THE TOWER OF HIPPICUS ON MOUNT THE citadel on mount Zion comprises a group of square towers of various antiquity: the greatest From "Walks about the City and Environs of Jerusalem." By W. H. Bartlett. London: George Virtue. 8vo. pp. 224. "This little work," says the author in the preface, is the result of a visit to Jerusalem in the summer of 1842;" and it is alike creditable to the auther and the publisher. The volume, by no means little, is well got up in point of embellishments, and contains much valuable matter, with illustrations beautifully executed. Of the wood engravings, by the kindness of the pub lisher, we are enabled to give a specimen. We can most cordially recommend it to the notice of our readers.-ED. VOL. XVII. part appears to be of Saracenic origin, though its foundation may be of greater antiquity. The massive tower at its north-east extremity, close to the entrance of the city, is evidently much older than the others, at least as regards its lower portion (see engraving). It is a grand and striking object, and the masonry evidently of Roman character. It is supposed by Dr. Robinson that this is no other than the tower of Hippicus, one of the three noble bulwarks which were built by Herod to serve for defence and ornament to this part of the city, within the shelter of which he D established his palace. It is expressly stated by Josephus, that, after the destruction of the rest of the city, these towers, which excited the admiration of Titus, were left standing, partly as memorials of his conquest, and also as a shelter to the camp he left behind. The two others, called after Phasaelis and Mariamne, are no longer standing; but there is every reason to believe that this is really a wreck of the once proud and aweinspiring bulwarks of Zion; for the masonry is evidently not later than the time of Adrian, and it can hardly be supposed that any change in these towers could have occurred before his wars with the Jews, when it is possible the others might have been destroyed. The position agrees well with that of Hippicus, which was at the northwest corner of the city; and we must place those of Phasaelis and Mariamne a little lower down on the edge of the Tyropeon, above the steep street leading to the bazaar. We quote the account Josephus gives of these towers: "These were, for largeness, beauty, and strength, beyond all that were in the habitable earth; for, besides the magnanimity of his nature, and his munificence towards the city on other occasions, he built these after such an extraordinary manner to gratify his own private affections, and dedicated these towers to the memory of those three persons who had been the dearest to him, and from whom he named them. They were his brother, his friend, and his wife. This wife he had slain out of his love (and jealousy): the other two he lost in war as they were courageously fighting. Hippicus, so named from his friend, was square: its length and breadth were each twenty-five cubits, and its height thirty; and it had no vacuity in it. Over this solid building, which was composed of great stones united together, there was a reservoir twenty cubits deep; over which there was a house of two stories, whose height was twenty-five cubits, and divided into several parts; over which were battlements of two cubits high, and turrets all round of three cubits high; so that the entire height amounted to four-score cubits." This agrees with the fact that, as far as it is known, the base is solid, there being at any rate no passage into it known at present. Its dimensions, according to Robinson, are as follows: east side, fifty-six feet four inches; south side, seventy feet three inches. Of the large stones some are between nine and twelve feet in size. Immediately below this tower, and extending as far as the Armenian convent, embracing the site of the new English church, must have stood the splendid palace of Herod, which is described by Josephus as very extensive, and such as might have been expected from the magnificence of the monarch, to whom not only Jerusalem but so many other cities of Judea owed their principal embellishments. The building of the temple and completion of fort Antonia, the erection of the three noble towers we have alluded to, and doubtless many other monuments of inferior importance, were his works in the city. Cæsarea, whose shapeless ruins are now visible, was his entire creation: for a solitary fishing village he substituted a magnificent sea-port; and the noble hill of Samaria was decorated by him with temples and colonnades, of which considerable remains exist at the present day. Nor was his magnificence confined to his own adopted country, but extended to many cities of Syria and Asia Minor. But an alien in blood, and disposed to innovate upon the Jewish customs by the gradual introduction of Roman practices, he was always an object of dislike and suspicion to the people. Perhaps a consciousness of this may have inflamed his natural jealousy and haste of temper, and hurried him into the many acts of sudden violence which filled his own palace and the rest of his kingdom with cruelty. He had married the beautiful Mariamne, the last of the Asmonean race, descendants of the heroic Maccabees, to whom he was passionately attached; but he imbrued his hands, notwithstanding, in the blood of her brother, fearing a popular movement in his favour. This could never be forgotten. Dissension and intrigue prevailed in his palace: his hasty and suspicious mood was inflamed by the arts of its inmates; and in a moment of jealous madness he ordered the execution of his wife. It was long before his remorse gave place to calmness. At length he remarried, engaged in works of magnificence; among others, erecting a tower to the memory of his beloved but murdered Mariamne. Years elapsed; but a still darker domestic tragedy was to close his melancholy career. His own sons, the children of Mariamne, were next made the objects of his hatred, by the arts of Antipater, his son by another woman. The Roman emperor was disgusted, and the Jewish people struck with horror at his resolution to put them to death. Some of the boldest ventured to set before the wretched man but too truly the state of his mind and the issue of so dreadful an action: "Whence comes this solitude, and desertion of thy friends and relations? Doest thou not perceive what is doing? Wilt thou slay these two young men born of thy queen, who are accomplished with every virtue in the highest degree, and leave thyself destitute in thy old age; but exposed to one son, who hath very ill managed the hopes thou hast given him, and to relations whose death thou hast so often resolved on thyself? Dost thou not take notice that the very silence of the multitude at once sees the crime and abhors the fact?" But remonstrance was in vain: a certain fatality seemed to hurry forward the miserable tyrant, hateful to himself, and conscious of the hatred of others. His sons were strangled by his order ; and whatever unction he had laid to his soul for the deed was soon taken away by the discovery that the very Antipater at whose instigation he had put them to death was himself plotting to carry him off by poison. In what " corner of his soul" could the wretched man now look for consolation, or how escape the tortures of rage and remorse, whose stings goaded him into madness, and overturned what little of reason remained amidst the convulsions of his nature? Struck with a horrible disease, and finding his end approaching, knowing that all would rejoice at it, looking impatiently for the moment of his dissolution, he determined on a wide and terrible revenge as it were on human nature itself, and insanely required that all who could be shut up in the Hippodrome should be perfidiously massacred as a funeral offering to his rage and madness. Soon after he died; and his body was conveyed to the Herodium, a fortress he had erected near Jerusalem, in the midst of hired mourning and vain funeral pomp. Such was the unhappy life and death of a monarch to whom Jerusalem owed her last and short-lived splendour. Suddenly raised to the throne, himself the executioner of the best members of his family, his race was soon extinct; and over the proud structures which were to attest his magnificence to future ages already hung the terrible visitation of Rome, which within half a century left of them scarcely one stone standing upon another. A SPANISH VILLAGE CURATE*. A WOMAN directed us to a cottage somewhat superior in appearance to those contiguous. It had a small portico, which, if I remember well, was overgrown with a vine. We knocked loud and long at the door, but received no answer: the voice of man was silent; and not even a dog taking his siesta, and so were his whole family, barked. The truth was that the old curate was "I am afraid," said he, "that I have nothing in the house which will suit you; however, we will go and see." Thereupon he led us through a small yard at the back part of his house, which might have been called a garden or orchard, if it had displayed either trees or flowers; but it produced nothing but grass, which was growing in luxuriance. At one end was a large pigeon-house, which we all entered: "For," said the curate, "if we could find some nice delicate pigeons, they would afford you an excellent dinner." We were, however, disonly found very young ones, unfitted for our purappointed; for, after rummaging the nests, we pose. The good man became very melancholy, and said he had some misgivings we should have he conducted us to a place where there were seveto depart dinnerless. Leaving the pigeon-house, ral skeps of bees, round which multitudes of the busy insects were hovering, filling the air with their music. "Next to my fellow-creatures," which consisted of one ancient female and a cat. said he, "there is nothing which I love so dearly The good man was at last disturbed by our noise as these bees: it is one of my delights to sit and vociferation; for we were hungry, and, con- watching them, and listening to their murmur." sequently, impatient. Leaping from his couch, We next went to several unfurnished rooms fronthe came running to the door in great hurry and ing the yard, in one of which were hanging seveconfusion; and, perceiving us, he made many apo-ral flitches of bacon, beneath which he stopped, logies for being asleep at a period when, he said, he ought to have been on the look-out for his invited guest. He embraced me very affectionately, and conducted me into his parlour-an apartment of tolerable size, hung round with shelves, which were crowded with books. At one end there was a kind of table or desk covered with black leather, with a large easy-chair, into which he pushed me, as I, with the true spirit of a bibliomaniac, was about to inspect his shelves, saying, with considerable vehemence, that there was nothing there worthy the attention of an Englishman, for that his whole stock consisted of breviaries and dry catholic treatises on divinity. His care now was to furnish us with refreshments. In a twinkling, with the assistance of his old attendant, he placed on the table several plates of cakes and confectionary, and a number of large, uncouth glass bottles, which I thought bore a strong resemblance to those of Schiedam, and, indeed, they were the very same. "There," said he, rubbing his hands, "I thank God that it is in my power to treat you in a way which will be agreeable to you. In those bottles there is Hollands thirty years old:" and, producing two tumblers, he continued, "Fill, my friends, and drink-drink it every drop, if you please; for it is of little use to myself, who seldom drink ought but water. I know that you islanders love it, and cannot live without it; therefore, since it does you good, I am only sorry that there is no more.' Observing that we contented ourselves with merely tasting it, he looked at us with astonishment, and inquired the reason of our not drinking. We told him that we seldom drank ardent spirits; and I added that, as for myself, I seldom tasted even wine, but, like himself, was content with the use of water. He appeared somewhat incredulous, but told us to do exactly what we pleased, and to ask for what was agreeable to us. We told him that we had not dined, and should be glad of some substantial refreshment. From Borrow's "Bible in Spain." and, looking up, gazed intently upon them. We "To tell the truth," said he, "I have nothing better; and, if you can content yourself with such fare, I shall be very happy: as for eggs, you can have as many as you wish, and perfectly fresh ; my hens lay every day.' for to our satisfaction, we sat down to dine on the So, after every thing was prepared and arranged bacon and eggs, in a small room-not the one to which he had ushered us at first, but on the other side of the doorway. The good curate, though he ate nothing, having taken his meal long before, sat at the head of the table, and the repast was enlivened by his chat. now seated once sat Wellington and Crawfurd, "There, my friends," said he, "where you are after they beat the French at Arapiles, and rescued us from the thraldom of those wicked people. I never respected my house so much as I have done since they honoured it with their presence. They were heroes, and one was a demi-god." He then burst into a most eloquent panegyric of "el gran lord," as he termed him, which I should be very happy to translate, were my pen capable of rendering into English the robust thundering sentences of his powerful Castilian. I had till then considered him a plain, uninformed old man, almost simple, and as incapable of much emotion as a tortoise within his shell; but he had become at once inspired: his eyes were replete with a bright fire, and every muscle of his face was quivering. The little silk skull-cap which he wore, according to the custom of the [Roman] catholic clergy, moved up and down with his agitation; and I soon saw that I was in the presence of one of those remarkable men who so frequently spring up in the bosom of the Romish church, and who, to a childlike simplicity, unite immense energy and power of mind-equally adapted to guide a scanty flock of ignorant rustics, in some obscure village of Italy or Spain, as to convert [?] millions of heathens on the shores of Japan, China, and Paraguay. renounce them. But declamatory accusations against those from whom we differ is no proof of real religion in the soul; nay, it is an evidence of the reverse; and, considering the state of Ireland at the time, his conduct was as judicious as it was exemplary. He was a thin, spare man, of about sixty-five, and was dressed in a black cloak of very coarse materials; nor were his other garments of superior quality. This plainness, however, in the outward man, was by no means the result of poverty; quite Mr. Kirwan for some time continued to officiate, the contrary. The benefice was a very plentiful generally at St. Peter's, unless when called upon one, and placed at his disposal annually a sum of to plead the cause of charitable institutions; and at least eight hundred dollars, of which the eighth the collections regularly made for the relief of the part was more than sufficient to defray the ex- poor increased amazingly. On the 5th of Nopenses of the house and himself; the rest was de-vember, 1788, the governors of the general daily voted entirely to the purest acts of charity. He schools of the several parishes entered into a resofed the hungry wanderer, and despatched him lution "that, from the effects the discourses singing on his way, with meat in his wallet and a of the rev. Walter Blake Kirwan, from the pulpit, peseta in his purse; and his parishioners, when in have had, his officiating in the metropolis was conneed of money, had only to repair to his study, sidered a peculiar national advantage; and that and were sure of an immediate supply. He was, vestries should be called to consider the most effecindeed, the banker of the village; and what he tual method to secure to the city an instrument, lent he neither expected nor wished to be returned. under Providence, of so much public benefit." Though under the necessity of making frequent journeys to Salamanca, he kept no mule, but contented himself with an ass, borrowed from the neighbouring miller. "I once kept a mule," said he; "but some years since it was removed without my permission by a traveller whom I had housed for the night; for in that alcove I keep two clean beds for the use of the wayfaring, and I shall be very much pleased if yourself and friend will occupy them, and tarry with me till the morning." But I was eager to continue my journey; and my friend was no less anxious to return to Salamanca. Upon taking leave of the hospitable curate, I presented him with a copy of the New Testament. He received it without uttering a single word, and placed it on one of the shelves of his study; but I observed him nodding significantly to the Irish student, perhaps as much as to say, "Your friend loses no opportunity of propagating his book;" for he was well aware who I was. I shall not speedily forget the truly good presbyter, Antonio Garcia de Aguilar, cura of Pitiegua. Biography. THE VERY REV. WALTER BLAKE KIRWAN, DEAN No. II. MR. Kirwan's mind being fully made up as to the important step he was about to take, and heedless of the odium which he might expect to incur on the part of those of the Romish communion, he conformed to the established church; and was introduced by the rev. Dr. Hastings, archdeacon of Dublin, to his first protestant congregation, in St. Peter's church, where he preached June 21, 1787. The attendance was, as might have been anticipated, overflowing. To the astonishment of the majority-and, not improbably, to the disappointment of not a few-he made no allusion to the church the errors of which he renounced his language was kind, conciliatory, affectionate. His spirit was far from that of dogmatism; and such he remained through life. It would be unfair, however, to argue from this demeanour that he was not fully alive to the errors of popery, and truly thankful he had been brought to & conviction of these errors, and been led to Popular approbation is always more or less dangerous: few persons have strength of mind enough, or religious principle enough, to stand firm against that pride and self-esteem to which it is naturally calculated to give rise. Especially is the popular preacher too apt to forget that, however important the duties of the pulpit may beand they are indeed most important-there are others attached to the ministerial office far more so. To aim at the greatest degrees of usefulness will ever be the object of a minister anxiously desirous rightly to divide the word of truth: to aim at popularity can only arise from a desire for the gratification of vanity and self-esteem. Let us hope the day is rapidly waning, when the reader in a chapel is viewed as a being infinitely inferior to the admired preacher, whose back rarely feels the weight of a surplice, and who can have few scruples to any of the expressions in the baptismal or burial services, because he is seldom, if ever, called upon to use them. The following passage from a sermon, by Mr. Kirwan, for the poor children of the parish of St. Nicholas Within, will afford a fair specimen of his pulpit fidelity and mode of address; while it shews the deplorable state to which religion had then sank:-"I ask if it can be doubted that the mortal poison of infidelity is rapidly gaining ground? Can it be doubted that the most sacred truths of Christianity are in too many instances scouted without reserve, and delivered over to scorn? Is there scarcely a young man at the present day, in that class of the world which is honoured with the name of fashionable, who professes to believe anything on the score of religion? Is it not too much the reigning tone among men, to rise superior to the weakness and simplicity of believing Christians? What minister of religion can now venture to preach on the subject of our holy mysteries, or enforce their divine authority, without exciting a philosophic smile in these children of light? Who shall even glance at the doctrine of eternal punishment, or of future punishment at all, without being openly pitied for his credulity, or secretly arraigned for hypocrisy ? Is it not this predominating character of the day that has forced, in a manner, the pulpit, in spite of itself, to slur over the awful and tremendous in religion, and recur to topics as suited to the porticoes as to the temple of Jesus Christ? What does there too generally appear to be left of religion among |