.

then the prevailing custom to solicit their own cause before the tribunal over which D'Harlay presided.

"D'Harlay was a spare little man, but full of vigour and energy, with a lozenge-shaped face, a large aquiline nose, and vulture eyes, that seemed ready to eat every thing up, and to pierce the very walls. His dress was more ecclesiastical than legal; for he carried every thing that was formal to an extreme. He was always full-dressed, his gait stooping, his speech slow, studied and distinct, his pronunciation of the old school, his words and phrases the same: the whole manner was made up, constrained, and affected; an air of hypocrisy infected all his actions; his manner was hollow and cynical; his reverences were to the ground; and, as he walked along, his dress rustled against the walls with a pretence of humility. His manner was always profoundly respectful, under which was clearly enough to be seen a spirit of insolent audacity; and though his expressions were measured and guarded, pride of some sort was sure to peep out, and as much contempt and sarcasm as he dared to show.

"His conversation was usually made up of sententious sayings and maxims: always dry and laconic; he was never at ease himself, and no one with him. He had a great fund of sense, great penetration, a vast knowledge of mankind, more especially of that class of persons with whom he dealt: he was well acquainted with literature, extremely learned in jurisprudence, and more especially in international law. His reading was general, his memory extraordinary; and though he studied a deliberate preciseness of manner, his quickness of repartee was surprising, and never failed him. In all the intricacies of practice, he was superior to the most dexterous practitioners. He had rendered himself so completely the master of the parliament, that not a single member stood before him, but with the trembling humility of a pupil: he ruled all connected with it, with the most absolute tyranny; turning and using them as he listed, and often without their perceiving it; and when they did, they were obliged to submit. He never suffered the slightest approach to familiarity, on the part of any person: even in his own family as much ceremony was kept up as between the most perfect strangers. At table, the conversation turned upon the most common-place subjects; and though resident in the same house, his son never called upon him without sending a message; when he entered, his father rose to meet him with hat in hand, ordered a chair to be brought, and took leave of him in the same

manner.

"D'Harlay was celebrated for his dexterity in his form of bowing out.' The instant he wished to get rid of any person, he began bowing him out from door to door, with so much affected humility, and at the same time with such determined perseverance, that it was equally impossible either to be offended or to resist. After he had uttered one of the cruel bons mots, for which he was remarkable, and many of which are preserved, he would instantly commence his 'reverences,' and not end until his antagonist was fairly driven from the field. He carried this formal mode of politeness to such an excess, that he generally saw his victims into their coach, and the door shut upon them.

"On one occasion, the Duc de Rohan, leaving him in great dudgeon at the manner in which he had been treated in an audience, as he was descending the stairs indulged in all sorts of abuse of the first president to his intendant, who accompanied him; when suddenly turning round, they found D'Harlay close behind them, bowing them out in the most reverential style possible. The duke, quite confused, begged and prayed, and was quite shocked that he should give himself the trouble to see him out. 'O sir,' said D'Harlay, 'it is impossible to quit you, say such charming things:' and in fact he did not leave him till he had seen him off in his carriage.

"The Duchesse de Ferté, in the same way, as she was descending his staircase, called him an old baboon:' she found he was close behind her, but hoped it had not been heard; for no change in his manner was visible. He put her into her carriage with his usual prostrations. Shortly after her cause came on; and judgment was quickly given in her favour. The duchess ran to the president, and overwhelmed him with her gratitude. He, as usual, plunged into his reverences, and was full of humility and modesty, till he caught an opportunity, when all eyes being upon them, then looking her full in the face, he said, 'Madam, I am delighted that an old baboon can do a favour for an old ape.' The duchess could have killed him on the spot; he, however, recommenced his reverences, and bowed her out of the place, in profound silence, and his eyes upon the ground, until he had seen her into her carriage."

the long grass hissing as it sweeps through, and its own solemn monotony over all;- and the dimple of that same brook, and the waterfall's unaltered bass shall still reach you, in the intervals of its power, as much in harmony as before, and as much a part of its perfect and perpetual hymn.

There is no accident of nature's causing which can bring in discord. The loosened rock may fall into the abyss, and the overblown tree rush down through the branches of the wood, and the thunder peal awfully in the sky; and sudden and violent as these changes seem, their tumult goes up with the sound of wind and waters, and the exquisite ear of the musician can detect no jar.

I have read somewhere of a custom in the Highlands, which, in connection with the principle it involves, is exceedingly beautiful. It is believed that, to the ear of the dying, (which, just before death, becomes always exquisitely acute,) the perfect harmony of the voices of nature, is so ravishing, as to make him forget his suffering, and die gently, like one in a pleasant trance. And so, when the last moment approaches, they take him from the close shieling, and bear him out into the open sky, that he may hear the familiar rushing of the streams. I can believe that it is not superstition. I do not think we know how exquisitely nature's many voices are attuned to harmony, and to each other.

The old philosopher we read of, might not have been dreaming when he discovered that the order of the sky was like a scroll of written music, and that two stars, (which are said to have appeared centuries after his death, in the very places he mentioned,) were wanting to complete the harmony. We know how wonderful are the phenomena of colour; how strangely like consummate art the strongest dyes are blended in the plumage of birds, and in the cups of flowers; so that, to the practised eye of the painter, the harmony is inimitably perfect. It is natural to suppose every part of the universe equally perfect; and it is a glorious and elevating thought, that the stars of heaven are moving on continually to music; and that the sounds we daily listen to are but part of a melody that reaches to the very centre of God's illimitable spheres

either by land or sea, and from thence to Loretto, and down the Adriatic; and having touched at Cyprus or Candia, landed at Alexandria; and sometimes they went to Venice, without proceeding to Rome. Those from Constantinople sailed to Rhodes, and from thence to a more eastern part of Egypt. But the greater number crossed the desert from Cairo, and entered Palestine from the south. The pilgrims usually travelled through European kingdoms on foot; and their peculiar habit insured for them alms and protection. At Marseilles, ship captains, whose vessels were bound for eastern ports, were in the habit of receiving on board, without pecuniary reward, a certain number of these "holy men,' whose intention of visiting Jerusalem was at once a passport and pay.

In the order of foreign pilgrims must be reckoned the palmers, a class of men whose real history and condition are little known, though their name is familiar. According to the most probable account, their designation was derived from the palm, the symbol of Palestine; branches of which were often brought home by them, as evidences of their journey. The distinction between them and ordinary pilgrims has been defined as consisting in the following circumstances: "The pilgrim had some home or dwelling-place; but the palmer had none. The pilgrim travelled to some certain designed place; but the palmer to all. The pilgrim usually went at his own charges; but the palmer professed wilful poverty, and went upon alms. The pilgrim might give over his profession, and return home; but the palmer must be consistent till he has obtained his palm by death." These distinctions, however, were not invariably preserved; and it would be, perhaps, difficult to determine any that were so. The profession of a palmer was at first voluntary, but afterward it was not unfrequently imposed as a penance.

Toward the close of the eleventh century, about the year 1075, the dominion of Palestine was torn from the Arabian dynasty by the wilder hands of the Turks. The pure fanaticism of that rude people, was not yet softened by friendly intercourse with the followers of the adverse faith; nor would it stoop even to yield to the obvious dictates of interest. Many outrages were at this time perpetrated upon the pilgrims who visited the sepulchre, and upon the Christian natives and sojourners in Syria. Those who returned from the East were clamorous in their descriptions and complaints; and tales of

The darkness that encompassed me,
The gloom I felt so palpably,
My own dark spirit threw.

Yet He was patient, - slow to wrath,
Though every day provoked
By selfish, pining, discontent,
Acceptance cold or negligent,
And promises revoked;

And still the same rich feast was spread
For my insensate heart!
Not always so : I woke again,

To join Creation's rapturous strain,
"Oh! Lord, how good thou art!"

The clouds drew up, the shadows fled
The glorious sun broke out;
And love, and hope, and gratitude,
Dispelled that miserable mood
Of darkness and of doubt.

EXERCISE CXIII.

THE READING OF THE BIBLE.

Jacob Abbott.

THERE are many persons who really wish to study the Bible more intellectually, and to receive more vivid impressions from it, but who do not know exactly what they are to do to secure these objects. I shall therefore describe one of the means which can easily be adopted, and which will be very efficient for this purpose:

Picturing to the imagination the scenes described. There is a very common difficulty felt by multitudes in reading the Bible, which admits of so sure and easy a remedy by the above direction, that I cannot avoid devoting a few paragraphs to the formal consideration of it.

A person who is convinced that it is his duty to read the word of God, and who really desires to read it, and to receive instruction from it, sits down on the Sabbath to the work. He opens, perhaps, at a passage in the Gospels, and reads on,