be traced—­one who had lived long enough to lay her sacred offering upon the tomb, and bedew it with the tears of grief.  Notwithstanding its solemn associations, it was withal a place adapted to the most exquisite feelings, and a sanctuary where the heart might forget its worldly aspirations.  But the Turks, in selecting their cemeteries, far transcend the boasted intellectual superiority of Europeans; and the one which lay beneath the walls of Aleppo, was, in every point of view, eminently calculated to confirm me in such an opinion.  Its cypress trees,

  The only constant mourners o’er the dead,

when the hearts that deplored the destiny of their friends had mingled with them in the dust, appeared perfectly congenial with the natural solemnity of the place; and the vortex of succeeding events has not yet swept away the charm they impressed upon my memory.

As I stood in a state of silent abstraction, beside a tomb distinguished from the others by a sculptured turban, the sound of a lute excited my attention, and instantly averting my head from the object placed before it, I perceived the tall shadowy figure of a man, partially concealed among the cypress trees.—­This nocturnal wanderer, my only companion in the “City of the Dead,” dispelled my gloomy reflections at once, and inspired some vivid ideas relative to his appearance in such a place.  Wishing to attain some means of elucidating the mystery, I concealed my person behind a tomb attached to that portion of the cemetery, well adapted to shield me from observation, and by the adoption of this judicious expedient, I succeeded in the accomplishment of my design; but after the “unearthly phantom” had riveted my gaze for a few minutes, he sank into a sepulchre, and left me to a series of vague and unprofitable conjectures.  In a short time, however, I observed him quietly proceeding amid the mingled ranks of rose-bowers and tombs, and as he agitated the silent leaves, he accompanied the music of his lute with one of the sweetest melodies which Nature has assigned to a human voice.  His manner was decidedly captivating, and his fine manly features produced in my mind a favourable impression of his urbanity.  I advanced therefore from the place of concealment, and explaining the object of my intrusion, expressed my sincere regret at being obliged to witness the singular transaction in which he had been engaged.  He paused awhile, but at length replied in a strain of such agreeable language, that if I had entertained any doubt of his cheerful disposition, his frank and persuasive humour would have finally removed it.

“How the devil came you here?” ejaculated the stranger, putting aside the lute, which hung suspended from his neck by a diamond chain.  “You are deeply in love with the dead, cavalier, to select such a place as this for the haunt of your meditative dreams.”

“Your Turkish cemeteries,” I replied, “possess an indisputable superiority over the sepulchral gardens of Europe.  To wander through these bowers of rose and cypress trees at this beautiful hour of night, enchants the heart with imaginings that soar above our earthly sphere.  But were you inspired by the same lofty feelings when I first saw you?”