wail of blind inquiry, and long suspense—are all the harp of Judah is capable of now; and till the hand of the Divine musician touch the strings, it is a vain hope that any human finger can wake them to the measure of David or of Solomon, the lofty strains of old. One thing these modern times, with all their fairy works of science and mighty rush of “progress,” ought to do for both Mahommedan and Jew—to convince them that there is but one faith, which never becomes obsolete—one religion, which, all independent of climate or temperature, is from God, and embraces all mankind—which is abashed by no discovery, and thrown into the shade by no improvement. The creed of Mahomet is antiquated, and in its dotage. To live a Jew in these days is to live among the tombs. Paganism is dead and gone long centuries ago. Only Christianity, in its sublime unfailing youth, is never out of date, but works as handily with the instruments of to-day as with those of a thousand years ago, and, knowing neither culmination nor decadence, is perpetually the same. But to M. Van de Velde, the charm of attraction which binds the devout mind to the children of Abraham, the chosen people, is very strong. He cannot sufficiently execrate the Turkish occupancy, which gives this historic country to the race of all others most indifferent to its holiest memories, and when he sees the soil itself indicating, by many evidences, its inherent riches, yet lying scorched and barren under the eye of heaven—when he sees a government which discourages every exertion, a people who have no heart to make any, conscious, as he says, of the usurpation of these lands, which are not their own—our fervent pilgrim burns with natural impatience to accelerate the slow course of events, and can scarcely bring himself to tolerate the support given to this “Empire of Turkey,” which he apostrophises, with all its tyranny at home and impotence abroad. Far better service, as he thinks, these same victorious European arms would render, if they expelled the Crescent from Palestine, and established the Hebrew in his immemorial fatherland; but it is a hard thing for a man to set about accomplishing prophecy—the work is above his hand. M. Van de Velde mentions, however, almost with enthusiasm, the enterprise of a small American colony which, established at Bethlehem, professed an intention to prepare the soil, to “break up the fallow-ground,” in preparation for the return of the banished Israelites. The idea gratifies his eager mind; but the colonists, after all, turn out but indifferently, and the enterprise is found to fail.