entitles this vast barrier to be considered in a geographical point of
view, as it bounds the whole north of China along the frontiers of three
provinces. It was built by the first universal Monarch of China, and
finished about 205 years before Christ: the period of its completion is
an historical fact, as authentic as any of those which the annals of
ancient kingdoms have transmitted to posterity. It was built to defend
the Chinese Empire from the incursions of the Tartars, and is calculated
to be 1500 miles in length. The rapidity with which this work was
completed is as astonishing as the wall itself, for it is said to have
been done in five years, by many millions of labourers, the Emperor
pressing three men out of every ten, in his dominions, for its
execution. For about the distance of 200 leagues, it is generally built
of stone and brick, with strong square towers, sufficiently near for
mutual defence, and having besides, at every important pass, a
formidable and well-built fortress. In many places, in this line and
extent, the wall is double, and even triple; but from the province of
Can-sih to its eastern extremity, it is nothing but a terrace of earth,
of which the towers on it are also constructed. The Great Wall, which
has now, even in its best parts, numerous breaches, is made of two walls
of brick and masonry, not above a foot and a half in thickness, and
generally many feet apart; the interval between them is filled up with
earth, making the whole appear like solid masonry and brickwork. For
six or seven feet from the earth, these are built of large square
stones; the rest is of blue brick, the mortar used in which is of
excellent quality. The wall itself averages about 20 feet in height, 25
feet in thickness at the base, which diminishes to 15 feet at the
platform, where there is a parapet wall; the top is gained by stairs and
inclined planes. The towers are generally about 40 feet square at the
base, diminishing to 30 feet a the top, and are, including battlements,
37 feet in height. At some spots the towers consist of two stories, and
are thus much higher. The wall is in many places carried over the tops
of the highest and most rugged rocks; and one of these elevated regions
is 5000 feet above the level of the sea.
[Illustration: MILITARY MANDARIN.]
[Illustration: THE GREAT WALL OF CHINA.]
Near each of the gates is a village or town; and at one of the principal
gates, which opens on the road towards India, is situated Sinning-fu, a
city of large extent and population. Here the wall is said to be
sufficiently broad at the top to admit six horsemen abreast, who might
without inconvenience ride a race. The esplanade on its top is much
frequented by the inhabitants, and the stairs which give ascent are very
broad and convenient.
[Illustration: CHINESE SOLDIER.]
* * * * *
THE TOMBS OF PAUL AND VIRGINIA.
[Illustration: Letter T.]
This delicious retreat in the island of Mauritius has no claims to the
celebrity it has attained. It is not the burial-place of Paul and
Virginia; and the author of "Recollections of the Mauritius" thus
endeavours to dispel the illusion connected with the spot:--
[Illustration: TOMBS OF PAUL AND VIRGINIA.]
"After having allowed his imagination to depict the shades of Paul and
Virginia hovering about the spot where their remains repose--after
having pleased himself with the idea that he had seen those celebrated
tombs, and given a sigh to the memory of those faithful lovers,
separated in life, but in death united--after all this waste of
sympathy, he learns at last that he has been under a delusion the whole
time--that no Virginia was there interred--and that it is a matter of
doubt whether there ever existed such a person as Paul! What a pleasing
illusion is then dispelled! How many romantic dreams, inspired by the
perusal of St. Pierre's tale, are doomed to vanish when the truth is
ascertained! The fact is, that these tombs have been built to gratify
the eager desire which the English have always evinced to behold such
interesting mementoes. Formerly only one was erected; but the proprietor
of the place, finding that all the English visitors, on being conducted
to this, as the tomb of Virginia, always asked to see that of Paul also,
determined on building a similar one, to which he gave that appellation.
Many have been the visitors who have been gratified, consequently, by
the conviction that they had looked on the actual burial-place of that
unfortunate pair. These 'tombs' are scribbled over with the names of the
various persons who have visited them, together with verses and pathetic
ejaculations and sentimental remarks. St. Pierre's story of the lovers
is very prettily written, and his description of the scenic beauties of
the island are correct, although not even his pen can do full justice to
them; but there is little truth in the tale. It is said that there was
indeed a young lady sent from the Mauritius to France for education,
during the time that Monsieur de la Bourdonnais was governor of the
colony--that her name was Virginia, and that she was shipwrecked in the
_St. Geran_. I heard something of a young man being attached to her, and
dying of grief for her loss; but that part of the story is very
doubtful. The 'Bay of the Tomb,' the 'Point of Endeavour,' the 'Isle of
Amber,' and the 'Cape of Misfortune,' still bear the same names, and are
pointed out as the memorable spots mentioned by St. Pierre."
[Illustration: Letter O.]
Oh! gentle story of the Indian Isle!
I loved thee in my lonely childhood well,
On the sea-shore, when day's last purple smile
Slept on the waters, and their hollow swell
And dying cadence lent a deeper spell
Unto thine ocean pictures. 'Midst thy palms
And strange bright birds my fancy joy'd to dwell,
And watch the southern Cross through midnight calms,
And track the spicy woods. Yet more I bless'd
Thy vision of sweet love--kind, trustful, true--
Lighting the citron-groves--a heavenly guest--
With such pure smiles as Paradise once knew.
Even then my young heart wept o'er this world's power,
To reach and blight that holiest Eden flower.
MRS. HEMANS.
* * * * *
THE MANGOUSTE.
The Mangoustes, or Ichneumons, are natives of the hotter parts of the
Old World, the species being respectively African and Indian. In their
general form and habits they bear a great resemblance to the ferrets,
being bold, active, and sanguinary, and unrelenting destroyers of birds,
reptiles, and small animals, which they take by surprise, darting
rapidly upon them. Beautiful, cleanly, and easily domesticated, they are
often kept tame in the countries they naturally inhabit, for the purpose
of clearing the houses of vermin, though the poultry-yard is not safe
from their incursions.
The Egyptian mangouste is a native of North Africa, and was deified for
its services by the ancient Egyptians. Snakes, lizards, birds,
crocodiles newly hatched, and especially the eggs of crocodiles,
constitute its food. It is a fierce and daring animal, and glides with
sparkling eyes towards its prey, which it follows with snake-like
progression; often it watches patiently for hours together, in one spot,
waiting the appearance of a mouse, rat, or snake, from its
lurking-place. In a state of domestication it is gentle and
affectionate, and never wanders from the house or returns to an
independent existence; but it makes itself familiar with every part of
the premises, exploring every hole and corner, inquisitively peeping
into boxes and vessels of all kinds, and watching every movement or
operation.
[Illustration: THE MANGOUSTE.]
The Indian mangouste is much less than the Egyptian, and of a beautiful
freckled gray. It is not more remarkable for its graceful form and
action, than for the display of its singular instinct for hunting for
and stealing eggs, from which it takes the name of egg-breaker. Mr.
Bennett, in his account of one of the mangoustes kept in the Tower,
says, that on one occasion it killed no fewer than a dozen full-grown
rats, which were loosened to it in a room sixteen feet square, in less
than a minute and a half.
Another species of the mangouste, found in the island of Java,
inhabiting the large teak forests, is greatly admired by the natives for
its agility. It attacks and kills serpents with excessive boldness. It
is very expert in burrowing in the ground, which process it employs
ingeniously in the pursuit of rats. It possesses great natural sagacity,
and, from the peculiarities of its character, it willingly seeks the
protection of man. It is easily tamed, and in its domestic state is very
docile and attached to its master, whom it follows like a dog; it is
fond of caresses, and frequently places itself erect on its hind legs,
regarding every thing that passes with great attention. It is of a very
restless disposition, and always carries its food to the most retired
place to consume it, and is very cleanly in its habits; but it is
exclusively carnivorous and destructive to poultry, employing great
artifice in surprising chickens.
* * * * *
CULLODEN.
[Illustration: Letter C.]
Culloden Moor--the battle-field--lies eastward about a mile from
Culloden House. After an hour's climbing up the heathy brae, through a
scattered plantation of young trees, clambering over stone dykes, and
jumping over moorland rills and springs, oozing from the black turf and
streaking its sombre surface with stripes of green, we found ourselves
on the table-land of the moor--a broad, bare level, garnished with a few
black huts, and patches of scanty oats, won by patient industry from the
waste. We should premise, however, that there are some fine glimpses of
rude mountain scenery in the course of the ascent. The immediate
vicinage of Culloden House is well wooded; the Frith spreads finely in
front; the Ross-shire hills assume a more varied and commanding aspect;
and Ben Wyvis towers proudly over his compeers, with a bold pronounced
character. Ships were passing and re-passing before us in the Frith, the
birds were singing blithely overhead, and the sky was without a cloud.
Under the cheering influence of the sun, stretched on the warm,
blooming, and fragrant heather, we gazed with no common interest and
pleasure on this scene.
On the moor all is bleak and dreary--long, flat, wide, unvarying. The
folly and madness of Charles and his followers, in risking a battle on
such ground, with jaded, unequal forces, half-starved, and deprived of
rest the preceding night, has often been remarked, and is at one glance
perceived by the spectator. The Royalist artillery and cavalry had full
room to play, for not a knoll or bush was there to mar their murderous
aim. Mountains and fastnesses were on the right, within a couple of
hours' journey, but a fatality had struck the infatuated bands of
Charles; dissension and discord were in his councils; and a power
greater than that of Cumberland had marked them for destruction. But a
truce to politics; the grave has closed over victors and vanquished:
"Culloden's dread echoes are hush'd on the moors;"
and who would awaken them with the voice of reproach, uttered over the
dust of the slain? The most interesting memorials of the contest are
the green grassy mounds which mark the graves of the slain Highlanders,
and which are at once distinguished from the black heath around by the
freshness and richness of their verdure. One large pit received the
Frasers, and another was dug for the Macintoshes.
_Highland Note-Book_.
[Illustration]
* * * * *
ATHENS.
The most striking object in Athens is the Acropolis, or Citadel--a rock
which rises abruptly from the plain, and is crowned with the Parthenon.
This was a temple dedicated to the goddess Minerva, and was built of the
hard white marble of Pentelicus. It suffered from the ravages of war
between the Turks and Venetians, and also more recently in our own time.
The remnant of the sculptures which decorated the pediments, with a
large part of the frieze, and other interesting remains, are now in what
is called the Elgin collection of the British Museum. During the embassy
of Lord Elgin at Constantinople, he obtained permission from the Turkish
government to proceed to Athens for the purpose of procuring casts from
the most celebrated remains of sculpture and architecture which still
existed at Athens. Besides models and drawings which he made, his
Lordship collected numerous pieces of Athenian sculpture in statues,
capitals, cornices, &c., and these he very generously presented to the
English Government, thus forming a school of Grecian art in London, to
which there does not at present exist a parallel. In making this
collection he was stimulated by seeing the destruction into which these
remains were sinking, through the influence of Turkish barbarism. Some
fine statues in the Parthenon had been pounded down for mortar, on
account of their affording the whitest marble within reach, and this
mortar was employed in the construction of miserable huts. At one period
the Parthenon was converted into a powder magazine by the Turks, and in
consequence suffered severely from an explosion in 1656, which carried
away the roof of the right wing.
[Illustration: ATHENS.]
At the close of the late Greek war Athens was in a dreadful state, being
little more than a heap of ruins. It was declared by a Royal ordinance
of 1834 to be the capital of the new kingdom of Greece, and in the
March of that year the King laid the foundation-stone of his palace
there. In the hill of Areopagus, where sat that famous tribunal, we may
still discover the steps cut in the rock by which it was ascended, the
seats of the judges, and opposite to them those of the accuser and
accused. This hill was converted into a burial-place for the Turks, and
is covered with their tombs.
Ancient of days! august Athena! where,
Where are thy men of might--thy grand in soul?
Gone, glimmering through the dream of things that were--
First in the race that led to Glory's goal;
They won, and passed away. Is this the whole?
A schoolboy's tale, the wonder of an hour!
The warrior's weapon and the sophist's stole
Are sought in vain, and o'er each mouldering tower,
Dim with the mist of years, gray flits the shade of power.
Here let me sit, upon this massy stone,
The marble column's yet unshaken base;
Here, son of Saturn, was thy fav'rite throne--
Mightiest of many such! Hence let me trace
The latent grandeur of thy dwelling-place.
It may not be--nor ev'n can Fancy's eye
Restore what time hath labour'd to deface:
Yet these proud pillars, claiming sigh,
Unmoved the Moslem sits--the light Greek carols by.
BYRON.
[Illustration: THE PNYX AT ATHENS.]
* * * * *
THE ISLES OF GREECE.
[Illustration: Letter T.]
The Isles of Greece! the Isles of Greece!
Where burning Sappho loved and sung--
Where grew the arts of war and peace,
Where Delos rose and Phoebus sprung!
Eternal summer gilds them yet,
But all except their sun is set.
The Scian and the Teian muse,
The hero's harp, the lover's lute,
Have found the fame your shores refuse;
Their place of birth alone is mute,
To sounds which echo further west
Than your sires' "Islands of the Blest."
The mountains look on Marathon--
And Marathon looks on the sea;
And musing there an hour alone,
I dream'd that Greece might still be free;
For standing on the Persian's grave,
I could not deem myself a slave.
A King sat on the rocky brow,
Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis;
And ships by thousands lay below,
And men in nations--all were his!
He counted them at break of day--
And when the sun set, where were they?
And where were they? and where art thou,
My country? On thy voiceless shore
The heroic lay is tuneless now--
The heroic bosom beats no more!
And must thy lyre, so long divine,
Degenerate into hands like mine?
'Tis something, in the dearth of fame,
Though link'd among a fetter'd race,
To feel at least a patriot's shame,
Even as I sing, suffuse my face;
For what is left the poet here?
For Greeks a blush--for Greece a tear.
Must _we_ but weep o'er days more blest?
Must _we_ but blush?--Our fathers bled
Earth! render back from out thy breast
A remnant of our Spartan dead!
Of the three hundred grant but three,
To make a new Thermopylae!
What! silent still? and silent all?
Ah! no!--the voices of the dead
Sound like a distant torrent's fall,
And answer, "Let one living head--
But one--arise! we come, we come!"
'Tis but the living who are dumb.
In vain--in vain: strike other chords;
Fill high the cup with Samian wine!
Leave battles to the Turkish hordes,
And shed the blood of Scio's vine!
Hark! rising to the ignoble call--
How answers each bold Bacchanal?
You have the Pyrrhic dance as yet;
Where is the Pyrrhic phalanx gone?
Of two such lessons, why forget
The nobler and the manlier one?
You have the letters Cadmus gave--
Think ye he meant them for a slave?
Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!
We will not think of themes like these!
It made Anacreon's song divine;
He served--but served Polycrates--
A tyrant: but our masters then
Were still at least our countrymen.
The tyrant of the Chersonese
Was freedom's best and bravest friend--
That tyrant was Miltiades!
Oh! that the present hour would lend
Another despot of the kind!
Such chains as his were sure to bind.
Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!
On Suli's rock and Perga's shore
Exists the remnant of a line
Such as the Doric mothers bore;
And there, perhaps, some seed is sown,
The Heracleidian blood might own.
Trust not for freedom to the Franks--
They have a King who buys and sells;
In native swords and native ranks,
The only hope of courage dwells:
But Turkish force and Latin fraud
Would break your shield, however broad.
Fill high the bowl with Samian wine!
Our virgins dance beneath the shade--
I see their glorious black eyes shine;
But gazing on each glowing maid,
My own the burning tear drop laves,
To think such breasts must suckle slaves!
Place me on Sunium's marble steep,
Where nothing, save the waves and I,
May hear our mutual murmurs sweep;
There swan-like let me sing and die:
A land of slaves shall ne'er be mine--
Dash down yon cup of Samian wine!
BYRON.
[Illustration: CORINTH.]
* * * * *
THE SIEGE OF ANTIOCH.
[Illustration: Letter B.]
Baghasihan, the Turkish Prince, or Emir of Antioch, had under his
command an Armenian of the name of Phirouz, whom he had entrusted with
the defence of a tower on that part of the city wall which overlooked
the passes of the mountains. Bohemund, by means of a spy, who had
embraced the Christian religion, and to whom he had given his own name
at baptism, kept up a daily communication with this captain, and made
him the most magnificent promises of reward if he would deliver up his
post to the Crusaders. Whether the proposal was first made by Bohemund
or by the Armenian, is uncertain, but that a good understanding soon
existed between them is undoubted; and a night was fixed for the
execution of the project. Bohemund communicated the scheme to Godfrey
and the Count of Toulouse, with the stipulation that, if the city were
won, he, as the soul of the enterprise, should enjoy the dignity of
Prince of Antioch. The other leaders hesitated: ambition and jealousy
prompted them to refuse their aid in furthering the views of the
intriguer. More mature consideration decided them to acquiesce, and
seven hundred of the bravest knights were chosen for the expedition, the
real object of which, for fear of spies, was kept a profound secret from
the rest of the army.
[Illustration: ANTIOCH.]
Everything favoured the treacherous project of the Armenian captain,
who, on his solitary watch-tower, received due intimation of the
approach of the Crusaders. The night was dark and stormy: not a star was
visible above; and the wind howled so furiously as to overpower all
other sounds. The rain fell in torrents, and the watchers on the towers
adjoining to that of Phirouz could not hear the tramp of the armed
knights for the wind, nor see them for the obscurity of the night and
the dismalness of the weather. When within bow-shot of the walls,
Bohemund sent forward an interpreter to confer with the Armenian. The
latter urged them to make haste and seize the favourable interval, as
armed men, with lighted torches, patrolled the battlements every
half-hour, and at that instant they had just passed. The chiefs were
instantly at the foot of the wall. Phirouz let down a rope; Bohemund
attached to it a ladder of hides, which was then raised by the Armenian,
and held while the knights mounted. A momentary fear came over the
spirits of the adventurers, and every one hesitated; at last Bohemund,
encouraged by Phirouz from above, ascended a few steps on the ladder,
and was followed by Godfrey, Count Robert of Flanders, and a number of
other knights. As they advanced, others pressed forward, until their
weight became too great for the ladder, which, breaking, precipitated
about a dozen of them to the ground, where they fell one upon the other,
making a great clatter with their heavy coats of mail. For a moment they
thought all was lost; but the wind made so loud a howling, as it swept
in fierce gusts through the mountain gorges, and the Orontes, swollen by
the rain, rushed so noisily along, that the guards heard nothing. The
ladder was easily repaired, and the knights ascended, two at a time, and
reached the platform in safety. When sixty of them had thus ascended,
the torch of the coming patrol was seen to gleam at the angle of the
wall. Hiding themselves behind a buttress, they awaited his coming in
breathless silence. As soon as he arrived at arm's length, he was
suddenly seized; and before he could open his lips to raise an alarm,
the silence of death closed them up for ever. They next descended
rapidly the spiral staircase of the tower, and, opening the portal,
admitted the whole of their companions. Raymond of Toulouse, who,
cognizant of the whole plan, had been left behind with the main body of
the army, heard at this instant the signal horn, which announced that an
entry had been effected, and advancing with his legions, the town was
attacked from within and from without.
Imagination cannot conceive a scene more dreadful than that presented by
the devoted city of Antioch on that night of horror. The Crusaders
fought with a blind fury, which fanaticism and suffering alike incited.
Men, women, and children were indiscriminately slaughtered, till the
streets ran in gore. Darkness increased the destruction; for, when the
morning dawned the Crusaders found themselves with their swords at the
breasts of their fellow-soldiers, whom they had mistaken to be foes. The
Turkish commander fled, first to the citadel, and, that becoming
insecure, to the mountains, whither he was pursued and slain, and his
gory head brought back to Antioch as a trophy. At daylight the massacre
ceased, and the Crusaders gave themselves up to plunder.
_Popular Delusions_.
* * * * *
ANGLING.
[Illustration: Letter G.]
Go, take thine angle, and with practised line,
Light as the gossamer, the current sweep;
And if thou failest in the calm, still deep,
In the rough eddy may a prize be thine.
Say thou'rt unlucky where the sunbeams shine;
Beneath the shadow where the waters creep
Perchance the monarch of the brook shall leap--
For Fate is ever better than Design.
Still persevere; the giddiest breeze that blows
For thee may blow with fame and fortune rife.
Be prosperous; and what reck if it arose
Out of some pebble with the stream at strife,
Or that the light wind dallied with the boughs:
Thou art successful--such is human life.
DOUBLEDAY.
* * * * *
MARIANA.
Mariana in the moated grange.--_Measure for Measure_.
[Illustration]
With blackest moss the flower-plots
Were thickly crusted, one and all;
The rusted nails fell from the knots
That held the peach to the garden wall.
The broken sheds look'd sad and strange--
Uplifted was the clinking latch,
Weeded and worn the ancient thatch,
Upon the lonely moated grange.
She only said, "My life is dreary--
He cometh not," she said;
She said, "I am aweary, weary,
I would that I were dead!"
Her tears fell with the dews at even--
Her tears fell ere the dews were dried;
She could not look on the sweet heaven,
Either at morn or eventide.
After the flitting of the bats,
When thickest dark did trance the sky,
She drew her casement-curtain by,
And glanced athwart the glooming flats.
She only said, "The night is dreary--
He cometh not," she said;
She said, "I am aweary, weary,
I would that I were dead!"
Upon the middle of the night,
Waking, she heard the night-fowl crow:
The cock sung out an hour ere light;
From the dark fen the oxen's low
Came to her. Without hope of change,
In sleep she seem'd to walk forlorn,
Till cold winds woke the gray-eyed morn
About the lonely moated grange.
She only said, "The day is dreary
He cometh not," she said;
She said, "I am aweary, weary,
I would that I were dead!"
About a stone-cast from the wall
A sluice with blacken'd waters slept;
And o'er it many, round and small,
The cluster'd marish-mosses crept.
Hard by, a poplar shook alway,
All silver-green with gnarled bark;
For leagues, no other tree did dark
The level waste, the rounding gray.
She only said, "My life is dreary--
He cometh not," she said;
She said, "I am aweary, weary,
I would that I were dead!"