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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, ■ 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