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"Soul-soothing season! period of repose,
Or introverted thought, which day debars,
Can language paint, can poetry disclose
The magic of thy silence, dews, and stars?"
Nature luxuriates here in wild and
magnificent scenery, such as a poet or a
painter would delight in. No noise dis-
turbs the reverie of the enthusiast, for
"Lebanon mourneth because the people
are gone down from his shadow," and
"upon the mountains, and in all the
valleys, his branches are fallen."

"The saints," as they are termed
those aged trees, with wide-spreading
branches and gnarled stems, are said by
the Arabs to be the remnant of the forest
of which Solomon took the pride for the

different the respect the Greeks, Maronites, and Armenians have for them! for every year, on Transfiguration Day, they have mass beneath the shade of one of them, upon an altar of stone; and the Feast of Cedars is a great holiday.

The whole group, standing in a hollow, as if "ashamed," cover about eight or ten acres of ground, and are spread over several little stony knolls, about 700 in all, but, like "the saints," they have been variously estimated, Burckhardt stating their number to be about 400, Barker nearly 600, Wolff 387, Fisk 389, and King 321, without the saplings.

It has been argued, with considerable temple, which was almost entirely lined force on both sides, that the cedar of with cedar. They are eleven in number, Lebanon-the Pinus cedrus of Linnæus but another one will no doubt claim the-is not the indestructible cedar-wood honour in a few years, but I could not include it in my calculation, as it lacked that appearance of antiquity the others possessed. The accounts given, by various authors, of the number of the old trees differ materially, yet are interesting, because they establish the fact of their un-ruptible cedar-wood is supposed to be

doubted antiquity; for instance:—

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1556, Fishtner
1574, Rauwolf
1579, Jacobi
1583, Radzivil

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1590, Villamont

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1599, Havant
1600, Dandini
1609, Litgow
1632, Roger

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1650, Boullaye le Gouz

1657, Thévénot
1681, De la Roque
1696, Maundrel
1738, Pococke
1755, Schultz
1789, Billardiere

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employed for mummy cases, buildings, and tablets to write upon; the juice of which, Horace and Pliny inform us, was used to smear the papyrus books of the ancients, to preserve them from decay The incorand the attacks of insects.

obtained from the Thuja articulata, or Sandarac-tree.

A few ages-perhaps only a few years -"and the rest of the trees of his forest shall be few, that a child may write them."

Early in the morning I arose, sketched the trees, and rambled beneath the shade of their wide-spreading branches, where 24 the bright sunbeams illumed the rugged path; and, straying onward, clambered 22 up a high and barren ridge near at hand, to get a peep at the remnant forest. Steeps rising o'er steeps-yawning clefts -storm-deriding rocks-and treacherous 7 snows glistening on the mountain's crest, imbued with the sun's golden raysdeep-riven glens - precipices - and obscure abysses-were all comprised in that long, lingering, and meditative gaze, as "I stood upon the hills, when heaven's wide arch Was glorious with the sun's returning march, And woods were brightened, and soft gales Went forth to kiss the sun-clad vales.

1810, Burckhardt

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1818, Richardson
1823, Wolff
1832, Lamartine

The largest of these beautiful and
stately trees, which are clad in perpetual
verdure, measured forty-five feet in cir-
cumference, the second forty-four feet,
and the others forty-two, thirty-nine,
thirty-six, &c.; the smallest of them
being twenty-three, feet. The trunks of
some of them are Mangled others
shamefully scarred with the names of
Irby, Lamartine, Laborde, &c. How sides.

The clouds were far beneath me,-bathed in light,"

and the thousand rills, murmuring, wandered amid the rocks and dew-gemmed herbs that abundantly dot the mountain's

THE CHAMBER OF MYSTERY.

AN architect at Vienna having occasion to visit the country-house of a nobleman of that city, accepted the hospitable invitation he received, and determined to remain as a guest for several days. The first day was passed in business, and he retired to bed somewhat exhausted, but his thoughts still occupied with the improvements in the house that were contemplated. He could see, however, that the room allotted to him was handsome and commodious, though not large; and at length he suffered his head to sink upon the pillow, with the sigh of satisfaction, with which we take leave of the world for the night,

"And draw around a wearied breast
The curtain of repose."

But when he was just sinking to rest, an uneasy sensation, he knew not of what nature, stole over him. He persuaded himself that the air was close-that he perceived a faint smell; and he lay for some time considering whether he was not suffering from fever. The question was speedily answered, for the bed began to move. Presently it was near the window-so near, that he could look out, could see the trees in the garden below, and could observe the outline of a summer-house, which had attracted his attention by its classical proportions in the forenoon. He was of course surprised, nay, terrified; but when he stretched towards the window in order to ascertain that all was real, the scene grew dimmer and dimmer, and at length disappeared. And no wonder: for the bed was receding to its old position-and did not stop there. presently at the door. He might have touched the pannels with his hand. He felt his breath come back, and the air grew more confined. He would have got up to ring for assistance, but persuaded himself that he was too weak, and would fall down before reaching the bell.

He was

The bed again moved; and this time it took up its position in the very middle of the fire-place. This was the sheer frenzy of fever, for the fire-place was of course not a fourth part the size of the bed itself. Yet he saw distinctly the walls of the

chimney surrounding him; and he even felt that one of the feet of the bed rested

upon a dog iron, so as to disturb its level. But he had no time for more minute observation; for presently the bed emerging from the chimney, begun to rise with slow undulations towards the roof; and there it continued to swing, as he imagined, for hours together, till his alarm sunk gradually into lassitude, and he fell into a deep though short and unrefreshing slumber.

The next morning the visitor appeared at the breakfast-table, pale, wearied, and dispirited. He was not well. What was the matter ?-What could be done for him? "Nothing," he replied to all their interrogatories. He had not slept; but the air would revive him. He would take healthful exercise during the day, and that would be better than medicine. It turned out as he expected. He recovered his spirits; he was delighted with his hosts, and they with him; and he was thankful that he had been prevented by shame from mentioning the absurd fancies by which he had been beset during the night. At the usual hour, he retired again to bed, comfortable in mind and body, but feeling the want of sleep, and looking forward gratefully, by anticipation, to at least eight hours of sound repose.

He did not enjoy one. The same fever, the same fancies, the same inexplicable movements of the bed-these were his portion during the night; and in the morning, the same dead eyes, the same colourless cheeks, the same listless attitudes, betrayed to his sympathising friends that he had passed another wakeful and wretched night. But he still preserved silence as to the details. He was thoroughly ashamed of his absurdity. The impressions of the first night had doubtless remained to scare him on the second. He had gone to bed, thinking of his former sufferings, and they had been renewed in his imagination. In this way he accounted for the continued illusions that had perplexed him; and he determined at a third trial to grapple with them manfully, and compel repose by the aid of reason.

All was unavailing; and on the third

morning his entertainer, alarmed by his ghastly looks, determined to bring him to explanation.

"You can no longer conceal it," said he; "you have found something disagreeable in the room; and I reproach myself with having allowed you to be put into an apartment which certainly bears a bad name in the house."

"What do you mean by a bad name ?" asked the guest.

"I mean that it is famous for its sleepless lodgers, for its waking dreams-and worse than that. There is not a servant in the house who would enter it alone after dark for a year's wages."

"That is all very well for the servants; but I know you laugh at these ignorant fancies; and you know me too well to suppose that I would treat them otherwise than with pity and contempt. Tell me at once what you believe; but first listen to a narrative of my adventures;" and the guest related to the host, at full length, the story of his three ill-omened nights.

a prolongation of the wall. The door was in like manner found to be singularly heavy and close-fitting; and, in addition, it was constructed so as to shut spontaneonsly the moment the person who entered removed his hand. In fact, the room, however elegant in appearance and furniture, was contrived throughout in the most elaborate manner, so as to be as un| wholesome as possible. Still this did not account for the illusions with which it was haunted, and the architect ascended to the external roof of the house.

Here he found that the apartment in question was covered by a massive work of tiles, wood and lime, so as to leave a small garret into which there was no opening either by door or window. This, in connection with the other circumstances we have described, proved to be the solution of the mystery; for the mephytic gas engendered in the garret, penetrating through the mouldy woodwork of the antique ceiling, into a place whence it found no egress, and where it could mingle only with foul air, was in reality the noc"I cannot tell you what I believe," re- turnal spectre which haunted the room. plied the latter, after musing for some The effect of this gas upon the brain, in time; "for, in point of fact, I do not know exciting a temporary delirium, is well what to believe; but your experience tal-known; and, in the present instance, the lies strangely with what I have heard on result of what was done to remedy the evil the subject before from more than one of left no doubt. my friends. I am more perplexed than ever."

It was agreed, however, on the proposal of the architect, that a minute examination of the premises should immediately take place, and the whole family proceeded in a body to the chamber of mystery.

The first thing that struck the examiner was, that the chimney was choked up with rubbish, so that no current of air could take place through a channel on which so much depends. Proceeding to the window, he found it heavy and massive and so completely bedded that no force could raise it. It appeared, on inquiry, that this was its original defect; that the servants had at length given up all attempts to move it, and that the wood-work had swoollen so much, through the effects of damp, that the whole window, so far as the access of the external air was concerned, was merely

The door and window were opened, the chimney was cleared, and two openings were made in the roof. During the last mentioned operations, it is worthy of note, that when the tools of the workmen penetrated for the first time into the garret, the mephytic vapour which escaped had such an effect upon one of them, that he must have fallen from the roof had he not been caught hold of by his comrades. After the alterations were made, the architect retired to bed for the fourth time, and enjoyed an excellent sleep, together with a great part of the arrears of the preceding nights. From that moment the room lost its reputation as a Chamber of Mystery.

FICTIONS are revelations not of truth, for they are most unreal, but of that which the soul longs to be true; they are mirrors not of actual human experience, but of human dreams and aspirations of the eternal desires of the heart.

BOOKS OF MARK.

HEALTH RESORTS OF BRITAIN.*

WHO is not interested in the Health Resorts of the land we live in? Who is not glad to know the best spots to recruit the invalid or exhausted constitution? The name of Dr. Thomson is a sufficient guarantee for the value of any work bearing on popular medicine or the public health. He is a safe guide, and that is saying a great deal. He is a clear-headed and intelligent guide, without fanaticism or crochets. He does not rush to extremes. He gives us the whys and the wherefores, with cool judgment; and whilst he knows what to say, he also knows what to omit.

Dr. Thomson informs us, that while in active practice his brief holidays have been turned to account in the collection of information relative to those localities of England which are the best suited for the resort of those who are in pursuit of health. To his own experience the Doctor has added the experiences of many friends, besides availing himself of other sources of information, and the result is a supply of a public want in the production of the useful and beautiful volume before us. In his preface the

author observes :

"Somewhat strange is it that—with railroads and steamboats crowded all summer long, with roads thronged by tourists, and with winter residences sought by invalids without number there is yet no popular work upon the subject of Health Resorts generally, to which reference can be made. Local Guide Books' there are in abundance, and purely professional works, such as the standard Climate,' by Sir James Clark, and the less technically written volumes of Dr. Edwin Lees, but we are not aware of any book which those intending to be on the move, either for health or pleasure, can take up and say 'Let us see where we shall go.'

Such a book is here provided for us, and its leading purpose is here carefully worked out. A map of England, and part of Scotland is marked out into four Health Resorts of Britain; and how to Profit by them. By Spencer Thomson, M.D. With numerous Illustrations. Price 5s. London: Ward and Lock, 158,

divisions of sea-coasts, commencing from the Thames: namely, the Southern, Western, Northern, and Eastern (the latter including the Midland Districts; whilst Scotland is treated separately as from beginning to end a Health Resort. This plan will be found very simple and useful. Each division, and each important locality in it, is chiefly described in its medical aspects; but the Doctor has also a keen eye for the beautiful in nature, the study of which he heartily recom mends as calculated to promote the attainment of health, The style of treatment, and the beauty of the illustrations with which the book is plentifully adorned, will be gleaned from the following extract:

THE ISLE OF WIGHT.

of October have scarcely changed the green "The first frosty nights and heavy dews of the summer foliage into the bright warm tint of the late autumnal landscape, when many an invalid begins to turn the thoughts, or prepare for the journey, to some one of those favoured spots of Southern England where the winter months seem to lose their severity; where frost and visitors; and where the myrtle, the heliosnow are comparatively rare and transient trope, the fuchsia, and other tender plants wintering without protection, give evidence of the mildness of the climate. One of

these spots has acquired the promising title of the Garden of England,' because of its general beauty in all seasons; and well does the Isle of Wight deserve the appellation; but still more promising to the invalid is the term "British Madeira,' which has been bestowed upon one portion of this favoured little island.

"Goldsmith's lines

"Where smiling Spring its earliest visit paid, And parting Summer lingering blooms delayed,'" sum up most aptly a description of the climate.

"The position of the Isle of Wight, or, as it is often proudly called, 'The Island,' on the southern coast, and its being sea-girt, are circumstances which in themselves tend

to give it a climate milder than that of almost any other place in the kingdom; of its most favoured sites are still further but, in addition to these advantages, some ameliorated by the circumstances of soil and protecting cliff. Of these, perhaps, none is better or more favourably known

than that portion of the island which lies on the south-east coast, between Shanklin on the one side, and the southern point of St. Catherine's Hill on the other, and comprehends within its limits Bonchurch, Ventnor, St. Lawrence, &c., all well frequented, and every day becoming better frequented resorts for the invalid. This district, if the term can be applied to a narrow strip of land not more than half to three-quarters of a mile wide, and from six to seven miles in length, called the Undercliff,' from its being situated at the base of the lofty cliffs which have doubtless yielded the material for its formation, and

Sir James Clark, our great climate authority, thus describes the Undercliffe:"This singular district consists of a series of terraces, formed by the upper strata, composed of chalk and green sand, which have slipped down from the cliffs and hills above, and been deposited in irregular masses upon a substratum of blue marl. The whole of the Undercliff, which presents in many places scenery of the greatest beauty, is dry and free from moist or impure exhalations, and is protected from the north, north-east, north-west, and west winds, by a range of lofty downs, or hills of chalk and sandstone, which rise

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now yield that protection which renders | boldly from the upper termination of these the little strip of sea-land soil so valuable terraces, in elevations varying from four as the winter resort of hundreds, who, suffering from delicacy of chest or tendency to consumption, cannot reside in more northern or less sheltered districts.

"A glance at the map of England will show any reader who does not quite remember its position and form that the Isle of Wight is what may be called lozengeshaped, that two sides of the lozenge face the opposite coasts of Hampshire, that one, the longest side, looks to the south-west, and that the fourth, on which is situated the Undercliff, looks to the south-east.

hundred to six and seven hundred feet; leaving the Undercliff open only in a direct line to the south and south-east, and obliquely to the south and south-west winds.

"But not alone does this district of the Undercliff recommend itself as a snuglysheltered nook of the world, for it has natural advantages of beautiful scenery, no slight recommendation to invalids, which are scarcely to be surpassed. Beginning at the east end, first have we Bonchurch, presenting a combination of cliffs and knolls, wooded or bare, or ivied over, intermingled

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