"One is still high amongst the mountains, We are enlightened as to the opinion Miss but below them stretches, from north to Bremer holds on the philosophy of Confucius south, between the hills of Moab and Judea, and the religion of Buddha, and it will be an extent of verdant meadow-land several gratifying to our Hebrew fellow-citizens to English miles broad. In the middle of this learn that she entirely approves of the congreen flat is mapped out a softly waving gar- duct of their ancestors in exterminating the land-like line of bright green leafy wood, be- inhabitants of Canaan. After a short digresneath which flows, as yet invisible to the in- sion on miracles, and a long quotation from quiring gaze, the celebrated river of Jordan. the Erde und Völkerkunde of Carl Ritter, Far away to the north the banks seem to and the works of Zoroaster, the authoress elevate themselves till they become low hills takes the public_completely into her confi-partly bare of wood. To the south the dence, and expatiates at some length upon Dead Sea shines out light-blue from its dark her own fervent, but as it appears to us rocky background. The lower we descend somewhat illogical piety. the more open becomes the view, the more beautiful and unusual the scene, above which the summer-blue sky expands itself loftily and full of light. But I could only imperfectly enjoy it, for the heat and the jolting of the horse down the hill, made me so weary, that with almost exclusive love and longing I gazed merely at one spot on the level below, where a crowd of white and blue-green tents shone forth brightly in the midday sunshine. It was the camp of the pilgrims in the Valley of Jericho; it was also the spot where our tents were to be pitched, and we were to rest. I longed inexpressibly to be there. We had been riding nearly seven hours in the heat of the

sun."

Embarking on board the Russian steamer at Jaffa she voyages northward, and pays a flying visit to the Druses of the Lebanon, upon whose faith and morals she is very severe, although candidly admitting that she derives her ideas chiefly from the gossip of the townspeople of Beirout. The Maronites, however, do not fare much better at her hands than do their enemies of the mountain, and before quitting the shores of Syria the authoress, in order to be perfectly impartial, criticises the Koran without finding much to admire, and makes a few remarks condemnatory of the private character of Mohammed.

At Smyrna she abandons her original intention of going to Athens, and secures a berth on board the Constantinople steamer, thus for the first time, as we are, informed,

in a spiritual necessity." Miss Bremer concludes a short treatise on the present condition of Turkey as follows:

We do not much admire the taste which has led the authoress to dilate upon the phys-«obeying an impulse which had not its root ical inconvenience suffered by a young German matron, one of her companions in this excursion, on account of the absence of her infant, and the remedies it was found necessary to apply; such details of the nursery, although worthy the attention of the physiological student, being not in the slightest degree interesting to the world at large.

The account of the precipitous rock of Massada, on the shore of the Dead Sea, and of the winding road from the summit, which by a rather bold figure of speech is said to make "incessant circumlocutions," would be of more value had Miss Bremer actually visited the spot instead of describing it from hearsay.

Before leaving Jerusalem our authoress indulges in a long discussion upon all the subjects which have passed through her mind while there, but we fear the majority of readers will be inclined to skip this portion of the book, which is apropos de rien, and in some places unintelligible. It includes a quotation from Tacitus with regard to the marriages of the Ancient Germans, vague speculations as to the "significance of history," the "great world plan," and the physical geography of the Asiatic continent.

"The great powers of Russia, England, and France see it, and-keep principally watch upon each other, in the fear that he who undertakes to help may himself also seize upon the country. Syria and Palestine stand, in the mean time, exposed to the storm, as now also in Jerusalem the temple of Christ, with its riven cupola and Holy Sepulchre, whilst the Latin and the Greek Church will neither allow the other to repair the damage, from the fear that whichever shall do so will then claim it as his own.

"Such a state of things is not admirable, nor worthy of Christian nations."

Perhaps not-but unless a practical solution of the difficulty can be discovered more likely to prove satisfactory to all parties concerned than would be either a partition of the Ottoman Empire or the handing it over to Russia (as the author's note in page 41 appears to recommend), the Eastern question must remain for an indefinite period in statu quo, a source of continual uneasiness to diplomatists, and a subject deserving the deepest consideration of thoughtful politicians."

From The Press.

POEMS BY A PAINTER.*

THE poetry of a painter will naturally be more minute in its descriptions, more delicate in its shades of color, more characteristic of a perceptive and observant eye, than that of a man who has never cultivated the sister art. The highest poetry is not minutely descriptive, but rather suggestive. The poet's eye sees the whole, but not all. The poet sees the great glory of a regal sunset, but does not try to detect and analyze every shade and tone of its color. He tells you, perhaps, that he has seen in the west the wings of an army of seraphim, and every man colors the accident for himself. Not so the painter. He must catch every tint, every shadow, every nuance. His eye must be microscopic. And thus, when he strives to paint in words, we expect from him greater delicacy and detail.

ultaneously discover a new science, or Lever-
rier and Adams a new planet, there is noth-
ing remarkable if several men at the same
moment attempt to give to poetry greater
delicacy and polish. Moreover, Mr. Tenny-
son would scarcely have been what he is but
for the influence of Shelley and Keats on
the one hand, of Wordsworth and Coleridge
on the other; and these very influences
We do not
must have acted on other men.
imagine our author to have been influenced
directly by Mr. Tennyson. "Syrinx," the
first poem in the volume, reminds us very
much of Keats; but is simpler in style, and
devoid of that luscious overgrowth of epi-
thets which spoilt Keats' earlier writings.
Through the Water" is very beautiful.
Take its first stanza :-

"Lower and lower sinks the weary moon
Towards the vapory bar.

Higher and higher soars the morning star
Through the flushed heaven of June.
The east grows pale-it will be morning soon!
Up through the gusty sound,

Each with his glimmering foam-wreath
crowned,

The ocean waves come ramping, Ramping and rolling with haughty roar, Line after line, in the wan moonshine,

Like an army of heroes proudly tramping
To death on a hostile shore.

And ever the salt winds sob and sigh,
And the sheeted spindrift whistles by,
Like the voice and the tears of agony.
And cold as the breath

Some men, not painters, have written such poetry as we indicate. But this only shows that they might have been painters. The mere elements-the business of palette and brush-they have never learnt; and so there is a painter lost. Poetry has this advantage over the sister arts, that its practice is easily open to everybody. Everybody learns reading and writing, and (except Mr. Bright) English grammar. But mere drawing-mere fingering a piano-mere cutting stone with a chisel-are matters not to be acquired on the instant. Perhaps thiswhich is in one way an advantage to poetry -is in another way a disadvantage. For whereas we find a great many people writing intolerable books of verse, elementary difficulties render far less numerous the intolerable painters and sculptors and composers of music. And the transcendent genius may usually be trusted to conquer all ob- "The long weary wash of the salt, singing

stacles.

Of slander or death

The balmy midnight air has grown,
As I drive fast and free,

With the send of the sea,

With the long weary wash of the salt, singing

sea

The moon in my white sail, the foam-fire a-lee,
In the night of my sorrow, alone."
What can be finer than

sea"?

The author of "Poems by a Painter" One other verse we must quote from this tells us that many of them were written in charming poem :—

very early life. Although written, perhaps, before Mr. Tennyson's influence was as much felt as it has been for the last twenty years, several of the poems are unmistakably Tennysonian. This may easily be the case without imitation. The Laureate has influenced his age, but he is the product of his age; and if Leibnitz and Newton could sim

Poems by a Painter. Edinburgh: William Blackwood and Sons.

"A purple splendor swathes the mountain

And eastward, eastward strain my yearning | “Under the western star,

eyes

To where beyond the veil of mist,
Stretched like a cloud of faintest amethyst,
Headland and valley, crag and shadowy

cove,

Athwart the track of morn the island lies:
The island that I love!

And there, ah! there

Peace, burning heart within thy crimson deeps;

Thy reign at last is o'er !

Amid the halo of its golden hair
The sweet face sleeps;

Under the low gleams of the crescent moon,
I see his white sail gliding from afar,
In the warm wind of June.

"Blow wind of summer, blow!
Nor linger in the gardens of the west:
Blow, blow; thou bringest all too slow
The loved one to my breast.

"Too slow, my heart, too slow

For thy fond pulses, that tumultuous beat
As they would burst their bounds, and seaward
flow

The pale, sweet face, that I shall see no To clasp him ere we meet.

more!"

These lines are extremely beautiful; instinct with a mystical music suggested by "the salt, singing sea." But perhaps the most exquisite gem among the "Painter's" poems is a brief lyric-" Under the Western Star," with which we conclude our notice :

"Fades the sweet evening light

But starlike in the glow of my delight
In purple splendors of the summer dark;
Glimmers his homeward bark.

Gride on the silver shingle of the shore;
Peace, foolish heart! nor all thy joy reveal
At meeting him once more."

"He comes! I hear his keel

THE ASS AND THE LADDER.-In Biblia Sacra Hebraica (Bibliotheca Sussexiana, vol. i. p. xi.) is the following expression, "May this book not be damaged, neither this day nor forever, until the ass ascends the ladder." Query, the legend? A. W. H.

Page was the judge who tried Savage for murder, whom he seemed anxious to condemn; in[The passage at the end of this manuscript deed, he owned that he had been particularly (Sec. xiii.) reads as follows: "I, Meyer, the severe against him. When decrepit from old son of Rabbi Jacob, the scribe, have finished age, as he passed along from court, a friend inthis book for Rabbi Abraham, the son of Rabbi quired particularly of the state of his health. Nathan, the 5052nd year (A.D. 1292); and he He replied, "My dear sir, you see I keep hanghas bequeathed it to his children and his chil-ing on, hanging on." He died on Dec. 18, 1741, dren's children forever. Amen. Amen. Amen. | aged eighty, at his seat at North Aston in OxSelah. Be strong and strengthened. May this fordshire.-Vide Noble's Biog. History of Engbook not be damaged, neither this day nor for- land, iii. 203.-Notes and Queries. ever, until the Ass ascends the Ladder. Like the Latin phrase of Petronius "asinus in tegulis" (an ass on the housetop), which is supposed to signify something impossible and incredible, the saying "until the ass ascends the ladder," is a proverbial expression among the Rabbins, for what will never take place; e.g., "Si ascenderit asinus per scalas, invenietur sci-held even almost to the famishment of many, entia in mulieribus; "a proposition so uncomplimentary to the superior sex, that we leave it in Buxtorf's Latin.-Notes and Queries.

PAPER MONEY AT LEYDEN.-Mr. Dineley, in his MS. account of the Low Countries, written in 1674, describes the paper money made at the siege of Leyden in 1574, in these words:"During the siege of this city (Leyden), which

they made money of paper, with these devicesHac libertatis ergo; Pugno pro patriâ; Godt behoed Leyden. Some of their pieces remain to this day in the hands of the curious of the University. This siege began a little after Easter, and was raised, and ended the 3d of October, 1574."

Paper in this description must mean pasteboard, for pen-and-ink drawings of these coins are shown in Mr. Dineley's book, about the size of crown-pieces, with a lion crowned, and cross

SIR FRANCIS PAGE was the son of the Vicar of Bloxham in Oxfordshire. He assumed the coif Dec. 14, 1704; became king's sergeant Jan. 26, 1714-15; a baron of the Exchequer May 22, 1718; a justice of the Common Pleas Nov.keys as devices.

4, 1726, and a justice of the King's Bench Is there any instance of this kind of money in Sept. 27, 1727. He always felt a luxury in use in any other country than Holland? condemning a prisoner, which obtained for him THOS. E. WINNINGTON. the epithet of the hanging judge." Treating

-Notes and Queries.

THE LIVING AGE.

No. 932.—12 April, 1862.

PRETRY.

PAGE.

March, 66. Albert the Good, 66. McClellan, 88. Rainy Day in Camp, 89. Donelson, 89. Lady Barbara, 112. Not Comfortless, 112.

SHORT ARTICLES. Horace and the Monitor, 76. Discoveries at Halicarnassus, 76. Library at Brookline, Mass., 88. Anna Seward, 97. Farewell Address, 97. The Soul Made Visible, 103. Second Marriages in Ireland, 106. Lyrical Compositions from Italian Poets, 106. Pronunciation of Proper Names, 106. The Railways or the World, 109. Peace Congress proposed in 1693, 109.

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These to His Memory-since he held them dear,
Perchance as finding there unconsciously
Some image of himself-I dedicate,
I dedicate, I consecrate with tears—
These Idylls.

And indeed He seems to me
Scarce other than my own ideal knight,
"Who reverenced his conscience as his king;
Whose glory was, redressing human wrong;
Who spake no slander, no, nor listened to it;
Who loved one only and who clave to her-"

How awful is the thought of the wonders under-Her-over all whose realms to their last isle,

ground,

Of the mystic changes wrought in the silent, dark profound:

How each thing upward tends by necessity decreed,

And a world's support depends on the shooting

of a seed!

The Summer's in her ark, and this sunny-pinioned day

Is commissioned to remark whether Winter holds her sway;

Go back, thou dove of peace with the myrtle on thy wing,

Say that floods and tempests cease, and the world is ripe for Spring.

Thou hast fanned the sleeping Earth till her dreams are all of flowers,

And the waters look in mirth for their overhanging bowers;

The forest seems to listen for the rustle of its
leaves,

And the very skies to glisten in the hope of
Summer eves.

Thy vivifying spell has been felt beneath the
By the dormouse in its cell, and the mole within

wave,

its cave;

And the Summer tribes that creep, or in air expand their wing,

Have started from their sleep at the summons of the Spring.

The cattle lift their voices from the valleys and the hills,

And the feathered race rejoices with a gush of tuneful bills;

And if this cloudless arch fills the poet's song
with glee,

O thou sunny first of March, be it dedicate to
thee.
HORACE SMITH.

Commingled with the gloom of imminent war,
The shadow of His loss moved like eclipse,
Darkening the world. We have lost Him: He
is gone:

We know him now: all narrow jealousies
Are silent; and we see him as he moved,
How modest, kindly, all-accomplished, wise,
With what sublime repression of himself,
And in what limits, and how tenderly;
Not swaying to this faction or to that;
Not making his high place the lawless perch
Of winged ambitions, nor a vantage-ground
For pleasure; but through all this track of years
Wearing the white flower of a blameless life,
Before a thousand peering littlenesses,
In that fierce light which beats upon a throne,
And blackens every blot: for wliere is he,
Who dares foreshadow for an only son
A lovelier life, a more unstained, than His?
Or how should England dreaming of His sons
Hope more for these than some inheritance
Of such a life, a heart, a mind as thine,
Thus noble Father of her Kings to be,
Laborious for her people and her poor-
Voice in the rich dawn of an ampler day-
Far-sighted summoner of War and Waste
To fruitful strifes and rivalries of peace-
Sweet nature gilded by the gracious gleam
Of letters, dear to Science, dear to Art,
Dear to thy land and ours, a Prince indeed,
Beyond all titles, and a household name,
Hereafter, through all times, Albert the Good.

Break not O woman's heart, still endure;
Break not, for thou art Royal, but endure,
Remembering all the beauty of that star
Which shone so close beside Thee, that ye made
One light together, but has past and left
The Crown a lonely splendor.