CONTENTS OF VOLUME II, NUMBER 4

SKETCHES OF THE HISTORY and Present Condition of Tripoli, with some accounts of the other Barbary States (No. XI.): by R. G.

BAI

THE CLASSICS

A LOAN TO THE MESSENGER No. I: by J. F. O. LIFE a brief history, in three parts, with a sequel: by William Cutter

READINGS WITH MY PENCIL, No. II: by J. F. O.

HALLEY'S COMET

EPIMANES: by E. A. Poe

TO HELEN: by E. A. P.

ON THE POETRY OF BURNS: by James F. Otis

CHANGE

MANUAL LABOR SCHOOLS: by E. F. Stanton

SONG OF LEE'S LEGION

NATURAL BRIDGE OF PANDI, IN COLOMBIA, SOUTH AMERICA

LINES, on the Statue of Washington in the Capitol

EPIGRAM

FALL OF TEQUENDÁMA, IN COLOMBIA, SOUTH AMERICA

LIONEL GRANBY, Chapter IX: by Theta

THE PATRIARCH'S INHERITANCE: by T. H. S.

AMERICANISMS: by H.

TO RANDOLPH OF ROANOKE: by Hesperus

ADDRESS: by Henry St. George Tucker

AUTHORS

MR. MAXWELL'S SPEECH

AN ADDRESS, on the Influence of the Federative Republican System of Government upon Literature and the Development of Character: by Thomas R. Dew

CRITICAL NOTICES EPISCOPAL CHURCH IN VIRGINIA: by Francis L. Hawks, D.D. PHRENOLOGY: by Mrs. L. Miles MAHMOUD GEORGIA SCENES: by a native Georgian TRAITS OF THE TEA PARTY

SOUTHERN LITERARY MESSENGER.

VOL. II. RICHMOND, MARCH, 1836. NO. IV.

T. W. WHITE, PROPRIETOR. FIVE DOLLARS PER ANNUM.

SKETCHES OF THE HISTORY

AND PRESENT CONDITION OF TRIPOLI, WITH SOME ACCOUNTS OF THE OTHER BARBARY STATES.

NO. XI.—(Continued.)

The inertness of the French since their rupture with Algiers, had induced Hussein to treat their threats with contempt, and he by no means anticipated the extreme measures to which they were about to resort. The certainty of their intentions to attack him, however, effected no change in his resolve to maintain the position which he had assumed; all offers of mediation or intercession were rejected, and the approach of the storm only rendered him the more determined to brave its violence. He was left to meet it alone. The mission of Tahir Pasha was the only effort made by the Sultan in his behalf; Great Britain had in vain offered its mediation to both Parties, and did not appear disposed to interfere farther between them; the other European Powers remained neutral. The Sovereigns of Tripoli and Tunis were summoned to aid in defending the common cause of Islamism; but the appeal was in both instances vain; Yusuf dreaded the vengeance of the French, on account of the support which he had unwillingly afforded to the accusations against their Consul, and was by no means inclined to give them additional cause for enmity, or to involve himself in expenses from which he could anticipate no immediate benefit. The Bey of Tunis had long been devoted to the interests of France; far from aiding the Dey, he had agreed to furnish his enemies with provisions, and even if required to make a diversion in their favor, by invading the Algerine Province of Constantina which lay contiguous to his own dominions.

Hussein was thus reduced entirely to his own resources; an examination of the means at his disposal will show that he was unable to make any effectual resistance, and that without the interposition of some occurrence beyond the control of man, "the well defended city" must have fallen into the hands of the French.

The Algerine territory extends in length on the Mediterranean, about six hundred miles; its breadth or the distance between that Sea and the Desert no where exceeds one hundred miles, and is generally much less. Shaler gives sixty as the average breadth, which would make the superficial extent of the country about thirty-six thousand square miles. A considerable portion of this territory consists of rugged and almost inaccessible mountains, many of which are covered with eternal snow; there are however vast tracts of the finest land, which with proper attention would be rendered very productive, and even the rude and careless mode of cultivation pursued by the inhabitants enabled them frequently to export great quantities of wheat to Europe. One of these tracts in the immediate vicinity of Algiers called the plain of Metija is said to be of unparalleled fertility; it is not less than a thousand square miles in extent, and is covered with springs which by a judicious direction of their waters, might be made the sources of health and plenty, instead of producing as they now do only useless and insalubrious marshes.

The country was divided into three provinces, separated by lines drawn from points on the coast southwardly to the Desert; each of these divisions was governed by a Bey who though appointed from Algiers, was almost absolute within his own territories. The Eastern province bordering on Tunis was the largest and the most populous; it took its name from its capital Constantina, the ancient Cirta, a strong town situated about sixty miles from the Sea, and said to have more inhabitants than Algiers. The principal ports of this district are Bugia and Bona; upon its coast near Bona were the African Concessions which in part led to the difficulties with France. Tittery the middle province is the smallest, its surface not being more than sixty miles square; it however contains the capital, and is more populous in proportion to its extent, than any other part of the Regency. The Western province lying contiguous to Morocco has been called Oran, Tlemsen and Mascara, accordingly as its Bey resided in either of the principal cities which bear those names. In 1830 the seat of government was Oran or more properly Warran, a seaport town near the frontiers of Morocco which possesses a fine harbor and may be rendered very strong; the other ports of this province Arzew, Mostaganem and Shershell though nearly deserted, are well situated both for commerce and defence. Indeed the western territories of Algiers are considered the most delightful and the richest of Northern Africa; in addition to their grain, fruits and mines, they are also famous for the beauty and spirit of their horses which are sent in great numbers to the East, as well as to Spain and the South of France. The population appears likewise to be of a better character than that of other parts of the Regency; there are fewer Arabs or Kabyles, and a great portion of the inhabitants are the descendants of that noble race of Moors, who were expelled from Spain in the fifteenth and two succeeding centuries.

It is difficult to form any estimate of the number of inhabitants in the Algerine territories. Shaler in 1824 considered it less than a million; from the results of the latest inquiries made by the French it amounted in 1830 to seven hundred and eighty thousand, who were thus classed.

Moors, the industrious and most civilized class, inhabiting the cities or engaged in agriculture, 400,000

Kabyles or Berbers who probably descend from the aboriginals of the country; they are still a wild and intractable race, living in the mountains and frequently plundering or levying contributions on the industrious part of the population, 200,000

Arabs who live in tents, on the borders of the Desert from the produce of their flocks and herds, or are employed in transporting goods through the country, 120,000

Turkish Soldiers, generally from the coasts and islands of the Archipelago, 8,000

Koul-ogleis or children of Turks by native women. 32,000

780,000

Assuming this estimate as correct, it will be found by comparison with the tables of population of other countries, that the Algerine Dominions did not probably contain more than a hundred and twenty thousand men capable of bearing arms; and when it is considered that these are spread over an extensive territory, which is mountainous and almost destitute of roads, it would be unreasonable to expect that more than half that number could be collected at any one point, even supposing the existence of universal patriotism and devotion to the Government. Such feelings may have operated on the Moors, but they could scarcely have produced much effect on the Kabyles and Arabs, who according to the estimate form more than two-fifths of the population; and although promises of high pay and the prospect of plunder might induce many from each of those classes and from among the wanderers of the Great Desert, to aid in the defence of the country, yet little dependance could be placed upon these irregular bands, when opposed to the disciplined troops of France.

Hussein's experience may probably have led him to some such conclusions, but every act of his reign served to shew that they would have been ineffectual towards inducing him to make concessions, even were it not too late. After the rejection of the overture which had been wrung from him by his friend Halil, nothing less than an immense pecuniary sacrifice on his part would have contented the French; and policy as well as pride forbade this sacrifice, for he was well aware that a peace purchased on such terms would have cost him his life. Moreover he was evidently a thorough fatalist; two expeditions against Algiers had already failed completely, although taking into consideration its defences at the several periods, the chances of its fall were in both those cases greater than under the existing circumstances. "God is great and good, and the Sea is uncertain and dangerous," was his observation to the Captain of the British frigate Rattlesnake; a storm such as occurs on that coast in every month of the year, might in a few hours have dissipated the forces of his enemies, or have thrown so large a number of them into his hands as prisoners, that their restoration would have been deemed an equivalent for peace.

On the 14th of May an incident took place which was calculated to confirm the Dey in such expectations. During a violent gale from the northeast, the Aventure and the Siléne two brigs which formed part of the blockading squadron were on that night driven ashore near Cape Bengut, about sixty miles east of Algiers. The officers and crews of these vessels in number about two hundred persons, finding escape impossible, and conceiving that any attempt at defence would only insure their destruction, determined to march along the coast towards Algiers, and to surrender themselves as prisoners of war to the first party with which they might meet. They were soon observed and surrounded by a troop of Kabyles whom they however induced to believe that they were English, and that a large sum would be paid for their safe delivery at Algiers. Under this persuasion the Barbarians were conducting them towards the city, when their course was arrested by the sudden rise of a river which it was necessary to cross; during the delay thus occasioned, it was discovered that they were French, and the greater part of them were immediately sacrificed to the fury of the Kabyles. The heads of one hundred and nine of these unfortunate persons were brought into Algiers on the 20th of May, which having been purchased by the Dey at the regular price, were exposed on the walls of the Casauba; they were however afterwards surrendered for burial. The survivors, eighty-nine in number, were confined in the dungeons of the castle; they were in other respects treated by Hussein with as much lenity as the circumstances would permit, and they received the kindest attentions from the Consuls of Foreign Powers who remained in the place.

Hussein did not however trust entirely to Providence for the safety of his capital; on the contrary he made every preparation in his power for its defence. In the city and its environs every man was enrolled, and the slightest expression indicative of fear or mistrust as to the result of the contest, was punished by death. From the Provinces, the Beys were ordered to bring to Algiers all whom they could enlist or force into the service, and immense sums from the public treasury were placed at their disposal for the purpose. By these means he speedily assembled a very large force, the exact amount of which it is impossible to ascertain; the French historians state it to have been seventy-two thousand; other accounts perhaps equally worthy of credit make it much less. The number of what may be termed regular troops appears to have been precisely twenty-two thousand, viz. five thousand Turks or Janissaries, seven thousand Koul-ogleis, and ten thousand Moors; to these the French accounts add ten thousand Kabyles, and forty thousand others, principally Arab horsemen. Major Lee the Consul of the United States, who made very particular observations and inquiries on the subject, and whose statements appear to be entirely free from prejudice, does not consider that the irregular forces exceeded thirty thousand. Whatever may have been the fact with regard to the whole number of the Algerine troops, it is certain that a large and important portion were never brought into action in the open field, having been necessarily retained to garrison the city and the fortifications in its immediate vicinity.

When the preparations of the French had removed all doubts as to their views with regard to Algiers, apprehensions were entertained by the Governments of Christian nations for the safety of their Consuls and citizens in the country, who, it was feared, might in a moment of excitement be sacrificed to the fury of the inhabitants. Ships were accordingly sent by several Powers for the purpose of bringing away their respective agents and others who might be thus endangered; but the commander of the blockading squadron having been strictly ordered to allow no communication with Algiers prevented several of these vessels from entering the harbor. An Austrian frigate and a Spanish brig were thus ordered off, and the latter afterwards shewing some disposition to enter was fired on. A Sardinian frigate was permitted to send a boat on shore, to bring off the family of the Consul who had protected the interests of France during the difficulties between the two countries, and several other vessels contrived to enter and leave the port unnoticed. Commodore Biddle who commanded the squadron of the United States in the Mediterranean, sent the sloop of war Ontario to Algiers to bring off the American Consul General and his family, in case they should be inclined to go. The Ontario appeared at the entrance of the bay on the 4th of April, accompanied by the frigate Constellation whose captain it is said was ordered to engage any French ship which should attempt to oppose their entrance. As no such attempt was made, it is needless to inquire whether these instructions were really given, or to examine whether they would have been in concordance with the received usages of national intercourse. Major Henry Lee the American Consul General, with his family and the Vice Consul, determined to remain; the ladies of the Neapolitan and Spanish Consuls were however at his request received on board the Ontario and carried to Mahon.

Before the departure of the American ships the British frigate Rattlesnake arrived, bringing despatches to the Consul Mr. St. John, who had been ordered by his Government to remain; on leaving the harbor she was spoken by one of the blockading ships and her captain was informed that he would not be permitted again to enter. This fact having been communicated to the Consul, the Rattlesnake sailed for Malta whence she soon returned bearing a letter from Admiral Malcolm to the French Commander, in consequence of which she was allowed to enter Algiers on condition however that her stay should be limited to a week.

The Consuls who remained in Algiers found it necessary to adopt measures for their own safety. The representative of Great Britain having a large country house at a short distance from the city, out of the probable line of operations, determined merely to retire to it on the approach of the conflict: those of the United States, Denmark, Spain and Naples agreed to establish themselves together at a villa situated on a height overlooking the place, and capable of being rendered sufficiently strong, to resist such attacks as might have been expected. The Dey afforded them every facility in his power, for the fortification and defence of their residence; they were allowed to enlist some Janissaries, and the other Christians with some Jews of the town having joined them, they mustered nearly two hundred men who were tolerably well supplied with arms and ammunition. They accordingly removed on the 26th of May to the Castle as it was termed, on which the flag of the United States was immediately hoisted, Major Lee having by unanimous vote, been elected Commander-in-Chief.

On the 3d of June a part of the fleet which conveyed the French army of invasion was seen off the coast near Algiers. An immediate attack was anticipated, and the Dey prepared to resist it, although not more than half the troops which he expected had then arrived. The fortifications on the bay were well provided and manned, so that the place might be considered secure on that side; the batteries of the Mole were directed by the younger Ibrahim the Minister of the Marine, and the charge of the Emperor's Castle had been committed to the Hasnagee or Treasurer in whom Hussein placed the utmost confidence. The Dey remained secluded within the walls of the Casauba, from which his messengers were seen constantly flying in every direction. As it was anticipated that the landing would be attempted on the shore west of Algiers, the Aga Ibrahim marched out with a part of his forces and encamped on a plain near the sea, distant about ten miles in that direction. A violent gale from the eastward however dispersed the French ships, and nothing more was seen of them for some days; at length information was brought from a certain source that the whole fleet had retired to Palma.

On the 9th, Achmet Bey of Constantina who had been anxiously expected, made his appearance with his troops principally Arabs and Kabyles; the contingents of Oran and Tittery did not however arrive until some days afterwards, and the whole force at that time under Ibrahim's immediate command probably amounted to twenty thousand, of whom at least one half were Arab horsemen.

On the morning of the 13th the sea near Algiers was again covered with ships under the white flag of France. The sky was cloudless, a fresh breeze from the northeast permitted the vessels to move at pleasure along the coast, and as they passed majestically almost within gun shot of the batteries, the Algerines felt that the day of trial was come.

In order to understand the operations of the French against Algiers, some knowledge of the surrounding country and of the relative bearings and distances of important points, is necessary. It is however difficult to convey such information without the aid of maps; our geographical language is limited, and wants precision, and even where it may be sufficient for the purpose, few readers are disposed to study the details with the care requisite to comprehend them fully.

In the account of Lord Exmouth's attack upon Algiers in 1816, the city was described as standing on the western shore, and near the entrance of a bay about fifteen miles in diameter; it must now be considered as situated on the north-eastern side, and near the extremity of a tongue of land, which projects from the African continent northwardly into the Mediterranean. This tongue is about twelve miles in its greatest breadth, where it joins the continent, and ten in length from north to south; the surface of its northern portion is irregular, and in some places rugged, traversed by ridges and ravines, and rising in the centre into a lofty peak, called Jibbel Boujereah; southward from this mountain the inequalities gradually disappear, and the extensive plain of the Metijah succeeds.

The northernmost point or termination of the tongue is a bold promontory called Ras Acconnatter, or Cape Caxine, which is four miles west by north of Algiers; following the shore nine miles south-west from this cape, we find a small peninsula, rather more than a mile in length, and less than a mile in breadth, extending westwardly into the sea. This peninsula is high and rocky at its extremity, but low and sandy at the neck which unites it to the main land; the sea around it affords safe anchorage for vessels, and its shores as well as those in its vicinity, present a clear beach, free from rocks or other impediments to approach. On its highest point stood a small fort, called by the Spanish traders Torreta Chica, or the little tower, on which were mounted or rather placed, four light pieces of cannon more curious from their antiquity than useful. Against the tower was built a Marabout or chapel, containing the tomb of Sidi Ferruch, a saint held in great veneration by the Algerines, and from whom the peninsula takes its name. A battery of stone with twelve embrasures had been also erected on the shore near the end of the peninsula, in order to prevent hostile vessels from anchoring, but on the approach of the expedition it was dismantled and abandoned.

Eastwardly from Sidi Ferruch the land rises almost imperceptibly for three miles, presenting a sandy plain partially covered with aloes, cactus, and evergreen shrubs, at the termination of which is an irregular plateau called Staweli, where the shepherds of the country were in the habit of encamping. Farther on a valley called Backshé-dere separated this plateau from the south-western side of Jibbel Boujereah, along which a road originally formed by the Romans conducted to the walls of the Emperor's castle, within a mile of Algiers. The whole distance by this way from Sidi Ferruch to the city is twelve miles, over a country "gently undulating and perfectly practicable for artillery or any species of carriage," which is also abundantly supplied with fresh water from numerous springs.

These and other circumstances had induced Shaler¹ in 1825 to recommend Sidi Ferruch as the most advantageous point for the disembarkation of a force destined to act against Algiers; and although the intentions of the Commander in Chief of the French expedition were kept profoundly secret, yet it was generally supposed, even before his departure from Toulon, that he would attempt a landing there.

¹ Sketches of Algiers, political, historical, and civil, &c. by William Shaler, American Consul General at Algiers. Boston: 1826.

Our country has produced few works displaying greater originality and soundness of views than this; its subject has caused it to be overlooked in the United States, but in France when circumstances gave value to all information relative to Algiers, its merits were soon recognized, and it was translated by order of the Government for the benefit of the officers engaged in the expedition. His remarks on the power, resources, and policy of the Algerine Government, or rather upon its weakness, its want of means, and the absurdity of its system, were calculated to dispel many of the illusions with regard to it which the mutual jealousy of the great European nations had so long contributed to maintain; and it is impossible to examine his observations as to the proper disposition of a force destined to act against the city, in conjunction with the statement of the plans pursued by the French, without conceiving that in all probability those plans were the result of his suggestions. At page 51 he says:

"The several expeditions against Algiers, in which land forces have been employed, have landed in the bay eastward of the city; this is evidently an error, and discovers unpardonable ignorance of the coast and topography of the country, for all the means of defence are concentrated there. But it is obvious that any force whatever might be landed in the fine bay of Sidi Ferruch without opposition; thence by a single march they might arrive upon the heights commanding the Emperor's castle, the walls of which, as nothing could prevent an approach to them, might be scaled or breached by a mine in a short time. This position being mastered, batteries might be established on a height commanding the Casauba, which is indicated by the ruins of two wind-mills, and of a fort called the Star, which the jealous fears of this Government caused to be destroyed for the reason here alleged, that it commanded the citadel and consequently the city. The fleet which had landed the troops would by this time appear in the bay, to distract the attention of the besieged, when Algiers must either surrender at discretion or be taken by storm."

Many other passages might be quoted in illustration of Mr. Shaler's sagacity; so many of his speculations respecting the future destinies of Barbary have been already confirmed, that we are warranted in entertaining hopes of the fulfilment of his prediction, that it will again be inhabited by a civilized and industrious race.

The French ships after their dispersion by the storms of the first days of June retreated to Palma where they remained until the 10th. On that day the first and second divisions of the fleet again sailed for the African coast; the third division composed almost entirely of merchant vessels, containing the battering artillery, provisions and materials which would not be needed until the disembarkation had been effected, was to have sailed on the 12th, but it was detained until the 18th by adverse winds.

As the distance between Palma and Algiers is only two hundred miles, and the wind was favorable at an early hour on the 13th of June, the first divisions of the armament, with all the troops on board, were collected in front of the city, and every eye was fixed on the Admiral's ship, in anxious expectation of the signal which was to indicate the scene of the first operations. The Algerines, although they expected that their enemies would land at some point westward from the city, yet did not choose to subject themselves to the hazard of a surprise, by leaving the place undefended; the batteries which lined the bay were therefore all manned, and the greater part of the moveable forces were disposed in their vicinity, so as to resist any sudden attack. At eight o'clock, the signal was given by the French Admiral, and his ships were soon under full sail towards the west; they rounded Cape Caxine, and then changing their course to the southward, no doubt was left respecting the intention of the commander to attempt a landing at Sidi Ferruch.

As the fleet drew near the spot which had been selected for the disembarkation of the troops, preparations were made for immediate action in case it should be necessary. The heavy armed ships advanced in front, slowly and in order of battle, ready to pour a destructive fire upon any forces or works of their opponents as soon as discovered within its reach. At ten o'clock, they were opposite the extremity of the peninsula, and it became evident that no precautions had been taken by the Algerines, which were likely to prove effectual in preventing the descent. No fortifications had been erected on Sidi Ferruch, in addition to the shore battery near the point, and the turret on the hill, both of which were deserted; indeed nothing less than the strongest works and the most scientific defence could have rendered it tenable, when surrounded by such a fleet. On the main land, a division of the Algerine army, supposed to consist of twelve thousand men, were encamped near a spring of water about two miles from the neck of the peninsula; between them and the sea were erected two batteries,² armed with nine pieces of cannon and two howitzers, which had been removed from the fort on Sidi Ferruch. Arab horsemen enveloped in their white cloaks were seen collected in groups on the beach, or galloping among the bushes on the plain between it and the encampment. Nothing however betokened any disposition on the part of the Africans, to meet the invaders at the water's edge.

² Any fortification defended by artillery, and even the spot occupied by artillery, is called a battery. These temporary defences are formed by throwing up earth to the height of three or four feet, so as to form a wall or parapet for the protection of the cannon and men; where this cannot be done, logs, barrels or sacks filled with earth, &c. are employed. At New Orleans the American lines of batteries were principally formed of bales of cotton.

In order to protect an army from sudden attacks, entrenchments are made on the side on which they are apprehended; they consist of ditches, the earth from which is thrown up within.

In besieging a fortress, the object is to erect batteries on particular points as near as possible to the place, and to render the communications to and between them safe. For these purposes, a ditch is commenced at a distance from the fortress, and is carried on in a slanting direction towards it, the laborers being protected by the earth thrown up on the side next the place. When these approaches have been carried as near as requisite, another ditch called a parallel is dug in front or even around the fortress, batteries being constructed on its line where necessary. Sometimes another parallel is made within the outer one. Along these ditches the cannon, ammunition, troops, &c. are conveyed in comparative safety to the different batteries.

Nevertheless Bourmont displayed here his determination to leave nothing to chance, the success of which could be assured by caution in the previous arrangements. The largest ships with the first and second divisions of troops on board, passed around the extremity of the peninsula, and anchored opposite its southwestern side on which it had been resolved that the first descent should be made; a steamer and some brigs entered the bay east of Sidi Ferruch, and took positions so as to command the shore and the neck of the peninsula, over which they could pour a raking fire, in case an attack should be made by the Algerine forces at the moment of disembarkation. Some rounds of grape shot from the steamer dispersed the Arabs who were collected on the shore of the bay; the fire was returned from the batteries; but it had no other effect than to wound a sailor on board the Breslau, and it ceased after a few broadsides from the brigs.

By sunset the vessels were all anchored at their appointed positions, and preparations were instantly commenced for the disembarkation. The broad flat bottomed boats destined to carry the troops to the shore were hoisted out; each was numbered, and to each was assigned a particular part of the force, so arranged that the men might on landing, instantly assume their relative positions in the order of battle.

All things being ready, at three o'clock on the morning of the 14th of June, the first brigade of the first division under General Berthezéne, consisting of six thousand men, with eight pieces of artillery were on their way to the shore, in boats towed by three steamers. They were soon perceived by the Algerines, who commenced a fire on them from their batteries; it however produced little or no effect, and was soon silenced by the heavier shot from the steamers and brigs in the eastern bay. At four the whole brigade was safely landed, and drawn up on the south side of the peninsula near the shore battery, which was instantly seized. In a few minutes more, the white flag of France floated over the Torreta Chica; a guard was however placed at the door of the Marabout, in order to show from the commencement, that the religion of the inhabitants would be respected by the invaders.

By six o'clock the whole of the first and second divisions were landed together with all the field artillery, and the Commander-in-chief of the expedition was established in his head quarters near the Marabout, from which he could overlook the scene of operations. General Valazé had already traced a line of works across the neck of the peninsula, and the men were laboring at the entrenchments; they were however occasionally annoyed by shots from the batteries, and it was determined immediately to commence the offensive. General Poret de Morvan accordingly advanced from the peninsula at the head of the first brigade, and having without difficulty turned the left of the batteries, their defenders were driven from them at the point of the bayonet; they were then pursued towards the encampment, which was also after a short struggle abandoned, the whole African force retreating in disorder towards the city.

This success cost the French about sixty men in killed and wounded; two or three of their soldiers had been taken prisoners, but they were found headless and horribly mutilated near the field of battle. The loss of the Algerines is unknown, as those who fell were according to the custom of the Arab warfare carried off. Nine pieces of artillery and two small howitzers by which the batteries were defended, being merely fixed on frames without wheels, remained in the hands of the invaders.

While the first brigade was thus employed, the disembarkation of the troops was prosecuted with increased activity, and as no farther interruption was offered, the whole army and a considerable portion of the artillery, ammunition and provisions were conveyed on shore before night. It was not however the intention of the commanding general immediately to advance upon Algiers; his object was to take the city, and he was not disposed to lose the advantage of the extraordinary preparations, which had been made in order to insure its accomplishment. The third division of the fleet containing the horses and heavy artillery had not arrived; unprotected by cavalry his men would have been on their march exposed at each moment to the sudden and impetuous attacks of the Arabs, and it would have been needless to present himself before the fortresses which surround the city, while unprovided with the means of reducing them. He therefore determined to await the arrival of the vessels from Palma, and in the mean time to devote all his efforts to the fortification of the peninsula, so that it might serve as the depository of his materiel during the advance of the army, and as a place of retreat in case of unforeseen disaster. The first and second divisions under Berthezéne and Loverdo were accordingly stationed on the heights in front of the neck of the peninsula, from which the Algerines had been expelled in the morning; in this position they were secured by temporary batteries and by chevaux de frise of a peculiar construction, capable of being easily transported and speedily arranged for use. The third division under the Duke D'Escars remained as a corps of reserve at Sidi Ferruch, where the engineers, the general staff and the greater part of the non-combatants of the expedition were also established. Some difficulties were at first experienced from the limited supply of water, but they were soon removed as it was found in abundance at the depth of a few feet below the surface.

On the 15th, it was perceived that the Algerines had established their camp about three miles in front of the advanced positions of the French, at a place designated by the guides of the expedition as Sidi Khalef; between the two armies lay an uninhabited tract, crossed by small ravines, and overgrown with bushes, under cover of which the Africans were enabled to approach the outposts of the invaders, and thus to annoy them by desultory attacks. Each Arab horseman brought behind him a foot soldier, armed with a long gun, in the use of which those troops had been rendered very dexterous by constant exercise; when they came near to the French lines, the sharp shooter jumped from the horse and stationed himself behind some bush, where he quietly awaited the opportunity of exercising his skill upon the first unfortunate sentinel or straggler who should appear within reach of his shot. In this manner a number of the French were wounded, often mortally by their unseen foes; those who left the lines in search of water or from other motives were frequently found by their companions, without their heads and shockingly mangled. As the Arabs were well acquainted with the paths, pursuit would have been vain as well as dangerous, and the only effectual means of checking their audacity was by a liberal employment of the artillery.

The labors of the French were interrupted on the morning of the 16th, by a most violent gale of wind from the northwest, accompanied by heavy rain. The waves soon rose to an alarming height, threatening at every moment to overwhelm the vessels, which lay wedged together in the bays; several of them were also struck by lightning, and had one been set on fire nothing could have prevented the destruction of the whole fleet. Fortunately at about eleven o'clock, the wind shifted to the east and became more moderate; the waves rapidly subsided, and it was found that only trifling injuries had been sustained by the shipping. Admiral Duperré however did not neglect the warning, and he immediately issued orders that each transport vessel should sail for France as soon as she had delivered her cargo; the greater part of the ships of war, were at the same time commanded to put to sea, and to cruise at a safe distance from the coast, leaving only such as were required to protect the peninsula.

On the 17th and 18th, some of the vessels arrived from Palma bringing a few horses and pieces of heavy artillery, but not enough to warrant an advance of the army. On the 18th, four Arab Scheicks appeared at the outposts, and having been conducted to the commander of the expedition, they informed him that the Algerines had received large reinforcements, and were about to attack him on the succeeding day. Bourmont however paid no attention to their declarations, and gave no orders in consequence of them, although it was evident from the increase in the number of their tents that a considerable addition had been made to the force of his enemies.

On the day after the French had effected their landing, all the Algerine troops except those which were necessary to guard the city and the fortifications in its vicinity, were collected under the Aga's immediate command, at his camp of Sidi Khalef; on the morning of the 18th, the contingent of Oran also arrived, accompanied by a number of Arabs who had joined them on the way. Thus strengthened, and encouraged by the inactivity of the French, which he attributed probably to want of resolution, Ibrahim determined to make a desperate attack upon their lines, calculating that if he could succeed in throwing them into confusion, it would afterwards be easy to destroy them in detail. For this purpose he divided his army into two columns, which are supposed to have consisted of about twenty thousand men each; the right column under Achmet Bey of Constantina was destined to attack Loverdo's division, which occupied the left or northern side of the French position; the other column was to be led by Ibrahim in person, with Abderrahman Bey of Tittery as his lieutenant, against the right division of the invaders, under Berthezéne.

At day break on the morning of the 19th, the Algerines appeared before the lines of the French, who were however found drawn up, and ready to receive them; the attack was commenced by the Arab cavalry and Moorish regular troops intermingled, who rushed forward rending the air with their cries, and endeavored to throw down the chevaux de frise. The French reserved their fire, until the assailants were near, and then opening their batteries poured forth a shower of grape shot, which made great havoc in the ranks of the Algerines. Nothing daunted however, the Moors and Arabs continued to pull up, and break down the chevaux de frise, until they had gained entrances within the lines; the action was then continued hand to hand, the keen sabre of the African opposed to the rigid bayonet of the European. In this situation there was less inequality between the parties engaged, and the issue of the combat became doubtful. Berthezéne's division however repulsed its assailants, and kept them at bay; that of Loverdo was wavering when Bourmont appeared on the ground, followed by a part of the reserved corps. He soon restored order in the ranks, and having formed Loverdo's division together with the reserve into a close column, he ordered them to advance against their opponents. Achmet's forces were immediately driven into a ravine where the artillery of the French having been brought to bear upon them, they were after a few ineffectual attempts to regain the height, thrown into disorder. Ibrahim's men seeing this also lost their courage, and the route of the Africans became general. The French had on the field only seventeen horses which were attached to the artillery; as the Algerines could not therefore be pursued very closely they were enabled to form again in front of their camp at Sidi Khalef; but they were likewise driven from this position, and followed for some distance beyond it, where the ground being less favorable for cavalry, great numbers of their men fell into the power of the invaders. Bourmont had issued orders to spare the prisoners, but his troops irritated at the barbarities which had been so frequently committed on their companions, disregarded the injunction and put to death nearly every Algerine whom they could reach. A few Arabs who were made prisoners, on being asked respecting the forces and intentions of their General, haughtily bade the French to kill and not to question them. The number of French slain in this engagement according to the official reports, amounted to fifty-seven, and of wounded to four hundred and sixty-three; but little reliance can be placed on the exactness of Bourmont's published accounts, and there is good reason for supposing that his loss was much more serious. The destruction of life among the Algerines was very great; they also left their camp of four hundred tents, together with a large supply of ammunition, sheep and camels, in the hands of their enemies.

The results of this action were highly important to the French, and indeed it rendered their success certain. The Arabs began to disappear, and the Turkish and Moorish soldiers retreated to the city, from which it was not easy to bring them again to the field; symptoms of insurrection among the populace also manifested themselves. In this situation, it has been considered possible that had Bourmont advanced immediately upon Algiers, the Dey would have found it necessary to capitulate; there was however no reason to believe that the disaffection would extend to the garrisons of the fortresses, and the city could not have been reduced while they held out.

On the 23d the vessels from Palma began to come in; the horses were immediately landed, and two small corps of cavalry were added to the troops encamped at Sidi Khalef. The fortifications of the peninsula were also by this time completed, a line of works fifteen hundred yards in length, having been drawn across the neck, and armed with twenty-four pieces of cannon; by this means the whole of the land forces were rendered disposable, as two thousand men principally taken from the equipage de ligne³ of the fleet, were considered sufficient for the security of the place. The provisions, &c. were all landed, and placed within the lines, in temporary buildings which had been brought in detached pieces from France; comfortable hospitals were likewise established there, together with bakeries, butcheries, and even a printing office, from which the Estafette d' Alger, a semi-official newspaper, was regularly issued. The communications between Sidi Ferruch and the camp, were facilitated by the construction of a military road, defended by redoubts and blockhouses placed at short intervals on the way.

³ A certain number of young men are annually chosen by lot in France, for the supply of the army and navy, in which they are required to serve eight years. Those intended for the navy, are sent to the dockyards, where they are drilled as soldiers, and instructed in marine exercises for some time before they are sent to sea. The crew of each public vessel must contain a certain proportion of those soldier sailors, who are termed the equipage de ligne.

The Algerines encouraged by the delay of the French, rallied and made another attack upon them at Sidi Khalef early on the morning of the 24th. On this occasion but few Arabs and Kabyles appeared, and the action was sustained on the side of the Algerines, almost entirely by the Turks, the Moorish regulars, and the militia of the city, who had been at length induced to leave its walls. The assailants were spread out on a very extended line, which was immediately broken by the advance of the first division of the French army, with a part of the second in close column. A few discharges of artillery increased the confusion; the Algerines soon began to fly, and were pursued to the foot of the last range of hills which separated them from the city. On the summit of one of these heights, were the ruins of the Star Fort, which had been some years before destroyed, "because it commanded the Casauba, and consequently the city;" it was however used as a powder magazine, and the Africans on their retreat, fearing lest it should fall into the hands of the French, blew it up. The loss of men in this affair was trifling on each side. The only French officer dangerously wounded was Captain Amédée de Bourmont, the second of four sons of the General who accompanied him on the expedition; he received a ball in the head, while leading his company of Grenadiers to drive a body of Turks from a garden in which they had established themselves, and died on the 7th of July.

While this combat was going on, the remainder of the vessels from Palma, nearly three hundred in number, entered the bay of Sidi Ferruch. Their arrival determined Bourmont not to retire to his camp at Sidi Khalef, but to establish his first and second divisions five miles in advance of that spot, in the valley of Backshé-dere, so that the road might be completed, and the heavy artillery be brought as soon as landed to the immediate vicinity of the position on which it was to be employed. The third division was distributed between the main body and Sidi Ferruch, in order to protect the communications. This advantage was however dearly purchased; for during the four days passed in this situation, the French suffered greatly from the Algerine sharp-shooters, posted above them on the heights, and from two batteries which had been established on a point commanding the camp. In this way Bourmont acknowledges that seven hundred of his men were rendered unfit for duty within that period; he does not say how many were killed.

The necessary arrangements having been completed, and several battering pieces brought up to the rear of the French camp, Bourmont put his forces in motion before day on the 29th of June. Two brigades of d'Escar's division which had hitherto been little employed, were ordered to advance to the left and turn the positions of the Algerines on that side; on the right the same duty was to be performed by a part of Berthezéne's division, while Loverdo was to attack the enemy in the centre. They proceeded in silence, and having gained the summits of the first eminences unperceived, directed a terrible fire of artillery upon the Algerines, who having only small arms to oppose to it were soon thrown into confusion and put to flight. The Moors and Turks took refuge in the city and the surrounding fortifications, while the Arabs and Kabyles escaped along the seashore on the southeast, towards the interior of the country.

The French had now only to choose their positions from investing Algiers, which with all its defences lay before them. Besides the Casauba and batteries of the city, they had to encounter four fortresses. On the southeastern side near the sea, half a mile from the walls was Fort Babazon, westward of which, and one mile southward from the Casauba, was the Emperor's castle, presenting the most formidable impediment to the approach of the invaders. This castle was a mass of irregular brick buildings, disposed nearly in a square, the circumference of which was about five hundred yards. From the unevenness of the ground on which it was built, its walls were in some places sixty feet high, in others not more than twenty; they were six feet in thickness, and flanked by towers at the angles, but unprotected by a ditch or any outworks, except a few batteries which had been hastily thrown up on the side next the enemy. In the centre rose a large round tower of great height and strength, forming the keep or citadel, under which were the vaults containing the powder. On its ramparts were mounted one hundred and twenty large cannon, besides mortars and howitzers, and it was defended by fifteen hundred Turks well acquainted with the use of artillery, under the command of the Hasnagee or Treasurer who had promised to die rather than surrender. As it overlooked the Casauba and the whole city, it was clear that an enemy in possession of this spot and provided with artillery, could soon reduce the place to dust; but it was itself commanded in a like manner, by several heights within the distance of a thousand yards, which were in the hands of the French. The next fortress was the Sittit Akoleit or Fort of twenty-four hours, half a mile north of the city; and lastly a work called the English fort was erected on the seashore near Point Pescada, a headland about one-third of the way between Algiers and Cape Caxine. The object of the French was to reduce the Emperor's castle as soon as possible, and in the mean time to confine the Algerines within their walls as well as to prevent them from receiving succors. For the latter purposes, it was necessary to extend their lines much more than would have been compatible with safety, in presence of a foe well acquainted with military science; trusting however to the ignorance and fears of his enemies, Bourmont did not hesitate to spread out his forces, even at the risk of having one of his wings cut off by a sudden sortie. Loverdo in consequence established his division on a height within five hundred yards of the Emperor's castle; Berthezéne changed his position from the right to the centre, occupying the sides of mount Boujereah the heights immediately west of the city; while d'Escars on the extreme left, overlooked the Sittit Akoleit, and the English fort. These positions were all taken before two o'clock in the day.

On the right of Berthezéne's corps, was the country house in which the foreign consuls were assembled under the flag of the United States. As its situation gave it importance, General Achard who commanded the second brigade determined to occupy it, and even to erect a battery in front of it. Major Lee the Commander in Chief of the consular garrison, formally protested against his doing either, maintaining that the flag which waved over the spot rendered it neutral ground. The French General did not seem much inclined to yield to this reasoning; but when it was also alleged that the erection of the battery would draw the fire of the Algerine forts upon the house, in which a number of females were collected, as well as the representatives of several nations friendly to France, he agreed to dispense with the execution of that part of his order, but his soldiers were quartered on the premises, and his officers received at the table of the consuls. The latter were, as might have been expected, polished and gallant men; the soldiers were very unruly, and by no means merited the praises which have been bestowed on their moderation and good conduct, in the despatches of their commander and the accounts of the historians.

The night of the 29th passed without any attack on the lines of the French. Before morning the engineers under Valazé had opened a trench within five hundred yards of the Emperor's castle, and various country houses situated in the vicinity of that fortress, were armed with heavy pieces and converted into batteries. As soon as this was perceived from the castle, a fire was opened upon the laborers; but they were already too well protected by the works which had been thrown up, and few of the balls took effect. A sortie was next made by the garrison, and for a moment they succeeded in occupying the house of the Swedish Consul, in which a French corps had been stationed; they were however immediately driven out, and forced to retire to their own walls.

In order to divert the attention of the Algerines during the progress of the works, false attacks were made on their marine defences by the ships of the French squadron. On the 1st of July Admiral Rosamel, with a portion of the naval force, passed across the entrance of the bay, and opened a fire on the batteries, which after some time was returned. Not the slightest damage appears to have been received by either party, the French keeping, as the Admiral says, "à grande portée de canon," that is to say, nearly out of the reach of the fire of the batteries; one bomb is stated to have fallen in the vicinity of Rosamel's ship. The effect of this movement not answering the expectations of the French, as it did not induce the Algerines to suspend their fires on the investing force, it was determined that a more formidable display should be made. Accordingly on the 3d, Admiral Duperré made his appearance before the place, with seven sail of the line, fifteen frigates, six bomb vessels, and two steamers. The frigate Belloné which led the way, approached the batteries and fired on them, as she passed with much gallantry; the other ships kept farther off, and as they came opposite the Mole, retired beyond the reach of the guns, where they continued for some hours, during which each party poured tons of shot harmless into the sea. As the Admiral states in his despatch, "none of his ships suffered any apparent damage, or notable less of men," except from the usual "bursting of a gun on board the Provence, by which ten were killed and fifteen wounded."

The high character for courage and skill which Admiral Duperré has acquired by his long and distinguished services, precludes the possibility of imagining that there could have been any want of either of those qualities on his part in this affair. Indeed he would have been most blameable had he exposed his ships and men to the fire of the fortresses which extend in front of Algiers, at a period when the success of the expedition was certain. The "moral effect" of which the Admiral speaks in his despatch, might have been produced to an equal or greater extent, by the mere display of the forces in the bay; the only physical result of the cannonade, was the abandonment of some batteries, on Point Pescada, which were in consequence occupied by d'Escar's forces. The whole attack if it may be so termed, was probably only intended to repress any feelings of jealousy which may have arisen in the minds of the naval officers and men, by thus affording them at least an ostensible right to share with the army the glory of reducing Algiers.

BAI.

Bai was the Egyptian term for the branch of the Palm-tree. Homer says that one of Diomede's horses, Phœnix, was of a palm-color, which is a bright red. It is therefore not improbable that our word bay as applied to the color of horses, may boast as remote an origin as the Egyptian Bai.

THE CLASSICS.

Amid the signs of the times in the present age—fruitful in change if not of improvement,—we have observed with pain not only a growing neglect of classical literature, but continued attempts on the part of many who hold the public ear to cast contempt on those studies which were once considered essential to the scholar and the gentleman, which formed such minds as Bacon's and Milton's, and which afforded the most delightful of occupations to the leisure of a Newton and a Leibnitz. In every age there has been a class of men who from a depravity of taste, or else a passion for singularity, have maligned all that is ancient or venerable. And sometimes with a strange perversity of purpose, we see men wasting their opportunities in a mischievous ridicule of useful pursuits which they might have advanced and illustrated to the benefit of themselves and mankind. Thus the seventeenth century, deeply imbued as it was with the spirit of classical inquiry and the love of ancient literature, gave birth to a Scarron and a Cotton, of whom the latter particularly was fitted for higher pursuits, and the former perhaps worthy of a better fate. But if in a spirit of indulgence for misguided genius we pardon the offence of their jest for its wit, and feel that in so doing we are involuntarily paying that tribute which is due to talent even when misapplied, let us beware of extending the same indulgence to those who from ignorance undervalue pursuits which they cannot appreciate, or to those who contemn like the fox in the fable, objects which they have vainly sought to obtain, or worse than all, to those who have no better motive for their censure than the wish to pilfer without detection, from the rich stores of those whom they have banished from the public eye, and driven from their rightful abodes in public recollection by a course of systematised slander. It would perhaps be unjust to say that the opposers of the ancient and learned universities of England, who have chiefly wrought the evil influence upon English literature to which we have been alluding, belong all of them to one of these three classes, but that many of them may be ranked with the last we cannot doubt, when we see what things they often send forth to the world as their own, and this too with an air of the greatest pretension. That some of these persons were actuated by better motives we must admit when we trace to its origin the history of this partially successful war against classical studies. The two universities of Oxford and Cambridge, those ancient abodes of learning, to a certain degree undoubtedly deserved the reproach of lagging behind the march of mind, in denying to modern literature the share of attention to which it was justly entitled. Absorbed in explorations of the past, and wedded to the love of antiquity in all their associations, they sought literature in her earliest haunts, and delighted most in their olden walks, which they loved for the very frequency with which they had trodden them. The system of study which had trained so many of their sons to eminence, seemed to them the best, and they were too slow in moulding its forms to the progress of science. It was endeared to them not only from the nature of its pursuits, but from past success, and it was no mean ambition which stimulated their sons to tread in the paths which a Bacon or a Clarendon, a Newton or a Locke, had trodden before them. And yet a little reflection should have taught them that if these glorious models of human excellence had left science where they found it, their reputations had never existed. A fierce opposition at length sprung up to a system of study so narrow and exclusive,—the growing wants of education demanded a university in London, which project was opposed by many of the friends of the old institutions. The elements of a party thus formed, were soon combined, and as the controversy waxed warmer, they attacked not only the venerable temples of learning, but the very study of the ancient languages itself, at first, perhaps, because the most celebrated abodes of this species of literature were to be found in the universities to which they had become inimical. Like every other literary controversy for some time past in England, this question connected itself with the party politics of the day, and thus many changed sides on the literary, that they might be together on the political question. Strange as it may seem, it has been for some time a reproach against the English that the Tories would not encourage the Whig literature, and vice versâ. No reader of the British periodicals for the last twenty years can have failed to remark this fact, which serves to account for the progress of the literary heresy which has already done so much to degrade English literature and to deprave the tastes of those who read only the English language. We shall not pause to inquire further into the effects produced by this illicit connexion between politics and literature in England, although it presents a highly interesting subject of inquiry, and one which must deeply occupy much of the attention of the historian who may hope hereafter to give an accurate account either of the political or literary condition of that country for many years past. Neither is it our purpose to arraign at the bar of public opinion those who have draggled the sacred "peplon" itself in the vile mire of party politics, although we sincerely believe that they will have a heavy account to settle with posterity for this unhallowed connexion. We merely allude to it by way of pointing out one of the causes of the heresy which we mean to combat, from the belief that it is mischievous, and the more especially as it diverts public attention from the particular want of American literature. Unhappily our reading in this country is chiefly confined to the English novelists and the periodicals of the day, from which we derive a contempt for the lofty and venerable learning of antiquity, and a belief that instead of too little, we bestow too much attention upon classical literature in America! That the novelists and trash manufacturers of the reviews should foster this opinion is not at all surprising, for they find their account in it. And yet it stirs the bile within us when we see a paltry novelist who cannot frame his tale without borrowing his plot, or conduct his dialogue without theft, affect to despise the study of those authors whom he robs without any other restraint than the fear of detection; or when we hear them offer to substitute their lucubrations for the writings of the great masters of antiquity—men who put forth opinions upon the most difficult questions in moral or physical science, and support them only by a dogmatism which would look down all opposition and frown upon any inquiry into the grounds of their doctrines, who, like Falstaff, will give no reasons for their moral or political opinions, and yet insinuate by their air of pretension that they are "plenty as blackberries"—sciolist novelists who doubt what is believed by all the most intelligent of their race, and believe what no other persons but themselves can be brought to believe—men who insinuate their superiority over the great models of the human race by affecting to despise whatever they have offered to the public view and modestly intimating their reliance upon their own superior resources. Problems in morals and politics which have filled with doubts and difficulties the minds of Bacon or Locke, of Montesquieu or Grotius, are now settled at a stroke of the pen by our novelist philosophers. Nothing is more common than to see the solution of some one of them by the dandy hero of some fashionable novel, who, sauntering from the dance to the coterie of philosophers in blue, solves the difficulty en passant, and fearing that this trifling occupation of so mighty a genius may attract attention, then hastens to divert public observation from his sage aphorism and impromptu philosophy by flirting with his friend's wife or playing with his poodle. The conception of a costume is the only occupation worthy of his fancy, and the composition of a dish the only subject which he would have the world to think capable of tasking his powers of attention and reflection; and yet all the learning of all the schools is shamed by the display of this literary faineant who acquired his knowledge without study, whilst inspiration only can account for the wisdom with which he is instinct. A nation has groaned through long centuries of almost hopeless bondage—the clank of a people in chains is heard from the Emerald isle—a cry of distress fills the air—a mighty orator, an O'Connell, arises before them, filling the public mind with agitation and pointing the way to revenge. In the energy of despair a portion of the captives have broken their manacles—they rush to liberate their fellows—the air is full of their cry for revenge—the conclave of Europe's wisest statesmen is at fault—a king trembles on his throne—and what, gentle reader, do you suppose is to be the result of these mighty throes and convulsions? why, just nothing, literally nothing at all. A Countess of Blessington surveys the scene from afar; reclining on an Ottoman, beneath a cloud of aromatic odors she recollects the subject of conversation at her last "soiree;" the idea flits across her brain with a gentle pang as it flies, that the energy of O'Connell is becoming exceedingly vulgar, and that the convulsions of a revolution so near her would be extremely trying to her nerves, not to mention those of Messrs. Bulwer and D'Israeli. Her resolution is taken, and at spare intervals between morning visits and soirees, she writes the "Repealers," which is at once to settle the agitations of a kingdom, and annihilate O'Connell himself. She has no sooner finished, than washing her hands "forty times in soap and forty in alkali," she despatches the production to Mr. Bulwer, who looking upon the work pronounces it good; and lo! the succeeding number of the New Monthly shall teach you the wonderful virtues of the moral medicaments which come from the Countess of Blessington's specific against Irish agitation. But who is Mr. Bulwer himself? for in this age so wonderful for accomplishing great ends by little means, it has become necessary to know him. Why a literary magician, a sprite of Endor, who by the potency of his charm conjures up the spirits of the mighty dead. Evoked by him the departed prophets arise. A Peter the Great, and a Bolingbroke, a Pope and a Swift, not to mention others of somewhat lesser note, come forth and speak at his command as once they spoke. The departed oracles of English literature are no longer mute. But the visits of the dead are of necessity short. They have no time now for such chit-chat as some may suspect they have hazarded whilst living. They come on a mission of importance which they have barely time to accomplish. The hidden secrets of policy are to be revealed, mightly oracles in philosophy and criticism are to be declared. Truths fall like hailstones, and wit descends in showers. But lo! what figure is that which stalks across the scene and comes to take his part in this play of phantasmagoria with which we have just been entertained. Does he belong to the land of shadows or the world of reality? "Under which king, Bezonian, speak or die." It is an impersonation of the mental and moral qualities of Mr. Edward Lytton Bulwer himself, not a prophet—but more than a prophet. The "most wonderful wonder of wonders." Pope and Swift are overpowered by his wit. The star of Bolingbroke pales before the superior effulgence of this luminary, and Peter the Great, mute in astonishment, stands "erectis auribus" to catch the oracles of government which flow from the godlike man. The scene changes—whither doth he go? He seizes the reins of government, he retrieves the affairs of a mighty empire by way of recreating a mind exhausted with the play of its mighty passions, and then wearied with the amusement, he turns in quest of other pursuits. The rule of an empire and the affairs of this world are objects too petty for the employment of his mind; he looks for some higher subject, and finds it in himself—the only subject in creation vast enough to fill the capacity of his spirit. He communes with the stars—he talks to the "TOEN," and the "TOEN" replies to him, and finally, big with his mighty purpose he achieves the task of writing "his confessions." And as my lord Peter concocted a dish containing the essence of all things good to eat, so this book is full of something that is exquisite from every department of thought. Such are the books which have displaced the writings of the masters of antiquity and the old household books of the English tongue. You may not take up a review or periodical now-a-days, but it shall teach you the folly of bestowing your time upon the study of the ancients, now that their writings afford so much that is more worthy of attention. Alas! that such should be the priesthood who administer the rites in the temple of English literature—the money changer has indeed entered the temple, when those who write for money come in to expel all who have written for fame. How often does it happen now-a-days that the writer of a bawdy novel, derives reputation enough from that circumstance, to assume the chair of criticism, and exposing a front of hardened libertinism to the scorn of the good and the contempt of the wise, avails himself of his situation to frown down every attempt to resuscitate our decaying literature, by the introduction of better models, and to restore health to the public taste, which this very censor has contributed to deprave? There is no more common occupation with such a man than the correction of the errors of the most illustrious statesmen and philosophers in magazine articles of some six or eight pages; the French revolution is the favorite theme of his lofty speculations, and Napoleon's the only character which he will exert himself to draw. With how much of the lofty contempt of a superior spirit does he speak of the labors of a Bentley, a Porson, a Parr, or an Elmsley; of a Gessner, a Brunck, a Heyne, a Schweihauser or a Wolffe. The anxious labors, for years, of such men as those go for nothing with him—they serve only to excite his scorn, or else afford him the favorite subjects of his ridicule. With the ingratitude of a malignant spirit, or the coarseness of ignorance, he reviles the self-denying students who may be truly said to have renounced the world in their enthusiastic search after the buried lore of antiquity—men who have paled before the midnight lamp in their ceaseless efforts to penetrate the obscurity of the past—lonely eremites, who feed the lamps that cast their dim light on the votive offerings which antiquity has laid upon the altar of knowledge—men who have dwelt apart from their race and denied themselves the common pleasures of life, that they might without distraction restore the decaying temple of ancient literature, and recover for the use of their own and future generations, treasures which else had been buried and forgotten; who have lived in the past until they have imbibed its spirit, and return like travellers full of the wisdom of unknown lands, and rich with the accumulated experience of past ages to shower their treasures and their blessings upon the ungrateful many who despise them for their labors and taunt them for their gifts, that they too may learn what a thing it is to cast pearls before swine; and who, superior to the unmerited scorn of this world, and to all the temptations of its grovelling pleasures, meekly bear their ill treatment with no other emotion than the fear that the benefits thus painfully acquired and freely bestowed, may turn out to be coals of fire which they have been heaping upon unthankful heads. And are men who labor for such objects as these to be ridiculed as looking to things too small, because they sojourned so long in the gloom of past ages, that their optics have been enlarged to discern not only the mouldering monument, but the smallest eft that crawls upon it? Shall they be taunted because they have learned to live in mute companionship with their books, and like the lonely prisoner, love objects which to others may seem inconsiderable, but are endeared to them by all the force of a long association, whose chain is interwoven link by link with the memory of their past? And if, like Old Mortality, they love to restore each mouldering monument, and retrace every time-worn inscription that may serve to renew their silent communion with the hallowed and dreamy past, surely the occupation may be pardoned, if not for its uses to others, at least for the quiet affection and sweet enthusiasm of the dream which it serves to awaken in the mind which is busy in the employment. But the utilitarian spirit of the present age is ever ready to measure the value of these pursuits by that pecuniary standard which alone it uses. What are their fruits? Will they move spinning jennies or propel boats? are they known on 'Change? how do they stand in the prices current, and in what way will they put money in the purse? Strangely as this may sound in the ears of those who love knowledge for itself and its spiritual uses, and absurd as these things would have appeared to the literary world a century ago, we much fear that we must return answers to them satisfactory, in part, at least, before we can even obtain an attentive hearing to what we shall say of their higher excellences. It is true that classical attainments are in few instances the objects of pecuniary speculation, nor is it our purpose to hold out temptations to literary simony to those who, insensible of the peace which the love of knowledge sheds abroad in the human heart, would hope to sell or purchase that precious gift, for mere money. If this were the only end which the student had in view, we should regret to see him perverting to unworthy purposes the sacred means to higher ends. To such a man learning has no temptations to offer, for its best rewards he can never obtain without a change of heart. We can no more unite the love of knowledge and of Mammon than serve the two masters spoken of in Scripture. It is the rare excellency of this holy taste that it releases us from servitude to the unworthy desires which are too apt to fill the minds of those who have never known what it was to thirst after the waters of truth. It is indeed the redeeming spirit of the human mind, which casts out the evil passions by which it had been possessed and torn. But there is a class of students burning for distinction and ambitious of eminence rather than wisdom, to whom we would appeal under the hope that in the pursuit of their own lesser ends they will cultivate tastes which may serve to awaken them to the more precious uses of knowledge. If then we can show these that the study of the ancient languages affords not only an admirable, but perhaps the best exercise for training tender minds into healthful habits of thought and reflection, that in looking to an economy of the time which measures the little span of human life, it is the pursuit in which the youthful mind can do most in acquiring human knowledge, we shall at least hold out strong temptations to these studies, even to those hasty and incautious inquirers who reject every thing for which they have no present use. But if we go farther, and demonstrate that the man who would thoroughly understand modern literature, must seek its foundations in that of the ancients,—that the poet and philosopher, the orator and statesman, who would train his mind to a successful pursuit of his favorite object, must look to the great masters of antiquity for the best models of his art, surely we shall persuade him to apply the means which a knowledge of the dead languages affords him, to the study of the literature which they embody. And shall he pause here in his career? is it to be supposed that he will still look to knowledge only for the earthly honors which it will enable him to obtain when he has in view the higher rewards which the love of truth has within itself? Will he be content with the narrow horizon which first bounded his prospect when he has taken a more elevated view of creation? Feeling that every sensible addition which his knowledge makes to his wisdom is another link by which he mounts in the chain of spiritual existence, he will lose the original ends for which he was laboring in the nobler objects which unfold themselves to his mind. He learns to disregard what men may say of him, sustained by the proud consciousness of what he is. And like the mariner who has become weary of coasting adventures, he boldly puts forth to sea in quest of that unknown land which his spirit has seen in its dreams. These are the higher uses of the pursuit of knowledge, and although we are far from asserting that classical studies are the only pursuits that are thus rewarded, yet we will hazard the assertion, that there are none more eminently fitted for strengthening the human mind and elevating its character.

But to return to the first position which we have taken as to the peculiar fitness of this pursuit for the early employment of the human mind. It is something in its favor, that for centuries past, until of late, there has been nearly a common assent amongst literary men that the study of the ancient languages affords the best exercise for the youthful mind,—an opinion so old and so prevalent, must have had at least some foundation in truth. Indeed, when we come to look at the nature of the system of training necessary for the youthful mind, we cannot long doubt the fitness of these pursuits for that end. There is no period, but boyhood, of a man's life at which he would submit to the drudgery necessary for training his memory in the exercises by which it is most strengthened. It would be difficult to induce him to submit to such tasks when he had arrived at a more advanced period of life, and taken even a superficial view of the more agreeable walks of knowledge. With a boy who stands upon the threshold of science, it is far different. Taught that the end in view is worthy of all his pains, and that his commencement of the pursuit of knowledge must of necessity be difficult, he is as willing to seek science through that pass as any other, and the more especially as he perceives that the exercises are not beyond his strength. In the study of the ancient languages, (the Greek especially, because it is more regular than any other) he not only finds an improvement in the powers of simple suggestion or mere memory, but he is insensibly led to processes of generalization from the great saving of labor which he discovers in classification, thus burthening his memory with a rule only, instead of the mass of facts which the rule serves to recall and connect—an advantage which the study of none of the modern languages will afford to the same extent. In the difficulties of translation, which occasionally present themselves, he is not only forced to reason upon the rules which regulated their forms of construction, but often finds it necessary, by an examination of the context and subject matter, to ascertain the meaning of the author; and thus early learns to consider the logical arrangement of propositions and sentences. How often do we find boys thus eagerly and earnestly engaged, in inquiring into the customs and history of the people whose language they are studying, and reasoning upon the motives of action and the characters of men, without being conscious of the high nature of their speculations, or that they are doing more than translating the meaning of a difficult sentence—thus without weariness gradually storing their minds with a knowledge of allusions necessary for their future reading, and which in the mass would never be acquired by the youthful intellect from the fatiguing nature of a study directed to them exclusively. How often do we find a lad profitably engaged in metaphysical inquiries and nice calculations of human motives at a time when works exclusively devoted to these subjects would only serve to weary and disgust him. The youthful mind is thus trained to the capacity of undergoing the severest processes of thought and reasoning by a system of occasional and gentle exercise which amuses without wearying or breaking its spirit. There are certain advantages peculiar to the study of that most wonderful of all languages, the Greek, in the culture of the youthful mind. They are to be found in the regular forms of compounding their words, and in the almost invariable applicability of rules to its modes of expression. In tracing a compound word to its root, the mind is insensibly forced to trace the compound emotions of the human mind to their source through the seemingly hidden links of the chain of association which are almost pointed out one by one in the varying terminations of the radical as it branches out into its many different shades of signification. What boy of tolerable capacity could turn to a root in Scapula's Lexicon, with a view of its various compounds, without tracing (often unconsciously it is true) the simple to the compound emotions of the human mind through that chain of association which may be deemed necessary and invariable, since not only the simple, but also the compound emotions and perceptions are to be found in every human mind? How could he fail to acquire a knowledge of the cognate ideas of the mind with this ocular reference to their connexion before him? He thus learns the kindred ideas which the expression of certain given ideas will call up, he begins to know how to marshal the host under their leader, he perceives the true force of expression which belongs to words, and traces much of the progress of human thought by means of the land-marks which this regularly formed language indicates to the inquirer. He perceives the modes by which the ancient masters of style in this language learned to express with precision the most abstract of ideas, and as it were, to transfer to paper almost every shadow which flits through the human mind. Penetrating to the truth, through the metaphysical and logical construction of this language, that style consists more in the arrangement of ideas than words, he acquires rules which he may transfer to his own language, and thus increase its capacities of expression, at the same time that he may often improve the beauty of its form without impairing its strength. No man ever acquired a thorough knowledge of the Greek without having in the course of his progress penetrated often and far into the walks of philology and metaphysics. As no philologist has ever arrived at eminence without an attentive study of this language, so perhaps it will not be going too far to say that without it, none ever will. They were thus trained—the great masters of the English language who have improved its construction and added so much to its beauty and strength. The greatest and most sudden improvement which has ever been wrought at any one period in the English language, certainly took place in the reign of Elizabeth, and yet every page, nay, almost every line of the great authors of that day, betrays a constant and studied reference to the models of antiquity. Next to them, and pre-eminent as a reformer in our language, stands Milton, who was trained in the same studies, and whose marvellous power over language has never been sufficiently considered in the attention which is bestowed upon his genius. Perhaps no other man ever effected such a change in the construction of a language, or did so much to reform it. It has been well said that his construction was essentially Greek. He only possessed the wonderful power of transferring the construction of one language to another, dissimilar in its origin and forms, and of transfusing as it were an old spirit into a new body. Profoundly versed in written and spoken languages, he was yet more a master of the language of thought and feeling, and was thus able to improve the arrangement of the groupes and to touch with a more natural coloring and living expression the forms by which we had sought to embody our ideas. And what was the chosen model of that mighty genius, whose language may be said to mirror thought, if that of any other English author can be said to paint it? The Greek! the immortal Greek! which surviving the institutions and national existence of its people, stands forth like the Parthenon itself, and defies the genius of all other nations in all succeeding ages to produce a structure which shall equal its combinations of strength and elegance—a language which even yet justifies the proud boast of its creators, that in comparison with them, all other nations are barbarous. It is evident from the whole spirit of the writings of this immortal man, that he believes in no other Helicon but the Greek. If we were called upon to recommend to the reader of English literature only the writings which would afford him the best substitute for the study of the classics in the improvement of his style, we should undoubtedly recommend him to the works of Milton. There are several authors since his day, who, trained in the same studies, have labored with less effect, it is true, for the same end; and indeed it would be difficult to point out a single author who has improved the strength and beauty of the English language, without a knowledge of the structure and literature of the Greek. There have been many who, without this knowledge, have well used the language as they found it. But Temple, Tillotson, Addison, Bolingbroke, Warburton and Johnson, who have all contributed sensible additions and changes to its structure, formed their styles upon ancient models.

We have already adverted to the knowledge of the allusions to the ancient mythology acquired by the study of the Greek and Latin authors, a knowledge which can only be fully acquired in this mode, and which is of inestimable use to the student, not only in understanding the writings even of modern times, but in learning to write himself. The ardent imagination of the East has produced nothing more beautiful than the splendid mythology of the Greeks—a mythology which abounds in powerful imagery and poetic conception. Perhaps there is nothing so little various as fiction, notwithstanding the numerous and repeated efforts at such creations. Indeed it would be curious to ascertain how much of the fiction now in possession of the human race is of ancient origin, and thus to perceive how little would be left if we were to abstract the creations of the mythic ages of ancient Greece. Nothing could illustrate more strongly the fact that the history of the human heart is always the same. We find powerfully portrayed even in the fictions of that early day, the intrigues of love and ambition, the vanity of earthly hopes, and the warfare of contending passions. There is scarcely a feeling which is not pictured in some poetic personification which developes its tendencies and nature, and there is not a moral of general use in the conduct of life which is not illustrated by some well designed and beautiful allegory. It seems to have been an early practice with the eastern sages to address the reasons of their people through the medium of their ardent and susceptible fancies. The Hebrew, the Egyptian and Grecian lawgivers and sages, all resorted to it, and truth presented in this attractive form has never failed to take a lasting hold upon the public mind. Addressing itself in this form most powerfully to the young, because their fancies are most susceptible, it cannot fail to make an impression at that age when it sinks most deeply in the human mind. It is thus that principles of action are instilled into the human mind at an age when reason is scarcely yet capable of eliminating the true from the false, and the youthful imagination receives an early and wholesome excitement from the contemplations of poetic conceptions whose simplicity fits them to be received, and whose beauty commends them to be loved, by the youthful mind. The most powerful, the most beautiful and concise modes of expressing much of human feeling and passion, are to be found in the Grecian mythology. The true value of an image consists in the conciseness with which it expresses the idea that it represents. An image is misplaced and useless, no matter how beautiful in itself, if it presents your idea in a more tedious and cumbrous form than that in which a few simple words would have explained your meaning as well. It is then obviously unnecessary, and presents itself to the reader as a mere attempt at beauty, which at once recalls him from the subject to the author,—an effect which is always unfortunate for the latter. Good imagery, on the contrary, offers a glowing picture which at once makes a vivid impression upon the mind, accurately representing your meaning, and calling up ideas through the force of a necessary and natural association, which would not have been otherwise awakened except by the use of many more words. Such in an eminent degree is the imagery of the mythology of which we have been speaking. Where is the course of power without knowledge to guide it, so briefly yet so forcibly depicted as in the mad career of Phaeton misguiding the steeds of the sun? And what picture so descriptive of the writhings of disappointed ambition as that of Prometheus on his rock with the vulture at his liver? Tantalus in the stream is an ever living fiction, because it borrows the form of Truth when it points to the punishment of him who rashly essays to satisfy his thirst for happiness by the gratification of unhallowed lusts; and Sisyphus toiling at his stone, is the faithful picture of man who vainly confident in his unassisted strength seeks to roll the ball of fortune up the slippery eminence. What can be more beautiful than that picture of fraternal affection which we find in the fable of the sons of Leda—a union of spirit so pure that it was typified in the two bright stars which still maintain alternate sway in heaven as an everlasting memorial of that undying love which married the mortal to the immortal in one common destiny. In what other language could Byron have described fallen Rome, "the Niobe of nations," than that which he used, the language of truth and feeling which is now common to the whole of the civilized world, and must be as universally used as known, since it embodies the pictured thought and feeling of the human heart. The man who neglects this mythic and most beautiful of languages, must be content to see himself excelled by those who have studied it, both in strength and beauty of expression. Perhaps we do not hazard too much in asserting that a knowledge of this mythic language alone (if we may call it so,)—a knowledge only to be obtained by reading the Greek and Latin authors—would compensate the student for the labor bestowed in acquiring those languages. So far we have looked only to the advantages to be derived from a mere study of these languages, without any reference to the literature which they embody. And if we have shown so far that these studies of themselves afford a reward for our labors, how much more important will they seem when we consider the learning which we shall find in them. But it may be said that we promised to show that these studies were not only profitable, but the most profitable in which the youthful mind could be engaged; and so far we have not redeemed the pledge. To this we reply, that the study of natural philosophy by which we comprehend physics and morals, and that of languages, afford the only subjects to which the mind is directed in books. Now, in relation to the first, we assume in common with most of the best thinkers on the subject of education, that such studies would serve to weaken the youthful mind by its premature exertions under a load as yet beyond its capacity; and with regard to the study of other languages than the Greek and Latin, that all the advantages to be derived from the mere study of language, which the others afford, are also to be had by the classical student, whilst the more regular formation and peculiar structure of these two ancient languages promise benefits to the youthful mind which are peculiar to themselves, or at any rate, much greater in them than in any others.

We come now to the second proposition which we laid down, and that is, that out of his own language, there are no other two languages whose literature holds out as many inducements to the student for acquiring them, as that of the Greek and Latin languages, since independently of their own worth, these studies are absolutely essential to the proper understanding of modern literature as it now exists. Surely there could exist no opinion more unfortunate for the progress of science, than that which supposes, that a view of science as it now exists, is all that is necessary for its thorough investigation; indeed, we believe the assertion may be safely hazarded, that no one can ever qualify himself for the race of discovery who looks alone to what men now think without a reference to what they have formerly believed and written upon the subjects of his inquiry. Strange as it may seem, the man who would ascertain truth, must not confine himself to the simple inquiry of what it is. He must also see what men have thought about it. He must look to the history of human opinion and the modes of reasoning by which men have arrived at their conclusions. He must not only be able to understand the results of right reason, but he must learn also to reason for himself. It was a perception of this necessity which induced the immortal Bacon to turn his attention to the mode of investigating truth, rather than to the discovery of truth itself. He perceived that it was the most important benefit which could be conferred by any man of that day, and the Novum Organon, the most wonderful of mere human conceptions, was the result. A view of the different modes of reasoning to truth which had been employed before him, a comparison of the methods which the most successful philosophers had pursued, soon taught him that there was as much in the method used as in the genius of the investigator. He who would pursue the path of truth, would do well to prepare himself with a guide book made up from the experience of former travellers; he will thus learn the various roads which intersect his true path, and might be likely to put him out, each of which some former pilgrim has taken before him, from whose recorded experience he may take warning; or sometimes it may happen that whilst the crowd of philosophers have been wandering for centuries through a mazy error, the account given by some long gone traveller of a partially explored route may lead the happy investigator into the true way, and thus forward him on his journey. In the progress of truth, which of necessity must be slow and cautious, it is important to weigh every step, and every chart should be preserved. It was thus that Copernicus, retracing the steps of philosophers for two thousand years, discovered in the almost forgotten accounts of the writings of Nicetas, Heraclides and Ecphontus, traces of a route into which he struck off and was conducted to the most brilliant discoveries. It was thus that Galileo was conducted to some of his discoveries in hydrostatics by the hints of Archimedes. Indeed, how many of the most important discoveries of science have thus originated? Had Archimedes and Pappus never written, or had they been neglected, the method of tangential lines of Fermat and Barrow, approximating so closely as they do to the discovery of the differential calculus, had perhaps never existed, and to these we must attribute the subsequent important discovery of Newton and Leibnitz. Indeed, the whole history of scientific discovery is the history of a chain whose links have been forged by different men, and fitted at different times. If such be the most fortunate mode of scientific discovery, how much do we increase the importance of the study of the ancient literature, when we come to reflect that the termination of their scientific labors during the night of the middle ages, is the point of departure from which all modern scientific discovery has emanated. It will at once be recollected that at the revival of letters, the only sources of information were derived from the study of the ancients revived chiefly by Boccacio and the philosophers of the Medici school and from the Arabians, whose knowledge was drawn chiefly though at an early period from the same source. Notwithstanding the elegant rivalry between the Abassides and Ommoiades, which so much fostered the spirit of learned inquiry, notwithstanding the resort of the Arabian philosophers to the Indian school, and the polite and elevated spirit of the Saracen conquerers who offered peace to the modern and degenerate Greeks in exchange for their philosophy, it is still evident that with the exception of some few discoveries in the science of medicine, they were yet far behind the ancients at the period of the decay of letters. Ancient science became the text upon which modern writings were for ages the commentary, one of its languages became the medium of communication between the learned and polite of all nations, and no book of science was published for a long time except in the Latin. The writings of mathematicians as far down as Euler, those in medicine in England as far down as Hunter, the writings of Blumenback, of Grotius and Spinoza, the Novum Organon of Bacon, and indeed those of nearly all the modern philosophers, until the middle of the seventeenth century, were in Latin. In Belles Lettres, criticism and rhetoric, in history, physics and morals, the models of the moderns were all chosen from antiquity. In addition to this too, the progress of Roman arms, and afterwards the advance of Roman letters, had incorporated much of the Latin language and idiom in all of the polite modern languages except the German. The Italian and Spanish in particular have been well called "bastard Latin." How then can any student of modern literature only, hope to understand the genius of his own language, or even the spirit of that literature to which he has devoted himself? What scientific inquirer can hope, in any great degree, to forward the march of discovery no matter what may be his genius and spirit, if he be without this learning? Independently then of the intrinsic value of ancient learning, we humbly think that the reasons enumerated by us, suffice to prove not only the importance but the absolute necessity of these studies to the accomplished scholar and man of science. But we are prepared to go further, and maintain that on certain subjects of mental inquiry, it still affords the best models extant. In poetry, the best models are confessedly ancient. In rhetoric, Aristotle, Quinctilian and Horace, have left nothing for modern investigation to add upon that subject. But it is in history, oratory, the philosophy of government, law and psychology, that the pre-eminence of ancient literature is most important to be noticed. We are perfectly aware that the history of remote antiquity has for every mind a charm which does not belong to the genius or the taste of the historian. Ideas of events remote in point of time, whether past or future, always fill the mind with a certain degree of awe and uncertainty. A feeling of mystery always attends our ideas of what is remote in point of time or place. It is on the tale of the traveller from far distant lands that we hang with most delight and wonder. Had Columbus discovered America within two days voyage of Europe, the tale of his genius had been yet untold. So too the mind looks to events long past with an awe and wonder akin to those feelings which fill it in its eager gaze into futurity. It is this power of association which attaches the antiquarian so devotedly to his peculiar study, and so soon converts it into a pursuit of feeling rather than of reason. It is the same mysterious link which binds the poet to the early customs and history of his country, and which lends a charm to the simplest ballad if it be ancient, and connects his contemplations with the past. It was the same feeling so strong in the human heart which swelled in the breast of the indignant old lawgiver when in despite of his formal pursuits and fancy-killing studies, he pronounced his rebuke on those who ignorantly maligned "that code which has grown grey in the hoar of innumerable ages." It is a mighty journey which the human mind takes when it is transported from the present to the past. When the mind awakes to realize these long-gone scenes, feelings of mingled awe and pleasure insensibly possess it. A thousand associations of gloomy grandeur attend us as we seem to walk amid the mighty monuments of the dead in the silent twilight of past ages. We feel as if we were treading the lonely streets of the city of the dead, and lifting the pall of ages. We start to find that the mouldering records of man's pursuits then told as now, that still eternal tale of empty vanity and misbegotten hopes. The ashes of buried cities on which we tread, the timeworn records of fallen empires and past greatness, the monuments of events yet more remote and faintly discernible in the dim distance, seem the too visible memorials of "what shadows we are, and what shadows we pursue," and like Crusoe we recoil with wonder and fear from that trace of man on the desert shore. The earlier the records to which we refer, the more deeply are we struck with the wonderful power of our minds which enables us to use the hoarded experience of ages and enter into silent communion with the dead, and the more sensibly are we impressed by the comparison of the imperishable creations of our spiritual nature, with the fading glories of our mortal state. We ascend the stream of time as the traveller of the Nile in quest of its mysterious sources, and the farther we proceed the more wonderful is the view adown that vale of ages through which it flows. Behind us, in the dim distance arise the dark and impenetrable barriers, whose cloud-capt summits seem to point to the heavens as the source of the mysterious river, whilst before us flow the dark rolling waves of that wide stream which is to bear us too to the mysteries of that land of shadows where we are taught to expect an eternal, perhaps an awful home. Fair cities and mighty empires arise in momentary show along its shores, and then pass away upon its rolling waters. In swift succession the generations of man chase each other upon its heaving billows in shadowy hosts,—the dim phantasmagoria of our mortal state! And yet like shades that wander along the Styx, some memories still live upon its silent shore to tell the tale of wrecks and ruins which stud the wave-worn banks. Lo! yonder rocky headland around which sweeps the swift stream as it stretches into the dark bay where the waters lie in momentary repose. How many were the marble palaces, how smiling were the gardens which gladdened that once lovely spot. Yon mouldering fane that yet clings to the wave-worn rock, was once the least amongst ten thousand, and where are they?—Lost in these dark waters in whose deep womb are buried the long forgotten glories of our mortal race.