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Then broke she forth in passionate sobs and tears,
Like thunder-clouds in autumn, toss'd with storms:
"Why do I live to lift unhappy eyes
And read no pardon in a brazen sky?
Why do I lift blood-stained hands like these
In mockery to a God who will not hear?
Oh! blessed are the mothers who have wept
O'er lidless coffins where their infants lay;
Blessed their eyes, who, through the mist of tears,
Have seen fresh earth upon their children's graves!"

"Nooravah! " Edith said, " your eyes are dim,
And see not what is written on the Cross
Pardon and Rest. Oh! heaviest sin of all,
And least deserving Mercy, is Despair!"
Then led she upward from the Valley of Death,
Through tangled thorns, the steep ascending way,
Till on the Mount they stoodwhere, clear and large,
Lay, 'mid the hills of Peace, the City of God.
And holiest comfort fill'd Nooravah's heart,
And from her ransom'd soul the chains fell down.

Yet as a bird that on the mountain peak
Has shrill'd for battle, if perchance it feel
The captive bond, and from its bruised heart
The thirst of blood depart, and pride of power,
Decays and pines,—so, from Nooravah's life
Strength pass'd, and passionless and weak she lay.
"Nooravah! is it sleep that dims thine eyes,
Or Death's advancing shadows o'er thy face?"
Said Edith, whispering in the slumberer's ear.
"Give me a sign with thine uplifted hand
That thou hast entrance to the Ark of Christ."

The hand rose up; the eye unclosed again,
The form dilated, and erect she stood.
"Yea! I have peace. Yet in this hour of hope
One thought hangs heavy on my upward spring.
There is a light of something in thine eyes,
There is a sound of something in thy tone,
Thy hands' soft touch, thy smile, that ever more
Minds me of something! " Then, with rapid steps
She press'd to Edith, and with lifted voice,
Shrieks—" I adjure thee, tell me who thou art!
For I've had visions in the long dull nights
That fill my room with light!" Then trembling hands
Cast off the shawl that fell on Edith's neck,
Tore loose the ties that bound her silken robe,
Held down its fold,—and on the marble skin
What did she see?—With scream of wildest joy
Nooravah sank, and gazed with clasped hands
On the sweet flower that glow'd upon her breast,—
The daisy, yellow-ring'd,—the filial sign!
*' Banoolah! my Banoolah! " cried the Queen;
"My daughter!" and with passionate strength she strove,

And rose, and put her arms around the neck,
And kiss'd the flower,—and looking long and deep
In Edith's face, with such a smile as lies
Like holy sunshine round the lips of saints,
The mother loosed her hold, and falling slow,
Lay in triumphant rest at Edith's feet.


IN digging down through the strata of
past centuries, surprising contrasts
worthy to be contemplated, sometimes
present themselves. We have just turned over
the leaves of one of the volumes of the
Arab Ibn-Batutah's Travels, now publishing
by the Asiatic Society of Paris. The
name of Sinope arrested us. What was this
pious man from Morocco doing there, during
the first half of the fourteenth century? He
had wandered through many African and
Asiatic regions, and was on his way to
visit a country, now interesting to
ourselves under the name of Southern Russia.
Sinope was already in the hands of the Turks,
although many infidel Greeks lived there
under protection of the Muslims. From one
of these a vessel was hired. The voyagers set
out; but, three days afterwards, met with a
violent tempest, such as sometimes troubles
that sea about the equinox of spring. They
were driven back in sight of land; but tried
their fortunes once more, and, after much
rough weather, appeared before the port of
Kertch, familiar now-a-days to the
students of war-maps. Some men upon the
mountain, however, for reasons not explained,
signed to them to keep off; so they crossed to
the mainland and took ground there, at a
place where was a church attended by a
single monk. In those days Christianity and
Islamism were, so to speak, dovetailed one
into the other all along their frontiers,
although the former was gradually retiring
and the latter advancing triumphantly,
outflanking the great Greek capital, before
daring to assault it.

Desht Kifjak, or the Wilderness or Stepp
of Kifjak, on the edge of which the traveller
had landed, was green and flowery, but
without mountain, or hill, or slope, or tree.
Nothing was to be obtained for firing but the
dung of animals, which even the great people
collected as a precious thing, and carried
home in the skirts of their garments. The
wilderness was said to extend for the space of
six months' journey, three of which were within
the territories of Mohammed Uzbek Khan,
whom the traveller desired to visit. He
proceeded in the first place to Kaflk, a city built
on the shores of the sea, and inhabited by
Christians, for the most part Genoese, under
a chief named Demetrio. This mercantile
nation had factories all along the coasts of
the Black Sea, and remind us in their
manner of proceeding of our own early
and more successful exploits in India. They
allowed within their walls one mosque of the
Muslims, to which travellers of that nation
repaired on their arrival, as to an hotel.

This was the first time that the worthy
Ibn-Batutah had visited a city entirely in
the hands of Christians. He had not been
there long before he was struck by a remarkable
sound. The air thrilled with the ringing
of bells calling the "infidels" to church and he
boldly ordered his people to ascend the minaret,
read the Koran and recite the Muslim call
to prayer. He no doubt thought this was
necessary, to avert what calamities might be
brought down from Heaven by that impious
ding-dong. This zeal, however, alarmed the
Kadi of the Muslims of that place, who

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