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Before the plague and famine had withdrawn themselves from the unhappy people of Tripoli, the more dreadful pestilence, discord, had completed a sad triumvirate. Owing to the restlessness of the Bashaw's two younger sons, especially the youngest, the place was for yearsafter in unceasing anxiety and excitement. The city of Tripoli, after the plague, exhibited an appearance awfully striking. In some of the houses were found the last victims that had perished in them, who having died alone, unpitied and unassisted, lay in a state to bad too be removed from the spot, and were obliged to be buried where they were; while in others, children were wandering about deserted, without a friend belonging to them. The town was almost entirely depopulated, rarely two people walked together. One solitary being, pacing slowly through the streets, his mind unoccupied by business, lost in painful reflections; if he lifted his eyes, it was with mournful surprise to gaze on the empty habitations around him; whole streets he passed without a living creature in them; for beside the desolation of the plague before it broke out in this city, many of the inhabitants, at the greatest inconvenience, left their houses and fled to Tunis, (where the plague then raged), to avoid starving in the dreadful famine that preceded it here.

Amongst those left in this town some have been spared to acknowledge the compassion and attention shewn them by the English consul. In the distresses of the famine, and in the horrors of the plague, many a Buffering wretch, whose days have been spun out by his timely assistance, has left his name on record in this place. Persons saved from perishing in the famine, who have remained sole possessors of property before divided among their friends (all now swept off by the plague), come forward to thank him with wild expressions of joy, calling him bani (father), and praying to Mahomet to bless him. They say that besides giving them life he has preserved them to become little kings, and swear a faithful attachment to him, which there is no doubt they will shew, in their way, as long as he is in their country.

August 29, 1786.-The appearance of a new moon three nights ago put an end to the Moor's great fast of Ramadan, which had begun on the appearance of the new moon preceding.

During thirty days a number of circumstances having happened to create very alarming dissentions between the three sons of the Bashaw. Lilla Halluma, by exerting every effort, hoped during the feast of Beiram, which begins on the day after the fast, to put an end to these disputes and reconcile her sons; for that feast is the time at which every good Mussulman endeavours to settle all quarrels which may have disturbed the peace of his family in the foregoing year

On the first day of Beiram, which feast continues three days in town, the Bashaw usually has a numerous court, which he should receive in the chamber built for that purpose, called the Messelees; but owing to the prophecy I have mentioned to you before, of some years standing, delivered by one of their most famous marabuts, that "the Bashaw shall end his reign in this chamber, by being stabbed on the throne by an unknown hand," he will not follow his inclination of resuming the custom of going there when dissentions happen at the castle; and there have been such serious quarrels between his sons during this Ramadan, that he still continues to receive his court in another part of the palace. All his subjects are permitted to approach the throne to do homage to their sovereign on the first day of the feast. Two of the people in whom the Bashaw has the greatest confidence, stand on each side of him; their office is toslay hold of the arm of every stranger that presents himelf to kiss the Bashaw's hand, for fear of any hidden treachery, and only people of consequence and trust are permitted to enter his presence armed; others are obliged to leave their arms in the skiffer on entering the palace.

The drawing-room, in honour of the day, was uncommonly crowded; when all the courtiers were, in a moment, struck with a sight that seemed to congeal their blood; they appeared to expect nothing less than the slaughter of their sovereign at the foot of his throne, and themselves to be sacrificed to the vengeance of his enemies. The three princes entered with their chief officers, guards, and blacks, armed in an extraordinary manner, with their sabres drawn. Each of the sons, surrounded by his own officers and guards, went separately up to kiss the Bashaw's hand. He received them with trembling, and his extreme surprise and agitation were visible to every eye, and the doubtful issue of the moment appeared terrible to all present. The princes formed three divisions, keeping distinctly apart; they conversed with the consuls and different people of court as freely as usual, but did not suffer a glance to escape to other. They stayed but a short time in the drawingroom, each party retiring in the same order they had entered; and it became apparent, that their rage was levelled against each other, and not against their father, though the Bashaw seemed only to recover breath on their departure. The next morning, the second day of the feast, the Bey went to his mother's apartments to pay his compliments to her on the Beiram. She was very anxious to see him shake hands with his brother, Sidy Hamet, the second son, at least to make up the last breach between them; she began by insisting, therefore, that the Bey should not touch her hand, till he consented to stay with her till she sent for Sidy Hamet's wife to come and kiss his hand, a token of respect never omitted by any of the women in the family of the Bey on this occasion, unless their husbands are at variance with him. Lilla Halluma hoped, by this mark of respect from Sidy

Hamet's wife, to begin the work of reconciliation between the Bey and his brother, as this would have been the means of disarming the anger of Sidy Useph, the youngest son. The Bey, at length, consented to his mother's entreaties, and a message was instantly sent to Sidy Hamet's wife, who most unfortunately was, at that moment, attending on her husband at dinner. The message was delivered in his hearing, and it is thought with design, as there are so many intermeddlers at the castle. Sidy Hamet immediately ordered his wife to send a very severe answer back to the Bey. His wife was so alarmed and hurt at this new misfortune, which must occasion a further breach, that her women were obliged to support her. When she recovered, being willing to soften the matter as much as possible, she only sent word to the Bashaw's wife that she could not come because her husband was eating, and begged her to make as light of it as possible to the Bey; but the answer was delivered in the worst words Sidy Hamet had delivered it, and the Bey left his mother's presence too much enraged for her to pacify him, while Lilla Halluma remained agonized, meditating on the scenes of blood that would, in all probability, be soon perpetrated in the castle.

On returning to his apartment, the Bey found that one of his servants had been laid down at his youngest brother's, Sidy Useph's, feet, and almost bastinadoed to death, for a dispute with one of Sidy Useph's servants. Had the brothers met at that moment it would have proved fatal to one or both of them. The next morning (the third and last day of Beiram) the Bey went again to court, and in the presence of his father, Sidy Hamet and Sidy Useph, and a very numerous assemblage of courtiers, he warned both his brothers of putting his prudence any further to trial; he said he scorned to take an unfair measure, though in his power to silence both of them; that if either of them wished to call him out he would condescend (for they had no right to de mand it of him), to meet them on the Pianura, where he did not fear the zeal or numbers of his people, and where, if they irritated him too much, he would shortly summons them to feel his power. The Bey's suite seemed hardly able to abstain from confirming with their actions what their master had said, who, upon saluting his father, retired from the court.

With various degrees of violence the same animosity was exhibited between the Bashaw's children up to the year 1790. Settled disputes among relatives seldom do otherwise than encrease in bitterness with time. As this period the two younger brothers disagreed with each other. The dispute arose among their servants; but grew to such a beight between themselves, that their old father was called out of his bed to settle it. He is accused, and it would appear with some justice, of favouring his youngest child, after the manner of most parents. Sidy Useph, though married, was quite a lad in age, being only about sixteen or seventeen years old. He was however a most " Angry boy." He had been early in life accustomed to the fantastic tricks of Muleh Yesied, an infamous tyrant, the son of the then reigning emperor of Morocco. Sidy Useph was esteemed thd cleverest of his family. His cleverness however did not extend to a perception of propriety; and accordingly be was a cunning, fierce, wilful spoiled child; a singular mixture of boyish perverseness, matured cunning, and despotic contempt both of difficulty and decency.

June 2, 1790.-To our very great surprise, the Bey, Sidy Hamet and Sidy Useph rode on the sands together today. The Bey's people were nearly double the number he has in general with him, while Sidy Hamet and Sidy Useph's attendants were not near so numerous as usual. The Bey's friends are much alarmed for his safety, and are very sorry to see him so reconciled to Sidy Useph. When they wish to caution him, the Bey's language is, that Sidy Useph has no power to injure him, as he can bring in no Arabs without his father's leave; and as the Bashaw's life is expected to terminate daily, he will not have it on his conscience to shorten its duration. The people, he says, know and acknowledge the throne to be bis, therefore, while his brothers do not openly molest him, it is time enough when the Bashaw's life is ended to set limits to their power and possessions; "and then," continued he, "unless they aim at the throne, they will have every reason to be satisfied with what I shall do for them."

The Bey depends on the vigilance of his people to guard his person from treachery; it is impossible for them to give greater proofs of attachment to him, or to be more on the alert than they are. Those who are not at the palace with the Bey, keep a watch at night in their own houses, in case of the least alarm at the castle, and this they do without any orders from their Prince.

At length, however, Sidy Useph determined upon his eldest brother's destruction. With this view he paid a visit to his mother. He brought his chosen blacks with him and had well instructed them. The moment he entered the castle, he proceeded to Lilla Halluma's apartment, to whom he declared his intentions of making peace with his eldest brother, and intreated her to forward his wishes, by sending for the Bey to complete their reconciliation in her presence. Lilla Halluma, transported with the idea of seeing her sons again united, as she flattered herself, in the bonds of friendship, sent instantly to the Bey, who was in Lilla Aisher's (his) wife's apartment, informing him that his brother, Sidy Useph, was with her without arms and waiting to be reconciled to him in her presence; that she would herself join their hands together; and that, by the Bashaw's head, the Bey if he loved he would come to her directly unarmed.

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The Bey, actuated by the first impulse, armed himself with his pistols and yatagan, or sabre. Lilla Aisher was certain, from the love Lilla Halluma bore the three princes, that no open danger would threaten the Bey's life in her apartment. She only dreaded treachery, which the Bey would never listen to. In the present moment she was alarmed lest the Bey's passing to Lilla Halluma's apartments with a hostile appear ance, so contrary to the rules of the harem, might give a pretext for his being assaulted by Sidy Useph's people: she therofore reminded him that he was going to his mother's apartment, where it was sacrilege to carry arms; and after the message Lilla Halluma bad sent him his going with them might seem as if he purposed to assassinate his brother, and would, perhaps, draw the vengeance of the castle on him while he was unpre pared. The bey, hesitating a moment, pulled off his arms, embraced Lilla Aisher and was departing, when she threw herself at his feet, and presenting him his sabre, entreated him not to leave all his armus, and would not let him go till he consented to take that with him.

When the Bey came to his mother's apartment, Lilla Halluma perceiving his sabre, begged him to take it off before they began to converse, as she assured him his brother had no arms about him. The Bey, to whom there did not appear the smallest reason for suspicion, willingly delivered his sabre to his mother, who laid it on a window near which they stood, and feeling herself convinced of the integrity of the Bey's intentions, and being completely deceived in those of Sidy's Useph's, she with pleasure led the two princes to the sopha, and seating herself between them, held one of each of their hands in hers, and, as she has since said, looking at them alternately, she prided herself on having thus at last brought them together as friends.

The Bey, as soon as they were seated, endeavoured to convince his brother, that though he came prepared to go through the ceremony of making peace with him, yet there was not the least occasion for it on his part, for that he had no animosity towards him; but, on the contrary, as he had no sons of his own living, he considered Sidy Hamet and himself as such, and would continue to treat them as a father whenever he came to the throne. Sidy Useph declared himself satisfied, but said, to make Lilla Halluma easy, there could be no objection, after such professions from the Bey, to their both attesting their friendship on the Koran, the Bey answered," with all my heart, I am ready.” Sidy Useph rose quickly from his seat, and called loudly for the Koran which was the signal he had given his infernal blacks to bring his pistols, two of which were immediately put into hand, and he instantly fired at the Bey, as he sat by Lilla Halluma's side on the sopha. Lilla Halluma raising her hand to save her son, had it most terribly mangled by the splinters of the pistol, which burst and shot the Bey in his side. The Bey rose, and seizing his sabre from the window, where Lilla Halluma had laid it, he made a stroke at his brother, but Sidy Useph instantly discharged a second pistol and shot the Bey through the heart. To add to the unmerited affiction of Lilla Halluma, the murdered prince, in his last moments, erroneously conceiving she had betrayed him, exclaimed " Ah, madam, is this the last present you have reserved for your eldest son?" What horror must such words from her favourite son have produced in the breast of Lilla Halluma in her present cruel situation Sidy Useph, on seeing his brother fall, called to his blacks, saying, "There is the Bey, finish him." They dragged him from the spot where he lay yet breathing, and discharged all their pieces into him. The Bey's wife, Lilla Aisher, hearing the sudden clash of arms, broke from her women, who endeavoured to restrain her, and springing into the room, clasped the bleeding body of her husband in her arms, while Lilla Halluma endeavouring to prevent Sidy Useph from disfiguring the body had thrown herself over it, and fainted from the agony of her wounded hand. Five of Sidy Useph's blacks were at the same moment stabbing the body of the Bey as it lay on the floor; after which miserable triumph they fled with their master.

The Bashaw took little pains to resent the murder of his eldest son; but endeavoured to let the transaction pass off as quietly as possible. Sidy Hamet, his second son, was presently proclaimed Bey. Upon the elevation of Sidy Hamet, his younger brother's chief hostility was immediately addressed to him. Their disputes, invariably arising in the indomitable insolence of the younger, were perpetual.

June 23, 1791.-The town has been in a state of great alarm. The twentieth of this month was fixed for Sidy Useph to meet the Bashaw and Bey in the castle, and make piece again with the Bey in the Bashaw's presence; but Sidy Useph sent a letter to his brother the preceding evening, to say he should not come to the castle without his arms, and desired the Bey to remember the words of the prophet, which declared that nothing could shorten or lengthen the life of a man, and that if the Bey believed in their strongest tenet (mughtube, fate), he could not want courage. The Bashaw sent immediately an answer to Sidy Useph, to tell him that he would not suffer him to come into his presence armed; but, notwithstanding this order, Sidy Useph approached the town next morning, with three hundred men under arms. In consequence of Sidey Useph's approach with such numbers, a proclamation was issued from the castle to the Moors of the town, that if they were molested, every one had the Bashaw's leave to defend themselves, not only against Sidy Useph's people, but against Sidy Useph himself. Such a defence, with

out this edict, would have been considered high treason. Before Sidy Useph appeared in sight, his famous Marabut Fataisi came into town with some of his holy followers. They were admitted to the sovereign, and Fataisi told the Bashaw that Sidy Useph was on his way to town with twenty people only, and without arms, and implored him by the prophet to send the Bey out to meet him, and make terms with him for the peace of his family and of his people. The Bashaw instantly agreed to it, and had the prince gone he would certainly have been murdered. But the Bey having received certain information, that Sidy Useph was near the town with several hundred people, he seized the Marabut, though in the Bashaw's presence, and, holding his sabre over him, he told him, that had he not been a Marabut, he would have laid him dead at the Bashaw's feet for his treachery, and then informed the Bashaw that his brother had with him upwards of four hundred men under arms. The Bey turned the Marabut out of his presence, and the officers presented their arms at him, but the Bey ordered them not to fire. He desired they would see the Marabut out of the gates of the town, and give orders that, on pain of death, no one should suffer him on any account to enter it again.

In the evening the castle was crowded with people, and strongly guarded at the sandannar, or guard-house. At the zook, a sort of guard-house in the bazaar, the guards were trebled.

From our house we saw the bashaw sitting in his golphar, at five in the morning of that day, and he remained almost wholly there till evening. The bashaw dispatched messengers to the different cydes of the Messeah, to send the Moors of the adjacent villages into town that night, but Sidy Useph sent immediately to tell them, that if they did not come to him, or if one of them attempted to go into town, he would massacre their families and burn their gardens.

A body of Mezurateens and Arabs came in that night to assist the bey, whose situation is truly distressing. He can get no resources from the bashaw, and was so short of cash when the Arabs arrived, that he was obliged to borrow money to get provender for their horses, and the necessary provisions for his family. In the evening the Shaiks of the streets were ordered to arm the inhabitants of the town. In the Messeah the Moors joined Sidy Useph's people, and committed dreadful ravages all the night, plundering the palaces and gardens belonging to the bashaw, and of those people who remained attached to him.

Before sufficient assistance could arrive from the Arabs for the bashaw, it was feared Sidy Useph had Moors enough on his side to enable him to enter the town, and the whole of the night of the twenty-second he was every hour expected to have forced his way in. The agitation of the Tripolians, as well as the Europe. ans, during the whole of that night, is not easy to be conceived.

The town being on the sea coast, the inhabitants could have fled no where from the rapacity of a banditti of Arabs, had they made their way into the city.

At half-past ten the next morning, Sidy Useph appeared for the first time in open hostilities against his family. All the atrocities he had as yet committed received a tenfold addition of guilt, by their having been achieved under the mask of friendship.

On the appearance of Sidy Useph the second day, all the consular houses were closed, as were the shops and the houses of the inhabitants who turned out with their arms, and ranged themselves in the streets.

The bashaw sent forces out early in the morning, to preserve the villages of the Messeah from the further ravages of Sidy Useph's people. In the afternoon they brought in the governor or cyde of the Messeah, who was carried to the castle to be strangled, but he is yet living. This man, instead of assisting the people and protecting them, had given every assistance he could to Sidy Useph. When the cyde arrived at the town gate, the bashaw ordered his chaouxes to proclaim Sidy Useph a rebel, and that it should be lawful to seize him wherever he could be taken, excepting in the marabuts or mosques, which may not be violated.

A noble moor came into town in the evening of the twenty-second, and pretended not to have joined Sidy Useph, or to have approved of his measures; but he returned again to him early in the morning, and, a short time after his departure, a quantity of provisions and ammunition was stopped at the town gate, which he had endeavoured to send out to him.

About an hour before noon Sidy Useph's people attacked the town. We saw Sidy Useph for some time scated as cyde of the Messeah in the Pianura, in the place the cyde should have occupied had he been present. Just at this moment the cyde of the Messeah was brought into the castle-yard to be strangled, but he was remanded back. This is the second time in one day that he has undergone the terrors of being put to death.

The bashaw has sent round the coast to collect the Arabs. We saw a number of horsemen at a very great distan ce, approaching from the west; this circumstance gives courage to the people here, who were much cast down' The cannon from the town were fired at Sidy Useph's people during the whole of the day, which had the desired effect of keeping them back. But though the firing was incessant, it did little execution on either side. Sidy Useph lost five men, and a few horses belonging to the town were killed, notwithstanding there were upwards of three thousand shot fired. The cannon were not even mounted upon carriages; they were fired by a Russian so badly, that he frequently pointed them into the sea on his left instead of into the Pianura

exactly before him. This account, I assure you, extraordinary as it appears, is true, for we saw every one fired.

Things continued pretty much in this way till the November following.

The town is badly off for articles from the country: none are brought in, as the Moors cannot venture out for fear of being plundered by Sidy Useph's people. A fowl, fresh meat, or even an egg, cannot be had without great difficulty and danger; and at an enormous expense, vegetables and other provisions have already been procured, at the risk of the lives of those who have been sent for them.

Tripoli may now be said to be overrun with strangers, and those of the most dangerous cast. In fact the Bashaw's allies are nearly as troublesome as his ene mies; untameable Arabs, of all tribes, and treacherous friends, are among his most trusted supports.

January 18, 1792.-This year, like the last, finds Tripoli involved in accumulated difficulties. A day does not pass without hearing of families despoiled, and wandering into town, reduced from affluence to beggary. Such a general consternation reigns, that it is impossible to discover who are friends or enemies, and war surrounds us with increasing horrors, aggravated by the dreadful consideration of its being between father and son. Sidy Useph still exerts his utmost efforts to excite the Arabs to arm for him, and they are joining him very fast; they are so much in his interest that when the Bashaw sends to any of the Arab chiefs to assist him, their terms are so cruelly unreasonable that it is often impossible to employ them. Sidy Useph is at present at Querra on the coast, a short distance from hence; but he is so continually expected here, that every outlet leading from the suburbs of Tripoli to the sands is kept blockaded with stones, to impede the approach of his people.

Matters continued as bad till the month of July of the year 93. Sidy Useph continually barrassing the town, in most unnatural warfare with his father and elder brother. It is surprising how they could have born with him so long. The poor old Bashaw had indeed been induced to offer a reward for the head of his favourite son; but Useph had now got too much power in his hands to make his capture an easy task. While this family were disputing among themselves for the city, in comes a wolf to take it from them. July 29, 1793. This has been, my dear friend, a very extraordinary day with us, and we are for the present moment most dangerously situated. Though we are so near quitting this place, we are destined to see an entire new government, and the whole of the Bashaw's family driven from Tripoli, before our departure, by a Turkish invader; even Sidy Useph, with all his efforts against bis father, must leave the throne to this usurper, who came into the bay at five this afternoon. We were taking our usual afternoon walk upon the terrace, when we perceived a fleet of Turkish vessels anchor in the harbour. As the Turks are never welcome visitors here, the dragoman was sent directly to inquire what Captain Pacha commanded the fleet that was just anchored. We were immediately informed that a Turk named Ali Ben Zool, was on board, with an order from the Grand Signior to depose our Bashaw, and mount the throne himself.

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With the servility to which the eastern people have habituated themselves, the Bashaw and Bey immediately succumbed to the mandate of the Grand SeigIn the hour of common danger they joined Sidy Useph; and altogether took refuge in the court of the Bey of Tunis, who entertained them with much hospitality. It turned out ultimately that they had yielded to a shadow, as the pretended order was a forgery. The Grand Seignior generously gave the Barbaric powers leave to do themselves justice! Accordingly, after a short and iniquitous reign, Ali Ben Zool was driven from Tripoli, by the Bashaw's two sons. The Bashaw did not long survive his restoration; and the Bey, Sidy Hamet, was, after all, cheated of his birth-right by his ambitious and unscrupulous younger brother.

The Bey, warned by his friends or by his own apprehensions, had for a long time since his return to Tripoli, avoided quitting the town but in company with Sidy Useph, from the fear of the latter acting inimically while absent, or preventing his entering the town again on his return. But the two princes being out in the Messeah together, Sidy Useph ou a dispute with his brother left him, reached the gates of the town some minutes before him, and without further ceremony closed them against the Bey; he then ordered him from the walls to retire to Derner, of which he permitted him to be Bey, adding that on his refusal he should be sacrificed before the walls of Tripoli. The Bey having no other resource, turned about with the few people he had with him and went to Derner, of which place he is now chief; leaving his brother, Sidy Useph, quietly seated on the throne, as Bashaw of Tripoli.

SHOPPING.

[To the Editor of the London Journal.] SIR,-I am sorry to break in upon the beautiful creaations of your fancy at this season of inspiration, with anything in the shape of a grievance, but seeing how happily you can convert even evils into sources of good ness and joy, I submit a case which I hope will not be deemed unworthy your consideration; especially as it may serve to put some of your fair readers of the metropolis upon their guard, at a time when too many of them are apt to forget themselves.

To say that I agree with you in your recommenda

tions to all who desire to be amiable, and to be thought so, to go forth in these May mornings, where sunny banks and flowery fields are "stealing and giving odours," and by their happy presence to add "sweets to the sweet," is not enough. I must also take leave to thank you for the felicitous language in which your recommendations are conveyed.

Of the rural rambles of the rural fair, with hearts and minds disposed to receive impressions from the holiness, the beauty, and fragrancy of nature, nothing but peace, and health, and joy, and moral goodness, the graces of form, and the language of heaven, as conveyed through the medium of lovely faces, is to be expected. But' how different the result of a May-day ramble in this overgrown city which now, from its extent, no less' than by its pernicious customs, imposes and confirms its evil habits on many of the female portion of fashionable inhabitants. The sun and warmth have now some, visible effects, even in the streets of London; and the very buttons, buckles, clasps, shop-windows, and coachpanels, toss the light about in darts and broad flashes, and the personal identity of our fair friends, divested of the hideous cloak and cape, is no longer questionable.

Now is the time that ladies begin to lapse into a kind of envious frenzy about shapes and colours; and now, therefore, is the time for those husbands who wish their wives to continue rational, as well as lovely, to take care of them; by no means suffering them to enter haberdashers', silk mercers,' or shawl-shops, unattended; and ye, indulgent lovers! beware of going into such places with a mistress who wants something, but who after she has thrown herself with a fretful bounce into the shop-chair, will only say what it is not, and not what it is. Beware of these symptoms; for this annual frenzy is a lusus Natura, sent periodically into this erring world to plague such obtuse and perverse beings as scornfully neglect her beauty and abuse her bounty, and is as amply provided against, by a due number of sharpers to take advantage of the occasion, as the annual regeneration of flies is, by a corresponding production of spiders, to entrap and devour them. As a man is said to be always infatuated before he is ruined, so our female friends turn fretful and ill-favoured when ripe for being imposed upon in their purchases of cheap and superfluous finery. A wardrobe of unworn finery is the indubitable sign of a puerile and uneasy mind; and whenever you see a lady fretful, you may suppose the seat of her disorder to be a chest of unworn and unwearable shawls: indeed, next to acute bodily pains, family bereavements, and biting penury, there is no source of disquiet equal to a possession which you know the moths and caprices of fashion have conspired to render valueless.

Superfluous purchases might not be so great an evil, in the main, if the poor creatures who manufacture such articles participated in the advantages of the sale; but such is by no means the case. Look in one of those marts of superfluity, and see how even a booby, with a little cash and a great deal of impudence, can flatter, and how he can tyrannize. How he can flatter and fawn upon the fretful simpletons who enter his door, and how he can domineer over his labourious and submissive assistants, who attend behind his counters, the most patient and ill-used of all human beings. In some of these places, a fashionably-dressed man is employed as a "shop-walker," a kind of assistant wheedler, and deputy-blusterer to the establishment; who, through the vacuum between his well-cultivated whiskers, grins his devoirs, or fulminates his commands, as the case may require. He makes known his importance and the gentility of his breeding, by the exclamations: "Hand over them shawls, Sir! Why do not you rise that lamp there!" &c.

I will here give the ladies a few hints fit to go with them in every round of fashionable shopping, and to be laid up in lavender, when at home. In these places, persons of the most unlovely aspects receive the most urgent attentions. The especial business of the " shopwalker" is to watch the entrance of customers, and to fasten his attentions on those ladies whose countenance and general air are most fretful and repulsive; for out of their very fretfulness, he contrives the means of imposing upon them. The business of his day is to effect impossibilities, and the boast and jest of his night, that he has, by sheer impudence, made the ugly purchase things uglier than themselves, and passed off the worst commodities on those who came to look with a supercilious eye upon the best. In short, the gross, palpable, and fawning flatteries, which characterize the principals in all these places, are such as imposters alone can útter, and idiots believe.

I have attended many of my female friends on their shopping excursions, and can truly declare that I never knew one who possessed, at the same time, a fretful temper and a happy choice. And for cheapness-unlovely faces embolden even those most patient and obliging persons who serve behind the counters, to impose upon them, if they can. They will naturally do so, from mere resentment, seeing that their integrity and most obliging attentions have been repelled by discontented looks and unamiable suspicions. On the contrary, happy faces enter unmolested by the shopwalker; they inspire a necessary confidence, and that kind of assiduity to please, in the server, which rarely fail to ensure a happy choice. The very patterns will appear to assume a delicacy of tint from their proximity to a sweet countenance, and those colours must needs be "fast," that are daily to be burnished with new smiles, until the very texture is worn out.

ARMIGER DOMINARUM.

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LETTERS TO SUCH OF THE LOVERS OF KNOWLEDGE AS HAVE NOT RECEIVED A CLASSICAL EDUCATION.

LETTER III.

A POPULAR VIEW OF THE HEATHEN MYTHOLOGY.

A Correspondent who writes respecting these letters, expected It seeins, that they were to appear in regular weekly succession. But we said, in our first, that we only proposed to give them "from time to time;" want of a particular book, and of leisure to go and consult it at a distance, still prevents us from taking up the subj ct of Homer, we thought we could not do better than give our readers the following article meanwhile.

*

THE divinities of the ancient mythology are of a very tangible order. They were personifications of the power of the external world, and of the operations of the intellect, and sometimes merged themselves into the particular providence of an eminent prince or reformer. Mankind wishing to have distinct ideas of the unknown powers of the universe, naturally painted them at first in their cwn shapes; and not being able to conceive of them otherwise than by the light of their understanding, they as naturally gifted them with their own faculties, moral and intellectual. Hence, the Heathen gods were reflections of the qualities most admired or feared during the times in which they originated; and to the same cause were owing the inconsistencies and the vices, palmed upon them by the stories of different ages and nations, whose gods became lumped together; and hence the trouble that the philosopher had in endeavouring to reconcile the popular superstitions with a theology more becoming. Plutarch, who was a priest at Delphi, and a regular devout Pagan, but good-hearted and imbued with philosophy, is shocked at the popular stories of the rapes and quarrels of the gods; and Plato, on a similar account, was for banishing Homer from his republic. Plutarch will not allow that it was the real Apollo who fought a serpent and afterwards had to purify himself. He said it must have been a likeness of him, a Dæmon In other words, the gods of Plutarch were to resemble the highest ideas which Plutarch could form of dignity and power. Hence, the greater philosophers whose ardour in the pursuit of truth, rendered them still more desirous of departing from conventional degradations of it, came to agree that the nature of the deity was inconceivable; and that the most exalted being they could fancy was at an incalculable distance from it,—an emanation, a being deputed, a sort of spiritual incarnation of one of the divine thoughts;—if we may so speak without absurdity, and without blame. Plato for instance, observing the moral imperfections of our planet, and not knowing how to account for them any more than we do (for the first cause of evil is always left in the dark) imagined that this word was created by what he called a Demiurgus, or inferior divine energy; just as an artist less than Raphael might paint a fine picture, though not so good as what might have come from the hands of the greater one. If you asked him how he made out, that the chief creator did not do the work himself, he would have referred you to the fact of the imperfection, and to the existence of different degrees of skill and beauty in which we see all about us; for he thought he had a right to argue from analogy, in default of more certain principles. This right he undoubtedly possessed, and it was natural and

• Virtue or vice either, if accompanied with power, will do to make a god of in barbarous times, and till mankind learn the perniciousness of that sort of apotheosis. An Eastern writer says that Pharoah wished to pass for a divinity with his subjects, and had frequent conversation with the devil for that purpose. The devil put him off from time to time, till he told him one day that the hour was arrived. "How is that;" cried Pharoah,"why is it time now, and was not before?" "The reason is," replied the Devil, "that you have not hitherto been quite bad enough: at length you have become intolerable, and there is no alternative between a revolt of your subjects, and their belief in your being a god. Once persuade them of that, and there is nothing so extravagant, either in word or deed, which they will rot take from yon with respect." Dr. Herbelot article Feraoun. SPARROW AND CO. CRANE COUR2.

No. 9.

reasonable to exert it; but considering the imperfection of the human faculties, and the false reports they make to us even of things cognizable to the senses, it is, in truth, impossible to argue with any certainty from things human to things divine. The only service, to all appearance, which our faculties can do for us in these questions, is to save us from the admission of gratuitous absurdities, and dogmas dishonourable to the idea of a Divine Being, and to encourage us to guess handsomely and to good purpose. For sincerity, at all events, must not be gainsaid; otherwise belief, and probability, and principle, and natural love, and the earth itself slide from under our feet. The mystery of the permission of evil still remained; the mystery of imperfection, and of cause itself, was only thrown back; and, in fact, the invention of the Demiurgos was merely shifting the whole mystery of deity from a first cause to a second. The old dilemma between omnipotence and omnibenevolence perplexed the understanding then, as it does now; and as this world was made the reflection of every other, or rather as evil was supposed to render all the operations of the deity imperfect, except immediately in his own sphere, men seem to have overlooked among other guesses, the probability, that evil may exist only in petty corners or minute portions of the universe, and even then be only the result of an experiment with certain elementary compounds to see whether they cannot be made planets of perfect happiness as well as the rest. For after all, Plato's assumption of the innate and unconscious difficulty which matter presents in the working (or an inability of some sort, whatever it be, to ren ler things perfect at once) is surely the best assumption, among the hundreds that have been taken for granted on this point; seeing that it sets aside malignity, encourages hope, and stimulates us to an active and benign state of endeavour such as we may conceive to enlist us in the divine service. We must never take any thing on trust in order to make a handle of it for dictation, or hypocrisy, or a selfish security, or an indolence which we may dignify with the title of resignation; but as we are compelled to assume or conjecture something or other, unless indeed we are deficient in the imaginative part of our nature, it is best to assume the best candidly, and acknowledge it to be an assumption, in order that we may do the utmost we can. Happy opinions are the wine of the heart. What if this world be an experiment, part of which consists in our own cooperation, that is to say, in trying how far the inhabitants of it can acquire energy enough, and do credit enough to the first cause, to add it finally to the number of blessed stars? and what if more direct communication with us, on the part of the operator, would of necessity put an end to the experiment? The petty human considerations of pride and modesty have nothing to do with the cordial magnitude of such guesses; and the beauty of them consists, we think, not merely in their cheerfulness and real piety, but in their adaptation to all experimental systems of utility, those of the most exclusive utilitarians not excepted. Such, we confess, is our own creed, which we boast at the same time to he emphatically Christian; and the good which our enthusiasm cannot help thinking such an opinion might do, will excuse us with the readers for this digression.

The hope of a happier state of things on earth, argues nothing against a life hereafter. The fitness of a human soul for immortality may be a part of the experiment. The divinest Preacher of Eternity that has appeared, expressly anticipated a happier period for mankind in their human state, though many who are called his followers are eager to load both themselves and the world they live in with contumely,-themselves as innately vicious," and the world as "a vale of tears." Such are the compliments they think to pay their Creator! Yet these are the persons who talk with the greatest devotion of resigning themselves to God's will, and who pique themselves upon having the most exalted ideas of his nature! How much better to

PRICE THREE HALFPENCE.

The Gods of Greece, taken in the popular view of them, were, upon the whole, a jovial company, occasi onally dispersed about the world, and assembling on Mount Olympus. They dined and supped there, and made love like a party of gallants at a King's table A pretty girl served, instead of a butler; and the Muse played the part of a band. When they came down to earth, they behaved like the party going home; made love again, after their fashion; interfered in quarrels, frightened the old and the feeble; and next day joined a campaign, or presided at an orthodox meeting. In short, they did whatever the vulgar thought gallant and heroical, and were particularly famous for having their own way. If a god offended against all humanity, he had his reasons for it, and was a privileged person. He could do no wrong. But if humanity went counter to a god, the offender and all his generation were to suffer for it. A lady who had resisted the violence of his virtue, was not to be believed, whenever she spoke truth; or your brother became an owl or a flint stone; or your son was to become a criminal or a madman, because his grandfather unwittingly married against the god's consent. The vulgar thought how wilful and unjust they would be themselves if they had power; they saw how much Kings were given to those kind of peccadilloes ; and therefore, if they could have become gods, how much more they would have been ungodly! It is true, the philosopher refined upon all this; and agreeably to the way in which nature works, there was a sort of cultivation of energy underneath it, and an instinct of something beyond the common theories of right and wrong. Nature's character remained safe, and her good work proceeded. The Divinity within us was superior to the ideas of him which we threw up.

Homer makes the gods of a mighty size. His Neptune goes a hundred miles at a stride. This grandeur is of a questionable sort. Homer's men become little in proportion as the gods become great, and Mars and Minerva lording it over a battle, are like giants "tempesting" among a parcel of mice. The less they were the less the dignity on either side was compromised; for their effect might be as gigantic as possible.

seen,

The truest grandeur is moral. When there is a beaven-quake because Jupiter has bent his brows;-when Apollo comes down in his wrath "like night-time" and a plague falls upon the people; when a fated man in a tragedy is described sleeping at the foot of an altar, with three tremendous looking women (the furies) keeping an eye upon him ;-when a doomed old man in a grove, is called away by a voice,-after which he is never more seen; or to turn the brighter side of power, when Bacchus leaps out of his chariot in Titian's picture, looking (to our mortal eyes) with the fierce gravity of a wine-god's-energy, though he comes to comfort a mourner; or to sum up all that is sweet as well as powerful, when Juno goes to Venus to borrow her girdle in order that she may appear irresistible in the eyes of Jupiter; it is then we feel all the force and

think it his will that they should bestir themselves to improve their own natures and the world! How much better to think it consonant with his nature that they should help to drain the "vale of tears" as they call it, just as they would any other valley, beauteous and full of resources! They do not think it necessary to be resigned when they can work for themselves: why should they when they can work for others? Resignation is always good, provided it means only patience in the midst of endeavour, or repose after it; but when it implies a mere folding of the hands, and a despair of making any thing good out of "God's own work," it is surely the lowest and most equivocal aspect under which piety could wish to be drawn.

See the description in books and prints, the marriage of Cupid and Psyche. Raphael made a picture of it. Augustus is charged with having made an impious entertainment in imitation of these "charming noons and nights divine." Ben Jonson, we suppose

in consideration of K. James, who besides being a classical monarch, was devont as well as debauched, has taken the liberty of misrepresenting the charge in his Poetaster, and making Augustus astonished at the impiety in others!

beauty of the Greek fables; and an intimacy with their sculpture shews us the eternal youth of this beauty, and renders it a sort of personal acquaintance.

Milton wrote some fine verses on the cessation of Heathen oracles, in which while he thinks he is triumphing over the assolution of the gods, like a proper Christian, he is evidently regretting and lingering over them, as was natural to a poet. He need not have lamented. A proper sense of universality knows how to reconcile the real beauty of all creeds; and the gods survive in the midst of his own epic, lifted by his own hand above the degradation to which he has thrust them. Vulcan, be says, was called Mammon in heaven, and was a fallen angel. But he has another name for him, better than either. Hear how he rolls the harmony of his vowels.

Nor was his name unheard, or unader'd
In ancient Greece; and in Ansonian land
Mer. call'd him Mulciber; and how he fell
From heav'n, they fabled, thrown by angry Jove
Sheer o'er the chrystal battlements.
From morn
To noon be fell;-from noon to dewy eve,-
A summer's day; and with the setting sun
Dropt from the zenith like a falling star

On Lemnos th' Egean Isle. Thus they relate,
Erring.

Par. Lost. Book II. "Not more than you did," Homer might have said to him in Elysium," when you called my divine architect a sordid archangel, fond of gold, and made him fall from a state of perfect holiness and bliss, which was impos

sible."

"Brother, brother," Milton might have said, glancing at the Author of the Beggar's Opera, "we were both in the wrong;-except when you were painting Helen and Andromache, or sending your verses forward like a devouring fire."

"Or you," would the heroic ancient rejoin, "when you made us acquainted with the dignity of those two gentle creatures in Paradise, and wrote verses full of tranquil superiority, which make mine appear to me like the talking of Mars compared with that of Jupiter." No Heathen Paradise, according to Milton, could compare with his; yet in saying so, he lingers so fondly among the illegal shades, that it is doubtful which he prefers.

Not that fair field

Of Enna, where Proserpine, gathering flowers, (Herse fa fairer flow'r) by gloomy Dis

Was gather'd; which cost Ceres all that pain

To seek her through the world; nor that sweet grove
Of Daphne, by Orontes, and the inspir'd
Castalian spring, might with this Paradise

Of Eden strive; nor that Nyseiau isle

Girt with the river Triton, where old Cham,
Whom gentiles Ammon call and Lybian Jove,
Hid Amalthea, and her florid son,

Young Bacchus, from his step-dame Rhea's eye.

Milton had in fact settled this question of the indestructibility of Paganism in his youth. His college Exercises shewing that "nature could not grow old," showed also that the gods and goddesses must remain with her. The style of Milton's Latin verses is founded on Ovid, but his love of a conscious and sonorous music renders it his own, and perhaps there is nothing more like tho elder English Milton than these young exercises of his in a classical language.

Dr. Johnson objects to Milton's Lycidas, (which is an elegy on a lost companion of his studies) that “passion plucks no berries from the myrtle and ivy; nor calls upon Arethusa and Mincius; nor tells of rough Satyrs and Fauns with cloven heel." To which Warton very properly answers, "but poetry does this: and in the hands of Milton does it with a peculiar and irresistible charm. Subordinate poets exercise no invention when they tell how a shepherd has lost a companion, and must feed his flocks alone, without any judge of his skill in piping; but Milton diguifies and adorns these common artificial incidents with unexpected touches of picturesque beauty, with the graces of sentiment and with the novelties of original genius." Wharton says further, that "poetry is not always unconnected with passion," and then gives an instance out of the poem where Milton speaks of the body of his lost friend. But he might have added that poetry itself is a passion; that Fleet Street and "the Mitre," though very good things, are not the only ones; that these two young friends lived in the imaginative as well as the every-day world; that the survivor most probably missed the companion of his studies more on the banks of the Arethuse and the Mincius, than he did in the college grounds; in short, that there is a state of poetical belief, in which the images of truth and beauty, which are by their nature lasting, become visible and affecting to the mind in proportion to the truth and beauty of its own tact for universality.

Bacon, though no poet, had it, and adorned his house
with Pagan Sculptures; because, being a universal
philosopher, he included a knowledge of what was
poetical. All the poets have had it as a matter of
course, more or less; but the greatest most of all.
Shakspeare included it, for the very reason that he
left no part of the world unsympathized with; namely,
that he was of all poets the most universal.

Hyperion's curls; the front of Jove himself;
An eye like Mars to threaten and command;
A station like the herald Mercury,
New lighted on a heaven-kissing hill.

These Miltonic lines flowed from the same pen that
recorded the vagaries of Falstaff and Mrs. Quickly.
Dr. Johnson would have made a bad business of the
Heathen mythology. He did so when he made a Turk
pull his enemy out of the "Pleiad's golden chariot."
He was conversant only with what is called real life;
wonderfully well indeed, and with great wit and good
sense; but there he stopped. He might have as soon
undertaken to describe a real piece of old poetical
beauty, or passion either, as clap his wig on the head
of Apollo. He laughed, with reason, at Prior, for
comparing his Chloes to Venus and Diana, and talking
of their going out a hunting with ivory quivers graceful at
their side. This was the French notion of using the
Greek Fables; and with the French indeed the Heathen

mythology became the most spurious and the most faded
of drugs. They might as well have called a box of
millinery the oracle of Delphi. The Germans under-

stood it better, but we do not think it has ever been
revived to more beautiful account than in the young
poetry and remote haunts of imagination, of the late
Mr. Keats. He lamented that he could not do it

justice. “Oh, how unlike" he cries, speaking of the
style of his fine poem, Hyperion,

To that large utterance of the early gods !t
But this was the modesty of a real poet. Milton
himself would have been happy to read his Hyperion
aloud, and to have welcomed the new spirit among the
choir of poets, with its

Elysian beauty, melancholy grace. †

Mr. Shelley beautifully applied to his young friend
the distich of Plato upon Agathon, who having been,
he says, a morning star among the living, was now an
evening star in the shades. Here also was the true
taste of the antique. Nay, it is possible that the
melancholy of modern genius, to the eyes of which a
larger and obscurer world has been thrown open, may
have discovered a more imaginative character in the
mythology of the ancient poets, than accompanies our
usual notion of it. The cheerfulness of all those poets,
except the dramatic ones, and the everlasting and
visible youth of their sculptures, come before us, and
Bacchus, Apollo, and the Graces. Nor is it possible to
make us think of nothing but Pan and Pomona, of
deny that this is the general and perhaps the just
impression, though exaggerated; and that the Pythian
organ, with all its grandeur, does not roll such peals

Of pomp and threatening harmony §
hierarchies of earth and heaven.||
as those of the old Gregorian chapels, and the mingling
grandest parts of all religions have hitherto appealed
Unfortunately the
to the least respectable of our passions,-our fear. It
is the beauty of the truly divine part of Christianity
choly, it is one of a nobler sort, animating us to endea-
that it appeals to love; and if it then inspires melan-
grandeur both of Paganism and Catholicism
vour, and promising a state of things, to which the
may
become as the dreams of remembered sickness in infancy.
At all events it is certain that some of the great
modern poets, in consequence of their remoteness from
the age of Pagan belief and its every day effect on the
mind, often write in a nobler manner upon the Gods of
antiquity than the ancients themselves. He that would
perfection, must become intimate with the poetry of
run the whole round of the spirit of Heathenism to
Milton and Spenser; of Ovid, Homer, Theocritus, and
the Greek tragedians; with the novels of Wieland, the

In his tragedy of Irene. Gibbon has noticed it somewhere in the Decline and Fall.

† Hyperion.

✰ Wordsworth in his Laodamia.
Wordsworth.

On the Feast of St. Michael and All Saints, the Catholic heaven, with all the angelical hierarchies, are lifting up their Church believes that the whole of the faithful on earth and in voices in muison! One of the sublimest and most beautiful fancies that ever entered into the heart of man.

sculptures of Phidias and others, and the pictures of Raphael, and the Caraccis, and Nicholas Poussin. Angerstein Gallery, will make him better acquainted But a single page of Spenser or one morning at the metis, or all the mythologists and book-poets who with it, than a dozen such folios as Spence's Polyhave attempted to draw Greek inspiration from a Latin fount.

CLOSE OF MAY AND BEGINNING OF JUNE.
THOMSON'S CASTLE OF INDOLENCE.

As our week, this time, consists of half a week in one
month, and half in another, the beautiful idea of the
poet becomes singularly applicable to it; for R is
literally

"A season atween June and May, Half prankt with spring, with summer half imbrown'd." Castle of Indolence.

April and May are green months: with June the year
What a proper June word is the word imbrowned!
begins to be imbrowned. It was the great Milton, im-
words as well as English deeds, who brought us this
prover alike in small things as in great, in English
word from Italy. Fa l'imbrunire, say the Italians on
the approach of evening,—it browns.
Imbrunir veggio
la sera. Petrarch,—“ I see evening imbrown." But the
word is more striking, as applied to the summer foliage
-the colour is more decided. And Thomson, we be-
lieve, is the first who applied it in that sense. In Milton,
as in Petrarch, it only expresses a shadowing :-
And when the sun begins to fling

His flaring beams, me, Goddess, bring
To arched walks of twilight groves
And shadows brown that Sylvan loves.

:

Penseroso.

Both where the morning sun first warmly sinote
The open field, and where the unpierc'd shade
Imbrown'd the noon-tide bowers.
Paradise Lost, Boek 4.

Those are pleasant June pictures. Let us in justice to June and to Thomson, give the whole delightful picture of his scene in the Castle of Indolence.

In lowly dale, fast by a river's side,

With woody hill o'er hill encompass'd round,
A most enchanting wizard did abide,

Than whom a fiend more fell is no where found.

It was, I ween, a lovely spot of ground;
And there a season atween June and May,
Half prankt with spring, with summer half imbrowned,
A listless climate made, where, sooth to say,
No living wight could work, ne cared e'en for play.

Was nonght around but images of rest,
Sleep-soothing groves, and quiet lawns between,
And flowery beds, that slumbrous influence kest
From poppies breath'd, and beds of pleasant green,
Where never yet was creeping creature seen.
Mean time unnumbered glittering streamlets played,
And hurled every where their waters sheen,
That, as they bicker'd thro' the sunny glade,
Tho' restless still themselves, a lulling inurmur made.

Joined to the prattle of the purling rills,
Were beard the lowing herds along the vale,
And flocks loud bleating from the distant hills,
And vacant shepherds piping in the dale:
And now and then sweet Philomel would wail,
Orstock-doves plain amid the forest deep,
That drowsy rustled to the sighing gale;
And still a coil the grassbopper did keep;
Yet all these sounds y blent inclined all to sleep.

Full in the passage of the vale. above,

A sable, silent, solemu, forest stood,

Where nought but shadowy forms was seen to move,
As Idless fancy'd in her dreaming mood;
And up the hills, on either side, a wood
Of blackening pines, ay waving to and fro,
Sent forth a sleepy horror thro' the blood;
And where this valley winded out, below,
The murmuring main was heard, and scarcely heard to flow
A pleasing land of drowsy-head it was,
Of dreams that wave before the half shut eye,
And of gay castles in the clouds that pass,
For ever flushing round a summer sky;
There eke the soft delights, that witchingly
Instil a wanton sweetness thro' the breast,
And the calm pleasures, always hovered nigh;
But whate'er smacked of noyance or unrest
Was far far off expelled from this delicious nest.

But Indolence was the lord of this "delicious nest," and a frightful place he made of it; as the reader may see on turning to the poem. We, however, to wit, the readers and writers of the "London Journal," are an active race, and have a right to "delicious nests," and summer pictures, even of Indolence's own painting, and, therefore, we will enjov a few more stanzas of this seasonable poem.

Among the inhabitants of the Castle specified by the poet, who are understood to have been friends of his, and whose names, it is to be regretted, have not been all ascertained, there comes for a short time,

A joyous youth, who took you at first sight, and who, though at first very pleasant, ended in keeping the place in a perfect uproar, and depriving the poor

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