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rules the Pasha. Tell him not flatly he-I exclaimed with outstretched hands, does, but assume it is a thing of general 'Cursed be the paltry dust which turns the notoriety. Be neither too candid in your warrior's arm into a mere engine, and remarks, nor too fulsome in your flattery. striking from afar an invisible blow, carries Too palpable deviations from fact might death no one knows whence to no one appear a satire on your master's under- knows whom; levels the strong with the standing. Should some disappointment weak, the brave with the dastardly; and evidently ruffle his temper, appear not to enabling the feeblest hand to wield its conceive the possibility of his vanity having fatal lightning, makes the conqueror slay received a mortification. Preserve the without anger, and the conquered die exact medium between too cold a respect without glory."— (Vol. I. pp. 54, 55.) and too presumptuous a forwardness However much Mavroyeni may caress you

in private, never seem quite at ease with
him in public. A master still likes to re-
main master, or, at least, to appear so to
others. Should you get into some scrape
wait not to confess your imprudence until
concealment becomes impossible; nor try
to excuse the offence. Rather than that
you should, by so doing, appear to make
light of your guilt, exaggerate your self-
upbraidings, and throw yourself entirely,
upon the drogueman's mercy. On all oc-
casions take care how you appear cleverer
than your lord, even in the splitting of a
pen; or if you cannot avoid excelling him
in some trifle, give his own tuition all the
credit of your proficiency. Many things he
will dislike, only because they come not
from himself. Vindicate not your inno-
cence when unjustly rebuked; rather
mit for the moment; and trust that, though
Mavroyeni never will expressly acknow-
ledge his error, he will in due time pay you
for your forbearance.'" (Vol. I. pp. 43-
45.)

The campaign ended, he proceeds to Constantinople with the drogueman, where his many intrigues and debau cheries end with the drogueman's turning him out of doors. He lives for some time at Constantinople in great misery; and is driven, among other expedients, to the trade of quack-doctor.

"One evening, as we were returning from the Blacquernes, an old woman threw herself in our way, and, taking hold of my master's garment, dragged him almost by main force after her into a mean-looking habitation just by, where lay on a couch, apparently at the last gasp, a man of foreign features. 'I have brought a physician,' said the female to the patient, who, perhaps, may relieve you.' 'Why will you,' sub-answered he faintly, still persist to feed idle hopes? I have lived an outcast: suffer me at least to die in peace; nor disturb my last moments by vain illusions. My soul pants to rejoin the supreme Spirit; arrest not its flight: it would only be delaying my eternal bliss!'

In the course of his service with Mavroyeni, he bears arms against the Arnoots, under the Captain Hassan Pacha; and a very animated description is given of his first combat.

"As the stranger spoke these wordswhich struck even Yacoob sufficiently to make him suspend his professional grimace

-

-the last beams of the setting sun darted across the casement of the window upon his pale, yet swarthy features. Thus visited, he seemed for a moment to revive. 'I have always,' said he, 'considered my fate as connected with the great luminary that rules the creation. I have always paid it due worship, and firmly believed I could not breathe my last while its rays shone upon me. Carry me therefore out, that I may take my last farewell of the heavenly

"I undressed the dead man completely. -When, however, the business which engaged all my attention was entirely achieved, and that human body, of which, in the eagerness for its spoil, I had only thus far noticed, the separate limbs one by one, as I stripped them, all at once struck my sight in its full dimensions, as it lay naked before me; when I contemplated that fine ath-ruler of my earthly destinies!' letic frame, but a moment before full of life and vigour unto its fingers' ends, now rendered an insensible corpse by the random shot of a raw youth whom in close combat its little finger might have crushed, I could not help feeling, mixed with my exulta tion, a sort of shame, as if for a cowardly advantage obtained over a superior being; and, in order to make a kind of atonement to the shade of an Epirote-of a kinsman

"We all rushed forward to obey the mandate: but the stairs being too narrow, the woman only opened the window, and placed the dying man before it so as to enjoy the full view of the glorious orb, just in the act of dropping beneath the horizon. He remained a few moments in silent adoration; and mechanically we all joined him in fixing our eyes on the object of his wor ship. It set in all its splendour; and when

its golden disk had entirely disappeared, we looked round at the Parsee. He too had sunk into everlasting rest."—(Vol. I. pp. 103, 104.)

From the dispensation of chalk and water, he is then ushered into a Turkish jail, the description of which, and of the plague with which it is visited, are very finely written; and we strongly recommend them to the attention of our readers.

"Every day a capital fertile in crimes pours new offenders into this dread receptacle; and its high walls and deep recesses resound every instant with imprecations and curses, uttered in all the various idioms of the Othoman empire. Deep moans and dismal yells leave not its frightful echoes a moment's repose. From morning till night and from night till morning, the ear is stunned with the clang of chains, which the galley-slaves wear while confined in their cells, and which they still drag about when toiling at their tasks. Linked together two and two for life, should they sink under their sufferings, they still continue unsevered after death; and the man doomed to live on, drags after him the corpse of his dead companion. In no direction can the eye escape the spectacle of atrocious punishments and of indescribable agonies. Here, perhaps, you see a wretch whose stiffened limbs refuse their office, stop suddenly short in the midst of his labour, and, as if already impassible, defy the stripes that lay open his flesh, and wait in total immobility the last merciful blow that is to end his misery; while there, you view his companion foaming with rage and madness, turn against his own person his desperate hands, tear his clotted hair, rend his bleeding bosom, and strike his skull, until it burst against the wall of his dungeon."- (Vol. I. pp. 110, 111.)

A few survived.

"I was among these scanty relics. I who, indifferent to life, had never stooped to avoid the shafts of death, even when they flew thickest around me, had more than once laid my finger on the livid wound they inflicted, had probed it as it festered, I yet remained unhurt: for sometimes the plague is a magnanimous enemy, and, while it seldom spares the pusillanimous victim, whose blood running cold ere it is tainted, lacks the energy necessary to repel the infection when at hand, it will pass him by who dares its utmost fury, and advances undaunted to meet its raised dart."-(Vol. I. p. 121.)

In this miserable receptacle of guilty and unhappy beings, Anastasius forms and cements the strongest friendship with a young Greek, of the name of Anagnosti. On leaving the prison, he vows to make every exertion for the liberation of his friend-vows that are forgotten as soon as he is clear from the prison walls. After being nearly perished with hunger, and after being saved by the charity of an hospital, he gets into an intrigue with a rich Jewess his life, turns Mussulman. This ex-is detected-pursued—and, to save ploit performed, he suddenly meets his friend Anagnosti - treats him with disdain — and, in a quarrel which ensues between them, stabs him to the heart.

"Life,' says the dying Anagnosti, 'has long been bitterness: death is a welcome guest: I rejoin those that love me, and in a better place. Already, methinks, watching my flight, they stretch out their arms from heaven to their dying Anagnosti. Thou,-if there be in thy breast one spark of pity left for him thou once namedst thy brother; for him to whom a holy tie, a sacred vow...... Ah! suffer not the starying hounds in the street...... See a little hallowed earth thrown over my wretched These words were his last."corpse.'

(Vol. I. p. 209.)

The description of the murderer's remorse is among the finest passages in the work.

"From an obscure aisle in the church I beheld the solemn service; saw on the field of death the pale stiff corpse lowered into its narrow cell, and hoping to exhaust sor row's bitter cup, at night, when all mankind hushed its griefs, went back to my friend's final resting-place, lay down upon his silent grave, and watered with my tears the fresh-raised hollow mound.

"In vain! Nor my tears nor my sorrows could avail. No offerings nor penance could purchase me repose. Wherever I went, the beginning of our friendship and its issue still alike rose in view; the fatal spot of blood still danced before my steps, and the reeking dagger hovered before my aching eyes. In the silent darkness of the night I saw the pale phantom of my friend stalk round my watchful couch, covered with gore and dust and even during the unavailing riots of the day, I still beheld the spectre rise over the festive board, glare on me with piteous look, and hand me

whatever I attempted to reach. But whatever it presented seemed blasted by its touch. To my wine it gave the taste of blood, and to my bread the rank flavour of death!"-(Vol. I. pp. 212, 213.)

We question whether there is in the English language a finer description than this. We request our readers to look at the very beautiful and affecting picture of remorse, pp. 214, 215, vol. i. Equally good, but in another way, is the description of the Opium Coffee

house.

"In this tchartchee might be seen any day a numerous collection of those whom private sorrows have driven to a public exhibition of insanity. There each reeling idiot might take his neighbour by the hand,

and say, 'Brother, and what aileth thee, to seek so dire a cure?' There did I with the rest of its familiars now take my habitual station in my solitary niche, like an insensible motionless idol, sitting with sightless eyeballs staring on vacuity.

'how often does it happen in life, that the most blissful moments of our return to a long-left home are those only that just precede the instant of our arrival; those during which the imagination still is al

lowed to paint in its own unblended colours the promised sweets of our reception! How often, after this glowing picture of the phantasy, does the reality which follows appear cold and dreary! How often do even those who grieved to see us depart, grieve more to see us return! and how often do we ourselves encounter nothing but sorrow, on again beholding the once happy, joyous promoters of our own hilarity, now mournful, disappointed, and themselves needing what consolation we may bring!'"- (Vol. I. pp. 239, 240.)

During his visit to Chios, he traces and describes the dying misery of Helena, whom he had deserted, and then debauches her friend Agnes. From thence he sails to Rhodes, the remnants of which produce a great deal of eloquence and admirable description → "One day, as I lay in less entire absence (pp. 275, 276, vol. i.) From Rhodes than usual under the purple vines of the he sails to Egypt; and chap. 16 conporch, admiring the gold-tipped domes of the majestic Sulimanye, the appearance of tains a short and very well written an old man with a snow-white beard, re- history of the origin and progress of clining on the couch beside me, caught my the Mameluke government. The flight attention. Half plunged in stupor, he of Mourad, and the pursuit of this chief every now and then burst out into a wild in the streets of Cairo *, would be conlaugh, occasioned by the grotesque phan-sidered as very fine passages in the best tasms which the ample dose of madjoon he histories of antiquity, Our limits prehad just swallowed was sending up to his brain. I sat contemplating him with mixed vent us from quoting them. Anastacuriosity and dismay, when, as if for a mo- sius then becomes a Mameluke; marment roused from his torpor, he took me ries his master's daughter; and is made by the hand, and fixing on my countenance a Kiashef. In the numerous skirmishes his dim vacant eyes, said in an impressive into which he falls in his new military tone, 'Young man, thy days are yet few; life, it falls to his lot to shoot, from an take the advice of one who, alas! nas counted ambush, Assad, his inveterate enemy. many. Lose no time; hie thee hence, nor cast behind one lingering look: but if thou hast not the strength, why tarry even here? Thy journey is but half achieved. At once go on to that large mansion before thee. It is thy ultimate destination; and by thus beginning where thou must end at last, thou mayest at least save both thy time and thy money.""— (Vol. I. pp. 215, 216.)

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"Assad, though weltering in his blood, was still alive; but already the angel of death flapped his dark wings over the traitor's brow. Hearing footsteps advance, he made an effort to raise his head, probably in hopes of approaching succour : but beholding, but recognising only me, he felt that no hopes remained, and gave a groan of despair. Life was flowing out so fast, that I had only to stand still-my arms folded in each other-and with a steadfast eye to watch its departure. One instant I saw my vanquished foe, agitated by a convulsive tremor, open his eyes and dart at me a glance of impotent rage; but soon he averted them again, then gnashed

P. 325. Vol. I.

his teeth, clenched his fist, and expired."(Vol. II. p. 92.)

We quote this, and such passages as these, to show the great power of description which Mr. Hope possesses. The vindictive man standing with his arms folded, and watching the blood flowing from the wound of his enemy, is very new and very striking.

the novel, we refer our readers to the description of the burial-places near Constantinople, vol. iii. pp. 11-13.; the account of Djezzar Pacha's retirement to his harem during the revolt,

equal to anything in Tacitus; and, above all, to the landing of Anastasius with his sick child, and the death of the infant. It is impossible not to see that this last picture is faithfully drawn from a sad and cruel reality. The account of the Wahabees is very interesting, vol. iii. p. 128.; and nothing is more so than the story of Euphrosyne. Anastasius had gained the affections of Euphrosyne, and ruined her reputation; he then wishes to cast her off, and to remove her from his house.

After the death of his wife, he collects his property, quits Egypt, and visits Mekkah, and acquires the title and prerogatives of an Hadjee. After this he returns to the Turkish capital, renews his acquaintance with Spiridion, the friend of his youth, who in vain labours to reclaim him, and whom he at last drives away, disgusted with the vices and passions of Anastasius. We "Ah, no!' now cried Euphrosyne, conthen find our Oriental profligate fight-vulsively clasping my knees: 'be not so ing as a Turkish captain in Egypt, barbarous! Shut not your own door against against his old friends the Mamelukes; her, against whom you have barred every and afterwards employed in Wallachia, once friendly door. Do not deny her whom under his old friend Mavroyeni, against you have dishonoured the only asylum she the Russians and Austrians. In this has left. If I cannot be your wife, let me part of the work we strongly recom- however mean, shall I recoil from when be your slave, your drudge. No service, mend to our readers to look at the Mussulmans in a pastrycook's shop not have to blush. In your eyes I shall not you command. At least before you I shall during the Rhamadam, vol. iii. p. 164.; be what I must seem in those of others; I the village of beggars, vol. ii. p. 266.; shall not from you incur the contempt, the death of the Hungarian officer, vol. which I must expect from my former com. ii. p. 327.; and the last days of May-panions: and my diligence to execute the royeni, vol. ii. p. 356. ;- not forgetting lowest offices you may require, will earn the walk over a field of battle, vol. ii. for me, not only as a bare alms at your p. 252. The character of Mavroyeni I can elsewhere only receive as an unhands, that support which, however scanty, is extremely well kept up through the merited indulgence. Since I did a few whole of the book; and his decline days please your eye, I may still please it a and death are drawn in a very spirited few days longer:-perhaps a few days and masterly manner. The Spiridion longer therefore I may still wish to live; part of the novel we are not so much and when that last blessing, your love, is struck with; we entirely approve of gone by,-when my cheek, faded with Spiridion, and ought to take more in-grief, has lost the last attraction that could terest in him; but we cannot disguise the melancholy truth that he is occasionally a little long and tiresome. The next characters assumed by Anastasius Her silent despair, and patient miare, a Smyrna debauchee, a robber of sery, when she finds that she has not the desert, and a Wahabee. serving some time with these sectaries, lost his affections also, has the beauty only ruined herself with the world, but he returns to Smyrna, — finds his child of the deepest tragedy. missing, whom he had left there, traces the little boy to Egypt, covers him, then loses him by sick-derness on my part could in some degree

After

-re

ness;- and wearied of life, retires to end his days in a cottage in Carinthia. For striking passages in this part of

VOL. I.

me so, that, burthening you no longer, I arrest your favour, then speak, then tell may retire-and die!"-(Vol. III. pp. 64, 65.)

Nothing but the most unremitting ten

have revived her drooping spirits. But when, after my excursion, and the act of justice on Sophia in which it ended, I reappeared before the still trembling Euphro

Y

syne, she saw too soon that that cordial of Tom Jones. There are no sensual and the heart must not be expected. One look glowing descriptions in Anastasius, she cast upon my countenance, as I sat nothing which corrupts the morals by down in silence, sufficed to inform her of inflaming the imagination of youth; my total change of sentiments;-and the responsive look by which it was met, tore and we are quite certain that every for ever from her breast the last seeds of reader ends this novel with a greater hope and confidence. Like the wounded disgust at vice, and a more thorough snail she shrunk within herself, and thence- conviction of the necessity of subju forth, cloked in unceasing sadness, never gating passion, than he feels from readmore expanded to the sunshine of joy. ing either of the celebrated works we With her buoyancy of spirits she seemed have just mentioned. even to lose all her quickness of intellect, eulogium is, that Mr. Hope, without being very successful in his story, or remarkably skilful in the delineation of character, has written a novel, which all clever people of a certain age should read, because it is full of marvellously fine things,

nay all her readiness of speech; so that,
not only fearing to embark with her in
serious conversation, but even finding no
response in her mind to lighter topics,
I at last began to nauseate her seeming
torpor and dulness, and to roam abroad
even more frequently than before a partner
of my fate remained at home, to count
the tedious hours of my absence; while
she,-poor miserable creature- dreading
the sneers of an unfeeling world, passed
her time under my roof in dismal and
heart-breaking solitude.-Had the most
patient endurance of the most intemperate
sallies been able to soothe my disappoint-
ment and to soften my hardness, Euphro-
syne's angelic sweetness must at last have
conquered: but in my jaundiced eye her
resignation only tended to strengthen the

conviction of her shame: and I saw in her
forbearance nothing but the consequence
of her debasement, and the consciousness
of her guilt. Did her heart,' thought I,
'bear witness to a purity on which my
audacity dared first to cast a blemish, she
could not remain thus tame, thus spiritless,
under such an aggravation of my wrongs;
and either she would be the first to quit
my merciless roof, or at least she would
not so fearfully avoid giving me even the
most unfounded pretence for denying her
its shelter. She must merit her sufferings
to bear them so meekly!'-Hence, even
when moved to real pity by gentleness
so enduring, I seldom relented in my
apparent sternness."-(Vol. III, pp. 72-
74.)

With this we end our extracts from Anastasius. We consider it as a work in which great and extraordinary talent is evinced. It abounds in eloquent and sublime passages,-in sense,-in knowledge of history, and in knowledge of human character; but not in wit. It is too long and if this novel perish, and is forgotten, it will be solely on that account. If it be the picture of vice, so is Clarissa Harlowe, and so is

.

The sum of our

SPRING GUNS. (E. REview, 1821.) The Shooter's Guide. By J. B. Johnson. 12mo. Edwards and Knibb. 1819.

WHEN Lord Dacre (then Mr. Brand) brought into the House of Commons his bill for the amendment of the Game Laws, a system of greater mercy and humanity was in vain recommended to that popular branch of the Legislature. The interests of humanity, and the interests of the lord of the manor, were not, however, opposed to each other; nor any attempt made to deny the superior importance of the last. No such bold or alarming topics were agitated; but it was contended that, if laws were less ferocious, there would be more partridges—if the lower orders of mankind were not torn from their families and banished to Botany Bay, hares and pheasants would be increased in number, or, at least, not diminished. It is not, however, till after long ex perience, that mankind ever think of recurring to humane expedients for effecting their objects. The rulers who ride the people never think of coaxing and patting till they have worn out the lashes of their whips, and broken the rowels of their spurs. The legis lators of the trigger replied, that two laws had lately passed which would answer their purpose of preserving game: the one, an act for transporting

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