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"His principle of action once explore,
Like following life though creatures you dissect,
That instant 'tis his principle no more;
You lose it in the moment you detect."

tracts its attention. And in all human in- V. I need add nothing to the admirable dustry of the intellect there must be the praises of toleration produced from Fuller same sequesterment from the gay scenes and and others in the May letter. I will only variegated lights of common nature. It is observe that I am not certain that I accept curious to mark the lively signs by which the argument of Pope, when he attempts the kind of nourishment taken is to be as- to shew the vanity of reasoning upon hucertained in all branches of the creation. man actions,The purple or golden feather of the bird tells of the field where the seed was sown. It has been questioned whether butterflies are tinged with the colors of the flowers on which they feed, but it is quite within the limits of analogy that they should be. I am not so satisfied with this remark as We always find these distinctive notes with his assertion, that the quick whirls and in the works of literature. Demosthenes re- shifting eddies of mighty and impetuous veals in every page the student of Thucy-minds may be quite unfathomable by hudides, and Milton's Grecian violets peep out man skill and curiosity. But I think that under the hedges of Paradise. You can- some advances in toleration may be made, not work too much, or persevere too long, by considering that every great fact or truth, in the examination of great models. The on which actions depend, owes its appearfather of Mengs compelled him to recopy ance in no common measure to the aspect twenty times some of Raffaelle's pictures under which we contemplate it. One man in the Vatican. A noble specimen of this shall hold up a crystal in this direction, toil of genius, where the fire of the eye is another in that The same sun shall fall not lost in its watches, may be seen in upon it, but at a different angle. The Leonardo da Vinci's picture of "Donna colors it emits will accordingly vary, and Lisa" in the Louvre, which he is said to yet, proceeding from the same source, prehave been four years in completing. Nor sent similar hues in combination. And so do the ancient artists appear to have ne- with the examination of every separate truth, glected this element of immortality. Pliny a far costlier crystal. It changes its colors, (lib. xxxv. c. 10) speaks of Protogenes, as as the ray of judgment falls upon it with a modern critic might characterize the most different degrees of intensity and fulness. indefatigable master of the Dutch school. A cloud, however faint, in the natural sky, Sometimes, of course, in art and litera- passing over the sun, will dim every ture the lamplight is thrown away. Quin- emanation of color on the crystal, extintilian says that the poet Cinna spent nine guishing some, obscuring all. In like manyears in composing his Smyrna, and Iso-ner with a truth. Reason is the sky. crates ten in writing and revising his Pane- Judgment is the sun. A cloud of prejudice, gyrics. And it is recorded of the admira- however faint, going over it, darkens for a ble Bishop Sanderson, that, in the prepara- time the lustre of the truth itself. Now tion of his lectures, he hesitated so often surely this ought to help us in the formation and rejected so much, that when the hour of a tolerating temper. It was excellently arrived for reading them, he was obliged to related of Taylor, by his friend and succesproduce, not what was best, but what hap-sor in the see of Down and Connor, that pened to be at hand. Execution in paint- he did not consider "it likely any one paring has been defined by a great proficient ty should wholly engross truth to themto be the genius of mechanical performance. selves;" and that he weighed the reasons But a distinction must be always kept be- of men, and not their names. Thus many tween execution and high finish; the second arrows of truth will be found in the quiver may be acquired by mere color, the first of Romanism, and one or two features of never; like the blossoming of poetical beauty under the ugly vizor of Superstition. thought, it must grow out of the healthful It is the misfortune of our nature that truths vigor and life of the intellect. Reynolds destroyed several pictures by the old masters, in the hope of finding the secret of their color; which was as reasonable as if we should decompose the ink of one of Milton's manuscripts, to learn how he obtained the splendor of Comus.

should be contemplated in this atmosphere of opinion, and that their crystalline purity should from this cause present an imperfect and a tarnished reflection.

Do you recollect the galleries at Munich, which were built and fitted up under the direction of Von Klenze? Well; the prin

in strong contrast; it was the boast of Socrates that he had never entered a tavern. Believe me to be, dear sir, sincerely M. A.

ciple he adopted in constructing a room for
the statues was, that they should receive
light only from one side; richly colored.
walls being the same time substituted for yours,
the dingy gray previously employed. You
must have been delighted with the warm
and emphatic tone produced by this ar-
rangement of the Bavarian architect.
the arrangement which answers so well


From the Spectator.


with statues, is far less satisfactory when MR. HOLMES'S SKETCHES ON THE SHORES applied to characters; yet the colored wall and the light from a single side, are the general principles of critical archi


MR. HOLMES appears to hold some official situation under his relative Mr. Brant, our Consul at Erzeroum; and, finding himself at Tabreez in November 1843, with means and opportunity to make an excursion along the shores of the Caspian, he devoted six months to a tour, in company with a friend attached to the British mission. So little is generally known of the region in question, that to mention the places the travellers passed through, would be a mere string of names without associations, many of which would not be found on the map. Let it suffice to say that the explorations of Mr. Holmes embraced the Persian territory on the banks of the Caspian, from the river Astara, the boundary of the Russian frontier, to the city of Resht, and thence to Astrabad, the last Persian town towards the Toorkmans. From Astrabad Mr. Holmes accompanied his friend to Teheran, the capital: whence he himself rode "tartar" back to Tebreez, and finally returned to Erzeroum.

VI. I have given several examples of literary resemblance, let me add one of a very different character, one belonging to the fine arts of the table. Sir Alexander Burnes's Peshawur friend, Naid Mahomed Shureef, whom he met at Cabool, spoke with rapture of some wine, of which two glasses sent a man to sleep. Burnes told him that the English notion of good wine consisted in being able to drink a large quantity of it without any unpleasant or soporific effects. "A bad plan," replied Mahomed, "for a man must then drink till he is as large as a butt: no, no, ours is the best plan." You would scarcely expect to find such a sentiment in Johnson; yet he of Bolt Court and he of Peshawur coincided completely. "Brandy is the best," said Johnson, "because it operates sooner." And in refutation of Burke's panegyric of claret, he exclaimed, "You'll be drowned by it before it has any effect upon you." The doctor's arrangement of three distin- The country through which Mr. Holmes guished liquors is well known; claret for principally travelled is not of a striking boys, port for men, and brandy for heroes. character either by nature or association. But Plato's theory is the most curious. Un- Shut in by the Elburz range, the shores of til eighteen, he interdicted the use of wine the Caspian are marshy, thickly intersected altogether; after that age up to thirty, a by streams, too shallow for navigation, if moderate allowance is given; and after there were commerce to require it, but offorty, he appears to have deemed it wise to fering impediments to the traveller from the remove all restrictions, and to let wine be general absence of bridges, and contributdrunk at discretion. The prettiest employ-ing by their overflow to render the country ment of wine is that observed in the cele- muddy in rain, and unwholesome in sunbration of Hebrew weddings; the drinking shine. As soon as the shores are quitted, of it is accompanied with benedictions, and when the glass or vessel is emptied, it is dashed upon the ground and broken as an emblem of the fragility of existence. With regard to the Roman customs of wine-drinking we have little certain information We are not better informed as to Grecian habits. But in connexion with Johnson one circumstance may be noticed, which places the Athenian and the London philosopher

however, the prospects begin to improve, the mountains offering magnificent scenery, with every variation of climate from the sugar-cane to snow. But the social system is every where backward: at least to the backwardness, or as some would say the simplicity of the Oriental mode of living, is added the discomfort of a marshy soil, and the uncertainty which has arisen from a society continually disturbed by clannish disputes and the forays of the Toorkmans. Plague

has in some places still further diminished unpretending writer. He had also a knowlpopulation. So that, what with indifferent edge of the language; and the Consul's of weather, execrable roads, bad accommoda- fice has given him a turn for collecting tion, and a profusion of vermin, nothing commercial and statistical information; his but the love of locomotion which distin- reports upon which will have a special value, guishes the Anglo-Saxon race would have though native authorities are not very trustinduced a man to undertake the excursion, worthy. unless he had scientific or commercial objects in view; neither of which was the case with Mr. Holmes.



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Whenever I have noted the amount of popAs a literary work, Sketches on the Shores ulation in a place, it has not been a mere guess of the Caspian falls into the usual error of of my own, but a conclusion formed from the various estimates of those of whom I have intravellers ridiculed by Goldsmith in his Journey to Kentish Town. Mr. Holmes that they know any thing of the matter; though quired on the subject. It is seldom, however, is too detailed in his narrative, and dwells they always make a point of not confessing igtoo much upon the commonplaces of his norance, and usually give such a reply as they journey. A very bad road, very remarka- think will please or coincide most with the ble scenery, a very dilapidated house-these ideas of the inquirer. Thus, you ask a Perare proper to be noted, because they are sian what is the population of a place: very often he answers, "Busseeor est" (it is many); striking in themselves, and suggest some showing pretty clearly that he knows nothing information or excite some kind of sympa- about it. On pressing him more closely, he will thy, if it is merely in a dislike to bad quar-perhaps reply, "It is three thousand." "Oh!" A particular account of the country you say, "that is very little for a place like and its appearances day by day becomes te-this; there must surely be more." • Belli, dious, because the general result is the only belli," (certainly,) is the answer; there must be altogether six thousand:" and turning to thing the reader cares about; and the author forces him to strike the average, in- the Sahib knows every thing better than even any one who may he standing near, "See how stead of doing it for him. Nothing but ar- we ourselves, Marshallah!" Thus, at your tistical skill can render mere description suggestion, immediately doubling the amount, interesting for long; and in this quality with as little hesitation as he would have Mr. Holmes is deficient. His style is lit- halved it had you observed that you thought eral; so that unless a thing has stirring life it too large. or animation its sentiment escapes him. The ruins of princely palaces, public monuments, fortifications, or useful buildings, Governor; who seemed rather a dull person, In the morning we received a visit from the scattered over the country, and which must though very polite and civil. He asked a great suggest melancholy reflections on its former many questions regarding the Feramoosh prosperity and present decay, excite little Khoneh, as they call the Freemasons' Hall in or nothing of this feeling in the reader. London; which is a complete mystery to all They are too much in the inventorial style. the Persians who have heard of it. Very of Such passages do not, indeed, predomiten the first question we have been asked is, nate in this volume, though they are numer- What is it?" They generally believe it to be "What do they do at the Feramoosh Khoneh? ous enough to injure its effect. A great a most wonderful place, where a man may acpart of the sketches of Mr. Holmes consists quire in one day the wisdom of a thousand of pictures of Persian life, shown in char-years of study; but every one has his own peacters, incidents, or the social economy culiar conjectures concerning it. Some of the from which the travellers often suffered. Persians who went to England became freeThese are so new and striking in them-masons; and their friends complain that they selves, that they combine the interest of fic-will not tell what they saw at the hall, and cannot conceive why they should all be so uncomtion with the solidity of fact; and, though municative. not, perhaps, throwing any absolutely new light upon the Asiatic character, possess much freshness from the remoteness of the region and the rareness of visiters; Fraser, some two-and-twenty years ago, having been the only traveller there since the time of Hanway. Mr. Holmes is also a good humored traveller, cheerfully bearing the hardships of the way; and an unaffected,


After tea, the Beg left us to ourselves for about an hour; when he returned, accoinpanied by his two brothers, Nooroollah Beg and Shookroollah Beg, a brother of Mehmet Khan, chief of the Shah-sevens, and some other friends; and dinner immediately followed. A tray containing a chillo and pillo, radishes, fried eggs, a stew of meat, and a bowl of sher

bet, was allotted to each two persons; and, at the word "Bismillah," (in the name of God,) the company fell to in silence, unbroken during the whole time save by the sound of the various jaws in process of mastication. Hands were thrust deep into the greasy dishes, rice squeezed into balls and swallowed with astonishing rapidity; and in less than a quarter of an hour little remained of the immense piles which had been set before them. Water was then brought in, and each guest slightly wetted his fingers, afterwards wiping them on his pocket-handkerchief or his coat, as the case might be; which ceremony had scarcely been performed, when our Shah-seven friend and one or two others, loosening their belts, immediately lapsed into a state of torpidity. My companion and myself had made a plenteous meal, but our dishes appeared comparatively untouched. The Persians are very large eaters, particularly those of the lower classes: five of our servants, who dined together, devoured every day about twenty pounds of bread, besides a good allowance of meat and fruit; and one evening three of the grooms ate among them ten pounds of rice, and were grumbling because they could not get any more. The Persians say that the English do not eat; they only play with their food.


tons, placed as close together as possible; round his waist he wore a belt of gold lace; and over all a dark, plum-colored cloak. He was very polite and affable; hoped that we had been well treated in his territory, and asked many questions regarding our journey. He inquired after all the English he had known in Persia; and the conversation turning on India and the East India Company, he begged to know whether the report he had heard that they had killed the "Coompanee" was the fact or not. We presently ascertained that he alluded to the death of Sir William Macnaughten.

We had heard that the Shahzadeh was a great drinker; and his weak and blood-shot eyes seemed confirmatory of the report: but I could not suppress a smile, when tea was brought in, to see his servant draw forth from the recesses of his pocket a black bottle of rum: we of course accepted a little in our tea, while the Prince held out his already half-empty cup, which the servant filled to the brim.


In the evening we went to dine with the Prince. We were shown into the same room as on our first visit, and found his Royal Highness seated on a small rickety chair, at the head of the Russian table before-mentioned. It was covered with various nondescript little dishes, and saucers of pickles, chiefly garlic; there were also two water-bottles of sherbet, two black bottles, conspicuously marked "London Stout," one of which, however, contained rum, and several square decanters of Persian wine. Four glass candlesticks of Russian or German manufacture occupied the corners: they were ticketed just as they came from the shop; the tallow ran in streams upon the table from the candles, which were all of different lengths; and there being no such convenience as a pair of snuffers, Abbas Kooly Meerza, who sat at the Shazadeh's right, occasionally snuffed them with his fingers, which he wiped on the skirts of his dress.

About twelve o'clock, the usual Persian time, we were summoned to breakfast; and all returned to the house exceedingly sharp-set. The meal was a repetition of dinner, and the same feeding scene took place as on the previous evening. I have often heard it remarked with respect to the Eastern custom of eating with the fingers, that it was a mistake to regard it as unpleasant; and that the hands, which were thoroughly washed, were cleaner implements than our knives and forks. In Persia, I can only say, that I found the washing a very inefficient ceremony: no soap is used, a little tepid water being merely poured over the hands before and after dinner; and they are oftentimes wiped with a pocket-handkerchief which has not been washed for perhaps six months. The voracious manner in which they swallow their food is disgusting. In general, Persians admire the European custom of using The return journey of our author took the knife and fork, and confess that it is more him to the capital, and introduced him to decent in appearance, and cleanlier in reality, the Shah; of whom he and the Persians than their own; but Ferrajoollah Beg, while think but lightly. The Prime Minister, admitting this, observed, that after all he pre- however, is well esteemed; seemingly from ferred eating with the hand, as it imparted a his proficiency in the art of pleasing or flavor to the food: judging from the color

and appearance of his own hand, I should humbugging.

think the observation correct.


Ardeshir Meerza is a man of middling size, inclining to corpulency, with a jolly-looking round visage, bearing a strong resemblance to the rest of the royal family. He was dressed in a plain, single-breasted drab-colored coat, buttoned to the throat by about forty gilt but



Ir bends, as with the weight of many years,
Over a brook-this venerable tree;
Not where the water blithely leaps along,
Like giddy youth, in chase of some gay dream;
But where it stops, to ponder mournfully,
Like Age reflecting on the Past with blame.
Over this tranquil pool the Old Tree stoops,
Gazing upon its semblance undisturb'd,
As though in self-inspection all-absorbed,
Patiently waiting for its time to fall.
'Tis utterly alone in its old age;
With nought about it to companion it,
Saving the faithful image in the brook,
That steadfast sticketh to its ancient friend.
The saplings, and the vigorous trees around,
So full of life, evince no sympathy;
Swing their lithe branches to and fro with glee,
And stretch, exulting, every twig to heaven.
They sing glad songs, and chatter to the breeze,
And make a merry whistling with their leaves;
While the Old Tree's poor paralytic limbs,
Rubbing across each other, as with pain,
Do make a doleful creaking in the wind.

The Raven comes to the Old Tree to croak;
The Owl, at night, to shout Tu-whit! Tu-whoo!
The sentinel Rook to keep a sharp look out,
The while his fellows feed in fields hard by.
Upon the top of a dead limb he sits,
That perpendicular above the rest
Shoots up aloft-gray, barkless, wither'd, dead-
Looking just like some old bleach'd gibbet-pole.
Most welcome visiter, the Redbreast oft
(When winter winds are whistling through the

And deep snow hides the smiling face of earth,
And icy coldness broods for weeks and weeks,
Freezing man's blood whene'er he stirs abroad)
Takes pity on the lonely, poor Old Tree;
From branch to branch, from spray to spray he

And trills a strain so sweet, so silver clear,
So full of love and joy, that the lone thing
To fancy seems more patient for his song.
Sometimes a child, in sunny summer-time,
Exploring round the fields, will creep within
The Old Tree's hollow trunk, and, looking up
To where the sky is dimly seen afar,
Tremble with terror in the ghostly hole.
And should perchance some little bird, disturb'd,
Start out above his head, alarm'd he flies,
Breathless and pale, across the neighb'ring mead,
As though a spirit follow'd at his heels.

Oh, poor Old Tree! poor, desolate Old Tree! What wrinkles and deep furrows in its bark! How full of knots and warts, and curious holes, Wherein the tiny Wren and pert Tom-tit

Go preying oft for spiders and for flies!
No mantling ivy wraps it round and round,
To screen it from the sweep of bitter winds,
Or make it gay with green leaves not its own;
The parasite expired in infancy,

As one dead sinuous stem endures to show.
But lichens have spread over it so thick,
It seems to want no other covering
Than their shot robe of silver, green and gold.
And when the summer sun shines out in power,
Flooding his old acquaintance with rich light,
How vivid are the tints that live between
The chequering shadows playing on its trunk!
No hues that glitter in a field of flowers,
Or lurk about the western clouds at eve,
When that same sun has gone down gorgeously,
Present more brilliant painting to the eye.

Flowers love the shelter of the ancient tree :
A knot of primroses, in early spring,
For years has bloom'd and wither'd at its foot;
In June a wild-rose, with its sanguine flowers,
Goes burning past; and on through autumn


The regal foxglove keeps its state beneath.
Winter yields nothing but the long, dry grass,
That feebly waileth in the icy wind.

Lone, venerable thing! how sad thy age! Man, when he's stricken in years, and near to die,

Looks forward to a life beyond the grave,
When he is young again, to know no age,
When ghastly death shall never greet him more;
This hopes he, and draws comfort from the hope.
But thou, Old Tree! hast no such cheering

And when the root that holds thee to the earth
Is snapt by some rude gale, that soon shall blow,
Headlong thou fall'st, to moulder swift away;
Spring shall ne'er waken thee again to life;
Nor glowing summer gild thy host of leaves;
Nor autumn paint thee with his gold and red;
Nor with pure snow hoar winter mantle thee:
Thou'rt dead and gone for ever!-poor Old Tree
W. H.


WHERE are they goneThe smiling faces that once bloom'd around The fresh green scenes my childhood's rambles found, Where are they gone?

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