A grand romance is in the position of this desolate but unexhausted land—ruled by strangers, inhabited by an alien race, and desecrated by an idolatrous worship, yet with all its rich faculties hidden in its heart, and its heirs, scattered yet indestructible, waiting for return to it as it waits for them. M. Van de Velde cannot restrain his impatience with Turkish rule in Palestine. Disgusted with the universal corruption, universal mismanagement and oppression, he chafes at the idea of the Christian Powers upholding the _effete_ and tyrannical government of the Porte, under whose sway, he says, everything withers, from commercial enterprise to family comfort, and in whose hands everything becomes a failure. Setting political motives aside, it is indisputably a singular position which England and France hold in this contest. A few hundred years ago, Christendom resisted with desperation on these very boundaries the invasion of the Turk, and it is strange to see the leading powers of Christendom crossing the very same line in these days to fight under the banner of the Crescent, and mingle the knightly symbols, whose fame has been dearly won in the battles of the faith, with the ensigns of the unbeliever. Well, letting alone the balance of power and such imperial considerations, show us the Englishman who will stand by and see the poor heathen Hindoo, whose pathetic silence craves alms upon our streets, fall into the hands of some big Saxon bully, without lifting hand or voice for the rescue of the weak, and we will say that such a man, but no other, has a right to stigmatise this crusade of right against might, and condemn the Christian nation for defence of the Infidel. But for our ally, with his magnificent indifference, his passive fatalism, his misgovernment, and all his sins, let us be thankful that we do not need to adopt his faults when we vindicate his right—rather that our vindication of his rights, our association with himself, our help and brotherliness, are better modes of vanquishing the Oriental, who has proved his mettle in these days, than a new crusade, such as M. Van de Velde longs for, to restore to the Hebrews their old inheritance. With God, and not with us, does it remain to decide when the Jew is ready for his new existence—when the time of prophecy shall be accomplished, and that revolution begun which is to call out of all lands and places the wandering nation, the great pilgrim of centuries, and bring Israel home. It is not easy to realise the possibility of such an event, and there is no wonder in all past history equal to what this will be—but the work is manifestly out of man’s hands. At this moment, find him where you will, the qualities for which the Jew is distinguished are not those which win the respect or admiration of his neighbours—he is barren and desolate like his country, and has no beauty in him. Harsh sounds and unmelodious—at the best, a