on delicate pavilions. A lofty arched entrance and twin pairs of smaller arches pierce each of the four identical façades, adding an air of lightness and plasticity to faultless proportions.

The walls of the exterior, not less than within, are lavishly embellished with inlaid vines and flowering texts from the Moslem scriptures. Indeed, it is credibly stated that the entire Koran is thus placed upon the mausoleum. Everywhere the finish is like that of a jewel-case, in supreme forgetfulness of toil or treasure.

We enter the rotunda, and stand thrilled by a beauty and solemnity which pass all expression. Lost in admiration, we unconsciously speak, and instantly the guardian Echo catches up the note and carries it round and round the lofty vault, calling it back softer and softer, as if not to wake the dead, until it fades into profound silence. Windows of marble lace temper the light within, harmonizing it with the religious sentiment which pervades the tomb.

Directly beneath the dome is the cenotaph of the Empress, covered with mosaics of flowers and foliage, wrought in turquoise and jasper, carnelian and sard, chalcedony and agate, lapis lazuli and jade, blood-stone onyx and heliotrope. Beside it is that of the Emperor, similarly adorned. Surrounding them is a screen of marble filigree elaborate and delicate beyond all conception.

In a vault below the central hall is the inlaid sarcophagus which contains the ashes of the lady of the Taj- Moontaz-iMahal, the Exalted One of the Harem. There, also, close to the bride of his youth, rests the faithful Shah Jehan. Deathless love joined forevermore.

We came by moonlight to this sanctuary, when all was silent save the rippling of the Jumna, which flows by its side; and, walking around the shimmering pile, confessed that "the rare genius of the calm building finds its way unchallenged to the heart."

ASIA

WE

Sacred Haunts of Palestine

By A. W. KINGLAKE

crossed the Golden Horn in a caïque. As soon as we had landed, some woebegone-looking fellows were got together and laden with our baggage. Then on we went, dripping and sloshing, and looking very like men that had been turned back by the Royal Humane Society for being incurably drowned. Supporting our sick, we climbed up shelving steps, and threaded many windings, and at last came up into the main street of Pera, humbly hoping that we might not be judged guilty of the plague, and so be cast back with horror from the doors of the shuddering Christians.

Such was the condition of the little troop which fifteen days before had filed away so gayly from the gates of Belgrade. Two attacks of fever and a northeasterly storm had thoroughly spoiled our looks.

The interest of Mysseri with the house of Giuseppini was too powerful to be denied, and at once, though not without fear and trembling, we were admitted as guests.

We

Even if we don't take a part in the chant about "mosques and minarets," we can still yield praises to Stamboul. can chant about the harbor; we can say and sing that nowhere else does the sea come so home to a city; there are no pebbly shores-no sand-bars-no slimy river-beds-no black canals-no locks nor docks to divide the very heart of the place from the deep waters. If, being in the noisiest

mart of Stamboul, you would stroll to the quiet side of the way amidst those cypresses opposite, you will cross the fathomless Bosporus; if you would go from your hotel to the bazaars, you must pass by the bright blue pathway of the Golden Horn, that can carry a thousand sail of the line. You are accustomed to the gondolas that glide among the palaces of St. Mark, but here, at Stamboul, it is a hundredand-twenty-gun ship that meets you in the street. Venice strains out from the steadfast land, and in old times would send forth the Chief of the State to woo and wed the reluctant sea; but the stormy bride of the Doge is the bowing slave of the Sultan-she comes to his feet with the treasures of the world-she bears him from palace to palace-by some unfailing witchcraft she entices the breezes to follow her, and fan the pale cheek of her lord-she lifts his armed navies to the very gates of his garden-she watches the wall of his Serail—she stifles the intrigues of his Ministers-she quiets the scandals of his Court-she extinguishes his rivals, and hushes his wives all one by one. So vast are the wonders of the deep!

I caught one glimpse of the old heathen world. My habits of studying military subjects had been hardening my heart against poetry. Forever staring at the flames of battle, I had blinded myself to the lesser and finer lights that are shed from the imaginations of men. In my reading at this time, I delighted to follow from out of Arabian sands the feet of the armed believers, and to stand in the broad manifest storm-tract of Tartar devastation and thus, though surrounded at Constantinople by scenes of much interest to the classical scholar, I had cast aside their associations like an old Greek grammar, and turned my face to the "shining orient," forgetful of old Greece, and all the pure wealth she left to this matter-of-fact-ridden world. But it happened to me one day to mount the high grounds overhanging the streets of Pera. I sated my eye with the pomps of the city and its crowded waters, and then I looked over where Scutari lay half veiled in her mournful cypresses. I looked yet farther, and higher, and saw in the heavens a

silvery cloud that stood fast and still against the breeze; it was pure and dazzling white as might be the veil of Cytherea, yet touched with such fire, as though from beneath the loving eyes of an immortal were shining through and through. I knew the bearing, but had enormously misjudged its distance and underrated its height, and so it was as a sign and a testimony-almost as a call from the neglected gods, that now I saw and acknowledged the snowy crown of the Mysian Olympus!

I crossed the plain of Esdraelon, and entered among the hills of beautiful Galilee. It was at sunset that my path brought me sharply around into the gorge of a little valley, and close upon a gray mass of dwellings that lay happily nestled in the lap of the mountain. There was only one shining point still touched with the light of the sun, who had set for all besides; a brave sign this to "holy Shereef," and the rest of my Moslem men; for the one glittering summit was the head of a minaret, and the rest of the seeming village that had veiled itself so meekly under the shades of evening was Christian Nazareth.

Within the precincts of the Latin convent there stands the great Catholic church which encloses the sanctuary-the dwelling of the blessed Virgin. This is a grotto of about ten feet either way, forming a little chapel or recess, and reached by descending steps. It is decorated with splendor; on the left hand a column of granite hangs from the top of the grotto to within a few feet of the ground; immediately beneath, another column of the same size rises from the ground as if to meet the one above; but between this and the suspended pillar there is an interval of more than a foot. These fragments once formed the single column on which the angel leant when he spoke and told to Mary the mystery of her awful blessedness. Hard by, near the altar, the holy Virgin was kneeling.

I had been journeying, cheerily indeed, for the voices of my followers were ever within my hearing, but yet, as it were, in solitude, for I had no comrade to whet the edge of my reason, or wake me from my noonday dreams. I was

left all alone to be taught and swayed by the beautiful circumstances of Palestine traveling-by the clime, and the land, and the name of the land, with all its mighty import -by the glittering freshness of the sward, and the abounding masses of flowers that furnished my sumptuous pathway -by the bracing and fragrant air that seemed to poise me in my saddle, and to lift me along as a planet appointed to glide through space.

And the end of my journey was Nazareth-the home of the blessed Virgin! In the first dawn of my manhood the old painters of Italy had taught me their worship of the beauty that is more than mortal; but those images all seemed shadowy now, and floated before me so dimly, the one overcasting the other, that they left me no one sweet idol on which I could look, and look again, and say, "Maria mia!" Yet they left me more than an idol-they left me (for to them I am wont to trace it) a faint apprehension of beauty not compassed with lines and shadows-they touched me (forgive, proud Marie of Anjou!), they touched me with a faith in loveliness transcending mortal shapes.

I came to Nazareth, and was led from the convent to the sanctuary. so as I went, I trod tenderly, not looking to the right nor to the left, but bending my eyes to the ground.

The attending friar served me well-he led me down quietly, and all but silently, to the Virgin's home. The mystic air was so burnt with the consuming flames of the altar, and so laden with incense, that my chest labored strongly and heaved with luscious pain. There-there with beating heart the Virgin knelt, and listened; I strove to grasp and hold with my riveted eyes some one of the feigned Madonnas; but of all the heaven-lit faces imagined by men, there was none that would abide with me in this the very sanctuary. Impatient of vacancy, I grew madly strong against nature; and if by some awful spell, some impious rite, I could- Oh, most sweet religion, that bid me fear God, and be pious, and yet not cease from loving! Religion and gracious custom commanded me that I fall down loyally,