Santon's tomb, the minaret and dome of the mosque, the gulf of Ajazza, and the distant mountains of Lebanon, are not without interest; but so much are they eclipsed by several of the other scenes, that I will not dwell upon them.

THE LAKE OF THUN, in Switzerland, is to me by far the most attractive representation of the Cosmorama. It is enough to make the common-place spectator imaginative, and to inspire the poetic visitant with high-wrought visions of romantic beauty. To decide whether the mountains, the trees, or the skies are the most lovely, would be an arduous undertaking. If the sublime and beautiful were ever closely connected, they are so in these smiling valleys, these cultivated hills and mighty mountains, whose cloud-capped, icy pinnacles are lost amid the skies.

Well may such scenes be valued by the Switzer peasant! Well may they afford pleasure to him by day, and mingle with his dreams by night!

Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms,
And dear that hill that lifts him to the storms;
And as a babe, when scaring sounds molest,
Clings close and closer to his mother's breast,
So the loud torrent and the whirlwind's roar,
But bind him to his native mountains more.

The lake of Thun is more than seventeen hundred feet above the level of the sea, while the Niesen, Moine, Riger, and Jungfrau mountains

lift their snowy heads thirteen thousand feet and more amid the clouds. All that is picturesque and fair in Alpine scenery seems here embodied. The river Aar, which runs below the spot whence this view is taken, descending from the FinsterAar-horn, rolls along the base of the glaciers, collecting all the tributary waters, and distributing them among the lakes of Thun and Brienta. It afterwards pursues a course somewhat circuitous to the Rhine on the German frontier. I must now bid adieu to the Cosmorama.

In passing from one exhibition to another, of panoramas, dioramas, and cosmoramas; of architecture, statuary, painting, science, and literature -the thought intrudes itself, Oh that all who have talent, all who excel among mankind, would bear in mind whence their powers were derived, and would humbly adore the Giver of all good for the endowments with which he has favoured them in this world, and the revelation of his mercy through the Redeemer !

THE DOCKS.

THERE are in London many institutions and exhibitions which do little more than communicate pleasure to those who visit them, or promote the advancement of particular branches in arts and sciences. There are others more closely connected with our common comforts, our every day luxuries, and, indeed, with our very existence as a great nation. Among these latter, the Docks occupy a high place. In a national and individual point of view, they are of incalculable importance.

What a night on the globe would prevail,

How forlorn each blank region would be,
Did the canvass no more catch the gale,
Nor the keel cleave the fathomless sea!

When, for a moment, we consider that not less than four thousand ships are employed in bringing the products of other countries into the port of London, and in bearing away thence the manufactures and merchandize of England; that fifteen thousand cargoes enter the port every year, and that there are seldom less than two thousand vessels

in the Docks and the river, to say ncthing of three thousand barges and small craft occupied in lading and unlading; when we think of these things, and at the same time call to mind that more than two thousand boats and wherries enable at least eight thousand watermen to pick up a living in plying them; that four thousand labourers find employment in lading and unlading the ships; and that twelve hundred revenue officers are required to discharge the duties of the port and the river, we cannot but regard the Docks with interest as well curiosity.

The East India Docks are at Blackwall; the West India Docks lie across the neck of the Isle of Dogs, between Limehouse and Blackwall; the London Docks are at Wapping; and St. Katharine's Docks lie between Wapping and the Tower. I visited them all years ago, and walking over the same ground again to-day, brings many things to my mind, which for some time have escaped my memory. How often the things of earth remind us of friends who are in heaven! How often do inanimate objects around us cry aloud to us, "What man is he that liveth, and shall not see death?" "Dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return," Psa. lxxxix. 48; Gen. iii. 19.

As a stranger approaches the Docks, he will have many indications of their locality. A solitary, chop-fallen sailor walks along slowly, with his hands in the pockets of his trowsers.

He

has had his frolic, he has spent his money, and has "got no ship." Half-a-dozen blue jackets, some with canvass caps, and others with new black hats on their heads, not over steady in their appearance, go forwards with a rolling walk, and enter the public house at the corner. I have just passed by a sailor, exhibiting a painting of a shipwreck. There he is with a copper coin in his pocket, which a minute ago was in mine. He has lost both his legs, and would, no doubt, give me a full, true, and particular account of his birth, parentage, education, and misfortune, were I to require it at his hands. Where is the heart that has not its tale of sorrow?

Though we to-day sweet peace possess,
It soon may be withdrawn;

Some change may plunge us in distress
Before to morrow's dawn.

Half-an-hour ago, as I turned along the street by the side of the India House, at least twenty seamen, in their holiday clothes, stood congregated together on one side of the street, while a man, in a Scotch dress, playing on the bag-pipes, paraded backwards and forwards before them on the other. Another man, a complete Highlander in face, figure, dress, and activity, was dancing the Highland fling, with an unwonted degree of vigour, and apparent lightheartedness, while the delighted tars showered upon him their bounty