dandyism, is Mr. Keeley in a farce, but not the hero of a mournful epic.

The Kabyles, fair-haired descendants, some of them, of the old Vandals, are as brave but a more treacherous and untameable race than the Arabs. We can only afford one instance out of many. A planter who had married a young Spanish lady, resided some distance from Algiers, on his estate. He had in his employ several Europeans, and three Kabyles. The rudeness of the latter he was goodnaturedly resolved to cure by kind treatment. He even went so far as to allow them to sleep in the house, a stretch of confidence which would have made a Turk turn pale simply to think of-the European planter paid dearly for the hospitality which he thus afforded to "everybody." The three Kabyles got up one night, murdered the German servants, cut the throat of the planter, slaughtered the children, and then made love to the terror-stricken wife. After which, they stripped the house, set it on fire, and complacently returned to their mountains with a cart-load of booty, eight murders on their souls, and the consciousness of a summer profitably spent!

A kind French officer, Captain Rozet, who liked to visit the Kabyle labourers in their huts, once proposed to accompany them on a visit to their mountain homes. They received the proposal with an ironical smile, and on being asked by the Captain if his life would be in danger, only answered with an eagerly-grunted "Ah!" as if the very thought made their mouths water. One of these fellows, whose life was saved through the angel-ministrations of the Sisters of Charity, was asked if those ladies would be in peril if they went among the Kabyles in their homes. "They had better stay where they are," was the very satisfactory reply.

The Moors are the citizens who contrast with the tent-dwelling Arabs. They have accustomed themselves to the presence of the French infidel conquerors, and care for little save peace. The Moorish ladies, too, are said to have witnessed the change of dominion in Algiers with wonderful equanimity, -but this feeling is confined to the ladies of the capital who play loto and drink sherbet, to say nothing of cham

pagne, with officers of the Zouaves, Hussars, and Chasseurs d'Afrique.

The Turks have greatly diminished since the overthrow of the Deys. Of their character it is unnecessary to speak. We have already noticed that the Kuruglis are the offspring of Turkish husbands and Moorish wives, and, of course, pure Turks and pure Moors hate this cross-breed with an intensity worthy of a better provocation. Their hatred is not greater for the Jews, who are much the same here as everywhere -money-worshippers if not money

makers.

The Negroes are the black jewels of this district. Even the slaves among them live in a kind of voluntary servitude under masters whose yoke is really light as gossamer. The females are terribly ugly, and, as a consequence, are the only women who walk about unveiled. Yet Moors have married them, just as English judges have married their cooks, for Moors have no prejudice touching colour and amalgamation. They are proverbially faithful, and brave to boot. "When after the Turkish bombardment the Turkish garrison retreated from the Emperor's fort, the Dey sent a Negro to throw a match into the powder magazine, and thus to blow up the citadel. The black faithfully obeyed the order of his master, and was buried beneath the ruins."

Not the least singular people of this district are the Beni-Mozab, or Mozabites, whom the Rabbis declare to be descendants of Moab, and who are undoubtedly of Jewish descent. Crime is rare among them, and love-making eternal. They "easily fall in love,' says Dr. Wagner; and then there ensues something like a scene in a ballet. Elopements follow a proper overture; pursuit follows; village is at feud with village, a general uproar ensues, but peace is at last established by the talebs, or doctors, who enter before the curtain falls, to join hands generally, and spread benediction over the final tableau. It is singular that there is as much dislike among them to be elected to the office of chief as there is among the higher class of city men to be Lord Mayor.

The emigration of the tribe to Africa is accounted for on the ground of the persecution which they endured in the closing period of the Hebrew monarchy.

The Arabs hold of them a tradition respecting an incestuous origin, and biblical Semitic names are common among them, such as Ben-Elam, BenJudah, and others; "and the peculiar exclusion of the Mozabites from the mosques of Algiers, though they are Mahommedans, reminds us of the old law of the Hebrews which excluded Moab from the community of God." The author thus sums up the character of this remarkable people: "Simplicity, frankness, meekness, piety without fanaticism, calmness blended with energy, intelligence, and industrious habits, distinguish this interesting people of the republic of the Desert, which is probably one of the happiest tribes in the world."

The historical portion of the volume is excellently drawn up. We pass over the early incidents and come to the opening of the sixteenth century, at which time Algiers was an independent state, threatened by the Spaniards. A Sicilian renegade, Horuk Barbarossa, was hired to overthrow the Spaniards, and that personage not only did so, but the Algerian government too, murdering all who opposed him, and finally reigning supreme, with a little aid from Turkey, for whose soldiers and pasha Algiers paid tribute, until the office of pasha was abolished and the troops had the right, not only of electing their own Dey (or, uncle), but to recognise in him their legitimate sovereign. This right, and that of murdering their monarchs, they exercised for one hundred and twenty years, until the last and unlucky Dey slapped the French consul's ears with a fan, to punish that functionary for rudely answering him on being asked why Charles X. had not replied to a letter addressed to him by the Dey.

The elections were sometimes attended by much bloodshed, indeed a peaceable election was never known. The details are so atrocious that they seem to have bewildered Mr. Pulszky or Dr. Wagner; for while, at p. 38, he tells us that on one occasion five Deys were elected and murdered in one day, we find, at page 221, that the five have grown into seven, with a warrant that the graves of all are yet to be seen "before the gate Bab al Uad." But, whether five or seven, the consequent difficulty was cleverly got over. As soon as one unhappy

individual had been elected by one half of the soldiery he was murdered by the other, who immediately chose a new Dey, whose throat was instantly cut by the opposing militia, and both parties, Deys elect and actual included, protested against the disregard paid to purity of election. At length, when five, or seven, had thus been sacrificed in the course of one afternoon, the adverse parties consented to a compromise. They agreed to walk in procession to the grand mosque, and to choose the first man whom they saw issuing from its gates. Away they went, and as they came in sight of the building, the most hilarious of cobblers stepped from within, across the portal. They rushed upon him, and made him serious in a minute, by informing him of the greatness to which, "will he, nill he," he was about to be elevated. To decline it was only to lie in the same bed that night with the other Deys, and thereupon the cobbler bethought himself for an instant, contemplated the matter philosophically, and finally stripping off his apron, accepted the brilliant but sharp-edged grandeur that was offered him. The soldiery flung a robe over him, hoisted him on a scarlet cushion, and proclaimed his enthronement through the orthodox voice of the muezzins. The choice turned out a lucky one. Crispin proved to be as good a sovereign as if he had served apprenticeship to that instead of to a humbler, but, in its way, as useful a calling. "He was one of the best Deys Algeria had ever seen. He had the five Deys buried close to one another, and built five monuments in their remembrance, in form of five minarets, of oblong slender form, richly ornamented with marble and porcelain. But the French soldiers," it is added, "have greatly defaced those handsome monuments.'

One of the greatest mistakes committed by Bourmont after the French conquest (by the way, all idea of "conquest" was solemnly repudiated by the French government,) was in decreeing the expulsion of the Turks. He fancied that the Arabs would be the natural allies of France, and that their resistance was organised by the Turks. It was long before the effects of this error ceased to be felt. Duke of Rovigo was as unwise with respect to the Moors, imposing cruel

The

contributions on them, and levying them by force. Here is a scene enacted during the bloody drama of Savary's administration. It is only necessary to premise that in April 1832 an embassy from a great Arab chief, Farbat ben Said, arrived at Algiers to urge on the Duke an attack on the city of Constantine, and to promise aid in the shape of 10,000 men. The Duke received and dismissed the legates with much pomp and cordiality.

Farbat's ambassadors left Algiers laden with rich presents. They had, among other gifts, received red bournouses of honour, embroidered with gold, such as the Deys were wont to bestow upon mighty chiefs. A few hours from town they were plundered by Arabs of the tribe El Uffia, and robbed of their red bournouses. They returned to Algiers, complaining to the Duke, who just then chanced to have an evening party, and had gambled and taken wine. He rashly gave the order to one of the generals, a guest at the party, immediately to start with some troops and destroy the tribe. The general took the order literally. For this sudden attack he chose two corps of the army most notorious for their cruelty, the Foreign Legion and the Chasseurs d'Afrique. In the dead of night he surrounded the encampment of the El Uffia, which lay in the neighbourhood of the fortified Maison Carrée, and slaughtered the whole population,-old men silently awaiting the death-blow, women crying for mercy, and children who did not know what was to

befal them, were unmercifully slain by the sabre and the bayonet. The soldiers returned with rich booty, carrying in triumph gory heads on the tops of their lances and bayonets to the camp. There they feasted and revelled until the next night in an inhuman way; not one of them seemed to repent their horrid deed.

This crime was, however, not unequalled in atrocity by that inhuman act of Pellisier, who, unable to over

come a tribe of men, women, and children whom he was besieging in a cavern, kindled a huge fire at the entrance and roasted the whole alive!

Savary's administration was disgraced by another act of blood,-one not unnatural to one of the judicial murderers of the Duke d'Enghein. He was much annoyed by the opposition made against him by Ben Mussa Kaid of the Beni Khalil, and Messand Kaid of the Beni Sibt. To get these two active enemies into his hands he sent them a friendly invitation, and despatched with it a safe conduct both for going and coming. On faith in this the Arabs repaired to Algiers, where Savary seized upon them, forced them to undergo a mock trial, and beheaded both!

The chief cause of the ill-success of the French as colonists in Algiers, has been the sudden and frequent changes of

governors and of systems. But we have not space to discuss this matter; and, moreover, it is ably treated in the volume before us. Of that volume we must now take leave. Its uses are far beyond what its title implies, and, if "book-making" were not a term which implied reproach rather than panegyric, we should be inclined to describe it as the most successful example of "book-making" we had ever

met with. The fact is that it is not a mere matter of "scissors and paste;" the mind has been as busily employed as the hand; and we may add, that as the Pulszkys in "White, Red, and Black," produced the best work on America which has of late years issued from the press, so has Francis Pulszky, in "The Tricolor on the Atlas," compiled the most satisfactory and complete work on Algeria that has ever been published.

IN connection with the subject of the extension of the metropolis during the last century, I propose to give some account of the river Fleet, which, now, like most of the old watercourses of London, has almost a mythical existence. A century ago, and even within that time, this stream was open from its source at Hampstead, to its

influx into the Thames at Blackfriars, with trifling exceptions. Thirty years ago half that length was visible, the nearest point being at the prison in Coldbath Fields. A few years more, and the same necessity which compelled its being veiled from public view thus far, will probably cause it to be utterly hidden, excepting only the little brook

lets which run directly from the springs.

Of all the streams which ran into the Thames through the heart of London, this was by far the most important, and the immense space it directly influences would scarcely be believed, except by those acquainted with it. On all sides, in its progress through London, which is directly north and south, it presents natural geographical marks of so strong and imposing a character, that it is quite impossible to travel east and west without coming in contact with them; and these indications divide the metropolis, as nearly as possible, into two equal parts. Indeed the declivities which accompany its course throughout, constitute the most remarkable natural feature in the metropolis.

The Fleet river has an importance in London's history: it was without doubt the earliest western boundary, and a military protection to the first Roman colony. It has also an importance in its social history, for the changes that have taken place upon its banks have been eras in our civilisation. Of later times, its history and its waters have been both polluted streams. The "sweet waters" which once supplied the citizens with beverage, became, as population increased, a muddy turbid pool, often doubtless a source of pestilence and death; and, as if a moral taint was conveyed by its deadly mi asma, its banks have been the haunts of the outcast and the hunted-down of society. Many a deed of blood has been washed away in its dark tide, and many an unknown horror has it helped to conceal. It seems even now that a

blasting influence hangs upon its course, for many suburban villas, erected not much more than thirty years ago upon its banks, have already faded into dank squalor. The names of the streets in the older part of the metropolis on its sides are curiously suggestive, whilst the antagonisms they present to their present condition are ridiculously absurd. "Field Lane," for instance, which has been exposed by the proposed continuation of Farringdon Street, when King Richard III. saw the

strawberries of the Bishop of Ely's garden growing on its slopes, was probably a rustic alley, and led into fields. Saffron Hill, its continuation, at the same time might be yellow with that plant; whilst Hatton Garden, Hatton Wall, and Ely Place, mark out the site of this ancient episcopal retreat, which Queen Elizabeth procured for her "dancing Chancellor." And beautiful, indeed, must the river have been as its rushing waters winded between the steep acclivities of its banks. Even now, covered as they are by buildings, the course is extremely picturesque; what must it have been when the undulations were green and pleasant fields-now unfortunately so distant for the Londoners to attain !

I shall give some account of the sources and the course of this stream, but must first allude to the different names it has borne-Fleet River, River of Wells, Turnmill Brook, Fleet Ditch

the latter, of course, representing the river in its fallen state. The name River of Wells referred to the number of wells or springs it received; Turnmill Brook, to the purpose to which a portion of it was applied.

The name Fleet originally belonged only to the wider portion near the Thames; for it is not derived, as might be imagined, from the rapidity of the stream, but from its being a piece of water where vessels might ride at anchor.* The term is applied to many inlets of the Thames and the Medway; and it has conferred a name upon two villages on the banks of the formerNorthfleet and Southfleet.

The several sources which give origin to the river Fleet have their rise in the most picturesque and beautiful spots in the neighbourhood of the metropolis. The hills of Hampstead and Highgate have long been famed for their salubrity, the prospects they afford of the vale of London, and their charming walks, presenting almost every variety of feature of which a landscape is capable. But of the many thousands that visit Hampstead Heath, perhaps not one in every thousand is acquainted with the quiet secluded lane in

GENT. MAG. VOL. XLIII.

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the rear of Ken Wood, the residence of Lord Mansfield; and where the most important of the springs which supplied the Fleet are found. It is rare to find even two or three persons in it, and is evidently unknown to the majority, or else despised for the more open attractions of the Heath. We will suppose ourselves leaving the latter and proceeding towards Highgate: after a distance of about half a mile, we turn on the left by Lord Mansfield's, and passing through a gate, enter a meadow by a footpath at its side, and find ourselves in a charming spot, shut in on all sides. On the east is the crested hill of Highgate; on the north, the woods of Lord Mansfield's park, the field sloping gently down to the south; and above the trees, which compose themselves ready for the artist's hand, appears the distant metropolis, with its numerous spires and tall chimneys rising above the mass of buildings, and all o'ercrowned by the dome of St. Paul's cathedral. The quiet is delicious, though so near the busy hum of men; and, if we have chosen a fine autumn day, when the season begins to wane, there is such a glorious variety of foliage in every shade, from the deep red-brown to the bright yellow, and these set off here and there by the evergreen holly, that it is scarcely possible to behold else where within so small a space more sylvan beauty.

Keeping the footpath by the side of the meadows, close to the palings of Lord Mansfield's grounds, we find a gradual descent, which conducts to a lane having its exit on Highgate Hill. On the left of this path is a hedge-row of trees in great variety, and assuming most picturesque combinations; among them may be noticed two of the holly, of considerable and unusual size. We now come to where "a willow grows aslant a brook," and almost immediately beneath its roots there gurgles forth from the bank a little streamlet; it is one of the sources of the Fleet. The scene makes a very pretty bit-to use an artist's phrase; but the brook is soon lost under a small arch, which conveys it into the inclosures to a reservoir, the first of seven ponds, which succeed each other at different levels, in a southern direction. Continuing our walk, we arrive at another brook crossing the road in the same

manner, and for a similar purpose. The gap by which it issues is even more picturesque than the other; a large ash-tree, with most fantastic roots, grows close over the little stream; but this is not the source, which is higher up in the fields nearer to Highgate. Another stream issues from the inclosure of Ken Wood, and these three springs form the most important of the river's sources. All three are used to fill the seven reservoirs before alluded to, which were formed for a water supply; from which proceeds a small stream carrying off the redundant water, which is very trifling except in wet seasons, running nearly parallel to the road leading to Kentish Town.

But there is another important spring which belongs to the Fleet. This comes from the Vale of Health on Hampstead Heath. Passing thence on the slope of the Heath to the southeast side, it runs in a little channel, until, like the other, it is received into reservoirs. The sides of this channel are lined with elms, which dispose themselves in an exceedingly picturesque line, well known to the sketcher; but, after passing into the reservoir, the water is conveyed by pipes from one pond to another, and the natural course of the stream is not visible until it finds a much lower level, meandering through the fields between Haverstock Hill and Kentish Town. Here the channel is much wider and deep, and has very rugged sides, denoting that a watercourse of considerable rapidity and volume has at one time been accustomed to flow in it. Now there is scarcely any water at all, except after rains, as the reservoirs arrest nearly all that comes from the springs. On the banks are a number of old stunted willows, of most grotesque and fantastic forms, and, when these fields a few years since were far from the clink of the trowel, they often became subjects for the artist's pencil.

Following the line of the stream, we soon come to a bend towards Kentish Town, and before it takes this direction it receives the sewerage of Haverstock Hill, and hence, until it disappears, is a filthy, fetid stream, offensive to the smell, and without doubt most injurious to the health of the inhabitants of Kentish Town who live in the vicinity of its noxious effluvia.