rently. What we want is withheld partly from prejudice, partly from doubt as to how it may operate, and chiefly from the official inconveniences to which it may give rise. With the Prussians it is denied by a tremendous array of soldiery. The same moral paralysis, however, which, at the beginning of the French revolution, rendered the German armies so ineffective, will seize the ranks of the Prussians, and a volcano will break out under the throne itself, and overwhelm it with ruin and with crimes; whereas our government will, from the influence of public opinion, either give the subject a full and comprehensive consideration, or endeavour to repair and adapt the old and existing system to meet something like what is required, and which, practically speaking, may "work well" enough.

The next object that presents itself, after contemplating what bears on the State, is the situation of the Church. It is not to be disputed, that the prodigious rush which infidelity made during the last ten years of the last century, has not only been checked, but that there has been a remarkable reedification of all the strong-holds of Christianity-so much, that piety, it may be averred, has become so fashionable, as to be almost a folly; that is to say, the same sort of minds which, five-and-twenty years ago, would have been addicted to philosophy, are inflamed with a churchgoing zeal. Churches, and theological instruction of all kinds, are rising and flourishing everywhere. It has not, however, been much observed, that, although there is an astonishing increase of ecclesiastical edifices, there is no augmentation in the number of church dignitaries, a circumstance which would seem to imply that something of a presbyterian spirit is creeping into episcopacy; or, in other words, the Church of England, seeing that the people were attaching themselves to plain and simple modes of worship, is yielding half-way to that very spirit by which the dissenters have so prospered.

This policy in that church, if it can be called policy which is the expedient result of the force of circumstances, is the first example that has ever appeared in the world of so great, so wealthy, and so powerful a body, and a priesthood too, adapting itself voluntarily to the spirit of the times.

It lays open to our view, and to our admiration, the liberality of the ecclesiastical establishment of England, in a light that language cannot sufficiently applaud; and when we consider the strict intermarriage in that country between the Church and the State, it must be allowed that the wisdom of this policy of the English church is a glorious demonstration of the enlightened views and temperate principles in the government of the state.

But the strain and tendency of our literature is the best comment on the progressive state of opinion, and, consequently, of national advancement. Except in a few remarkable instances, criticism is the prevalent taste of the times-a criticism not confined, as of old, to the execution, or to the manner in which subjects are conceived, but which comprehends, together with style and conception, not only the power employed, but the moral and philosophical tendency of the matter. It is impossible that so much general acumen can be long employed without inducing improvement in all things which are either the subjects or the objects of literary illustration, and these are in fact all things. No greater proof of the advance which has already taken place in the moral taste of the country, making every allowance for cant, need be assigned, than what is involved in the simple questionWould such novels as those of Fielding and Smollett be now readily published by any respectable bookseller? We have seen what an outery was raised about Don Juan; but is that satirical work, in any degree, so faulty in what is its great proclaimed fault, as either Tom Jones, Roderick Random, or Peregrine Pickle?

I have, however, so long trespassed at this time, that I must for the present conclude. I shall, however, as early as possible resume the subject, and I expect to make it plain to you, that, although the world is overspread with wrecks and ashes, and there is but an apparent restoration of old customs and habitudes, there lies yet before our beloved country a path to greatness and glory, which nothing but some dreadful natural calamity ought, I would almost say-can prevent her from pursuing, to heights that will far exceed all Greek and Ro man fame.

BANDANA

Glasgow, 24th December, 1823.

WHEN Anastasius first made its appearance, everybody thought Lord Byron was taking to write prose; for there was no living author but Lord Byron supposed capable of having written such a book. When Byron denied the work, (and, in fact, his lordship could not have written it,) people looked about again, and wondered who the author could be. But, when the production was claimed by Mr Thomas Hope, who had, heretofore, written only about chairs and tables, and not written very well about chairs and tables neither, then the puzzlement of ratiocinators became profounder than

But Anastasius, though full of circumstance which necessarily had been collected by travel, was (that circumstance, all of it, apart) a work of immense genius, and natural power. The thing told was good; but the manner of telling it was still better. The book was absolutely crammed with bold incidents, and brilliant descriptionswith historical details, given in a style which Hume or Gibbon could scarcely have surpassed; and with analysis of human character and impulse, such as even Mandeville might have been proud to acknowledge. Material, as regards every description of work, is perhaps the first point towards success. It is not easy for any man to write ill, who has an overflow of fresh matter to write about.

But Anastasius was anything rather than a bare compilation of material. The author did not merely appear to have imbued himself completely, with a scarce and interesting species of information, and to have the power of pouring that information forth again, in any shape he pleased; but he also seemed to have the power, (and with

al, almost equally the facility,) of originating new inatter, of most curious and valuable quality. He paraded a superfluity of attainment at one moment, and shewed a faculty to act without any of it the next; displayed an extraordinary acquired talent for drawing MAN, as he is in one particular country; but a still more extraordinary intuitive talent for drawing man, as he is in every class, and in every country.

His capacity for producing effect was so extended, that he could afford to trifle with it. Anastasius was not merely one of the most vigorous, but absolutely the most vigorous, of the "dark-eyed and slender-waisted heroes," that had appeared. We liked him better than any of his cater cousins, because the family characteristics were more fully developed in him. The Giaours had their hundred vices, and their single virtue; but Anastasius came without any virtue at all. The Corsairs were vindictive, and rapacious, and sanguinary, as regarded their fellow-men; but Anastasius had no mercy even upon woman.

The history of Euphrosyne is not only the most powerful feature in Mr Hope's book; but, perhaps, one of the most powerful stories that ever was written in a novel.

There is a vraisemblance about the villainy of that transaction, which it sickens the soul to think of. Crabbe could not have dug deeper for horrible realities; nor could the author of the Fable of the Bees have put them into more simple, yet eloquent and energetic, language. For throughout the whole description of Euphrosyne's situation, after she becomes the mistress of Anastasius-his harsh treatment of her in the first instance, by degrees increasing to brutality-his deliberately torturing her, to compel her to leave him, even when he knows she has not a place of refuge upon earth-her patient submission, after a time, only aggravating his fury, and his telling her, in terms, "to go!" that "he desires to see her no more!" Throughout all this description, and the admirable scene that follows-his leaving her when she faints, believing her ill

must expect the production to be tried. We can drink a wine, perhaps, of thirty sous, as a wine of thirty sous, but we will not submit to have it brought to us as claret. We might manage, upon an emergency, to read a dozen lines of Lady Morgan; but who would read half a line, if she were to get herself bound up as Lady Montague? There are chapters in Hajji Baba that may amuse ;-there are a great many, most certainly, that will not amuse; but, perhaps, the easiest way of making its deficiencies apparent, will be to give a short outline of the production itself.

Mr Hope sets out, in the character of " Mr Peregrine Persic," by writing to "Doctor Fundgruben," chaplain to the Swedish Embassy, at the Ottoman Porte-a letter which explains the intention of his book.

Mr Persic is dissatisfied (and, perhaps, fairly, may be) with all existing pictures of Asiatic habits and manners; and he suggests the advantage of inditing, from "actual anecdotes" collected in the East,-a novel upon the plan of Gil Blas, which should supply the (as he views it) deficiency. Dr Fundgruben approves the idea of Mr Persic, but doubts how far any European would be capable of realizing it; he thinks an oriental Gil Blas would be most conveniently constructed, by procuring some "actual" Turk, or Persian, to write his life. The discussion which follows between the friends, would not convey a great deal to the reader. What the Swedish Doctor opines-we will give his own words"That no education, time, or talent, can ever enable a foreigner, in any given country, to pass for a native;"this (for a Doctor, who should mind what he says) has a smack of exaggeration; and Mr Persic's charge of obscurity against the Arabian Nights, (so far as he himself illustrates it,) seems to amount to nothing. At a period, however, subsequent to this supposed conversation, Mr P. (who is employed himself upon an embassy to Persia) saves Hajji Baba, a Persian of some station, from the hands of an Italian quack Doctor; and, in gratitude for certain doses of calomel, by the English gentleman administered, the Is pahani presents his written memoirs, for the benefit of the English public.

Now here is a blot in the very outset of the book. Mr Hope starts, most

transparently, with Gil Blas in his eye, and never considers that a character perfectly fitted for a hero in one country, may not be so well calculated to fill the same role in another. The attention to Gil Blas is obvious. The chapters are headed in Le Sage's manner." Of Hajji Baba's birth and education."-" Into what hands Hajji Baba falls, and the fortune which his razors prove to him.”—“ Hajji Baba, in his distress, becomes a Saka, or water-carrier."-" Of the man he meets, and of the consequences of the encounter," &c. &c. There are occasional imitations too, and not happy ones, of the style coupée of some of the French writers. An affectation of setting out about twenty unconnected facts, in just the same number of short unconnected sentences. A rolling up, as it were, of knowledge into little hard pills, and giving us dozens of them to swallow, (without diluent,) one after the other. This avoidance (from whatever cause it proceeds) of conjunction, and connecting observation, leads to an eternal recurrence of pronouns-rattling staccato upon the ear. It makes a book read like a judge's notes of a trial, or a report of a speech of a newspaper. And, indeed, throughout the work before us-(we can scarcely suppose the author to have written in a hurry)-but, throughout the work, there is a sort of slovenliness; an inattention to minute, but nevertheless material, circumstances; which could scarcely, one would think, have been overlooked, if it had been cautiously revised.

Hajji Baba, however, is the son of a barber at Ispahan, and is educated to follow his father's profession. He learns shaving upon the "heads" of camel-drivers and muleteers-a field of practice more extended than barbers have the advantage of in Europe -and having got a smattering of poetry, and a pretty good idea of shampooing-some notion of reading and writing, and a perfect dexterity at cleaning people's ears ;-at sixteen, he is prepared to make his entrée in society.

Starting as a barber, is starting rather low; and it is one material fault in our friend Hajji Baba, that, from beginning to end, he is a low charac ter. Obscure birth is no bar to a man's fortune in the East; nor shall it be any hinderance to him among us; but

we can't take cordially, East or West, to a common-place fellow. Anastasius is meanly born, but he has the soul that makes all ranks equal. Beggar him-strip him-starve him-make a slave of him-still nature maintains him a prince, and the superior (ten to one else) of the man that tramples upon him. Like the Mainote captain, in that exquisite chapter of "The Bagnio," he is one of those spirits which, of themselves, even in the most abject condition, will command attention and respect ;-which, "like the cedars of Lebanon," to use the author's own simile," though scathed by the lightning of Heaven, still overtop all the trees in the forest."

But it won't do to have a hero (certainly not in Turkey) an awkward fellow. We don't profess to go entirely along with Mowbray, in Clarissa, who, extenuating Lovelace's crimes, by reference to the enormities of somebody else, throws his friend's scale up to the beam, by recollecting that the counter rogue is " an ugly dog too!" But we think, if a hero is to be a rascal, that he ought to be a rascal like a gentleman. Mr Hope denies Hajji Baba even the advantage of personal courage. As he got on in his last work without virtue, so he proposes to get on in this without qualification. This is Gil Blas; but we wish Mr H. had let imitation alone. Gil Blas (per se) is no great model, anywhere, for a hero. It is the book that carries him through-not him that carries the book. Gil Blas (that is the man) has a great deal more whim, and ten times more national characteristic, than Hajji Baba; and yet we long to cane him, or put him in a horse-pond, at almost every page we read. And, besides, Gil Blas, let it be recollected, Gil Blas was the ORIGINAL. We have got imitations of him already enough, to be forgotten. The French Gil Blas-and the German Gil Blas-and now, the Persian Gil Blas! It is an unprofitable task; at least, Mr Hope, at all events, has made it one.

To proceed, however, with Mr Hajji Baba, whom we drag along, as it were, critically, by the ears; and whose first step in public life is into the service of Osman Aga, a merchant of Bagdad. His father gives him a blessing, accompanied by a new case of ra

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zors;" his mother adds "a small tin case of a certain precious unguent," calculated to cure "all fractures and internal complaints ;" and he is directed to leave the house with his face towards the door, "by way of propitiating a happy return.'

Osman Aga has in view a journey to Meshed, where he will buy the lambskins of Bokhara, and afterwards resell them at Constantinople. He leaves Ispahan with the caravan, accompanied by his servant ; and both are taken prisoners by certain Turcomans of the desert. Hajji's sojourn among these wandering people, with their attack and pillage of the caravan, is given with the same apparent knowledge of what he writes about, which Mr Hope displayed in Anastasius.

The prisoners, after being stripped, are disposed of according to their merits. Osman Aga, who is middle-aged, and inclining to be fat, is deputed to wait upon the camels of his new masters; Hajji is admitted a robber, upon liking, in which capacity he guides the band on an excursion to Ispahan, his native city.

The movement upon Ispahan is successful; the robbers plunder the caravanserai. Afterwards, in a lonely dell, five parasangs from the town, they examine the prisoners, who turn out not so good as was expected. A poet-a ferash (house servant) and a cadi ;— egregious ransom," seems hardly probable. The scene that follows has some pleasantry.

The poet (Asker) is doomed to death, as being an animal of no utility anywhere. Hajji, however, is moved with compassion, and interferes.

"What folly are you about to commit? Kill the poet! Why it will be worse than killing the goose with the golden egg. Don't you know that poets are very rich sometimes, and can, if they choose, be rich at all times, for they carry their wealth in their heads?

Did you never hear of the gold for every stanza that he composed? king who gave a famous poet a miscal of And who knows?-perhaps your prisoner may be the king's poet-laureat himself.""

This observation changes the face of the affair, and the Turcomans are delighted with poetry.

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"Is that the case ?' said one of the gang; then let him make stanzas for us immediately; and if they don't fetch a miscal each, he shall die.'