materialism; and which-I would say it with humility
but with confidence- are written over with the
marks and signatures of a divine power, and are
held in the keeping of immortality.
Unable, at the time to which I refer, to see or
converse with any one, my feelings took the turn
which they sometimes do when they are strongly




SOCIAL: AND  MORAL.                    77
moved, and embodied themselves in the following
stanzas:LINES FROM THE OCEAN, ON A SON LOST AT SEA.
Boy of my earlier days and hopes! Once more,
Dear child of memory, of love, of tears I
I see thee, as I saw in days of yore,
As in thy young and in thy lovely years.
The same in youthful look, the same in form,
The same the gentle voice I used to hear,
Though many a year hath pass'd, and many a storm
Hath dash'd its foam around the cruel bier.
Deep in the stormy ocean's hidden cave,
Buried and lost to human care and sight,
What power hath interposed to rend thy grave?
What arm hath brought thee thus to light and life?
I weep:-the tears my aged cheek that stain,
The throbs once more that swell my aching breast,
Embody years of anxious thought and pain,
That wept and watch'd around that place of rest.
Oh, leave me not, my child! Or, if it be
That, coming thus, thou canst not longer stay,
Yet shall this kindly visit's mystery
Give rise to hopes that never can decay.
Dear, cherish'd image from thy stormy bed!
Child of my early woe and early joy!'Tis thus at last the sea shall yield its dead,
And give again my loved, my buried boy.
(X.)
The river Thames-Bridges-The Thames Tunnel-The Tower
and its curiosities —Algernon Sidney-Houses of ParliamentChurches-St. Paul's and its monuments-British MuseumRemarks.
LONDON, ENGLAND, NOV. 6, 1852.
THE week which closes to-day has been characterized by events which have great significancy, — the
election of a President of the United States, upon
7*




78            LETTERS-.AESTHETIC,
which will be likely to turn the movements of a great
nation; the assembling of the British Parliament, a
body of men who hold in their hands the political
control of a large portion of the human race; and
the meeting of the Senate of France, assembled for
the purpose of taking the initiative in the re-establishment of the French empire. These events take
hold of the future, and have a connection with results
which no human eye can foresee; but which may be
left without misgiving or fear in the hands of that
Great Being who forgets'neither men nor nations.
I have not as yet attended the meetings of Parliament, because they have necessarily been occupied
almost exclusively with the verification of the claims
of the members, and the taking of the customary
oaths. This I intend to do at an early opportunity.
In the mean while I will take a little survey of London, which, although it does not stand alone and
without competitors, yet seems to me to be first
among the great centres of modern thought, enterprise, and civilization. And in speaking of London
it is not well to forget that which is in reality its
origin, and the source of its long-continued greatness and wealth; I mean the river Thames, whose
history, like that of the Nile and the Euphrates,
has become a part of the history of the human race.
England is the great mother of free states and kingdoms; and at some future time, when her palaces
and towers shall have crumbled, her children from
distant parts of the world will stand upon the banks
of the Thames, and exclaim, with filial homage,
c It was here that a nation was born."
The Thames, if we regard the Isis as its principal




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           79
source, arises in the county of Gloucestershire; and,
flowing through some of the best portions of England, is increased by various tributaries. Easy of
access and central in its position in relation to the
great channels of commerce, it becomes at London
Bridge, and thence onward in its progress of sixty
miles to the ocean, wide enough and deep enough
to float the mercantile navies of nations.  The immense amount of shipping collected together in the
Thames is an indication, in addition to that furnished by its population of two millions, of the
greatness and wealth of London; and that it is the
centre of communications which extend to all parts
of the world. The city presses the crowded banks
~of the river on both sides; and the Thames, which
a century ago was crossed by one bridge only, is
now spanned by seven; and-most of them exhibit
a high degree of architectural beauty. Southwark
Bridge is of cast iron, laid upon stone piers. It has
three arches; the centre arch having a span of two
hundred and forty feet, and said to be the largest
span of curve in the world.  Near Hungerford
Market is the Suspension Bridge, for foot-passengers
only.  The chains supporting it are carried over
two large brick piers, erected on the bed of the river
and nearly eighty feet in height; making, besides
two smaller ones, a central span of nearly six hundred and eighty feet.
In connection with the bridges of London, it is
very natural for one to speak of the Thames Tunnel,
which is certainly one of the most extraordinary
and stupendous works which have resulted from
the invention and power of man. It was projected




80            LETTERS- STIIETIC,
and carried through by Isambert Brunnel, a distinguished architect no longer living. The Thames
Tunnel is a subterraneous road, twelve hundred
feet in length, carried under the river Thames, and
thus forming a communication in this remarkable
manner between important parts of the city. As
I passed through it, it was quite a new form of experience and association, when I called to mind
that a vast river with its collected shipping was
floating over my head.
The tunnel consists of a square mass of brickwork, thirty-seven feet in width by twenty-two in
height, which contains within it two arched passages, each of them a little more than sixteen feet
wide. The passage through which I went was
well lighted with gas, and is approached at both
ends by means of great circular shafts, into which
there is a descent over convenient and handsome
staircases. The effect, as one looks through the
tunnel at either end, brilliantly lighted up in its
whole length and -so unique in its position and
structure, is exceedingly impressive.
I employed a waterman of the Thames to take
me in his boat from the London Bridge to the tunnel; and in going down the river, as we wound our
way amid its various shipping, I passed in sight of
and very near to that celebrated mass of buildings
known as the Tower of London. The tower, which
I had visited and examined a little before, is situated
in the eastern part of the city, and was originally
the fortified residence of the English monarchs.
I will say a few words here of this remarkable
place. The Tower, in its whole extent, covers a




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.             81
surface of twelve acres, enclosed within a strong
wall. Within the wall there is a lofty square building, called the White Tower.  It is built upon rising
ground, and is ninety-two feet in height, with walls
seventeen feet in thickness.  It was erected by William the Conqueror, and is the most ancient part of
the Tower buildings; and for a long time it formed,
of itself, the "1 Tower of London." Our boatman, as he
rowed us by the side of these celebrated buildings,
pointed out the water-gate, called the "Traitor's
Gate," through which persons guilty or supposed to be
guilty of high political offences are brought to the
Tower. There is a square tower near the water-gate,
called the c" BLOODY TOWER," from the circumstance
that it was the place of the murder of two infant princes by their uncle, Richard III.  It was through the
gateway of the Bloody Tower that I had previously
passed, in order to examine what it is permitted visitors to see. One of the objects of special interest,
because it throws light upon history and social progress, is the " Horse Armory."  The principal apartment in its interior, a room of an hundred and fifty
feet in length, is occupied by an imposing line of
equestrian figures, representing distinguished persons of different periods, clothed in the iron armor
of the ages in which they lived, from the period of
Edward First to that of James Second.  The view
on entering this room is exceedingly imposing, and
enables us to realize at once what we had often read
before in history, but of which it was difficult to
form an adequate conception. In reading the military history of nations a few centuries back, we are
almost as much at a loss in understanding it, as we




8 2           LETTERS —I2ESTHETIC,
oftentimes are in reading that of the Greeks and
Romans. But in the various armories of the Tower
of London we have an explanation far better than
we.can obtain in books, in their general forms and
in all their varieties, of the numerous instruments
which the ingenuity of men has formed for purposes
of defence or of mutual destruction; the bill and
spear, the glaive, the battle-axe, the halberd, the
pike, the helmet, the " twisted mail."
I was here shown the executioner's axe, and the
block upon which the victims were struck, which
still bears the marks of the sharp blows which fell
alike, at different periods, upon the innocent and
the guilty. This axe is said to be the one with
which the unhappy Anne Boleyn and the Earl of
Essex were executed. And if so, it was probably
the axe which severed the head of Algernon Sidney,
-a celebrated name, which is cherished with respect and sympathy in America. In that part of
the White Tower called Elizabeth's Armory, is the
apartment where Sir Walter Raleigh suffered his
twelve years' imprisonment. Lilke Sidney, though
perhaps less pure and inflexible in principle, he was
one of the distinguished men of England; and, in
consequence of the naval enterprises he projected,
his name has become associated with American history. In this prison Raleigh wrote many of his
works; particularly his History of the World. His
wife, at her own earnest suggestion and entreaty,
was permitted to share his imprisonment with him,
and his youngest son was born in the Tower. But
neither the affection of his wife, nor his great talents and distinguished public services, nor his




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.             3
learning, nor his advanced age, saved him from a
violent death. When his final hour came, the executioner asked him which way he chose to place
himself on the block. He replied, " If the heart
be right, it is no matter which way the head lies."
I observed here the cloak on which General
Wolfe died in the bloody but victorious battle
which gave Quebec and the Canadas to England.
In the Tower are kept the REGALIA. or crown
jewels, which may be examined with pleasure, not
only on account of their richness, but because they
are reconcilable with ideas of kindness and peace;
but as a general thing the Tower can only be regarded, both in what it has been and in what it
now is, as a great historical monument of the art
of war and of human bloodshed.
Higher up the Thames (for every thing seems to
spring from this river as if it were a permanent
source of life) are the new Houses of Parliament,-a
magnificent pile of buildings, presenting a front on
the river of nine hundred feet, enriched, perhaps too
much so, with every thing which architectural art
can furnish, in the shape of mouldings, tracery,
carvings, and heraldic devices. The most striking
external feature in this mighty range of buildings
is the Victoria Tower, which, when completed, will
be three hundred and forty feet in height.
Among the royal palaces in London, the first
which naturally claims attention is that of St.
James. It is its historical associations, however,
and not its architecture, which seem to give it that
place. It was built for the most part by Henry
VIII.; and, for more than a century previous to




8 4           LETTERS-E STIIETIC,
the year 1837, was the city-residence of the royal
family. Since that time the present Queen of
England, who spends the greater part of her time
at Windsor Castle, has occupied, when in London,
the Buckingham Palace.  Those who have visited
the interior of St. James Palace speak of its numerous and well-arranged apartments as convenient
and richly furnished; but the casual visitor who
sees nothing but the outside will find but little to
excite his admiration. Buckingham Palace is not
far distant. It occupies a large space of ground,
forming a quadrangle, with a front facing St. James
Park, and another towards the private grounds.
As compared with St. James, it not only occupies a
position far better, but is really a beautiful and imposing edifice. The royal standard is now floating
over it, which indicates that Victoria is here.
The toleration of religious opinion which exists
in England has been favorable to the growth of the
religious sentiment; at least we should naturally
infer so, from the fact that there are said to be more
than five hundred places of worship, of different denominations of Christians, in the city of London;many of them small, it is true, and.making no pretensions to magnificence, but still not inconsistent
with true and high developments of religious feeling.
There are some things worthy of a traveller's notice
in St. Margaret's church; and not the least circumstance of interest about it is, that here Sir Walter
Raleigh was buried on the day that he was executed.
The church of St. Martin, in Trafalgar Square, is an
imposing and beautiful building; and the same might
be said of many other churches both in London and




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.            85
in other places; but by universal consent there is
but one St. Paul's.
The length of St. Paul's church from east to west,
within the walls, is five hundred feet; its total height
from the ground four hundred and four feet.> It was
built under the direction of Sir Christopher Wren;
and seems to have been designed not merely as a
place of worship, for which one of very different dimensions might have answered; but, like Westminster Abbey, as a grand national monument to the
illustrious dead of England.  At least, if such were
not Wren's original design, such has been the practical result; for if it became impossible to fill this
vast space with living auditors brought within hearing-distance, the next best thing which could be
done was to occupy large portions of it with the
dead and their monuments.  On entering the
church, it is the monuments of the dead, the works
of eminent artists, which first arrest the visitor's
attention; and I was here painfully reminded, in this
great temple of the Prince of peace, of the continued struggles and violences of war, as I read the
names and saw the sad but proud memorials of
Ponsonby, Riou, Duncan, Cornwallis, Nelson, Collingwood, Brock, Pakenham, and many others.  I
paused with different feelings at the name of JohnSOn1, who has illustrated morals and literature in his
writings; of Heber, a name dear to religion as well
as to literature; and of Howard, the philanthropist.
Howard is represented as wearing the Roman costume, and Pas trampling on fetters;-with a scroll
in his left hand, inscribed with the words, "1 Plan
for the improvement of Prisons and Hospitals."
S




86             LETTERS —-  STHETIC.
There is a basso-relievo on the face of the pedestal
of his statue, which represents the interior of a
prison, where he appears in the act of distributing
food and clothing.
I think there was no one of the public institutions which on the whole gave me more satisfaction, than the great national institution, the British
Museum; — an institution which stands out to the
notice of the world, not only on account of its
valuable library of 300,000 volumes, its zoological
collections and fossil remains, but for the remains
of works of art — some of them recently collected,
-Roman, Grecian, Egyptian, Assyrian, which
throw light upon the history of nations;-and some
of which will probably be found important in illustrating the earlier parts of the scriptural records.
As we look upon these wonderful remains of antiquity, as they are thus collected together and arranged and preserved with great care in the British
Museum, we obtain impressions of departed empires,
distinct, vivid, mournful; —such as conform exceedingly well to the abstract statements of history, but
which history alone could never give. Egypt, like
life from  the dead, starts up before us, bearing in
her hands her tombs; —and we know her at once
in her superstitions, in her domestic life, in her conceptive power, in her artistic skill, in the length and
breadth of her rude but massive grandeur. And
when it is said, in the Scriptures, that Moses was
c learned in all the;wisdonz of the Egyptians," it is
a satisfaction to know, from these varied and wonderful remains, that. the sacred historian, in describing these Egyptians as a wise people, which




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           87
implies the development, in various ways, of thought,
feeling and skill, has uttered a precise historic truth,
which scepticism will in vain attempt to discredit.
And if the monuments themselves are a memorial
of a truth, there may be something, and perhaps
much more, remaining in the inscriptions which
they bear. Who knows what further and various
light may be disclosed from these sources, when
the interpretation of the hieroglyphics so happily
begun by Champollion shall become a completed
and undoubted system?
I never doubted the Scriptures.  I received my
faith from the lips of my mother; but it was confirmed afterwards by thought and inquiry. To me,
therefore, the Bible has been and now is a living
reality. And still it has often seemed to me surprising, although it has never disturbed my belief,
that the Bible so frequently indicates the existence
of cities and nations (of the Assyrian empire, for
instance) which could hardly be exceeded in wealth
and numbers, in civilization and power; and yet
that these cities and nations should have entirely
passed away, with no memorials left behind. I
have nevertheless had full confidence, that Providence in its mysterious methods of operation would
ultimately settle all such suggestions and difficulties. And now on the banks of the Nile, the Tigris,
and the Euphrates, the evidences of their greatness
and splendor, long buried in the dust, have been
brought to light, —evidences so transcending all our
conceptions as to furnish another great miracle, if
other miracles were wanting, in order to sustain
man's faltering faith.




88            LETTERS-_ESTIIETIC,
I feel bound to say,. that some of the remains of
Assyrian art-remains which are unlike those of
Egypt, or any other people —exhibit a spirit of conception and a power of execution, which is unsurpassed, and in some respects, as it seems to me,
unequalled, by those of any other nation.  I have
reference in this remark particularly to their massive grandeur, and that true spirit of the object,
whatever the object is, which seems to increase and
dilate itself, without losing its distinctive nature, in
conformity with the vastness of the masses in which
the artist has embodied it.
These works, as well as those of Egypt, throw
light upon the Scriptures.  It will be likely to
occur to the reader of the Scriptures, for instance,
that the horn, as an emblem of power, is often mentioned in the Old Testament.  And one of the first
things which attracts the notice of a stranger, on
entering the Nineveh Gallery in the British Museum, is the sight of horns, issuing, upon a number
of the Assyrian sculptures, from a human head, and
twining around it so gracefully as to be an ornament
as well as an emblem. The symbolic existences so
often occurring in the books of Daniel and Ezekiel,
and so different from any thing which is found in
other writings,-lions with human heads and with
wings, and the like,-are found among these remains; and it is quite possible, as it seems to me,
that some of the very sculptures which are now
seen in the British Museum and in the Louvre of
Paris had been seen by, and had received the admiration of, these prophets themselves.
It is true we do not as yet understand to any




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.             89
great extent the precise import of these remarkable
symbols; but still the impression is left distinct and
deep upon the mind of one who beholds them, that
they really had a meaning, whatever it was, which
was well understood by the people of those early
times, and that their presence in the minds and
in the writings of the prophets was wholly in harmony with the national mental culture and associations. And a remark similar to that which has
been made in respect to the Egyptian remains will
apply here. Perhaps it will be found that the
numerous inscriptions on these remains, which are
very distinct and some of which have been translated, will throw more light upon the scriptural
narrative than the monuments themselves.
I began this letter with the intention of giving
some idea of the city of London; but I find I must
end, when I have hardly made a beginning; and I
should probably be obliged to say much the same
thing, if I had written much more. To speak of its
streets and squares, its parks, its numerous monuments, its charitable institutions, its courts of justice,
its commerce, and other things which would naturally present themselves, would require much more
time and strength than I am able to claim at present.
(XI.)
The opening of Parliament-The Queen of England-Respect in
which she is held-Queen's speech-Distinguished members of
Parliament-Brougham, Macaulay, and Cobden —Rooms of the
Peers and Commons.
LONDON, ENGLAND, NOV. 11, 1852.
THIS day the Queen of England went in state to
the House of Lords, to open the session of Parliament
8*




90            LETTERS~-.ESTHETIC,
with a speech from the throne.  The procession
was formed at Buckingham Palace, which is distant
about three-fourths of a mile from the Houses of
Parliament, and consisted in part of six carriages,
all with one exception drawn by six horses, conveying the various members of the royal household;
some of them persons of distinguished name and
character. These were followed by the queen's
marshal-men, footmen, and a party of the yeomen
of the guard. Then came the state carriage, distinguished not only by its richness and peculiarity of
form, but by its being drawn by eight cream-colored
horses; conveying the queen and her husband,
Prince Albert, and some other distinguished persons.
This is one of those occasions on which the people
of England obtain a glimpse of their sovereign. It
was interesting to me to witness their earnest and
respectful curiosity; nor do I profess to have been
personally exempt from this feeling; although it is
mingled with other feelings of gratitude, homage,
and affection in the heart of an Englishman, which
a stranger from another land cannot be supposed
to realize.
The present Queen of England is beloved by the
people, it seemed to me, as the sovereign of no other
people is loved. There have been female sovereigns
who have been despised or hated; but it is not so with
Queen Victoria. The affection for her is not merely
a tribute to sovereignty, not merely official, but may
properly be described as personal; and is general and
sincere. And the explanation of it-at least the explanation in part, and in a considerable degree-is
still more interesting than the fact itself. The people




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          91
of England recognize in her the great truth, that
there is nothing among men higher than humanity,
when humanity is true to God and itself; and that
the woman is greater than the queen. They honor
their sovereign, therefore, not merely and not
chiefly on account of the fact of her sovereignty,
but because, in being a good wife and a good mother; and in thus setting a good example before the
wives and mothers of England, she is true to virtue
and to womanhood. It is no tinge of shame for
vices published to the world, but the expression of
just gratitude and pride for domestic and womanly
excellencies universally known, which stands upon
the face of an Englishman as he utters the name
of his queen. This sentiment of veneration and
love, existing so deeply, and so universally expressed, and having its foundation in a great degree in the reason I have given, is in my view one
of the most affecting and striking testimonies to
the value and power of moral goodness.
Standing in'the multitude through which the
queen proceeded to meet the assembled Parliament,
I felt it truly a privilege to look upon this excellent woman, who, in being faithful to herself, has
been true and faithful to her crown, and has established her sovereignty in a nation's heart.
It is hardly necessary to remark that the speech
delivered to-day before the Commons and Lords was
not prepared by the queen herself, but by the ministers of the crown, who are her constitutional advisers; and, as the ministers are supposed to be
sustained by a majority of the Commons, the speech,
in the theory of the Government, is the voice of the




92            LETTERS —ESTHETIC,
people itself, uttering its own wants in the ear of
its own administrators. And the theory is practically carried out to a considerable extent; so that
England, though moving slowly, on account of the
great multiplicity of her interests, gradually adjusts herself, by a succession of reforms, to the
altered circumstances of ignorance and knowledge,
of want and supply, of time and providence; and
thus, by keeping policy and humanity in alliance,
escapes the terrible shbock of revolutions.  The
speech of to-day confirms this remark, which is
conciliatory and national in its spirit, and suggests
a number of practical reforms.
Since writing the above, and since the date of
this letter, I have attended the meetings of both
Lords and Commons; and although I heard no debates of great -interest, yet I had the opportunity of
seeing a few of the men, Brougham, Sugden, Walpole, Lyndhurst, Hume, Palmerston, Lord John
Russell, Disraeli, Gladstone, and some others who
are understood to hold a high parliamentary position, and to hear some remarks from nearly all of
them, uttered in a good spirit and with good sense.
The presence of the British ministers, and the practice of putting questions to them, gives to the discussions here a more familiar and less formal aspect
than might otherwise exist. Set and formal speeches,
although there is no absolute exemption from them,
are not very likely to be uttered, except on occasions which require and justify them.
In the course of the remarks which I have heard
in the House of Commons, reference has been made
to the United States; the " great Republic," as the




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           93
queen was pleased to call us in her speech. The
topic was the existing relations of England and
America in the matter of the fisheries; and it was
of course gratifying to an American to observe that
everything which was said in relation to his own
country was respectful and conciliatory.
Some reference having been made in the House
of Lords to the various Law Reforms which are in
progress, I was pleased to notice that they arrested
the attention of Brougham, and called from him a
few remarks. It was pleasing to hear the voice of
this celebrated man, whose name has been so long
associated with literature, with social and educational reforms, and with the great political movements of England; a justly great and celebrated
name, although it was painfully obvious that age,
which respects no name and no greatness, had subtracted something from his power.
In thus referring to the distinguished members of
the English Parliament, I ought not to forget that
among them, inferior to none and an ornament to
the whole body, is Mr. Macaulay, the historian, who
is returned from the city of Edinburgh. I have had
no opportunity of hearing him speak; and therefore can express no opinion, except what I have
been enabled to form from his published writings and
speeches. It is obvious, however, from what he has
written, and from his speeches on various occasions,
that he is not only a man of great historical and
political learning, but, what is essential in a leading member of Parliament, possesses a thorough
command and mastery of that noble language which
among the languages of modern times may justly




94            LETTERS —-STHETIC,
be styled the language of liberty. He not only
knows what it is proper and wise to say, but in
what manner to say it,.so that the most refined
scholar, seeing the thought giving birth to the expression, and the expression fitting the thought,
cannot read his speeches, even on ordinary political
topics, without finding something which pleases a
truly literary taste. Nor is he deficient, when occasion calls for it, in subtle logic and in keen sarcasm; and he knows also in what manner and at
what times to inflict those ponderous blows of eloquent'and impassioned declamation, of which we
have illustrations in Edmund Burke.
Another prominent member of the present Parliament is Richard Cobden. I had the pleasure of
spending an evening in the company of this truly
excellent and distinguished man, and can thus aid
my general impressions by means of a personal acquaintance, although a slight one.  Mr. Cobden,
without the advantages of what is termed a liberal
education, has risen to his present position of eminence by his strength of intellect, high moral purpose, and untiring perseverance and labor. It is
thought by some, that he does not at the present
time exercise that influence to which he is entitled;
but the principal reason of this seems to me to be
one which is very creditable to him. And I mean,
in saying this, that, being a man of a reflective turn
of mind, he sees far and clearly into the spirit of
a true and Christianized humanity, and, being true
to himself, he is willing, even at the cost of personal
popularity, to act up to the light which he has. And
among other things implied in this general remark,




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.            95
he is decidedly opposed to a state of war, as being
the great hinderance to increased and perfected civilization, and as the great source of the wrongs which
grind the poor and suffering, and of the power which
sustains the oppressor.  And in accordance with
these views and principles, he made a motion in the
English Parliament on the 24th of June, 1851, and
supported it by an able speech; a motion which is
required by the spirit of Christianity, but which, unhappily, is without an example; as follows, —That an
address be presented to her Majesty, praying that she
will direct her Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs
to enter into communication with the Government of
France, and endeavor to prevent in future that rivalry
of warlike preparation -in time of peace which has
hitherto been the policy of the two governmenzts, and to
promote, If possible, a mutual r'eduction of arnmaments.
This important motion he sustained in a speech,
simple in its style, but replete with argument, sound
sense, and enlightened philanthropy. It is true that
he was not able at that time to accomplish his object,
and the two great nations on the opposite sides'of the
English channel not only maintain but are increasing
their armaments at important points. His remarks,
however, were heard with attention; and every
day's experience shows their wisdom. And it is to be
hoped, availing himself of the high position in which
Providence has placed him, that he will continue to
press this great subject upon the attention of the
English Government. His past history shows that he
is not a man who is likely to be discouraged by the
vast difficulties arising from national prejudices, and
still less to be diverted fromi a purpose which he has




9 G             LETTERS —-iESTHETIC,
honestly formed by the sneers or threats of interested individuals who cannot comprehend him.
The room or chamber in which the Peers assemble
is large and well proportioned; ninety-seven feet in
length, forty-five in height, and the same in width.
At the south end of the chamber is the royal throne,
rich with the emblazonry of the royal arms around,
and surmounted by a superb Gothic canopy. The
walls, the windows, the ceiling, are enriched by the
devices of art, and almost gorgeous in their combined splendor. The room of the Commons is
smaller in size, and less decorated; but seemed to
me to be equally convenient, and perhaps more so,
for the purposes of discussion and debate.
But it is the great voice of truth and liberty,
which I doubt not will from  time to time resound
through these halls, carrying dismay to despotism,
and hope and encouragement to the suffering. and
oppressed, which will give a lustre to them, in the
eyes of all thinking and just men, greater than
that which painting or sculpture can bestow.
(XII.)
Windsor Castle and its vicinity-Visit to some of its apartments —
The Waterloo chamber and its portraits —The guard-chamberParks and the Long tWalk-Windsor Forest-Runny MoedeEton College-Gray's Ode.
LONDON, ENGLAND, NOV. 16, 1852.
I HAVE recently availed myself of a pleasant day
to visit Windsor Castle, the residence of royalty,
and, on many accounts, one of the most interesting
places in the kingdom.




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           97
On the spot where the Castle of Windsor now
stands, about twenty miles southwest from London,
a fortress of considerable size was erected by William the Conqueror; which was subsequently enlarged by Henry the First.  From  the time of
Henry, the fortress or castle, thus enlarged and
improved by him, may be regarded, as it was in
fact, one of the royal residences. And successive
monarchs, Edward Third, Henry Eighth, Queen
Elizabeth and Queen Anne, contributed much, with
a view to render it the more suitable for this purpose, in erecting additional buildings and in adorning the grounds. George the Third made it his
principal residence; as did also George the Fourth,
who in the course of a few years expended more
than a million sterling upon it. It is at the present time the principal and favorite residence of
Queen Victoria.
I spent a day, and might easily and pleasantly
have spent a longer time, in visiting this palace and
its beautiful grounds. Entering by the Gothic porch
adjoining King John's Tower, I was conducted, in
company with a number of other persons, through
the apartments, in the order in which they are
usually shown to strangers: —the Queen's Audience
Chamber, adorned with tapestry, representing Scripture subjects, and also with a few portraits-the
Vandyck Room, so called from its containing twentytwo paintings by Vandyck, chiefly portraits of distinguished persons; among which the equestrian
portrait of Charles First is regarded as possessing
special value as a work of art-the Queen's State
Drawing Room, also called the Zuccarelli Room,
9




98            LETTERS —ESTHETIC,
from the circumstance of its being adorned with
nine paintings by Zuccarelli, an Italian painter,
who once enjoyed a celebrity which does not appear to be awarded to him now-the State AnteRoom, chiefly remarkable for some exquisite specimens of carving by Gibbons, and historically for
having been occupied by Charles First a short time
previous to his execution.
The next room to which we were introduced is
called the Waterloo Chamber; so named from the
circumstance that it is hung almost exclusively with
the portraits of the distinguished men who were
connected, either in war or diplomatically, with the
trying series of events which had their termination
at Waterloo. This apartment, which is equally chaste
and beautiful in its decorations, is quite large; being
nearly an hundred feet in length. There are portraits in it, the most of them painted by Sir Thomas
Lawrence, of Castlereagh, Humboldt, Canning, lHardenberg, Alexander of Russia, Capo d'Istrias, Nesselrode, Schwartzenberg, Picton, Platoff the leader
of the Cossacks, Anglesea, Czernistcheff Metternich, Wellington, and Blucher. I mention these
names in particular and without hesitation, because
no person can pretend to a knowledge of modern
history without having some acquaintance with
their political relations and acts or their military
achievements.
We are apt, as every one knows, to form opinions
from countenances, either from the outline or the
expression, or from a combination of the two; and
it is but justice to say, that the looks of these distinguished men, as they are given in these fine por



SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           99
traits, do not belie their personal history; and that
in general they appear like men who are capable
of great deeds. As he is represented in the portrait suspended in the Waterloo chamber, even
Metternich, who has had an influence in European
affairs second only to that of Talleyrand, has a countenance intellectual, open, frank, generous; so much
so as to perplex very much my previous unfavorable
impressions, and to lead me to suppose, that his antirepublican policy was dictated more by the exigencies of his situation than by his heart; and that
under other circumstances he might have applied
his great powers to the furtherance of liberty.
I will not detain you with this part of my visit
here any further than to say, that the Guard-Chamber, which is also shown to visitors, seemed to be
the special place of curiosities. Here are wholelength figures, in armor;-a bust of Nelson with a
pedestal made from a mast of the Victory; —suspended banners, an elaborate shield made by Benvenuto Cellini, and among other things two small
pieces of ordnance, captured by Lord Cornwallis.
Perhaps it is unnecessary to add, that they were
taken by him at Seringapatam, and not in his campaigns in America.  And near the bust of Nelson,
in singular juxtaposition, are two relics,-one allied.
to war, the other to poetry. One is a chair made
from an elm-tree which grew on the field of Waterloo;-the other is a chair made from an oak-beam
taken from the old haunted church of Alloway,
which Burns has made so famous in his wonderful
Tam O'Shanter.
After visiting these and other apartments, we as



100           LETTERS —STHETIC,
cended the great Round Tower;-a most remarkable
stone structure, varying but little in its size from
three hundred feet in circumference and the same
in height. It answers the double purpose, or rather
such were the objects to. which it was formerly applied, of a fortress and a prison. The Earl of Surrey,
who is favorably known among the early poetical
writers of England, was at one time confined here
as a prisoner; as also was John, King of France,
and David Bruce, King of Scotland, who were defeated and taken prisoners by Edward Third. The
prospect from the summit of this tower is extensive
and beautiful in the highest degree.  It is said
that on a clear day no less than twelve counties of
England can be seen from it. In the distance was
pointed out to me the residence, still standing, of
our own William Penn, and his descendants; and
hardly any object could have brought up more interesting associations to my mind; and also the
church whose churchyard with its sleeping inhabitants gave rise to the inimitable Elegy of the poet
Gray. Nearer, and almost directly below us, amid
groves and lawns, the Thames flowed by in majestic
beauty; crowned with villages and country-seats,
and Eton College with its spires and "cantique
towers," which Gray also, who was the poet of these
regions, has given to a lasting fame.
After visiting St. George's Chapel, where sleep
the remains of Henry VIII., and which is adorned
by a painting of the Lord's Supper by West, I spent
some hours, in the closing part of a bright and delightful day, in excursions through the walks and
parks in the vicinity of the palace. I have seen




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.              101
nothing which exceeds the noble avenue, three
miles in length, called the Long Walk.  It is perfectly straight; and has a road in the centre for
carriages, with footpaths on each side, and is shaded
by a double row of aged elms of great size.  This
splendid walk may be said to terminate at a place
called Snow Hill, an abrupt pile of woods and granite, surmounted by an equestrian statue of George
Third. As I paused here and looked back upon
the vast expanse around and beneath me, magnificent with forests or rich with cultivation, with the
walls and towers of Windsor Castle in the centre
and the floating banner of England bright with
the setting sun, I felt a new sentiment of beauty
and grandeur opening at my heart, with gratitude
to that great Being who hath made all things
beautiful in their season, and with feelings of respect and affection for the land of my ancestors.
Somewhere in one of these parks-the Home
Park, I believe-there is an old withered oak, surrounded with palings, which is said to be the identical oak to which Shakspeare has alluded in a
striking passage in the Merry Wives of Windsor.
"There is an old tale goes, that Herne the hunter,
Sometime a keeper here in Windsor Forest
Doth all the winter time, at still midnight,
Walk round about an oak, with great ragged horns,
And there he blasts the tree, and takes the cattle,
And makes milch-kine yield blood, and shakes a chain
In a most hideous and dreadful manner."'
A few miles beyond Snow Hill, but within the
royal grounds and on the borders of the beautiful
expanse of water called the Virginia Water, are
9*




102          LETTERS-,-ASTHETIC,
large masses of granite, marble, and porphyry collected together, and so arranged as to give the
appearance of the ruins of an ancient temple.
These large masses, upon which I came suddenly
and unexpectedly, were brought from Greece, and
arranged so entirely in harmony with my previous
conceptions of ancient ruins that the illusion was
complete. It was difficult to believe that they
were not the ruins of an edifice which had been
erected in early times and had gone to decay on
this very spot.
There is one place in this vicinity which I did
not visit; but which, although there may be nothing in the form of paintings or architecture to
recommend it, is so associated with the protection
of human rights and liberty, that it has a permanent and memorable name. On the banks of the
Thames, and within four miles of Windsor, is that
Runny Mede which holds so conspicuous a place
in the civil and political history of England;
where the Barons and people of England compelled King John to assent to the principles of
Magna Charta. And it was on an island near by
in the river, that the Great Charter, which stands
as the basis of English liberty, was actually signed
by that unhappy monarch. I know that England
had a charter and liberties before; but it was at
that time and at that place, and under the memorable circumstances of that occasion, that they received an enlargement, a definiteness, and a sanction which had never previously existed; so that
in all succeeding times, both in England and America, what was signed at Runny Mede has been




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          103
referred to as one of the true voices of humanity9
one of the great proclamations of freedom.
There was another place, which I saw from the
Round Tower but did not visit,-Eton College,
which for scores of years has been associated in my
heart and memory with the beautiful poetry of Gray.
Until I came to England I did not know, or rather
did not distinctly appreciate, the wide and powerful influence which the literature of England had
exerted in my mental training. And the reason
perhaps in part was, because in America I knew it
in its effects only; but here I see it in its source.
I ever felt that Gray was a true poet. He possesses
an element of power, which embodies itself from
time to time in gorgeous conceptions and in forms
of language that dilate and agitate the mind; but
his most striking characteristic is his perfection of
taste, formed upon the Roman models, and which
frequently reminds one of the exquisite terms of
expression and combinations of expression which
are found in the Augustan writers. And as I stood
in sight of the groves where he had walked, of
the college where he was educated, of his c" silverwinding" Thames, and of the distant churchyard
which inspired his unequalled Elegy, I felt anew,
how the genius of literature has the power to consecrate nature and to perpetuate existence.
As I have thus diverted your attention from the
objects around me to the subject of English poetry,
I must make my defence, and at the same time
close my letter, by a few lines from the Ode on
Eton College:



104                LETTERS-2ESTHETIC,
"Ye distant spires, ye antique towers,
That crown the watery glade
Wbhere grateful Science still adores
Her Henry's holy shade;
And ye that from the stately brow
Of Windsor's heights the expanse below
Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey;Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among
Wanders the hoary Thames along
His silver-winding way!
"Ah, happy hills! ah, pleasing shade!
Ah, fields beloved in vain!
Where once my careless childhood stray'd,
A stranger yet to pain:
I feel the gales that from ye blow
A momentary bliss bestow
As, waving fresh their gladsome wing,
My weary soul they seem to soothe,
And, redolent of joy and youth,
To breathe a second spring."
(XIII.)
Funeral of the Duke of Wellington-His early military careerRemarks on war —Iis personal character-Funeral processionStanzas composed on this occasion.
LONDON, ENGLAND, NOV. 18, 1852.
TO-DAY I saw the Duke of Wellington carried to
his tomb. My position was in the Strand, fronting
the termination of a wide street opposite, in full
view of the procession and of assembled thousands
of the people. Amid the marching of troops, with
the sound of cannon and of martial instruments,
and with the attendance of the distinguished personages of England and of other countries, the
remains of this great man, the pride and boast of
England, were borne to their final resting-place.
On all the streets through which the procession was




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          105
to pass on its way to St. Paul's church, vast masses
were collected, influenced by the mixed motive of
witnessing the pageantry of the procession, and
of manifesting their real interest in the memory
of the dead.
Wellington began his military career at an early
period of life in the East Indies; and at Ahmednugger, Assaye, Argaum, and other places in those
distant regions, the scenes of sad and equivocal
bloodshed even in the view of his own countrymen,
he established a reputation for bravery and skill
which caused him to be selected as a leader in those
fierce European wars which originated in the ambitious purposes and attempts of Napoleon. Taking
in the year 1809 his position in Portugal, which
then seemed to be the last foothold of liberty, he
drew that sword which flashed in so many battlefields from Vimiera and Talavera to Waterloo.
-His heart and his arm grew stronger in these later
contests; and he showed himself a greater man
than he had done in India, because he felt he had
more truth and justice in his cause, and because
his position more fully harmonized with the innate
elements of his character.
He fought; but not without uhderstanding and
lamenting the miseries of war. After the battle of
Waterloo he shed bitter tears, and made the remark,
that even such a victory was no compensation to
him personally for the death of his friends, whatever relations it might have in other respects. In
regard to civil wars in particular, he once made the
decisive declaration, which shows that in his case
the spirit of war had not quelled or overruled the




106           LETTERS —ASTHETIC,
spirit of humanity, that such was his sense of the
horrors of civil war, if he could be the means of
preventing even one month of civil contest in his
own country, he would sacrifice his life in order to
do it.
I have no sympathy with wars. Indeed, I might
express myself more strongly. I believe them to be
opposed to the spirit and the letter of the gospel.
Wars have thrown back civilization, humanity,
religion. It is a great doctrine of the Scriptures,
that they "who take the sword shall perish by
the sword;" and it is a great truth of history,
written in fire and blood, that, though liberty has
sometimes been won by the sword, the same sword
has destroyed it. And still my feelings on this
subject do not, I trust, deprive me of the power
of estimating men who think and act differently,
and of making the proper and just distinctions
among them.  I should think unworthily of myself,
and discredit the idea of all true mental guidance,
if I were left, for instance, to the folly of confounding such a man as Washington with other military
men, who have fought as bravely, but without principle and without humanity. I am willing, therefore, in view of the vast pageant which has just
passed before me, to give my opinion of the man
whom it was designed to honor, without ceasing to
regret the necessity, or rather the supposed necessity, which organizes armies, and which associates
fame with blood.
There are men who have combined greatness of
intellect with restriction and narrowness of' the
heart; —there are men who are historically great




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          107
without being morally great; but the Duke of Wellington was a great man in no limited sense of the
term. In the first place, he possessed great intellectual powers. And I mean, in saying so, that he
was quick in perception, and also in comparison and
combination, together with that capacity of taking
a large and comprehensive view of things which
renders the other qualities available on great occasions. I am aware the remark is often made, that
great generalship does not necessarily imply great
talents; and I am willing to admit that generals of
subordinate rank, by means of the fiery courage and
devotedness with which they executed the duties assigned them, have sometimes become famous with
but little originative or administrative power. But
it seems to me very clear that no man can hold, as
WVellington did: the position of chief of an army, and
successfully plan and carry on a series of campaigns
on a large scale, without possessing consummate
ability. And the general impression in relation to
eminent military commanders, the Alexanders and
Hannibals, the Csesars and Marlboroughs, of history,
seems to be, that they were men of great intellectual
power, whatever may be thought or said of the justice of their wars, or of the rectitude of their morals.
But there are various kinds of greatness. And
I am willing to admit, that a man may be a great
general who is not possessed of great virtues; as
might be inferred from the history of some of those
to whom reference has just been made. War itself is felt by most persons, even by those who do
not condemn it in all cases, to partake of the
nature of an immorality.  Humanity practises it,




108          LETTERS-E STIHETIC,
without responding to it as the right and benevolent adjustment of things. It is out of harmony
with the order of the universe; at least with that
order which the universe is struggling to realize;
and hence it is, that a bad man, a very bad man,
will fight well, and in that sense will make a good
soldier; and many men, placed in the highest military position, have skilfully conducted great campaigns, who have had but little of the sentiment
of justice, and still less of benevolence.
But Wellington was not only a great captain, in
the sense of possessing great military capacity: he
was also a just and benevolent man. I can favorably appreciate his energy of character and his
great capacities of thought; but I am far more affected by what I believe to have been his quick
and high sense of justice and his real benevolence.
When he laid down his sword at Waterloo, —a
sword which he had wielded not without perplexity
and sorrow, —he allowed the sympathetic and benevolent element of his character to take its true
position, and to retain it during the remainder of
his life. And being placed, either by office or by
his great personal influence, at the head of the civil
and political administration of England, and holding as it were for more than thirty years both war
and peace in his hand, he took, in every instance of
rising passion and of threatening discord, the side
of forbearance, of adjustment, and of peace. Perhaps he felt that one who had been connected with
wars so long, and had known so much of their horrors, owed more than other men to the principles
and claims of pacification. As a republican, there



SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          109
fore, and as one sincerely attached to pacific sentiments, I feel it no discredit to say that my heart
was deeply affected, in common with the multitudes of Englishmen around me, when I saw the
lifeless body of Wellington carried to its grave.
I am confident that the great tribute paid to his
memory (and it was really great,-perhaps more so
in some of its aspects than history has ever recorded) was not more a tribute to his capacities and
victories in war than to his acknowledged virtues.
One of his marked traits of character was his simplicity; and I mean, by that, his forgetfulness of
self and his singleness of purpose.  It was so
natural and easy for him to do what he considered
it his duty to do, that his thoughts did not revert to
himself, as if he had done something worthy of notice and applause, even if he had done it more thoroughly and better than other men. There is nothing which so much commands the admiration of
men as this trait of character, when it is combined
with great capacity. If Wellington had not been
such a man as I have described him to be,-if he had
been an immoral man, if he had been a mere fighting-man,  a man of blood without the sentiments of
justice and benevolence, —in a word, had his history
recorded his achievements without the noble record
of his character, —the honors which have been paid
to his memory to-day could not have been awarded
him. It marks the progress of civilization and of religious sentimenlt that success in war alone, without
acts and attributes that appeal to other and higher
parts of our nature, can no longer give permanent
fame. So much as this, if I have viewed things
10




110           LETTERS-iESTHETIC,
aright, is gained to humanity and truth. And, if
the progress of opinion continues to advance as it
has done, the question will be asked at a time not
far distant —not who is first in war and in the conquests of nations, but who is first in peace and in
the establishment of national fraternity.
The funeral-car which bore the body of Wellington to its destined resting-place by the side of Nelson
was preceded by large detachments of infantry, artillery, and cavalry,-by carriages containing deputations from public bodies, —by the dignitaries of
Englandl barons, earls, viscounts, and bishops,-by
the ministers of England and members of the Houses
of Parliament, —and by distinguished men, who
came as the representatives of foreign countries to
pay their homage to his memory. The eyes of the
multitude, attracted for a moment by the splendor
of the troops, rested fixedly and with tears upon
the car and the coffin which it bore. The history
of a long generation, filled with bloody or with
mighty acts, seemed to be resting there; and the
body which had moved among them and given
them form and life was passing to its final home.
The funeral-car, itself a magnificent object, was
drawn by twelve large black horses, three abreast,
adorned with velvet housings, on which the arms
of the'deceased were richly embroidered; and,
waving with each movement of their proud necks
their lofty black plumes, they seemed to be conscious,
as they struck their hoofs slowly and in harmony
to the earth, of the grandeur and solemnity of the
hour. The horse of Wellington occupied a place
alone in the procession; but the rider was not there.




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.                  111
The movement of the immense cortege, as if
borne down and repressed by the weight of memory
and of sorrow, was slow and measured. Arms
were reversed; drums were muffled; and the tolling
of bells and the sound of distant cannon mingled
with  the wailing voice of countless instruments.
And all sadly harmonized not only with the voice
of sorrow in the million of mourning hearts, but
with that voice of mysterious destiny which says,
" Dust thou art; to dust thou shalt return."
I can give you no further particulars at present.
The stanzas which are added originated on this
occasion, and may help to convey to you some of
the thoughts and emotions which filled my mind:With grief and tears, unknown before,
And slow and melancholy tread,
And trumpet's wail and cannon's roar,
The vast and mourning people bore
The dust of England's dead.
And ah, what memories mark that day!
What thoughts of battles fought and won!
As thus they came, in long array,
At Nelson's earlier tomb to lay
The lifeless Wellington.
They sleep. To them the battle's cry
Has hush'd its voice on land and wave;
And thus, in silence as they lie,
They teach us that the great shall die,
The victor has his grave.
And Thou, to whom our thoughts arise
As round their kindred tombs we bend,
Oh, grant, great Ruler of the skies,
At whose command the warrior dies,
That war itself may end.




112             LETTERS-I —STIIETIC,
(XIV.)
Palace of Hampton Court-Built by Cardinal Wolsey, and presented
by him to Henry VIII.- Paintings- The gigantic porter of
Kenilworth-The original Cartoons of Raphael-Remarks upon
these paintings-Visit to Richmond Hill-Grave of Thomson.
LONDON, ENGLAND, NOV. 22, 1852.
THERE is an old poem, the authorship of which
is unknown to me, which reads in a certain place
as follows:"Let any wight-if such a wight there beTo whom thy lofty towers unknown remain,
Direct his steps, fair Hampton Court, to thee,
And view thy splendid halls."
In accordance with the advice thus given, and
desirous of seeing objects of interest which I shall
never have another opportunity to see, I recently
went in company with others to this celebrated
-place,- celebrated for what it is in itself, celebrated for what it contains, and perhaps not less
so for being closely associated with the names of
Wolsey, Henry VIII., Charles II., Oliver Cromwell;
and I know not how many others.
The royal palace of Hampton Court, beautifully
located on the north bank of the Thames, about
twelve miles from London, was built originally by
Cardinal Wolsey, who possessed great power and
influence in the time of Henry VIII., and whose
name the poetry of Shakspeare, still more than his
personal achievements or merits, has made familiar
to all.  It was originally of great extent and magnificence; so much so that it caused considerable
dissatisfaction and even envy in the mind of Henry
VIII., who saw himself excelled in splendor by one




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          113
who held the place of a subject. Wolsey, rather
than encounter the effects of this dissatisfaction,
and making a virtue of necessity, gave this magnificent palace to the king. Large and splendid
under the expense and labors of the cardinal, it
was further greatly enlarged and enriched by the
king himself. Since that time parts of the old
palace have been taken down and replaced by later
structures. But it is still an imposing pile of buildings, well worthy the attention of visitors.
The clear, silvery Thames flows by in beauty;
the walks and gardens are laid out with taste and
elegance; there are flowers and fountains and green
terraces and shady trees, all attracting and delightful in their place and season: for nature, having
life in herself, changes, but never dies. But when
I entered the palace itself, and passed through the
long succession of rooms the names of which indicated that it had been the residence of monarchs,
I felt a sense of loneliness and desolation, as if I
were treading among the memorials of buried ages
and of departed greatness. Indeed, were it not for
the numerous paintings and tapestries which have
been collected together here as in one vast repository, it might be said that nothing remained but
the walls themselves.  There are no banquetings
now, such as are described by Cavendish. No lordcardinal, "c booted and spurred," comes suddenly in
among the revelling guests. Henry and Cromwell,
at whose voice the mighty fabric trembled, have
become dust and ashes;-and the tread of royalty
has departed, to return no more.
I gazed, nevertheless, upon the paintings on the
10*




114           LETTERS-Z ESTHETIC,
walls; and, passing rapidly by many works which
failed to attract me, either from a want of genius
and skill in the authors, or from the want of a proper light to see them in, I paused at others with the
feelings of admiration to which they are entitled.
And when I say that among them are to be found
the works of Giulio Romano, Kneller, West, Rembrandt, Rubens, Titian, Vandyck, Holbein, and
other artists of great merit, I feel justified in adding,
that, if the living are not here to inspire admiration
by their personal presence, the feeling is at least
inspired by the dead who live upon canvas,-either
by the character of the subject or by the skill of
the artist.
I will mention here an incident, which was unexpected, but not without some interest. In the
historical romance of Kenilworth, which holds, if
not the first, at least no second place among the
writings of Walter Scott, the author has introduced
with great effect the gigantic porter of Queen Elizabeth, and with such gifts of size and proportions as
to seem almost an exaggeration. But I have no
doubt that he sketched his picture from a prototype which actually existed. On entering the
Guard Chamber of Hampton Court, one of the objects which first attracted my notice was a fulllength portrait of this porter.  The painting is by
Frederick Zuccaro; and is dated 1580. It is from
life, and is seven feet six inches in height.
There was one object at the palace of Hampton
Court, which took so much of my attention and
interest as to leave but a small share for objects
which, under other circumstances, would have well




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           115
deserved them.  I mean the original Cartoons of
Raphael.  It is true I had seen well-executed copies
of them at Oxford; but this did not take away my
desire to see the originals.  The Cartoons are said
to have been executed in the year 1515 or'16.
These paintings, which were designed in the first
instance as merely the original sketches or patterns
from which the weavers of Arras were to prepare
a series of tapestries for Leo X., are upon a thick
paper, sometimes called a card or pasteboard
paper; and hence the name of Cartoons which has
been given them.  Before the tapestries were completed, Leo was assassinated, and the weavers, being
unpaid, retained in their possession the cartoonpatterns,-which actually remlained neglected and
almost forgotten in a cellar in Arras one hundred
years.  Three of them were by some means lost,
The others were finally obtained by Rubens for
Charles I., whose object was, like that of Leo, to
have tapestries woven from them; and thus, after
various vicissitudes, in which they were once saved
by Oliver Cromwell, they have at last found a resting-place in Hampton Court.
The Cartoons were originally ten in number. The
subjects of those which are lost were the stoning of
St. Stephen, the conversion of St. Paul, and St. Paul
in his dungeon at Philippi. The seven which remain
are all of them to be seen here. The first, as they
are arranged in the gallery which is called the Cartoon gallery, is the death of Ananias, Acts v. In
size this painting is a little more than seventeen feet
by eleven. In the midst of nine apostles, standing
upon a raised platform, is seen St. Peter with his




116           LETTERS —-ESTHETIC,
hand uplifted as if in the act of speaking. On the
left, in the background, is Sapphira, the wife of
Ananias, who is ignorant of what is taking place,
paying some money with one hand, but withholding
money in the other; —and St. John and another
apostle occupy a position to the right of Peter, and
are in the act of distributing alms. The position
of Peter is a prominent one, because it is through
him that the mighty power of God, which is manifested in opposition to cupidity and deception, may
be said to be revealed. Nevertheless, the figure
which chiefly arrests the attention of the beholder'
is the prostrate and lifeless Ananias. Such a picture of life struck into death, of vitality retaining
its form but extinct in its essence, is nowhere else to
be found. Every man's consciousness, who beholds
this terrible scene, corresponds to the conception
of the great painter; and he says instinctively, and
without any hesitation,- so distinct is the mingled
expression of astonishment and hopeless agony, and
such the sudden and obvious helplessness of every
prostrate limb,-that it was thus he fell and died;
and a man struck in a moment, and by a secret and
divine power, could not have fallen and died in
any other way.
The next painting, as they are arranged in the
Hampton Court gallery, is that of Elymas the Sorcerer, struck with blindness. In this painting there
are seventeen figures. The Proconsul Sergius, who
occupies a central position, is seen seated on a throne,
with two lictors on his right hand,-his countenance
filled with a mixed curiosity and astonishment at the
effect which is produced by the words of the apostle.




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          117
On his right hand is St. Paul, his countenance and
action full of that conscious rectitude and dignity
which may properly characterize the prophet and
messenger of God. But in this painting, as in that
of Ananias and Sapphira, the figure which exercised and called into action in the highest degree
the imaginative power of the painter, and which is
central to the feelings of the spectator, is that of
the wretched Elymas, with his hands extended,
and groping about in his blindness and horror. So
far as the conception of this sad and terrible figure
is concerned, there can be no doubt that it should
be ranked among the truest and greatest results
of creative imagination.
There is a story told of Garrick in relation to this
painting. Being in company with Benjamin West
and some other persons, the conversation turned
upon Elymas, as he is represented crouching and
holding out his hands. Garrick, not having noticed,
or not recollecting at the moment, any thing of the
kind in real life, remarked that the attitude of Elymas seemed to him unnatural. West thought differently, and, desirous of vindicating a great painter,
requested Garrick to shut his eyes and walk across
the room. Garrick, who had no objection to experiments of that kind: closed his eyes; but he had
no sooner begun to walk about, than he instinctively put out his hands, and assumed that crouching, cautious, and groping position which he had
before criticized as unnatural.
The third of the Cartoons: as they are here arranged, is the healing of the lame man at the gate
of the Temple called the 1" Beautiful;" which exhi



118           LETTERS-A —STIIETIC,
bits a high degree of inventive power, though it did
not interest me so much as the others. The next
is the Miraculous Draught of Fishes, of which we
have an account in the fifth of Luke.  The size of
this painting is thirteen and a half feet in length
by ten and a half in height. In looking at it, the
attention is at once occupied with the two fishermen's boats, and the waters of the Lake of Galilee,
under a clear bright sky, rippling gently around
them. In one of these boats, in a central position,
is the Saviour; finely conceived and represented,
with a countenance full of benevolence and dignity.
He is seated, and in the act of speaking to Peter,
who is on his knees before him and is represented
with a countenance expressive of humility and awe.
Behind Peter, in the same boat, is a young man.
On his left is the other boat, in which is one man
steering it, and two other men, finely drawn, in the
act of taking up the net laden with fishes. The net
is heavy, and the drawing is such as to indicate the
muscular effort of the men in taking it up. The
fishes are very natural. But one of the most striking
features in this painting is the three tall black cranes,
standing in the edge of the water: with their short
wings, long necks, and open bills. They have a
singularly strange and wild appearance, but perfectly
natural, and giving to the whole scene an aspect of reality which it might not otherwise have had. I think
there is no one of Raphael's paintings which has left
upon my mind a deeper impression than this.
The subject of the fifth Cartoon is Paul and Barnabas at Lystra, as recorded in the fourth of Acts.
The part of this painting in which Raphael puts




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.            1.19
forth the strength of that conceptive power which
enabled him  to place nature upon canvas, and to
enchant the belief of the spectator into the midst
of a reality actually passing before him, is the uplifted arm and axe of the sacrificer, and the upturned,head of the helpless ox, held in its position to receive
the terrible blow. The sad and abhorrent feeling
of the spectator is almost equal to that of St. Paul,
although it may be in part from a different cause.
The subject of the next painting is Paul preaching at Athens.  There is in this painting, as there
is in the others, a centre of interest to the spectator; as there was a central thought or idea in the
mind of the painter.
All these paintings illustrate what seems to me
to be one of the happiest expressions of the theory
of beauty, namely, unity in vcariety.  It is true,
that a complete analysis of the beautiful cannot be
supposed to be involved in these few expressions;
but they enunciate a great truth, and probably furnish the best basis of speculation on this difficult
subject.  The idea of unity, considered in relation
to any work of art, or in relation to any other work,
is that of a central, tlhought;-central, when the term
is used in the highest sense, both in its motive and
its results; —embracing both the beginning and the
end, and thus having a oneness in itself. The true
name of such a comprehensive yet centralized conception is UNITY.  And when this is accompanied
by variety,-that is to say, by subordinate objects
or acts, different from each other and from the main
object or act in form or place or in other numerously varied ways, and yet harmonizing with such




120           LETTERS- ESTHIETIC
unity, namely, the unity of the main purpose and
the main result,-we have then the leading and indispensable elements of the sublime and beautiful.
Unity is necessary to the mind's repose,-to its
true satisfaction with itself and its works.  Variety
is necessary to meet the wants of its active nature.
The instincts of a great mind feel this and act accordingly.  To act without a central view, and to
fail to harmonize variety with centralization, would
be to act in discordance with its own nature and to
nullify itself. No great work of art, no painting,
no sculpture, no great work of science, no great
oration in the senate, no great forensic argument,
no related and consecutive series of moral acts, ever
did or ever can fulfil the true conditions of the sublime and beautiful (without which such work or
such series of acts cannot be called great in the
highest sense of that term) unless it is found to conform to this view.
Such are the Cartoons. Such are the works of
Raphael.
The leading or central object in the Cartoon of
Paul preaching at Athens is St. Paul himself,-announcing for the first time in Athens the great
truths of religion, standing elevated above the multitude around him, with arms extended, in the attitude of addressing them,-and with his countenance and whole person inspired by the greatness
and solemnity of the occasion. Behind himI and
around him are wise men and the pretenders to
wisdom, the Sophists and philosophers, the Platonist, the Cynic, the Epicurean;-some disputing
among themselves, and others listening with expres



SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           121
sions of doubt and of inward inquiry and reflection
to the new and strange doctrine which the great
orator of Christianity is propounding to them.
The auditors, taught in the schools of Athens,
are men of thought, and are finely drawn. Among
them is one who appears to be wholly occupied
in deep reflection. Ewis eyes are closed; and the
drapery is drawn closely around him. It is of this
figure that Sir Joshua Reynolds made the remark
that he appeared to think from head to foot.
The subject of the seventh of these paintings is
the charge to St. Peter:-" Feed my sheep."  The
most striking figure in this Cartoon is that of Christ;
but, though noble in its conception and execution,
there is less which corresponds to our ideas of the
Saviour, less of divinity in it, than is found in the
countenance of the Saviour as he is represented in
the painting of the Miraculous Draught of Fishes.
I am free to confess that paintings-even those
which come from the hands of great masters-are
in many respects so far short of nature, or are so
far short of what a creative imagination might be
supposed to originate in harmony with nature, that
in general they do not fully satisfy me. But there
are exceptions.  I have no drawbacks of this kind
in viewing the paintings of Raphael.  They produce upon the mind the same effect which we feel
in reading the sublimest poems of Milton and
Shakspeare; dilating and occupying it to its utmost
capacity;-so that we seem to feel ourselves in the
presence of some superior and mighty intelligence,
who makes to us a new revelation, and thus extends the boundaries of our own existence.
11




122            LETTERS-A-ESTHETIC,
I returned from Hampton Court by the way of
Richmond,-a pleasant town, about four miles from
Hampton.  The town is partly built on the side of
a ridge, the summit of which overlooks the valley
of the Thames for a long distance.  This is the'Richmond Hill," which Thomson has celebrated
in his delightful poem of The Seasons, and which,
in allusion to the beautiful scenery of Italy, travellers have denominated the "Tivoli of England."
It is a place of great resort; and certainly it presents a view which in extent and beauty can scarcely
be surpassed.  The old Saxon name of Richmond
was Sh7ene, which signifies brightness or splendor,
in allusion probably to the great beauty of the
place; and this is the name which Thomson employs in the beginning of the passage to which I
have referred:
"Say, shall we wind
Along the stream? or walk the sounding mead?
Or court the forest glade? or wander wild
Among the waving harvest? or ascend,
While radiant summer opens all its pride,
Thy hill, delightfuJ Shzene?"
The remains of Thomson are buried at Richmond.  I sought his grave.  With a melancholy
satisfaction I stood beside the ashes of one whose
writings in distant America had been the delight of
my father's fireside, and had left the impress of their
beauty on our young hearts. I called to mind that
touching stanza of Collins, which I had read and
repeated many times without supposing I should
ever realize its solemn beauty on the very spot to
which he refers:




SOCIAL, AND  MORAL.                123
"In yonder grave a Druid lies,
Where slowly winds the stealing wave;
The year's best sweets shall duteous rise
To deck its poet's sylvan grave."
And I will venture to add another exquisite
stanza from the same ode, in which one great poet
has paid his homage to another:"Remembrance oft shall haunt the shore
When Thames in summer wreaths is dress'd,
And oft suspend the dashing oar
To bid his gentle spirit rest."
(XV.)
Visit to Bunhill Fields and Westminster Abbey-Character of the
men buried in the Fields-Dr. Thomas Goodwin-Dr. John Owen
— Watts and Bunyan-WVestminster Abbey-Its tombs and monuments-The tablet of Milton-Reflections-Poetry.
LONDON, ENGLAND, NOV. 1852.
THERE is a place in London called'Bunhill Fields.
It is the burying-place of the Dissenters.  I went
one day to this place in company with the excellent
friend who had accompanied me to Windsor and to
Hampton Court, Rev. Mr. Thompson, of New York,
whom I had known in America but had unexpectedly met in London.  Much of the interest which
I experienced at this time, and at other times and
places, is due to him.
Bunhill Fields is a large open space some five or
six acres in extent, and surrounded with a brick
wall.  In  this old burying-ground are interred a
large number of the leading Congregationalists,
Baptists, Presbyterians, and other Dissenters, of
England. It is not a place which one would be




124           LETTERS-ESTI-IETIC,
likely to visit on account of any remarkable displays of monumental art.  It has its attractions,
however, for men of puritanic beliefs and associations; and many Americans go to Bunhill
Fields.
We went from tomb to tomb. The inscriptions
which they bear indicate the general character of
the men.  They were men of strong religious faith;
— believers in the Bible and in Jesus Christ; who
understood and felt the nothingness of man, and
therefore sought help from God; and, though differing from each other in some speculative opinions,
yet all agreeing in this,-that religion, while it
manifests itself in outward forms, is essentially an
inward life, which is born of God's Holy Spirit. It
was from the life which once shone in this now
mouldering dust that much of that American and
Puritan spirit sprang up which crossed oceans, defied stormy winters, levelled forests, planted schoolhouses and churches, and laid the strong foundations of religious and republican liberty. It may
well be supposed, therefore, that the place was not
wanting in great interest for me, however it might
be deficient in the attractions of art.
There was something in the names which I read
upon the stones that reminded me of home. IHere
are buried the Allens, Andersons, Bradfords, Browns,
Abbots, Clarks, Haywards, Lawrences, Parkers,
Palmers, Goodwins, Robinsons, and others; whose
names, borne by descendants or relatives, are so
well known and so often met with in the northern
parts of America.
Many eminent men of the Dissenters are buried




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          125
here. This is the last earthly resting-place of Dr.
Thomas Goodwin,-a learned preacher and writer
of the Dissenters in the time of Cromwell. He was
educated at the University of Cambridge; and such
was the estimation in which he was held for his
learning and other qualities, that he was selected
by the. Parliament of England, in the time of the
English Commonwealth, to be President of Magdalen College in Oxford. Here' also are deposited the
remains of Dr. John Owen, another distinguished
man of the same class of religionists and living
nearly at the same period. He was educated at Oxford,-a man of great learning, of eminent capacity,
and who has always been regarded as one of the
most distinguished of the illustrators and defenders
of the Independent or Congregational views. This
class of men are entitled to great credit for the
position they took and for their labors and trials in
support of the great principles of religious toleration and freedom. Here is the tomb of Dr. Isaac
Watts,-a name that is much respected among all
denominations of Christians. He was for fifty years
the minister of a Dissenting congregation in London.
Bunyan, the justly-celebrated author of Pilgrim's
Progress, lies here.
In recalling this visit to Bunhill Fields, I am reminded of Westminster Abbey. I will briefly speak,
therefore, as I may have no better opportunity, of
Westminster Abbey now.
While in London, I went repeatedly to this memorable pile of buildings. It is near the banks of the
Thames,-at a little distance from the ParliamentHouse of England. It arises in great majesty and
11*




126           LETTERS-E-A STHIETIC,
beauty, adorned with pinnacles and towers, and with
the power to arrest and control the attention of the
beholder, notwithstanding the defacements it has
suffered from the lapse of successive centuries.
I went through its chapels, cloisters, arches; I
trod upon the places where the ashes of the dead
repose, and beheld the sculpture of their tombs and
monuments; and here, too, as well as in the burying-ground of the Puritans, catching something of
the inspiration of the place and its histories, I left
it with the impression that there are but few spots
in the world which can originate sentiments at once
so varied and profound.
Here are monuments and tombs which contain
the dust and perpetuate the memory of kings and
queens; —of the old Saxon king Sebert and of his
queen Athelgoda, who died more than a thousand
years ago; —of Edward First and Queen Eleanor
his wife; of Edward the Confessor; of Edward
Third and his Queen Philippa; of Henry Third;
and of Richard Second and his queen.
Celebrated statesmen have been buried here, or
are commemorated by monuments. Here is the
dust of HEunsdon and Cecil, —names which are associated with the reign of Elizabeth. All that was
mortal of William  Pitt, of Canning, Grattan, and
Wilberforce, lies within these walls. Here are
monuments which commemorate the learning or
statesmanship of Fox, Chatham, and Mansfield.
Nor does this great repository of the dead withhold the homage which is due to scientific genius
and to literary attainment.  Monumental tablets
commemorate the genius and labor of Watt, the dis



SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          127
tinguished improver of the steam-engine; of Telford, the architect of the Menai bridge, and of Newton, whose name needs no specification.
Beneath this gorgeous roof is the dust of Samuel
Johnson.  The earthly remains of Denham, Cumberland, and Sheridan are here. Monuments and
tablets are erected in commemoration of Goldsmith,
Thomson, Gray, Mason, and Shakspeare. In that
portion of this great architectural sepulchre which
bears the name of.the chapel of Henry Seventh,
sleep the ashes of Addison.  These great literary
and moral teachers-these guides and suggesters, to
some extent, of my own early thought-seemed to
be restored to life and to be standing near me, as if
I had seen the forms or heard the mysterious voices
of another world.
I stopped at the tablet of Milton. It was not the
result of the attraction arising from the memory of
his poetical merit alone. A light often shines upon
memory from the region of principles and beliefs.
He stood before me not only as a poet, but as a
teacher and leader in the justly-memorable period
of the English Commonwealth.  Standing as I did
in this great monumental abode of kings and nobles,
and impressed with all that respect for their history
which the place cannot fail to suggest, I felt, nevertheless, that it would not be necessary for me to
make any apology for Milton, because he was a republican, and because he became blind in his laborious defence of republican principles.  Nor shall I
stop to take any exception to what has been said
of him and against him by the able men who differed from him in opinion. The world is made




12 8          LETTERS-E STHETIC,
wiser by conflicts of thought. All words, all acts,
all things, have their place and purpose in the
arrangements and decrees of Providence; the true
evolve themselves from the false; and all are destined to stand or fall in accordance with the changeless tests of immortality.
Some things belong to the past; some to the
present; some to the future. The acts and words
of Milton are prophetic,-the signs and intimations
and precursors of the things which are to be hereafter; gathering strength as they approach the
period of their fulfilment; thundering and flashing
along the great abyss of ages; carrying terror to
the heart of despotism; but full of hope to the men
of the new order of things, to the generations of the
humanitarian dynasty.
As I beheld these tombs and monuments, adorned
by art and venerable by age, I stood overwhelmed
and confounded. In the multitude of thoughts I
was reminded of the difference between the thoughts
and purposes of man and those of God. Man rears
monuments to perpetuate man's fame; but God perpetuates man himself. The monument of man,
wrought in stone and marble, is the continuance,
the perpetuity, of a name. The monument of God
is the continued life of the soul itself, with the development and increase of all its virtues; truth
added to truth, purity added to purity, goodness
added to goodness; the immortality of a spiritual
existence crowned and blooming with the buds and
flowers of holiness.




SOCIAL, AND  1MORAL.                   129
LINES WRITTEN ON VISITING WESTMINSTER ABBEY, NOV. 1.852.
Pierced in its citadel of life,
The body, beautiful at first,
But conquer'd in the final strife,
Goes down and crumbles into dust;
And o'er that dust, with many tears,
Its monument Affection rears.
That monument itself, where art
Hath wrought with all its power and pride,
Grows sick with time, and loses heart,
And seeks the dust it sought to hide;
And that which gave the dust to fame
Is scatter'd, and bequeaths no name.
Though ruin thus smites where it can,
Its dart hath not the power to fly
Within the centre of the man,
And smite his immortality:
The victor in the outward strife,
It falls before the inner life.
The soul, triumphant in the war
Which smites both man and monument,
Smiling ascends,-to be the star
Which looks down from the firmament;Its own inscription there to write
In letters of eternal light.
(XVI.)
Visit to the Pantheon —Form an acquaintance with the old soldier
Paulin —Visit to the seminary of St. Sulpitius-The Champ de
Mars and the events connected with it-The Hotel of the Invalids
-The tomb of Napoleon-Reflections in the Elysian Fields.
CITY OF PARIS, FRANCE, DEC. 2, 1852.
I AMADE a short excursion from  London to Paris in
October, and have again visited it. I shall combine
the impressions received then with those made since,
and give them in one view. Paris, the great centre
of wealth and population, is the London of France;




130           LETTERS-.ESTHETIC,
but it differs in this circumstance, that it is not London enveloped in smoke. On the contrary, it is
something which can be easily seen, and of which
some estimate can be formed at a single glance.
It was a clear, bright day in October when I ascended the lofty dome of the Pantheon, or rather
of what was once the Pantheon, but now, by a very
proper restoration of its ancient name, the church
of St. Genevieve.  The ascent is more than two
hundred feet. There were others who went up with
me; but I did not know them; and I stood and
meditated alone. It was* a new position; new to
the eye and new to the heart.
As I cast my eye around and below me, to the
objects near at hanand and those in the distance,-on
the island of the early Parisii which they beautifully called "the dwelling of the waters," —on the
winding Seine, the Seine more beautiful though less
magnificent and mercantile than the Thames,-on
the twin-towers of N6tre-Dame,  which have lifted
their lofty heads for centuries,-on the colossal pile
of the Hotel of the Invalids, where sleep the ashes
of Napoleon,-on the Louvre, the Luxembourg, and
the Tuileries, those ancient residences of kings,on the "Champ de Mars," the place of military assemblages and of popular enthusiasin,-beholding
everywhere, as far as the eye could reach, streets,
squares, places of business, public gardens, ancient
walls, hospitals, prisons, churches, schools of learning, monumental pillars, triumphal arches, in all
varieties of architecture, in all degrees of newness
and decay, bounded in one direction by the imposing
summit of Montmartre, and in another by that




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           131
wonderful city of the dead, the cemetery of Pere
La Chaise,-I felt, with these vast and multiplied
objects before me, that I was looking down, not only
upon one of the great combined works of art and
nature, not only upon a mighty panorama of living
and present existence, but upon a vast map of the
past, inscribed and legible everywhere, with a thousand years of human history.
I came down thoughtfully. Such a scene addresses itself to the eyes of the inward mind still
more strongly than to the sight of the outward
senses. I crossed -the bridge De la Concorde, and,
passing near the great Egyptian obelisk, went to
the H6tel de la Terrasse, in the street Rivoli.
MIeurice's Hotel, which is a great resort of American travellers, was full.
Day after day I walked abroad. I had no letters
of introduction, not being willing to occasion any
unnecessary trouble to any one; and I knew not an
individual in Paris,-not one in all the wide sea of
existence that was floating around me. But there
was no want of instruction,-no want of interest.
The history of Paris was engraven on my memory;
and at every step I found the records and evidences
of its correctness. And besides, he who has the living eyes of the heart, even if he is without personal
acquaintances and cannot even speak the language
of the people, will still be able to recognize the features of humanity, and to find a brother in a
strange land.
One day I was walking near the Bridge of Austerlitz. This bridge is a beautiful piece of architecture; but it is a memorial of bloodshed.  Wish



13 2          LETTERS —.STHETIC,
ing to make some inquiries, I addressed in broken
French an old man who happened to be near. He
perceived that I was a stranger, and politely answered me in English, which gave me pleasure. I
took the liberty to ask him who he was. He said
his name was Paulin; that he lived in a narrow
street not far from the HoItel de Ville, and had been
a soldier in the wars of the Emperor. He was
poor; his wife worked out daily for her bread; and
as for himself he did what he could, and, having
learnt some English during the Emperor's wars, he
was happy in being able sometimes to earn a little,
no matter how small a sum, by acting as a servant
or guide to gentlemen from England or America.
He showed me a paper, speaking very highly of
him, and signed by his commander when he left the
army. The old man's looks, aided by his gray hairs
and tottering step, plead earnestly in his favor; and
we were not long in making a bargain. And I
could not help thinking it was a singular coincidence, that a " peace man" from America (as those
are called there whose convictions lead them to distrust and discredit the right and expediency of war)
should be walking through the streets of Paris armin-arm with an old soldier of Napoleon.
The old man asked me where I wished to go. I
told him I wished to find the church of St. Sulpitius
and the seminary connected with it. He looked
doubtfully, and said it was a place somewhat out of
his knowledge; and wished to know if there was
anything there which particularly attracted my
attention. I replied I believed it was an interesting spot on some other accounts; but that I was par



SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           133
ticularly desirous of seeing it, because St. Sulpitius
was associated with the early life and education of
the good Fenelon.  The old soldier's recollections
and mine were a little out of harmony.  He knew
the Emperor; the names and persons of Ney, Soult,
and Macdonald, were familiar to him; but, like too
many of his countrymen, he either had not known
or had forgotten Fenelon.
After a long walk, however, which was diversified
with some interesting conversations, we were able
to reach the place.  I told my companion that I
felt at home here; and that for half an hour or
more I could excuse him from the trouble of attendanlce and that he might employ himself in any
manner he thought proper. I went into the church,
and found people assembled there in the act of religious worship.  I sat down, and allowed my feelings, in harmony with the place and its associations, to take the channel of religious recollection
and sentiment.  The seminary of St. Sulpitius,
which seemed to have been rebuilt at a recent
period, is near the church.  At a little distance, in
a circular niche of a square column ascending from
the fountain of St. Sulpitius, there is an imposing
statue of Fenelon.  It was enough for me to know,
in order to induce feelings of great interest, that it
was here, in this interesting locality and among
these walls dedicated to religion and science, that
Fenelon had dwelt; that here the powers of his
mind were unfolded and strengthened; and that it
was a place which he ever held dear in his grateful
recollections; —Fenelon, admired for his learning
and eloquence, but who is still more dear to men
12




134           LETTERS —JESTHETIC,
and to nations for the inspirations of his expansive
and benevolent love. Before leaving the spot I
stood for some moments in contemplation of the
noble statue which is erected to his memory, and
felt my heart strengthened in those principles of
union with God and man, and of universal philanthropy, which characterize his writings. Then,
giving a signal to the old soldier, to whom my feelings seemed an entire mystery, and once more putting myself under his direction, I asked him to
guide me to any objects of special interest in that
part of the city. His countenance kindled up, and
he proposed, obviously with a feeling of conscious
pleasure, a visit to the Champ de Mars and the
tomb of Napoleon.
The Champ de Mars, otherwise called the " Champ
de Mai," is a large oblong space on the south side
of the Seine, about one hundred rods in length by
half that distance in width, surrounded by a ditch
faced with stone. It is entered through gates at
five different places, and is adorned by four rows of
trees on each side, which give it a shady and pleasant appearance. The sloping embankments still
remain which were erected by the population of
Paris on the occasion of the grand assembly which
was held here, under the auspices of La Fayette, on
the fourteenth of July, 1790. On this occasion
Louis XVI., in the presence, it is said, of more than
a million of people, took an oath to observe the
Constitution which had been recently adopted. It
was here also that Napoleon, a short time previous
to the battle of Waterloo, held an immense assembly,
with a view to restore the confidence of France,




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           135
and to gain strength for the new wars which were
before him. The military school established by
Louis XV. fronts the Champ de Mars at the
southern extremity; and, with its dome, projecting portico, and sculptured pediment, constitutes a
striking feature in the scene which is here presented
to view.
Following the guidance of my old soldier, who,
with a sort of professional instinct and with obvious
high spirits, had put me upon the track of military
associations, I next went to the Hotel of the Invalids, a vast establishment, founded by Louis
XIV., but greatly enlarged from time to time, and
at the present time covering with its numerous
courts sixteen acres of ground.  I do not know that
the Christian and the philanthropist, who regard
wars as among the greatest of wrongs and evils,
ought to look upon such an institution as this with
disapprobation,-the principal object of which, although it is true that war furnishes the occasion,
is to relieve and not to increase human suffering.
It ought to be no subject of regret that war has its
humanities. As we went on, soldiers in military
armor glittered around us.  We passed a number
of pieces of heavy artillery as we approached the
gate of entrance; and everywhere, at the gate, and
in the court and galleries, some seated on chairs
and some walking, some with one arm remaining
and others with one leg, with diversities of uniform
but all apparently in good spirits and chattering
excessively, were the old associates of my guide,
the broken but indomitable remnants of the wars
of the Emperor. —Too old to fight and too much




136           LETTERS-AESTHETIC,
mutilated to labor, they felt themselves happy in
not being obliged to beg.
The Hotel of the Invalids, constructed with a
view to the accommodation of a large number of
soldiers, displays a front of six hundred and twelve
feet: there are four refectories or dining-rooms for
the occupants, each an hundred and fifty feet in
length, and eight spacious dormitories, besides
smaller ones, containing fifty beds each. The dome
of the Invalids, which has a sort of historical celebrity, is spacious and lofty, and is seen at a great
distance. Among the other accommodations pertaining to this remarkable establishment, it has a
library of 1500 volumes, consisting chiefly of works
of general literature, jurisprudence, and military
strategy; and it is there, as might naturally be
expected, that we find deposited many of the trophies which the French have taken from  their
enemies. In the time of Napoleon there were three
thousand flags collected here, the memorials of war
and of conquest, all of which were burnt by tile
French themselves on the evening previous to the
entrance of the allied armies into Paris, March 31,
1814: so certain it is that war brings with it its
own retribution.
In this building are the remains of Napoleon;
the dust and ashes of the man who was for many
years the idol of France and the terror of Europe.
It is not surprising that visitors should constantly
flock to see the splendid monument of a man of
such wonderful power and of such strange vicissitudes;-at the age of twenty-eight the conqueror
of Italy; at thirty the First Consul of France, and




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           137
at thirty-five the Emperor of France; but in his
purpose of conquering Europe driven back by the
flames of Moscow, defeated at Waterloo, and finding death on the rock of St. Helena. The hoof of
his war-horse trod in the blood of millions. History, estimating men by each other, will pronounce
him a great warrior, without being unanimous as
to his practical wisdom, his patriotism, or his
morals.  His glory was military, which fades in
the distance, while the glory of virtue grows
brighter and brighter. And the thought occurred
to me as I stood beside his tomb that future and
more peaceful generations might recall and cherish
the name of Fenelon with greater interest than
that of Napoleon.
As I returned from this place the sun was setting
behind the distant hills. I passed through the
majestic grove of the Elysian Fields. The autumnal leaves, gleaming in the departing radiance
of day, fell around me. My heart went back to
America. The sound of her rivers was in my ears.
Her vast forests spread out before me. I remembered the vastness, the wildness, the repose, of nature. And I said to myself, " These works which
I have seen in foreign lands, the efforts and the
memorials of genius, are still the works of man.
Imperfection marks their origin, decay completes
their progress. Beauty and deformity, life and
death, are mingled together.  Man is here, but
where is the Maker of man?  I sigh for my native
land. I Pwish to hear again the prayers and the
hymns of her cottagers, inspired by the blessings
around them. Her rivers are her lines of beauty;
12*




138             LETTERS-IE STHETIC,
her hills are her monuments; the mighty firmament is her cathedral; and God,-heard in the
sighing of the winds, seen in the richness of the
forests, and eternal in the reproduction of her wild
and varied magnificence,-God is everywhere."
(XVII.)
Garden of the Tuileries-Of statuary and paintings as compared
with living existences —Historical notices of the Tuileries-Triumphal arch and bronze horses —Htel de Ville and events connected with it-Margaret Porette and the Quietists-Visit to the
home of Paulin.
CITY OF PARIS, FRANCE, DEC. 3, 1852.
UNDER the influence of that wandering propensity
of which I gave you some of the results in my last
letter, I went out early the next forenoon. You
will recollect that it was in October; and it was
again a beautiful day. I found Paulin waiting for
me, leaning patiently against a post. The Hotel
de la Terrasse, at which I was stopping, is opposite
the garden of the Tuileries.  And after a little
deliberation, in which it gave me pleasure to pay
due deference to the suggestions of the old soldier,
we concluded to take a stroll through its beautiful
grounds.
The garden of the Tuileries was laid out by the
celebrated Le Notre. I call him celebrated (and
he undoubtedly has more claims to the title than
some who have obtained it on the battle-field) because his name is so closely associated with the
history of scientific gardening and with so many
localities which his taste contributed to beautify.




SOCIAL, AND MORIAL.         139
I will not detain you in giving a description of
this garden any further than to say that it is of
immense size, a parallelogram of sixty-seven acres;
and that there are in it abundance of beautiful
flower-plats, beautiful fountains and statues, and
beautiful trees and shady walks; although, if one
were disposed to be critical, he might justly add,
that the grounds are laid out in some places in a
style of straight lines and angles which seem too
artificial; and, still more decidedly, that some of
the statues, although displaying artistic skill, lose
their sesthetic power and value by calling into revolt the sentiments of modesty and morality. But
I recollect that I sat down, with old Paulin by my
side, near the brink of a beautiful fountain; and
that I fed from my hand two queenly swans that
floated proudly on its bosom; and, seeing over my
head the nodding magnificence of the glorious
lime-trees and chestnut-trees, with flowers of all
varied and brilliant hues, (for there were many yet
remaining,) I was disposed to enjoy the beautiful
and to forget the deformed. In other words, I had
no disposition for criticism. And especially because there is something to be seen here every
pleasant day, far more interesting to me than anything I have mentioned; I mean happy groups of
men, women, and children.
What a glorious creature is man!-at least when
he stands erect in truth and simplicity of spirit.
Statuary and painting can give the semblance, but
not the reality. I look, for instance, upon a statue;
and I admit with pleasure the truth of its likeness
and the skill of the artist; but at the same time




140           LETTERS-3E STHETIC,
I say, almost instinctively, that it is not a man; it
is not a woman. It is something which satisfies the
eye of the senses rather than the eye of the heart;
-it is a thing which is done rather than a thing
which is;-it has no inward history, no conceptions
which reach forth into the infinite and, eternal, no
palpitations of beneficence, no heavenly filaments
of love going out in every direction and encircling
universal humanity. But a true man and a true
woman is all this.  It is the living, therefore, far
more than their semblances in marble, which awaken the emotions of the soul. And whenever I see
groups of men, women, and children, with the marks
of truth and innocence sanctioning a true or a restored humanity, my heart goes out in the deepest
sympathy with their innocent pleasures; and the
sight of their happiness is the source of my own.
These are the true ornaments of the garden of the
Tuileries;-statues that have life, the works of God
and not of Praxiteles;-flowers that bloom without
fading because they live in perpetual succession.
At the eastern end of this garden is the Palace,
-a magnificent pile of buildings, reaching from the
Rue Rivoli to the Seine. It is called the Tuileries,
or palace of the tile-kiln, from the circumstance that
it is erected on the spot where a tile-kiln formerly
stood. The mighty palatial edifices which are found
everywhere in Europe fascinate the eye and call
forth feelings of admiration; but it is necessary,
and sometimes painful, to remember that they have
required ages in their construction, and have taxed
the wealth and labor, and perhaps the tears, of a
nation.  The erection of this edifice was begun by




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           141
Catherine de Medicis in 1564; the works were continued by Henry IV. and Louis XIII.; and it was
not till nearly a century after its beginning that
Louis XIV., in 1644; gave directions to have it
finished. Built at different periods, it exhibits
different styles of architecture, which elicit their
just and appropriate degrees of admiration,-an evidence of what the lovers of art begin more fully
to understand,-that beauty is infinite in its developments, though it may be contemplated and
appreciated from different points of view in different periods of civilization.
Napoleon resided for some time in this palace;
and it bears the impress of his active and inventive
mind, as well as of those who preceded him. It
was Napoleon who erected the triumphal arch which
forms the principal entrance to the court and palace
of the Tuileries on the eastern side.  This beautiful arch is sixty feet wide and forty-five feet high,
and is constructed after the plan of the arch of
Septimius Severus at Rome.  And those who claim
to be judges regard it as equalling the beauty of the
original. It has three passage-ways, the central one
fourteen feet in width, and is adorned on both
fronts with Corinthian columns, and with bas-reliefs
representing the victories of the Emperor.  The
whole is surmounted in the centre by a triumphal
car and four bronze horses, modelled after the celebrated horses of Lysippus, which ornament the
Square of St. Mark in Venice.  The originals were
once here, but in the reverses of war have been
carried back again. Repeatedly I found myself
looking with deep interest at this picturesque group




4 2           LETTERS-E  STHETIC,
of horses. They are certainly executed with great
skill.  With their dark breasts, with their wild
curving necks and uplifted hoofs, they seemed, on
their lofty position, like mighty beings conscious of
their strength and marching through the air.
In examining this part of the city, I called into
requisition the recollections of the old soldier who
accompanied me as a guide; and, besides other objects of interest, he pointed out a number of localities whose memorials had been written in blood.
I do not know that it would be profitable particularly to repeat them. The Tuileries itself has been
the theatre of revolutionary movements, which have
affected at different times the destinies of France.
And I was surprised to find, that it was at the
west end of the garden of the Tuileries, at a little
distance, in the place now called the Place de ]a
Concorde, that Louis XVI. and his queen Antoinette
were executed.
The story of the trial and execution of Louis
XVI. and his queen, together with the trying incidents connected with their residence in the prison
of the Temple, as related by Clery, forms one of the
most deeply-interesting personal histories which are
to be found in the records of the human race. I
went through the splendid mansions of Versailles,
where they had once resided amid scenes of magnificence which had never been surpassed; I visited
the prison of the Temple, a part of which still remains, and saw the rooms of their humiliation and
suffering, and the two trees, still standing, where the
good king took his sad and solitary meals in the last
days before he was led out to death; I went down




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          143
into the gloomy cell of the Conciergerie prison
where the queen was confined after being transferred
from the Temple, the deep and dark place of her
increased suffering and tears, of her prayers and
religious hopes; and now stood upon the spot where
both fell under the blow of the executioner. The
whole world, enabled to contemplate these transactions in consequence of the high position of the
sufferers,-the world in the utmost extent of its
civilization sitting in judgment upon the judges,pronounced the victims innocent and the nation
criminal; and Providence, which judges all things,
— that unerring Providence "which destroys with
the sword those that take the sword,"-confirmed
the decision.
I found my old soldier, in whom I had begun to
take quite an interest, well acquainted with these
localities. We wandered together through the
Louvre, the Palais Royal, and along the banks of
the Seine. HIe evidently was a man of a good
deal of information and of a true heart; and, though
he kept with me some eight or ten days, I never
noticed any disturbance of his patience and equanimity except at this time. Happening to notice
near the Place cut Carrouzsel a book-stall containing
many ancient books, I stopped to read. I found
among them an English copy of Wesley's hymns,those beautiful hymns which I have so often heard
the good 5Methodists sing in America,-and read
longer than usual. Meanwhile Paulin, as he was
a little apt to do when he saw me take a book,
wandered off a little distance. He came back,
however, in due season, but very considerably ex



144           LETTERS- ESTHETIC,
cited, alleging that he had been insulted. I asked
by whom and in what way. As to the person, he
said he did not know and did not desire to know,
but that in passing him the fellow had impertinently looked him in the face, and asked him,
without preamble or reason, by what authority he
wore his mustache, —a very unnecessary question,
he said, to be put to an old soldier of the Empire.
Such are the strange and almost ludicrous incidents
which mingle in everywhere. I condoled with the
old man, whose feelings were evidently hurt, and
proposed to him to exchange the place of such discreditable encounters for the Hotel de Ville.
The HOtel de Ville, begun in 1533 and completed in 1606, is the place where the Prefect of
the Department of the Seine resides, and is properly
regarded, with its modern improvements, as one of
the finest municipal buildings in Paris. It contains a number of large and elegant apartments,
adorned with paintings and statues, besides the
hundred and fifty smaller rooms occupied by the
public offices which are necessary in the municipal
transactions. The city library of 60,000 volumes,
and occupying three large rooms, is here,-containing, among other works of interest, four thousand volumes of official American publications.
The HoStel de Ville is one of the historical places
of France. It was to the HStel de Ville that Louis
XVI., in the memnorable epoch of 1789, was escorted
by the agitated people, when, with a violence originating in fears and anxieties, which they at least
supposed to be well founded, they compelled him
to leave his beautiful Versailles. It was here, by




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           145
means of committees and councils which have acquired a sanguinary celebrity, that many of the
patriotic or bloody movements of the first Revolution were organized.  It was here, in a room which
is still shown, in the year 1794, that Robespierre
fled and was wounded, previously to his trial and
execution. It was here, in the year 1830, after
the sanguinary encounters which resulted in the
expulsion of Charles X., that Louis Philippe met
and embraced Lafayette in the presence of the
people, and initiated the Orleans dynasty. And
here were the tumultuous scenes in the Revolution
of 1848, which Lamartine has so eloquently described, and in which he personally had so large
and honorable a share.
In front of the HI6tel de Ville is the place or
square which is used often for festival and other
public occasions, called the Place de Greve.  In
former times this was also the place of public executions; and there are few places which have been
more frequently stained with human blood.  And
one transaction occurred here, which I am tempted
particularly to recall.  It was as far back as the
year 1310. It was here, at that time, that a young
woman of sincere piety and unblemished character
was put to death as a heretic.  Her name was
Margaret Porette.  She never thought of fame;
but her name can never be forgotten. She belonged to that remarkable class of people (they
will not allow themselves to be called a sect, because they are averse to the denominations and
restrictions of party) called the Mystics and sometimes Quietists.  The state of inward religious ex13




14 6          LETTERS — ESTItETIC,
perience at which they aim, and which they profess
to attain, is that of divine union, or union with
God; in such a sense that the soul, having its evil
passions subdued and cast out, is in the true reciJielnt state, and has its thoughts, affections, and purposes from God alone.  They believe also in an
overruling Providence, which has the control of all
things in a general sense, but which, in the case
of those who are reunited to the Godhead, regulates in everything every movement and incident
of their destiny. And this destiny, whether high
or low, whether an allotment of tears or of joy,
they accept with resignation and with smiles.
Christ is their model, and the Sermon on the
Mount their text-book.  They hold to the doctrine
of pure or perfect love-that is to say, of unselfish
love-as the only true principle of life. They return good for evil; and suffer in silence. This
class of persons is unknown to the world, because
the world cannot comprehend it. They suffered
or died in prison in the person of Molinos and
Madame Guyon; they were banished in the person of Fenelon; but neither banishment, nor imprisonment, nor death, quenched the waters of life
which flowed in their souls. They died, and history gave no record, because they made no resistance and gave no sign except this one:-"; Father,
forgive them, for they know not what they do."
For holding these pure and exalted principles,
Margaret Porette, in the bloom of life, was put to
death.  This is the place which heard her last
prayer and was moistened with her virgin blood.
Standing on the very spot more than five hundred




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          147
years after, I found something in my heart which
disposed me to cherish the memory of her piety
and of her sorrowful but triumphant end.
With a heart thus filled with- historical and religious recollections, I turned to Paulin.  lie reminded me that he resided in this part of the city.
The shadows of evening began to gather around
us. And he ihvited me urgently, and as much on
his own account, he said, as mine, to take my
evening meal with him. His invitation harmonized with my own feelings; and in fact I had previously given him to understand that I would not
leave Paris without seeing him at his own home.
He was the more urgent because he said his wife,
of whom he spoke with affection and pride, would
expect us. I followed the old soldier, whose tottering step seemed to acquire its ancient military
precision and firmness as he led me through street
after street, growing more and more winding and
narrow and sunless, till I found myself in one of
those places which nourish the principles of revolt
and;where the fires of revolution are ever burning. As we passed, one after another, the laborers
and disbanded soldiers that dwelt in these gloomy
precincts, they stood silent and stern. They have
their mutual understandings, their watchwords
and leaders; and Paulin, whom they all knew, introduced mle to the mlan who seemed to be judge
and leader among them. I shall not easily forget
his slight but muscular frame, and his dark, searching eye, at first doubtful and hostile, but afterwards, when he had conversed with Paulin and




148           LETTERS-E STIIETIC,
understood that I was an American, softening into
confidence and respect.
We passed from the narrow lane into a lofty and
dark building, which must have been built centuries
ago, and, after going through narrow and winding
passages without light, we began to ascend.  One
flight of stairs succeeded another, originally strong
but now worn and tremulous. The balustrades were
gone; and their place was supplied by single ropes
extended from the top to the bottom of each flight
of stairs.  Paulin went in advance and invisible;
for only here and there, at considerable intervals,
a little light broke through the thick walls which
enclosed this old castle. But I heard the old man's
voice, directing me to hold on by the rope,-a direction which was hardly necessary, as there seemed
to be nothing else to which I could conveniently
attach myself. When we had reached a landingplace somewhere in the fourth or fifth story, two little boys suddenly rushed out of a door, with a light,
and holding a vessel in their hands with coals in
it. I asked Paulin what was the meaning of this.
He said there were forty families in this old building; and that the boys belonged in this part of it,
and were trying to kindle a little fire to cook their
supper with. I was glad to find that I was still
within the precincts of human existence; when I
heard again in the darkness the "memento" of the
old man, not to mind the boys, but to hold on by the
rope.  We reached at last the final landing-place;
and thrusting my head from a small open window
near it, and looking down into a dark court below,
where I could see no bottom, I had all my ideas




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          149
confirmed of my singular and interesting position.
Paulin opened the door of his little room, and,
with a grace which seems to be natural to a Frenchman, introduced me to his excellent wife. She was
neatly and almost elegantly dressed. Fifty years
had given her some gray hairs, but had not bowed
her form nor dimmed the lustre of her eye. 1' This,"
said Paulin, " is our little room; and it is all the room
we have." I was pleased to see that every thing in
the room was neat and comfortable. The fire was
kindled; the table was spread: we ate together;
and I spent a pleasant hour in conversation with
these poor and virtuous people.  Poverty had not
hardened their hearts; sorrow had not clouded their
brow; age itself had not extinguished the truth and
vivacity of humanity.
The wife of Paulin was grateful that I had come.
I encouraged her to speak of her personal history.
I learnt from her (what I had suspected from some
remarks of her husband) that she was the dauglhter of a rich and titled family, and had been well
educated. But, in those convulsions and reverses
of which there have been such frequent exhibitions
in Europe, she became an outcast from her early
home and exceedingly poor. She accepted her allotment without murmuring, married a common soldier, and worked for her daily bread. She spoke of
America with interest.  She said she once had a
sister who resided there, and, if she were young,
would be disposed to go there herself. She lived
now amid walls of darkness,-but without ceasing
to love the open air and the blue heavens.  "' There
13*




150           LETTERS-  STHETIC,
are birds," she said,. "in America:" and she would
love to hear again the singing of birds, as in the
days of her happy childhood. She had been the
mother of children,-the most of whom had died.
And when, in her broken English, which she aided
in making intelligible by the eloquence of her countenance and manner, she spoke of her two little
boys, both buds of promise bright and beautiful, and
both dying nearly at the same time, the tear stood
in her rich dark eye; and old Paulin, moved by
this affecting remembrance, bowed down his white
head.
I left these good people with feelings of respect
and affection.  They lighted me down through the
dark passages which I had so much difficulty in ascending.  I found my way towards the banks of
the Seine.  The clear sky was studded with stars,
which threw their silver light on the trees of the
garden of the Tuileries and the mirror of the beautiful water.  Many reflections crowded upon my
mind.  And my heart ascended to that great
Power, whose eye is in every place, that he would
give freedom to the oppressed and comfort to the
poor.
(XVIII.)
Unexpected meeting with American friends-Departure from Paris.
for Lyons —Voyage down the river Saone —The city of LyonsThe meeting of the Saone and the Rhone —Character of the
French people.
LYONS, FRANCE, DEC. 9, 1852.
ON the evening of the 7th of December I left
Paris for Lyons, on my way to Sardinia.. A number of incidents occurred on that day which have




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          151
since been recalled to mind with much interest.
In the course of the forenoon the door of my room
opened, and I unexpectedly found myself in the
company of one with whom I had formerly been
much associated. We had lived in the same village, been members of the same church, and had
labored on many occasions in the promotion of the
same objects of Christian benevolence. To meet
under such circumstances was to live again the
life of memory. But time has its sad as well as
its pleasant recollections. The hand of sorrow had
been upon him. His young and beautiful wife had
died. Her dust sleeps in America; but her name
was recalled with sadness and affection in a foreign
land.
Towards the evening of the same day I was visited by another person, a graduate of Bowdoin College, who had formerly sustained to me the relation
of a pupil, but now, in the increased maturity of
his powers and hopes, was pursuing his studies in
the schools of Paris. With my recollections of his
talents and energy of character, I was not surprised
to find him here. He spoke of his Alma Mater with
interest and affection, and of his country with a
patriotic pride, which showed that the attractions
of Europe had not perverted the spirit of liberty or
weakened his attachment to his native land.
At this time my residence was at the Hotel of
Meurice. It was after dark when I heard the sound
of carriages in the court of the hotel. It was the
signal for the departure of our little party,-consisting of Rev. Mr. Thompson, Mr. and Mrs. Walcott,
and myself. The night was cloudy and dark; but




152           LETTERS —_STHETIC,
the long, splendid streets of Paris were lighted up,
and I gave a parting look to the illuminated expanse
of the Place de la Concorde and of the Elysian
Fields. We departed by the railway, called the
Paris and Lyons Railway, which will lead, when
completed, by the most direct route, to the large
and beautiful city of Lyons, in the South of France.
With darkness over our heads and the thunder of
our iron wheels under our feet, we passed rapidly
through a portion of the heart of this great kingdom. The necessity of thus travelling by night,
occasioned by some previous delays, deprived us of
the pleasure of seeing Melun, Fontainebleau, Dijon,
and some other interesting places. Early the next
morning we reached Chalons on the Saone; called
by the French Ctalons-szcr-&Scone, to distinguish it,
I suppose, from a town of some note on another
river, Chalons-sur-Marne. Chalons, a town of twelve
thousand inhabitants, is situated upon the banks of
the' river which gives it its distinctive name,-two
hundred and fifty miles southeast from Paris. As
the railroad was not completed farther than this
place, we embarked on one of the steamboats of
the Saone. The boat was peculiarly constructed,
being long and narrow,-at least a hundred and
fifty feet in length by fifteen in breadth. Five such
steamers descend the Saone daily to Lyons.  A
heavy mist hung upon the waters. As the sun
arose, which has its cheerful light for all lands, the
mists gave way, and unveiled the face of nature in
its aspects of beauty. The Saone reminded me of
the rivers which were familiar to me in America.
It is a large river,-apparently about the size of the




SOCIAL, AND MORAL,          153
Connecticut above Hartford, or of the beautiful
Kennebeck at Augusta, in Maine. At this time it
was swollen by recent heavy rains to its utmost
capacity, and rushed on with great violence. The
smoke-pipe of the steamboat was lowered when we
reached the numerous bridges; and even then the
Saone ran so high that we passed under them with
difficulty. With deep interest my eye rested upon
the continually-changing scene of hills and valleys,
cottages, gardens, forests, and vineyards. We passed
a number of beautiful villages, besides the larger
towns of MaGon, Thoissey, and Trevoux. In some
low places the river had swollen over its banks and
inundated the neighboring country; so that we had
the appearance of sailing in the midst of a lake interspersed with islands.
The boat was filled with Frenchmen, Americans,
and Englishmen. The Americans and English appeared happy.  They bore the step and the look
of freemen. The French, notwithstanding their
natural vivacity, were sad and silent. They had
just passed from the Republic to the Empire. Many
of them had perhaps voted for the Empire, in consequence of what they considered the necessities of
their position. They preferred the easy quiet which
is secured by cannon and the bayonet, to the free
thought and the forensic agitations of liberty. Undoubtedly liberty has its storms; but the storm has
its health and its grandeur. In the days of the
Csesars there were no thunders in. the Senate of
Rome. And in France too the voice of her orators
is silent,-that voice of reason and of mighty eloquence which gave inspiration to the thoughts and




154           LETTERS-ESTHETIC,
purposes of other nations. If the French should
find that, in going back in the career of liberty,
they have sullied their national honor in the eyes
of the world, and especially in the eyes of those
chained and bleeding communities which have looked
to them for hope, they will not be likely to rest easy
until they have readjusted their position.
Chalons is seventy-six miles from Lyons; and the
distance was run in some five or six hours. As we
approached the city, the swollen river became compressed between banks which are lofty and picturesque. Occupying a large space, and containing
two hundred thousand inhabitants, the city of Lyons
is beautifully situated on the point of land where
the Saone and the Rhone unite, extending itself,
however, over both banks of both rivers. The
communication between different parts of the city
is maintained by means of numerous substantial
bridges, eight of which are thrown across the
Rhone; and the Saone is spanned by a still greater
number. Lyons is three hundred and twenty-six
miles southeast from Paris.
We stopped about the middle of the day at a
good hotel, which the French, with a harmless but
characteristic amplification, have styled the Hotel
of the Universe. It is near the large square called
BELLECOUR, which the Lyonese, and apparently with
a good deal of reason, assert to be one of the most
beautiful squares in Europe. It is very spacious, is
adorned with rows of lime-trees, and in the centre
is an equestrian statue of Louis XIV. Walking
out alone, and desirous of combining the aspects of
nature with those of human art and labor, I went




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          155
from the Square of Bellecour to the Rhone,-the
Rhone memorable in history, the beautiful child of
the Alps, but here swollen to a large river. Going
upon one of the bridges which are thrown over this
river, and looking down its channel, I saw, as I
supposed, at the distance of about a mile, the place
of its junction with the Saone. Feeling an interest
to see the meeting of these rival waters, I walked
in the direction of the place. The Rhone dashed
along beautifully,-fresh from its native mountains,
and curling its blue and noisy waters, as if laughing
and singing in the fulness of its purity and happiness. I felt my heart grow warmer, and my step
more firm. and proud, as I walked by the side of
this noble stream. As I reached an elevated position
on the point of land where they meet, the Saone,
swelled by the late inundation of rains, wheeled in
from the right with mighty force, ploughing across
and stopping the Rhone in a moment. After this
freak of momentary power, its dark and turbid
current resumed its original direction, and, taking
her blue sister from the Alps by the hand, they
went onward gaily to the ocean. And thus it generally happens, that beauty, though less strong and
violent at first, conquers in the end. From this
point onwards the two rivers are married into one;
and the Saone, forgetting itself in the charms of its
associate, takes the name of the free and bright
daughter of the mountains.
On the very next day after reaching Lyons-the
day of the date of this letter-we have already made
our preparations, and are about to leave France for
the Alps and Sardinia. And, in departing from




'156          LETTERS-_ STIIETIC,
this beautiful country, I am obliged to say that I
have found some of my previous opinions in relation to the French modified; but modified in their
favour. The French and English represent in modern times the Greeks and Romans of antiquity.
If the English maybe regarded as inheriting the
wide intellectual grasp with the fixed and obstinate courage of the old Romans, the French seem
to possess the inventive power, the refinement, the
vivacity and enthusiasm, of the Greeks. In estimating the French character, it would be a mistake
to set aside the women of France. Itis well known
that the French women have great influence in all
the relations of life in France; and their influence
is the natural result of the characteristics which
are usually and justly ascribed to them. No one
doubts the courage of a Frenchman; but it is not
the quiet, calculating, indomitable courage of an
Englishman. It is obvious, excitable, declamatory:
he may be said to carry it upward and onward, in
the sight of everybody, on the point of the bayonet.
In the Frenchwoman, who is excluded by her sex
and position in society from the battle-field, love
takes the place of courage; and there is a similar
outward development of it. It moves in her step;
sparkles in her eye; is heard in the sweet intonations of her voice; lives in her unaffected but animated gesticulation. These interesting traits necessarily give the women of France power —a power,
however, which may be turned to evil as well as to
good.
Under other and more favorable circumstances
the French people would take a still higher stand




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           157
than they have hitherto held.  They need, in the
first place, well-regulated liberty.  I know that
some persons maintain that the French are not
capable of maintaining a republic.  But I must
confess that these well-meaning persons appear to
mne too easily frightened, besides doing no small
injustice to -the French people.  Break from a poor
prisoner's arms the chains which have bound them
for twenty or thirty years; and it is but natural
that he should leap from the ground, if he has
strength to do it, and utter loud cries of joy, and
in his ecstatic flourishes scandalize the sobriety or
disturb the quiet position of his neighbor.  But
give him a little time, and it will be seen that the
violent vibrations of early liberty will settle down
into a just and peaceable movement. It will be
the same with liberated nations.
And in order to the perfection of the Frenchman's character, it should be said, further, that he
needs, in common with all men and all peoples, a
deep religious sentiment,-such as would naturally
spring from a more general and thorough study of
the Bible and its great truths. I believe it is conceded on all hands, that there is no character more
interesting, none more suited to the fulfilment of all
public and private duties, than that of the Frenchman, when those interesting natural traits which
he possesses are purified by the influences of religion. What nation, what people, would be likely
to furnish missionaries  alnd preachers of equal
ardor and eloquence?  I have heard their prayers
in their little assemblies; I have listened to their
burning aspirations for the good of man; and I
14




15 8            LETTERS —E STHETIC,
cannot suppress the hope that this noble people
will not only possess freedom and religion in their
own land, but will yet have a prominent part in
extending them to other nations.
(XIX.)
Savoy and its wild mountain-scenery-Rousseau —A night-sceneThe limestone cliff-HIlannibal and Napoleon-City of Chambery,
the capital of Savoy-The Pass of Mount Cenis-Italy.
TURIN, KINGDOM OF SARDINIA, DEC. 13, 1852.
IN company with my much-valued travellingcompanions, I came from France into Italy through
the Savoyard Alps, and by the Pass of Mount
Cenis. The day of our departure from Lyons was
mild and pleasant, notwithstanding the lateness
of the season.  Taking the nearest route to Chambery, the principal town of Savoy, we passed through
a portion of the French territory, which exhibited
everywhere marks of fertility and good cultivation,
besides being rich in variegated scenery. At this
season of the year it would be difficult, and perhaps
dangerous, to attempt to enter Italy by some of
the other routes, filled as they are said to be with
snows and exposed to avalanches. In journeying
from  Lyons to the village of Pont Beauvoisin,
situated on a small river called the Guiers Vif,
which separates France from Savoy, we were in
full sight during a part of the day of Mont Blanc
and other Alpine peaks, which reared their snowcovered and well-defined forms in the distance.
Savoy is now a part of the kingdom of Sardinia.
And in the part of the village of Pont Beauvoisin
which is o01 the Savoy or Sardinian side of the




SOCIAL, AND lMORAL.        159
Guiers Vif, is a custom-house, where our baggage
was subjected to a slight examination.
Travellers sometimes complain of these things;
but I must confess that they did not trouble me
much. We found here men and women under a
new and different government, speaking a language
different from our own and inhabiting a soil never
trodden by us before; but the instinctive interpretations of the heart, sacred as the source from which
they spring, recognized the bonds of universal relationship; and I loved them without knowing them.
On leaving this village we found ourselves, in the
course of a few miles, in the midst of the elevated
and difficult mountain-passes called the gorge of La
Chaille. The Guiers Vif, having its origin in the
neighboring mountainous region of the Grand Chartreuse, dashes onward from precipice to precipice
through this gorge. This region has been described
in an eloquent passage of Rousseau. And certainly
this is one of the sublime and eloquent places of nature. The road has been formed on the edge of the
precipices which overhang the foaming stream beneath,-sometimes by blasting a passage through
the solid rock, sometimes by terraces or embankments of solid masonry built up along the edge of
these frightful abysses. The shades of evening
closed upon us when we were passing through this
remarkable region; but I saw and felt enough to
enable me easily to imagine how these wild and
terrific scenes must have operated upon the creative
and vigorous mind of Rousseau.
We travelled the whole of that night. There was
no light of the moon; but the stars shone clear and




160           LETTERS —E STHETIC,
brightly. And, as we moved along with considerable rapidity and frequently changed our direction,
they seemned to be dancing and playing in the green
dark tops of the mountains. From time to time
another light shone lower down on the mountainous
declivities, and yet hundreds of feet above us. It
was the light of the cottage on the rocks, —-the star
of the poor man's hearth, and of domestic relationships and love. On the other side of us and only
a few feet distant were dark abysses. As I looked
down, I could see nothing but darkness robed in
mists. So near did we approach, that sometimes
we seemed to be riding on the wings of a dark
cloud; and from the depths invisible came up the
troubled sound of foaming waters.
On the route to Chambery there is a little village
called Les Echelles, which is situated also upon the
mountain-river Guiers Vif. There is a valley here,
through which the road leads; but the farther end
of it is shut up by a vast limestone rock thrown
directly across the way. It is eight hundred feet
high. It reminded me of the rock which Livy describes as having stopped the passage of Hannibal
for a time when entering Italy through the Alps;
and which he was obliged to soften by heating it
and then pouring vinegar upon it, and over which
he made his way by cutting steps in difficult places
when he had softened it in this manner.  The road
which we took winds part'of the way up this massive pile of limestone, and then passes through an
immense artificial tunnel in its centre, which is wide
enough to admit two carriages abreast and is twentyfive feet high. It is about a thousand feet long.




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          161
The excavation of this tunnel, a gigantic conception
indicative of the mind of its author, was commenced
by Napoleon, but was finished by the King of Sardinia in 1817.
It was under these circumstances that I was reminded of the two great military leaders of ancient
and modern times —Hannibal and Napoleon. Hannibal passed over the rocks; Napoleon went through
them.  This was the difference between the two men.
Hannibal ascended. He loved high places. His foot
was on the top of the mountains. HIe was a soldier,
but he had the soul of a republican. Napoleon, too
proud or too powerful to go over them, shaped the
mountains to his own model; and he treated men
and institutions in the same way. Napoleon too was
a soldier and a monarchist. The one modified and
vitiated his principles by his inordinate love of his
country. The other sacrificed his principles to his
ambition. Both took the sword; and both fell by
the sword. Hannibal, showing to his soldiers, from
the peaks of the Alps, the plains of Italy, and overthrowing mighty armies at Thrasymene and Cannse,
carried his standards to the gates of Rome. But the
tide of aggressive war, in its terrible revulsion, and
by a law of reaction which never fails, rolled back
again, and swept away his city and nation. Napoleon too, the conqueror not only of Italy but of Europe, carried the eagles of his legions to the gates of
Moscow; but they had no power to go beyond that
barrier of fire. The sea of proud and oppressive
violence, rolling back, not only overwhelmed his
nation, but dashed their ruined leader on the rocks
of St. Helena. And this is the great lesson which
14*




162           LETTERS —ESTHETIC,
history teaches. What is gained by the violence
of the sword is lost again; but what is gained by
truth and love is gcinecl folrever'.
The night is favorable to reflection; and such
thoughts passed through my mind as I travelled
through the mountains of Savoy under the light of
the stars. At midnight we arrived at Chambery.
Through the region of that city and its neighborhood,
I believe it is conceded on all sides, that Hannibal
made his way into Italy.  This is an old city of ten
thousand inhabitants, and is the capital of Savoy.
It is the birthplace of Xavier Le Maistre, the author
of the Leper of Aost and other popular writings;
and Rousseau, whose genius took its hue in part
from the wild scenes of nature resided for a long
time in its vicinity. It is situated in the midst of
mountains which rear their heads around it. It has
its manufactures, its public library and college; but
its objects of interest are not such as to detain the
stranger in it for a long time.
After resting a short time, we continued our journey during the remainder of the night. The dawning
light of the next day found us again in the midst of
mountain-scenery and rapidly advancing towards the
pass of Mount Cenis,-through which, as if through
the gates of some great and lofty fortress, we were to
descend into the plains of Italy. In reaching this
mountain we passed through the town of Montmeillan, situated on the right bank of the river Isere.
From the bridge which is thrown over the Isere there
is a good view of Mont Blanc. At this place there
was formerly a strong castle, which was taken and
demolished by Louis XIV. Not far from Montmeil



SOCIAL~ AND MORAL.          163
lan the Isere is entered by a beautiful tributary,
called the Arc. After reaching this tributary stream,
which now offered itself as our guide, we continued
our journey on its banks, and travelled for a long
time through the extended valley which is formed
by it. On each side the mountains rose to a great
height, — their heads being covered with snow. In
some places they presented an irregular and naked
surface of rocks, in others were covered with earth
and cultivated to a great height. Small cottages
were seen on their sides, and sometimes on their
summits: —a terrible position; but woman is there;
the family is there; the gray hairs of the father
and the beauty of the daughter.  Frequently torrents, white with foam, were seen, dashing around
these mountain-cottages, and rushing from precipice
to precipice in channels which they had worn for
ages. This is a place of tempests, as well as of
grandeur and sublimity.  Sometimes the storms
which collect in these rocky caverns and gorges are
terrible,-black with clouds, and marching with
thunder and lightning through these gateways of
nature and nations, and detaching with vast power
large fragments of rock, which lie at frequent intervals along the path of the traveller.
We were thus hemmed in, among these extraordinary manifestations of the works of nature, for
some thirty or forty miles; our journey all the way
being close upon the banks of the swift and noisy
Arc, which seemed sometimes to be angry and sometimes to sing and rejoice as it ran along. The whole
distance was a gradual ascent.  So that, having
passed the villages of St. Jean Maurienne, St. Mi



164           LETTERS-E — STHETIC,
chel, Modane, and some others of less importance,
we were thousands of feet above the level of the
sea, at the village of Lanslebourg, which is at the
foot of Mount Cenis.  The mountain was covered
with snow; but we were able to ascend it with the
aid of extra horses in about four hours. The day
had again closed; but we went on. The culminating point of the pass, through which the road goes,
is a short distance below the summit, which has
been ascertained to be 6780 feet above the sea-level.
I got out of the carriage, and, leaving the road for
a short time, ascended still farther on the sides of
the summit, and gave myself up to the reflections
inspired by the place. Some scattered clouds rested heavily over the mountain's summit.  The light
of the stars was reflected from the snows.and icy
rocks. And thus, after ascending hill after hill
and mountain after mountain, we had Italy at our
feet;-Italy, dear to the scholar and the Christian;Italy, once honored by a Senate which was described as an assembly of kings;-Italy, the mistress of the world by its arms, and again and still
more truly the mistress of the world by its arts,
civilization, and literature.
Every people has its position, its character, its
history. In the strong emotions excited by our
approach to Italy, I am not willing to forget the
people whom I have just left behind.  The humble
Savoyard, though far from the seats of literature and
the glare of power, has a heart which beats true to
the snow-crowned hills and cliffs of his birthplace.
He is "part and parcel" of our common humanity.
But man is to be estimated by his place, as well as




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.              165
his nature. It is place which gives character to
nature. The Savoyard is what he is by being where
he is. No other people has or can have his thoughts
and feelings.  His position has drawn out and nurtured his soul, because his soul is wedded to his
position. He knows the history of each rock, of
each rude fortification on the mountain's side, of
each rivulet and noisy torrent, of the den of the
wolf and the nest of the eagle.  He has heard the
story of the falling avalanche which destroyed the
cottage and its dwellers, and has wept for their fate.
lie has the sorrows and the joys which are common
to our nature.  I saw him at work in his field.  I
beheld him  seated at the door of his humble cot.
tage. I knew not his name nor his history. But
I felt an interest in him, because he was a man.
(XX.)
City of Turin-Parliament of Sardinia-Visit to the WaldensesCharacter of the people-Ascent of one of the mountains-The
cottager and his fanmily-Religious services on the SabbathPrayer-meeting in the evening-Persecutions of the WaldensesMilton's sonnet,
GENOA, KINGDOM OF SARDINIA, DEC. 15, 1852.
I AMA writingo this letter in the city of Genoa, and
in sight of the Mediterranean.  Genoa, including
some small territory around it, was once a republic,
celebrated for its wealth, power, and wisdom. I had
hardly reached the city, before I went abroad into
its narrow streets. I beheld its marble palaces, now
defaced by time and sorrow. I trod with a melancholy satisfaction the halls where its celebrated




16           LETTERS-  ESTIIETIC,
councils had assembled. There are many things
which remind one of its departed greatness. No
longer a distinct state, it is now a part of the kingdom of Sardinia. But some incidents, to which I
wish now to refer, will not allow me, at the present
time, to enter into details in relation to this interesting place.
My last letter left our little party at the Pass of
Mount Cenis, and at our entrance into Italy.  Passing through Susa and some other places of small
importance, we reached Turin,-a city of more than
an hundred thousand inhabitants, and situated on
the left bank of the Po, near its confluence with
the Dora Riparia. It is the capital of the Sardinian kingdom. The government of this kingdom,
whiich includes within its limits a large portion
of Northern Italy, is a constitutional monarchy.
The Sardinians feel, as compared with many other
States of Europe, that they enjoy a high degree of
liberty. The king is popular. At the time of our
visit the Parliament of Sardinia was in session.
Through the kindness of an Italian gentleman who
had formerly resided in America, I was able to visit
the House of Deputies. I was much pleased with
the appearance of the members. They seemed to
be men of intelligence,-canlm and deliberate in
their manner, and yet with some sparks, not yet
extinguished, of the old Roman fire. They were
discussing the subject of modifications and improvements of the crifminal code, which indicated that
they had begun to appreciate human rights, and
were desirous of consolidating liberty by the establishment of justice. The same day I went to the




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          167
hall of the Senate; but its meeting had just closed.
Witnessing as I did with painful emotions the extinction of the republic in France, I was pleased to
find that the voice of liberty had found an utterance-imperfect, perhaps, but still real and emphatic-in the beautiful region of Northern Italy.
Religion in the Protestant form is tolerated; and
a large Protestant church has recently been built.
In consequence of the troubles and oppressions in
other parts of Italy, particularly in Milan, many
Italian exiles, estimated by some as high as thirty
thousand, have taken up their residence in Turin
and other parts of the Sardinian territory.
Finding at Turin that we-were not far distant
from a people who, though few in number, occupy
an interesting position in religious history, we
thought it desirable to visit them. I refer to the
Vaudois of Piedmont,-better known as the Mahldenses. They are scattered on the heights and in
the valleys of the Piedmont side of a number of
mountains sometimes distinguished as the Cottian
Alps, which separate a part of France from Piedmont. Not being able to visit all of the Waldensian settlements, we selected the valley and the village of La Tour, as being the principal settlement
and in some respects the most interesting place
among them.
Mr. and Mrs. Walcott, not being able to make
this excursion, proceeded on their way to Genoa.
This diminished our pleasure. But I was accomlpanied by Mr. Thompson} to whose religious sympathies and personal attention I owe much of the
pleasure and beneficial results of my long journeys.




1 6 8         LETTERS-.-ESTHETIGC
Impelled by kindred recollections and interests, we
went together to the valleys and m.ountains which
the Waldenses inhabit.  And there we found a
people whose character corresponded with what
history had led us to expect,-simple in their manners, sincere in their religion, firm in their purposes,
and giving no small evidence of intelligence.  It is
difficult to conceive of scenery more picturesque and
sublime than is here presented,,-a fit residence,
as it seemed to me, for those who had learned the
two great lessons of God and liberty. The inhabitants generally spoke the French language; and
we found a few persons (owing perhaps to the
circumstance of their being frequently visited by
Protestants) who had commnand of a broken and
imperfect English. As soon as they learned that
we were Americans, they recognized at once, and
as if by an instinctive impulse, the bond of union
and sympathy which led us to their secluded homes.
We learned from them that they had not only the
church and the school-house, but also, what I had
not expected to find, the college. This college
was founded in 1837, and is now in a flourishing
condition. They had the Bible in their hands;
their humble and rough pathway in life had been
illuminated by the light of divine truth; and the
influences of an evil world, kept at a distance by
labor and poverty, had not corrupted them.
It was a natural impulse which led us to climb
their mountain-heights.  We ascended cliff after
cliff; and at every practicable point we found the
cottage.  In this rude ascent everything interested
us:-,not only the wild aspects of nature, but, still




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          169
more, the cottage and its people. Among a number of little incidents I will mention one.  We met
a little boy about ten years of age.  We talked
with him; and his frank and manly answers
pleased us., His countenance was fresh with the
mountain-breeze, and his dark eye sparkled with
the fire of mountain-liberty.  He seemed like a
child of the rocks and a companion of eagles. In a
few moments a little girl of nearly the same age
came along, with the same open and intelligent
countenance,-with the same free step and look.
She was his cousin. At once, strangers as we were,
a thousand thoughts and gentle aspirations gathered
around these flowers that bloomed upon the cliffs,
-these young but immortal products of the mountains.  They showed us the cottage where they
resided; and we went there.  The mother of the
boy stood at the door; not the less pleased with us
that we were pleased with the children. In a few
moments the father made his appearance and invited us in. And I must be permitted to say,
though I have been in the palaces of kings, my
heart beat with a higher and more sacred emotion when I found myself seated at the hearth of a
Waldensian cottage.
I looked around the room with deep interest. It
was obvious that its inmates were poor. The man
wore a dress of coarse and cheap cloth; but, on
entering into conversation with him, I could perceive that it covered a heart which was true to its
immortal origin,-one which tyranny could not
break, which superstition could not bend. A fire,
kept alive by small billets of wood, blazed feebly
15




170           LETTERS —AESTHIETIC'
upon the hearth. A sick daughter lay upon a
bed; but a smile passed across her pale and meek
countenance, as she turned her dark eye from the
father to the strangers, and from the strangers to
the father. It was a novel scene to her; but she
seemed to know, by a sort of Waldensian instinct,
that the deep and common sympathies of religious
and political feeling were at the bottom of it. The
walls of the cottage were rude; but they were not
unpleasant to me. I had seen such in America,
and known personally that great excellence of
character often dwells beneath them. The father
pointed us to a small shelf filled with books, which
he called his library; and, taking down a large
Bible in the French language, he showed it to us,
and also a beautiful copy of the New Testament
in the Vaudois dialect, which did not differ much
from the French, and which I could read without
difficulty. And he showed us also a number of
other religious books,-some of them in the English language, of which he had some knowledge.
I-le knew the history of the struggles of religion and
liberty. He was himself a man of prayer. The
naime of Jesus was dear to him  as it was to us.
And we found, though separated by nations and
oceans, that our hearts, like the mountain-torrents
which met and mingled in the valley below us,
flowed together in the unity of a common love of
freedom and a common Christian hope.
The period of our visit to the Waldenses included the Sabbath. Supposing that this excellent
people might have something corresponding to our
Sabbath-schools and Bible-classes, we went at an




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          171
early hour of the Sabbath-day to their church,
which was not far distant. It is a neat and substantial edifice, painted white, and capable of holding nearly a thousand persons. We were glad to
see that a considerable number of people, assembled
together in this early part of the day, were engaged
in the study of the Bible; and that they appeared
to listen with attention and interest to the explanations and exhortations of their pastor. At a later
hour, at the time which is usually appropriated to
the forenoon religious worship in America, the
people of all classes, the young and old, Were seen
coming up from the banks of the rivulets which
flow through the valleys of La Tour and down the
sides of the mountains. They were neat in their
appearance and dress,-the women, with but few
exceptions, wearing caps of snowy whiteness without bonnets,-and they assembled together and entered the house of worship with the aspect of persons who venerated and loved the place. The
women occupied exclusively one side of the house;
the men the other. The forenoon service was in
French, which is the language spoken by the greater
number; in the afternoon it was in Italian, and was
conducted by one of the professors in the college
to which allusion has already been made.
The interest of the religious services which took
place. in the course of the day was repeated and
heightened by the social prayer-meeting in the
evening. A large room, with smaller rooms adjoining, was closely filled at an early hour. Many
of those who came together had their Bibles and
hymn-books.  One of the number read a portion




172           LETTERS —ESTHETIC,
from the Bible, —the first chapter of the second
epistle of Peter, and accompanied it with remarks.
Others followed; adding such remarks as were
naturally suggested by the chapter which had been
read, but making in every instance an earnest and
experimental application of them.  These remarks
were interspersed with repeated and earnest prayers
and with singing. There was something exceedingly touching, as their full, sweet voices united in
their hymns. Near the close of the meeting, Mr.
Thompson arose, and made a short address to them
in the French language. They listened with great
attention, and in their parting prayer commended
us affectionately to our common Father. They
closed the meeting by singing a Doxology; and, as
they went out, many of them, and among others
the cottager and his wife whom we had visited on
the mountain, took us kindly by the hand. Such
is the power of religion; renovating the heart,
strengthening the intellect, and restoring the broken
bonds of human brotherhood.
Not far from this delightful place of prayer, and
in sight of the church where we had worshipped
during the day, there is a vast naked cliflf, projecting from the side, and in fact forming a part of the
side, of one of the mountain-heights. Rising almost
perpendicularly, and apparently to the height of a
thousand feet from its base, it throws its dark and
ragged shadow over the valley below. I was told
that this was one of the rugged cliffs to which the
~Waldensians fled in the days of their bitter persecutions. Followed by the soldiers with their sharp
weapons of death, they climbed to the summit and




SOCIAL, AND AORAL.           173
went out to the projecting points and last footholds
of this terrible mountain-rock. There they stood,
the man with gray locks, the husband and the wife,
the mother and the infant on her bosom; rejecting
all compromise, holding the truth above life, and
leaving it to their powerful enemies either to concede to them the rights of Christians and freemen,
or to destroy them. These poor people, who had
learned Christ from the Bible and at their humble
firesides, without power, without wealth, and with
but little education, may be said nevertheless, in
some important sense at least, to have held in their
hands the destinies of Christianity. God gave them
strength to meet this terrible crisis.  They offered
themselves a sacrifice for the truth.
Long, and with deep emotion, did I look upon
this great altar of the blood of these humble but
truly heroic martyrs. I had read their history, but
it was something more to stand upon the place and
let the mountains tell me. Memory would not rest.
Imagination, prompted by a bleeding heart, placed
the scene before me. I seemed to see it all, as if it
were now present.  But among that band of believing sufferers there was one that most of' all fixed
my attention.  Upon those sharp and lofty cliffs
stood the Waldensian mot/her.  In her poverty she
wrapped her coarse garments around her, and
pressed her naked feet upon the rocks. With one
hand she clasped her infant to her bosom; and,
with the other lifted in earnest prayer, in which
the strong faith of Christianity enabled her to remember and to forgive her persecutors, she awaited
the fatal moment.  Cruelty triumphed over love
15'




174               LETTERS —  STHETIC,
and mercy. And it is not surprising that nations
were filled with  sorrow  and shame, and that the
heart of humanity wept, when it was told that the
mother and her infant were hurled down the rocks.
It was these events, so sad and yet illustrating so
wonderfully the power of religion, which gave occasion for the touching and sublime sonnet of Milton:"Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughter'd saints, whose bones
Lie scatter'd on the Alpine mountains cold:
E'en them who kept thy truth so pure of old, —
When all our fathers worshipped stocks and stones,Forget not. In thy book record their groans
Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold
Slain by the bloody Piedmontese, that roll'd
Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans
The vales redoubled to the hills, and they
To heaven. Their martyr'd blood and ashes sow
O'er all the Italian fields, where still doth sway
The triple tyrant; that from these may grow
A hundred-fold, who, having learned thy way,
Early may fly the Babylonian woe."
The story of the Waldenses, which constitutes at
the same time the brightest and the darkest page
of history, illustrates one great truth, namely, that
one of the great forces of Christianity, perhaps its
greatest in its contest with the evils of the world,
is its ability of patient and forgiving endurance
and suffering. The women and children of these
celebrated  mountains, in  consenting to be immolated on the rocks, fought a greater and more effective battle for truth and freedom  than the battles
of Marathon  and  Yorktown.   They  taught the
world how to conquer. No marble column marks
their grave; but the mountains are their monument, and their memorial is in the bosom  of God.




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.              175
(XXI.)
Journey from Turin to Genoa, Pisa, and Florence-Towns of Moncalieri and Alessandria-Plain and battle of Marengo —Death of
Desaix-Arrival at Genoa, and some account of it-Protestantism
in Genoa-Gulf of Spezia-Napoleon-The ~Eneid-Passing of
the river Magra-Mountains of Carrara-Pisa-Cathedral, Baptistery, and Leaning Tower —Leghorn —The Baptism.
FLORENCE, DUCHY OF TUSCANY, DEC. 21, 1852.
IN prosecuting our journey towards Rome from
Turin, we took the route of Genoa and Florence,a route which has this advantage: that the traveller
can be conveyed from Turin to the town of Arquata,
a distance of seventy-eight miles, by railroad. The
railroad-station at Turin is within the limits of the
city, and at the end of the street called the Strada
Nuova.  The road runs along the banks of the river
Po, till it reaches the pleasant town of Moncalieri,
which is distinguished by being the site of one of the
royal palaces. The palace is on the summit of a hill
which overlooks the town, and is the favorite residence of the present royal family of Sardinia.  At
Moncalieri the railroad crosses the Po, and, taking
the direction of the city of Asti, which is a considerable place of twenty thousand inhabitants, it
there follows the valley of the river Tanaro.  The
next important town on this route is Alessandria,
situated near the confluence of the Tanaro and the
Bormida. The road, on leaving Alessandria, runs
along the western side of the plain on which was
fought the great battle of Marengo, on the 13th
of June, 1800.  In this bloody battle twenty thousand French, under the command of Napoleon, tried
their strength against forty thousand Austrians,




176           LETTERS-A STHETIC,
under the command of the old General Melas, who
was then'eighty-four years of age. Few battles
have been more furiously contested.  The French
were driven from their positions, and in full retreat,
when the celebrated Desaix, one of those remarkable men whom the first French republic brought
into notice, appeared upon the field with an additional force. Meeting Napoleon as he was retreating, he said to him, ("I think this is a battle lost."
With characteristic pertinacity, but with a foresight
which justified the reply, Napoleon answered, "I
think it is a battle won." Desaix led his fresh
forces into the contest.  The First Consul formed
his broken troops behind him. The tide of battle
turned.  The Austrians were defeated.  Desaix
was killed.
The railroad stops at Arquata, but will be ultimately completed to Genoa. Its completion is delayed for the present, in consequence of the necessity
of cutting a tunnel through the Apennines, which
cross the line of its path. From Arquata, therefore, we reached Genoa by the ordinary line of
conveyances. We took our lodgings at a place
well known to travellers, the Hotel Feder; which
I mention the more particularly because, in the
days of the Genoese republic, and of its maritime
ascendency, it was the palace of the Admiralty,
and is thus intimately associated with Genoese
naval history. It is near the water, and the room
which I occupied gave a beautiful view of the harbor, shipping, light-house, and a portion of the
surrounding heights. Genoa was anciently styled
"SUPERBA," and her commerce, arts, wealth, her




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          177
marble palaces, her spirit of liberty, seemed to
justify the appellation.  But, though seated on
rocks, and girded by mountains, and with her feet
washed by the waters of the Mediterranean, she
has not escaped the common destiny of states and
nations, which brings, in their appointed time, the
marks of weakness and decay.  With mingled feelings of admiration and sorrow I walked through
the streets. The beauty has faded from her palaces; much of her commerce has passed to other
cities; her republican independence is merged in
the constitutional monarchy of Sardinia; sorrow
sits upon the brow of her people; but the king and
parliament of Sardinia, in the spirit either of sympathy or of patriotism, have respected the character
and historical reminiscences of the Genoese, by endeavoring to give them the second place in the
kingdom; and it was pleasant to see, if much of
their ancient glory had departed, that a degree of
courage and hope still remained.
I could say something of the churches and other
public buildings of Genoa, and of the paintings and
statuary with which they are ornamented; but as
Italy may be said to be filled with them, and as
Florence and Rome and Naples yet remain to be
visited, I will leave it to others. I ought to say,
however,:as a matter of religious interest at the
present time, that the Protestant religion, as might
naturally be expected from the incorporation of
Genoa with Sardinia, is tolerated here. There is
a place where the English Episcopal service is regularly performed. The French Protestants also
sustain their method of worship. It came to our




178           LETTERS-Xi STHETIC,
knowledge, also, that a considerable number of republican exiles from other parts of Italy had found
a residence and protection in Genoa. With one of
these-a man of intelligence, and whose principles
had been tested by sacrifices and sufferings-we
formed some acquaintance.
Our route from  Genoa to Florence, which for
some time was near the Mediterranean, was diversified by alternations of valleys and reaches of
rocky and mountainous heights from which many
picturesque and sometimes wild and romantic views
were presented.  The vine, the olive, the mulberry,
and fields of wheat, were everywhere seen. We
passed a number of pleasant villages, and the more
considerable towns of Sestri, Spezia, and Sarzana.
Spezia, a town of seven thousand inhabitants, is
situated upon the gulf of the same name, —a spacious body of water susceptible of being easily
fortified, and sufficiently extensive to contain the
largest navies. This beautiful and justly-celebrated
gulf was known to the ancients under the name of
the Gulf of Luna.
It was the intention of Napoleon, after his conquest of Italy, to make this gulf the great naval
station of his empire. He wished to incorporate
his name with the ocean as well as with mountains.
Everywhere, from the Seine to the Nile, the traveller is reminded of the magnificent conceptions,
and may even be said to tread in the very footprints, of this remarkable man,-a man great in
his conceptions of material nature, great in his
energy, great in his estimate of the power of fear
and money over the human mind; but not great




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           179
enough to estimate the truth and power of the
spirit of liberty.  It is almost a necessity of his
nature, that man must estimate men by the measurement which exists in his own heart; and although Napoleon could adjust the measurement of
selfishness to tyranny, and of tyranny to universal
empire, he had no capacity within him which enabled him to solve the problem of such men as Vane
and Hampden, as Lafayette and Washington.
It is said, by some commentators, that Virgil in
the first book of the _Aneid was aided in his exquisite description of the gulf in which Aineas took
refuge after a violent storm, by his recollections of
the Spezian Gulf.  I can easily conceive that it
might have been so, although there is no island
here which would correspond to the island he has
described. No one can doubt that, in its combinations of land and water, it is a place worthy even
of Virgil's pen. If poetry could become embodied,
and take up its residence in person, I think it would
reside somewhere in this neighborhood. The view~,
as we passed around the head of these waters, were
beautiful as imagination could well conceive.
On leaving this place we ascended gradually a
long reach of rough and lofty hills, and came down
on the other side, into the picturesque valley of the
MIagra.  The Magra is a short river, formed by the
smaller rivers and torrents rushing from the neighboring mountains, which seem to be branches from
the Apennines. It is generally fordable; but when
swollen by heavy rains, as it was at this time, it
fills a channel of a quarter of a mile in width, and
rushes towards the Mediterranean with great im



180           LETTERS- ESTRETIC,
petuosity. We were all taken by surprise by this
sudden apparition of foaming waters. A ferry-boat,
however, soon received us and our baggage. The
boat seemed to be a memorial of departed generations. It was certainly a very old thing, and so
much broken on one side as to invite, at every inclination in that direction, an additional freight from
the river. With much noise and much tugging, the
honest boatmen, who seemed to constitute a considerable portion of the inhabitants of this mountainous region, conveyed us over the main channel;
but in default of wharf or other suitable landingplace, they thrust the head of the boat into a sandbar about fifteen yards from the shore, and then,
seizing each of us, individually and bodily, and
without giving us time to consider or remonstrate,
carried us in their strong arms to the bank of the
river. I called them honest boatmen; but, out of
regard to strict veracity, I ought, perhaps, to make
an exception of the person or persons who took
advantage of our peculiar situation and confusion
to steal a carpet-bag.
The next considerable town was Sarzana. As
we thus travelled along, admiring nature's beauty
at every step, and estimating men and institutions
as well as nature, we came in sight (and for this
also I was unprepared) of the marble mountains of
Carrara. An Italian gentleman, whom we had
taken into our company at Spezia, pointed them
out. He was a dealer in marble, and was going to
Leghorn to arrange shipments for New York. I
saw their white caverns in the distance, and I could
not but remember that these mountains had been




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           181
associated with the history of art for more than two
thousand years. I was informed that no other
quarries furnish marble of the same whiteness and
purity.  Thus it is that, in the combinations of infinite wisdom, nature and mind are made to correspond to each other. That which is finite must
work upon that which has form and solidity.  If
there had been no Carrara, there would have been
no Mlichael Angelo, no Canova.  What can a workman do without materials?  God only can work
upon nothing.
The next considerable place upon our route was
Pisa. It was formerly a large and flourishing city;
and, notwithstanding the unfavorable changes it has
experienced, it still numbers twenty-five thousand
inhabitants.  We stopped here a short time to look
at the Cathedral, the Baptistery, the Cctanpanile or
bell-tower, better known as the Leaning Tower, and
other objects of interest which usually attract the
notice of travellers.  The origin of the cathedral
has an historical interest.  In the year 1063, the
Pisan fleet attacked a number of Saracen vessels, in
the harbor of Palermo in Sicily, broke through the
chain which the Saracens had thrown across the
harbor for their protection, and returned home
richly laden with the captured spoils. Devoutly
ascribing their victory to divine superintendence,
the Pisans resolved -to erect a new cathedral, which
should at the same time be a monument of their
gratitude to God, and an honor to their country.
And accordingly its foundation was laid in 1064;
but it was not completed and consecrated until the
16




182           LETTERS —iESTHETIC,
year 1118;-a building which would be likely, even
on the slight examination which we were able to
bestow upon it, to give to many persons some new
ideas of the energy and resources of the Italian
states and republics of the Middle Ages. In the
nave of this cathedral hangs suspended the bronze
lamp which suggested to Galileo the theory of the
application of the pendulum.  The Campanile or
Leaning Tower, to which I have referred, is fifty
feet in diameter, and an hundred and seventy-eight
in height.  There are seven bells onits summit, the
largest weighing twelve thousand pounds. With
this great weight upon it, and rising in eight successive stories to such a height, it leans over, in
consequence of sinking on one side, at the foundation, with an inclination at the top of thirteen feet
from its original perpendicular position, producing
on the mind of the beholder, by the combined influence of the beauty and greatness of the object,
and its unexampled and perilous inclination, a very
singular and powerful effect. Pisa is situated upon
the Arno, one of the many rivers of Italy which
have a classical celebrity.
Availing ourselves of the railroad which now Connects Pisa with Florence in one direction and with
Leghorn in another, we made a short excursion to the
latter place, a journey of thirteen miles, and which
-was accomplished by railroad in thirty minutes. The
traveller will be well repaid by taking it, although
Leghorn is known more by its commerce than its
works of art. We rode round the city, cast a glance
upon its massive fortifications, and had the satisfitction of seeing the flags of different nations-among




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          183
them that of America-floating peacefully together
in the beautiful harbor. Leghorn, which, among
the cities in this part of the Mediterranean, is second
as a commercial place only to Marseilles and Genoa,
contains seventy thousand inhabitants, eight thousand of whom are Jews. The Jews have their full
share of the business of the city, and their richlyornamented synagogue, to which we gained access
without difficulty, will well recompense a visit from
the traveller. In the Protestant cemetery, filled
with memorials of the dead of different nations, we
stood beside the dust of some of our own people
who had died in this distant land.
Resuming our seats in the cars, and returning to
Pisa, we proceeded immediately to Florence, which
is reached by the railroad in a few hours. It is from
Florence, the capital of the dukedom of Tuscany,
that I date this letter; and here I rest for the
present, though it is but for a short time. Inquiring of myself as I went to my solitary room, what
had been the effect of this journey thus far upon my
own mind, I found that it had been to generalize
my feelings, and to inspire them with a purer and
deeper benevolence at the same time that it extended them. It was difficult for me before, except
by a sort of abstract effort, to carry my feelings
beyond America, and to bring them into a realizing
sympathy with unknown races. I found, however,
that there is a wide and great nation beyond that
of any particular nationality.  The sphere of humanity, the circle of divinely-united hearts, enlarged
itself as I advanced; and I can say with Kotzebue
and Mungo Park that in every land where I have




184           LETTERS- iESTHETIC,
been I have found evidences of confidence and of
friendship.
To me this is a great deal. I value intellectual
acquisitions; but still more do I want my heart
enlarged to its utmost capacity. This train of
thought and feeling recalled an incident which
occurred at Pisa.  Our little company were standing in the celebrated building called the Baptistery.
In a little time our attention was diverted from the
architectural skill displayed in the building to a religious ceremony which was about to be performed.
Some poor people had brought a child to be baptized. We looked on, Protestants as we were, with
those feelings of respect which are due from one
form of religion to another.  When the religious
ceremony had been gone through, the poor Italian
mother, in passing out of the building, came near
the excellent lady who formed one of our little company, and entered into communication with her,not by vocal language, because they could not in that
way understand each other; but by that mysterious
sympathy of souls which has a power above that
of words. It was sufficient, though of different
creeds and differently situated, that both were mothers.  God and nature brought into harmony what
lands and creeds might have separated. The American mother stooped down and kissed the little child
of the Italian mother, and, seeing the evidence of
their poverty in their poor and rude garments, added
a present in money to this expression of her affection. This little scene of unaffected benevolence
touched my feelings. It was the voice of humanity
asserting its eternal relationships. The tear grew




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.               185
bright in the eye of the Italian mother, and dropped
on the cheek of the infant; and I could see, in the
countenance of the old priest and a number of poor'Catholics who stood around, that a ray of mutual
confidence and esteem was kindled in their hearts.
And I could not but feel, if men would become
better acquainted with each other and let the currents of love flow  out, it would be a moral force
greater than the sword, greater than dogmatical
argument, in diminishing diversities of belief, in
correcting errors, in harmonizing antagonistical systemns, and in bringing in Christ's kingdom of universal peace.
(XXII.)
Situation of Florence-Origin of the Republic of Florence-Appearance and character of the people-Cathedral and church of Santa
Croce-Dante and his writings-Milton-The Campanile, or belltower-The Uffizii and its works of art-The Medicean libraryRe-establishment of capital punishment-Trial of insurgent republicans.
FLORENCE, DUCHY OF TUSCANY, SECOND LETTER.
THE present letter will be taken up with what
has come under my notice, or rather with a part
of what has been noticed, at Florence. The city
of Florence is the capital of the duchy of Tuscany,
situated on both sides of the Arno, which is spanned
by four beautiful bridges.  Surrounded by the villas
which adorn the adjacent plain, with sloping hills
and lofty mountains in the distance, it must be conceded that, in the merits of its natural position at
least, Florence justifies the eulogies which have so
often been bestowed upon it.  And the beauty of
the city itself though it has lost something of its
16*




186           LETTERS —-E STHETIC,
former splendor, corresponds well with the beauty
of its situation.
The Florentines trace their history back to the
time of the old Romans. And in support of this
view they refer to the fact that they are mentioned
in the Annals of Tacitus as having sent an embassy
to Rome in relation to some matters which concerned their city. But their brilliant period-the
period in which they have commanded their full
share of the notice and admiration of the worldcommences with the year 1250, when they arose
and overthrew the nobles who had tyrannized over
them, and established the Florentine Republic.
Before this time they were subjects, and were
treated as slaves; but, in the expressive language
of one of their chronicles, they then constituted
themselves a people.
The Florentines, whatever may have been their
origin, are a select and noble race of men. I had
no sooner entered their streets than I was struck
with their appearance;-cquite different from that
of the people of some other cities which I had
visited. Their well-built forms and expressive countenances, marked by thought and lofty independence, harmonized well with the idea that they were
the descendants of a race who have achieved an
honorable place in the records of men. Interesting
in their political history, which shows their love
of freedom, they are equally so in their relation to
the development of the arts and in their contributions to literature.  Works of art, exclusive of
public buildings which display the genius of architecture, are found everywhere;-in their palaces,




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.            187
churches, public squares, and private residences.
Peculiar circumstances, which it is the business of
the historian to unfold, gave this direction to the
great inventive capacity of the people.
It is the splendid edifices, however, which are
likely to attract attention on the first entrance into
the city. The cities and states of Italy have vied
with each other in the erection of public buildings,
particularly those designed for religious worship;
and, although as Protestants we may well question
their adaptedness in many cases to the purpose for
which they were built, we cannot withhold our
admiration from the genius which planned and the
persevering energy which completed them.  One
of the most remarkable of these magnificent buildings is the Cathedral of Florence.  In accordance
with a decree of the city, which was desirous of
erecting an edifice superior to any other then existing, the foundations were laid in 1298; and genius
and skill, and labor and wealth, contributed to complete it.  It is four hundred and fifty-four feet in
length, with a transept of three hundred and thirty
feet; and its height from the pavement to the summit of the cross by which it is surmounted is about
three hundred and eighty-seven feet.  The walls
on the outside are cased with marble.  The dome
is said to be the largest in the world; and served
as a model to Michael Angelo in building that of
St. Peter's.
This great building, commenced at the time I
have mentioned, was not entirely completed till the
year 1446. Its interior is adorned with statues,
bas-reliefs, busts, frescoes, and sepulchral nionu



188           LETTERS —ESTHETIC,
ments, —some of them, in the judgment of artists,
works of great merit; but the pleasure of seeing
them is somewhat diminished in consequence of
their being so dimly revealed to the visitor by the
feeble rays of light which fall through the small
stained windows. Among the monuments in this
cathedral is that of Brunelleschi, the great architect who built its dome, and who was buried here
at the expense of the republic.
There is also a fine statue of Brunelleschi on the
south side of the square of the cathedral; and near
it the stranger is pointed to the spot, designated by
an inscription, where Dante used to sit and occupy
his imaginative mind in contemplating this vast
edifice.
Among the numerous other churches which adorn
the city of Florence, there is much to interest one
in the old Franciscan church of Santa Croce. It
was in the square of this church that the people
assembled and took their decisive measures in the
republican revolt of 1250. But to me this renowned edifice was an object of especial attraction;
because in common with every traveller who visits
Florence, I here looked upon the tomb of Michael
Angelo.  The body which was once the residence
of a mind of eminently great and original power
reposes here. His tomb is ornatmented with allegorical figures of the sister-arts of architecture,
painting, and sculpture, in all of which he excelled.
The marble bust, which is designed to perpetuate
the outlines of the form that is crumbling beneath
it, is regarded as a faithful likeness of him. In this
church, which is sometimes spoken of as the West



SOCIAL, AND AMORAL.         189
minster Abbey of Florence, Marsuppini was buried,
the secretary of the republic at an early period, and
one of its eloquent and distinguished men. Here
also are sepulchral monuments to Galileo, Dante,
and Alfieri. The portrait of Dante was placed here
by a decree of the republic in 1465. But the large
and splendid monument to him, to which I have
just referred, has been recently erected at the public expense.
It is evident that Florence cherishes the memory
of her great poet,- great as compared with the
poets of any other age or nation, and yet unlike all
other poets. A country is nothing without its great
names. And there are so many reminiscences of
Dante here, that it may not be out of place to say
something in relation to him. If no writer can be
properly understood and interpreted separate from
his age and country, this is especially the case with
this remarkable poet. His conceptive power, which
enabled him to imagine and to describe with so
much exactness, was his own; but the subjects upon
which he exercised it belonged to the incidents of
his age, people, and religion. I never could well
understand before, how a writer, no matter how
great or how eccentric his genius, could think of
going through hell, purgatory, and paradise, with
a view to ascertain the locality, if I may so express
it, of the spirits of the dead, and to announce to
the world their respective degrees of reward and
punishment, of hope and despair. But these ideas
(I mean ideas which dealt with the unknown facts
and incidents of man's disembodied destiny) were
the ideas of the age of Dante. If a man died, and




190           LETTERS-  STHETIC,
did not go straightway to heaven, (which was the
happy lot of a few saints only,) the popular thought
of that age, trained and established by its dominant religious ideas, at once assigned him an infernal or purgatorial locality. Books were written,
and paintings* sketched and executed, upon the
basis of this prevalent mode of opinion and feeling. Michael Angelo himself was not free from
this influence.  And the interior of the cupola of
the great Cathedral of Florence, which was the
object of his study and admiration, is painted in
fresco, with angels and saints in paradise, or with
figures representing the sufferings of purgatory and
hell.  So that the remarkable work of Dante is
really nothing more nor less than the poetical conception-which that great poet alone fully possessed-of the great religious thought of his age.
And, now that I am upon this subject, I may
further add that some of the leading traits in the
writings of our own Milton (I refer, however, particularly to the Paradise Lost) find an explanation, in part at least, in the same predominant
ideas.  He resided for some time in Italy, was perfectly acquainted with Italian literature, and with
the religious thought and feeling which prevailed
among the people. It has seemed to me, since I
have been in Florence and other parts of Italy,
that the hell of the Paradise Lost would not have
been so clearly defined in his conception, and so
accurately described, if Milton had not both heard
and seen a good deal in relation to it on the banks
of the Arno. Particular expressions and allusions
also, full of beauty but evidently not of English




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.              191
origin, find their explanation in his residence here.
Vallombrosa and the hill of Fiesoli are both in the
neighborhood of Florence. And hence, in describing the prostration of the rebel angels, he says
that they
"lay entranced,
Thick as autumnal leaves that strew the brooks
In Vallombrosa."
And it is thus, with his mind filled not only
with Italian scenery but with Italian art and
science, that he compares Satan's shield to
"the moon, whose orb
Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views
At evening from the top of Fiesoli."
The "Tuscan artist" is Galileo, with whom Milton became acquainted while he was in Italy.
Among other objects which the stranger can
hardly fail to observe, and which he is not likely
to forget, is the CAMIPANILE, or bell-tower.  Unlike
that of Pisat, the Campanile of Florence stands
erect; and is also much higher than the Pisan
tower,-being two hundred and seventy-five feet in
height. It is near the cathedral, and may be considered as a species of appendage to it.  Its basement-story is ornamented with a series of wellexecuted reliefs, designed to represent the progress
of civilization;-commencing with the history of
Adam  and the early patriarchs, and developing
the leading events in human progress down to a
late period. Rising in successive stories to its overtowering height, this remarkable structure is seen
by a single glance of the eye, and stops the traveller and commands his admiration, at the very




192           LETTERS-E STI-IETIC,
doors of the great cathedral, by that power of attraction which always belongs to simplicity when
combined with grandeur.
The Florentine collection of works of art which
is known as the Royal Gallery is one of the most
valuable in the world. These works are deposited
in the upper story of a large and fine building
called the UFFIZII, which was originally erected for
the accommodation of the magistrates and tribunals
of Florence. In this celebrated gallery nearly all
the great masters of art, both of ancient and
modern times, are represented. Here, among other
works which have commanded the admiration of
connoisseurs, is the Faun dancing, in marble; the
celebrated group of wrestlers, writhing in sculptured
strength and emulation; and the statue of the Venus
de Medici, of which the world has but one. There
were other works which were particularly interesting to me. Hardly anything which I saw impressed
me more than the busts of the Roman emperors;
authenticated as works of the date which is ascribed
to them, not only by the circumstances of their discovery, but by their remarkable correspondence to
those conceptions of the persons represented which
an acquaintance with the past is most likely to
suggest.  They are a sort of resurrection of history.
I looked again and again upon the furrowed but
stern brow of Julius Cesar; with anxiety, ambition,
and intrepidity written in unchangeable lines. Here,
also, living in the perpetuity of art, is the calm and
intellectual look of Augustus. Esteeming its homage
to the truth above everything else, the chisel of the
sculptor has harmonized with the pen of the annal



SOCIAL, AND MORAL.              193
ist in its Otho and Vitellius; and the very marble
speaks in verification of our ideas of Trajan, whom
history has praised for his wisdom, and of Nerva,
who was styled The Good.
I have no time in a single letter to say anything
of the splendid paintings which are to be found
here and also in the Palazzo Pitti; nor of the treasures, invaluable to literature, which exist in the
Medicean library.  This library, rich in works in
the Oriental languages as well as in Greek and
Latin, contains more than nine thousand manuscripts.  The oldest manuscript of the Pandects is
deposited here; and I was shown what was said to
be (and I believe the claim to its great antiquity is
not disputed) the earliest manuscript of Virgil.
The manuscript contains all the works of Virgil,
excepting a small portion of the Bucolics.
This is only the beginning of what might be said,
and of what came under my personal notice in
Florence and its vicinity. Of course a mere letterwriter cannot say much; especially when travelling
rapidly and in poor health.  But I cannot close
without referring briefly to its present religious and
political *condition. It is hardly necessary to say
that, in Tuscany, as in other parts of Italy, the
Catholic religion is the religion of the State and of
the people.  Other forms of religion are tolerated
for foreign residents and for those who have inherited, if I may so express it, and have been
broughlt up in, a different religion.  The Episcopal
Church of England has its place of worship;-the
Presbyterians also, in which religious service is performned in the French language in the forenoon and
17




194            LETTERtS —_ESTIIETIC
in the English in tlhe afternoon. It was our privilege
to worship on the Sabbath in this church, in company with Christians from different lands.  But if
toleration, kept within very strict limits, is allowed
to existing forms of belief, it is limited, at least as
far as the Catlholics are concerned, to zhat now is.
It does not admit of free inquiry nor of a change
of religions.  The Catholic who dares to inquire
and think on the subject of religion, with a view to
estimate his own form of religion as coimpared with
that of others, is a marked and persecuted man.
If lie is led to change his religion, no matter with
how great sincerity, the least he can expect is a
long and severe imprisonment.
For nearly a century capital punishment has been
abolishleld in Tuscany.  It has very recently been
re-established; so that Florence, which has its works
of art, has also its guillotine.  I was informed, on
authority upon which I could rely, that no reason
could be assigned for this unexpected measure, except what was found in the political state of the
country.  The object is, beyond all question, to
strike terror into the hearts of the republicans, who
are feared, and hated, and persecuted, with the exception of the constitutional monarchy of Sardinia,
by all the ruling authorities in Italy.  I shall endeavor to refer to this subject more particularly in
another letter.  But I cannot omit to imention an
incident here, which affected my feelings much.
A few years ago the people of the Roman States
and of Tuscany, inspired by a sense of right and
by historical recollections, endeavored to recover
tileir ancient liberties.  They succeeded in part;




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          195
but, in consequence of the aid rendered to them by
France, Austria, and indirectly by Russia, the rulers,
whom they dispossessed for a time, have recovered
their power. The consequence is, that throughout
Italy (always excepting the dominions of the constitutional and patriotic king of Sardinia) the republicans, who obviously constitute a large portion
of the people, are closely watched by the police;many prisons are filled with them; and very recently
a large number, including some patriotic Catholic
priests, have been executed.  While I have been in
Florence, some of these persons, who believe, as we
do in America, that man ought to have a voice in
the government of himselfg and who have dared to
act in accordance with their convictions, have been
under trial for high treason. As soon as I understood this, I lost no time in finding mly way to the
court of justice.  I was not fully informed as to particulars.  I can only say, therefore, that four men,
who had been prominent in the republican movement, were undergoing a trial which in all probability was to have its termination in death, or in
perpetual imprisonment.  The men were guarded
by soldiers. The place of trial was full of people;
but the rich and noble were not there. I was pleased
to see that the representatives of the masses were
not absent,-the men of toil, of hunger and rags.
Liberty has ever found its truest defenders and
sympathizers among the poor. I looked with deep
interest upon their hard hands, their sunburnt countenances, and their eyes sometimes filled with tears
and sometimes kindling with the flashes of the old
]Etrurian and Roman fire.




190           LETTERS-I ESTIIETIC,
A few women, some of them young persons, and
some of them advanced in years, were there also;
and I supposed, from  the deep and changeless
anxiety which they manifested, that they might be
the near relatives, perhaps the mothers and sisters,
of the menl under trial.
With some difficulty I made my way through
the dense mass of people, till I stood near the
judges, and in full view of tile prisoners. I understood that these men were not the leaders in the
republican movement, but still were regarded as of
sufficient importance to be offered up as the people's
sacrifice. One of thenl, apparently a young man,
seemed to be drooping and wasting away under the
effects of the long imprisonment to which they had
been subjected.  Another, more erect, and possessed of more physical energy, cast a calm and
intelligent look upon the judges and crowded
assembly, which seemed to say, in its prophetic
glance, that he feared nothing for liberty nor from
the judgment of posterity. The others, with looks
rendered intense and fierce by a sense of injustice,
were like nzen who cared for nothing and asked for
nothing but their old swords and another field of
battle. Not doubting in my own mind that a great
crime against humanity was about to be accomplished, I turned away from this painful scene with
the sad reflection that, in a sinful and fallen world
like ours, all that is good and true is established
and sanctified by its baptisms of blood;




SOCIAL%  AND MORAL.             19 7
(XXIII.)
Departure from Florence-The ancient Clusium-Arrival at the
Papal territories —View of Mount Soracte-Approach to RomeRemarks on the political state of Europe —Strength of the Republican party —The forces. arrayed against it-Republican meeting
in London-Kossuth and Mazzini —State of things in Rome.
CITY OF ROME, DEC. 27, 1852.
WE are now in Rome. In coming from Florence
to this justly-celebrated spot, we took the route of
Sienna, —'once a large and powerful republican city,
and still an object of curiosity and interest to travellers.  A few miles froml Sienna is the town of
Chiusi, the site of the ancient Etruscan city of
Clusium, which was the residence of Porsenna. In
passing the volcanic mountain of Radicofani, we
left the frontier of Tuscany, and entered the territory of the Papal See.
Leaving the villages of Ponte Centino and Aquapendente, (the latter an interesting place, deriving
its name from  its waterfalls,) we rode for a considerable distance along the shore of the beautiful
lake of Bolsena, which is supposed to cover a part
of the ancient city Volscinium. It was in this
vicinity that we had a distant view, for some time,
of the celebrated Mount Soracte, now  called St.
Oreste.  It rose in solemn grandeur from a distant
part of the Campagna Romana.  The Childe Harold
of Byron has described it with the greatest accuracy, as "heaving from the plain, like a long-swept
wave about to break, which on the curl hangs
pausing." Horace in one of his odes describes it
as white with snow; and the summit was covered
with snow at the time we saw it.
17>




198           LETTERS-=E STHETIC,
As we approached near iRome, the object of
many pleasant anticipations, our hearts were very
cheerful; but our horses, unmoved by the inspirations of the place, were either very lazy or very
weary, and, at the last stopping-place, which furnished relays, it was proposed by some of the company to increase our comfort as well as our motivepower, by changing the number which drew our
VETTURINO froll four to seven.  As the proposal
was an appeal to the principle of "humanity to
animals," as well as of personal comlfort, it met
with no opposition.  Everything was arranged
accordingly; but not without exciting considerable
movement and notice in the little town from which
we started under these more favorable auspices.
Everybody seemed to give care to the winds. The
sun was bright above us.  The postilions cracked
their whips; the horses, as if conscious of this
accession of strength, curved their necks and shook
the little bells with which they were ornamented;
the smitten pavements flashed fire; the dogs barked;
and the very beggars shook their hats with jollity.
It was thus, seated in the midst of this unusual
locomotion, that we made our approach for the first
time to the classic banks of the Tiber, to the
ruined palaces of the Cosars, and the memorable
battle-fields of Garibaldi.
But I shall not undertake to describe what I see
around me in the present letter. There is another
topic to which I wish to advert. I have not as yet
said much in relation to the political state of
Europe. I have not considered the subject an
unimportant one; but it is difficult at the present




SOCIAL, AND AORAL.          199
time to get at the precise state of things. Availing myself, however, of such means of information
as I could command, I have been obliged to come
to one conclusion, which, if it be true, is a fundamental one in the estimate of political probabilities,
namely, that a very considerable portion of the
people of England, France, Italy, Belgium, Poland,
and Hungary, and perhaps in some of these states
a majority, have adopted republican opinions. Nor
is this the whole of the republican strength, —
which is to be found also in part in other states and
nations. The republican party of Europe, therefore,
respectable, at least, both in its numbers and talents,
and its courage and physical resources, is a permanent and important element in European affairs,
which it would be useless to attempt to ignore, and
which every wise statesman will not only be willing
to recognize, but will be desirous to conciliate.
Of the republicans there are two divisions,-one
which is desirous of leaving the establishment of the
republican policy to time, and those methods of public enlightenment and of gradual political amelioration which time alone can bring. The other party,
maddened by hopes long deferred, and by oppressions
actually realized, carry the swords under their garments, and wait only for the day and the hour when
they shall flash in open light on the field of battle.
Further, I think I can say this.  No party will
attempt to move now upon an irreligious basis;
that is to say, with a disregard of those sentiments,
everywhere implanted in the human mind, which
recognize the existence of God, and the duties
which are owed to him. Democracy, taught by the




2 0 0         LETTERS —ASTHETIC,
sufferings of her former blindness, has reassumed
her respect for man's religious nature. This is
right. Religion may be perverted; and its perversions may be tyrannical. But true religion is,
by its nature, essentially republican. Patriarchs,
prophets and apostles, and the early martyrs, were
men, if I may so express it, who came up from the
masses, —men who knew  the people, men who
sympathized with the wants of the people, and who
labored and suffered for their good. The Sermon
on the Mount is the great proclamation of human
liberty,-a proclamation unequalled in its expression, as it is unequalled in the length and breadth
of its just and generous sentiments. And I do not
hesitate to say, that, in a true estimate of His character and teaching, considered in their relation to
the universal establishment of human rights, Jesus
Christ, as compared with any other reformer or
teacher, ought to be regarded, and spoken of, and
loved, as the true democratic leader.
The great republican leaders of the present time,
unlike those of the period of 1790, —the Mazzinis,
the Kossuths, the Cavaignacs, the Girardins and
Lamartines,-understand well that religion is a
necessity of man's nature, that it is the only sure
basis of practical morals, and that liberty without
religion cannot stand. This is a great gain to the
republican cause; and I think it one of the most
favorable omens of its ultimate success. And I do
not doubt that the sympathies of a large body of
religious and praying men, particularly in England,
harmonize now, for the first time, with the republican ideas and position, as they are developed in




SOCIAL, AND MO1RAL.          201
one or the other of the republican sections to which I
have referred.  The moral influence of this significant alliance, which has greatly dinlinished and
almost put an end to the cry of republican infidelity, is immense. And I think it but justice to
say that in the republican enrolment there will be
found to be-contrary to what in America is sonmetimes supposed to be the fact-a multitude of sincere and devout Catholics.  So far as I can form
an opinion, the republican position has never been
so strong in Europe as it is at this moment. And
no temporary disappointment, no sudden and midnight treachery, no defeat in the battle-field, no
deferring, even from generation to generation, of
long-cherished hopes, will be likely to alter this
fundamental state of things.
It might perhaps be inferred, from this statement, that it is the object of the republican party,
without making the proper and just discriminations, to overthrow  the existing governments in
Europe. But it would be better and nearer the
truth to say, that their object, in any proper sense
of the terms, is not to overthrow or to injure governments, but to establish the great and inalienable rights of humanity,-such as freedom of religious belief, freedom of political opinion and of the
press, just laws and equality under the law, and
especially the recognized and unchangeable representation of the people in all matters where the
people are concerned.  This they claim.  For this
they are organized.  And this, if I am not mistaken in what has come under my notice, they are
determined to accomplish. Any government that




20 2          LETTERS —ASTHETIC,
will so modify itself as to admit and establish what
this great party regard as the rights of humanity, no
matter whether it bears the name of a republic or a
constitutional monarchy, will continue to stand and
will be increasingly prosperous. And any governments which refuse this must take their chance of life
or death in the great contest of opinions and of material forces which threatens soon to overtake them.
The wisdom  of England, enlightened by her
great and patriotic history, is steadily adjusting
the ship of state to this new and fixed position of
things; and thus there is reason to think that the
flag which has waved a thousand years will yet
triumph in any coming storms.  Belgium and Sardinia (and I suppose it may be the same in a few
other states) are taking the same course.  So far
is there from being any general hostility on the
part of the republicans to these patriotic kingdoms,
whose hospitality many of them have experienced
in their sad exile from nearly every part of Europe,
that they name them with pride and grateful affection, and quote them everywhere as examples of
actual and progressive liberty, —broad enough now,
and capable of expansion enough hereafter, to accept
and conciliate the conflict of opinions, and to satisfy
the reasonable demands of humanity.
I would say further, that the republican party is
not a party which is circumscribed in its views by
geographical limits. Its objects pertain to humanity.
Its bond of union is the tie of human rights and affections.  Its locality, therefore, is the world.  It has
those among it, as I have already intimated, who
everywhere advocate its cause by the appeals of




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.            203
reason and love; men who do not cease to be men
of peace because they are republicans, and whose
declaration of independence is the "CSermon on the
Mount," taken in its more literal and obvious import.
This portion of the party, which embraces some
names of great power and influence, is averse to
war; though it is not on that account less true to
its political principles, and is ready to sustain them
by its testimony in prisons and on the scaffold. But
the party has amonlg its ranks also a still greater
number, who, if reason and appeals to a kindred
humanity shall fail to have a hearing, will unsheath
the sword in the desperation of violated rights, and
will either conquer or be destroyed.
But there is another side to this state of things.
Face to face, in antagonism to this great and uncompromising party, who stand erect with their bosoms
bare, ready to accept the charter of freedom or the
baptism of blood, there are arrayed at the present
moment the great empires and kingdoms of Russia,
Austria, Prussia, and France, aided by Tuscany and
Naples, and I know not how many smaller states,
with a standing army of two millions of bayonets,
and with cannon planted and with matches blaziing
from Paris to Moscow.  It is thus beyond all question that the two great parties, with such modifications of thought and feeling as have been referred
to, have taklen their stand in fierce and fearful opposition; mutual in their defiance and mutual in their
hatred; and each party apparently waiting for the
signal of that mysterious Providence which rules
the destiny of nations, and which destroys those
who, in refusing to be just, refuse to harmonize.




204           LETTERS-E STIIETIC,
Whether the two political parties which are thus
arrayed in opposition to each other will come into
actual conflict, is a thing which lies hidden in the
future. It would be useless to conjecture. But this
does not vitiate the correctness of the statements
which have been made, nor alter the actual and
iminunent state of things which exists. Let us hope
that sound reason will prevail; and that those who
hold power against right, whoever and wherever
they may be, if they fail to be moved by the sentiments of justice, will at least consult their own interests, by harmonizing  with the claims of liberty.
I cannot close this letter without mentioning one
or two incidents which have a little connection with
it.  I was in France at the time of the re-establishment of the usurped empire.  Being in a certain
town, a French gentleman invited me to the municipal hall. HIe led me to a corner of the large
room where the town authorities were in the habit
of assembling, and, taking the republican flag, on
which were inscribed the large letters, "Liberty,
Equality, Fraternity," he* unrolled it and gazed
upon it with deep emotion. Then, rolling it up,
he returned it to its place; but not without giving'
me to understand that the hands which had unfurled it once, but from whom it had been deceitfully wrested, would unfurl it again.
In many other instances I found the same feelings expressed.  At a certain time, stopping with
my friends at an obscure village in Italy, the innkeeper, whose manners and whose open and intelligent brow indicated that he was not formed to be
a slave, asked Mr. Thompson if he knew anything'




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          205
of the Italian exiles of America. And when he
understood that he had seen Forbes, and Avizenna,
and Garibaldi, and especially when he understood
that we had both seen Mazzini in London, and that
the great republican leader had lost neither heart
nor hope for Italy, he was filled with wild delight.
In a few moments the news was communicated to
a considerable number of poor people around; and
it was interesting to see how they gathered around
our carriage as we departed, and lifted their hats
in recognition of republican affinity, and earnestly
gazed upon us with tears starting to their eyes, as
if we had brought them news of a son or a brother,
4"who was dead and is alive again; who was lost
and is found."  And thus, in no small number of
instances in France and Italy, we were able to
ascertain the feelings of the people.
In London we attended the meeting of the Italian
and other republican exiles. The room was capable
of holding more than a thousand persons, and was
full. And I cannot forget that this meeting, without spies to report or bayonets to control it, was held
within the realms of Queen Victoria, who fears nothing from the republican sentiment, because the free
constitution of government which she administers
recognizes the just right which supports it, and provides, in one of its great departments, for its full
and powerful manifestation.  I never attended a
meeting which evinced more settled principle, more
fixed determination, more deep enthusiasm. Kossuth and Mazzini were there. And when they arose,
embodying as they did in their own persons the hopes
of nations, they seemed to me, as I associated them
18




206           LETTERS-IE STiIETIC,
with the past and the future, like the strong but
tempest-beaten landmarks of passing generations.
They took each other by the hand, and in the presence of this large assembly mutually pledged whatever yet remained of life, fortune, and hope; and
added, in the name of those who knew them and
loved them, the still higher pledge of the blood of
Hungary to Italy and the blood of Italy to Hungary.
On this occasion, and at the close of the meeting,
I had the pleasure, in company with many others,
of taking Kossuth by the hand, whom I had before
seen in America,-the man invincible, not merely
because of his vast powers of intellect and his generous and universal heart, but especially because he
is a child of Providence, and is what he believes
himself to be, —an instrument of God in the destiny
of nations. I went also a few days after, in company with Mr. Thompson, and spent an evening in
the humble and secreted room of Mazzini, —that
great man, and true patriot and exile. We conversed with him; and it was from him that I gained
some of the opinions and impressions which I have
expressed. I saw in him, as I thought, the sincerity
of conviction, the modesty of strength, a high trust
in Providence, and the invincible will. It was
nearly at the same time, and in the city of Paris,
that I saw Louis Napoleon at the Tuileries. And
I am obliged to say, that I felt a far deeper respect
for the man who adhered to his principles and held
the idea of a republic in poverty, suffering, and
exile, than for the man who betrayed the people that
trusted him, and rewarded himself with an empire.
Mazzini told us that blood was flowing in Italy,




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.                 207
the blood of those who were dear to him.  We soon
afterwards had more specific confirmations of his remarks on the trying state of things in that country.
Before we left Sardinia, we learned, from a private
but authentic source, the appalling news of the wholesale massacres-for such I think they may justly be
termed —of suspected republicans in Austrian Lombardy.  And since I have been in Rome I have
been informed, on authority which I could not well
doubt, that four thousand young men, republican
citizens of Rome, are entered on the lists of the
police as suspected  persons,-that they are constantly watched, and are not allowed to be in the
streets after certain hours of the day.  And it is
no small thing, that Rome itself, the land of the
most celebrated names of freedom, is at this moment held in subjection, on account of its republican
tendencies, by the bayonets of a foreign despotism.
It is thus that liberty, in the persons of those who
love and cherish her, is everywhere proscribed. The
heart mourns; but convictions are unaltered.  The
cause of freedom, like that of religion, has life in
itself; and grows stronger and brighter in its trials.
The nations with ambitious mind,
On wealth and warlike glories bent,
In strength alone had sought to find
A true and lasting monument:
Alas! their early history's page
Foreshows the downfall of their age.
The grandeur raised by force or crime,
In towers and walls and heaven-built spires,
Is like the mountain-height sublime
That stands upon volcanic fires:
Above,'tis seeming strength; below
An ocean's fiery billows glow.




208              LETTERS -]: ESTHETIC,
But that which sinks, at last shall rise,
Strong in the strength which cannot die;
The flames of that great sacrifice
Have only power to purify:
The form may die, —the life remains;
Humanity survives and reigns.
(XXIV.)
First views and impressions of Rome-Porta del Popolo —-Egyptian
obelisk-Visit to the Capitoline Hill-Statue of Marcus AureliusView from the tower of the'Capitol-The seven hills of RomeThe Coliseum-Arch of Titus-Remarks.
ROME, DEC. 28, 1852.
WITH the improved facilities of motion which
were mentioned in the beginninig of my last letter,
we approached Rome by the old Cassian Way. The
last place of much importance on our route was the
town of Viterbo; the supposed site of the ancient
cc Fanum Voltumnm," M"where the associated Etruscan
States held their general assemblies. Passing the
elevations of no great height which mark on that
side the boundaries of the CAMPAGNA ROM1ANA, we
descended into the plain of the Tiber, which flowed
on, about four hundred feet in breadth, with a full
and strong current, —not clear and sparkling like
the Rhone, but with that dark and muddy appearance which I had noticed in the Saone and the
Arno. At the distance of two miles from the city
we crossed this celebrated river at the old M ilvian
bridge, the place where the envoys of the Allobrogi
were intercepted in the time of Cicero, their letters
taken, and Catiline's' conspiracy discovered.  At
this bridge, among other places which witnessed
their patriotic  resistance, the  modern  Romans




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          209
opposed the recent entrance of the French with
no small share of the courage of their ancestors.
Passing down on the north side of the river, we
came into the city by the.  PORTA DEL POPOLO," the
Gate of the People.
One of the first things which arrested my attention, as we passed through the People's Gate, and
into the great square into which it opens, was an
Egyptian obelisk of red granite, towering to a great
height and covered with hieroglyphics.  This obelisk, which was first erected by Rameses, the Egyptian king who is known in Grecian writers under
the name of Sesostris, stood originally in the city
of Heliopolis, in Lower Egypt; and was brought
to Rome by Augustus Coesar after the battle of
Actium. The sight of this striking object, the
memorial of other ages and distant climes, vividly
recalled to my mind that I had entered a city which
more than any other had extended its influence
either by arts or arms; the conqueror and the
mother of nations; the mighty emblem of the rise
and fall of greatness; the central point of profane
history; from which, as if standing on the dividingline of ages, the mind looks back to the beginning
and forward to the end.
At the earliest opportunity I visited the Capitoline
Hill; not only because it stood first and clearest in
my historical associations, but because I had hoped
by ascending it to gain at once a full view of the
city, and in this way adjust and localize my remembrances. At the base of the steps which
ascend this still imposing eminence,' are two Egyptian lions of bronze granite. At their top are nmar18*




210           LETTERS-AESTHETIC,
ble statues of Castor and Pollux with their horses;
and in a central position, in the open place or square
of the summit, called by the Italians the Campodoglio, is a bronze equestrian statue of Marcus
Aurelius, elevated on a large pedestal composed of
a single marble block.  This is the only bronze
equestrian statue which has come down to us from
the times of ancient Rome.  But this is not the
only nor the chief circumstance which imparts to
it an interest and value. I came unexpectedly in
view of this remarkable statue, and stopped to look
at it. It seized hold of my conceptions with a
power which seemed to me a test of its excellence.
Again and again I turned to examine it.  The
noble form of Aurelius is seated firmly erect. His
countenance is imperial. His right hand is proudly
extended, as if indicating the movement and destiny
of nations. The horse on which he is seated seems
to know that he bears an emperor. His form is the
embodiment of energetic strength. His neck curves
in the direction of his master's hand; and his large
eye appears to glow, as it catches the meaning of
its controlling power. Lifting his right hoof, he
throws it firmly forward with a movement corresponding to the curvature of the neck and the
stern direction of the hand of the emperor; and
his broad and muscular breast swells with the impulse of his own fiery action. It is thus that I
recall. it to mind, as I am seated to write: a form
true to nature; the action giving life to the form;
and the life enlarged and glowing with greatness
and fiery impulse. Such are the works of art
which are everywhere found in Rome and in




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          211
Roman territory; so that, if it be true, that she is
dead in the form of her ancient nationality, it is
equally so that she lives, and will continue to live,
in the perpetuity of her genius.
At the northern extremity of the Capitoline Hill,
is the Franciscan church of Santa Maria d'Ara Coeli.
As I looked upon this church, I called to mind a
passage in the writings of Gibbon, which in early
life had left a deep impression on me. It was here,
as he himself tells us in his autobiography, "on the
14th of October, 1764, as he sat musing amid the
ruins of the Capitol, while the bare-footed friars
were singing vespers," that the idea of writing the
"Decline and Fall of Rome" first occurred to his mind.
Leaving the area of the Campodoglio, and I know
not how many works of art within and around it, I
ascended the tower of the modern Capitol. Below
me, including the Capitoline, were the seven hills of
ancient Rome, so often mentioned by historians;the PALATINE, once inhabited by Romulus and Numa,
and in the later periods of the republic the residence
of Quintus Hortensius and Cicero, now strewed with
the fragments of the Casars' palaces; at a little distance, and reaching to the Tiber, the AVENTINE,
which in other days had been surmounted by the
temples of Diana and Minerva and a palace of
Trajan, but now more destitute of edifices of every
kind than any other of the seven hills; in another
direction the CCELIAN, the place of residence assigned
to the ancient Albans, after the destruction of their
principal city,-its extreme limit marked at the
present time by the church of St. John Lateran;
the ESQUILINE, situated to the north of the Coelian,




212          LETTERS —-IESTHETIC,
and extending with its gardens and its remains of
ancient buildings to the city walls; the QUIRINAL, a
long, narrow eminence, commencing at the Forum
of Trajan, covered with buildings comparatively
modern, and extending back of the Colonna Palace
in a northeast direction; and the VIMINAL, between
the Quirinal and Escquiline. These hills, of moderate height and extent, rising perhaps an hundred
and fifty feet above the level of the sea, did not
look to me like the hills which I had seen in
America; but there is a greatness besides that
which is physical, and history had magnified them;
so that they filled a much larger space in my mind.
Beautiful above was the clear Italian sky. In the
valley below, skirting the Palatine and Aventine
Hills, was the winding Tiber. Moving among the
memorials of decay and dissolution, it seemed to
have no death and no decay in itself; but still kept
its triumphant march, as in the days of Romulus
and Camillus, from its native mountains to the sea,.
Beyond the Tiber was Mount Janiculum. In the
opposite direction was the mighty Coliseum. In
the distance was the long line of the Apennines.
Directly beneath me, in one direction was the steep
Tarpeian rock, and in the other the old Roman
Forum. Such were the various objects of interest
around and before me. Having looked upon them
for a short time, I came down from the Capitol.
I have mentioned the Coliseum, as one of the
objects seen from the tower of the Capitoline Hill,
-that great ruin of Rome and the world; and I
am reminded now of my first visit to it. It was
the evening of the day of our arrival in Rome.




SOCIALP AND MORIAL.          213
The sky was cloudless.  The moon shone brightly.
That night, in company with the excellent friends
who had accompanied me thus far, I went to visit
this mighty ruin.  The Coliseum  (taking its name,
as some have conjectured, from its great size) is an
amphitheatre,-elliptical in its shape, six hundred
and twenty feet in one direction, measuring from
the exterior surface of the wall, and five hundred
and thirteen feet in the other. The height of the
wall is one hundred and fifty-seven feet.  This immense edifice was commenced by the Emperor Vespasian and finished by his son Titus, ten years after
his return to Rome from the destruction of Jerusalem. Capable of holding originally eighty-seven
thousand persons, and built with all the strength
which architectural genius and profuse expenditure
could impart to it, it is now a great mass of ruins.
We walked through the broken arches of this
mighty desolation. The moon threw its light full
upon the open arena, tinging the dewy grass and the
clinging ivy which grew in the fissures of the walls.
I remembered Byron's admirable description:"I do remember me, that in my youth,
When I was wandering, upon such a night
I stood within the Coliseum's wall."
I subsequently visited it in the daytime.  My
mind had never been more deeply impressed by
the greatness of man's works or the magnitude of
their desolation; but the impression was subdued
and obliterated by the recollection that this very
spot had been the scene of one of the great contests
of Christianity. Within these vast walls the Roman
people, in the days of imperial enslavement and cor



214           LETTERS-  STIIETIC,
ruption, assembled to witness the contests of wild
beasts and the dying struggles of gladiators. But
this was not all. They looked with almost equal
pleasure upon the shedding of innocent blood. A
cross stands in the centre of the open space. Ass I
fixed my eyes upon this significant emblem, I saw
in my imagination the dying Christian. It was
there he knelt. Perhaps upon the very spot where
I stood, a mother or a sister looked down upon him,
and prayed that his faith might not fail. He lifted
his eyes to heaven. His body was torn by the wild
beasts. His blood mingled with the sand of the
arena. Perhaps it was Ignatius or Justin, names
memorable in Christian history; perhaps some
humble believer, unknown to the world, but dear
to the Saviour. It was thus, in those days of fiery
trial, that the old and young, the learned and
the ignorant, the father, the mother and the children, perished. But Christianity still lives. When
true to her principles of love, forgiveness, and willingness to suffer, she always conquers; and no
defeat and no dishonor is recorded of her, except
when, forgetful of the principles and example of
her Master, she returns violence with violence.
There were but few objects in Rome on which I
looked with more interest than the old imperial
arches,-a number of which still remain. A triumphal arch, constructed in the manner of those
at Rome, is susceptible in a very high degree of
those architectural combinations which cause emotions both of beauty and grandeur. The eye embraces them in their general form at once, so that
the emotion is not broken and diminished by that




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.            215
distraction of the attention which is caused when
the mind contemplates an object which is much multiplied in its parts. At the same time, they are
susceptible of minor decorations, which harmonize
with the general outline. Erected in honor of distinguished names and memorable achievements,
the principle of association also adds to the effect
on the mind which the architecture itself is fitted
to inspire. The arch of the Emperor Claudius, as
appears from the fragments which yet remain of
it, was erected in commemoration of his conquest
of the island of Britain. The arch of Constantine
-,a truly magnificent structure, notwithstandingr
the injuries of time, and the loss of the triumphal
car and the bronze horses which once adorned itwas erected in honor of the victory of that emperor
over Maxentius. It has three archways, with eight
columns of the Corinthian order, four on each front,
and is ornamented with bas-reliefs.  The arch of
Septimius Severus, the model of the beautiful arch
erected by Napoleon in Paris in the Place du Carrousel, which I mentioned in a former letter, commemorates the conquest of Parthia and Persia by
Septimius and his sons. The arch of Septimius is
in the northwest corner of the old Roman Forum.
At no great distance, in the direction of the Palatine Hill, is the celebrated arch of Titus, —not so
large and imposing as that of Constantine, but not
less beautiful.  It was erected by order of the
Roman Senate in honor of Titus, and particularly
in commemoration of his conquest of the city of
Jerusalem.  What affecting associations gather in
the mind of the Christian as he views such a monu



21i 6         LETTERS-A-STHETIC,
ment!  In passing under the arch the attention is
arrested by the bas-reliefs on the piers, which are
still beautiful, though much injured.  One of them
represents Titus seated in his triumphal car, surrounded by Romans carrying the fasces, and drawn
by four horses. But I looked with a different and
much deeper emotion on the bas-relief on the other
side, which represents the early emblems of our
religion, taken from their sacred place, and carried
in triumphal procession, —the golden table, the
silver trumpets, and the candlestick of gold with
its seven branches, and other spoils taken from the
great temple of the Jews. Captive Jews, sad exiles
from their native land, make a part of the procession. This bas-relief is regarded by Biblical
archmologists as furnishing one of the most reliable
and authentic representations of these sacred objects; harmonizing as they do with the accounts
given both in the Bible and in Josephus.
The vessels of the Temple were taken away; but
the Temple itself, the work of forty years, and unexampled in splendor, was levelled with the ground.
The Temple of Jerusalem, with what was contained
in it, represented, in the form of a great material
emblem, those conceptions of the Deity and of the
methods of approach to Him, which were suited to
the capacities of the human mind in that period
of the world. When the time came in which it
seemed proper that the mind of man should be
liberated from  these limitations and raised to a
higher and juster mode of thought, the ploughsha.re
of destruction passed over it, and left no stone
upon another. The mysteries of Providence are




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          217
unsearchable.  They work out the problems of
truth and freedom by destruction as well as by
creation. Nations fall; monuments, temples, cities,
perish; but principles and truths remain. And
who knows, that the vast edifices of worship, which
have since been erected in many places with more
than Jewish architectural skill, and with but little
short of Jewish splendor, tending as they do with
the aids of statuary and painting to give a doubtful form to the unseen and unknown mysteries of
eternity, and even to embody and localize God himself, may not be destined, in the convulsions of
betrayed and struggling humanity striking at the
same moment for civil and religious liberty, to a
like sudden and terrible destruction? so that men,
knowing God in his simplicity, shall understand at
last the meaning of the Saviour's words when he
said, "Ye shall neither in this mountain nor yet at
Jerusalem worship the Father; but the hour comneth, and now is, when the true worshippers shall
worship the Father in spirit aid izn truth."
Such was the thought that occurred to my mind
when viewing the monument erected nearly two
thousand years ago, in memory of a mfan whom
God had mysteriously employed as his instrument
in one of the most remarkable and terrible events
in the history of the human race. It was a thought
rather than an opinion.  What is to be hereafter
will be known when the mysteries of the future
develop it-.  The calculations of human thought
and philosophy are often baffled by the decisions
of Providence.
One thing, however, is certain. The forms of
19




218              LETTERS-. ESTHETIC,
religion  may vary.  The exigencies of different
periods may demand different methods of manifestation.  What was once revered as an assistance
by aiding the heart through the outward sight may
require to be removed as an obstruction, because
the heart has begun to see more clearly with the
inward vision.  But religion itself, in its essence,
is always the same. Its office is to deal with spirit.
" The kingdom  of God is within you."  In the day
of his fiery coming and universal baptism, the Holy
Ghost will not be bound.  He will work not only
in Jerusalem, in Rome, in London, but in Waldensian mountains and in American wildernesses.
Mind and not marble will be his material.  Working with the skill of the Godhead, which chisels
thought and  moulds affections, and adjusts the
flowing outlines of freedom to the stability of Providence, he will sculpture the soul itself, and create
immortal beauty from an immortal element.
(XXV.)
Departure from Rome-The Alban'Mount-Lines to the morning
star-The Appian Way-Principal towns-The Pontine marshes
-Monument to Cicero-Arrival at Naples-Visit to Herculaneum
and Pompeii.
NAPLES, JAN. 2, 1853.
SWEET morning star, with golden ray,
How clear thy gentle splendors shine,
To usher in the early day
Along the Tiber's winding way,
And o'er the Apennine.
Oh, thus, with smile as clear and bright,
In other lands I've known thy beam;




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.                219
The lingering day delay'd its light,
But thou didst crown the distant height
That watch'd my native stream.
I met thee the'e, I meet thee here;
I loved thee then; I love thee yet;
And not the less, that thy bright sphere
Recalls the home, to friendship dear,
Which love cannot forget,
Oh no! And if it fits thy ray
The messages of love to bear,
Haste to that distant home, and say
That love may wander far away
And yet be always there.
Very early in the morning of the day after we
left Rome, we passed down the side of the Alban
Mount, where the ancient town of Alba Longa was
situated, which was much older than Rome, and
was destroyed by Tullus Hostilius.  This beautiful
eminence, gradual in its ascent and susceptible of
being built upon  and  cultivated to its summit,
answered precisely the idea of it which the descriptions of the Latin poets and historians had left
upon my mind in early life.  As I was observing,
at the breaking of the day, the beautiful scenery
which opened to my view, my eye caught the
morning star shining with peculiar richness in the
clear blue above the Apennines, not far distant. I
had often watched its morning brightness from the
hills of my own land: it reminded me so strongly
of home, that I committed to its swift and beautiful rays the little message of the heart with which
I have begun this letter,- and which I trust will
reach its destination in safety.
Our route from Rome to Naples was for the most
part along the old Appian Way, built by the Censor




22 90          LETTERS-  STIIETIC,
Appius Claudius, three hundred years before the
time of Christ, and called by Cicero, with a good
deal of propriety,  REGINA VIARUM."  We entered
on this road at Albano, on the Alban Mount, and
left it at the river Garagliano, the ancient Siris.
The principal places throughll which we passed were
the city of Velletri, once the capital of the Volsci,
but which has ceased to retain the splendor which
formerly belonged to it; Cisterna, the location, according to antiquarians, of the Tres Taberno or
Three Taverns, where the Christians of Rome are
mentioned. in the Acts of the Apostles as having
met the Apostle Paul; the city of Terracina, originally one of the towns of the Volsci, known in
the time of Horace by the name of Anxur, and
which is described by him in his journey to Brundusium; the town of Fondi, which has some interest for the admirers of scholastic ingenuity as
being the residence of Thomas Aquinas and the
place where he gave his instructions in theology;
the town of Itri, without any special historical interest, but encircled with hills which were covered
with vines, fig-trees, and orange-trees; the town of
Mola di Gaeta, from which we had a view of the
beautiful city of Gaeta, situated upon the Mediterranean,-the same -with the ancient Cajeta, which
Virgil has celebrated in the seventh book of the
Aneid; and the city of Capua, upon the river Volturno, the ancient Vulturnus, near which Hannibal
defeated the Romans.
Between Cisterna and Fondi are the Pontine
marshes, twenty-four miles in length,-once stagnant and unhealthy, but now drained and restored




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.         221
to fertility by canals. Large herds of cattle were
feeding on them. At the western extremity of
these marshes, stretching out into the sea, is the
rocky and lofty residence of the ancient sorceress
Circe, known at the present time by the name of
Monte Circello, which the Homeric traditions have
celebrated. as the place where the companions of
Ulysses were detained and made the subjects of
her enchantments. On the portion of the Appian
Way which passes through the Pontine marshes
was the old Roman town of Appii Forum, which
seems to have been a considerable place in the time
of Pliny. The prevalent opinion locates it at the
place in the marshes which is now called Casarillo,
about fifty-six miles from Rome. I" When the brethren heard of us," says the account in Acts, "they
came to meet us as far as Appii Forum, and the
Three Taverns."
Near one of the towns which I have mentioned
— Mola di Gaeta-the great orator of Rome had a
country-villa, to which he often retired for study
and recreation. It was here that he had his meetings and conversations with Lelius and Scipio.
When his inveterate enemy Mark Antony came
into power, and the name of Cicero-a name equally
dear to eloquence, philosophy, and liberty-was
placed on the list of those who were proscribed, he
fled to his retired residence, and had nearly reached
it, when he was overtaken and put to death by his
pursuers. It was with melancholy interest that
we looked upon the lofty tower, still standing
on the right hand of the road as it approaches
Mola di Gaeta, which the affection of his freed19*




222           LETTERS-31ESTHETIC,
men erected to his memory on the spot where he
was slain.
The road through the Pontine marshes'is wide.and level, and in many places planted with trees.
Rich and various were the beauties of nature, appealing everywhere to man's heart and reading
lessons on the goodness of Providence, as we passed
onward to other places more diversified in their
character.  On one side were level and verdant
plains and distant glimpses of the sea, and on the
other hills and mountains; and everywhere, though
it was mid-winter, were gardens, still bright with
their flowers, and trees laden with fruit. Passing
the river Vulturnus at Capua, now called the Volturno, I was much struck with the appearance of
the rich and level plains, everywhere bearing the
marks of high cultivation, which extended several
miles from its banks.  Situated in such a country,
it is not surprising that ancient Capua had such
attractions of magnificence and pleasure as to perplex even the strong mind of Hannibal, and that
it stood second at one time only to Rome and Carthage. But while my heart paid homage to the
beauties of nature, I could not conceal fromn myself
that man, who should have been her glorious and
crowning work, appeared in many instances sad,
degraded, and suffering.  The beggary which had
afflicted us in other places increased in the variety
of its forms and importunity, as we approached
Naples. As I witnessed the rags and the sunken
countenances of the poor creatures who continually
surrounded our carriage and asked for the smallest
pittance, it was difficult to realize that these were




SOCIAL, AND  fORAL.         223
the descendants of the men whose genius has inspired the arts and literature of other nations, and
who were once the conquerors of the world.
We left Rome the 29th of December, in the afternoon, and reached Naples on the 31st. On the
next day, the 1st of January, we visited the remains of Herculaneum and Pompeii, and ascended
Vesuvius. Pompeii was once a populous and beautiful city, some three or four miles in circumnference, situated on the river Sarno, at twelve miles'
distance from Naples. It was overwhelmed by an
eruption of Vesuvius on the 24th of August, in the
seventy-ninth year of the Christian era,-an eruption of terrible violence, in which the burning lava,
boiling over the crater and carrying off large portions of the mountain, took the direction of HIerculaneum and destroyed it, while immense masses of
ashes and small stones, driven in another direction
by the wind, overwhelmed Pompeii. The city of
Pompeii, buried in this sudden and terrible manner, lay in its dark tomb of volcanic ashes, concealed and almost forgotten, for more than sixteen
hundred years. In the year 1751, some peasants,
who were employed in cultivating a vineyard near
the river Sarno, discovered it. And since that time
the excavations have been made; till at last a large
portion of the city, in a state of wonderful preservation, has been brought to light.
On the first day of the year, and early in the
morning, we entered Pompeii through the Herculaneum gate. With a map before us, and accompanied with a guide to give the necessary explanations, it may well be imagined that we walked with




224           LETTERS —   STHETIC,
deep emotion through this city of resurrection, this
disentombed memorial of a departed empire. The
streets, which generally cross each other at right
angles, are straight and paved with lava, and have
on each side a raised footway.  The houses are
generally one story in height, strongly built of'lava
or other hard material, stuccoed, and frequently
painted. As is common in this climate, they are
so built as to enclose open quadrangular areas, in
some of which are fountains supplied with water
from the Sarno, which seems to have been carried
under the city by means of subterranean canals.
We rapidly examined many houses. Entering first
the quadrangular space, we inspected successively
the rooms of the house, which is built around the.
open square, which vary in number and size in accordance with the size of the house,-the parlor or
sitting-room, the dressing-room, rooms for sleeping
and bathing, the kitchen; and in some cases we
noticed the small chapel which was appropriated
to the Lares or household gods. The windows
have the appearance of having been provided originally with wooden shutters. The floors are frequently a pavement of mosaic. The names and
occupations of the inhabitants have be.en ascertained from the inscriptions in red paint on the
exterior of the houses.
Some of the excavations are outside of the Herculaneum gate. The house of Marcus Arrius Diomedes is here.  It is of two stories,, and is the first
which was discovered. Some of the rooms in this
house are constructed with mosaic pavements, and
adorned with fresco paintings. It has a garden,




SOCIAL, AND 5MORAL.          225
cellar, baths, and furnaces for heating water.  In
the cellar there still remain a number of large
wine-jars partly filled and surrounded with ashes,
and which, by a fiusion of materials contained in the
ashes, have become cemented to the wall. An incident occurred here, which reminded us of the
dreadful nature of the catastrophe which overwhelmed this devoted city.  We were pointed by
our guide to the place in the cellar of this house
where the skeleton remains of seventeen persons
were discovered.  One of them, adorned with gold
ornaments, is supposed to have been the wife of
Diomedes.  One of the objects of special interest in
the city is the house of Sallust, the Roman historian.  It is a large house, situated upon the street
by which we entered the city, and such a one as
might be supposed to suit the taste and convenience
of a man of wealth and a scholar.  Art had contributed to adorn it with its statuary and paintings.
Some of the paintings on the walls, to which our
attention was directed, are still in a tolerable state
of preservation; one in particular, a picture of
Diana and Actaeon.  It is worthy of notice that
this house has its little chapel for the LARES,-indicating that Sallust was not disposed to discredit
or to treat-with contempt the religious sentiments
of his countrymen.  The remains of four persons,
who perished in the destruction of the city, were
found here.
I could not have anticipated that anything which
I should see at Pompeii would have any special
personal interest for me. But the interest which
we feel in the works of a man, whether of literature




2 2 6          LETTERS —ISTHETIC,
or art, naturally attaches to the author of them;
and the interest which we feel in the man attaches
itself again to his place of residence; so that in
visiting the house of Sallust and going fromn room
to room, I felt very much as if I were visiting the
residence of some old friend, to whlom I had been
under personal obligations for his instructions and
kindness. The residences of other distinguished
Romans have been ascertained.
Among the buildings which have been excavated,
are shops of various kinds, —wine-shops, barbers'
shops, bakers' shops, —showing, as well as temples,
theatres, and works of art, though in different ways,
the necessities, employments, and character of the
people. It is not to be supposed, however, that all
which has been found at Pompeii exists there now.
Among the ancient remains which have been dug
up there, and which are still preserved at Naples,
some of which we had an opportunity of seeing subsequently, are not only busts and statues and other
sculptures, but household utensils, coins, weights and
measures, surgical instruments, vases of silver and
bronze, the various ornaments worn by females, such
as rings, bracelets, ear-rings, sometimes enriched with
pearls, also amulets of various formns and made of
various rich materials, and exquisitely-wrought
representations of birds and other animals in mosaic.
I hardly know of any thing in the works of art which,
in niceness of workmanship, and in the accuracy
with which they represent objects, exceeds some of
the mosaics which have been found at Pompeii.




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.             227
(XXVI.)
Ascent of Mount Vesuvius-Narrow and precipitous paths bordered
by a river of lava-Old Herculanean crater-The two craters now
in action-The prospect in descending-Historical references.
NAPLES, JAN. 2, 1853.-SECOND LETTER.
RETURNING from Pompeii, we stopped at the town
of Resina, which is built above the buried Herculaneum. We descended the excavation which leads
to the celebrated I-erculanean theatre, and afterwards visited another portion of the city, which has
been excavated and remains open for inspection.
At noon our party, including. Mrs. Walcott, the enterprising and much-esteemed lady whom I have
already mentioned as being one of our number,
started from  Resina on horseback, with the view
of ascending Vesuvius, whose fires and ashes had
caused the vast ruin of which we had just been the
witnesses.
The route is on the western side of the mountain, the distance eight miles, —a continual ascent
through ways narrow, rocky, and precipitous, but
not without interest, bordered as they are with the
habitations of men, and with gardens and vineyards, and often presenting wild and magnificent
views. As we came near the mountain, which rose
majestically above us, throwing out from its heated
craters a column of smoke, we passed along the
side of an immense river of lava, which had stopped
in its burning progress and hardened into stone,a perpetual monument, in its mighty and terrific
desolation, of the terrible agency which has wrought
in the bosom of this mountain. Having passed the




2 2 8         LETTERS-  STHIETIC,
rugged base and ascended to a considerable height,
we found ourselves at last in the bottom of the
great crater, from which are said to have issued
the volumes of melted material which destroyed
HI-erculaneum.
Standing in the centre of this old and mighty
caldron, with its blackened walls of two miles in
circumference, it was easy to go back, in imagination, to the time when its great heat melted earth
and rocks, and when it boiled with its restless waves
of flame. At this place, where the mountain becomes very precipitous and difficult, we were obliged
to leave our horses. The remaining ascent was
about a thousand feet, and could not have been
effected by us without very considerable aid from
others.. Mr. Thompson, with the aid of the vigorous men who assisted us, ascended on foot.  The
others of our number, unequal to the attempt in
any other way, were carried on chairs elevated on
men's shoulders; and the whole distance was over
lava and cinders. In this way, not without some
trouble and perplexity, we reached the summit of
the mountain of fire.
There are two craters, which are now slightly in
action, not far from each other, and unequal, though
not varying much in size. They seemed to be about
three-fourths of a mile in circumference at the top.
Their form is that of a hollow inverted cone.  We
walked to the edge of each of these craters. It was
terrible to look down. The edge, which is distinctly
marked in its outline, is a hardened and burnt crust;
a fusion of the various materials thrown out from
the vortex; black in color, but everywhere diversi



SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          229
fled by the pale yellow tint of sulphur. The craters,
growing more and more narrow towards the bottom,
are hundreds of feet in depth; and it is but natural
to suppose that they are connected with other unknown depths in the vast burning caverns in the
base of the mountain.
From the bottom the smoke ascended in columns
of living and endless darkness.  And the large dark
mass from the abyss was increased by the numberless small wreaths of smoke which issued from the
crevices in its scorched and sulphurous side.  Repeatedly I placed my hand over these smoking
crevices, which opened frequently on the edge of
the crater, as well as on the side belowv and felt
great heat.  Striking my foot upon the earth in
different places, it emitted a hollow and ominous
sound, which indicated that nothing but a heated
and uncertain crust separated us from the unknown
conflagrations below.  Having sufficiently satisfied
our curiosity in viewing this wonderful place, we
were not slow in returning. And I think that most
persons who have ascended Vesuvius will agree in
saying that there is but little inducement to remain
there for any length of time.
On coming down the side of the mountain, it was
near the setting of the sun; and a scene of wide
and diversified grandeur opened before us. In one
direction were the Apennines with their tops covered
with snow. In the other the bay of Naples, with
the distant islands of Procida and Ischia, realized
all that had been said of its wonderful beauty.
Below us was the city of Naples, and other cities
and towns as far as the eye could reach,-adorned
20




230           LETTERS-E, STHETIC,
with all that is rich and variegated in nature and
wonderful in art. And the setting sun, illuminating the clear blue sky, glanced upon land and sea,
upon mountain and valley, and wrote his farewell
in letters of gold. And yet this expanse of inimitable beauty could not make us forget that we
were on the sides of Vesuvius. It was a beauty
around us, but not with us. The earth upon which
we trod, in contrast with what we saw in the distance, was scorched, and black, and full of chasms.
We could not forget that buried as well as living
cities were at our feet.  We were on the mountain
of destructioi..
I have already remarked that the eruption which
destroyed the cities visited by us took place in the
seventy-ninth year of the Christian era. Pliny
the Younger, who was an eye-witness, has given a
graphic alid striking account of it in a letter to
Tacitus.  But Vesuvius did not exhaust itself at
that time. There have been thirty-six recorded
eruptions, some of them as terrible as that which
destroyed Pompeii, besides those of which we have
no account. The immense amount of ashes lava,
and cinders scattered over the whole coast —enough
if collected together to form a mountain larger than
Vesuvius as it now stands-is evidence of their
number and violence. As the effects of these eruptions are essentially the same, differing only in
degree, so are the circumstances which attend them.
Writers who have given accounts of them inform
us that they often exhibit premonitory signs. The
earth shakes. Beasts and birds, taught by their
unerring instincts, scream with terror and flee away.




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.            231'Murmurs and groans are heard, deep and terrible,
as if uttering the agonies of a mountain laid upon
a burning altar.  The sea rolls back in agitation.
Vast clouds of ashes, hovering, high in the airl
obscure the light of day. If the sun penetrates
thenm at all, his rays are feeble and red, as if his
brightness had put on mourning.  Burning rocks
in rapid succession are thrown high above the summit. Deep streams of lava, hundreds of feet in
width, roll down the mountain's side in cataracts of
fire, and in their restless march destroy everything
that comes in their way. MIan hides himself. Nature
mourns. Desolation triumphs.
Such are the terms in which those who have witnessed these terrible scenes have attempted to describe them.
(xxVII.)
Tomb of Virgil-Capri, Scylla and Charybdis-Arrival at MaltaShipwreck and journeys of St. Paul-Character of the MalteseChurches.
VALETTA, ISLAND OF MALTA, JAN. 6, 1853.
A FRENCH steamer from  Marseilles has brought
us to this place.  It has been pleasing to me to sail
in a foreign vessel, because it furnishes a new chapter
in the book of man's varied history and nature. WVe
have been much pleased with the captain, sailors,
and general arrangements of the ship. The zeal
and native politeness of a Frenchman does not desert him when upon deck.  But I must go back a
little in my narrative, and say something more among
the multitude of things which will be left unsaid.
I should not have pardoned myself, if I had left
Naples without following the example of many




2 3 2          LETTERS —STHE TIC%
others in visiting what is supposed to be the tomb
of Virgil. The tomb, whiclh bears the name of this
great poet, is on an elevated spot near the road which
leads to Pozzuoli and Baiae.  It is a retired and
beautiful place, affordin'g a wide and variegated prospect. The tomb once contained a sepulchral urn
supported on nine columns, which is now gone. The
small monumental building which was erected
around the urn still remains; but the greatest works
of art, if they were here, could add but little to the
interest with which the place is invested. Virgil
was suddenly attacked with his last sickness, when
travelling with the Emnperor Augustus; and it is
generally thought that he selected the place of his
interment himself.  There can be no doubt that
the emperor, who esteemed and loved himi,fulfilled
his wishes: Whatever they were.  The common
opinion, so far as I know, asserts this to be the
chosen spot.  It is such a place as might be supposed to suit a mind which loved retirement, and
which was itself a receptacle and an emblem  of
beauty.  Upon a marble tablet in the wall is the
epitaph which he wrote for himself:MIantua me genuit; Calabri rapuere; tenet nune
Parthenope.-Cecini pascua, rtura, et duces.
Some poor people, who cultivate the grounds: —
such humble people as he loved to describe in his
inimitable lines, —live near his burial-place. Fragrant flowers and plants adorn the spot. The oceanbreezes fan it. The beams of the sun of Italy love
to linger here.
In coming ouit of the hav of Nanples we nassed




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           233
in one direction from the Mediterranean. It seemed
nothing but a lofty rock, very little suited for the
habitations of men. And yet this was the place
selected by Tiberius Caesar for his residence,-dark,
solitary, rocky, shut out from every thing else, like
the hardness and selfish seclusion of his own heart.
Hating men, because his suspicions and injustice
had made himself an object of hatred, he fled to this
lonely and desolate spot, and made a palace on the
rocks, but without ceasing to be cruel and without
fleeing from remorse.
As we approached Sicily, we came in sight of the
islands called the Lipari Islands, in one of which
Virgil has located the habitation and caves of 3Eolus.  One of the most remarkable of these is Stromboli,-a precipitous volcanic mountain, ten miles in
circuit at its base, —a Vesuvius in the midst of the
ocean. It is said that this volcano seldom ceases
to give signs of action, so that in the night it is a
light-house to the sailors in these seas; but, passing it in the daytime, we saw nothing but a heavy
cloud of smoke resting upon its crater.
It is somethingfor aman to say that he has passed
safely through Scylla and Charybdis; but this has
been done by us in our voyage to this place. As
we passed along the coast of Calabria, we went into
the beautiful harbour of Messina, in the island of
Sicily,-formed by a narrow promontory of land
running off from the east end of the city. This
promontory contracts the straits of Messina at this
place, and, combined probably with other causes,
such as hidden rocks and caverns, causes a violent
and irregular motion of the water.  And this is the
20*




234           LETTERS-f-STITETIC
whirlpool, or rather a multitude of little whirlpools,
of Charybdis,-less violent, perhaps, than it was
once, but still not without its perils. Sailing-ships,
in avoiding Charybdis, stand over to the Calabrian
or Italian side, and are thus in danger, especially
when the current and winds set in that direction,
of running upon an elevated and rocky point of
land at some distance in the narrowest part of the
strait. This is the rock called Scylla; and near it
is the modern Italian village of Sciglio. I am not
at all surprised at the dread which these real dangers excited in the minds of ancient navigators.
Brydone remarks that five ships were wrecked on
the rock of Scylla, during the winter previous to his
visit here some years since.  Our excellent steamer
of course carried us through without difficulty.
On arriving at Malta, we could not forget that
this island was the scene of St. Paul's shipwreck, of
which Luke has given so specific an account in his
history of the Acts of the Apostles. I am aware
that some writers have supposed that this shipwreck might have taken place on another small
island in the Adriatic Sea.   But the evidence in
favour of Malta seems to me very decisive.  The
place, as designated by the traditions of the country,
is on the north side of the island, about eight miles
west from the city of Valetta. As our stay at Malta
was short, we lost no time in visiting this interesting locality. We came in full sight of it on a height
of land more than a mile distant: and were struck
with its conformity to the description given in Acts.
Here is the small creek where the sailors, in their
perilous situation, would naturally endeavor I"to




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          235
thrust in the ship." On the left of its mouth is a
narrow point of land projecting into the sea where
the "two seas met;" or, what seems to be a better
translation,  "a place washed by the sea on both
sides." On the point of land forming the other side
of this natural harbor is the place to which the
Maltese traditions assign the meeting of Paul with
the "barbarous people who showed no little kindness."  Publius, "the chief man of the island," is
supposed to have resided at the old town of Citta
Vecchia, a few miles distant.
On leaving Malta, after three months' residence
here, the apostle sailed for Italy, touching at Syracuse in Sicily, and at Rhegium in Calabria.  This
last place, now called Reggio, we passed in coming
through the straits of Messina.  It is still a considerable town.  His voyage terminated at Puteoli,
now called by the Italians Pozzuoli. Puteoli was
once a large and commercial place; and if it be
true, as is stated by some writers, that it had much
commerce with Alexandria, we see how it happened
that an Alexandrian ship brought Paul here.  It is
an interesting circumstance, that a Christian church
was established at Puteoli before Paul's arrival.  At
least such would be a natural inference from the
fact that he met wvith Christian brethren there, and
abode with them seven days.  In visiting Puteoli,
(which we did soon after our arrival at Naples,) we
were influenced by a natural desire to see the spot
which had witnessed the faith and prayers of Christians in the early days of Christianity, and where
tile apostle first set foot upon the land where he was
to complete and crown his multiplied labors by a




236           LETTERS —JE STHETIC,
triumphant martyrdom. We had thought of him
when travelling the Appian Road, and at Appii
Forum and the Three Taverns; he had been recalled to our mind when visiting the Mamertine
prisons in Rome and the dungeons of Nero on the
promontory of Baiae; and in looking upon the fragments of the Coesars' palaces on the Palatine Hill,
we had not forgotten that this too was the scene of
his prayers and toils, and that among the devoted
ones who had been blessed by his labors were some
of  Caesar's household." He was put to death in
the city of Rome. But, though history records the
fact, no historian undertakes to state the precise
time of his execution, nor the precise spot on which
his blood was shed.
We have enjoyed much our short visit in this
island. The truth is, that Malta, in many respects,
is a very remarkable place,-remarkable in its location, its physical and geological formation, and in
its long and varied history. A mere calcareous
rock in the ocean, covered with so little soil that its
industrious inhabitants are obliged to increase it by
importations from Sicily, it is rendered important
by its geographical position, in consequence of
which it has long been one of the great naval stations of the Mediterranean. - And it is an evidence
of the value which is attached to it, that it has
passed successively, in the course of its history, into
the hands of the Phenicians, Carthaginians, Romans,
Arabians, French, Spaniards, and English who now
hold it.
The city of Valetta is the capital of the island
of Malta, built upon a small rocky peninsula, which




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           237
is washed on its two sides by two parallel arms of
the sea, running some distance into the land, and
forming two large and secure harbors.  The fortifications of these harbors, and of other parts of the
island, are of immense extent and of vast strength.
The ditches surrounding the city, which are of
great size and many miles in length, are cut out of
the solid rock.
The Maltese have long had the reputation of
being a peaceable and industrious people; and we
saw nothing which led us to doubt the correctness
of this opinion except the contests among the boatmen, which may be ascribed chiefly to the rivalship
of necessity rather than to evil disposition. Their
religion is Roman Catholic, and there is more appearance of sincerity and devoutness than we had
noticed in some parts of Italy and France.  They
have numerous churches; the largest and most
splendid of which is the cathedral church of St.
John, which is distinguished, among other things,
by its costly sepulchral monuments to the Masters
and Commanders of the Knights of Malta. In our
visit to this church we were shown three keys,
taken at different times from the Turks by the
Knights of Malta, and which are said to be the
keys of the gates of Jerusalem, Acre, and Rhodes.
Of the paintings which it contains, the most remarkable is the beheading of St. John, by Caravaggio.  The church itself, like other Catholic
churches, is on a scale of size and magnificence
which is not often witnessed in Protestant countries;
and which is hardly consistent with, or at least is
not required by, the simplicity of Protestant worship.




238             LETTERS —2ESTHETIC'
(XXVIII.)
Coast of Africa —Reminiscences of Italy and its works of art-Of
some frequent and obvious defects in them-Statue of Moses by
Michael Angelo-Statue of Christ in the church of St. John Lateran-The Christ of Corradini in Naples-The Laocoon —The dying
gladiator-American artists,
FRENCH STEAMSHIP ALEXANDER, OFF THE COAST
OF AFRICA, JAN. 10, 1853.
WE left Malta on the seventh.  In the course of
the voyage, which is not yet terminated, we have
sailed a considerable distance along the coast of
Tripoli. And here, for the first time, we came in
sight of the Great Libyan Desert, which stretches
westward from  the banks of the Nile.  On this
coast was the ancient city of Cyrene, the residence
of the Cyrenians mentioned in the New Testament.
We passed in full sight of the city of Derne, which
was once in the possession of the United States
during their troubles with Tripoli. It is still a considerable place. Vast desert plains and arid mountains have been in sight.
With the leisure now afforded I wish to say something further of what -came under my notice in Italy.
In one sense Italy is a land in ruins, and yet it is a
land on which is deposited everything which human
art and genius can effect. Works of art are found
in England and France, in many of their principal
places,-in Oxford, in London, in Paris, and other
great centres of material and intellectual wealth.
But in Italy, either in the form of ancient remains
or as the result of modern skill, they are to be
found everywhere.  Temples and statues are in
her dust. In repeated instances our attention was




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           239
called to columns, capitals, sculptures, which in
America would be regarded as great treasures,,scattered in the fields and gardens, lying about in
the streets, and sometimes built up in the rude
stone walls which the people had erected around
their cultivated places.
It would be pleasant, undoubtedly, to give some
more particular account of the works of art which
we have seen; but their number renders it difficult
to do so in the course of a few letters; and, besides,
it is hazardous to offer statements and critiques upon
art when there has been but little time for examination and study.  I give, therefore, impressions
and not criticisms.  Man is not born a critic, which
implies culture, as well as elemental power; but he
is simply born a nlan; and therefore, though I make
no pretensions to formal criticism, founded upon
any special knowledge of the arts, I cannot deny
the power of perceiving and feeling, because this is
common to humanity. It must be conceded, I suppose, that the world nowhere. else exhibits what is
to be seen in Italy, either in the number, the greatness, or the excellence of her works.  To this general praise she is entitled; and it would be as little
to a man's credit to deny the unsurpassed literary
excellence of Cicero, Virgil, and Tacitus, as to deny
a like completeness and excellence of the Italian
genius in the various departments of art. And yet
it must be confessed that the impression which is
left upon the mind (I mean a mind which perceives
and feels without pretensions to a scientific criticism) is not always favorable. In the great edifices
which attract notice, the churches, palaces, and




240           LETTERS —-zSTHETIC,
other public buildings, the most frequent defect
which occurs is the want of apparent unity of purpose and plan. It may be thought perhaps, by some,
that vastness and unity cannot be combined; but
this is an error. One of the first feelings which a
person has in contemplating St. Paul's church in
London, or the church of St. Genevieve in Paris, or
St. Peter's in Rome, is that one mind, animated by
one leading artistic conception, presided over their
construction, and harmonized their various parts.
The same may be said of the Coliseum at Rome,
and of many other large edifices.  They are single thoughts,-the vast conceptions of the inward
intelligence taking an outward form, and raised
and brought into shape and harmony in sculptured
stone and marble.
But still the defect to which I have referrednamely, the want of unity-is frequent.  The circumstances under which many large edifices have
been built is probably the explanation of this frequent defect, in part. The addition of building to
building, carried over a large extent of ground,
erected at different periods of time, with different
styles of architecture, and with various and conflicting objects, may constitute an edifice which will
astonish by its vastness and splendor, but which
can hardly fail to be wanting in that obvious and
controlling unity of conception which is essential
to the completeness of architectural beauty. But it
ought to be added, that these remarks may be true
in regard to many public edifices, while at the same
time the subordinate parts are finished with an excellence of art which cannot be surpassed.




SOCIAL, AND MIORAL.         241
Another defect in many of those public edifices,
to which the particular notice of the traveller is
invited, is excess of decoration. Art, not satisfied
with the natural limits of its own power, has gone
on exhausting itself in repetitions, and in worse
than useless attempts to give additional touches to
beauty which did not need them. Nothing seems
to be left for the mind to fill up. Wherever there
is a place for ornament it seems to be occupied, as
if there were no power and no beauty in simplicity.
This excessive decoration -is probably owing in some
cases to the zeal of unregulated piety, as much as
to defective taste.
In the countless statuary which came under our
notice, the defect which seenmed to me most frequently to occur, was the failure to harmonize expression with character. If it is true that every
man has a character of some kind, it is also true
that every character, which is only another name
for the predominant dispositions of the mind, has
its appropriate expression. A sculptor may give
the great outlines of the head of Nero or of Caligula; but if he adds the comparatively mild and
just expression which characterizes the features of
Antoninus or Nerva, he violates both history and
nature. I am not certain that I shall make myself
understood, but it seems to me that the celebrated
statue of Moses by Michael Angelo may properly
be regarded as an illustration of this remark.
In looking upon this great work, which occupies
a place in the church of St. Peter IN VINCULIS in
Rome, we felt no disposition to detract from its
acknowledged and obviou's merits.  In all the
21




242           LETTERS-AESTHETIC,
attributes of art, with the exception, as it seemed
to me, of the relation between expression and character, it is a work eminently worthy of its distinguished author.  We could not fail to recognize the
creative mind of the artist at once. But, naturally
forming our ideal of Moses from our early readings
in the Bible, we were led to inquire,-Where is the
other mind which the mind of the artist has undertaken to represent? Where is the mind of Moses,
which it should have been his first object to gather
up and combine from history and re-establish and
make alive in marble?  Where is the expression of
that humble and meek disposition which his history and his writings have led us especially to
attribute to him?  We certainly failed to recognize
it in that stern and angry grandeur which characterizes the countenance of this statue.
In many of the numberless paintings and statues
of the Virgin Mary which we everywhere saw,. there
was this painful failure of appropriate expression.
Art has exhausted itself in drawing the outlines of
her beauty; but they are not inlaid with those revelations of holy thought and feeling which her personal history has led us to expect.  And still more
is this defect seen in the statues and paintings of
the Saviour.  The predominant dispositions of the
Saviour in his humanity were meekness, benevolence, pity, and perfect faith in God,-traits which
were not overcome or obscured by man's unbelief
and persecutions, nor by the inward trials to which
his heavenly Father sometimes left him. -He had
nothing in himself, but all things in God. And,
being a "partaker of the divine nature," he loved




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           243
as God loves, and communicated himself to others
in all the appropriate sympathies of humanity. His
love shone in his tears.  His faith was not shaken
when the powers of darkness were let loose upon him.
In Paris, in Florence, in Rome, I looked upon
painting after painting and statue after statue, and
in almost.every instance missed something of that
divine expression which should have stood out as
the interpretation and the symbol of his character.
The works in other respects were often admirable.
There was symmetry, intelligence, beauty, such as
we often see in the statues and portraits of good
and distinguished men, but still an absence, in a
greater or less degree, of the true and Christ-like
disposition.
I saw a painting in the Vatican, by a painter not
much known, which is exempt in a great degree
from this defect. It does not fully give the idea of
Christ's intellectual power; but the expression of
his affectional nature, of those heavenly dispositions which I have mentioned, leaves nothing to be
desired.  In the church of St. John Lateran we
were shown a recumbent statue of Christ after his
crucifixion, which produced upon us a similar effect.
The countenance, as it appeared to be made present
in marble, had not lost the look which was appropriate to its humanity; but a mingled expression of
sympathetic sorrow and triumphant peace seemed
to ally it both with earth and heaven.  But I think
I never saw the character of the Saviour, the outline and filling up of his inward and sacred disposition, so perfectly sculptured in the countenance,
as in the marble statue of Christ in death, which




244           LETTERS-2E STHETIC,
we were shown in the church of St. Mary in the
city of Naples.  This extraordinary work was
designed by Anthony Corradini, a Venetian artist
of high reputation; but in consequence of his death
it was executed by Sarumartino, an artist of Naples,
to whom a large share of its perfection is to be
ascribed. Christ is laid in the tomb veiled.  The
veil is wrought in the marble with immense care
and labor, and with such skill that the form of the
body, and even the muscles, are seen through it;
and, what is remarkable, it is made to appear by
the artist as if it were slightly moistened by the
perspiration of death.  But this veil does not obscure in any unfavorable degree the expression of
the Saviour's countenance, which is full of resignation, sympathy, peace, and triumph. lMy heart,
which had long dwelt upon the inward image, Was
deeply affected in the presence of that triumph of
Christian art.  The divine countenance,  which it
l; ad embodied in marble, seemed to come like a revelation from another world, and was present with me
many days after.  So perfect was the expression of
the Christ-like attributeds,-it harmonized so completely with the impression left by the frequent
reading of the Scripture narrative, —that I could
hardly help saying to myself, that I had seen the
Saviour.
It may be laid down as a general principle, that
an artist can embody in the forms of art only what
he has in himself. If he has powers of intellectual
conception, he will make the marble or the canvas
conform to the intellectual idea. But if, with these
requisites of art, he is wanting in true and good dis



SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           245
positions, if there is nothing benevolent, just, and
noble in his character, his hand will tremble and
grow weak under the want of an inward inspiration
and guidance, and will betray the imperfection of
the artist's nature. I might almost say, since such
is the general result, that the canvas and marble, as
if unwilling to violate the tendencies and laws of
universal nature, will refuse to honor that which is
not honored in itself.
If this view is correct, I think we may partially
understand the secret of the frequent failures in the
artistic representation of Scripture subjects and persons.  The artist must have some elements of sympathy with that which he undertakes to represent,
or he will not be likely to succeed. And it is easy
for me to believe that the artist who executed the
admirable statuary to which I have last referred
had much of the spirit of Christ in his heart; and
that he was thus assisted in representing it in
marble.
In passing through the galleries of art, the traveller is not to expect that he will find everything
equally perfect.  Some works are much mutilated,
and are retained chiefly on account of their antiquity, or because they throw light upon some doubtful fact in history, or upon some obscure passage in
ancient writers. Of those which are retained exclusively on account of their merit, some will be
found to possess much more excellence than others.
So that in rapidly passing through the immense and
numerous galleries which are found in Italy, many
works of art will justly claim and will be likely to
receive only a slight notice. Others will stand out
21*




2-46           LETTERS-.X STIIETIC,
as their own commentators, and will make their
own powerful appeals.
I shall not easily forget the emotions I experienced, when, in the palace of the Vatican, I stood
for the first time in the presence of the Laocoon,styled, by Michael Angelo,  "the wonder of art."
Different from all other works of statuary in the
subject which is represented, and exceedingly difficult from the peculiar nature of the subject, it left
uponl my mind the impression that it must stand
alone and unequalled in its execution. What a subject! —a father with two sons, enveloped in the
folds of an enormous serpent, and yet so grouped
and so developed from the marble, that each object
is distinctly exhibited, and each in character. Central to the eye and heart of the spectator is the
strong and muscular form of the father, rendered
doubly strong by parental sympathy and fear, his
body twined around by the serpent, his convulsive
hand grasping his terrible folds, and straining with
the anguish of despair —a father mighty in his
agonies.  With sad and tortured countenances,
turned upward towards the father, as if to catch a
gleam. of hope from him, his two sons, one on each
side, are twined and compressed and crushed by the
same terrible folds, but still struggling and beautiful. Youth, beauty, strength, age, a child's affection, a father's love, pain, sympathy, despair, horror, the death-struggles of the body, the agonies of
the mind, each perfect in itself, all united in one
group, all born as it were out of one solid piece of
marble, and all grasped and wounded and crushed
in the successive and endless windings of the in



SOCIAL, AND MORAL.            247
exorable monster:-such is the subject and the
execution.
I wandered through the Museum of the Roman
Capitol-another of the great receptacles of the
works of art-with all those feelings of deep interest which are due to the place and the rich treasures it contains.  We could give but little more
than a passing look.  Each successive work, so far
as it had relation to the aesthetic nature, was allowed
to tell its own story and produce its own effects.
Many things were seen and briefly examined
with more or less care and passed by, leaving but
feeble impressions. They had value, but not power.
But it was not so when I came to the Dying Gladiator.  The relation of this work of art to the operations of the human mind is definite and complete;
and the result on the feelings is as certain as the
laws of nature.  The celebrated English anatomist,
John Bell, who visited Italy some years since,
asserts, and goes into'particulars in support of the
assertion, that the anatomy of this remarkable
figure is exceedingly perfect.  There is no doubt
of the truth of-this. But I must confess that I
thought but little about the anatomy as a separate
subject of consideration.  It was the dying man
which occupied my thoughts, or rather the dying
body sinking slowly to the earth with its relaxed
and recumbent limbs, and yielding up in expressions
of sadness and agony the unconquerable spirit to
another life. It was the sculpture of life and death
in actual conflict, and both conquerors; death conquering the body, but life escaping from the drooping eye and asserting its immortality in the forti



248              LETTERS-ASTHETIC,
tude and mournful memories which still lingered
upon  the  fainting  countenance.   Byron, in  his
Childe Harold, has referred to this wonderful piece
of sculpture in a touching and graphic stanza:"I see before me the gladiator lie:
He leans upon his hand; his manly brow
Consents to death, but conquers agony,
And his droop'd head sinks gradually low;
And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow,
From the red gash fall heavy, one by one,
Like the first of a thunder-shower; and now
The arena swims around him. He is gone,
Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hail'd the wretch who won."
I ought not to omit to say that we found a number of American artists at Rome.  These young
men go to Rome to contemplate ancient genius and
to gather inspiration from the minds of other days
still living in their works; as in earlier times, and
under the same impulses of the love of truth and
of honorable ambition, the artists and philosophers
of Rome went to Athens, and the distinguished men
of Athens went to Memphis and Thebes.  We were
kindly received in the studio of Mr. Story, the son
of the eminent American jurist of that name; and
our feelings were touched at witnessing the efforts
of the artistic genius and filial piety of the son, in
erecting, in the sculptured statue upon which he is
employed, a worthy monument to his distinguished
father. In the studio of Mr. Crawford, another
American artist of justly-established fame, we spent
an interesting hour in viewing the works of which
he is the author, or which he has gathered around
him.  Mr. Crawford has been many years in Rome;
and has made his way to his present high position




SOCI'AL, AND MORAL.             249
as an artist by the impulses of true genius, directed
and aided by a just estimate of the cost of artistic
skill, and by persevering  and self-sacrificing industry.  He is employed at the present time, by
the State of Virginia, in making an equestrian
statue of Washington.
(XXIX.)
Arrival at Alexandria-Cleopatra's Needle-Pompey's Pillar-Palace of the Pasha —Character of the population-Mahmoudie
Canal-Commencement of voyage up the Nile —Character of the
boat's crew.
EGYPT, NILE-BOAT LOTUS, TOWN OF ATFEI-I, JAN. 14, 1853.
WE reached Alexandria on the 11th of January.
We came in sight of the city at dawn of day. It
was a calm and beautiful morning.  No clouds obscured the sky. The surface of the sea was unbroken except where at intervals it dashed its foam
gently over the breakers. On our right as we approached the city, a long line of low, sandy hills
was seen in the distance. Large sea-birds in great
numbers came around us. They seemed to rejoice
in our coming, —sometimes soaring upward far into
the blue depths, and then descending upon their
broad white wings, till they fanned the sails of the
vessel.  As we were looking at the city, more
beautiful in the distance than on a nearer inspection, a boat was seen approaching from the harbor.
A  swarthy Turk, his head bound with a turban,
came on board, whose business it was to act as our
pilot.  Under the direction of his dark and thoughtful eye, the vessel moved slowly along the narrow




2 5 0         LETTERS —JESTHETIC,
and winding channel. On our left was the isle of
Pharos; on our right was the pillar of Pompey.
The harbor was full of merchant-vessels, steamers,
and ships of war. The flags of many nations floated
around us. The rising sun, gilding with light the
objects which it touched, gave new splendor to the
scene. For the first time I saw the crescent flag
unfurled. It floated broadly and proudly, the emblem of Mohammedan power.
We had no sooner come to anchor than a number
of boats made their appearance around the ship.
They were manned by Arab sailors, clad in a rude
dress, which but partially covered their sunburnt
bodies; and, speaking in an unknown language,
they were clamorous for the privilege of conveying
us on shore. Through narrow streets, which bore
in general the marks of poverty, we were conducted
to the quarter which is inhabited by Europeans.
At an early opportunity, as we had but little
time to spare, we made ourselves acquainted with.
what is to be seen in the various places of the city.
Such have been the vicissitudes of commerce, and
the ravages of time and war, that but few objects
of special interest remain. One of them is the
beautiful obelisk in the eastern part of the city,
called Cleopatra's Needle, seventy feet in height,
and covered with hieroglyphics. It appears, from
the hieroglyphic inscriptions on the obelisk itself,
that it was the work of Thothmes the Third, the
Egyptian king who ruled in the time of Moses,
some portions of whose history have been brought
to light in the numerous hieroglyphical muonuments
of Egypt. It was originally erected at Heliopolis,




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           2 51
and was brought down to Alexandria in the time
of the Ptolemies.  It is as high, wanting a few feet,
as the obelisk of Luxor, which I had seen in the
Place de la Concorde in Paris.  Near it is another
large obelisk, lying upon the ground, and at the
present time nearly covered with earth.
In another part of the city, favorably situated on
the summit of a small elevation, is the beautiful
column called Pompey's Pillar. It is said to have
been the centre of the ancient city, which extended
in this direction towards the lake Mareotis.  Different opinions are entertained as to the time when
it was erected.  But as I travel for health chiefly, I
am obliged to leave antiquarian inquiries to others.
It is ten feet in diameter, and ninety feet in height,
exclusive of its Corinthian capital. It is a very
striking object; beautiful in its position, as well as
its symmetry and great height. At the foot of the
gently-rising hill on which it stands, is an extensive
Mohammedan graveyard, filled with its rude white
monuments.
Among other objects and places of attraction, we
found time to visit the palace of the Pasha, which
overlooks what is denominated the " old harbor,"
and were pleasantly surprised at the taste and elegance with which it is fitted up. It was the varied
and gorgeous richness of Orientalism, with scarcely
a violation of a just and severe simplicity. Surrounded with gardens filled with the ever-blooming
trees and flowers of the East, it reminded one of
those enchanted palaces which Oriental poets and
romancers love to describe.
It must be admitted that Alexandria, at the pre



252           LETTERS-IESTHETIC,
sent time, is far from being what it was once. In
the period of its early prosperity, it was fifteen miles
in circumference, and contained six hundred thousand inhabitants, including slaves. At present, its
population is said to amount to sixty thousand.
Some writers place the number higher. It has long
ceased to be the emporium of commerce and the
seat of science and the arts. Comparative poverty
has taken the place of the immense wealth which
it once gathered from the contributions of many
nations. The high civilization which in the days
of the Ptolemies attracted the notice of other states
and communities has gone back, at least among considerable portions of the people, to a state of semibarbarism. But humanity, with its good and evil,
is not extinct.  The Turk, though a follower of
Mohammed, is still a man, and not without man's
capabilities of intellect and feeling; and I think I
nmay add, that in his calm countenance, and ample
forehead, and dignified manner, he leaves an impression which is much in favor of the prevalent
opinion of the original capacity and power of his
race. The poor Arab beneath his rude garment
bears a heart which has been described as treacherous and cruel, but which I am obliged to say exhibited kindness to me. Much of the beauty of
outward nature still remains; and, amid many things
which are strange, amd some things which are unpleasant, there is not a little which is fitted to please
both the eye and heart.
I walked through some of the bazaars. Much
business is still done in them. The Turkish merchant, meditative, and never in a hurry, sits cross



SOCIAL, AND MAORAL.         253
legged, seldom without his pipe, and tenacious of the
dignity of his flowing beard and turban. Various
are the dresses and languages. There are traders
from different nations, and, in the persecutions to
which they have been subjected at home, many
Italians have found their way here.  Many of the
streets are narrow and dirty, but there is a clear
blue sky above them. Carriages there are none;
but men and veiled women are riding on diminutive
donkeys.  Camels with heavy burdens, reminding
us of the days of the patriarchs, march slowly
through the streets.
On the third day after our arrival, we sailed in a
beautiful boat, called the Lotus, on a two months'
voyage up the Nile,-the great river which has not
only fertilized Egypt, but nourished humanity. We
were four in number; the same little company who
have traversed together France: Savoy, and the different States of Italy, and who have found the attractions of travel enhanced byr the pleasure of each
other's society.  We started from the south side of
the city, with a favorable breeze, on the Mahimoudie
Canal, which connects Alexandria with the Nile at
Atfeh, the place from which I date this letter. The
part of the city which extends in the direction of
the canal, and which may be said to rest upon it,
contrasts advantageously with the other parts.
There are many good buildings in this part of Alexandria, and a higher cultivation.  By the side of
the streets, and on the banks of the canal, are the
palm-tree, the sycamore, and the acacia with its'"yellow hair."  It was here, that we heard for the
first time the noisy wheel of the sakhia, by which
22




254           LETTERS-  STHETIC,
the water is drawn up from the canal for irrigating
the lands. The large and well-watered gardens
are rich with the productions of the climate, and
gorgeous with the hues of Eastern flowers.
The canal connecting Alexandria and the Nile is
a little more than forty miles in length, and is ninety
feet wide. This canal is undoubtedly an extraordinary work for modern Egypt, where there are so few
evidences of practical energy and improvement. A
hundred and fifty thousand men, called from all
parts of the country by the despotic will of the late
Mohammed Ali, were employed in its excavation.
It was excavated in a single year, but at the sad
cost of some thirty thousand workmen, who perished through want, fatigue, and cruelty.
In going through the canal, we have passed numerous boats from ten to thirty and forty tons' burden. They are on their way to Alexandria from
different places on the Nile, and are loaded with the
products of the country, particularly wheat and cotton. We have had thus far a favorable breeze, and
our boat, throwing out her large lofty sail, has advanced with good speed. The crew are in excellent
spirits. With the exception of our pilot, they all
seem to be of Arabic descent. Many of them have
friends at the different towns and villages which we
expect to pass. Our captain lives at Gheneh, nearly
opposite the celebrated Denderah, and more than
five hundred miles above Alexandria.  He has
rea'son to be cheerful.  His wife and children are
there.  Our pilot is a Nubian. His name is Hassan.  He is not swarthy like the natives of Egypt,
but black of the deepest hue. His full mluscular




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          255
form is in perfect proportions.  He walks erect, and
with a natural and firm step. His countenance is
open and generous.  His eye is darkness lighted.
When he speaks, he accompanies what he says with
a natural movement of the hands and body, which
is full of dignity and grace. No one can see him
without feeling that he has a capacity above his
situation. He has a wife and children at Assouan,
near the first cataracts of the Nile.
When I look upon these people, and study their
characters and little personal histories, I cannot
harmonize with those persons who speak contemptuously of them. There is something in them which
interests me. I have seen enough of them already
to know that they have the ties and sympathies
which humanity recognizes, and which religion
sanctifies. If science, exiled by a haughty despotism, has been compelled to neglect them, nature
has not forgotten to be their teacher. Their affections are not buried in the ruins of the intellect.
They all of them have a spot which they call their
home. The past lives in their memories, and the
clay-built hut of their fathers is still dear to their
hearts.
After waiting an hour and a half for the passage
of other boats, we have just gone down the locks.
We arc now on the broad bosom of the Nile, or
rather on one of its branches, which, however, is a
mighty river, about three-quarters of a mile in
width. The flag of America is floating over us.
We are sailing under the town of Atfeh, which is
at the termination of the canal, and on the high,
rich banks which overlook the river. And it is at




2 56            LETTERS-iE STHETIC.
Atfeh that I. date and close my letter, as I look
around me upon the land of Goshen, and cast my
thoughts forward to Cairo and the Pyramids, to
Denderah and Thebes.
(XXX.)
Delta of the Nile and the land of Goshen-Villages and inhabitants
of the Nile-Camels, oxen, and flocks of sheep-The passage of
the Nile by a herd of oxen-Condition and character of the Arabs
of Egypt —Incident illustrative of their kindness —City of Rameses
-Bridge across the Nile-Wailing for the dead —Arrival at Cairo.
CITY OF CAIRO, EGYPT, JAN. 24, 1853.
As I remarked in my last letter, we left the Mahmoudie Canal and entered the Nile at the town of
Atfeh,-ascending it by the Rosetta branch.  A
little below the city of Cairo, this great river, as
if desirous of rescuing a larger portion of fertility
from the surrounding deserts, divides itself into two
streams of nearly-equal size. One of them, the
Damietta branch, flows in an easterly direction,
and, passing by the considerable towns of Semenood and Mansoora, enters the Mediterranean near
the city of Damietta. This city contains at the
present time twenty-eight thousand inhabitants, but
was formerly much more important than at present,
and in the time of the Crusades was regarded as
the entrance and the key to Egypt in that direction.
The Rosetta branch flows in a westerly direction,
and enters the Mediterranean not far from the city
of Rosetta.  The Rosetta and Damietta branches
at their entrance into the sea are eighty miles distant from  each other,-leaving between them the




SOCIAL: AND MORAL.          257
triangular tract of land, bounded on the north by
the Mediterranean, which is denominated, on account
of its form, the Delta of the Nile. The Delta was
anciently much larger than at present. On the
eastern side of it was the land of Goshen, which
holds so conspicuous a place in the narratives of the
Old Testament,-also the great Egyptian city of
Zoan, frequently mentioned in the Scriptures likewise, which was situated on the ancient Tanitic
branch of the Nile.
In ascending the Nile from Atfeh to Cairo by the
Rosetta branch, we were frequently delayed by opposing winds. This was in some respects favorable.
It gave us opportunity to visit many of the numerous villages which line its banks, and to notice the
methods of living and sources of support. The
people have a knowledge of a few domestic mechanic arts, such as the making of a coarse pottery,
the weaving and coloring of cloths, boat-building,
and the making of bricks. They mingle straw
with the mud or clay from which their bricks are
made, as was done in the time of the Pharaohs.
But they find their principal support in the cultivation of the soil and in the keeping of flocks and herds.
The soil formed by the overflowings of the Nile
is of great depth and richness. It is irrigated by
water drawn from the Nile. The fields, waving
with wheat, barley, lentils, and the other products
of the country, are not enclosed by fences. Each
man distinguishes his land from his neighbor's by
the large stones placed in the ground, which serve
as permanent marks and boundaries. The soil and
climate are favorable for the raising of cattle. The
22*




2 5 8         LETTERSE- ESTHETIC,
camels and oxen and sheep, which we daily saw in
great numbers, reminded us of the days of Jacob
and his descendants, who occupied portions of this
land. The sheep look like those which are seen in
England and America, but the wool is coarser. The
goats and sheep are not separated from each other,
but go in flocks together, and are generally watched
by little children, aided by a dog. I noticed that
the sheep and goats are sometimes, during the night,
penned together in a fold in the open field. But
generally the sheep and other animals, cows, goats,
donkeys, and camels, are driven into the villages at
night. Each house had an enclosure attached to
it, formed of mud or of stalks and reeds and open
at the top, in which they are shut up. Sometimes
they seem to be otherwise provided for. A number
of times in the morning I saw the sheep and goats
walking complacently about on the flat roofs of the
houses.  The houses are commonly made of unburnt bricks, hardened in the sun.
The oxen of Egypt —those which we first met
with and which are much the most frequent-are
of a large size, resembling somewhat in shape the
buffalo of America, black in color with scarcely an
exception, and with large crooked horns reaching
back and depressed almost horizontally with the
neck. I often saw them patiently turning the
wheel of the SAKHIA,  or drawing the plough
through the fields. The plough is very simple in
its construction, being hardly more than a sharpened
stick of wood, though sometimes pointed with iron.
It could not easily have been more simple in the
days of the patriarchs.  The oxen are very trac



SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          259
table. I have seen them with a string round the
horn or neck, led home from the fields at night by
little children.
At one time I noticed a herd of these animals,
which may be said to make a part of all Arab's
family, on the brink of the Nile under the care of
two boys. It was just as the sun was setting. They
belonged to a village on the western side, and were
on their way home from a pasture-ground, where
they had been feeding during the day. I noticed
their appearance, because they stood crowded together, about twenty in number, silent and thoughtful, as if meditating some act of importance. The
boys took off their clothes, tied them in bundles,
and fastened them on their own heads. They then
mounted the backs of two of the animals, gave the
word of command, and the whole herd plunged into
the river. They passed directly in front of the
boat at a place where the Nile was running more
rapidly than common. The boatmen suspended
their rowing. Nothing was seen but their black
heads and horns moving towards the other shore.
The boys sat upright with the bundles of clothes on
their heads. They made a singular appearance,
moving rapidly over the' Nile and apparently without any support, as the backs of the cattle were
concealed under the water.  They reached the
other shore in safety. The boys put on their
clothes. The cattle shook their wet sides on the
sand, and they went together up the bank.
The inhabitants of the villages of which I am
now speaking are for the most part of Arab descent.
When the Arabs overran the country in the seventh




2 60          LETTERS-A —STHETIC,
century, they wasted it, and made great destruction
of the people. The descendants of the original
Egyptians are found, not among the Arab portion,
but among the Copts, who are few in number, and
generally reside in the large towns. They are comparatively intelligent and well instructed, and profess the Christian religion. The religion of the
Arabs is Mohammedan. They are poor, uneducated, and scantily clad. But the climate is such,
that they do not require much clothing. Though
they are poor, there is not such suffering from
poverty as is often witnessed in the large towns of
Europe.  They are superstitious, chiefly because
they are ignorant.  In repeated instances I saw the
children assembled in schools in the larger towns,
but did not notice any schools in the small villages.
Mohammedanism  is not favorable to intellectual
culture. The people need the Christian religion.
But the laws of the Koran and of the country are
strict in the defence of the Mohammedan faith, and
to become a Christian is to expose themselves to
death. It seems to me, therefore, that there is but
little hope for Egypt at the present time; at least
for this portion of the people. It may be different
with the Greeks, Armenians, and Copts.
I was favorably impressed with many of their
traits of character. I judge of them from what I
saw. They seem to have lost the active and fierce
spirit which characterized their ancestors. They
are timid, and make but poor soldiers. I am not
prepared, however, to condemn that cowardice, if
such it may be called, which shrinks from the taking
of human life. As a general thing I observed




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          2G1
no deficiency of industry; but there is very little
enterprise.  Their study is to live, and not to improve and advance. I cannot easily join with those
who are disposed to make an impeachment of their
honesty,-because personally I have had no evidences to sustain it. Nor have I seen evidences
of inordinate suspicion, cruelty, and disposition to
injure. I have been in their villages daily. The
dogs, which guard every door, have sometimes
attacked me. But the dogs were faithful to what
they considered their trust; and I have no especial
complaint to make of their somewhat premature
and unnecessary zeal; and the less so, because in
some instances the Arabs themselves came and
drove them  away. What may be true of the
Bedouin Arabs inhabiting the deserts, who are of
the same race but differently situated and under
different influences, I am unable to say. Time
will perhaps determine. But from the Arabs of
the Nile I have received as decided marks of kindness as amid the civilization of Europe.
I will mention a single instance, which may be
taken as an illustration of their treatment of me.
One day the boat was fastened to the shore on account of a head-wind. I strayed away alone into
the fields, as was sometimes my practice. Passing
near the little hut of an Arab shepherd, who was
seated at his door on a mat, he made signs to me
to come and sit down. I accepted the invitation
and sat down on the mat with him, and we began
to converse in signs, aided by a few Arabic and
Italian words which one easily picks up. I felt
quite at home. In a short time he arose and went




262           LETTERS-A-STHETIC,
to his dwelling, which was a very simple enclosure
formed partly by a mud wall and partly by a fence
of long reeds which were strongly bound together,
and which was covered at the top with a roof of
cornstalks. Bringing out a jug of water and a
wooden dish filled with excellent dates, he invited
me to eat. I could not well refuse his hospitality.
I was pleased, because I saw he had that faith
which can take hold of the common link of human
brotherhood. Looking up, I saw a little child peeping round the corner of the hut.  This was a new
incident. I made signs to it to come to me; but
it was frightened at my strange appearance, and
ran away. The father smiled at this, and got up,
and ran after the child, and brought it back. I
pacified it with a little present, and we soon became
good friends. The result of this was, that in a
little time all the children, some four or five in
number, came round successively from an opening
on the other side of the enclosure. After a little
while the Arab's wife-contrary, I believe, to the
usual customs among them —came also with an
infant in her arms. The sun shone brightly; but
we were on the shady side of the hut, and a gentle
breeze made music in the reeds. It was quite a
family meeting, and I tried to make them as well
pleased with me as I was with them. I stayed
half an hour, and know not how much longer the
visit might have been prolonged; but our captain
(the RAIS, as the people of the country call him)
sent one of his men, named Mohammed, to find
me. He came with an amazing long club, to guard
me, as he said, against the Arabs, which seemed to




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           263
me a very unnecessary precaution.  I left mIly hospitable entertainers, well pleased with my visit,
and with sincere desires and prayers for their
happiness, — and have  often thought of them
since.
It was to this region of Egypt that Pharaoh sent
the brethren of Joseph; and it answers well the
description given of it, as the "best of the land."
And no one can visit it at the present time, without seeing that it is peculiarly suited to their
occupation as herdsmen. It is at the head of the
Delta on the eastern side, and probably a little
beyond its present limits, that we are to look for
the site of the ancient city of Rameses, from which
the children of Israel started on their memorable
journey in the wilderness. Rameses is spoken of
as one of the "Itreasure-cities of Egypt."  It probably had its palaces and architectural monuments;
but, like many other great cities of Egypt, nothing
now remains of it.  At the head of the Delta is a
long and beautiful bridge in the course of erection,
extending over both branches of the Nile, a little
below the point where the river separates. It is a
very picturesque object as viewed by one in ascending the Nile. It is nearly finished, apparently a
mile and a half in length, if we include the portion
of the Delta which unites the two parts together,
and will compare well in strength and beauty with
other great structures of that kind.
I find that I have omitted many incidents of this
little voyage; but I will mention one. At a certain time, walking near a little village, I heard a
sad and piercing cry. It was the mourning-wail




264            LETTERS- STIIETIC,
of the Egyptian women.  They tossed their arms
wildly, as if frantic with grief, and scattered dust
upon their garments. It reminded me of the descriptions of sorrow and wailing which are given
in the Scriptures. The occasion was indeed a sad
one,-the death of a little boy, who the day before
was drowned in the Nile.  He lay dead in the
house.- The mourners were outside,-some standing and some sitting on the sand.  As I stood
near, a witness, and perhaps I may say a sharer,
of their grief I saw a company of mourning friends
and relatives coming from  another village.  The
Arab loves his children, and his grief is bitter
when they die. The voice of anguish sounded
from village to village, and from one side of the
Nile to the other.
But the traveller stops neither for joy nor sorrow.
His sympathy, ruled by the occasion, may harmonize with either, but it passes on. He gives a
smile or a tear, a just tribute to a-common nature,
and then goes forward to his own place.
In eight days from Alexandria we arrived at
Cairo. Our boat stopped at Boulak, which is the
harbor of Cairo. The bank of the river at Boulak
is steep and rocky. For a mile or more it was
lined with the large boats of the Nile, a number
of which bore the American flag.  We saw signs
of activity, wealth, commerce, intelligence.  Cairo
is only a mile and a half distant, and is so connected with  Boulak,  notwithstanding  the low
sunken grounds between them, that in the eye of
a stranger they are essentially one city.  In conling back from Thebes we shall of course stop here,




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          265
and I shall therefore speak of it now only in a
few words.
Cairo contains two hundred thousand inhabitants, divided and characterized by descent, history,
and religion,-Arabs, Turks, Armenians, Greeks,
and Copts.  Here also are the Nubian and the
European.  The number of the old Egyptian or
Coptic race, of whose situation and prospects we
hope to learn something further, is said to be sixty
thousand.  It is through them, as it seems to me,
that we must look for the religious recovery of
Egypt.
The streets of the city, the buildings and gardens, the dress, manners, and occupations of the
people, all remind us that we are in a great city of
the East. We are in the midst of Oriental civilization without the modifications which in Alexandria
it is constantly receiving from the WVest. Knowledge has a different language. Art has a different
eye. We perceive more and more, and not without painful emotions, that we are in a land of a
different religion. The lofty minaret of the mosque
of Mohammed Ali glitters in the sun.
Nature also, still more than at the mouth of the
Nile, puts on a new dress. It is a land of flowers;
and I might almost say every flower has its singingbird upon it. The palm, the acacia, and the orange,
are here. We have come once more to the region
of mountains. I look upon them with the enmotions of one who has loved them from childhood.
But they are not the mountains of our own land.
Back of the city, and guarding it from the Syrian
desert are the bare, broken, and lifeless heights of
23




2 66            LETTERS-_STI-IETIC,
Mokattam.  Embosomed in the Nile are the beautiful gardens of the isle of Rhoda,-the place where,
according to the traditions of the country, the infant Moses was exposed in the bulrushes.  On the
opposite bank of the river: near the site of the
wasted and buried city of Memphis, are the pyramids.  They stand alone, with the sandy billows
of the Libyan desert breaking around them, like
the peak of Stromboli in the midst of the sea.
But it is dangerous to get the first glance of such
an object when one is closing a letter.  There are
no pyramids in America.  Mountains and mounds,
the monuments of a departed race, are there; but
not the pyramids of Egypt.
(XXXI.)
Arrival at Benisooef —Convent of St. Anthony-Mohammedan mosque
-Yisit to a Bey of the Pasha-Picturesque appearance of the villages of the Nile- Birds of the Nile-Gebel-E-Tayr-The wounded
eagle-The crocodile-The blind boy.
EGYPT, TOWN OF GHENEH, ON THE NILE, FEB. 15, 1853.
WE sailed from  Cairo on the twenty-fourth of
January with a favorable wind.  Passing by the
isle of Rhoda, and the town of Old Cairo on the
left, and the town of Geezeh on the right, and
village after village in continual succession, we
reached on the fourth day the large town of Benisooef, which is distant from Cairo seventy-seven
miles.  This town is one of the principal places in
Upper Egypt, and is the residence of the governor
of the province of which Benisooef is the capital.
Numerous boats, moored under the steep banks,




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           267
lined the shore, indicating that it is a place of considerable commerce.  It has manufactures of silk
and cotton, recently established. Anciently it was
famous for its linen-manufactures.
From Benisooef, commencing on the opposite side
of the river, is the road which leads to the celebrated
convent of St. Anthony in the eastern desert.  The
general course of the road is through the great valley called the Wady-el-Arraba, which runs between
the two limestone ranges of mountains bearing the
name of the Northern and Southern Kalalla.  The
convent, built at the foot of the Kalalla and surrounded with gardens, is within eighteen miles' distance of the Red Sea. I mention this convent the
more particularly, not only because it is a place of
considerable resort, but because it is the principal
convent of the Coptic Christians. The patriarch
of the Copts is elected by its members. The convent is of great antiquity, and possesses some historical interest. The cavern is shown near it in
which the celebrated St. Anthony passed a portion
of his days in religious retirement.
Leaving Benisooef after a slight examination of
it, we reached the pleasant town of Minieh, on the
west bank of the Nile, a hundred and sixty miles
from Cairo, on the 2d of February. One of the objects which attracts notice in approaching this town
from the water is a shekh's white tomb, situated
upon the rising ground, and overshadowed by a
large sycamore-tree.  We visited the large and
ancient mosque which stands upon the bank of the
river.  We found there a number of Mohammedans
going through with their devotions. Within it are




268           LETTERS- ASTIIETIC,
marble and granite columns with Corinthian capitals, which originally belonged to some building of
earlier times.  The modern cemetery of Minieh is
on the opposite side of the river.  The dead are ferried over in boats. The custom of burying their dead
on the opposite bank, which is often easily explained
in connection with the natural features of the country, existed in ancient times, and gave rise to the
legend of Charon's boat.
Modern improvements on a limited scale have
found their way to Minieh. The Pasha of Egypt
has established a large sugar-manufactory here,
which is in successful operation. Although we were
entire strangers, we were kindly invited to,go through
it and examine it.  We had repeatedly passed large
and flourishing fields of the sugar-cane.  The culture of the sugar-cane, and also of cotton, has recently been introduced.
A bey of the Pasha, resident at Cairo, was on a
visit at Minieh when we were there. We understood that he had been sent up the river on a tour of
inspection, but with particular reference to the manufacturing-establishments. His boat lay very near us.
We called upon him in the boat.  Seated on a divan
in the Oriental manner, he bade us a cordial welcome, and, ordering coffee to be brought us, politely
answered our questions, and made on his part many
inquiries in relation to America.  His countenance
indicated that he possessed good powers of mind. And
I have rarely seen a man more truly dignified and at
the same time more kind and affable in his manners.
It is the small villages, however, rather than the
large towns, which constitute the marked peculiarity




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           269
of the Nile, and which constantly arrest the attention of the traveller. It is undoubtedly true that
they lose much of their attraction when closely
inspected; but they are certainly very picturesque
awhen seen in the distance. For hours I have sat
in the boat and looked upon them. There is poetry
in their very location. They are almost always
built in a grove of palm-trees.  The palm-tree itself
is a very impressive object. Tall, straight, crowned
with a tuft of long waving leaves, it has a lofty and
meditative aspect, as if it were conversing with the
spirits of the air. In front of the villages is the
Nile; and south of Cairo they have a background
of mountains. The eastern mountains, with rugged
but imperishable walls, guard them from the Syrian
desert.  The mountains on the western side protect
them from the encroachments of the deserts of Libya.
Many villages have canals near them, running back
from the river towards the mountains.  Their high
banks form a road.  Oxen, camels, flocks of sheep
and goats, are constantly passing and repassing.
Narrow paths lead from different parts of the villages to the water. Women and girls are seen going
to and from the river with water-jars on their heads.
They are dressed in simple but decent garments of
blue cotton, and are modest and cheerful in their
appearance. In many instances they are adorned
with necklaces, ear-rings, and bracelets. There are
folds for the sheep and cattle in the villages, and in
nearly all of them are large dovecotes. The doves
in countless numbers are flying about. Dogs are
keeping sentinel on the flat roofs of the houses.
Oxen are turning the wheels of the SAKHIA, by
23*




270            LETTERS- ESTHETIC,
which the fields are watered. At times is heard
tile sound of the mill-stone, which is turned sometimes by oxen and more frequently by hand.
Groups of unwashed children with their loud laugh
are playing in the dust of the lofty banks or at the
brink of the river. Such is the scene which repeats
itself almost every hour.
One of the features of the Nile is its numberless
beautiful birds, —not only those which haunt rivers
and display their tall forms upon the water's brink
and scream among the reeds, but the birds of song
and bright plumage which haunt the tree and
forest. The trees in the small gardens of the villages and larger towns are alive with them. A stone
thrown into a wheat or bean field at a distance
from the towns often starts up a cloud of them which
fills the air. The Egyptians, either for want of
fire-arms or for some other reason, do not seem disposed to injure them; and hence they have become
exceedingly tame.  I have seen a crow-a bird
which is generally not very familiar in its habits —
sitting quietly on the mast of our vessel. The
sparrow was almost constantly hopping about on the
deck, picking up the seeds which were there. Not
unfrequently large birds are seen, seated much at
their ease on the back of an ox or camel. Repeatedly I saw groups of pelicans, with their long snowy
necks, walking on the banks of sand in retired
places. Wild ducks are without number. At night
flocks of geese, uttering their shrill cry, are seen
flying over the river,-extending in long and marshalled array from one bank to the other. Eagles
make their nests in the chains of mountains which




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          271
bound the valley of the Nile; but' we saw them frequently near the towns and villages.
One evening, just as the shades of night were
falling, I saw an immense flock of birds pass near
the boat and light upon the lofty side of a rocky
mountain under which we were at the time. They
were of considerable size, but I could not tell of
what kind they were. In a few moments they all
disappeared in the multitude of crevices and excavations which are found there. Here were their
nests; and, as they were adjusting themselves for
their night's repose, they set up that sort of social
congratulation which is common with them at such
times. Nothing was seen but the bare rugged face
of the mountain; and yet every crevice and fissure
and cavern was suddenly endowed with vocality.
The echo of these hollow and rocky recesses increased the sounds to the loudness of the human
voice.  They were like an army of men that were
talking loudly. I sat upon the deck and looked,
but saw nothing. The illusion was complete. The
whole mountain-cliff, as if it were a thing of life
which had just waked out of sleep, seemed to forget
its usual solidity and silence, and to become lightheaded, and to laugh, and to chatter and make merry.
I had written this before I was aware of the fact
that one of the rocky heights on the eastern side
of the Nile and above Benisooef is named GEBEL-ETAYR, which means the "mountain of the bird;" and
that a singular tradition is connected with it. The
tradition is, that all the birds of the country round
about assemble at this mountain once a year. They
then hold a grand consultation for the purpose of




272           LETTERS —ESTHIETIC,
selecting one of their number, whose duty it is to
remain in the mountain till the next year. The
birds then fly away into various and distant parts;
but return again at the appointed time to the "' mountain of the bird," for the purpose of releasing their
comrade and appointing another in its place.
Travellers on the Nile frequently go ashore for
the purpose of shooting. The sound of their guns
was not pleasing to me. It seemed to me to be
cruel. I cannot see the good sense, the humanity,
or the religion, of taking away that life which God
alone can give, for the gratification of a useless and
momentary pleasure. Hearing a gun one day, I
looked up and saw a dove winging its way heavily
towards the boat. Its slow, irregular motion attracted my attention. The blood dropped from its
breast. It struggled, but still descended nearer and
nearer to the water. Its strength failed. Its white
plumage sank in the dark wave. Near Minieh a
wounded eagle fell by the side of the boat, and was
taken on the deck, and died. That dark straggling wing, now feeble in death, had power to climb
the mountains. As the light faded from his dying
eye, he seemed to utter a reproach, and to say that
to destroy him thus was unworthy of man. I am
not ashamed to say that I wept.
The crocodile, which was here in the time of
Herodotus, is still an inhabitant of the Nile; not,
however, of all parts of it. They are very seldom
seen below the town of Miniell.  We did not see
them  until we had ascended above the town of
Girgeh, more than three hundred and forty miles
above Cairo. We then saw them repeatedly for a




SOCIAL, AND ]MORAL.          273
number of days, and in nearly every instance sleeping on little sand-banks in the middle of the river
in the heat of the day. In a number of instances
we approached quite near them.  The largest of
them were about twelve feet in length. There were
generally two together.  They lay stretched out
Upon these banks, dark, rough, motionless, with
their legs and feet projected at their sides and
pressed into the sand.  When the boat approached
them, they moved slowly to the water's edge and
plunged into the river.
Some people of the country, coming down in a boat
had taken a young crocodile. They gave it to our
men. It was very small, about two feet in length.
The men placed it in a vessel of water, and gave it
food, in hopes to keep it alive.  Apparently discontented and angry at being taken from its native reeds
and waters, it refused to eat, and in a few days died.
Such are some of the scenes and incidents which
characterize a voyage on this remarkable river —in
its natural features, its ancient remains, its history,
the customs and character of the people, unlike any
other river in the world.  Of the remains of ancient
cities and temples which are found on its banks, I
will endeavor to say something in another letter.
I have referred in a former letter to the strength
of domestic and family attachments in this people,
particularly the Arab portion. I have seen nothing
since which leads me to alter that opinion, but some
things which seem rather to confirm it.  Egypt has
its afflictions. And among others is the prevalence
of blindness,-a fact not easily explained, but which
is often mentioned by travellers. But it was pleas



274           LETTERS-AESTHETIC,
ing to see that the subjects of this heavy affliction
were not deserted by their relatives and friends.
One morning when the boat was lying under a high
bank, and before we were ready to start, I heard a
voice uttering a plaintive note. I looked out of the
window, and saw a beautiful boy standing half-way
down the shelving declivity. He seemed to be about
twelve or thirteen years of age. And his sister, a
little smaller in size and younger in appearance,
stood by his side, holding his hand. I looked a
moment and perceived that he was blind. I asked
our interpreter what it was which he sang so plaintively.  He said it was only a few simple words
having reference to his situation: —
" I am blind.
My father and mother are poor;
Give me some bread:
I am blind."
I noticed, while the boy was singing, that he
turned his calm but sightless face upward, as if
beseeching the Almighty to inspire us with kind
sentiments; but the face of the sister, full of
anxiety and sorrow, looked downward towards the
people of the boat. One of the sailors ran up on
the bank and gave the girl a piece of bread; and
they were about leaving. But they were requested
to stop a moment, and another piece of bread and
some nloney were sent to them.  The little girl
took the pieces of bread and the money and placed
them in the hands of her brother, and then placed
her arm in his and led him away. I cannot easily
forget their pleased and grateful expression of countenance as they left us.  The burden seemed to be




SOCIAL, AND MORAL..        275
lifted from the heart of the sister, as she saw the
smile on her poor brother's face. Affliction seemed
to bind them nearer to each other. And I have
sometimes thought that even sorrow has its value,
when it thus adds increased intensity and beauty
to love.
On the 7th day of February we reached the
beautiful city of Osioot —fourteen days from Cairo
and distant two hundred and fifty-three miles.
But the wind, which had been much in a contrary'
direction, being favorable, we passed on. We hope
to visit it on our return.  We are now at the town
of Gheneh, or Keneh, on the eastern side8 of the
river, more than four hundred miles south of Cairo.
This place is celebrated for the manufacture of the
porous water-jars through which the water of the
Nile is filtrated.  The clay from which they are
made is found in a valley to the northward of the
town.  From Gheneh a road runs through the
eastern desert to the town of Cossair on the Red
Sea; and by means of this route it keeps up a considerable commerce with Arabia. A provincial
governor resides here.
Opposite to Gheneh is Denderah, with its celebrated temple.  We have just visited it. It is two
miles distant from the present bank of the river.
It stands on an elevated spot, rising from the green
plain around. We walked among its columns and
descended into its darkest recesses,-a great monument erected partly in the time of the Ptolemies
and in part by the Romans in the time of Tiberius
Coesar, in honor of the Egyptian superstitions, —
interesting to the Christian as showing, by con



2 76            LETTEIRS-ESTIiETIC,
trast, the simplicity, the purity, and the great and
ennobling disclosures of Christianity; interesting
to the lover of art for its massive and splendid
architecture, the work in different parts of different
ages and nations, and also for its sculptures and
paintings, still fresh and lifelike; interesting to the
philosophical historian as a memorial of the development of the human mind, of the affiliated
relationships of the human race, the transmission
of artistic and social ideas, the successive life and
decay of nations.
(XXXII.)
Preparations for a visit to the mountains-The old man's donkey
and daughter-The Plain of Thebes-The statue of MemnonMedeenet Haboo-Temple-palace of Rameses III. —Statue of
Rarneses II.-Reflections.
THEBES, WESTERN BANK OF THE NILE, FEB. 22, 1853.
ON Saturday, the 19th of February, we arrived
at Thebes.  We moored our boat on the western
side of the river.  The Nile flows on as beautiful
as ever.. The spreading sycamore shades its level
banks.  The mountains are seen in the distance.
There is life and majesty in the river.  There is
grandeur in the mountains.  But the eye looks in
vain for the mighty city which dates its early glory
in the very beginnings of history.
Early on Monday morning, after our arrival, we
made preparations for a visit to the mountains, —
the locality of ruined temples, and of the celebrated Theban tombs.  The sun rose.  It was the
sun of Egypt,-a cloudless and living radiance in




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.         277
a clear blue sky, more clear and deep and vast even
than the sky of Italy. A breeze from the north
cooled the air. The shore, as we left the boat, was
lined with men and donkeys. I found myself in
the midst of a crowd, clamorous in an unknown
tongue, each vociferating and urging his claims.
I was somewhat perplexed in the midst of this
confusion. But, seeing a feeble old man at a little
distance, who seemed to be thrust aside by his
younger competitors, I made my way to him and
placed my hand on the donkey's saddle. The
younger Arabs looked disappointed.  The old
man's donkey was not as good as theirs. But
very soon, seeming to appreciate my feelings, they
murmured their approbation.
As I held my hand on the saddle, looking at the
varying countenances of the crowd, I felt it timidly
and gently held from the other side. It was the
pressure of the hand of a little girl, who seemed
to say, with a half-beseeching, half-grateful look," We are poor; take our donkey, though the saddle
is not very good."  The old man smiled at this
innocent manifestation of filial earnestness, and
gave me to understand that the young girl was
his daughter, and would drive the donkey to the
mountains. I was entirely satisfied.
We made our way through the centre of an
Arab village. The dogs barked, and the goats and
kids looked down from the flat roofs of the houses.
The little girl, to whose protection the old man
had consigned me, had a small stick in her hand,
with which she rather gently exerted her authority
over the donkey. They appeared to understand
24




2 78          LETTERS —_ESTHETIC,
each other very well. She wore a loose garment
of blue cotton. Her feet were bare; but she was
adorned with the necklace and ear-rings, of which
the poorest Arab girl will not willingly be destitute.
After leaving the village, we passed two miles
or more over the plain, taking the direction of the
statue of Memnon.  There were groups of people
raising water from the reservoirs of the Nile and
pouring it into the sluices which conveyed it over
the rich soil.  Camels and oxen and flocks were
feeding. On one side of our path was the ploughmal; on the other the reaper.  On going through
a dry channel, through which the Nile flows when
the water is high, we passed a blind man.  My
little girl, who sympathized in his affliction, gave
me to understand that he was a suitable object of
my charity. He was affectionately attended and
led about by a young woman, whom I supposed to
be his daughter.  My little attendant, who was
almost daily passing and repassing this part of the
plain, seemed to be well acquainted with her.
The plain of Thebes is wonderful. I gazed upon
it from one of the mountain-heights, and also from
the top of one of the temples of Carnac. From
both places the eye easily reached its limits as they
are defined by the mountains, though it is a circuit
apparently of thirty miles. As viewed from the
ascent in the mountains, the curving Nile, seen
through the whole length of the plain and glittering in the sun, flowed through it like a river of gold.
The plain waved with luxuriant vegetation. It is
not surprising, that the first inhabitants, who viewed
it in its primitive beauty, made it their stopping



SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          279
place and laid the foundations of the great city.
Thebes, unlike the cities of the East generally, had
no walls. In the time of its greatness it probably
occupied the whole plain. Reaching out from both
banks of the Nile, it was guarded on all sides by
vast deserts, and still nearer by the continuous line
of mountains which intervened between the plain
and the deserts. It had but little need, therefore,
of walls.  The hundred gates of Thebes mentioned
by Homer were not gates, as is commonly supposed,
which furnished an entrance through city-walls,
but the gates of palaces and temples. And the
Theban Gate, which is thus commemorated in early
poetry, is not a mere portal, through which a man
can scarcely enter, but a great architectural and
historical arch, some fifty or sixty feet high, which,
in -its proportions, sculptures, and massive boldness,
leaves Greece and Rome behind.
We were three days in the plain and mountains
of Western Thebes. I mention what we saw during
these successive days,-arranging.it in the order
suggested by the nature of the objects, rather than
by that of the specific day or hour in which they
were seen. I shall give but part, however, in the
present letter.
We first came to the statue of Memnon; and we
had opportunity to examine it again on another
day. It stands at the extremity of the plain and at
the foot of the Libyan heights, sculptured from the
solid rock with a care which preserves grandeur
without violating truth and simplicity. Rising
from the base of the pedestal to the height of sixty
feet, and with head and breast and shoulders and




280           LETTERS-AESTHETIC,
hands and feet all in proportion to the height, it
had the appearance, as it rose up suddenly before
us; of some mysterious and mighty apparition,
-holding as it were the gate of the mountains
and keeping the guardianship of temples and
tombs.
The statue of Memnon is only one among many
which formerly existed here. Another of equal
size, but not of equal celebrity, is standing near;
and others, at no great distance in mighty fragments, like fallen giants with their limbs dislocated,
lie prostrate upon the ground.  The Memnon statue
is the one so often alluded to by ancient writers,
which was said to welcome with notes of music the
first bright rays of the rising sun. We had the
opportunity of listening to the sounds which probably gave rise to this interesting fiction. They are
produced by striking on a hollow portion of the
stone in the lap of the statue, which has the peculiarity of emitting a sharp metallic sound like that
of brass when it is struck.  The statue is seated,
and is so large that the boy who ascended it and
went to the farthest part of the lap for the purpose
of producing the sounds was entirely out of sight;
so that the statue itself seemed to have the power
of uttering them.
Leaving the statue of Memnon, we next came to
the place called MEDEENET HABOO, —the Arabic name
which is given to a portion of the plain of Thebes,
on the western side of the river. Among the ruins
which are found here are the remains of the great'temple-palace," as it has sometimes been denominated, of Rameses III. There were other ruins




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           281
around, some of theml  of Roman origin; but our
attention was particularly directed to this.  We
were perplexed at first in forming a satisfactory idea
of the plan of this great work. Our guides furnished us but little assistance.  But we were able,
after a time, and with some little effort, to ascertain,
as we thought, the general outlines and position,
with the successive entrances and courts; and thus,
with what still remained of massive walls and
splendid columns, to fill up mentally the original
and grand conception.
This temple, which was the abode of royalty as
well as of the Egyptian gods, may justly be regarded, in its objects, the style of its architecture,
and its hieroglyphical sculptures, as one of the
great monuments of primitive Egypt.  Some of its
columns are more than twenty feet in circumference. The scenes, deeply sculptured with great
skill on the walls, are chiefly battle-scenes. Rameses
is represented in one place as putting to rout his
Asiatic enemies, who are in full armor, but in flight
before him; and in another as smiting the captives
taken in war in the presence of the god Amunre.
War then, as now, when prosecuted successfully,
constituted glory. There are some scenes, however,
of a more domestic nature. Among the sculptures,
for instance, on the walls of the private apartments
of this edifice, is a representation of Rameses seated
on an elegant divan, surrounded with female attendants, who wave their fans before him and present him with flowers.
In another place he is represented as seated on a
canopied throne, which is borne by twelve Egyptian
24*




282           LETTERS-E STHETIC,
princes, and attended by officers, who carry in their
hands the royal insignia and arms.
This temple or "'temple-palace" dates back in its
origin to the reign of its builder, Rameses III. This
king began to reign in the year 1235 before the
Christian era, —about three hundred years after the
time of Moses.
There are interesting ruins at the Arab village
called Goorneh or Koorneh, which is nearly opposite Karnac and not far from the bank of the river,
-especially the remains of a large and beautiful
temple older than the one I have mentioned. These
remains are scattered over a large extent of ground,
and bear the evidences of mechanical skill as well
as of sublime conception which generally characterize the architectural remains found in this region.
And not far from these ruins are other fragmentary
remains of a temple which dates back to the time
of the third Thothmes, the cotemporary of Moses.
But I found myself more interested by the ruins
generally but perhaps incorrectly known as the
MEMNONIUM, which are found between Medeenet
Haboo and Koorneh.
The temple which bears this name was originally
entered through the opening in the vast pyramidal
towers, built of massive stone and covered with
sculptures, which still stand as the magnificent
front of the large area or court which first opens
behind them. This court, which is more than two
hundred feet in length by a hundred and eighty
in breadth, was originally ornamented with a
double row of columns on each side, some fragnents of which only remain now. This large




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.            283
area opens into another court or area, a little
smaller in size, which had lateral corridors of large
circular columns.  There were also rows of pillars
of a different form  at the northern and southern
extremities of this court.  The second court connects itself with a third, a hundred feet in length,
covered with a solid roof, painted of a light-blue
color and studded with stars. Forty-eight large
columns of great beauty originally supported this
roof, many of which are still standing, as also a
considerable number of those in the second court.
The twelve central columns in the third court are
thirty-two feet in height and twenty-one in circumference. Some of the columns are prostrate.
The remains of pedestals and statues are strewed
around them.
The surfaces of these remarkable ruins are covered
with hieroglyphical and other sculptures. Many
of them seem to be historical in their character.
Towns are taken.  Chiefs are led captive with
ropes about their necks.  In one place a town,
favorably situated on a rocky eminence, is defended with obstinacy, but at length overcome.
Those who are able to interpret the hieroglyphical
characters state that the towns were taken in the
fourth year of Rameses II., who was styled the
Great.  He is the same with the Sesostris of the
Greek historians. There are other sculptures of a
different character. Some represent religious ceremonies. In one place is a procession of the sons
and daughters of this Rameses.
One of the most remarkable things here is the
statue of Rameses Sesostris.  It lies near the en



284           LETTERS —-ESTHETIC,
trance of the second court, prostrate and broken,.
Its estimated weight is a little less than 900 tons.
It is sculptured from a single block of sienite.
The passing traveller is obliged to rely chiefly
upon the statements of others.  I will only add,
therefore, that those who have investigated the
subject inform us that it was overthrown by the
Persian king Cambyses, when he overran and conquered Egypt, so that it may be said to have
taken a nation's strength to erect it, and a nation's
strength to throw it down. The king, in the
Egyptian idea of government, represented the
state; and the statue which was erected in his
honor may be said to have embodied the king.
And as I stood beside the mighty fragments, and
saw the head severed from the body and the face
prostrate and hidden in the dust, I seemed to be
looking upon a fallen empire.
A mere transient stranger in the land —a sojourner of a few days,-I can of course see but
little; but I have already seen more than I was prepared for. A new ray of intelligence has broken
in upon the mind. I can understand now, better
than I once could, why Greece, in her desire to obtain knowledge, came to Egypt. But where Egypt
received her high civilization, and under what circumstances it was developed, is still a problem. Of
the fact of such civilization, including both knowledge and art, the numerous monuments which still
remain leave no doubt. So far as I could perceive,
as I looked upon the standing or fallen statues and
columns, and upon the numberless beautiful sculptures on the walls, and upon the paintings still




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           285
fresh and distinct, they exhibited all the attributes
of just conception and finished execution which
constitute excellence in art. Of course, as there
were many hands employed, there are different
degrees of excellence. And it is true also, that the
Egyptian idea of the outward or formal representation of works of art is different from that of the
Greeks and Romans.  But beauty is infinitely
varied. Of all the numberless works of the Creator
no two are entirely alike; and the power of genius
is seen in retaining the essence and divinity of the
thing (that which is its life and character) under a
variety of forms. The eye of the Egyptian artist
is Oriental; and, accustomed to scenery and life
which are found nowhere else, it is filled with the
forms of Oriental beauty.  And that is not all
which is to be said.  What Egypt was, and what
she was able to effect, is not to be estimated by
European ideas, nor by the specimens of Egyptian
architecture wlich are to be found from time to
time in Europe and America.  She is to be judged
not only in connection with her Oriental position,
which in part gives a character to her works, but in
the light of her own intellectual and moral history,
from her own massive ruins, and on her own soil.
What I have seen of these ruins is only the beginning.  I call say nothing further at present.  I
will only add, that new forms of life are generated
or take up their abode amidst destruction.  I did
not see the moss and the ivy growing upon the
wa,ll, as on the ruins of Italy and England. But
these are not the only signs of change.  What were
once the palaces of kings or the temples of heathen




286            LETTERS —]EST HETIC,
deities have other inhabitants now. Aroused by
the noise of our coming, a lizard thrust his head
from  a hole in a column.  Countless birds flew
around us from the crevices in the walls. A flock
of sheep and goats came in from the plain, and
reposed themselves in the shade of the towers and
of the fallen statue of Rameses.  Groups of Arabs
were seated on the massy fragments. The noise
of children echoed through the walls.
-While miiy learned associate, Mr. Thompson, who
added science to taste and industry, took measurements and made notes, I sat down on a broken
column and meditated. "I It is-thus," I said to myself,
L"that the works of man perish." Among human
works there seemed to me to be nothing greater
than that which I then witnessed; but that which
is greatest in grandeur is greatest also in desolation.
But nature lives, because the life of God is in it.
There is beauty in the Theban plains.  There is
grandeur in the Theban mountainzs  Truth lives
also, because truth can never be separated from
eternity.  Love lives, because without love truth
ceases to be beautiful, and because, without love to
give it life, eternity itself becomes an infinite wilderness of desolations. Desolation, therefore, speaks.
Its language is, that everything which is not of
truth and love is false, —false in position and false
in nature.  And everything which is false, though
in its power and pride it may call art and genius
to its aid, only builds its own tomb.  Main learns
wisdom in the midst of ruins.
I was aroused from these contemplations, which
the place and the objects could hardly fail to in



SOCIAL, AND MORAL.              2857
spire, by my little donkey-girl.  She had her own
thoughts,-her own sorrows, cares, and joys.  She
had begun to think of her father's humble home,
and gave the signal for our departure by pointing
to the setting sun.
(XXXIII.)
Luxor-Palace of Anlunoph III.-Dromos and Sphynxes-Temple
of Carnac —Night-scene-Tombs of the kings -and queens-Ideas
of the Egyptians on the subject of immortality-Poetry.
THEBES, EASTERN BANK OF THE NILE, FEB. 25, 1853.
HAVING thus spent successive days on the western
bank in the examination of various objects of interest, we passed the river to the village or town of
Luxor, in Eastern Thebes.  Luxor —"the place of
palaces," as the name means, in allusion, probably,
to the ruins which are found in it-is a considerable
town situated w:n a small hill, with fertile valleys
around, and pleasant residences and gardens.  The
population is mixed,-.Arabic, Turkish, Coptic, and
some Europeans.  In all the important towns on
the Nile we found resident Italians in greater or
less numbers, who had fled from the oppressions or
the revolutions of their unhappy country; but in
Luxor and its vicinity there are attractions which,
independent of the influence of any such necessity,
are likely to induce the temporary or permanent
residence of a few strangers. It is foreigners, and
not the natives of the country, who bring to light
and appreciate and explain the Egypt of ancient
times. We were happy in making the acquaint



2  8          LETTERS-ESTHETIC,
ance of a French gentleman, who is employed by
the Egyptian Government in superintending the
excavations which are still in progress here.
On the rising ground, and fronting the Nile,
which flows by in unequalled beauty, a row of
columns of great size, and finished in the highest
style of Egyptian art, indicate the locality of another vast temple. Here again, carried back in
imagination to its historic date of more than three
thousand years, (the period when its foundations
were laid,) we stopped in silent admiration of the
genius which conceived and the power which executed these great works. This temple, as appears
from the inscriptions upon it, was commenced by
Amunoph MII., who seems to have built the original
sanctuary and the apartments connected with it;
and was completed by Rameses II., who added a
large court with its pyramidal towers, obelisks, and
statues. If we can rely upon these statements,
they carry us back to nearly fourteen hundred
years before the Christian era. As= I have already
said, however, the passing traveller can only give
the statements of others.
It is true that all can see and admire the beauty
of the remarkable inscriptions which ornament the
Theban walls, and which enclose, in the elegance
of their sculptured outlines, the suggestions and
truths of a remote history. Of the multitudes,
however, who thus behold and admire, few only
have the power to understand and interpret their
meaning. But science, as well as curiosity, has
trod among these ruins. Denon, Champollion, and
Wilkinson, have been here. And we owe it to the




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           289
patience of the laborious antiquary and the man
of science, that we can thus associate results with
historical persons, and skill with epochs of time.
This temple will be better understood, when the
excavations to which we have already referred as
being in progress shall have been completed. And
yet, as it now exists, with large portions buried in
the dust, it repays all the interest it excites. Among
other fragments which indicate its ancient splendor,
there still remains, though not without defacements
and injury, a magnificent gateway, with its vast and
lofty towers. The sides of these towers are covered
with hieroglyphics. Before this large and imposing
entrance are gigantic statues, which the labors of
the learned antiquarians whom I have mentioned
have ascertained to be the statues of Ramzeses II.,
one of the great men and memorable names of
ancient Egyptian history.  But these too, though
once supposed to have the power of perpetuating
the features and the honors of a king so illustrious,
are defaced and broken.  Here, also, were originally
two obelisks, covered with inscriptions deeply cut
in the solid granite,-inscriptions which are nearly
as distinct now as when the rock first yielded to
the chisel. I have looked upon both of them. But
one of them only remains here. The other, removed a few years since at great labor and expense,
adorns the city of Paris.
From the PYLON or great gateway of the temple
of Amunoph, and from the obelisks which stood in
front of it, there is a DROMOS or narrow road, enclosed originally on each side by a row of colossal
sphynxes, which extended nearly two miles to the
25




29 0           LETTERS —AISTIETIC,
great temple of Carnac.  Many of these sphynxes
have disappeared under the changes of three thousand years; many are much injured; but others
still remain, with much of their original vastness
and magnificence.
Of the great temple of Carnac I feel unwilling
to speak, because I know it would require little
short of a life's labor, instead of a visit of a few
days, to estimate it in the details of its origin, of
its various and sublime architecture, and of the historical records which are concealed under its obscure
but countless symbols. Volumes have already been
written; but the subject is not exhausted.
Imagine a level expanse, beautiful in its situation, and a mile and a half in circuit. In the early
days of Egypt and of the human race-as early as
the period when Joseph, the son of Jacob, had
authority-the king of that time erects a small but
beautiful sanctuary near the centre of this plain.
It still exists, definable and separable, without
much difficulty, from all that is around it; but it
exists in ruins.  Its sculptures tell its history.  It
is the work of Ositarsen I.  Other kings in aftertimes, and often at long intervals, Amunoph I., the
third Thothmes, Osirei, and Rameses III., animated
by sentiments of religion or of personal glory, add
other courts, temples, corridors, walls, gateways,
obelisks, colossal statues, which entirely fill up the
circuit which has been mentioned; all having a
combined but definite relation to the little central
temple from which they have their origin, and also
to the temple of Luxor on the eastern side and to
the temple of Goornah on the western side of the




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           291
Nile. So that temple may be said to look upon
temple; and the numerous objects of worship, which
occupied their sanctuaries, or were sculptured on
their walls, as we recall them in the days of their
idolatrous supremacy, seem to utter voices of mutual
recognition and encouragement from one side of
the Nile to the other, and from mountain to mountain.
On all sides of this vast pile of buildings are
gateways with lofty towers, some of them in a state
of remarkable preservation,-so beautiful, so imnmense, that human art furnishes no other equally
striking examples. In that part of the temple
called the grand hall, which is more than three
hundred feet in length by a hundred and seventy
in breadth, are columns twelve feet in diameter and
sixty-six feet in height, exclusive of the pedestal.
The height of this hall from the pavement to the
top of the roof is stated to be eighty feet. In all
parts of this immense edifice, and on the obelisks
which remain, are hieroglyphics and pictorial representations, which illustrate the customs and manners of the people, their political history, and their
religion.
We visited these ruins by night as well as by
day. The moon shone brightly. Silence reigned
in the midst of desolation. It was an impressive
scene, —art and genius struggling against time. In
one of the areas a lofty column stood alone, like
the palm-tree of the desert, and in its solitude
seemed to look with sorrow upon its fallen brothers,
which were broken at its feet. In another place I
looked with amazement on two of these mighty




292           LETTERS-gESTEIETIC,
pillars, which had started from their foundations
apparently at the same time, and had met and
embraced each other in their fall. There they stand,
folded as it were in each other's arms, struggling
together against the footprints of' ruin, yielding a
mutual and sympathetic support, and awaiting in
some epoch of coming ages a mutual destruction.
On leaving these interesting places I must refer
briefly to the tombs.  They are in the mountains
on the western side of the Nile,-in retired places
and difficult of access, amid the stillness of perpetual solitude, and where nature's surrounding
desolation, shapeless, discolored, and without verdure, is a fitting emblem of this great empire of the
dead.  We spent among them a large portion of two
successive days.  The tombs of the kings and
queens, without a parallel in any other place or
nation, are of immense size,-cut from the solid
rock. Some of them, consisting of successive chambers, are more than three hundred feet in length.
They are adorned in some instances with niches
and statues, and with columns of great beauty,
and might well be denominated the palaces of the
dead.  Not only the sculptures with which they
are covered, but the paintings also, to a considerable extent, are exceedingly distinct and fresh in
appearance.  In a number of the tombs there still
remain SARCOPHAGI, hewn from granite, and of very
great size. On the lids of the sarcophagi are the
sculptured figures of the monarchs whose dust they
were destined to contain.  One of these figures, well
sculptured and in high relief, is that of Osirei II.
Many of the sculptures on the walls obviously




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          293
have relation to great moral and religious truths.
We could not well doubt, from the inscriptions and
figures which we saw, that the Egyptians, though
much perplexed on the subject, had a dim belief
in the immortality of the soul. How could the
thoughtful and inventive minds which projected
and carried into effect these remarkable works
believe or think otherwise? Or what motive could
they have had to stimulate them in these great
exertions, if they had supposed that the death of
the body is the absolute extinction of existence?
In the farthest chamber of the tomb of Rameses
VII., on the wall beyond the massive sarcophagus
which encloses the ashes of the dead, is sculptured
a winged globe, in the centre of which is a little
child, intimating that from beyond the tomb there
arises a new and higher existence. The sculptured
representations, which are intended to set forth the
examination and trial which the dead are required
to undergo in passing from this life to another,
involve the idea of the continuance of being.
If we adopt the supposition that their own minds
were incapable of originating the doctrine of immortality, we may perhaps account for its existence among them in another way. To the distinguished men of the Israelites, Jacob and Joseph
and Moses, and many others who resided in Egypt
at different periods, but whose names are not
handed down to us, this idea was familiar. They
learned it from the God of their fathers. And
with such dispositions as they possessed, they could
not fail on favorable occasions to communicate it to
others. From Egypt, which may be regarded as
25*




294           LETTERS-A STHETIC,
the first great school of the civilized world, it spread
to other nations. Egypt was the teacher of Greece.
Plato, with a mind thirsting for all knowledge,
resided a number of years on the banks of the Nile,
pursuing his studies in the renowned schools of
Heliopolis. He is said to have visited Thebes.
And a mind like his, which conversed with men,
with history, and with nature, heard also and understood the voice from the tombs. He had an
eye for the beauties of art; but, knowing that
there is a science above that of the beautiful, he
made it his worthy aim to become acquainted with
the moral and religious ideas of the people; and,
while his great and thoughtful intellect rejected
their mythology and the puerilities of their unworthy worship, it accepted and defended the fundamental suggestion of an immortal existence.
Walking among the repositories of the dead, in
the mountains of Thebes, the memorials sometimes
of pride and ambition, and sometimes of domestic
affection and of dim but struggling religious hope,
and reflecting upon the character of the people
with whom they originated, so ingenious and meditative, and in general so pacific in their dispositions
towards other nations, my mind was profoundly
affected. Especially when I saw them groping after
the truth but still sinking into darkness; multiplying gods under the names and forms of Horus, Athor,
Anubis, Osiris, Isis, Pthah, and I know not how
many others, and yet rejecting or not seeing God
in his truth and simplicity; unable to crush the
desire of immortality and yet not understanding the
time, the method, or the source of its realization;




SOCIAL,  AND MORAL.             295
demonstrating  that the greatest human wisdom,
without God to guide it, is but a light to error and
a beacon to destruction,-I felt grateful that God,
the only source of true guidance, had made himself
known to the world, and had put an end to doubt.
Clasping to my bosom that Bible which from early
life had been my instructor and my consolation,
my joy in prosperity and my hope in trial, I felt it
to be more precious than ever; and I recognized
anew, in the humble Son of Mary, a greater teacher
than the masters of Roman, -Grecian, or Egyptian
wisdom.
Thus the time allotted us has passed. There
are monuments of art and attractions of nature
still higher up this river of rivers. But they are
not for our eyes; and Philre, with its broken and
its standing columns, and the sounding cataracts,
and Nubia, not unknown to history, cannot be
seen by us. The rais of our little boat, instructed
by the winds, has given his orders. The sailors,
with their rude song upon their lips, are already
seated at their oars.-Time is the controller of
action.  Each moment has its own history, and
issues its own commands. I gave a parting look
to the mighty architectural monuments of a buried
nation, and saw for the last time the mountain of
tombs.
LINES WRITTEN ON LEAVING THE TEMPLES AND TOMIBS OF THEBES.
The oar is dipping in the waves
That bear me on their watery wings.
Farewell to Egypt's land of graves!
Farewell, the monuments of kings!
They died, —and changed the living throne
For chambers of the mountain-stone.




296                LETTERS —-STHIETIC,
I trod the vast sepulchral halls
Design'd their lifeless dust to keep,
And read upon the chisell'd walls
The emblems of their final sleep,
And learn'd that, when they bow'd to die,
They hoped for immortality.
Dark was the way. They knew not how
That other life would come again,
To rend the flinty mountain's brow
That overlooks the Theban plain.
But if aright their hearts they read,
The rocks at last would yield their dead.
Oh, yes! The instincts of the heart,
In every land, in every clime,
The great, ennobling truth impart,
That life has empire over time.
Death for eternal life makes room,
And heaven is born upon the tomb.
They saw the end, but not the way,The life to come, but not the power;
And felt, when call'd in dust to lay,
The doubt and anguish of the hour.
O Christ! By Thee the word is spoken;
The power is given; the tomb is broken!
(XXXIV.)
Arrival at Osioot-Its situation-Coptic Christians-Mountain of
Osioot-Tombs in the mountain-View from the summit-The
desert-John of Lycopolis —Extract from Gibbon —Commotions
in Upper Egypt-Affecting death of an Arab girl —Ruins of
Abydos-Poetry.
OSIOOT, UPPER EGYPT, MARCH 7, 1853.
IN coming down the Nile we have reached, after
a passage which has been somewhat delayed by
unfavorable winds, the pleasant city of Osioot, —
the residence at the present time of the governor
of the Thebaid, or Upper Egypt. and which may




SOCIAL, AND MIORAL.         297
be regarded as its capital. It is situated about two
miles from the river, under the shadow of a lofty
mountain of limestone, which guards it from the
sands of the Libyan desert. The flourishing village of El Hamra, upon the bank of the river, is
its port. There is a large canal, which conveys
the water of the Nile into the city, and into the
fields and gardens around it.  Portions of the
grounds within the city and in its immediate
neighborhood are low, and are inundated in the
annual rise of the Nile; but a communication is
kept up at all times between the Nile and the
city, and between the city and the plain at the
foot of the mountain, by means of a large dike,
which is well built, and is richly ornamented with
trees. The city is said to contain twenty thousand
inhabitants, of whom one thousand are Christians,
chiefly Copts.
In this place, and still more in other places, we
have made some inquiries in relation to this Christian sect. They claim to be the descendants of the
old Egyptians; and intellectually they seem to
possess much of that power which gave such an
ascendency to their ancestors.  But deprived of
the means of education, inheriting a system of
forms and ceremonies which seemed to us in its
tendencies to perplex rather than to enlighten and
encourage the true religious spirit, and crushed by
arbitrary power and the dominant influence of
Moharnmedanism, their condition is discouraging,
and almost hopeless in their own view, as it seems
to be in the view of others. They answered our
inquiries promptly, and appeared to be grateful for




298           LETTERS-AESTIIETIC,
the interest and sympathy we expressed. Their
history, their character, their present prostrate
condition, give them a claim upon the aid, the
prayers, and the sympathy of Christians in other
lands.
One of the objects of interest at Osioot is the
lofty and picturesque mountain which overhangs
it. It is steep and difficult of ascent, but well
repays the labor of the traveller in the wide and
rich prospect which it presents from its top. In
its side are rows of tombs excavated in the rock,
differing much in size, and rising one above another
almost to the summit. In the days of early persecution under the Roman emperors, they are said
to have furnished a place of refuge and of residence
to the Christians of Egypt. We have occupied a
short time in examining a number of them. In
some of them are inscriptions upon the walls, which
may yet repay the labors of the Egyptian antiquary.  Portions of the mummies of human
bodies are scattered upon the ground. And repeatedly we saw what we had seen nowhere else,the mummy of the wolf, which was once regarded
as an object of special veneration, and probably
of worship, in this region. It was owing to this
circumstance that the Greeks gave the name of
Lycopolis to the city:-the city of the toolf. Some
of the tombs are quite large, and would be regarded
as objects of great interest in other countries; but
they are so far inferior to the tombs found in other
parts of Egypt, that the traveller looks upon them
for a few moments and then passes on.
With some difficulty we reached the summit of




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          299
the mountain. A little below it, as we were clambering along among the rocks, two eagles, disturbed
by the unusual sound of human footsteps, suddenly
flew out of one of the smaller excavations.  The
summit of the mountain, which we judged to be
some five or six hundred feet high, presents an
enchanting prospect of very great extent.  It is
true, it does not differ much in its general features
from what we had witnessed in some other places;
but it is richly varied and heightened in particular
elements of beauty; the rich Nile flowing for many
miles in its magnificence,-the blooming gardens
in the city and in its environs,-the fields, as far
as the eye can reach, green with perpetual vegetation and traversed everywhere by flocks and
herds, —the mountains which enclose the plain on
every side with their lofty white walls,-the clear
blue sky resting upon them; and on the side of the
city the straight tall minarets, and the outlines of
the city itself, mellowed and beautiful in the disrtance, without anything seen or experienced from
the crowded bazaars and narrow and circuitous
streets which might otherwise detract from the
favorable impression.  Repeatedly. had we witnessed such scenes in Egypt. My experience has
not been very wide, and therefore it might be more
proper for others to make comparisons.  I can only
say, I have seen nothing which exceeds these wonderful panoramas in other countries, except perhaps
the unexampled view from Richmond Hill in England, which has equal extent with increased elements of interest.
Turning from the valley of the Nile, we looked




30 0 0LETTERS —  STIIETIC,
in the other direction upon the desert. The contrast was as great as imagination could well conceive. But the desert also has its power over the
human mind.  If it is not beautiful, it is not without sublimity. Stretching in every direction, like
an illimitable sea, it produces an impression profound, grand, sublime. Does philosophy undertake
to explain it? The thing itself is both its cause
and its explanation.  How is it possible for vastness to be without sublimity?  Magnitude of the
thing, even if it be the magnitude of desolation,
gives magnitude to the thought and feeling. There
must be something ultimate. The vast power of
such a scene is, and must be, inherent in it, by its
v^own nature.  True philosophy describes, when it
has no further power to analyze. The desert, therefore, utters its own voice —is sublime, if we may
so express it, by its own declaration, because it is
sublime in itself.
We saw the remains of ancient buildings on the
top of this mountain. It was in this place, a spot
peculiarly favorable to retirement and meditation,
that we are to look for the residence of the celebrated eremite, John of Lycopolis.  Shut out from
the world by a voluntary and almost inaccessible
seclusion, he may be said to have looked down
upon it; and the suggestions of so grand a scene
could hardly fail to have aided that communion
with God which was favored by retirement.  This
remarkable man spent a great portion of his time
in private worship; and such was the prevalent
opinion of his sanctity and of his intimacy with
the Divine Mind, that people came to him from a




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.         301
great distance, and even kings sent to him, to learn
his opinion on the great matters of morals, religion,
and providence. It is to this man-whom  some
people will call superstitious and others will describe
as devout, but whose personal history is involved
in so much obscurity and is perhaps so much exaggerated by fiction that all judgments upon it are
liable to more or less of error-that the historian
Gibbon refers in a passage which may properly be
quoted here. Speaking of the Emperor Theodosius, he says:"Before he performed any decisive resolution,
the pious emperor was anxious to discover the will
of heaven; and as the progress of Christianity had
silenced the oracles of Delphi and Dodona, he consulted an Egyptian monk, who possessed, in the
opinion of the age, the gift of miracles and the
knowledge of futurity.  Eutropius, one of the
favorite eunuchs of the palace of Constantinople,
embarked for Alexandria, from whence he sailed
up the Nile as far as the city of Lycopolis or of
Wolves, in the remote province of Thebaid. In
the neighborhood of the city, and on the summit of
a lofty mountain, the holy John had constructed
with his own hand an humble cell, in which he had
dwelt about forty years, without opening his door,
without seeing the face of a woman, and without
tasting any food that had been prepared by human
art. Five days of the week he spent in prayer
and meditation; but on Saturdays and Sundays he
regularly opened a small window, and gave audience
to the crowd of suppliants who successively flowed
firom  every part of the Christian world.  The
26




302           LETTERS-A- STIIETIC,
eunuch of Theodosius approached the window with
respectful steps, proposed his questions concerning
the event of the civil war, and soon returned with
a favorable oracle, which animated the courage
of the emperor by the assurance of an infallible
victory."
At the very hour ill which I am writing this
letter, there is great commotion in Upper Egypt;
probably greater than has existed for a considerable
period.  It is not, however, so much the commotion of political excitement and rebellion, as the
general outbreaking of individual and domestic
sorrow. This unhappy state of things, of which it
would have been difficult for me to conceive if I had
not witnessed it, originates from the recent order
of the Pasha of Egoypt for a new and universal levy
of troops.  The shekhs or subordinate governors of
the small districts, who exercise authority under
the Pasha and are dependent upon him, are required to enforce this military mandate; so that it
is now taking effect in selecting and enforcing its
victims in all the towns and villages.  I refer to
this subject in part, because it throws light upon
the domestic habits of this people.
When we were at Thebes: as we went into the
western mountains to visit the tombs of the kings,
it was painful to see in repeated instances tombs
and caverns and difficult places on the heights,
occupied by large companies who had fled from the
conscription.  They preferred a military execution
or starvation among the rocks in sight of their own
homes, to an exile-which would be the result of
their falling under the levy-of five and perhaps




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          303
seven years, in Cairo and Alexandria, or on the
borders of Syria. At every town where we stopped
in coming down the Nile to this place, we heard
the agitation and outcry of this universal sorrow.
It is the same here.
As we came down from the mountain of Osioot,
and were passing along the raised dike which connects the region of the mountain with the city,
my attention was called to a sorrowful group of
people.  A guard of soldiers was conducting a
young conscript to the city barracks.  He was
bound with cords, and closely followed by a blind
old man, who was attended by two women, one on
each side of him, whom I supposed to be his
daughters. The faces of the women were soiled
with dust. Dust was scattered upon their heads,
and they uttered often a loud, wailing cry. Advancing a little farther, we found that there was a
great number of conscripts in the city, who had
been brought in from the neighboring villages.
They were collected at the different military depots,
which were surrounded with large numbers of their
relatives, who gave expression to their deep grief
in the Oriental manner. I am not aware that any
adequate explanation can be given of this general
opposition to the levy on the part of the remote
population, except their strong attachment to their
families and homes. I could mention a number of
additional facts in support of this view; but I will
give only one, which has left upon my mind a painful sorrow.
On our return from a visit to the ruins of Abydos,
where we had witnessed some remarkable remains




304           LETTERS —E STHETIC,
of Egyptian art, and as we were passing over the
beautiful plain which connects Abydos with the
city of Girgeh, we met a number of men carrying
a dead body on a rude bier. They appeared very
sad, as they stood silently on the side of the road
while we were passing by. And, as we had seen
nothing of this kind before,-a lifeless body carried
to its place, with mourners but apparently without
any relatives present,-we took the liberty to make
some inquiries. We learned from them that it was
the corpse of a young woman who had been killed
but a little while before, and that they were carrying the body to the place where she had lived. Her
brother had been taken as a conscript and forced
from his home. The sister whose affections had
been united and nurtured with his in their solitary
residence followed him with her lamentations, till
the officer, under whose authority he was taken,
exasperated by her uncontrollable grief, drew his
pistol and shot her dead. The lifeless body was
before us; and such was the story of her death, as
I gathered it through our interpreter.
In a moment all the beauties of nature around
me, which had filled my heart to overflowing, were
covered with a cloud. Thought, imagination, consciousness, seemed to be absorbed in this painful
event. I heard her lamentations; I saw her lifeblood flowing. I followed the corpse to the old
father's home. He was an old man unknown to
me. I never entered his hut. I never saw his
gray hairs. But still the sympathy of a common
nature placed him  before me.  Imagination saw
him  in, his sorrow. He stood bending over his




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           305
staff. The corpse was brought to his door. He
saw its blood-stained features; and the deep cry
which he uttered went forth upon the winds. It
was the shrill, hopeless cry of a broken heart.
There is but one consolation in such sad events.
They are solemnn protests against error and crime, —
not the protests of calculation and of argument,
but the higher and juster protests of the unconquerable instincts of the heart and of life itself.
In the early times of the Roman republic, the
blood of woman, in more instances than one, consecrated rights and truths; and history has done
her justice. And the sacred blood of this poor
Arab daughter and sister, (shed, if I may so express it, because her full, beating heart could no
longer hold it,) the blood of this untaught but
true-hearted child of the desert, has consecrated
and ennobled the great truth, that affections are
the life of the soul, and that man cannot understand the principles and worth of his existence till
strife shall cease, and he shall "love his neighbor
as himself."
I have referred in the course of this letter to our
excursion to Abydos, which lies back at some distance from the river and about ten miles from the
city of Girgeh. We were there on the 2d of March.
There is an Arab village not far distant; but the
site of the ancient city, which- among the cities of
the Thebaid is said to have been second only to
Thebes itself, is buried deep in recent accumulations of sand, so that in walking over it we ascended
a considerable distance and easily placed our feet
on the sculptured roofs of the splendid temples
26*




306                LETTERS / STHETIC,
which *were once its ornaments.  With no small
difficulty we descended into them, and admired
anew beautifully-colored sculptures and columns
of nearly three thousand years' antiquity, as perfect as if but yesterday from the hands of the
architect.
We are once more starting for the Pyramids and
Cairo. We hope to be able to stop a few hours at
the  celebrated tombs of  Beni Hassan, some  of
which were excavated in the time of Joseph, and
which are represented as being covered with wellexecuted paintings, illustrative of Egyptian manners of that early period.  It is there that Doric
columns are found; differing but little from those
of the Greeks, and sculptured and erected in these
distant regions before the Doric name was known.
But strange is the power of saddened associations.
The poor Arab girl is still before me. The monuments of Egypt cannot drive her from my mind.
And I will close my letter with a stranger's humble
tribute to her sad but noble memory.
LINES COMMEMORATIVE OF AN ARAB GIRL SLAIN NEAR GIRGEH IN CONSEQUENCE OF HER INCONTROLLABLE AFFECTION FOR HER BROTHER.
Beneath the palm-tree's lonely shade
His flock the wandering shepherd leads;'Twas there in early life they play'd
Around their lowly hut of reeds.
Oh, how she loved him! On the plain,
That stretches from the mountain-rock,
Twas theirs to watch the waving grain
Or guard the footsteps of the flock.
He was her brother. But the hour
Which tore him hence has hasten'd on.
Taught by affection's mighty power,
She felt that bliss and hope were gone.




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.                   307
Frantic, she could not let him go;
The arms were clasp'd which would not part:
Oh, blame her not! Thou dost not know
The pangs which rent that sister's heart.
But what against tyrannic wrong
Are woman's griefs and feeble cry?
But woman too is sometimes strong:
The Arab girl had strength to die.
Too weak to break her brother's chain,
But strong in love, she bled and fell.
Child of the desert, not in vain
Thy lips breathed out that sad farewell.
Oh no! Thy blood has made it true
That despots cannot break or bindThough they may pierce the body throughThe loves and memories of the mind.
(XXXV.)
Tombs of Beni Hassan-Columns and inscriptions-Arrival at
Ghezeh-Excursion from Ghezeh to the Pyramids-Size of the
Great Pyramid-Impressions left upon the mind-The colossal
Sphynx-Memphis —Return to Ghezeh —Cross the Nile at the
isle of Rhoda-Reach Cairo.
EGYPT, PYRAMIDS OF GIIEZEH, MARCH 17, 1853.
WE realized the anticipated pleasure to which I
alluded in my last letter, in stopping at the tombs
of Beni Hassan,-eighty miles below Osioot, where
I  last wrote.   These  tombs  are  interesting  on
account of their antiquity; it being conceded, I
believe, by those who profess to be learned in early
Egyptian history, that some of them  were  excavated in the time of Ositarsen I. I have already
had occasion to intimate that it was in the reign
of this king that Joseph and his brethren came
into Egypt.




308           LETTERS-AISTIETIC,
On entering the tombs of Beni Hassan, which
are found at a little distance from the Nile, on the
side of a high hill wlich overlooks the ruins of an
Arab village, we noticed the deep square pits which
we had seen in other places. They are not found,
however, in all the Egyptian tombs. They are
cut with great exactness and care in the rock,
without any fixed relative position, but often near
the centre of the great sepulchral chambers,about six feet square, and varying in depth from
twenty to forty feet. The bodies of dead persons
-probably those not entitled to the highest degrees
of honor-were deposited in them.
The sepulchral chambers in this place are not so
large as those of the kings and queens in the mountains of Thebes; but it can hardly be said, I think,
that they are inferior in architectural beauty. Certainly the proportions of the rooms and the beauty
of the columns with which they are ornamented
indicate artistic conceptions which could hardly be
expected in the very early age which is assigned
to them. The shafts of some of the columns are
fluted polygons of sixteen sides, differing in style
from any we had noticed elsewhere; and, from the
similarity which they bear to columns of later date
in other countries, it may well be supposed that
the architects of Egypt, whose elaborate works could
not exist without being widely known, furnished
suggestions which had their influence in the progress and perfection of Grecian art.
The tombs of Beni Hassan are especially remarkable for the character of their sculptures and
paintings, which are occupied almost exclusively




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          309
with domestic scenes, and with the scenes and arts
of common life. Mingled with representations.of
dancing and hunting, are other representations of
men employed in agricultural pursuits, in manufactures, and in various other ways, such as watering flax, manufacturing cloth from flax, fishing
with nets, making bread, feeding cattle, playing
games of ball, making pottery, blowing glass,
taking inventories of goods, inflicting the punishment of the bastinado, and performing various
active and athletic feats.  There is a difference in
the execution; but some of the paintings, estimated on any just principles which are'known to
the art, must be regarded as admirable. Some of
the figures are in perspective, and are executed
with skill in that respect as well as in others.
In wandering a few months ago through the excavations of HIerculaneum and Pompeii, I felt, as I
trod the very dwellings they had inhabited, that I
knew, from what I saw around me, much more
than I could learn elsewhere of the domestic occupations, habits, and life of the people. They were
records which could not be mistaken. And the
sculptures and paintings in the tombs of Beni
Hassan have left a similar conviction in respect to
ancient Egypt. Dead in fact, and dead in the ordinary forms of history, it may still be said of Egypt
-what can hardly be said of any other nationthat she still lives in her own burying-place.
We are now amid different scenes. In seven
days from Beni Hassan and nineteen from Thebes,
-a voyage down the Nile of unusual length,-we
have at last reached the pleasant town of Ghezeh,




3 10          LETTERS —ESTHETIC,
directly opposite the town of Old Cairo and the
enchanting island of Rhoda.  From Ghezeh to the
celebrated pyramids of Memphis, the ancient capital of Egypt, but which are now generally described
as the pyramids of Ghezeh, is a distance of six
miles. When the country is overflowed by the
Nile, the route is circuitous and is longer.
The excursion from Ghezeh to the pyramids is a
pleasant one. Skirting the town of Ghezeh, and on
the edge of its wide and fertile plain, is an immense
forest of palm-trees, regularly set out, and all of
them of great height. Standing erect, and destitute of branches, excepting the long feathery limbs
which fan the air at their top, they have the appearance of tall and majestic columns. The limbs
at the top, reaching out towards each other, form a
roof overhead, excluding the light and heat of the
sun, and inviting the foot of the traveller to its
shade. W7Ve passed through the edge of this forest.
On leaving it, we proceeded over a plain of great
fertility and high cultivation, which bore marks of
being overflowed in the inundations of the Nile. It
is the lower portion of the old plain of Memphis.
The city of Memphis, of which scarcely a ruin
now remains, was situated a little higher up the
river. In two hours we reached the base of the
Great Pyramid.
This pyramid, which has in its immediate vicinity
a number of others of smaller dimensions, is four
hundred and fifty feet in height, with a square base
of seven hundred and forty-six feet on each side,
and is said to cover twelve acres of ground. According to the statements of ancient historians, it




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          311
was twenty years in building, and required the labor
of three hundred and sixty thousand men. On the
summit is a level space of about thirty feet square.
Mr. Thompson was the only one of our party who
felt able to ascend to the top. He represented the
view which was presented from the summit as
exceedingly extensive and beautiful.
A thousand questions arise on looking at this
great work. Where were these immense stones
cut? By what means were they transported to
this place?  By what skill and appliances of machinery were they raised to their position?  What
was the object of the mysterious chambers in its
interior? Who was buried in the sarcophagus?
The mind is bewildered in conjectures; but the
pyramid itself is a reality, which sets conjecture
and scepticism at defiance, as it defies time, temnpests, and the Libyan sands.
It is difficult to exaggerate the impression which
this enormous pile of stone makes upon the mind
when it is seen for the first time. But while the
emotion is powerful beyond what is experienced in
other places, perhaps in view of any other mere
work of man, it looks so much like another useless
and heaven-defying tower of Babel, the monument
of mere human pride and ambition, that the feeling
of humiliating sadness is hardly less strong than
that of admiration.  Nor will the friend of humanity and of human rights forget that these pyramids
stand the perpetual memorial of what political
tyranny, grasping at power and trampling on rights,
has done in past ages, and will continue to do, so
long as it exists, in all ages to come. If there were




312           LETTERS — STIIETIC,
no historic testimony to that effect,-if the Cheops
of Herodotus, who is said to have been the builder
of the Great Pyramid, were not historically commemorated as a tyrant by the father of history,we must necessarily have come to the conclusion,
from the work itself, that it was built at the price
of the most unjust exactions, and had its foundations laid in blood.
At a little distance from the Great Pyramid is
the colossal sphynx, which no traveller willingly
leaves Egypt without seeing. Its enormous body
is partially buried in the sand; but its head and
majestic features are still erect and lofty. The
sphynx, which, in its design, is a mystical emblem
of the combination of intelligence and power, is a
sculptured human form in its upper parts, attached
to the recumbent body of a lion. The body is a
little less than a hundred and fifty feet in length.
The fore-legs and paws of the lion-shaped body
extend to the distance of fifty feet.  Such is the
statement of its measurements made by travellers
who have had leisure and opportunity to examine
it carefully. The human breast and head, which
lift themselves upward out of the immense sculpture which constitutes the leonine base, is more
than sixty feet in height. The circumference of the
head, around the full, projecting forehead, is a hundred feet,-all cut, with the exception of one or two
small portions, from one solid rock.
No object in Egypt, among the multitude of its
objects of interest, fixed my attention more deeply
than this.  So vast and so full of life, it had to me
the appearance of some mighty existence, lifting*




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          313
itself by its own power from the deep bosom of the
earth. Its features are worn and mutilated by
time; but it requires no great effort of the imagination, aided by the mysterious power of what still
remains, to call them back and to restore something
of the original completeness of the mighty image.
Its lips, diminished by the attrition of the sand
and wind, were once full, and breathed their appropriate expression of wisdom and beneficence. Its
calm, majestic eye, full of intelligence, but, in being'
robbed of something of its original power, appa.
rently drooping with sorrow, looks out upon tile
wide level plain, the repository of unknown ruins,
and seems to seek the men and monuments of other
days.  That benign but lofty look has watched the
march of generations and nations. It saw the rising
beauty of Memphis, and delighted in its matured
and mighty magnificence. It looks at the present
hour as if it still anxiously sought that image of
beauty and greatness. It seeks it in vain. No
wall, no tower, no palace, scarcely a broken column,
is visible.  It hears the sound of the camel's tinkling bell; it beholds the flock of the shepherd on
the plain: but the queen of cities has departed;
Memphis is no more.
Returning to Ghezeh on our way to the city of
Cairo, which we reached the same day, we crossed
the Nile to the pleasant and flourishing town of
Old Cairo,-passing the southern extremity of the
isle of Rhoda.  The harbor of Old Cairo, which
was crowded with the boats of.the Nile, is formed
in part by this island. It was here, according to
the traditions of the country, near the southern end
27




314             LETTERS —EST1HETIC,
of this matchless island of flowers, that the infant
Moses was concealed in the thick bulrushes on the
banks of the Nile.  It was here that the daughter of
Pharaoh, whose name, according to Josephus, was
Thermutis, found him.  It was in this region, at
least, and perhaps in the schools and palaces of
Heliopolis and Memphis, now  buried in the dust,
that he was nurtured, under the care of a protecting Providence, for his high and mysterious destiny.
(XXXVI.)
Cairo-Excursion to Heliopolis-Name and scriptural allusionsObelisks-Tradition of Joseph and Mary —Garden of Shoobra —Nilometer-Island of Rhoda-Religious ceremonies of the Dervishes-Slave-market-Citadel of Cairo-Tomb of Mohammed
Ali —Divisions of the modern city —Condition and prospects.
EGYPT, CITY OF CAIRO, MARCH 26, 1853.
WE are now once more in Cairo, which we reached
on the 17th.  We have been detained in making
preparations for the journey of the long desert and
Mount Sinai. In my former letter from Cairo, I
intimated that I might write again on our return
here from Thebes. We have been kept here longer
than we expected; but this detention has furnished
us with a better opportunity than we might otherwise have had of visiting the city and the interesting localities in its immediate vicinity.
In making excursions for this purpose we have
met with no difficulty; but, on the contrary, every
reasonable facility has been afforded.  The hauteur
and distance which were formerly ascribed to.the
Turks seemn to have passed away. If this is not




SOCIAL, AND 3MORAL.          315
entirely the case, it certainly is so in a considerable
degree. I ascribe this very much to their increased
acquaintance and association with Europeans.
Among other excursions in the neighborhood of
Cairo, we have visited the site rather than the
ruins of the ancient Heliopolis, which was situated
about six miles distant from the moderrn capital of
Egypt. It was a city comparatively small in size,
but of great celebrity, both on account of the
Temple of the Sun, from which the city took its
name, and also on account of its schools of astronomy and philosophy.  It was here, as I have had
occasion to remark in a former letter, that Plato
resided and studied; and when in the reign of
Augustus Coesar the city was visited by Strabo, the
geographer, a house was pointed out to him, in
which the Greek philosopher was said to have
lived. It was in Heliopolis, also, that Herodotus,
who has been styled, with no inconsiderable reason,
the father of history, spent a portion of his time
when he visited these regions; and here, in conversation with the priests and other learned men,
he acquired much of that knowledge which enabled
him to write the affairs of Egypt.  And it seems
to me no unreasonable supposition, that Moses, at
a still earlier period, who was "Llearnecd in all the
wisdom of the Egyptians," and whose writings, independent of what may be said of their inspiration,
place him at the head of learned men in the attributes of knowledge, eloquence, and moral insight,
studied in the same schools, and was the associate
in place, if not in time, with the philosophers and
learned men of Greece.




316           LETTERS -1]STItETIC,
The ancient Egyptian name of this city, given
in reference to its temple and the form of worship
k-ept up in it, was EI-RE, which means the hauose of
the senm. The Hebrew name applied to it by the
prophet Jeremiah is Beth-Shemesh, which has the
same meaning.  It is hardly necessary to add, that
the Greek name of Heliopolis, by which it is commonly known at the present time among Europeans,
is similar in its import. In Ezekiel, in the prophetic announcement of the various desolations
which were to take place in Egypt, it is called, by
a rhetorical license of which we have other instances in the Bible, AVEN, or the city of falsehood
or vanity, in allusion probably to the false worship
established in it. In the opinion of many Biblical
critics, it was the daughter of a priest of Heliopolis
who was married by Joseph in the time of his great
power and influence in Egypt.  The hieroglyphical
inscriptions which have been found there show that
the city existed in his time.
I think the excursion to the site of this ancient
and renowned city one of the most pleasant which
can be taken from Cairo.  It was a bright, cheerful
day when we went there, which was not rendered
oppressive, as was sometimes the case, by the heat
of the sun; and the multiplied objects which presented themselves to notice harmonized in one great
panorama of beauty. In approaching the place on
which the city was built, we passed a large level
plain, and I observed numerous camels and horses
upon it, and that it was occupied by a multitude
of tents, which made a picturesque appearance.
They were the tents of Mohammedans, who were




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          317
assembling in great numbers from various places on
the Nile, preparatory to a pilgrimage to Mecca.
Reaching the site of the city, we did not find, nor
did we expect to find, many ruins. The natural
effects of time, the inundations of the Nile, and the
ravages of conquering armies, have accomplished
their work of destruction here, as they have done
at Memphis and other places. And there are now
but few ruins remaining. We saw, however, a
number of very large blocks of hewn stone, covered
with sculptures which belonged to some ancient
Egyptian building; also, mutilated sphynxes.
From the position of these ancient remains, partly
covered in the earth, and with mounds of earth
around them in some places, it was natural to suppose that other and more extensive ruins still exist
under the ground, and may hereafter be discovered.
The site of the Temple of the Sun, which is particularly mentioned by Strabo, was easily indicated
to us, in the midst of the trees and blooming shrubbery which now cover it, by the lofty obelisk which
still stands.  The earth had collected around this
obelisk at its base to the depth of five feet above its
pedestal, but had been partially removed so as to
bring the pedestal in sight. The height of the
column, exclusive of the pedestal, is sixty-eight
feet; but it does not differ in its general form, and
in the great number of its sculptures, and in the
skill displayed in them, from other works of this
kind which we have seen. It is, perhaps, proper
to add, as indicating something of the primitive
splendor of Heliopolis, that there were originally
four obelisks here. One of them is said to have been
27*




3 18           LETTERS-.AzSTHETTIC,
destroyed by the Arabs; but at what ftine, and
under what circumstances, I am  unable to state.
Two were carried to Rome by Augustus Cesar after
the battle of Actiurn. One of them I mentioned in
my letter from Rome, as particularly attracting my
attention as we entered the great square in the
neighborhood of the PORTA DEL POPOLO. The other
remains here, where it stood more than three thousand years ago,-a nmagnificent but solitary monurment of a ruined city and a departed civilization.
It is said, among the traditions of the country,
that this city was visited by Joseph and Mary with
the infant Saviour, when driven into Egypt from
Judea by the persecutions of Hlerod.  I am aware
that there is much difference of opinion in relation
to the value which is to be attributed to traditions.
I do not attribute any inordinate worth to them.
And still it will always remain true that the history
of traditions is a part of the history of the humanl
race, and that they furnish suggestions and open up
trains of thought which sometimes throw light upon
history, and, still more frequently, upon the varieties
of men's ideas and affections.
But here, in this singular land, the present and
the past, the living and the dead, all epochs of time
and all varieties of civilization, seem to be mingled
together. In one of the excursions in the neighborhood of Cairo, desirous of seeing the Egypt of
the present as well as of the past, we visited the
palace and gardens of Shoobra. They are four
miles from the city, in a northern direction.  The
ride for a great part of the distance is over a wide
avenue, raised a number of feet above the verdant




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           319
plains and gardens around it, and protected by its
greater elevation against the overflowings of the
Nile.  In its whole length it is lined on both sides
with very large acacias, which bend over so as
almost to embrace and intertwine each other with
their magnificent canopy of shade.  It was filled
with multitudes of people going in different directions, and with caravans of loaded camels.  At its
termination is the garden of Shoobra.  Laid out
perhaps with too much regularity, but still rich in
the beauties of art and nature, this celebrated garden has its palace and fountains as well as its shrubbery and flowers.  The birds have found out the
beauty of its cool retreat. So numerous do they
nestle in its thick green shades, that every branch
and flower seems to utter its song.  Near its centre
is a large marble fountain, surrounded with a covered
corridor, at the four corners of which are rooms
richly fitted up with divans in the Turkish manner.
The stranger, satiated with the beauties of nature,
is invited to repose himself here, if he chooses. And
yet, with a greater expense of the labors of art, the
garden of Shoobra had less attraction for me than
the quiet and varied beauty of the gardens of the
island of Rhoda.
It was a matter of course that we should visit the
Nilometer. It is opposite Old Cairo, in the island
of Rhoda. We passed in a boat the branch of the
Nile which separates the town from the island.
Built by one of the Caliphs in the beginning of the
ninth century, it once had its dome and its historic
inscriptions.  The most that is seen now is a large
and well-built square chamber, which connects with




320           LETTERS- ESTHETIC,
the waters of the Nile. It has a graduated pillar
in its centre, by means of which, at the time of its
annual inundation, the rise of the Nile is ascertained. A proclamation of the exact advance of
the river, as ascertained in this way, is made every
morning by public criers, appointed for different
parts of the city.
The island of Rhoda is little more than a mile in
length. Not far distant from the Nilometer, and at
the southern end of the island, is the palace of Ibrahim Pasha. Our little party were readily admitted
into this palace and shown through its richly-furnished apartments. The southern side of the palace rests upon piles of solid masonry, which form a
bulwark against the strong currents of the Nile.
We wandered through the delightful gardens connected with the palace, to which I have already
referred as being more attractive in some respects
than the garden of Shoobra.
I hardly know by what impulse of the heart it
was that the same excursion which carried us to the
flower-garden and the palace of the island of Rhoda
found us also in the large circular hall at Old Cairo,
in which are celebrated the mysterious ceremonies
of one of the sects of the Mohammedan Dervishes.
Entering this building under the direction of our
guide, we took a seat on the mats and cushions
placed around its interior. On the wall were hung
the badges of the society, and implements of war.
On the side opposite to us, a circle occupying about
a third of the space was formed of cushions and rich
skins spread upon the stony floor. Soon after we
had taken our seats, the Dervish who presided at the




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          321
ceremonies on this occasion entered this circle, and
seated himself at the place where it touched the
wall. He seemed to be a man of about forty years
of age, with a form erect and symmetrical, a countenance open and intelligent, an eye large and dark.
As the other members of the company came in,
those who seemed to be the more important members were received by him with a kindness and
politeness which showed that he was not ignorant
of the forms of polished society. This man, whose
manners and physical completeness indicated a mind
above the common rank, attracted my attention
much. There was a hidden language in his intelligent countenance, in general carefully repressed,
but which at times seemed to say, 11 My nature does
not correspond to my situation. It is a hard or a
sad necessity-that of sincerity building] upon error
-which has placed me here."
The members of the society were at first seated.
For a time they seemed to be occupied in serious
meditation. Then they rose. Sounds of rude music
were heard. Standing in a circle, they begran their
singular ceremony, which they regard as a special
act of religion, with a slight but regular motion of
the head. The bowing of the head soon became
more rapid, and with a deeper inclination. Then
came exclamations and deep groanings. This went
on progressively, till the regular and prescribed
motion of the company was broken in upon by the
unrestrained motion and contortions of individuals.
Tile rapidity of the motion, continued in this way
for a long time, caused a rush of blood to the head.
They lost all control of themselves, and a number




322           LETTERS-.JESTHETIC,
of them fell upon the floor in convulsions. One of
them fell at my feet; and, as I saw him thus, deprived of consciousness, and his body writhing convulsively, I felt that superstition, in whatever country and under whatever name, is dishonorable to
God, and a hard and cruel burden to man.
At another time we witnessed another painful
scene,-that of the slave-market at Cairo. We had
previously visited the slave-market in Alexandria;
and, whatever opinions may have been entertained
or expressed to the contrary, we saw enough to convince us that in Egypt the traffic in slaves continues
in much of its original vigor. The greater number
of the slaves whom we saw were boys and girls from
ten to fifteen years of age, brought from Nubia, and
other countries on the upper parts of the Nile. Sad
in countenance, and half-naked as they were, they
flocked around us with some appearance of animation and zeal, as if desirous or hoping to be purchased.  Their conduct seemed to indicate on their
part a conviction, the origin of which they might
perhaps have been unable to explain, that their
misery could not well be increased, and might be
alleviated by some such change.
Among the objects especially worthy of being
visited in Cairo is the Citadel,-a lofty, fortified
rock in the south part of the city, overlooking the
city in its whole extent, and furnishing a view of
the valley of the Nile, and of its towns and villages
for many miles southward, and north as far as the
head of the Delta.  It seemed to us, as we stood
upon this elevated position, wonderful in itself and
memorable in its history, with the Nile before us




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          323
and mountains behind, with a hundred minarets at
our feet, and the vast pyramids full in sight, that no
other spot in this vicinity opened such an impressive view. One of the remarkable curiosities within
the limits of the citadel is the celebrated well of
Joseph, excavated in the solid rock to the depth of
two hundred and sixty feet,' with a winding staircase leading to the bottom.  Day and night strong
oxen are turning the wheel of this deep excavation,
and pouring out the water from its inexhaustible
fountain. This well, the history of which has been
the subject of much discussion, is generally conceded
to be one of the works of the ancient Egyptians;
but at what period it was made is not known.
Within the limits of the citadel is one of the numnerous palaces of the Pasha of Egypt, and also the
new mosque commenced by the late Mohammed Ali.
This structure, enriched on every side with Oriental
alabaster, is one of great size and beauty, though
still unfinished.  Within its walls is the tomb of
Mohammed Ali, whose ashes have found a restingplace here; one of those men who leave their mark
in the annals of ages, by seizing power at any hazard
and expense of benevolence and of right, and then
by employing it, with almost the same energy and
the same disregard, of right, for what they choose to
consider as the general good. These men are the
Coesars and Napoleons of history, renowned but
problematical characters, who forget that success
cannot justify crime, and that a man of a true
spirit, and, most of all, a man of a, truly conscientious and religious spirit, rejects and abhors all
favors and all goods which are offered him as the




324           LETTERS -ESTHIETIC,
tyrant's compensation for the loss of a just and
honorable liberty.
There are two Egypts,-the Egypt of the past
and the Egypt of the present. The Egypvt of the
past is a mighty wreck, and her mutilated limbs are
scattered all along the banks of the Nile, from the
Delta to the mountains of Nubia. And the traveller
seeks a knowledge of her greatness at Thebes, at
Denderah, and at Beni Hassan, rather than at Cairo.
The modern Egypt lives in the modern city.  Its
representative and its life is Cairo.  The stranger
who visits it is soon satisfied. He passes through
the narrow and crowded streets, amid the agitations
of passion and the urgencies of business.  He sees
different and unknown races of men, corning from
distant regions, and variant, in costume and manners.
He hears languages which he does not understand.
The community of the intellect, and especially of
the heart which needs language for its expression,
is obstructed and weakened.  And in the midst of
a multitude he often feels himself to be in the solitude of the desert.
The city of Cairo is divided into different Quarters, as they are termed, which have their separate
enclosures and regulations.  Having seen the mechanic trades and the shops in these Quarters,-the
Jewts' Quarter, the Copt Quarter, the Armenian
Quarter, the Frank Quarter, —and having visited
the public gardens and the Citadel, and a few
ancient and rich mosques, which have their painful
associations for the Christian, the traveller finds but
little either to gratify or excite his curiosity. There
are gatherings of the populace around jugglers and




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           325
mountebanks; but there are no places of public resort
which are suited to the wants of a serious and intelligent man. Mind is not the growth of Cairo. The
large public libraries which are found in the cities
of Europe and America, many of which are easily
accessible, are unknown here. There are no reading-rooms worthy of the name, no public lectures,
no places and assemblies where great questions of a
political, moral, and constitutional nature are discussed. The Nile still flows, but thought is stagnant.
No Plato studies and meditates at Heliopolis now.
The form of government, the predominant religion
of the country, and, to some extent, the habits and
prejudices of the people, are all averse to inquiry and
mental improvement.  Their government, which
is of the nature of an absolute monarchy, may be
characterized as the'tyranny of the body. Their
religion, which proscribes religious inquiry and all
change of religious opinion, may be described, with
hardly less truth, as the tyranny of the mind.
Science demands liberty, and liberty demands Christianity. And it seems to me that, in the present
enlightened period, they demand, not the Christianity which, starting with good intentions, has
become incarcerated and fixed in the formalities of
ages, but rather the free, simple, believing, and
loving Christianity of the pure and primitive days
of its history.
In leaving these scenes, therefore, where there has
been so much to interest and please, I am obliged to
say that there is much of a different character,much to discourage the patriot, much to try the
faith of the Christian.  But the light of truth comes
28




326             LETTERS — ASTHETIC,
through the instrumentality of prayer; and error,
which stands in the way of all true progress, can be
corrected only by light and love.  The Christian
should never forget that God reigns; and it is the
privilege of the eye of faith to behold the triumphs
of the future, while the natural eye, incapable of
seeing things invisible, closes itself in despair.
(XXXVII.)
Departure from Cairo for the desert-Village of Bedouin ArabsDesert of Suez-Its solitude and silence-Night-scene-El Mugdala, or Migdol of the Scriptures-The camel —Suez-An English
steamer-Cross the Red Sea-The sirocco-Arrival at the wells
of Moses.
WELLS OF MOSES, EASTERN SHORE OF TIE RED SEA, APRIL 1, 1853.
WE left Cairo on the twenty-eighth day of March,
-our destination Mount Sinai and Palestine.  The
din of the crowded streets of the city soon died
upon our ears. The direction which we took led
us in the neighborhood of the lofty tombs of the
Mameluke kings, often denominated the tombs of
the Caliphs.  We had already visited them; and
we only gave them our parting look. They are
situated beyond the numerous tombs of the people
which crowd the space around the city gate,-standing with dome and pointed minaret under the silent
heights of Mokattam.  Their architecture is Saracenic; and, though they are lofty and elaborated
structures, they give but slight indications of the
vast resources and genius which characterize the
Egypt of the days of Joseph and Moses.  All monuments, however, have a degree of value, and the- a




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           327
contain the dust of kings and conquering warriors,
whose individual history has an interest; but they
are still more interesting as the memorials of the
changes of dynasties and of the vicissitudes of nations.
To the left of the tombs, and not far distant, is
one of the numerous palaces of the Pasha of Egypt.
This, too, we had already seen. Viewed at a distance, it makes a fine appearance,-bearing the
marks of modern European art. At a little distance farther on, and on the very edge of the desert,
is a small village of Bedouin Arabs. Their huts,
similar in structure to those of the Arabs of the
Nile, are built around a circular area. I gazed a
moment upon this novel scene. Wonderful are the
sympathies which bind man to man. I had seldom
heard this people mentioned, except in terms of distrust and.condemnation. But I found my heart
strengthening and widening within me, as if to
understand and embrace to its centre, notwithstanding these unfavorable intimations, this new feature
of a common humanity. An old man with gray
hairs addressed me. The women, occupied in their
humble employments, were seated at the doors of
the huts. The children were noisy and playful in
the open space. A camel, reposing its wearied form
on the sand, occupied its centre.
I passed on, casting a parting look at the long
line of verdure which marked in the distance the
track of the Nile. The vision, filled with new and
strange views of life and manners, had closed. In
a few hours we left all behind.'We form a caravan of more than twenty camels.
We carry our food and water with us. A vast ex



3 2 8          LETTERS —- STIHETIC,
panse of uncultivated wilderness is before us. Gardens and trees, and fountains and flowers, and singing-birds, are gone.  Day after day passes on,monotonous, but still not without interest.  He
who has not been in the desert has not known all
that the heart can feel.  It is the great prerogative
of our nature to unfold itself anew in every novelty
of circumstance and situation.  The desert speaks.
It has a voice for the heart; and the heart answers.
The desert from Cairo to Suez is not in all respects so destitute and lonely as the vast desert on
the eastern side of the Red Sea.  There is something left. Absolute death cannot be predicated of
anything except annihilation.  From time to time
are seen shrubs and tufts of coarse grass; but they
furnish but a slight relief to the general character
of the scene. I was surprised and pleased to find
in some places a green plant, which bore pods of an
inch in length, and which on pressing and breaking
them were found to be full of water. At the distance of forty miles from Cairo, we sat down under
a large acacia-tree,-the first tree which we had
noticed for that distance.  It is difficult to understand the secret of its growth in such a place.
Such exceptions cannot make these vast solitudes
otherwise than a desert.
Animal life dies as well as vegetable. It is true
that it is possible in the course of some days to get
sight of a snail, which is found in som.e localities
and which, has discovered the secret of attaching
itself to the few shrubs of the region and extracting
their moisture; or to cross the path of a beetle
groping its way in the heated sand; or to startle




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           329
the solitude of a lizard, which has contrived to live
among the rocks. But in general the desolation is
perfect. Locality exists. Life is in exile.
Marching over wide and arid plains, and with
hills and mountains of rock and sand in sight, we
go on from day to day.  The eye rests upon forms,
not upon life; but forms are the background of
beauty; and imagination sometimes fills up the
picture. Successive hours tell our progress. The
march becomes wearisome; but the setting sun
brings rest. Turning from the narrow beaten paths
which constitute the roads of the desert, and seeking a retired and sheltered place, we pitch our tents
for the night. This also is a new scene; but it has
the associations of antiquity and religion. The patriarchs dwelt in tents.  Paul was a tent-maker.
As we hear the sound of the hammer, we know
what it is when it is required of Zion. "to lengthen
her cords and strengthen her stakes." The Arabs
shelter themselves under the piles of luggage. And
if-the evening is cool, they build a fire. They form
themselves in little assemblies; and if they travel
in comparative silence by day, they are noisy as
laugh and song can make them, in their social
groups, in the early part of night. The camels,
weary with the heat and toils of the day, lie down
at their side and are fed. They then prepare their
own humble meal.
It was thus day after day and night after night.
At a certain time, being little inclined to sleep in
the novelty of such a situation, I walked out at
midnight. The moon was in all its brightness.
28*




330           LETTERS-.ESTHETIC,
The sky, without a cloud to suggest the idea of
form or limitation, seemed vast as eternity; and,
being studded all over with stars, it was bright with
the brightness of God. The camels, stretched out
at length upon the ground, were large dark shadows
in the moonlight.  The men slept at their side.
There was no sound.  But the soul heard the
silence. I have stood at the foot of Niagara; I
have listened to the deep moaning sound of the
vast forests of my native land; I have been on the
ocean when each wave had its voice and that voice
was thunder; but these great voices entered less
deeply into the ear of the spirit than the mighty
silence of the desert at midnight. At such a time
the soul opens its capacities. It magnifies and expands itself in the greatness of its dilated conceptions, and takes hold of eternity; and in the voice
which is then sent forth,-a voice uttered in brightness without a shadow, in vastness without limit,
in harmony without variation,-it hears the proclamation, so dear to every holy soul, of the unutterable tranquillity of God.
At the distance of sixty-four miles from Cairo, we
passed the place called EL MUGDALA, supposed by
many to be the MIGDOL of the Scriptures, which is
mentioned in connection with the departure of the
Israelites from Egypt. History always adds interest
to a place. I stopped a moment to look at Migdol,
if such it was; but it was only a repetition of desolation. I noticed no buildings at the place,-nothing
but two barren hills of considerable size. We passed
on. The Red Sea is not far distant.  Our course
from Cairo to Mugdala had been nearly east; but




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          331
the road after leaving these hills runs in a southerly
direction towards the sea till it reaches Suez.
The line of our route was marked from time to
time with the bones of camels. This too brought
with it its train of thoughts. God, who made the
desert, fitted the camel to it. I will not assert that
the camel is beautiful; though on the principles of
Hogarth, who justly ascribes so much attraction to
a curving outline, he ought not to be wanting in
beauty. His large spongy hoof is suited to the sand
and gravel. He eats but little, and carries his own
supply of water. He bears immense burdens over
the burning sands, and is generally tractable in his
disposition. When his master loads him, he utters
an amicable growl in protestation against any oppressive adjustments; but with a fair load and kind
treatment he rises manfully to his task and patiently
bears the heat and burden of the day.
The Bedouin loves his camel. When we started
from Cairo, a large number of camels were brought
out, which we were to try by riding, and were to
make a selection from them for ourselves. I told
our shekh that I should leave the selection of mine
to him.' With the true spirit of an Arab, who never
fails to return all the confidence which is given him,
he assigned me one of the best among his own.
Repeatedly I saw him in the course of our journey
turn his own wearied feet aside and gather the
coarse grass of the desert, and then come and feed
his camel from his hand, and utter words of recognition and kindness which were well understood between them. I could easily understand that there
was a relationship of hearts, as well as of interests.




3 3 2          LETTERS —-ESTHETIC,
The camel, like everything else, has his history,
— his place, his habits, his labors, his sorrows, his
youth, his age..ie labors faithfully. In his old
age he lays down his burden, and turns aside to die.
He says to his master, with all the power of utterance which a camel possesses,'My hour is come.
I shall no longer bear my master's burden, nor sleep
beside his tent. Dying, I remember the hand that
fed me. Let me go to my last rest." His master's
heart understands this sad language; and he takes
the cord from his faithful servant's neck. Wearied
and staggering, he gets away to a retired place under
the mountains, eats something which he finds, or if
he does not find it, he patiently does without it; and
in a few days, or even hours, he dies. When I saw
his bones, scattered on the sands and beneath the
mountains, I felt that I knew something of his history. His master goes home to his hut; he tells the
old camel's fate to his children; they have seen him
for the last time. He has died, but he is not forgotten.
A little beyond Migdol the Red Sea came in sight.
Narrow, and lined with sands often of a reddish
color, it runs back into the desert on the easterly
side of Suez some eight or ten miles. Between this
portion of the Red Sea, and the lofty barren mountains which turn down from the pass of Migdol on
its western side, is a large level plain, not less than
twelve miles in circuit. In the opinion of some
learned men, it was on this plain that the Israelites
were hemmed in between the mountains on one
side and the sea and the vast burning deserts on
the other, with the king of Egypt and his furious
chariots in the rear. If so, the Lord opened the sea,




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          333
for the passage of the Israelites and for the destruction of their pursuers, not far from Suez. It is the
opinion of other Biblical archeologists, that this
great occurrence took place some ten or twelve
miles lower down, opposite the wells of Moses,
where the sea is wider and deeper. At one of these
places it is generally conceded that the miracle took
place. His people cried unto the Lord; and the
Lord heard them. In the language of Scripture,
the Lord triumphed gloriously. The horse and his
rider were thrown into the sea.
We found Suez a place of some business. Much
of the travel between the East Indies and England
passes through it. There were many vessels here of
small size. An English steamer, which had arrived
two days before, floated proudly a few miles below.
We passed the sea at Suez in a boat. Soon after
landing, and when we were hardly seated upon our
camels, the wind began to rise, —the wind of the
desert, the much-dreaded sirocco. In the course
of half an hour, it increased to a whirlwind. The
agitated sea was hidden from our sight. The barren
mountains on the left were no longer seen. The
violence of the wind lifted the vast masses of sand,
and they rolled by in torrents. The faithful camels,
true to their duty and their destination, struggled
on. The cry of the Arabs encouraged them; till,
blinded with dust, and overcome in this unequal
effort, we were glad to find a stopping-place and a
place of refuge at the Wells of Moses.
We left Cairo on Monday, the 28th of March,
and reached the Wells of Moses on the afternoon of
Friday, the first day of April.




334             LETTERS-E STHETIC,
(XXXVIII.)
Arrival at the Wells of Moses-Gardens and fountains-Next day's
encampment-Sabbath in the wilderness-Religious emotions —
The bitter fountain of Marah-Valley of Elim-Wadee Ghurundel-Meeting with an old Bedouin-Ascent of Sarabiet-El-Khadem —Egyptian temple-Mount Sinai-Reflections.
DESERT OF THE RED SEA, PLAIN OF EL-KHADEM, APRIL 6; 1853.
I WROTE, in my last letter, that we had reached
the Wells of Moses.  This is the name given to
what has the appearance of a little village,-consisting of a number of gardens and small houses,
fenced with an enclosure made partly of stones and
in part of stalks and reeds.  They occupy a rising
piece of ground, nearly a mile in length by less
than a quarter of a mile in width. The gardens
are watered from  the remarkable fountains which
are found there. The fountains, as we were informed, are seventeen in number; and probably
the number might be increased by additional excavations.  The water is brackish, but is used by
the people of the place. In the gardens are cultivated the vegetables which are common in Egypt.
A few flowers were in bloom. The trees are acacias
and pomegranates, with a few palms. Some of the
palms are outside of the enclosure. The white sand
of the desert had drifted around them.  They do
not rise high and throw out their lofty and waving
tufts like the palms of the Nile. It was pleasant,
however, to see a tree or flower, even with diminished
beauty. As I walked in the gardens, I heard once
more the singing of birds. It reminded me of the
gardens of Cairo.




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           335
In this interesting spot, associated with the name
of the great leader'of the Israelites in their memorable march over these very places, we were glad
to find a refuge from the storm of scorching wind
and sand which I mentioned in my last letter. The
place is in sight of the Red Sea,-situated on its
eastern shore, and twelve miles from Suez. On the
opposite side of the sea, and in full sight of the
place wherefwe lodged, are lofty mountains, with a
pass between them through which the sea can be
approached. It was Friday when we reached there.
The next day we marched twenty miles farther,
and pitched our tents in a little valley,-the Red
Sea a mile and a half distant on our right. It was
a solitary place,-no vegetation, no dwellings, no
man or woman out of our little circle, no beast or
bird, no flowers, no trees. The Arabs drove their
camels to another place, where they expected to
find something for them to eat.
We spent the Sabbath here. It was a good Sabbath to me. Is it wrong for me to speak sometimes
of my religious emotions,-and to say in connection
with them that God dwells in the desert,-and to
rejoice that my soul, cut off from some of its dearest
earthly sympathies, had sweet communion with Him,
— the nothinzg, if I may so express it, with the All
and the Universal, the finite with the Infinite?
How could it be otherwise? God, who is a present
and living Spirit, always speaks; and if there is not
communion with Him, it is because the heart is too
dull to- hear.  It is true, He speaks in the'"still,
small voice," and very often t4ie noises of the world,
the contentions within and without, prevent his




3 36             LETTERS —E STIIETIC,
being heard. But what noise is here? Even the
sound of the cricket's note is banished. The desert
is the empire of silence.  The heart, keeping pace
with the eye, widens with the immensity around
it. The mind is open to the slightest influences.
The smallest whispers of the Almighty come distinct to the soul.  And I should do injustice to the
instincts of remembrance and. gratitude, if I did
not say, that I found them the whispers and the
divine accents of love.
The cold by night, the heat by day,
The feverish pulse, the aching head,
Let these or other ills array,
As thus I trace the desert's way,
Their thorns around the path I tread.
But never, never may I know
That grief of deepest agony,
Which carries with it more than woe,
The spirit's hopeless overthrow,
The grief of being left of Thee.
We were now on the track of the Israelites as
they went from Egypt to the promised land. The
next day, about noon, we came to Marah, and
drank of its bitter fountain.  It is known to the
people of the desert by the Arabic name Ain Howarah.  This is the place spoken of in the book of
Exodus: —" And when they came to Marah, they
could not drink of the waters of Marah, for they
were bitter.  Therefore the name of it was called
Marah."  The fountain of Marah is in a rock on a
small hill, with other large scattered rocks near.
It is a picturesque place.  There are a few trees
and shrubs around. The camels browsed among
them.  The trees are small in size,-chiefly acacias,




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.            337
and of that hardy and durable species called the
SONT acacia.  We all drank of the water.  It is
brackish, like the water of the Wells of Moses; but
it has also a bitter taste. This is one of the places
where the people murmured against God.  How
hard it is, even amid the most wonderful manifestations of the power and goodness of God, to learn
the lesson of simple and unwavering trust!
Next day, at a little less than twenty miles' distance, we came to Elim.  This also is one of the
places mentioned in the Scriptures, in the account
of the departure of the Israelites.  It is a long and
pleasant valley, with numerous palm-trees, generaliy
small in size, and with fountains of water; but only
a few of the fountains are open and accessible. The
water is good?,-unlike that of Marah and the Wells
of Moses. The statement in Exodus is this:-" And
they came to Elim, where were twelve wells of
water, and threescore and ten palm-trees; and they
encamped there by the waters."  There is said to be
another place, not far distant and still more pleasant, which has its claims to be regarded as the
Elim of the Scriptures.
The next day we came into a rocky and mountainous region, destitute of trees and with but little
water,-a sort of entrance-porch to the wild mountainous region of Sinai.  In all these regions there
are wide mountain-passes, running in different directions, the origin of which may perhaps be satisfactorily accounted for on geological principles, but
which, viewed in another and not less interesting
aspect, may be regarded as left open by the foresight of Providence for the convenience of man.
29




338            LETTER-E ST-tETIIETIC
Without them the region would be impassable.  In
a region so difficult or so desolate that a bird is
scarcely seen to fly there, man has great need of
such natural openings.  Sometimes they are steep
and narrow.  More frequently they are wide and
level: easy to the foot of the camel, and presenting,
in the rocky and richly-diversifiedc ridges that border
them on both sides, a ceaseless source of pleasure to
the traveller.  The direction which we took led us
through one of these wide mountain-roads, called
the WADEE GHIURUNDEL.
VWe had learned that in one of the mountains
situateld in the vicinity of the pass of Ghurundel
wvere still to be seen the remains of an ancient
Egyptian temple. Meeting an Arab who was coming
throug'h the pass, we learned from him that he was
acquainted with. the locality of these ruins.  This
]man lived among the rocks.  He looked as wild and
desola-te as the places where he lived.  His feet were
bare. *The sun had burnt blackness into his countenance.  HIe had a gun in his hand; and part of
his dress was a sheepskin.  Under the leadership
of this wild-looking but faithful old Bedouin, I went
with Mr. Thompson in search of this old Ecyptian
temple.  Our friends, M1r. and Mrs. Walcott, proceeded on to the place of our encampment.
We first ascended the side of a, mountain for a considerable distance, and then, pcassing the head of a
deep gorge, reached the side of another mountain.
Hlere we ascended still higher, but with great diffiulty,:-sometimes obliged to creep along on our
Liands and feet on projecting points of rock, not:nore than two or three feet in width, over precipices




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           339
hundreds of feet in depth.  Repeatedly we passed
from mountain to mountain at the head of deep
gorges, which rose successively one above another.
As near as we could judge, we proceeded in this circuitous and perilous way a distance of two miles.
The scene was as terrific as deep caverns, and rocks
piled one above another, and blackness and desolation and the intensity of silence, could make it.
Through excessive fatigue we were inclined at times
to abandon our enterprise and go back again; but
our old Bedouin, feeling that an Arab's honor was
at stake, encouraged us to proceed. At last we
reached the summit of the mountain.  And we felt
at once that we were repaid for our trouble.
Such a place, with such monuments and associations attached to it, could not be without a name.
We learned that it is called, by the Arabs, the mountamin of Sarabiet-El-Khadenm-, but without ascertaining that the name throws any light on its history.
A pile of rocks in the sky, overlooking the surrounding heights, it presented, as we looked with
wonder on every side, a prospect of great sublimity.
It was here, on the long level space on its top, remote from human footsteps and which the eagle's
wing did not fan, that we found the remains of the
Egyptian temple which had been the object of our
search. It was a temple erected to the Egyptian
god Athor, whose "graven image" we had so often
seen in the sculptures on the temples of the Nile.
In long ages past the hammer of the workman had
been here.  Excavated in part from the solid rock,
it was originally an edifice of very considerable
extent; and it still exhibits in its finely-sculptured




34 0          LETTERS —STHIETIC,
-walls and its remaining columns the art and the
untiring industry of which we had seen such
striking evidences in other places.
It was to me an affecting thought, that the blindness of' superstition, groping after the truth but
unable to find it, had thus climbed these almost
inaccessible heights.
In connection with this temple we noticed what
we had not observed elsewhere. Erected at short
distances from each other were numerous tablets of
stone, from four to five feet high, straight at the
sides and oval at the top, and covered with hieroglyphics.  This remarkable place has been visited
by travellers learned in Egyptian antiquities, though
but very seldom. Judging from the inscriptions
which have been found upon its walls and upon the
tablets connected with it, among which are discovered the names of Ositarsen and Thothmes, they
appear to have come to the conclusion that this
temple existed as far back as the time of Moses,
and probably at an earlier period.
But this was not the only object which arrested
our attention and which gave a character to our
thoughts here. Far beyond the intervening mountains, the lofty peaks of Sinai rose sublimely in the
distance. God has never deserted the world, and
never ceased to be mercifull. In all ages of the world
he has spoklen to men, in order that they may have
wisdom. It was on the sacred heights of Sinai, now
seen by us for the first time, and in view of the temple and the worship where we stood, that Jehovah,
speaking in flame and thunder as well as by the
voice of the Hebrew shepherd, condemned, not




SOCIAL, AND MORALo          341
Egyptian art, but Egyptian idolatry, not Egyptian
genius, but Egypt's debased and cruel superstition,
and all idolatry and all "graven images," and all
gods that are not the I"true God," in all countries
and in all ages. The place, the recollections, the vast
antiquity sculptured and living in the rocks, man's
mingled greatness and weakness, the light and skill
of science and art overshadowed and dishonored by
the groping darkness of the religious affections when
God does not guide them, heathenism in its best
estate and heathenism judged and condemned, the
past uniting itself with the present and reaching
forth to the future, time with its changes and eternity with its immutable relations,- such various
objects and reflections, crowding upon the mind at
once, could not fail to excite within ne conflicting
and strong emotions.
It was near the close of the day when we began
to come down. We ascended in part by a nearer
route, and over still more precipitous places.  The
sun, hidden by the lofty cliffs, shed his parting rays.
Long lines of shadow stretched darkly from the
rocks. Our camels awaited us at the foot of the
mountain.  It was now dark. Our Arab, who was
familiar with these places, knew the way we were
to take.  Thought took the place of conversation.
We followed in the silent starlight the track of our
friends who had gone before us. It was pleasant
to see once more the light of our encampment.
29*




342             LETTER S —- STtETICE
(XXXIX.)
Arrival at the Shekh's village.-The Shekh's son —Shepherd girlsCharacter of the Arabs-Pass of Niekeb Itawy-Plain of ElRahah-Peak of Sussafeh -Arrival at the Greek Convent at the
base of Mount Sinai.
GREEK CONVENT, BASE OF MOUNT SINAI, APRIL 9, 1853.
IN my last letter I gave a concise sketch of our
journey from the Wells of Moses to the plain of El
Khadem.  A little before we left our little caravan
for the purpose of ascending the mountain of E1
Khadem, it turned off in another direction towards
a large plain  not far distant.  Our shekh, whose
name is Seelyman, resides on the edge of this plain.
He is the shekh or hereditary chief of a tribe of
the Tor Arabs, who hold all the country in the
vicinity of Mount Sinai,-in  subordination, however, to the Pasha of Egypt.  It is in the little
valley on the borders of the plain that the Arabs
of Seelyman have their principal village; where
they find water and a little herbage for their sheep
and goats.
The communication had gone in advance of us,
that our company was approaching.  The shekh,
who is a man of moderate size, bUt, like every other
Bedouin, walks erectly and with a firm  step, felt
the dignity of the occasion, as well as its domestic
interest.  At the head of the expedition intrusted
to his care, which magnified itself in the eyes of
these poor Arabs, he put on the long red robe which
he had bought at Cairo, as he came near to the tents
of his people and the home of his wife and children.
With his girdle around him, his short sword at his




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           343
side, and his white turban, and turning neither to
the right hand nor the left, Shekh Seelyman passed
in front of his people's humble dwellings to the place
which his foresight and a regard for our convenience
had selected for our encampment. The women stood
at the door of the tents, and were glad to look upon
the faces of their husbands and brothers.  They
too had hearts. To them, who had never left the
shade of the neighboring hills, Cairo was a distant
place; and the absence of their friends had been
long. The children too shared in the joy of this
beneficent and unusual advent. The little boy of
the shekh, about ten years of age, with a mild but
beautiful countenance, and dressed especially for
the occasion, was placed upon the back of a camel
and carried in triumph to the encampment.
As I mentioned in my last letter, those of our
party who had ascended Sarabiet-EI-Khadem arrived
at the encampment after dark. I was not present,
therefore, when the shekh reached the village of
his tribe, but, learned what I have now said from
our associates who had gone before us. The shekh,
however, called upon us in a few moments after our
arrival in the evening. His little son, whom I have
already mentioned, was with him.  The just pride
of a father glistened in the eye of Seelyman as he
brought his boy to our tent. We had the pleasure
of being introduced to him, and looked with no
small interest on this young eagle of the desert, as
he stood modestly but firmly before us. What
thoughts, what feelings, what destinies, if I may
so speak, were hidden in the mind of this small
boy! In these still solitudes, unknown to generous




344           LETTERS —-ISTHETIC,
culture, he will grow up, without books, without a
knowledge of the name of Jesus Christ, under influences the power of which it is difficult to estimate,-the subject of hopes and joys, of sorrows
and passions, both good and evil, which constitute
him a world in himself,-a world which not only
has its beginning, but its progress and its immortality. As I beheld his intelligent countenance, and as my imagination, unrolled the uncertainties of the future, it was natural that I should
feel a sympathy in his situation and a sincere desire
for his welfare. Two young girls, who had been
absent during the day on the side of the mountain,
were returning home with their flock of sheep and
goats when our tents were pitched. One of them
was a relative of Seelyman. They turned aside to
participate for a short time in this new and exciting
scene, influenced perhaps by the novelty of the
occasion, as well as by affection to their friends.
They had ornaments on their arms and heads;
and, as they looked once more upon those whom
they loved, they seemed to be conscious that beauty
has power even among the sands and rocks of El
Khadem. That night the fires shone brightly and
beautifully in all the tents of the tribe. The stars
above them were not brighter.  There was joy in
the hearts of the people of Seelyman.
I have repeatedly had occasion to speak in favorable terms of the Arabs into whose company we
fell, —both those of the Nile and those of the
desert.  Intellectually, it is true that the Arab
race may properly be regarded as inferior to the
other races which are found in these regions.




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           34 5
Their countenances are less intelligent than those
of the Copt, the Turk, and the Armenian; and
their national history, though not without its distinguished names in science and literature, is characterized more by the achievements of war than
by the trophies of art and knowledge.  It is not
easy to look upon the remains of Arabian or Saracenic architecture (terms which in the history of
the nation are often used as convertible) without
feeling that they are works, as compared with the
remains of Greek and Roman and also of Assyrian
and Egyptian art, which indicate less greatness of
conception, and less simplicity and purity of taste.
But the Arab, if inferior in quickness and breadth
of perception, so that he has found it difficult in
the most favored periods of his national history to
reach the highest achievements of science and.
art, possesses, nevertheless, a generous sociality of
nature.  His domestic affections are strong.  HlIe
loves his own family; and he does not appear to
be wanting more than others in the love of his
neighbor.  Everywhere and in all places, if you
penetrate the depths of his nature so as to find the
secret sentiments which are lurking there, you will
discover also a strong sense and spirit of independence. His very being opposes itself to that form
of authority which circumscribes and trammels
liberty. Undoubtedly the Bedouin Arabs, who
inhabit the deserts and live a wandering life, give
sufficient evidence of wild and untractable dispositions; and I am obliged to admit, that it would
not be easy to measure them by the common standards of civil and political legality.  The Bedouin,




346           LETTERS- l STHIETIC,
perhaps more than almost any other race of men,
has the eye and the step of a freeman.  And, I
must confess, there is something which pleases me
much in this indomitable spirit, which prefers the
rock and the cavern, with liberty, to the cultivated
field and the palace without it.  But neither the
Arab of the city nor of the desert, so far as I can
perceive, can be rightly charged with the injustice,
cruelty, and faithlessness, which have been so
freely alleged against him; and certainly not to
the extent in which the charge has been made.
It is not always safe to judge of men from the
representations of others. In order to judge them
accurately, we must know them.  But knowledge
is the result of intercourse and confidence. In order
to know them, therefore, we must love them.  Let
the Arab be judged by these tests, —fierce and jealous as his comparative ignorance and poverty have
contributed to inake him, —and it will be seen that
he has his good as well as his unfavorable traits, and
that hearts can be found beneath the dark tents of
the Bedouins, which call be trained to virtue and be
ennobled by affection.
I hope you will excuse this irregular and incidental method of writing.  We spent the night on
the plain. Early the next morning we started for
Sinai, whose lofty peak we had seen from, the top
of Sarabiet-El-Khademn.  Our shekh had directions
to take the short route, which would enable us to
approach Sinai through the plain of El-Rahah.
Leaving, therefore, the course which would have
brought us to Sinai through the comparatively
pleasant route of Wady Feiran and Wady Esch




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           347
Sheklh we followed the rugged and difficult mountain-pass of Niekeb Hawy; which means, I believe,
the Pass of the Winds. We had reasons which justified us in taking this route; and if it is attended
with much fatigue and some danger, I think it can
be justly added that it amply repays all by its wild
and stupendous scenery.  The first day we passed
over a portion of the desert marked by its usual
characteristics of heated sand and gravel, without
water, and without tree or flower. On the second day,
after a few miles' travel, we entered the mountainpass which I have mentioned, and were shut in for
some eight or ten miles by vast rocks on each side
piled one above another, immense, rugged, and rising
so hicgh that they shut out the l'ight of the sun.
For a lonLg  time the winding path which we took
kept continually ascending; but, while we went up,
the mountains around us did not seem to diminish
their elevation, but kept pace, if I may so express it,
with each step of our own ascent, and rose higher
and higher; while deep cav'Terns becgan to open at our
side and below us. The foot of the camnel trembled
on the edge of precipices; and the admiration which
we could not help experiencing was sometimes
mingled with the sense of danger. At last the door
of this great mountain-cavity opened before us, and
with slow and cautious steps we descended from its
lofty and rugged bosom into the memorable plain
of El-Rahah.
The plain of El-Rahah, which has become an
object of much interest to travellers in consequence
of its connection with Biblical history, is two miles
and a half in length by an average of three-fourths




848           LETTERS- ESTHETICTI,
of a mile in breadth; uneven in some places, but
generally level; having a little herbage and some
shrubs upon which camels and goats can feed; and
suitable by means of its hard surface of clean gravel
for the encampment of a people dwelling in tents.
It is bounded at its southeastern extremity by Mount
Sinai, where it is approached and entered by the
wide and level wady which bears the name of Esch
Shekh.  The Israelites, in their memorable march
through the wilderness, having met and defeated on
their way the warlike Amalekites, appear to have
entered the plain of El-Rahah through this wady,
filling not only the whole plain but some of the
neighboring valleys, in front of that dark and lofty
mountain which was soon to be robed with the
lightnings and to be shaken with the voice of God.
It was into this plain that we had now descended
from the rocky bosom of Niekeb Hawy.  Mount
Sinai was before us. With such remembrances, and
in the sight of such localities, the mind would not
be true to itself, if it did not turn from the outward
to the inward. On the side of the plain a flock of
goats was feeding. Here and there a camel plucked
the thistle that grew in the crevices of the cliffs.
But the eye and the heart seemed to be closed to
outward nature.  Silent we rode over the plain, and
in sight of this sacred mountain; listening to the
secret aspirations of our immortal natures; thought,
ful as if its fires were yet burning and its mighty
voices were even now sounding in our ears.  Such
a moment, striking deep by its suggestions and symlpathies into man's moral and immortal nature, is an
era in his life. If he is a Christian, he knows that




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          349
the announcements made from that mountain and
in the presence of the vast multitude assembled upon
the plain which he is traversing have connections
with his own destiny which his own limited mind
cannot penetrate, and which are deep as the bosom
of the Infinite.
It was at the close of the day when our camels
came under that portion of Sinai which bounds the
southeastern extremity of the plain. This part of
Sinai, lifting itself perpendicularly above the plain,
constitutes a distinct and lofty elevation. The Arabs,
in allusion to a few willow-trees which grow near it,
have given it the name of the Peak of Sussafeh. The
last rays of the sun glittered on its rocky summit.
Advancing a little farther, we descried at a small
distance an opening in the mountains, which gave
signs of the residence of men. That night, for the
first time since we left Suez, we did not sleep in
tents. The piety of primitive ages, holding in
veneration the locality which God had honored, had
erected a habitation. Entering the narrow valley
between the eastern base of Sinai and the mountain
E-Dayr, which bears the name of the Valley of ShuEib, we made our way to the ancient Convent of St.
Catherine. Its solid walls reminded us of distant
ages, when man had less confidence in his fellowman. The monks opened its doors; and, wearied
by toils of the body, and hardly less by memories and emotions of the mind, we found a place
of rest.
30




350              LETTERS-_E STHETIC,
(XL.)
Greek Convent-Situation and extent-St. Catherine-Of the use of
the terms Horeb and Sinai —Visit to the Valley of El-Leja-Sinaitic
inscriptions —Rock of Moses-Ascent of Mount Sinai —Grotto
of Moses-Chapel of Elijah —Remarks on traditions-View from
the summit of Sinai-Descent from Jebel Musa or PeaLk of Moses
to the Peak of Sussafeh-The giving of the Law —Return to the
Convent.
GREEK CONVENT, MOUNT SINAI: SECOND LETTER.
IN my last I mentioned that we had reached the
Greek convent at the foot of Mount Sinai.  Its
location is in the narrow and comparatively fertile
valley of Shu-Eib, the place which an old tradition
designates as the residence, or rather one of the
residences, of Jethro, the father-in-law  of Moses.
The convent is situated, therefore, on the eastern
side of Sinai, and between Sinai on one side and the
high rocky mountain E-Dayr on the other.  It is
surrounded by a high and thick wall, with towers;
and it seemed to me, with the great strength of its
enclosure and with here and there a projecting
cannon frowning darkly upon those without, to be as
well adapted, and perhaps more so, to military than
to religious and economical purposes.
Within the limits of the convent, which is quadrangular though somewhat irregular in form, and
about two hundred feet in extent on each side, are
a number of small open areas or courts, in. some of
which vegetables and flowers are cultivated and a
few trees are growing.  Around it on the inside, and
in different parts of the building, are the small cells
which are occupied by the monks.  Contracted in
size, and almost entirely destitute of furniture, they




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           3 51
are undoubtedly suited to the linlited wants and the
unambitious life of their occupants; but they can be
considered comfortable only by those who accept of
inconveniences as a means of the fulfilment of a supposed duty. In the upper story of the building are
rooms on a larger scale for travellers, fitted up with
low divans running round three sides, and with a
pleasant piazza in front of them. Attached to the convent on the north side, and entered by a low passage
which leads under the northern wall, is a well-cultivated garden, running a little distance down the vallesy of Shu-Eib. This garden, with its almond and apricot trees, its mulberries and its tall dark cypresses, is
an attractive object as it is first seen by the traveller
when he comes in from the desolate country around.
The monks, who are few in number at the present
time, received us kindly, and assigned us such rooms
as are usually appropriated to visitants. They
showed us their church,-an ancient building rich
in architectural ornaments,-and whatever objects
they considered of special interest connected with
it; such as the tomb of St. Catherine and the reputed
place of the burning bush mentioned in Exodus.
The convent, venerable by its antiquity and its historical reminiscences, bears the name of St. Catherine.  This is the name of a rich and noble lady of
the city of Alexandria, renowned for her learning
as well as her devoted piety. She was one of the
early worthies of the Greek and Roman churches,
who suffered martyrdom for her religion; and her
memory is cherished with distinguished honor.
The origin of the convent which bears her name
is involved in some obscurity; but it is generally




3 52          LETTERS —E STHETIC,
understood to have been founded by the Emperor
Justinian.  Its location, its structure, its associations, all render it an object of interest. The monks,
who are under the direction of a Superior residing
here, probably do not differ much from the same
class of persons found in other situations.  They
have the appearance of being assiduous and sincere
in the performance of the religious duties prescribed
by the Greek faith, but without giving evidence of
much intellectual culture. But this is probably the
fault of their situation as much as of their dispositions. One of them complained to me that they
had but very few books of value, though I noticed in
one of their cells afew volumes of the Greek Fathers.
It may be proper here, in order to avoid confusion
hereafter, to make a single remark in relation to
some of the geographical terms which I may have
occasion to employ. I refer particularly to the terms
Horeb and Sinai. I think there is ground, without
stopping at this time to give reasons for it, for regarding Horeb as a general term, somewhat indefinite in its use, but still particularly applicable to
the group of mountain-heights in the immediate
vicinity of El-Rahah, and of course including Mount
Sinai.  The name Sinai, as it seems to me, should
be employed in a more definite and limited manner;
and as applicable, not to a series or group of heights
occupying a considerable extent of country, but to
the one immense mountain which has so long borne
that name, and to the subordinate but lofty peaks
which shoot up like towers and battlements from
its base and sides. According to this view, Sinai,
properly so called, is the lofty and irregular moun



SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          353
tain-pile which occupies the space between the valley of Shu-Eib on the east and the valley of El-Leja
on the west; terminating at its highest point in
Jebel Musa or the peak of Moses.
In consequence of the ill health of Mr. Thompson, oi whom the interest and success of our visits
and inquiries very much depended, we delayed the
ascent of Mount Sinai for a short time.  Meanwhile
I employed myself; as far as my strenrgth and our
limited time would allow, in examining the noble
plain of El-Rahah, and the deep gorge or valley
of Horeb between Sinai and St. Catherine, called
the valley of El-Leja.  The excursion to El-Leja
wrill well repay the traveller for his trouble, especially if he keeps in mind that it has some historical
as well as natural interest attached to it. I was
accompanied in this excursion by Mr. Walcott. We
left the Convent of St. Catherine, situated, as I have
mentioned, in the valley of Shu-Eib at the base of
Sinai, and, proceeding a little more than a'mile,
turned to the left and passed for some distance
under the sharp lofty peaks which overlook the
plain of El-Rahah.  We left the wady of EschShekh on the right.  The projecting and comparatively elevated point of land between the valleys
or wadys Esch-Shekh and Shu-Eib is the traditional
place occupied by Aaron while the people at a little
distance on the plain of El-Rahah were dancing in
honor of the golden calf he had made.  And it was
here, in accordance with the same traditions, that
Moses, on coming down from the mountain on that
occasion, encountered Aaron, and gave utterance
to his dissatisfaction and rebukes.
30*




354            LETTERS-AE, STHETIC,
Proceeding a mile and a half; we entered the valley of El-Leja.  In the excursion up this wild and
rocky valley, and soon after entering it from the
large plain, we were gratified at the sight of gardens
with fruit-trees and other trees growing in them.
These gardens are said to have been the sites of the
ancient Convents of St. Peter and St. Mary, which
have now passed away.  It was obvious to me, that
the valley of El-Leja, impressive and even sublime
by the lofty walls of rocks on both sides of it, was
susceptible at the same time, in many of its small
nooks and recesses, of profitable cultivation. It was
perhaps owing to this combination of qualities and
attractions,-solitude, silence, sublimity, and the
means of a limited but not self-indulgent support,
and all beneath the mountain rendered sacred by
hallowed memories and by clouds and fire,-that it
became a favorite resort, in the early centuries of
the Christian era, of those Christians who adopted,
as the anticipated means of their greater progress,
the silence, the privations and hopes of a solitary
life.  In the upper part of the valley the Convent
of the Forty:Martyrs still stands.  The cave of
Onuphrius, who had previously dwelt near Thebes,
is found here.  It was in this valley that the justlycelebrated John Climachus spent a considerable
portion of his life; but whether he dwelt in a convent, or in some solitary cavern, is unknown at the
present time.
In this valley are said to be found: although I
noticed none in that part of it which I visited, some
of those celebrated Sinaitic inscriptions-the written
characters of a language now unknown-which have
~ Cr




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           35a5
excited so much interest and inquiry among antiquaries.  They are found, however, in greater numnbers in other places in these regions. A few have
been discovered in the rough mountain-pass called
Niekeb Hawy.  And they are very frequent in the
vicinity of Mount Serbal, and also on its sides and
near its summit, —a celebrated mountain, some thirty
or thirty-five miles distant in a northwest direction
from Sinai.  It is not unreasonable to suppose that
these inscriptions, in the new developments which
time is constantly making, may yet throw  some
light upon the. events which have occurred here.
In the central part of this valley, and not far from
the base of Mount St. Catherine, is the rock, according to the traditions repeated and preserved here,
that was smitten by Moses, and from which he
miraculously brought the water which supplied the
thirsty Israelites.  So much has been said of this
rock, that I loolked upon it with much interest. It
stands on the Sinai side of the valley, with a watercourse before it, through which at certain seasons
of the year the descending water flows from the
mountains around towards the plain of El-Rahah.
It is separate from the other rocks around,-a hard,
reddish piece of granite, about ten feet in height
and twelve or fourteen in length, and slightly curved
at the top. It is certainly an object worthy of the
traveller's notice, although it might not be safe to
assert its identity with the Mosaic rock.  On the
side facing from  Sinai towards the watercourse of
the valley, it presents a flat surface; and on this
surface, rising one above another, are long indentations, which suggest the idea of having been left




356            LETTERS-E STHETIC,
there by a succession of blows powerfully impressed
upon it.  There is also an opening in the rock,
which easily reminds one of the sculptured openings
or mouths through which the water is sometimes
seen to gush out in large artificial fountains. The
rock also has a discolored appearance in some places,
— such as one naturally supposes might have been
occasioned by the flowing of water.
The position of the rock in relation to the plain
where the Israelites were assembled at the giving
of the Law is not at variance with its traditional
reputation.  It is true they were not encamped, at
the time of its being smitten, on the plain, but at
Rephidim, which Biblical geographers locate in the
valley of Esch Shekh.  But it is worthy of notice,
that the valleys of Esch Shekh and El-Leja are
closely connected; so much so that the waters of
El-Leja, which collect there at certain seasons of the
year, find their outlet through Esch Shekh.  And
Rephidinm  also, though located in the wady or
valley of Esch Shekh, is understood to have been
at no great distance from the Horeb Mountains, to
which Moses was expressly sent forward on this
occasion. And soon afterwards the whole people
moved onward to the plain of El-Rahah, and took
a position at the foot of Sinai; which I understand
to be one of the group of mountains to which the
more general name of Horeb is applied.
After the favorable results of a day or two's rest,
the whole of our party were in a situation to attempt
the ascent of Mount Sinai.  The mountain is an
immense pile of broken granite, rising steeply and
ruggedly to the southwest of the convent. Without




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          357
the assistance of the Arabs, who were employed for
that purpose, it would have been difficult for me to
have reached its summit. The mountain corresponds
to the associations which are connected with it,vast, lofty, unchangeable; suggestive of the greatness and immutability of God. It has long seemed
to me to be difficult for a man to live among lofty
mountains and be an infidel. I say this in view of
the impressions which they have oftentimes made
upon my own mind. Suggestive by their vastness
of the ideas of causation and power, they can hardly
fail to nourish religious thought and sentiment. If
all things which exist are God's, there seems to be
reason for saying that the mountains are _peculiarly
His. They are His, not only by creation, but by
the impressive attributes which pertain to them,by their vastness and fixedness, by the permanency
which they give to the rock-ribbed earth, and by the
changeless sublimity of their solitude and silence.
But more than this can be said of Sinai, which is
His, not only by its rocky base and its towering
summit, which exceed human power and are almost
beyond human conception, but is His also by special
manifestations and by holy history.
We stopped and rested a short time, after having
ascended no small distance, at the grotto and fountain which is called the grotto of ~Moses. This is
the name which was given to the place by those who
attended us up the mountain. It is a small, circular chamber, opened and rounded in the rocks,beautiful in its form, a protection from the heat,
refreshed by living waters, and undisturbed by the
noise of men. It is evidently no work of human




3 58          LETTERS-E STHETIC,
art, but fashioned by the hand which made the
mountain itself. I was taken by surprise in finding
so delightful a place, suited as it seemed to be not
only for quiet and repose, but for religious contemplation and for the nourishment of high and holy
purposes. It seemed to me altogether probable.that, in this very place, the inspiration of the
Almighty, which could not be absent fromn a heart
devoted and consecrated like his, had given rise to
many of the thoughts and purposes which have
stamped an immortality on the writings and the
history of the great Israelitish leader.
Other names besides that of Moses have been
associated with these memorable places. It is related in the book of Kings, that the prophet Elijah,
after the destruction of the prophets of Baal, fled
into these regions. As we advanced farther up,
perhaps thirteen or fourteen hundred feet above the
valley of the convent, we came to a small plain or
basin, in the elevated bosom of the mountain, near
which we were shown a large cavern bearing this
prophet's name. A small chapel, called the Chapel
of Elijah, is built over this cave.  Ascending hundreds of feet higher, and very near the summit of
the mountain, our attention was directed to the
cleft in the rocks, in which Moses is said to have
hid himself when the glory of the Lord passed by.
It will be understood, of course, that many of
these things depend upon tradition; but tradition,
without always being accepted as the truth, may
still have a degree of truth for its foundation, and
may sometimes be an innocent and even a profitable helper of the imagination.  Tradition often




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          359
localizes and clothes with particular incidents a
general and indefinite transaction.  We do not
necessarily accept of the traditional part as a truth
or fact; but if it be not contradicted from other
sources of' evidence, we admit it as announcing
what is possible and in some cases probable.  The
imagination seizes upon this probability or even
possibility.  And the result is, that the fact, which
we never doubted in its general aspect, becomes
more of a practical reality, binds itself more closely
to the soul, when, without ascribing any undue
weight to traditions, we are able by their aid to
assign to it the length and breadth and height of a
probable, or even a possible, particularity. But I
ought to add, that the imagination hardly needed
this aid here. That Moses trod these rocks, and
that God walked with him and talked with him on
these wild and solitary heights, I could no more
doubt, than I could doubt the existence of the
rocks themselves.  It is true the footsteps of the
prophet could no longer be seen; but it was enough
for all the purposes of thought and of the heart, to
know that those footsteps had once been here. This
strong conviction, sustained by the present reality
of the things around me, annihilated ages.  The
proximity of space destroyed, if I may so express
it, the separations and distances of time; and Moses,
who had become comparatively dim in the distance
of ages, seemed to be seated on the rocks or  walking
by my side, as I was climbing over the heights of
his own rugged and solitary mountain.
We at last reached the highest part of the mountain, and looked abroad from its elevated summit




3 6 0         LETTERS —E STIIETIC,
under the light of a clear blue sky.  The extreme
summit, more than six thousand feet above the
level of the sea, is an immense rock,-or, more accurately, a number of large rocks slightly separated
fiom each other; furnishing an irregular area of
some eighty or a hundred feet square.  The rock
is a gray granite. On the eastern portion of it is a
small building of great antiquity; which was once
used as a chapel. With some assistance from the
Bedouins who attended me, I was enabled to ascend
upon its top. Remaining for some time on this
dizzy height alone, I contemplated in silence the
magnificence of the scene around me.
There has been no accurate survey of this region,
and a glance even from  this towering eminence
could give but an imperfect idea of the relative position of surrounding objects.  But still, although
Mount Sinai is shut in with other mountains, it
seemed to me pretty well defined.  I looked to the
southwest, and below me was the deep, narrow valley of El-Leja, which I have already described as
holding in its bosom the smitten rock of Moses, and
as being in ancient times the residence of many
religious anchorites and the location of a number of
ruined convents. Beyond the valley, in the same
direction, is the lofty and magnificent peak of St.
Catherine. I looked down the immense perpendicular wall on the southern side into the valley of
Sebahyeh.  There is a small opening there at the
foot of the mountain, which seemed to me worthy of,special examination. Perhaps it will at some time
give a new phase to the history of this wonderful
mountain.  I was desirous to know more about it.




SOCIAL, AND M'ORAL.          3G1
But the head grew dizzy in the attempt to ascertain,
even in the most general manner, its features and
extent. In the northeast direction the rocky heights
of' E-Dayr expanded their broad and level summit
beyond the valley and gardens of Shu-Eib, from
which we had ascended.  In another direction was
the peak of Sussafeh, and other lofty peaks overhanging the great plain.
Even natural greatness has power; but it was not
the mere physical expansion and wildness of the
scene which left its deep impression on the mind.
That principle of association, which attaches deeds
to places, and magnifies the one by the magnitude
of the other, added the greatness of character and
events to the greatness and sublimity of physical
nature.
The principal summit of Sinai, called by the Arabs
Jebel Musa, or the Peak of Moses, rises solitary and
apart. It was this peak which we had now ascended;
but it is worthy of notice, that, about midway or
perhaps two-thirds of the way from the valley of
Shu-Eib towards the mountain's top, the Jebel Musa
subtends a large and irregular base towards the west.
I did not notice this so much in ascending the mountain as in coming down.  We descended the narrow
and precipitous path perhaps a thousand fret;
although I ought to repeat here, what I have iniimated in another place, that I do not profess to have
the means of entire accuracy in distances.  Tle
mountain at this distance from the top, as if seeking
to lay down a part of its mighty bulk on the neighboring plain, widens its vast granite base in the
direction of E!-Rahah; throwing itself into nmany
31




3 6 2          LETTERS- ISTIIETIC
varieties of form and aspect; sometimes rising in
sharp pointed cliffs, and sometimes sinking   in
ravines and small valleys.
At this place Mr. Thompson and myself separated
from  the rest of our party, and came down to ElRahah and the Greek convent by the way of the
peak of Sussafeh.  The way was wildly romantic,
and in general rocky and barren.  From  time to
time, however, we passed over small level patches
of ground, bearing a species of coarse grass and
a few  trees.  Repeatedly a cold clear fountain
sparkled from the foot of a rock.  We passed over
this part of the mountain for more than a mile. This
struck me as being a remarkable place,-the chosen
residence of solitude and silence; and yet a degree
of beauty, shining in the ripples of a fountain or in
a tree or tranquil flower, diversified and softened
its solitary and silent grandeur.  There are many
caverns here.  The fragmentary remains of some
rude stone edifices are also to be found.
There was something in this singular place, so
unique, so shut out from the world, so fitted to solitary contemplation, that it not only seized hold of
the imagination, but had its marked attraction for
certain tendencies and moods of the heart.  It was
once the residence undoubtedly of that class of men,
commemorated in history and poetry, whose life of
lonely prayer possesses, in these speculative and practical days, the aspect almost of religious romance.
"Far in a wild, unknown to public view,
From youth to age a reverend hermit grew;
The moss his bed, the cave his humble cell,
His food the fruits, his drink the crystal well."




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           3(6 3
It was in such a region as this-a region which
finds in its want of fertility and its difficulty of
approach a security against the influx and presence
of mere men of the world-that this class of persons
dwelt; and in few places did they reside in greater
numbers than in the valleys and wild mountainrecesses of Sinai.  Soon the mountain begins to rise
again; lifting itself up gradually and slowly in its
massive majesty, and terminating at a point where
it looks directly down, at the height apparently of
some twelve or thirteen hundred feet, upon the
large and tranquil plain of El-Rahah. This is that
peak of Sussafeh, the Peak of the Willow, which I
mentioned in my last letter as having particularly
attracted our attention when we came down into
the plain of El-Rahah out of the dark and lofty
bosom of Niekeb Hawy.
I think that this peak may be called, with scarcely
an impropriety of speech, the tribune or pulpit
of Sinai. Its position, its solitary grandeur, its
historical associations, seem to me to entitle it to
that appellation.  I have seen the rock in which it
terminates; and therefore speak with the greater
confidence. I have stood upon it; and shall ever
remember it well.  And if the impression which
can hardly fail to be left upon those who visit the
spot be a just one,-then what scenes, unequalled
in the history of man, have been enacted at this
place! It was there that the visible and the invisible, that earth and heaven, may be said to have
met together.  It was there that the Almighty came
down, and planted His foot.  His form of Infinitude embodied, if I may so express it, rested upon




364           LETTERS —E STHETIC,
the peak of Jebel Musa, which rose behind him.
Iis arm extended itself over the plain that lay
beneath him, and over the countless multitude who
filled it. A thick cloud was around him; and
flaming fire was at his feet. The trumpet sounded.
The mountain trembled. It was at that hour of
mingled grandeur and goodness that the word was
spoken which unveiled the foundations of error.
And truth, which had been obscured and distorted
or had been wholly driven away from the habitations of men, was led back again by the hand of the
Infinite, and restored to its primitive position and
power.
I shall look for a description of the scene and
associations of this remarkable place from  the
learned and eloquent pen of my companion.  I
listened to the reading of the law from his lips on
this portion of Sinai. The words of those great
instructions were heard again upon the rocks. It
is hardly necessary to say that it was a deeplyinteresting and impressive moment.
There are two great publications of truth, for
which I find no parallels in human history, and
which will never cease to stand pre-eminent both
by their nature and by the circumstances under
which they were made: —the law of' Sinai and the
Sermon on the Mount. The law of Sinai is essentially a republication of those great principles of
natural religion which are engraven on the human
heart, but which sin had obscured and almost obliterated.  It places in an objective or outward
position that which had been written within; and
rewrites in letters of fire, and on mountain-tops,




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           365
and in sight of the whole world, that which had
grown dim and illegible in the subjective chambers
of man's erring and fallen spirit. It is one of the
fatal attributes of sin that it makes men blind and
puts them to sleep; so that they do wrong almost
without knowing that it is wrong.  But the law
of Sinai is a trumpet-voice, waxing louder and
louder, which rends the rocks and wakes the dead;
but, uttering its declarations in.the form of prohibitions rather than of precepts, it only wakes them
to a sense of their deadness, without giving them
the living principle of a renovated life. So that
in giving moral light and in verifying to men's
stupid consciousness the facts of their multiplied
transgression, it may be said to slay, rather than
to make alive. But still, considering the condition
of the human race at the time it was given, the
moral ignorance, the idolatries, and the crimes
which everywhere prevailed, it was a declaration
which was essential and indispensable in the progress of man's restoration.
As my footsteps trod upon the peaks of Sinai, I
looked, therefore, upon the scenes around me with
the deepest interest and the sincerest gratitude,
because I felt that they were theatres of necessary
transition-points in that great history of Redemption which, beginning with the promise that the
C"seed of the woman should bruise the serpent's
head," terminated in the crucifixion of the Virgin's
Son. Law, however, is not LIFE. The true progress of man's restoration is from the outward to
the inward, from the law which restricts action to
the principle of holy love which inspires it. It is
31l




3 66 6        LETTERS —2ESTHETIC,
through the crucifixion of Christ and his resurrection
from the dead, and in conformity with the Sermon on
the Mount, that the true life comes,-that life of
faith and holy affection which makes man like his
heavenly Father. This is the little leaven, spoken
of in the Scriptures, which leavens the whole lump;
which, gradual but sure in its progress, restores the
individual and reforms and improves society; which
breaks down and equalizes the enormous distinctions
resulting from  selfishness,-consolidates brotherhood, humanizes and elevates humanity, and makes
God ALL in ALL.
In coming clown from the peak of Sussafeh into
the plain of El-Rahah, I was greatly exhausted,
after having travelled all day in feeble health.
The descent is exceedingly  steep, — requiring
strength as well as great care in those who come
down. Indeed, it would have been hardly possible
for me to have made the descent and to have returned to the convent that day without the personal and persevering assistance of two Bedouin
Arabs, to whose kindness I have already had occasion to refer. Night was rapidly approaching,
and in more than one instance they took me in
their arms and carried me.  They supported me
down precipices where a false step would have
dashed me to pieces. In the rude and solitary
tents of El-KIhadem and E1-Leja, they may cease
to think of me —because they might have found
nothing worth remembering except my infirmities;
but I should think unworthily of myself if I ceased
to retain a recollection of the kindness of these
untutored but warm-hearted men.




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          367
They came with me slowly along the foot of the
mountain; and we turned again into the valley of
SIIU-EIB. We passed very near an Egyptian encampment.  I heard the sound of fife and drum.
The sound seemed strange and mysterious here.
The mists and shadows were gathering upon the
~valley. The drum rolled again, and its sound was
echoed from  the rocks.  It was natural that I
should say to myself, in the words of Joshua to
Moses, uttered not far from this very place, "; There
is a noise of war in the camp."  The signs and
voices of human strife have reached even these
solitary places.  That tide of desolation which has
overwhelmned Europe, and which at different periods
has rolled along the banks of the Nile, has driven
its fiery wave across the sands of the desert also,
and has dashed itself against the foot of Sinai.
Depravity hardens itself in defiance of the law.
Will it not yield to the self-sacrificing spirit of the
gospel?
There is something within me which bids me go
hence. It is not safe for weak and erring humanity
to stop at Sinai. I will endeavor to find a teacher
and a guide greater than Moses. Following his
footsteps on the banks of the Jordan and on the
shore of Tiberias: in the garden of Gethsemane
and on the hill of the Crucifixion, I will hope, in
the greatness of my own weakness and wants, to
catch something of his benevolent spirit. I will
listen to that voice of angels which still echoes
over the plain of Bethlehem:-"-Peace on earth;
good-will to men."




368             LETTERSe-AiSTHETIC,
(XLI.)
Departure from Sinai —Last view of the great plain-Group of Arab
Women and children —Wady Esch Shekh-Route from Esch Shekh
to the Elanitic Gulf-Mountain-scenery —Wady Hudhera —Elanitic Red Sea —Idumea and Mount Hor-Eziongeber —Arrival at
Accaba —Shekh Hassan-Leave for Nickel and Gaza-Fortress of
Niekel-Amalekite territory-Beersheba-Reach Gaza-H-Iistorical
references.
GAZA, PASHALIC OF SYRIA, 3MAY 7, 1853.
WE left Sinai on the 13th of April on our way
to Palestine.  When parties set out upon the long
journeys of these deserts, it requires some time to
adjust the baggage to the camels, and in general
not less to settle the rivalries and jealousies among
their owners.  During the time when things were
thus in a process of preparation for our departure,
I occupied myself in going a little distance up the
steep granite side of Mount E-Dayr, and took a last
view of the walls and gardens of the ancient convent, of the rugged and towering heights of Sinai,
and of the great historical plain below  me; and
felt once more that I stood in the midst of scenes
which had witnessed events and were associated
with names as memorable as any in history.
As I stood thus, I noticed at a little distance,
huddled together in the sunless clefts of the rocks,
a number of Arab women with their little children
around them.  They were the wives and children,
I supposed, of the Arabs who had gone up with us
in our ascent of Mount Sinai, or of those who were
preparing to conduct us on our journey.  Knowing
that I had come from a distant land,-a land less
poor and desolate and suffering than their own, —




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.         369
they extended their hands and uttered in their
own language their petition for some small present.
This was not unexpected to me, because it is the
custom among them,-a custom which is, in some
degree, justified by their necessities. I saw them
seated among rocks which the ploughshare does
not enter, and where wheat does not grow. I saw
that they were ragged; and I could hardly doubt
that they were hungry.  The women in their
poverty and ignorance, and differing also in race
and in religion, were nevertheless my sisters.
Christianity required me thus to regard them.
The children were everybody's children who has a
heart to love them; and I could not believe, although I might differ in this from the opinion of
other travellers, that it would hurt either my
pocket or my heart to give them the small sum
which they asked.
When the camels were ready, we mounted and
set out. The course which we took led us through
a portion of the beautiful wady Esch Shekh, which
I have already had occasion to mention. I speak
of the wady or valley which bears this name as
beautiful, because, contrary to the anticipations
which one is apt to form, there is sometimes surpassing beauty in the physical aspects even of
these desolate regions. The succession of lofty
cliffs, through which Esch Shekh passes, forms, in
this direction, a sort of outworks and entrancegateway, if I may so express it, to the secluded
and mysterious region of Horeb, of which Sinai is
the centre. After leaving this wady at the end of
a few hours' march, and altering our course with a




3 70          LETTERS —2STHETIC,
view to reach the Elanitic Gulf, we passed through
other wadys and mountain-gorges, which continued
to gratify in a high degree that sentiment of the
beautiful and sublime which is natural to man, and
which, in its wonderful power to mark and to reflect the numerous and minute aspects of surrounding objects, may be said to exist like a living mirror
at the bottom of the human heart.
Our route, after leaving Esch Shekh, led us
through Orfan, Murrah, and  ludllera.  In many
places in these wadys, which form portions of the
more common route from Sinai to Accaba, the
mountains rise abruptly on both sides, leaving a
narrow path between them, and with such distinctly-marked relations on the corresponding sides
that they have the appearance of being worn down
or cut in two in the centre. Layers of rock of every
variety of kind and color, granite, sandstone, limestone, greenstone, intermixed with slate and veins
of porphyry, attracted a degree of notice which in
other countries would have been given to the beautiful varieties of trees and flowers. No earth covers
them.  Washed occasionally by the rains, and
polished, if I may so express it, by the blazing contact of sunbeams, they sometimes shine like gems.
In some instances the forms were as remarkable as
the colors; and the rocks were worn by the action
of the elements into variegated shapes of beauty,
which reminded us of the columns, statues, and
temples of human art. It was often a magic scene,
a wilderness of enclantments, probably unseen anywhere else,-which recalled, while it may be sup



SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          371
posed to give an explanation in part of the gorgeous
fictions of the Arabian tales.
It may be proper to say here, that the wady
Hucdhera, or rather the fountain of fludhera in its
vicinity, is supposed by Biblical geographers, and
for reasons which have much weight, to be the
Hazeroth of the Scriptures.  If this view should
generally be adopted as the correct one, it will be
found important as indicating with great exactness
the first portion of the route of the Israelites from
Sinai towards Palestine.
Reaching after a number of days the Elanitic
branch of the Red Sea, we encamped at night on its
shores, and were refreshed by its welcome breezes.
The transition to this novel scene was pleasant,
although the desolation on both sides of the gulf
was not less marked and complete than that of the
regions behind us. But there was this difference.
There had been unbroken silence before. Day had
succeeded to day, without a sound to break their
stillness; but now the voice of the waves, as they
dashed gently on the shore, was like sweet sounds
of music. This gentle and refreshing voice from
the ocean seemed to have a power over the heart
unknown before.  But, this was not all.  In the
barren region from which we had just emerged there
were neither trees nor flowers to attract the eye
with their verdure and variegated beauty; but
scattered along the shore of the sea there were
numberless sea-shells of exquisite tints and of every
variety of form. Often we stopped to gather them;
and we found a new species of companionship in
the suggestive power of their beauty.




3 72          LETTERS-.E STHETIC,
Continuing along the western side of the sea, we
now proceeded, by an easier march of a number of
days, some fifty or sixty miles to Accaba. In only
one instance, when a mountainous rock came jutting
down upon the water, were we obliged to leave the
level shore and take a more difficult route.  The
sea, or gulf as it may be as properly called, varies in
its upper portion from five to twelve miles in width.
Such, at least, is the opinion which one would be
likely to form in estimating it by the eye alone.
On the side opposite to us, lofty and barren heights
touched in some places upon the water, and suspended their huge cliffs over it. This rocky and
mountainous region extending along the eastern
shore-a region which includes Mount Hor within
its limits-is the ancient land of Idumea,-the
residence of the descendants of Esau, and the
burial-place of Aaron.
At the head of this branch of the Red Sea were
once towns of importance, which have now passed
away,-particularly Eloth mentioned in the Scriptures, which is the same, I suppose, as the Aila or
Aela of the Romans, and Eziongeber, the port of
Solomon. David, the father of Solomon, had conquered the Idumeans; and the possession of this
port, which was the channel of Arabian and Indian
commerce, was a principal source of Solomon's
wealth. It is stated of this king, that he L"made a
navy of ships at Eziongeber, which is beside Eloth,
on the shore of the Red Sea, in the land of Edom."
The site of Eloth was two miles south of Accaba.
The latter is a modern Turkish town of small size,
with fortifications of considerable strength, and is




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          373
the residence of a governor. Reaching it in safety,
but not without considerable fatigue, we pitched
our tents on the plain of Accaba and near its walls,
with the Red Sea in front and the mountains of
Edom behind us.
The arrangement which we had made with our
Arabs for our conveyance terminated at Accaba.
We could not advance farther without the assistance
and aid of Shekh Hassan, the chief of the Alloween Arabs. We waited for him some time. He
was absent in the Idumean Mountains, which are
inhabited by his people, and did not come to us till
after the lapse of seven days. lie gave explanations of his detention, which seemed due to the
patience with which we had waited for him so long
on the burning sands. We were glad to see the
old chief, though he brought us unfavorable news.
Shekh Hassan has often been mentioned by travellers. We were seated beneath some palm-trees
which overshadowed our tents, when he made his
appearance. He is an old man, seventy years of age;
but with no want of elasticity in his step, and with
no dimness in his keen, piercing eye. Dressed richly
in the Oriental manner, and seated erect on a fine
horse, which bore him majestically from the mountains behind us, he wheeled slowly and proudly into
our presence. As he rode he bore a beautiful spear
in his right hand: some twelve feet in length. He
held it gracefully and proudly, as if conscious of elevating upon its sharp and glittering point both the
emblem and security of his barbarian power. He
was accompanied by his brother and son. He
heard our story, and promptly returned his answer.
32




3 74          LETTERS-JESTHETIC,
He informed us that, in consequence of some very
recent difficulties which had sprung up among the
Arab tribes, it would be impossible, in accordance
with our original intention, to reach Palestine by
the way of Hebron, and would be very difficult to
advance even as far as Petra, the ancient capital of
Idumea.  We knew something of the power of this
Edomite chief, and that we could not go without his
assistance. And although we offered him inducements and made various propositions, he still insisted that the attempt to reach Hebron, in particular, would be at the risk of property and lives; and,
with an honorable frankness, he declined entirely
the responsibility of conducting us.
Under these circumstances we were obliged to
give up some of the objects we had in view,-especially our visit to Petra, which was but a few days'
distance from us, and whose remains of dwellings,
tombs, and temples, excavated with taste and skill
in the lofty rocks which overhang its narrow valley,
have been the admiration of travellers.  Altering
the plan of our route with the view to reach the
shore of the Mediterranean: and in the expectation
of entering Palestine by the way of the old Philistine town of Gaza, we at once mlade preparations
for our departure. The old Alloween chief; who
showed in his intercourse with us that he was
neither wanting in kind feelings nor in a good
share of practical shrewdness, readily furnished the
requisite camels and men. The Bedouin Arabs,
under whose guidance we were now placed, have the
reputation of being among the rudest and wildest of
this peculiar and remarkable race of people. Their




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          375
appearance, as they came around us and took
possession of our tents and baggage, was not at
variance with their reputation. The chief Hassan,
thinking it unnecessary to attend us in person, or
perhaps called to more urgent duties somewhere else,
committed our escort to the charge of his brother.
A few moments before we started, I was interested to see this old man, the head of a fierce and
powerful tribe, call around him those of his people
who were to attend us. Their rude and coarse
garments showed their poverty; but each one, I
believe, or with scarcely an exception, had a gun in
his hand. At the voice of their leader their discordant clamors were hushed.  The aged chief took
an elevated position on a rock; and the men seated
themselves in a circle in front of him on the rocks
and sand.  Standing but a few feet back of the
enclosure formed by the Bedouins, I was able to
hear what was said, without understanding its
import. I learned, however, from our interpreter,
that he gave them advice as to their conduct; and
certainly the propriety and earnestness of his gestures, and the falling tear that shone in his eye, and
the visible effect upon the men, showed that even
the fierce chief of a rude Arab tribe feels something
of the obligation to be the father, as well as the
leader and governor, of his people.
We left Accaba on Monday, the 25th of April, —
retracing for a short time our steps around the head
of this branch of the Red Sea, till we reached, in
the mountains on its western side, the great pass
which is annually trodden by the caravans between
Egypt and Mecca. Turning into this pass, in which




3 76          LETTERS-.X STHETIC,
there are obvious traces of an old Roman road, we
ascended for a long distance with mountain-heights
on each hand, and amid that peculiar mountainscenery which I have already mentioned. Arrived
at the summit of this long and difficult ascent, we
once more cast a look upon the waters which once
floated with the navies and riches of Solomon, and
upon the lofty mountains of Edom on the other side
of them. We then, without descending into valleys
again as we naturally anticipated, passed over elevated plains of vast extent, of a hard and pebbly
surface, and blackened by the sun; and I think we
found no part of these great deserts more destitute
of vegetation and of every form of life than this.
In four days' travel from Accaba, and at the distance of about ninety miles, we reached the village
and fortress of Niekel.
The country around the fortress of Niekel, unable
to supply with provisions even the little community
here, is a wide, sandy desolation, not less barren
than the country we had passed over. So that
both the fortress and the little village connected
with it draw their supplies from distant places; and
chiefly from Suez and Cairo. A few artificial wells
and fountains, however, are found here; which
is a great convenience to the travellers and pilgrims that pass this way. The fortress of Niekel
is not far from the borders of the Pashalic of Egypt,
in the direction of Syria, and seems to have been
established with the combined object of keeping
the neighboring Arabs in awe, of protecting and
aiding the caravans between Egypt and Mecca,
and of indicating the fact of Egyptian authority




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          377
exercised in full power at no great distance from the
lines of a distinct and rival dominion.
There were sounds of music in the village and
fortress on the night of our arrival there. It was an
hour of feasting, and of that rude joy which in these
regions accompanies the ceremonies of marriage.  I
sat in my tent and heard it at a little distance, and
was not sorry to know that human sympathies may
exist amid the desolations of nature, and that love
has a place even in the sands of the desert.
We spent the Sabbath here, and on the next morning, the 2d of May, renewed our march towards the
shore of the Mediterranean. At this place we ceased
to be conveyed by the camels and Bedouins of Shekh
Hassan, and came under the protection and were
conveyed by the men of another tribe. This change
in the men who conducted us had been the cause of
some delay.
As we advanced from Niekel towards Gaza, we
passed through a portion of the territory once occupied by the Amalekites,-an ancient and warlike
people, whose power seems to have extended from
the plains and valleys of Philistia to the mountains
of Sinai.  Their fierce wars with the Israelites are
known to the readers of the Bible.  Our course led
us a little to the south of the ancient Beersheba, and
at no great distance from it. Beersheba, which still
retains its ancient name, and whose wells and scattered ruins indicate its position, is situated upon the
southern border of Palestine.  It was at one time
the residence of Abraham  and Isaac.  Passing
onward in a southwest direction, and going through
what we supposed might be that portion of the
32-t




3 78           LETTERS —-ESTHETIC,
Philistine territory which bears in the Scriptures
the name of Gerar, we reached in five days' travel
fr omn Niekel the shores of the Mediterranean, and
were lodged in the quarters of the quarantine of
Gaza.
In our approach to this city, and at the distance
of about twenty miles, we began to pass from the
unbroken sterility of the desert to lands susceptible
of cultivation.  The heart harmonizes with nature,
and is gay or sad in correspondence with the joy or
sadness of that which is without.  I cannot forget
the delight I felt when we came to a small brook.
Grass and reeds grew upon its banks; and, as it
played with its pebbly channel, its prattling music
seemed to have a voice of social welcome in its sound.
We saw once more flocks of shteep and goats, and
the playing children who watched them, and droves
of camels going to the watering-places, and husbandmen gathering in the barley from the fields.  Life,
that had been buried in the sands, was again struggling upward into form  and  beauty.  Flowers
unknown in colder climates sprung up by the wayside; and, as I gazed upon them  with continual
delight it seemed as if I had known nothing of their
radiance before.  They seemed, to my pleased imagination, to vindicate to themselves the principle
of life, and to arise from the earth like conscious
and social beings desirous of expressing their joy.
They revealed, in their pure and bright expression,
a religious import. Is it not true that the glory of
God is written on the leaf of the flower? Or is it the
state of the mind, vriting the inward beauty on the
outward object, which makes it shine so brightly?




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           379
We are now in Gaza in quarantine.  And it is
here that I am writing, or rather finishing, this letter,
which I had begun during our seven days' stay at
Accaba.  The detention here I suppose is necessary,
or at least is deemed to be so. I have no fault to
find with our accommodations. And the harmony
of our little company, strengthened by piety, and
cheered in Syria, as on the Nile and in the Desert, by
woman's presence, has made every situation pleasant.
I can see, from the windows of the rooms which we
occupy, the site of the old city of Gaza. The ancient
city, situated at the distance of a mile and a half or
two miles from the modern Gaza, was a place of no
small note as far back as the time of Joshua and the
Israelitish Judges. Its position in the vicinity of the
Mediterranean was favorable to it; and commerce
enriched it and gave it strength.  Its site is now
covered by an immense pile of sand, so wide and so
deep that the traveller who seeks for some memorial
of its former greatness can scarcely find the frangment
of a broken column.
That lofty pile, which the winds and waves of
ages have drifted together, and beneath which the
city and its gates and temples are buried, is a sort
of monumental pillar of' that which is passed away
and gone. The pride of the Philistine states, the
city of Gaza at successive periods was the place of
commerce, arts, battles, sieges.  It withstood for a
long time the fierce attacks of Alexander the Great,
who found it standing in his way in his triumphant
march from Egypt to Phenicia.  And at an earlier
period it had a connection, in various ways, with
Scripture history. It was the gates of Gaza which




3 8 0         LETTERS-ITESTHETIC,
Samlson, in his contests with this people, took away
at night and set upon a distant hill before Hebron.
It was here that he was destroyed. And this is
the scene, therefore, of one of the magnificent poems
of Milton.
It is thus, wherever our journey leads us, that
past deeds and generations spring up at our feet.
As I am seated at my window and let my eye
roam over these scenes,-that eye which becomes
also a window to my heart and lets in the floodlights of memory,-I call to mind the names of
the men of distant ages,-the son of Manoah, the
Hercules of the wild and heroic age of the Scriptures, who fought with Dagon and subdued him;
of the Macedonian conqueror, the mighty but wayward child of a mysterious Providence, who has
led onward to the destruction of cities in fulfilment
of the denunciations of the Hebrew prophets; and
of the wonderful bard of the Isle of the Ocean,
who was illuminated with a brighter light when he
became blind: and who, in his Samson Agonistes,
has poured forth a song of sorrow and of triumph
which matches the noblest melodies of Greek and
Roinan fame.
The story of Samson is one of the touching and
instructive passages of Biblical history —varied
and wonderful in its conflicting aspects, and not
unworthy of the sympathetic remembrances and
the sublime song of the great English poet. Strong
in his earthly passions, strong in his love of God,
but vacillating from  heaven to earth and from
earth to heaven, he was an object which angels
migbt look upon with pity,-sad and terrible in




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.              381
his inward conflicts. When he looked upon Delilah, he fell prostrate to the earth.  When he remembered the prayers and faith of his father and
mother, and of the ancient and great men of his
people, his soul gained strength, and soared upward to celestial regions.  And it was thus, not
firmly fixed to the Central Life, and rent asunder
by attractions from different sources, he passed
and repassed from  heights to depths, from good to
evil.  But God, who loved him, closed his earthly
sight, in order that the eye which was closed and
dark to earth might be open and illuminated from
heaven. With light came strength; and the influx
of strength into his soul gave strength to his physicaL nature.  His hour was come.  He was ready
to die, because death, which is only a method of
transition, is the gateway of the resurrection. But
in that final conflict between the true and the false,
between the perishable and the eternal, his arm
grew mighty in God; he shook the strong foundations and pillars of falsehood; and the idol and
the temple "crumbled into dust."
(XLII.)
Quarantine-Its occupants —Thoughts on experiences in the wilderness-Poetry-On President Edwards's system of pure or universal love-The slain lamb —Achmed the Syrian-The bird of
Accaba-The tame fishes of Hingham-The little girl —Poetry.
PASHALIC OF SYRIA, QUARANTINE OF GAZA: SECOND LETTER.
MY last letter found me in Gaza.  I date the
present letter from  the same place in quarantine.
The prevalence of pestilential diseases in the coun



3 3 2         LETTERS-A STHETIC,
tviies of the East renders establishments of this
kind necessary.  The quarantine  buildings are
erected around a square open court. One side of
this open area is adorned with shrubbery and
flowers. They are watered from a large well which
stands in the centre of the court, and around which
persons are constantly gathered.  People from different countries, detained for the reasons which
detain us, are assembled within these walls, —
travellers to Jerusalem, traders from Cairo, Arabs
from the desert,-and all differing from each other
almost as much in their situations in life as in
their habits, dress, nationalities, and language.
At a little distance from  the room which we
occupy there is a company of slaves.  They were
brought down the Nile from Nubia, sold to a slavepurchaser in Cairo, and are on their sad and desolate way to the interior of Syria.  In another part
of the building, as if in contrast with this scene of
degradation and suffering, is a party of young
Englishmen, full of activity, joy, and hope; among
whom are students from the University of Oxford.
Beyond the walls, but in sight of our room, which
is the higher story of the quarantine building, a
large company of Bedouins have just come upon
the wide and beautiful plain which extends to the
south and west of the city. They have pitched
their dark tents. Their children are at play. The
camels, relieved from their burdens, are strolling
around.  The smoke of their fires is ascending.
But I will let these things pass now, and permit
my thoughts to take another direction. I will go
back again for a short time to the wilderness; and




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           383
the reason is, that the detention of a number of
days at Gaza, under the restrictions and confinement of a quarantine, has afforded an opportunity,
not only to give an outline of our journey to this
place, but to record some of the thoughts and feelings to which it has given rise.
I have left the remarkable scenes of the desert;
and in all probability have left them forever.  But
I hope it will not savor of affectation when I say,
that my intercourse with this extraordinary and
memorable locality has been an intercourse of the
affections as well as of the senses. Such certainly
has been the case. Leaving, therefore, its geography and geology to other and more appropriate
hands, at least in their more specific and particular
aspects, it will be enough for me, in the circumstances of physical weakness in which I have come
here, merely to give an account of the general appearances of the country and some little record of
my feelings. So that my descriptions, such as they
are, may be expected to take their character in some
degree from the heart as well as the sight.
A man never knows the length and depth of his
own nature who lives in one place and deals with
one class of men alone, but must expand and explore himself-must both enlarge his capacity and
must understand his capacity-by exploring and
exhausting many varieties of situation.  And when
he is wandering in places desolate and without an
inhabitant, it will not be surprising if, in the yearning' of his heart to find some object that can meet
its wants, he should learn to love the fountains and
even the rocks.  A tree or a flower, so frequent in




3 84              LETTERS —-ESTIETIC,
his own distant land as to diminish in some degree
the  sense of their value, will wake up  an  enthusiasm of thought and feeling which he had hardly
known  before.   Flowers  have  no  tongues, and
therefore have no outward speech; but I think
they may be said  to  speak  with  the  heart; and
sometimes they utter or suggest thoughts and enter
into little affectionate conversations which are quite
interesting.  Some of the weary hours which were
occupied in traversing the peninsula of Sinai were
relieved  by these little  soliloquies.  Allow  me to
give you an instance; which, for the sake of your
younger and less critical readers, I will put into verse.
One day in the desert
With pleasure I spied
A flower in its beauty
Looking up at my side.
And I said, " O sweet floweret
That bloomest alone,
What's the worth of thy beauty,
Thus shining unknown?"
But the flower gave me answer,
With a smile quite divine;
"'Tis the nature, O stranger,
Of beauty to shine.
Take all I can give thee,
And wsllen thou art gone,
The light that is in me
Will keep shining on.
"And, oh, gentle stranger,
Permit me to say,
To keep up thy spirits
Along this lone way,
While thy heart shall flow outward
To gladden and bless,
The fount at its centre
Will never grow less."




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.             385
I was struck with its answer,
And left it to glow
To the clear sky above it,
And the pale sands below;
Above and around it
Its light to impart,
But never exhausting
The fount at its heart.
There is a system of philosophy supported by a
great and memorable name-anrd none the less
memorable because he who bore it pursued his
sublime and difficult studies in the woods of America
-which maintains that " virtue consists in the love
of being in general."  That, I believer is the form of
expression —or very nearly the form of expressionin which its leading doctrine is conveyed. It condemns isolation.  It frowns upon selfishness.  Like
the Sermon on the Mount, which indeed may be
supposed to have suggested its leading principles, it
looks favorably and earnestly in the direction of
wide and universal attachments,-not excluding
even our enemies. It is a sublime doctrine, and
indicates the thoughts and experiences of a farreaching mind.  Supported by its precepts, which
anticipate and require the restoration of universal
harmony, I am unwilling to set narrow limits to my
sympathies.  And certainly, if I thus felt sympathy
with inanimate nature, the alliance of primitive
harmony, if I may so express it, with the rock, the
fountain, and the flower, I could not feel less with
anything and everything which has life in it. And
when at intervals I saw a bird flying in the air, or
even a lizard basking upon the heated noonday sand,
or a mole excavating its dim  mansion under the
33




386            LETTERS-ESTHETIC,
starlight, I recognized that great and sacred tie, too
long sundered, but still reclaimable, which binds
together all existences.  I will give one or two
incidents in illustration of my feelings.
When we entered upon the elevated plain extending to the southwest of the' Elanitic Red Sea, I
noticed a little lamb following our caravan; at first
led by some Arabs, and then left by them to follow
at his own will.  I loved it as soon as I saw it.  It
will be remembered that we were in the desert.
And there is only one solitude which the soul cannot
bear,-that which is destitute of any object of affection.  For some time this little lamb, which had
thus suddenly established a place in my affections,
gave me some trouble, because I was afraid it would
stray away and be lost. And I sometimes allowed
my companions to advance, while I lingered behind
and watched its motions.  But my anxiety was
perhaps unnecessary.  It would stop, and go aside
from the path among the rocks, and try to find something which it could eat; and then, looking up, and
seeing the company at a distance, it hastened with
all the speed of its little feet to rejoin it.  I thought
of the time when God brought the creatures he had
made to Adam; and he " gave their names to the
beasts of the fields and the birds of the air."  A long
way in the wilderness did the lamb travel in this
manner.  At night it slept, like a little child, by
the.side of our tents. There was something plaintivo in its bleat as it ran along through the day by
the side of our camels, as if some feeling or presentiment of sorrow mingled with its affection.  When
we arrived at Niekel, which I have mentioned in a




SOCIALL, AND MORAL.          387
former letter as one of the frontier-towns of Egypt,
the lamb was killed.  It had followed us a long way
over the desert. It came sadly but confidingly to
the place of its destruction.  It loved the hand that
slew it.  And I felt that a tie of the heart was
sundered, when I saw its blood in the sand.
In referring to these feelings, which I might not
have noticed so much at another time, they do not
seem to me to be at variance either with philosophy
or religion.  The love of our Maker is one of the
first principles of practical religion. But is it possible for man to love God as he ought to love him,
without at the same time loving, in an appropriate
manner, all the creatures he has made?  Perhaps it
may be ascribed to emotional weakness; but still it
is difficult for me to conceive of a man as bearing
fully the divine image, who has so little sensibility
that he mars the face of nature by needlessly crushing a flower; and still more difficult, if he dishonors
and offends God by causelessly diminishing the happiness of any sentient being, however insignificant
it may be, which is capable of happiness.
Now that I have availed myself of the broad title
which I have given to these letters, and have venturedl incidentally upon this subject, I will venture
to give one or two more illustrations.  We have in
our company a Syrian, whose name is Achmed.
His home is in Beiroot; but he has come with us
from Cairo.  He has with him a two-barrelled gun,
which he uses with skill.  And while we were in
the deserts, if a bird or any living thing appeared,
he endeavored to shoot it.  I strove to make him
understand my feelings; but it was to little purpose.




388           LETTERS —. STHETIC,
All I could do, when I saw him aiming his gun,
was to give a signal by voice or action to the
devoted bird, or whatever animal it was; and this I
did not fail to do, although at the expense of incurring his displeasure. We were very good friends,
however, except in this matter,-in which we found
it impossible to agree.
At Accaba our tent was pitched near the Red
Sea; and daily two large, beautiful birds sailed in
the air above us. I was delighted with them. One
day the report of a gun was heard. One of the
birds fell upon the shore dead; and Achmed brought
his trophy to our tent. I was offended. I knew
that not a sparrow falls to the ground without God's
notice. I stood silent. I could not praise his marksmanship. He soon took the bird and carried it
away, not very well satisfied at his reception, and
threw it down under the walls of Accaba.
I can hardly explain upon what motive or principle I acted; but I soon went away to the place,
and sat down upon the sand amid a ragged group
of Arab and Turkish children. They were not
strong enough to use guns, and were not old enough
to lose their natural sympathies. We sat there for
a little time, admiring the yellow beak of the bird,
its fading eye, and its long white wings; and not
without a feeling of common sorrow. And I must
confess that my feelings of regret and grief were
not diminished when I looked up and saw its mate
soaring above us with uneasy wings. I suspected
the object of his visit. His eye caught a sight of
his dead companion.. He stooped his flight, and,
passing directly above us, uttered a low, moaning




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.             389
sound, which was full of sadness; as if he had said,
"Farewell, companion of the rocks and waves!
Farewell, the light and joy of my heart! Our nest
is desolate; and the life of the living is more sad
than the death of the fallen:"I see thy heaving heart with throbs dilate;
I mark the shadows of thy closing eye;
Yes, thou art fallen low, but shalt not die
Without a friend to mourn thy cruel fate."
When there is so little life in the desert, either of
man or animals, why should man hesitate and be
unwilling to let it live?  I hope I shall give no offence in saying, that both my instincts and my convictions attach a sacredness both to life and to all
the innocent and right enjoyments of which it is
susceptible.  Man, and the beasts of the field and
the birds of the air, once constituted but one family.
And man cannot be restored to a millennial state
without the restoration of the family in all its parts.
The bird shall sing to cheer him; the beast shall
feed from his hand; "'the lion and the lamb shall
lie down together;" and even the fishes of the river
and sea shall again hear man's voice in their deep
habitations, and shall enter once more into the circle
of human sympathies. Allow me here to forget
that I am on the borders of the Mediterranean, and
to return in memory for a few moments to America.
A few years ago I read in a newspaper in America,
that the fishes in a certain pond had been tamed,
and brought back again, at least in some degree,
into the original association with humanity.  Being
at leisure at a certain time, and having some curiosity to ascertain the truth of this statement, I
33*




3 9 0         LETTERS —-f STHETICG
embarked in a boat in Boston harbor, and in the
boat I went down to Hingham.  It was near night.
Next morning, and quite early in the morning, I
went towards the pond which was said to be the
theatre of this interesting and unprecedented state
of things. I recollect that I went through a long
piece of woods, which was without habitations, and
which, in its tranquillity and beauty, was favorable
to benevolent dispositions and thoughts. The early
sunbeams were playing with the dew-drops, and the
birds were singing in the branches. After passing
through the woods and coming in sight of the pond
of water, I went to a farmer's house not far from it.
I knocked, and a good-looking woman, with that
intelligent and benevolent aspect which marks the
women of America, came to the door.  Making such
apology as I was able for a visit so early, I remarked
that I had come for the purpose of seeing the fishes
in the neighboring pond, which were said to be tamed.
Readily accepting my explanations, she pointed to a
place on the brink of the water, and said that one
of her children would soon come down there.
I had not stood there long before a little girl, apparently anxious not to detain me, came running
down.  She seated herself on a rock on the shore
and looked into the mirror of the morning waters,
which reflected back the delightful image of her
innocent beauty.  She called to the fishes; calling
them sometimes by the names of their tribes and
sometimes by particular names which she had given
them. There was one, a large one, which she called
Cato.  But Cato was in no hurry to come.  She
said it was rather early for them.  They had not




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.            391
yet left their places of slumber. But, repeating still
more loudly the invitation of her sweet voice, they
began to make their appearance. The smaller ones
came first, and then the larger ones of many varieties; and at last Cato, who was a sort of king and
counsellor in this finny congregation, came among
them.  Delighted with this renewed visit of their
virgin queen, although they seemed to be conscious
it was rather early in the morning, they thrust their
heads above the water; and she fed them from her
hand.  And I fed them also.
Observing something peculiar at a little distance
in the water, I was surprised to see two turtles
making their way towards her.  Her voice of affection had penetrated beneath their dark, hard shells.
And I noticed that they came with great effort
and zeal,-as if afraid of being too late at this
festival of love.  One of them, as soon as they
reached the shore, scrambled out of the water, and
climbed upon the little rock beside her. And she fed
them both. I shall not easily forget this interesting
scene —this little episode of millennial humanity.
It will not be considered surprising, I hope, that
I entered into conversation with this affectionate
and charming child. In the course of our conversation, she told me she once had a brother, a little
older than herself, who had aided her in taming the
fishes. But he was now dead.  This too touched
my feelings.  c How sad it was," thought I to mnyself, " for such a sister to part with.such a brother! "
But she spoke of her brother in such a way, that
his benevolent spirit seemed to be not far distant,
but to fill the air and to be with us and around us




39 2          LETTERS —E STHETIC,
where we stood. The expression she employed
was, that her brother was dead. And that is the
way in which we are accustomed to speak of those
who are taken away from us. But I always have
a feeling that it can be said, with much propriety,
that there is no death, and no possibility of death,
to those who love. But it must be acknowledged
that this depends in part upon what we understand
love to be. Practically it seems to me to be a heart,
or rather a tendency of the heart, in harmony
with the happiness of all existences,-a benevolence
which does not save one and smite another, but accepts and saves everything which does not reject
and spurn its offers of affection.  This is the doctrine, I suppose, of the distinguished American philosopher to whom I have already referred.  Such a
principle, having for its basis a correspondent faith,
a, principle which can call down the birds of the
mountain and tame the fishes of the lakes and sea,
and when clothed in song can make the very trees
dance around it, according to the old Orphic melodies, —and, what, is more, can make the lofty mountains move from their places, according to the doctrine of Jesus Christ,-such a principle, in passing
upward through successive heights of glory, can
change its form, but can never lose its immortality.
Selfishness may perish. Indeed, it is dead already.
But love can never die. Poets say so. Prophets,
who are poets gifted with religious insight, say so.
Humanity, which in its better moments embellishes
poetry with the inspirations of prophecy, says so.
Love not only recogynizes life, but is life.  He who
does not know how to love does not know how to




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.                 393
live.  His life is the negation of living.  The true
life is not in him.
But this is a digression.  My apology is that I am
in  a prison, which is called, by a free license of
speech, a quarantine. The sight has its limitations;
but thought, which employs itself with that which
is beyond the reach of the senses, is not bound.
And this reminds me of a stanza of one of the touching poems of Madame Guyon, written when she
was in the prison of Vincennes:" My cage confines me round;
Abroad I cannot fly;
But, though my wing is closely bound,
My heart's at liberty.
My prison-walls cannot control
The flight, the freedom, of the soul."
America is a great way from the wilderness of
Sinai and from the sandy ruins of Gaza. The
memory of the beautiful apparition, the loving and
lovely daughter of the American woods, who stood
upon the water's brink and charmed its pleased and
obedient inhabitants, does not restore the slain lamb
of Niekel or the wounded and dying bird of Accaba.
But in the great law of progress mercy is preceded
by suffering; and truth is established on the falsehood which it destroys. Perhaps some flower of
the desert will spring up from their blood.
LINES WRITTEN ON THE MAIDEN FISHI-TAMIER.
O maiden of the woods and wave,
With footsteps in the morning dew!
From oozy bed and watery cave
The tenants of the lake who drew,
Thy voice of love the mystery knew
Which makes old bards and prophets true,
They tell us of that better day
When love shall rule the world again;




394                LETTERS-.ESTHETIC,
When crime and fraud shall pass away,
And beast and bird shall dwell with men;
When seas shall marry with the land,
And fishes kiss a maiden's hand.
The iron age has done its best
With trump and sword and warriors slain,
[But could not tame the eagle's nest
Nor lead the lion by the mane:
With all its strength and all its woe,
There was an art it did not know.'Twas fitting that a maid like thee,
In childhood's bright and happy hour,
Should teach the world the mystery
That innocence alone has power;
That love the victory can gain
Which is not won by millions slain.
0 man, if thou wouldst know the art
The shatter'd world to reinstate,
Like her put on a loving heart,
And throw away thy guile and hate!
A maid shall tell thee how'tis done,
A child shall show the victory won.
(XLIII.)
Reference to Egypt-Topics omitted-Wilderness of Sinai-The historical and literary interest which attaches to it-Early history of
Moses-Scholars of the desert-John Climachus —Analysis of the
influence and love of solitude —Personal recollections-Poetry.
QUARANTINE OF GAZA, PASHALIC OF SYRIA: THIRD LETTER.
You will not expect me, while shut up in these
narrow walls, to give very extensive details of what
I am seeing; but rather, if I write anything, of what
I am thinking. It does not follow, because the sight
is restricted, that the principle of thought is restricted
and bound in an equal degree. And I find that this
season of detention, in  refusing to gratify the out



SOCIAL, AND MORAL.         395
ward curiosity, is, on the whole, favorable to inward
reflection.
In justice to myself, and still more in justice to
the memorable scenes through which we have so
far passed, I ought to say something in the way of
apology. In passing through Egypt, I wrote a number of letters from Thebes and other places, in which
I gave a brief account of some of the numerous
objects which came under notice, and of the impressions which they left upon the mind. But, for
reasons which it is unnecessary to detail, I was
obliged to leave many things unsaid, to some of
which I will take this opportunity briefly to refer,
-not with a view, however, to fill up the deficiency
at the present time.
And one of the subjects thus passed over is the
primitive religion, or rather the system of religious
opinions, which prevailed in ancient Egypt. This
subject, it is true, is briefly mentioned in the histories of ancient philosophical opinions; but it seemed
to me that it ought to be more fully meditated and
studied. And this more complete examination of
it can be made to the fullest advantage only in one
place, namely, in its own appropriate locality, among
the mountains and tombs of Egypt, and in the presence of the hieroglyphics and symbols which show
the hopeless but great struggles of that remarkable
people to ascertain those moral and religious ideas
which throw light upon man's position and destiny.
Another topic, which I was compelled to pass by
without remark, but which can hardly fail to force
itself upon the attention of every traveller who is
capable of serious reflection, is the perplexed and




3 9 6          LETTERS —ESTHETIC,
obscure question of the origin and history of Egyptian culture. From what lands did this people come?
What earlier civilization was the parent of their
own? Did it find its way along the course of the
Nile frorm those distant Ethiopians who are celebrated for their noble qualities by Homer?  Or did
it come more directly from some Oriental source?
There is also another subject, on which I have
omitted hitherto to remark; I mean the peculiarities of Egyptian art, and especially as compared
with Grecian, Roman, and modern art. Any view
of Egypt which is unattended with some suggestions
and explanations on these subjects must fail of giving
full satisfaction. But one who knows the difficulty
of such subjects, even with the aid of leisure and
books, will hardly expect me to make the attempt
under the existing unfavorable circumstances. And
perhaps it may be thought with reason, by some,
that such discussions, involving as they do mental
problems as well as material and historical facts,
are more suited to philosophical treatises than to the
slight memoranda of journalizing and letter-writing.
In my last letter I substituted for my usual narrative of our progress from place to place some little
memoranda of my personal feelings. In this letter,
also, I do not propose to continue the narrative of
our journey, but shall occupy it with a few things
which I might forget or omit to say at another time.
In my last letter I said I had left the desert; but
it was in person and not in memory.  I had something to say of the desert then; and I have something further to say now.  The word desert is a
very general term, including more than one locality




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.            397
which is characterized by barrenness.  The country from Cairo to Suez is a desert; but it differs much
in its characteristics from the desert of the peninsula
of Sinai, and has less interest for travellers. The
peninsula of Sinai, which, in reaching this place,
we have crossed in two directions, is formed by the
two arms of the Rled Sea,-the Gulf of Suez extending north, and the Gulf of Elain extending east.
Remarkable in its natural features, the wilderness
of the peninsula of Sinai is remarkable, as it seems
to me, for other reasons.  I cannot deny that the
desolate regions over which we have so far passed
have to me something of the claims and the aspect
of 1, classic grounzd."  They are the locality of Moses;
and, associated as they are with his achievements
and purposes, they are hallowed by the memory of
great deeds and of a great name. Possessed of at
mind above the ordinary degree of human intelligence, the Hebrew legislator and moralist was instructed in the best institutions of Egypt.  It is not
beyond the bounds of reason andof probability, that
he studied in the schools of Heliopolis,-unless there
were others at that time which boasted a higher
learning and were more adapted to the children of
the families of kings.  The book of nature also, laid
open in its'fairest characters on the beautiful banks
of the Nile, was exposed to the meditations of his
thoughtful mind,-a book full of positive and suggestive revelations.  And here also, on the banks
of the same wonderful river, were the treasures of
art,-the conceptions of great minds, shaped into
stone and marble in the hope of giving perpetuity
to thought and affection.  On the loft.y columns and
834




398           LETTERS —-  STIHETIC,
walls which existed even in that primitive period,
he read the records of early history,-and the lessons
also of domestic affection and of moral truth,-mingled and deformed, undoubtedly, with the imperfect
ideas and the struggling but disappointed hopes of
a debased idolatry. "Learned in all the wisdom of
the Egyptians," he had read the hieroglyphics before
they were read by Champollion.
And it may be added that his Egyptian training,
whatever it was, did not prevent his acceptance
and mastery of that other and higher culture, characterized by its Aramean origin, which had quietly
established and perfected itself among his own people. There was learning in the land of Goshen;
and Moses was not ignorant of it. The Hebrew culture was religious; and, aided by the inward presence
and teachings of the God of his fathers, it placed
him upon that higher and better position which enabled him to understand and appreciate the truths and
errors of other cultures.'Placed in the most favorable position, and prompted by the highest inward
inspirations, he beheld all, knew all, appreciated all.
An Egyptian by adoption, but a Hebrew by birth
and by nature, it was natural that his heart should
be kindled with generous and zealous sentiments in
favor of his own people. Baffled in his early efforts
to instruct and deliver them, because perhaps his
wisdom and charity were not yet developed in proportion to his zeal, God saw fit so to order his providences as to drive him away into this very wilderness.
One day, as I was travelling in the wilderness, I
saw a small Bedouin village in the midst of high
hills, skirting and overhanging the level plain over




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.            399
which we were passing.  It is but reasonable to
suppose that this little community, like all others,
had its ruler, a man unknown to the world, but still
the father and chieftain of his small but solitary
people,-the Jethro of the desert.  At a little distance was a watering-place: flocks and groups of
camels were standing near; and the maidens of the
village drew water and they drank. It was to such
a place that Moses fled,-exchanging the fertile
valley for the arid plain, the rich Nile for places
without rivers, the recorded instructions of towering monuments for the suggestive eloquence of
lonely mountains, and the teachings of priests and
the wise men of Egypt for the conversations of a
shepherd and a patriarch in -the wilderness, and for
woman's love. Jethro had daughters. The Hebrew
exile saw, loved, and married.  He who, with man's
energy and unchastened passion, had slain an Egyptian in Egypt, became a little child in Midian. He
who had trod the pavements of palaces and had
been in some sense the heir of kingdoms was willing
to dwell in tents, to carry the crook of a shepherd,
and to follow after the flock.  It is in such transitions from  glory to obscurity and silence, from
riches to desolation, from the city to the desert, that
men learn the great lesson of the relation of human
actions to God's oversight, and that there is a power
above us which shapes our existence and is the
master of our destiny.  Napoleon was a wiser man
on the rock of St. Helena than he had been in the
palace of the Tuileries.  And Moses, who had
slain an Egyptian and hid him in the sand, experienced the inspiration of higher and better thoughts




400             LETTERS —AESTHETIC,
when he watered his flocks and camels in the wilderness, or was seated on its solitary rocks by the
side of those whom he loved.
To what precise part of the peninsula of Sinai
Moses went, is uncertain.  The country of Midian,
which is mentioned in connection with his place of
exile, seems to have extended west of the Elanitic
Gulf as far as the region of Horeb.  If this view is
correct, it would harmonize with one of the traditions still repeated at Sinai, that Jethro, his fatherin-law, resided in the narrow valley of Shu-Eib,
which runs between Sinai and the heights of E-Dayr.
Many years he dwelt in these wonderful solitudes,
-recalling the memory of his ancestors, reducing to
form in the beautiful language of his own people
their unexampled traditions, pondering the problems
of Providence, studying  minutely the geography of
that wide wilderness which he foresaw was to be the
theatre of great achievements, and awaiting that
mysterious hour when God speaks and man is silent.
God spake to him in the burning bush.  The Greek
monks who still linger in these regions pointed out
to us the traditionary place.  It is within the limits
of the convent of St. Catherine. It is not especially
important whether we suppose that the burning bush
was here or in some other valley or plain in the
vicinity of the great mountain.  Its blaze must have
ascended somewhere in this region; and though it
has gone out in the wilderness, and darkness has
gathered upon its place, it may be said to exist and
to burn forever in the locality of memory; and the
great words which were uttered in its fires are still
sounding in all lands.  It was no false god of Egypt




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          401
or Syria, no Osiris or Thammuz, but the God without
form, the I AM, who spake.
In the fulfilment of the great mission which the
God of his fathers had assigned him, he set out for
Egypt. He had fled into exile alone; and he returned alone. He had learned in the wilderness
that affection can grow up among the sands and
rocks. He left behind him his aged father-in-law
and his wife and children, who fed his flocks, and
kept the fires of his tent burning, till he who went
forth as a father should return a father, a lawgiver,
and a prophet. He planted his foot on the banks
of the Nile. He came back to the palaces of Memphis. He said what God gave him to say. IHle who
speaks for God has no other than God's message.
Kings trembled.  The nation mourned.  The Nile
ran blood. The chain of the people of his fathers
was broken.
I think, therefore, there is no impropriety in
speaking of the peninsula of Sinai, though a land
without rivers or verdure, as classic land. In these
solitudes was written a code of laws differing from
any other, but still remarkably adapted to the times
and the people, which places their author in the
records of civil and political history by the side of
Solon and Lycurgus. The learned commentaries
of Michaelis will justify a remark which might
otherwise seem an exaggeration.  In these regions,
stretching from the Nile to the Jordan, were written
those remarkable annals of the beginnings of the
human race, which are the starting-points and the
foundations of human history. As a moralist, he
spake as no one had spoken before him; and as a
34*




402             LETTERS -ESTHETIC,
poet, touching the varied strings of human passion,
he has passages which remind one sometimes of the
tenderness of Virgil, and sometimes of the sublimity
of Pindar.
In these regions, thousands of years later, but
still in a venerable antiquity as compared with the
present time, have resided no small number of
Clhristians, —some of whom fled from persecutions
in Egypt and other lands, and others sought these
remote solitudes with a view to greater retirement
from the world and more intimate communion with
God. Strange as it may seem, it is undoubtedly true
that men of distinguished talent and learning have
formerly dwelt in these places.  Sometimes they
resided in convents, the ruins of which are still found
in the gorges of these mountains; and not unfrequently they took up their solitary abode in lonely
caverns, excavated by nature or by the hand of art.
Among the residents who once gave a celebrity to
places which are now scarcely trodden by human
footsteps, some of whom were named in a former
letterl, mention is made by ecclesiastical historians
of Sylvanus and Nilus,-names worthy of remembrance, but better known to Catholics than Protestants.  Either in a cell in the rocks of El-Leja or in
a small convent of that valley, a few miles distant
from the convent of St. Catherine, the celebrated
John Climachus spent many years of his life.  It is
difficult to conceive how he could have developed
the powers of his mind under such circumstances;
but he was favorably known as a scholar and a;
writer. His "Ladder of Christian Perfection," originally written in Greek, has been translated into




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           403
other languages,-a work which discovers great
insight into the human heart, and which, in some
of its passages, will compare favorably with the
celebrated "Imitation of Christ."
An interesting literary and ecclesiastical history
might be written of the men who resided during the
first centuries of the Christian era in the mountains
and rocky gorges of the Thebaid and of the peninsula of Sinai. And it is in the history of these men,
and of others similarly situated, that we find one
of those problems of human nature which suggest
inquiries and furnish food for reflection.
On what principle is it that men in all ages of the
world, men of great'capacities and the finest sensibilities, have valued much the places and hours
of retirement, and have loved to be alone?  In
some cases such persons have chosen solitude as a
necessary condition of an ascetic life: with themi
solitude is a means to an end. They have first
chosen suffering, and then have chosen solitude as
an auxiliary of suffering, and both as an expiation
for their personal sins, and as a means of propitiating
the divine favor. The sincerity of these persons,
though it may lay a claim upon our charity, furnishes no reason for an acceptance or mitigation of
their error.  It is not wisdom on the part of man
to undertake that which is appropriate to a divine
nature.  The Lamb of God: I"slain from the foundation of the world," is slain forever.  The expiation is made; the door of entrance is opened; God
wants and asks no other atonement.
Others, again, without any idea of meriting heaven
by asceticism or by any form of human suffering,




404            LETTERS-2ESTHETIC,
have fled into the wilderness, to avoid the temptations of great cities and of too much intercourse
with the world. In the desert they supposed that
riches could not tempt, that honor could not allure,
that beauty could not entice them.  The desire of
finding a place in which he should be exempt from
temptation seems to have been the principal motive
which influenced St. Jerome when he left Italy and
the palaces of the imperial city for a residence in
the Syrian desert. And this is a motive, certainly,
which is worthy of respect, though not without its
dangers and its disappointments.
And there is something further.  To thoughtful
and expansive minds, whatever may be the peculiar
incidents of their situation, solitude is to some
extent a necessity.  Oftentimes, in the case of such
men, the harmonious development of their own
thoughts and feelings is perplexed by the discordant
alliances and claims of society; and they seek retirement as a necessary means to the proper adjustment
and perfection of their inward nature. In solitude
they escape the storms around them; and outward
harmony is the precursor of inward peace.  The
history of the distinguished men of all ages will
illustrate and confirm these remarks.  It is in the
reflections which are engendered in solitude that
the soul, turning in upon itself, discovers the endless filaments of its mysterious destiny, and unites
itself with God in uniting itself to everything to
which God is related. It goes down into the depths
and it finds him there; it ascends into the heights
and it finds him there; it turns in upon its own




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.         405
centre, and in the spirit of penitence and of faith
it finds him there also.
And on this subject I may perhaps claim the
liberty of saying something from experience. It is
still true, as it was in the times of the. ancient
prophets, that there is a voice in the wilderness.
It is still possible for the soul, in some of its aspects,
to be nurtured in solitude and among the rocks.
The mighty desolations through which we have
passed, operating upon the heart as well as upon
the intellects have sometimes called out spiritual
tones and harmonies from the soul's depths, and
have filled the whole mind with various and high
emotion. The desert, which may be regarded as
the imperfect hieroglyphic of the great Thought
which made it, presents, in its first impression, the
idea of vastness in chaos. And when we were
working our way through sands without verdure,
and among immense rocks piled together in mysterious confusion, it sometimes seemed to me as if
we were carried back, by a transposition of places
and ages, into the primitive workshop of experimental creation.  The hand of the Almighty, as
mountains from summit to base were opened before
us, appeared to be laying the foundations of some
mighty habitation. And then again, seeing in other
places the adjustment of rock to roclk, and of the
successive strata and layers in which the earth's
materials arrange themselves, I discovered the beginnings of order growing out of confusion, and had
new conceptions, both of the world's strength, and
of the strength and wisdom of its great Architect.
And if the mountains and the rocks gave the idea




406            LETTERS- _ESTHETICT
of power in action, the vast, arid plains, wide as a
bright and motionless ocean, gave the additional
conception of power and majesty in repose,-the
one being the image of God in agency and the other
of God in rest.
I am obliged to say, therefore, that a journey
through the wilderness of Sinai, which brings with
it so many great thoughts as the product of its
chaotic vastness, not only furnishes no apology for
irreligion, no apology for atheistic unbelief, but, on
the contrary, proclaims hostility against a light and
irreverent spirit. God is there. His footprints are
in the sand. His voice is heard in the winds. His
name is written with sunbeams on the rocks. The
very silence utters him.
I wanted repose; and I found it in the desert. I
wanted communion with God; and I found it there.
I found it in the day, in the vastness of its objects
and its silence.  I found it still more in the night,
when magnitude enlarges itself and silence becomes
more silent. I found it in the earth beneath, and
in the heavens above.  Often I watched the stars.
Beautiful as the heavenly mansions, they looked
out from their blue abodes, clear and lovely as if
they were the eyes of that great Being who fills
their urns with light. There was one with its large
angelic eye that came with peculiar sweetness. It
danced upon the mountain-tops. It had no audible
utterance; but there was a divine language in its
smile, which spoke of heavenly peace. It was in
the desert of Sinai that I gave it a place in my
memory.  It was in the vast wilderness which had
inspired the prophetic impulses and the songs of




SOCIAL, AND  MORAL.                   407
Moses,  that I watched  the  mild  splendor of its
beams,  and  endeavored  to  record  the  emotions
excited by its mysterious but lovely presence.
LINES WRITTEN IN THE WILDERNESS OF SINAI.
I mark'd the bright, the silver star,
That nightly deck'd our desert way,
As, shining from its depths afar,
Its heavenly radiance seem'd to say,
"Oh, look! From mists and shadows clear,
My cheering light is always here."
I saw thee. And at once I knew,
Star of the desert, in my heart,
That thou didst shine, the emblem true
Of that bright star whose beams impart,
From night to night, from day to day,
The solace of their inward ray.
There is a beam to light the mind;
There is a star the soul to cheer;
And they that heavenly light who find
Shall always see it burning clear;
The same its bright, celestial face
In every change of time and place.
Star of my heart, that long hast shone
To cheer the inward spirit's sky!
Illumined from the heavenly throne,
Thou hast a ray that cannot die.
J'is God that lights thee. And with Him
No sky is dark, no star is dim.
(XLIV.)
Arrival at Askelon-City of Azotus, the ancient Ashclod-Territory
of the ancient Philistines-Jaffa, the ancient Joppa-Biblical references —Town of Lydda —Town of Ramleh-View from the Tower
of Ramleh-Valley of Ajalon —Kirjath Jearim-Arrival at Jerusalem-Poetry.
PALESTINE, CITY OF JERUSALEM, MAY 13, 1853.
WE left Gaza on Tuesday, the 10th of May, and
arrived at the city of Jerusalem on the 13th. After




408           LETTERS- ISTHETIC,
leaving the place of quarantine, where we had been
kept four days, we went into the modern city of
Gaza, which is a mile and a half distant from the
site of the ancient Gaza, and spent a short time in
its bazaars and streets. We could only look and
pass on. But, judging thus, it had the appearance
of being a place of considerable enterprise and business; though, like the cities of the East generally,
it is but the shadow of the greatness of the ancient
city. In leaving the city we passed numerous gardens in a high state of cultivation. These gardens
were protected for the most part by the high natural
fence formed by the intertwining branches and the
large leaves of the prickly pear. The gardens were
succeeded at a little distance from the city by a
forest of olive-trees, the most of them very old,
which extend a number of miles.
We reached, about the middle of the same day,
the city of Askelon, another of the Philistine cities,
and spent a short time in wandering among the
numerous scattered columns and broken walls and
arches which testify strongly to a former period of
wealth and power. Like Gaza, it is on the shore of
the Mediterranean, and was once a place of cornmerce. Askelon is often mentioned in the history
of the Crusades.
About sunset of the same day we came to Ashdod. It was to this place that the Ark of the Lord,
after the defeat of the Israelites in the time of
Samuel, was brought, and was placed in the house
of Dagon, the god of the Philistines.  This town,
called in the Old Testament Ashdod, is the Azotus
of the New Testament.  And hence it is said of




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          409
the Apostle Philip, after his separation from the
Ethiopian eunuch, that he was found at Azotus.
The country around Ashdod is not without fertility,
and appears to be well cultivated. As we approached
it, we passed through large fields of grain, occupied
by busy reapers.  In a wide open space near the
entrance of the city were numerous piles of wheat
and barley; and oxen, generally four abreast, were
treading out the grain after the Oriental manner.
In a grove outside of the city we pitched our tents
and encamped for the night.
lt seemed obvious to me that the territory of the
ancient Philistines, though of very limited extent,
was originally of great fertility and capable of sustaining large numbers of people.  Some of the passages of the Old Testament which refer to them
imply that they had a knowledge of the mechanic
arts. They were certainly a powerful people at an
early period; and their wars with the Israelites, in
which, in the confidence of their strength, they
defied the armies of the living God, are familiar to
the readers of the Bible. The character and location of the country, considered in relation to the
territories of the Israelites, and the location of the
principal cities so often mentioned in the Bible, are
such as to strengthen one's confidence in the exactness of the scriptural narratives.
From Ashdod, which we passed through without
stopping, but which had the appearance of being a
populous and comparatively flourishing town, we
proceeded early the next morning on our way to
Jaffa, the ancient JOPPA. Deviating from the direct
route to Jerusalem, we reached this city the same
35




410           LETTERS- ESTHETIC,
day. Jaffa is situated on a rocky eminence overlooking the Mediterranean, and, seen at a distance,
had an aspect beautiful and imposing, but which
failed, however, to be realized when we had entered
its narrow streets.  It is a walled town with fortifications.  It once had a good but small harbor,
formed and protected by the natural sea-wall of a
continuous line of circuitous rocks; but the depth
of water is so diminished by accumulations of sand
and other things, that large vessels anchor beyond
the rocks in the open ocean. The steamers from
Beirout to Alexandria and Marseilles touch at this
place. A small portion of the inhabitants of this
city profess the Christian faith. The American
consul at Jaffa is a native of the country,: and in his
religion an Armenian, but of that class of Armenians
now known as Bible or Reformed Armenians.  He
is a man of intelligence and wealth, and insisted on
lodging us at one of his own beautiful residences
a little out of the city.  He seemed to understand
and appreciate the rising wealth and power of the
American States, and spoke in high terms of the
character and influence of the American missionaries in Syria, with whose labors he appeared to be
well acquainted.
This city, which holds a conspicuous place in
political and military history, has also its Biblical
and religious associations.  Only about forty miles
distant from Jerusalem, it has always been regarded
as the seaport of that city. The wood of Lebanon,
used in the great edifices built in the time of Solomon, was brought in "floats by sea to Joppa," and
transported from Joppa to Jerusalem by land. It




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          4  1
was to this place that Jonah came, and from which
he set sail for Tarshish, in disobedience to the command which required him to go and preach against
Nineveh. It was here that Dorcas resided,-celebrated for her good works, and who was restored
to life by the Apostle Peter. Here was the residence of Simon the tanner, whose'"house was by
the sea-side," and with whom Peter "abode many
days."
We reached Jobppa-if I may be allowed to use
the ancient and historical name-on the 11th, and
proceeded the next day to the pleasant and flourishing town of Ramleh,-visiting on our way the village of Lyd, the ancient Lydda, mentioned particularly in the Acts of the Apostles. It is said of the
Apostle Peter, that "he came down also to the
saints which dwelt at Lydda."  It was here that he
miraculously healed ZEneas, a man who had been
eight years sick with the palsy. And it is added
by the historian, in speaking of SAneas, that "all
that dwelt at Lydda and Saron saw him and turned
to the Lord."  Lydda is spoken of as being "nigh
to Joppa;" and Peter was here preaching the gospel
to the people when the people of Joppa sent for
him on the occasion of the sickness and death of
Dorcas. Christianity was early established in this
retired place; and the probability is, that it was
sustained and that it flourished here for some time.
There are still to be seen the beautiful remains of
an early Christian church.
Accepting and valuing the Bible as revealing the
foundations of Christian hope, I cannot express the
satisfaction I feel in finding everywhere the con



41 2           LETTERS-Z 1STHETIC,
filmations of its truth.  I found these confirmations
at Rome, at Naples, at Malta.  And on the Nile
which washes the land of Goshen, and at the Red
Sea which was divided by the rod of Moses, and in
the deserts of Sinai, and among the mountains of
Idurnea, these confirmations have been repeated.
They are written, as a part of a nation's history, on
the walls of Thebes.  They are inscribed, in fulfilment of prophecy, on the fallen columns of Askelon.
I find them here.
Proceeding from this early scene of the Apostle
Peter's preaching and miraculous labors, we reached
the town of Ramleh on the afternoon of the same
day,-which, indeed, is but a short distance-some
three or four miles-friom Lydda. It is a walled
town of considerable size.  It was near sunset when
we arrived.  At the distance of half a mile from its
walls there stands a lofty and lonely tower; a memorial of past ages, but with a history unknown.  It
is a hundred and thirty feet in height, and is erected
of hewn stone in successive stories, which diminish
in size as they approach the top.  Around it at no
great distance are vaulted sub-structures, which will
probably be found to have a connection with its history, when that history shall be ascertained.  It
already threw its long evening shadow; but we had
time to ascend it, and in the last rays of the setting
sun to witness the wide and varied prospect from
its summit.  It was a scene of surpassing beauty,
-the land of fields and gardens, of the fig-tree and
pomegranate, the "lolive and the vine."  The shepherd was returning with his flocks from the fields.
The fertile territories of ancient Philistia were




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          413
beneath us. The eye rested upon the vales of
Sharon, whose bloom has not yet withered. The
rocky heights of the "hill-country of Judea" were
in sight.
On the morning of the next day, and only at a
few miles' distance from Ramleh, we passed in sight
of the valley of Ajalon,-the scene of the hardfought battles and the stupendous miracle of Joshua.'"And he said, in the sight of Israel, Sun, stand
thou still upon Gibeon; and thou, moon, in the
valley of Ajalon."  And it was thus, from this time
onward, that almost every mountain and valley
had its scriptural associations and interest. After
a few hours' travel farther, we stopped again, for
some time at the ancient town of Kirjath Jearim.
Here also, as well as at Ramleh and Lydda, were
what we supposed to be the remains of a place of
early Christian worship. Situated on the side of a
hill, this town is strong and imposing in its position,
and has a picturesque appearance. The valleys
below and the heights around are covered with
groves of olives. The circumstance that for twenty
years the Ark of the Lord rested at Kiijath Jearim
gave it a peculiar interest.
We now rapidly approached the termination of
our journey; or perhaps I should rather say, approached the principal object we had in view in
journeying,-the city which embodies, to the Christian at least, more interesting associations than any
other in the world. The city of Jerusalem is built
upon a hill, or rather a connected range of hills, —
the hill of Zion, the hill of Moriah. the hill of Acra.
But, considered in reference to the lofty eminences
35*




414           LETTERS- ESTHIETIC,
around it, it seems to be almost in a valley. So that,
in looking upon it, we readily felt the propriety of
the expression of the Scriptures,-" the mountains
are round about Jerusalem." We approached it over
one of these surrounding heights, which is almost
without trees and without verdure.  It is Thickly
covered with rocks. And the narrow way which
winds over it is exceedingly rough and difficult,-so
much so as to perplex even the careful tread of the
camel and the experienced foot of Syrian horses.
As we passed the summit of this difficult height,
which we were a long time in reaching, we came in
view of the long irregular line of the city-walls. We
met many poor people, for the most part women,
returning to their homes in the neighboring villages.
They had a cheerful aspect.  It was near night.
The shadows were settling in the valley of Jehoshaphat.  We entered the city on the western side, over
the hill of Zion and through the Bethlehem gate.
This gate opens nearly under the massive tower of
David.  As I passed beneath its heavy arch I felt
that the desire of a life was accomplished.  What a
scene! What associations! Other lands have their
history, their character, their associations, their greatness.  But Palestine, as compared with all others,
is emphatically the sacred lands,-the dwelling-place
of patriarchs, prophets, apostles, the scene of visits
and holy conmmunications between heaven and earth.
Every valley is a tomb, every mountain a monument.
Wherever I turn my eyes, the dimness of distant
history. becomes actual vision.  I lobok from  my
window, and my eye rests upon the hill of Moriah,!upon the site of the Temple of' Solomon, upon the




SOCIAL, AND  MORAL.                   415
Mount of Olives, and upon the supposed place of the
Crucifixion.
O land of men of other days!
Where bards and ancient prophets trod,
The land of rapt Isaiah's lays,
The land of David's psalms of praise,
Land of the men of God.
And if'tis not enough of fame
To be the home of prophets, then
From all thy hills and rocks proclaim
The higher and more glorious name
Of Him who died for men.
In vain, like birds on ocean's foam
When toss'd amid a troubled sea,
Tn vain the sad in spirit roam,
In search of resting-place or home,
Who turn away from thee.
By thee the seal of doubt is broken
Which long to human hearts had press'd;
By thee aloie the words are spoken
Which " peace on earth" and love betoken,
And give the weary rest.
The clouds of Sinai's mount proclaim'The law that wakes the -spirit's fears;
From Calvary's height the message-came,
The law of love for that of flame,Love for the coming years.
Lanid of the soul! forever dear;
Wide o'er the world the words impart
-Which turn to hope despairing fear,
Which dry the penitential tear
And heal the bleeding heart.




4 16            LETTERS-E STIIETIC,
(XLV.)
Excursion from Jerusalem —Village of Bethany-Tomb of Lazarus
-Road to Jericho-Fountain of the Apostles-Bedouins-Mountain of Quarantana-Fount of Elisha-Brook Cherith-Modern
Jericho-The river Jordan-The Dead Sea.
PALESTINE, CITY OF JERUSALEM: SECOND LETTER.
ON Tuesday of this week, the 17th, we left Jerusalem on an excursion for a few days to Jericho, the
Jordan, and other places of interest, from  which
we have just returned.  I propose to give a little
account of this excursion.
We left the city by St. Stephen's Gate, which is
on the eastern side of the city, and is said to be the
same with the; Sheep-Gate" of the Scriptures.
Descending the steep side of Mount Moriah into
the valley of Jehoshaphat, and crossing the brook
Kedron, which flows through this valley, we went a
short distance along the base of the Mount of Olives;
and then, turning and passing its southern extremity,
we came to the village of Bethany. This village is
two miles distant from the city of Jerusalem by the
route which we now took, although a little less, I
suppose, by the more direct path over the summit
of the Mount of Olives.  The road which we took
is the great road from Jerusalem to Jericho,-the
same which was travelled in the time of Christ, and
which had been travelled hundreds and perhaps
thousands of years before. At the distance of about
a mile and a half from Jerusalem, on a point of land
projecting into a deep valley, and on the right of
the road, we noticed the remains of an ancient village, which is supposed by some to have been the




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           417
village of Bethphage. This village is mentioned in
the New Testament in connection with Bethany, as
being "at the Mount of Olives."
The village of Bethany was the favored place to
which our Saviour frequently resorted.  Situated in
a retired spot near the base of the Mount of Olives,
on its southeastern side, with a little valley below
and the mountain rising gently behind it, and surrounded with groves of fig-trees, olives, and oaks, it
had especial attractions, both in its natural aspects
and in the peace and silence of its seclusion, for a
serious and contemplative mind.  Here dwelt the
family of Lazarus and his sisters, whom "Jesus loved,"
and in whose company he found a confidence and
sympathy suited to his social nature. What the
precise appearance of Bethany was in the time of
the Saviour it may be difficult to say. It is now a
small village called by the inhabitants Laczarieh, or
the place of Lazarus, containing about forty houses,
inhabited chiefly by Arabs, who support themselves
by cultivating small olive-gardens, or by feeding
their flocks on the neighboring hills.  In this village was performed one of the Saviour's great miracles, —the raising of Lazarus from the dead,-the
last miracle, I believe, that is recorded as being performed by him.  The tomb of Lazarus, in which he
was placed after his death and from which he was
called by the Saviour's voice, is still shown to the
traveller. We descended into this tomb over a flight
of steep and narrow steps which terminate at the
depth of eighteen or twenty feet in a dark sepulchral
chamber excavated in a rock.  Early tradition, older
than the time of Eusebius, assigns this as the tomb




418           LETTERS -A-ESTHETIC,
in which Lazarus was buried and from which he
was raised; and the incidents of the place seem to
favor the traditional opinion.
As I stood near the tomb of Lazarus, and as I
went in silence through this small but memorable
place, I felt but little disposition-as indeed I had
but little strength for any such thing-for geographical and other inquiries; but my soul was full,
and my affections meditated. The heart fed on the
food of memory.  "It was here," I said, "that the
Saviour often came."  I looked behind me and
upward, and saw the nearer and more solitary path
by which he was accustomed to cross the summit of
Olivet. It was here that he composed and rested
his weary spirit in the bosom of a beloved family.
It was here that Martha "received him  into her
house," and Mary, her sister, "sat at his feet," and
listened to his teachings, and chose that good part
which could not be taken away. The walls of their
humble mansion had crumbled; but the ground
stood, and memory clung to the soil. The earth
upon which I looked had been trodden by Him to
whom divine grace and the experience of God's goodness and truth had taught me to give my own affections. And now a new link of union seenmed to be
established between those affections and their great
and divine object; and HIe seemed nearer than ever.
It was a scene and an hour never to be forgotten.
We had started early in the morning; and this
visit to Bethany was in the early part of the day.
We proceeded towards Jericho by the old Jericho
road which I have already mentioned,-rocky and
often precipitous, winding for a few miles among




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          419
heights on both sides, on which camels and goats
were feeding, and then descending into a plain. Near
the head of this narrow plain, or, more properly
speaking, valley,-for it was shut in by hills on
each side,-we passed, on the right of the road, a
large fountain. A drove of camels had come down
from the hills and were standing near. A few women
from the neighborhood were seated around it; and
some were carrying away its waters in large jars on
their heads.  The place is attractive in its situation;
the waters flowed fresh and full; and the tradition
of the country is, that it was visited not unfrequently
by the Saviour and his disciples: and this is a tradition which would harmonize well with the Scriptures. It is called the " Fountain of the Apostles."
As.we proceeded towards Jericho we met with no
incidents particularly worthy of being mentioned.
Prospered by a kind Providence, which had followed us at every step, we did not "fall among
thieves."  From time to time we saw in the openings of the hills the dark open awning which generally forms the tent of the Bedouins.  Their sheep
and goats feed upon the coarse grass of the rocks.
They offered us no molestation, but seemed to be
pleased that we had come among them; for we were
under an escort of their own people, who were faithful to us here as they had been in other places. The
Arabs who attended us took a natural pleasure in
occasionally displaying their skilful horsemanship
before us, and were exceedingly happy when we
were disposed to enter into conversation and to form
something like an intimacy of acquaintance.
In the afternoon of this day, when we had entered




4 20          LETTERS-2ESTHETIC,
the edge of the plain of the Jordan, we passed the
lofty and barren mountain of Quarantana, or Mount
of Forty Days. It is perforated in many places with
natural and artificial caverns, which in former times
were the abodes of hermits who in this desolate
solitude spent their days in fasting and vigils. It
is to this mountain-undoubtedly wild and desolate
enough to have been the theatre of that remarkable
portion of his history, and not unsuited by its position-that tradition assigns the locality of the
Saviour's forty days' fast, and of' his temptation by
the devil. A large extent of country in the vicinity
of this mountain is barren and mountainous, scarcely
exhibiting anywhere the least signs of vegetation,
and is called in the Gospel " the wilderness of
Judea."
It was in sight of this mountain, and not far from
its base, that, on entering the plain of the Jordan, we
turned aside from the direct path to the modern
Jericho, for the purpose of visiting the bright and
beautiful fountain which was miraculously healed by
the prophet Elisha.  The prophet was tarrying at
Jericho at that time. On hearing the complaint of
the people of the city, who represented the water
as not good, he asked for a cruse with salt in it.
"And he went forth unto the spring of the waters
and cast the salt in there, and said, Thus saith the
Lord: I have healed these waters."  It is now called
the Fountain of Elisha.  We went to its spring or
source. Flowing suddenly up from the recesses of
a large hollow rock on the side and near the base
of a hill, it gushes onward in a clear swift current
over a hard bed covered with stones and overhung




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          421
with small trees and with shrubs in flower. The
scene recalled the history of the prophet; and I
recollected with gratitude the goodness of God in
raising up from time to time teachers and benefactors who administered to the necessities of the
people, at the same time that they gave them
moral and religious instructions.
It was only an hour or two before that we passed
the brook Cherith, which flows through a part of
the plain of Jordan and empties into the Dead
Sea. It was near this brook that the prophet
Elijah, the predecessor and spiritual guide and
teacher of Elisha, was commanded to hide himself;
and it was here that he was miraculously fed by
ravens. The channel where we crossed it was deep
and of considerable width; but there is but little
water in it at this season of the year, as it is fed
from the rains, and by the springs from the niountains, which are now dried up. The Fountain of
Elisha, on the contrary, gushing from the unknown
riches of a rock, seems to flow with a source and
a current always full.
Fromn this remarkable fountain we proceededover a plain which was once exceedingly fertile, and
is still profitably cultivated in some places-to the
modern Jericho.  The precise site of the ancient
Jericho is unknown; but the mounds of earth in the
)eighborhood of Elisha's fountain exhibit appearances which furnish, ground for conjecture that it
may have been there. The modern Jericho is a
large Arab village, full of people, with a small
fortification near it which was occupied by a
Turkish guard.  It was dark when we reached it.
36




422           LETTERS — STHETIC,
We were much fatigued with the day's journey,
although the place is but little more than thirty
miles from Jerusalem.  The next morning very
early, and while the stars still lingered in the sky,
we completed our journey to the Jordan.  We saw
the rising sunlight shine upon its banks. It is very
deep, and apparently a little more than a hundred
feet in width, as it flows now within its lower
channel.  Rising in Mount Hermon and running
from north to south, it passes through the lakes
Merom and Galilee, and empties into the Dead Sea
a few miles south of the place where we reached
it. It rushes on with a swift, impetuous current,
carrying onward at all times a large volume of
water. Trees and shrubs grow thickly upon its
steep sides; so that it is difficult in many places to
reach the brink of its channel. We approached it
where there is a bend in the river, and where the
trees had been cleared away. But, at a little
distance both above and below us, the waters were
shaded by the thick foliage around it, the oleander
dipped its flower in its wave, and countless birds,
unseen and unheard in the desert, were sing;ing
in the overhanging branches and leaves. When the
waters are high, and when it overflows its upper
banks, it must have the appearance of a large
majestic stream.
As far back as the time of Abraham, and down
to the destruction of Jerusalem, the Jordan is closely
connected with many of the interesting incidents
of Biblical history. It is associated with the
histories of Joshua, Elijah, and John the Baptist.
And in the Psalms and the prophetical writings,




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          423
like Hermon and Carmel and Sharon, it is one of
those poetical elements which furnish food to the
imagination and give harmony and beauty to truth.
To me the most affecting recollection connected
with it was the fact that the Saviour was baptized
in its waters.  It was here that the "; heavens were
opened" and the mystic Dove descended; and here
was uttered the voice from heaven, saying, "This
is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased."
It was immediately after the baptism of the Saviour
in the Jordan, and the utterance of this heavenly
declaration in confirmation and testimony of his
character, that he was "led by the Spirit into the
wilderness."  As the rugged and barren "wilderness of Judea," including the desolate mountain of
Quarantana, is in this vicinity and indeed in full
sight of the Jordan, we find something in this circumstance in support of the traditionary opinion
that this region, remarkably fitted by its wild and
majestic desolation for such an experience, was the
scene of the Saviour's seclusion, fasting, and temptation. The precise place of tile Saviour's baptism
is unknown.
After spending the early part of the day in the
neighborhood of this river, to which so many and
interesting allusions are made in all parts of the
Scriptures, we went southward a few miles to the
head of the Dead Sea,-an expanse of dark gloomy
water, from seven to ten miles in width and fortv
in length, thrown into shadow by the mountains
of Judea on one side, and the mountains of Nebo
and Moab on the other, with'no tree on its banks,
no bird in its air, and no fish in its waters, but sad,




424             LETTERS-.-STHETIC,
silent, and motionless as the guilty cities which
lay buried in its bosom. The water is salt and very
unpleasant to the taste.  A  bituminous substance
is found on its surface, and is sometimes deposited
in small pieces on its shores. This dark sea, with
its rim of barren rock or of burning sand: occupies
the place of the lower portion of the beautiful valley
of the Jordan. It is called by the Arabs of this
region BAHR LUT, or Sea of Lot, and is the site of the
ancient cities of Sodom and Gomnorrah: of Admah
and Zeboim.  The subjects of the divine displeasure, and smitten and sunk from the sight of men,
they are wrapped in its sulphurous and heavy
winding-sheet; and  everything  around, without
life  and without a smile, has that sinister and
gloomy aspect which is significant of a locality
where curse and ruin have followed upon crime.
(XLV., CONTINUED.)
Leave the Dead Sea for the city of Iebron-The Gazelle-Convent
of Mar Sabas —Valley of the Kedron-Reach the city of Hebron
-Burial-place of Othniel-The king's pool-Cave of Machpelah
-Burial-place of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob-Plain of Mamre
-Character of Abraham- Ain Simim-Pools of Solomon-Tomb
of Rachel.
LEAVING the borders of the Dead Sea, we now
directed our way towards the city of Hebron.  As
we entered again into the mountainous region, a wild
gazelle started up on the side of a sloping hill, in the
neighborhood of the brook Cherith.  At the hotel
at which our party stopped in Jerusalem, I noticed
one of these beautiful animals. He wandered at will
over the house; and I became well acquainted with




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          425
him. But this was the first time that I had seen the
gazelle in what may be called his native home. The
sight was the more beautiful, because it was life,
beauty, and motion starting up suddenly in the rudeness and barrenness of the desert. The gazelle is
timidc but he curves his neck with pride; and nothing
can exceed the brilliancy of his large dark eye.
Swifter than the foot of the huntsman who pursued
him, he bounded from rock to rock as if his little
feet had wings.
We stopped, on the night of the second day of
this excursion, at the Greek convent of Mar Sabas
or St. Sabas,-one of the memorable and justlycherished names in early religious history. This
massive and well-built convent,'founded in the sixth
century, is situated on the side of the brook Kedron,
which at certain seasons of the year is sometimes
enlarged by heavy rains to an impetuous river, and
finds its way from its source in the neighborhood of
Jerusalem, through rocky and mountainous defiles,
to the Dead Sea. At this place it has worn a
passage by its impetuous and long-continued action
through a rocky hill of great height, cutting it down
perpendicularly from summit to base, and forming
for itself a deep unchangeable bed, with walls on
each side hundreds of feet in height. The convent
is situated on the southeastern side, about halfway down.  In company with my travelling-associates, descending through passages cut in the rocks
and in part by means of a wooden ladder, I went
down into the deep bed below, which was dry at this
time, and, walking for some distance, it was with no
small surprise that we saw, high in the wall of lime36*




426           LETTERS —,ESTHETIC,
stone which enclosed it, a multitude of excavations.
Many of them were obviously artificial, and were
opened in the rocks with great labor.  Such was
their number, and such the labor which had been
evidently bestowed upon them, that they reminded
us of what travellers have said of the rocky excavations of the city of Petra.  It was remarked to
us, but on how good authority the assertioni was made
I am unable to state, that in the early persecutions to
which Christianity was subjected, many Christians
fled to this deep and secluded valley of the Kedron,
and concealed themselves in its rocky recesses and
caverns.  It is well known that John of Damascus,
a monk of the eighth century, celebrated for the
great powers of his mind and for his various learning, resided here.  The Greek monks, who occupy
the monastery at the present time, were attentive
and kind to us,-showing us their church with its
solid architecture and its rude fresco paintings, the
tomb of Mar Sabas, and whatever else there was of
interest.
On the third day, going nearly in a western
direction, and leaving Jerusalem  on the north, we
reached Hebron.  This city was originally a city
of the Canaanites, and was called Kirjath Arba, in
honor of Arba the father of Anak; and it is said in
the book of Numbers to have been built seven years
before Zoan in Egypt. Among the old cities of
Palestine, Hebron, in the historical interest which
attaches to it, stands second only to Jerusalem.
For many miles, in our journey towards the city
of Hebron, our road had led througlh a region very
uneven and hilly, and for the most part unfruitful.




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          42 7
But in coming near to the city the aspect of the
country round it changed very much. After the
cultivation and the exhaustion of thousands of years,
it is still exceedingly fertile. In coming up by the
route which leads from the Dead Sea, and which
connects with the road from Bethlehem, we entered
the city from the north, passing through the long
narrow valley of Eshcol, which now, as it was in
the days of Moses and Joshua, is covered with vines,
whose thick and heavy clusters attract the notice
of the traveller. The modern city is built for the
most part on the sides of two hills, which are separated from each other by the small valley between
them. It is said to contain eight thousand inhabitants, the greater number of whom are Jews.  Near
the little grove outside of the city where we pitched
our tents is the large excavation which has the
reputation of being the burial-place of Othniel, who
was in the army of Judah when that tribe first
conquered Hebron, and was afterwards one of the
judges of Israel.  On entering this tomb, which was
capacious enough to hold many people, we found it
filled with Jews, who were occupied in reading the
Scriptures and going through their forms of worship.
In that sad blindness to which a retributive but just
Providence has left them, they still cling in sorrow
and hope to their native land.  It was at Hebron
that David was anointed king over Judah; and it
is stated that he reigned there I seven years and six
months."  In going through the eastern or Mohammedan part of this ancient place,-the part of it
which was the site of the city as it existed in the
time of David,-our attention was directed to a large




428           LETTERS —ESTHETIC,
artificial pool of great antiquity, formed of hewn
stone, and coated with cement. It is more than a
hundred feet square, and at least twenty feet in
depth, and is called to this day "'tle king's pool,"
in allusion probably to David.  There can be but
little doubt that it is the same pool which is mentioned in the second book of Samuel, where it is
said of the murderers of the son of Saul, that s" David
commanded his young men, and they slew them,
and hanged them up over the poo'l in Hebron."
At a little distance, perhaps the third of a mile,
from the king's pool, and on the side of one of the
hills occupied by the city, is the " cave of the field
of Machpelah," which was bought by Abraham of
Elphron the son of Zohar.  The field, of the purchase of which we have a particular account in the
book of Genesis, was bought by Abraham. at the
time of the death of Sarah, who died in Hebron.
Abraham, who seems to have left Mamtre after the
destruction of the cities of the plain, and to have
been dwelling at this time in Beersheba in the land
of Gerar, came to Hebron to "mourn and to weep"
for Sarah. His conference with the sons of Heth
and with Ephron in relation to a burying-place for
her may be regarded, I think, as one of the most
graphic and touching passages of the Old Testament.
This cave, in which nearly four thousand years ago
Sarah was buried, and in which Abraham and Isaac
and Rebecca and Leah were afterwards buried, is
now covered by a Turkish mosque, into which
Christians are not permitted to enter; so that we
could only go to the place which contained the
hallowed dust of these early followers and friends




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          429
of God, and walk around it without going into it.
No sculptured tombs of Beni Hassan or Thebes had
for me the attraction of this ancient burying-place
of the patriarchs. Among the sacred remembrances
which it suggested, I could not forget that it was
the dying request of the patriarch Jacob, when he
breathed his last far away in the unbelieving land
of Egypt, that he might be buried " in the cave ill
the field of Machpelah," which he describes as the
burying-place bought by Abraham of Ephron the
Hittite. v" There," he adds, "they buried Abraham
and Sarah his wife; there they buried Isaac and
Rebecca his wife; and there I buried Leach."
In returning from Hebron, we left, for a short
time, the main road leading to Jerusalem, with a
view to reach by a nearer path the plain of Marnre,
which for a long time was the residence of Abraham.
In speaking of distances, I remark again that I do
not profess to be very accurate, because I merely
give them in many cases as they seemed to me,judging from our usual rate of travel and the time
occupied. But, judging in this way, the plain of
Manmre at its northwestern extremity is, by the
nearest path, two miles and a half or three miles
from Hebron.  In reaching it we passed over a
portion of the vine-bearing valley of Eshcol, and
then, going up a gradually-ascending height of
land which was partitioned into small fields by
terraces and walls of stone and everywhere carefully cultivated, we came, as we passed its summit,
into the elevated and beautiful plain where Abraham  is said to have dwelt.  It appeared to be a
plain on a mountain,-a beautiful place on earth,




430           LETTERS —-E SSTIETIC,
and yet expanding itself on such an elevated position that it seemed very near to heaven. The
plain, sinking in its centre into a narrow valley
where the waters collect in the rainy season, runs in
an easterly direction, and then, turning southwardly,
appeared to me gradually to descend and terininate in a level open space, which we had previously
noticed to the south of and in sight of Hebron.
The tradition in relation to this plain is, that
Abraham dwelt in the highest part of it; and we
were conducted into a large square building, supposed to be of great antiquity, made of hewn
stones of great size, which is shown as indicating
the precise spot of his dwelling-place. But, however this may have been, we could not doubt that
we were in the region where he spent no small
portion of his life. His hand had cultivated this
soil; he had been seated beneath these oaks; he
looked upon these heavens filled at night with the
stars which he could not number,-the bright
emblems of his spiritual children in all ages and
climes. It was here that he held that memorable
conversation with God, when he pleaded so earnestly and eloquently for the wicked cities of the
plain. Ten righteous men would have saved them,
because Abraham, the friend of God, had asked it;
but the ten were not there. The place of the
P"cities of the plain" is in full sight of the elevated
plain of Mamre. In a direct line it is probably
not more than twenty miles distant. With a mind
filled with these great memories, I looked in that
direction. My eye reached over the rocky hills of
Judea, and over the dark sunken abyss which




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.         431
bounds them, and rested upon the mountains of Moab
beyond. It was from the low level plain, overlooked
by these hills and mountains, that the smoke ascended. It was in the sunlight of the morning
when we stood on this memorable place; and it
wras in the morning-" early in the morning"-that
Abraham  arose and "looked towards Sodom and
Gomorrah and towards all the land of the plain,
and beheld- and lo, the smoke of the country went
up as the smoke of a furnace."
And here I feel inclined to delay a moment, in
a remark or two upon the great patriarch. There
are some men whose thoughts and achievements,
aided sometimes by the peculiarities of their position, have been such, that they may be said to fill the
eye of nations,-and not more when they are living
than when they are dead. They reappear and exist
without cessation in the world's thought, which becomes so vivid and clear in its apprehension of
them, that it illuminates the ancient night of ages,
and restores the dead to life. And it makes but
little difference whether they are men of great ideas
or men of great actions; though the life which they
thus live in the locality, if I may so express it, of
the human mind, is more distinct and impressive,
if their ideas have found an expression and a confirmation in their own personal history. The patriarch
Abraham was such a man, —a man who knew the
truth —a man who illustrated the truth by his deeds.
We find him in early life on the plains of Chaldea. It was there that he first tended his flocks.
Whether it was by means of religious traditions
communicated through his father Terah, or that




432           LETTERS-ESTHETIC,
God himself by a direct inspiration was the source
of his great wisdom, it was at this early period that
he became acquainted with some of those great religious truths (such as the unity of God and the
relations of faith and love which ought to exist between God and man) which have always perplexed
the best and most persevering efforts of mere human philosophy. In his journeyings from place to
place, and from nation to nation, he went from
Chaldea to Palestine, and from Palestine to Egypt,
-but always in accordance with the openings of
Providence, and always guided and sustained by the
great religious truth, that God exists, and that he
is the friend and rewarder of all those who are
willing to believe on him. He was emphatically the
mnan of faith. It was faith which gave strength to
his purpose, which imparted purity to his inward
nature. His great mind saw, intuitively, that the
very idea of God imposes the obligation to believe.
He had stood beneath the Chaldean stars; he had
looked upon the broad Euphrates and the mighty
Nile; he had crossed vast deserts and wildernesses;
he had trod the majestic mountains of Palestine;
and, as he cast his illuminated eye around and
above him and perceived things in their greatness
and in their relations, he felt deeply in his soul
that there is no middle ground between the true and
the false; that the negation of God is the affirmation of chance; and that the affirmation of,chance
is the inauguration of moral and intellectual weakness and wrong.
To accept God was a necessity. In accepting
him, he accepted the faith which honors him. And




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          433
on Mount Moriah, when called upon as a test of
his faith to offer up his beloved son in sacrifice, he
showed not only the truth of his own soul, but the
truth and mighty power of a principle which elevates and saves humanity by bringing God and man
into harmony. Iistory is right, therefore, and
honors the God who is the living and controlling
power in the series of its own varied events, in
taking such a man out bf the common ranks of men,
and in establishing him  among the guides and
teachers of the human race.
Leaving the plain of Mamre,-a place so closely
associated with this great and remarkable man,we regained in a short time the main road to Bethlehem and Jerusalem,-passing, at the distance of
a mile and a half the place called "Ain Simim," or
the Fountain of Simeon.
There is a large stone building here, erected apparently for military purposes, and in its neighborhood are said to be some very ancient tombs excavated in the rocks; but we had not time to stop and
examine them.  The fountain gushes out from the
side of a small hill on the right of the road; and
directly opposite is the plain rendered memorable
by a battle fought in 1192 between Richard of England and Sultan Saladin, in which Richard was
defeated and driven back to Askelon.  Going on
about two miles farther: over rugged and rocky
hills or along the edge of cultivated valleys, we
came to the stupendous water-reservoirs called the
Pools of Solomon. We had passed them in our
journey to Hebron, but stopped to examine them
more particularly on our return.  There are other
37
0D 




434           LETTERS-ZfESTHETIC,
great "pools" or water-reservoirs in other places,
the erection of which is ascribed to Solomon. There
are three in this place, rising one above another on
the side of a hill, and supplied by water from
heights still more elevated; the largest of which
is nearly six hundred feet in length by an average
breadth of more than a hundred and fifty feet, and
is fifty feet in depth. All of them are of solid
masonry, and are coated with cement. They are
entered by steps cut in the sides. The water, collected in the highest from the rocky eminences around,
gushes from one to the other, and is then conducted
by conduits under ground to the city of Jerusalem.
I recollect in early life to have heard a person
whose faith in the Scriptures had been shaken,
objecting to the statements made in the Bible of
the great wealth and power of Solomon; but he
had not been in Palestine, and had not seen the
works and the remains of works which furnish
overwhelming evidence not only of the riches and
power, but of the science, of that period.
Going a few miles farther, we came to the city
of Bethlehem, the birthplace of the Saviour. "The
Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us." But
I must leave what I have to say of this city and of
the events connected with it, to another letter.
At two miles beyond Bethlehem we came to the
tomb of Rachel, the wife of Jacob, who is said in
the book of Genesis to have been "buried in the
way to Ephrath, which is Bethlehem.". A pillar
was erected over her grave by Jacob. He was
journeying with her from Bethel to Bethlehem at
the time of her death. The pillar of Jacob has




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          435
disappeared. The present tomb is a Saracenic
work; but there is no difference of opinion as to
the place where she was buried. The burial-place
of Rachel-where the traveller naturally stops to
indulge in the recollections connected with her
touching story-is on the side and near the summit
of a hill, furnishing a wide and beautiful prospect.
And he naturally thinks.of the village with which
her name is associated in one of the sad and bloody
passages of history. It is to the northwestward of
her grave, some three or four miles distant, that we
find the village of Rama, to which reference is made
in the second chapter of Matthew:-" In Rama
there was a voice heard, lamentation, and weeping,
and great mourning,-Rachel weeping for her children, and would not be comforted, because they
are not."
Half-way between Bethlehem and Jerusalem we
passed on our right the large Greek convent of Elias.
It is on a hill. We did not stop to visit it. At a little
distance from this convent, as we descended the hill
towards Jerusalem, we came in sight of the plain
of Rephaim, or plain of the Giants. It was on this
beautiful plain, which was waving as we passed it
with fields of wheat, that David fought twice with
the Philistines, who seem to have become alarmed
on account of his increasing power, and who had
come up here to attack him after he had established
himself in Jerusalem. The same night, crossing
the deep rocky ravine called the valley of Hinnom,
and then ascending the, steep sides of the hill of
Zion, we reached the city of Jerusalem, after an




4 6             LETTERS- AESTHETIC,
absence of four days. We entered it at the tower
of David, by the Bethlehem  gate,-which is also
called the Jaffa gate.
(XLVI.)
Visit to Bethleheml-Appearance of the country round it-The city
and its inhabitants-The convent and church of the Nativity —
View from the top of the convent-St. Jerome-The grotto of the
Saviour's birth-Reflections on the Incarnation-Poetry.
CITY OF JERUSALEM: THIRD LETTER.
IN my last letter I gave a brief account of an excursion from Jerusalem to the river Jordan and the
Dead Sea, and thence to the ancient city of Hebron.
In the course of this excursion we had the satisfaction of visiting the city of Bethlehem twice. In
going westward from the northern extremity of the
Dead Sea to Hebron, by the way of the convent of
St. Sabas, we found that Bethlehem was so nearly on
the best and direct line of our route, that we took
the road leading through it.  As I remarked in my
last letter, we spent a night at the convent which I
have named.  Starting early in the morning, and
passing over a number of lofty and barren hills between St. Sabas and Bethlehem, we at last ascended
from a picturesque valley, and, having passed through
some comparatively large and well-cultivated fields
on the sides and summit of the height, we arrived
at the limits of the celebrated city where the Saviour
of the world was born.
In coming from St. Sabas, we approached Bethlehem on the east.  This was the first time that I saw
it; and it seemed to me as if Jerusalem  itself had
not excited a deeper interest and a more profound




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          437
emotion. But the view of the city was not very
good. In coming from Hebron on our return to
Jerusalem, we approached it on the western side.
At this time the city was seen very distinctly on its
lofty height at a considerable distance, and made a
very impressive appearance. Our ascent to it in
this direction was more steep and difficult than in
our approach from the east. And again, on our way
from Bethlehem to Jerusalem, which placed us upon
its northern side, we often turned to look back upon
it. There was an attraction in the name and in the
histories connected with it, which we were not
willing to lose. So that we had good opportunities,
notwithstanding the short time which was left us, to
see and to impress its interesting features upon the
memory.
The country around Bethlehem, diversified with
hills and valleys, had to my view a very pleasant
aspect. I think it may be regarded as fruitful, even
at the present time. And in former times, before
the earth became exhausted by long and ill-directed
cultivation, it probably was a very fertile region.
The name Bethlehem, which means the house of
bread, and the name Bethlehem-Ephratah, which
was also sometimes applied to the city, and which
means,Bethlehem the fruitful, seem to indicate that
such was the case. It was once a land of shepherds;.and flocks of sheep and goats, and droves of camels,
are frequently seen now. From time to time, we
saw in all these regions the dark, open tents of the
Bedouins. Their flocks are always near them.
About a mile's distance from the city in an eastern
direction, in a low green valley, is the place where
37*




4 3 8          LETTERS —-E STHETIC
the shepherds are said to have been watching ttheir
flocks when the Saviour's birth was announced to
them.
The lofty limestone hill on which the city itself is
situated runs from east to west.  And on all sides
the approach to it, with the exception of the route
from  St. Sabas, is abrupt and steep, —particularly
on the northern and southern sides.. These abrupt
ascents are built up in many places with terraces,
which are planted with flourishing fig-trees, vines,
and olives. I have already referred to the general
aspect of the city. On approaching it in almost
any direction, it has quite an imposing appearance,
though in different degrees.  On entering it, however, it does not realize the expectations which are
raised on seeing it at a distance. There are no evidences of wealth and splendor; nor, on the other
hand, are there signs of great poverty.  The houses
are generally one story in height, and built of stone,
— many of them with flat roofs; but frequently they
are surmounted with a dome.  As a general thing
they have no windows towards the streets.  Many
of them  are well built; and, notwithstanding the
idea of almost entire seclusion which they are apt
to suggest, they have an aspect of neatness and
comfort which is seldom  seen in these regions.
Bethlehem  resembles nearly all Oriental cities in
the narrowness and irregularity of its streets. A
few Turks and Arabs make their residence here;
but the greater part of the people are understood to
receive the Christian religion —chiefly, though not
exclusively, in the forms of the Greek and Catholic
churches.  The population is variously estimated




SOCIAL, AND MfORAL.          439
from three to four thousand. We found the principal street, which leads from the open area in front
of the church of the Nativity towards Jerusalem,
occupied for some distance by a large number of
persons, who had come in from the neighboring villages with vegetables, oranges, and other fruits of
the country, for sale.  Nor was there any want of
traffickers in other articles,-particularly in rosaries
and crosses, and representations of holy persons and
places ingeniously carved in olive-wood and motherof-pearl. I thought I could discover, as I walked
through the streets and mingled with the people for
a short time, the marks both of increased comfort
and intelligence, as compared with what we had
noticed in other places.
A portion of the eastern extremity of this rocky
height rises steeply over the large and beautiful
plain and valleys in that direction. A convent
is built upon this part of the height. Its massive
walls and battlements, like those of the monastery
of St. Sabas, give it the appearance of a fortress.
We entered it through a small, low opening in the
bottom of the western wall. It does not belong
exclusively to one Christian sect; but the different
parts of it, including the church, are divided among
Catholics, Greeks, and Armenians.  Within the
large area which is enclosed by the convent-walls
is the church of the Nativity,-built in the form
of a cross. It is said to have been built by the
Empress Helena; though the origin of the conventbuildings around it is attributed to the pious zeal
of a distinguished Roman lady by the name of
Paula, whose tomb is still shown here.  Passing




440           LETTERS —ESTHETIC,
through the large entrance-porch or vestibule of
the church, we paused a few moments in the lofty
nave, which is adorned with numerous Corinthian
columns, and is architecturally an object of much
interest. And from this place, under the guidance
of men of the different religious sects who claim and
hold possession, we proceeded to see and examine
what is worthy of notice in this remarkable spot.
Ascending to the top of the convent, we had the
whole city at our feet. We also had a fine view of
the surrounding country,-particularly of the mountainous region in the direction of the Dead Sea.
The lofty cone which has borne for many ages the
name of the Frank Mountain was in sight to the
southeast, and apparently not more than four or
five miles distant.  This mountain, including a
portion of land at its base, is the supposed site
of the ancient city and castle which was built by
Herod, and which was called Herodium. The ruins
which are still found on the mountain and in its
vicinity support this view.
At a little distance south of the Frank Mountain
is another lofty eminence, which is visible from this
place. It is the ancient Tekoa, the birthplace of
the prophet Amos, and the residence of the wise
woman who was consulted by Joab in the case of
Absalom. In coming from St. Sabas we passed
these places on the left. The ancient Hebrew name
of the Frank Mountain was Beth-Haccerim. Such,
at least, is the supposition of some Biblical critics.
It was upon such lofty heights that those flaming
beacon-lights were kindled which gave notice to
the surrounding country of approaching dangers.




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.         441
Hence the expressions in the prophet Jeremiah:-'" Blow the trumpet in Tekoa, and set up a sign of
fire in Beth-Haccerim."
Going into the lower part of these ancient edifices,
-into that portion denominated the Latin Convent,
-we visited the place where the justly-celebrated
Jerome spent a considerable portion of his life, and
where his tomb still remains. The tomb of Eusebius,
the ecclesiastical historian, is also here.
A peculiar interest, which the Biblical student
will easily understand, attaches to the fact that St.
Jerome dwelt so long in this place. And perhaps
I shall be pardoned for recalling a few incidents of
his life at this time. Born in the times of the
Roman empire, and in a small Roman town near
the province of Dalmatia, he was sent to Rome by
his father, who was a man of wealth, in order that
he might be early and thoroughly instructed in the
literature, the arts, and the philosophy of that day.
Aided by the best masters in the city of Rome,
among whom was a learned grammarian by the
name of Donatus, who is still known by his commentaries on Virgil and Terence, he soon became a
proficient in Greek and Roman learning. Embracing the study and the profession of the law as
a business for life, his great ability and high mental
culture gave him reason to hope that he would
ultimately reach-positions of influence and honor,
-such as would fully satisfy a high ambition. He
soon found, however, that the world has its enchantrnents as well as its honors. The fascinating
pleasures of Rome held out their allurements, and
he had begun to feel both their power and their




442           LETTERS —-ESTHETIC,
bitterness; but the lessons of piety which he had received in early life recurred to his mind, and a divine
voice, perhaps in answer to a father's or mother's
prayers, whispered to him the vanity of human
philosophy and fame, and urged him to seek the
knowledge and the honor which come from Christ.
He was then in the midst of his travels in France,
and still in the ardent pursuit of knowledge; but
he had the wisdom to listen to this higher and
better voice, and accepted the simple but sublime
philosophy of Christ for that of the Grecian and
Roman schools. In accordance with the ascetic
principles and practices of his age, he left Rome,
which seemed to him to present too many temptations to a young Christian, and, finding his way
after some time into Syria, he took up his residence in a desert and solitary place near Chalcis,though not very far from the city of Antioch and
the banks of the Orontes. In this Syrian wilderness, which he has rendered celebrated in his eloquent writings, he resided four years. It was in
the year 377 that he first came into Palestine; and
after the year 386 he made it his permanent residence. He dwelt at one time on the Mount of
Olives, but subsequently took up his abode at Bethlehem,-diligently pursuing his studies, as he had
done during a large portion of his life, even in the
deserts of Syria, and investigating with great zeal
the various subjects which throw light upon the history, the persons, and the doctrines of the Bible.
I refer thus particularly to this distinguished man,
so well known to Biblical scholars, because undoubtedly the locality of many of the sacred places in




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          443
Palestine, particularly in Bethlehem and its vicinity,
is considered as settled, in concurrence with his
opinions and authority. And when we consider the
early period in which he lived, his long residence in
Palestine, his great learning, and the deep interest
which he could not fail to take in the subject, I think
we may feel a good degree of confidence that many
of the most important localities are satisfactorily
known.
The reader of the Bible cannot forget that many
events of interest have occurred in Bethlehem and
its immediate vicinity, besides that great event
which supersedes and overshadows all others. This
is the scene of the beautiful story of Ruth and
Naomi,-inimitable in its simplicity and touching
pastoral allusions. Bethlehem is interesting also as
being the birthplace of king David. IHe was the
keeper of his father's flocks in the neighborhood of'
Bethlehem, which is spoken of as being at that time
in the wilderness, when he was called to engage in
contest with Goliath.  It is still more interestingperhaps we may say it exceeds all other places in
the world in interest-in being the birthplace of the
Saviour. The prophecies of the Old Testament —
full of intimations and glimpses of the future-led
the Jews to expect the birth of the Saviour in this
place. " But thou, Bethlehem-Ephratah," says the
prophet Micah, "though thou be little among the
thousands of Judah, yet out of thee shall He come
forth unto me who is to be Ruler in Israel; whose
goings forth have been from old, from everlasting."
The church of the Nativity, which is understood
to enclose the Saviour's birthplace, is built over a




444           LETTERS —-  STIETIC,
large grotto. Descending the flight of stairs which
leads into it, we found it brightly illuminated with
rows of costly lamps, which are kept constantly
burning. Art, coloring, drapery, lend their aid to
give beauty and impressiveness to the place.  The
figure of a large and beautiful star, formed of marble
and jasper laid in mosaic, indicates the place where
the Saviour was born. Golden lamps are suspended
above this star, and throw their light down upon it.
Around it, in the Latin language, are the words,
lEPIC DE VIRGINE MARIA JESUS CHRISTUS NATUS EST.
I am not ignorant of the doubts and queries which
have been started by the learned. And still the
argument, depending upon facts and circumstances
too numerous to be detailed here, which may be
brought to bear in- support of the identity of this
part of the hill of Bethlehem as the birthplace of
the Saviour, is so strong, that my mind found no
difficulty in receiving it.  It was here that the
prophecies were fulfilled. It was here that the
Saviour was born.
In giving myself up to profound emotion, I could
not forget thie accessories of that great event.  I
saw the wise men coming from the East, with their
offerings of frankincense and gold. I rememnbered
that the very heavens were bright with transcendent
glory. I recalled the watching shepherds, and the
song of the angels.  But these were only incidents;
and were important chiefly by the relations which
they sustained.  It was the event itself which
absorbed memory, thought, emotion.  I repeated
to myself the expressions which seemed to me to
describe that great occurrence.  I said, "The




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          445
Divine Mind became embodied,-the Infinite reposed in the arms of the finite,-God manifested
himself in the flesh, —-on the _pace where IZow stcnd."
I do not profess to understand precisely the import of these expressions, which may well be supposed to suggest thought rather than accurately
define it. But it was through the medium of such
emphatic and suggestive forms of speech, which
could not fail to have an important influence upon
early thought and belief, that I had been taught in
childhood. It was thus, before I was capable of
thinking for myself, that I had been instructed in
distant America,-in her primitive and humble
assemblies, and in the books which had come down
from my Puritan ancestors. Undoubtedly a hereditary belief, though sanctioned by the wisdom of those
who have gone before us, and taught in the young
home which we always love, is a proper subject of
re-examination and further inquiry.  Such inquiry
I have not been unwilling-and indeed have thought
it right and proper-to give to the wonderful doctrine of the Incarnation. Considered in its time
and its incidents, in itself and its relations, I have
endeavored to compare the advent of the Messiah
with other advents and manifestations of supposed
power and greatness which men in their blindness
have accepted and idolized; and, without professing
to be aware of the full import of my own expressions, I am still obliged to say, not only because it
is authorized by the Bible, but because all other
expressions come short of the convictions and aspirations which struggled in my own breast, "s God
was nmanmfest ine th7e flesh."




446           LETTERS-A-STHETIC,
I am aware that human philosophy, reasoning
more from the head than the heart, is likely to be
perplexed on this subject. In its doubts and difficulties, it propounds the question, whether it is possible for the Infinite to embody itself in a finite form.
I answer, if God is merely an impersonal infinite
presence,-in other words, an infinite power, but
not an infinite personal agent,-then I feel the
pressure of this inquiry; but I do not feel it if He
is what Christians suppose Him to be,-an infinite
personacity. In the view of the matter as it presents
itself to my own mind, the incapacity to manifest
himself in a form, in connection with which He
should communicate with his creatures would be an
imperfection.
And it is to me an interesting circumstance that
all nature, I may perhaps say,-certainly all races
of n men,-demand such a manifestation.  It is an
instinct of the human mind,-demonstrated, as it
seemns to me, by the religious history of our race,which requires that the Infinite should subject
itself, at particular times and in particular forms,
to the limitations of the finite, in order to satisfy
the finite want and to perfect the finite communion.
To one tribe, (I speak of those portions of the
human race which are not enlightened by the
Bible,) God is in the sun; to another He is in the
moon and stars; to another He is embodied in the
clouds, or floats in the rivers and the ocean. And
others again find Him embodied and incarnate in
some lower animal, which they fall down wand
worship.
God has done homage to the great instincts he




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.         447
has implanted. He knew the wants of men and
was ready to meet them, when man himself, disappointed in all false manifestations, had sufficiently
recognized and felt those wants. He met them by
his presence. But in coming into the world he gave
the preference to the weak over the mighty. He
paid homage to human wants, but not to human
pride; and, passing by Rome and Athens, and whatever other names and places had dazzled by their
greatness and splendor, He selected the little city
of Bethlehem.
Philosophy, or rather imperfect human philosophy, perplexed in the fact of his coming, is equally
perplexed in relation to the form of his coming.
It thinks more of greatness than of innocence, and
vainly imagines that a descending God cannot come
in less than a king's chariot, and with the noise of
trumpets, and with royal purple and gold. But
such is not the expectation of that better and divine
philosophy which attaches the highest value to
purity and love. Divine wisdom, without stopping
to inquire at the great schools of human learning,
chooses its own form. And what form, helpless
though it may be, is more beautiful in itself, or
more significant and emblematic of truth and beauty,
than that of an infant? Or what place is more
fitting and suitable to such an advent and manifestation than a mother's arms?
And I may say, further, that I personally sympathize in those deep instincts of the human heart
to which I have referred,-I mean those instincts
which need and require the manifestation and presence of a divine nature,-and that I rejoice also in




448              LETTERS-EA STHETIC,
the manner in which these yearnings of the heart
have been responded to. To those who are weak
in spirit like myselfi the manifestation of Divinity
in humanity, so that in our helplessness we may
feel the hand of the Infinite and be lifted up, is not
only a possibility but a necessity.  Believing, as I do,
that in the name of Jesus the many evils which
exist in the world are to be subdued, its sorrows
ended, and its discordancies harmonized, it is not
without emotion that I have come, from a distant
land, to the place which the guiding-star has illuminated, and that I offer here the   myrrh andfrankincense" of a penitent and believing heart.
The star which shines over this sacred spot —emblematic of the heavenly radiance —is to me the
source of light. I endeavored in my early days to
study the philosophies and to become acquainted
with the masters and teachers of men.  I felt that
I needed illumination. But, standing as I now do
on the hill of Bethlehem, and by the cradle of the
manger, I am not ashamed in these last years of my
life, and after the labor of many hopeless inquiries,
to say that I accept of the coming of this infant
Jesus, and that I am willing to be taught by a child.
LINES WRITTEN ON TI-IE OCCASION OF VISITING TIHE BIRTI-IPLACE
OF THIE SAVIOUR IN BETI-ILEHE'.
Philosophers of other days,
In learned schools, their wisdom taught,
And earn'd from human tongues the praise
Of guides and lights of human thought:
But here an infant's lips declare
A wisdom which they did not share.
The kings and conquerors of old,
Who march'd to power through seas of gore,




SOCIALP AND  MORAL.                  449
Rode in their chariots of gold,
And crown and sceptre proudly bore;
But here an infant's sceptre bears
A weight of power, which was not theirs.
The weak are great in outward show,
Magnificent in high pretence;
But God, descending here below,
Appears in peace and innocence:
He seeks no power of arms or arts,
But that of conquering human hearts.
Temples and towers and thrones may fall,
And learning's institutes go down,
But, in the wreck that sweeps o'er all,
Christ shall come up and wear the crown;
And from their scatter'd dust shall spring
The empire of the infant King.
He reigns, to judge the poor man's cause;
He reigns, tyrannic sway to bind;
He reigns, to renovate the laws
And heal the wanderings of the mind,Restoring, in his mighty plan,
God's empire in the soul of man.
(XLVII.)
Introductory remarks-Visit to the Mount of Olives-Historical
notices-Mount Zion —Valley of Hinnom-Church of the Holy
Sepulchre Hill of Scopus-Titus —Return from the mountainGarden of Gethsemane-Poetry.
CITY OF JERUSALEM: FOURTH LETTER.
THE objects of interest in Jerusalem and its
vicinity are very numerous. I shall not undertake
a minute description, which is better left to those
who have more time, and who come here with the
requisite  qualifications, and  under circumstances
which are more favorable to extended and specific
inquiries.   There  is much work in Jerusalem  and
38*




450           LETTERS-E STHETIC,
its vicinity for profound scholars, for painters, poets,
historians,-a work which, it is very certain, cannot be satisfactorily performed, especially so far as
relates to its controverted antiquities, by transient
visitants.  There are men, however, who in due
time will be found adequate to the task.  Without
mentioning all the names which I now have in my
mind, I will only say here that Dr. Robinson of
our own country has made a good and very thorough
beginning, which entitles him to the gratitude of
the friends of Biblical science; and future inquiries,
connected with the same ability and energy, will
throw great light upon these interesting topics. At
the same time, I think there may possibly be some
value in'those more general writings where the
mroral, social, and physical are mingled together. I
shall describe, or rather make the attempt to describe, only generally and briefly.
I went one day to the top of the Mount of Olives,
in company with my American friends. From this
commanding position, we endeavored to arrange and
fix in our minds the objects around us. With an
estimated height of more than two thousand feet
above the Maediterranean: carrying it high above
Jerusalem, this celebrated mountain, which in itself
is an object of great interest, was favorable to our
purpose.  Standing on that part of the summit
which is occupied by the chapel of the Ascension,
-so called because it was supposed by its builders
to be erected over the place where the Saviour
ascended,-we gazed with deep interest upon the
various objects which here presented themselves to
view. Looking in one direction, we had before us




SOCIALP AND MORAL.          451
Jerusalem, and the deep ravines which enclose it
on the south and east and the mountains which
arise above it on every side. In the other direction
was the rough and elevated region bounded by the
valley of the Jordan and the Dead Sea, and by the
mountains of Moab beyond.
~ But this first visit, which enabled me to fix in
mind the outlines of objects, was calculated to
satisfy the head rather than the heart. Perhaps I
may more clearly express myself thus.  The mind
went out to the objects; but the influence of the
objects had not time to come back and to write
itself upon the mind.  The Mount of Olives must
take its own time; and have its visitant all to itself
in order to make present and to convey into the
soul all that it is capable of revealing.
This, I suppose, will be easily understood. Places,
as well as persons, have power. Thoughts, whose
seeds are in the soul, are oftentimes the product and
the outgrowth of situcations. The influence which
such situations or places possess over the human
mind is very various in its origin,-sometimes from
the greatness of nature and sometimes from the greatness of art,-sometimes from the power which they
still hold, and not unfrequently from the power
which they have lost,-sometimes from sympathy
with the living, and sometimes from the memory
of the dead. Many are the places which thus speak
to the soul, either with a natural or associated power.
One of the many places which have this power
in a remarkable degree-perhaps as much so, or
with very few exceptions, as any in the world-is
the Mount of Olives. Irregular in its surface, with




452           LETTERS-. — STHETIC,
here and there a few olives and fig-trees still growing among its projecting rocks, it adds to the impressions which naturally attach to its rough and
majestic form, the power which it derives from its
history, its associations, and its position.
I had gone through the streets of Jerusalem,
and had rapidly examined, both within and without
its walls, the various objects of interest which the
pens of numerous travellers have sufficiently made
known. But before our little company left the city
on our way to other parts of Palestine, and on the
route preliminary to our return to America, I felt
a secret and strong desire to ascend once more the
mountain where the Saviour had so often been, and,
aided by its lofty summit, to look again upon the
theatre of the great scenes and sufferings which
the Scriptures record. On the occasion to which I
now refer, which was a day or two before our departure, it was convenient for me to go alone. This
solitary visit, like a visit to the tomb of a departed
friend, harmonized with the state of my feelings;
because my object was, not to converse with men,
but with God, nature, history, and eternity. I
easily found a secluded and lofty position suited to
my object; and, as I looked abroad from that memorable height, I felt how one short hour could reproduce and live over again the growth and the decay,
the agonies and triumphs, of ages.
Jerusalem, as it is now, and in its natural features
as it always has been, was all before me, —a place
more closely associated than any other with the
destinies of men, and going back in its history to
the early periods of the human race.  Taken by




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          453
David from the Jebusites, and in the reigns of David
and Solomon advancing to great wealth and splendor, destroyed by Nebuchadnezzar, rebuilt in the
times of Nehemiah, captured and laid waste by the
Roman armies under Pompey the Great, restored
and beautified by Antipater and Herod, destroyed
again by Titus and in part restored by Adrian, and
at later periods successively captured and held by
the Persians, Arabians, Turks, and Crusaders, it
still stands, amid all these changes and revolutions,
an object of deep interest and attraction.
Checking this natural tendency to indulge in
historical recollections, that I might the better
understand the place which gave rise to them, my
eye first ran along the circuit of its beautiful but
irregular walls, and then, glancing rapidly upon
the valley of the Kedron and over the steep rocky
heights beyond it, rested upon the magnificent
mosque of Omar.  This great structure, a sad
memorial of the vicissitudes to which Jerusalem
has been subject, is built within the present walls
of the city, on the eastern side, and overlooks the
abrupt, rocky valley of Jehoshaphat,-occupying
the top of that Mount Moriah which is supposed to
be the place where Abraham was directed to offer
up Isaac.  The place which is occupied by this imposing Mohammedan edifice is the precise spot which
was occupied in other times, and under other and
different influences, by the great temple of Solomon.
Imagination, which controls time as well as
places, and has the power of changing and remodelling all things, was not slow in banishing the
mosque and in remodelling and replacing the tem



454           LETTERS-IESTHETIC.
pie.  "It was there," I said to myself, "that the
wonderful structure stood, of which I had read so
much in my childhood; and which, described in
history and rendered visible in paintings, had become a part of my thoughts and dreams; on the
place which is now before me," the place, ascertained
and identified with the concurrence of all antiquaries, and which, as I looked upon it in its marked
and imposing outlines, seemed to me to carry the
evidence of its historic claims in itself. It was
there, then, that the great edifice was erected,-the
"Lord's house," shining in cedar and gold,-which
required a nation's wealth in building, which held
the ark and tables of the covenant and the cherubim of glory, and which, by its history, its position, and its rites and ceremonies, became the
central and controlling element in that system of
religion which was superseded by the mission and
the doctrines of Christ. The subterranean crypts,
arches, and gates, and the immense blocks of granite,
constituting together the vast substructions which
still remain,-some above ground and some below,
-but which will be likely to be better known in
the explorations of future times, furnish evidence
that what is said in the Bible of the glory both of
the first and second temple, and of the wealth and
skill of the times of Solomon, is no exaggeration.
As the traveller stands upon the Mount of Olives,
the ancient as well as the modern Jerusalem, at
least in its essential outlines, is restored and made
present to his eye. Following the attractions of
sight and memory, and crossing the narrow Tyropoeon valley, which, however, is now nearly filled




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          455
up and is hardly perceptible from this elevated
position, he next ascends the hill of Zion. Here,
in the neighborhood of the Bethlehem gate, is the
tower of Hlippicus, standing in grandeur to the
present hour,-whose strong foundations, hardly
less immovable than the mountain itself, carry the
mind back to distant ages. Some antiquaries assign
the laying of these massive foundations to the historic era of king David.  Beyond the wall, and
within the court or enclosed area of a Mohammedan
mosque, is David's tomb. s" His sepulchre," says the
Apostle Peter,'"is with us unto this day." Around
the tomb are small cultivated fields.  The denunciations of prophecy are fulfilled. The ploughshare
has passed over the summit of Zion.
It was here, in this part of Jerusalen, that the
son of Jesse, the warrior and Psalmist of Israel,
had his residence. This, then, is that hill of Zion
which he describes, in his own matchless language,
as "; beautiful for situation, the joy of the whole
earth."  This is the place which for ages held the
sword and the seat of empire. From this mountainrock, which lifts its southern brow so proudly over
the deep valley of Hinnom, the tide of aggressive
war has been scattered and driven back. Conquering armies, proud to obey the greatest king of Israel,
have stood upon its frowning height.
But, with all these lofty recollections thronging
around this memorable place, I could not suppress
the thought that this was not its chief honor. It
is not the spear but the lyre of David"The harp the monarch-minstrel swept"which survives most deeply and distinctly in the




456           LETTERS —.ESTHETIC,
memory of later generations. The hill of Zion
may perish, but Ithink it may be said of the songs
of Zion-estimated by those who have the true
insight of poetry as well as religious feeling-that
they have a life which cannot die.
With such impressions, I must confess that my
eye was not tired in looking upon the spot which
gave origin to those divine songs and lyric odes
which bear the Psalmist's namie,-poems which
embody with such mingled simplicity and power
the various forms of natural and religious feeling,
of natural and religious truth, that they descend to
the level of the understanding and heart of a child,
while at the same time, by their great thoughts and
sublimity, they fill and satisfy minds of the greatest
breadth and culture. It was there that he gazed upon
those surrounding heights and mountains which
still look down upon his burial-place. It was there
that he walked forth at night, and looked again
with his poetic eye upon the.deep blue heavens
which he had watched and loved when in early
life he tended his father's flocks in Bethlehem.'::When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy
fingers, the moon and the stars, which thou hast
ordained, what is man, that thou art mindful of
him? and the son of man, that thou dost visit him?"
The hill of Zion is often regarded as the type or
earthly emblem of heaven. And why should it not
be? It is a place which is lofty and imperial; and
the cavernous depths of Gehenna, hardly less terrible than when its fire and smoke ascended, are
still far below it.  But it is entitled to this distinction and lifts the mind to a better state of things,




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           457
not only on account of its elevation, but still more
because it is the hill of song. Song is truth, uttered
in harmony.  Heaven is what it is, because nothing enters there which " loveth and maketh a lie,"
and because the truth which enters and is embodied
within it, in being always consistent with itself,
has no discordant sounds, but is always uttering,
by the very necessities of its nature, a voice which
is full of melody. Heaven, therefore, whatever
other attributes may attach to it, is the true locality
of whatever is highest and best in the conception
of poetic harmony.  And hence it is natural that
the place on earth which has breathed forth the
sweetest and tenderest melodies should be the sign
and emblem of the heavenly inheritance.
But what a contrast of associations, as well as
of height and depth, may be seen at no great distance! As we approach the edge of the hill of Zion,
we look down, almost with dizziness, into the deep
valley which bounds it on the south and southwestern side,-the valley of Hinnom of the Old Testament, the Gehenna of the New. In this valley there
was once an idolatrous image of the heathen god Moloch, who exacted from his followers the rites and
sacrifices of his cruel worship. In those sad days it
was truly the place of weeping and wailing. Gloomy
and terrible in itself and terrible in its history and
associations, it was afterwards the place where the
useless and decaying impurities of the city, including the dead bodies of animals and malefactors,
were collected together. And this was done so
fiequently, and to such an extent, that the fires
which were rendered necessary for the purpose of
39




4  58          LETTERS —  E STHETIG,
consuming themrn were kept continually burning.
This is no place of song.  This is no emblem of
the heavenly world.  These masses of corruption,
these ever-burning fires, and the columns of smoke
continually ascending, furnish the terrible figures
which are employed by the writers of the Bible to
indicate the opposite of a state of blessedness, and
to shadow forth the end and destiny of the wicked.
At some distance from Mount Zion, a little outside of the line of the ancient wall, which antiquaries profess to be able still to trace, but within
the limits of the modern city, is the rocky height,,surmounted by the church of -the Holy Sepulchre,
where the Saviour was crucified. This vast church,
which in itself is a history, has been so often described in its length and breadth, in its towering
arches and columns, that I will say nothing in relation to it so far as its architecture is concerned. The
church is adjusted, in its foundations, to the hill and
rock of Calvary. I had visited it before the time of
which I am now speaking.  I had ascended the successive flights of steps which led to the elevated platforml covering the portion of the rock where the cross
is said to have been placed, and where the Saviour
was crucified. I had gone down into another part of
the church at a little distance and seen the place
where he was buried. A small chapel, not wanting in
beauty, is built over it. And many are the pilgrims,
from many and distant lands, that kneel beneath it.
At such a time, and amid such remembrances, I
must confess that I had no disposition to think of
painting or architecture, of Greek or Jew, of Saracen or Roman, of Helena or Justinian, —not even




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          459
of prophets and apostles,-but only of that one good
and innocent man-the child of Mary and the incarnate Son of God-whose blood, shed upon the
elevated rock, may be said to have readjusted
heaven and earth, by cementing once more the
broken links of love, life, and iinmortality.
I am aware of the fact that some Biblical antiquaries have doubted whether the crucifixion took
place on the site of the church of the Holy Sepulchre.
I will not undertake to reconcile and measure -the
probabilities of a question which a life's labors would
not be sufficient to exhaust.  But seated as I am,
on the summit of the Mount of Olives, with Jerusalem and the objects around it for miles in extent
fully in view:, I think I can say without impropriety,
even if there is a foundation for the doubt to which
I hlave referred, that my eyes have rested beyond a
question upon the place where this great transaction actually occurred.  Whether it was within or
without the walls of the present Jerusalem, it was
certainly within the field of vision, as I look outward and around from this overshadowing height.
Situated as I now am: and looking upon the general
aspect of things without always being certain of
particulars, it is not necessary, in order to see the
Son of God led to execution, to confine myself to
the traditionary limits of the VIA DOLOROSA. I catn
behold the cross erected, whether it was within or
without the measurements of the church of the
Holy Sepulchre.  My mind, without accepting or
rejecting the glasses of tradition, avails itself of the
aid which this lofty height affords me, to see by the
light of its own intuitions, and to adjust its own




~ G 0         LETTERS —2 STHETIC,
localities. And seeing with' the heart also, as well
as with the outward sight, every thing becomes a
reality. The Divine victim is before me. His gushing blood flows down. His dying voice exclaims,' IT IS FINISHED."  I hear the rending of the vail of
the temple. I see the quaking and the rending of
the rocks.
The death of Christ was also the death of a great
and venerated system,-a system which had its
season and its uses, but which always proclaimed
itself to be only the precursor of another state of
things, less striking in the form but more efficacious
in the spirit, and which should be better suited to
the advancing intelligence of the human race. And
that sad event, witnessed in the very place which
my eyes now behold, while it swept away the priest,
the altar, and the temple, was at the same time
the building up of the inward temple ald the inauguration of the reign of the Holy Ghost.
In the passing away of the old system, punishment found the fitting occasion to vindicate its
claims and to adjust itself to crime. And a great
nation, which had shed the blood of the innocent,
was smitten by the hand of retribution; and the
name of its greatness and power forever passed
away.
I turned my eye away from the church of the
Holy Sepulchre. I looked in a little different direction. I saw on the north side of the city, a little
beyond the upper valley of the Kedron, and rising
above the road which leads to Shechem  and Samaria, a gently-ascending but lofty height of land,
which is called the hill of Scopus. It was on that




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          4 61
spot, according to Josephus, that Titus, who had
marched into Palestine the fierce legions which his
father Vespasian had left in Alexandria, cast his
proud eye for the first time on the city of Jerusalem.
This was that Titus under whose triumphal arch I
had stood at Rome and saw on its sculptured sides
the emblems of his victory.  Seated sternly on his
war-horse like the sculptured Aurelius in the Roman
Campodoglio, he is worthy of our attention; and,
more than that, he at once seizes and fixes our attention,-because he holds forth in his lofty front and
his uplifted arm  the marks of the man of providential destiny.
It is true that every man is a providence; that
each one, whether great or small, fills a place which
no other one can, and holds a link in the great chain
of events which can be uplifted by no other hand.
But it is not true that every man's providential
position and relations are known; and, not being
known, they are not the subject of specific thought
and meditation.  It was not so with the son of
Vespasian. As he stands under the combined light
of prophecy and history, he is exhibited to the
world's view a providential instrument, an agent
that fulfils purposes not his own, a man of inevitable destiny.  Perhaps he knew not his own position; but the "blinded beast," says an old writer,
" that turns the wheel of the mill, though it seeth
not, neither knows what it does, yet doeth a great
work in grinding the corn." Neither his knowledge
nor his ignorance would have any effect in altering
the plans of infinite wisdom, and in disturbing the
connection of everlasting adjustments.  The man,




462           LETTERS —-STHETIC,
the hour, and the destiny had met. As he looked
once more upon Jerusalem, and pointed out to his
soldiers the walls and towers of the devoted city,
he bore in that extended arm, feeble in itself but
mighty in its relations, the hidden thunders and
lightnings of God.
Such were some of the objects which were presented to my notice. Such were some of the reflections which arose in my mind. I had thus stood
for the last time upon the mountain which looked
down upon a vast panorama, not more of' nature
than of great and wonderful events. Resuming my
way towards the city, I followed the narrow and
winding path which has been trodden for ages. In
coming down from the rocky height, I fell in conmpany with a shepherd, who was driving before him
a flock of sheep and goats. The keeper of sheep
trod in the footpath of kings. It was over these
heights that the exiled David fled from the triumphant Absalom. In a short time he drove the
sheep into a rude sheepfold made of rocks. And
again [1 walked on alone.
At a little distance from me I noticed the traditionary place where the Saviour is said to have wept
over Jerusalem. Reaching the foot of the mountain,
I stopped at the garden of Gethsemane. At a little
distance on my right was the beautiful chapel and
the sepulchre of the Virgin Mary. The traditionary
belief is that the dust of the mother reposes near
the garden which witnessed the heavy trials of her
Divine Son. The garden of Gethsemane is now enclosed by a high wall, which overlooks the channel
of the Kedron. I entered it and walked among the




SOCIAL, AND  )IORAL.                 463
flowers which the hand of Christian veneration loves
to cultivate on its sacred soil, and beneath the shade
of the aged olive-trees, the growth of many hundred-perhaps of a thousand-years.'And this," I said to myself, "was the garden of
preparatory suffering,-the sad and memorable scene
of one of the most trying periods of the Saviour's
life.  This was the place of his agony.  It was here
he kneeled and prayed, IIf it be possible, let this
cup pass from  me.  Nevertheless, not as I will, but
as Thou wilt."'
The world of spirits took an interest in this great
struggle.  An angel appeared,-strengthening him.
His prayer was answered.  The will of his Father
was accomplished. The Son of God was betrayed
into the hands of wicked men.  His blood flowed
upon Calvary. Jerusalem was destroyed. But a
world was redeemed.
LINES WRITTEN ON VISITING THE GARDEN OF GETHSEMANE, MfAY, 1853.
Oh, let me not forget!'Twas hereEarth of the Saviour's grief and toil!He knelt; and oft the falling tear
Mingled his sorrows with thy soil;When, in the garden's fearful hour,
lie felt the great temptation's power.
Here was the proffer'd bitter cup.
"THY WILL BE DONE!" the Saviour said;
His faith received, and drank it up:
Amazed, the baffled tempter fled,
Repulsed, with all his hate and skill,
Before an acquiescent will.
O man! In memory of that hour
Let rising murmurs be repress'd;
And learn the secret of thy power
Within a calm and patient breast.
"THY WILL BE DONE."'Tis that which rolls
Their agony from suffering souls.




464              LETTERS —E STHETIC,
Such is the lesson that I find
Here, in the Saviour's place of tears,The lesson, that the trusting mind
Has strength to conquer griefs and fears,
And, doom'd upon the cross to die,
Finds death itself a victory.
(XLVIII.)
Peparture from Jerusalem-Last view of it —Village of BeerothSpend the night at Bethel-Visit to the mountain east of BethelWell of Jacob —Christ's conversation with the Samaritan woman
-Tomb of Joseph —City of Shechem.
SI-IECHEM, FOOT OF MIOUNT GERIZIM, MAY 24, 1853.
WE left the city of Jerusalem, Monday, the 23d
of May.  We were delayed in our preparations;
and it was near noon when we departed. Our object was to go into Galilee and the region of Nazareth. The direction of our route, therefore, was
towards the northern part of Palestine,-the country
of Ephraim and Manasseh, of Issachar and Zebulun.
Soon after leaving the walls of the city, we passed
through a large grove of olive-trees, in which we met
from time to time with groups of people of both sexes,
who seemed to enjoy its retirement and shade. At
the distance of about a mile in a northwest direction,
reaching a piece of rising ground which afforded a
wide prospect, we stopped, and, turning and looking
back, took a last view.  The city with its walls and
towers, the valley of the Kedron, and beyond it the
Mount, of Olives, were in full sight.
From  no other point, with the exception of the
Mount of Olives, had it appeared to us so beautiful.
Was it strange that we stopped thus to gaze upon it?




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          465
Our visit had been short; but the scene had brought
back so much of the past, and so vividly,-as if
some beloved friend had arisen from the dead and
spoken to us once more, —that we naturally felt sad
at parting. But as the scene, rising above all ordinary forms of association and interest, had a relationship to the soul itself, it was easy to carry away its
image in the heart. From that hour, unseen by the
outward sight, it became the possession of the mind
itself,-the living child of memory.
The road we took is called the Damascus road. It
leads in the direction of that celebrated city. The
same day in the afternoon, passing on our left the
distant heights of Ramah and Nebi Samuel, we
came, at the distance of eight or nine miles from
Jerusalem, to the village of Beeroth, —called by its
present Arab inhabitants Beereh. A copious fountain, which probably gave its name to the village,
flows near it. In the neighborhood of the village
are extensive ruins. We spent a little time in walking among massive columns and arches,-the remains and testimonies of the art and power of distant
ages. The people of the modern village, which is
situated at a little distance on a slightly-elevated
piece of ground, came down to the fountains. It
seemed to be the gathering-place of men and children. The young women also filled their large
water-jars and carried them away on their heads.
Camels and horses stood at the watering-troughs.
This place, rendered attractive from the earliest
times by the abundance of its water and its fertility,
is repeatedly mentioned in the Scriptures. It is situated on the road to Damascus, which is also for some




466           LETTERS- ESTHETIC,
distance the great road to Nazareth; and there is a
tradition that it was here that Joseph and Mary, on
returning from Jerusalem to Nazareth from the feast
of the Passover, first discovered that the "'child
Jesus," who had tarried behind without their knowledge, was not in the company with them.
In accordance with the customs and traditions of
the country, which make Beeroth the first stoppingplace and the first day's journey from Jerusalem, the
people who conducted us were desirous of remaining
here through the night. But this was inconsistent
with our arrangements and wishes, and we went on
three or four miles farther, deviating a little from the
main route, and pitched our tents, about the time of
sunset, in a field in Bethel. The present name of
Bethel is BEITEN, —the Arabic variation of the original Hebrew name. It was natural for us to desire to
reach this place, which is associated with interesting
names and incidents, and is often mentioned in the
Old Testament, though I believe it is not mentioned
in the New. The country around Bethel is uneven
and rocky; sustaining in. that respect the reputation
which it seems to have had in the days of the patriarchs. It was here that Jacob, journeying from
Beersheba, made at night a pillow of stones, and
slept and dreamed, and saw in vision the angels of
God ascending and descending upon the ladder of
heaven. It was here that the Lord, who styled himself the Lord God of Abraham and Isaac, appeared
to Jacob in this midnight vision of angels and of
the opened heavens, and spake to him, and promised
him the land on which his head was pillowed. And
the place, which had been previously called Luz by




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           467
the Canaanites, Jacob called Bethel or the Lord's
house, —the name which it has borne since.  We
spent the night here, sleeping among the rocks.
Early the next morning we ascended a lofty hill
about a mile from our encampment, which seemed
to us to correspond to the description given in the
twelfth chapter of Genesis:-" a mountain on the
east of Bethel, having Bethel on the west and Hai
on the east," and where it is said of Abraham, who
also as well as Jacob had travelled through this
region and at an earlier period, that he "Ibuilded an
altar unto the Lord and called upon the name of the
Lord."  Here also are the fragmrentary remains of
buildings, which are worthy of the notice of the
antiquary.
In the time of the Canaanites Bethel was a royal
city and the residence of a king; and in the time
of Jeroboam, after the revolt of the ten tribes, it
obtained an unhappy celebrity as the place selected
for idol-worship in opposition to the worship of
Jerusalem.  It is perhaps impossible at the present
time to indicate the precise site of the ancient city.
The footprints of a hundred generations have greatly
disturbed and nearly obliterated the lines that were
drawn around it.  The massive hewn stones, however, which are found at intervals on the surface of
the ground or projecting from mounds of earth, and
the remains of buildings and other works which are
found on the hill I have mentioned, or between it
and the village which bears the name of Beitin, indicate the existence in ancient times of a large city
in this vicinity.  There is a large square pool or
water-reservoir here, formed of hewn stones, similar




46 8          LETTERS —  STHETIC,
in extent and solidity to the great works of this
kind which are seen at Hebron and Jerusalem.
We found this ancient reservoir, as we did in some
other instances, destitute of water.
Pursuing our journey, we reached, on the afternoon of the second day from Jerusalem, the celebrated well which bears the name of the patriarch
Jacob. Among the people of the country it is denominated to this day AIN YACOUB, the well or fountain of Jacob,-though it is sometimes called also
AIN SAMARIEH, the well of the Samaritan woman.
By order of the Syrian Government, as we understood, and for the purpose of preventing the injuries resulting in consequence of persons constantly
crowding around it and into it, the top of the well
has been closed for a number of years past by large
stones placed over it.  We found, however, a small
opening, which enabled some of our party to let
down a long measuring-line, and thus to assure us
of the correctness of the Scripture statement, that
the "well is deep."  Before it was closed, this well
had been repeatedly entered and examined by Christian travellers, who agree in ascribing to it a depth
of about a hundred feet.  Maundrell says of it,'"The well is covered at present with an old stone
vault, into which you are let down by a very straight
hole; and then, removing a broad flat stone, you
discover the well itself. It is dug in a firm rock, is
about three yards in diameter, and thirty-five in
depth, five of which we found full of water."
It was by the side of this well that the wearied
Saviour, in his journey from Judea to Galilee, seated
himself. And here, in conversation with the Samari



SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           469
tan woman, he uttered those memorable words:"Whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give
him shall never thirst; but the water that I shall
give him shall be in him a well of water, springing
up to everlasting life."  And it was here that he
uttered those other words also, which are similar
but still wider in their import:-" The hour cometh,
and now is, when the true worshippers shall worship the Father in spirit and in truth; for the Father
seeketh such to worship him. God is a Spirit; and
they that worship him must worship him in spirit
and in trutht."
FHow often have I thought upon these remarkable
sayings of the Saviour, so far beyond and above the
thoughts and anticipations of his age and his people,
not knowing or thinki-ng that I should ever stand
upon the spot where they were uttered!
It was in this place it was announced, and from
this time it was understood clearly and forever, that
the true worship of God is mental rather than physical or local.  In other words, it consists in the rectitude of dispositions.  The homage which God loves
is the soul's harmony with Himself and his infinite
relations.  The temple of Solomon, emblematic of
the formal and restricted nature of the first worship,
covered the small circuit of Mount Moriah.  It fell
at the bidding of Christ; and through its sundered
columns this new Captain of our salvation le:d the
emancipated world into the wide and great freedom
of G-od's spiritual temple.  The locality of God's
temple, overtopping and outshining all human temples, is the infinity of space.  It is not necessary to
go over six thousand miles of ocean and over burn40




470           LETTERS-AESTIIETIC,
ing sands in order to find it. The place of the true
worship, no longer exclusively at Jerusalem or
Gerizim, is everywhere.  Every valley where there
is a soul to be tempted and to weep may be a Get.hsemane.  Every hill-top where there are hearts to
rejoice and sing may be a Zion.  Every town and
secluded village, no matter in what land or beyond
what ocean, may become a Bethleherm; and every
mind of man which shall break the bonds of selfishness, and make room for his coming, may be a
manger where the infant Jesus shall be born. This
great announcement, this Magna Charta of spiritual
freedom, was made here.
Jacob's well, which suggested this remarkable
conversation, is not far from the narrow entrance
which separates the mountains of Ebal and Gerizim.
It is excavated in the solid rock on the side of a
gentle elevation facing to the northeast, which gives
a good view of the large and beautiful plain, generally understood to be the land l"bought by Jacob
of the children of iHamor."  It was here that Jacob
resided for a time; and there are but few places in
Palestine more beautiful and more fruitful than this.
It is watered by a large fountain, which flows at a
little distance from the well of Jacob.  Beyond this
clear fresh rivulet, and less than a quarter of a mile's
distance north from the well, is the structure which
bears the name of the tomb of Joseph. That the
body of Joseph was brought from Egypt and was
buried in this vicinity, there can be no doubt.  It
is expressly said in the book of Joshua, that the
children of Israel brought the bones of Joseph out
of Egypt and buried them in Shechem, "in a par



SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          471
eel of ground which Jacob bought of the sons of
Hamor."  A square, stone edifice, open at the top,
is erected around the supposed place of his interment. But at what time and by whom it was built
is unknown. Within it is a small, unostentatious
tomb, such as is frequently seen in Oriental buryinggrounds, far different from the splendid tomb which
I had seen in the rocky heights of Beni Hassan,
overhanging the broad bosom of the Nile, and in
which, according to the traditions of the country,
his remains were deposited till the departure of his
people from Egypt.
Leaving this interesting locality, and advancing
again upon our journey, we passed at once between
the lofty mountains of Ebal and Gerizim. These
mountains are twenty-five hundred feet above the
level of the sea, and nearly a thousand feet above the
valleys and plains immediately around them. Their
sides are rocky and steep; and they stand face to
face, unchanged and unchangeable, as they stood
thousands of years ago. In looking upon the rugged heights of Gerizimn, I could not forget that they
were anciently occupied by the place of Samaritan
worship to which the woman of Samaria alluded
in  her conversation with  the Saviour:-" Our
fathers worshipped in this mountain.
At the entrance'of the mountain-pass which commences near the Well of Jacob, the two mountains
approach very near each other at the base,-so near
that the human voice, as it seemed to me, might be
heard without difficulty from one to the other. It
was here, in the beautiful valley between them, —
beautiful now, and still more beautiful then, —




4 72          LETTERS- 13TSTHETICO
that the Ark of the Covenant once stood, in the
days of Joshua. Priests and Levites were gathered
around it. The tribes of Israel, rejoicing in their
victories over the Canaanites, and, if I may so express it, fresh from contemplating the great miracles
of God, pressed with their thronging masses into
the valley and on the sides of the two mountains.
With half of the tribes on Gerizim and half of- the
tribes on Ebal, they stood and listened to the reading of the Law of Moses, and the blessings and
curses of Jehovah, —blessings upon the good and
curses upon the evil.
The sight of the mountains where these things
actually occurred replaced this remarkable scene
among  the vivid pictures of imagination  and
memory; and it was not surprising that the mountains themselves, as we passed between them, should
seem a sort of proclamation and testimony of the
truth of the historical events with which they had
been connected.
Proceeding a little farther, we reached the ancient city of Shechem, which is called Sychar in
the New Testament. It is situated in a place in
the valley where the two mountains recede a little
more from each other,-a mile and a half distant
from Jacob's Well, and in a direction nearly west.
It is supposed to contain at the present time from
six to seven thousand inhabitants. At the time of
the Roman domination in Palestine, and about forty
years after the death of Christ, the city was enlarged,
and underwent so many alterations and improvements that it was called NIeapolis, or the new city. It
is from the name of Neapolis, which was given to it




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          473
under these circumstances, that we have the name of
Nablous, which is now commonly applied to it. The
city of Shechem, if I may be allowed to substitute the
ancient and Biblical name for that of Nablous, is often
mentioned in the history of the Jews; and at the present moment I think it may be regarded as one of the
most flourishing and interesting towns in Palestine.
In this city there are still to be found a few
Samaritans,-the diminished and perishing remnants of a once remarkable people, who retain their
primitive attachments to the Samaritan institutions
and beliefs, and who are understood to be as far as
ever from  any harmony or any associations with
the Jews. When the city of Samaria, in the vicissitudes of war and conquest, had lost its original
importance and had gone to decay, it was natural
that the Samaritans should select that city as their
place of residence and as the centre of their religious authority and polity, which was nearest to the
mountain where their fathers worshipped.  They
pride themselves that they hold to the doctrines
and ceremonies of the books of Moses without accepting other portions of the canon of the Old Testament; and it is said that the smoke of their sacrifices even now may be seen ascending from time
to time from the heights of Gerizim.
Earnestly did I gaze on the celebrated mountains
which enclose the city on both sides with their
lofty walls. Ascending a little distance on Mount
Gerizim, I could not doubt, from what came under
my own notice, that its accessible places had been
occupied in- early times by the habitations of men;
and that the mountain, grand and imposing in itself,
40*




474             LETTERS-ESTHETIC,
had been beautified by works of art. The heihllts
above, massive and rugged with rocks,-the valley
below, filled with shrubbery and flowers,-constituted a combination of beauty and grandeur which
was not exceeded by anything that had fallen under
our observation in any other places of Palestine.
It was at the city of Shechem that we spent the
second night after leaving Jerusalem.  The trees of
the valley waved around our tent. I shut myself
within its folds, to make some brief records or to
commit more deeply to memory the impressions
which had been made upon me. And in the silence
of the night I did not forget those words which the
circumstances of the day had brought so vividly to
mind: —"God is a Siprit; and they that worship
him must worshi2 him in, spirit and in trut7."
(XLIX.)
Arrival at Samaria —Its ancient greatness-Church of John the Baptist-Reach En-Gannim or Jenin-Proceed towards Tabor-Jezreel —Plain of Esdraelon-Arab horsemen-The G azelle-Shunem-Village of Nain-Arrival at MIount Tabor.
GALILEE, BASE OF MIOUNT TABOPR, MAY 26, 1853.
ON the morning of the third day after our departure from  Jerusalem, we left Shechem,-the
Shechem of the Old Testament, but bearing in the
New Testament the name of Sychar.  We started
early in the morning, on our way to another city of
still greater celebrity,-the ancient city of Samaria.
Our tents had been pitched on a beautiful plain at
the foot of Mount Gerizim.  Before the light of the




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          475
morning sun had reached them, they were once
more struck, our Syrian horses were saddled, and
we went down at once into a deep valley. Through
this valley, which greatly attracted our attention in
consequence of its various enchantments, there
flows a bright and musical stream. It scatters
richness in its path. The trees and shrubs which
spring up around it are such as are common in these
regions,-pomegranates, almonds, olives, mulberries, the fig-tree, the vine, the orange, and the oleander. The valley, in its great fertility, seemed to
be loaded everywhere with the yellow richness of
its fruits and the varied hues of its flowers. The
stars gradually retired from the sky. The golden
sunbeams crept silently among the dewy branches.
I listened to the voice of the rocky stream. The
song of the morning birds answered to the song of
the waters. Nature rejoiced and put on her ornaments at the sound of these sweet voices.
Proceeding thus some eight, or nine miles in a
northern direction through a country contrasting
strongly in the whole distance with the barren
m.ountains and plains which are to be found in
many other parts of Palestine, we came to the city
of Samaria. This city, situated on the side of a
lofty but gently-sloping hill, with broad and deep
valleys around it, was once the residence of the
kings of Israel, after the revolt of the ten tribes
against the kings of the house of David. (Of the
great wealth and splendor of Samaria, at different
periods of its history, I suppose there can be no
reasonable doubt.  It is said in the book of Kings,
that Ahab built a palace of ivory in Samaria; and




476           LETTERS —-ESTHETIC,
prophetic denunciations, called forth by the luxury
and oppressions of the Samaritans, are found in the
book of the prophet Amos: —  I will smite the winterhouse with the summer-house; and the houses of
ivory shall perish; and the great houses shall have
an end, saith the Lord." These expressions indicate with some distinctness the magnificence of
the city of Samaria at an early period. It had its
vicissitudes; but its wealth and splendor remained
for many years. After the conquest of Palestine
by the Romans, and during their authority here,
Samaria was selected as a place of viceroyal residence, and was enriched and beautified by works
of art. Herod the Great once resided here; and,
expending upon it all the vast resources of his
genius and tyrannical power, he gave it the proud
name of Sebaste, in honor of Augustus Caesar.
Christianity also, at a later period, left the impress
of its piety and genius.
Ascending the eastern brow of the Samaritan
mount, one of the objects that first met our view
was the lofty remains of a Christian church, said
to have been built over the body of John the Baptist. Standing afterwards upon the western brow,
at a mile's distance from this church, where the
beauties of nature eclipsed those of art, I cast my
eye along the valleys of Sharon towards the distant
CSsarea and the waters of the Mediterranean.
The valleys and the waters live; but cities perish,
leaving a sad memorial. All around us the dust
was literally sown with columns,-some prostrate
at full length on the ground; some partially buried
and projecting from the side of the hill; some




SOCIAL, AND MIORAL.         477
standing erect in rows and at stated intervals, but
without capitals, like wounded and mutilated soldiers on the field of battle; some leaning towards
the ground, as if they were borne down with hearts
of sorrow, and were mourning the loss of their
former greatness. They reminded me of those
newly-ploughed fields in America, where the old
stumps remain,-the rough and ancient masters of
the soil,-refusing with stubbornness to be removed,
and projecting raggedly and mournfully from the
earth, in all diversities of position.
Art, genius, power, have been here,-idolatry
with its abominations, wealth with its luxurious
refinements, art with its creative and adjusting eye,
tyranny with its kings, the just and purifying dispensation of the Old Testament with the denunciations of its Elijah and Elisha, and the peace,
forgiveness, and purity of the New with its early
and humble teachers. The weary foot of the Son
of God, the teacher from another world, the man
unknown, has left its pressure on these hills and
valleys. He came from the Jordan to Jerusalem
and from Jerusalem to Galilee; and he I' must needs
go th7rogghk Samaria."
In our rapid march, we may be said merely to
have looked on this interesting place, and then to
have departed. We directed our course towards
Mount Tabor and the Sea of Galilee. In the afternoon we stopped at Jenin,-the Ginda of Josephus,
and the place which is otherwise called En-Gannim,
the fountain of gardens. As usual, we pitched our
tents outside of the place. Jenin is a considerable
town, said to contain two thousand inhabitants,




4 7 8          LETTERS —. STHETIC,
with some families of Greek Christians residing in
it.  Its houses are of stone; and comparatively it
has a marked air of neatness and comfort.  It has
its bazaar, its public water-reservoir, and numerous gardens fenced in with the prickly pear. We
walked through its streets, drank of its fresh and
beautiful fountain, made some little purchases,
formed the traveller's passing acquaintance with
some of its inhabitants, but were not able to connect with it any scriptural associations, except that
we here first obtained a sight, as we supposed, of
the mountains of Gilboa.
The next day, going in a northerly direction
towards Mount Tabor, we passed in the early part
of the day the ancient Jezreel. Its modern Arabic
name is Zerin, which is formed from the Hebrew by
changing El into In,-a'change frequently made, —
and by dropping the Yod of the first syllable.  It
is situated on the eastern side of the great plain of
Esdraelon.  A few houses, located on a steep rocky
eminence which projects from  the mountains of
Gilboa and overlooks the plain, but with nothing
inviting or remarkable in their appearance, constitute all that now remains of this once considerable
place. Travellers speak of a few ancient ruins
here; but we did not go into the place, and, in passing it, noticed nothing but an old and broken sarcophagus by the wayside. The celebrated valley
of Jezreel, which extends along the northern base
of Gilboa, and connects with the great plain of
Esdraelon, opens into the plain not far from the
elevated site of the city of Jezreel.  From  this
valley there are fountains-one of considerable




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          -479
size-flowing towards the Jordan.  It was here,
at the foot and on the sides of Gilboa, and at the
junction of the valley of Jezreel with Esdraelon,
and near the fountains I have mentioned, that Saul
and Jonathan were encamped in their last disastrous battle with the Philistines.
The great plain of Esdraelon is bounded by
Mount Carmel on the west, and by Tabor, Hermon,
and Gilboa on the east. Proceeding over the plain
in a north direction from Jezreel, we came, at the
distance of four miles, to Shuneam, the place of
the encampment of the Philistines in the great
struggle which was so disastrous to the Israelites,
-so that the two armies were encamped in sight
of each other. Shunem is now called Solam. Its
situation is elevated and pleasant. This place was
the residence of the Shunamite woman, with whom
the prophet Elisha resided, and whose son he raised
from the dead. From the high ground of Shunem
there is a good view of this great plain in the direction of Carmel.
As we were passing this part of the plain of
Esdraelon, our Arab horsemen had a good opportunity to exercise their skill in horsemanship, for
which they are much renowned.  Their horses are
small, but full of life and exceedingly tractable. I
am not prepared to say that they have all the
intelligence which Lamartine and other travellers
have sometirles ascribed to them; but, whether it
be a part of their natural traits, or is owing to that
early and familiar training to which they are
accustomed, they certainly seem to have a strange
perception of their position, and to sympathize with




480            LETTERS-E STHETI C,
their masters in a remarkable degree.  They are
evidently susceptible of feelings of pride and mortification, and appear to understand very well that
their master's honor is their own.. They are well
trained. Their riders are skilful. They move with
great swiftness,-stopping at once in their rapid
course at a single word.  They wheel suddenly.
The dust rises under their flying feet.  They bound
over the rocks.
W.~hen we were passing the part of the plain of
Esdraelon which is between Jezreel and Shunem,
and our Arabs in great spirits were showing the
skill of their horses, they suddenly started a beautiful gazelle, that was feeding quietly on the plain.
The fleetest Arab horseman at once gave pursuit.
The gazelle crossed our path directly in front of
me, taking a course over the partially-cultivated
fields, bounding from  furrow -to furrow and from
rock to rock. For some time it was a doubtful contest. After a time the gazelle suddenly stopped
and looked around, as if to understand more fully
the character of his pursuer.  I involuntarily
stopped imy horse, and looked on with sad amazement at this apparently hopeless want of wisdom
on the part of the poor animal.  But in a moment,
as if he had ascertained precisely the rapidity of
his enemy's movement and the danger and necessities of his own position, he started again with renewed speed.  Fear or hope carried him over the
reeds and rocks as if his little feet trod on ttie
wings of the wind.  I must confess Iexperienced
no small feeling of satisfaction when the baffled
Arab wheeled around his panting and smoking horse




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           481
and came slowly back to our company. The victorious gazelle, gaining the top of a rock on a little
hill and lifting its sharp horn in triumph, looked
round with innocent but indignant astonishment
at this sudden and strange invasion of the realm
which God had given and consecrated to its life, its
beauty, and its freedom.
Shunem is situated at the western extremity of
the mountain called the Little Hermon.  Turning
the western'end of Hermon, we came about noon
of the same day to the small village of Nain, on
the northern slope of this mountain,-the place
where the Saviour raised the widow's son to life.
The touching and sublime narrative of the miracle
performed in this ancient city gave to the place a
peculiar interest.  Its situation is pleasant,-so
much so as probably to have given origin to its
name, which means the beauztifi7.  It is now small
and decayed; but we saw enough in its present
ruined condition to satisfy us that it might have
been, and probably was, far different from its present
state in former times. On the same side of Hermon,
but farther east, and apparently a mile and a half
distant, is the village (or perhaps I should rather
say the site of the village) of Endor,-the residence
of the strange and mysterious woman whom Saul
in his troubles visited just before his final battle.
Endor is in sight from Nain, on a gentle slope of
the Little Hermon, but was more distinctly seen as
we advanced farther upon the plain. Continuing
our journey across the plain of Esdraelon in a
northeastern direction, and passing the dry channels of small streams which seemed to be tributaries
41




482           LETTERS —ESTIIETIC,
of the river Kishon, we have pitched our tents
again, early in the afternoon of this day, (May 26,)
at the base of Mount Tabor. Tabor is distant from
Nain about four miles; and is sixteen miles, as near
as we could judge from our rate of movement, from
En-Gannim  or Jenin,-the place from which we
started in the morning.
At the base of Tabor, and at a little distance from
our encampment, is the pleasant Arab village of
Deburieh.  It has its cultivated fields in front,
reaching out into the great plain, its gardens around
it with their strong hedges of prickly pear, and its
full, sparkling fountain of water, the Ain-El-Sherar,
which flows into the Kishon. By some persons, I
believe, the fountain which rises here is considered
the central and principal branch of that river. I
have observed here, as almost everywhere else in
this region, flocks of sheep and goats, and numerous
oxen and camels. The people of the village, quietly
pursuing their labors, are gathering in the products
of the fields. In going through this town I have
noticed in repeated instances large and deep excavations in the rocks beneath the surface of the
ground, but without any suitable opportunity to
make inquiries in relation to them. Undoubtedly
the region at the foot of this mountain has teemed
with population in former ages; but time, which
erases the past in giving birth to the present, has
left but few intimations and marks of their existence
and history.




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.            483
(L.)
Ascent of Tabor -Fortifications on its summit-Historical references
-Death of Saul and Jonathan-Elegy of David-Rtemarks upon
David-The Transfiguration.
GALILEE, MOUNT TABOR: SECOND LETTER.
SOON after our arrival at the base of Mount
Tabor, we ascended to its top.  Entirely separate
from  the other mountains, which are seen at no
great distance around it, it arises out of the northeastern part of the great plain of Esdraelon, in
graceful and solitary beauty. Taking a circuitous
route, which was rendered necessary by the steepness of the mountain, we were enabled to ascend
the greater part of the way on horseback.  There
are a number of such winding paths leading from
the base to the summit.  Selecting that which
commenced at the village near us, we followed the
leadership of two Arab horsemen whom we had
taken as guides, and who seemed to find, in the
roughness and steepness of the ascent, something
which harmonized with their own wild and unregulated spirits. Although the narrow way which we
travelled was rocky and difficult, our small but welltrained horses had been so much accustomed to
such rough places, that the ascent was completed
in a little less than an hour.  The sides of the
mountain are everywhere covered with trees and
clumps of bushes.  The oak-tree is frequently met
with. A tall, coarse grass grows among the rocks.
The form of the mountain is that of a sugar-loaf
or of a truncated cone, and, standing apart from
other mountains, and being clothed with trees and




4 84          LETTERS-_ESTHETIC,
herbage to its top, it justifies, in its appearance, the
celebrity which it has long possessed.  Its height
has been estimated at various times by travellers.
It rises about eighteen hundred feet above the
Mediterranean, (whose waters can be seen from its
top,) and a thousand feet above the plain immediately below it.  From the irregular and rocky edge
of its summit we looked directly down. upon our
tents, which were pitched in a grove of olives at
its base.  The mules and horses of our little caravan were fastened under the trees.  At a little distance from the tents the ancient Arab village of
Deburieh, to which I have already alluded, was also
iln sight. It is from the centre of this village that the
fresh and living spring of Ain-El-Sherar sends out its
contributions to fertilize the surrounding plain, and
to swell in the rainy season the waters of the Kishon.
The summit of Tabor is an oblong plain, nearly
level, not far from  a mile in circuit, and covered
with tall grass, shrubs, and trees.  The remains of
ancient fortifications are found upon it, which appear
to have been originally of great strength. It appears
from the historical writings of Josephus, who held
a military command in Galilee, that fortifications
were erected upon this summit by his own orders,
with a view to resist the progress of the arms of
Vespasian. It had probably been held as a military
position at an earlier period.
The prospect from the top of Mount Tabor can
hardly be exceeded in extent and beauty.  The
region where the Saviour spent a large portion of
his life was spread out in its length and breadth
before us. In the eastern direction, and at a few




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           485
miles' distance, is the Little Hermon, and beyond it
the celebrated mountain-range of Gilboa. The city
of Nazareth, not distinctly visible, on account of
being shut in by hills, is in the west, and only at
the distance of six miles.  The sunken valley of
the Sea of Galilee, with its hills and valleys around,
is distinctly seen in the northeast.  The vast plain
of Esdraelon expanded itself at our feet.  Here is
the city of Shunem. Here are the sites of Megiddo,
Jezreel, and Taanach.  Here are the pathway and
the waters of the Kishon.
The plain of Esdraelon, remarkable in its physical features, has other claims upon the traveller's
notice.  It possesses an historical celebrity which
attaches to few other places. In the year 1799, a
fierce battle was fought here between the French
under the command of General Kleber, and a Syrian
army much larger in numbers. Kleber was relieved
from his perilous position, and the Turco-Syrian
army was defeated, by the opportune arrival of
Bonaparte, who thus brought his name, which fills
a large place in the sanguinary and disastrous
annals of men, into association with the names and
places of Biblical history. This plain, at an earlier
period, was the scene of the severe contest between
Barak and Sisera, with which the readers of the
Bible are familiar.  Barak seems to have made his
head-quarters near this mountain.  The expressions
in the Scriptures are,  Barak went down from
Mount Tabor, and ten thousand men with him."
Sisera was defeated; and the triumphal song of
Deborah and Barak, with its highly-poetic allusions
to Taanach and Megiddo and "the ancient river of
41*




486            LETTERS — E STIETIC,
Kishon," its eulogy of Jael, and its graphic descrip-'
tion of the mother of Siseran celebrated a victory
which gave rest to the land for forty years.  It was
here that the Jewish king Josiah was defeated and
lost his life, in a contest with Pharaoh Necho, king
of Egypt.  And it was in a great battle with the
Philistines, on the plain of Esdraelon and at the foot
of Gilboa, that Saul and Jonathan were slain.
The story of the last battle and of the fall of Saul
and Jonathan has a peculiar and melancholy interest.
I had always felt the affecting sadness of its'incidents, and my presence among the scenes where
their death occurred renewed those early feelings.
The monarch of Israel, standing face to, face with
what he felt to be the last and decisive hour of his
destiny, experienced, in his want of faith, the loss
and want of that moral strength which was necessary for the encounter.  And, what a want, what a
loss, was this! MI an is so constituted that he must
believe in something.  Such is the innate sense of
his own weakness when he is placed in difficult and
ttrying circumstances, that he finds it a strong necessity of his nature which compels him to seek some
support.  And if he does not trust in God, he will
naturally and allmost necessarily look round for
something else.  Saul had ceased to place confidence in the God of Abraham and Isaac, and went
to seek counsel of the Witch of Endor.  The scene
of this remarkable and unbelieving visit is all in
sight.  It was here-over these plains and around
these mountains-that the humiliated monarch,
shrouded in the darkness of the night and inll the
mists of the valley, found his way to her mysterious




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.             487
dwelling. Strange was the vision that met him.
The earth opened, and an "old man came up."
Terrible was the denunciation which was uttered.
"Death stood all glassy in his fixed eye;
His hands were wither'd, and his veins were dry;
His foot in bony whiteness glitter'd there,
Shrunken and sinewless, and ghastly bare.
Saul saw, and fell to earth as falls the oak,
At once, and blasted by the thundei'-stroke."
The poetry of the English bard has not exceeded
the simple but sublime and terrific statement of the
Scriptures.
In deep astonishment and sorrow the Jewish king
arose from the ground, on which he had fallen prostrate.  He went back to the foot of Gilboa, where
his soldiers awaited him. He again put on his
armor; but military skill has no power against the
decisions of Providence.  God had left him.  His
spear, without a higher power to hold and direct it,
was shivered in hiis grasp.  And in dying he left a
melancholy name, which has attracted the memory
and the sympathies of men, because it was associated with that of Jonathan, and because it is celebrated in song.
As I stood upon the top of Tabor, and cast my eye
towards the region where Saul fought and fell, I felt
anew how genius consecrates place,-how mind immortalizes matter. I remembered the touching allusion to Gilboa in the sad elegy of David. I have
already had occasion to speak of this great king
and poet. And here also, amid the mingled scenery
of plains and mountains which he has celebrated in
his songs, he is once more brought to mind.  In the
overthrow of the king who persecuted him and of




4z 88         LETTERS- ESTHETIC,
the king's son who loved him, unable to help, but
with a heart full of pity, he could only pour forth
his lamentations in such strains of tenderness and
beauty as no other one could utter.
A great poet is necessarily great in his character,
— and is great also, or is likely to be so, in the
circumstances which surround him. David was a
poet, because in his life and character he was himself a poem —a great dramatic and epic history,
reaching from the shepherd to the king, and filled
up with thoughts, affections, and actions. And,
worthy to be celebrated himself, he imparted immortality to others, because his intercourse with
God had opened in his own soul the fresh springs
of immortal life.
But if mind consecrates and immortalizes matter,
it is equally true that material nature, in connection
with the incidents of personal situation and relations, give a character and development to mind.
The fact that the mind's inspiration, so far as it is
really great and true, is from God, is not at all inconsistent with the additional and the obvious fact,
that whatever is special in the character and mode
of its action is from the subordinate providence of
situation and circumstances. This whole region
seemed to me to claim the great Jewish poet as a
child even now. The mind of David, as it is recorded and represented in the Bible, shows, too distinctly to leave any doubt, in what land and under
what influences of religion and of history it developed
itself.  If Homer, separated from his own enchanted
Greece, could not have been Homer, but would have
missed and lost the secret of his own powers amlid




SOCIALP AND MORAL.         489
the strange scenery and manners and the barbarous
language of the British Isles, or of other rude and
uncivilized places of his time, David could not have
been what he was in any other country, among any
other mountains, and under any other institutions
and histories than those of Palestine.
This region is connected with another and far more
illustrious name than those which have been mentioned. It was the scene of the early life, and, at a
later period, of many of the miracles, of Christ. I
can look from this spot upon the village of Nain, on
the western side of the Little Hermon, where he
raised the young man to life, the only son of his
widowed mother. Brought up in Nazareth, and possessing a heart and eye open to the beauties of nature,
it cannot be supposed that he was ignorant of the
varied and beautiful scenery between Tabor, Nazareth, and the Sea of Galilee. In nature he saw and
loved the God of nature. It reminded him only of
truth and beauty, and not of sorrow and sin. He
visited, no, doubt, these very heights. HIe looked
down upon this great plain. -He beheld the rising
and the setting sun here. His locks were wet with
these morning and evening dews. To these interesting incidents, however, I may perhaps take another opportunity to allude, and shall leave them now.
Of one thing, however, I am obliged to speak here.
"And after six days," it is said in the Scripture narrative, " Jesus taketh Peter and James, and John his
brother, and bringeth them up into a high mountain
apart, and was transfigured before them. And his
face did shine as the sun, and his raiment was bright
as the light." According to a tradition reaching back




490            LETTERS-  STHETIC,
to the close of the third century or about that period,
this was the mountain on which Christ was thus transfigured.  The mere fact of such a tradition has some
weight with me. As a general thing, traditions may
well be supposed to have a basis in fact. The nature
and instincts of the human mind require this supposition. It is undoubtedly true that traditions may be
falsified, like everything else.  But, if nothing specific and reliable can be said against them, the presumption, more or' less, is in their favor.
One of the objections, perhaps the leading one, to
the tradition that Mount Tabor was the scene of the
Transfiguration, is the fact that its summit was at
that time a fortified place, and that the presence of
soldiers was inconsistent with that seclusion and silence which were appropriate to such an occurrence.
To estimate accurately such an objection, a person
must visit the mountain itself. It is probably true
that soldiers were stationed in the fortifications the
remains of which still exist on the summit of the
mountain; but it is not very likely, under the strict
requisitions of Roman discipline, that they were permitted to roam about very freely over all parts of the
mountain.  The base of the mountain is some six or
eight miles in circuit at least; and any one who has
been upon it must be satisfied, I think, that it would
have been easy, in the vast circuit of its sides which
fill up such an area, to find many places suited to
religious retirement.  The Transfiguration, witnessed only by a small number of persons, would
not require a large place; and of all the mountains
in this region, it will probably be conceded that
there is no one which harmonizes so well in its at



SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          491
tractive and imposing character with the sublime
and joyful nature of the event.
In estimating this question, I think we should not
forget the mutual attractions of the mind and of
outward nature,-attractions which have a permanent foundation and are universal in their operation.
Every inward mood of the mind may be well supposed to have its counterpart, its correspondence, in
something which is external; and it is in connection
with this mutual adaptation that'these attractions
exist. Accordingly, the mind in its sorrow seeks
the shade; in its joy it seeks the garden of flowers;
in its hour of contemplation it wanders into the
place of silence and retirement; in its sociality it
mingles with the companies of men. When the
Saviour was baptized, and the Holy Ghost descended
upon him and proclaimed him the "beloved Son,"
he stood upon the banks of the Jordan.  The
waters were an emblem of his purity.  Tile balmy
incense of trees floated around him, and flowers
bloormed at his feet.  When he was in the sorrow
and darkness of his first great temptation, it was
not by the river's side, but in the wilderness.  He
sought a place where desolation could harmonize
with grief. He climbed alone some rugged height,
— perhaps the traditionary Quarantanll-barren,
dark, flowerless, where truth and beauty never come,
and never had a disposition to come, except in the
hour of trial and of tears.  When he was about to
be transfigured and to put on, though only for a short
time and as it were experimentally, the clothing of
his celestial glory, it was a natural instinct of his
heart, a law of his inward perfection, which led him




492             LETTERS —/ESTHETIC,
to ascend a mountain rather than go down into a
valley, to go among flowers and foliage rather than
among desolate rocks, and among all the mountains
of his native Galilee to select that which stands
apart from all others in its solitary but unexampled
beauty.
Such were some of the recollections and thoughts
which passed through my mind on Mount Tabor.
We descended to our tents just as the sun was shedding his parting rays over the distant heights of
Carmel.
(LI.)
Departure from Mount Tabor-Appearance of the country between
Tabor and Tiberias-First view of the lake —Valley and city of
Tiberias-Jews —The Mishna —Emmaus - Turkish regimentBeauty of the lake-Country around it-Scriptural referencesPoetry.
GALILEE, CITY OF TIBERIAS, MAY 28, 1853.
WE could have spent with much interest a longer
time at Mount Tabor and in its vicinity; but the
increasing heat and a desire to reach Beirout as
early as possible, did not permit us to delay. The
remembrance of our own country, and the anticipated pleasure of once more meeting with our distant friends, began to mingle with our thoughts.
We left the mountain on Friday, the 27th of May,
early in the morning, on our way to the Sea of Gallilee,-the sea, or more properly the laklie, so often
mentioned in the Scriptures, and associated with so
many interesting events.  We wished to see its celebrated waters, and to catch a view of the surrounding scenery, without being able to allow to it much




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           493
time. Our destination, therefore, was Tiberias, —the
principal town which now remains upon its banks.
As we left the mountain, the beautiful hills of Nazareth, covered with groves of small oaks, were in sight.
The road from Tabor to the Sea of Galilee runs
in a northeasterly direction, and the distance is not
far from twelve miles. It runs at first along the
lower side of the mountain, among cliffs and clusters
of trees, and when it reaches into a more level country it is frequently broken and irregular. It passes
over hills and rocky swells with names unknown to
me, and over the plain El-iHamma, which extends
in the direction of the Jordan. On our left, and
not far distant from our route, there is a valley of
some extent, which carries its waters westward into
the Kishon. It is supposed to be the valley of
Jiphtah, which is repeatedly mentioned in the book
of Joshua. Our route: thus diversified with alternations of ascent and descent of plain and hill, presented continually some new views of nature,-views,
whatever may be their characteristics, which are
always interesting to those who have seen the countries of the East for the first time.  Leaving a number of high hills on our left, one of which was the
hill or mount of Tell Hattin, to which reference is
often made by travellers, we obtained our first distinct view both of the Lake of Galilee and of the
city of Tiberias, from the brow of a lofty and steep
eminence, over which the road from Mount Tabor
approaches the lake and city from the west.  We
were at that time, as I judged, about a mile and a
half distant from Tiberias.
The descent from the lofty hill which I have men42




494            LETTERS-ZESTHETIC,
tioned was over a long line of steep and irregular
rocks, so dangerous, as it seemed to me, that I chose
to walk a considerable part of the way rather than
ride. I had experienced on one occasion, by the
fall of my horse on a smooth and slippery ledge, that
the good training of the Syrian horses, and a sort
of instinctive foresight and carefulness which they
manifest are not a perfect security against these
dangers. The view on the summit and side of this
hill is exceedingly interesting.  The eye first looks
down upon the Lake of Galilee,-or the:Sea of
Galilee, as it is called in the Scriptures,-which is
in view nearly il its whole extent. It is not a large
body of water, being only sixteen miles in length by
an average of four or five in breadth.  I now saw
it, with the exception of the partial glimpses from
the top of Mount Tabor, for the first time.  The
sun shone brightly; there was scarcely a breath of
air stirring; there was no cloud upon the sky, and,
in the deep calmn and silence of nature, the lake lay
in the arms of the steep mountains around it, like
an infant in the lap of its mother, and with an aspect
of tranquil and almost sad repose.  But when the
heavy winds and storms which sometimes occur
break over the mountain-tops and come down upon
its calm and sleeping surface, it is easy to see that
it might be suddenly and easily agitated and thrown
into the white dashing waves of the tempest. Fleets
have been built here, and naval battles fought upon
its surface; but that was in the days of its ancient
prosperity; and I saw only one small boat upon it
at this time.
The hills recede from the lake on the side of Tibe



SOCIAL, AND iMORAL.         495
rias, leaving a pleasant plain or valley, though somewhat irregular in its surface, between the water and
the base of the surrounding heights.  There was
every appearance to me that this undulating plain
was-once a place of great fertility. The site of Tiberias, in the centre of this once fruitful spot, was
obviously well chosen. The city, which is surrounded on the land-side by a strong wall a mile
and a half in circuit, is built upon the shore of the
lake. It bears the marks and characteristics of
antiquity and Orientalism, without any thing in
particular which distinguishes it from the old cities
of the East.  We noticed, however, on the flat roofs
of the houses, what we had not observed elsewhere,
or but seldom, a sort of temporary ten t, erected of
long reeds and branches of trees, which seemed to
be occupied chiefly as places of rest in the warm
nights of the summer. Though the country around
the city was once fruitful, it has now an aspect of
want and desolation. I missed much the fountains,
trees, and gardens which sometimes imparted an air
of cheerfulness to other towns and cities. On the
south side and near the sea are the remains of an
old and strong fortification, which has been rent
and shaken to its foundations by the earthquakes
which have occurred here.
I will not undertake to say much in commendation of Tiberias, although the general impression I
received was more favorable than that which has
been left upon the minds of some other travellers.
It cannot be denied that the aspect of an Oriental
city has not much in its favor in the eye of a European or an American. There is not time to the




496            LETTERS-A  STHETIC,
passing traveller for the readjustment of old habits
and thoughts.  He is apt to forget that he is in another land and under a different climate.  And
hence, in judging of the large towns of the East, he
is liable to make a very low estimate of them,-not
only of their material comforts, but of their civilization and their social character.  A closer examination might give a more correct estimate.  Within
the dark and mutilated walls of the houses which
line their narrow streets, there is probably more
intelligence, refinement, and comfort, than would
be at first supposed.
There is a comfortable hotel within the limits of
Tiberias, kept by a Jew; but, thinking it better for
us, in the pleasant weather which we experienced,
to remain in our tents, we pitched them outside of
the walls; but we were permitted to enter and leave
the city whenever we chose. The place is not large;
the number of inhabitants is said to be two thousand; but that probably, judging from what came
under our notice, is a low estimate. It has fallen
into decay, but there are still some signs of business.
The situation of the place is such, relatively to the
other parts of Galilee, that it cannot altogether lose
its importance. The river Jordan flows through the
lake; and Tiberias is in a situation to command the
region both of the Upper and Lower Jordan.  We
found a regiment of Turkish soldiers encamped here,
a little to the south of the city.  This was said to
be in consequence of some disturbance among the
people on the opposite side of the lake.
There are many Jews in the city.  As I was
walking along in one of the streets near the sea



SOCIAL, AND MbORAL.         497
shore, I addressed a man for the purpose of making
some inquiries, whom I found to be a Jew, and who
appeared to be a man of intelligence and culture.
He was acquainted with a number of languages, and
had some knowledge of the English, though he spoke
it imperfectly. He conducted me into the Jewish
Quarter, which is in the middle of the city, and
into two Jewish synagogues, one of which had the
appearance of neatness and even elegance. He
seemed willing to converse, and I gathered from his
conversation that the strong prejudices which formerly existed among his people against, Christians
were disappearing to some extent.
Tiberias is understood to be a favorite resort of
the Jews. They attach to it, as compared with
many other places in Galilee, a peculiar sanctity.
It has also some interest with scholars, oj account
of the reputation it formerly enjoyed as one of the
principal places of Jewish teaching and culture, —a
reputation which it has retained to some extent
even to modern times. After the destruction of the
city of Jerusalem by the Romans, a number of eminent Jews collected together at this city and established a school of learning.  Some of the teachers
in the school or college which was thus founded
were men of high reputation for knowledge.  It was
here that the Mishna was written,-a work containing the traditionary opinions of the Jews on matters
of religious doctrine and practice. It was written
or rather compiled near the commencement of the
third century, by a learned Jew at the head of the
school of Tiberias, and constitutes, with its continuation at a later period, under the name of the
42*




498            LETTERS-ESTHETIC,
Gemara, that celebrated Jerusalem  Talmud which
has had so great weight with the Jewish people.
At the distance of a mile and a half from  Tiberias, and not far from the outlet of the Jordan, is
Emmaus,-a place of some celebrity on account of
its warm  mineral baths.  The name of Emmaus,
which is descriptive in its meaning of the places to
which it is applied, is given to other places which
have warm mineral waters. The small stream which
supplies the baths here issues from the base of the
surrounding hills. This place, which is MIentioned
by Josephus and has had a long celebrity, was,
visited by my American friends, from whom I learned
the most that I know of it. It was once a place of
very considerable resort. Buildings suitable for
bathing are still erected upon it.  The water has
been analyzed by chemists, but it is not necessary
to repeat the results here.  My friends found it of
a very high temperature; so much so as almost to
lead one to conjecture that it has a connection with
those subterranean fires which from  time to time
rend and shake this volcanic region.
It was not -convenient for me to go there, but this
circumstance gave me a little more time to stroll along
the lake-shore. There was no want of objects, either
natural or artificial, to take up mny attention.  It was
difficult for me to turn my eyes from this beautiful
sheet of water, with the dark mountains hanging
over it.  I watched the ripples of the gentle waves
as they fell softly on the pebbly bank. The water
is as clear as a mountain-brook. I gathered beautiful shells. I saw flights of birds, such as usually
make their haunts near lakes and rivers. I stopped




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          499
to watch the multitudes of small fishes playing near
the shore. Tilhe fish in this lake are abundant. A
person cannot walk on its shores without seeing
them in great numbers; so that it is not surprising
that this place was formerly the abode of fishermen,
as it is now, though in a less degree.
And then my attention was arrested by other
objects.  The drum beat here as I heard it in the
deserts of Mount Sinai,-a sound which has its
stirring but unpleasant associations.  War is everywhere.  iVy attention, therefore, was diverted from,
these objects of nature by the military manoeuvres
of the Turkish regiment already mentioned, which
was stationed on the plain between the shore and
the high hills that bound it on the west. The soldiers went through the formulary of military discipline; and afterwards, at sunset, I noticed that they
repeated, under orders and drawn up in line, the
prostrations and prayers of Mohammiedan worship.
And then I looked from the floating crescent, the
symbol of Mohammedan power, to the mountains
beyond.  On the sides of the surrounding heights
which overlooked the encampment of the soldiers
are numerous excavations. The hand of nature and
of human art has been there.  We had not the time
at command which was necessary to explore these
dark excavations and to learn their history; but it
is probable that some of them are the ancient tomlbs
which have been mentioned from time to time by
travellers.  Undoubtedly, this remarkable valley
and these rocky hills have been a great buryingplace.  MIillions of inhabitants have occupied
these now  desolate places.  Time, which com



500           LETTERS-E STHETIC,
pletes the destiny of nations, has swept them away,
and their record remains in part in the dust beneath
the traveller's feet. As I walked along the shore, I
noticed the remains of walls and columns which
indicate that the ancient city, built or at least enlarged in honor of a Roman emperor, extended
in the direction of Emmaus and of the outlet of the
Jordan.  These remains are sad but convincing
evidences, which establish, beyond any reasonable
question, the fact of its original wealth, refinement,
and greatness.
Attempts have been made to compare the Lake
of Galilee with other lakes.  To me it seemed
highly beautiful, but with such marked and distinctive characteristics that it would be difficult to
bring it into comparison.  Beauty, however, is the
result of two forces or powers,-that which is found
in the object, and that which is found in the heart
which interprets the object.  It thus has two eyes,
if we may so express it, which look into each other
and complete the image of its contemplation by
their combined action; but when the veil of some
inward sorrow or perverseness is upon the traveller's
mind, one of the eyes of beauty is put out, and only
half of her glory is seen. And thus there are differences of opinion, sometimes as to the fact of
beauty, and still more frequently as to the degree.
But, however this may be, eminent beauty has been
here. No eye is so blind as not to see it. And yet
it is necessary to add, amid the heavy blows of time,
nature, and Providence, that it is beauty in its
widowhood,-shining in tears.
I said it would be difficult to bring the Lake of




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          501
Galilee into comparison with other lakes.  I have
not been in Switzerland; but once in the interiori
of America-in my own land, in the wild mountainous region of New Hampshire-I saw a lake, of
which I have been reminded by that of Tiberias. It
bears the name of the Newfound Lake. As I was
travelling, I came upon it unexpectedly.  It is some
eight or ten miles in length. It is near the head-waters
of the beautiful mountain-stream which the primitive
inhabitants called the Pemigewasset. Like Galilee,
it is without islands, or nearly so. It lay dark and
motionless in the bosom of barren and rocky heights;
and I was much struck with its peculiar expression
of thoughtful and solitary beauty.
This lake and the country around it is the scene
of many interesting incidents mentioned in the New
Testament. To the northwest, on a lofty eminence
which rises some twenty-five hundred feet above the
Mediterranean, is the city of Safed, to which the
Saviour is supposed to have made allusion as the
" city set upon a hill, which could not be hid."  At
the head of the lake, on the western and north,
western shore, and not far distant from each other,
were once the ancient cities of Bethsaida, Chorazin,
and Capernaum.  The site of Capernaum has been
ascertained with a considerable degree of probability
by the learned American travellers Smith and Robinson; but the precise locality of Chorazin and Bethsaida, though we have reason to suppose it to have
been on the same shore of the lake and not far from
Capernaum, is not definitely known.
This lake was the scene of the miraculous draught
of fishes.  The traditional place where it occurred




502            LETTERS — ESTIETIC,
is still pointed out; and at a little distance from the
shore, and in part in commemoration of this remarkable event, a Catholic church is erected, called
the church of St. Peter. By some, however, this
church is said to be built over the site of the house
of Peter, who resided here,- with the design to
commemorate the place of his residence. It was
here, on this sea, that the Saviour sat in a boat and
taught the thronging multitudes.  It was here,
among the fishermen who pursued their humble and
laborious calling on these shores, that he selected a
number of his disciples. "And Jesus, walking by
the Sea of Galilee, saw two brethren, Simon called
Peter, and Andrew his brother, casting a net into
the sea, for they were fishers. And he saith unto
them, Follow me, and I will make you fishers of
men."  It was here that he walked upon the waters.
It was here, when there was a great tempest and
the ship was covered with the waves, that "he arose
and rebuked the winds and the sea, and there was
a great calm."  And it was probably upon one of
the heights rising above these waters (an old tradition says upon Tell Hattin) that he uttered.those
remarkable sayings-without precedent in the
annals of mere human thought and wisdom-which
constitute the Sermon on the Mount.
At evening I stood at the door of our tent.  The
stars began to show themselves again. The lake
was at a little distance. I heard its gentle voice.
Excepting the sound of the waters, there was silence
on the plain and on the mountains. One feeling
occupied my heart.  One thought subordinated all
others.




SOCIAL, AND  MORAL.                    503
LINES WRITTEN AT TIlE LAKE OF GALILEE.
Strange is the deep, mysterious tie
Which makes departed ages nigh:
But God has form'd it; and its power
Has mark'd with me this sacred hour.'Twas thus, I thought, as thy bright sea,
Blue-tinted wave of Galilee,
With gentle sound and motion sank
Upon the bold and rocky bank.
0 lake and land where memories last
Which link the present to the past;
Whose waves and rocky heights restore
Departed scenes and forms once more!:Twas here He press'd the conscious earth;'Twas here His heavenly thoughts had birth.
Oh, give me back, if yet ye can,
This " Son of God," this " Son of man."
Hle comes; He walks upon the sea: -
"I Have faith," He says, " acnd wallk with me."
I go, —I sink; HIe takes my hand;
I, too, upon the waters stand.
But soon from cliff and mountain-side
The tempest sweeps the foaming tide;
The lightnings flash; the billows rise;
Storms lift and dash them to the skies.'Twas to the weak His hand He gave:
And has He power the weak to save?
Fierce and more fierce the billows roll,
But FAITH has anchor'd in the soul.
Amid the clouds I see His form;
I hear His voice amid the storm;
The tempest listens to His will;
The winds are hush'd  the waves are still.




504              LETTERS -STHETIC,
(LII.)
Departure from Tiberias-Reach Cana of Galilee-Miracle of the
water and wine —Of other places said to bear the name of CanaVillage of Raneh-First sight of Nazareth-Its situation and appearance —Mary's fountain-Franciscan convent-Residence of
Joseph and Mary-Joseph's workshop —Brow of the hill-Of Jesus
Christ —His personal appearance —Christ as a propitiatory sacrifice —Christ as a moral teacher —Results of his teachings.
GALILEE, CITY OF NAZARETH, MAY 30, 1853.
WE left Tiberias on our way to i" Cana of Galilee"
and the city of Nazareth.  Ascending the lofty hill
to the west of the city, we took a last view of the
distant Safed, of the plain of Genesareth, of the
desolate sites of Chorazin and Bethsaida, and of the
lake and its mountains.  About noon we reached
Cana, —known  to the inhabitants at the present
time under the name of Kefr Cana. Passing through
the village, which covers a portion of a small hill,
we stopped for the purposes of rest and refreshment
in a grove of olive-trees at a little distance. This
grove is on the side of the hill. A small brook,
from  which  the village  is supplied with water,
flowed at a short distance below us.
It was at this village, if the common tradition is a
correct one, that the Saviour performed the miracle
of converting water into wine. And hence the brook
or fountain which I have mentioned is an object of
interest with travellers, as having furnished the water
which was thus miraculously changed.
The place of this remarkable miracle is called, in
the Scriptures, " Cana of Galilee," in order to distinguish it from another Cana near the Mediterranean,




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           505
and within the limits of the tribe of Asher.  There
are other circumstances, in addition to its name,
which aid in some degree in indicating its locality.
When the son of a certain nobleman at Capernaum
was healed, the Saviour was at this place. The
nobleman came to Cana, and, desirous that Jesus
should visit his son at his own residence, he besought him that he "lwouc7d come dIow0n."  And again
it is said of the nobleman, in his return to Capernaum, "As he was now going doWtv2, his servants
met him, and told him, saying, Thy son liveth."
We found that these expressions correspond well
with the situation of Cana as compared with that
of Capernaum,-the site of the latter place being,
in its relative position, much lower. It does not appear that there are many references to Cana in early
ecclesiastical writers. It is mentioned, however, by
St. Jerome, in a letter to one of his friends by the
name of Marcella, as a place known in his time,
and as being'" nea' to NazacTeth,,"-expressions which
also harmonize well with the locality of this village.
And yet it is possible, I suppose, that Kefr Cana is
a comparatively new village, which has taken the
place and which bears the name' of some older and
deserted village in the vicinity. Such, at least, is the
opinion of some persons. Mr. Thompson and myself
were taken, by a guide whom we obtained at the village, to a roclky hill, a mile and a half distant, Where
the remains of an ancient village may be seen, which
the guide seems to have regarded as the original Cana.
There is another place, to the north of this, which
bears the name of Cana.  It is situated within the
limits of the large plain of Buttauf. This place is
43




5 0 6          LETTERS-2E STHETIC,
some six or seven miles distant from Kefr C(ana.
Only a few remains of buildings are now seen there.
We intended to have gone to this ancient and decayed
place, but, our guide professing to be ignorant of its
situation, and being quite unwilling to attempt to find
it, we gave up our purpose.  The place last named
was visited by our learned countryman, Dr. Robinson, who gives reasons which are worthy of much
consideration, in favor of the supposition that the
Cana of Buttauf is the true Cana of the Gospels.
A few of these questions remain to be settled by
time and further inquiries. The residentpeople and
Christians in Palestine, who have the control of the'"sacred places," as they are called, seem to have decided in favor of the Cana which is nearest to Nazareth.  It was natural that we should take much interest in this place, notwithstanding the doubts
which attach to it.  We were shown, accordingly,
into the small but neat church erected over the
traditionary place where the Saviour performed his
first miracle. Like the other churches of Palestine,
both Greek and Catholic, it is adorned with a number of paintings, which, however, are of no especial
merit.  We saw here also, in the interior of the
building, and arrayed in a row on the side of the
wall, a number of large water-jars made of stone
and capable of holding from ten to twelve gallons
each.  Of the history of these jars, although they
are regarded here as having some connection with
the miracle, we could obtain no information whlich
would be entitled to reliance. Large jars of this
kind, some of them whole and others broken, were
seen by us in the fields of this village and in the




SOCIAL, AND MIORAL.           507
vicinity of its houses,-just as we had seen in other
places the scattered and broken fragments of columns.
Resuming our journey, we went from  Cana to
Nazareth.  Before reaching Nazareth, and at about
two miles' distance, we passed a small, secluded village on our right,-beautified by its fountain and
trees.  There were many people at the fountain,
watering their flocks and camels.  This is probably
the place which has sometimes been mentioned by
travellers under the name of Ranelh.
We approached the city of Nazareth over the hill,
which. lies to the south of it.  It was from the summit of this hill that we obtained our first view. Immediately below us was a basin or low sunken valley, running in a northeast direction. It connects
in that direction with the great valley or plain of
Esdraelon.  The eye could easily and accurately
survey it for the distance of more than a mile. On
the eastern and western sides were lofty hills, approaching each other at the base, but gradually
separating to the distance of half a mile.  The
eastern hill is partially cultivated. The city of
Nazareth is directly opposite, on the rocky slope of
the hill on the western side.  The deep valley, the
precipitous rocks, the city, the hills, the lofty sycamores, the groves of olives, the green grassy spots
upon which the flocks of goats and sheep repose,
formed a wild but variegated and romantic picture
which is not often seen.
At the base of the southern hill and on the western side of the valley we pitched our tents under
the shade of some tall sycamore-trees.  A little
below the place of our tents there is a fountain,




5 0 8          LETTERS —-i STHETIC,
which flows through the valley towards the plain
of Esdraelon.  Many persons, chiefly young women,
were almost constantly passing and repassing with
water-jars on their heads.  The fountain is called
Mary's fountain, in memory of the mother of the
Redeemer; and it is certainly a reasonable supposition, when we remember the customs of the country, that she often came to its waters in company
with the "child Jesus."  The fountain cannot have
changed its position, and the customs of the country
are the same that existed at that time.
The city, which is surrounded by walls, is at a
little distance, occupying in all probability the precise place where it stood in the time of Christ.
Bare, frowning rocks tower above it.  To the top
of these rocks we did not go; but it is said that
their summit, rising some fifteen hundred feet above
the sea, furnishes a very extensive prospect, reaching from the Jordan on the one side to the Mediterranean on the other. In the depths of the valley
below the city, which is watered by the fountain of
Mary, are gardens and groves of olive and fig-trees.
Such is the place where the Saviour spent the greater
part of his life. It is a place which is almost entirely secluded from the world, and thus is peculiarly fitted for the growth of a pure and contemplative mind. In natural beauty, however, notwithstanding its great seclusion, it is one of the
bright and lovely places of the earth.  In historical
interest it is second only to Bethlehem and Jerusalem.
We reached this interesting place on the afternoon of Saturday, and remained there over the Sab



SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           509
bath.  Soon after our arrival I left our tent and
went into the city. In going through the streets I
was cheered by the open and friendly countenances
of many of the people, all strangers to me; and yet
I could not feel that the heart was entirely a stranger.  The name of Jesus, operating by the inspirations of confidence and love, constitutes the world
into a family. And little does he know of the
power of that wonderful name who has not experienced in himself a growth and expansion of the
affections, such as can place the ties of humanity
and of a common salvation above the differences of
situation, history, and language.  Mohammedans
are found here; but the large majority of the inhabitants, estimated to be four thousand in number,
are Christians,-chiefiy Roman Catholics and mem-.
bers of the Greek church, —together with some Maronites. Differing from those Whom I saw around
me in various incidents of situation and of religious
belief, it was natural, notwithstanding, that I should
feel a new impulse of gratitude and love to Goda new strength of the bonds of the comrnon relationship existing between man and mnan-when I
met for the first time with groups of men, women,
and children within the circuit of the hills which constituted the earthly home of our common Saviour.
One of the principal edifices of the present city
is the Franciscan or Latin convent, which is enclosed with walls and is strongly built. It is on
the eastern or lower side of the city, as it slopes
down from the western hill, and not far from a
steep descent into the lowest part of the valley.
Within the walls of the convent is the church of
43*




510           LETTERS —-   STiHETIC,
the Annunciation, occupying the traditional place
where Joseph and fMary resided.  On the Sabbath
I went there at the hour of worship.  The interior
of the church, which seemed to me a well-built and
in some respects a rich and costly edifice, is adorned
with paintings and hung with drapery.  Many
people, decent in dress and quiet and serious in
appearance, were assembled.  The place itself, independently of the utterance of religious truth and
of the methods of worship, could hardly fail to excite sentiments of religious recollection and homage.
There is truth, eloquence, and inspiration in the
sound of the organ; but it seemed to have a new
power of heavenly tenderness, as I heard it for the
first and last time over the rocky cavern which is
supposed to have formed a part of the home of the
mother of Jesus.
We were shown in another place, at a little distance from the convent, a small chapel: which is
said to occupy the site of the workshop in which
Joseph pursued his trade as a carpenter.  In
another part of the city, and under the roof of a
small chapel, we were conducted to a large piece
of.rock, twelve feet long by about nine in breadth,
which derives its interest froml the ancient tradition
that it had been used by our Saviour and his disciples as a table from which they ate, both before
and after his resurrection.
On one occasion, when the Saviour was preaching in the synagogue of Nazarethl the people were
offended at the boldness and plainness of his instructions; and we are told by the Evangelist Luke
that they "rose up and thrust him out of the city,




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          511
and led him unto the brow of the hill, whereon
their city was built, that they might cast him
down headlong."  There are a number of steep
places in the vicinity of the city which would
answer to the terms of this statement.  The celebrated traveller, Dr. Clarke, who visited this place
a few years since, thinks that a precipice a little
beyond the limits of the city and above the Maronite church is probably the precise spot which is
alluded to in this passage.
Such are some of the objects, natural and historical, which interest the traveller's attention in
Nazareth.  But I stop here, after what we have
thus seen, both here and in other parts of Palestine, to meditate a moment upon the character of
that wonderful Being whose history is closely associated with these places. We, who live in these
later ages, have never seen personally this great
friend and teacher of our race; but I suppose I may
be permitted to say, in common with many others,
that long and grateful meditations on his history
have given an existence to his image in the heart.
He lives in the soul,-always in the consolations
of his sustaining and sympathetic presence, and
sometimes in the brightness of that heavenly appearance, of that celestial personality, which imagination loves to originate and to ascribe to him.
But perhaps I may justly add that these scenes,
where he grew up from childhood, and where he
toiled and suffered, have given him a greater distinctness in my thoughts, a greater nearness in my
affections.
In the passage in the Antiquities of Josephus




512            LETTERS —E STHETIC,
where a reference is made to Christ, he is spoken
of as a man of wisdom, as a teacher, and as a doer
of wonderful works; but no reference is made to
his personal appearance. Nor is there any account
of his personal appearance in the more authentic
record of the evangelists. There is a painted portrait, however, which is very ancient, and which
purports, in the Latin inscription which accompanies it, to be a true portrait of the Saviour.
This celebrated portrait, which was brought to
Palestine from  Spain many ages since, was formerly in possession of the Franciscan convent of
Nazareth, and still belongs to it.  We made inquiries for it, but learned that it had been taken
for some temporary purpose to another convent.
It would be interesting to know more fully the
history of this portrait, which naturally attracts a
considerable degree of curiosity.
There is also a letter extant, purporting to have
been written during the lifetime of Christ by Publius Lentulus to the Roman Senate, which gives a
description of Christ's person.  He says, 1"There
appeared in these our days a man of great virtue,
named Jesus Christ, who is yet living among us;
and of the Gentiles is accepted as a prophet of the
truth, but his own disciples call him the Son of
God." The writer goes on to describe him as
curing all manner of diseases and as raising the
dead. He then further describes him as comely or
well formed, and somewhat tall in stature; with a
serious expression of countenance, but such as is
calculated to excite love as well as reverence. His
hair, which is represented as being divided or parted




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          513
on the forehead, varied in color, —being of the color
of a ripe filbert on the head, but where it flowed
and curled over his shoulders, of a bright or orient
hue. He represents his forehead as smooth and
delicate,-the face without spot or wrinkle, and
expressive of innocence as well as of seriousness.
He speaks of him as a man of great modesty as
well as wisdom of speech, courteous in admonishing, solemn and impressive in reproof.
These and other things are said in this letter,
which is admitted to be ancient, although it is not
received by learned men and critics as having been
written at the time claimed for it and by the person
to whom it is ascribed. But, without being necessarily regarded as genuine in the matter of its
authorship, it is not unreasonable to suppose *that
it may possibly embody some of the traditional
ideas of the Saviour's personal appearance, which
were handed down undoubtedly for many ages.
Some of the great painters have been aided in their
attempts to represent the Saviour's appearance by
the ideas embodied in it.
I have been at the place where he was born and
the place where he died,-to the river where he
was baptized and the garden where he suffered his
agony. It has been my privilege to visit that
"' well of Jacob" where he conversed with the woman
of Samaria; and, in looking down upon the Lake of
Galilee, I may be said almost literally to have seen
the place of his footsteps on the sea. I am now in
Nazareth.  With deep emotion I look upon the
place where he grew up,-a child among children,
-the son of an humble and believing mother. It




514           LETTERS —! STETIETIC
was here, on these hills and in this deep and secluded
valley, —the playmate of the fountain and the rocks,
-that he walked abroad in the evening shade or
in the early morning ray. It was here, in the solitude of nature and in the divine stillness of the
soul, that he listened to the holy revelations of
truth and love.  It was here that he "filncreased in
wisdom and stature, and in favor with God and
man."  His story is in the Bible.  The scene of it
is in these regions, which we have thus been permitted to visit. Whatever doubts may now rest upon
his personal appearance, none rests upon the great
facts of his incarnation, his character, his labors,
the scenes of his residence, and his history.  Unchanging nature stands up in faithful confirmation
of the historian's statement.
Jesus Christ came into the world a sacrifice for
sin.' He died that the world might be restored
from sin by his sufferings and death, and once more
brought into harmony with God. From the moment
that he ascended the altar of sacrifice and was fastened there, —an offering so pure, so exalted, that
all men and holy angels and all holy existences
m-night see it,-from that hour of transcendent agony
and of infinite victory all types and shadows and
offerings and sacrifices fled away. The cross on
the rock of Calvary was the last altar.  Christ was
the last victim.  That great suffering reaches and
heals all other suffering. Of its mighty power in
purifying the soul from evil and in giving hope in
sorrow and despair, what place, what country, what
period of time, has been ignorant?
But Christ was a teacher also. From- the begin



SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           515~
ning of time the question has been asked by wise
men of different countries, What is moral goodness?-what is VIRTUE?  Plato, instructed by the
example of Socrates and by the priests of Egvypt,
and aided still more by his own reflections, made
some approaches to the true answer, but spake
nevertheless obscurely and with hesitation.  But
Jesus Christ, the child of the mountains of Judea,
not educated in Grecian and Rornan schools, but
taught inwardly by the Holy Ghost, spake openly
and clearly.  He grasped the truth without reasoninug upon it; because the truth, harmonizing with
purity, and fleeing from everything which is imnpure, is the necessary development of holy hearts;
and because it proclaims its nature and its  amne,
where there are such hearts to receive and appreciate it, in the very fact of its existence. By his
own nature, therefore, he was a prophet of the
truth.  Being born of God and taught of God, he
had the truth in himself; it was incarnated in his
heavenly nature; it lived in his life and spake in
his voice; and hle uttered it, therefore, not in the
slow process of syllogisms, but by th.e intuitive
impulse and necessities of inspiration.
If virtue may be described very properly as the
highest excellence of moral beings, there is one
thing, according to the doctrines of Jesus Christ,
and only one thing, which can constitute it.  He
gave it a name on the Galilean mountains; and he
illustrated its reality on the bloody rock of Calvary.
It is LoVE; —not merely of father and mother, of
brother and sister; not merely of those of our own
name, language, and nation; but the love-paire by




516           LETTERS-IESTHETIC,
being unselfish-of all men, of all climes, countries,
and situations; and not only of all men, but of all
existences which are the appropriate objects of
love,-a love which flows from God in its source,
is sustained by God in its action, and attaches itself
to everything of which God is the author and in
which He takes an interest.
Such love is VIRTUE; —not merely the abstract
conception of virtue, but its living essence. Being
a life, it has life's mighty and living power. It
unites God with the creatures of God. It unites
the creatures of God with each other. It abolishes
all exclusiveness and all limitations which are not
founded in the highest wisdom and required by the
highest good. And in its mighty power and vast
extent, passing as it does from the centre to the limits
of existence, it may be said to harmonize infinity.
It was thus that the babe of Bethlehem, the child
of the hills and the fountain of Nazareth, without
the learning of those who professed to be philosophers, and yet with a wisdom far above human
wisdom, anticipated and expounded the doctrines
of Augustine and Fenelon.
And yet it is worthy of notice, that he did not
announce his doctrines, however novel and important they might be, with any of the forms and
affectations of worldly ceremony. Brought up in
the mountains, and not in palaces, he was no son of
the Ceesars, but a plain humble man of the people.
I-e spake; as one having authority," and yet
without the badges of authority. He had no sword
by his side, no diadem on his head, and wore no
floating and decorated robe of office.  The vaulted




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          517
roof of his church was the clear blue heavens above
him. His rostrum was a rock on the height of
Tell Hattin, or a fisherman's boat on the sea of
Tiberias.  His audience was the universal heart of
man embodied and represented in the poor and suffering multitudes of men, women, and children around
him. Humanity with him was something which
was far above the ordinary distinctions which
separate man from man. His insight into the destinies of the future elevated the individual, and
gave a vastness to his character by means of the
vast sphere of development'which expanded
around him. He saw, in the small circle of man's
present low estate, an infinity of progress. He saw
in the poorest, the most ignorant man, —the man
on whom power sets its heavy foot and crushes him
to the earth, —if not the seeds and beginnings, at
least the possibilities, of eternal truth, eternal good
affection, and eternal glory. And therefore his
heart of love was filled with the deepest sympathy:
he recognized a bond of pitying and sympathetic
union between himself and the greatest sinner; and
whatever he had to say, flowing from the depths
of eternal wisdom and goodness, was said in the
spirit of self-forgetfulness,-without the artifices of
a false rhetoric, —truly, simply, and feelingly.
But this is a subject on which more might be
said, and perhaps more appropriately oil some other
occasion. I will only add a single remark.  The
truths of Christ —I mean those which go most
deeply into man's nature and destiny-are beginning
to have an effect which they have not had hitherto,
because the day appropriate to them had not yet
44




518           LETTERS —JSTHETIC,
come. They are gradually, if not rapidly, altering
the social and political as well as the religious condition of things. Jesus Christ, in the result of
those great influences which must necessarily originate from him, will be found at last to be a king
as well as priest. He came into the world not
only to save individuals, but to hold the destiny
and to be the Saviour of nations. And accordingly
the secret but mighty virtue which is proceeding
from  the bleeding hands and side of this great
leader of the people is breaking up old political systems which had extended their gigantic limbs over
the world, and which age had strengthened into
adamant.  What means, during the more recent
periods of human history, this falling of towers
and Bastiles, unable to withstand the billows of the
great masses of the world's population which are
rising up from their depths and dashing against
them? And, at the present moment, states, kingdoms, dynasties, no longer secured by the principles
of hereditary authority, are rocking to and fro on
their uneasy foundations. The instinct of a great
fear, which foresees the coming of unknown confusions and overthrows, pervades the thought and
heart of millions. It is a fear of that change, or
rather of that destruction, of everything at variance
with the best social and civil interests of man,
which is embodied in the doctrines of Christ, and
which cannot fail to come in its time.
The first contest is between the past and the
present; between institutions and rights; between
tyranny and freedom. But freedom, great and
desirable as it is, is rather a condition than a prin



SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           519
ciple,-is rather the capacity of life than life itself.
And yet it is only in the wide area which the arm
of civil liberty shall open and consecrate, that truth
will be able to establish the great and final empire
of LOVE. The battle-axe of the wars of freedom,
lifted perhaps in the severe and forewarning spirit
of John the Baptist, and sometimes striking without
fully knowing its own object, is nevertheless hewing
the way for Christ's entrance. Its heavy sound
reminds one of that voice which was heard in the
wilderness:-"- Prepare ye the way of the Lord."
EIverything indicates the voice and the stirrings of
a great preparation for the coming of Christ. And he
comes-whoever and whatever may be his precursor
-to substitute his own principles for those of a different character, and to realize his own pure and pacific
conceptions. He comes, therefore, not with the sword,
but the olive-branch; not to reign by violence, but by
the authority of wisdom and brotherly kindness; not
to found dynasties, but to purify, elevate, and establish humanity.  If old systems of law are abolished
and constitutions of government pass away, if the discordant Babel of gray-headed antiquity is shaken to
its foundations, the patriot of a single and exclusive
inter:est and a single people, who sees no universe beyond the metes and bounds of a factitious nationality,
will undoubtedly mourn; but the patriot after Christ's
great model-the patriot of all interests and all nations-will put on heart and hope, because he foresees that the institutions of the past, which have
always had selfishness and blood at their foundations, will be displaced and substituted by the great
charter and kingdom of the Sermon on the Mount.




520             LETTERS-._ESTHETIC,
And here in the solitary valley of Nazareth, where
the beauty and silence of nature come in aid of reflection and memory, it is not easy for the traveller to
forget that the mighty Lawgiver, from whom these
things proceed, sat in his mother's arms beneath this
sunlight, was nurtured beneath these overhanging
rocks, and spent the days of his childhood and youth
by the side of this murmuring fountain.
(LIII.)
Departure from Nazareth-Mount Carmel-Arrival at Caipha.-Ascent of Carmel —View from its summift —Carmelite convent-River
Belus —St. John d'Acre —White Promontory-Phenician plain —
Ras-el-Ain-City of Tyre-Historical notices-Remarks-River
Leontes -Arabs.
SYRIA, BANKS OF TI-IE LEONTES, JUNE 1, 1853.
WVE left Nazareth on the 30th of May, on our
way to Mount Carmel.  In a short time we came
again into the plain of Esdraelon.  We had not proceeded far when the lofty and beautiful ridge of Carmel came fully in sight. Descending into the long,
level plain which terminates on the Mediterranean
at the bay of St. John d'Acre, we came upon the track
of the river Kishon, which here collects its waters and
becomes a considerable stream.  This stream flows
for some distance along the base of the mountain.
The ridge of Carmel, covered with its groves of small
oaks, rose above us on our left.
Carmel has its place in history and poetry. The
events of which it has been the scene connect it with
history. Its numerous caverns, which is one of its
peculiarities, rendered it the abodes of men whose
marked and towering characters necessarily made




SOCIAL, AND MIORAL.           521
them historical. It was here that Elijah and Elisha,
too stern and uncompromising for the smooth and
vicious civilities of palaces, oftentimes made their
residence.  It was at this mountain that the contest
took place between Elijah and the prophets of Baal,
which may well be regarded as one.of the remarkable historical incidents in the Scriptures. The
graceful beauty of Carmel, rising at times into magnificence, connects it with poetry as well as history.
Picturesque and often grand in its appearance, it is
a mountain which is fitted to fill and delight a creative and imaginative eye.  And accordingly references, such as naturally suggest themselves to a
poetic mind, are made to it in the prophets Amos,
Jeremiah, and Isaiah, and also in the book of Canticles.  In those better days to which the people of
God look forward with such great interest, the solitary place and the desert shall blossom and rejoice,
in the language of the prophet Isaiah, 1 "with the glory
of Lebanon and with the excellelicy of Cacimel."
Originally it was very fertile and well cultivated.
I am not surprised that the ancients, struck with
its beauty and fertility, called it by the poetic name
which it bears: and which means the ";vineyard or
garden of God." It has not wholly lost its ancient
reputation.  Unlike the naked mountains in the
neighborhood of Jerusalem, it is covered with a
variety of trees, such as oaks, olives, pines, and
laurels. Odoriferous plants and flowers are found
upon it.  Without laying claims to its ancient fertility, it is still susceptible of cultivation in many
places, and furnishes pasturage for cattle on its sides
and summit. Flocks of goats browse among its cliffs.
44*




5 22          LETTERS —ESTI-IETIC,
The long plains which stretch from its base are fertile now, and formerly must have been so in a remarkable degree. In the rainy season numerous
brooks rush down from its sides. These brooks,
sometimes collecting in large pools at the base of
the mountain, find their way into the Kishon.
Clusters of bushes and flowering plants grow on the
edge of their narrow channels.
Passing some six or eight miles along the base of
these celebrated heights, with but little to diversify
our journey except from time to time the sight of a
small Arab village or a herd of cattle tended by the
herdsmen on the reedy plain, we came at last to the
pleasant maritime town of Caipha,-situated on a
small bay by the same name, forming a part of the
great bay of Acre. Without thinking it necessary to
delay at this town, we passed on through an extensive
grove of large and aged olive-trees which is a little
beyond it. From this grove, whose grateful shade
protected us for a time from the burning heat of the
sun, we ascended the mountain by a steep and difficult path to the portion of the lofty summit which
hangs almost perpendicularly over the sea. As we
looked down, the sea was at least a thousand feet
below us. We stopped and gazed intently upon
the wide and magnificent prospect which was thus
opened to our view. Along the shores of the bay
of Acre, which is bounded on its southern side by
the projecting heights of Carmel, the billows, with
their hoarse and unchanging sound, fell heavily
upon the sandy beach.  The town of Caipha, to
which I have already referred, was directly beneath
us.  The dark wreck of an English vessel, at no




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          523
great distance, lay fastened in the sands and beaten
by the waves. A few merchant-vessels, with their
broad white sails, glittered upon the blue and unruffled ocean. St. John d'Acre, the ancient Ptolemais, was in sight a few miles distant, on the other
side of the circuitous bay. And leaning upon the
vapory sky beyond the city were dimlly seen the
rough and misty heights of Lebanon and Anti-Lebanon.
Upon the abrupt and lofty eminence which we had
thus reached, there is a Carmelite convent — a large
and convenient and even elegant building, erected
and sustained by the contributions of pious Catholics in different countries.  The mraterial of which
it is composed is a light-colored sandstone.  Lofty
in its position, and glittering in a bright Syrian sun,
itmade an imposing appearance. It has been erected
within a few years —and upon the site of an old
one, which once occupied its place.  This convent
is understood to be one of the richest in Palestine;
and everything which we saw tended to confirm its
reputation in this respect. It bears the appropriate
name of the convent of Elijah,-whose name and
history are associated with Carmel as that of Moses
is associated with Sinai.  We were very kindly received within its walls. A monk: in the simple
garb of a Carmelite, but with no want of propriety
or even refinement of manners, showed us its various
apartments and paintings.  The circular chapel of
the convent, into which we were conducted, is erected
over a grotto, which religious tradition has consecrated as having once been honored by the residence
of Elijah.  Near the close of the day we came down




5. 4         LETTERS-E- STHETIC,
from the mountain, and pitched our tents and spent
the night in the vicinity of Caipha.
Early on the next morning, the 31st of May, we
renewed our journey,-passing along the bay of
Acre towards its northern extremity.  Our path
was upon the smooth sands of the beach. The
waves dashed at the feet of our horses. Their heavy
but regular and not unmusical sound is in strange
contrast with the silence of the desert. We crossed
the river Kishon near its entrance into the sea,
and were thus reminded once more of the plain of
Esdraelon and of Mount Tabor. At the distance
of four or five miles beyond the Kishon, we crossed
the river Belus, —a small stream, and at this time
easily fordable, but which has some historical interest, in consequence of being connected with the
discovery of the method of making glass. This
river is supposed to derive its name from Baal or
Bel, the deity of the ancient Phenicians. Leaving
the city of St. John d'Acre on our left, which we
had not time to visit, we pitched our tents at the
close of our day's journey some eight or ten miles
beyond it, on the shores of the Mediterranean.
St. John d'Acre, situated near the northern extremity of the large bay which bears the same name,
is known under the name of Accho in the book of
Judges, and under that of Ptolemais in the book of
Acts. The latter name was given in honor of one
of the Ptolemies. Its harbor is small, and unfavorably situated; but still it is a place of some commerce and much historical interest.  It was taken
by the Saracens in the year 636. In the year 1099,
when Europe had become aroused by the sense of




SOCIAL: AND MORAL.          525
impending dangers, it was wrested from the Saracenic control by the efforts of the Crusaders, but
afterwards, in 1187, was retaken by the Saracens
under Saladin. It is connected, also, with the
strange and bloody wars of modern history. In
the year 1799, it was successfully defended by Sir
Sydney Smith against the attacks of Bonaparte. It
would have been pleasing to have stopped at a place
which had become renowned by so many incidents;
but we were obliged to pass on. The vicinity of Acre,
however, reminds us that we are now entering upon
the small but celebrated territory of ancient Phenicia.
The sites of its great and ancient cities, Tyre and
Sidon, are not far distant.
At the close of this day we are seated in our tents
on the side of a gently-rising hill. A small, uninteresting village is at a little distance. Clustering
trees wave above us. The sea breaks sadly and
heavily upon the long, sandy beach.
In the morning, June 1, we resumed our march.
We soon began to ascend rocky heights, which project from Anti-Lebanon and look directly down upon
the Mediterranean.  These heights are the Djebel
Nakhura.  Then we came, in the course of a few
miles, to the celebrated place called the White Promontory,-the Album Promontorium. of the ancient
Romans. In order to furnish a passage here, a way
has been cut with great labor over the lofty limestone
rock, which overlooks perpendicularly the waves of
the ocean. Both the ascent and descent are aided
by these steps, which have given to the place the
name also of the "ladder of Tyre." Ascending this
worn-out and broken ladder, which time and con



526           LETTERS —-ESTHETIC,
stant t.ravelling have altered very much from its
primitive shape, we reached the summit at the
height of some five or six hundred'feet. The road
goes upon the very edge of this terrible precipice.
We looked down upon the dashing waves. The
sea-birds spread their wings and screamed beneath
us. A single vessel was in sight, on what was
once the great highway of commerce. It was over
this dizzy rock that Alexander led his forces to the
conquest of Tyre.
As we approached the middle of the day, we came
upon the celebrated Phenician plain, bounded on
all sides except the west by the rocky heights of
Lebanon and Anti-Lebanon, —a region small in
extent, but renowned for its fertility, and rendered
illustrious in history by the wealth, arts, and genius
of its two great cities, Tyre and Sidon. The
Phenician plain is thirty miles in length by an
average of two or perhaps two and a half in
breadth,-if we reckon it in the usual way as extending from the White Promontory on the north
of Tyre to the small river called the Nahr-el-Auly,
three miles south of Sidon. Before reaching the
city of Tyre, at the distance of two miles and a
half from it, we stopped at Ras-el-Ain, or the Fountain-head. At this remarkable place a subterranean
brook, collecting its supplies of water probably from
the base of the mountains not far distant, bursts
out from the earth. The clear, pure water gushes
up with mucl> force, and is first collected in a number of large reservoirs composed of stones and
gravel strongly united with cement. The reservoirs,
four in number and varying from fifteen to twenty




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          527
feet in height, are so constructed that we could
easily ascend them and walk about on their broad,
smooth tops. The water is raised by means of
these artificial works to a considerable height, and
anciently, through well-constructed aqueducts, the
remains of which are still seen, was conveyed in
large quantities both to the city of Tyre and over
the surrounding country.  At the present time a
single mill is turned by the water which flows from
one of the reservoirs.  The water, which was once
employed for purposes of irrigation by means of
aqueducts and for the supply of the city, now flows
off for the most part in a rapid brook towards the
sea.
Having spent a little time in examining these remarkable remains, we advanced in sadness over the
beautiful plain which was once covered with Tyrian
magnificence.  We could not help seeing that God,
whose great artistic hand is everywhere building
homes of beauty out of fragmentary earth and stone,
had designed this spot between the mountains and
the sea as the residence of a favored people and a
great city.
Tyre, like Damascus and Thebes, was one of the
primitive cities of the world,-one of the cradles
of wealth, knowledge, and civilization. It is mentioned as a strong city in the book of Joshua. It
is again mentioned in the titne of. Solomon. The
minute description of the city in the prophet
Ezekiel is particularly worthy of notice.
The harbor of Tyre, which reminded me, on a
miniature scale, of that of Alexandria, was formed
originally by an island, but was extended and com



528           LETTERS-ESTHETIC,
pleted by a sea-wall of immense strength.  The
ancient city, which is now all swept away by the
destructive influences of war, barbarism, and time,
was built chiefly upon the shore, and not upon the
island. This old and flourishing place, renowned
for its commerce and arts, was destroyed by
Nebuchadnezzar, the Assyrian king,-or at least
that portion of it which was built upon the mainland;c,-573 years before the time of Christ. A little
more than two hundred years after, the insular city,
or that portion which was built upon the neighboring island, was attacked and taken by Alexander
the Great, after a siege of eight months.  Making
use of the materials of the first city, which were
scattered in' fragments upon the shore, he constructed a vast mole, two hundred feet in breadth,
which extended from the continent to the island.
The sands have drifted over this great work; and
thus the ancient island, which is at the distance of
a half or three-fourths of a mile from the shore, is
converted into a peninsula, upon which the modern
city of Tyre now stands.  Treading literally in the
steps of the Macedonian conqueror, we passed slowly
over the isthmus and went through and around the
city.  There are still some remains of comlmerce
here. A few small vessels were in the harbor. The
tide had receded; and the rocks were laid bare.
Upon these rocks the fisherman spreads his nets.
All around the city, on the sandy shore and the
sea-beaten rocks, were melancholy evidences of the
wealth and gigantic labors of other days,-fragments of walls and of numberless large and beautiful columns, which seemed still to have a voice and




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          529
to utter the story of their greatness and their degradation.
On this spot, before the city of Alexandria had
a being, was the centre of ancient commerce. Tyre
was the London of ancient days.  Situated at the
head of the great sea, midway between the old
pillars of Hercules on the one hand and the Persian
Gulf and the Indian seas on the other, she held
her commercial dominion for nearly a thousand
years. In these streets walked the merchants of
EEgypt. The loaded camels of Judea and Damascus
kneeled at her gates. On these waters rose the
masts of Lebanon; and the sea foamed under the
stroke of oars made from the oaks of Bashan. The
loud sound of her sailors' voices echoed over the
great sea-wall of her harbor, as they came in from
distant Spain and barbarous Grecian isles. Arabia
poured her spices and balm and frankincense into
her lap.  The ivory and the costly woods of the
Persian Gulf adorned her palaces. The mother of
arts, she clothed the world in her linen and purple.
The mother of knowledge, she sent her Cadmnus
to teach mankind the mystery of letters. States,
cities, were born in her.bosom. She built Carthage,
the powerful rival of Rome, from the treasures of
her wealth and love. And the cities of Cadiz in
Spain and Utica in Africa were among her children.
But to-day how changed is all this!
With deep interest the traveller looks upon the
remains of this great but fallen city.  li-e beholds
it a mighty and a memorable desolation. It was predicted that it should be so. Speaking in the language of the prophet Ezekiel, God is represented
45




530             LETTERS-iE STIHETIC,
as addressing Tyre in terms which indicate his
displeasure:-" Behold, I am against thee, 0 Tyrus,
and will cause many nations to come up against
thee, as the sea causeth his waves to come up. And
they shall destroy the walls of Tyrus, and break
down her towers.  I will also scrape her dust fromn
her, and make her like the top of a rock.  It shall
be a place for the spreading of nets in the midst of
the sea."
It is thus that nations and cities, one after
another, have perished and passed away. Since I
left Europe,- and Europe itself is only an exception in part,-I have found only desolate cities and
nations.  It might have been otherwise.  At least
it seems so to me. If any nation had in the beginning adopted the principles of the gospel,-the
principles which are the opposite of selfishness,
which bless them that persecute us and which do
good without asking for reward,-its principles
would have conquered the destructive tendencies of
tilne, and, triumphing over death and decay, would
not have failed to establish an immortality of
beauty.  Of this it is difficult for me to doubt.
Principles are the life of action; and if our principles are the old Tyrian principles of exclusive or
selfish possession,-everything for ourselves, and
nothing, or comparatively nothing, for others, with
that watchful and  contentious jealousy which
always attends it,-in other words, if it be a
principle or the shadow of a principle differing from
that which measures the love of our neighbor by
the love of ourselves, it is necessarily the principle
of death;-in the first place, hostility and death




SOCIAL, AND MOROAL.           5-1
to others, and in the end death to those who
adopt it. It is this, and this only, which has
spread desolation over the fairest portions of the
earth, which has substituted on the banks of the
Nile and the Euphrates the sandy plain and the
barren rock for the flower-gardens of Eden; not
antiquity, but falsehood; not time, which is only the
measurement of bright, revolving suns, but the
pride, luxury, and enmity which'have resulted
from not walking in God's glorious and everlasting
truth.
And I ought to say something further.  In going
from country to country, I have mourned not only
for man, but nature. Not only great cities, but the
earth also is desolate.  What was more beautiful
once than the great Phenician plain? But now, like
the cities which once adorned its bosom, how sad, how
deserted! Nature, like nations, has gone to decay.
She mourns and weeps, like a sad mother.  She is
silent, sorrowful, and sometimes fretful. She puts
on sackcloth; she sits upon the rocks; she throws
mud into her crystal rivers; she buries her flowers
in the sand.  But it is not time which has made
her desolate; it is not the consciousness of guilt
which has rent and marred her veil of primitive
beauty: the cause of her sadness is in others more
than in herself.  She lives like one in hopeless
widowhood, and turns away and hides herself, because man, her child, for whom. she built the earth's
beautiful home, has ceased to love.  She laments
the spirit of contention which has lacerated her
heart in all ages.  She mourns for the millions of
her children scattered and bleeding on every shore.




) 32          LETTERS-SESTHETIC,
And this is not mere imagination,-is not the
playful or unmeaning metaphor of poetry.  Man
and material nature are parts of one great system,
which are designed to harmonize with each other,
not merely on the principle of adaptation, but on
the principle of a true but mysterious sympathy;
and accordingly there is a truth and life in nature
resulting from its correspondence with man. Does
not the fibrous root of trees and plants, as if it
were a thing of thought and intelligence, seek the
earth and water which are most appropriate to it?
Does not the plant itself, seeking to realize the
beauties and harmonies of growth, creep along the
ground with the same object?  Does not the flower
turn towards the sun? Everything shows that
nature has a true life, an instinctive but silent intelligence, and also a triumphant beauty, which
crowns and perfects that life; though now, in consequence of the crimes and sorrows which she witnesses, she hides herself in her sad garments of
barrenness and mourning.  The divine principle
of sympathy has been violated. She has been
struck and wounded in the heart.  Such, and so
wide-spread, are the miseries which flow from sin.
And this also may be reversed. A disappointed,
grieved, and bleeding affection is not necessarily a
dead one. When man, from whose heart should
flow out fountains of love, and whose face should
beam with a brightness clearer than the sun's, shall
be what he is yet destined to be, and what Christ's
loving power shall yet make him to be, then shall
nature restore itself from the silence and xweakness
of its mighty sorrow, and everything, as if touched




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.            33a
with a divine consciousness, shall recognize man's
presence: the leaves and branches shall strew his
path and twine themselves about him; the flowers
shall cease to weep, and shall grow bright with
smiles; the very rocks shall utter a song of joy.
Such are my meditations, as I sit thoughtfully at
sunset on the banks of the Leontes.  To this
place have we come after leaving Tyre.  We stay
here to-night.  I suppose it to be seven or eight
miles distant from Tyre. I love to spend the night
at the foot of a mountain or on the bank of a river.
I seek some solitary place, where man and his
crimes are unknown.  The silence sings.  The
stars dance upon the mountain-tops, or look up
brightly and smilingly from the water.  How beautiful flows this murmuring, rapid stream!  The
golden sunset throws the veil of its bright yellow
over the blue waves.  It is comparatively tranquil
now; but in early spring it is covered with foam
and is dangerous to travellers.
Rising in the neighborhood of the ancient city
of Baalbec, it sweeps down through the valley between Lebanon and Anti-Lebanon.  It waters the
old romantic gardens and rude terraces of CoeleSyria.  It is spanned by a well-constructed bridge
near the place of our encampment. A company
of Arabs is encamped near us.  This is a remarkable people. I love to gaze upon them. Their spears
are long, their horses are beautiful; they stand erect,
and look upon us, through their dark, burning eyes,
with much curiosity. But, if I understand that dark
look aright, I must describe it as the curiosity of
indifference.
45*




534              LETTERS —ZESTlHETIC,
Old historians speak of the Leontes.  But rivers
never die.  It flows now as it flowed a thousand
years ago,-old in history, but young in its life of
never-ceasing  movement.  At a little distance, on
the side of a hill overhanging it, are some rude
habitations.  Its steep banks are covered with reeds
and flowers. The light of its flowers, like the light
of its waters, is bright in the radiance of the setting
sun.
(LIV.)
Ruins of Sarepta-Scriptural allusion to this city-Reach SidonIts situation-Arrival at Beirout-American missionaries-Services on the Sabbath-Rev. Mr. Whiting-Dr. Eli Smith —Influence of Christian missions-Mount Lebanon-Its appearance —
Its inhabitants - America - Thoughts on leaving Palestine —
Poetry.
PASHALIC OF SYRIA, CITY OF BEIROUT, JUNE 8, 1853.
IN going from  the banks of the Leontes to the
old city of Sidon, June 2, we passed over the site
and among the ruins of Sarepta.  Our course was
along the shore of the MSediterranean, and over the
plain between the mountains and the sea.  The
site of Sarepta is near the sea on the old Phenician
plain which has already been mentioned,-eight or
nine miles north of the Leontes, and seven miles
south of Sidon. It was to the city of Sarepta, which
is mentioned under, the name of Zarephath in the
Old Testament, that the prophet Elijah was at one
time sent.  Here he dwelt with a poor widow,
whose meal and oil he miraculously supplied, and
whose dead son he restored to life.  In the coll



SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           535
mand which was given to Elijah, and under which
lie acted,- "of which we have the account ~in. the
first book of Kings,-it was said to him, "Arise,
get thee to Zarephath, which belonygeth to Sidon, and
dwell there." The Saviouir in the Gospel of Luke
refers to the event mentioned in Kings, and says of
this prophet, that he went to a widow in Sarepta, a
city of Sidon.  We passed directly over this spot.
There was not much remaining of the ancient city,
which, I ought to say, is to be distin/guished from
the modern Sarepta, at a little distance to the east,
on the side of a hill.  The site of the city is considered as well ascertained, not only by the unanimous tradition which reaches back to an early period,
but by the fragmentary remains of streets and buildings which still exist, and by the allusions and statements of history. It is true that the ruins which
now remain are comparatively few; but it is a matter of historical record, that those which existed in
the thirteenth century were such as to indicate that
it was once a place of much wealth and splendor.
It must be admitted, however, that the interest
which attaches to Sarepta consists chiefly in the
fact that it was the residence of a poor woman who
had faith in God, and who furnished a home to one
of His persecuted and exiled prophets.  The Crusaders erected a chapel over the traditionary place
of her residence; but her true memorial is in the
Bible. The name of kings and conquerors is forgotten; but the memory of this poor woman, who
in her poverty and suffering never thought of fame,
is protected by God's providence, and is written in
His imperishable records.




536           LETTERS — ESTHETIC
Our route was from the south to the north.  On
our left was the sea. On our right were the mountains.  In some places the mountains came down
near to the sea, leaving but a narrow space between
them.
Following this route, we next came to the city
of Sidon. This city was the mother of Tyre, as
Tyre was the mother of Carthage; and, although the
daughter's surpassed the mother's splendor, Sidon
also had its wealth, its commerce, and its name of
renown. The situation of Sidon is beautiful. And
this I have had occasion to notice in relation to
many of the old celebrated places. I have seen and
heard of no great city of antiquity which did not
vindicate the wisdom and the glowing heart of its
founders, by its relations not only to the useful, but
the true, the expansive, and the grand in nature.
Sometimes they built upon mountain-tops, that they
might look upon the clear sky above or upon the
valleys beneath.  Sometimes they built upon the
banks of great rivers, like the Nile and the Euphrates,- which, flowing on forever, and scattering
around them  the seeds of fertility and beauty,
filled the heart with great and glowing sentiments.
Sometimes they selected a spot in the midst of
mountain-rocks, with heights on either side, with a
deep valley between and a gentle brook flowing
through it, and there, amid the silence of nature,
which is favorable to the activity of thought, made
a new world for themselves in palaces and statues
carved from the changeless stone. Sometimes they
built upon the ocean,-in sight of its immense expanse and in hearing of its mighty voice,-but only




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           537
where it had established, if I may so express it, an
vesthetic or spiritual harmony with the shores, by
moulding itself into those forms of beauty which
appeal both to the eye and the heart.
Sidon is situated on a promontory running into
the sea in a southwest direction. It is enclosed by
a wall on the land-side.  It was interesting to look
upon this old town,-almost as ancient as the foundations of the world.  The eye took in at a single
glance the circuitous and beautiful harbor, which
was once all that could be desired, but has been
much injured from. various causes. The rich environs of the city are occupied by numerous gardens, filled and blooming with the various fruittrees and flowers which are common in this region.
It has some remains of the skill and labor of other
ages. Our attention was attracted in the distance
to an old square tower forming a picturesque object
on the southern end of the promontory.  At what
time and by whom it was first built is not certainly
known. As we spent but a little time in the city,
I will not attempt to speak more particularly of
this or of other objects which claimed a slight
notice. All I can say is, that we came, saw, and
left it,-without time to make minute inquiries, and
yet with time enough to receive the general outlines of its image upon the mind and heart.  It
has its convenient residences,-some of them built
of stone and beautiful,-its flourishing gardens, its
mechanic occupations and arts; and, though it is
no longer the possessor of its ancient wealth and
commerce, it is comparatively flourishing.  Such
was the impression left upon my mind in one of




538           LETTERS-.-ZESTHETIC,
those rapid judgments which a person sometimes
forms when merely passing through a place.  It
seemed to me that there are some distinct evidences
of that recovery of wealth and strength which cliaracterize Alexandria and Jaffa.  At Sidon is an
American sub-consulate; and the Americans have
a missionary establishment there,-a branch, I suppose, of the important mission which has its central
operations at Beirout.
Sidon, as well as Tyre, is repeatedly mentioned
in the Bible.  It is first ment.ioned in Genesis.  In
the book of Joshua it is called "great Sidon." References are made to it also in the books of Kings and
Chronicles, and in Ezra, Isaiah, and Ezekiel. It is
repeatedly mentioned in Homer.  In the earliest
times Sidon was one of the great centres of knowledge and the arts.  Before the injuries to its once
convenient and beautiful harbor, it was the seaport
to the great inland city of Damascus, from which
it is distant by a journey of a little more than two
days.  Tilhe route to Damascus leads in a northeast
direction over Mount Lebanon, and then, passing
througlh the intervening valley of the Leontes,
crosses the more distant heights of Anti-Lebanon.
The business-intercourse of Sidon with Damascus,
the most of which is now transferred to Beirout,
increased its commerce.  Its harbor was once
covered with sails.  The vessel in which the Apostle Paul sailed from Palestine for Italy touched at
Sidon.  The Saviour himself visited this region.
He had been teaching in the region of Genesareth,
which is not far distant; and it is added by the
evangelist,' Tlien Jesus departed thence, into the




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           539
coasts of T, yre and Sicdon."  It mras here that he
performed the miracle upon the daughter of the
Syro-Phenicianm woman.
We encamped the night of this day, June 2, a
few miles beyond Sidon.  About the middle of the
next day, we reached Beirout, the ancient Berytus.
Before reaching the city, and at a few miles' distance, we passed -the river called the NIahr-el-Tamour -the same,with the ancient Tamlyras.  The
stream is rapid, and, when swollen by rains and
melted snows, must be difficult to pass.  We noticed, a little above where we crossed it, the remains
of a stone bridge' which had been swept away.
Like the Leontes, its banks were lined with oleanders.  The near approach to Beirout was through a
long grove of pines, succeeded by cultivated gardens.  Numberless mulberry-trees lined our path.
At Beirout I felt quite at home.  The hotel at
which I stayed had every convenience.  The presence of the excellent American consul,0 who had
apartments in the same hotel, gave a sort of
reality to the idea of national protection. At a
little distance, the American flag floated over the
consulate.  The strong arm of a great though
distant nationality, which is rapidly extending itself to every land and sea, placed itself aroullnd me.
I had with the place also some pleasant personal
associations.  This city had been the residence, a
number of years ago, of a former friend and fellowstudent, Rev. Mr. Birdcl, who labored here as a faithful and successful missionary.  I was reminded of
a J. lHorsford Smith, Esq.




540           LETTERS- ESTHETIC,
him not only by the circumstance of his having
resided here, but by an incident which recalled the
memory of his self-denying labors. Passing one
day a bookstore, I went in. The books were chiefly
of a religious character. This led to some conversation with the bookseller, who could speak English,
and to whom I found that no subject was dearer
than that of religious truth and experience. In
the great truths of the Bible and the great facts of
religious experience we found a common ground
to stand upon, broader than that of sect or nationality. He told me that it was Mr. Bird who many
years ago directed his attention to these interesting
topics, and who was the instrument under God of
leading him to the study of religious truth, and to
inward liberty and life.
On the Sabbath after our arrival, I went to the
religious service in the American missionary chapel.
The sermon, imbued with a pure and deep religious
spirit, was preached by Rev. Mr. Whiting, whose
long and arduous labors as a missionary are well
known in America. The sermon was in that plain,
simple language which befits great subjects, —full
of well-digested thought, and practical and serious
inits application. Christ was its theme. Redemption was its object. And it was pleasant to an
American, from a land unknown when these great
announcements., were first made, to hear such a
theme dwelt upon and such, an object held up
with sincerity and zeal on the shore of the Mediterranean and under the shadow of Lebanon.
In the afternoon of the same day I heard another member of the same missionary establish



SOCIAL, AND MORAL.         541
ment, the learned and justly-celebrated Dr. Eli
Smith, preach to a congregation in the Arabic
language. I cannot be supposed to have understood
the sermon; but the circumstances were such-the
time, the place, the man, the audience, the language
-that I felt its power in the heart, without the
aid of any pentecostal miracle to interpret the
unknown words in which it was uttered.  Mr.
Smith had the kindness, during my stay at Beirout,
to take me over the large printing-establishment
under the direction of the missionaries. The labors
of this learned and devoted missionary are not
limited to preaching. He has aided the great
object to which he has devoted himself by the
religious works which he has written in Arabic or
has translated into that language. His geographical
labors, the results of which are incorporated into
the great work of Dr. Robinson, have given him
a claim to the respect of scholars as well as of
Christians. He appears to have a critical and
entire mastery of the Arabic language. And it
would not be hazardous to predict that his translation of the Bible into the Arabic-a work which
is already considerably advanced-will increase
the favorable opinion which already exists of his
learning, untiring industry, and usefulness.
I should do injustice to my feelings if I did not
here express my opinion of the favorable influence
of the various Christian missions which are now
established in many parts of the world. If I may
be permitted to judge not only from what I have
learned from others but from what I have myself
seen, the real impression which the sincere and
46




542           LETTERS-r STIIETIC,
laborious men of these missions have made is much
greater than is apparent to the public eye. From
their gentle voice, uttered in conversation, in the
pulpit, and in the silent announcement of the circulated tract, have gone forth, into the hearts of
thousands and millions, the thought and the hope
of a higher and truer life. The years which have
been spent in missionary labor have not been lost
time.  Those who have died far away from their
native home-the good and the beautiful, the
men and women of the Christian faith -have
not died in vain.  The seed which  has been
sown on many a barbarous shore, in tears always
and sometimes in blood, though it has sometimes
lain long buried in the dust, is springing up at last
in the blade and flower of a freer thought, a liberated hope, a more generous confidence, and a looking on every side, and often with an intensity of
desire, for the coming of that kingdom of Christ,
without sword or floating warlike banner, which
shall bring with it not only individual restoration,
but universal harmony and peace.
My health did not allow me to go into the
mountains while at Beirout. I could only gaze upon
them as they arose in majesty around the city.
The great range of Lebanon, with its irregular and
rocky surface, comes down upon the sea, on the
north side of the harbor,-Lebanon, renowned of
old, which has its interest for the geologist and
naturalist, and which, by its rude grandeur, is the
delight of poetry. Unchanging in its position and
features, it is also a living and eloquent protest
against scriptural infidelity.  Although the moun



SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          543
tain has a desolate appearance, the small patches
of earth in its ravines and valleys, watered by the
rills and brooks that find their way among the
rocks, are everywhere cultivated. Scattered among
the mountains are many small villages; and the
general appearance of wild and rocky barrenness
is relieved at times by clusters of mulberries, and
of fig and olive trees.
The mountains of Lebanon consist of two great
ranges, running nearly north and south, extending
the distance of a hundred miles from the neighborhood of Tyre on the south, to the bay of Tripoli
on the north,-parallel with the Mediterranean
and parallel with each other,-with the valley of
Coele-Syria and the Leontes between them. The
western range, fronting and overlooking the Mediterranean, is called Lebanon. The eastern range,
including within its limits the snowy peak of the
Great Hermon, (which is said to be ten thousand
feet in height,) and overlooking a considerable portion of Palestine, is called Anti-Lebanon. The rock
of these mountains is a whitish limestone; and it
is either the white appearance arising from this
cause, or from the snows which gather upon the
high peaks, which has given them  their name.
Lebanon is a word of Hebrew origin, and means
the White Mountain.
These mountains, which have now in a great
degree a naked and barren appearance, were once
covered with forests. Frequent references are made
in the Scriptures to the fountains, forests, and snows
of Lebanon. In these celebrated mountains were
found the masts for the Sidonian and Tyrian navies.




544           LETTERS —_ESTHETIC,
Here were the cedars which were wrought into the
temple of Solomon. In a distant and secluded part
of the mountains a few cedars yet remain.  The
memorial of past ages, they still spread their aged
arms upon the winds. Travellers of great enthusiasm, who have the requisite time, make it a point
to climb over the rugged rocks and visit them,
though they are few in number and are marred and
changed by time.
The inhabitants of the region of Lebanon are
objects of much interest.  In these mountains,
which I here look upon for the first and last time,
as they thus overhang the city of Beirout and the
great sea which washes their base, is the home of
the Druses. In these heights of Lebanon, like the
Savoyards and the Waldenses in the fastnesses
of the Alps, dwell also the remains of a Christian
people, called the Maronites. The Maronites accept
the Bible as the source of their religious ideas, and
are properly called Christians.  The Druses are
a peculiar people, —adopting Christian ideas and
thoughts in part, but mingling and debasing them
with a semi-paganism. In the heights of Lebanon are
Christian missionaries from America, laboring diligently and successfully, and carrying back the blessings of Christianity to the lands from whence it came.
I stop my pen here, so far as the objects around
me are concerned, in order that I may indulge in a
few thoughts which naturally arise. It is from this
place that I begin my return home. I hear the
ocean's sound. I look out upon its vast waves,so vast that they bind together distant continents,
-and my heart sighs once more for my native land.




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          545
It is an hour of thought and solitary meditation.
Every man has his history. I have mine. VMy
feet are walking under the mighty shadow of Lebanon. My heart reposes in the mountains of America.
It is a season of deep and joyful anticipation. It
is a season also of gratitude. God has permitted
me to see what I had desired, but which I had
hardly hoped to see. I shut my eyes to the future,
that I may indulge a moment in memory and fill
my heart with thankfulness.
Once more I went back in memory to the sacred
scenes which I was about to leave. I recalled my
wanderings in the various parts of Palestine. I
thought again, as one thinks of an absent friend,
of the Sea of Galilee, of the Jordan, and the 5M[ount
of Olives. I called to mind the beautiful and varied
scenery of Bethlehem, the valleys of HIebron, the
hills of Nazareth, and the mountains "round about
Jerusalem." I repeated, both in memory and in
the deep consciousness of inward experience, those
seasons of sweet and heavenly communion where I
may be said to have walked and conversed with
Him who bears the title of the;" Son of man," on
those hills and mountains which were now fading
from  my view.  But the humble and believing
Christian will understand what I mean when I say
that I did not leave him behind. I found him there;
but he does not and cannot cease to be present with
the heart that receives him as the "; Truth and the
Life."  In the deep conviction of his faithfulness
I claimed and possessed, in thoughts and feelings
which struggled for utterance, the consolations of
his presence.
46*




546                LETTERS-PESTHETIC,
0 Saviour! Thus I leave the land
Which thou hast loved and look'd upon,No more upon the hills to stand
Where thou hast stood in ages gone.
And yet the breeze, the sail that fills,
Is whispering to my pensive mind
That, thus in leaving Judah's hills,
I do not leave her King behind.
The faithful soul shall know it true
That every land and clime is thine;
That He who trod in Hermon's dew
Finds everywhere his Palestine.
I go, —but cannot go from Thee;
I tread once more the ocean's tide;
But IIe who walk'd on Judah's sea
Will not be absent from my side.
(LV.)
Departure from Beirout-City of Cesarea-Stop at Jaffa —Reach
Alexandria —Companions in quarantine-Sisters of Charity —
Malta —Coast of Africa-Carthage-Straits of Gibraltar-Arrival at Liverpool-Departure in the Arctic for New York.
CITY OF NEW YORK, AUG. 1, 1853.
ON Thursday, the 9th of June, I left Beirout onl
my return home. It was a long journey of six
thousand miles; but faith  and joyful anticipation
had  an  influence in  shortening  the aspect of the
distance.   There were many vessels in the  bay,the larger ones at some distance from  the shore.
They were of different nations,-Austrian, English,
French, and  Sardinian.   I saw  no American  flag.
It is but recently that American vessels have traded
here.  Among the vessels was the  French steamer
the  Tancrede.   She  floated  proudly  among  the
smaller ones around  her.   As she was to sail immediately for Alexandria, I took passage in her.




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          547
At Beirout I parted with the much-valued and
beloved companions with whom I had travelled from
England.  Mr. Thompson went to Damascus, Mr.
and Mrs.Walcott to Constantinople.  I went to the
Tancrede alone; and there was no one on board
with whom I was acquainted.  There were passengers from different nations; but there was no one
from England or America with whom I could recall
or establish some community of thought and feeling.
As our captain gave the signal for departure, I
looked once more upon the city. It rose gracefully
from the shores,-its ranges of light-colored stone
houses ascending one above another, interspersed
beyond the walls with its flowering gardens and
with its groves of orange-trees and mulberries. I
saw the mountains of Lebanon for the last time.
The sun was setting when the steamer left the
harbor. In the evening I walked the deck. The
sails were set. The stars shone brightly.  Around
us was the great desert of the waters.  With the
stars and the wide heavens above, and the vast
trackless ocean beneath, and with no one with whom
I could converse, I felt much as in the deserts of
Sinai. My heart was in solitude,-but in that great
and glorious solitude which disrobes itself of false
and earthly influences and leaves it with truth, with
contemplation, and with God.
The next day we passed the site of the ancient
city of Csesarea, —the work of Herod the Great, —
once so celebrated for its artificial harbor, and which
has a connection with the events mentioned in the
New Testament.  This city was about fifty miles
distant from Jerusalem, and thirty-five miles from




5 1 8          LETTERS — ESTHETIC,
Joppa, in a north direction from the latter city. St.
Paul was kept a prisoner in Cesarea for the space
of two years. It was in Coasarea that the apostle
nade his eloquent plea before Felix, and also his
speech before Festus and King Agrippa. Cornelius,
the praying and alms-giving centurion who was converted to Christianity, resided here.  This also was
one of the remarkable scenes of the labors of the
Apostle Peter.
Near the close of the day the steamer stopped at
Jaffa,-the Joppa of the Scriptures,-of which I
have given some account in a former letter.  We
anchored in the open ocean.  Boats from the city
soon came out.  I took a boat and went on shore,
-the boatmen, for the purpose of saving a little in
the distance, carrying the boat through a narrow
pass in the boiling and dangerous reef of rocks which
encloses the old harbor. I saw once more the excellent American consul, who is a resident of this
place, and is one of the reformed Armenians who
are awakening thought and spreading truth in these
regions. I was enabled also to make some further
and very satisfactory inquiries in relation to the little
company of Americans, to whom I have formerly
referred, who are settled in the vicinity of Jaffa with
a view to the instruction and benefit of the Jews.
The labors of this small but devoted band, who
pursue their work of benevolence on principles
somewhat peculiar to themselves, are known to the
Christian community.
In the course of a few hours we proceeded again
on our voyage.  This is the third French vessel in
whiclh I have sailed since I left America; and it is




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          549
with pleasure that I bear a favorable testimony in
each case to the good order and conduct of the crew,
and the kindness which I personally experienced.
In our voyage from  Beirout to Alexandria, the
weather was favorable, and nothing of special interest occurred. I had access to books, which were
placed at my disposal by a French gentleman on
board. The crew, with that vivacity and easiness
to be amused which are characteristic of Frenchmen, contrived to occupy a portion of their time
with the feats of a young bear which had been recently caught and taken on board from the Lebanon
Mountains. The bear had made a rather intimate
acquaintance with a cat; and once a day and sometimes oftener they were let loose upon deck, and by
an amicable contest of attack and flight, of pursuit
and vigilant retreat, in which the cat's activity had
on the whole quite an advantage over the violent
but clumsy movements of the bear, they beguiled
many hours of the thoughtless sailors.
Our next stopping-place was the city of Alexandria, where we arrived early on the morning of the
12th of June. Slowly the vessel made its way
through the narrow, winding entrance into the
magnificent harbor. It was at Alexandria that we
commenced our journey up the Nile and for the
deserts of Sinai. I have said in a former letter
what I had to say of that city.  We had now,
however, a new form of experience. Coming from
Syria, we were obliged to pass a number of days
in quarantine. A state of quarantine, though adverse to action, is generally not unfavorable to
silence and reflection. But this is not always the




5 5O' LETTERS —/E STHETIC,
case. In the room assigned me I had the company
of a travelling merchant from South America, and
a monk from Palestine of the Franciscan order.
The merchant was from Colombia. He was a welldisposed man, a man of information, and made
himself entirely agreeable. The monk was originally from France,-fromn some small town on the
banks of the beautiful Rhone. He had been residing many years in Palestine, and was returning
to the place of his residence in early life. He had
with him a Bible in the Latin Vulgate translation,
which he read almost constantly. It was pleasant
to converse with him. He manifested no asperity
or indifference towards those who differed from him
in opinions. He was an old man, very gentle in
his manners; had seen much of men and things;
and I was favorably impressed with his appearance.
At Alexandria I left the French steamer, which
returned in a few days to Beirout, on its way to
Smyrna and Constantinople. Abandoning the plan
which I had formed of again visiting France, I engaged a passage for Liverpool by the way of Malta,
in an English screw-steamer —the Glasgow. This
vessel was delayed a few days after the expiration
of our quarantine, which enabled me to revisit some
of the objects and places in the city to which I have
formerly referred. I found that even the lapse of
a few months had made changes in its appearance.
Additional buildings were in the rapid course of
erection.  The beautiful English church, which
adorns the great European Square, was far advanced towards its completion; and I saw many
signs of growth and prosperity, which led to the




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          551
opinion that Alexandria might yet recover, by
means of its great advantages of position, and under
the influence of renovated rights and institutions,
something of its ancient wealth and importance.
In the city of Alexandria are collected together
many who have fled from the political convulsions
and revolutions of Europe. In banishment, poverty,
and sorrow, they often sink into the grave, leaving
behind them orphan children, who need a degree of
sympathy and care which could hardly be expected
in a foreign country and under great differences of
religion. But I found, on this renewed visit, that
the'"Sisters of Charity," an organized and permanent community of Catholics, who devote themselves to works of benevolence, had established
themselves here, and had become the adoptive
mothers of many of these orphans.
It was with pleasure that I visited their large
Orphan-Asylum. No letters of introduetion were
necessary in order to gain admission.  Giving a
signal at the gate, which was at once opened, I entered one of the apartments, which was both parlor
and library, and was soon introduced to one of the
members of the establishment, a native of Ireland.
She exhibited a calm propriety and dignity of manner, which indicated intellectual and social culture,
as well as the quiet and self-controlling influences
of religion.  When I told her that I was from
America, she showed an increased interest, the
cause of which I did not at first understand. She
showed me over the establishment, and very cheerfully gave much information in relation to it. At
parting she informed me that she had two sisters




5 a 2         LETTERS — iESTHETIC,
in America, who, like herself were members of the
"Sisters of Charity," and although they resided at
New Orleans, far distant from  my place of residence, yet the sight of one from the same land gave
her much satisfaction and seemed to bring them
nearer to her. As a Protestant, but disposed to
rejoice in everything which is good under whatever
name, I mention these incidents with satisfaction
and interest.
I sailed from Alexandria on Monday, the 20th
of June, in the English steamer which I have mentioned.  One of the last objects which I saw in
leaving this "clime of the sun," and which still
seems in its polished and lofty grandeur to stand
before me, was Pompey's Pillar.  The captain of
the Glasgow was a Scotchman by birth, but had his
residence in Liverpool.  He had often been in
America, and at one time had the charge of one of
the Cunard steamers which touch at Boston. This
led to some conversation and acquaintance; and made
me feel quite at home. The arrangements of this
steamer were admirable. There was a clergyman
of the Church of England on board, and religious
service was regularly held on the Sabbath, at which
the crew attended.
We sailed for a time along the coast of Africa,
and then directed our course towards Malta.  We
stopped a few hours at Malta, which we reached
on Saturday, the 25th of June, but did not go on
shore.  A number of English ships-of-war were in
the harbor; but the greater number had recently
left for Constantinople, in antiCipation of the outbreak of war between Russia and Turkey, which




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          553
would necessarily involve England. I say necessarily; but, in using that expression, I do not refer
to any necessity which God has created, or which a
higher Christian principle and greater forbearance
and love would not obviate, but to those pressing
exigencies, those necessities of state, which arise
out of the complications of diplomacy, and from
the strength of human pride, interest, and passion.
The idea of another general war in this age of
Christian progress and civilization-a war without
any assignable direction and without any termination which could be foreseen-was exceedingly painful to me. Malta is a great arsenal,-in the lalnguage of Scripture, a'"munition of rocks." I had
stopped here in going to Egypt, and gave some
account of it in a former letter.
In going from Malta to Gibraltar, we were for
some time in sight of the African coast on the
southern side of the Mediterranean.  One morning
as we were- sailing in the neighborhood of Cape Bon
and along the Bay of Tunis, the site of ancient
Carthage was pointed out to me. The very nanme
excited no small emotion. Among my early recollections there is scarcely any place or any historical
event which affected me more, or has left a deeper
place in my memory, than Carthage and the events
connected with it.  The poets and historians of
Rome, though not without biases unfavorable to
strict truth, have eloquently commemorated the
greatness and the terrible overthrow of her mighty
rival. The Roman historians say that, when the
young Hannibal appeared for the first time as a
leader in the Carthaginian army, the old soldiers,
47




554           LETTER S- ST1-IETIC,
now decrepit with years and living upon past
memories, saw, in his form and countenance and
military step,'the restoration and the once more
living presence of his father lHamilcar, under whom
they had fought in their youth. It was thus that
the mere sight of the spot upon which Carthage was
built, now a sandy desolation, restored the city and
the senate, and gave a momentary existence to the
celebrated names which are associated in history
with the arts of war or the wisdom of legislation.
No assembled senate is there now. No ships of war
or commerce cover the sea with their sails.  No
HIamilcar or Hannibal leads armies to battle.- No
Mago pleads his country's cause.  On that sandy
shore is the burial-place of a great nation.  Her
mighty image, as it exists in the dimness of history,-vast but faint in its outlines,-sits in sad
but solitary grandeur on the place of her tomb.
Soon after leaving Cape Bon, our vessel changed
its direction from the coast of Africa to that of
Spain.  We passed along the base of cliffs and
mountains, with plains and valleys opening between thenn, but no longer resounding with the
hum of a busy population, and destitute of their
ancient fertility and beauty. This land too, though
much changed both in its physical and moral attributes, is the birthplace-the ancient and celebrated
home-of a great people. I could not fail to gaze
with deep interest upon a country, whatever may
be said of its present condition, which in past ages
has had its varied epochs of bitter trial and successful conflict, and which has been illustrated by
renowned literary names,-a country which the




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           5 55
genius of Irvingu Prescott, and Ticknor has made
familiar, both in its history and literature, to American readers.
On reaching Gibraltar, Friday, the 1st day of
July, our vessel went into harbor, and gave us an
opportunity to wander for a few hours through the
streets of the city, and to get some idea of its amazing strength as a military position.  The beautiful
bay of Gibraltar, formed by the isthmus and the
lofty promontory called the Mountain of Gibraltar
on one side, and by the mountains and coast of
Spain on the other, is very capacious,-capable of
holding a large fleet. The appearance of the rocky
and insular height which bears the name of the
mountain, and is the same with the MONS CALPE
of the ancient Romans, is quite singular. With
its northern termination lifting its rugged and
frowning head above the southern, aided by the
slight depression in the part of the summit which
is between them, it easily suggests the idea of a lion
couchan:t, reposing in strength, but ready to awake
in terrible and irresistible action at any approach
of danger. Numerous cannon, lining the shore or
looking darkly from the sides of the mountain, are
ready to pour forth destruction upon the invader.
But Gibraltar is too well known to require a description.
In many respects the city of Gibraltar, with its
magnificent bay, with the straits uniting two oceans,
with the varied country around it, its position in
relation to the countries on the Mediterranean, its
immense fortifications, and its history, is one of the
most remarkable of places. At this renowned spot




556           LETTERS —-ESTHETIC,
was thle termination of the most adventurous voyages of the ancient world. For many ages all that
lay beyond it was a region unknown. But from
that unknown expanse a new power has arisen.
Strength is born of liberty. What was once a small
barbarian island has become, by refilsing the claims
and domination of slavery, and by being true to
itselfg a mighty nation. Its presence and authority are felt in every part of the world.  England,
takling her position here by the right of conquest,
though, it must be allowed, in violation of' the
rights of position and nature, —England, the mother
of nations, and strong in thought and freedom as
well as in physical power, —holds this great key
and pathway of the East.
When, in coming through the Straits of Gibraltar, we passed from the Mediterranean to the Atlantic, my mind was the subject of a momentary
experience, which was powerful but perhaps not
unnatural.  It seemed to me as if I were passing
out of one world into another. The East, though
my travels had been rapid, had taken a strong hold
upon my imagination, and become a sort of home
to me; but from the new scene upon which I was
now entering it could be seen and known no more.
The transition from one to the other was immense;
so that I was reminded of that celebrated gate of
Dante, standing at the boundaries of existence,
which separated the world of the living from the
world of the dead, where those entered who were
not destined to return. In a moment, as it were,
countries, climates, the appearances of nature, arts,
history, were changed.  The strong steamer dashed




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.                  55 7
upon the waves.  I stood upon the deck and looked
back, like one that is loath to lose a beloved object,
upon that Eastern world, from which the last ray
of light was beaming.  It was near the close of the
day. On one side were the mountains of Spain.
On the other were the mountains of Africa.  The
lofty heights which once bore the proud name. of
the  Pillars of Hercules, and  which  the  limited
knowledge  of antiquity  had  established  as the
boundary of things, stood face to face. The path
of the narrow, foaming ocean was between them.
In  a few  moments, as I stood  gazing  upon  this
memorable gateway, more majestic than the gates
of Thebes, the clouds and darkness of heaven came
down upon it and closed the portal of the Orient
forever.
Farewell, bright vision of an hour!
Fading away, like early dew,
All pass'd; and yet the soul hath power
Its varied image to renew,Restored with tints as clear and true
As sunbeams in their morning hue.
The olive-grove, the mountain-height,
The vale where many a flock is tended,
The shepherd's tent, the starry night,
A vision past, but not yet ended, —
Vanish'd to sight, and left behind,
And yet eternal in the mind.
In memory shines that Eastern sky,
By day and night as clear as ever;
In memory flowers that quickly die
Resume the tint that fadeth never;
In memory frowns the sunless rock
Which shades the shepherd and his flock.
O strange, mysterious power, possest
Of what is lost to outward sensense!
47*'




5  8           LETTERS-1AISTlETIC,
To thee, the mirror of the breast,
I give this past inheritance,Knowing thou wilt not let it die,
But hold it for eternity.
With the aid of steam, and of the sails almost
constantly set, we went rapidly on. Soon after
leaving the Straits of Gibraltar, we passed the
Cape of Trafalgar, which projects from the southwestern coast of Spain, —going over the very place
in the ocean which has been rendered celebrated
by being the locality of Nelson's last great and
bloody battle.  Altering our direction at Cape St.
Vincent, we approached near the coast of Portugal,-so near as to look into the spacious mouth
of the Tagus and bring the environs of Lisbon full
in sight.  Altering our direction  agfain at Cape
Finisterre, we crossed the bay of Biscay, and,
favored much by the weather, again came in sight
of Ireland, and reached Liverpool the second time,
July 16.
here I found friends, who had just arrived from
America, and gave me news of my family.  I was
once more welcomed by the valued Christian friend
who had extended to me his hospitality when I
reachled England the first time.  But I could not
remain long.  I made a rapid visit to London,which seemed to nme, after all I had seen, as entitled to be regarded, in compalison with other cities,
as the great seat of commerce, of general intelligence, and of European liberty.  I returned to
Liverpool, took passage in the steamer Arctic,
which sailed for America on the 20th of July, and,
after a voyage which was not diversified by any




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.           559
special incidents, reached the city of New York on
Saturday, the 30th' of the same month.
In another and last letter I wish to say a few
words on certain dispositions of mind which are
favorable in distant travelling.  But I will say a
word more here.  It is this.  I am satisfied with
the land and the home which God has given me.
I will say a word more. I thought that I was an
American; but I have found out that the world is
my country. I am one of those who are willing to
testify that man, in his central nature, is the same
everywhere. In his joys, his griefs, his hopes, his
affections, he is one.  He may differ in his location, his history, his modes of thought, the form of
government under which he lives, his language, his
multiplied associations.  But his heart, which embodies the secret of universal alliance, is one.  He
has learned the folly of separation.  He sighs for
unity.
This is the world's hope. And I will add, that
it is this which points to the world's great duty.
And that duty is to recognize more and more the
-idea of central unity, and to believe in and to aim
at that unity continually, under the name and form
of universal brotherhood, as the great object and
the glorious result of Christian civilization.
The fact that I and my brother-man are born in
different countries, that we speak different languages, that we live under different governments, —
although these things are undoubtedly of the
nature of dividing  elements and tendencies,cannot have the effect essentially to separate us
while the chords of the heart are united together.




560           LETTERS-z STHETIC,
To this union-not so much of the intellect as of
the affections-all things tend.  War and all contention have become obsolete ideas. I do not say
that they have become obsolete in 2practice.  But I
will venture to say that in the estimation of reflecting and enlightened minds, and considered as the
means of effectual protection and of real and permanent good, they are rapidly becoming obsolete
as ideas or truths. The world (and by the world I
mean particularly the great masses of men, who
have at last awakened to wider and clearer perceptions) is beginning to discover, that amid multiplied differences there is a common centre, that the
differences among men are incidental and temporary,
and that the central element is essential and eternal.
The light of Christ in the soul has revealed it as a
matter of speculative truth to them; and Christ's
bleeding and mediating heart will make it good
as a matter of practical and positive realization.
Through the clouds and smoke of the world's long
contest the harmonial sky is dawning.  I have
been at Trafalgar and have seen the ocean-wave
that was reddened by the dying blood of Nelson;
I saw the lifeless dust of Wellington carried to its
grave; I have stood at the tomb of Napoleon. The
day of warriors is over. And I hear once more
from the heights of Bethlehem the voice, too long
disregarded, (the voice uttered in numbers because
it is the harmony of the universe, and uttered by
angels because it is the announcement of angelic
life,) which proclaims good-will to men, and heavenly peace on earth.




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.                561
(LVI.)
At home —Iome-feelings —My own room-Scenery around meReflections on travel-Divine companionship-Illustrations fromr
the circumstances of my departure-Illustrations from the circumstances attending my arrival in England-God seen in his
works-God seen in national providences-God seen in the arts
-Oneness or unity of religious feeling-God in all places-God
within us.
BRUNSWICK, MAINE, AUGUST 4, 1853.
I AM again at home.  The date of this letter is
the day subsequent to my arrival. I will say nothing of the joys I experience in being once more
in the bosom of my family. If I could command
adequate language on such a subject, still, I should
hardly venture to trust my feelings. I will only
say that my heart is grateful, not only for what I
have experienced in the affections of my own family,
but for every expression of kindness with which
my other friends have received me.
I am seated again in the room in which I have
spent the hours of a large portion of my life. I
look  out from  my  window.  Below  me is the
beautiful village. Beyond the majestic river which
encircles it-which flows in part from the mountains
and lakes of my native State-are the hills of
Topsham, crowned with trees and verdure. The
clear, beaming sunlight comes down in silence on
the tranquil forest.  The scene fills both the eye
and the thoughts.  My heart rests.
But in again returning to other thoughts and
cares, and in bringing these letters to a close, I




56 2          LETTERS —  STIIETIC,
will venture to say a few words on a subject which
interests me much,-namely, the moral and religious aspects and influences of travel.
My general proposition on this subject is, that if
a man wishes to travel into other countries pleasantly and profitably, he must take God with him
for a companion,-starting with Him when he goes,
in order that he may find Him and know Him and
rejoice with Him on the way. He who travels
thus will find God watching over and supplying
his wants, establishing the harmonies between faith
and providence, revealing the Infinite in the finite,
and showing not only truth and beauty, but how
all truth and beauty centre in Himself.  What I
have further to say will illustrate in some degree
this general position.  My statements, it is true,
are the slight and imperfect records of personal
experience; but I hope, without professing to exhaust the subject, that they will throw some light
upon it.
I left my native country September 18, 1852.
My leaving at that particular time was somewhat
unexpected to myself, and under circumstances
which precluded the ordinary preparation. I was
unused to distant travel.  My health, broken by
long anxieties, was quite feeble. I knew not that
I had friends, or should be likely to find friends, in
foreign countries, and took no letters of introduction, except one to a person in London, which, however, failed of reaching its place of destination. In
my physical weakness, which was one principal
cause of my going abroad, and which naturally
produced an unfavorable effect upon the mind's




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          563
action, I could hardly be said to be able to take
care of myself.
But still, the peculiar combination of circumstances which surrounded me constituted a voice of
Providence, which seemed to me to require me to
depart. Unwilling to go in my own will, I believed,
nevertheless, that I was required to go in the
decisions of a higher will. This conviction was a
great consolation to me, because I had been led to
adopt strongly the opinion that a man's safety and
happiness depend very much upon his harmonizing
with providential arrangements.  Harmony with
providence is of course harmony with the God of
providence; and, as the providential adjustments
which touched my case were such that I could not
well do otherwise than I did, I did not doubt that
I went not so much in self-choice and self-will, as
because God required me to go. But where he
was to send me, what I was to see, whether my
health was to be restored, or whether I should be
the subject of increased sufferings and perhaps of
death itself in a foreign land, I did not know, nor
had I any special anxiety to know.  I stood upon
the deck of the steamer Arctic, as she proudly
made her way down the bay of New York, feeling
that I held the only hand which could rightfully
and truly guide me, and satisfied that I was led
into this novel situation by a wisdom higher than
my own.  And this was sufficient for me.
The ocean was a new scene to me. I had never
been upon it before,-at least, out of sight of land.
Day after day broughllt nothing but the same expanse of wave added to wave.  Space, multiplying




564           LETTERS -ESTHETIC
itself by time, seemed to enlarge itself; and man, at
least in his relation to material expansion, became
a very little thing. And then came the accession
of unknown forces.  The winds and the waves
beat upon us; and at one time, in St. George's
Channel and near the coast of England, we encountered a very violent storm.  Perhaps it was
owing to my ignorance, but it- seemed to me at this
"time as if our situation was a perilous one,-with
a rocky-coast near at hand, a raging sea, and in the
darkness of the night.  But I found the lessons of
religious faith available at this trying juncture,
and sustaining the soul without murmurs or fears.
This is an illustration of what I have said in a
general way of the relations of God to the incidents
and exigencies which occur in journeying in foreign
lands.  The ocean was a revelation of God; the
dangers of the ocean were a revelation of the littleness of man; and in the protection which shielded
us in the hour of peril we found the truth of the
Psalmist's saying, "Because thou hast made the
Lord thy habitation, there shall no evil befall thee,
neither shall any plague come nigh thy dwelling;
for He shall give His angels charge over thee to
keep thee in all thy ways."
I will illustrate the subject in other ways. We
had scarcely entered the river Mersey and set foot
upon the shores of England, when I formed an
acquaintance with a gentleman of wealth and piety,
never seen by me before, who offered me the hospitality of his house, and in various ways exhibited
a strong and generous desire to render my stay in
England profitable and pleasant.  I have referred




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          565
to him in one of my early letters.  My personal obligations for the marked kindness of this excellent
man* can never be forgotten; and it was the more
pleasing, because I saw that his wealth, his position and influence in society and in the church of
which he is a member, and his assiduous personal
labors, were all devoted to the cause of truth, religioun, and humanity:   I thus found that Providence, in not furnishing at my departure the ordinary letters of introduction, had not left me without
friends; and that full faith in the present and protecting care of God is a letter of introduction and
credit, which the great Being on whom it is drawn
would not allow to be dishonored.
Nor was this the only instance of providential
interest and care.  Other friends were raised up,
other arrangements were made, almost without any
care or effort on my own part, which gave a new distinctness and impressiveness to the great practical
truth that God will take care of those who believingly put their trust in him.
In regard to the particular places and results of
my journeyings, I have already said that I had no
special anxiety. I knew that there was One who
could plan for me better than I could plan for myself. I found, however, that the thought occurred
to me from time to time, that it would be a consolation to me, in these last days of my life, if that
Being in whom I trusted should enable me to travel
in those lands and to see those places which have been
rendered memorable by the events recorded in the
* Mr. George Pennell, of Liverpool.
48




5 6 6         LETTERS-AiESTHETIC,
Scriptures. I had no definite expectations; it seemed
to be hardly within the range of possibility: but still
it was natural that I should desire, if it should be
God's will to grant it, to see the places where
the Saviour was born, lived, and died. God was
pleased, in a manner unexpected to myself, to raise
up friends, by means of whose kindness this desire
was fulfilled. The persons to whom I now allude
were the valued American friends to whom I have
already often referred. They cheerfully consented
to admit me to the privilege of their society, took
the most friendly. interest'in my comparatively
helpless situation, relieved me from many duties
and cares which would have been beyond my
strength, and contributed in many ways to my
happiness, as we travelled together in France,
Savoy, Sardinia, Tuscany, Rome, Naples, Malta,
Egypt, the peninsula of Sinai, and Palestine. It
is hardly necessary to say that I could see nothing
but the hand of God in this favorable and unexpected occurrence.
It was thus that, starting with God, or at least
endeavoring to do so, I found God on the way. And
I not only recognized and felt the divine presence
in the arrangements which facilitated my travels,
but also in other -respects.
In the state of mind in which I was, and which
led me to think much of things in their causes or
original source, I could not travel without seeing
God in the works of which he is the Author. With
the exception of sin, the origin and relations of
which are not easily understood, it is, I suppose, a
just and commonly-received idea, that God has a




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          567
real and positive relation to everything which exists
or which takes place, both natural and moral. He
is, therefore, not far from every one of us at all
times. And there is a pure and believing state of
mind, (of which the soul, as it advances in Christian experience, will not fail to be the subject,) in
which all existences, and all events and providences
also, will become of the nature of divine revelations. He, therefore, who has an opportunity of
seeing most of nature, (I speak now particularly of
physical or material nature,) may expect to see
most of God, if he has within him, that opened and
purified eye by which the great fact of the divine
presence and agency is perceptible. In other words,
the world is God's booc, —the embodied and finite
representation, so far as it can be made, of that
which is Infinite; and he who has an opportunity
of turning over its pages and seeing most of it has
an opportunity, other things being equal, of seeing
and knowing most of God himself.  In passing,
therefore, from land to land, from ocean to ocean,
along beautiful or mighty rivers, the Seine, the Arno,
the Tiber, the Rhone, the Thames, the Nile, the Jordaln, and o.Ter lofty mountains, the beautiful Tabor,
the majestic Carmel, the snow-clad Alps, the wooded
Apennines, the burning brow of Vesuvius, and the
rugged granite peaks of Sinai, the conception of
the Deity, aided by these vast objects of sight,
greatly expanded and magnified itself.  It seemed
to me as if my heavenly Father, as he thus went
with me from place to place, held me by the hand
and opened in my presence on each new river's bank
or mountain-height some new page or picture in




568           LETTERS —  STIHETIC,
that vast and wondrous volume of nature which is
in part the record and monument of his unsearchable glory. The letters which formed the great
name of Jehovah were made up, if I may so express
it, of rivers and oceans, of vast plains and mountain s;
and I read and understood them on that account the
more easily. I cannot tell how my heart rejoiced
-how it exulted-in these new revelations.
I must say further, in giving an account of the
religious suggestions to which an acquaintance with
different and distant countries gives rise, that I was
led to think much of God, and to appreciate more
fully the excellence of his character, considered as
the God of nations as well as of individuals.
There is a providence of individuals.  There is
also a providence of states and empires. And it is
to the last I now particularly refer. It is not easy
to tread among the ruins of buried or prostrate
nations, without learning a moral lesson. And the
more we know of the mighty power of right and
wrong, —whether by the rewards or the sorrows
which they bring,-the more we know of God, and
the greater confidence we have in Him.  I cannot
be expected to go into particulars, but will make one
or two allusions. If no nation of ancient times arose
to greater power and influence than ancient IRome,
extending her sway as she did over a great part of
the world, it is also true, I think, that she reached
that overshadowing position by a course characterized not unfrequently by deception, and almost always by pride and cruelty. In completing the measure of her glory-or rather what the world calls glory
— she completed also the measure of her sin. And




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          569
in travelling over Italy, we saw everywhere, in
broken walls and scattered columns, the fragments
of a prostrate nation, which had fallen at the touch
of Providence, because it had been founded, not on
justice and mercy, but on ambition and violence.
Not only invading armies had trampled on her
gates, but, making our way through the ashes and
lava of Pompeii and Herculaneum, it was not easy
to forget that burning mountains and tossing seas
had also risen up in testimony against her.
At an earlier period Egypt had its grandeur. The
Pharaohs were as proud and as cruel as the Caesars;
and the massive monuments of the Nile cannot justly
be regarded as inferior in extent and grandeur to
the magnificent ruins which are scattered on the
banks of the Tiber.  But thegreatness of Egypta greatness which is sufficiently indicated and proved
by the extent of its remaining desolations-cotild
not support itself against that providential law
which pronounces death upon everything that is
not sustained by principles which meet the divine
approbation.  If I saw God, therefore, among the
ruins of Rome, I saw Him also among the ruins of
Egypt.
Nor was this all.  Amid the tottering walls and
the sea-beaten columns of the proud cities Tyre and
Sidon, I had before me other evidences, perhaps not
less striking than those to which I have referred,
that God, in the light of his providential dealings
with nations, is impressively revealed in his great
attributes of power and justice.  So true it is that
morality, having its foundation in the unalterable
constitution and relations of things, has its practical
48*




570            LETTERS-IESTHETIC,
development and its collmmenltary in historical even ts;
and that desolation itself, when viewed in the lig'ht
of a just philosophy, will T"vindicate thle ways of
God to muan."  Palestine itself; the land of God's
chosen people, found no exemption from this great
truth.  I looked down firom the mountains of Judea
on the Dead Sea, and remembered the fate of Sodom,
and Gomorrah, which sleep in silence beneath its
dark waters.  And as I stood on the 3Moount of
Olives and beheld Jerusalem, I called to mind
the sad prediction of the Saviour, which the sword
of Titus and the gathering of the i"Roman eagles"
had accomplished.
My religious convictions were strengthened also in
another way, —and so much so as to.draw still more
closely the bonds of communion and love.  Providence so ordered mly journey, as I have already been
led to say, that I was enabled to travel over lands
which have a connection with Biblical history; and
everything which came undcer my notice tended to
confirm that great record of God's intercourse with
men. And thus I became more intimately acquainted
not only with the God of nature and providence, but
with the God of the Bible. I travelled that Appian,
Way —   passed the site of that Appii Forum and the
Three Taverns-of' which I bad read, or to Vlwhich
I had found references, in the book of Acts.  At
Puccioli, where the Apostle Paul first landed  in
Italy, at the island of M3alta, where he was shipwrecked, and at Rome, where he was a prisoner
and where he was put to death for Jesus' name, I
felt I was treading upon soil honored by eminent
religious associations.  On the Nile, at the Red Sea,




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          571
in our long march through the wilderness of Sinai,
at Hebron, at Bethlehem, at Samaria, at Esdraelon,
at the Sea of Galilee, and in many other places, we
found striking confirmations of the narratives and
statements of the Bible.
I had never doubted the Bible. I ever had a deepabiding conviction of its truth,-a conviction resulting not only from the external evidence which may
be brought to bear upon it, but especially from the'
evidence which it carries in itself. And.yet, in
some way which perhaps it would not be easy for
me to explain, the Bible seemed to me, when I had
actually been amid the scenes of its wonderful narratives, to have more distinctness, more fulness of
truth, more transcendent power.  I shall not easily
forget how, on Judah's hills and at the base of the
mountains of Gilboa, the songs of David echoed
through mny spirit, as if they were flung for the first
time from the master's lyre. On the hill of Bethlehem, in the valley of Nazareth, and on the Mount
of Olives, the Saviour's life assumed a greater distinctness and reality, and I seemed to hear more
audibly the divine words which proceeded from his
lips.
I know not how it may have been with other
travellers, but I am obliged to add, further, that the
works of art which we saw from time to time in
different countries not unfrequently inspired emotions which harmonized with and strengthened the
highest religious sentiments.  It is something to
see the judgment-scenes of?Michael Angelo, and to
stand in the presence of the historical events of the
Bible, as they are brought to light in the miraculous




572           LETTERS —-STHETIC,
Cartoons of Raphael. It would argue but poorly
for a person's religious sensibility, who should not
find it quickened and strengthened in some degree
by Scripture scenes and events, as they are combined together, and revealed anew, as it were, in
the paintings of Correggio and Mlurillo and of the
other great masters whose works are so frequently
found in the galleries of art and in the palaces of
Europe.
And cl think it may be said, further, that there is
a sense in which the works of art may be regarded
without impropriety as the works of God, and in
which we may associate God withl them, much in
the same way in which we may associate H-im with
the works of nature.  Who made the marble which
the chisel has wrought into shape? Who fashioned
the hand that holds the chisel or which guides the
painter's pencil?  From whom came that inspiring
thought in accordance with which the marble is
modelled, or which gives harmony and inspiration
to color?  Genius is not an accident; but everything which is true and good in it, everything
which harmonizes with nature and gives strength
to virtue, has a divine origin. To the eye of faith,
which sees causes in effects and which traces the
multiplied relations of things to their central element, God sits enthroned in the Roman Capitol,
amid the countless works of art which he has
inspired, no less than on the Alps and the Apennines.
These views might be presented in another
and little different light.  The traveller not only
meets with flowers and trees, with rivers and




SOCIAL, AND MiORAL.        573
mountains, which elevate his thoughts to God,not only with works of art, which also have their
moral and religious influences upon the mind, but the
power of association, operating strongly in connection with memorable localities, restores, and places
before him almost with the distinctness of real life,
the powerful or illuminated men of other days who
have imparted clearness to truth, or beauty to
virtue,-men who have illustrated humanity by
thought, or have honored it by suffering and action.
I have referred to this, in part, in connection with
what I have said of the associated influence of
scenes in Palestine. But I would extend the view
to all lands, to all periods of time, and to all truly
great men. When I came to the places over which
their memory and their spirits hovered, it is hardly
an exaggeration to say that they appeared personally
before me. The mind created them  anew. Let
it not be considered strange, then, if I say, in a
sense which is susceptible of a just appreciation,
that I met with Somers, Chatham, and Burke in
the Parliament-House of England, with Wesley and
Addison on the banks of the Isis and Cherwell,
with Shakspeare in Windsor Forest and on Dover
Cliffs, with Algernon Sidney on Tower Hill, with
Fenelon at the Seminary of St. Sulpitius, with
Dante at Florence, with Cicero in the Roman Capitol,
with Moses in the wilderness, with Abraham,
Isaac, and Jacob at Matmre and the cave of
Machpelah, with David on the hill of Zion. The
mind seized upon what remained, and restored what
had departed. The inward senses were opened
with a power greater than that which belongs to the




574           LETTERS —-E STHETIC,
outward. The eye of the mind saw them.  The
ear of the heart heard them.
Can atheism thus give life to the dead? Can
infidelity, which has no confidence in virtue, thus
restore the men of other ages, whose memory remains because their life was the teaching and the
illustration of. virtue?  How can these things be,
if there be no God? And how can they be, with
that explanation which a belief in God alone can
give of them, without a juster appreciation and a
higher love of Him who, in being the Source of all
things, is the Centre of all just thoughts, the Mind
of all minds?
One of the pleasant things of a religious nature,
which increases the interest and happiness of the
Christian traveller in foreign countries, is the evidence which he often obtains of the essential unity
or oneness of character which exists in religious
experience. In Europe, Asia, Africa, America,
the child of God is one. Under blazing suns and
in polar snows, under all forms of government and
diversities of education, as well as in all varieties
of climate, the image of Christ is the same,-drawn
in immortal lines by the same mighty Architect,not always completed, but filling out, with each
day's added lines and touches, into the likeness of
that great and beautiful model which exhibited, in
the person of Christ in his earthly incarnation, the
soul of the Godhead in man's human heart. Names,
sects, parties, have no power to hide it, any more
than diversities of language, government, and color.
This beautiful image I saw in my travels, in countries and places far remote from each other:-on




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          575
the banks of the Po and the Tiber, in London,
in Florence, in Alexandria, in Jerusalem, in the
cottages of Waldensian mountains, as I had seen it
before in the mountains of America, —differing,
undoubtedly, in degrees of completeness, but always
true to the great Master's hand.  It needed no
letter of introduction. I saw it with the eye of the
heart. I embraced it with the arms of the affections. I cannot say how much I rejoiced in this
multiplication of universal brotherhood.  It was
more pleasant to me than the beauties of nature,
delightful as they are —brighter than the light of
the morning sun on the mountain-tops.
Among other developments of religious feeling,
or perhaps I should say of those feelings which
have a close connection with our religious nature,
I am tempted to give the following illustration. It
presents a form of experience related to, and yet
in some respects very different from, that which I
have just given.
One day, after reaching Alexandria, I occupied
myself, in company with the friends who were
with me, in making a short excursion along the
banks of the Mahmoudie Canal. On the shore of
the canal, engaged in various occupations, or
strolling at leisure on its banks, were Turks and
Arabs, and not unfrequently with a group of children around them. To me they were a. new race
of beings,-differing from what I had been accustomed to see in dress and in outward bearing
and deportment, as well as in their history and
language. But under these differences of dress
and peculiarities of manner I recognized, in the




576           LETTERS-ASTHETIC,
"human face divine," the signatures of a common
heart, a common nature.  None of the outward
differences to which I have referred, no diversities
of descent and history, of language, or even of
religion, were capable of limiting my affections.
My eyes had no sooner looked upon them, than
my heart gave them its sympathy and love as
promptly and as strongly as if they had been, as
in fact they were and are, "bone of my bone and
flesh of my flesh."  And I must confess that this
unprompted unity of feeling made me very happy
for a short time.  I was rejoiced to find that in
every part of the world I could meet a great
multitude to whom I could apply, as representative
of my feelings, the sacred names of brothers and
sisters, of fathers and mothers.
This was my first experience.  Only a very short
time, however, had passed, when I had inward
misgivings; and, indeed, the thought was strongly
impressed upon my mind, as if by some unseen
power, that I had done wrong in thus promptly
giving my heart to those of a different religious
faith.  An inward suggestion seemed to upbraid
me with placing confidence and affection in a race
of men who rejected the Christian religion and had
often shown hostility and contempt to that Saviour
in whom alone I was entitled to place my dearest
hopes.  What was a Turk to me?  Or what was
I to a Turk?  Had not the whole history of these
Mohammedan races been adverse to Christianity?
Had not the scimetar been bathed in the blood of
Christians?
Whether these suggestions came from a good or




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          577
an evil source, from God or from Satan, I was at a
loss to know. The embarrassment, however, and
the sorrow, arising from this state of mind, were
not small; and I was not relieved from them till I
had made it a subject of inward reflection. I sought
retirement. In simplicity and earnestness of spirit,
I carried the matter to God, as the great Source of
truth. I was soon relieved, and so convincingly
and distinctly that I was not troubled afterwards.
God said to me- if I may be allowed to employ
the unusual language of the ancient Mystics, but
which, I must confess, more accurately describes the
intimations and experience of my inward consciousness than any other-that my business was to love;
that God alone could know  and appreciate the
diversities of situations and creeds; that He alone
could estimate the unpropitious tendencies of a
birth and education in a heathen or Mohammedan
land; that I could not be born into the image of
Him who died for His enemies, while I repulsed
from my bosom the-man of any clime or any belief;
and that, in all cases, he who wishes to convey the
truth to any people, and to do them good, must
carry before him, as its precursor, the open banner
of a generous and disinterested affection.
One of the results of these long travels was a
clearer and deeper impression than I had experienced ever before, that the presence and influence of God a e not limnited by locality.
Every man who has a truly religious heart has
what may be called his sacred places. What I
mean to say is, that every man, in looking back
upon his past religious life, is able to recall places
49




578           LETTERS-2ESTHETIC,
which are associated with religious incidents, —
places which are allied in his recollections with
resolutions of amendment, or with remarkable developments of religious truth, or which have been
consecrated by the sorrows of penitence or by the
joys of gratitude. This I suppose to be the general
experience; and I am neither able, nor have I any
desire, to plead an exemption from it.  Mdy mind
has never ceased to recall such places; and often
it has recalled them with profit and pleasure. I
remember the Bible which my mother gave me;
nor is the place forgotten in which she gave it. I
remember the places where I read it alone. I remrember the garden, the wood, the valley, the river's
bank, where I spent many hours in pondering the
problems of salvation, and in seeking the great
Central Source of light. I remember the humble
abodes, rude and solitary perhaps, but yet consecrated in the religious affections, where, in the
evening of a long summer's day, I stole secretly
apart, to listen to the prayers of gray-headed old
men, or to learn from their lips the wondrous things
of God in glory and of mankind redeemed.
The teachings of God, therefore, and the various
religious influences of which he is the source, had
become associated, in some degree, with places; and
undoubtedly, forgetting the difference between the
Finite and the Infinite, I had a secret feeling,
hardly perceptible to myself that such gracious
influences were more likely to be repeated in some
places than others.  A wider experience dissipated
this natural and common illusion. I found that
God could travel as far and as fast as any of his




SOCIAL, AND MORAL.          579
poor children. And when I set my foot on the
ocean, to visit, for the first time, climes remote and
lands unknown, I left my country and friends, but
did not and could not leave my God behind me.
Wherever I went, I found him  at my side. On
the ocean and on the land, in the storm and in the
sunshine, amid the matchless beauties of Richmond
Hill and in the sterility of Arabian deserts, in
mountain-tops and in lowly valleys, in the palaces
of the Thames and the Seine and in the Bedouin's
tent and the Fellah's cottage of clay, everywhere,
and under all circumstances, I found Him present,
to guide, to counsel and console. And it seemed
to be an actual, and not merely a hypothetical and
constructive, presence, —a presence which is recognized by the heart as well as by the intellectual
conviction, and which harmonizes with the expressions of the Saviour, when he said, "c THE
KINGDOM OF GOD IS WITHIN YOU."
I have incidentally referred to this experience in
some other letters. I made records of it from time
to time. I have sometimes thought that it is the
tendency of raised emotions, when they have harmony in themselves by being in harmony with
God and the universe, to strive after an outward
expression in numbers.  Whatever is not in harmony-whatever is discordant with character, position, and all just relations —is, at least, not in the
highest form of truth; and hence it was, perhaps,
that these slight records of religious feeling, without
making pretensions to poetical merit, often took the
form of measure or verse.
I will give one or two illustrations. Our boat




580                LETTERS —I STHETIC,
was one day anchored on the banks of the Nile.  I
wandered  away alone a considerable distance.  I
came to the vast silent sands of the Libyan desert,
which limits the fertility and the cultivation of
the Egyptian river. I sat down. Around me was
vastness, desolation, unutterable silence. But this
great solitude was peopled with the presence of
God's company. If, in this vast but lonely place,
my heart, as it seemed to me, was emptied of all
earthly things, I seemed to be at least equally
conscious  that it was  occupied  and  filled  with
the Infinite. I felt the pressure and the embrace
of that mighty  arm  which  holds the ocean  and
the land, the mountain and the desert.'Tis thus in solitude I roam
O'er many a land and tossing sea;
And yet, afar from friends and home,
I find, 0 God! a home in Thee.
I pass from things of space and time;
The finite meets or leaves my sight:
But God expands o'er every clime
The clothing of the Infinite.
He left me not in that far land
Which I have loved to call my own;
And, walking now on Egypt's sand,
I feel that I am not alone.
He walks the earth, Ite rides the air;
The lightning's speed He leaves behind;
His name is LovE. And, tell me, Where
Is sea or land He cannot find?
Oh, long I've known him. Could it be
That, if He did not hold me dear,
Hle thus would tr-avel land and sea
And throw His arms around me here?
I could not leave Him if I would;
I would not, if the power were given;




SOCIAL, AND MO3RAL.          581'Twould be to leave the True and Good,
The soul's Repose, the spirit's I-eaven.
On other occasions also, and not unfrequently, I
made slight records in verse of religious feelings,
which would not be inserted here were it not they
are to be read by those who will know in what way
to understand them.  In reflecting, for instance,
upon the inward experience of which I had been
the subject, I had a clearer view perhaps than
ever before of that passage of Scripture to which I
have just now referred,-" The kingdom  of God
is within you."  Being in such a number of places
and in such a variety of circumstances, I was
enabled to understand more fully what I had
already read in books of philosophy,-that external things take their character, in a great degree,
from the mind; and that the kingdom of God in
the soul, by the diffusion of its own beauty, can
change any place, however rude and desolate in
itself, into a heavenly mansion.
And, in accordance with this view, I found my
heart allying itself with all objects, animate and
inanimate, which came under my notice; and it
found alliances and sympathies in return. The
rock which symbolizes the hardness of a fallen
nature was smitten and pierced within me; the
fountain of the central deep was broken up; and
love, which changes everything into its own beauty,
flowed out in rivers.  Not only varied and conflicting humanity, becoming harmonized at last into
universal brotherhood, clasped me to its bosom, but
also material and inanimate nature revealed itself
as the clothing or outward expression of a divine
49*




5 82               LETTERS — E STHETIC,
principle and life within. There was a voice in
the winds. There was a song in the ocean-waves.
The desert struggled to scatter a few flowers at my
feet. The very rocks smiled upon me.
With the kingdom  of God in the heart, I found
no  difficulty  in  understanding  the vision  of the
New  Jerusalem   and  in  beholding  its descending
brightness in everything  around  me.  It is in the
influence of such views and experiences that you
will find, in part., the explanation of wh at follows,
with which I now  close this long letter:THE KINGDOM OF GOD IS WITHIN YOU.
How oft our thoughts and hopes arise
To thee, the City of the Skies!
How oft we sit in grief, and sigh,
Because thy brightness is not nigh, —
Forgetting that a Power is here
Which makes the high and distant near I
Oh, yes! To man the power is given
To bring to earth that distant heaven,The power of FAITH, which has the art
To build God's kingdom in the heart;
The power of LOVE, which has the skill
With God himself the soul to fill.'Tis faith that conquers time and space,
And love makes heaven of form and place;
Their strength combined makes all things new;
It mars the false, it builds the true;
It plants on martyr'd heads the crown;
It brings the golden city down.
Oh, then, arise, poor child of tears!
Put on thy faith; put off thy fears;
And when the power which faith bestows
Hath met and crush'd thy spirit's foes,
Light in the heart love's shining gem,
And be thine own Jerusalem.




VALUABLE WORKS
PUBLISIHED BY
HENRY LONGSTRETH,
915 Market Street, Philadelphia.
They will be sent to any address (post-paid) on receipt of the prices affixed.
I. LETTERS  ESTIIETIC, SOCIAL, AND  MORAL.
Written from Europe, Egypt, and Palestine by Thomas C. Up7ham,
Professor of M2ental and Moral Philosophy in Bowdoin College.
Whipple & Co. Second Edition, Henry Longstreth, Philadelphia.
Price, $2.00.
TiIs well-remembered title will awaken pleasant emotions in
the breasts of those who were readers of the Congregationalist
in the years 1852-53, during which they were published in our
columns. By all such, and by all who know the peculiar charm
of Professor Upham's style, and the genuine goodness, and genial
piety of all which he does and utters, this volume will be sought
for as the most delightful book of travels which has, for a long
time, been issued from the press.  Perhaps we do wrong, however, in using this phraseology, since the book has hardly been
"issued from the press" at all; the extreme modesty of its author
certifying to him that a few copies only would be wanted, and so
a few only, for private friends, have been printed.  Those who
wish for one out of the little package in M'r. Whipple's hands
will do well to be in season in their application, and we cannot
help hoping that the demand may be such and so disinclined to
take denial that the professor may soon come out in a second and
public edition. It is a beautiful, thoughtful, and truthful record
of the transatlantic experiences of no common man.-The Congregationalist.
583




584          H. LONGSTRIETI S PUBLICATIONS.
WTe have frequently desired of late that our readers mi'ght
share with us a gratification which we did not feel at liberty so
much as to name, —the reading of Professor Upham's letters,
written for the Congre/eqatiomacist during his foreign tour, and
now collected in a handsome volume.  We received this volume
as a gift of fiiendship from the author, and found upon its titlepage the warning that it was a private edition, and so have felt
bound in courtesy to keep to ourselves the enjoyment we have
found in its pages.  But, now that the North Amerfican has given
a formal notice of the volume, we may feel absolved from all
obligations of secrecy, and openly advise booksellers to make
arrangemeents to have this I"private edition" upon their shelves.
As a book of travels it is somewhat peculiar.  It deals little in
what is styled the narrative or the descriptive, and follows no
stereotyped method, but it has the rare merit of simplicity in
narration and description, and it beautifully blends the subjective
with the objective, so that the mental experiences and the moral
inferences of the author are inseparably connected with what he
sees.  One will find in this volume a fine classic taste, a pure
and sound judgment upon monuments and works of art, a nice
historical criticisn  in regard to matters of antiquity, a deep vein
of spiritual philosophy, a generous sympathy with freedom,
anad above all a philanthropy that knows no bounds of space or
clime.
It was our privilege for many months to know somewhat intimately the workings of the mind that so artlessly reproduces
itself in these pages; and the admirable blending of the Christian philosopher with the practical philanthropist, of the reasoner
with the believer, of the teacher with the friend, of the earnest
student -with the childlike disciple,-this rare combination of
high mental culture with high moral goodness, the whole
chastened and moulded by the simplest faith,-led us to expect
firom the pen of Professor Upham jusjt such a volume as we have
now described.  How with feeble health and impaired vision lhe
had time and strength to prepare so many letters of such excellent quality, is to us a mystery.  All who have known Professor
Uphamn through his former writings will delight to be admitted
to this familiar acquaintance, and to look upon his speaking
portrait affixed to the volume.  The invigorated tone of his
countenance in this picture, as well as of his mind in the letters,




H. LONGSTRETH'S PUBLICATIONS.              585
causes us to despair of pronouncing his elegy, and therefore we
make sure of this passing tribute.-lFromn the N: Y.  Idzlepezdent.
After perusing the above-named book with exceeding interest,
we laid it down with one deep and abiding regret, which further
reflection greatly strengthens.  That one regret is that it was
issued in a private edition of four hundred volumes only, or that
that was not immediately followed by one which might be accessible to all. With the author's previous religious volumes we are
well acquainted, from the Mental Philosophy, which shed a flood
of light upon a youthful, struggling mind; followed by the
"Interior Life," which opened a new world to a feeble but
sincere and aspiring spiritual nature, through the Life of Faith,
aided by Catharine Adorna, as a practical illustration, and by.Madame Guyon, as a beautiful exemplification of the power of
these spiritual principles; closing with the "Divine Union," as
the climax of all that may be grasped before "this mortal shall
put on immortality."  Then come the "Letters," the same, yet
different; the same in principles, in sentiment, in style, bearing
the Uphamic stamp in every chapter and on every page, yet
different; for while the inner thought and feeling, the peculiar
philosophy and religious views, of the author are impressed and
interwoven with every line, yet here the  outward world is
grasped, analyzed, shadowed forth-nay, illuminated-by its connection with the inward, intellectual, spiritual life. The world
of matter-this beautiful, unconscious earth, with its rolling
ocean, its splendid cities, its teeming country, its wonders of art,
its silent deserts, and its historic facts-is electrified or galvanized
into vocal life, speaking everywhere of God, redemption, man's
ruin and recovery, and of that glorious millennial future when,
purified from its imperfections and defilements, perfected in arts
and sciences, its Creator and Redeemer shall again pronounce it
"very good." —— iVew York Christian Advocate ancd Journal.
We count ourselves particularly fortunate to have been found
within "the limited circle" beyond which Professor Upham, with
too great, but characteristic, modesty, cannot persuade himself
that these Letters "will possess any special interest."  Books of




586          II. LONGSTRETH'S PUBLICATIONS.
travel have become proverbially trite and threadbare, rehearsing
to us in regular succession the same routes of journey, the same
marvels of nature and art, with the same barren and commonplace sentiments.  Mere guide-books are they, in fact, to the
tourist. To this unattractive class, however, Professor Upham's
volume does not at all belong. Although he goes over much of
the ground already described by his predecessors, yet he aims to
give us rather the picture of his own mind as affected by the
scenes and associations and chari.s of Europe and the Desert and
the Holy Land, than a mere daguerreotype of their visible and
tangible features. Such a transcript of an intellect enriched and
disciplined by studious culture, of a sentiment liberalized and
refined by a genial humanity, and especially of a heart purified
and quickened by contemplative devotion, must have a value inestimably beyond the vapid sketches of professional sight-seers.
Great historical learning and an absorbed study of Holy Scripture enabled Dr. Upham to find an ennobling and pathetic beauty
and fascination in all the localities of the Old World; and he has
thus described them to us as adorned by the reflected splendor
of his own observation. It is new as well as profitable to us to
be told how such a man was moved by the hallowed sight and
memories of regions so often portrayed to us as objects for the
eye rather than the heart to enjoy.  The commonest experiences
were to him invested with a significance and dignity which fail
to strike meaner observers; and his volume is more precious to
us as a record of intimate metaphysical and ethical development
than of ordinary travel and enjoyment.
It is unnecessary to say that the style and diction are models
of simple elegance and transparency.  Professor Upham's works
are too well known even to school-children to need any word of
commendation from  us.  Several graceful poems, evidently
prompted by actual emotion, not elaborated to eke out the pages,
enrich the book.  We give one, selected on the doubtful merit
of its being the shortest we find, to exhibit the purity of the
feeling and the melodious flow of the verse.
"0  Saviour! thus I leave the land
Which thou hast loved and look'd upon;
No more upon the hills to stand
Where thou hast stood in ages gone.




H. LONGSTRETHIIS PUBLICATIONS.               587
And yet the breeze, the sail that fills,
Is whispering to my pensive mind,
That, thus in leaving Judah's hills,
I do not leave her king behind.
"The faithful soul shall know it true
That every land and clime is thine;
That He who trod in Hermon's clew
Finds everywhere his Palestine.
I go, but cannot go from thee;
I tread once more the ocean's tide;
But He who walk'd on Judah's sea
Will not be absent from my side."
Most earnestly do we call upon Professor Upham to give us an
edition. of these Letters which shall not bear the word private
upon its title-page; meanwhile counselling our friends to intrude,
if practicable, upon the "privacy" of the present issue. They
shall then find themselves in communion with a large and wealthy
mind and heart, and cannot but be benefited by the intercourse.From the N. H. Dover Enqzsirer.
It is inestimably precious as a record of the author's inward
life and spiritual experience, in communion with nature in her
solitudes, her grandeur, and in her beauty, with humanity under
various phases of civilization and religion, and with the memorials
of supernatural events, sacred history, religious heroism, and
Christian martyrdom. If his vision was sealed where other
men's eyes are open, —if he closed his letters from Rome without
so much as a reference to St. Peter's,-he more than compensates
us by the promptness of his intuitions and the depth of his
insight wherever the nobler faculties of mind and heart are
concerned.
"Another feature (says the  reviewer) of this  charming
volume is, the author's generous sympathy with every form and
manifestation of the religious life, with sincerity and devotion
under whatever name or rubric, and with whatever admixture of.reputed error in speculative belief."  "His genial sympathies
are by no means confined to the Christian fold....  He seeks
every opportunity of familiar intercourse with the poorest natives
of the benighted regions through which his Oriental pilgrimage




588          I. LONGSTRETI'S PUBLICATIONS.
carries him, and announces the interchange of affectionate greetings and kind offices with some wretched family in a hut on a
sand-waste, with the same serene satisfaction with which Dr.
Sprague records a successful visit to a professor of world-wide
celebrity."
"'Tis difficult to make selections where there is hardly a paragraph that is not remarkable either for descriptive power or for
devotional sentiment; and still more difficult is it by detached
passages to convey any idea of the quiet ecstasy of lofty contemplation, reverence, and love that pervades this portion of the
volume, presenting the reflection of the soul whose emotional
life is calm  from  its very depth and fulness, and which with
every step upon the soil consecrated by the Redeemer's footprints
drinks in his fresh benedictions."  The article closes with the
wish that this, "one of the choicest books of the day," may not
be confined to the limited circle of fiiends for whose use and at
whose solicitation it was printed. — orith Atmerican Revietw.
May I be allowed to say with what pleasure I have read the
"Letters ZEsthetic, Social, and Moral," of Professor Uphalm, of
Bowdoin College, written during his recent visit to Europe,
Egypt, and Palestine, and fully expressive of those devout sentiments and all-comprehensive philanthropy which so eminently
mark his many able works and are so beautifully illustrated in
his personal character?  The simplicity of a child is combined in
him with great learning, a fine poetic taste, a profound philosophy,
and affections which, like the light of the sun, encompass all
forms of beauty and things of life.  To know one such man is a
great privilege.  The college of which he is one of the chief
ornaments, the State which enjoys the power of his example,
may well be thankful for such a treasure.  Let me add some
value to what might otherwise be deemed of little worth, by
copying a brief passage from the forty-third of these Letters, relating to the Wilderness of Sinai:"I anm  obliged to say, therefore, that a journey through the
Wilderness of Sinai, which brings with it so many great thoughts
as the product of its chaotic vastness, not only furnishes no
apology for irreligion, no apology for atheistic unbelief, but, on
the contrary, proclaims hostility against a light and irreverent




H. LONGSTRETH'S PUBLICATIONS.                 589
spirit.  God is there.  His footprints are in the sand.  His voice
is heard in the winds.  His name is written with sunbeams on
the rocks. The very silence utters him.
"I wanted repose, and I found it in the desert. I wanted comnmunion with God, and I found it there.  I found it, in the day,
in the vastness of its objects, and in its silence. I found it still
more in the night, when magnitude enlarges itself, and silence
becomes more silent. I found it in the earth beneath, and in
the heavens above. Often I watched the stars. Beautiful as
the heavenly mansions, they looked out from their blue abodes,
clear and lovely, as if they were the eyes of that great Being
who fills their urns with light. There was one, with its large
angelic eye, that came with peculiar sweetness. It danced upon
the mountain-tops. It had no audible utterance; but there was
a divine language in its smile, which spoke of heavenly peace.
It was in the desert of Sinai that I gave it a place in my memory.
It was in the vast wilderness which had inspired the prophetic
impulses and the songs of Moses that I watched the mild splendor of its beams, and endeavored to record the emotions excited
by its mysterious but lovely presence.
"LINES WRITTEN IN THE WILDERNESS OF SINAI,
"I mark'd the bright, the silver star,
That nightly deck'd our desert way,
As, shining from its depths afar,
Its heavenly radiance seem'd to say,'Oh, look! from mists and shadows clear,
My cheering light is always here.''II saw thee, and at once I knew,
Star of the desert, in my heart,
That thou didst shine, the emblem true
Of that bright Star whose beams impart,
From night to night, from day to day,
The solace of their inward way.
"There is a beam to light the mind,
There is a star the soul to cheer;
And they that heavenly light who find
Shall always see it burning clear,The same its bright celestial face
In every change of time and place.
50




590         HI. LONGSTRETH' S PUBLICATIONS.
"Star of my heart, that long hast shone
To cheer the inward spirit's sky,
Illumined from the heavenly throne,Thou hast a ray that cannot die.'Tis God that lights thee! And with Him
No sky is dark, no star is dim."
N. Y. Journal of Commerce.
II. —Letters of Richard Reynolds, with a Memoir of his
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Price, $1.
III.-Memorials of Rebecca Jones, compiled by William J.
Allinson. Price, $1.
IV.-Select Memoirs of Port Royal: to which are appended
Tour to Alet; Visit to Port Royal; Gift of an
Abbess; Biographical Notices, &c., taken from original Documents by MI. A. Schimmelpenninck, 2 vols.
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V. —Gleanings from Pious Authors: comprising the Wheat
Sheaf, Fruits and Flowers, Garden and Shrubbery;
compiled by Ann Alexander, of Ipswich, England,
with a brief notice of the former publications of
these volumes, by James Montgomery.  Price, $1.
VI.-Life of William Allen, with selections from his Correspondence, 2 vols. 8vo. Price, $4.
VII. —Memoirs of Sir Thomas Fowell Buxton, Baronet, with
selections from his Correspondence.  Edited by his
son, Charles Buxton, Esq.  Price, $2.
VIII.-Life of Elizabeth Fry; compiled from her Journal, as
edited by her daughters, and from various other
sources, by Susanna Corder. Price, $2.
IX.-Memoir of Priscilla Gurney; compiled by Susanna
Corder. Price, $1.
X.-A Selection from the Letters and Papers of the late
John Barclay. Price, $1.
XI.-Memoirs of Maria Fox, late of Tottenham, England,
consisting chiefly of extracts from her journal and
correspondence. Price, $2.




HI. LONGSTRETHI'S PUBLICATIONS.            591
XII.-Extracts from the Journal of the late Margaret W~oods,
from the year 1771 to 1821.  Price, $1.
XIII.-Christian Instruction in the History, Types, and Prophecies of the Old Testament; illustrating those
fundamental doctrines of the  Gospel which are
acknowledged by true Christians of every religious
denomination. BySusannaCorder. Price, 50 cents.
XIV. —Thoughts on Habit and Discipline.  By Joseph John
Gurney. Price, 75 cents.
"It is one of those sterling books on self-government which
no man can read without receiving both mental and moral benefit.  Like all Mr. Gurney's writings, it is strictly orthodox in its
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forcible in its style." —Bth Chronicle.
"Its tone is decidedly religious; but its method is philosophical, while its style is popular."-AthLenwurn.
"The work is distinguished by that benevolent and parental
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author, and is calculated to win the heart while it convinces the
understanding of the reader."-Bath I9fcralcd.
"This is one of the most useful works that could be put into
the hands of young persons.  We have never seen the subject
more ably handled."-Liverpool Courier.
"We have few books extant containing, in so brief a space,
so much sound practical instruction."-Keene's Bath Jouqnal.
" Such thoughts are the great desideratum of the age, and, if
carefully read and enforced in daily life, would contribute much
to the well-being of society."-Newccastle Gcuardiaen.
T"1toucghts ot H]abit and Disc'ipinte should be read by the
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" Sound sense and devout feeling are distinguishing characteristics of this useful publication."- Cheltenharn C6hronicle.




592          H. LONGSTRETH'S PUBLICATIONS.
" The proper study of such a book will go far to induce many
others to tread in the steps of its lamented author, and to perpetuate the race of philanthropists of which he was, in the true
sense of the word, an illustrious examnple."-Rochester Gazette.
XV. —Hints on the Portable Evidence of Christianity. By
Joseph John Gurney. Price, 38 cents.
XVI.-A Visit to my Fatherland: being Notes of a Journey
to Syria and Palestine in 1843.  By Ridley H. Herschell, Author of a " Brief Sketch of the Jews," &c.
Price, 38 cents.
This is a remarkably interesting little work written by a converted Jew.
XVII.-Hymns, selected from  various Authors by Priscilla
Gurney. Price, 38 cents.
XVIII.-Patience in Tribulation: A Short Memoir of E. E.,
an humble-minded Christian, who entered into rest
August 13, 1825. Price 25 cents.
XIX.-Essays on the Evidences, Doctrines, and Practical
Operation of Christianity. By Joseph John Gurney.
Price, $2.
The Editor of his Life, Joseph Bevan Braithwaite, thus writes
of this valuable work: —
"It was at the close of this year (1825) that he published
the elaborate work in which, under the title of Essays on Christianity, he has embodied, in a condensed form, the result of the
meditation and research of many years.  With singular perspicuity of arrangement, he here unfolds the evidences and fundamental doctrines of the Christian religion; dwelling with peculiar force upon the great truths of redemption, more especially
upon the glorious offices and divine character and perfections of
the Redeemer, and the being, power, and work of the Holy
Spirit. The tenth essay, in which the scriptural argument in
proof of the Deity of Christ is carefully and powerfully stated,
contains the substance of the more extended unpublished work
upon the subject, which, as has been already noticed, he had
commenced so early as the year 1815. The whole is enforced
as well by a continued reference to the practical object and tendency
of all Christian truth, as by a particular essay devoted to the
important subjects of'faith' and'obedience/' in which the




H. LONGSTRET I'S PUBLICATIONS.             593
reasonableness and necessity of their combined and harmonious
exercise are strikingly exhibited.
"Deeply sensible of the mysterious, and, to use his own expression in his Journal,'unembraceable' character of many of
the subjects treated of, it was his desire to keep strictly within
the limits of that which has been revealed respecting them.
"The whole work breathes the spirit of one whose heart is
warmed and animated by the love of Christ.  Taught as he had
been in the school of experience, and strengthened, in no small
measure, to consecrate his faculties to the service of his Divine
Miaster, he was enabled in this volume, and often with singular
success, to employ his extensive acquaintance with the original
languages of Scripture, as well as with Jewish and Rabbinical
learning, and the remains of early Christian antiquity, in throwing a clear and steady light upon the momentous topics of which
he treats.  Indeed, it may be said, without disparagement to the
many other valuable treatises extant upon these subjects, that it
would be difficult to find a volume in which so much sound and
important information is digested in so small a compass, and in
so useful and practical a form, as in that now under consideration.
Notwithstanding the sound scholarship apparent in almost every
page, the style is clear, and adapted to the merely English
reader; whilst the diligent student of the Hebrew and Greek
Scriptures can hardly fail to derive instruction from the many
incidental explanations scattered throughout the work, of obscure
or difficult passages.
"The work, upon its publication, was very favorably received,
and has since passed through numerous editions.  In a few
warm  but expressive lines, the Bishop of Norwich assured
Joseph John Gurney of'the high opinion which he entertained'
respecting it; and from his brother-in-law, Thomas Fowell Buxton, he learned the satisfaction which it hadl given to the Duke
of Gloucester.'I read it,' said the Duke,'over, and over, and
over again.'  His old tutor John Roogers wrote with a warmth
that may be excused towards a favorite pupil:"In the composition of these essays you have discovered an
intimate acquaintance with the subject on which you treat; you
have shown that your mind is impressed with a full sense of its
importance, and that it has occupied your most serious thoughts;
50'*




594          H. LON(STRETH S PUBLICATIONS.
you have displayed a great knowledge of the original langulges
in which the old and the new covenants were written, as well as
of the Jewish and Christian antiquities; you have conducted
your work in a regular and perspicuous method; and (what
gives it the greatest value) you have evinced, in general, that
excellent temper, and that Christian spirit, which ought always
to characterize writings of this nature.
"FROM ROBERT SOUTHEY.
"Keswick, 4th January, 1826.
C I have gone through your volume with wonder as well, as
satisfaction, and I hope not without profiting by it.  It would
have been a surprising book from one who had been bred to the
profession of divinity, and pursued the study with ardor during
a long life.  The evidence is full and complete, the deductions
everywhere logical, the spirit truly Christian; and I cannot
doubt but that it will be the means of bringing home many who
have gone astray, and of preserving others from error.
"d Mly heart went with you everywhere. There are two points
only on which I hesitate in opinion. * * * * Do not think me
presumptuous.  From the changes through which my mind has
passed I have learnt the useful lesson of distrusting myself; and
for some twelve years I have been conscious of no other change
than an increasing sense of weakness, and the necessity of a
saving faith.'"FROM HANNAH MORE.
"Barley Wood, June 15th, 1826.
"It is a necessity to which I am too frequently driven, when I
have been favored with a presentation-copy of a work from an
author whose mediocrity I either knew or suspected, to return
my thanks almost immediately, that I might not be compelled to
the painful alternative of rudeness or flattery.  You, my dear
sir, are an author whose work, to borrow the language of one of
the collects of our church, one may'read, mark, learn, and
inwardly digest' before one acknowledges the obligation conferred.  There is nmuch judgment in the arrangement, great perspicuity in the style, as well as depth and truth in the argument.
I pray that it may please our gracious Heavenly Father, without




II. LONGSTRETH S PUBLICATIONS.             595
whom nothing is strong, nothing is holy, to make this book an
instrument of much good.
"'FROM CHARLES SIMEON.
"K. C. Cambridge, January 25th, 1826.
C"My BELOVED FRIEND AND BROTHER:"I have proceeded half through your book qeglctarly according
to your direction, and have read it with great delight and edification. Your statements throughout are judicious and satisfactory, and the richness of your appeals to Scripture renders
your book invaluable. * * * * I love your recapitulations exceedingly.  The vast advantage of them  to your readers is
obvious; but they are not less useful to your own mind, in that
they induce a habit of order, of terseness, of perspicuity.  It is
almost impossible for a man who recapitulates either to run riot
or to talk nonsense.  Bishop Pearson's perorations have always
delighted me, and yours also will delight and edify many.
"I have just perused your most elaborate defence of the
divinity of our blessed Lord. I think that the whole church
will bless you for it; and in your dying hour it will be no grief
to you to have taken so much pains in elucidating and confirming a point that is of such unspeakable importance to all who
feel their need of a divine Saviour.  Go on, my beloved brother,
and may God long preserve you to be a blessing to the church
and the world!
"After what has been said, it will not be necessary to do more
than to insert extracts from a very few of the letters which he
received, upon its publication, from the members of his own religious society.
loFROM WILLIAM FORSTER.
"Bradpole, [2d of 3d month,l 1826.
"Thou must allow me, in true brotherly love, to offer thee my
warmest congratulations, that thou hast been enabled to bring
out thy Essays.  I entertain a most lively and cheering hope of
the usefulness of thy work; that in this cloudy and dark day
it will tend to the establishment of the wavering, to the fortifying of the feeble-minded, and put to silence the cavils of many a




596          H.II LONGSTRETH'S PUBLICATIONS.
proud and self-sufficient gainsayer.  To the anxious inquirer
after the truth as it is in Jesus, I firmly believe it will be rendered peculiarly helpful and valuable. In short, I cannot but
look upon it as one of those labors of love that will be made to
abound'by many thanksgivings unto God.' It would be strange
if I did not feel more than a common and passing interest in the
work; for, I think, I never found myself upon any occasion so
much anticipated, —it gives utterance to my own views and feelings in such lucid and convincing language, and withal it solves
some of my difficulties so thoroughly and satisfactorily.
"'FROMT JONATHAN HUTCHINSON.
"Gedney, 5th mo., Ist, 1826.
I"I have lately finished a very deliberate reading of thy
Essays, and, on the whole, with a satisfaction which enables nme
honestly to say that I am glad to have seen such a book before
I die.  I rejoice that a friend so dear to me should, consistently
with his own avowed principle of human incapacity for any work
that can be denominated good both in motive and act, have been
enacbled to write it.  I hope this effort of labor and of love, for
such I consider it, will prove of advantage to many, as I think
it has been of edification to myself, by exciting me afresh, even
under life's declining energies,'to thank God and take courage,'
and, under some renewal of faith and hope, reverently, I trust,
to'put on strength in the name of the Lord.'
"Cit was with peculiar satisfaction that he received the following from the well-known author of the English Grammar, then
far advanced in years.
"H)oldgate, near York, 2d mo., Ist, 1826.
"MY DEAR AND MUCH-ESTE:EMED FRIEND:"I amu obliged and gratified by thy kind remembrance of me
in the distribution of thy volume.
"Being able to read but little myself, I have had the book
read to me, and very much to my satisfaction.  Proofs thou hast
given abundantly of the positions contained in the volume being
conformable to the Holy Scriptures.  The work is happily calculated, both in its matter and manner, to comfort those who unite




H. LONGSTRETH'S PUBLICATIONS.           597
in the author's views and sentiments, to disperse the doubts of
those who hesitate, and to produce conviction in the minds of
gainsayers. Thou hast indeed by this pious labor very materially served the cause of truth and righteousness; and I trust
thou wilt be blessed for it by Him whose blessing makes truly
rich, and will accompany thee to the latest hour of life.
"Farewell, dear Joseph, in the best sense of the word!
"I remain thy very affectionate friend,
LINDLEY MURRAY."
XX.-A  Popular Life of George Fox, the first of the
Quakers. By Josiah Marsh. Price, $1.
Compiled from his Journal and other authentic sources, and
interspersed with remarks on the imperfect Reformation of the
Anglican Church, and the consequent spread of Dissent. The
work abounds with remarkable incidents, which portray a vivid
picture of the excited feelings that predominated during those
eventful periods of English history, the Commonwealth and the
Restoration.
XXI.-A Guide to True Peace; or, A Method of attaining
to Inward and Spiritual Prayer. Compiled chiefly
from the writings of F6nelon, Lady Guyon, and
Michael Molinos. Price, 25 cents.
XXII.-The Plain Path to Christian Perfection; showing
that we are to seek for reconciliation and union with
God, solely by renouncing ourselves, denying the
world, and following our blessed Saviour in the regeneration. Price, 25 cents.
XXIII.-Some Memoirs of the Life of John Roberts; written
by his son, Daniel Roberts. Price, 25 cents.
This is a very remarkable Memoir of one of the early Friends.
An eminent reviewer, speaking of John Roberts, says, —
" Roberts was by no means a gloomy fanatic: he had a great
deal of shrewdness and humor, loved a quiet joke, and every
gambling priest and swearing magistrate in the neighborhood
stood in fear of his sharp wit.."
XXIV. —A Journal of the Life and Gospel Labors of John
Conran, of Moyallen, in Ireland, who died in the
year 1827. Price, 50 cents.