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she could not afford to live in a very comfortable lodging, nor could she have much attendance; the doctor, therefore, strongly advised, that she should be taken to an hospital. But all these privations did not shake, her faith in the least; on the contrary, she looked upon it as an affliction that the Lord thought in his mercy fit to lay upon her, in order to try her faith and confirm and settle her. After she had been three weeks at the hospital, she was so far restored as to be able to return to her lodging, but has not recovered to this day:


He pass'd amidst the crowd which throng

The restless city street,
Where hurrying steps for ever on,

And hurried voices nieet;
The footsteps of a thousand fall,

In those dim winding ways,
But Oh! how different from them all

Was he who met my gaze!

He pass'd-his dark and gloomy brow

With toil and thought care-worn-
His rapid glance is on me now,

That flung back scorn for scorn!
Oh! who, but for Heaven's stamp imprest,

One shadow there could trace,
Of all that once was wont to rest

On his far-fallen race !

A thousand homes around him rose,

'Mong fanes and arches dim; Their dwellers were his scornful foes,

Their shrines were not for him!

His home was where the palm-trees rise,

Where hangs the clustering vine;
The land—the land of palaces!

The Olive Palestine !

The footstep of the fleet gazelle

Sounds through her grass-grown courts ;
The halls of princely Israel

Are the lone owl's resorts;
Forgotten is the lofty fate,

The very names unknown,
Of those whose house is desolate,

Their temple overthrown.

Still, as of old, the palm-tree waves

O'er many a mountain steep,
While low in their forgotten graves

The holy prophets sleep.
Fallen are the rock-built sepulchres

Where Judah's monarchs lay,
While those who fondly hold them theirs

Are dwellers far away.

He pass'd, that outcast wandering one,

That exile from a shore
Whose crown is fallen, whose nobles gone,

Whose beautiful are o'er!
Oh! who can on its glories dwell,

Its tale of sorrow learn,
Without one sigh for Israel,

prayer for his return!

(From "Historical Reveries,” by a Suffolk Villager.)

Macintosh, Printer, Great New Street, London,

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OCTOBER, 1845.

66 the

THE GARDEN OF GETHSEMANE. PERHAPS there is no spot in the whole land of Israel, which calls up so many feelings of mournful interest as the Garden of Gethsemane-the scene of the bitter agony of our then suffering Lord. Calvary presents to us the last sad

scene, suffering unto death" of Jesus; recalls the heartpiercing cry," My God, my God, why hast ihou forsaken me;" yet in the midst of the contemplation of that awful event, thoughts of his triumph arise, and we remember that that ignominious cross was the throne of the

conquerorthat there he “spoiled principalities and powers, and made a shew of them openly, triumphing over them in it.” (Col. ii. 14.) We remember that there he conquered death, and “ destroyed him that hath the power of death, that is the Devil.” There nature owned her King—the sun was shrouded in darkness-the rocks rent-the earth quaked—the graves yielded up the bodies of the saints which slept," and they

arose;" as if to teach us, that on that awful day, when the world and the works that are therein are destroyed, the saints shall rise victorious and triumph with their Almighty Lord.

On Calvary the sufferings of Jesus ended.

many of

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