windows of ancient construction, small and narrow, enclosed by iron gratings, from which frequently depended portions of many-coloured draperies; garments for sale, which might have been of the spoil of the Egyptian; strong swords and all kinds of weapons, rust-worn; bunches of keys, whose handles would drive an antiquary distracted by their elaborate workmanship; dresses of all countries and all fashions, fez caps, and old but costly turbans. The rich balconies of the most exquisite design, however time-worn; the jalousies, sometimes within, sometimes without the windows; the Atlantes, supporting entablatures; lost none of their effect from being half-draped by a scarlet mantle or variegated scarf of Barbary. Numbers of the houses were profusely ornamented at intervals by ballflowers in the hollow mouldings, and balustrades, supporting carved copings. Then above the doors, some of which evidently led to an inner court or a mysterious-looking passage, was inserted the most exquisitely-wrought ironwork, sufficiently beautiful to form a model for a Berlin bracelet; while from a stealthy passage peered forth the half-shrouded face and illuminated eyes of dazzling brightness, of some ancient Jewess, whose long, lean, yellow fingers grasped the strong, but exquisitely moulded handle of the entrance. The doors (except the very modern ones) were all of great strength, frequently studded with nails, and the bolts, now worn and rusty, had withstood many a rude assault. We passed beneath small oriel windows, supported by richly carved stone brackets, grey and mouldering; and beside bay-windows, of pure gothic times; and when we gazed up-up -up-story after story, we saw what appeared to us more than one Belvedere, doubtless erected by some wealthy Jew as a place from whence he could overlook the city it was forbidden him to tread, or to enjoy pure air, which certainly he could not do in the densely close street beneath. Many of the brackets supporting a solitary balcony were of beautiful design, though the greater number were defaced and crumbling. We also passed several of the fan-shaped windows, so characteristic of the early German style, and here and there a quaint and fantastic gurgoyle; from the mouth of one depended a bunch of soiled but many-coloured ribands. What a vision it seems to us now-that wonderful Jews' quarter of the bright and busy city of Frankfurt!-a vision of some far-off Oriental Pompeii, repeopled in a dream! Never did we look upon faces so keen and

withered, beards so black, or eyes so bright; once we saw a curly-headed child, half-naked in its swarthy beauty, throned like a baby-king upon a pile of yellow cushions; and once again, as we drove slowly on, a tall young girl turned up a face of scornful beauty, as if she thought we pale-faced Christians had no business there,-and those two young creatures were all we clearly observed of youthful beauty within the

Quarter.'

The avenues in the outskirts of German towns contribute greatly to their interest, they protect from both sun and wind. We drove leisurely along that which leads to the Cemetery of Frankfurt, and turned up a narrower road, that we might enter the walled-off portion of ground appropriated as the Jews' Burying-ground. Nothing can exceed the beauty of the view from the gate of entrance. The city is spread out in the valley like a panorama; the brightest sunshine illumined the scene; a girl was seated beneath the branches of a spreading tree in the distance; she was a garland-weaver, and there she spent her days weaving garlands, which the living bought from her to place on the graves of their departed friends. The gates were opened. Mrs. Aguilar had told us that HER grave was near the wall of the Protestant burying-ground-and there we found it.

The head-stone which marks the spot, bears upon it a butterfly and five stars, and beneath is the inscription

'Give her of the fruit of her hands, and let her own works praise her in the gates.'-PROV. chap. xxxi. 31.

Our pilgrimage was accomplished. It was, though in a foreign city, a pilgrimage to an English Shrine-for it was to the grave of an English woman-pure and good. On the 16th of September 1847, at the early age. of thirty-one, Grace Aguilar was laid in that cemetery, far from the England she loved so well—the bowl was broken, the silver cord was loosed!

We cannot conclude this tribute to the memory of one we loved, respected, and admired, without extracting a portion of an address presented to her (accompanied by an elegant silver inkstand) by several young Jewish ladies, before her departure for Germany. Had the gift which accompanied it been of the richest and rarest jewels, and offered by the princes of this earthly world, it could not have been as acceptable as it was, coming from the hearts and hands of the maidens of her own faith.

We would simply add that the address is a proof, if proof were needed, that Jewish ladies not only feel and appreciate what is refined, and high, and holy, but know how to express their feelings beautifully and well. orientalism does not detract from its pure and sweet simplicity

:

'DEAR SISTER,-Our admiration of your talents, our veneration for your character, our gratitude for the eminent services your writings render our sex, our people, our faith,—in which the sacred cause of true religion is embodied,-all these motives combine to induce us to intrude on your presence, in order to give utterance to sentiments which we are happy to feel, and delighted to express. Until you arose, it has, in modern times, never been the case, that a woman in Israel should stand forth, the public advocate of the faith of Israel; that with the depth and purity which is the treasure of woman, and the strength of mind and extensive knowledge that form the pride of man, she should call on her own to cherish, on others to respect, the truth as it is in Israel. You, Sister, have done this, and more. You have taught us to know and appreciate our own dignity; to feel and to prove that no female character can be more pure than that of the Jewish maiden,-none more pious than that of the woman in Israel. You have vindicated our social and spiritual equality in the faith; you have, by your excellent example, triumphantly refuted the aspersion that the Jewish religion leaves unmoved the heart of the Jewish woman,-while your writings place within our reach those higher motives, those holier consolations, which flow from the spirituality of our religion, which urge the soul to commune with its Maker, and direct it to His grace and His mercy, as the best guide and protector here and hereafter.'

We can say nothing of Grace Aguilar more eloquently or beautifully true; it is the just acknowledgment of a large debt from the women of Israel to a holy and good sister, who, having done much to destroy prejudice, and to inculcate charity, merits the thanks of the true Christian as much as of the conscientious Jew.

THE DWELLING OF EDMUND BURKE.

T has been said that we are inclined to overvalue great men when their graves have been long green, or their monuments grey above them, but we believe it is only then we estimate them as they deserve. Prejudice and falsehood have no end during vitality, and posterity is generally anxious to render justice

to the mighty dead; we dwell upon their actions,we quote their sentiments and opinions, we class them amongst our household goods-and keep their memories green within the sanctuary of our HOMES; we read to our children and friends the written treasures bequeathed to us by the genius and independence of the great statesmen and orators-the men of literature and science-who have been.' We adorn our minds with the poetry of the past, and value it, as well we may, as far superior to that of the present: we sometimes, by the aid of imagination, one of the highest of God's gifts-bring great men before us we hear the deep-toned voices and see the flashing eyes of some, who it may be, taught kings their duty, or quelled the tumults of a factious people we listen to the lay of the minstrel, or the orator's addresses to the assembly, and our pulses throb and our eyes moisten as the eloquence flows-first, as a gentle river, until, gaining strength in its progress, it sweeps onwards like a torrent, overcoming all that sought to impede its progress. What a happy power this is ;-what a glorious triumph over time!-recalling or creating at will!-peopling our small chamber with

the demigods of history viewing them enshrined in their perfections, untainted by the world; hearing their exalted sentiments; knowing them as we know a noble statue or a beautiful picture, without the taint of age or feebleness, or the mildew of decay.

If these sweet waking dreams were more frequent, we should be happier; yes, and better than we are: we should be shamed out of much baseness-for nothing so purifies and exalts the soul as the actual or imaginary companionship of the pure and the exalted; no man who purposed to create a noble picture would choose an imperfect model; no one who seeks virtue and cherishes honour and honourable things, will endure the degradation of ignoble persons or ignoble thoughts; no one ever achieved a great purpose who did not plant his standard on high ground.

A little before the commencement of the present century, England was rich in orators, and poets, and men of letters; the times were favourable to such events called them forth-and there was still a lingering chivalric feeling in our island which the utilitarian principles or tastes of the present period would now treat with neglect, if not contempt.

The progress of the French revolution agitated Europe; and men wondered if the young Corsican would ever dare to wield the sceptre wrenched from the grasp of a murdered king; people were continually on the watch for fresh events; great stakes were played for all over Europe, and those who desired change were full of hope. It was an age to create great men.

Let us then indulge in visions of those, who in more recent times than we have yet touched upon,-save in one or two PILGRIMAGES,-illumed the later days of the last century; and, brightest and purest of the galaxy, was the orator EDMUND BURKE. Ireland, which gave him birth, may well be proud of the high-souled and high-gifted man, who united in himself all the great qualities which command attention in the senate and the world, and all the domestic virtues that sanctify home; grasping a knowledge of all things, and yet having that sweet sympathy with the small things of life, which at once bestows and secures happiness, and, in the end, popularity.

EDMUND BURKE was born on Arran Quay, Dublin, January the 1st,

HH