LESSON XCIII. The Bells of St. Mary's, Limerick.-LONDON LITERARY GAZETTE. "Those evening bells-those evening bells!" Moore's National Melodies. THERE is a delight, which those only can appreciate who have felt it, in recalling to one's mind, when cast by fortune upon a strange soil and among strangers, the sights and sounds which were familiar to one's infant days. It is pleasant, too, though, perhaps, like the praise of one's own friend, rather obtrusive, to snatch those memories from their rest, and give them to other ears,-to tinge them with an interest, and bid them live again. When we perceive, likewise, that places and circumstances of real beauty and curiosity remain neglected and unknown, for want of some tongue to give their worthiness a voice," there is a gratification to our human pride in the effort to procure them, even for a space, A forted residence 'gainst the tooth of time 66 I shall not, in this letter, as in my last, give any thing characteristic-any thing Irish. I will be dull rather than descend from the elevation I intend to keep; but, in compensation, I will tell you a fine old story; and, if you have but the slightest mingling of poetical feeling in your composition, (and who is there now-a-days that will not pretend to some?) I promise myself that you shall not be disappointed. The city of Limerick, though surrounded by some very tolerable demesnes,* is sadly deficient in one respect,― not an unimportant one in any large town;-there is no public walk of any consequence immediately adjoining it. The canal which leads to Dublin is bleak, from its want of trees; and unhealthy, from the low marshy champaign,† which lies on either side its banks. * * * * But, at the head of this canal, where it divides itself into two branches, which, gradually widening and throwing off their artificial appearance, form a glittering circlet around a small island, which is covered with water shrubs-on this spot I have delightedly reposed in many a sweet sunset, † Pron. sham'pāne. *Pron. děmains'. when I loved to seek a glimpse of inspiration in such scenes, to imitate Moore's poetry, and throw rhymes together, about the rills and hills, streams and beams, and even and heaven, and fancy I was a genius!" "Tis gone-'tis gone-'tis gone!" as old Capulet says. Have the com'plaisance But let us recall it for a moment. to indulge me in a day-dream, and fancy, if you can, that you sit beside me on the bank. We are beyond the hearing of the turmoil and bustle of the town; "the city's voice itself is soft, like solitude's ;" and there is a hush around us that is delightful-the beautiful repose of the evening. * The sun, that, but a few minutes since, rushed down the west with the speed of a wandering star, pauses, ere he shall set, upon the very verge of the horizon, and smiles upon his own handiwork-the creation of his fostering fervour. Hark! one sound alone reaches us here; and how grand, and solemn, and harmonious, in its monotony! These are the great bells of St. Mary's. Their deep-toned vibrations undulate so as to produce a sensible effect on the air around us. The peculiar fineness of the sound has been often remarked; but there is an old story connected with their history, which, whenever I hear them ring out over the silent city, gives a something more than harmony to the peal. I shall merely say, that what I am about to relate is told as a real occurrence; and I consider it so touchingly poetical in itself, that I shall not dare to supply a fictitious name, and fictitious circumstances, where I have been unable to procure the actual ones. They were originally brought from Italy; they had been manufactured by a young native (whose name the tradition has not preserved,) and finished after the toil of many years; and he prided himself upon his work. They were consequently purchased by the prior of a neighbouring convent; and, with the profits of this sale, the young Italian procured a little villa, where he had the pleasure of hearing the tolling of his bells from the convent cliff, and of growing old in the bosom of domestic happiness. This, however, was not to continue. In some of those broils, whether civil or foreign, which are the undying worm in the peace of a fallen land, the good Italian was a sufferer amongst many. He lost his all; and, after the passing of the storm, found himself preserved alone amid the wreck of fortune, friends, family, and home. The convent, in which the bells, the master-pieces of his skill, were hung, was razed to the earth, and these last carried away into another land. The unfortunate owner, haunted by his memories, and deserted by his hopes, became a wanderer over Europe. His hair grew gray, and his heart withered, before he again found a home or a friend. In this desolation of spirit, he formed a resolution of seeking the place, to which those treasures of his memory had been finally borne. He sailed for Ireland; proceeded up the Shannon; the vessel anchored in the Pool, near Limerick, and he hired a small boat for the purpose of landing. The city was now before him; and he beheld St. Mary's steeple, lifting its turreted head above the smoke and mist of the Old Town. He sat in the stern, and looked fondly toward it. It was at evening, so calm and beautiful, as to remind him of his own native haven in the sweetest time of the year-the death of the spring. The broad stream appeared like one smooth mirror, and the little vessel glided through it with almost a noiseless expedition. On a sudden, amid the general stillness, the bells tolled from the cathedral; the rowers rested on their oars, and the vessel went forward with the impulse it had received. The old Italian looked towards the city, crossed his arms on his breast, and lay back in his seat. Home, happiness, early recollections, friends, family-all were in the sound, and went with it to his heart. When the rowers looked round, they beheld him with his face still turned toward the cathedral; but his eyes were closed, and, when they landed-they found him cold! Such are the associations, which the ringing of St. Mary's bells brings to my recollection. I do not know how I can better conclude this letter than with the little melody, from which I have taken the line above. It is a good specimen of the peculiar tingling melody of the author's poetry-a quality in which he never has been equalled in his own language, nor exceeded in any other -Why! you can almost fancy you hear them ringing! "Those evening bells-those evening bells- "Those pleasant hours have passed away, "And so 'twill be when I am gone : LESSON XCIV. Description of Jerusalem and the surrounding Country.--LETTERS FROM THE EAST. ALTHOUGH the size of Jerusalem was not extensive, its very situation, on the brink of rugged hills, encircled by deep and wild valleys, bounded by eminences whose sides. were covered with groves and gardens, added to its numerous towers, and temple, must have given it a singular and gloomy magnificence scarcely possessed by any other city in the world. The most pleasing feature in the scenery around the city is the valley of Jehoshaphat. Passing out of the gate of St. Stephen, you descend the hill to the torrent of the Kěd'ron a bridge leads over its dry and deep bed: it must have been a very narrow, though, in winter, a rapid stream. On the left is a grotto, handsomely fitted up, and called the tomb of the Virgin Mary, though, it is well known, she neither died nor was buried near Jerusalem. Being surprised, however, on the hills by a long and heavy shower of rain, we were glad to take shelter beneath the doorway of this grotto. A few steps beyond the Kedron, you come to the garden of Gethsem ǎně, of all gardens the most interesting and hallowed; but how neglected and decayed! It is surrounded by a kind of low hedge; but the soil is bare; no verdure grows on it, save six fine venerable olive-trees, which have stood here for many centuries. This spot is at the foot of Olivet, and is beautifully situated: you look up and down the romantic valley; close behind rises the mountain; before you are the walls of the devoted city. While lingering here, at evening, and solitary,—for it is not often a footstep passes by,-that night of sorrow and dismay rushes on the imagination, when the Redeemer was betrayed, and forsaken by all, even by the loved disciple.Hence the path winds up the Mount of Olives: it is a beautiful hill: the words of the Psalmist," the mountains around Jerusalem," must not be literally applied, as none are within view, save those of Arabia. It is verdant, and covered, in some parts, with olive-trees. From the summit you enjoy an admirable view of the city: it is beneath, and very near; and looks, with its valleys around it, exactly like a panora ma.* Its noble temple of Omar, and large area planted with palms; its narrow streets, ruinous places, and towers, are all laid out before you. On the summit are the remains of a church, built by the Empress Hělena; and, in a small edifice, containing one large and lofty apartment, is shown the print of the last footstep of Christ, when he took his leave of earth. The fathers should have placed it nearer to Bethany, in order to accord with the account given us in Scripture; but it answers the purpose of drawing crowds of pilgrims to the spot. Descending Olivet to the narrow valley of Jehoshaphat, you soon come to the pillar of Absalom: it has a very antiquet appearance, and is a pleasing object in the valley it is of a yellow stone, adorned with half columns, formed into three stages, and terminates in a cupola. The tomb of Zacharias, adjoining, is square, with four or five pillars, and is cut out of the rock. Near these is a sort of grotto, hewn out of an elevated part of the rock, with four pillars in front, which is said to have been the apostles' prison at the time they were confined by the rulers. The small and wretched village of Siloa is built on the rugged sides of the hill above; and just here the valleys of Hinnom and Jehoshaphat meet, at the south-east corner of Mount Zion: they are both sprinkled with olive-trees. Over the ravinet of Hinnom, and directly opposite the city, is the Mount of Judgment, or of Evil Counsel; because there, they say, the rulers took counsel against Christ, and the palace of Caiaphas stood. It is a broad and barren hill, without any of the picturesquell beauty of Olivet, though loftier. On its side is pointed out the Aceldama,¶ or field where Judas hung himself: a small and rude edifice stands on it, and it is used as a burying-place. But the most interesting portion of this hill, is where its rocks descend precipitously into the valley of Hinnom, and are mingled with many a straggling olive-tree. All these rocks are hewn into sepulchres of various forms and sizes: no doubt they were the tombs of the ancient Jews, and are in general cut with considerable care and skill. They are often the resting-place of the benighted passenger. Šome * Pron. pan-o-ra'-ma-a as in father. † an-teek'. ‡ra-veen'. TA-sel'-dă-ma. |