CHRIST WEEPING OVER JERUSALEM. BY JOSEPH R. CHANDLER. [SEE ENGRAVING.] "How beautiful upon the mountain are the feet of those that bring glad tidings," is the language of elder Scripture, and how often has the heart of man responded to the truth of the declaration, as the eye has caught the earnest smile and noted the lightness of feet that distinguish the bearer of pleasing intelligence. of the terrible things which he only foretold—surely the feet of such an one are beautiful. He brings salvation, while he only foretells destruction; he makes the wrath of man, which he prophecies, the instrument to produce that love and peace of which he is the real author. There had been much confusion in the city in consequence of reports brought to the principal eccle The great poet of nature hath, in the spirit of the above comment, remarked that the bearer of unwelcome news has "but a losing office." And thou-siastical and civic officers, of the unusual proceedsands of those who have been messengers of good to the great, the wealth-possessing and honor-conferring among men, have found themselves ennobled and sometimes enriched, for the simple narrative of an event in which they had no share, and of which they knew little more than the report which they had received from others and delivered where it was greatly desired. We know that the text of Scripture which we have placed at the beginning of these remarks has allusion to tidings of greater joy, of more gladness, than all the bulletins of battles and statements of victories which the hastened dispatch bearer has ever conveyed to the awaiting monarch-more lovely and more desired than messages of love and tokens of reciprocation which the herald of man's affection and woman's deep, late-told love ever conveyed. The triumph of the conqueror of armies must be short and partial-the love of the most devoted perishes, at least with the object, if it is not quenched by its own fitful sallies. But the glad tidings which hasten and beautify the feet of those who come over the mountain of our offences is of life-long endurance, and enters into the eternity for which it prepares. There is a picture in this number of the Magazine to which we are alluding, and to which we mean to refer when we talk of messengers of glad tidings. We know that the common reader will look at the title, and, if he recollects the narrative, he will be startled at the idea of "glad tidings," when sorrow and tears were on the face of the messenger, bodings of terrible afflictions were in his mind, and their nearness was being foretold. Are these glad tidings? Do such messages make beautiful the bearer? Can we rejoice at the overwhelming evil that is to befall the "City of Peace," and sweep away the temple of the Most High, and give to famine, to violence, to dishonor and to death the sons and the daughters of the people of God? But if these evils were the consequences of crimes, if the destroyer were but an instrument in the hand of omnipotent love to waste the destroyed, and to be himself the object of a similar wrath, that the "peace" which the great messenger was to bring on earth might have an abiding place, in consequence ings of citizens at a short distance beyond the place, where palm branches had been strewn in the highway, and garments spread out, upon which the hoofs of the rider's animal were to tread-tokens of remarkable respect, which seemed to look treasonable to the foreign power, that directed the political affairs, and to the native priests who directed the spiritual concerns the forum and the temple were agitated; the viceroy and the high-priest each started at such evidences of neglect of fealty. Rome and Jerusalem both felt that there was an antagonistic power operating, if not directly against, at least incidentally hostile to them; and Rome and Jerusalem-the conqueror and the conquered-joined in efforts to suppress the evil. Each would have crushed the power of the other, but both would unite to repel a power that was hostile to both. Each would have bruised the mailed arm of the other, but both trembled at what would have healed the breast of each. There had been a scene of triumph-but He who had been the object of the huzzas of the multitude that thronged his way with tokens of obedience— head obedience, with little of heart in the offering-he had sat unmoved by outward demonstration of feeling for the acclamations of those who thronged his path. Another mission was his-another triumph was desired-another evidence of popular feeling was to be experienced, and in a little time he separated from the multitude, and ascending the mount, at whose base he had stood, he sat down with the four or five that were with him, and gazed abroad upon the outstretched scene below them. It was a beautiful evening. Behind them the dust which had not yet subsided since the people had thronged the roads with songs of triumph, was reflecting the light of the declining sun. Beneath them was the Valley of Jehoshaphat, the terrible seat of julement and dread; and beyond was the beloved city, stretched out in the repose of the evening sun, which was reflected by numerous gorgeous domes; and the busy hum of business came up to the quiet summit of Olivet, as if to bear to those who rested here the story of man's heedlessness of his life's great end. | look forward to the hall of infamy that was to witness his mockery, to the winding way of sorrow in which he was to bear his cross, and upward to the eminence where the work was to be consummated. The tears were not for himself. He wept for the misery of those who should procure the ago They were Jews that thus looked out, the leader and the followers, Hebrews of Hebrews, and they loved the land of their birth and the city of their nation's boast. Every affection of the human heart was enlisted for the beautiful towns and sacred edifices, and all the outspread loveliness of the country's hills and valleys; and as the sun seemed to pour surpass-nizing passion. ing splendor upon the place, and as youth and beauty went forth to seek their pleasures, and age toiled upward toward the temple for the evening sacrifice, and all that was seen, and all that the heart suggested, appealed to the patriotic affection of the four-they looked to see whether the loveliness of the scene would not light up an unwonted smile upon the face of their Master, who was looking intently upon the city. The artist has chosen this moment for his picture. It was a bold thought—but it was a good one-what the pen records may not the pencil illustrate, and is not the lesson of that most instructive hour brought closer home to the heart by the representation of the scene which the sacred historian describes? How well the artist has executed his task is not for us to say. Indeed such a picture is in its conception so full of suggestion, that we may safely leave to the painter's professional pride the finishing of his work according to the canons of his art. The moment that we recognize the subject, the moment we catch the time, the place and the office, we lose sight of all that the pen has written or the pencil attempted to delineate, and acknowledge that our hearts, our fancy have taken hold of all and borne us back to the awful hour-we do not pause to look at features or position on the canvas, but at once we kneel in imagination at a distance from the consecrated group, and as Olivet and Sinai and Calvary meet the eye, and the temple gleams in the light of the setting sun, we inquire what is the thought, the high, mighty thought that swells upward in the heart of the Master there? Alas! who shall know? Who could conceive? Eternities are in his mind, and all the vast concerns of angels and of men are before him; and yet for one city, one erring city, one little spot upon the great map of the universe, he fixes his eyes, and over its fate he weeps tears of earthly sorrowweeps not that one stone of the temple shall not be left upon the other-weeps not that all the monuments of his nation's glory shall be wasted, and that the ploughshare of the infidel shall upturn the sacred soil. Not for these did he weep-but that those children of the Father, whom he "would have gathered What a mission was that the Master assumed- as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings," what an experience was that of his intimate follow-should be destroyed by the sword, and the virtue of ers. The many listened to his heavenly doctrine and the daughters of his people should be the derision love many were astonished at the miracles that and spoil of the conqueror. They were human tears marked his public ministry, that made the temple-but divine sympathies! and the wayside clinics where his divine skill was exhibited, and drew the people from their synagogues and altars, to offer at the street corners the sacrifice of enlightened hearts and the homage of soul admiration. But these, the favored few, the elders and chosen ones of his little flock stood with him in the terrible moments, when the office of his mission was not exercised on others, but came to be ministered on himself-three of them witnessed the tears at the grave of a friend-they saw with trembling awe the glory of his transfiguration with Moses and Elias--they could listen with silent assurance—and howand now these stood there solemn, trembling wit- ever contradictory might appear the words of the nesses of an agony of affliction that wrung tears for Teacher and the circumstances of the times, they had others from Him who could look down upon the learned from rebukes and experience to trust to the garden that was to be the scene of a trial which former. And as they follow with their eyes the human eyes could not witness and live-who could | mournful bend of the Master's gaze, as they melted But there was no smile. The deep thought that rested on his brow, and the tear that glistened in his eye, showed that the past and the future were with him. That all the blessings which had been pronounced upon Jerusalem, and all the promises made in her behalf, all the sins which she had committed, and which God had pardoned, and all the negligence | against which she had been warned, and for which pardon had been presented; all her thoughtlessness now, and all the uncomprehended miseries which were in her path, were in one group in his mindand the sound of the destroyer and the desolation of the conquered stood before him-the famine that wasted the people and the fire that destroyed the temple were there, and as he remembered how He would have sheltered them from the consequences of their own follies, and how they despised his love; how he would have shielded and comforted the sons and daughters of that city of his love, but they refused, He wept-wept human tears-wept tears of earthly fondness, that came bursting up from his heart-deep agony marked his face when gathering the recollection of all the promises which had accompanied their probation, the glories by which they had been invited to goodness-he exclaimed, "But now they are forever hidden from thine eyes." And in that scene of wounded love, when the foreseeing, or the foredwelling of his higher nature made the present of his human exposure terrible-in that hour of sympathy and sorrow, the favored and the intimate were his companions. Theirs was not yet the gift of foreknowledge-they lived only in the present, and knew only of the past. Little indeed could they comprehend the agony of the Master, as they could not foresee the cause. Their highest gift was faith-they could believe-they could confide before the weeping of the sinless and loving, they bowed in meek assent to the terrible anathema foretold, and, not being authorized to give, or to proclaim it, they meekly sighed the maranatha, and left the work to God. You see some of the multitude pressing up toward the Master, but not upon him. You see, too, in the distance, woman with her face set toward Him to whom her heart is given. Woman following but not approaching. The first evidence of personal suffering would have brought her to his side-the first chance of offering homage would have taken her to his feet. It is woman, too, in her beautiful office -her heart is with the Master-it is good for her to stand where she may be called. He may not indeed speak to her, but virtue might go forth from him and bless her-and so she had brought with her a little child. It seemed not meet to her that she should seek Jesus and her child not be led to him. She had indeed heard the Master say, in regard to some others, "suffer little children to come unto me," and how did she know, standing afar off though she might be standing in awe and reverence-how did she know but when his moment of bitter sorrow had passed away, the Master might turn and smile on her-and take her little child in his arms and bless him-so had he done to others-and so she was willing to await, willing to stand and see what the Lord would do. But in the immediate scene of tears and solemn wailing woman is not found. Where are those that followed his steps? Where are those who ministered to his wants? Alas! the scene was not for such hearts. It was the last sacrifice of national feeling; 191 humanity acknowledges the claim-for mental mortal agony at events to come there was no consolation. It was for woman to make beautiful her mission by her implicit faith; it was for woman to minister to his physical wants; her humility would find a delightful office when she bathed his feet with her tears, and her faith had comforting expression when she wiped them with the hairs of her head. Woman's care provided the household comforts which humanity needed, and woman's piety sat self-abased, yet gathered strength at the Master's feet as he opened the oracles of truth. Woman wept for him as he bore his cross upward to Calvary; and woman lingered at the foot of that cross when others had fled; and it was woman that came earliest to kneel at the sepulchre. Where service was to be performed, where faith was to be tried, where physical wants were to be supplied, and physical suffering assuaged, there woman was to be found. But where the agony of mental passion was to be endured; where the unspeakable and the incomprehensible were to be exhibited, woman was not. Her mission of faith and love required no such exercise, her feelings demanded no such purification. We have done. The picture which we give is suggestive, and we hope that it will suggest more to others than we have been able to express; because to such a scene as the artist represents, when the heart or fancy enters it is lost in amazement. A thousand thoughts crowd, less for utterance than for existence, and we feel that when there is more than earthly love, more than earthly interest, the idea must be more than human, and expression will be infinitely short of the conception. HONOR TO WHOM HONOR IS DUE. A TALE OF OLDEN TIMES. BY MRS. LYDIA JANE PEIRSON. Amid all this enchantment moved groups of richly habited men and women; dons and cavaliers, in their GRENADA had fallen. The miserable remnant of a semblance of tall plants, bearing flowers of crystal once powerful nation, driven from the cities of their and purest porcelain of every delicate tint, each of glorious empire, hunted by an untiring zeal to de- which was a lamp, burning perfumed oil, and giving stroy, crowded at length into their chief stronghold, out rich fragrance with its mellowed light; while the city of their regal power-the birth-place and the birds of every clime, from the stately pea-fowl to sepulchre of a long race of puissant monarchs-had the minutest lady-bird, admirably imitated in enameled endured all the miseries of siege, of famin, and of gold and precious stones, were fixed upon elastic slaughter; had endured with an invincible deter- sprays, swaying to every breath, and chirping forth mination to die rather than yield; and they had died melody from little organs, played upon by their own by the sword, by hunger and thirst, by despair, by tremulous motions, and so perfect was the workpestilence; and their rich and magnificent city had manship that their forms and notes were hardly to been sacked, plundered, ravaged, made the prey of be distinguished from those of the real birds that soldiers, greedy for spoil, thirsting for the blood of | walked or flew amongst them in the gay parterres. an infidel foe, exasperated by resistance, and maddened by fanatical zeal. Grenada had fallen; the Moors were no longer a nation of the earth. Fer-blazing military costumes, and dark-eyed donnas, in dinand and Isabella, weary of war, and satiated with soft silks, rich velvets, and transparent muslins of conquest, were reposing in state at Santa Fe, or San India, ornamented with brilliants, plumes, or flowers, Felipe, with every demonstration of triumph, every each as her fancy dictated. Some were dancing to show of thanksgiving to the God of battles. The lively music, some listening to soft melodies and days were divided between the most gloriously mar- songs of love; some were grouped around the beaushaled tournaments and the most magnificent re- tifully imitated trees, on which ripe fruits of every ligious processions; the nights were devoted to the clime seemed to hang in nature's wild profusion; masquerade and the mass; the whole world seemed some clustered around statues, which presented basvocal, now with strains of triumphant martial music,kets and trays of the choicest viands; others again now with the no less lofty Te Deum, or Gloria in Ex-rested beside fountains which threw up jets of percelsis. All was joy and gladness, triumph and gratitude. The temporary palace was shining like the fabled palace of Aladdin, builded of the gold and gems of the genii world. In all the apartments the magic of regal magnificence was displayed in the taste of the most approved style of art. Tapestries of regal blue and Tyrian purple, broidered and fringed with scarlet, green and gold, in the inimitable style of the artists of Babylon, swept from the lofty ceilings to the velvety carpets of the marble pavements which were rich with tufted work of flowers of every hue, while in the recesses of the windows, where the tapestries were looped aside with cords of the richest dyed and braided silks, entwined with strings of glittering gems, and heavy with tassels of feathery silk and drops of gold and diamonds, were placed beautifully enameled vases of the porcelain of Italia, supporting branches of artificial flowers and fruits of immense value. From the daisy, with its petals of pearl and eye of platted gold, to the rose of Damascus, formed of flashing rubies, and dewed with purest diamonds; from the rich clusters of grapes of amethyst, to the golden pear and nectarine, beryl and sardonix. Doors opened upon seemingly interminable vistas of trees and flowering shrubs, intermingled with candelabras of gold, wrought into the fumed wine, which, as it descended in drops, displayed rainbows of inimitable splendor, painted by colored lights arranged for the purpose, while here and there a youthful couple, walking apart, and apparently unconscious of all the surrounding splendor, betrayed the tender topic of their sweet communings. Could discontent and heaviness of heart exist amid all this wealth and splendor and apparent happiness? or do all these fail to satisfy the yearnings of the immortal mind? In a retired part of the gardens, where a few dark evergreens clustered over a natural spring of living water, stood a man apparently forty years of age, plainly habited in rich black velvet, which displayed to the best advantage a form of manly mould and exquisite symmetry. His beaver lay beside him on the turf, and his noble head thus exposed, displayed the perfection of nature's statuary. His high and expansive forehead, strongly marked and delicately moulded features, dark, piercing and restless eyes, bespoke genius to conceive, energy to prosecute, perseverance to complete achievement of lofty daring. But there was an expression of melancholy around his perfect mouth, and his dark brows had acquired a contraction which proved that he was familiar with disappointment, and the contumely of inferior souls. Wrapped in |