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“I enjoyed my march through these wilds greatly. Now you wound through narrow and deeply wooded glens; now ascended ghauts, or went down the mouths of passes; now skirted the foot of a mountain; now crossed a small plain covered with the tall jungled-grass, from which, roused by your horse tramp, the neelgail looked upon you; then flying with active bound, or pausing doubtful trot, joined the more distant herd. , You continually cross clear sparkling rivulets, with rocky or pebbly beds; and you hear the voice of waters among all the woody #. around you. There was a sort of thrill, too, at knowing these jungles were filled with all the ferocious beasts known in India (except elephants, which are not found here), and at night, in hearing their wild roars and cries. ... I saw, one morning, on the side of a hill, about five hundred yards from me, in an open glade near the summit, a lioness pass along, and my guide said there were many in these jungles.”—Sketches of India.
We should like to have added his brilliant account of several native festivals, both Hindu and Mahometan, and his admirable descriptions of the superb monuments at Agra, and the fallen grandeur of Goal: But the extracts we have now given must suffice as specimens of the “Sketches of India”—and the length of them, indeed, we fear, will leave us less room than we could have wished for the “Scenes and Impressions in Egypt and in Italy.”
This volume, which is rather larger than the other, contains more than the title promises; and embraces, indeed, the whole history of the author's peregrinations, from his embarkation at Bombay to his landing at Dover. It is better written, we think, than the former. The descriptions are better finished, the reflections bolder, and the topics more varied. There is more of poetical feeling, too, about it; and a more constant vein of allusion to subjects of interest. He left India in December 1822, in an Arab vessel for the Red Sea— and is very happy, we think, in his first sketches of the ship and the voyage.
“Our vessel was one, rude and ancient in her construction as those which, in former and succes. sive ages, carried the rich freights of India for the Ptolemies, the Roman prefects, and the Arabian caliphs of Egypt. She had, indeed, the wheel and the compass; and our nakhoda, with a beard as black and long, and a solemnity as great as that of a magician, daily performed the miracle of taking an observation'. But although these “peeping contrivances” of the Giaours have been admitted, yet they build their craft with the same clumsy insecurity, and rig them in the same inconvenient manner as ever. Our vessel had a lofty broad stern, unmanageable in wearing; one enormous sail on a heavy yard of immense length, which was tardily hoisted by the efforts of some fifty men on a stout mast, placed a little before o: and raking forwards; her head low, without any bowsprit; and, on the poop, a mizen uselessly small, with hardly canvass enough for a fishing-boat. Our lading was cotton, and the bales were piled up on her decks to a height at once awkward and unsafe. In short, she looked like part of a wharf, towerin with bales, accidentally detached from its quay, j floating on the waters.”—Scenes in Egypt, pp. 3, 4.
He then gives a picturesque description of the crew, and the motley passengers—among whom there were some women, who were never seen or heard during the whole course of the voyage. So jealous, indeed, and com
plete was their seclusion, that though one of them died and was committed to the sea during the passage, the event was not known to the crew or passengers for several days after it had occurred. “Not even a husband entered their apartment during the voyage—because the women were mixed: an eunuch who cooked for them, alone had access.”
“Abundantly, however," he adds, “was I amused in looking upon the scenes around me, and some there were not readily to be forgotten:when, at the soft and still hour of sunset, while the full sail presses down the vessel's bows on the golden ocean-path, which swells to meet, and then sinks beneath them,--then, when these Arabs group for their evening sacrifice, bow down with their faces to the earth, and prostrate their bodies in the act of worship-when the broad améén, deeply intoned from many assembled voices, strikes upon the listener's ear-the heart responds, and throbs with its own silent prayer. There is a solemnity and a . in their worship, belonging, in its very forms, to the age and the country of the Patriarchs; and it is necessary to call to mind all that the Mohammedans are and have been-all that their prophet taught. and that their Koran enjoins and promises, before we can look, without being strongly moved, on the Mussulman prostrate before his God.”—Ibid. pp. 13, 14.
They land prosperously at Mocha, of which he gives rather a pleasing account, and again embark with the same fine weather for Djidda —anchoring every night under the rocky shore, and generally indulging the passengers with an hour's ramble among its solitudes. The following poetical and graphic sketch of the camel is the fruit of one of these excurslons :
“The grazing camel, at that hour when the desert reddens with the setting sun, is a fine object to the eye which seeks and feeds on the picturesque —his j. dark form—his indolent leisurely walkhis ostrich neck, now lifted to its full height, now bent slowly, and far around, with a look of unalarmed inquiry. You cannot gaze upon him without, by the readiest and most natural suggestions, reverting in thought to the world's infancy-to the times and possessions of the shepherd kings, their tents and raiment, their journeyings and settlings. The scene, too, in the distance, and the hour, eventide, and the uncommon majesty of that dark, lofty, and irregular range of rocky mountain, which ends in the . cape of Ras el Askar, formed an assemblage not to be forgotten."-Ibid. p. 42.
At Djidda they had an audience of the Aga, which is well described in the following short passage:– “Rustan Aga himself was a fine-looking, hanghty, martial man, with mustachios, but no beard; he wore a robe of scarlet cloth. Hussein Aga, who sat on his left, had a good profile, a long grizzled beard, with a black ribbon bound over one eye, to conceal its loss. He wore a robe of pale blue. The other person, Araby Jellauny, was an aged and a very plain man. The attendants, for the most part, wore large dark brown dresses, fashioned into the short Turkish vest or jacket, and the large, full, Turkish trowsers; their sashes were crimson, and the heavy ornamented buts of their pistols protruded from them; their crooked scimitars hung in silken cords before them; they had white turbans, large mustachios. but the cheek and chin cleanly shaven. Their complexions were in general very
Male, as of men who pass their lives in confinement. They stood with their arms folded, and their eyes on us. I shall never forget them. There were a dozen or more. I saw nothing like this afier, not even in Egypt; for Djidda ia an excellent government, both on account of its port, and its vicinity 10 Mecca; and Rustan Aga had a large establishment, and was something of a magnifico. He has the power of life and death. A word, a sign from him, and these men, who stand before you in an attitude so respectful, with an aspect eo calm, so pale, would smile—and slay you!—Here I tirst eaw the true scribe; well robed, and dressed in turban, trowsers, and sou slipper, like one of rank among the people: his inkstand with its pen-case has the look of a weapon, and is worn like a dagger m the folds of the sash; it is of silver or brass—this was of silver. When summoned to use it, he takes come paper out of his bosom, cuts it into shape with sciaeors, then writes his letter by dictation, presents it for approval; it is tossed back to him with a haughty and careless air, and the ring drawn off and and passed or thrown to him, to affix the seal, fie does every thing on his knees, which are tucked up to serve him as a desk."—Scene» in Egypt, pp. 47—49.
They embark a third time, for Kosseir, and then proceed on camels across the Desert to Thebes. The following account of their progress is excellent—at once precise, picturesque, and poetical :—
"The road through the desert is most wonderful in its features: a liner cannot be imagined. It is wide, hard, firm, winding, for at least two-thirds of the way, from Kosseir to Thebes, between ranges of rocky hille, rising often perpendicularly on either side, as if they had been scarped by art; here, again, rather broken, and overhanging, as if they were the lofty banks of a mighty river, and you traversing its dry and naked bed. Now you are quite landlocked; now again you open on small valleys, and see, upon heights beyond, small square towers. It was late in the evening when we came to our ground, a sort of dry bay ; sand, burning sand, with rock and cliff, rising in jagged points, all around—a spot where the waters of ocean might sleep in stillness, or, with the soft voice of their gentlest ripple, lull the storm-worn mariner. The dew of the night before had been heavy; we therefore pitched our tent, and decided on starting, in future, at a very early hour in the morning, so as to accomplish our march before noon. It was dark when we moved off, and even cold. Your camel is impatient to rise ere you are well seated on him; gives a shake, too, to warm his blood, and half dislodges you ; marches rather faster than by day, and gives occasionally, a hard quick stamp with his callous foot. Our moon was far in her wane. She rose, however, about an hour after we started, all red, above the dark hills on our left; yet higher rose, and paler grew, till at last she hung a silvery crescent in the deep blue sky. "Who passes the desert and says all is barren, all lifeless? In the grey morning you may see the common pigeon, and the partridge, and the pigeon of the rock, alight belore your very feet, and come upon the beaten camel-paths for food. They are tame, for they have not learned to fear, or to distrust the men who pass these solitudes. The camel-driver would not lift a stone to them; and the sportsman could hardly find it in his heart to kill these gentle tenants of the desert. The deer might tempt him; I saw but one; far, very far, he caught the distant camel tramp, and paused, and raised and threw back his head to listen, then away ю the road instead of from it; but far ahead he crossed it, and then away up a long slope he fleetly stole, and off to some solitary spring which wells, perhaps, where no traveller, no human being has ever trod."— Ibid. pp. 71—74.
The emerging from this lonely route is given with equal spirit and freshness of colouring.
'• It waa soon after daybreak, on the morrow, ¡uat
as the sun was beginning to give his rich colouring of golden yellow to the white pale sand, that as I was walking alone at some distance far ahead of my companions, my eyes bent on the ground, and lost in thought, their kind and directing shout made me stop, and raise my head, when lo! a green vale, looking through the soft mist of morning, rather a vision than a reality, lay stretched in its narrow length before me. The Land of Egypt! We hurried panting on, and gazed and were silent. In an hour we reached the village of Hcjuzi, situated on the very edge of the Desert. We alighted at a cool, clean serai, having its inner room, with a large and small bath for the Mussulmans' ablutions, its kiblah in the wall, and a large brimming watertrough in front for the thirsting camel. We walked forth into the fields, saw luxuriant crops of green bearded wheat, waving with its lights and shadows; stood under the shade of trees, saw fluttering and chirping birds; went down to a well and a waterwheel, and stood, like children, listening to the sound of the abundant and bright-flashing water, as it fell from the circling pots; and marked all around, scattered individually or in small groups, many people in the fields, oxen and asses grazing, and camels too among them."—Ibid. pp. 80, 81.
All this, however, is inferior to his first eloquent account of the gigantic ruins of Luxore, and the emotions to which they gave rise. We know nothing, indeed, better, in its way, than most of the following passages :—
"Before the grand entrance of this vast edifice, which consists ofmany separate structures, formerly united in one harmonious design, two lofty obelisks stand proudly pointing to the skv. fair as the daring sculptor left them. The sacred figures and hieroglyphic characters which adorn them, are cut beautifully into the hard granite, and have the sharp finish of yesterday. The very stone looks not discoloured. You see them, as Cambyses saw them, when ho stayed his chariot wheels to gaze at them, and the Persian war-cry ceased before these acknowledged symbols of the sacred element of fire.—Behind them are two colossal figures, in part concealed by the sand; as is the bottom of a choked-up gateway, the base of a massive propylon, and, indeed, their own. —Very noble are all these remains; and on the propylon is a war-scene, much spoken of; but my eyes were continually attracted to the aspiring obelisks, and again and again you turn to look at them, with increasing wonder and silent admiration."— Ibid. pp. 86, 87.
"With a quick-beating heart, and steps rapid as my thoughts, I strode away, took the path to the village of Karnac, skirted it, and passing over loose sand, and, among a few scattered dale trees, I found myself in the grand alley of the sphinxes, and directly opposite that noble gateway, which has been called triumphal; certainly triumph never passed under one more lofty, or, to my eye, of a more imposing magnificence. On the bold curve of its beautifully projecting cornice, a globe, coloured as of fire, stretches forth long over-shadowing wings of the very brightest azure.—This wondrous and giant portal stands well ; alone, detached a little way From the moss of the great ruins, with no columns, walls, or propyUca immediately near. I walked slowly up lo it, through the long lines of sphinxes which lay couchant on either side of the broad road (once paved), as they were marshalled by him who planned these princely structures—we know not when. They are of stone less durable than granite: their general forms are fully preserved, but the detail of execution is, in most of them, worn away.In those forms, in that couched posture, in the de caying, shapeless heads, the huge worn paws, th« little image between them, and the sacred feu grasp ed in its crossed hands, there is something which disturbs you with a sense of awe. In the locality you cannot err; you are on a highway to a heathen temple; one that the Roman came, as you come, to visit and admire, and the Greek before him. And
ou know that priest and king, lord and slave, the £o throng and the solitary worshipper, trod for centuries where you do: and you know that there has been the crowding flight of the vanquished towards their sanctuary and last hold, and the quick trampling of armed pursuers, and the neighing of the war-horse, and the voice of the trumpet, and the shout, as of a king, among them, all on this silent spot! And you see before you, and on all sides, ruins!—the stones which formed wells and square temple-towers thrown down in vast heaps; or still, in large masses, erect as the builder placed them, and where their material has been fine, their surfaces and corners smooth, sharp, and uninjured by time. They are neither grey nor blackened; like the bones of man, they seem to whiten under the sun of the desert. Here is no lichen, no moss, no rank grass or mantling ivy, no wall-flower or wild fig-tree to robe them, and to conceal their deformities, and bloom above them. No ;—all is the nakedness of desolation—the colossal skeleton of a giant fabric standing in the unwatered sand, in solitude and silence.”
This we think is very fine and beautiful: But what follows is †. and gives a clearer, as well as a deeper impression, of the true character and effect of these stupendous remains, than all the drawings and descriptions of Denon and his Egyptian Institute.
“There are no ruins like these ruins. In the first court you pass into, you find one large, lofty, solitary column, erect among heaped and scattered fragments, which had formed a colonade of oneand-twenty like it. You pause awhile, and then move slowly on. You enter a wide portal, and find ourself surrounded by one hundred and fifty coumns," on which I defy any man, sage or savage, to look unmoved. Their vast proportions the bet. ter taste of after days rejected and disused; but the still astonishment, the serious gaze, the thickenin breath of the awed traveller, are tributes of an ad. miration not to be checked or frozen by the chilling rules of taste. “We passed the entire day in these ruins; each wandering about alone, as inclination led him. Detailed descriptions I cannot give; I have neither the skill or the patience to count and to measure. I ascended a wing of the great propylon on the west, and sat there song. I crept round the colossal statuest I seased myself on a fallen obelisk, and gazed up at the three, yet standing erect amid huge fragments of fallen granite. I sauntered slowly round every part,...examining the paintings and hieroglyphics, and listening now and then, not without a smile, to our polite little cicerone, as with the air of a condescending savant, he pointed to many of the sym. bols, saying, ‘this means water,’ and ‘that means land,' ' this stability,' ' that life,” and “here is the name of Berenice.”—Scenes in Egypt, pp. 88–92. “From hence we bade our guide conduct us to some catacombs; he did so, in the naked hill just above. Some are passages, some pits; but, in gene. ral, passages in the side of the hill. Here and there you may find a bit of the rock or clay, smoothed and painted, or bearing the mark of a thin fallen coating of composition; but, for the most part, they are quite plain. Bones, rags, and the scattered limbs of skeletons, which have been torn from their coffins, stripped of their grave-clothes, and robbed of the joi. placed with them in the tomb, lie in or around these ‘open sepulchres.” We found nothing; but surely the very rag blown to your feet is a relic. May it not have been woven by some damsel under the shade of trees, with the song that
lightens labour, twenty centuries ago? or may it not have been carried with a sigh to the tiring-men of the temple by one who brought it to swathe the cold and stiffened limbs of a being loved in life, and mourned and honoured in his death? Yes, it is a relic; and one musing on which a warm fancy might find where withal to beguile a long and solitary walk.”—Ibid. p. 100, 101. “We then returned across the plain to our boat, passing and pausing before the celebrated sitting statues so often described. They are seated on thrones, looking to the east, and on the Nile; in this posture they are upwards of fifty feet in height; and their bodies, limbs, and heads, are large, spreading, and disproportioned. These are very awful monuments. hey bear the form of man; and there is a something in their very posture which touches the soul: There they sit erect, calm : They have seen generation upon generation swept away, and still their stony gaze is fixed on man tolling and perishing at their feet! 'Twas late and dark ere we reached our home. The day following we again crossed to the western bank, and rode through a narrow hot valley in the Desert, to the tombs of the kings. Your Arab catches at the head of your ass in a wild dreary-looking spot, about five miles from the river, and motions you to light. On every side of you rise low, but steep hills, of the most barren appearance, covered with loose and crumbling stones, and you stand in a narrow bridlepath, which seems to be the bottom of a natural ravine; you would fancy that you had lost your way; but your guide leads you a few paces forward, j. discover in the side of the hill an opening like the shaft of a mine. At the entrance, you observe that the rock, which is a close-grained, but soft stone, has been cut smooth and painted. He lights your wax torch, and you pass into a long corridor. On either side are . apartments which you stoop down to enter, and the walls of which you find covered with paintings: scenes of life faithfully represented; of every-day life, its pleasures and labours; the instruments of its happiness, and of its crimes' You turn to each other with a delight, not however unmixed with sadness, to mark how much the days of man then passed, as they do to this very hour. You see the labours of agriculture -the sower, the basket, the plough; the steers; and the artist has playfully depicted a calf skipping among the furrows. You have the making of bread, the cooking for a feast; you have a flower garden, and a scene of irrigation; you see couches, sofas, chairs, and arm-chairs, such as might, this day, adorn a drawing-room in London or Paris; you have vases of every form down to the common jug, (ay! such as the brown one of Toby Philpot); you have harps, with figures bending over them, and others seated and listening; you have barks, with large, curious, and many-coloured sails; lastly, you have weapons of war, the sword, the dagger, the bow, the arrow, the quiver, spears, helmets, and dresses of honour.—The other scenes on the walls represent processions and mysteries, and all the apartments are covered with them or hieroglyphics. There is a small chamber with the cow o and there is one large room in an o: state.designs chalked off, that were to have been com. pleted on that to-morrow, which never came!” Ibid. pp. 104–109.
But we must hurry on. We cannot afford to make an abstract of this book, and indeed can find room but for a few more specimens. He meets with a Scotch Mameluke at Cairo : and is taken by Mr. Salt to the presence of Ali Pacha. He visits the pyramids of course, describes rapidly and well the whole process of the visit—and thus moralises the conclusion:
“He who has stood on the summit of the most ancient, and yet the most mighty monument of his
power and pride ever raised by man, and has looked out and round 10 the far horizon, where Lybia and Arabia lie silent, and hath seen, at his feet, I lie land of Egypt dividing iheir dark solitudes with a narrow vale, beautiful and green, the mere enamelled selling of one solitary shining river, must receive impressions which he can never convey, for he cannot define them to himself.
"They are the tombs of Cheops and Cenhrenes, rays me Grecian. They are the tombe of Selb and Enoch, gays the wild and imaginative Arabian; an English traveller, will) a mind warmed, perhaps, end misled by his heart, tells you that the large pyramid may have contained the ashes of the patriarch Joseph. It is all this which constitutes the very charm of a visit to these ancient monuments. You smile, and your smile is followed and reproved by a sigh. One thing you knote—that the chief, and the philosopher, and the poet of the limes of old, men 'who mark fields as they pass with their own mighty names,' have certainly been here; that Alexander has spurred his war-horse to its base; and Pythagoras, with naked fool, has probably stood мроп its summit.—Scenei in Egypt, pp. 158,159.
Cairo is described in great detail, and frequently with great feeling and eloquence. He saw a live cameleopard there—very beautiful and gentle. One of his most characteristic sketches, however, is that of the female slave market.
"We stopped before the gate of a large building, and, turning, entered a court of no great size, with a range of apartments nil round; open doors ehowPi| that they were dark and wretched. At them, or before them. Blood or sat small groups of female slaves; also from within these chambers, you might oa'ch the moving eyes and white leeih of those who shunned the light. There was a gallery above with other room«, and slave girls leaning on the rail— I nimbler, all laugjiter !—iheir long hair in numerous falling curls, while with fat; their faces, arms, and bosoms shining with grease. Exposure in the market i* 'he moment of iheir joy. Their cols, their country, ihn l.reast that gave them suck,the hand that led their loitering steps not forgoticn, but resigned, given up, as things gone for ever, left in another world. The toils and terrors of the wide desert, the hard and scanty fare, the swollen foot, the whip, the scalding loar, the curse; all. all arc behind: hope meets rh?m again here; and paints some master kind; some mistress gentle; some babe or child to win the henrt of;—aa bond-women they may bear a son. and live and die the conlenled inmates of some quiijt harem."—Ibid. pp. 178, 179.
He does not think much of All's new Institute—though he was assured by one of the tutors that its pupils were to be taught '•'everything!" VVe have learned, from unquestionable authority, that from this everythine:, all that relates to Politics, Religion, and Philosophy, is expressly excluded; and that little is proposed to be taught but the elements of the useful arts. There is a scanty library of European books, almost all French,—the most conspicuous backed, "Victoires des Français; —and besides these, "Les Liaisons Dangereuses!"—only one book in English, though not ill-chosen—" Malcolm's Persia." He was detained at Alexandria in a lime of plague— and, after all, was obliged to return, when four days at sea, to land two sick men, and perform a new quarantine of observation.
There is an admirable description of Valetta, and the whole island—and then of Syracuse and Catania; but we can give only the night ascent to .¿Etna—and that rather for the
scene of the Sicilian cottage, than for the sketch of the mighty mountain :—
41 It was near ten o'clock when the youth who led the way slopped before a small dark collage in a by-lane of Nicoloei, the guide's he said it was, and hailed them. The door was opened; a light struck; and the family was roused, and collected round me ; a grey-headed old peasant and his wife; two hardy, plain, dark young men, brothers (one of whom was in his holiday gear, new breeches, and red garters, and flowered waistcoat, and clean shirt, and shining buttons ;) a girl of sixteen, handsome; a ' mountain-girl beaten with winds,' looking curious, yet fearless and 'chaste as the hardened rock on which she dwelt;' and a boy of twelve, an unconscious figure in the group, fast slumbering in his clothes on the hard floor. Glad were they of the dollar-bringing stranger, but surprised at the excellenza's fancy for coming at that hour; cheerfully, however, the gay youth stripped off his holiday-garb, and put on a dirty shirt and thick brown clothes, and took his cloak and went to borrow a mule (for I found, by their consultation, that there was some trick, this not being the regular privileged guide family.' During his absence, the girl brought me a draught of wine, and all stood round with welcoming and flattering; laughings, and speeches in Sicilian, which I did not understand, but which gave me pleasure, and made me look on their dirty and crowded cottage as one I had rather trust to, if I knocked at it even without a dollar, than the lordliest mansion of the richest noble in Sicily.»
"For about four miles, your mule stumbles along safely over a bed of lava, lying in masses on the road; then you enter the woody region: the wood is open, of oaks, not large, yet good-sized trees, growing amid fern; and, lastly, you come out on a soft barren soil, and pursue the ascent till you find a glistering while crust of snow of no depili, cracking under your mule's tread; soon after, you arrive at a stone cottage, called Casa Inglese, of which my guide had not got the key; here you dismount, and we lied up our mules close by, and scrambling over huge blocks of lava, and up ihe toilsome and slippery ascent of the cone, I sat me down on ground all hot, and smoking with sulphureous vapour, which has for the first few minutes the effect of making your eyes smart, and water, of oppressing and taking away your breath. It yet wanted half an hour to the break of day, and I wrapped my cloak close round me to guard me from the keen air which came up over the while cape of snow that lay spread at the foot of the smoking cone, where I was seated.
"The earliest dawn gave to my view the awful crater, with its two deep mouths, from one whereof there issued large volumes of thick while smoke, pressing up in closely crowding clouds; and all around, you saw the earth loose, and with crisped, vellow.mouthed small cracks, up which came little, light, thin wreaths of smoke that soon dissipated in l he upper air, &c.—And when you turn to gaze downwards, and see the golden sun come up in light and majesty ю bless the waking millions of your fellows, and the dun vapour of me night roll off below, and capes, and hills, and towns, and the wide ocean are seen as through a thin unearthly veil; your eyes fill, and your heart swells; all the blessings you enjoy, all the innocent pleasures you find in your wanderings, that preservation, which in siornt- and in battle, and miu the pestilence was mercifully given to your half-breathed prayer, all rush in a moment on your soul."
Ibid. pp. 253—257.
The following brief sketch of the rustic auberges of Sicily is worth preserving, as well as the sentiment with which it closes:—
"The chambers of these rude inns would please, at first, any one. Three or four beds (mere plankj upon iron trestles), with broad, yellow.striped. coarse mattresses, turned up on them; a table and chairs of wood, blackened by age, and of forms belonging to the past century; a daub or two of a picture, and two or three coloured prints of Madonnas and saints : a coarse table cloth, and coarser napkin; a thin blue-tinted drinking glass; dishes and platee of a striped, dirty-coloured, pimply ware; and a brass lamp with three mouths, a shape common to Delhi, Cairo, and Madrid, and as ancient as the time of ihe Etruscans themselves.
"To me it had another charm ; it brought Spain before me, the peasant and his cot, and my chance billets amona that loved and injured people. Ah! I will no; dwell on it; but this only I will venture to say, they err greatly, grossly, who fancy that the Spaniard, the most patiently brave and resolutely persevering man, as a man, on the continent of Europe, will wear long any yoke he feels galling and detestable."—Scene» m Egypt, pp. 268, 269.
The picture of Naples is striking; and reminds us in many places of Mad. de Staël'e splendid sketches from the same subjects in Corrinne. But we must draw to a close now with our extracts; and shall add but one or two more, peculiarly characteristic of the gentle mind and English virtues of the author.
"F next went into the library, a noble room, and a vast collection. I should much like to have seen those things which are shown here, especially the handwriting of Tasso. I was led as far, and into the apartment where they are shown. I found priests reading, and men looking as if they were learned. I was confused at the creaking of my boots; I gave the hesitating look of a wish, but I ended by a blush, bowed, and retired. I passed again into the larger apart ment, and I felt composed as I looked around. Why life, thought I, would be too short for any human being to read these folios; but yet, if safe from the pedant's frown, one could have a vast library to range in, there is little doubt that, with a love of truth, and a thirsting for knowledge, the man of middle age, who regretted his early closed lexicon, might open it again with delight and profit. While thus musing, in stamped two travellers,—my countrymen, my bold, brave countrymen—not intellectual, I could have sworn, or Lavaier is a cheat—
"Pride in their port, defiance in their eye :"—
They strode across to confront the doctors, and demanded to see those sights to which the book directed, and the grinning domrttiqut de place led them. I envied them, and yet was angry with them ; however. I soon bethought me, such are the men who are often sterling characters, true hearts. They will find no seduction in a southern sun ! but back to the English girl they love best, to be liked by her softer nature the better for having seen Italy, and taught by her gentleness to speak about it pleasingly, and prize what they have seen !—Such are the men whom our poor men like,—who are generous masters and honest voters, faithful husbands and kind fathers; who, if they make us smiled at abroad in peace, make us feared in war, and any one of whom is worth to his country far more than a dozen mere aentimental wanderers."
Ibid. pp. 296—298.
"Always on quilting the museum it is a relief to drive somewhere, that you may relieve the mind
and refresh the eight with a view of earth and octu The view from the Belvidere, in the garden of Si Martino, close to the fortress of St. Limo, u tad to be unequalled in the world. I was walking ak:; the cloister to it, when I heard voices behind m?. and saw an English family—father, mother, «ilk daughter and son, of drawing-room and unm-rs:'y ages. I turned aside that I might not intrude on them, and went to take my gaze when they «me away from the little balcony. I »aw no leaure»: but the dress, the gentle talking, and the quietud« of their whole manner, gave me great pleasure. Л happy domestic English family! parents travelling » delight, improve, and protect their children ; уоипгег ones at home perhaps, who will sit next summer un the shady lawn, and listen as Italy is talked o<er. and look at prints, and turn over a sister's tketcb. book, and beg a brother's journal. Magically тгтес is the grandeur of the scene—the pleaeam city ; in broad bay; a little sea that knows no siorn:»; ¡ч garden neighbourhood; its famed Vesuvius r«: looking either vast, or dark, or dreadful—а!! bnzi: and smiling, garmented with vineyards below. кА its brow barren, yet not without a bue of that as: r: er slaty blueness which improves a тош'ь::.'aspect; and far behind, stretched in their fall bold forms, theshndowy Appenincs. Gaze and go bark. English! Naples, with all it» beauties and la pleasures, its treasury of ruins, and recollerions. and fair works of art; its soft music and balmy an cannot make you happy; may gratify the gait Сч taste, but never suit the habiu ofyour mind. There are many homeless solitary Englishmen whotr^:: sojourn longer in such scenes, and be soothni b| them; but to become dwellers, settled resides'.* would be, even for them, impossible."
Ibid. pp. 301—303.
We must break off here—though there i§ much temptation to go on. But we hate no» shown enough of these volumes to enable cm readers to judge safely of their charade— and it would be unfair, perhaps, to steal tcore from their pages. We think we have extracted impartially ; and are sensible, at all evi-:.i<that we have given specimen« of the faults as well as the beauties of the author's it) if His taste in writing certainly is not uneir-'Ttionable. He is seldom quite simple or natural and sometimes very fade and affecte»!. He has little bits of inversions in his seiitcccrt. and email exclamations and ends of orclu? verse dangling about them, which we o;w. wish away—and he talks rather too rNo'h С himself, and his ignorance, and humib'.f while he is turning those fine sentences, ar.J laying traps for our applause. But. in ff.'f of all these things, the books are very nitersing and instructive; and their menls спл-'т outweigh their defects. If the author Ы occasional failures, he has frequent leui'iin"* —and, independent of the many beautiln] and brilliant passages which he has fumiírrfJ for our delight, has contrived to breathe uro all his work a spirit of kindliness and content ment, which, if it does not minister (as il ought) to our improvement, must »t 1«** disarm our censure of all bitterness.