Amy, you are going; only say that you go not in anger, not in despair."

She paused, and lifting up her hand, pointed to the bright sky above, saying with an accent of awe

"Against Whom then shall I dare to feel anger? It was no mortal hand carved out my fate; and for despair, alas! Richard, it is a hard thing to crush hope out of a heart so young!"

She passed from him as she spoke, and the fair form, with its white robes, went down like a ghost, so pale and mournful was she, through that old hall where she had come one short hour before, as a living sunbeam in her brightness.

Richard Sydney sunk down again beside the window, his face buried in his hands; the very heart of the man seemed breaking within him, and such a voice of mourning went up from his lips through the clear summer air as rarely is heard even on this dark earth.

CHAPTER II.

SUDDENLY past the windows of that old hall there went the rush of a horse at full speed. One of the greatest pleasures which Amy was allowed was the liberty of wandering on horseback through the extensive park which composed their own domain. She always insisted on going unattended, and Richard did not oppose this fancy; she was too fearless and skilful a rider to run any risk, and he knew that she could not meet a human being; he had caused all the gates of the park to be walled up save one, and that was under the care of a vigilant old servant of the family, who had been well tutored as to his duty.

And to-day, urging her horse to its utmost speed, Amy Sydney flew along the green lawn, and made for a deep wood that skirted the wall of their grounds. She had said rightly to her brother, that it is a hard and difficult thing to kill hope in the heart of youth, and it was not dead even now in hers; it would have been as easy for her to believe, that a sudden night was about to close in, upon the glorious noon of that summer's day, as to resign herself without a struggle to the certainty that her sun of hope was to set in this the springtime of her young existence. It was not that she doubted her brother's words, the sincerity and truth of his assertion, or the reality of the mysterious obstacle that stood between her and the natural joys which all desire; but with that bold strength which seems to encompass the soul in its untried youth, she felt

within her the power to wrestle and to overcome her fate! Be the dark secret what it might, she believed that could she but know it, she could battle with it, and come forth from the strife a conqueror. Wild and impetuous in all her feelings, she was not one who ever could suffer in inaction; even though she knew that to toil and strive were useless, she would rather struggle fruitlessly as resign herself without an effort.

And now, therefore, having surmounted the first shock, the first sharp agony of terror and dismay, one thought rose paramount over all others, the desire, or rather the determination, to discover this mystery, and to confront it, and somehow, she knew not by what means, but in some way most surely to destroy it, and then to assume her station in the ranks of human beings, there to partake with them of the dangers of life, and of its sweetness!

Within the park walls she knew she might labour for years, and never discover that secret; hitherto it had seemed to her impossible even to pass their boundary, but to-day she had resolved, with that tremendous energy of which a living soul is sometimes capable, that nothing should obstruct her will.

She determined, at the risk of life itself, to find her way into that outer world, as it seemed to her, where nothing should bind men's tongues to hide from her the mystery of her fate. The wall that enclosed the park had purposely been raised by Richard several years before to an enormous height; there was one place only where, in consequence of the drooping branches of a noble old oak which he had been loth to cut, it was a few feet lower. He believed that this fact would escape all eyes, as it was in the thickest of the wood; but, even if observed, he conceived that it was still far too lofty to be surmounted by any means. So Amy had ever thought until this hour; often had she scanned it with longing eyes, but she had always believed that not even her bold, good horse could risk the leap; now he MUST do it, or they both should perish.

With a firm grasp on the bridle, with expanded nostril and flashing eye, and a steady look fixed on the spot she had noted as being most favourable, she came at a quick, sharp gallop through the trees; cheering on the horse with her well-known voice, she urged him to the leap. The animal rushed at the wall, and was about to clear it, but the height seemed to startle him; he swerved, and plunging to the side, had nearly unhorsed her. Amy's features were convulsed-her fiery na

ture could endure no thwarting; tightening her grasp, she brought him back to the starting point, and then, with a fierce stroke, of which her woman's hand seemed scarce capable, goaded him on to the effort; he seemed to feel the force of that resolute will, and with one extraordinary bound he cleared the wall in perfect safety.

She was out on the wide plain, free! Her first impulse would have been to enjoy even to ecstacy the strange feeling of liberty, by rushing over the common in unrestrained recklessness,--but she had a settled purpose not to be shaken.

She felt sure that her brother would not have taken all these precautions, to prevent her holding communication with any one, had not the peculiarity of her destiny been so generally known, that the most casual intercourse might reveal it to her; she was convinced that in the village adjoining the castle, where of course her appearance was perfectly unknown, she might easily find some one to give her the details, which she would seem to ask from mere curiosity. Putting her horse to a quiet canter, as though riding merely for amusement, she proceeded therefore towards the cluster of picturesque cottages which lay at no great distance. Her purpose, however, was accomplished before she even reached them.

A little country church stood on a rising ground at the entrance of the village; she knew that the family vault of the Sydneys was beneath its altar, and that her mother had been

buried there. As she drew near she saw that an old sexton, whom she had often heard her brother mention, was at work on a new-made grave; she felt certain he could give her all the information she desired, and as it was impossible he should guess who she was, there was no reason why he should not gratify the curiosity of a seeming stranger as to the history of the Sydney family.

She dismounted, fastened her horse to a tree, and came stealing along on foot towards the old man; he looked up, and, seeing a lady, removed his hat, so that his long grey hair fell round his aged countenance: they were a strange contrast, as they stood together beside that open tomb-the one seemed ripe for its corruption even then-he appeared ready to fall into its cold embrace for very exhaustion of life; but the other, how full of vigour, of fiery strength, of beauty fresh and unmarred by the touch of years, or the breath of sorrow, which does their work in such brief moments! How life-like was she, how far removed from the faintest vision of decay, how ready to trample under foot these crawling worms that fed upon the mouldering bodies! yet upon that fair, glowing countenance should the old man's spade beat down the choking earth, and the worms need not have feared to wait her coming for a meal. Had she no dread that it was an ominous place wherein to hear the revelation of her life? She had no thought save to accomplish right speedily her purpose.*

I HAD been travelling all the weary night, aching on my saddle, and longing for repose. It was an October morning, crisped with frost, when I had to ford the Euphrates river, at that time about girth deep. I was strongly imbued with the impression that I was now entering upon the site of the reputed Garden of Eden, the traditionary lore of the Armenians now occupying the district was to this effect; they will have it that Adam was an Armenian, and that he was of their own colour, though from whence the black race proceeded they never could make out. The stream was diverted into different channels, from one of which I drank, and would imagine it to be the spot where Father Adam had similarly refreshed himself, nearly six thou

To be continued.

sand years ago, though he had not the advantage of my drinking cup.

What a wild and desolate aspect did this reputed Eden present to me! the low and swampy soil teeming with rushes. Desolation had swept it with her blasts; the cormorant and the bittern had here their hiding place, but that sterner savage, man, was the most feared of any animal. Our little caravan was halted, the fire-arms were looked to, our chief, marshalling us in battle array, expecting every moment a surprise.

Some horsemen were seen in the distance, at rapid rate, they came down upon us, but, instead of Koords, they were three Armenian bishops, with their attendants, from the little monastery of "Uch Kilesea," which was perched on a rock at the margin of the stream. The church is 'said to be the most ancient in Christendom,

being built more than twelve hundred years ago: the whole is a remarkable looking fabric, having the appearance of three churches, which its name implies. These worthies of the Armenian Church, instead of sporting cowl and cossack, sported swords and pistol. Seeing travellers in the distance, their hospitality led them to come out to escort us to the refectory, and to warn us of those hidden dangers with which the country teemed. The monastery itself had been formerly converted into a fortress to protect them against the Koords, such was the excess of brigandage even in Eden! The worthy fathers had been often bearded by these Koords in their own entrenchments, and had withstood many a siege of chapel and battery.

The grim outline of the country bespoke sterility and waste in its harshest features; the low boggy soil which we were traversing was sandy, sedgy, and well stocked with wild boar; it did not suit our day's travel to accept the worthy monks' hospitality, so, with much cordial exchange of greetings, and thanks on our part, they galloped off to a ravine in search of Koords; the bridle rein seemed quite as familiar to them as the crosier, the high-peaked saddle as the pulpit cushion; they seemed to enjoy the sport of Koord-hunting, and, like old accustomed sportsmen, could almost scent their tracks.

Of all my Asiatic travel, which has occupied me so many thousands of hours, I scarcely recollect any place so utterly desolate and wasted as I was now going over, though great interest was attached to it as being reputed Bible ground. Mount Arrarat was visible in the distance, towering in the sky with majestic grandeur, and a brilliant sun lit up the mass of snow on its summit, the clouds rolling visibly at the base; it was a glorious sight, and Little Arrarat at the side, in mimic pomp, served as a sort of foil to the huge dimensions of one of nature's loftiest summits. An immense plain intervened, on which Noah's descendants might have located, and I could imagine creation, preservation, and all those glorious events to which Scripture testifies to have taken place there. There is a holy awe inspired on going over the soil which we imagine God to have personally visited, to see the mountain where he had evidently sheltered his chosen Noah from the raging of the mighty floods, and to be on the spot where was first seen his promised token, that he would no more drown the earth in her own waters, and where he had provided a spacious plain for his people to multiply, and from thence accomplish his great purposes of creation.

We are obliged to draw largely upon the

imagination to "feather the wings of time" in Asiatic travel, and I was full of dreamy speculations respecting the earthly abode of our first parents until we arrived at the village of Diaden, which was occupied with Russian troops, the invasion of Turkey by the latter power being then in full force. I went to the citadel to pay my respects to the commandant (Prince Tehtchiwisouff), who was very gracious to the weary traveller; he commented immediately. on the interest of my morning's ride; by saying, "Vous avez passé par le véritable Paradis." I bowed my assent to his excellency, hoped it was so, felt rather incredulous, and having obtained permission to continue my journey (the country being then subject to Russian rule), I proceeded to a wretched mud-hovel, the best accommodation which we could procure, to cater amongst the villagers for food, as well as for Paradisiacle information. The Turkish villages are burrowed under ground, and small hillocks appear here and there, with a central hole for the ingress of air and the issue of smoke. To my great consternation and surprise, I once rode over a dwelling in this way, without being aware of it until my horse's feet became plunged amongst the rafters (see Three Years in Persia, vol. I.); and in this instance, we were sadly inconvenienced by the dust, since the roof of the house where we were accommodated was the principal thoroughfare of the village. The rude villagers, ignorant as they were, were yet agreed on the point as to the locality of Eden, that the ground which I had come over was the site of the garden of our first parents; it was beyond all controversy with them, and I query if they had ever heard of any other. They are a remarkably ignorant race, having never learned letters; but few can read beyond the priests, for whom they have great veneration; their government is ecclesiastical, the chief patriarch residing at Etch Meizen on the other side the mountain; they spoke of the "Frat," or, as some call it, the "Hu Phrah," that ancient river Euphrates. This and Arrarat are two undisputed points with all geographers, however, much they may otherwise differ.

I had crossed it at different places: this river has its principal sources in the mountains of Armenia, one of which is about twelve miles from Erzroume, the other is near Byazid; these two streams, pursuing a westerly direction, are near Mount Taurus turned into a south-east course by a range of mountains in that neighbourhood; it is then joined by the Tigris, and these, when united, form one of the noblest rivers in the East, which falls into the gulf of Persia, fifty miles south-east of Bussorah, the

whole course being about 1,600 miles. The Araxes, said to be the Gihon of Moses, takes its rise in a mountain called Abbas; it runs south-east across Armenia and a part of Persia, in a serpentine course of upwards of 500 miles, ultimately discharging itself into the Caspian Lake. This is a very rapid stream, and when swollen with the winter snows, nothing can withstand its violence. The Tigris is said to be the Hiddekel of Moses, and the other branch of the Euphrates to be the Pison of Moses, the latter flows into the Persian Gulf.

Having thus ascertained, from the best authorities which I can find, what are the four rivers mentioned by Moses, I will now briefly state what these authorities say as to the locality of the Garden of Eden.

Several of the fathers believed that there never was a local paradise, and that all which the Scriptures say of it must be taken in an allegorical sense, and so preposterous have been the speculations respecting it, that some have planted it in the third heaven, within the orb of the moon, and under the equator. I will not recapitulate the absurdities, or rather the ribaldry of the Mahommedan superstitions on the subject; they merely testify to the concurrent belief that there was a terrestrial paradise somewhere on the earth. To show the wide latitude entertained by some writers, Josephus supposed that the Ganges and the Nile were two of the rivers mentioned by Moses; other commentators have looked for it in Arabia, Syria, Chaldea, Palestine, and Armenia, near the cities of Damascus and Tripoli, and some have been so absurd as to suppose that it was on the spot now occupied by the Caspian Lake.

There are many places in the world which bear the name of Eden; there is one near Damascus, another near Thessaly in Chaldea, and again near Tripoli in Syria, and Aden, on the coast of Yemen, is construed into Eden, but this is straining a construction too far to meet any reasonable credence.

Opposed to all those chimerical absurdities, I will now state what appears to me the most reasonable conclusion as to the site of the Garden of Eden, and it agrees with the locality which I have traversed. A very eminent writer says, "Eden is as evidently a real country as Arrarat, where the ark rested, and Shinaar, where the sons of Noah removed after the flood. We find it mentioned in Scripture as often as the other two, and there is the more reason to believe it, because the scenes of these three remarkable events are laid in the neighbourhood of one another in the Mosiacal history; but the Jews, from their distractions, losing all

remembrance of these localities, hence the Christian inquirers have lost their way for want of guides." Calmet, and some other ingenious writers, were of the same opinion, viz., that the terrestrial paradise was in Armenia, near Mount Arrarat, where Noah's ark was left; they imagined that they there discovered the sources of the four rivers which watered the Garden of Eden. I can only say, that, with the exception of the Euphrates, they had dried up, or had disappeared, when I went over the ground, since I was many days near and under Arrarat; the mountain was so huge, that, after travelling a whole day from it, it scarcely seemed to lose its dimensions.

Of this mountain, I learn from the same authority, "the situation of Arrarat is very convenient for the journey of the sons of Noah from thence to Shinaar, the distance not being very great and the descent easy. We discover plainly, through the Mosaic history, a neighbourhood between the land of Eden, where man was created; that of Arrarat, where the remains of mankind were saved; and that of Shinaar, where they fixed the centre of their habitation."

I am the more confirmed in my opinion as to this locality of the Garden of Eden the farther I extend my researches, and, when I beheld this towering pillar, Arrarat, standing on the frontiers of three mighty empires, Russia, Turkey, and Persia-this "mountain of the deluge," 16,000 feet high, it was a most imposing monument of nature. Tradition sublimes it, and Bible associations give it a grandeur scarcely to be exceeded by any in the world; at the north, south, and east, it stands completely alone, in the west it is connected with the Adraigag chain, which stretches down to the Araxes. The village of Argicire, which once stood in a ravine of Arrarat, 2,500 feet high, was according to tradition the oldest village in the world; here the vine was first planted by Noah, but it no longer exists. On the 20th June, 1840, after a hot and sultry day, at about dusk, the ground clave asunder, yielding up smoke and steam, the earth heaved, the mountains were rent, and hurling down immense masses of rock upon the village, the whole was buried! and, of nearly a thousand inhabitants, mostly Armenians, only about a hundred and forty escaped in consequence of their absence. The next day Noah's mountain was as silent as the morning after the deluge; it may be truly said that "Arrarat is not dead, but sleepeth."

Mr. Mylne says, that "in all ages learned men have laboured to find out the situation of Paradise, which seems to be but a vague and

uncertain inquiry; for the Mosaic description of it will not suit any place on the present globe. He mentions two rivers in its vicinity, Pison and Gihon, of which no present traces can be found; the other two still remain, Hiddekel, supposed to be the Tigris, and the Euphrates, whose streams unite together at a considerable distance above the Persian Gulf, in some part of which it is probable the happy garden lay; but since the formation of the earth it has undergone great changes from earthquakes, inundations, and many other causes."

Where did Moses write his history, becomes a question. Some say that it was at Nineveh, others in the wilderness of Sinai, and, again, that it was written in Arabia Petrea, in some place nearly adjoining the river Pison, which bounds Havilah, and discharges itself in the Persian Gulf, this river being the nearest to him of the four which he named in the book of Genesis; the etymology of the word from "Poscha," to spread itself, corresponds to its situation, the waters of which are sometimes so high and violent that no sufficient defence can be formed against their irruption.

Havilah was at the eastern extremity of this part of Arabia; the land abounded with gold, bdellum, the onyx, &c. Writers have differed respecting the meaning of the term bdellum, or bedolach, some supposing it to have been pearls, and others that it was gum. Moses takes his wife, Zipporah, from this country, and here his first son was born, Gershom, and here he takes leave of Jethro, his father-in-law, to visit his brethren in Egypt.

It has been argued that Moses, by saying that the Garden was planted "eastward in Eden," that it was designed to mark the particular spot where it was situated, which must have been at one of the turnings of the river, which goes from east to west, and which here branches into two streams, the Pison and the Euphrates; and, subsequently passing out of Eden, are divided into four heads. This hypothesis, which was first started by Calvin, is followed by many other writers. After all these speculations on the subject, the Mosaic description does not agree with the present state of things, for there is no common stream of which the four rivers are properly branches; some say that Moses had a very imperfect knowledge of the world of which he wrote; (how can this apply to the inspired Word?) others speculate on the changes which the flood had produced; scarcely any two authorities do I find to agree, and the more I grope my way to the real Eden, the more difficult and intricate does it seem to be.

I will now trace a little further how these intricacies arise. Pastellus will have it that Paradise was under the North Pole; others contend that it was not limited to any particular place, but that it included the face of the whole earth, which was then one continued scene of pleasure, until altered by Adam's transgression. Both Origen and Philo treat the Scripture account of Paradise as an allegory; Huet, Bochart, and others, place it beyond the confluence of the Tigris and Euphrates, with both of which the Garden of Eden was watered. Pison was a branch arising out of one of them, and Gihon was another branch flowing from it on the side of Armenia. Huet thinks that it was situated in a valley between the mountains of Libanus and Auri-libanus, in that part of Syria of which Damascus was the capital. A town called Paradise was in this vicinity, which is mentioned by both Pliny and Ptolemy; there is a village called Eden in Tripoli, situated on Mount Libanus, near to the river Adonia and to the cedars of Libanus. Maundrell mentions this village as being in the vicinity of the terrestrial Paradise, but this seems to bear no analogy whatever to the description given by Moses; the term Eden is often used in Scripture (see Amos i. and v., and other Prophets).

Having wandered about in the mazes of speculation to find the terrestrial Paradise, I will now cursorily dwell on the etymology of the word "Paradise," which was primarily used to indicate the place in which Adam was seated during his innocence; the Greek word implies "orchard," or a place stored with apples and all sorts of fruits; it may be also called the "garden of delight," from the same language, "voluptus," or pleasure; it is likewise used in the New Testament for the final habitation of the blessed, or "Heaven." The word "Eden," according to its primary meaning in the Hebrew language, likewise means pleasure," or "delight;" and it has been imagined that this gave rise to those curious gardens in the East, which princes caused to be made to represent the most delightful spots; even going back to Nimrod's time, he insisted that the Tower of Belus, erected by Nebuchadnezzar, was in structure and in size a typical Paradise, with its appurtenances of hanging gardens and quadruple watercourses, representing the four rivers which went round the garden planted eastward in Eden. These gardens are celebrated in Persia, and I have visited several of these delightful enclosures; the name "Baguy Seffre," the literal transla