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known any thing of an escalade, with what joy would they have stormed the convent, and put every one to the sword. We were then conducted some distance down the valley, till we arrived at the place where the night was to be passed ; it was bright moonlight, and being very thinly clad, we felt the air extremely chill. Hassan, the chief, was a tall and noble-looking man, with eagle eyes, and teeth like the driven snow. He swore vehemently that he cared nothing for the Sultan of Turkey, of England, or for Mahmoud Ali; that no power should rescue us out of his hands. Beside some low and ruined walls a fire was kindled, the party soon assembled around it, and a cloak was laid on the ground behind, where the three captives were to rest. The fire was immensely large, and burnt fiercely, and threw its glare on the wild and dark features of the circle of Arabs around it, who conversed with vivid animation, and with passionate gestures. They had the civility to hand us a small cup of their coffee, a poor exchange for the good supper we had lost. If ever a day's exertion deserved a bed of down, it was the ascent of St. Catherine's; but our couch was the hard ground. I took a stone for my pillow, my companions were little better off, but we were quite exhausted with fatigue, and imagination fled in vain to our luxurious little chambers in the convent, with their soft cushions, and lamp already lighted, and the harmless monks gathering around. The cold wind awoke me in the night, the Arabs were fast asleep around the glowing embers of their fire, and, stepping cautiously over them, I got beside it, and never in my life enjoyed its warmth more. That night-scene was a fine subject for a painter: the precipices that rose close at hand, on which the moonlight rested; the sleeping figures of the Arabs round the fire beneath, and the ruined walls beside ; the wild and solemn character of the scenery, fitted beyond all others to be a theatre for miracles, would bave made an assemblage of objects but seldom beheld together.

The next morning, before sunrise, they were ready to depart for their camp, two or three days' journey distant. We made known to Hassan our uncertainty and apprehension of what would be their behaviour to us, when the chief lifted his right hand to Heaven, and swore by Allah, we should suffer no injury while in his power: an oath which is seldom violated by them. Being all mounted on camels, we set off; towards evening, we proceeded at a brisk trot, and entered the wilderness of Paran. The sun was setting, and we passed, at no great distance, Mount Paran : its form was most singular, yet indescribably grand; it had three sharp and pointed summits, and its side towards the wilderness was formed of perpendicular precipices of rock; between its three summits, which rose like towers, were cast the declining beams of the sun. It brought to mind the fine passage in the Prophet, “ The glory of God shined from Mount Paran,” &c.

The walk of the camel is not disagreeable, but the trot at which we had lately advanced, was no small inconvenience. Mr. W. who was rather unaccustomed to riding, disliked it much ; he lamented our misfortune the most of any of the party; and he had reason, since his career of doing good to the people around Sinai and Tor was put a stop to, his journals and papers left in the convent, and it was uncertain how long this captivity was to last. He was an excellent young man, and

full of zeal in the prosecution of his object, but very unfit to meet with reverses of this kind, or to struggle with evils out of the path of his mission. He was our only interpreter' with the Bedouins, as he had some knowledge of the Arabic language. The chief had given uş reason to expect we should this night sleep under cover, and enjoy a comfortable meal, both of which we stood greatly in need of; but after travelling two or three hours after dark, and looking in vain for the light of some dwelling, we halted in the midst of the wilderness, where the sand was again to be our bed. Our supper consisted of some cake made of coarse flour and water, kneaded flat, and baked in the embers, and some coffee, without milk or sugar; however, we partook of it sociably with our captors, and then lay down to rest near some high bushes, through which the cold wind whistled shrill during the night. We set out long before sunrise next morning. The valley of Paran now became very narrow, the barriers of lofty rocks on each side approached each other closely; among them were often seen veins of various and beautiful marble. The hosts of Israel are supposed to have marched from the Red Sea to Sinai by this route. After advancing about three hours, we halted at a beautiful grove of palm-trees in the valley, in which was a spring of excellent water; some Arabs resided here, and we looked with anxiety for our breakfast. Of all modes of life upon earth, that of the Arabs possesses the fewest indulgences : they placed on a rock, a large piece of the cold cake left the night before, for our breakfast, and which being unleavened, was as heavy as lead; and the lonely grove of palms, and the sublime scenery of the wilderness, were insufficient at that moment to appease our vexation; for the pleasures of imagination, or the picturesque, would all have been instantly bartered for a good comfortable breakfast. We then proceeded, without halting, till about four o'clock, when we came to a small encampment of Arabs, who were the friends of Hassan's tribe. It was interesting to see the meeting of these friendly tribes in the desert; from their wandering habit of life, and their frequent and distant journeys, they seldom meet; but when they do, the pressing of the hand to the heart, the kiss on the cheek, the passionate exclamations and gestures of joy, prove the sincerity and fervour of their feelings. These Arabs insisted on our staying all night with them: we were very happy to hear this, as it was yet some hours ere sunset, and the journey of che day liad been long enough. The camp consisted of ten tents ranged in a line; in one of these we were all accommodated. Our entertainers killed a goat for supper by way of a feast; it was boiled, as all their meat is, and served up, cut into large pieces, on dishes of wood; we had to help ourselves with our fingers; there were also thin cakes of bread, and a dish of melted butter to dip them in. This mountain-goat was eaten with great relish, and coffee was afterwards served round, with pipes. The Arabs appeared to enjoy themselves very much, and passed a long time in conversation; but as night drew on, they all dropped off one after another, and left us in possession of the tent, in common with a number of goats, who inbabited the further part. In the middle of the night, I was awoke by something moving near me, and putting out my hand, laid hold of a huge black goat, who, probably considering his territory invaded, had come to reconnoitre VOL. XI. NO. XLVIII,

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the intruders-he then went and trampled over W. who was buried in a profound sleep, and the dim light from the desert scarcely allowed him to distinguish what kind of being molested him :at last, having completely broken our repose, which we could scarcely afford to lose, the goat calmly walked off to his own quarters. Our servants at this time were living safely and luxuriously in the convent. Franco was quite at home, and ate his meals in peace and good will, although, being a Catholic, he could hold little Christian fellowship with such heathens as the Greeks; however he took possession of his master's room, reposed on the cushions, and sang his German hymns with much comfort. Michel was ill of a fever, and implored Franco to take a camel and follow and attend us during our captivity; but he shrunk at the idea of being in the hands of such lawless idolaters, where his outward man would be famished, and the inner one sorely buffeted and tried. The good fathers had wept at our capture, and protested their inability to afford the smallest alleviation. During the whole of the day that followed it, the convent was assailed by a fire of 'musketry from a number of Arabs, which rendered it unsafe to walk in the corridor or stir out of the apartments. This affords an illustration of the memorable print kept in the convents of Sinai and Cairo, and which is given to all pilgrims to carry to their homes, and several were presented to us. In this print is a lofty and vivid representation of Mount Sinai, rising up like a huge tower, Moses is seen toiling up the steep, with a long beard and staff, and nearly arrived at the top; beneath is the convent of Mount Sinai, out of the window of which is pushed the bald head of a monk, who is engaged in relieving the wants of the wicked Arabs, who, drawing their bows, cover the sands below; the arrows are seen flying and the loaves of bread falling at the same moment: the rock of Meribah, though some distance off, is brought in sight, and the water gushing forth. In the back-ground, although near two hundred miles off, is seen the passage of the Red Sea by the Egyptians, and Pharaoh, who leads them on, is shewn sinking in his chariot, to hasten which, Moses, who stands on the shore, has just aimed a tremendous blow at him with a cudgel. Few pilgrims, however, approach Mount Sinai now ; and that intercourse with their fellow-creatures, which the resort to the convent formerly afforded the fathers, they are now almost entirely deprived of. The chief part of the day they are shut up in their cells or walking in the garden, and at evening they are to be seen seated on benches before the door of their apartments ; each, when the weather is cold, with his little pot of charcoal burning before him.



'Tis the still night hour,-hush'd lies the wide deep
Like eternity calm in its waveless sleep;
There is no moon in heaven, and between the dull clouds
But a pale lonely star here and there unshrouds

Its or b to the ocean's face.
Gloom reigns in thick silence around and around;
The muffled oars send not the shade of a sound-
Not a splash of the slow stricken water is heard,
Not the beat of a heart to bold enterprise spurred

By glory or dread of disgrace.
Softly on they are gliding, and with them is death
Ambush'd in the stillness that draws not a breath :
There are gallant hearts there that an hour will be
Sinking pulseless and cold in the fathomless sea,

Struck down in their daring deed.
They move solemn as moves a funereal band,
And nearer and nearer they inake to the land-
Hath the darkness seald up every foeman's eye?--
Can no sentinel through the black midnight spy

The arm by whose power he shall bleed ?
Rouse, Spaniard ! they are on thee, and with them they bear
All high hope can cherish, and valour can dare,-
Up, Spaniard! and see, without breeze sweeping near,
Your ensign is waving in ominous fear

Where it never shall warn you again.
Yet nearer they. float to the sleeping foe,
As the pestilence marches to havock they go ;
And now they are seen by the weak star-shine,
And the death-shots bound over the slumbering brine

From the walls and the decks of Spain.
Now pull harder on through the deadly shower,
That the freeman may slay, but can never cower-
Through the smoke, and the blaze, and the iron hail,
And the shaking air and the sulphur pale,

On-on to the enemy's bow!
They are there! they have forced to the lofty deck-
They have widely scatter'd confusion and wreck,
They have wither'd the Spaniard's courage and pride,
And the ocean reddens with the hot life-tide

That smokes down his gory prow.
He has turn’d from the combat-he runs below,
His flag flies not over his proud stern now,
His own Esmiralda is Liberty's prey,
She shall never again her vain tyrant obey;

Freedom's banner above her waves-
And shall wave, and shall triumph! for come is the hour
When, mocking the imposture of heaven-held power,
Man dares to be man, and no longer resign
To the Turk or the Spaniard his own right divine
Of resistance to tyrants and slaves !


Love's LABOUR LOST. MR. EDITOR. - Why this should be Shakspeare's labour lost is more than our love for the poet can answer. Inquire among his boasting admirers, ask the first ten you meet, if they have bestowed a second reading on this comedy, and if more than one assure you they have really gone through it twice, note it down as a curious fact. The English, with irreverence be it spoken, only admire acting plays; and presume to yield up, as an uncontested point, that Shakspeare could write bad ones. How sickening is the phrase of “it ranks among his inferior productions," and from those who crowd to see a favourite actor in “ Richard the Third,” and who have every speech at their tongues' end! Richard is not to be spoken of slightingly; nor is it, when we say that tragedy possesses less of the poet's soul than any other of his undisputed plays. But it works well on the stage, as it contains one all-absorbing character, and is full of changes and bustle. Uncommon actors and common audiences always delight in it—that is, assisted by Cibber's legerdemain; for Avon's bard must be played tricks with, or he is not amusing. Shakspeare's plays lose on the stage, like Apollo tricked out by a tailor; others gain, like apprentices in their Sunday-clothes. To represent some of his works is avowedly beyond the power of the scene; and many, of quiet beauty, are cut down into operas, skeletons with shreds of nerve and sinew, stalking forward to take the silly town by the ears.

Did Shakspeare sometimes write to please himself, careless of the favour of a theatre? This is scarcely probable: he commenced writing for bread, and continued it for a competence in his age; he considered his plays as matters of profit, not of fame ; for, in his Sonnets, he laments that Fortune had not provided for him better “than public means which public manners breed.” Or was it that our ancestors at the Globe Theatre could feast on wit and



every varied shape, in the mirth, the whim of life, the witchery of fancy, and the passionate eloquence of the heart, and on these, and these alone, without a meretricious aid ? Modern play-goers are one half for the show; and the remainder are spectators as much as auditors. Painters, dressmakers, and mechanists attempt to leave nothing to the imagination. Success or failure equally lays that faculty dormant; for who thinks of any thing but whether their labours are well or ill executed ? Then comes the poet; and he must avoid all gentle feeling, as it will not " awake the snorting citizens ;” nothing remains for him but the fiercest passions, as those who rejoice in a spectacle must rejoice in a noise. Whereas the audience at the Globe, aware they were to expect little more than mental enjoyment, went prepared to increase it. They were compelled to paint to themselves imaginary scenes; and that exertion of the fancy rendered them more capable of poetic feeling. The “ Tempest,” and “ Midsummer Night's Dream,” could then be heard unweariedly. The chorus to “Henry the Fifth” is omitted, , with great propriety, on our modern stage, for who could obey his directions ?

• Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts :
Into a thousand parts divide one man,
And make imaginary puissance :
Think, when we talk of horses, that you see them

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