course.

writing found on the coins or other ancient monuments of the country. At the present day, even its use is very limited, being exclusively confined to the people themselves, and never learned by those with whom they have any interAlmost all Armenians, therefore, are compelled to learn Turkish or Italian, as mediums of communication, which they often prefer, and understand better than their own. I have met with many Armenians who could read and write both these languages, who could not translate for me their own books.

The Armenians, though once well known in the West, where their spirit of commercial enterprise carried them through every part of Europe, are now seldom heard of out of Asia, and their existence is hardly recognized as a Christian people. They are still, however, numerous and respectable; and as their number is daily increasing, they may yet form the nucleus of Christianity in the East, when the unfortunate Greeks shall have been exterminated. There are, at the present day,

In the mountains of their native country, about 1,000,000

In Constantinople and the vicinity
In different parts of Persia .

In India

200,000

100,000

40,000

In Hungary, and other parts of Europe.
In Africa, and America

THE RESTORATION OF ISRAEL.

BY THE REV. GEORGE CROLY.

"And I heard a voice out of heaven saying, Behold, the tabernacle of God is with men, and HE shall dwell with them, and they shall be his people, and God himself shall be with them, and be their God."REV. xxi. 3.

KING of the dead! how long shall sweep
Thy wrath! how long thy outcasts weep!
Two thousand agonizing years

Has Israel steeped her bread in tears;
The vial on her head been poured-

Flight, famine, shame, the scourge, the sword!

"Tis done! Has breathed thy trumpet blast,
The TRIBES at length have wept their last!
On rolls the host! From land and wave
The earth sends up th' unransomed slave!
There rides no glittering chivalry,
No banner purples in the sky;

The world within their hearts has died;

Two thousand years have slain their pride!
The look of pale remorse is there,

The lip, involuntary prayer;

The form still marked with

many a stain

Brand of the soil, the scourge, the chain;
The serf of Afric's fiery ground;

The slave, by Indian suns embrowned;

The weary drudges of the oar,

By the swart Arab's poisoned shore,
The gatherings of earth's wildest tract-

On bursts the living cataract !

What strength of man can check its speed?
They come-the Nation of the Freed;

Who leads their march? Beneath His wheel
Back rolls the sea, the mountains reel !
Before their tread His trump is blown,
Who speaks in thunder, and 'tis done!
King of the dead! Oh, not in vain
Was thy long pilgrimage of pain;
Oh, not in vain arose thy prayer,

When pressed the thorn thy temples bare;
Oh, not in vain the voice that cried,

To spare thy maddened homicide!

Even for this hour thy heart's blood streamed! They come !-the Host of the Redeemed!

What flames upon the distant sky? 'Tis not the comet's sanguine dye,

'Tis not the lightning's quivering spire,
'Tis not the sun's ascending fire.

And now, as nearer speeds their march,
Expands the rainbow's mighty arch;
Though there has burst no thundercloud,
No flash of death the soil has ploughed,
And still ascends before their gaze,
Arch upon arch, the lovely blaze;
Still, as the gorgeous clouds unfold,
Rise towers and domes, immortal mould.

Scenes! that the patriarch's visioned eye
Beheld, and then rejoiced to die ;-
That, like the altar's burning coal,
Touched the pale prophet's harp with soul
That the throned seraphs long to see,
Now given, thou slave of slaves, to thee!
Whose city this? What potentate
Sits there the King of Time and Fate?
Whom glory covers like a robe,

Whose sceptre shakes the solid globe,

Whom shapes of fire and splendour guard?

There sits the Man, "whose face was marred,"

To whom archangels bow the knee
The weeper in Gethsemane !

Down in the dust, aye, Israel, kneel;

For now thy withered heart can feel!
Aye, let thy wan cheek burn like flame,
There sits thy glory and thy shame!

A LAMENT.

BY MRS. OPIE.

THERE was an eye whose partial glance
Could ne'er my numerous failings see;
There was an ear that still untired

Could listen to kind praise of me.

There was a heart Time only made
For me with fonder feelings burn;
And which whene'er, alas, I roved,

Still longed and pined for my return.

There was a lip which always breathed 'E'en short farewells with tones of sadness; There was a voice whose eager sound

My welcome spoke with heartfelt gladness.

There was a mind, whose vigorous powers
On mine its fostering influence threw ;
And called my humble talents forth,
Till thence its dearest joys it drew.