General? Is it delight to be open to the impertinence of anonymous letters, from those to whom you have refused Your friendship, and a prologue, and ten pounds? or to the still more impertinent communication of the existence of lampoons and criticisms against yourself, that may be bought in for the moderate sum of twenty guineas? Is it so exceedingly agreeable at all times, and in all places, to be "upon your best behaviour," and obliged to wear better clothes, lodge better and feed better, than you can afford, or than is compatible with ease and comfort, because you are conscious that the eyes of all the world are directed towards you, and that you cannot cross the street without the certainty of being recognized as the celebrated Mr. This, or the famous Mr. That, by half the blackguards in the parish? All this, however, and many more equally charming particulars, " too tedious to mention," do not prevent all sorts and conditions of people from aiming at notoriety; and as a few only of Nature's favourites can even attempt to acquire fame in the higher departments of renown, the mass of the species are compelled to seek the gratification of their darling passion by some strange by-path, and to achieve renown by some whimsical singularity, some unimagined affectation, some pleasant extravagance; or, to sum the whole in one word, since they cannot become eminent for virtue or talent, to make themselves notorious by being simply ridiculous. This thirst for distinction is among the most pregnant sources of absurdity and miscarriage among the lower classes. However humble a man's station in life may be, he is dignified and respectable as long as he fulfils its duties simply and unaffectedly, and pretends to nothing beyond it. In the sober eye of philosophy, the London artisans assembling round the lecture-table of the Mechanic's Institution after their day's labour, and seeking knowledge in the midst of privation, will appear perhaps among the best specimens of the human species. But when once the being, whose habits, means, and education confine his ideas within a narrow sphere, looks down upon his condition as abject, and strives to carve for himself a personal notoriety, foreign from his circumstances, it is well if he only become "an eccentric," and does not lapse into some dangerous excess. This abominable passion for becoming conspicuous, breaks out in a thousand extravagances, turning "from grave to gay, from lively to severe," and shewing itself as much in the serious business of life, as in the idlest pastimes. It is this petty ambition which has sent to Coventry the good old Saxon term "shop," a term which is never now heard except at the banker's, with whom it is technical. One gentleman opens a register-office for servants, and strives to become "famous" by dignifying his bureau with the modern Greek title of Therapolegia (or, as the servants pronounce it, the-rap-o'-the-leg-ia) by which he thinks himself as high-sounding a personage as the Hospodar of Wallachia. Another ingenious artist, presiding over a second-hand carriage shop, and not contented with the modern neologism of" repository," christens his establishment Rhedarium. A third has a "hall" for selling stockings; a fourth opens warehouse" for green groceries and small beer; while blacking and polonies can be found in no place less elevated than an emporium;" and if you are in want of a child's kite, it is no longer to be had in a 66 a 507 toyshop, but is readily to be met with in arcades and bazaars. This folly But the easiest road to personal distinction, and therefore the most frequented, is through dress; and in this particular, the ruling passion developes itself about the age of puberty, in a slight lateral and sinister inclination of the hat, a knowing tie of the silk handkerchief, or a full plaited shirt. Not but that dandyism, when it arrives at the dignity of an état, is a legitimate ground of fame. My remarks are confined to those who not being "up" to the true elements of Schneiderography, trade rather on the oddity than the perfection of their dress. the apothecary's mulberry coat is an instance. (The Dalmahoy wig, Of this "which should accompany it," has long fallen, with other remnants of the wisdom of our ancestors," into the yellow leaf.") Another case in point is the enormous powdered cue of the French postilion, which still keeps its place in spite of all revolutions, knocking synchronously between his shoulders to the cracking of his own whip. Need I mention the violent mal-assortment of colours in dress, such as was many years exhibited on the persons of the three Mr. Wiggins's? As for genuine dandyism, the "aliquid plus quam satis est" in dress, is not less dangerous to the reputation than to the purse of the lower orders. It is ever a failure; dress alone will not make a shopboy look like a dragoon officer, nor convert an attorney's clerk into a guardsman; it will not do alone; dress may make a kiddy of a raff, but it will not make him a dandy; and so there's no more to be said on the matter. This sort of personage had therefore better look to some other ground of distinction; waggery, for instance, which is wonderfully taking. The singing a droll song, the smutting a friend's face, as an Irishman would say, behind his back, or sticking his wig full of straws, are claims to reputation rarely denied. Imitating a bassoon with a poker is a good passport to club-renown; so is mimicking the noise of a saw, or favouring one's friends with the loves of "two intriguing cats in a gutter." These, however, are but inferior routes to renown. At present there is no better sort of celebrity than that which is obtained through the police-office; beating a watchman or kicking a prostitute are sure cards. The youth who cannot get a wrangler's degree at Oxford may attain "an honour" by his disputations in the boxing-schools; and he who cannot cross the "pons asinorum" may distinguish himself by his calculations in Bennet-street, St. James's. It belongs exclusively to the age in which we live to have struck out a new route to celebrity through a chalk-pit, and to have founded reputations on the dead walls of the metropolis, where they glitter in cretaceous characters "in form so palpable" that he who runs may read them. Byron to the bonassus? what the "great unknown" to the no less mysWhat is the name of terious B. C. Y? or what even are the all-pervading "peptic precepts" of Dr. Kitchener to that metaphysical ubiquitarian Dr. Eady, who reminds one of the Frenchman of whom his friend said, "Le homme il est mort sans doute; je ne l'ai vu qu'une fois aujourd'hui." pauvre It is no longer true that wisdom cries out in the street and no one regards it. The peccant "humour," however, of our lower orders, which shews itself in such various absurdities, is fortunately symptomatic of a strong constitution; and in this point of view may be considered with some indulgence. Under a despotism, the first wish of the humble and unprotected is to seek protection by being confounded with the mass, and to take shelter from persecution in personal obscurity. England, on the contrary, has at all times boasted of its candidates for vulgar fame. Every body being in the eyes of the law somebody, any body may without danger attract the notice of society; and the common fellow, like the patriot "that dares be honest in the worst of times," would scorn to shrink beneath the glance of a Bow-street officer or a spy. From the days of Addison's trunk-maker to Tiddidol, Sam House, the late Sir Geoffry Dunstan, and little Waddington, London has never wanted its candidates for mob notoriety. A reform in this particular might therefore be taken as a very bad sign of the times; and as such we heartily pray Heaven to avert it. The desire to become known "en faisant ses farces" may be injurious enough to the facetious underling, but it cannot compete in mischief to society with the graver follies of a high-born ambitious; and the 'prentice might reply to the reproving frown of the fanatical legislator, who would intrude on his pleasures, in the language of Martial, Innocuos permitte sales; cur ludere nobis Non liceat, licuit si jugulare tibi ? M. LETTERS FROM THE EAST.-NO. X. Mount Sinai. Ar no great distance from the convent is the scene, in the solitudes of Midian, where tradition says Moses kept the sheep of Jethro, his father-in-law. It is a valley at the back of the Mount, between two ranges of mountains. A solitary group of trees stands in the middle. The superior apologised for his inability to supply us with any other than vegetable food, and advised us to buy a goat of the Arabs. This miserable creature, which had been obliged all its life to keep Lent on the rocks, was purchased for seven piastres; and, being pulled up through the window, was slain for the Christians' use, and served up, dressed in different ways, for dinner in the evening; but it proved so meagre, and had so unhappy a flavour, that we were obliged to aban don it. A venerable monk, above ninety years of age, the oldest in the convent, paid us a visit in our apartments: he had resided here seventy years; and we asked him in what manner his life had passed during this best part of a century's confinement within the convent and garden-walls. One day, he said, had passed away like another; he had seen only the precipices, the sky, and the desert; and he strove now to fix all his thoughts on another world, and waited calmly the hour of his departure. He then dwelt much on the vanity of human pleasures and the nearness of eternity, and ended by asking me, very earnestly, for a bottle of rum. We had but one left for our future journey, but gave it, however, to gratify the old father, who requested that my servant, when he brought it to his cell, would conceal it beneath his cloak, lest his brethren should catch a glimpse of it. On the third morning we set out early from the convent for the summit of Mount Sinai, with two Arab guides. The ascent was, for some time, over long and broken flights of stone steps, placed there by the Greeks. The path was often narrow and steep, and wound through lofty masses of rock on each side. In about half an hour we came to a well of excellent water; a short distance above which is a small ruined chapel. About half way up was a verdant and pleasant spot, in the midst of which stood a high and solitary palm, and the rocks rose in a small and wild amphitheatre around. We were not very long now in reaching the summit, which is of limited extent, having two small buildings on it, used formerly by the Greek pilgrims, probably for worship. But Sinai has four summits; and that of Moses stands almost in the middle of the others, and is not visible from below, so that the spot where he received the law must have been hid from the view of the multitudes around; and the smoke and flame, which, Scripture says, enveloped the entire Mount of Sinai, must have had the more awful appearance, by reason of its many summits and great extent; and the account delivered gives us reason to imagine the summit or scene where God appeared was shrouded from the hosts around; as the seventy elders only were permitted to behold, as "the body of heaven in its clearness, the feet of sapphire," &c. But what occasions no small surprise at first, is the scarcity of plains, valleys, or open places, where the children of Israel could have stood conveniently to behold the glory on the Mount. From the summit of Sinai you see only innumerable ranges of rocky mountains. One generally places, in imagination, around Sinai, extensive plains, or sandy deserts, where the camp of the hosts was placed, where the families of Israel stood at the doors of their tents, and the line was drawn round the mountain, which no one might break through on pain of death. But it is not thus: save the valley by which we approached Sinai, about half a mile wide, and a few miles in length, and a small plain we afterwards passed through, with a rocky hill in the middle, there appear to be few open places around the Mount. We did not, however, examine it on all sides. On putting the question to the superior of the convent, where he imagined the Israelites stood: every where, he replied, waving his hands about-in the ravines, the valleys, as well as the plains. Having spent an hour here, we descended to the place of verdure, and after resting awhile, took our road with one of the guides towards the mountain of St. Catherine. The rapture of Mr. W.'s feelings on the top of Sinai was indescribable; I expected to see him take flight for a better region. Being the son of a Rabbi at Munich, the conviction of being on the scene where God visited his people, and conferred such glory on them, was almost too much for him. After ascending again in another direction, we came at last to a long and steep descent that commanded a very noble scene, and reached at last a little valley at the bottom, that was to be our resting-place for the night. The mountains rose around this valley in vast precipices-a line of beautiful verdure ran along its whole extent, in the midst of which stood a deserted A monastery. The fathers had long been driven from it by the Arabs, but its various apartments were still entire, and afforded an excellent asylum for a traveller. This deep solitude had an exceeding and awful beauty;-the palms, the loftiest I ever saw, rose moveless, and the garden and grove were desolate and neglected; the fountain in the latter was now useless, and the channel of the rivulet that ran through the valley was quite dry; the walls were in ruins, and the olive, the poplar, and other trees, grew in wild luxuriance. Some old books of devotion were yet left behind within. Having chosen an apartment in the upper story, which opened into the corridor, and had been one of the cells of the exiled fathers, we took possession of it at night, kindled a fire on a large stone in a corner, and made a good supper of the rude provisions we had. There needed no spirit of romance in order to enjoy the situation exquisitely; few ideal pictures ever equalled the strangeness and savageness of this forsaken sanctuary in the retreats of Sinai. quantity of dry shrubs had been spread on the floor for our bed, but it was impossible to sleep yet, as the moon had risen on the valley, and one of the Arabs went to another part of the corridor and played his rude guitar for our amusement. But still we slept soundly that night after our fatigues, and were called, long before sunrise next morning, by the Arabs, to ascend St. Catherine's. The path was almost always steep, sometimes even precipitous, and consisted of loose stones which gave way under the feet. The wind was extremely cold: the Arabs' hands were quite cramped by it. With great pleasure we reached a well of water deadly cold, beneath a perpendicular precipice, where it was never visited by the sun. After resting awhile, we again ascended, always amidst rocks of vast height, of the most grand and imposing forms, till we reached the summit, which was a very small peak, not above fifty feet in circumference; the wind here was so keen and subtile, that it seemed to pierce through us. St. Catherine's, supposed by some to be Mount Horeb, is the highest mountain in all the region around; but from its summit, as far as the eye could reach, nothing was to be seen on every side but ranges of naked mountains succeeding each other like waves of the sea. Between these rocky chains there are in general only ravines or narrow vallies. We at last began to descend, and with great pleasure reached the well again, and having climbed to the ledge of rock beneath which it stood, we kindled a fire and boiled some coffee, which drank like nectar; the cold was quickly banished from our frames, and we got into excellent spirits. Were my fancy stored with eastern imagery, I should exhaust it all in praise of this most excellent beverage, which is the real amulet and neverfailing resource amidst fatigues and all sorts of hardships and privations. We now descended to the desolate monastery in the glen, and taking an Arab pipe, solaced ourselves in the abodes of the fathers, till the sultry heat was passed, and then proceeded for about two hours till we came to the celebrated rock of Meribah. It still bears striking evidence of the miracle about it, and is quite isolated in the midst of a narrow valley, which is here about two hundred yards broad. There are four or five fissures, one above the other, on the face of the rock, each of them about a foot and half long and a few inches deep. What is remarkable, they run along the breadth of the rock and are not |