Calliftus foon recovered his fhattered fpirits, when looking on his friend with anguifh in his eyes, he dropped his head, and fmote his breast-but presently looking up, fpoke as

follows:

Calliftus. And are you come my dear friend?What a wretch am I who cannot enjoy this pleasure without so many painful reflections!

Sophronius. Dear Calliflus, ufe me as your friend; do not give fo much pain to one whofe carnest wish is to give you pleasure.

Calliftus. Well-believe me I am much rejoiced to fee you look fo well. And how does the amiable Urania and your children? How many have you? are they all healthy?

Sophronius. I thank you, dear Sir, we are all well; we live in a good country, the beauty of which tempts us to use exercife, this carries us into the air, which, with our plain way of living, in general enfure to us a good state of health. But my dear Sir, what is it that hath made this alteration in you?

Calliftys. What comforts do you enjoy, which I can never tafle! Here am I left in the condition you fee, to the care of fervants who have no real concern for me; or at beft, to that of relations who are too much interested in be cordial in their endeavours to preferve my life.

my

death to

Sophronius. Well, dear Calliftus, you fhall no longer complain for want of a tender nurfe; if you will accept my beft endeavours, be affured I will not leave you till I see you recovered.

Calliflus. O good Sophronius, think not that I would detain you from Urania and your family-Alas, these friendly offices are now too late!-the dreadful fentence is paft, and I expect every hour to fuffer the execution-But-O! with what horrors do I expect it!-Teach me, Sophronius, to think of death with patience! teach me to expect it without such agony! This is the fervice I intreat,-not from your friend

fhip,

fhip, for I have forfeited all right to that, but from your goodnefs, your charity!

Sophronius. Good God! how you shock me! believe me, dear Sir, you may demand every thing from my friendship.But why do you think with such defpondence? What is this distemper-what is this fubtle foe which u think can elude the skill of your Physicians, and the e of your friend! think better of us, Sir, think better of yourself!

Calliftus. Alas! my physicians have already abandoned me, and all that my friend can do, is to flatter me, and even in that he will fail of fuccefs-O Sir, imagine what my condition must be, when even that powerful medicine fails!—My friends had flattered me out of my senses ;-but my Phyficians have now restored them.

Sophronius. (In a low voice, but overheard,) Alas! I

fear not!

Calliftus. What fays my friend?-O that I could hope what I fee you fear-it would be happiness to what I feel!Ono Sir, it is my reason restored, my cool founder judgment which tells me I muft die Die! ah no! muft live-a miferable eternity!

Sophronius. Great God! what means my friend? confirm my fufpicions, or account for this fhocking change!-Who is it that dares pronounce that fentence? Who is it that can, but He, that great Being, who is all mercy and benevolence, who confiders the imperfections of our nature, and can look on our failings with compaffion.

TH

[To be continued.]

The Miraculous Cure of a Dutch Woman.

HE Narrative, taken by a Dutch merchant is as follows. Jefen Claes for fourteen years had been lame of both her legs: one of them being dead and without feeling, fo that fhe could not go, but creep upon the ground.

In the year 1676, about the 13th or 14th of October, between one and two o'clock in the morning, being in bed with her husband, fhe was three times pulled by the arm, with which fhe awoke, and cried, O Lord! what may this be? Hereupon the was anfwered, "Be not afraid, I am come in the name of God, to tell thee that thy malady shall depart, and it shall be given thee to walk again. But keep this to thyfelf for the prefent." Whereupon fhe cried aloud, O that I had a light, that I might know what this is! Then it was anfwered, "Light fhall be given thee from God." On this a light came over all the room, when the faw a beautiful youth, with curled yellow hair, in white raiment, who went from the bed-head to the chimney with a light, which a little after vanished. Hereupon fomething diffused itself through her leg, to her great toe, where she found life rifing up; and feeling it with her hand, cried, "Lord, give me my feeling, which I have not had for fo many years!"

66

Yet fe continued as before, that day and the next till evening. Then there came a noife in both her ears, when it was faid, "Stand; thy walking is given thee again." On this fhe immediately stood up, and went to the door. Her husband meeting her, was exceedingly afraid, and drew back. In the mean while, fhe cried out, My dear, I can walk again!" The man thinking it was a fpirit, drew back, faying, "You are not my wife:" but his wife taking hold of him, faid, “My dear, I am, God hath made me walk again." But her husband being amazed drew back, till at last she clafped her arms about his neck; and yet he doubted, and faid to his daughter, “Is this your mother?" She answered, "Yes, father, this is my mother indeed, I have feen her walk before you came in."

This perfon dwells upon Prince's Island, in Amfterdam, and the relation is attefted by many famous witneffes.

An Extract from a JOURNEY from Aleppo to Jerufalem; at Eafler, A. D. 1697.

By HENRY MAUNDRELL, M. A. late Fellow of Exeter College, and Chaplain to the Factory at Aleppo.

[Continued from Vol. viii. page 655.]

UNDAY, March 28. On Easter morning, the fepulchre

SUNDA

was again fet open very early. The clouds of the former morning were cleared up; and the Friars put on a face of joy, as if it had been the real juncture of our Lord's refurrection. Nor doubtless was this joy feigned, whatever their mourning might be; this being the day in which their Lenten discipline expired, and they were come to a full belly again.

The mass was celebrated this morning juft before the holy fepulchre; where the Father' guardian had a throne erected, and being arrayed in epifcopal robes, with a mitre on his head, he gave the Hoft to all who were difpofed to receive it. This office being ended, we returned to the Convent, and dined with the Friars.

After dinner we took an opportunity to go and visit some of the remarkable places without the city walls.

The first place we were conducted to was a large grot, a little without Damafcus gate; faid to have been some time the refidence of Jeremiah. On the left fide of it is fhewn the Prophet's bed, being a shelve on the rock, about eight feet from the ground; and not far from this, is the place where they fay he wrote his Lamentations.

The next place we came to was, those famous grots called the fepulchres of the Kings; but for what reafon they go by that name is hard to refolve: for it is certain none of the Kings, either of Ifrael or Judah, were buried here; the holy scrip

tures

tures affigning other places for their fepulchres; unless it may be thought, perhaps, that Hezekiah was here interred, and that these were the fepulchres of the fons of David, mentioned 1 Chron. xxxii. 33. Whoever was buried here, this is certain, that the place itself discovers fo great an expence both of labour and treasure, that we may well fuppofe it to have been the work of Kings. You approach it at the Eaft-fide, through an entrance cut out of the natural rock, which admits you into an open court of about forty paces fquare, cut down into the rock, with which it is encompaffed inftead of walls. On the South-fide of the court is a portico, nine paces long and four broad, hewn likewife out of the natural rock. This has a kind of architrave running along its front, adorned with sculptures of fruits and flowers, ftill difcernable, but by time much defaced. At the end of the portico on the left hand, you defcend to the paffage into the fepulchres. The door is now fo obftructed with ftones and rubbish, that it is a thing of fome difficulty to creep through it. But within, you arrive in a large fair room, about seven or eight yards square, cut out of the natural rock. Its fides and ceiling are fo exactly square and its angles fo juft, that no architect with levels and plummets could build a room more regular. And the whole is fo firm and entire, that it may be called a chamber hollowed out of one piece of marble. From this room, you pass into (I think) Ex more, one within another, all of the fame fabric with the firft. Of thefe, the two innermoft are deeper than the reft having a fecond descent of about fix or seven steps into them.

In every one of these rooms except the firft, were coffins of ftone placed in niches in the fides of the chambers. They had been at firft covered with handfome lids, and carved with garlands; but now most of them were broke to pieces by facriligious hands. The fides and ceiling of the rooms were always dropping, with the moift damps condenfing upon them. To remedy which nuifance, and to preserve these chambers of the dead polite and clean, there was in each room a fmall

channel