Part 23 (1/2)
THE POOL OF SILOAM.
[Ill.u.s.tration: Letter T.]
The fountain and pool of Siloam, whose surplus waters flow in a little streamlet falling into the lake Kedron, is situate near the ancient walls of the city of Jerusalem. Mr. Wild tells us ”that the fountain of Siloam is a mineral spring of a brackish taste, and somewhat of the smell of the Harrowgate water, but in a very slight degree.” It is said to possess considerable medicinal properties, and is much frequented by pilgrims. ”Continuing our course,” says he, ”around the probable line of the ancient walls, along the gentle slope of Zion, we pa.s.s by the King's gardens, and arrive at the lower pool of Siloam, placed in another indentation in the wall. It is a deep square cistern lined with masonry, adorned with columns at the sides, and having a flight of steps leading to the bottom, in which there was about two feet of water. It communicates by a subterraneous pa.s.sage with the fountain, from which it is distant about 600 yards. The water enters the pool by a low arched pa.s.sage, into which the pilgrims, numbers of whom are generally to be found around it, put their heads, as part of the ceremony, and wash their clothes in the purifying stream that rises from it.” During a rebellion in Jerusalem, in which the Arabs inhabiting the Tillage of Siloam were the ringleaders, they gained access to the city by means of the conduit of this pool, which again rises within the mosque of Omar.
This pa.s.sage is evidently the work of art, the water in it is generally about two feet deep, and a man may go through it in a stooping position.
When the stream leaves the pool, it is divided into numbers of little aqueducts, for the purpose of irrigating the gardens and pleasure-grounds which lie immediately beneath it in the valley, and are the chief source of their fertility, for, as they are mostly formed of earth which has been carried from other places, they possess no original or natural soil capable of supporting vegetation. As there is but little water in the pool during the dry season, the Arabs dam up the several streams in order to collect a sufficient quant.i.ty in small ponds adjoining each garden, and this they all do at the same time, or there would be an unfair division of the fertilizing fluid. These dams are generally made in the evening and drawn off in the morning, or sometimes two or three times a day; and thus the reflux of the water that they hold gives the appearance of an ebb and flow, which by some travellers has caused a report that the pool of Siloam is subject to daily tides.
[Ill.u.s.tration: THE POOL OF SILOAM.]
There are few towns, and scarcely any metropolitan town, in which the natural supply of water is so inadequate as at Jerusalem; hence the many and elaborate contrivances to preserve the precious fluid, or to bring it to the town by aqueducts.
WINTER THOUGHTS.
[Ill.u.s.tration: Letter A.]
Ah! little think the gay licentious proud, Whom pleasure, pow'r, and affluence surround-- They who their thoughtless hours in giddy mirth, And wanton, often cruel, riot waste; Ah! little think they, while they dance along How many feel this very moment death, And all the sad variety of pain: How many sink in the devouring flood, Or more devouring flame! how many bleed By shameful variance betwixt man and man!
How many pine in want and dungeon glooms, Shut from the common air, and common use Of their own limbs! how many drink the cup Of baleful grief, or eat the bitter bread Of misery! Sore pierced by wintry winds, How many shrink into the sordid hut Of cheerless poverty! How many shake With all the fiercer tortures of the mind, Unbounded pa.s.sion, madness, guilt, remorse, Whence tumbled headlong from the height of life, They furnish matter for the Tragic Muse!
Even in the vale where Wisdom loves to dwell, With Friends.h.i.+p, Peace, and Contemplation join'd, How many, rack'd with honest pa.s.sions, droop In deep retired distress. How many stand Around the death-bed of their dearest friends, And point the parting anguis.h.!.+ Thought fond man Of these, and all the thousand nameless ills, That one incessant struggle render life-- One scene of toil, of suffering, and of fate, Vice in its high career would stand appall'd, And heedless, rambling impulse learn to think; The conscious heart of Charity would warm, And her wide wish Benevolence dilate; The social tear would rise, the social sigh, And into clear perfection gradual bliss, Refining still, the social pa.s.sions work.
THOMSON.
BRITISH TROOPS IN CANADA.
[Ill.u.s.tration: Letter R.]
Really winter in Canada must be felt to be imagined; and when felt can no more be described by words, than colours to a blind man or music to a deaf one. Even under bright sun-s.h.i.+ne, and in a most exhilirating air, the biting effect of the cold upon the portion of our face that is exposed to it resembles the application of a strong acid; and the healthy grin which the countenance a.s.sumes, requires--as I often observed on those who for many minutes had been in a warm room waiting to see me--a considerable time to relax.
In a calm, almost any degree of cold is bearable, but the application of successive doses of it to the face by wind, becomes, occasionally, almost unbearable; indeed, I remember seeing the left cheek of nearly twenty of our soldiers simultaneously frost-bitten in marching about a hundred yards across a bleak open s.p.a.ce, completely exposed to a strong and bitterly cold north-west wind that was blowing upon us all.
The remedy for this intense cold, to which many Canadians and others have occasionally recourse, is--at least to my feelings it always appeared--infinitely worse than the disease. On entering, for instance, the small parlour of a little inn, a number of strong, able-bodied fellows are discovered holding their hands a few inches before their faces, and sitting in silence immediately in front of a stove of such excruciating power, that it really feels as if it would roast the very eyes in their sockets; and yet, as one endures this agony, the back part is as cold as if it belonged to what is called at home ”Old Father Christmas.”
As a further instance of the climate, I may add, that several times, while my mind was very warmly occupied in writing my despatches, I found my pen full of a lump of stuff that appeared to be honey, but which proved to be frozen ink; again, after was.h.i.+ng in the morning, when I took up some money that had lain all night on my table, I at first fancied it had become sticky, until I discovered that the sensation was caused by its freezing to my fingers, which, in consequence of my ablutions, were not perfectly dry.
[Ill.u.s.tration: WINTER DRESS OF BRITISH TROOPS IN CANADA.]