the spectacle of the motley population is such as can scarcely be paralleled.

Jerusalem has scarcely any trade, and but few manufactures: the only flourishing one is that of crucifixes, beads, shells, and relics-of which whole cargoes are shipped from Jaffa, for Italy, Spain, and Portugal. The shells are of the kind called mother-of-pearl, ingeniously though coarsely sculptured into various shapes. Those of the largest size and the most perfect are formed into clasps for the zones of the Greek women. All these, after being purchased, are taken to the church of St. Sepulchre, where they undergo the process of benediction or consecration, and are then fit for use. In like manner, beads and crosses purchased at Loretto are placed in a wooden bowl belonging to the house of the Virgin, to be consecrated for the purpose of being worn as amulets. The beads are either manufactured from date-stones, or from a very hard kind of wood called Mecca fruit. When first wrought, it appears of the colour of box: it is then dyed yellow, black, or red. The beads are of various sizes; the smaller are the most esteemed, on account of the greater number used to fill a string and rosaries sell at higher prices when they have been long worn, because the beads acquire a polish by friction. Strings of beads are in request equally among the Moslems and Christians. custom of carrying them appears to have been in use long before the Christian era, and still prevails in the East. The shell worn as a badge by pilgrims had probably a similar origin: it was an ancient symbol of Astarte, the Syrian Venus.

SOPHIA OF HANOVER.

The

THE last volume of Miss Strickland's Lives of the Queens of Scotland and of English Princesses connected with the Succession to the Crown of Great Britain appropriately concludes with a biography of the Electress Sophia. The same volume contains a life of Elizabeth of Bohemia, of greater dimensions, but of less immediate interest than that of the mother of the Hanoverian dynasty. The Electress of the Palatinate and wife of the "Winter King" was sufficiently known already, inasmuch as her hopes, misfortunes, and fascinations are a prominent episode in familiar German History. But of Sophia of Hanover we know considerably less than it concerns us to know, seeing that in connexion with her dynastic pretensions she was a pivot of English political movements at the epoch on which our attention has most recently been riveted. The subject of her biography is known to have been a woman of mark, and to have been the genial centre of a little group of women such as the Duchess of Orleans, the Queen of Prussia, and Caroline of Anspach, who exercised a more than female influence on the politics of Europe. As "esprits forts" they were of some consequence in the development of intellectual freedom, and their patronage of, or coquetry with, individual philosophers extended their pretensions beyond the limits of Court influence. They were gifted, sprightly personages, who shone conspicuously in duller setting, and the fascination of their virile accomplishments was a propagative germ for one or two generations of their speculative contemporaries.

As Sophia was the matronly centre of this group of remarkable women, if Miss Strickland had possessed sufficient learning and sympathy to exhibit her position in this sense, the sketch would have been more satisfactory than it is. As it is we have a few traits of the Electress slightly distinguished, and we learn enough to whet the appetite for more explicit information.

Of Sophia herself we learn thus much, selected from particulars less important, that she was a brave and honest as well as a sprightly woman. When far advanced in pregnancy she saved herself from a conflagration at Klagenberg, only laughing at the perilous incident of her escape in her nightgown. Another time, when the horses of the Elector ran away with her, and the coachman was thrown, she sat as quiet and composed as Ethel in the Newcomes. When she had determined on marrying her son to Sophia Dorothea of Zelle she started off at night, and surprised the Duke of Zelle before he was out of his bed, or was otherwise in a state to resist her importunities. To propitiate his duchess in the next room she paid her devoirs there, but adroitly precluded objections-first, by leaving her to dress herself, and then by making her proposals to the duke in Dutch, of which language the adverse duchess was ignorant; so that the duke's consent was obtained in his wife's hearing before she herself, the mother of the young lady, had ascertained the drift of the dialogue. There were State reasons for this union, to which Miss Strickland adverts, and it was sustained by William of Orange in the Protestant interest, and rightly, as well as energetically, by Sophia, though its result was so memorable and so unfortunate.

Miss Strickland exculpates Sophia, and we believe very justly, from any share in the ill-treatment which brought about that catastrophe. The blame which had been cast upon her in this particular is here admitted to have been without foundation, and inconsistent with her actual conduct, which was exceedingly considerate. Sophia, in her letters to Leibnitz, wrote frequently of her daughter-in-law, and always kindly and cordially, "just as her own mother might have named her." She nursed and recovered her when she was ill, putting forth the whole powers of her mind to divert her, and at a later period she consoled and counselled her when neglected by the Hereditary Prince, appealing to her own example in a similar predicament to reconcile the Princess to her unwelcome situation. She had herself, when her husband's preference for the Countess Platen was too manifest, withdrawn from the scene of the intrigues in which Sophia Dorothea was entangled, and to which, with her unworthy lover, she was subsequently sacrificed. There is no pretence that she had any part in this tragedy, but, on the contrary, she did her utmost to avert its climax; and it is conclusive in her favour if Miss Strickland (though she does not indicate the passage) can cite a favourable mention of her in the papers left by the poor prisoner of Ahlden. She has no warrant, however, for exculpating that unfortunate lady to the extent she does, or for insisting so emphatically that there are no evidences of her guilt to be extracted from her own letters. These letters have now been before the world for some ten years or so, and Miss Strickland either has not read them or has not observed the remarks on them contributed by the late Mr. Kemble to Fraser's Magazine.

Of Sophia, the Electress, it is a curious circumstance with reference to her own connubial position that she was deeply disappointed in her youth because she was not married to Charles II. In fact, she told Lord Dartmouth as much, when, on the accession of Queen Anne, he came to Hanover on a diplomatic mission from the English Court. Miss Strickland seems disposed to credit her with tendencies and prepossessions in favour of the Stuarts generally, of which the evidence is very slight. In 1689 Sophia made a cautious reply to Halifax, who wished her to testify her sympathy with the Revolution:-For herself, she said, "I am no longer of an age to think of any other kingdom than that of Heaven; and as for my sons, they ought always to be devoted to the Empire and the Emperor." She describes, however, William and Mary as "a King and Queen of infinite merit," and is anxious that her second son, Frederick, should conciliate their good graces. In 1701 to the same distinguished correspondent she expressed her view of the situation more explicitly and precisely. "I am, unfortunately, too old ever to be useful to the nation and to my friends, which, if I could be, it would make me much in love with life. However, I shall wish that those who are to come after me may render themselves worthy of the honour they will have." If in writing to Stepney she appears rather to recommend in preference the choice of "the son of James II.," who is usually known by a name which Miss Strickland shrinks from uttering, the suggestion is probably to be ascribed as much to policy as magnanimity. Her candour and honesty were, no doubt, above the average. Thus she writes to Leibnitz in 1704,-"I don't like them calling the Prince of Wales bastard, for I like the truth;" but it is too much to suppose her ready in any event to waive her chance of the English succession, to the exclusion of her children, in his behalf. On the passing of the Act of Settlement in 1707 she is described by Halifax, who was commissioned to announce to her at Hanover the recognition of her right of inheritance, as moving out of sight of a portrait of James II. which glared upon her from the opposite wall; and Miss Strickland represents her, therefore, as disquieted in conscience. But such qualms, if they extended further than a sense of mere decorum, could not be very poignant, for they were not very durable. Our Queen Anne had much ado to prevent her coming to England in 1714, and at 83 it was generally understood that she was pitting her life against that Sovereign's, exclaiming, "that she should die content if the words Sophia, Queen of England' could be written on her tomb." Miss Strickland assumes that these words could not have been uttered by her, but probability is on the side of popular and general rumour.

On the other hand, it was no unnecessary proviso which limited the Crown of Great Britain to her heirs " being Protestant," if we may rely on the following anecdote, which comes from her friend the Duchess of Orleans. While Sophia was the guest of the Condés, she was not indisposed to entertain a proposal of Gourville that one of her daughters should be married to the Dauphin. When Gourville was permitted to see this young lady, then in her 12th year, he said, "This is a fair and beautiful princess, worthy of the highest destiny. May I ask what religion she has been brought up in?" Sophia is said to have answered "She has none at present; when we know what prince

This is

will be her husband, she will be instructed in his religion." proof of an accommodating spirit in matrimonial ventures not confined to the House of Brunswick then or subsequently; and, in the case of Sophia, it accorded with the general latitude of her views, which, as distinguished from mere indifference, she participated with her friend Leibnitz. The most significant statement concerning her throughout this biography, is illustrative of her ardour for philosophical speculation -viz., when she stormed the crusty Bayle in his retreat at Rotterdam, and gave occasion for his complaint that she wanted to know the pourquoi de pourquoi-the very why of the wherefore. If we remember rightly, Mr. Carlyle has attributed this remark to Leibnitz, as if passed upon her daughter; but Miss Strickland has, probably, the merit of rightly assigning its bearings. Faute de mieux, as we said, her biography of Sophia is acceptable, and is a worthy conclusion of a series of lives fairly popular and successful.

REVIEW.

The Queen of Hearts. By WILKIE COLLINS, Author of "The Dead Secret," ," "After Dark," &c. In Three Volumes. Hurst and Blackett.

WE cannot readily conceive a greater pleasure in these dull foggy days than to sit with one's feet on the fender, reading this new production of Wilkie Collins. The wild weather out of doors is forgotten as long as the fire diffuses its warmth and the book its fascination; and assuredly there will be no failure in the latter until the final words are reached. Of all authors of the present day, Mr. Collins knows best how to tell a story; and in perusing his tales we again realize that feeling of entire absorption, of complete, undivided interest and curiosity, which all must have experienced, when children, over the pages of the Arabian Nights. It is strange, considering the profound passion which most human beings possess for hearing a tale well told-a passion which draws the followers of the caravans, even in the midst of the perilous desert, around the professional story-teller, and which perhaps has a good deal to do with the love of scandal itself—that we have so few writers now-a-days who thoroughly understand the art of narrative. We have several authors of fiction who can exhibit character with more or less of mastery; many who can contrive with much cleverness a series of events which shall illustrate some pet principle of the writer in politics, religion, or morals. But of those who can relate to us a narrative which shall be interesting for its own sakewhich shall make us willing prisoners, after the manner of those marvellous Oriental inventors, of Defoe in Robinson Crusoe, of Mrs. Radcliffe, and of some of the Continental and American story-tellers-we have, at the present time, not many. Mr. Collins has perceived this want, and the secret of his success is that he has supplied it. He is pre-eminently a story-teller, and, if he were versed in the Asiatic tongues, would make his fortune in that capacity. For such tales as the Dead Secret, or as those in the present work called the Dream Woman, and Mad Monkton-not to mention others, which we really omit because we cannot run through the whole list-any Sultan worthy of the name (unless Sultans have greatly changed since the days of the Caliph Harounal-Raschid) would at first order him as many pieces of gold as an elephant could carry, and finally, mounting in his enthusiasm, would give him in marriage to his daughter, the Moon of the East, and make him the heir to all his possessions.

Mr. Collins has drawn some genuine and striking portraitures; but it must be conceded that his chief strength does not lie in that direction, and that the characters in the Queen of Hearts are all little more than sketches. The most elaborate figure is that of "the Queen" herself-a charming picture of a gay, bright-hearted, wilful, sweet-natured pet of a girl on a visit to a dismal old Welsh mansion, the residence of three grey-headed elderly brothers, who keep her there against the return from the Crimean war of her soldier lover, the son of one of the said brothers, who is her guardian. It is in order to amuse this sparkling creature, and to keep her in the old house till the young man can return and claim her

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invented and told; and, although we will not say that this scheme is a bit more probable than other schemes of a like nature for holding together a number of detached narratives, we cannot deny that the machinery has a fascination of its own, equal to that of any of the tales. Mr. Collins brings vividly before our eyes the vast, dim, dusky mansion, standing in a wild Welsh glen, with its miles of solitude around, and its memories of the past in every room; with its suits of rusty armour, and its heavy oaken furniture; with its ancient clock-tower over the gateway, and its deep-mouthed bell that speaks the hour high up in the windy sunshine or the muffling night. Let the reader picture to himself, in such a house as this, three secluded old men, with their buried joys and sorrows, and their ignorance of the outer world, striving to entertain such a brilliant, airy butterfly as Jessie Yelverton, -and over all let him throw the tender interest of the passion which is speeding the young soldier home,-and he will see in what a charming framework Mr. Collins has placed his separate pictures.

Some of the pictures and many of the tales have already appeared in Household Words and other periodicals. But they will bear reading again, and to several the present form of publication will convey them for the first time. If we were disposed to be critical after receiving so much pleasure, we should say that the author dwells too much on the horrible and mysterious. Some of the fictions read to the Queen of Hearts, interesting and powerful as they are in themselves, are certainly not quite fit for the entertainment of a delicate young girl, especially when we recollect the grim, echoing old house in which she is obliged to pass her days and nights. We are also disposed to think that the desire to produce a startling result is a little too strong upon Mr. Collins, and that he occasionally resorts to rather unlikely agencies to bring it about. But, as a rule, his constructive ability is remarkable; and his power of" moving a fine horror" is not to be lightly questioned. In this respect, some of his tales remind us of the writings of the late Charles Ollier, who possessed the same mastery over the principle of terror, as evinced in his wild romance of Inesilla, and many of those short narratives which we hope to see rescued from the dusty entombment of old magazines. Mr. Collins has a high sense of that dim boundary line where humanity itself, in the preternatural intensity of overwrought feelings, seems to take the aspect of something weird and spectral. The art with which he elaborates his effects—the microscopic keenness of mental sight with which he seizes on the most trifling incidents, if they can be made to illustrate the general situation, or to heighten the sense of wonderment and terror -are not the least note-worthy characteristics of his power. And this, we take it, proceeds from a psychological intuition -a perception, on the part of the writer, of a strange tendency of our human nature. Most persons must have observed that, under circumstances of strong emotion, the senses seem to be unnaturally sharpened to things which at other times are not noted, owing to their extreme insignificance; as if the new element of mystery and awe invested the smallest workings of the Universe with the same importance as the greatest. It is thus in Wilkie Collins's passages of horror. The whole scene, down to the falling of a leaf, or the ticking of a clock, or the snuffing of a candle, is projected sharply on the mind, with an effect that is sometimes painfully real. The author of the Queen of Hearts, moreover, is the son of a painter, and has a true hereditary perception of the picturesque. His backgrounds are "painted in" brightly, strongly, and yet delicately, and are always made to harmonize with the figures that are ranged before them.

If Mr. Collins has not yet proved his title to a foremost place among the novelists of the day, he has earned for himself a distinctive position, because he possesses a distinctive faculty. We congratulate both him and his readers on this his latest production, and trust the time may not be distant when he will address himself to some more ambitious attempt.