SARDIS.

Letter D.Did sweeter sounds adorn my flowing tongue,Than ever man pronounced or angel sung;Had I all knowledge, human and divineThat thought can reach, or science can define;And had I power to give that knowledge birth,In all the speeches of the babbling earth,Did Shadrach's zeal my glowing breast inspire,To weary tortures, and rejoice in fire;Or had I faith like that which Israel saw,When Moses gave them miracles and law:Yet, gracious Charity, indulgent guest,Were not thy power exerted in my breast,Those speeches would send up unheeded pray'r;That scorn of life would be but wild despair;A cymbal's sound were better than my voice;My faith were form, my eloquence were noise.Charity.Charity, decent, modest, easy, kind,Softens the high, and rears the abject mind;Knows with just reins, and gentle hand, to guideBetwixt vile shame and arbitrary pride.Not soon provoked, she easily forgives;And much she suffers, as she much believes.Soft peace she brings wherever she arrives;She builds our quiet, as she forms our lives;Lays the rough paths of peevish nature even,And opens in each heart a little heaven.Each other gift, which God on man bestows,Its proper bounds, and due restriction knows;To one fix'd purpose dedicates its power;And finishing its act, exists no more.Thus, in obedience to what Heaven decrees,Knowledge shall fail, and prophecy shall cease;But lasting Charity's more ample sway,Nor bound by time, nor subject to decay,In happy triumph shall for ever live,And endless good diffuse, and endless praise receive.As through the artist's intervening glass,Our eye observes the distant planets pass,A little we discover, but allowThat more remains unseen than art can show;So whilst our mind its knowledge would improve,Its feeble eye intent on things above,High as we may we lift our reason up,By faith directed, and confirm'd by hope;Yet are we able only to surveyDawnings of beams and promises of day;Heav'n's fuller effluence mocks our dazzled sight—Too great its swiftness, and too strong its light.But soon the mediate clouds shall be dispell'd;The Son shall soon be face to face beheld,In all his robes, with all his glory on,Seated sublime on his meridian throne.Then constant Faith, and holy Hope shall vie,One lost in certainty, and one in joy:Whilst thou, more happy pow'r, fair Charity,Triumphant sister, greatest of the three,Thy office, and thy nature still the same,Lasting thy lamp, and unconsumed thy flame,Shall still survive—Shall stand before the host of heav'n confest,For ever blessing, and for ever blest.Prior.

Did sweeter sounds adorn my flowing tongue,Than ever man pronounced or angel sung;Had I all knowledge, human and divineThat thought can reach, or science can define;And had I power to give that knowledge birth,In all the speeches of the babbling earth,Did Shadrach's zeal my glowing breast inspire,To weary tortures, and rejoice in fire;Or had I faith like that which Israel saw,When Moses gave them miracles and law:Yet, gracious Charity, indulgent guest,Were not thy power exerted in my breast,Those speeches would send up unheeded pray'r;That scorn of life would be but wild despair;A cymbal's sound were better than my voice;My faith were form, my eloquence were noise.

Did sweeter sounds adorn my flowing tongue,

Than ever man pronounced or angel sung;

Had I all knowledge, human and divine

That thought can reach, or science can define;

And had I power to give that knowledge birth,

In all the speeches of the babbling earth,

Did Shadrach's zeal my glowing breast inspire,

To weary tortures, and rejoice in fire;

Or had I faith like that which Israel saw,

When Moses gave them miracles and law:

Yet, gracious Charity, indulgent guest,

Were not thy power exerted in my breast,

Those speeches would send up unheeded pray'r;

That scorn of life would be but wild despair;

A cymbal's sound were better than my voice;

My faith were form, my eloquence were noise.

Charity.

Charity, decent, modest, easy, kind,Softens the high, and rears the abject mind;Knows with just reins, and gentle hand, to guideBetwixt vile shame and arbitrary pride.Not soon provoked, she easily forgives;And much she suffers, as she much believes.Soft peace she brings wherever she arrives;She builds our quiet, as she forms our lives;Lays the rough paths of peevish nature even,And opens in each heart a little heaven.Each other gift, which God on man bestows,Its proper bounds, and due restriction knows;To one fix'd purpose dedicates its power;And finishing its act, exists no more.Thus, in obedience to what Heaven decrees,Knowledge shall fail, and prophecy shall cease;But lasting Charity's more ample sway,Nor bound by time, nor subject to decay,In happy triumph shall for ever live,And endless good diffuse, and endless praise receive.As through the artist's intervening glass,Our eye observes the distant planets pass,A little we discover, but allowThat more remains unseen than art can show;So whilst our mind its knowledge would improve,Its feeble eye intent on things above,High as we may we lift our reason up,By faith directed, and confirm'd by hope;Yet are we able only to surveyDawnings of beams and promises of day;Heav'n's fuller effluence mocks our dazzled sight—Too great its swiftness, and too strong its light.But soon the mediate clouds shall be dispell'd;The Son shall soon be face to face beheld,In all his robes, with all his glory on,Seated sublime on his meridian throne.Then constant Faith, and holy Hope shall vie,One lost in certainty, and one in joy:Whilst thou, more happy pow'r, fair Charity,Triumphant sister, greatest of the three,Thy office, and thy nature still the same,Lasting thy lamp, and unconsumed thy flame,Shall still survive—Shall stand before the host of heav'n confest,For ever blessing, and for ever blest.

Charity, decent, modest, easy, kind,

Softens the high, and rears the abject mind;

Knows with just reins, and gentle hand, to guide

Betwixt vile shame and arbitrary pride.

Not soon provoked, she easily forgives;

And much she suffers, as she much believes.

Soft peace she brings wherever she arrives;

She builds our quiet, as she forms our lives;

Lays the rough paths of peevish nature even,

And opens in each heart a little heaven.

Each other gift, which God on man bestows,Its proper bounds, and due restriction knows;To one fix'd purpose dedicates its power;And finishing its act, exists no more.Thus, in obedience to what Heaven decrees,Knowledge shall fail, and prophecy shall cease;But lasting Charity's more ample sway,Nor bound by time, nor subject to decay,In happy triumph shall for ever live,And endless good diffuse, and endless praise receive.

Each other gift, which God on man bestows,

Its proper bounds, and due restriction knows;

To one fix'd purpose dedicates its power;

And finishing its act, exists no more.

Thus, in obedience to what Heaven decrees,

Knowledge shall fail, and prophecy shall cease;

But lasting Charity's more ample sway,

Nor bound by time, nor subject to decay,

In happy triumph shall for ever live,

And endless good diffuse, and endless praise receive.

As through the artist's intervening glass,Our eye observes the distant planets pass,A little we discover, but allowThat more remains unseen than art can show;So whilst our mind its knowledge would improve,Its feeble eye intent on things above,High as we may we lift our reason up,By faith directed, and confirm'd by hope;Yet are we able only to surveyDawnings of beams and promises of day;Heav'n's fuller effluence mocks our dazzled sight—Too great its swiftness, and too strong its light.

As through the artist's intervening glass,

Our eye observes the distant planets pass,

A little we discover, but allow

That more remains unseen than art can show;

So whilst our mind its knowledge would improve,

Its feeble eye intent on things above,

High as we may we lift our reason up,

By faith directed, and confirm'd by hope;

Yet are we able only to survey

Dawnings of beams and promises of day;

Heav'n's fuller effluence mocks our dazzled sight—

Too great its swiftness, and too strong its light.

But soon the mediate clouds shall be dispell'd;The Son shall soon be face to face beheld,In all his robes, with all his glory on,Seated sublime on his meridian throne.

But soon the mediate clouds shall be dispell'd;

The Son shall soon be face to face beheld,

In all his robes, with all his glory on,

Seated sublime on his meridian throne.

Then constant Faith, and holy Hope shall vie,One lost in certainty, and one in joy:Whilst thou, more happy pow'r, fair Charity,Triumphant sister, greatest of the three,Thy office, and thy nature still the same,Lasting thy lamp, and unconsumed thy flame,Shall still survive—Shall stand before the host of heav'n confest,For ever blessing, and for ever blest.

Then constant Faith, and holy Hope shall vie,

One lost in certainty, and one in joy:

Whilst thou, more happy pow'r, fair Charity,

Triumphant sister, greatest of the three,

Thy office, and thy nature still the same,

Lasting thy lamp, and unconsumed thy flame,

Shall still survive—

Shall stand before the host of heav'n confest,

For ever blessing, and for ever blest.

Prior.

Letter S.

Sardis, the ancient capital of the kingdom of Lydia, is situated on the river Pactolus, in the fertile plain below Mount Tmolus. Wealth, pomp, and luxury characterised this city from very ancient times. The story of Croesus, its last King, is frequently alluded to by historians, as affording a remarkable example of the instability of human greatness. This Monarch considered himself the happiest of human beings, but being checked by the philosopher Solon for his arrogance, he was offended, and dismissed the sage from his Court with disgrace. Not long afterwards, led away by the ambiguous answers of the oracles, he conducted a large army into the field against Cyrus, the future conqueror of Babylon, but was defeated, and obliged to return to his capital, where he shut himself up. Hither he was soon followed and besieged by Cyrus, with a far inferior force; but, at the expiration of fourteen days, the citadel, which had been deemed impregnable, was taken by a stratagem, and Croseus was condemned to the flames. When the sentence was about to be executed, he was heard to invoke the name of Solon, and the curiosity of Cyrus being excited, he asked the cause; and, having heard his narrative, ordered him to be set free, and subsequently received him into his confidence.

Sardis.

Under the Romans, Sardis declined in importance, and, being destroyed by an earthquake, for some time lay desolate, until it was rebuilt by the Roman Emperor Tiberius.

The situation of Sardis is very beautiful, but the country over which it looks is almost deserted, and the valley is become a swamp. The hill of the citadel, when seen from the opposite bank of the Hermus, appears of a triangular form; and at the back of it rise ridge after ridge of mountains, the highest covered with snow, and many of them bearing evident marks of having been jagged and distorted by earthquakes. The citadel is exceedingly difficult of ascent; but the magnificent view which it commands of the plain of the Hermus, and other objects of interest, amply repays the risk and fatigue. The village, small as it is, boasts of containing one of the most remarkable remains of antiquity in Asia; namely, the vast Ionic temple of the heathen goddess Cybele, or the earth, on the banks of the Pactolus. In 1750, six columns of this temple were standing, but four of them have since been thrown down by the Turks, for the sake of the gold which they expected to find in the joints.

Two or three mills and a few mud huts, inhabited by Turkish herdsmen, contain all the present population of Sardis.

Letter A.

At a time when there appeared to be good reason for believing that the invasion of England was contemplated, the Government turned their attention to the defence of such portions of the coast as seemed to present the greatest facility for the landing of a hostile force. As the Kentish coast, from East Were Bay to Dymchurch, seemed more especially exposed, a line of Martello Towers was erected between these two points, at a distance from each other of from one-quarter to three-quarters of a mile. Other towers of the same kind were erected on various parts of the coast where the shore was low, in other parts of England, but more particularly in the counties of Sussex and Suffolk. Towers of this construction appear to have been adopted, owing to the resistance that was made by the Tower of Martella, in the Island of Corsica, to the British forces under Lord Hood and General Dundas, in 1794. This tower which was built in the form of an obtruncated cone—like the body of a windmill—was situated in Martella, or Martle Bay. As it rendered the landing of the troops difficult, Commodore Linzee anchored in the bay to the westward, and there landed the troops on the evening of the 7th of February, taking possession of a height that commanded the tower. As the tower impeded the advance of the troops, it was the next day attacked from the bay by the vesselsFortitudeandJuno; but after a cannonade of two hours and a half, the ships were obliged to haul off, theFortitudehaving sustained considerable damage from red-hot shot discharged from the tower. The tower, after having been cannonaded from the height for two days, surrendered; rather, it would appear, from the alarm of the garrison, than from any great injury that the tower had sustained. The English, on taking possession of the fort, found that the garrison had originally consisted of thirty-three men, of whom two only were wounded, though mortally. The walls were of great thickness, and bomb-proof; and the parapet consisted of an interior lining of rush matting, filled up to the exterior of the parapet with sand. The only guns they had were two 18-pounders.

The towers erected between East Were Bay and Dymchurch (upwards of twenty) were built of brick, and were from about 35 feet to 40 feet high: the entrance to them was by a low door-way, about seven feet and a half from the ground; and admission was gained by means of a ladder, which was afterwards withdrawn into the interior. A high step of two feet led to the first floor of the tower, a room of about thirteen feet diameter, and with the walls about five feet thick. Round this room were loopholes in the walls, at such an elevation, that the men would be obliged to stand on benches in the event of their being required to oppose an attack of musketry. Those benches were also used as the sleeping-places of the garrison. On this floor there was a fire-place, and from the centre was a trap-door leading downwards to the ammunition and provision rooms. The second floor was ascended by similar means.

Martello Tower on the Kentish Coast.

Letter C.

Characteristically indolent, the fondness for a sedentary life is stronger, perhaps, with the Turks, than with any other people of whom we read. It is difficult to describe the gravity and apathy which constitute the distinguishing features of their character: everything in their manners tends to foster in them, especially in the higher classes, an almost invincible love of ease and luxurious leisure. The general rule which they seem to lay down for their guidance, is that taking the trouble to do anything themselves which they can possibly get others to do for them; and the precision with which they observe it in some of the minutest trifles of domestic life is almost amusing. A Turkish gentleman, who has once composed his body upon the corner of a sofa, appears to attach a certain notion of grandeur to the keeping of it there, and it is only something of the gravest importance that induces him to disturb his position. If he wishes to procure anything that is within a few steps of him, he summons his slaves by clapping his hands (the Eastern mode of "ringing the bell"), and bids them bring it to him: his feelings of dignity would be hurt by getting up to reach it himself. Of course, this habit of inac tion prevails equally with the female sex: a Turkish lady would not think of picking up a fallen handkerchief, so long as she had an attendant to do it for her. As may be supposed, the number of slaves in a Turkish household of any importance is very great.

Turkish Female Slave.

The position of women in Eastern countries is so totally unlike that which they hold in our own happy land, that we must refer expressly to it, in order that the picture of domestic life presented to us in the writings of all travellers in the East may be understood. Amongst all ranks, the wife is not the friend and companion, but the slave of her husband; and even when treated with kindness and affection, her state is still far below that of her sisters in Christian lands. Even in the humblest rank of life, the meal which the wife prepares with her own hands for her husband, she must not partake of with him. The hard-working Eastern peasant, and the fine lady who spends most of her time in eating sweet-meats, or in embroidery, are both alike dark and ignorant; for it would be accounted a folly, if not a sin, to teach them even to read.

Numerous carriers, or sellers of water, obtain their living in the East by supplying the inhabitants with it. They are permitted to fill their water-bags, made of goat-skins, at the public fountains. This goat-skin of the carrier has a long brass spout, and from this the water is poured into a brass cup, for any one who wishes to drink. Many of these are employed by the charitable, to distribute water in the streets; and they pray the thirsty to partake of the bounty offered to them in the name of God, praying that Paradise and pardon may be the lot of him who affords the refreshing gift.

Turkish Water-Carrier.

The Dancing Dervises are a religious order of Mohamedans, who affect a great deal of patience, humility, and charity. Part of their religious observance consists in dancing or whirling their bodies round with the greatest rapidity imaginable, to the sound of a flute; and long practice has enabled them to do this without suffering the least inconvenience from the strange movement.

In Eastern countries, the bread is generally made in the form of a large thin cake, which is torn and folded up, almost like a sheet of paper; it can then be used (as knives and forks are not employed by the Orientals) for the purpose of rolling together a mouthful of meat, or supping up gravy and vegetables, at the meals.

Dancing Dervise.

Studies serve for delight, for ornament, and for ability. The chief use for delight is in privateness and retiring; for ornament, is in discourse; and for ability, is in the judgment and disposition of business. For expert men can execute, and perhaps judge of particulars one by one; but the general counsels, and the plots, and marshalling of affairs, come best from those that are learned. To spend too much time in studies, is sloth; to use them too much for ornament, is affectation; to make judgment wholly by their rules, is the humour of a scholar. They perfect nature, and are perfected by experience; for natural abilities are like natural plants, that need pruning by duty; and studies themselves do give forth directions too much at large, except they be bounded in by experience. Crafty men contemn studies, simple men admire them, and wise men use them: for they teach not their own use, but that is a wisdom without them, and above them, won by observation. Read not to contradict and confute, nor to believe and take for granted; not to find talk and discourse, but to weigh and consider. Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested: that is, some books are to be read only in parts; others to be read, but not curiously; and some few to be read wholly, and with diligence and attention. Some books also may be read by deputy, and extracts made of them by others; but that should be only in the less important arguments, and the meaner sorts of books; else distilled books are like common distilled waters, flashy things. Reading maketh a full man; conference a ready man; and writing an exact man. And, therefore, if a man write little, he had need have a great memory; if he confer little, he had need have a present wit; and if he read little, he had need have much cunning, to seem to know that he doth not.

Bacon.

He who hath bent him o'er the deadEre the first day of death is fled;The first dark day of nothingness.The last of danger and distress:Before Decay's effacing fingers,Have swept the lines where beauty lingers,And mark'd the mild, angelic air,The rapture of repose that's there;The fix'd, yet tender traits that streakThe languor of the placid cheek.Subterranean Chapel, Greece.And, but for that sad shrouded eye,That fires not—wins not—weeps not—now;And, but for that chill, changeless brow,Whose touch thrills with mortality,And curdles to the gazer's heart,As if to him it could impartThe doom he dreads, yet dwells upon:Yes, but for these, and these aloneSome moments—ay, one treacherous hour—He still might doubt the tyrant's power;So fair, so calm, so softly seal'd,The first, last look by death reveal'd.Such is the aspect of this shore;'Tis Greece, but living Greece no more!So coldly sweet—so deadly fair—We start, for soul is wanting there:Hers is the loveliness in deathThat parts not quite with parting breath;But beauty, with that fearful bloom,That hue which haunts it to the tomb:Expression's last receding ray,A gilded halo hovering round decay,The farewell beam of feeling past away!Spark of that flame—perchance of Heavenly birth,Which gleams, but warms no more its cherish'd earth!Byron.

He who hath bent him o'er the dead

Ere the first day of death is fled;

The first dark day of nothingness.

The last of danger and distress:

Before Decay's effacing fingers,

Have swept the lines where beauty lingers,

And mark'd the mild, angelic air,

The rapture of repose that's there;

The fix'd, yet tender traits that streak

The languor of the placid cheek.

Subterranean Chapel, Greece.

And, but for that sad shrouded eye,That fires not—wins not—weeps not—now;And, but for that chill, changeless brow,Whose touch thrills with mortality,And curdles to the gazer's heart,As if to him it could impartThe doom he dreads, yet dwells upon:Yes, but for these, and these aloneSome moments—ay, one treacherous hour—He still might doubt the tyrant's power;So fair, so calm, so softly seal'd,The first, last look by death reveal'd.Such is the aspect of this shore;'Tis Greece, but living Greece no more!So coldly sweet—so deadly fair—We start, for soul is wanting there:Hers is the loveliness in deathThat parts not quite with parting breath;But beauty, with that fearful bloom,That hue which haunts it to the tomb:Expression's last receding ray,A gilded halo hovering round decay,The farewell beam of feeling past away!Spark of that flame—perchance of Heavenly birth,Which gleams, but warms no more its cherish'd earth!

And, but for that sad shrouded eye,

That fires not—wins not—weeps not—now;

And, but for that chill, changeless brow,

Whose touch thrills with mortality,

And curdles to the gazer's heart,

As if to him it could impart

The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon:

Yes, but for these, and these alone

Some moments—ay, one treacherous hour—

He still might doubt the tyrant's power;

So fair, so calm, so softly seal'd,

The first, last look by death reveal'd.

Such is the aspect of this shore;'Tis Greece, but living Greece no more!So coldly sweet—so deadly fair—We start, for soul is wanting there:Hers is the loveliness in deathThat parts not quite with parting breath;But beauty, with that fearful bloom,That hue which haunts it to the tomb:Expression's last receding ray,A gilded halo hovering round decay,The farewell beam of feeling past away!Spark of that flame—perchance of Heavenly birth,Which gleams, but warms no more its cherish'd earth!

Such is the aspect of this shore;

'Tis Greece, but living Greece no more!

So coldly sweet—so deadly fair—

We start, for soul is wanting there:

Hers is the loveliness in death

That parts not quite with parting breath;

But beauty, with that fearful bloom,

That hue which haunts it to the tomb:

Expression's last receding ray,

A gilded halo hovering round decay,

The farewell beam of feeling past away!

Spark of that flame—perchance of Heavenly birth,

Which gleams, but warms no more its cherish'd earth!

Byron.

Letter A.

Attock is a fort and small town in the Punjaub, on the left or east bank of the Indus, 942 miles from the sea, and close below the place where it receives the water of the Khabool river, and first becomes navigable. The name, signifyingobstacle, is supposed to have been given to it under the presumption that no scrupulous Hindoo would proceed westward of it; but this strict principle, like many others of similar nature, is little acted on. Some state that the name was given by the Emperor Akbar, because he here found much difficulty in crossing the river. The river itself is at this place frequently by the natives called Attock. Here is a bridge, formed usually of from twenty to thirty boats, across the stream, at a spot where it is 537 feet wide. In summer, when the melting of the snows in the lofty mountains to the north raises the stream so that the bridge becomes endangered, it is withdrawn, and the communication is then effected by means of a ferry.

The banks of the river are very high, so that the enormous accession which the volume of water receives during inundation scarcely affects the breadth, but merely increases the depth. The rock forming the banks is of a dark-coloured slate, polished by the force of the stream, so as to shine like black marble. Between these, "one clear blue stream shot past." The depth of the Indus here is thirty feet in the lowest state, and between sixty and seventy in the highest, and runs at the rate of six miles an hour. There is a ford at some distance above the confluence of the river of Khabool; but the extreme coldness and rapidity of the water render it at all times very dangerous, and on the slightest inundation quite impracticable. The bridge is supported by an association of boatmen, who receive the revenue of a village allotted for this purpose by the Emperor Akbar, and a small daily pay as long as the bridge stands, and also levy a toll on all passengers.

On the right bank, opposite Attock, is Khyrabad—a fort built, according to some, by the Emperor Akbar, according to others by Nadir Shah. This locality is, in a military and commercial point of view, of much importance, as the Indus is here crossed by the great route which, proceeding from Khabool eastward through the Khyber Pass into the Punjaub, forms the main line of communication between Affghanistan and Northern India. The river was here repeatedly crossed by the British armies, during the late military operations in Affghanistan; and here, according to the general opinion, Alexander, subsequently Timur, the Tartar conqueror, and, still later, Nadir Shah, crossed; but there is much uncertainty on these points.

The Fort of Attock.

The fortress was erected by the Emperor Akbar, in 1581 to command the passage; but, though strongly built of stone on the high and steep bank of the river, it could offer no effectual resistance to a regular attack, being commanded by the neighbouring heights. Its form is that of a parallelogram: it is 800 yards long and 400 wide. The population of the town, which is inclosed within the walls of the fort, is estimated at 2000.

Letter S.See through this air, this ocean, and this earth,All matter quick, and bursting into birth.Above, how high progressive life may go!Around, how wide! how deep extend below!Vast chain of Being! which from God began,Natures ethereal, human, angel, man,Beast, bird, fish, insect, what no eye can seeNo glass can reach; from Infinity to theeFrom thee to Nothing.—On superior pow'rsWere we to press, inferior might on ours;Or in the full creation leave a void,Where one step broken the great scale's destroyedFrom Nature's chain whatever link you strike,Tenth or ten-thousandth, breaks the chain alike.And, if each system in gradation rollAlike essential to th' amazing whole,The least confusion but in one, not allThat system only, but the whole must fall.Let earth unbalanc'd from her orbit fly,Planets and suns run lawless through the sky;Let ruling angels from their spheres be hurl'd,Being on being wreck'd, and world on world,Heav'n's whole foundations to the centre nod,And Nature trembles to the throne of God:All this dread Order break—for whom? for thee?Vile worm!--Oh, madness! pride! impiety!What if the foot, ordain'd the dust to tread,Or hand to toil, aspired to be the head?What if the head, the eye, or ear, repinedTo serve—mere engines to the ruling Mind?Just as absurd for any part to claimTo be another, in this general frame:Just as absurd to mourn the tasks or pains,The great directing Mind of All ordains.All are but parts of one stupendous wholeWhose body Nature is, and God the Soul:That changed through all, and yet in all the same,Great is in earth as in th' ethereal frame,Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze,Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees,Lives through all life, extends through all extent,Spreads undivided, operates unspent;Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part,As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart;As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns,As the rapt seraph that adores and burns:To him no high, no low, no great, no small;He fills, he bounds, connects, and equals all.Cease then, nor Order Imperfection name:Our proper bliss depends on what we blame.Know thy own point: This kind, this due degreeOf blindness, weakness, Heav'n bestows on thee.Submit—in this, or any other sphere,Secure to be as blest as thou canst bear:Safe in the hand of one disposing Pow'rOr in the natal, or the mortal hour.All Nature is but Art, unknown to thee;All Chance, Direction which thou canst not see;All Discord, Harmony not understood;All partial Evil, universal Good:And, spite of Pride, in erring Reason's spite,One truth is clear, WHATEVER is, is RIGHT.Pope.

See through this air, this ocean, and this earth,All matter quick, and bursting into birth.Above, how high progressive life may go!Around, how wide! how deep extend below!Vast chain of Being! which from God began,Natures ethereal, human, angel, man,Beast, bird, fish, insect, what no eye can seeNo glass can reach; from Infinity to theeFrom thee to Nothing.—On superior pow'rsWere we to press, inferior might on ours;Or in the full creation leave a void,Where one step broken the great scale's destroyedFrom Nature's chain whatever link you strike,Tenth or ten-thousandth, breaks the chain alike.And, if each system in gradation rollAlike essential to th' amazing whole,The least confusion but in one, not allThat system only, but the whole must fall.Let earth unbalanc'd from her orbit fly,Planets and suns run lawless through the sky;Let ruling angels from their spheres be hurl'd,Being on being wreck'd, and world on world,Heav'n's whole foundations to the centre nod,And Nature trembles to the throne of God:All this dread Order break—for whom? for thee?Vile worm!--Oh, madness! pride! impiety!What if the foot, ordain'd the dust to tread,Or hand to toil, aspired to be the head?What if the head, the eye, or ear, repinedTo serve—mere engines to the ruling Mind?Just as absurd for any part to claimTo be another, in this general frame:Just as absurd to mourn the tasks or pains,The great directing Mind of All ordains.All are but parts of one stupendous wholeWhose body Nature is, and God the Soul:That changed through all, and yet in all the same,Great is in earth as in th' ethereal frame,Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze,Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees,Lives through all life, extends through all extent,Spreads undivided, operates unspent;Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part,As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart;As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns,As the rapt seraph that adores and burns:To him no high, no low, no great, no small;He fills, he bounds, connects, and equals all.Cease then, nor Order Imperfection name:Our proper bliss depends on what we blame.Know thy own point: This kind, this due degreeOf blindness, weakness, Heav'n bestows on thee.Submit—in this, or any other sphere,Secure to be as blest as thou canst bear:Safe in the hand of one disposing Pow'rOr in the natal, or the mortal hour.All Nature is but Art, unknown to thee;All Chance, Direction which thou canst not see;All Discord, Harmony not understood;All partial Evil, universal Good:And, spite of Pride, in erring Reason's spite,One truth is clear, WHATEVER is, is RIGHT.

See through this air, this ocean, and this earth,

All matter quick, and bursting into birth.

Above, how high progressive life may go!

Around, how wide! how deep extend below!

Vast chain of Being! which from God began,

Natures ethereal, human, angel, man,

Beast, bird, fish, insect, what no eye can see

No glass can reach; from Infinity to thee

From thee to Nothing.—On superior pow'rs

Were we to press, inferior might on ours;

Or in the full creation leave a void,

Where one step broken the great scale's destroyed

From Nature's chain whatever link you strike,

Tenth or ten-thousandth, breaks the chain alike.

And, if each system in gradation rollAlike essential to th' amazing whole,The least confusion but in one, not allThat system only, but the whole must fall.Let earth unbalanc'd from her orbit fly,Planets and suns run lawless through the sky;Let ruling angels from their spheres be hurl'd,Being on being wreck'd, and world on world,Heav'n's whole foundations to the centre nod,And Nature trembles to the throne of God:All this dread Order break—for whom? for thee?Vile worm!--Oh, madness! pride! impiety!

And, if each system in gradation roll

Alike essential to th' amazing whole,

The least confusion but in one, not all

That system only, but the whole must fall.

Let earth unbalanc'd from her orbit fly,

Planets and suns run lawless through the sky;

Let ruling angels from their spheres be hurl'd,

Being on being wreck'd, and world on world,

Heav'n's whole foundations to the centre nod,

And Nature trembles to the throne of God:

All this dread Order break—for whom? for thee?

Vile worm!--Oh, madness! pride! impiety!

What if the foot, ordain'd the dust to tread,Or hand to toil, aspired to be the head?What if the head, the eye, or ear, repinedTo serve—mere engines to the ruling Mind?Just as absurd for any part to claimTo be another, in this general frame:Just as absurd to mourn the tasks or pains,The great directing Mind of All ordains.

What if the foot, ordain'd the dust to tread,

Or hand to toil, aspired to be the head?

What if the head, the eye, or ear, repined

To serve—mere engines to the ruling Mind?

Just as absurd for any part to claim

To be another, in this general frame:

Just as absurd to mourn the tasks or pains,

The great directing Mind of All ordains.

All are but parts of one stupendous wholeWhose body Nature is, and God the Soul:That changed through all, and yet in all the same,Great is in earth as in th' ethereal frame,Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze,Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees,Lives through all life, extends through all extent,Spreads undivided, operates unspent;Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part,As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart;As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns,As the rapt seraph that adores and burns:To him no high, no low, no great, no small;He fills, he bounds, connects, and equals all.

All are but parts of one stupendous whole

Whose body Nature is, and God the Soul:

That changed through all, and yet in all the same,

Great is in earth as in th' ethereal frame,

Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze,

Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees,

Lives through all life, extends through all extent,

Spreads undivided, operates unspent;

Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part,

As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart;

As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns,

As the rapt seraph that adores and burns:

To him no high, no low, no great, no small;

He fills, he bounds, connects, and equals all.

Cease then, nor Order Imperfection name:Our proper bliss depends on what we blame.Know thy own point: This kind, this due degreeOf blindness, weakness, Heav'n bestows on thee.Submit—in this, or any other sphere,Secure to be as blest as thou canst bear:Safe in the hand of one disposing Pow'rOr in the natal, or the mortal hour.All Nature is but Art, unknown to thee;All Chance, Direction which thou canst not see;All Discord, Harmony not understood;All partial Evil, universal Good:And, spite of Pride, in erring Reason's spite,One truth is clear, WHATEVER is, is RIGHT.

Cease then, nor Order Imperfection name:

Our proper bliss depends on what we blame.

Know thy own point: This kind, this due degree

Of blindness, weakness, Heav'n bestows on thee.

Submit—in this, or any other sphere,

Secure to be as blest as thou canst bear:

Safe in the hand of one disposing Pow'r

Or in the natal, or the mortal hour.

All Nature is but Art, unknown to thee;

All Chance, Direction which thou canst not see;

All Discord, Harmony not understood;

All partial Evil, universal Good:

And, spite of Pride, in erring Reason's spite,

One truth is clear, WHATEVER is, is RIGHT.

Pope.

Letter T.

This celebrated statesman, who flourished in the reigns of Charles I. and II., took a prominent part in the eventful times in which he lived. He was not of noble birth, but the descendant of a family called Hyde, which resided from a remote period at Norbury, in Cheshire. He was originally intended for the church, but eventually became a lawyer, applying himself to the study of his profession with a diligence far surpassing that of the associates with whom he lived. In 1635, he attracted the notice of Archbishop Laud, which may be regarded as the most fortunate circumstance of his life, as it led to his introduction to Charles I. In consequence of the ability displayed by him in the responsible duties he was called to perform, that Monarch offered him the office of Solicitor-General. But this Hyde declined, preferring, as he said, to serve the King in an unofficial capacity. After the battle of Naseby, Hyde was appointed one of the council formed to attend, watch over, and direct the Prince of Wales. After hopelessly witnessing for many months a course of disastrous and ill-conducted warfare in the West, the council fled with the Prince, first to the Scilly Islands, near Cornwall, and thence to Jersey. From this place, against the wishes of Hyde, the Prince, in 1640, repaired to his mother, Henrietta, at Paris, leaving Hyde at Jersey, where he remained for two years, engaged in the composition of his celebrated "History of the Rebellion." In May, 1648, Hyde was summoned to attend the Prince at the Hague; and here they received the news of the death of Charles I., which is said to have greatly appalled them. After faithfully following the new King in all his vicissitudes of fortune, suffering at times extreme poverty, he attained at the Restoration the period of his greatest power. In 1660, his daughter Anne was secretly married to the Duke of York; but when, after a year, it was openly acknowledged, the new Lord Chancellor received the news with violent demonstrations of indignation and grief. Hyde, in fact, never showed any avidity for emoluments or distinction; but when this marriage was declared, it became desirable that some mark of the King's favour should be shown, and he was created Earl of Clarendon. He subsequently, from political broils, was compelled to exile himself from the Court, and took up his residence at Montpellier, where, resuming his literary labours, he completed his celebrated History, and the memoir of his life. After fruitlessly petitioning King Charles II. for permission to end his days in England, the illustrious exile died at Rouen, in 1674, in the sixty-fifth year of his age.

Statue of Lord Clarendon.

Letter I.

It is now generally known that the Owl renders the farmer important service, by ridding him of vermin, which might otherwise consume the produce of his field; but in almost every age and country it has been regarded as a bird of ill omen, and sometimes even as the herald of death. In France, the cry or hoot is considered as a certain forerunner of misfortune to the hearer. In Tartary, the owl is looked upon in another light, though not valued as it ought to be for its useful destruction of moles, rats, and mice. The natives pay it great respect, because they attribute to this bird the preservation of the founder of their empire, Genghis Khan. That Prince, with his army, happened to be surprised and put to flight by his enemies, and was forced to conceal himself in a little coppice. An owl settled on the bush under which he was hid, and his pursuers did not search there, as they thought it impossible the bird would perch on a place where any man was concealed. Thenceforth his countrymen held the owl to be a sacred bird, and every one wore a plume of its feathers on his head.

One of the smallest of the owl tribe utters but one melancholy note now and then. The Indians in North America whistle whenever they chance to hear the solitary note; and if the bird does not very soon repeat his harmless cry, the speedy death of the superstitious hearer is foreboded. It is hence called the death bird. The voices of all carnivorous birds and beasts are harsh, and at times hideous; and probably, like that of the owl, which, from the width and capacity of its throat, is in some varieties very powerful, may be intended as an alarm and warning to the birds and animals on which they prey, to secure themselves from the approach of their stealthy foe.

Owls are divided into two groups or families—one having two tufts of feathers on the head, which have been called ears or horns, and are moveable at pleasure, the others having smooth round heads without tufts. The bills are hooked in both. There are upwards of sixty species of owls widely spread over almost every part of the known world; of these we may count not fewer than eight as more or less frequenting this country. One of the largest of the tribe is the eagle hawk, or great horned owl, the great thickness of whose plumage makes it appear nearly as large as the eagle. Some fine preserved specimens of this noble-looking bird may be seen in the British Museum. It is a most powerful bird; and a specimen was captured, with great difficulty, in 1837, when it alighted upon the mast-head of a vessel off Flamborough-head.

The amiable naturalist, Mr. Waterton, who took especial interest in the habits of the owl, writes thus on the barn owl:—"This pretty aerial wanderer of the night often comes into my room, and, after flitting to and fro, on wing so soft and silent that he is scarcely heard, takes his departure from the same window at which he had entered. I own I have a great liking for the bird; and I have offered it hospitality and protection on account of its persecutions, and for its many services to me; I wish that any little thing I could write or say might cause it to stand better with the world than it has hitherto done."

Owls in a Castle Keep.

Chatterton.

This gifted young poet was the son of a schoolmaster at Bristol, where he was born, in 1752. On the 24th of August, 1770, he was found dead, near a table covered with the scraps of writings he had destroyed, in a miserable room in Brook-street, Holborn. In Redcliffe churchyard, Bristol, a beautiful monument has been erected to the memory of the unfortunate poet.

O God! whose thunders shake the sky,Whose eye this atom globe surveys,To Thee, my only rock, I fly—Thy mercy in thy justice praise.Oh, teach me in the trying hour,When anguish swells the dewy tear,To still my sorrows, own Thy power,Thy goodness love, Thy justice fear.Ah! why, my soul, dost thou complain,Why, drooping, seek the dark recess?Shake off the melancholy chain,For God created all to bless.But, ah! my breast is human still:The rising sigh, the falling tear,My languid vitals' feeble rill,The sickness of my soul declare.Chatterton.

O God! whose thunders shake the sky,Whose eye this atom globe surveys,To Thee, my only rock, I fly—Thy mercy in thy justice praise.

O God! whose thunders shake the sky,

Whose eye this atom globe surveys,

To Thee, my only rock, I fly—

Thy mercy in thy justice praise.

Oh, teach me in the trying hour,When anguish swells the dewy tear,To still my sorrows, own Thy power,Thy goodness love, Thy justice fear.

Oh, teach me in the trying hour,

When anguish swells the dewy tear,

To still my sorrows, own Thy power,

Thy goodness love, Thy justice fear.

Ah! why, my soul, dost thou complain,Why, drooping, seek the dark recess?Shake off the melancholy chain,For God created all to bless.

Ah! why, my soul, dost thou complain,

Why, drooping, seek the dark recess?

Shake off the melancholy chain,

For God created all to bless.

But, ah! my breast is human still:The rising sigh, the falling tear,My languid vitals' feeble rill,The sickness of my soul declare.

But, ah! my breast is human still:

The rising sigh, the falling tear,

My languid vitals' feeble rill,

The sickness of my soul declare.

Chatterton.

Letter T.

This city and sea-port of Natolia, in Asia, is situate towards the northern part of a peninsula, upon a long and winding gulf of the same name, which is capable of containing the largest navy in the world. The city is about four miles round, presenting a front of a mile long to the water; and when approached by sea, it resembles a capacious amphitheatre with the ruins of an ancient castle crowning its summit. The interior of the city, however, disappoints the expectations thus raised, for the streets are narrow, dirty, and ill-paved, and there is now scarcely a trace of those once splendid edifices which rendered Smyrna one of the finest cities in Asia Minor. The shops are arched over, and have a handsome appearance: in spite of the gloom which the houses wear, those along the shore have beautiful gardens attached to them, at the foot of which are summer-houses overhanging the sea. The city is subject to earthquakes and the plague, which latter, in 1814, carried off above 50,000 of the inhabitants.

About midnight, in July, 1841, a fire broke out at Smyrna, which, from the crowded state of the wooden houses, the want of water, and the violence of the wind, was terribly destructive. About 12,000 houses were destroyed, including two-thirds of the Turkish quarter, most of the French and the whole of the Jewish quarters, with many bazaars and several mosques, synagogues, and other public buildings. It was calculated that 20,000 persons were deprived of shelter and food, and the damage was estimated at two millions sterling.

Smyrna.

The fine port of Smyrna is frequented by ships from all nations, freighted with valuable cargoes, both outward and inward. The greater part of the trading transactions is managed by Jews, who act as brokers, the principals meeting afterwards to conclude the bargains.

In 1402 Smyrna was taken by Tamerlane, and suffered very severely. The conqueror erected within its walls a tower constructed of stones and the heads of his enemies. Soon after, it came under the dominion of the Turks, and has been subsequently the most flourishing city in the Levant, exporting and importing valuable commodities to and from all parts of the world.

Letter I.

I begin with distinguishing true gentleness from passive tameness of spirit, and from unlimited compliance with the manners of others. That passive tameness which submits, without opposition, to every encroachment of the violent and assuming, forms no part of Christian duty; but, on the contrary, is destructive of general happiness and order. That unlimited complaisance, which on every occasion falls in with the opinions and manners of others, is so far from being a virtue, that it is itself a vice, and the parent of many vices. It overthrows all steadiness of principle; and produces that sinful conformity with the world which taints the whole character. In the present corrupted state of human manners, always to assent and to comply is the very worst maxim we can adopt. It is impossible to support the purity and dignity of Christian morals without opposing the world on various occasions, even though we should stand alone. That gentleness, therefore, which belongs to virtue, is to be carefully distinguished from the mean spirit of cowards, and the fawning assent of sycophants. It renounces no just right from fear. It gives up no important truth from flattery. It is indeed not only consistent with a firm mind, but it necessarily requires a manly spirit, and a fixed principle, in order to give it any real value. Upon this solid ground only, the polish of gentleness can with advantage be superinduced.

It stands opposed, not to the most determined regard for virtue and truth, but to harshness and severity, to pride and arrogance, to violence and oppression. It is properly that part of the great virtue of charity, which makes us unwilling to give pain to any of our brethren. Compassion prompts us to relieve their wants. Forbearance prevents us from retaliating their injuries. Meekness restrains our angry passions; candour, our severe judgments. Gentleness corrects whatever is offensive in our manners, and, by a constant train of humane attentions, studies to alleviate the burden of common misery. Its office, therefore, is extensive. It is not, like some other virtues, called forth only on peculiar emergencies; but it is continually in action, when we are engaged in intercourse with men. It ought to form our address, to regulate our speech, and to diffuse itself over our whole behaviour.

We must not, however, confound this gentle "wisdom which is from above" with that artificial courtesy, that studied smoothness of manners, which is learned in the school of the world. Such accomplishments the most frivolous and empty may possess. Too often they are employed by the artful as a snare; too often affected by the hard and unfeeling as a cover to the baseness of their minds. We cannot, at the same time, avoid observing the homage, which, even in such instances, the world is constrained to pay to virtue. In order to render society agreeable, it is found necessary to assume somewhat that may at least carry its appearance. Virtue is the universal charm. Even its shadow is courted, when the substance is wanting. The imitation of its form has been reduced into an art; and in the commerce of life, the first study of all who would either gain the esteem or win the hearts of others, is to learn the speech and to adopt the manners of candour, gentleness, and humanity. But that gentleness which is the characteristic of a good man has, like every other virtue, its seat in the heart; and let me add, nothing except what flows from the heart can render even external manners truly pleasing. For no assumed behaviour can at all times hide the real character. In that unaffected civility which springs from a gentle mind there is a charm infinitely more powerful than in all the studied manners of the most finished courtier.

True gentleness is founded on a sense of what we owe to HIM who made us, and to the common nature of which we all share. It arises from reflections on our own failings and wants, and from just views of the condition and the duty of man. It is native feeling heightened and improved by principle. It is the heart which easily relents; which feels for every thing that is human, and is backward and slow to inflict the least wound. It is affable in its address, and mild in its demeanour; ever ready to oblige, and willing to be obliged by others; breathing habitual kindness towards friends, courtesy to strangers, long-suffering to enemies. It exercises authority with moderation; administers reproof with tenderness; confers favours with ease and modesty. It is unassuming in opinion, and temperate in zeal. It contends not eagerly about trifles; slow to contradict, and still slower to blame; but prompt to allay dissension and to restore peace. It neither intermeddles unnecessarily with the affairs, nor pries inquisitively into the secrets of others. It delights above all things to alleviate distress; and if it cannot dry up the falling tear, to sooth at least, the grieving heart. Where it has not the power of being useful, it is never burdensome. It seeks to please rather than to shine and dazzle, and conceals with care that superiority, either of talent or of rank, which is oppressive to those who are beneath it. In a word, it is that spirit and that tenour of manners which the Gospel of Christ enjoins, when it commands us "to bear one another's burdens; to rejoice with those who rejoice, and to weep with those who weep; to please every one his neighbour for his good; to be kind and tender-hearted; to be pitiful and courteous; to support the weak, and to be patient towards all men."

Blair.

The Iguana (Cyclura colei) is not only of singular aspect, but it may be regarded as the type of a large and important group in the Saurian family, which formed so conspicuous a feature in the ancient fauna of this country. The iguana attains a large size in Jamaica, whence the present specimen was obtained, not unfrequently approaching four feet in length. In colour it is a greenish grey. It is entirely herbivorous, as are all its congeners. Its principal haunt in Jamaica is the low limestone chain of hills, along the shore from Kingston Harbour and Goat Island, on to its continuation in Vere.

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