There had been arrivals at the hotel. Nile friends from Cairo, by the Long Desert and Mount Sinai. The Rev. Dr. and Mrs. Duck, and the Dragoman-ridden Eschylus. But Verde Giovane was gone. He had already subdued Jerusalem, and was marching upon Damascus.

In his place, however, Mercury, whimsical God of Travel, presented Frende to our attention—the good English Quaker youth, who had burst out of England, celibacy, and the drab propriety of Quakerism, at one leap; and now in the most brilliant of blue body-coats, with brass buttons, flaming waistcoats, and other glories untold, was making his bridal tour in the East.

Frende's plans of life were original. He had not travelled in England, had scarcely been to London, never upon the Continent; but, like Verde, had shipped himself and bride directly from Southampton to Alexandria. He did every thing in the East, that every body else did. You had but to hunt up some impossible place in the Guide-book, and suggest it to Frende-and he departed the next morning to explore it. It struck me with surprise, that on such occasions, his alacrity was in the degree of his anticipation of damp, slimy places; but I soon learned the reason. When the East was accomplished, he proposed to visit and explore America, and then return to the strict privacy of English country life.

I soon learned the reason why he visited damp places with ardor. He had what my French friend Gûepe calls une specialité, and that was a passion for reptiles. It seemed to be only a sense of duty to that department of zoology which had brought him to the East.

One day upon the Nile he had invited Verde Giovane, with whom he had a mysterious affinity, to visit his boat, and after dinner Frende assured him with trembling delight that he had found a new species of ichneumon, which, it seems, he pronounced as if spelled aitch

neumon.

Verde, whose mind had been confused by the Greek and other architectural name's in Egypt, fancied it was a new kind of temple, and remembering one name of learned sound and meaning not to be surpassed, he asked with the anxiety of an antiquary—

"Has it a propylon?"

"An ichneumon," whispered Frende excitedly.
"Oh, yes, yes,” replied Verde vaguely.

"Would you like to see it?" demanded Frende, tartly, rather hurt at the lack of enthusiasm for ichneumons. Verde answered at random, for he had no clue to an idea in the matter; and Frende, touched by his indifference, declined to show it, merely remarking that he “had him in a box."

66

"Good heavens !" said Verde, and rapidly took leave. Gunning," cried he to his companion, as he ran breathless into the cabin of his own boat, "Gunning, Frende has H. Newman in a box!"

Nor was it until Gunning explored the mystery by questioning Frende, that he discovered there was no unhappy Mr. Newman boxed up on Frende's boat.

Frende had a fine career upon the desert. When he approached Mount Sinai, his dragoman shouted and raised his finger. Frende beckoned to him.

66 Achmet," said he, "ten piastres for the first scorpion from Sinai."

Whenever he alighted, either for lunching or encamping, he drew out a large jar of specimens preserved in spirits, ran rapidly about the space for a long distance beyond the spot, and turning over all the promising stones he consigned to the jar whatever reptiles, worms, little snakes, scorpions, bugs, or beetles rewarded his search. When it was too late to find more he ran back to the tent, drank his tea, read a chapter in the Bible, and went to bed. In the morning he devoted all the time of preparation for departure to the interests of science, and during the day's march his contemplation of the precious jar was only interrupted by searching glances over the desert to detect any signs of zoological promise in stones or shrubs.

This evening, in Jerusalem, I was telling the story of our day's ride in the valleys to the younger Miss Duck, and dwelt somewhat elaborately and fervently upon the beauty of Siloam in the rich afternoon light, with Jerusalem towering above. I was even attempting some poetical reminiscences from Byron, Bishop Heber, and Tasso, when Frende, who had been attending very patiently, ventured to interrupt my romance and quotations, exclaiming,

“Beautiful, my dear sir, truly beautiful; I seem to see Siloam. Pray, did you anywhere on the damp wall observe a new species of the centipede ?"

Leisurlie smiled.

"For in our life alone does Nature live,"

said he, as he took his candle.

X.

On the Bousetop.

THE Mosque of Omar is the most beautiful object in Jerusalem, and the Church of the Sepulchre is the most unpleasant.

The solemnity of the landscape around the city, its silence and desolation, impress the mind strongly with the spiritualism of Christianity, and to a degree that almost reaches severity. You feel that not only the sanctity of the city, but the austerity of the landscape, fostered the asceticism of the early hermits here.

The image of Christ in your mind perpetually rebukes whatever is not lofty and sincere in your thoughts, and sternly requires reality of all feeling exhibited in Jerusalem. In Rome, you can tolerate tinsel, because the history of the Faith there, and its ritual, are a kind of romance. But it is intolerable in Jerusalem, where, in the presence of the same landscape and within the same walls, you have a profound personal feeling and reverence for Jesus.

As you meditate the features of his character, and the beauty of holiness penetrates your mind more deeply,—

as you recognize the directness of his teaching and the simplicity of his life,—as you feel how constantly he appealed to the natural affections of the heart,-you are lost in sorrow and dismay before the melancholy abuses of the Institution which has aimed to perpetuate his spirit among men.

Were the Scribes and Pharisees alone, you ask, guilty of giving stones for fish?

Turning the pages of ecclesiastical history, of that church which especially has hitherto represented Christianity, or of the various sects whose differences so fiercely clash, does it seem to you that you contemplate the career of an Institution with which Jesus promised to be, until the end of the world?

-Or glancing from books to life, and regarding the aspect of any community professing Christianity,-as Paris, London, or New York,-would you notice eager selfishness as its characteristic, or forbearance, forgiveness, and self-denial?

If now Jesus were sitting where he once sat, upon the Mount of Olives, which we can yonder plainly discern in the full moonlight, and perceived the worship which we shall see this Good Friday evening, scarcely less idolatrous than that of wild Africans to a Fetish,-should we not hear his voice wailing again over the city—

"Oh Jerusalem! Jerusalem! thou that stonest the Prophets."