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are looking cheerily up to the broad patches of blue sky; and the sun, that has hitherto been seen but as a vailed god through those cloistered shades, is breaking in, full and gloriously, through a dozen openings. The checkered-off domains are speedily appropriated-lines and limits are drawn, and specific rights duly designated. The clink of the hammer, and the forced rush of the saw, come next upon our ear, and cabins are going up with no tardy operation. The infant community is gathering from the north and the south, the east and west, and it seems instinct and absolutely breathing with impulse. If there are any in it who have hitherto been the victims of mishap and disappointment-the bankrupts of fortune-hope has raised its altar anew in their hearts. Every man is the lord of his own tiny domain, and (let the man of princely acres smile if he will) in the honest pride of that thought, many a nature, that had sunk under the paralysis of disastrous effort, is re-energized to exertion. The little spot of carth, with its newly erected cabin, is made a holy place; for it has become a home; and on every hand there seems a strife who first shall have that spot prepared to receive the pleasant and patient trust of the gardener's seed; for it is yet the early spring time, and many a "pale spring flower" is taken up from its wild bed by some young votary of taste to re-plant in the rude domestic garden. The twinkle of the fire-fly is lost in the myriad sparkles that go up at evening from the ruddy fires of the log-heap; and round these many a group of happy children is gathered at the merry twilight, "piling on" the withered vegetation and the dry faggot, and shouting with joy as the leaping flame flings its glare upon their elfin forms.

Such is a portion of the early history of this now peaceful and happy village-scenes with which we were ourself familiar. We traversed its streets while yet the shadows of the forest tree lay heavily upon them, and we tell no gossip's traditionary tale. Thirty years since! Why that to the young-though to the actors in those scenes they are but as things of yesterday yet to the young and the romantic it is already of the far past. Hope we, then, their interest in the annals of that date, plain and prosaic though much of them be. Well do we remember when, to our own young fancy, thirty years since imbued all things with that mist that gives a character of romance to the most common events. The aspects of time to the young and old are, in their relative proportion, though reversed in the order of their change, like the noontide and evening shadows. To us the rise and growth of our village is a reality whose somewhat harsh coloring is little mellowed by the lapse of years; but we can hardly forbear smiling at the illusions it once presented. A new town in the far west-the land of all the habitable globe "the pride!" and this the fairest-the very fairest portion of that land-situated upon the border of the river of rivers-embracing all felicitous "combinations of circumstance"-impressed with indubitable marks of nature's particular favoritism. Brighter suns and fairer moons than ever shed their light elsewhere rose upon it-purer skies o'ercanopied-softer winds fanned it. Such was our town as we first beheld it-a diagraphic square of lines and angles-in the newspaper of the day. And, albeit, the world is infinitely wiser than of yore-yet were there hearts, even at that late date, just as needful of hope, as willing to believe, and as prompt to act, as when the slumberer of the Meanwhile we were not without interests beyond olden world smiled upon his pillow over "bright the little sphere of our new being. We were not a glimpses" of El Dorado. And so the new adventurer people altogether isolated and cut off from the larger embarked for the new city; and the freighted broad-world. The wilderness was about us, but not wholly horn is floating quietly onward-its passengers nothing around. The natural thoroughfare between our emdoubting the realization of their dreams. And now, as bryo state and her older sisters was sweeping everour boat rounds one of those fairy isles that lift up more past us, and it bore us frequent and exciting their green heads from our river, we at length fairly tidings-news from kindred hearths-from political behold it―or rather its site; for as yet it is only a deep halls, and the marts of commerce. It brought us, too, brown forest. The town! how ludicrous the term! frequent accessions to our numbers; and such accesWe gaze upon the location before us, and think sym- sions formed a pleasant era in our history. It is in such pathetically of the well known little boy who could communities that the social nature has its freest play. not see the town for the houses-though our perplexi- The simplicity of their condition communicates itself ty has certainly a different source. Not a house is to to the character. The heart seems restored to its origbe seen nothing but the gray old woods, that had inal freshness. The superincumbrances acquired amid "stood and perpetuated themselves from century to the conventional formalities and cold refinements of a century." But, courage, our messmates! That lum- more artificial state of society are thrown off. The bering and ponderous fall gives "heavy and startling avenues of feeling are left unchoked. The bandages note of preparation." A giant tree, with all its arms that have stopped the circulation of its warm currents of pride, is lying prostrate-and now another-and are loosened, and the rich tides flow out again. So it yet another, frightening the echoes from all attempt was with the denizens of our forest town. Distrust at imitation; while, like a merry interlude, the click had no place among us. The new-comer was hailed of a dozen axes, as if in rivalry, fills up the pauses. and welcomed with a familiar kindness-an immediate Woe for the towering forest! woe for the silence of its and kind of family adoption by one and all. And how ancient shades! How irreverently are its honors scat- lively was the interest-or perhaps curiosity, we will tered to the dust! how rudely are the vulgar ministers not pause to analyze the term-with which we marked of sound breaking into its depths! But the laborers the newly arrived emigrant, striving at the first glance

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to read the whole history and character. But though || exceeding loveliness. They bring with them comparall were welcomed, all were not equally satisfactory in ative wealth. Their boat is heavily freighted. Every this study. Some repelled-others, independent of our thing about them evidences habits of industry-of burelative position, afforded interest only as unique modi-siness-of energy. There is that in their manner not fications of humanity. Some there were to whom our to be mistaken-the very earnestness of their glance, affections went out with a ready and instinctive em- as they look about them, bespeaks character and purbrace; and their faces, though many of them are dust, pose. What an accession to our incipient community! rise still upon our memory just as we then saw them-Yet does the first words of the father, as our citizens trustful-open-beaming. But none were so repulsive welcome him to our shore, stir a feeling of still deeper or so common place but their arrival was a source of excitement; for it extended the narrow limits of our social world, and at least afforded matter of pleasant speculation as to the amount that each one would be likely to contribute to our fund of social enjoyment.

interest. He asks anxiously what are the religious privileges of our place-has it a people devoted to the Lord? Alas, for the negative that is given! But so it shall not remain. Our emigrant is a humble laborer in the cause of our Lord and Master. He has been a

The steamboat was then a rare pageant upon west-class-leader, and a devoted one for many years. He is ern waters; but the flat-boat, gliding so noiselessly not one to remain inactive in his present sphere. He adown the current, was an object of almost equal inter-passes on to the cabin erected for his reception; but est. The approach of the humble and quiet ark was already has he spoken of a meeting for prayer beneath hailed with quickened pulses, and earnestly did we its roof. Peace be to that dwelling! From that lowly watch its course, from the moment it appeared, a speck sanctuary the voice of prayer shall not go up vainly. upon the wave, till it had either brought its freight to The few who will gather there for worship shall become our shore, or dwindled again to a speck in the receding many; and the corner-stone shall be laid of a church distance. How busy memory becomes as we recall that, though it shall come through much tribulation, these scenes! how officiously she spreads before us the shall finally triumph in the fullness and power of faith. simple picture! Every minute point, every faint shade is touched into life and freshness.

ness.

But here is a boat that has been floating from its moorings some days. It contains a family, too—a young husband and wife. They have availed themselves of its shelter till the cabin that is being prepared for them shall be in readiness. They are standing in the prow, and looking out upon the wild scenery before them in rather a musing mood. We have man

We stand again upon the bank we so recently left; but we are now surrounded by primitive wildness. How wide upon the stream lie the shadows of the forest, that upon the opposite shore reaches the very margin of the wave, deep, dead, unbroken! How darkly it stretches away in the distance-an immensity of sol-aged to gather some items of their history, and our itude! But our foreground hath objects of life; and we forget the glooms and the grandeur of the wilderWe are watching the boats that are descending the stream-we have no eye for objects of mere visual interest. Here is one at hand that has been heralded by some half-dozen "out riders"--a store-boat! laden with fancy merchandise-an exciting array of red, and green, and yellow, now quiet for the hearts of the demoiselles both of our town and our backwoods. Why, look! the stirring rumor has been out upon the wings of the wind. They are already hurrying, in not silent groups down the bank-the young-the fairthe guileless hearted. Beshrew the heart that would scorn their simple vanity! May every little purse (and well we ken they are light enough) prove sufficient for the favorite want! for hardly have its contents been earned, and carefully have they been treasured, doubtless for such destination. But another boat has landed-it is moored to one of the sycamores that flings its white arms like gigantic spectres over the stream. It seems stirring with life. A dozen forms are crowding forward-they spring on shore-they look round them with the most animated interest. Why, what is this? Such a troop of young and smiling faces! They are but one family! A father and mother scarcely past the meridian of life, with their eleven children, from the ages of six to twenty-four, all in the very flush and fullness of health and action-most of them, too, of

interest in them has a touch of sadness, as what we have gathered of them has of romance. They turned from the hymeneal altar to seek a home amid our wilds. They are indeed strangers in our forest land. Their views of life, their habitudes, their tastes, have all been formed amid the widely different influences of the eastern states. They know little of rude companionship or rugged encounter. They have brought no wealth; for their little all has been lost in a voyage of singular peril and disaster. We "cannot choose," but fear for them; and fain would we gather from the study of their lineaments somewhat to re-assure us. They have not renounced the land of their fathers, "the scenes of their childhood," without many a dream of promise, many a glowing vision of the future, that will be scarcely realized. And how shall those young hearts suffer as their eager aspirations meet the bitter chill of disappointment! The husband, it is true, should be strong to endure; and now, that we mark his countenance particularly, we are inclined to think our misgivings for him are altogether idle. His face is difficult of study. His nature-it may be cold or deep-the indices are not always to be distinguished. There is nothing in face or manner to afford us access to its real character; but the surface, at least, is unexcitable; and from the stern compressure of his lip we cannot be mistaken in deeming him one but little likely to indulge in day dreams-able, at all events, to repudiate

MOUNT SINAI.

BY DR. OLIN.

rays of the sun, that exerted great power in this deep glen, though we shivered with cold before reaching the summit of the mountain. We were first stopped by our guide, a monk from the convent, to examine a fountain which springs up in a deep grot formed by an overhanging mass of granite. He assigned to it a miraculous origin in connection with a holy shoemaker, concerning whom he related a silly story. A little farther on is a small chapel, dedicated to the Virgin, built of rough, unhewn stones, and destitute of all ele

Holy Mother appeared to the monks when, in a fit of despondency, they were preparing to desert the sacred precincts about Mount Sinai. She encouraged them to remain, promising exemption from the plague and from vermin in all future time-a pledge which they affirm she has fully redeemed. The promise, I suppose, did not extend to visitors, at least the latter clause of it.

MARCH 14. Our first enterprise was the ascent of Mount Sinai. The fatigues of our journey through the wilderness had prepared our party for sound repose, which was protracted by some of them to a rather late hour this morning. Established habit and the inspiring scenes with which I was surrounded did not permit me to sleep after the first dawn of day; but noth-gance or ornament. It stands upon a spot where the ing was to be done till a late hour, except to gaze upon the lofty peaks of the mountains, which almost overhang the monastery. About 10 o'clock we left our gloomy cells, not by the window through which our ascent had been achieved, but by a low arched passage, almost perfectly dark, and barely wide enough to allow of our egress without particular inconvenience. It is secured with iron doors, scarcely four feet in height. After feeling our way with our heads bowed low toward Another laborious effort along the steep path, which the earth, to avoid a contact with the top of the pas- was here overhung by tall cliffs, brought us to a small sage, the distance of, perhaps, fifty yards, we found gateway, to which the projecting points of rock at this ourselves in the garden of the convent. Compared place narrowed the ravine. Here, as we were told, a with all I had seen during this journey, it was a para- porter was formerly stationed, to whom a permission dise indeed. The industry of man has here achieved from the controlling authority of the establishment was a complete victory over the sterility of nature. Tall delivered by those who wished to ascend to the top of cypresses, olives, pomegranates, apricots, almond, pear, Sinai. This precaution was probably suggested by the fig, apple, and other fruit trees, many of them now in danger of the times, and is now neglected when no full bloom, presented a scene of luxuriant beauty pecu- longer necessary. In a few minutes more we reached liarly grateful to the eye after its long and painful fa- another gate, similar to the first, and built for a similar miliarity with bare rocks, and arid, gloomy wastes of purpose, where a second permission was required, an sand. excess of caution which shows the fears of the monks no less than the actual perils of the times. Nothing can exceed the grandeur of the view enjoyed by the spectator on this part of the route, especially when he turns and looks down upon the yawning gulf he has left behind him. Before him opens an unexpected scene of loveliness. There is a deep valley, bounded on the right and left by tall, bare cliffs. A magnificent

Visitors have free use of this entrance during the day, and by it ladies are admitted into the convent. From the garden we passed through an open gate, kept by a porter, to the narrow, rocky slope that lies between the convent and the mountain. We then proceeded southward for a quarter of an hour, when we arrived at the bottom of a narrow, steep ravine, which leads up toward the top of Sinai. The ascent is difficult ||and graceful cypress, which rises near its centre, invites and extremely laborious. Rough masses of granite have been arranged into a kind of stairs a great part of the way; but many of them are now displaced, and no skill seems to have been used in choosing the most cligible route, or in obviating the natural difficulties of the ascent. The ravine is choked up by rolling stones and many huge masses of rock, which have been arrested in their descent from the higher regions of the mountain. Frequent detours are necessary to pass around projecting points in the rock, and at the end of more than an hour we found ourselves but half way up the toilsome steep.

Several objects of interest occur on the way to invite momentary repose and lighten the toils of the ascent. Beautiful fountains burst out of the rock, and form a sparkling torrent, which runs along the bottom of the ravine, sinking sometimes under the shelving rocks and immense accumulations, and again re-appearing. We often had recourse to its cool, clear waters to quench our thirst, which was provoked by extreme toil and the

the weary pilgrim to repose in its shade, and a well of excellent water offers him its welcome refreshment. Favored by the congenial moisture of this elevated region, small plots of grass flourish with a luxuriance unknown in the valleys below. Our guide here kindled a fire, and urged us to partake of a cup of coffee. He consented, however, to carry his apparatus and provisions to the summit of the mountain, whither we were anxious to proceed without farther delay.

At a little distance beyond this delicious resting place is a small chapel, rudely constructed, like all the edifices on the Holy Mount, and dedicated to the prophet Elias. Here, according to the tradition, that wonderful man had the memorable interview with the Almighty, after his flight from the persecuting rage of Jezebel. It is certain that Mount Horeb afforded a refuge to the prophet, but that this is the precise spot where he heard the still small voice which followed the thunder and the earthquake, can hardly be known with certainty. Our credulous guide, who takes the most

marvelous account for the true, showed us the cavern where the prophet slept, and even the tomb where he was buried. A coarse, heavy portrait which hangs in this chapel passes for that of Elijah.

The top of the mountain still rose high above us, and the undiminished toil of the ascent was compensated by the increasing sublimity of the view. The atmosphere was now chilly, and the rocks, down which the water of a small rivulet trickled, were covered with ice. In two hours and a quarter from the commencement of the ascent, not including stops, we had reached the summit of Sinai.

and distinct masses, separated by deep, narrow valleys, which are sometimes visible, but generally concealed from the eye of the spectator on the top of Sinai, the highest point, with, I believe, two exceptions, in the entire group. This circumstance often gives a cluster of separate mountains the appearance of being one vast pile, surmounted by a number of lofty pinnacles. These summits, observed more carefully, or from other positions, are discovered to be the combs of short, but distinct ridges, divided into a number of tall, slender peaks by deep ravines, which are formed by the dissolution of perpendicular strata of porphyry interposed between the more solid masses of granite. They remind one of the slender, lofty towers that rise at regu

FAMILY WORSHIP.

A HOUSEHOLD in which family prayer is devoutly attended to, conjoined with the reading of the Scrip

Two small buildings nearly cover the level in which the mountain terminates, the one a Christian chapel, the other a mosque. The first edifice covers, accordinglar intervals upon the walls of a Saracenic fortress. to the teaching of the monks, the spot where the Almighty dictated the law to Moses. Just by, we were shown a grotto where the prophet was sheltered while the glory of God passed by, and from which he was indulged with such a view of the Divine presence as is allowed to a mortal. Our guide crept under the shelv-tures, is a school of religious instruction. The whole ing rock, and put himself in the attitude of Moses, whom he represented as peeping through a small hole. In the same place and posture he was when he wrote the law as it was dictated to him by the Almighty. It was painful to listen to tales of credulity and fiction uttered in such a place.

contents of the sacred volume are in due course laid open before its members. They are continually reminded of their relation to God and the Redeemer, of their sins, and their wants, and of the method they must take to procure pardon for the one and the relief of the other. Every day they are receiving "line upon line, and precept upon precept." A fresh accession is continually making to their stock of knowledge; new truths are gradually opened to their view, and the im

will naturally notice the most striking incidents in his family in his devotional addresses; such as the sickness, or death, or removal for a longer or shorter time, of the members of which it is composed. His addresses will be varied according to circumstances. Has a pleasing event spread joy and cheerfulness through the household? it will be noticed with becoming expressions of fervent gratitude. Has some calamity overwhelmed the domestic circle? it will give occasion to an acknowledgment of the Divine equity; the justice of God's proceedings will be vindicated, and grace implored, through the blood of the Redeemer, to sustain and sanctify the stroke.

The view from the top of Sinai is said to be greatly surpassed by that from Mount St. Catherine, which lies a short distance to the southwest. From its greater elevation, a wider field is spread out before the specta-pressions of old truths revived. A judicious parent tor, and a greater number of interesting objects embraced. It is destitute, however, of sacred associations, and my strength was too heavily tasked in exploring places of easier access and at least equal interest, to allow me the gratification of making the ascent. As I do not propose, then, to look from St. Catherine, I may reasonably despair of enjoying another view embracing such a range of grand and impressive objects as that from the summit of Sinai. The region through which our route had lain for several days was spread out like a map before the eye, and the long ranges of limestone mountains, and the sandy valleys between them, were seen with great distinctness. The view toward the west and northwest is less extensive. The higher summits of St. Catherine conceal the Red Sea and Suez, which are visible from its top. These remote objects, however, are not those in which I was most deeply interested. My gaze was fixed upon a field of perhaps thirty or forty miles in diameter, filled with mountains very similar, in their structure and appearance, to Sinai, and embraced under that general name. I have seen THE dying words of an aged man of God when he nothing like them elsewhere, and I quite despair of waved his withered, death-struck arm, and exclaimed, conveying an adequate idea of them by description. "the best of all is, God is with us," I feel in my very The pencil in a skillful hand might be more successful. soul. That mighty Being, who heaped up these cragThere is nothing deserving the name of a chain or gy rocks, and reared these stupendous mountains, and range of mountains. No one appears to be more than poured these streams in all directions, and scattered from five to eight miles in length, and nearly all of immortal beings throughout these deserts, is present, them are much shorter. With a general and remarka-and accompanies the sound of the Gospel with conble similarity in form and aspect, they are independent verting, sanctifying power.―Judson.

When the most powerful feelings and the most interesting circumstances are thus connected with religion, it is not unreasonable to hope that, through Divine grace, some lasting and useful impressions will be made.-Robert Hall.