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tic. Minister Tam and Mary Ogilvy approach near thor, female at least, whom he had ever seen among
to the happiest efforts of Galt. The characters and the long list he had encountered with; simple, full
incidents are alike natural and striking. The same of humour, and exceedingly ready at repartée; and
year our author conciliated the evangelical dissenters all this without the least affectation of the blue
by an interesting religious compilation-Travels and stocking.' This is high praise; but the readers of
Researches of Eminent English Missionaries; includ- Miss Ferrier's novels will at once recognise it as
ing a Historical Sketch of the Progress and Present characteristic, and exactly what they would have
State of the Principal Protestant Missions of late Years. anticipated. This lady is a Scottish Miss Edge-
In 1831 Mr Picken issued The Club-Book, a collec-worth-of a lively, practical, penetrating cast of
tion of original tales by different authors. Mr James, mind; skilful in depicting character and seizing
Tyrone Power, Galt, Mr Moir, James Hogg, Mr upon national peculiarities; caustic in her wit and
Jerdan, and Allan Cunningham, contributed each a humour, with a quick sense of the ludicrous; and
story, and the editor himself added two-The Deer desirous of inculcating sound morality and attention
Stalkers, and the Three Kearneys. His next work to the courtesies and charities of life. In some pas-
was Traditionary Stories of Old Families, the first sages, indeed, she evinces a deep religious feeling,
part of a series which was to embrace the legendary approaching to the evangelical views of Hannah
history of England, Scotland, and Ireland. Such a More; but the general strain of her writing relates
work might be rendered highly interesting and po-to the foibles and oddities of mankind, and no one
pular, for almost every old family has some tradi- has drawn them with greater breadth of comic hu-
tionary lore-some tale of love, or war, or supersti-mour or effect. Her scenes often resemble the style
tion that is handed down from generation to gene-
ration. Mr Picken now applied himself to another
Scottish novel, The Black Watch (the original name
of the gallant 42d regiment); and he had just com-
pleted this work when he was struck with an at-
tack of apoplexy, which in a fortnight proved fatal.
He died on the 23d of November 1833. Mr Picken,
according to one of his friends, was the dominie of
his own tales-simple, affectionate, retiring; dwell-who was all over sense, the universal manager and
ing apart from the world, and blending in all his
views of it the gentle and tender feelings reflected
from his own mind.'

MISS FERRIER.

This lady is authoress of Marriage, published in 1818, The Inheritance, 1824, and Destiny, or the Chief's Daughter, 1831-all novels in three volumes each. We learn from Mr Lockhart's Life of Scott, that Miss Ferrier is daughter of James Ferrier, Esq., 'one of Sir Walter's brethren of the clerk's table;' and the great novelist, at the conclusion of the Tales of My Landlord, alluded to his sister shadow,' the author of the very lively work entitled Marriage,' as one of the labourers capable of gathering in the large harvest of Scottish character and fiction.* In his private diary he has also mentioned Miss Ferrier as a gifted personage, having, besides her great talents, conversation the least exigeante of any au

* In describing the melancholy situation of Sir Walter the year before his death, Mr Lockhart introduces Miss Ferrier in a very amiable light. To assist them (the family of Scott) in amusing him in the hours which he spent out of his study, and especially that he might be tempted to make those hours more frequent, his daughters had invited his friend the authoress of "Marriage" to come out to Abbotsford; and her coming was serviceable: for she knew and loved him well, and she had seen enough of affliction akin to his to be well skilled in dealing with it. She could not be an hour in his company without observing what filled his children with more sorrow than all the rest of the case. He would begin a story as gaily as ever, and go on, in spite of the hesitation in his speech, to tell it with highly picturesque effect, but before he reached the point, it would seem as if some internal spring had given way; he paused, and gazed round him with the blank anxiety of look that a blind man has when he has dropped his staff. Unthinking friends sometimes pained him sadly by giving him the catch-word abruptly. I noticed the delicacy of Miss Ferrier on such occasions. Her sight was bad, and she took care not to use her glasses when he was speaking; and she affected to

be also troubled with deafness, and would say, "Well, I am getting as dull as a post; I have not heard a word since you

said so and so," being sure to mention a circumstance behind that at which he had really halted. He then took up the thread with his habitual smile of courtesy, as if forgetting his case entirely in the consideration of the lady's infirmity.'

of our best old comedies, and she may boast, like
Foote, of adding many new and original characters
to the stock of our comic literature. Her first work
is a complete gallery of this kind. The plot is very
inartificial; but after the first twenty pages, when
Douglas conducts his pampered and selfish Lady
Juliana to Glenfern castle, the interest never flags.
The three maiden aunts at Glenfern-Miss Jacky,

detected, Miss Grizzy, the letter-writer, and Miss Nicky, who was not wanting for sense either, are an inimitable family group. Mrs Violet Macshake, the last remaining branch of the noble race of Girnachgowl, is a representative of the old hardfeatured, close-handed, proud, yet kind-hearted Scottish matron, vigorous and sarcastic at the age of ninety, and despising all modern manners and innovations. Then there is the sentimental Mrs Gaffaw, who had weak nerves and headaches; was above managing her house, read novels, dyed ribbons, and altered her gowns according to every pattern she could see or hear of. There is a shade of caricature in some of these female portraits, notwithstanding the explanation of the authoress that they lived at a time when Scotland was very diffe rent from what it is now-when female education was little attended to even in families of the highest rank; and consequently the ladies of those days possessed a raciness in their manners and ideas that we should vainly seek for in this age of cultivation and refinement. It is not only, however, in satirising the foibles of her own sex that Miss Ferrier displays such original talent and humour. Dr Redgill, a medical hanger-on and diner-out, is a gourmand of the first class, who looks upon bad dinners to be the source of much of the misery we hear of in the married life, and who compares a woman's reputa tion to a beefsteak if once breathed upon, 'tis ged for nothing.' Many sly satirical touches occur throughout the work. In one of Miss Grizzy's letters we hear of a Major MacTavish of the militia, who, independent of his rank, which Grizzy thought was very high, distinguished himself, and showed the greatest bravery once when there was a very serious riet about the raising the potatoes a penny a peck, when there was no occasion for it, in the town of Dunoon. We are told also that country visits should seldom exceed three days-the rest day, the dressed day, and the pressed day. There is a great shrewdness and knowledge of human nature in the manner in which the three aunts got over their sorrow for the death of their father, the old laird. They sighed and mourned for a time, but soon found occupation congenial to their nature in the little department of life: dressing crape; reviving black silk; converting

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narrow hems into broad hems; and, in short, who Impruvements!' turning sharply round upon her; so busy, so important, as the ladies of Glenfern?' 'what ken ye about impruvements, bairn? A bonny The most striking picture in the book is that of impruvement, or ens no, to see tyleyors and sclaters the Mrs Violet MacShake, who is introduced as liv- leavin' whar I mind jewks and yerls. An' that great ing in a lofty lodging in the Old Town of Edinburgh, glowerin' New Toon there,' pointing out of her winwhere she is visited by her grand-nephew Mr Doug-dows, whar I used to sit an' luck oot at bonny green las, and his niece Mary. In person she is tall and parks, an' see the coos milket, and the bits o' bairnies hard-favoured, and dressed in an antiquated style-rowin' an' tumlin', an' the lasses trampin' i' their

As soon as she recognised Mr Douglas, she welcomed him with much cordiality, shook him long and heartily by the hand, patted him on the back, looked into his face with much seeming satisfaction; and, in short, gave all the demonstrations of gladness usual with gentlewomen of a certain age. Her pleasure, however, appeared to be rather an impromptu than a habitual feeling; for, as the surprise wore off, her visage resumed its harsh and sarcastic expression, and she seemed eager to efface any agreeable impression her reception might have excited.

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tubs what see I noo but stane an' lime, an' stoor an' dirt, an' idle cheels an' dinkit oot madams prancin'. Impruvements indeed!'

Mr

uncle's fortune by the judiciousness of her remarks, Mary found she was not likely to advance her therefore prudently resolved to hazard no more. Douglas, who was more au fait to the prejudices of old age, and who was always amused with her bitter remarks, when they did not touch himself, encouraged her to continue the conversation by some observation on the prevailing manners.

'Mainers!' repeated she with a contemptuous laugh; what ca' ye mainers noo, for I dinna ken? And wha thought o' seein' ye enoo?' said she in a ilk ane gangs bang intill their neebor's hoos, an' quick gabbling voice; what's brought you to the bang oot o't, as it war a chynge-hoos; an' as for the toon? Are you come to spend your honest faither's sil-maister o't, he's no o' sae muckle vaalu as the flunky ler ere he's weel cauld in his grave, puir man?'

6

Mr Douglas explained that it was upon account of his niece's health.

Health!' repeated she with a sardonic smile, 'it wad mak an ool laugh to hear the wark that's made aboot young fowk's health noo-a-days. I wonder what ye're a' made o',' grasping Mary's arm in her great bony hand-'a wheen puir feckless windlestraes-ye maun awa to Ingland for your healths. Set ye up! I wonder what cam o' the lasses i' my time that butel to bide at hame? And whilk o' ye, I sude like to ken, 'll e'er leive to see ninety-sax, like me. Health! he, he !'

Mary, glad of a pretence to indulge the mirth the old lady's manner and appearance had excited, joined most heartily in the laugh.

Tak aff yere bannet, bairn, an' let me see your face; wha can tell what like ye are wi' that snule o' a thing on your head? Then after taking an accurate survey of her face, she pushed aside her pelisse Weel, its ae mercy I see ye hae neither the red heed nor the muckle cuits o' the Douglases. I kenna whuther your faither has them or no. I ne'er set een on him: neither him nor his braw leddy thought it worth their while to speer after me; but I was at nae loss, by a' accounts.'

You have not asked after any of your Glenfern friends,' said Mr Douglas, hoping to touch a more sympathetic chord.

Time eneugh-wull ye let me draw my breath, man-fowk canna say awthing at ance. An' ye bute to hae an Inglish wife tu, a Scotch lass wadna ser' An' yere wean, I'se warran' its ane o' the warld's wonders-it's been unca lang o' comin'-he, he!'

ye.

He has begun life under very melancholy auspices, poor fellow!' said Mr Douglas, in allusion to his father's death.

An' wha's faut was that? I ne'er heard tell o' the like o't, to hae the bairn kirsened an' its grandfaither deein'! But fowk are naither born, nor kirsened, nor do they wad or dee as they used to du-awthing's changed.'

You must, indeed, have witnessed many changes?' observed Mr Douglas, rather at a loss how to utter anything of a conciliatory nature.

Changes!--weel a wat I sometimes wunder if it's the same warld, an' if it's my ain heed that's upon my shoothers.'

But with these changes you must also have seen many improvements?' said Mary in a tone of diffi

dence.

1 Behoved.

ahint his chyre. I'iny grandfaither's time, as I hae heard him tell, ilka maister o' a family had his ain sate in his ain hoos; ay! an' sat wi' his hat on his heed afore the best o' the land, an' had his ain dish, an' was ay helpit first, an keepit up his owthority as a man sude du. Paurents war paurents than-bairns dardna set up their gabs afore then than as they du noo. They ne'er presumed to say their heeds war their ain i' thae days-wife an' servants, reteeners an' childer, a' trummelt i' the presence o' their heed.'

*

Here a long pinch of snuff caused a pause in the old lady's harangue. * Mr Douglas availed himself of the opportunity to rise and take leave.

'Oo, what's takin' ye awa, Archie, in sic a hurry? Sit doon there,' laying her hand upon his arm, an' rest ye, an' tak a glass o' wine an' a bit breed; or maybe,' turning to Mary, 'ye wad rather hae a drap broth to warm ye? What gars ye look sae blae, bairn? I'm sure it's no cauld; but ye're just like the lave: ye gang a' skiltin' about the streets half naked, an' than ye maun sit an' birsle yoursels afore the fire at hame.'

She had now shuffled along to the further end of the room, and opening a press, took out wine and a plateful of various-shaped articles of bread, which she handed to Mary.

'Hae, bairn-tak a cookie-tak it up-what are you feared for! it'll no bite ye. Here's t'ye, Glenfern, an' your wife an' your wean; puir tead, it's no had a very chancy ootset, weel a wat.'

The wine being drank, and the cookies discussed, Mr Douglas made another attempt to withdraw, but in vain.

Canna ye sit still a wee, man, an' let me speer an' Jacky, an' Nicky-aye workin' awa at the peels after my auld freens at Glenfern? Hoo's Grizzy, an' the drogs-he, he! I ne'er swallowed a peel nor gied a doit for drogs a' my days, an' see an ony o' them 'll rin a race wi' me whan they're naur five

score.'

Mr Douglas here paid some compliments upon her appearance, which were pretty graciously received; and added that he was the bearer of a letter from his buck and brace of moor-game. aunt Grizzy, which he would send along with a roe

'Gin your roebuck's nae better than your last, atweel it's no worth the sendin': poor dry fissinless dirt, no worth the chowin'; weel a wat begrudged my teeth on't. Your muirfowl war nae that ill, but they're no worth the carryin'; they're doug cheap i'

the market enoo, so it's nae great compliment. Gin ye had brought me a leg o' gude mutton, or a cauler sawmont, there would hae been some sense in't; but ye're ane o' the fowk that'll ne'er harry yoursell wi' your presents; it's but the pickle powther they cost ye, an' I'se warran' ye're thinkin' mair o' your ain diversion than o' my stamick whan ye're at the shootin' o' them, puir beasts.'

Mr Douglas had borne the various indignities levelled against himself and his family with a philosophy that had no parallel in his life before, but to this attack upon his game he was not proof. His colour rose, his eyes flashed fire, and something resembling an oath burst from his lips as he strode indignantly towards the door.

His friend, however, was too nimble for him. She stepped before him, and, breaking into a discordant laugh as she patted him on the back, 'So I see ye're just the auld man, Archie-aye ready to tak the strums an ye dinna get a' thing your ain wye. Mony a time I had to fleech ye oot o' the dorts when ye was a callant. Do ye mind hoo ye was affronted because I set ye doon to a cauld pigeon-pye an' a tanker o' tippenny ae night to your fowerhoors afore some leddies-he, he, he! Weel a wat yere wife maun hae her ain adoos to manage ye, for ye're a cumstairy chield, Archie.'

Mr Douglas still looked as if he was irresolute whether to laugh or be angry.

Come, come, sit ye doon there till I speak to this bairn,' said she, as she pulled Mary into an adjoining bed-chamber, which wore the same aspect of chilly neatness as the one they had quitted. Then pulling 2 huge bunch of keys from her pocket, she opened a drawer, out of which she took a pair of diamond earrings. 'Hae, bairn,' said she, as she stuffed them into Mary's hand; they belanged to your faither's grandmother. She was a gude woman, an' had fouran'-twenty sons an' dochters, an' I wuss ye nae waur fortin than just to hae as mony. But mind ye,' with a shake of her bony finger, they maun a' be Scots. Gin I thought ye wad mairry ony pock-puddin', fient haed wad ye hae gotten frae me. Noo had your tongue, and dinna deive me wi' thanks,' almost pushing her into the parlour again; and sin ye're gawn awa' the morn, I'll see nae mair o' ye enoo-so fare ye weel. But, Archie, ye maun come an' tak your breakfast wi' me. I hae muckle to say to you; but ye mauna be sae hard upon my baps as ye used to be,' with a facetious grin to her mollified favourite as they shook hands and parted.

Aware, perhaps, of the defective outline or story of her first novel, Miss Ferrier has bestowed much more pains on the construction of the Inheritance.' It is too complicated for an analysis in this place; but we may mention that it is connected with high life and a wide range of characters, the heroine being a young lady born in France, and heiress to a splendid estate and peerage in Scotland, to which, after various adventures and reverses, she finally succeeds. The tale is well arranged and developed. Its chief attraction, however, consists in the delineation of characters. Uncle Adam and Miss Pratt -the former a touchy, sensitive, rich East Indian, and the latter another of Miss Ferrier's inimitable old maids-are among the best of the portraits; but the canvass is full of happy and striking sketches. 'Destiny' is connected with Highland scenery and Highland manners, but is far from romantic. Miss Ferrier is as human and as discerning in her tastes and researches as Miss Edgeworth. The chief, Glenroy, is proud and irascible, spoiled by the fawning of his inferiors, and in his family circle is generous without kindness, and profuse without benevolence. The Highland minister, Mr Duncan MacDow,

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James Monet

East in a series of novels-The Adventures of Hajj Baba of Ispahan, three volumes, 1824 (with a second part published in two volumes in 1828); Zohrab, the Hostage, three volumes, 1832; Ayesha, the Maid of Kars, three volumes, 1834; and The Mirza, three volumes, 1841. The object of his first work was, he says, the single idea of illustrating Eastern manners by contrast with those of England, and the author evinces a minute and familiar ac quaintance with the habits and customs of the Persians. The truth of his satirical descriptions and allusions was felt even by the court of Persia; for Mr Morier has published a letter from a minister of state in that country, expressing the displeasure which the king felt at the very foolish business of the book. It is probable, however, as the author supposes, that this irritation may lead to reflection, and reflection to amendment, as he conceives the Persians to be, in talent and natural capacity, equal to any nation in the world, and would be no less on level with them in feeling, honesty, and the higher moral qualities, were their education favourable. The hero of Mr Morier's tale is an adventurer like Gil Blas, and as much buffeted about in the world

a

He is the son of a barber of Ispahan, and is successively one of a band of Turcomans, a menial servant, a pupil of the physician-royal of Persia, an attendant on the chief executioner, a religious devotee, and a seller of tobacco-pipes in Constantinople. Having by stratagem espoused a rich Turkish widow, he becomes an official to the Shah; and on his further distinguishing himself for his knowledge of the Europeans, he is appointed secretary to the mission of Mirzah Firouz, and accompanies the Persian ambassador to the court of England. In the course of his multiplied adventures, misfortunes, and escapes, the volatile unprincipled Hajji mixes with all classes, and is much in Tehran, Koordistan, Georgia, Bagdad, Constantinople, &c. The work soon became popular. The novelty of the style,' says Sir Walter Scott, which was at once perceived to be genuine oriental by such internal evidence as establishes the value of real old Chinathe gay and glowing descriptions of Eastern state and pageantry-the character of the poetry occasionally introduced-secured a merited welcome for the Persian picaroon. As a picture of oriental manners, the work had, indeed, a severe trial to sustain by a comparison with the then recent romance of Anastasius. But the public found appetite for both; and indeed they differ as comedy and tragedy, the deep passion and gloomy interest of Mr Hope's work being of a kind entirely different from the light and lively turn of our friend Hajji's adventures. The latter, with his morals sitting easy about him, a rogue indeed, but not a malicious one, with as much wit and cunning as enable him to dupe others, and as much vanity as to afford them perpetual means of retaliation; a sparrow-hawk, who, while he floats through the air in quest of the smaller game, is himself perpetually exposed to be pounced upon by some stronger bird of prey, interests and amuses us, while neither deserving nor expecting serious regard or esteem; and like Will Vizard of the hill, "the knave is our very good friend." Mr Morier, however, in the episode of Yusuf, the Armenian, and the account of the death of Zeenab, has successfully entered into the arena of pathetic and romantic description. The oriental scenes are the most valuable and original portions of "Hajji Baba," and possess the attraction of novelty to ordinary readers, yet the account of the constant embarrassment and surprise of the Persians at English manners and customs is highly amusing. The ceremonial of the dinner-table, that seemed to them "absolutely bristling with instruments of offence," blades of all sizes and descriptions, sufficient to have ornamented the girdles of the Shah's household, could not but puzzle those who had been accustomed simply to take everything up in their fingers. The mail-coach, the variety of our furniture and accommodation, and other domestic observances, were Equally astonishing; but, above all, the want of ceremonial among our statesmen and public officers surprised the embassy. The following burst of oriental wonder and extravagance succeeds to an account of a visit paid them by the chairman and deputy-chairman of the East India Company, who came in a hackney-coach, and, after the interview, walked away upon their own legs.

"When they were well off, we all sat mute, only occasionally saying, Allah! Allah! there is but one Allah!' so wonderfully astonished were we. What! India? that great, that magnificent empire! -that scene of Persian conquest and Persian glory! -the land of elephants and precious stones, the seat of shawls and kincobs!-that paradise sung by poets, celebrated by historians more ancient than Irán itself!-at whose boundaries the sun is per

mitted to rise, and around whose majestic mountains, some clad in eternal snows, others in eternal verdure, the stars and the moon are allowed to gambol and carouse! What is it so fallen, so degraded, as to be swayed by two obscure mortals, living in regions that know not the warmth of the sun? Two swine-eating infidels, shaven, impure, walkers on foot, and who, by way of state, travel in dirty coaches filled with straw! This seemed to us a greater miracle in government than even that of Beg Ian, the plaiter of whips, who governed the Turcomans and the countries of Samarcand and Bokhara, leading a life more like a beggar than a potentate."'

'Zohrab' is a historical novel, of the time of Aga Mohammed Shah, a famous Persian prince, described by Sir John Malcolm as having taught the Russians to beat the French by making a desert before the line of the invader's march, and thus leaving the enemy master of only so much ground as his cannon could command. This celebrated Shah is the real hero of the tale, though the honour is nominally awarded to Zohrab, an independent Mazanderini chief, who falls in love with the gentle and beautiful Amima, niece of the Shah. The style of the work is light, pleasant, and animated, and it is full of Persian life. Ayesha, the Maid of Kars,' is inferior to its predecessors, though certain parts (as the description of the freebooter, Corah Bey, and the ruins of Anni, the Spectre City, the attack on the Russian posts, the voyage to Constantinople, &c.) are in the author's happiest and most graphic manner. In this work Mr Morier introduces a novelty-he makes an English traveller, Lord Os. mond, fall in love with a Turkish maiden, and while the Englishman is bearing off the Maid of Kars to Constantinople, Corah Bey intercepts them, and gets the lover sent off to the galleys. He is released through the intercession of the English ambassador, and carries his Eastern bride to England. Ayesha, the heroine, turns out to be the daughter of Sir Edward Wortley! There are improbabilities in this story which cannot be reconciled, and the mixture of European costume and characters among the scenery and society of the East, destroys that oriental charm which is so entire and so fascinating in Zohrab.' The Mirza' is a series of Eastern stories, connected by an outline of fiction like Moore's Lalla Rookh. In concluding this work, Mr Morier says, I may venture to assert that the East, as we have known it in oriental tales, is now fast on the change-"C'est le commencement de la fin." Perhaps we have gleaned the last of the beards, and obtained an expiring glimpse of the heavy caoûk and the ample shalwar ere they are exchanged for the hat and the spruce pantaloon. How wonderful is it-how full of serious contemplation is the fact, that the whole fabric of Mohammedanism should have been assailed, almost suddenly as well as simultaneously, by events which nothing human could have foreseen. Barbary, Egypt, Syria, the banks of the Euphrates and Tigris, the Red Sea, Constantinople, Asia Minor, Persia, and Affghanistan, all more or less have felt the influence of European or anti-Mohammedan agencies. Perhaps the present generation may not see a new structure erected, but true it is they have seen its foundations laid.'

In 1838 appeared The Banished; a Swabian Historical Tale, edited by Mr Morier. This publication caused some disappointment, as the name of the author of Hajji Baba' excited expectations which

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The Banished' did not realise. The work is a translation from the German, a tale of the Swabian league in the sixteenth century.

JAMES BAILIE FRASER.

MR JAMES BAILIE FRASER has, like Mr Morier, described the life and manners of the Persians by fictitious as well as true narratives. In 1828 he published The Kuzzilbash, a Tale of Khorasan, three volumes, to which he afterwards added a continuation under the name of The Persian Adventurer, the title of his first work not being generally understood: it was often taken, he says, for a cookery book! The term Kuzzilbash, which is Turkish, signifies Red-head, and was an appellation originally given by Shah Ismael I. to seven tribes bound to defend their king. These tribes wore a red cap as a distinguishing mark, which afterwards became the military head-dress of the Persian troops; hence the word Kuzzilbash is used to express a Persian soldier; and often, particularly among the Toorkomans and Oozbeks, is applied as a national designation to the people in general. Mr Fraser's hero relates his own adventures, which begin almost from his birth; for he is carried off while a child by a band of Toorkoman robbers, who plunder his father's lands and village, situated in Khorasan, on the borders of the great desert which stretches from the banks of the Caspian Sea to those of the river Oxus. The infant bravery of Ismael, the Kuzzilbash, interests Omer Khan, head of a tribe or camp of the plunderers, and he spares the child, and keeps him to attend on his own son Selim. In the camp of his master is a beautiful girl, daughter of a Persian captive; and with this young beauty, lovely as a child of the Peris,' Ismael forms an attachment that increases with their years. These early scenes are finely described; and the misfortunes of the fair Shireen are related with much pathos. The consequences of Ismael's passion force him to flee. He assumes the dress of the Kuzzilbash, and crossing the desert, joins the army of the victorious Nadir Shah, and assists in recovering the holy city of Mushed, the capital of Khorasan. His bravery is rewarded with honours and dignities; and after various scenes of love and war, the Kuzzilbash is united to his Shireen. Scenes of active life are painted by the author with the same truth, accuracy, and picturesque effect which he displays in landscapes or single figures. In war, especially, he is at home; and gives the attack, the retreat, the rally, the bloody and desperate close combat, the flight, pursuit, and massacre, with all the current of a heady fight, as one who must have witnessed

such terrors.'

A brief but characteristic scene—a meeting of two warriors in the desert-is strikingly described, though the reader is probably haunted with an idea that European thoughts and expressions mingle with

the author's narrative:

By the time I reached the banks of this stream the sun had set, and it was necessary to seek some retreat where I might pass the night and refresh myself and my horse without fear of discovery. Ascending the river bed, therefore, with this intention, I soon found a recess where I could repose myself, surrounded by green pasture, in which my horse might feed; but as it would have been dangerous to let him go at large all night, I employed myself for a while in cutting the longest and thickest of the grass which grew on the banks of the stream for his night's repast, permitting him to pasture at will until dark; and securing him then close to the spot I meant to occupy, after a moderate meal, I commended myself to Allah, and lay down to rest.

Quickly springing on my feet, and grasping my speat and scimitar, which lay under my head, I looked around for the cause of alarm. Nor did it long remain doubtful; for, at the distance of scarce two hundred yards, I saw a single horseman advancing. To tighten my girdle round my loins, to string my bow, and prepare two or three arrows for use, was but the work of a few moments; before these preparations, however, were completed, the stranger was close at hand. Fitting an arrow to my bow, placed myself upon guard, and examined him narrowly as he approached. He was a man of goodly stature and powerful frame; his countenance, hard, strongly marked, and furnished with a thick black beard, bore testimony of exposure to many a blast, but it still preserved a prepossessing expression of good humour and benerolence. His turban, which was formed of a cashmere shawl, sorely tached and torn, and twisted here and there with small steel chains, according to the fashion of the time, was wound around a red cloth cap that rose in four peaks high above the head. His oemah, or riding coat, of crimson cloth much stained and faded, opening at the bosom, showed the links of a coat of mail which he wore below; a yellow shawl formed his girdle; his huge shulwars, or riding trousers, of thick fawn-coloured Kerman woollen stuff, fell in folds over the large red leather boots in which his legs were cased; by his side hung a crooked scimitar in a black leather scabbard, and from the holsters of his saddle peeped out the butt-ends of a pair of pistols-weapons of which I then knew not the use, any more than of the matchlock which was slung at his back. He was mounted on a powerful but jaded horse, and appeared to have already travelled far.

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When this striking figure had approached within thirty yards, I called out in the Turkish language, commonly used in the country, 'Whoever thou art, come no nearer on thy peril, or I shall salute thee with this arrow from my bow!' Why, boy,' returned the stranger in a deep manly voice, and speaking in the same tongue, thou art a bold lad, truly! but set Nay,' rethy heart at rest, I mean thee no harm.' joined I, 'I am on foot, and alone. I know thee not, sincerity by setting thyself on equal terms with me: nor thy intentions. Either retire at once, or show thy dismount from thy steed, and then I fear thee not, drew my arrow to the head, and pointed it towards whatever be thy designs. Beware!' And so saying, I him. By the head of my father! cried the stranger, thy heart is stout, and thy demand is just; the sheep 'thou art an absolute youth! but I like thee well; trusts not the wolf when it meets him in the plain, nor do we acknowledge every stranger in the desert for a friend. See,' continued he, dismounting actively, yet with a weight that made the turf ring again-See, I yield my advantage; as for thy arrows, boy, I fear them not. With that he slung a small shield, which he bore at his back, before him, as if to cover his face, in case of treachery on my part, and leaving his horse where it stood, he advanced to me.

Taught from my youth to suspect and to guard against treachery, I still kept a wary eye on the mo tions of the stranger. But there was something in his open though rugged countenance and manly bearing that claimed and won my confidence. Slowly I lowered my hand, and relaxed the still drawn string of my bow, as he strode up to me with a firm composed step.

Youth,' said he, had my intentions been hostile, it is not thy arrows or thy bow, no, nor thy sword and spear, that could have stood thee much in stead. I am too old a soldier, and too well defended against such weapons, to fear them from so young an art. But I am neither enemy nor traitor to attack thee The loud neighing of my horse awoke me with a unawares. I have travelled far during the past night, start, as the first light of dawn broke in the East. and mean to refresh myself awhile in this spot before

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