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ny hundred beasts come loaded with every kind of provisions from the Mesopotamian to the Persian side; and as in the middle of every boat timbers are placed across to secure and fasten the ends of the planks together, which, projecting above the gravel, form so many ridges, and are the occasion of many falls. No loaded camel is permitted to pass over the bridge.

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A toll of one para (three farthings) is paid for the passage of every loaded horse or mule, and half a para loaded ass; but nothing by foot passengers, or even by those on horseback, who go over the bridge, nor for any beasts which are not loaden.

For moving one boat only, on either side, to let boats or large vessels pess, one piastre (two shillings and sixpence) is paid; for moving the three boats three piastres. The bot toms of the boats are quite flat, and draw six inches water at the bow, and four at the stern.

There are always boats ready to supply the place of any of those which form the bridge, when they leak or want any kind of repair. They are placed in less than ten minutes, without moving either railing, planks, or even the gravel on the bridge; it is effected in the following manner:

The defective boat is loaded with stones sufficient to sink her so low as to prevent her from bearing any part of the bridge; at the same time, the bolts in the bows, which are let into a link of each chain, are likewise loosened; the boat, thus liberated, is moved in a minute, and the new boat (being previously loaded as the other was) is hauled up in her place: the loading is, by means of many hands, quickly taken, until she bears her proportion of the bridge, when the iron bolts are introduced into the links of

the chain.

I have seen three boats shifted in this manner, each of them in less than ten minutes of time, which is mostly spent in loading the one, so as to libe

rate it, and in unloading the other so as to supply exactly its place.

The current of water causes the bridge to have a great curve, (which is described in its proper proportion in the design which I have taken.) The two chains on either side from the first boat, over which they are placed, and from thence to the walls of the buildings which they pass through, are only visible for about twenty feet from each of the boats, and for the same distance from the banks of the river; the remainder, owing to their great weight and length without support, being under water.

As all vessels of every size on this river are flat-bottomed, they pass over the chains without the least obstruc tion.

From November to the latter end of March, boats and vessels of all sizes can come from Bussora up the Tigris to the bridge of Bagdad; in the other months they do not attempt it, as the current runs so very strongly against them, and the wind, being for the most part in the western quarter, increases the difficulty; in the interval, goods from Bussora, intended for Bagdad, are brought up the Euphrates to Helah, (mostly by tracking,) and from thence across Mesopotamia, by camels, to Bagdad.

May the 16th, I arrived on the seventh of this month, and as I rode over the bridge was greatly surprised to see the current run with such great velocity, and not then knowing the distance of Bagdad from the Gulph of Persia, I imagined that there was a regular tide, and that it was (at the time of my passing over the bridge,) the middle of an ebb tide; the current seemed to me to run at the rate of seven miles an hour. On this day (the 16th) in the evening, being the first time that I had leisure to make observations, I went on the bridge, and observing that the current still ran down, in all appearance, at as great a rate as on the 7th, I concluded, as be

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fore, that it was ebb tide; and, without asking any questions, I made a mark on the wall of the custom-house coffee-house, which projects so far into the river as to be washed even when the water is at the lowest. I returned next morning, and found that the current still ran as before, which it continued to do all that day, and that my mark on the wall still remained even with the water's edge; I was then convinced that there was not any flux and reflux, but that what I had observed was owing to a fresh in the river, occasioned by rains in the interior part of the country. On enquiry, I was informed this was the case, and that in about a month the water would be at the highest, and remain, with little variation, several days, and would then gradually decrease, and continue decreasing until the middle or latter end of September, when it would be at the lowest. That some time in October it would begin to increase again, the current always running out, but with less velocity as the water ebbed; insomuch that when the water was at the lowest, the current was very little. According to my information, the water in the river is eight months increasing, and only four decreasing; and as there was a likelihood of my remaining here some time, I determined to attend to the rise and fall by daily observations.

From my observations it appeared, that from the 16th of May to the 30th, the water rose nineteen inches, and the current appeared to run at the rate of seven miles an hour. At this time people could not pass from the bridge to the custom-house, on the banks of the river, as the water in many places washed the walls of the houses between the bridge and the customhouse. The goods which passed over were carried full three times the distance before they reached the customhouse, which proportionally enhanced the price of porterage.

From May the 30th to June the

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From the 15th to the 30th, the water fell forty-four inches; the first five days it fell ten; the next five, thirteen; and the last five, twenty-one inches.

The current now seemed to have abated since the 30th of May, at least a mile in an hour.

From June the 30th to August the 1st, the water fell seventeen feet four inches; the first eight days, thirtyfour; the second eight, forty-six; the third eight, sixty-two inches; and the last seven days sixty-six inches.

From several experiments made by throwing chips into the river at the centre of the bridge, I believe the current did not run at this time four miles an hour; if this calculation be exact, the current had abated since the 14th of June three miles in the hour.

From August the 1st to the 31st, the water fell eight feet ten inches; the first eight days, forty-four inches; the second eight, thirty inches; the third eight, twenty inches; and the last seven days, twelve inches. On the 16th of this month, from observation, I believe the current did not run more than three miles in an hour; the watermen now began to ply (to carry passengers over the river in their baskets) at proper places on both sides the river, which before they could not do, owing to the strength of the cur rent. These baskets are quite circular, plaistered over with bitumen on the outside, which keeps them from leak. ing, and which lasts as long as the

basket

basket itself, which is made of a strong wicker-work, and serves as a boat. They are paddled over by two men or boys; though some of them are capable of carrying over six or seven passengers, besides those who paddle. These are the only passage-boats they have for crossing the river.

During the month of September the water fell exactly two feet: the first ten days, ten inches; the second ten days, eight; the third ten days, six. On the 16th of this month, the current did not exceed two miles in an hour.

On the 30th, it ran at the rate of about one and a half miles in an hour. From the 14th of June to the 30th of September the water had fallen in all thirty-one feet ter inches. On the 30th of September, the depth of the river at the centre of the bridge was fourteen feet six inches. From the 30th of September to the 19th of October, from daily observations, I could not observe any rise or fall of water in the river, nor any visible difference in the current; so that from experience from the 7th to the 14th of June, the water was then at the highest, and the depth then was forty-six feet four in ches; and from the 30th of September to the 19th of October, the water was at the lowest, fourteen feet six in ches deep. According to the best calculation which I was enabled to make, the current of the water, when greatest, was at the rate of seven miles; and, when least, one and a half miles in an hour.

It is worth noticing, that when the water in the river is at the highest, the boats nearest the land are somewhat higher than the jetty heads, consequently there is an ascent in passing from them to the boats over the stages, in proportion as the water rises, and consequently a descent when the water falls: therefore when the water has fallen so, that the gunwales of the nearest boats are about four feet lower than the top of the jetty heads, the

stages are then loosened from the jetties, and are hauled up higher, that is, to the westward, (the three first boats and stages are higher in proportion ;) the ends of the two first stages, which were before fastened to the jetty heads, are now laid down on the banks of the river, and fastened to an anchor on each side, which is placed about forty feet to the westward of each jetty. These stages remain in this state till the water in the river rises again, so as to bring the stages within four feet from the top of the jetty heads; at which time the stages are again moved, and fastened to the jetty heads.

In the interval (which is about seven months) the jetties becoming useless to the bridge, they then have a roof built slightly over them, which is covered with leaves of the date tree, and divisions being made on each side, are let out for coffee-houses, which are very pleasant and airy, commanding a view of the river and the opposite shore. As they are well shaded, they are almost full of company, from early in the morning until late in the evening, so that it is not unusual to see above five hundred people in these coffee houses on each side of the river.

October the 20th was the first day that I could discern the water in the river to increase, and from this day to the 28th, the water rose thirteen inches, and the current seemed to mend its pace.

(To be continued.)

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in July 1805, and on the 6th of Dec. 1806, it had become so foul as not to be made to go even when two pounds were added to its weight. On its being taken to pieces, in all its jewelled holes the oil was very black and glutinous, but in the others it was quite fluid; and it even required great force, and some dexterity, to draw out the spindle that carried the second's hand. The clock was set a-going again next day, and continued to go well till the end of October 1807, when it again went badly, and gained very much.— It was taken asunder a second time about three weeks after this, when all the jewelled holes were extremely foul, black, and clogged; and in separating the jewels, they were found to be strongly adhesive, yet the oil on the pallets was very fluid, and in a good

state in all the brass holes.

Mr J. Pick, of Ipswich, has lately analyzed a stone of the calcareous species, frequently met with in that part of the country, and called by the common people Thunder-pick, from the supposition of its falling from the clouds in storms of thunder and lightning.— It occurs in crystals weighing from 40 to 100 grains, of a conic shape, with a cavity at the base, extending about a fourth part down to the centre of the crystal. Its colour varies from grey, brown, brownish red, to almost black, semitransparent. They are generally discovered solitary by the husbandman when at plough, or turning up the earth in any other way. When scratched with a knife, this stone has a strong alliaceous or urinous smell. Its cross fracture is fibrous, with the striae diverging nearly as from a common cen

tre.

Its longitudinal fracture is glittering, with the striæ parallel. It is moderately hard, and of the specific gravity of 2,663. Its properties, as ascertained by examination, are as follow:-1. When heated upon charcoal before the blow-pipe, its colour disappears, but it is infusible. 2. With phosphate of soda it is difficultly solu

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THE

THE name of Mr Macneill has now for some time been a classical one in Scottish poetry, and has been considered not unworthy of standing by the side of Burns. If he has not the fire and enthusiasm of that bard, he has more sweetness, delicacy, and simplicity. In exciting domestic pathos, in setting us down by the fireside, he particularly excels. The feelings too which he excites are always of an amiable and virtuous description. The present poem possesses a peculiar interest, being, as he informs us in his dedication, his farewell production, the last effort of his muse.

We confess we have some doubts, whether, in employing himself upon didactic poetry, Mr Macneill has al together consulted the bent of his genius. In song, in narrative, in domestic pictures, he appears to us more completely at home. The public, however, from so favourite an author, will no doubt receive whatever he pleases to bestow, with interest and gratitude.

The

The principle on which Mr Macneill has founded his poem, is explained in a note of considerable length, which bears rather the character of a preliminary dissertation. It appears to us very judicious, and to throw considerable light on the history of our national music and poetry. It is a remarkable fact, that the same district (the south of Scotland) is the theatre at once of her rudest border lays, which celebrate only feud, rapine, and war, and also of those songs and that music, which are formed only to the expression of tender and gentle passions. The hypothesis of our author appears to us exceedingly probable, that the two species flourished at different periods; that the pastoral songs were subsequent to the feudal period, after the establishment of law and order had put a stop to border ravage, and consequently to the lays which it inspired. To these Mr M. is a decided enemy, and is only surprised how such compositions should ever have become popular in an age of lettered refinement. Yet, without greatly differing from him in this opinion, we may observe, that as memorials of the manners of the age, these effusions, though rude, certainly possess interest.

The plan of the poem resembles somewhat that of the minstrel. It represents an aged sire, who, driven from his home by midnight assault and conflagration, fled to a sequestered spot, with an infant boy, "alone saved of all his store." This boy growing up in tranquillity, amid scenes of rural life, is supposed to become the founder of the pastoral poetry of Scotland. The first canto describes his education, and the first efforts of his muse.-He then exclaims,

But had you seen the Shepherd boy When SONG and Music fired his breast, Tune the loved instruments with joy That by the Muses' skill express'd The varied Passions that confess'd The power of Nature's artless sway; You would have sworn the ruin'd mind

To reason lost-wild-unconfin'd

Had wing'd its maniac way!
Oh! had you seen him as he stray'd,
Rapt, thro' the greenwood's lonely shade,
When silence reign'd at even,
And heard him pour his varied song
Descriptive-moral-melting-strong!
Inspired by favouring Heaven,
You would have hailed him as he stood
Entranced in fond poetic mood,

The genius of the grove; And thought you hard by bank and spring

Responsive sweet! the wood-nymphs sing

Of rural peace and love!— The Muses' markt, and raptured smiled, And as they claspt loved Nature's child Delighted to their breast, tears of joy they blest the morn On which a Shepherd bard was born

The pastoral lays are justly the favourites of our author; and he supposes, seemingly on good grounds, that they are the production of persons in the very circumstances they describe, and most commonly not above the situation of real shepherds. Both the In music and words express, in a manner so lively and natural, the feelings of the human heart in such circumstances, that they can hardly be supposed not to be the spontaneous result of those feelings.

In confirmation of these suppositions, our author remarks, that the pastoral songs are full of lamentations over the evils of feud; from which it would appear that those had ceased only recently, and were still fresh in the minds of the composers.

To charm rude minds to rest. "And take," they cried, "the pastoral

reed

That pipes to peace and pleasure, And sing while flocks round Yarrow feed The sweets of rural leisure; Yet midst the charms that song bestows Think of the child of sorrow, Who whelm'd to-night with warfare's

woes,

Weeps o'er her lot to-morrow! Attune the lyre! but let it sound To every answering dale around The melody of woe!

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