verified by the unhappy results of Boadicea's valor. In her hour of unrelenting vengeance, the city of London had been recklessly set in flames-the Roman soldiery, who had rushed for refuge into their temple, (probably of Diana, which is supposed to have occupied the present site of St. Paul's Cathedral,) were dragged forth and butchered in the streets respect neither to age nor sex was shown, and it was scarcely likely that now, when triumph crowned their own arms, the conquerors would be unmindful of these outrages, or extend a mercy themselves had never experienced. The present conflict, it has been remarked, was now less of a battle, than a battue,-"a hewing down, and indiscriminate slaughter of everything that had life." The very beasts of burden were sacrificed; and even the adjoining lands of those persons who had appeared to waver in their allegiance were overrun and ravaged by the successful army.

It is marvelous how Boadicea escaped with lifethat she did so, however, is an admitted fact: after the battle, one of the sacred groves received her fugitive steps. Here, in a cave, within a few hours, might have been seen the lifeless body of a woman -her beautiful golden hair stretching to her feet, the plaited tunic of various colors, the chain of gold spanning her waist, and the regal mantle, which some friendly hand had disposed in enveloping folds around her still form, betraying the identity of the queen, though those once lovely and commanding

features were distorted by the presence of death, in one of his most fearful shapes. The subtile touch of poison had unlocked for her the barriers of eternity, through which her spirit had passed. In that one brief moment she bade adieu to all the earthly griefs and passions, which had so wildly distracted her heart, and rendered life a burden of prolonged misery. Resolved that only her dead body should fall into the hands of her enemies, her own hand administered the fatal draught.

Contempt for death, and the reception of it with an exaggerated welcome, formed the grand basis of barbarian virtue; and the woman who fell by her own hand, was formerly an object of applause and example. Now the consolatory doctrines of Christianity teach us a nobler lesson. The great principle of worldly probation is the endurance of afflictions, which are "but for a moment," by the exercise of a faith, constant and inviolate, in the Unseen. Putting it upon no higher ground, it is indeed but politic, and therefore

"better far to bear the ills we know,

Than fly to others which we dream not of;"—

and he who is so much a coward as to refuse to bow before the storms of adversity, will, upon moderate reflection, find in himself scarcely sufficient boldness to brave the anger of an offended Judge, when ushered with "all his imperfections on his head,” unsummoned, into the presence of his Maker!

ZENOBIA,

QUEEN OF PALMYRA.

A. D. 270.

GREEN island of the burning sea!—torch which Art has raised over the grave of Nature!-star in the midnight of desolation!-thou solitary pulse of existence, in the stagnate torpor of silent day!Palmyra! Queen of the desert!-hail!

Despite the similarity investing most ruined cities, the emporium of the merchant-princes of Araby preserves her individuality entire. The "lingering twilight of a former sky" yet hovers over this most beautiful of the conquests of time, and like Rome, she presents "a noble wreck in ruinous perfection!" Approach we with reverence the enchanted spot, undeterred by the scorching path, or the glare which, like the lurid eyeball of a dying foe, the sun flashes back upon us, from the marble columns, calcined by heat, even to scathing whiteness, as though in vengeful hate for the ravages that age has made upon the fair city, his glance so loved to look upon! Let us awaken memory, and people from imagination the vast solitude once more, even within the period when

"the wisest of men" framed her beauty from his own design. The chaplet has indeed fallen from her brow-the tufted grass has twined about her broken diadem, but the jewels lie thickly strewn around her still!-Stay! we will replace them.

The desert surrounds us. "Red moving sand, or hard and baked by the heat of the sun, low gray rocks just rising here and there above the level of the plain, with now and then the dead and glittering trunk of a vast cedar, whose roots seem as if they had outlasted centuries; the bones of camels and elephants scattered on either hand, dazzling the sight by their excessive whiteness:"-in the distance, bands of Arabs dashing at speed, with their matchlocks gleaming like the lightning flash, while an occasional solitary traveler waters his jaded steed at the welcome spring. But see! the fourth day's march draws to a close, and yonder a verdant tract, elevated, and with groves of waving palmtrees, marks our destination.

Now appear the villas of the luxurious Palmyrenes, palaces of grandeur and beauty. Passing these, which grow momentarily more frequent, we gradually ascend the eminence above the city, which occupies the entire plain below. Built entirely of white marble, a very fairy land of gorgeous temples and tapering pyramids, of stately porticos and slender obelisks, of domes, columns, arches, and tall towers, one building, unrivaled for grandeur and extent, rises before us. It is the Temple of the Sun, ap

proached by a vast number of Corinthian columns, and possessing a colonnade four thousand feet in length, terminating in a magnificent mausoleum. This splendid edifice, "by the side of which the Parthenon is a toy," rears its radiant form aloft, and seems to stretch forth to the farewell embrace of the departing sovereign of the sky, whose rays return, again and again, to gild with true oriental luster some separate portion of the shrine devoted to his worship.

We are entering the city by the "Roman Gate." The walls, broad and lofty, ten miles in circumference, are defended by massive towers: passing through the enormous arch, we find ourselves in streets, lined with palaces; these are surrounded by beautiful gardens rich in embowering trees and shrubs, while ever and anon rise those groves of palm-trees, which have given the name to the city, superseding the original one of Tadmor, which Solomon bestowed, when he first built it, after the conquest of what was then termed Hamath Zoba, the kingdom in which it was situated.

Possessing a climate in the highest degree serene and balmy, the air, perfumed with flowers from adjacent fertile plains, and still more proximate parterres, never bore upon its wings an extreme either of cold or heat. Healthful, but not vigorous, the mixed race of the Palmyrenes, who derived their origin from the Egyptians, while the vicinity of Persia framed to a considerable extent their manners,