his assistance by cries that told he was in distress. There was great
lamentation when he died, throughout the family; and it was observed by
more than one person, that that portion of the dovecote in which he was
wont to pass the night was for some time unoccupied by the pigeons with
whom he had lived so peaceably, even during his wars with the unfortunate
owl.

[9] "Softens the manners, nor permits to be cruel."

* * * * *



THE NOVELIST.

NIGHT IN A TURKISH CEMETERY.


The scenery round Aleppo is varied and beautiful, and contains some of the
richest objects, peculiar to a land of eastern romance. When the sunset
extends its purple flush around the hills, and the city is gladdened by
the sound of silver bells, announcing the return of some Turkish caravan,
a landscape of more extraordinary magnificence never entranced the
imagination of the traveller! At the brow of the sunny hill, on which the
peaks of Aleppo glance in the stainless azure of heaven, are suspended
bowers of rose and cypress trees, through whose fragrant solitudes the
streamlet murmurs its liquid song; and the picturesque situation of the
scattered vales is so admirably calculated to inspire the musings of a
contemplative mind, that Fancy might there embody her dreams and
phantasies without the fear of receiving intrusion from the world. The