which we are made capable for the memory of the race from which our being is drawn, is not necessarily confined to that section of mankind in which we chance to be numbered. It extends itself, as our thought and our heart enlarges, to the whole of the vast kindred of human beings. Here is our family, and this the race of which we are sprung; and we are able to feel, with respect to the events of the history of entire humankind, that singular interest which is drawn from the relation in which we stand to men, as being of their blood. We can feel ourselves partakers, under the bond of consanguinity, in their personal interest, and standing as the natural guardians of their fame. There is not a people of all those into which mankind has divided, which does not seem by this right of kindred to have a title to our knowledge and remembrance; nor do ever explore the wreck of antiquity without feeling on this ground a regret for the ravages which time has made in the memory of nations. The relation in which the human being feels himself to stand to those who have preceded him, is, on another ground, the source of a lively personal interest: inasmuch as from the whole of the past he feels a derivation of influence and power upon himself. His individual state of existence is the complex result, almost it might be said, of all former events of the world. The enjoyments which life spreads around him, all the powers that are offered to his hand, are effects gathered from long-preceding times; and, little as this suggested to our thoughts while we feel and use the wealth of our life, it is not possible for us to open the pages of history without being reminded in the strongest manner of this connexion between the present and the past. We see events proceeding which move and shake whole nations, and are at once aware that their still-continuing result is one of the many elements which concur to make up our manifold existence. What wide, fearful, and tempestuous migrations have prepared the cradle of our birth, and singled out for us the spot of the earth on which we first drew breath!-Ask how the language was framed which we speak ?-By invasion and revolution, and the subjugation of nations. Let us trace up to their origin, rights of which the enjoyment is familiar and necessary to us as our hourly breath; and through what scenes are we led!-Scaffolds streaming with blood in one age,-warlike chiefs confederated in rebellion in another,-—and, in former times, which remote darkness shut up, bold, haughty tribes, treading earth and sea in the pride of their fearless power, must all conjoin to explain why each of us walks free on his native soil. Science, letters, manners,-none of them are understood while we look upon them merely as they are. Follow them back into time,-see nations disturbed with their production,--and we know something of the relation in which the human species stands to the blessings which it enjoys. It was said, not too boldly, that those who fought at Marathon, Thermopyla, and Salamis, bled in defence of the civilization of modern Europe. One might say, that the feeling which in this manner connects us with the past, is that of even a selfish interest; since the want of it in any man would imply an inadequate sense of the good which he enjoyed. What must we think of a well-born and well educated inhabit ant of a country like our own, to whom the history of liberty, of religious emancipation, of knowledge,literature, and social refinement, has nothing personally affecting or interesting? To minds of higher contemplation, there is an attraction of another sort in the past story of mankind. The great course of that history, with its slow changes and mighty revolutions, shews, to the philosophic observer of nature, her proudest offspring, and being endowed with faculties of the noblest order, going forth on his eventful destiny to subdue a world,— advancing himself by efforts infinitely varied and incredible, struggling to accomplish his high allotment,-inventing arts,-fixing laws,-founding empires. From earliest to latest time he watches and follows his progress this astonishing career. To the moral in contemplator of the universe, the same story shews a being endowed for virtue or for crime :-in the various development of his powers,-in his everchanging course,-in his most daring and gigantic achievements,-carrying with him throughout the impress of his moral nature. In all the troubled motion and confounding vicissitudes of the world, in the pomp of its dazzling triumphs, in the consternation of its fierce reverses, this essential and characteristic constitution of the human soul-its moral being-is never hid from the eye of wise observation, for it is interwoven with all his fortunes. Great states rise up by power in the mind itself of a people, decaying as that mind decays. In prosperousin adverse estate, this moral essence shews itself as the paramount agent of good and ill,-either raising up or consoling,-either casting down or punishing in the midst of prosperity, him who is never weak while this spirit is maintained, never strong when it is violated. What can be more suited to the speculations of the highest philosophy than to follow the unfolding of the destinies of the world by the agencies of causes which lie buried in the human soul? What can more solemnly affect the moral heart than to see a man, a creature of good and evil, strong in his virtue, though wicked power smite him from the earth, weak and miserable in his guilt, while he sits upon its throne? In strong principles then of our nature are laid the grounds of our interest in the records of human history. If, in ourselves, we find no experience of such an interest, we have reason to argue, either that these principles have not, in our minds, attained their due strength, or that, from some cause, those records have never been presented to us in the manner suited to affect those feelings. Something may perhaps be ascribed to our own fault, and something to that of our writers. It may be doubted if the memory of the past can ever have its full interest, except to those who read with something of a productive imagination, and a mind either stored from ample ob servation of human nature, or rich, at least, in the capacity of feelings that must be supplied to animate the actions which are read; for the facts that are told have not their own passions expressed,-they were results of passion. But that, to understand them, the mind must now re-produce to itself, vivifying by imparted motion the simple narrative of the historian. But it must also be acknowledged, that many, perhaps the greater part of historical writers, have assisted to divest this part of literature of its natural attraction. They have not written, under the force of those simple, great, primary feelings, which give their proper and strong interest to related events, they have written as partisans, as philosophers, as rhetoricians;-few with great and manly feeling, desiring simply to present a faithful record of what men have done and suffered, and of what they have been. The mere truth of high events the story of men's actions, and the recital of their words, is all that is necessary to engage us; then we can find our own interest. We wish only to have its objects set before us. If this is not done, no genius of speculation or of eloquence can compensate to us the essential defect of composition; and the splendour of the fairest passage of historic writing is without value, in comparison wish the simplest fragment of reality which it preserves. A SIGH Gentle air, thou breath of lovers, Vapour from a secret fire, Which by thee itself discovers, Ere yet daring to aspire. Softest note of whispered anguish, Softest messenger of passion, Stealing through a crowd of spies, Who constrain the outward fashion, Close the lips, and watch the eyes. Shapeless Sigh! we ne'er can shew thee, No. 4. PALESTINE OR THE HOLY LAND. ROUT from ACRE to JAVA, (From the Modern Traveller.) Wr staid all night in the Latin convent, from which there is a very fine prospect. The next morning we descended the hill, and on turning to the west side of it went a little way to the south, and then to the east, into a narrow valley about a mile long, be. tween the mountains, and came to the grotto where, they say, Elias usually lived. Near it is his fountain, cut out of the rock. Here are the ruins of a convent which, they say, was built by Brocardus, the second general of the Latin Carmelites, who wrote an account of the Holy Land, Over this, on the top of the hill, is a spot of ground which they call Elias's garden, because they find many stones there, resembling pears, olives, and, as they imagine, water melons; the last, when broken, appear to be hollow, and the inside beautifully crystallized. In this legend we have a specimen of the absurd fictions coined by illiterate monks, which are the only species of information the traveller is able to obtain from the guardians of the superstitious sacred places-fictions not having the slightest pretentions to the character of local traditions, and often in palpable contradiction to the sacred history. Yet, it would once have been deemed impious to call in question their truth, and they have been gravely repeated by the most learned protestant travellers, with mravellous credulity. It is observable that the scene of every remarkable incident in the scripture narrative, has been laid, by the monks, in grottos or caves; in defiance, frequently not of credibility merely, but of possibility, as well as in opposition to the known habits of the Jews. The real origin of those caves is an interesting question; but the disposition to attach a sanctity to such excavations, whether natural or artificial, seems common to all nations; it discovered itself in the ancient Egyptians and the classic Greek; the christian monk and the idolatrous Hindoo, and has been displayed even by the North American Indian. They have been converted into tombs and temples, have been the scene of heathen mysteries and Roman mummeries, the hiding place of prophets and saints,* the cell of the hermit, and the den of the robber. Thus, notions of the most various kinds have led to their formation, and to their being tenanted. Mount Carmel is described as a flattened cone, about 2,000 feet (some say 1,500) in height, and very rocky. Captain Mangles says, it is now quite barren, though at the north eastern foot of it there are some pretty olivegrounds. But the name properly denotes a range of hills, extending six or eight miles from north to south, having on the east a fine plain, watered by the Kishon, and on the west a narrower plain descending to the sea. Pursuing the line of the coast, the next place of note the traveller comes to, is Cesarea, which is still called by the Arabs Kissary, but not a single inhabitant remains where once stood the proud city of Herod. "Perhaps there has not been," remarks Dr. Clarke, in his history of the world, an example of a city that in so short a space of time rose to such an extraordinary height of splendour as did this of Cesarea, or that exhibits a more awful contrast to its former magnificence, by the present desolate appearance of its ruins. Its Theatres, once resounding with the shouts of multitudes, echo no other sound than the nightly cries of animals roaming for their prey. Of its gorgeous palaces and temples, enriched with the choicest works of art; and decorated with the most precious marbles, scarcely a trace can be discerned. Within the space of ten years after laying the foundation, from an obscure fortress, (called the tower of Strato, as it is said from the Greek who founded it) it became the most celebrated and flourishing city of all Syria." It was named Cesarea by Herod, in honour of Augustus, and dedicated by him to this Emperor, in the twenty-eighth year of his reign; and it was called Cesarea of Palestine, to distinguish it from 1 Kings xviii. 4.-Heb. xi. 30. Cesarea Philippi, or Cesarea Paneadis. BENEFICIAL EFFORTS OF It was afterwards called Colonia Flavia, LIBERALITY TOWARDS SLAVES. in consequence of privileges granted to it by Vespasian, who made it a Roman colony. Cesarea is rendered interesting to the Christian as the city where St. Paul so long resided as a prisoner, and where he uttered that eloquent oration before king Agrippa and Felix which is preserved in the twenty-sixth chapter of the Acts of the Apostles. Here also Cornelius the centurion resided, and Philip the evangelist; and repeated mention is made of it in the Sacred History, as the port from which the apostles embarked for Greece, or at which they landed. Passing along the sea-coast the traveller arrives at Jaffa, or Yaffa, the ancient Joppa. It is one of the most ancient sea-ports in the world: its traditional history stretches far back into the twilight of time, and Pliny assigns it a date anterior to the deluge. In his time they pretended to exhibit the marks of the chain with which Andromeda was fastened to a rock; and the supposed skeleton of the seamonster to which she was exposed, was long preserved at Rome. Here, too, if tradition may be credited, Noah built his ark! Hither, however, the most authentic of all records informs us, King Solomon ordered the materials of the Temple to be brought by sea from Mount Libanus; here the prophet Jonah embarked for Tarshish, 862 years before the Christian Era; and here in apostolic times, St. Peter restored Tabitha to life. In the middle of the thirteenth century, it was fortified by Louis the IX; but in 1647, Monconys, a French traveller, found nothing at Jaffa, but a castle and some caverns. Lastly, in 1779, the modern town was taken by Bonaparte, and signalized by that massacre of Turkish prisoners, which has afforded so much matter for discussion, as one of the darkest charges laid against the character of Napoleon.* There is no doubt the massacre took place; the only quetion relates to the number, and the motive or alleged justification. Bonaparte's statement was, that they were prisoners who had been dismissed on parole, and who afterwards joined the garrison at Jatia, and that 500 only were put to death. (From Coopers' " Relief for West Indian Distress.') "A friend of unquestionable veracity, near the city of Washington, stated in the year 1822, that a mill-dam belonging to a wealthy planter in the neighbourhood, had been carried away by the ice, and he was applied to, to rebuild it. The owner queried with him how long it would require to complete it, and was answered, that if my friend was allowed to provide for the negroes, he would engage to finish the job in (I think) twenty days; to which the owner rejoined, You cannot do it in sixty; I am certain my negroes will not be able to do it in less! My friend told him, that if they were fed and clothed as usual, he himself did not believe they would do it in twice sixty; but that, if he was allowed to provide for them, he thought twenty days would be enough. It was agreed to, and he commenced the work. He purchased some barrels of good pork and beef, with other necessaries of life, and suitable clothing for the season and labour. He fed the negroes freely, clad them well, worked with them himself, and treated them kindly; and, to the astonishment of the planter and many of his neighbours, he completed the work within the specified time; did it in a masterly manner, and secured the good-will of the negroes, who worked cheerful and merrily, and throve so well under the treatment, that, at the expiration of the service, they were fatter and finer looking men than any on the plantation." LIFE. Between two worlds life hovers like a star, Twixt night and moru, upon the horizon's verge: How little do we know that which we are! How less what we may be! The eternal surge Of time and tide rolls on, and bears afar Our bubbles; as the old burst new emerge, Lash'd from the foam of ages; while the graves Of Empires heave but like some passing waves. To the Editor of the Selector, SIR, On looking over the papers, of a late friend, I found a series of short Essays on men and manners, entitled Characteristics; should they be found worthy of a place in your Selector, they are at your service, and shall be transmitted from time to time; the first in order is the following. I am yours P. P. AN ENGLISHMAN-in most of his Characteristic qualities is the very reverse of any of his continental neighbours, except a Dutchman. Liberty, rational liberty, founded solely on the rights of humanity, he considers his natural inheritance. The reflection that he is virtually a member of the body politic, that he acknowledges no other rule of conduct than the laws of the land, and his own pleasure; but above all that he enjoys the privilege of offering his advice, and disseminating his opinions, on both public and private concerns, by means of an unfettered press, these give him an air of disdainful superiority which he scruples not to exhibit before foreigners, regardless of either praise or censure. This constitutes that national pride which so many nations have in vain endeavoured to subdue. A feeling of perfect equality, but too often occupies his thoughts and governs his actions, and when in this mood a mechanic would not give the wall to a Lord. Rough and stubborn as his native oak, he bears about him the fruit of the soil and climate which gave him birth; for though neither possess warmth enough for the production of rank weeds, and noxious vermin, they are amply sufficient for the cultivation of every virtue that can improve the mind, and exalt the human character. True it is that the moral characters of the human race are in a great measure influenced by climate, nay the very brutes feel their influence. The british racer, game cock and bull dog, all degenerate in southern climates; and even John Bull himself seldom returns to his native country uncontaminated. In countries where nature does the most, man commonly does the least. It has been remarked that a true born Englishman in a foreign country never acts or feels as if he was at home, whilst a Scotchman or Irishman is naturalized in a month. The purity of the Briton's religion gives him a true sense of moral obligations: with native courage which has never been surpassed, he often contemplates on imaginary evils like a coward but meets real ones like a man: impressed with the purest notions of justice and philanthropy, he seldom loses sight of the duties of his station, and with a seeming coldness bordering on apathy, he is found on trial to be capable of the purest love, and most exalted friendship. And although sometimes boistrous as the elements that surround him, he is ever prompt at the call of pity and compassion, for his charity is unbounded, and his country the asylum of the unfortunate of every nation under heaven. Voltaire compared the English to a hogshead of their own beer. The top froth, the bottom dregs, but the middle excellent. 1164 TRANSLATION OF " ENGLAND." Inserted in the second number of the Selector. The meanest of thy subjects are as free As he who reigns with Royal Dignity; Where powerful Eyes a thousand charms impart, Instil soft poison in the ungarded heart; Shall stand the Shock of time and never fade. |