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THE VOICE OF FREEDOM.
POETRY On the Death of a Sister. BY CHArtLES SPB.AGUE, I knew that wo must part; day after day, I saw the J read Destroyer win his Way. That hollow cough first rang the fatal knell, As on my ear its prophet-warning fell; Feeble and slow the once light footstep grew, Thy wasting cheek put on death's pallid hue, Thy thin, hot hand to mino more weakly clung, Each sweet 'Good night' foil fainter from thy tongue. I knew that wo must part no power could savo Thy quiet goodness from an early grave: Those eyes so dull, though kiud each glance they cast, Looking a sister's fondness to the last; Thy lips so pale, that gently pressed my cheek ; Thy voice alas! thou couldst but try to spca'i ; All told thy doom, I felt it at my heart, The shaft had struck. I knew that wo must part. And wo have parted, Mary thou art gone! Gone in thine innocence, mcek-suft"ering one. Thy weary spirit breathed itself to sleep So peacefully, it seemed a sin to weep, In those fond watchers who around thee stood, And felt, even then, that God was greatly good. Like stars that struggle through the clouds of night, Thine eyes one mo.nent caught a glorious light, As if to thee, in that dread hour, 'twere given To know on earth what, faith believes of Heaven; Then like tired breezes didst thou sink to rest, Nor one, one pang the awful change confessed. Death stole in softness o'er that lovely face, And touched each feature with anew-born grace; On cheek and brow unearthly beauty lay, And told that life's poor cares had passed away. In my last hour be Heaven so kind to me, I ask no more than this to die like thee. But we have parted, Mary thou art dead! On its last resting-place I laid thy head, Then by the coffin-sido knelt clown, and took A brother's farewell kiss and farewell look. Those marble lips no kindred kiss returned; From thoso veiled orbs no glance responsive burned; Ah! then I felt that thou hadst passed away, That the sweet face I gazed on was but clay ; And then came Memory, with her busy throng Of tender images, forgotten long; Years hurried back, and as they swiftly rolled, I saw thee heard thee, as in days of old; Sad and more sad each sacred feeling grew, Manhood was moved, and sorrow claimed her due; Thick, thick and fast the burning tear-drops started, I turned away and felt that we had parted. But not forever in the silent tomb Where thou art laid, thy kindred shall find room; A little while a few short years of pain, And, one by one, we'll come to thee again. The kind old Father shall seek out the place, And rest with thee, the youngest of his race; The dear, dear Mother bent with age and grief Khali lay her head by thine, in sweet relief; Sister and Brother, and that faithful Friend True from the first and tender to the end All, all, in His good time who placed us here, To live, to love, to die and disappear Shall come and make their quiet bed with thee, Beneath the shadow of that spreading tree; With thee to sleep, through death's long, dreamless night, With thee rise up, and bless the morning light, From the New-Yorker. POETRY IN EDEN. " No poetry in Eden ? No poets amongst man, whose mental organization is held up to be perfect ? Say rather for such is the true interpretation of such a contradic tion in terms there was no Paradise." New- York Re view. No poetry in Paradise ? What! none Where in primeval glory rose the sun Where man held commune with the God of heaven At dawn of morn, and 'mid the shades of even Where regal night in peerless beauty shone, When from their azure vault the stars look'd down? Those silent watchers, whose calm, holy rays Thrill to the soul, as 'twere a seraph's gaze, Searching the heart-depths, and beholding there All that was hidden from the daylight's glare. No poetry in Eden ? w here the flowers Clustered and blossom 'd from their native bowers Where heavenly breezes fanned them into birth, Borne by the hands of angels to the earth Planted for man, that every whore his eyes Might rest on beauties breathing of the skies; Lading with odors every truant wind That kissed the rose on mossy stalk reclined, Or sought the violet in its lowly bed, And gently bent the lilly's dew-gemm'd head. No poetry in Eden .' where the song From thousand warbling throats was borne along In one full chorus, one harmonious swell, From sunny upland, shady grove, and dell; Where Nature's harp-strings, swept by every breeze, Thrilled with all low and gentle harmonies, And from the altar of man's heart the prayer Responsive rose upon the balmy air; Where lay reflected in the waters blue A silvery bow a heaven of oloudloss hue Or orient tint, where glimpses might be caught Of rainbow-wings bright forms that love had bro'l From upper Eden, first to gaze upon Their Maker'sfimage, and to hear the tone Of brother's voice uprising to the sky, Like them the heir of immortality-. No poetry in Eden ? none where love Flowed from the pure and holy fount abovo ? All things grew fairer to th' enamored view, Earth, sea and sky wore all one gorgeous hue; Mountain and valley, bower and lake were rife With countless beauties bursting into life; Joy wove a rose-hued wreath to crown the hours, And Love lay nestled 'mid the blooming flowers; No care, no doubt, no dark suspicion rase To dim the sunlight of the heart's repose. And now, when sin and suffering shed theii blight, When Eden's bowers are lost to mortal sight, If, 'mid the ruins of our fallen stale, Man finds the beautiful, the pure, the great Sees snow-topped mountains in their grandeur rise, Formed by the hand divine that arched the skies Rude, rushing torrents from the rocks rebound, And, startled , hears the thundering crash of sound , Gathers wild daisies on the green hill-side, Or seeks some nook where gentle rivulets glide Watches the morning radiance streaming on The waters flashing in the noon-day sun Longs for the wings of birds, to soar away, And float 'mid glories of the. dying day Revels at midnight in ideal dreams Sees airy shapes upon the pale moonbeams Feels in his heart a fount of kindness spring ITnchilled, though his young hopes lie withering; If thus the heavenly, the pure, the sweet, In this worn world around man's pathway meet, And poetry makes all seem hallowed ground. Say, was there none in Time's fresh morning found.' No poetry in Eden ? All things fair. Bright, brilliant, lovely, were concentred there: Soft murmuring fount, and fragrant zephyr's sigh; The voice of love tho thrill of ccstacy; Dark, solemn groves, and tree tops starred with gold; Warm, purple clouds, like tissued robes unrolled; Gay-plumaged birds, with waving pinions free; Oh, these are all unwritten poetry ! And these wers there and man 'a aspiring soulj All formed in Paradise one glorious whole ! J. C. MISCELLANEOUS From the Backwoodsman. , The Forged Patent. BY A WESTERN RECLUSE. Remember you no case like this? Or if Your mcmorv none records, is such a one So much at odds with probability Your fancy cannot image it? Mr. Russell : The changes which the last twenty years have wrought in Illinois, would be incredible to any who had not witnessed them. At that period our settlements were few, and the spirit ol' enterprise that now pervades every corner of the State, had not then been awakened. The bluff of our own beautiful river had never sent bade the echo of the steam engine. With out a market for their produce, the farmers confined their labors to the wants of their own families. Corn was nearly tho only crop raised, and from the time it was 'laid by' near the end of June, till 'pulling time,' in November, was a holiday, and the intervening period was passed in idleness, except the Saturdays. On that day, duly as it ar rived, the settlers, far and near, collected at the dis tillery, and amused themselves with shooting at a mark, 'trading nags' and too often when the tin cup had passed freely around, in 'fighting.' This, sir, is by no means a picture of all the settlements of that early period, but that it is graphically true of many, none of our oldest set tlers will deny. But to my narrative. One Saturday afternoon in the year 1S19 a young man was seen approaching with slow and weary steps, the house, or rather the distillery of squire Crosby, of Brent's Prairie, an obscure set tlement on the Military Tract. As usual on that day, a large collection of people were amusing themselves at Crosby's who owned the only dis tillery in that region was a magistrate, and re garded by the settlers as a rich and great man. The youth who now came up to the group was apparently about twenty-one years of age, of slender form, fair and delicate complexion, with the air of one accustomed to good society. It was evident at a glance that he was not inured to the hardships of a frontier life, or labor of any kind. But his dress bore a strange contrast with his appearance, and manners. He wore a hunting shirt of the coarsest linsey-woolsey, a common straw hat, and a pair of deerskin mocasins. A large pack completed his equipment. Every one gazed with curiosity upon the new comer. In their eagerness to learn who he was, whence he came, and what was his business, the horse swap was left unfinished the rifle was laid aside, and even the busy tin cup had a tem porary respite. The young man approached 'Squire Crosby, whom even a stranger could distinguish as the principal personage among them, and anxiously inquired for a house where he could be accommo dated ; saying that he was extremely ill and felt all the symptoms of an approaching fever. Crosby eyed him keenly and suspiciously for a moment, without uttering a word. Knaves and swindlers had been recently abroad, and the lan guage of the youth betrayed that he was a 'Yan kee,' a name at that time associated in the minds of the 'ignorant,' with overy thing that is base. Mistaking the silence and hesitation of Crosby, for a fear of his inability to pay, the stranger smiled and said, 'I am not without money,' and putting his hand in his pocket to give ocular proof of the assertion, he was horror struck to find that his pocket book was gone. It contained every cent of his money, besides papers of (Treat value to him. Without a farthing without a single letter or paper to attest that his character was honorable in a strange land and sickness rapidly coming upon him these feelings nearly drove him to des pair. 1 lie 'feature, who prided Imnselt of his sa gacity in detecting villians, now found the use of his tongue, With a loud and sneering laugh he said ; 'Stranger, you are barking up the wrong tree if you think for to colch me with that are Yankee trick of yourn.' He proceeded in that inhuman strain, seconded by nearly every one present, for the' Squire,' was powerful, and few dared displease him. The youth felt keenly his desolate situa tion, and casting his eye around over the group, in a tone of deep and despairing anxiety, inquir ed, 'is there none who will receive me V 'Yes, I will,' cried a man among the crowd ; yes, poor sick stranger, I will shelter you.' Then in a low er tone he added, 'I know not whether you are deserving, but I know that you are a fellow being, and in sickness and want, and -for the sake of Him who died for the guilty, if not for" your own sake, will I be kind to you, poor young stranger.' 1 lie man who stepped forth and proffered a home to the youth in the hour of suffering, was Simon Davis, an elderly man who resided near Crosby, and to whom tl)e latter was a deadly ene my. Uncle Simon, as he was called, never re taliated, and bore the many persecutions of his vindictive neighbor, without complaint, His fam ily consisted of himself and daughter, his onlv child, an affectionate girl of seventeen. The youth heard the offer of Mr. Davis, but heard no more, for overcome by his feeling's and extreme illness, ho fell insensible to the earth. He was conveyed to the house of his benefactor and a physician called. Long was the struggle t i . 1 I 11.1 f-iV. .- oeiween nie anu aeatn. 1 hough unconcious he called upon his mother and sister, almost in ce-sanlly, lo aid him. When the youth was laid upon the bed and she heard him calling for his sister, Liucy Davis wept and said to him, 'poor sick young man your sister is far distant and cannot hear you, but I will be to you a sis'ter.' Well did this dark-eyed maiden keen her promise. JJay ana night she watched over him except me snort intervals when sue yielded her nost nt i i , . , . ., - nis Dea siae to ncr lamer. At length the crisis of his disorder arrived the day that was to decide the question of ljfe or death. Lucy bent over him with intense anxiety watching every expression of his features, hardly daring to breathe, so fearful was she of waking him from the only sound sleep he had enjoyed for nine long aays ana nigms. At length he awoke and gazed up into the lace ol Lucy Davis and faintly inquired, 'ivhere am I?' There was in telligence in that look. Youth and a good con stitution had obtained the mastery. Lucy felt that he was spared, and bursting into n flood of irrcpressibly, grateful tears, rushed out of the room. It was two weeks more before he could sit up even for a short time. He had already acquaint ed them with his name and residence, but they had no curiosity to learn any thing further, and forbid his giving his story till he became stron ger. His name was Charles Wilson and his pa ternal home, Boston. A few days afterwards when Mr. Davis was absent from home, and Lucy engaged about her household affairs, Wilson saw at the head of the bed, his pack, and recollecting something that he wanted, opened it. The first thing he saw was the identical pocket book whose loss had excited so many bitter regrets. He recollected having placed it there the morning before he reached Brent's Prairie, but in the confusion of the moment that circumstance was forgotten. He examined and found every thing as he left it. This discovery nearly restored him to health, but ho resolved at present to confine that secret to his own bosom. It was gratifying to him to wit ness the entire confidence they reposed in the honor and integrity of a stranger, and the pleasure with which they bestowed favors upon one whom they supposed could make no return but thanks. Night came and Mr. Davis did not return. Lucy passed a sleepless night. In the morning he watched hour after hour lor his coming, and when sunset approached and he was still absent, terrified at his long and unusual stay she was set ting out to procure a neighbor to go in search of him, when her parent appeared in sight. &hc ran to meet him. and was bestowing upon him a thousand embracing expressions of affection, when his haggard, woebegone countenance startled her. He uttered not i. word, and went into his house and seated himself in silence. It was in vain that Lucy attempted to, cheer him. After a long pause, during which a powerful struggle was going on in his feelings, he arose took his daughter by the hand and led her into the room where Wilson was seated. 'You shall know all,' said he. 'I am ruined I am a beggar. In a few days I must quit thisfhouso this farm which I have so highly improved and thought my own.' He proceeded to state that a few days before, Cros by, in a moment of un governable malice,, taunted him with being a beggar, and told him that he was now in his power, and he would crush him under his feet. When Mr. Davis smiled at what he regarded only as an impotent threat, Crosby, to convince him, told him that the patent of his farm was a 'forged one, and that he, Crosby, knew tho real owner of the land had written to purchase it and expected a deed in a few days. Davis immediately went home for his pa tent, and during his long absence had visited the Land Office. Crosby was right. The patent, beyond all dispute was a forged one, and the claim of Davis to the farm, not worth a farthing. It may be proper to observe that counterfeiting soldiers' patents was a regular business in some of the eastern cities, and hundreds had been du ped. It is not for myself, said the old man, that I grieve at this misfortune. I am advanced in life and it matters not how or where I pass the few remaining days of my existence. I have a home beyond the stars where your mother has gone before me, and where I would have long since joined her, had I not lived to protect her child, my own my affectionate Lucy. The weeping girl flung her arms around the neck of her fa ther, and poured her tears upon his bosom. We can be happy still, said she, for I am young and can easily support us both. A new scene followed in which another indi vidual was a principal actor. I shall leave the read er to form his own opinion of it and barely re mark that at the close, the old man took the hand of Lucy and young Wilson, and joining them, said, my children I cheerfully consent to your union. Though poor, with a good conscience you can be happy, I know Charles that you will be kind to my daughter, for a few nights ago, when you thought no) human ear could hear you, I heard you frequently implore the blessings of heaven upon my groy hairs, and that God would reward my child for all her kindness to you. Taking down his family bible the venerable old man added, 'it is a season of affliction but we nre not forsaken, let us look for support to Him who has promised to sustain us.' He opened the book and read, 'Although the fig tree shall not blos som, neither shall fruit be in the vines; the labors of the olive shall fail and the fields shall yield no meat; the flocks shall be cut off from the fold and there shall be no herd in the stall, yet will I rejoice in the Lord ; I will joy in the God of my salvation.' Charles and Lucy knelt beside the venerable old man and while he prayed they wept tears o gratelul emotion. It was a sleepless, but not an unhappy night to the three inhabitants of the neat and cheerlu llf. I 1.., 1 i aweinng tney were auout to leave and go they Knew not where. It was then that young Wilson learnt the real value of money. By means of it he could give a shelter to those who had kindly received him when every other door was closed upon him. All nightlong he thought of the forged patent There were a few words dropped by Mr. Davis which he could not dismiss from his mind that Crosby had written to the real owner of the land and obtained the promise of a deed. It is now time for the reader to become more luny acquainted witn the History ol the young stranger. His father, Charles Wilson, Senior, was a mer chant ot lioston, who had acquired an immense fortune. At the close of the late war when the soldiers received from the government their boun ty ol 10U acres ot land, many of them offered .1 . . . H T 1TT -1 n" 1 T"! 1 men- patents to :vir. wiison ior safe, rinaing that they were resolved to sell them, he conclu ded to save them from sacrificing their hard earnings and purchased al a fair price all that were offered. In three years no small portion ot the Military tract came into his possession On the day that Charles became of age he gave himadeedof a principal part of his land in Il linois, and insisted that he should go out to see it, and if he liked the country, settle there. Wish inghim to become identified with the people, he recommended his son on his arrival in the State to lay aside his broadcloth and dress like a back woodsman. On the morning of his son 's departure Mr Wilson received a letter from a man in Illinois, who had frequently written. He wished to pur chase a certain quarter section at government price, which Mr Wilson promised he should have on those terms, provided he forwarded a certificate from the judge of the Circuit Court that the land was worth no more. The letter iust received con- enclosed the certificate in question. Mr Wilson had given this tract to Charles, and putting the let ter and certificate into his hand enjoined unon hiin to deed it to the writer agreeably to promise on his arrival in Illinois. The remarks of Mr. Davis forcibly reminded young Wilson on this incident, and on the next morning after he became acquainted with the de sign of Crosby, with a trembling hand examined the letter and certificate. It was written by Cros by, and the land he wished to purchase, the iden tical farm of Davis. Astonished that his friend the judge should certify that the land was worth no more, Mr. Da vis asked to see the certificate, and after a mo ment's examination unhesitatingly pronounced the signature a 'forgery.' An explanation from the young man now be came necessary, and calling Lucy into the room, he told them his history and laid before them a pile of patents and bank notes, one after another, till the amount reached thousands. It was a day of thankful happiness to Old Si mon Davis and his daughter, and not less so to young Wilson. xsoi longauer tins scene urosoy enterea. iiis air was that of a man who has an enemy in his power and intends to trample upon him. He scarcely noticed Wilson except with a look of con tempt. Alter pouring out all his maledictions up on the family ho advised them to leave immediate ly. I he old man inquired if he would give him nothing for the improvements he had made ? The answer was, 'not a cent.' 'You certainly would not,' said Wilson, ' drive out this old man and his daughter penniless into the world ?' ' What is that to you,' replied Crosby with look, ot malice and contempt. l will answer you that question,' said Wilson, and acquainted Inm with what the reader already has learnt. Cros by, at first was stupefied with astonishment, but when he saw that all his schemes of villainy were defeated, and proof of his having committed lor gery could be established, his assurance lorsoo, him, and he threw himself upon his knees, and begged first the old man, then Lucy and Wilson to spare him. Affected with his appeals, the latter agreed to purchase the larm upon which Crosby lived, upon condition of his instantly leaving the country. He accepted the terms and with his family fled to Tex as. Why should I spin out the narrative? Lucy and Charles were married, and though a splendid man sion rose up on the farm of Mr. Davis, both loved lar better the little room where she nad so long and anxiously watched over the sick bed of the homeless stranger. Mr. Wilson was rich, but never forgot those who were in want. Cheered by the kind and affectionate attention of his children, Old Simon Davis almost seemed to have renewed his existence. He lived many years, and long enough to tell the bright eyed son of Charles and Lucy the story of the FORGED UZjhD. And when he told the listening boy now his father, when poor and friendless, was taken home and kindly treated, and in turn became their benefactor, he impressed upon the mind ol In grandchild, that ' oven a cup of cold water, given from a pure motive, shall not lose its reward. From the Common School Journal. . English Language. As of all existing lan guages and literatures, the English is most re plete with benefit'to the human race, so it is over spreading the earth with a rapidity far exceeding any other. With a partial exception in Canada lnglish is the language of the continent ol Amer ca, north of Mexico ; and at the existing rate of increase there will be a hundred millions speaking Jbnglish in the United States at the end of this century. In the West India Islandswehave given our language to a population, collected from va nous parts ot Alnca ; and by this circumstance alone they have been brought many centuries near er civilization than their countrymen in Africa, who may lor ages grope about m the dark, destitute o any means of acquiring true religion and science, Their dialect is an uncouth perversion of English suited to the present crude state of their ideas but their literature will be the literature of Eng' land, and their language will gradually be con formed to the standard. More recently the Eng' hsh language has taken root in the continent of Africa itself, and a nation is rising by means of it in the extensive territory belonging to the Cape, out of a certain mixture of different races. But the scene of its greatest triumph will be in Asia To the south a new continent is peopling with the Jiinglish race ; to the north, an ancient people, who have always taken the lead in the progress of reli gion and science in the .hast, have adopted the En glish language as their language of education ; by means ot whicn they are becoming animated by a new spirit, and are entering at once upon the improved knowledge of Europe, the fruit of the labor and invention of successive ages. lheEn glish language, not many generations hence, will be spoken by millions in all the four quarters of the globe ; and our learning, our morals, our prm ciples of constitutional liberty, and our religion, embodied in the established literature, and diffused through the genius of the vernacular languages, will spread far and wide among the nations. what we wish to investigate in this city, and could spend another two months with profit in the like researches here. Professor Robinson. Effects of Civil War. The Montreal Transcript says that the district of Cheteaguay which has here tofore furnished some millions of feet of 'squared timber for the market, and the principal supply of cord wood to the city of Montreal for fuel, will not this year supply one loot ol the former, nor one cord of the latter. Contractors cannot find hands n the district, the majority of the French males ha-ve either fled or been imprisoned, and the Brit ish and loyal population, being under pay as mil- i . -c f..ii r.:i: nary volunteers, or n not uuuei pay u iun ui mili tary spirit that they cannot be prevailed on to work. To add to the trouble in prospect for the future, the wheat ploughing of last fall was almost universally neglected, and the chance is that there will be very little wheat sown in the spring. Though more emphaticlly true ofChateaguay than of any other district, the same remarks apply in a greater or less degree to the whole of Lower Canada. In this state of things, it would seem to us, fam ine can only be averted by the generosity of tho loyal wealthy in the provinces, and of the British government. Contributions will be made from this side if the enmity of the races should cramp, charity in Canada and the only way in which the lar-sighted loyalists can prevent increased hatred to the British and attachment to republicanism, will be extending sympathy at home to the distress of the poor, and forgetting the cause of that distress in the existence and severity of it. Let matters take what course they will, we shall expect that there will be a great deal of emigration from both prov inces to this country when traveling opens again ; and if the emigrants will take possession of uncuU tivated lands in their new homes, without attempt ing war upon the Canadas, there can be no objection to their taking refuge in a ready made republic, in stead of striving to create another. But as to making Uncle Sam a shield for their predatory incursions on the provinces, they will find the day for that past. People will have more to do next season than they had last, and in attention to their proper and legitimate business, will let conquests and dreams of conquests alone. JV. Y. Sun. Faith and Works. A worthy son of thechurch in the West Highlands, who had peculiar opinions touching the " full assurance of faith," having to cross a ferry, availed himself of the opportunity to interrogate the boatman as to the grounds of his belief, assuring him that if he had faith he was certain of a blessed immortality. The man of oar said he had always entertained a different notion of the subject, and begged to give an illustration of his opinion. " Let us suppose," said the ferryman, " that one of these oars is called faith and the other works, and try their several merits." According ly, throwing down one oar in the boat, he proceed ed to pull the other with all his strength, upon which the boat turned round and made no way. " Now.'said he, " you perceive faith won't do, let us try if works can." Seizing the other oar, and giving it the same trial, the same consequence en sued. "Works, "said he, "you see don't do, either; let us try them together." The result was success ful ; the boat shot through the waves, and soon reached the wished for haven. "This," said the honest ferryman, "is the way by which I hope to bo wafted over the troubled waters of this world to the peaceful shore of immortality." AVAR. What, speaking in quite unofficial language, is the nett purport and upshot of war ? To my own knowledge, for example, there dwell and toil, in the British village of Dumdrige, usually some five hundred souls. From these, by certain ' natural enemies' of the French, they are successively se lected, during the French war, say thirty able-bodied men. Duindridge, at her own expense, had suckled and nursed them ; she has, not without difficulty and sorrow, fed them up to manhood, and even'trained them to crafts, so that one can weave, another build, another hammer, and the weakest can stand under thirty stone avoirdupois. Nevertheless, amid much weeping and swearing, they are selected; all dressed in red, and shipped away, at the public charges, some two thousand miles, or say only to the South of Spain; and fed there till wanted. And now, to that same spot in the South of Spain, are thirty similar French arti- zans, from a French Drumdridge, in like manner wending ; till at length, after infinite effort, the two parties come into actual juxtaposition ; and thirty stand fronting thirty, each with a gun in his hand. Straightway the word ' Fire !' is giv en ; and they blow the souls out of one another ; and in place of sixty brisk, useful craftsmen, the world has sixty dead carcasses, which it must bury, and anew sued tears lor. Mad tnese men any quarrel? Busy as the devil is they had not the smallest! They lived far enough apart; were the entirest strangers ; nay, in so wide auniverse, there was even, unconsciously, by commerce, some mu tual helpfulness between them. Sartor Eesartus of Carlyle. Antiquities of Jerusalem. In Jerusalem we are surprised to nnd now mucn ot antiquity re mains, which no traveler has ever mentioned, or apparently ever seen. The walls around the great area of the mosque of Omar are, without a ques tion, those built by Herod around the area of his temple. The size, position, and character of the stone (one of them 30 1-2 feet long, and many over 20 feet) shew this of themselves : but it is fur ther demonstrated by the fact, that neartbe south west corner there still remains, in a part of the wall the loot ot an immense arch, evidently belongin to the bridge which anciently led from the tern pie to the Ilystus on Mount Sion. rJoscnhus 6, 5, 2.1 This no one appears even to hnvp seen n the castle near the Yafxa gate is also an ancient tower of stone, like those of the temple, correspond ng precisely to Josephuss description of th tower Hippicus IB. J. 5, 4, 3.1 which Titus left standing as a memento. 1 he ancient part is over iv leet nigh, and built solid, without any room within. We have no doubt that it is Hippicus We have thus gain ed some important fixed points Irom which tostart, in applying the uncient descnp tions of the city. We have been able also to trace to a considerable distance the ancient wall N. W. and N. of the present city. The pool of Siloam, at the mouth of the Tyropecum, (see Catherwood's plan,) is without doubt the oiloam oj Josephus; nd the wall of ISehemiah, further down, is the En-Rogel of Scripture, where the Border of Judah and Benjamin passed up the viilley of Hinnom We have found, further, that the mosque of Omar, which is doubtless ancient ; the water has just the taste of that of Siloam, and we conjecture a con nection between them. This point we have yet to examine. We have not completed the half of THE VOICE OF FREEDOM Is published every Saturday morning, at $2 a year, pay able in advance. If payment be delayed till the end of the year, Fifty Cents will be added. Advertisements inserted at the usual rates. Subscriptions, and all letters relating to business, should be addressed to the Publishers : letters relating to the edi torial department, to the Editor. Communications intends ed for publication should be signed by the proper name of the writer. 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