the entrance of this excavation they saw the carcass of an animal, recently killed, resembling a rabbit, and which was probably the " coney" of Seripture. To the left of the entrace, and within the cell, was a small flight of steps terminating in a platform. Like the walls, the steps were coated with cement. Above was an aperture not accessible to the steps, which they contrived to reach by making notches in the wall. It was the entrance of a low cave, roughly hewn in the rock, with a window looking out upon the steep face of the adjoining ravine. Around the rough and uncemented walls were rude crosses in red paint, and upon the dust of the floor were fresh foot-prints of the antelope. This spirited party also attempted to examine the southern precipitous face of the mountain, by following the dangerous zigzag path along the ledge, which merely projected a few feet from the rough surface of rock; but they found the enterprise impracticable, from the looseness of the stones, and the certain destruction that awaited them in the yawning abysses below, should they only for a moment lose their foothold. The third and, so far as we are aware, the last band of antiquarian pilgrims that braved the perils of this exciting expedition, consisted of M. de Sauley and his French companions. This visit took place so late as January 11th, 1851. Unhappily, at the time of their ascent of Sebbeh, they were not aware of the traditional associations that give to that isolated cliff its awfulness of interest. They seem, however, to have made some important observations, which were recorded on the spot, and which, on M. de Saulcy afterward making himself acquainted with the historical antecedents of the spot, were found to be strikingly confirmatory both of the description of Josephus and of the accounts published by his predecessors in travel. From that gentleman's narrative of this adventurous excursion we propose to give a few of the more interesting passages, referring such of our readers as may desire a more detailed account, to the work itself. The toils and dangers of the ascent are thus described by the leader of the party: Leaving our encampment (on the shore of the Dead Sea) in our rear, we direct our course toward the right bank of the large chasm which divides us from the mountains of Sebbeh. The ascent is steep, and the rocky fragments roll under our feet. After some minutes' progress the path becomes more difficult, and goats alone might be content with it, supposing they were doubt we are moving on the perilous ledge callnot over-difficult to please. There can be no ed by Josephus "the Serpent;" but I avouch, and my companions will scarcely gainsay me, that the historian of the Jews has described it in too flattering colors. It is one continual scaling-ladder, several hundred feet in perpendicular height. If you venture a glance to the left, while on this picturesque ascent, beware of the vertigo, and a bottomless abyss which threatens you with a kind of fatal fascination. We determine, therefore, to look only to the right as we go up; going down we shall have the variety of looking to the left, which will be some consolation. Two of the party, at this point of the enterprise, drop off, their enthusiasm not Five members of the band, however, pantbeing equal to the demands made upon it. ing and out of breath, still follow their them to be outdone by those iron savages Bedouin leaders, their pride not allowing of the desert, who rush up the goat-path as though it were a royal high road. M. de Saulcy continues : At last we reach a platform, pre-eminently rugged and narrow at first, rent by a chasm bearing away to the north-west. But the area soon becomes wider, and we find ourselves encircled by fragments of walls and heaps of other ruins, unexceptionable evidences of ancient habitations. To our left the crest of the precipice is protected by a wall of dry stones, heaped up without order; and this wall dips rapidly, with the rock that bears it, to the bottom of the chasm, on the northern side of which we have left our camp. There is no mistaking the locality; it is the spot which Josephus calls Leuke. To our left begins "the Serpent"the path we have just followed, leading down to the Dead Sea. Behind us must be the western path, with the tower which intersected and tower, however, are concealed by the reit, as both roads met at this point. Both path mains of Silva's camp, which was placed on this very spot. Standing on Leuke, and looking eastward, "we have before us the perpendicular rock of Masada, two hundred feet in height, on the smoothly-scarped side of which appear a few excavations, resembling those of a necropolis, and placed about fifty feet below the summit, without any protuberant stones or steps by which to reach them. There could have been interior of the fortress. no access but by subterranean passages from the A ridge, as narrow as the blade of a knife, leads along the top of an artificial causeway, made of light earth. This causeway, uniting Leuke to the side of the rock Masada, is all that remains of Silva's mound. The platform by which it was surrounded has crumbled down by the action of time and the rains on the soft soil which formed the foundations. The stones have all rolled over into the precipices on either side, and there remains now no passage but this dangerous ridge before us, which we must adventure on like rope-dancers, precipice on the one side and the ruins of a freestone wall on the other, leads us to a wellpreserved gate of beautiful workmanship, with an ogival (pointed) arch. The invention of this form of arch is thus carried back to the without even the advantage of a balancing-pole. In exploring the remainder of the platIn a few seconds we have crossed the abyss, and form another ruin, north-east of the palace, here we are hanging on to the side of the rock attracted the special notice of the party. of Masada. Another desperate escalade is before us, and fifty feet higher up we reach the remains This was a quadrangular enclosure, of of a flight of stairs, on the side of the precipice, much more ancient style than any of the and on the ruins of a buttress, built of fine free- other buildings. A deep wide ditch divides stone. At last we gain the summit, and a small remnant of a path, enclosed between the it from the rest of the platform, beginning from the left flank of a square ruined tower, which commands the entire ground. Ascending this tower, the travelers obtained a full view of the interior of the oldest portion of the fortress; marked, in the direction from south to north, by continuous lines and heaps of large, black, irregular stones-remains of buildings that have crumbled down where they were erected. In De Saulcy's opinion, this enclosure constituted the original fortress built by Jonathan, while all the other structures were the work of Herod. epoch of Herod the Great, or, at the very latest, to that of Titus and the destruction of Masada. After referring to the inscriptions, already noticed in the narrative of the American party, M. de Saulcy proceeds: Beyond this gate a level space appears before us: it is the platform of Masada. Happily, we have reached it with sound limbs; and, as we have not halted by the way, fifty minutes have sufficed to bring us from the camp to the spot on which we stand. It re Having thus attained the western crest of the hill, now solemnly still, but once vocal with the sounds of human strife and heroism, the attention of the travelers was speedily arrested by one ruin, which, at a short distance from them, was conspicuous from its size and stateliness. sembled a church with a semi-circular apsis, and was constructed of fine freestone, elaborately worked. The walls were covered with a very hard plaster, inlaid with mosaic work, consisting of thousands of small red fragments of broken pottery fixed in the mortar, and forming regular designs. Some small detached cubes of red, white, and black stone, scattered about, leading M. de Sauley to suppose that the hall was paved with real mosaic, he induced his Bedouin attendants to clear away the rubbish from the floor, when, to the delight of the travelers, a handsome mosaic pavement, disposed in curious knots, was brought to light. Unfortunately, however, it was in a state of sad dilapidation. Fragments of moulding in white marble were strewed about, of which sketches were taken by the artists of the party; and specimen pieces of the curious pottery and glass discovered were carried away as mementoes of the visit. The building of which these are the vestiges was called by the Arabs the Qasr, or Palace; and is no doubt identical with the superb edifice reared by Herod, and in which, in all probability, the last tragic act of Jewish patriotism was consummated. VOL. XIII.-27 These were the most noteworthy remains referred to by the leader of the French expedition. In common with his predecessors in research, he speaks of the surprising state of preservation in which the besieging works of the Roman general still survive. The entire plan is capable of being clearly made out; and the lines of circumvallation were narrowly inspected by him on his descent from the mountain. The identity of Masada having been thus clearly established, we may hope to have tidings from its brow again and again, as traveler after traveler is tempted to scale its scarred summit, and to report his observations to the world. It is much to be regretted that, owing to the disorganized state of society in the East, so little has been done to reclaim from oblivion some of the most hallowed sites of Palestine. May the convulsions and changes that are now occurring prove the harbingers of a better state of things in all Bible lands. SATURN AND HIS RINGS. - Mr. Otto Struve and Mr. Bond have lately studied with the Munich telescope, and discovered that the third ring of Saturn is fluid. They are of opinion that this fluid ring is not subject to rapid change; and they have come to the extraordinary conclusion that the inner border of the ring has, since the time of Huygens, been gradually approaching the body of Saturn, and that we may expect, sooner or later, perhaps in some dozen of years, to see the ring united with the body of the planet. WH ENCOUNTER WITH HAT happy people we children of the United States ought to be, if we could only persuade ourselves of the fact, enjoying as we do every blessing that religion, civilization, and climate can afford! What though our winters may be severe, our Novembers foggy and chilly, our summer sunshine often usurped by rainy days, and the price of bread, meat, and fuel sometimes rather exorbitant; notwithstanding all these drawbacks, we ought, comparatively speaking, to consider ourselves happy. It is all very fine and poetical to read about cloudless eastern skies, shadowy palm trees, murmuring rills, and so forth. These undoubtedly seem very inviting and charming, as viewed through the medium of gaily-tinted pictures or books, the production of ready pens and prolific imaginations; but once substitute the reality for the imagery, and the fascination vanishes with uncomfortable rapidity. Fancy, for a moment, being obliged to shake your boots every time you put them on, under the expectation of a snake, or a scorpion, or a centipede, tumbling out; or being compelled to look under your pillow every night with a like dread. How would you relish moving your portmanteau (supposed to contain cherished papers, letters, portraits, and so forth), and finding, A WATER-SNAKE. to your utter dismay, the bottom and the whole contents tumble out, one mass of dust, the destructive, speedy, yet quiet results of a colony of white ants, within the space of twenty-four hours? We once knew a lady whose white satin shoes were utterly destroyed in one night. What would you say, or rather shout, to feel your body covered with swarms of large red ants, whose stings produce excruciating agony? or to find your jams and jellies ruined by cockroaches? your beer, in corked and sealed bottles, flat and disgusting, from the contact of musk rats? your nice aromatic cup of tea, a perfect flotilla of horrid insects? or your candle extinguished by a bat? I reckon that no European or American would relish being exposed to such a catalogue of ills. Nevertheless, such are of daily, nay hourly occurrence in many parts of the vast continent of India; and when we reflect on this, I think we have every cause to be thankful for our country and nationality.* But it is not only on land that we enjoy the advantage; the rivers and seas, lakes and tanks of India abound with all kinds Notwithstanding this formidable catalogue of grievances, there must be something strangely fascinating in Oriental life, when so many of both Europeans and Americans, after having been accustomed to it, leave it with reluctance. of reptiles and dangerous things. Leaving out sharks and alligators, we may simply enumerate water - snakes, toads, frogs, leeches, etc. As for frogs, they are so abundant in some Indian tanks, that they constitute a nuisance of themselves during wet weather. Thousands of these unsightly reptiles keep up a clamorous concert, producing a sound similar to "Take an egg-Kill a duck," repeated over and over again with a very nasal twang, which, commencing adagio, gradually rises to a very high pitch, the whole having a running bass accompaniment of bull-frogs. But these, though loathsome, are harmless; not so watersnakes, of which a great variety exist; such, at least, is my opinion, although they are sometimes supposed to be quite harmless. The accompanying illustration will give the reader a very fair idea of what is by no means an uncommon occurrence with bathers in Indian rivers. For our own part, we candidly confess that on similar occasions we displayed the best part of valor by beating an ignominious retreat. Not so, however, the natives, who, from long familiarity, look upon such encounters as trifles light as air. They seek these rencontres with all the gusto of sportsmen, and with all that innate enmity which an Indian entertains for a snake, the deadliest and most treacherous foe he has to contend against. The particular scene here sketched occurred in the Sone. On the occasion in question a large water-snake introduced itself amongst a party of natives engaged in their morning ablutions, at the foot of one of the ghauts. A cry of alarm being raised, an idler on shore seized a lutée (large strong club) from a bystander, and, jumping into the stream, attacked the unwelcome intruder, who had no business to contaminate the waters bathed in by highcaste natives. The snake, nothing loth, encountered its assailant, and, angrily erecting its head in the air, made ready to give battle. In this interval the greater number of bathers had betaken themselves to the shore, or scrambled up to the decks of the nearest budgerow, leaving the field clear to the two opponents. With protruded fangs the angry snake waved its head to and fro, watching for a favorable opportunity to strike at the man; but this opportunity never arrived. In the interval, the spectators looked on with breathless anxiety, although the issue of like combats invariably terminated in favor of the biped aggressors. There was something terrible in the consciousness that one false step might expose the man to the deadly fangs of the serpent, and that a bite, causing an aperture not much larger than what might be produced by the point of a needle, would result, if not in death, in intense sufferings of longer or shorter duration. Moreover, the aggressor, besides being out of his own element, had to contend against a rapid stream, the effects of the late heavy falls of rain. Not long, however, were the lookers on kept in suspense. The cudgel was seen flourishing in the sunlight, and then descended with lightning rapidity upon the back of the water-snake, which was crippled by having its back broken by the blow. Still the venomous creature managed to retreat towards the opposite bank, where the stream ran deeper and with greater velocity; but, with one hand cudgeling the snake and swimming with the other, the Indian followed up his advantage, amid loud plaudits from the shore. For some few minutes both were lost to sight behind a projecting angle in the river; but almost immediately afterwards the man re-appeared, holding the now dead reptile high up in the air. On bringing the snake to shore, it was found to be one of an ordinary species in those parts, measuring about seven feet in length, with a brown glossy back, very slightly marked, and white as milk underneath. All the people about these ghauts are expert swimmers. The only apparent inconvenience, therefore, experienced by the Indian was, that he seemed to be rather out of breath, as he flung the snake high upon the bank, laughing blithely the while at the success of his exploit. These and other varieties of snakes are very plentiful in the Jumna and other tributaries of the Ganges, though they are seldom to be encountered in the last-named river. In the Bay of Bengal, the Straits of Malacca, and Gulf of Siam, water-snakes are more frequently to be met with than in any other portion of the globe: neither can any place compete with them for variety in size and color. On a fine day, with a gentle four-knot breeze blowing, we have witnessed upwards of twenty varieties of water-snakes swimming about the vessel, when off the coast of Sumatra. As seen in the water, with the sun shining upon their variegated and brilliant coats, they are beautiful to behold. That there are amongst them some of great size and strength, and some of deadly venom, we have no hesitation in asserting; in proof of which we may be permitted to introduce the following brief anecdote, founded upon incontrovertible testimony. In the year 1840, when the writer of this paper was sojourning at Bangkok, the floating capital of Siam, the following incident occurred. The weather had been for some weeks extremely tempestuous, and a very heavy fall of rain in the interior had caused the waters of the Menam to rise higher than usual. At that time our host, Mr. H., had commenced building a fine house on terra firma, the only one, with the exception of the king's palace and some missionary houses, to be met with in Bangkok, the rest of the population being compelled to content themselves with floating domiciles, erected upon bamboo rafts. Our dormitory was afloat, and here we had one evening assembled prior to retiring for the night. Owing to the uncongenial state of the atmosphere out of doors, we had been subjected to the visits of many unwelcome ness to escape, we deemed it most prudent to jump on shore, and rouse Mr. H.'s servants, who were sleeping in the warehouses that had been completed under the new house then building. Speedily, armed with guns and sticks, and lighted by flambeaux, we returned to investigate the nature of this nocturnal disturber, and administer speedy retribution; but we came too late. With the assistance of its powerful tail the snake had succeeded in dislodging a good stout plank, and so made its exit, a plank, too, that no ordinary man could have dislodged without a strong effort and a heavy mallet. Thus much for their size and strength. That they are venomous, the records of the British navy clearly indicate, when they tell under what tragical circumstances the doctor of her majesty's sloop "Wolf" fell a victim to his taste for natural history; how, when the crew were washing the ship's decks in the Madras Roads, a water-snake chanced to be hauled up in a bucket, and, being incautiously handled by the doctor, inflicted a bite that occasioned his death within little more than an hour. IMPROVEMENTS IN BEE-KEEPING. N former numbers of THE NATIONAL intruders, rats and mice, and even birds, there have appeared notices of Bees had sought shelter under our well-thatched roof; but heretofore we had been exempt from guests of a more dangerous character. It will be necessary to state that our floating home consisted of one sittingroom, with a railed-in verandah overlooking the river, a large bedroom behind, and a smaller one on either side. There were three of us slept here every night; and, on the eventful occasion in question, we were retiring to our respective couches, when Captain M. suddenly started back from the door of his room, with well-timed presence of mind closing the door after him. On inquiry he informed us that just as he was about entering, his eye had been attracted by what at first appeared to be a large bit of rope coiled up on the floor; the noise of his footsteps, and the glare of the candle he carried in his hand, seemed to have aroused the slumberer; and to his horror he beheld a huge snake rapidly uncoiling itself. This being the state of affairs, and as we could now distinctly hear the creature fumbling and tumbling about in its eager and Bee-keeping, in which the subject has been dealt with as a study for the naturalist, as well as an occupation of rural life. We now purpose to introduce to our readers an invention of very high merit, intended to simplify the economical treatment of the honey-bee, as well as to combine facilities for the study of the insect with increased means for its profitable management. It is well known that bees are not at all particular as to the nature of their home, so that it is dark, warm, and out of reach of ordinary enemies. They will take to a hollow tree or a corner in a ruin as readily as to the best-made hive; and the only reason why bees are not often found in such places in this country is because their value causes the bee-keeper to keep a sharp look-out at swarming-time, so as to hive them safely; and when swarms are lost, they very often join with other colonies, without asking the interference of man. The great variety of forms in which hives are made does not so much arise out of the habits of the bee as |