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I'l.lUlNSj PER ;UM \i l\ ADVANCE. SECOND YEAR,NO.2I WHOLE N0.71.
1 SflflTiß&M FAffiiLT TO MMTOI, W MTS MB SfillMSS, MB TO GIKIIL limMOTSE,
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For Richards’ Weekly Gazette, j
SONG:
“ Render thy Tribute to Beauty.”
BY PARISH SAXON.
Render thy tribute to beauty,
Nor question with doubts the decree
That makes the sweet service a duty,
Though without seeming profit it be:
’Tis something to bend at the altar,
Where beauty is priestess, tho* still
The heart of the worshipper falter,
As tho smile of the goddess is chill.
’Twcre sadder tho fortune that found tlieo
From tho bondage of beauty still free,
For the fetters with which she had bound thee, !
Didst thou worship, were ble sings to thee;
She might scorn the p.ior captive’s devotion,
While keeping him fast in her snare;
But the freedom of earth and of ocean
Were but exile, were Beauty not thee.
Desilla, S. C.
■i'iJi; JiDjiJ.ijilis jj,
‘’ ‘ = ‘^WlvkvK
For Klchardi’ Weekly Oaxi uc.
WOMAN k WOMAN’S LORI).!
BY A LADY OF GEORGIA.
CHAPTER IV.
How can I describe to you. my reader, j
the first day of Elliston’s re-union with his
friends, so full as it was of pleasant and i
varied intercourse ? See them in the piaz- i
za, walking arm inarm, viewing the moun
tain peaks, as they are seen in bold relief j
against the bright blue sky. The Yonah,
first anil largest of the train—Mount Sal,
and Tray, and Pilot, and others, seeming
to stand like sentinels to time—which will
only surrender when time shall be no more.
They linger not there, however, but wend
their way down into a favorite glen, where
woodbine, honeysuckle and rhododendren
abound. There is a bower—Ellen’s fairy
bower; a streamlet,clear and pebbly, flows
by, bordered with shrubbery indigenous to
the soil; forest trees shut out the mountain
view, and green grass affords pasture for
the deer that dwell there in a mimic park.
Higher up, you may see that the stream
seems to be wider, and runs in a graceful
curve around a temple-like bathing-house,
built in the middle of the clear waters, con
nected by a light bridge with the bank.—
The sunbeams struggle through the over
hanging branches, and fall in playful light
upon the rippling water —and the graceful
Wemple, with its tiny pillars, is reflected on
The moving surface. Still higher up, there
is a dairy at the foot of the hill, around
which the stream winds, in its course to
the valley of the Soque. There is a mim
ic fall and rapids, for which they have
diverted a portion of the liquid element,
which unites again like a small tributary
at the foot of the fall.
They engage in earnest conversation.—
The clouds of their past lives are clearing
away, and the sunshine of joy and perfect
confidence is settling upon them, to remain
forever. I.et us not disturb them, but tell
the tale in our own way.
Three buds spring from a parent stem.
A storm rushes by, and in its fury breaks
them asunder, casting the buds upon the
earth, and separating them rudely. The
first bloomed in Maryland, the second in
Georgia—the third, like the violet, bloom
ed amid the leaves and the rubbish of the
earth, shedding her good deeds like that
simple flower, which attracts by the fra
grance it imparts. Thus it was with the
family of Elliston and Ellen. Genevra, by
her mysterious destiny, was torn from them
and hid ; yes, hid amid the leaves and the
rubbish of earth. Her mind had been
awakened from its enthusiastic dream, and
now she looked out upon the world from
her seclusion. She felt that thoughts and
feelings had forced themselves into her
roind, that had hitherto slept profoundly;
and therein was her safety. An assumed
form had stood before her and deceived her
—she now looked with distrust upon the
reality. Distrust not a true friend, my
gentle reader; much less distrust your own
nature, when it rises up against the evil
things of the world. The first is given to
teach you that a touch of heaven may lin
ger around earthly feeling. The second
arises from the necessity of our souls, and
God has placed them as bulwarks to defend
us from the world’s tempestuous tide of
corruption.
Ihe elder brother, on his return home,
accused his younger brother of want of
care or kindness to his sister during his ab
sence : and he, being independent, left his
roof for a distant country, determining, that
as he did not merit so unjust an accusation,
lie would not condescend even to deny it.
Mr. Elliston met in Washington City, a
beautiful Southern lady, who won his heart
completely by her amiable disposition and
fascinating manners. He was both digni
fied in appearance and prepossessing in
manners, so that his devotion to her soon
rendered him a successful lover. They
were married, and after that, the winters j
were regularly spent on one of the sea
islands of Georgia, where her property wa
situated.
The settlement was on the western side :
of the island. Well-remembered are those 1
majestic oaks, hanging over the landing
place. On ascending the bluff - , so dark is j
the shade, from the dense evergreen foliage j
of the groves, one might almost expect to,
see eilin forms spring up to greet them, or, j
perchance, druidical rites celebrated under!
their sacred shadow. Bui not to. IK-rr j
are groves of lemon and of orange, planted j
in squares cleared out from tire natural!
growth, and thus protected from the blight-1
ing winds. Here are also hoti ; of mas- 1
sivc structure —a dwelling of a cottage 1
form, surrounded with shrubbery: nut all
are embowered in mighty oaks. Thej
tower above them, and speak of the far
gone past, when the native Indian stalked i
beneath their shadow, and moored at the j
landing-place his simple bark canoe. The j
mighty past is now lost in the mightier
present. Passengers now arrive and de
part by steam, and then tile boats rush by, |
as if to outstrip time in its flight.
But let usnot neglect to linger for awhile
around this cottage, or forget to Introduce
to our readers two little beings, who grew
together there, like two tendrils of the same ;
vine. One was more delicate, more grace
ful, more confiding: that was the young
Genevra. The other, strong, manly, and |
proud of the confiding nature of his -lister: |
this was Charles Elliston, our hero. Two I
children are playing together before the i
gale of the court-yard. She lias sunn\
hair, and eyes the color of the deep blue
sky. lie is a manly-looking little boy, I
with dark hair ami eyes, and towering at
least a foot above his little sister in height.
He rolls his hoop near the edge of the bluff - ,
(bordered as it is with a row of the Span
ish Dagger, a species of the Palmetto,) she
following, and with her tiny steps trying
to keep up with him. Then lie turns, and
rolls it back to meet her. His dog keeps
up with him, and ever and anon leaps
through the rolling ring—for Ponto has
been trained to various accomplishments.
Genevra stands near the margin of Pal
metto, and claps her little hands with de
light. The mirth of this little party was
soon changed to sorrow and alarm—for
Ponto, in jumping through the ring just
opposite to Genevra, knocked her down,
and she rolled through the margin down
the steep, sandy bluff - , where she lay bleed
ing from the wounds of the sharp leaves,
and within a foot or two of a watery grave.
Charles lost not his manliness in the hour
of need, but said—“ Genevra, lie still, my
sister, till 1 come;” and darting down a
path leading along the river, was in a mo
ment by her side. But ere Charles could
reach her, Ponto had jumped down the
bluff and stretched himself between her and
the river, as if to protect her from further
danger in that quarter. When Charles
reached her, lie was licking the blood from
’ one of her hands, and she held it up, say
ing—
“ Charley, see, Ponto won't let me fall in
the river, for the big sharks to eat me up.”
This all passes in a few moments—in
; much less time than it takes to tell it.—
| Charley takes his sister with one arm
1 round her waist, he being next the river.
Ponto follows near behind. They walk
j carefully, for fear of slipping from the nar
j row path, which the next high tide will
j soon bathe with its briny wave. When
j they turn up the little path and then stand
upon the bluff in safety, Charles looks re
| lieved. Ponto shews his joy by his ca
-1 pers, until his little master says, “ Home,
I sir, and call.” Soon Ponto is seen, with
, mother, father and servants ; and thus the
‘ adventure ends.
Many years pass by, and still the win-
I ters are regularly spent among the groves
of the Sea Island—the summers at the
North. Mother, son and daughter, are ex
amples of confiding love. It is the day be
fore their departure for the North. A
bright sun sheds his afternoon rays upon
groves, and waters, and human life. All
has been preparation for some days, but
now is an hour or two of repose, and those
must be devoted to a farewell of loved as
sociations. A donkey carriage stands rea
dy for a drive. Mrs. Elliston and Genevra
mount the back seat—Charles the front, as
driver. They go across the Island, through
fields and groves of stunted pine—through
broom-grass and old drift-wood—through
piles of oyster shells, the vestiges of In
| dians—and ridges of dry sedge grass, run
ning in parallel lines. Then came stunted
oaks—and the road, which had hitherto
been flat and uninteresting, wound through
it, inclining downwards, when, at a sudden
turn, they came in full view of the wide
Atlantic.
The beach seemed endless, for as far as
the eye could view, it went on around the
Island—and the boundless waters rushed
up, with their never-ending roar. But
boundless a c was their immensity, cease
less as was their murmurs, the God above
the elements had said, “Hitherto shalt
thou come, and no farther.”
They ride along the smooth, firm beach.
They go down to the very edge of the
waves, and watch the shells, as they are
brought nearly within reach, and are then
carried by the retreating waves back into
the profound depths. Mrs. Elliston speaks
to her children of the past, and at last tells
thorn of the time when she, as young as
Genevra, sported and bathed at that very
sp..,t, and was near being lost, only for her
brother’s wonderful exertions.
“Mother,” said Genevra, “I came near
being drowned once, too, when Ponto roll
ed me down the bluff - .”
“ God ever preserve you, my child, from
a watery grave,” said Airs. Elliston, with
a sadly serious countenance, “for it seems
to be the only communication for us, to and
from the world.”
“It is no trouble now to go to sea, mo
ther,” said Charles; “the steamboats are
so comfortable for the ladies, and the ma
chinery so interesting.”
“They may be interesting to you, my
son, -1 said Airs. Elliston, “but I must con
fess I am old-fashioned enough to prefer
the winds of heaven to waft me along, ra
ther than the fire, that prefigures another
region.”
“ If we always had such a breeze as this,
Mother,” said Charles, “ your preference
would answer very well; but just imagine
your vessel lying lazily on the water, only
heaved from side to side by the mighty un
dulations of a positive calm. How would
you like that 1”
“Then,” said Mrs. Elliston, “we could
watch the gay dolphins as they swim by
and turn themselves from side to side, as
if to display their gaudy colors.”
“ Deceitful little cheats,” said Charles,
“ I will never admire them again, since I
saw how soon they lost their beauty after
being caught. Give me the steam, mother,
after all, that rushes by them and carries
us to the end and object of ourvoyage; or,
if I should be doomed to the uncertain sail,
rather let me look at the sea-hog or por
poise, as I have seen them often around the
stern of the ship. They remind me of an
! imals sporting on a green lawn, running
! and leaping over each other. They are
; not beautiful, but amusing, and we gain
I some ideas by comparison, at any rate.”
“ Have you no comparison for the poor,
despised dolphins, Charles?” said Mrs. El
liston.
“ They remind me,” said Charles, “of
j some fashionable ladies, who only shew
: their best colors when they arc basking in
! the sunshine of admiration.”
“Look at the heavens, Charles, - ’ said
j Mrs. Elliston. “The sun sets behind us,
and gilds the eastern sky with a glorious
line of gold and crimson light. That also
is evanescent and transitory. Would you
compare that with anything earthly ?”
“Thank you, my dear mother,” said
i Charles, “ for the lesson conveyed in that
I question. 1 will try ever to remember that
the same rays that gild the heavens with
glorious colors, impart them also to the
unconscious dolphin.”
“ And also remember, Charles,” said
Mrs. Elliston, “the same rays are seen in
1 the bow which is set in the heavens, as a
lasting covenant with man, against yie wa
ters of another flood.”
Thus they engaged in pleasant and in
, structive conversation, till the sun had dis
appeared behind the Island woods. They
’ were still so near the edge of the waves,
that they dashed, one after another, up
against the low wheels of the little car-
riage; and there they strayed, looking a
farewell to the passing scene, as long as
the last red rays of the s’ lingered in the
sky. The sea-gulls came screaming in by
scores, as if in fear of an approaching
storm. The marsh-hens were* dodging
about, in search of their nests, among the
dried sedge, and, according to their true
character, those nearest the intruders would
go round and round their true location, till,
as the carriage passed, they would skulk
into, and hide securely in, their bleak and
sea-girt home.
The moon had risen, and shone down in
quiet radiance, on the home-hound party,
as Mr. Elliston, on horseback, met them
near the beach. Then came sounds, pleas
ant chords of cheering music, that should
never again, unbroken, awxken the silence |
of that solitary island road. Oh, liumani-!
tv! why is it that we manfest such confi- j
dence in thy stability ? Why is it, that j
wc forget thou art but a shell of prepara- j
tion to a more noble existence ? It is be-.
cause thou givest sweet music to the wil
ling ear—tliou clothest in charms the im- j
ages of those we love—thou touchest with
delicacy the exquisite chords of feeling ;
and thus we forget the earth-bound princi
pie of life, that waits but a command or an j
accident, to be free from thy emhrace.
A few days pass over, and again vve
view nature in one of her sublimcst scenes, j
A wide beach on the coast, of North Caro- j
lina is before us. The billows of the!
mighty Atlantic are rushing on, as if in
angry tumult. They rise in majestic
height as they near the shore, and as
tiiey curl their crested summits, they break
and fall in spftiy on the bosom ot the great
deep. Thus, like the effervescence of
man's wrath, which passes off for the
time, it leaves him not, but returns to his
own bosom, and pursues the eternal round
of acting and re-acting.
The sun shir.es with glorious light from
a deep blue sky; white clouds are piled
around the eastern horizon, while others,
directed by some wayward current, float in
wild beauty across the sky. Nature, thou
art indeed sublime! —sublime in thy mighty
power—sublimer in thy fixed and immuta
ble laws—sublimest in the omnipotence
which formed thy adaptations! Yet how j
sad are thy wrecks, O, humanity ! Spars j
are floating over the waters: many have |
| been washed upon the shores, with droop- j
ing forms lashed to them; many a stalwart;
arm and form has buffeted the waves, and :
sunk to rise no more. The parting wreck ‘
rocks to and fro, as it settles hopelessly in j
its watery grave; the bell tolls the requiem
of the buried, and the sound, faint, silvery
and sad, falls upon the car, and imparts a !
feeling, “pleasing, yet mournful, to the
soul.” O, humanity! thou are indeed
sad!—sad m thy weakness —sadder in the
changing circumstances of thy short exist
ence —saddest in the errors and the igno
rance that cloud in sorrow the rising and
the setting of thy sun of life.
The dried sedge is now a place of repose
for beloved forms. Mrs. Elliston had been
saved from the wreck, to breathe her last
near those she loved. Genevra lies by her,
insensible from bodily and mental fatigue.
Charles has wrung the water from her long
curls, extending them over the sedge to dry,
and leans over his mother, in hopes she
may yet revive and live. She opens her
eyes, and they are as blue as the sky above
her, and from their far depths there is a
spiritual light. She murmuis gently—
“ Charles, the gold and crimson light has
fled. We float in silver clouds, and angels
with snowy wings whisper, me away—
‘Come, sister let us go.’”
And thus she breathed her last. How
sad was that little party, as they went on
to Wilmington! The dead mother—the
living father, bowed down with grief for
the best friend his heart had ever known.
The son. with the first deep shadow which
has ever crossed his path, distinctly traced
upon his sad but manly young brow. The
sister, lying insensible from fright, or wild
with delirium. She says, at one moment,
“ Mother, God will protect us. We will
not perish in the waves.” Then, at ano
ther, murmurs, “Ponto, good Ponto, save
me from the sharks.”
For days. Genevra lingers between life
and death : but a ministering spirit wins
her back to earth, by kind and judicious
care. A Sister of Charity, whose gentle
care it is to seek out the distressed and
lonely, gains her confidence by words of
kindness and sweet sympathy in her sor
row. The stern foe has for the time de
parted ; hut, alas! how sad and pale the
poor child is, as she lies exhausted on her
smooth white pillow. She wears a black
band around her own golden ringlets, to
keep them from straying rudely over her
face, and holds in her hand a long tress of
her mother’s rich auburn hair. She press-
cs it to her lips, and bathes it with her
tears, and murmurs, “Dearest, dearest mo
ther, why did you leave Genevra all alone? - ’
The Sister of Chaiity is also bathed in
tears : they are the silent tokens of a feel
ing heart. She bends over her, and says:
“Believe it not, my child. Your mother
is to you a bright ministering spirit, and if
, you trust in God and in the Saviour of
men, you will yet be happy.”
“ Happy !” said the poor child, in an ag
ony of grief. “ How can I be happy,
! when my mother perished in the deep blue
sea ?”
“My mother is there, also,” said the
: Sister. “Genevra, my mother was in
sight of the home of her long-parted ones,
when a storm rose and separated her for
ever from them.”
“Your mother?” said Genevra, “andj
where did she live ?”
“ She is in Heaven now, sweet child. I ,
can feel with you; but you will have one
consolation which 1 never had, that is, to
weep at your mother’s grave.”
And then she told her of her mother’s
burial, for her weak state had prevented j
their telling her all before. *
“ Ob, yes, when I get strong, that will
be a melancholy pleasure to me; and, sis
ter, we will weep together for our mothers.”
“Till we part, Genevra, - ’ said the Sister.
“We must not part,” said Genevra. —
“ Did you not tell me that they have a
school for girls near here, where you live?
1 cannot live away from you. Have you
not saved my life, and do you not some
times almost make me- feel peaceful and
happy ?”
“Your father may not consent to such
an arrangement,” said the. Sister.
“ He will, for my sake,” said Genevra;
“and when he travels North nr Smith, hp
can stop and see me, and we can go to
gether to that sacred spot. Charley, too,
can go to school near here, till he gets old
enough to go to College. Then I know he
will return to Georgia, for 1 have heard him
say often be meant to finish his education
at Franklin College.”
And thus they went on conversing, till
the child's mind was drawn away from the
first sad theme. She placed the precious
ringlet in the little case devoted to its use,
and at last a smile even strayed across her
interesting face, as the Sister of Charity
told her some incidents connected with the |
school. The germ of Genevra’s ambition j
to acquire and learn, sprung from that con
versation, and it went on for years under
the direct supervision of that master-mind
ed woman, with tile soul and feelings of
an angel. The violet, as it bloomed amid
the leaves and the rubbish of earth, shed
its sweet perfume on the pathway of a sol
itary child. The flowers were even pluck
ed and placed in her gentle bosom; but
i God, who sees from on high, returned to
; the sweet violet another blooming spring
in its own native home.
[To be continued.]
> Li is 7 1 is Y ,
From the National Era.
DIRGE.
by Miss l iifiinr: carey.
Where the shadows dull are creeping
O'er the green mounds of the sleeping.
And the mournful night is weeping
For the beauty from us gone ;
Years on years I would not number,
One earth’s cares no more will cumber,
Has been lying in that slumber
Never broken by the dawn.
Once did sweet dreams around her hover,
Once fond eyes were bent above her,
Once she had a tender loTor,
Then what happy dreams wero hers:
Now the stars shine just as brightly
O’er the love-troths plighted nightly,
But that heart which beat so lightly
Never in its cerement stirs.
At tho altar meekly kuccling.
With her changing check revealing
Half the heart’s tumultuous feeling,
Ilers was beauty fair to meet;
And when all their powers were faded,
And her heavy locks were braided,
And her brow with thought wasshadod
Then her face was heavenly sweet.
But when she bad known another
Love, which death alone can smother,
When the wife, a happy mother,
Sang her young babe to its dream;
When her heart’s life-bliss was proving,
Then we saw the loved and lovitlg
Fr in Time’s dim shore slowly moving
To death’s cold aud sullen stroam.
To our hearts each day grown dearer
As her feet grew sorely nearer,
Though she smiled, we wept to hoar her.
Longing for the immortal rills;
And while yet we strove to borrow,
Solace for our parting sorrow,
She had welcomed in the morrow.
Breaking on the heavenly hills.
Mm B&iMrinß.
the
I DEAD SEA AND THE JORDAN.
BY THE EDITOR.
[Concluded from last week ]
It is unnecessary to detain our readers
with descriptions of subsequent adventures
in surpassing the rapids of the Jordan—
adventures repeated every day, and often
several times a day.
Estimating the descent of the river to be
as is stated, one thousand feet, between
the Lake of Tiberias and the Dead Sea,
the average fall will be only five feet per
mile—scarcely exceeding that of the Mo
hawk, in New York.
The party apprehended peril in thqjr de
scent of the river, from the Nomadic tribes
which roam upon its banks. They, how
ever, had no encounters with the marau
ders, and only twice were they called upon
to stand to their arms. Lieut. Lynch ac
knowledges cordially the fidelity of hisße
dawin allies, and speaks in high terms of
the several Arab dignitaries connected with
the Expedition—especially of the Sherif
HazzA and Akil—the former of whom was
the Nestor, and the latter the Achilles, of
the camp. Akil was not only possessed
of a splendid physique, but of a high order
of intelligence, and was in reality a barba
rian gentleman! The Sherif proved him
self “a bold warrior and an admirable
scout” —obtaining a sight of the boats
when no one else could. lie was, per
haps. one of the noblest and most graceful
savages who has ever sat for his portrait
to an American artist, for so may Lieut.
Lynch be regarded as he describes this
splendid son of the desert.
The scenery of the Jordan must not be
estimated by that at its debouchement at
the Sea of Tiberias. Though at that point
tame and barren, it soon becomes in the
highest degree picturesque, sometimes even
magnificent, and often singularly wild and
impressive. Many glowing pictures are
presented in our author's narrative—ting
ed perhaps by his ardent enthusiasm and
his profouml religious veneration for the
sacred region he was traversing. The fol
lowing passages are fair specimens of his
scene-painting on the Jordan :
“ The boats had little need of oars to pro
pel them, for the current carried us along
at the rate of from four to six knots an
hour, the river, from its eccentric course,
scarcely permitting a correct sketch of its
topography to be taken. It curved and
twisted north, south, east, and west, turn
ing, in the short space of half an hour, to
every quarter of the compass,—seeming as
if desirous to prolong its luxuriant mean- 1
derings in the calm and silent valley, and |
reluctant to pour its sweet and sacred wa
ters into the accursed bosom of the bitter 1
sea.
“ For hours of their swift descent the !
boats floated down in silence, the silence j
of the wilderness. Here and there were i
spots of solemn beauty. The numerous
birds sung with a music strange and mani
fold; the willow branches were spread upon
the stream like tresses, and creeping mosses
and clambering weeds, with a multitude of
white and silvery little flowers, looked out’
from among them; and the cliff swallow j
wheeled over the falls, or went at his own |
wild will darting through the arched vis-
I tas, shadowed and shaped by the meeting j
; foliage on the banks ; and above all, yet j
: attuned to all, was the music of the river,
| gushing with a sound like that of shawms
and cymbals.”
In another place :
“ The mountains towards the west rose
up like islands from the sea, with the bil
j lows heaving at their bases. The rough
peaks caught the slanting sunlight, while
sharp black shadows marked the sides
turned from the rays. Deep-rooted in the
plain, the bases of the mountains heaved
the garment of the earth away, and rose
abruptly in naked, pyramidal crags, each
scar and fissure as palpably distinct as
though within reach, —and yet we were
hours away ; the laminations of their stra- \
ta resembling the leaves of some gigantic j
volume, wherein is written, by the hand of
God, the history of the changes he has
wrought.”
The following is a picture of the camel-
I master, Mustafa, at one of the camping
! places of the party :
“At this time, our benign and ever-smi
ling Mustafa, with his bilious turban and
I marvellous pants, wide and draperied, but
1 not hiding his parenthetical legs, seemed
I almost übiquitous. At one time, he was
j tearing something madly from his laden
donkey; and the next, he was filling pipes,
j and, hand on breast, presenting them with
low salaams; or, like a fiend, darting off
after the Doctor’s horse, which, having
evaded the watchful Hassan, was charging
upon the others, and frightening “the souls
of his fearful adversaries” with the thunder
I of his nostrils.”
At Pilgrim’s Ford, the party had the
good fortune to encounter a vast caravan
of pilgrims coming to bathe in the sacred
waters of the Jordan. The tents were
pitched in the very line of the pilgiims’
march, and while it was yet dark the com
ing of the host was announced.
“Rising in haste,” —says our author —
“ we beheld thousands of torch-lights, with
a dark mass beneath, moving rapidly over
the hills. Striking our tents with precipi
tation, we hurriedly removed them and all
our effects a short distance to the left.—
We had scarce finished, when they were
upon us: men, women, and children,mount
ed on camels, horses, mules, and donkeys,
rushed impetuously by toward the bank.
They presented the appearance of fugitives
from cv luilicil UllllJ •
“ Our Bedawin friends here stood us in
good stead; —sticking their tufted spears
before our tents, they mounted their steeds
and formed a military cordon round us.—
But for them, we should have been run
down, and most of our effects trampled
upon, scattered and lost. Strange that we
should have been shielded from a Chris
tian throng by wild children of the desert
—Muslims in name, but pagans in reality.
Nothing but the spears and swarthy faces
of the Arabs saved us.
******
“In all the wild haste of a disorderly
rout, Copts and Russians, Poles, Arme
nians, Greeks and Syrians, from all parts
of Asia, from Europe, from Africa, and
from far-distant America, on they came;
men, women and children, of every age
and hue, and in every variety of costume;
talking, screaming, shouting, in almost ev
ery known language under the sun.—
Mounted as variously as those who had
preceded them, many of the women and
children were suspended in baskets or con
fined in cages; and. with their eyes strain
ed towards the river, heedless of all inter
vening obstacles, they hurried eagerly for
ward, and dismounting in haste, and dis
robing with precipitation, rushed down the
bank and threw themselves into the stream.
“ They seemed to be absorbed by one
impulsive feeling, and perfectly regardless
of the observations of others. Each one
plunged himself, or was dipped by another,
three times, below the surface, in honor of
the Trinity; and then filled a bottle, or
some other utensil, from the river. The
bathing-dress of many of the pilgrims was
a white gown with a black cross upon it.
Most of them, as soon as they were dress
ed, cut branches of the agnus castus, or
willow ; and, dipping them in the conse
crated stream, bore them away as memo
rials of their visit.
“In an hour, they began to disappear;
and in less than three hours, the trodden
surface of the lately crowded bank reflect
ed no human shadow. The pageant dis
appeared as rapidly as it had approached,
and left to us once more the silence and the
solitude of ihe wilderness. It was like a
dream. An immense crowd of human be
ings, said to be 8,000, but I thought not so
many, had passed and re-passed before our
tents and left not a vestige behind lliem.”
From Pilgrim's Ford, the land party
took a direct line for Ain el Feshkah, on
the N. W. border of the Dead Sea. The
1 boats continued to descend the river, and
very soon approached those waters, which
now conceal the once populous “ cities of
the plain.” As they rounded the point of
entrance, a strong wind was agitating the
sea, and a heavy spray descended, which
produced a smarting sensation in the eves,
lips and nostrils of the voyagers. A thick
incrustation of salt was speedily formed
upon their hands and clothes. The boats
labored heavily in the increasing gale, and.
the angry billows beat upon their bolvs
with great force, so that they made little or
no headway. At this point of the Expe
dition, Lieut. Lynch says:
u At times, it seemed as if the Dread Al
| mighty frowned upon our efforts to navi
gate a sea, the creation of his w. ’ r.—
■ There is a tradition among the Arab
no one can venture upon this sc
Repeatedly the fates of Costigan
lyneaux had been cited to deter
first one spent a few days, the . oat
twenty hours, and returned to the place
from whenee he had embarked, without
landing upon its shores. One was found
dying upon the shore; the other expired in
November last, immediately after his. re
turn, of fever contracted upon its waters.
“But, although the sea had assumed a
threatening aspect, and the fretted moun
tains, sharp and incinerated, loomed terrific
, on either side, and salt and ashes mingled