shoes energy; and that the queen's crowning gifts were perseverance, imprinted on her forehead; the mirror of self-examination; and over and above all the veil of humility.

None for a long while noticed or knew of the hidden gifts adorning the little maiden; but as they grew and strengthened under the care bestowed upon them, and she learned to use the invaluable mirror, and so could herself discern in time, if one was getting soiled or tarnished, all began to feel their influence and own their power. And so in the end old nurse proved right; the queer looking little baby, thanks to the wonderful bath, did grow up the picture of her own beautiful mother; and in all the country round, there was not one fairer, or more beloved, than the youthful lady of the castle on the hill.

THE SEA OF GALILEE, TIBERIAS, CANA, ETC.

THE Sea of Galilee, about a league broad at the southern extremity where we had come upon it, expands at first insensibly up to the height of Emmaüs, the termination of the promontory which hid from us the town of Tiberias, and thence the mountains which confine it all at once recede into large gulfs on both sides, and form it into a vast basin almost round, in which its waters stretch over a bed of about twelve or fifteen leagues in circumference. This basin is not quite regular in its form, the mountains do not everywhere descend to the sea; sometimes they retire to some distance from the shore, and leave between them and the waves a small flat plain, fertile and verdant as the plain of Genesareth; sometimes they part asunder, and open to admit the blue waters into the gulfs, scooped at their feet, and darkened with their shadows. The hand of the most skilful painter could not depict outlines more graceful, more indistinct, and more varied, than those that the creating hand has given to these waters and mountains; it seems to have prepared the evangelical scene for the work of grace, of peace, of reconciliation, and of love, which was destined at one time to be there accomplished! To the east, the mountains, from the tops of Gilboa, which we have a glimpse of on the south, as far as the summits of Lebanon, which show themselves on the north, form a close but undulating and bending chain, the sombre peaks of which seem ready from time to time to fall away, and are broken here and there to let a glimpse of sky be caught. These mountains are not surmounted at their heights with those sharp fangs, those rocks filed by the tempests, which offer their gloomy points to the lightning and the winds, and always impart to the aspect of elevated chains,

something of the old, the terrible, and the ruined, which saddens the heart whilst exciting the imagination. They fall gently away into knolls, more or less broad, more or less steep, some covered with scattered oaks, others with green thorns, some again lined with bare but fertile soil, on which the traces of a varied culture are yet perceptible, and others on which the morning or evening rays are alone seen to glisten, enriching them with a bright yellow, or with a blue and violet tint, more lustrous than the pencil could pourtray. Their sides, although they give no passage to any real valley, do not compose an always even rampart; they are hollowed at intervals into deep and wide ravines, as if the mountains had cracked beneath their own weight; and the natural accidents of light and shade make of these ravines luminous, or more often obscure, spots, which attract the eye, and interrupt the uniformity of the outlines and the tints. Lower, they sink down, and throw out here and there into the lake, hills, or small round mountains, presenting a soft and agreeable transition between their peaks and the waters in which they are reflected. Scarcely at any point towards the east does the rock pierce the vegetable bed with which it is richly covered; and this Arcadia of Judea thus always joins to the majesty and imposing effect of a mountainous country, the image of the diversified fertility and abundance of the earth. If the dews of Hermon still fell on its bosom ! At the end of the lake, towards the north, this chain of mountains sinks as it recedes; we distinguish from a distance a plain, which dies away in the waters, and at the termination of this plain a white mass of foam, which seems to rush from a height into the sea. It is the Jordan, which is precipitated from there into the lake, which it passes through without mingling with its waters, and issues from it at the place I have described, tranquil, silent, and pure.

The whole of this northern extremity of the Sea of Galilee is bordered with a slope of fields which appear under cultivation; we perceived the brown stubble of the last harvest, and large fields of rushes, which the Arabs cultivate, wherever they find a spring to water the roots. On the western side, I have described the chains of volcanic hills, which we followed from the dawn of day. They continue, without intermission, as far as Tiberias. Avalanches of black stones, cast up from the mouths, still half-opened, of a hundred extinguished volcanic cones, are constantly falling down the harsh ridges of this sombre and dismal chain. Our route was only varied by the uncouth form and strange colours of the high masses of hardened lava which were scattered thick around us, and by the remains of walls, and gates of destroyed towns, and of columns extended on the earth, which our horses jumped over at every step. The shores of the Sea of Galilee, on this side of Judea, are but a single town, if the expression may be used. The multiplied ruins before us, the number of the towns, and the magnifi

cence of construction which their mutilated fragments bespeak, recall to my memory the route which runs along the foot of Mount Vesuvius, from Castellamare to Portici. As there, the banks of Lake Genesareth appear to bear towns, instead of harvests and woods. After two hours' march, we arrived at the extremity of a promontory which juts into the lake, and the town of Tiberias appeared all at once before us, the living and dazzling apparition of a town of two thousand years. It covers the side of a black and naked hill, which sinks rapidly towards the lake. It is surrounded with a high square wall, flanked with fifteen or twenty embattled towers. The points of two white minarets are alone visible above the walls and towers, and all the rest of the town seems hid from the Arabs under the shadow of these lofty defences, and to present to the eye nothing but the flat unbending arch of its grey roofs, bearing a resemblance to the carved shell of a tortoise.

We

We halted at the Türkish mineral bath of Emmaüs, an isolated cupola, surrounded by superb remains of Roman or Hebrew baths. We established ourselves in the very saloon of the bath—a basin filled with running water, at a hundred degrees of Fahrenheit. took a bath, and slept an hour. Again mounted our horses. A tempest was on the lake, which I desired extremely to witness. The water was green as the leaves of the rushes which surround it —the foam livid and dazzling—the waves of goodly height, and following close. A terrible noise from the billows falling on the volcanic pebbles which they disturb, but no vessels in peril or in sight. There is not one on the lake. Entered Tiberias in the midst of a storm and flood of rain from the south. Took refuge in the Latin Church. Caused a lighted fire to be brought into the middle of the deserted Church, the first temple of Christianity.

The interior of Tiberias does not fulfil the expectation created by the distant view. It is a confused and dirty assemblage of some hundreds of houses similar to the mud and straw cabins of the Arabs. We were saluted in Italian and German, by several Polish or German Jews, who, towards the end of their days, when they have nothing more to expect than the uncertain hour of dissolution, come to pass their last moments at Tiberias, on the banks of their sea, in the very heart of their country, so as to die beneath their sun, and be buried in their land like Abraham and Jacob. To sleep in the bed of one's fathers-it is evidence of the inextinguishable love of country-it is the sympathy and affinity between man and the dust of which he is formed, from which he has sprung. This is undeniable. It is well, it is happy for him to bear to its place that little dust which has been lent him for a few days. Let me also sleep, O my GoD, in the land and near the ashes of my fathers.

Nine hours' marching without repose brought us back to Naza

reth by way of Cana, the scene of CHRIST's first miracle; a pretty Turkish village, gracefully inclining down the two sides of a hollow of fertile land, enclosed by hills covered with nopals, oaks, and olives. Around it pomegranates, palm, and fig-trees. Women

and flocks standing about the troughs of the fountain. The house of the Apostle S. Bartholomew is in the village. At its side, the house in which the miracle of the water changed into wine took place it is in ruins, and without a roof.-De La Martine's Travels in the East.

LIFE OF RICHARD HOOKER.

CHAP. II.

THE times in which Hooker lived were perilous indeed. The Church was then harassed by the schismatical proceedings of certain parties, who contended that the Reformation had not proceeded far enough, and who asserted that many of the practices still retained were popish, and anti-Christian. "Men of the slightest learning, and the most ignorant of the common people were mad for a new reformation of religion. Such men were most busy in oppositions, and disputations, and controversies, and finding out the faults of their governors, had usually the least of humility, and mortification, or of the power of godliness." One Travers, who had been a fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge, and who irregularly received orders abroad, was a prominent member of this party. Through the interest of Lord Burlegh, he had been appointed lecturer at the Temple. Travers had hoped to have introduced Genevan practices, but the appointment of Hooker to the mastership prostrated his design. The pulpit therefore was unscrupulously employed, and became the arena of strife and conflict. Travers also petitioned the Privy Council, bringing charges of false doctrine against Hooker; but Archbishop Whitgift, who had the management of matters ecclesiastical, was so fully satisfied of the soundness of his doctrine, that all the efforts of his virulent opponents were of no avail.

Travers was compelled to leave the Temple, but the seeds of discontent had been sown, and some of the benchers who had been so won over to the new doctrines, made Hooker's position far from agreeable. In order to convince these of the false nature of the views which they had adopted, Hooker commenced the "Ecclesiastical Polity," a work which will be a lasting monument alike of his piety, research, and Christian spirit. Finding that he could not finish the plan he had laid down, unless in some peaceful and quiet spot, he entreated the Archbishop to remove him to some

other part, where he could the better pursue his studies, and pray for God's blessing upon his labours. He was accordingly removed to Boscun, near Salisbury, and was made a minor prebendary of the Cathedral. The first four books of his work were published in 1594, and another followed in 1597. These were read eagerly both at home and abroad, and a high estimation was formed of the author's character. It is said that Pope Clement VIII. having perused a portion, which had been turned into Latin for the purpose, spake as follows: "There is no learning that this man hath not searched into, nothing too hard for his understanding this man indeed deserves the name of an author; his books will get reverence by age, for there are in them such seeds of eternity, that, if the rest be like this, they shall last, till the last fire shall consume all learning." And King James had such a reverence for the author, that he never made mention of him, but as the learned, or judicious, or reverend, or venerable Mr. Hooker.

In 1595 he was appointed to Bishopsbourne, in Kent, where he continued to observe rules of mortification, and self-denial, and to devote himself to the duties of his sacred office. Before he had been twelve months here, his books, and the innocency and sanctity of his life, became so remarkable that many turned out of the road, and others-scholars especially-went purposely to see the man whose life and learning were so much admired. And alas! as our SAVIOUR said of S. John Baptist, "What went they out to see? a man clothed in purple and fine linen?" No, indeed; but an obscure harmless man; a man in poor clothes, his loins usually girt in a coarse gown, or canonical coat; of a mean stature and stooping, and yet more lowly in the thoughts of his soul; his body worn out not with age, but study and holy mortification; but withal he attended to his people, from whom nothing could win his attention. Every Sunday he preached once, and he or his curate catechised in the afternoon. And so strict was he in the observance of the Ember week, that he was wont to take the key of the Church door, to which he retired for many hours daily; which he also did on Fridays and other fast days. Few were ever more diligent in finding out and visiting the sick, whom he moved to confession, and to the bewailing of their sins, with purpose to forsake them, and then to receive the Holy Communion, for the strengthening and refreshing of their soul.

Whilst thus engaged in his manifold duties, and also in completing the last book of his Polity, Hooker was afflicted with a severe illness, being forty-six years of age. Yet he did not leave his study, observing to his friend Dr. Saravia, "that he did not beg a long life of GOD for any other reason but to live to finish his three remaining books of Polity; and then, LORD, let Thy servant depart in peace." A few days before his departure, Dr. Saravia and he discoursed on the benefit of the Church's absolution,