Chapter VI: Part 6

"I have no need of rest," replied Bernard, "and each moment seems to me an eternity till I can again clasp my Elizabeth to my heart. Let us delay, then, as little as may be."

As he spoke they entered the gates of Berlin. The sun was risen, and the hotels and taverns were beginning to open their doors. Seeing Bernard's anxiety to depart, the painter abandoned his intention of taking some repose, and after hasty breakfast, a post-chaise was brought to the door, and the brothers stepping in, were whirled off on their road northwards.

The sun was about to set when the travellers came in sight of the spires of Stralsund, among which the church of St Nicholas reared its double-headed tower. Bernard had enlivened the journey by his wild sallies, and merry but extravagant humour. Now, however, that the goal was almost reached, he became silent and anxious. The hours appeared to go too slowly for him, and his restlessness was extreme.

"Faster! postilion," cried Carl, observing his brother's impatience. "Faster! You shall be paid double."

The man flogged his horses till they flew rather than galloped over the broad level road. Suddenly, however, a strap broke, and the postilion got off his seat to tie it up. Through the stillness of the evening, no longer broken by the rattle of the wheels and clatter of the horses' feet, a clock was heard striking the hour. Another repeated it, and a third, of deeper tone than the two preceding ones, took up the chime. Bernard started to his feet, and leaned so far out of the carriage that his brother seized hold of him, expecting him to lose his balance and fall out.

"It is she!" exclaimed Bernard. "'Tis the bell of St Nicholas. Listen, Carl--my Elizabeth calls me. She strikes the bell. I come, dearest, I come!"

And with these words he sprang out of the carriage, and set off at full speed towards the town, leaving his brother thunderstruck at his mad impatience and vehemence.

Running at the top of his speed, Bernard soon reached the city gate, and proceeded rapidly through the streets in the direction of St Nicholas's church. It seemed to him as though he had been absent for years instead of a few days, and he felt quite surprised at finding no change in the city since his departure. All was as he had left it; all conspired to lull him into security. An old fruitwoman, of whom he had bought cherries the very day of his last walk with Elizabeth, was in her usual place, and, as he passed, extolled the beauty of her fruit, and asked him to buy. A large rose-tree, at the door of a silversmith's shop, which Elizabeth had often admired, was still in full bloom; through the window of a house in the market-place, he saw a young girl, Elizabeth's dearest friend, dressing her hair at a looking-glass, and as he passed the churchyard, the old dumb sexton, who appeared to be hunting about for a place for a grave, nodded his head in mute recognition.

Bernard opened the tower door, and darted up the staircase. He was not far from the top when he heard the voices of two men above him. They were resting on one of the landing-places of the ladderlike stairs.

"It is a singular case, doctor," said one; "a strange and incomprehensible case. It is evidently a disease more of the mind than the body."

"Yes," replied the other, by his voice apparently an old man. "If we could only get a clue to the cause, any thing to go upon, something might be done, but at present it is a perfect riddle."

Bernard heard no more, for the men continued their ascent.

"The old father must be ill," said he to himself; but as he said it a feeling of dread and anxiety, a presentiment of evil, came over him, and he stood for a few moments unable to proceed. The door at the top of the stairs was now opened, and shut with evident care to avoid noise. "The old man must be very ill," said Bernard, as if trying to persuade himself of it. He reached the door, and his hand shook as he laid it upon the latch. At length he lifted it, and entered the room. It was empty; but, just then, the door of Elizabeth's chamber opened, and old Kranhelm stepped out. On beholding Bernard, he started back as though he had seen a ghost. He said a word or two in a low voice to somebody in the inner room, and then shutting the door, bolted it, and placed his back against it, as if to prevent Bernard from going in.

"Begone!" cried he in a tremulous voice; "in the name of God, begone! thou evil spirit of my house;" and he stretched out his arms towards Bernard as though to prohibit his approach. No longer master of himself, the young man sprang towards him, and, grasping his arm, thundered in his ear the question--

"Where is my Elizabeth?"

The words rang through the old tower, and the confused murmuring of voices in the inner room was heard. Bernard listened, and thought he distinguished the voice of Elizabeth repeating, in tones of agony, the fatal number.

One of the physicians knocked, and begged to be let out. The old tower-keeper opened the door cautiously, and, when the doctor had passed through, carefully shut and barred it. But during the moment that it had remained open, Bernard heard too plainly what his ears had at first been unwilling to believe.

"Is that the man?" demanded the physician hastily. "In God's name, be silent. You will kill the patient. She recognized your voice, and fell immediately into the most fearful paroxysm. She has got back again to the infernal number with which her delirium began, and she shrieks it out perpetually. It is a frightful relapse. Begone! young man; yet stay--I will go with you. You can, doubtless, give us a key to this mystery."

The old physician took Bernard's arm to lead him away; but at that very moment there was a shrill scream from the next room, and Elizabeth's voice was heard calling upon Bernard by name. The unfortunate young man could not restrain himself. Shaking off the grasp of the physician, he pushed old Kranhelm aside, tore back the bolts, and flung open the door. There lay Elizabeth on her deathbed, her arms stretched out towards him, her mild countenance ashy pale and frightfully distorted, her soft blue eyes straining from their orbits. She made a violent effort to speak, but death was too near at hand; the sound died away upon her lips, and her uplifted arms dropped powerless upon the bed; her head fell back--a convulsive shudder came over her: she was dead. Her unhappy lover fell senseless to the ground.

When Bernard awoke out of a long and deathlike swoon, it was night, and all around him was still and dark. He was lying on the stone floor outside Kranhelm's dwelling. The physicians had removed him thither; and, being occupied with the old tower-keeper and his daughter, they had thought no more about him. On first recovering sensation, he had but an indistinct idea of where he was, or what had happened. By degrees his senses returned to a certain extent--he knew that something horrible had occurred, but without remembering exactly what it was.

He felt about him, and touched a railing. It was the balustrade round the open turret where hung the great bell. He was lying under the bell itself, and, as he gazed up into its brazen throat, the recollection of the frightful dream which had persecuted him the night before his flight from Stralsund came vividly to his mind; he appeared to himself to be still dreaming, and yet his visions were mixed up with the realities of his everyday occupations.

He had just stepped out, he thought, to strike the hour on the bell, and rising with some difficulty from the hard couch which had stiffened his limbs, he sought about for the hammer. He made no effort to shake off the sort of dreaming semi-consciousness which seemed to prevent him from feeling the horror and anguish of reality.

"Thirteen strokes," thought he; "thirteen strokes, and at the Thirteenth the tower will fall, the city crumble to dust, the world be at an end." Such had been his dream, and the moment of its accomplishment was come.

He found the hammer, and struck with all his force upon the bell. He repeated the blow; twelve times he struck, and each stroke rang with deafening violence through his brain; but at the Thirteenth, as he raised his arms high above his head, and leaning back against the railing, threw his whole strength and energy into the blow, the frail balustrade gave way under his weight, and he fell headlong from the tower. The last stroke tolled out, sad and hollow as a funereal knell, and the sound mingled with the death-cry of the luckless Thirteenth!

REMINISCENCES OF SYRIA.[15]

[15] Reminiscences of Syria. By Colonel E. Napier.

Galloping, gossiping, flirting and fighting, feasting and starving, but always in high spirits and the best possible humour, Colonel Napier might answer an advertisement for "A Pleasant Companion in a Post-chaise," without the slightest chance of rejection. But it is difficult to imagine so dashing a traveller, boxed up in a civilized conveyance, rolling quietly along a macadamized road, with a diversity of milestones and an occasional turnpike gate, the only incidents by the way--no wild Maronite glimpsing at him over the hedge; no black-eyed houri peeping over the balustrades of the caravanserai, (called by vulgar men the Bricklayers' Arms)--no Saices to help John Hostler to change horses; but dulness, uniformity, and most tiresome and unromantic safety. England, we are sorry to confess it, is not the land of stirring adventures or hair-breadth 'scapes--a railway coach occasionally blows up; a blind leader occasionally bolts into a ditch; a wheel comes occasionally into dangerous collision with one of Pickford's vans; but these are the utmost that can be hoped for in the way of peril, and other excitement there is positively none. We have treated life as the mathematician did Paradise Lost--we have struck out all its similes--obliterated its flights--expunged its glorious visions--we have made it prose. But fortunately for us--for Colonel Napier--for the reading public--there is a land where mathematicians are unknown, and where poetry continues to flourish in the full vigour of cimeters and turbans--the region of the sun--

"The first of Eastern lands he shines upon."

It was in this very beautiful, but rather overdone portion of earth's surface, that the adventures occurred of which we are now to give some account; and as probably most of our readers have heard the name of Syria pretty often of late, we need not display much geographical erudition in pointing out where it lies. It would be pleasant to us if we could atone for brevity in this respect, by illuminating the reader on the causes that have brought Syria so prominently forward; but on this point we confess, with shame and confusion of face, that we know no more than Lord Ponsonby or M. Thiers. The truth seems to be, that some time, about two or three years ago, five or six people in influential stations went mad, and our Secretary for Foreign Affairs took the infection. He showed his teeth and raised his "birse," and barked in a most audacious manner, till the French kennel answered the challenge; an old dog in Egypt cocked his tail at the same time, and the world began to be afraid that hydrophobia would be universal. All parties were delighted to let the rival yelpers fight it out on so distant a field as Syria; and in that country of heat and dryness, of poverty, anarchy, cruelty, and superstition, there was a skrimmage that kept all Christendom on the tenter-hooks for half-a-year; and this we believe to be the policy of the Syrian campaign. Better for all parties concerned, that a few thousand turbaned and malignant Turks or Egyptians should bite the dust, than that there should be another Austerlitz or Waterloo. So the signal was accordingly given, and the work began.

Wherever there is any fighting it is not to be doubted that the English hurra will be heard--and an apparition had been seen in the smoke of battle, which had sorely puzzled the wisest of the soothsayers of Egypt to explain. It was of a being apparently human, but dressed as if to represent Mars and Neptune at the same time, charging along the tops of houses, with the jolly cocked-hat of a captain of a British man-of-war on the point of his sword, and a variety of exclamations in his mouth, more complimentary to the enemy's speed than his courage. The muftis, we have said, were sorely puzzled, and at last set it down as an infallible truth that he must be none other than Old Harry, whereas there was not a sailor in the fleet that did not know that it was none other than Old Charley. And this identical Old Charley, in a style of communication almost as rapid as his military evolutions, had indited the following epistle to the author of the volumes before us:--

"Headquarters of the Army of Lebanon.--Djouni,
Sept. 1840.

"My dear Edward--I have hoisted my broad pendant on
Mount Lebanon, and mean to advance against the Egyptians
with a considerable force under my command; you may be
of use here; therefore go to Sir John M'Donald, and ask
him to get leave for you to join me without delay.

"Your affectionate father,
CHARLES NAPIER."

And the dutiful son, who seems to have no inconsiderable portion of the paternal penchant for broken heads and other similar divertisements, in three weeks from the receipt of the letter found himself on board the Hydra, and rapidly approaching the classic shores of Sidon, Tyre, Ptolemais; the scenes of scriptural records and deeds of chivalry--Palestine--the Holy Land. But the broad pendant in the mean time had been pulled down on Mount Lebanon, and once more fluttered to the sea breezes on board the Powerful. Sir Charles Smith had assumed the command of the land forces, and whether from ill-humour at finding half the work done during his absence by the amphibious commodore, or from some other cause, his reception of the author was, at first, far from cordial. Instead of being useful, as he had hoped, he found the sturdy old general blind to the value of his accession; and when the Powerful sailed he found himself without quarters appointed him, or even an invitation to join the officers' mess. But with the usual good-luck of people who bear disappointments well, all turned out for the best, as will be seen by the following extract:

"I had, on board the Powerful, a few days before, formed
the acquaintance of a young Syrian of the name of
Assaade el Khyat, who, brought up at one of our
universities, was at heart a true Englishman, spoke
fluently our own and several other European and Eastern
languages, and whom I found, on the whole, a sensible,
well-informed young man, and a most agreeable companion.
As I was sitting alone, after a solitary dinner, (in the
miserable hotel at Beyrout,) musing in a brown study
over a bottle of red Cyprus wine, my new acquaintance
was ushered into the apartment; I made no secret to him
of my extremely uncomfortable position, when he, with
great kindness and liberality, overcoming the usual
prejudices of his country, offered me an asylum in his
own family, which offer I most gladly accepted, and was
accordingly the next morning comfortably installed in my
new quarters, whereof I will endeavour to give the
reader a slight description.

"The house of which I had just so unexpectedly become an
inmate, was situated in one of the most retired and out
of the way parts of the town, (and it was not before
considerable time had elapsed, and then with difficulty,
that I became acquainted with the labyrinth of narrow
lanes, alleys, and dark passages which it was requisite
to thread in order to arrive at this desired haven,) the
property of a young man of the name of Giorgio Habbit
Jummal--brother-in-law of my friend Assaade, to whom one
of his sisters was married, and whom, as he spoke
Italian with fluency and ease, I at once engaged as my
dragoman or interpreter.

"By a strange coincidence, I, under the roof of Giorgio,
for the first time became acquainted with Mr Hunter, the
author of the _Expedition to Syria_, who, placed in
similar circumstances with myself, was likewise an
inmate of the same house, and of whom, as we were
subsequently much known together during our residence in
this country, I shall after have occasion to mention: at
present I will take the liberty of borrowing from his
amusing narrative the following account of the inmates
of our new domicile. 'We lived in the house of a
respectable Syrian family, that of Habbit Jummal, or
interpreted, the esteemed camel-driver. Our landlord,
Giorgius, the head of this family, was a young man
hardly out of his teens; and having some competency, and
being moreover _un beau garcon_, did not follow either
his ancestral, or any other avocation. The harem, or
woman's portion of the house, was composed of his
mother, a fair widow of forty, and her two daughters,
both Eastern beauties of their kind, Sarah and Nasarah
(meaning Victory or Victoria;) the first, a laughing
black eyed houri, with mischief in every dimple in her
pretty face; the other, a more portly damsel, of a
melancholy but not less pleasing expression. There were
besides these, three younger children with equally
poetic names, (Nassif, Iskunder, and Furkha,) and
included in the _coterie_ was a good-humoured negress,
the general handmaid, whose original cognomen of Saade,
was lost in the apposite soubriquet of
Snowball.'--Although the greater part of the
inhabitants of Beyrout are Christians, generally
speaking, of the Greek Church, to which persuasion
likewise belonged the family of our host Giorgio; still
in this land of bigotry and oppression--to such an
extent is carried suspicion and jealousy, and so far
have Mahommedan prejudices in this respect been adopted,
that all the women (those of the peasantry alone
excepted) lead nearly as secluded a life as the Osmanli
ladies of Constantinople or Smyrna. On venturing abroad,
which they seldom do, unless when the knessi or humaum
(church or bath) are the limits of their excursions,
they are so closely shrouded in the izar, or long white
garment, which, coming over the head and hiding the
face, falls in numerous folds to the ground, as to be
scarcely recognizable by their nearest friends or
relations. To allow, therefore, two unknown and
friendless strangers to become familiar inmates of an
Eastern family, exposing wives, daughters, and sisters,
to their unhallowed gaze, was a favour and mark of
confidence on the part of Assaade which we duly
appreciated, nor ever abused; it was, however, a
privilege to which no other stranger in the place was
admitted, and affording, as it did, such opportunities
of acquiring the Arabic language, I eagerly embraced it
without any feeling of regret at the inhospitality to
which I was originally indebted for my admission behind
the scenes of Oriental life.

"The bare, gloomy, and massive stone walls of the
exterior of our habitation had not prepared us for the
comforts we found inside; and as for the first time we
followed Giorgio and his brother-in-law up the rude and
narrow stone staircase, which appeared to be scarped out
of the very thickness of the wall--an open sesame from
the former causing a strong iron studded door to fly
back on its hinges, disclosed a handsome patis or court
paved with black and white marble, along the sides of
which were luxuriantly growing, and imparting a cooling
freshness to the scene, the perfumed orange-tree,
bearing at the same time both fruit and blossoms, and
flanked by green myrtles and flowering geraniums; whilst
an apartment opening on this garden terrace, and which
appeared from the carpets and cushions scattered around
the still smoking narghilis, (or water-pipe, in which is
smoked the tumbic or Persian tobacco,) and other sundry
traces of female industry, to be appropriated as the
common sitting-room of the family, was on our entrance
precipitately deserted by all its occupants, save one
fine-looking matronly lady, whom Giorgio introduced as
his mother; and while she was welcoming us with many
'F[=a]dd[=a]lls,' and politely repeating, _Anna mugsond
shoufuk_, (be seated, I am delighted to see you,) with
innumerable other euphonious phrases, as we afterwards
found high-flown Eastern compliments, but which at the
time were sadly wasted on our Frankish ignorance, he,
following the fair fugitives, soon brought back in each
hand the blushing deserters, who have already been
introduced to the reader as Mesdemoiselles Sarah and
Nasarah. Pipes, narghilis, sherbet, and coffee followed
in quick succession; the young negress, Saade, acting as
Hebe on the occasion; and the ladies, at first timid as
gazelles of the desert, soon, like those pretty
creatures when reclaimed from the wilderness, became
quite domesticated, acquired confidence, and freely
joined in the conversation, which was with volubility
carried on through the medium of Giorgio and Assaade;
and ere an hour had elapsed, we were all on the friendly
and easy footing of old acquaintances; when, taking
leave for the time, we hastened to make the necessary
arrangements for the conveyance of our goods and
chattels to the capital billets we had had the good
fortune to stumble on."

The colonel made good use of his opportunity, and, by a diligent perusal of Miss Sarah's eyes, and an attentive study of Miss Nasarah's dimple, managed to acquire a smattering of Arabic in a far shorter time than would have been required in the most assiduous turning over of dictionaries and grammars. But our school-boy days can't last for ever--and, ere a fortnight elapsed, an order arrived from England for the hopeful scholar to be placed on the returns of the Syrian army, and to draw his field allowance, rations, and forage, as assistant adjutant-general of the British force. Dictionaries and eyes, grammars and dimples, were now exchanged for less pleasing pursuits. Fifteen thousand troops were by this time assembled at Beyrout, and rumour kept perpetually blowing the charge against Ibrahim Pasha, who was still encamped at Zachli, with an army much superior to that of the allies. Booted and spurred--with a long sword, saddle, bridle, and all the other paraphernalia so captivating to an ancient fair, as recorded in one of the lays of Old England by some forgotten Macaulay of former times--the colonel is intent on some doughty deed, and already in imagination sees captive Egyptians following his triumphal car. When all of a sudden, the sad news gets spread abroad that the old commodore has concluded a convention with Mehemet Ali, and that all the pomp and circumstance of glorious war is at an end. One only chance remained, and that was, that as all the big-wigs protested with all their might against the convention; and the fleet, in the midst of protestation and repudiations of all sorts and kinds, was forced by a severe gale to up anchor and run for Marmorice Bay, Ibrahim Pasha might perhaps be tempted to protest also in a still more unpleasant manner, and pay a visit to Beyrout in the absence of the navy. The very thoughts of it, however the English auxiliaries may have felt on the subject, gave an attack of fever to the unfortunate inhabitants, who devoutly prayed for a speedy fall of _tubbish_, (or snow,) by which his dreaded approach might be impeded. "Had such a movement on his part taken place at this critical moment, it is not improbable that it might have proved successful; as amid the variety of religious and conflicting interests, by which the people of Beyrout were influenced, Ibrahim had no doubt many friends in the town; and it is certain that he was moreover regularly made acquainted with every occurrence which took place, through the medium, as was supposed, of French agency and espionage."

Ibrahim, however, had had enough of red coats and blue jackets, and left the people of Beyrout to themselves--an example which was followed by the author, who, being foiled in his expectations of riding down the Egyptians on the noble Arab left to him by the commodore, determined to put that fiery animal (the Arab) to its paces in scouring the country in all directions. It is not often that an assistant adjutant-general sets out on a tour in search of the picturesque; but in this instance the search was completely successful. Rock, ravine, precipice, and dell--running waters and waving woods, come as naturally to his pen as returns of effective force and other professional details; and, whatever the writing of them may be, we are prepared to contend that the reading of them is infinitely pleasanter. But as travellers and poets have of late left few mountains or molehills unsung in Palestine, we prefer extracting a picturesque account of a venerable abbess, who threw the light of Christian goodness over that benighted land about a century ago, and must have impressed the heathens in the neighbourhood with an exalted notion of the virtues of a nunnery:--

"Hendia was a Maronite girl, possessing extraordinary
personal charms, who, in 1755, first brought herself
into notice by her pretended piety and attention to her
religious duties, till at last she was by this simple
and credulous people considered almost in the light of a
saint or prophetess. When she had thus established a
reputation for sanctity, she next thought of becoming
the head and chief of an extensive establishment of
monks and nuns, to receive whom, with the aid of large
contributions raised among her credulous admirers and
followers, she erected two spacious stone buildings,
which soon became filled with proselytes of both sexes.
The patriarch of Lebanon was named the director of this
establishment, and for twenty years Hendia reigned with
unbounded sway over the little community--performing
miracles, uttering prophecies, and giving other tokens
of being in the performance of a divine mission; and
though it was remarked that many deaths yearly occurred
among the nuns, the circumstance was generally
attributed to disease incident to the insalubrity of the
situation. At last, chance brought to light the cause of
this very great mortality, and disclosed all the secret
horrors which had so long remained covered by the veil
of mystery in this abode of monastic abominations. A
traveller, on his way from Damascus to the coast,
happened to arrive one fine summer night at a late hour
before the convent gates, which he found closed, and not
wishing to disturb its inmates, who had apparently
retired to rest, he spread his travelling rug under some
neighbouring trees, and laid himself down to sleep. His
slumbers were, however, shortly disturbed by a number of
persons, who, issuing from the convent, appeared to be
clandestinely bearing away what seemed to be a heavy
bundle. Prompted by curiosity, he cautiously followed
the party, who, after going a short distance, deposited
their burden, and commenced digging a deep hole, into
which having placed and covered with earth what was
evidently a dead body, they immediately took their
departure. Astonished, and rather dismayed, at an
occurrence of so mysterious a nature, the traveller lost
no time in mounting his mule, and on arriving at Beyrout
made known the extraordinary occurrence to which he had
been witness the night before. This account reached the
ears of a merchant who happened to have two daughters
undergoing their noviciate at El Kourket, and reports
had lately reached him of the illness of one of his
children; this, together with the numerous deaths which
had lately taken place at the convent, coupled with the
traveller's narrative, excited in his mind the most
serious apprehensions. He gave information on the
subject, and laid a complaint before the Grand Prince at
Dahr-el-Kamar, and, accompanied by his informant and a
troop of horsemen furnished by the Emir, hastened to the
spot of the alleged mysterious burial, when to his
horror, on opening the newly made grave, he discovered
it to contain the corpse of his youngest daughter!
Frantic at this sight, he desired instant admission, in
order to ascertain the safety of her sister. On this
being refused, the gates were forced open, and the
unfortunate girl was found closely confined in a
dungeon, on the point of death, but retaining still
strength enough to disclose horrors which led to an
investigation, implicating the patriarch, the abbess,
and several priests. This transaction, which happened in
1776, was submitted for the decision of the Papal See;
when it appeared that the pretended prophetess had, by
means of many ingenious mechanical devices, thus long
imposed on public credulity, whilst in the retirement of
the cloister the most licentious and profligate
occurrences nightly took place; and that when any
unfortunate nun gave offence, either by refusing to be
sacrificed at the shrine of infamy, or that it became
desirable to get rid of her, in order to appropriate for
the convent the amount of her property, she was immured
in a dungeon, left to perish by a lingering and
miserable death, and then privately buried in the night.
In consequence of these shocking discoveries, the
patriarch was deposed--the priests, his accomplices,
were severely punished, and the high priestess of this
temple of cruelty and debauchery was immured in
confinement, and survived for many years to repent of
all the atrocities she had previously committed."

We should like to know the colonel's authority for this circumstantial account. It bears at present a startling resemblance to the confession of Maria Monk, and the villanies recorded of the nunnery at Montreal; and we will hope in the mean time, that the devil, even in the shape of a lady abbess, is not quite so black as he is painted. The present abbess of El Kourket is already as black as need be, for we are told she is an Ethiopian negress.

The war carried on in Syria after the decisive battle of Boharsef, seems to have been on the model of those recorded by Major Sturgeon, and to have consisted of marching and counter-marching, without any definite object, except, perhaps, the somewhat Universal-Peace-Society one of getting out of the enemy's way. General Jochmus, we guess from his name, was a Scotch schoolmaster, with a Latin termination--there being no mistaking the Jock--and in his religious tenets we feel sure he was a Quaker. The English officers attached to the staff had immense difficulty in bringing the troops (if they deserve to be called so) to the scratch; and we trust that, in all future commentaries on the Art of War, the method adopted by Commodore Napier, of throwing stones at his gallant army to force them forward, will not be forgotten. The author before us had no sinecure, and after the news of Ibrahim's retreat, galloped hither and thither, like the wild huntsman of a German story, to discover by what route the vanquished lion was growling his way to his den. With a hundred irregular horse, furnished him by Osman Aga, he set out on a foray beyond Jordan; and we do not wonder his two friends, Captain Lane, a Prussian edition of Don Quixote, and Mr Hunter, who has written an excellent account of his expedition to Syria, besides his old Beyrout friend Giorgio, volunteered to accompany him.

"My motley troop, apparently composed of every tribe
from the Caspian to the Red Sea, displayed no less
variety in arms and accoutrements than in their personal
appearance, varying from the sturdy-looking Kourd,
mounted on his strong powerful steed, to the swarthy,
spare, and sinewy Arab, with his long reed-like spear,
his head encircled with the Kefiah, or thick rope of
twisted camels' hair; whilst the flowing 'abbage' waved
gracefully down the shining flanks of the high-mettled
steed of the desert. In short, such an assemblage of
cut-throat looking ruffians was probably never before
seen; and whilst the Prussian military eye of old Lane
glanced down our wide-spread and irregular line, I could
see a curl of contempt on his grey mustaches, though his
weather-beaten countenance maintained all the gravity of
Frederick the Great. The troop appeared to be divided
into two distinct parties--one Arab, the other Turkish;
and, on directing the two chiefs to call the 'roll' of
their respective forces, I found that many were absent
without leave, and the party which should have amounted
to a hundred cavaliers only mustered between seventy and
eighty. However, on the assurance that the rest would
speedily follow--as there was no time to spare, after
making them a short harangue, in which I promised
abundance of _nehub_ (plunder) whenever we came across
the enemy, to which they responded by a wild yell of
approbation--I gave the signal to move off, which was
instantly obeyed, amidst joyous shouts, the brandishing
of spears, and promiscuous discharge of fire-arms.
Having thus got them under weigh, the next difficulty I
experienced was to keep them together. I tried to form a
rearguard to bring up the stragglers, but the guard
would not remain behind, nor the stragglers keep up with
the main body; and I soon, finding that something more
persuasive than mere words was requisite to maintain
them in order, took the first opportunity of getting a
stout cudgel, with which I soundly belaboured all those
whom I found guilty of thus disobeying my commands. The
Eastern does not understand the _suaviter in
modo_;--behave to him like a human being, he fancies you
fear him, and he sets you at defiance--kick him and cuff
him, treat him like a dog, and he crouches at your feet,
the humble slave of your slightest wishes."

Discipline of so perfect a nature must have inspired the gallant colonel with the strongest hopes of success in case of an onslaught on the forces of Ibrahim Pasha, and in all probability his efforts, with those of Captain Lane, Hunter, and Giorgio, might have produced something like a skrimmage when they came near the tents of the Egyptians; but it would seem that the cudgels wielded by the Musree commanders were either not so strong or not so well applied, for on the first appearance of the hostile squadron, the heroes of Nezib evaporated as if by magic, but not before a similar feat of legerdemain had been performed by the rabble rout of Turks and Arabs; and on looking round, to inspire his followers with a speech after the manner of Thucydides, the colonel discovered the last of his escort disappearing at full speed on the other side of the plain, and the Europeans were left alone in their glory. As they had nobody to attack, (the enemy continuing still in a state of evaporation,) every thing ended well; and, if the trumpeter had not been among the fugitives, there might have been a triumphal blow performed although no blow had been struck. We do not believe in the courage of the Arabs. No amount of kicking and cuffing could cow a nation's spirit that had once been brave; and we therefore consider it the greatest marvel in history how the Arabians managed at one time to conquer half the world. They must have been very different fellows from the chicken-hearted children of the desert recorded in these volumes. One thing only is certain, that they have left their anti-fighting propensities to their mongrel descendants in Spain; for a series of _actions_--that is, jinking and skulking, and running up and down, hiding themselves as if they were the personages of a writ--more distinctly Arabian than the late campaign which ended in the overthrow of Espartero, could not have been performed under the shadows of Mount Ebal. All the nobility that we are so fond of picturing to ourselves in the deeds and thoughts of Saladin, has gone over to the horse. The wild steed retains its fire, though the miserable horseman would do for a Madrileno _aide-de-camp_. And yet this is the way they are treated:--

"It was a matter of surprise to us, how our horses stood
without injury all the exposure, severe work, and often
short commons, to which they were constantly subjected.
When we came to a place where barley was to be procured,
the grooms carried away as much as they could; when none
was to be had, we gave our nags peas and _tibbin_,
(chopped straw, the only forage used in the East,) or
any thing we could lay hands on; they had little or no
grooming, and frequently the saddles were not even
removed from their backs. But I believe that nothing
save the high mettle of the desert blood would carry an
animal through all this toil and privation; and as to
the much-extolled kindness of the Arab towards his
horse, although it may be the case in the far deserts of
the Hedged and Hedjar, I can avow that I never saw these
noble animals treated with more inhuman neglect than I
witnessed in the whole of my wanderings through Syria."

The dreariness of a ride through the desolate plains and rugged rocks of Palestine, was diversified with startling adventures; and the fact of several of the powers of Europe and many of the tribes of Asia having chosen that sterile region for their battle-place, gave rise to some very odd coincidences. People from all the ends of the earth, who were lounging away their existence some three or four months before, without any anticipation of treading in the footsteps of the crusaders--some smoking strong tobacco in the coffeehouses of Berlin, or leaning gracefully (like the Chinese Admiral Kwang) against the pillars of the Junior United Service Club in London--or driving a heavy curricle in the Prado at Vienna--or reading powerfully for honours at the Great Go at Oxford--or climbing Albanian hills--or reclining in the silken recesses of a harem at Constantinople--all were thrown together in such unexpected groups, and found themselves so curiously banded together, that the tame realities of an ordinary campaign were thrown completely into the shade. The following introduces us to another member of the foray, whose character seems to have been such a combination of the gallant soldier and light-hearted troubadour, that we read of his after fate, in dying of the plague at Damascus, with great regret:--

"My troop had not yet cleared a difficult pass close to
the khan, running between an abrupt face of the hill and
the river, when the advanced guard came back at full
speed with the announcement that a body of the enemy's
infantry was near at hand. Closely jammed in a narrow
defile, between inaccessible cliffs and the precipitous
banks of the Jordan, with nothing but cavalry at my
disposal, I was placed in rather a disagreeable
position. There remained, however, no alternative but to
put spurs to our horses, push forward through the pass,
deploy on the level ground beyond it, and then trust to
the chances of war. Having explained these intentions to
the Sheikh and Aga, we lost no time in carrying them
into effect; and on taking extended order after clearing
the pass, saw immediately in front of us what we took to
be an advanced guard of the enemy, consisting of some
twenty or thirty soldiers, whom their white
foustanellis" (the foustanellis is that part of the
Albanian costume corresponding with the highland kilt)
"and tall active forms immediately marked as Arnouts, or
Albanians. Seeing, probably, that we had now the
advantage of the ground, they hastily retired,
recrossing a ravine which intersected the path, and
extending in capital light infantry style, were soon
sheltered behind the stones and rocks on the opposite
bank, over the brow of which nought was to be seen but
the protruding muzzles and long shining barrels of their
firelocks. All this was the work of a few seconds, and
passed in a much briefer space of time than it has taken
to relate. I had now the greatest difficulty in keeping
Mahommed Aga and his men from charging up to enemies
who, from their present position, could have picked them
easily off with perfect safety to themselves; and riding
rapidly forward with Captain Lane, to see if we could by
some means turn their flank, a few horsemen at this
moment suddenly appeared over the swell on the opposite
side of the ravine, the foremost of whom, whilst making
many friendly signals, galloped across the intervening
space, hailing us a friend, and at the same time waving
his hand, to prevent his own people from opening their
fire. Lane and myself were not backward in returning
this greeting; and on approaching we beheld a handsome
young man, dressed in the showy Austrian uniform, with a
black Tartar sheepskin cap on his head, who, coming up,
accosted us in French, and with all the frankness of a
soldier, introduced himself as Count Szechinge, a
captain of Austrian dragoons, then on his way from
Tiberias with a party composed of one or two Turkish
lancers, about twenty-five Albanian deserters, his
German servant, dragoman, and suite, to raise troops in
the Adjelloun hills--a mission very similar to the one I
was myself employed on at Naplouse."

An acquaintance begun under such circumstances grows into friendship with amazing rapidity; and many are the joyous hours the foragers spend together, in spite of intolerable weather and storms of sleet and snow, which bear a far greater resemblance to the climate of Lochaber than to that of Syria, "land of roses." Reinforced with the count and his companions, Colonel Napier pushes on--gets into the vicinity of Ibrahim--his rabble rout turn tail, in case of being swallowed alive by the ferocious pasha, whose reputation for cruelty and all manner of iniquities seems well deserved, and having ascertained the movements of that formidable ruffian, he returned to Naplouse to take the command of 1500 half-tamed, undisciplined savages, with whom to oppose his retreat. Luckily, the ratification of the convention come in the nick of time; for it is very evident that the best cudgels that were ever cut in "the classic woods of Hawthornden," could not have awakened a spark of military ardour in the wretched riff-raff assemblage appointed for this service--and of all the abortive efforts at generalship we have ever read of, the attempt of the Turkish commanders was infinitely the worse--no foresight in providing for difficulties--no valour in fighting their way out of them; but, to compensate for these trifling deficiencies, a plentiful supply of pride and cruelty, with a due admixture of dishonesty. We heartily join, with Colonel Napier, in wondering where the deuce the "integrity of the Ottoman empire" is to be found, as, beyond all doubt, not a particle of it exists in any of its subjects. The pashas of Egypt, bad as they undoubtedly are, have redeeming points about them, which the Hassans, and Izzets, and Reschids of the Turks have no conception of; and, lively and sparkling as the gallant colonel's narrative is, we confess it leaves a sadder impression on our minds of the hopelessness and the degeneracy of the Moslems, than any book we have met with. Turk and Egyptian should equally be whipped back into the desert, and the fairest portions of the world be won over to civilization, wealth, and happiness. The present volumes close at the end of January 1841, and perhaps they are among the best results of the campaign. We shall be glad to see the proceedings at Alexandria sketched off in the same pleasant style.

THE FATE OF POLYCRATES.--_Herod._ iii. 124-126.

"Oh! go not forth, my father dear--oh! I go not forth to-day,
And trust not thou that Satrap dark, for he fawns but to betray;
His courteous smiles are treacherous wiles, his foul designs to hide;
Then go not forth, my father dear--in thy own fair towers abide."

"Now, say not so, dear daughter mine--I pray thee, say not so!
Where glory calls, a monarch's feet should never fear to go;
And safe to-day will be my way through proud Magnesia's halls,
As if I stood 'mid my bowmen good beneath my Samian walls.

"The Satrap is my friend, sweet child--my trusty friend is he--
The ruddy gold his coffers hold he shares it all with me;
No more amid these clustering isles alone shall be my sway,
But Hellas wide, from side to side, thy empire shall obey!

"And of all the maids of Hellas, though they be rich and fair,
With the daughter of Polycrates, oh! who shall then compare?
Then dry thy tears--no idle fears should damp our joy to-day--
And let me see thee smile once more before I haste away!"

"Oh! false would be the smile, my sire, that I should wear this morn,
For of all my country's daughters I shall soon be most forlorn;
I know, I know,--ah, thought of woe!--I ne'er shall see again
My father's ship come sailing home across the Icarian main.

"Each gifted seer, with words of fear, forbids thee to depart,
And their warning strains an echo find in every faithful heart;
A maiden weak, e'en I must speak--ye gods, assist me now!
The characters of doom and death are graven on thy brow!

"Last night, my sire, a vision dire thy daughter's eyes did see,
Suspended in mid air there hung a form resembling thee;
Nay, frown not thus, my father dear; my tale will soon be done--
Methought that form was bathed by Jove, and anointed by the sun!"

"My child, my child, thy fancies wild I may not stay to hear.
A friend goes forth to meet a friend--then wherefore should'st
thou fear?
Though moonstruck seers with idle fears beguile a maiden weak,
They cannot stay thy father's hand, or blanch thy father's cheek.

"Let cowards keep within their holds, and on peril fear to run!
Such shame," quoth he, "is not for me, fair Fortune's favourite son!"
Yet still the maiden did repeat her melancholy strain--
"I ne'er shall see my father's fleet come sailing home again!"

The monarch call'd his seamen good, they muster'd on the shore,
Waved in the gale the snow-white sail, and dash'd the sparkling oar;
But by the flood that maiden stood--loud rose her piteous cry--
"Oh! go not forth, my dear, dear sire--oh, go not forth to die!"

A frown was on that monarch's brow, and he said as he turn'd away,
"Full soon shall Samos' lord return to Samos' lovely bay;
But thou shalt aye a maiden lone within my courts abide--
No chief of fame shall ever claim my daughter for his bride!

"A long, long maidenhood to thee thy prophet tongue hath given--"
"Oh would, my sire," that maid replied, "such were the will of Heaven!
Though I a loveless maiden lone must evermore remain,
Still let me hear that voice so dear in my native isle again!"

'Twas all in vain that warning strain--the king has crost the tide--
But never more off Samos shore his bark was seen to ride!
The Satrap false his life has ta'en, that monarch bold and free,
And his limbs are black'ning in the blast, nail'd to the gallows-tree!

That night the rain came down apace, and wash'd each gory stain,
But the sun's bright ray, the next noonday, glared fiercely on the
slain;
And the oozing gore began once more from his wounded sides to run;
Good-sooth, that form was bathed by Jove, and anointed by the Sun!

MODERN PAINTERS.[16]

[16] Modern Painters--their Superiority in the Art of
Landscape Painting to all the Ancient Masters, &c. &c.
By a Graduate of Oxford.