Such is a fair statement of the case on both sides. It is not necessary for us to pronounce judgment; indeed, the whole matter of the book is rather suggestive than conclusive. The general impression left on our minds after reading it is, that the author has established a strong probability that the Dome of the Rock is the Anastasis of Constantine; but that he has failed to do more than exhibit a bare possibility of the Sakhrah being the Sepulchre of our Lord, the difficulties in the way of this latter assumption involving almost the whole question of the topography of Jerusalem-difficulties which will, perhaps, never be satisfactorily settled until the ground be examined with reference to this theory. We have ourselves, since taking up the subject, consulted more than one or two tra vellers who have carefully investigated the antiquities of Jerusalem on the spot, and have found, wherever we did so,

that these speculations came in so wholly unexpected an aspect upon them, that they were unable to pronounce judgment, and one and all pointed to fresh topical examination.

To say, therefore, that the question is settled (notwithstanding the confidence of our author), would be ridiculous; but is is equally ridiculous to assert that the question never can be settled. Any one point of identity established, amongst those suggested here, between Arculf's sepulchre and the Dome of the Rock, for instance, would bring us back to the fourth century; and the discovery, let us suppose, of one of the ancient surveys, which we know were engraved on brass-of an inscription-of a manuscript,-might conduct us the rest of the way to the era of the Crucifixion.

Far more systematic and compre. hensive examinations of the present localities than have heretofore been instituted may yet be had, under more favourable local circumstances. A revolution less vast than some that have occurred within this century, might place the whole territory at the disposal of Christian curiosity.

And how much might yet be discovered on the spot! What might the liberty to break up the pavement of the Haram towards the south-eastern angle not reveal!-or the clearing out of the vaults under the Aksa and to the eastward of it, in the recesses of which, as Prideaux has argued, the ark

of the second Temple may to this day remain concealed-where, at all events, the golden candlestick, restored to Jerusalem in the sixth century, may yet be safe from the sacrilegious rapacity of the Moslem!-or the removal of the rubbish from beneath the south-western angle outside!-or an excavation on the supposed site of the Basilica!—or, (with the peace of Mr. Williams), a levelling of the modern Greek chapel built round the (so-called) Holy Sepulchre !

It is absurd to shudder at a revision (by the light of a more enlarged philosophy) of the time-hallowed shrines of our fathers' devotion, when we recollect that "the great globe itself" on which these sites are fixed, and upon which the personages have walked who made them sacred-this earth, the scene of creation, the theatre of redemption, the theme of promise and prophecy-has been removed in these latter days, in spite of the thunders of spiritual denunciation, from its place in the centre of the universe to a remote corner of a system in which it forms an inconceivably minute atom; ay, removed at once and for ever, bearing upon its bosom, along with the

vain fabrics of man's ambition and pride, the Holy Sepulchre itself-the true one, wherever that is to be found, as well as the false, if false there be. We are happily now exempted from the fear which paralyzed the hearts of the crusaders, who, in the words of the bard of Ferrara

"Osano appena d'innalzar la vista

Ver la città, di Cristo albergo eletto."

But why should the word "fear” be used, where truth is concerned?— say rather, hope and anticipation. We have no mind to enter upon weightier matters than what come to our hand; but one idea is so immediately bound up in the above considerations, that we cannot forbear glancing at it. If the children of Israel are, after their long exile, to return a Christian community to the city of their fathers and of their God— (a belief entertained by a large section of the Christian world), is it not a step towards the accomplishment of that great event, to have the Scripture localities ascertained, Sion identified, the Temple circumscribed within its true boundaries, the Sepulchre of their King and Redeemer rescued from the obli

vion of centuries, and that imposture exposed, which has for an equally protracted period set up a false one in its place? And may we not look confidently to a complete restoration of the topography of the sacred city, if such information must indeed be had recourse to, to substantiate the past, and suggest the future? Are we to suppose that a returning nation will ascend a doubtful Sion, or bow within an apocryphal sepulchre? May we not. now look forward with the exalted confidence of a rational faith, to the ultimate unclosing of the Golden Gate, so long walled up by the foreboding jealousy of the Mussulman (unconscious that it is Providence which has sealed it until the fulness of time shall arrive, and the mystery within be cleared up), and the entry of the scattered tribes to their long-lost Temple through the Martyrium, and past the sepulchre of their Messiah-beautifully illustrative as it would prove of their restoration to the favour of the Almighty, through the death and resurrection of His blessed Son?

How unavoidable, too, is the reflection, that the obscurity which has hung over the sacred sites for so many ages, has been providentially interposed between the idolatrous superstitions of corrupt Christianity and the holy precincts they would have defiled! Is there a Christian of true piety and enlightened faith who would not rejoice to think that the senseless strife

of the Crusades, and the obscene orgies of degenerated Christendom, have been enacted over clumsy forgeries; and that the real localities have been preserved by the sullen Mussulman so far inviolate, until an era of enlightenment had begun to dawn again, and the church of Christ been purified and rendered fit to enter into possession of the local treasures it could use without abusing? If access is once more to be obtained to the sepulchre of our blessed Lord, the pilgrimage will be performed, we may hope, in peace, and the homage rendered without profaneness. That pilgrimage will be a pilgrimage of reverence and love-that homage, the homage of the heart.

Important, indeed, may be the settlement of these disputes. It may be "hastening the days" of God's judgments on earth. Let no one sneer at the casual origin of the discoveries we have announced at the unauthorized character of the instrumental parties— or the ordinary nature of the means employed. In such weakness the strength of Omnipotence is only the more conspicuously apparent; for, paradoxical as it may appear, in a case like this it would be almost more miraculous that after centuries of doubt apparently beyond clearing up, so simple a solution should in the fulness of time be found, than if the truth had been revealed by actual miracle.

on

In the spring of the following year East Muskerry was in a state of great excitement about the annual steeplechase. Lord Innishannon was going to compete for the cup, and try his horsemanship against the far-famed Hawkeses and Pynes. Some other strangers, incited by the noble peer's example, had also resolved to see whether victory might not be snatched from the Muskerry men, even their own soil. The race-course was on a large flat tract of country, near Kilcrea Abbey-a very ancient ruin, often visited by curious travellers. The course to be run was in the form of a horse-shoe-in length about five English miles-crossed twice by a considerable river, the Bride, with some five-and-twenty rasping ditches, that would try the powers of the strongest hunters.

In those times (and up to a very few years since) the Muskerry races were famous in the south of Ireland. The city of Cork poured out all its gayest and idle population, to witness them, and from different parts of the extensive county strangers came to enjoy the sport. On the occasion we refer to, more than ever was expected, and society in Muskerry was on the qui vive. Within a few months great changes had taken place in the circle of friends previously described. Nancy Belcher had changed her name into Crooke having been successfully wooed by a swain that had been faithful to her for years. Fanny Jagoe was engaged to her cousin, and "the White Rose" was, to the joy of all who knew her, betrothed to the Honourable Major Kirwan. Her marriage was to take place in the week after the races.

No! all who knew her were not in a state of joy at her approaching nuptials. There were three hearts that felt very sadly at "the White Rose's" grand alliance with the haughty house of Kirwan. One of them was far away! Poor Charles Warren-none in Muskerry knew what had become of him. Some said he was in France; others that he was dying of consumption in Devonshire; all agreed that

his heart was broken. It was only certain that he had abandoned the bar, and that his friends could no longer hope to see him advance on the road to public honours, as once they had expected. The fact was, that after the scene described in the last chapter, he had gone suddenly to London, without bidding adieu to his friends. He had even concealed where he was going from his family. His poor father and mother were to be pitied. It was a most painful subject to ask them after their once promising son. Captain Warren was completely miserable at the ruinous change that disappointed affections had made in the character of his son. Alas! he had nothing now to be proud of. The incoherent and misanthropical letters he received from London filled his eyes with tears, when he thought of what his noble boy once had been. As for Mrs. Warren, she groaned inwardly on every passing allusion to "the White Rose's" approaching marriage. She knew well the sensitive nature of her Charles; she had long observed the intensity of his misplaced affec tions, and she felt that his heart was broken. A sad—a very sad and gloomy place had the once cheerful Hanover Lodge become in a few short months.

Meanwhile, Mary Delacour was, if possible, handsomer than ever. The major was enchanted with his prize, of whose possession he was immode rately vain. He spent nearly all his time at Delacour Hall-had sold out of the army-was looking out for a becoming residence in Muskerry, where he intended to sojourn for the rest of his life. He was a man rather prone to self-indulgence, and visions of luxurious ease flitted across his fancy, as he thought of a comfortable house, with a picturesque demesne, and his beautiful wife. His private fortune was eight hundred a-year, and he had the certainty of inheriting another valuable estate from an uncle. His bride's fortune was no great accession to his means, but he cared not whether she had much or little. He lived

much in Muskerry, and made the acquaintance of nearly all his future neighbours, most of whom were pleased with his frank and agreeable qualities. His being brother to the wealthy Earl of Innishannon, was also a passport to the favour of the Muskerry gentry.

Some, however, often thought of Charles Warren; and not a few wished that "the White Rose" had fallen to his lot. They regretted, also, his blighted affections, and lamented that his feelings had received so violent a shock. They trusted, however, that time would heal his regrets, and that he might realize one day the warm expectations of all his friends. If, however, they had known the actual state of his mind, they would not have indulged very freely in such hopeful views; and if they could have seen the misery that his letters caused his parents, they would not have wondered at Captain Warren's parting with his son's hunter, Conrad. was sold to Lord Innishannon, and was to run for the Muskerry cup.

It

The coming races, and the approaching marriage at Delacour Hall, absorbed all the attention of East

Muskerry. The young bride, Mrs. Crooke, and the brides to be, Fanny Jagoe and "the White Rose," were envied by antiquated spinsters, and prattled about from morning to night by all young maidens. Lots of fun were expected, and the world of East Muskerry was quite agitated by criticism on white satin, reminiscences of real lace, demands for new dresses, calculations of country dances. The gentlemen betted moderately; they did not make books in those lonesome regions after the fashion at Epsom and Newmarket. Civilization had not yet reached so far. But they were all eager to win, for the glory of it. They were all anxious to hear the shout of triumph from their ardent rustic followers, who eagerly entered into the spirit of the equestrian contest. family at the Hall were, of course, anxious for the success of Major Kirwan's brother, and it increased the interest, when the fact was known that Lord Innishannon was to ride his own horse.

The

On the day before the race, Mary Delacour was returning from a short walk by herself, and on turning a sharp corner of the road, came suddenly upon Captain and Mrs. Warren. She

was shocked to see the change for the worse in the appearance of Captain Warren. The cold and strained politeness of Mrs. Warren cut poor Mary to the heart. She dared not inquire after Charles Warren. The subject had become a forbidden one in Captain Warren's presence, and Mary felt that she had been the cause of great misery to the once happy family at Hanover Lodge. Her conscience, however, acquitted her of coquetry or toying with the affections of her lover, though she could not help being deeply affected at the intensity of his affection. But their characters were totally unsuited to each other. She was blithe and gay, radiant and cheerful as a morn in spring, and he was as pensive as an evening in autumn.

The Warren and Delacour families now saw but little of each other; their intercourse was constrained, and not sought for at either side. Mary had not been alone with the Warrens for a considerable period, and on this occasion she felt most awkwardly. That night she dreamed of Charles, and that they were walking side by side on the banks of the Lee; that the birds were singing around them, and the trout leaping in the summer sunshine. She awoke suddenly, and on recollecting her interview on the day before with the Warrens, disagreeable sensations filled her mind; and as she dressed herself for breakfast, she could not help experiencing foreboding fears of some evils.

It was the race day, and all Muskerry was thronging to the course. From all sides jaunting-cars were rattling along the road; old family coaches and pairs were also brought out for the occasion, and every family sought to turn out in as stylish a manner as possible. It must be confessed that the equipages were rather antiquated, and that they were not calculated to dazzle the crowds that view "the Ring" in Hyde-park. Indeed, if any of the Muskerry family-coaches had been driven to Gloucestergate, it is only too probable that admittance would have been refused. Nevertheless, the Muskerry dowagers inside were as proud and as important as if they had the blood of the Courtenays and Seymours in their veins, and the wealth of the Mellishes and Couttses in their purses. The young horsewomen made a truly glorious ap

pearance; their good spirits, their hearty laughter, their fine, fresh, blooming faces and bright black eyes, were most delightful. The peasantry enjoyed the scene also. In their frieze coats, with shillelaghs in their fists, the "boys" ran along the roads in a jog-trot; and the girls stept out nimbly, smiling and joking as happy as any of God's creation. The road to the course was most picturesque; it went across the hills of East Muskerry, and at each turn of it, extensive views opened on either side. The Bantry

mountains bounded the view in the distance. To the south lay the high hills about the neighbourhood of Bandon and Dunmanway, and an immense tract of country, intersected by streams, and dotted over with swampy bogs, stretched nearly twenty miles from east to west; the spire of Cork cathedral being visible at one extremity, and Crookestown Castle, a tall tower, being seen at the other end. Various old castles and ruins of abbeys could be discerned throughout this vast plain of country, which geologists suppose formerly to have been covered by the sea-in fact, to have been a continuation of Cork harbour. Perhaps it was the case twenty thousand years ago, and probably we may be enlightened on that point in as many thousand years hence. In relation to time computed by thousands of years, what truly awful meanings lie hidden in those simple, vacantlooking words-since! and—hence! One thing, however, is pretty certain, that this great plain of country, running twenty miles westward of Cork, has many objects to arrest the traveller, or kindle the mind charged with historical recollections of the seventeenth century. Far to the east lay Carrigrohan Castle, built on a high precipice over the Lee, much in the same state as it was after being ruined in the wars of 1641; after which it became the residence of banditti, led by one Cape. Two miles to the southwest of Carrigrohan, rose the proud ruin of Ballincollig Castle, which formerly belonged to the family of Barrett. It was ruined in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, when its owners submitted to the British power. It was, for some short time, a hidingplace for Lord Edward Fitzgerald; and there is still preserved in the city of Cork the blade-bone of a shoulder

of mutton, which was to have been sent to Lord Edward for his dinner one day; but though the mutton had never been actually sent, its remains have since been converted into a relic!

Some three miles to the east of Kilcrea Abbey, was the starting-post for the Muskerry steeple-chase. The horses were to run two miles to the west, and then home in an aslant direction. Some fourteen were to run for the Muskerry cup; and great was the anxiety about the event. Pynes, Crosses, Crookeses, and the great racers of the barony were to contend, and there were four or five strangers, who confidently hoped to win the prize. Amongst these was Lord Innishannon, on Conrad, that had once been Charles Warren's favourite horse. As the Delacour Hall party took their place on a rising ground from which nearly all the course could be seen, up rode Lord Innishannon, in the height of good spirits. His face was flushed with pride; for he was a splendid horseman, and he felt confidence in the superior powers of his horse. Major Kirwan was eager also about the race, though he strongly dissuaded his brother from purchasing Conrad, whose former owner the Major had a great aversion to, from his knowledge of the feelings that Warren entertained towards "the White Rose."

"I have promised Lady Innishannon," cried Lord Innishannon, "that this is the last race that I'll ever ride, and I always keep my word. My mother has a foolish aversion to steeple-chases; but all our family were fond of the sport, so I intend for the future that my brother, the Major, shall keep up the sporting character of our family."

"Oh-indeed!" said "the White Rose," gaily, while a pretty blush overspread her face; "he shall have nothing to do with steeple-chases. He may hunt as much as he pleases; but a married man can have nothing to do with races. That, my lord," said she, archly, "is only for the unhappy bachelors."

"Ah! I promise the White Rose,'" cried Lord Innishannon, "that she won't be able to manage the Major so easily. I will take a bet in gloves that he'll ride this time twelvemonth one of his own horses for the Muskerry cup."

"Done!" cried "the White Rose,"