this conduct; and a desire to return to the good king, and the happy land, gradually took possession of his soul. Then he spoke to some of his fellow exiles on the subject; but they reproached him, and with cursing and threats drove him from them.

15. So he wandered alone by the sea-shore, often nearly starving, and forsaken by his former companions, who in reproach called him the pilgrim. It seemed to him that he was as wretched as mortal man could be, but most wretched from the remembrance of his former sinful folly, in joining the rebellious crew in a mad revolt against their good and loving king.

16. As he thus wandered, wretched and forlorn, straining his eyes in gazing seaward in the direction of the happy land, it seemed as if he could now and then discern, on the very horizon's verge, the dim outline of the distant shore; and then the rolling waves would shut it out from view; but, the more intently he gazed, the oftener it seemed to reappear, and the nearer it seemed to be.

17. At length there did really seem to be a long line of coast constantly visible across the waters; and, after longcontinued gazing, it seemed to grow more and more distinct, and to assume forms that began to grow familiar to him, as those of hills and dales in the happy land; and now and then he seemed to catch sight of what might be the white sail of a tiny boat in the distance; but when he sought to point out these things to those who came down to the shore to laugh at his delusion, they could see nothing before them but a wide waste of rolling waters, with not even a sea-gull to break the monotony of the

scene.

18. Yet, day after day, the distant shore seemed to the pilgrim, as he gazed with a longing more and more intense, to grow plainer and plainer, and nearer and nearer; and when the tide was out, so shallow seemed the waters, he thought he might, by wading in some places, and by

swimming in others, regain the happy land, now the sole object of his longing desire.

19. So, one day, taking advantage of the receding tide, he entered upon the task, boldly confident of success; but after proceeding some little distance,—now wading, now swimming, now sinking in the quicksands, and anon cutting himself on the flinty rocks, while all the time the distant coast-line grew dimmer to his view,—the ebbing tide forced him back, and he was thrown, half drowned, torn, bleeding, and exhausted, upon the sands.

20. Still his resolution, and his confidence in his own resources, did not desert him; and from some broken planks that had drifted on the beach he essayed to build a boat that should take him safely over; but when he had launched it, he found that the rudder could not be relied on; the planks had become so shrunken by the burning sun of that torrid clime, that gaping seams opened, and let in the water; and the wretched craft drifted about at the mercy of the winds and waves, until the poor pilgrim was again glad to regain a footing even on that hated exile shore.

21. But, though cast down, and almost worn out with fasting, and weary days of toil and watching, and sleepless nights, he would not yet give up in utter despair. Looking eastward, far along the coast-line of that barren land, he thought he descried a promontory in the dim distance, that, when lighted up by the beams of the morning sun, seemed to project far out into the waters, while the shore of the happy land seemed almost to touch its sides, leaving a channel so narrow that one might almost step across.

22. To gain that promontory-that distant headland, which seemed to him so near the haven of all his hopes, now became the one object of his wishes and his toil; but he knew that it lay even beyond the mountain ranges that hemmed in the land of his exile. Yet, not despairing, over trackless wastes of burning sands; over flinty rocks, and thorny shrubs; up mountain steeps; and, at length, through

dark and dangerous forest defiles, and often on the brink of yawning precipices, in constant danger of robbers by day and ravenous wild beasts by night, the barefoot, weary, but ever hopeful pilgrim made his way.

23. As, from time to time, from some hill-top, or through some opening in the forest, he caught glimpses of the sea, and the still dim outlines of the happy land beyond, he noticed, afar off on the waters, that little gleam of white that he had seen before, as if it might be a speck of foam, or the wing of a sea-bird; and now, at length, for the first time, it seemed to keep pace with his movements.

24. At last he reached the desired promontory, and descended through the dense forest undergrowth to its base, when, lo! the outlines of the happy land were seen still dim in the shadowy distance; and for the first time he felt his utter inability to reach the haven of all his hopes by unaided efforts of his own; and, as he sank down upon the flinty shore in despair, he exclaimed, "Is there no helping hand for me?-no arm to save?"

25. At that moment, looking seaward, he again discerned the white speck in the distance; but as it rapidly drew nearer it grew larger and larger, and he now saw that it was, indeed, a boat, with its sail of snowy whiteness; and, lo! a figure robed in white, and on his head a silken turban of the most brilliant scarlet, such as the great and good king's "Messenger of Good Tidings" always wore, was standing at the prow, and directing the boat's movements right down upon the place on which the pilgrim was lying.

26. Nearer-nearer-nearer it came; and at length a voice of heavenly sweetness, as if the Son of Man had spoken, was borne to him over the waters-" Wilt thou trust to me?" As the pilgrim started to his feet in wonder and amazement, and with all the buoyancy of new-born hope, with outstretched arms he exclaimed, "I will! I will!"

27. "Come unto me, then," was borne back to him in tones of the same silvery sweetness; and he essayed, but

with failing courage and with fearful and timid steps, to walk upon the waters. As he felt that he was sinking, he called out, with almost the energy of despair, "Lord, save, or I perish!"

28. The effort awoke him. Bou Akbar was lying in the shadow of the fig-tree, where he had fallen asleep, and the dark waters of the Sea of Galilee were still breaking, in their usual sluggish motion, upon the sands at his feet. A little way off, under the clustering palms, the Arabs were chanting a hymn, in that low monotonous rhythm so peculiar to all Arab music, and which here harmonized so well with the measured cadence of the waves.

29. His ear caught only the last lingering notes of the hymn, which was known as "The Angels' Welcome Home," -a hymn that has appeared in an English translation, the last lines having been rendered as follows:

For the followers of Mohammed believe in Jesus as an ascended prophet, who still-with the other great prophets, Adam, Noah, Abraham, Moses, and Mohammed-points the way, for all true believers, to the homes of the blessed, where the angels' song of welcome awaits them.

30. The dream,-the Sea of Galilee, around which clustered so many touching recollections of sacred story,— the hymn, so peculiarly adapted to his feelings and his situation, all made a great impression upon Bou Akbar; and, when we met him, he seemed to be fast yielding to the Christian's ground of hope, and the Christian's Saviour.

CHAPTER XXIII.-AROUND THE WORLD.-NO. 12.

FROM JERUSALEM TO JAFFA.

Although it is more than three months since we received Freddy's last letter, dated at Jerusalem, yet the next one, mailed at Jaffa, we introduce here, without an intervening chapter.

I.-Hebron, and the Valley of Elah.

1. On our departure from Jerusalem for the sea-coast, on the 8th of November, we passed out of the Jaffa or Beth

JERUSALEM.

lehem gate, and down the valley of Hinnom, here called the valley of Gihon, past the lower pool of that name.