THERE is a passage in the preface to one of Joanna Baillie's volumes of plays, in which she speaks of the disadvan tage which any work of art suffers from being seen at the same time with others; and she requests her readers to interpose some three or four days, at least, between the perusal of any two of her dramas. She is, no doubt, right, and we wish we could act on the principle. Still it is one that, in our "hurry work, weary work" line, will not do. Our readers must pass on, as they best can, through a dozen different articles, and in one article we must, if we can, dispose of some half-dozen poets or poetesses. We do not remember that any of our brotherhood have lately written about Henry Taylor or Alfred Tennyson in the DUBLIN UNIVERSITY MAGAZINE. We, ourselves, who are now deputed to execute justice on them, certainly have not; and we are very much in the temper of the critic in Sterne, who, so that he was pleased, did not much care for the whys and the wherefores. Here, then, are some three or four books before us, which we have read with pleasure, and which we cannot lay by without saying a few kindly words in season. And first comes a poem in prose, of which hereafter we must give an account somewhat more formal. It is Aubrey de Vere's "Travels in Greece," a book exceedingly pleasant, and from which more may be learned of what it most imports us to know, than from any book we could name. The state of society in Greece is singularly like that in Ireland; and more lessons of real use to the politician may be learned from this book than any one could suspect. We, of course, speak of society as it exists among the lower and the middle classes of both countries. What makes us class it with poems is, its exceeding beauty of description, in which everything comes to the eye; and still more, the perfectness of the narrative, which

almost reminds us of the graceful simplicity of the Odyssey. De Vere is one of the great poets of our time. In his descriptions, the beauty of single words a landscape expressed often in a word is the most exquisite thing we know in language; but for this the reader must study the book for himself. All we can do at present is to plunder De Vere of an adventure, which is one of the best, and best told stories we have ever read:

"A short time before leaving Constantinople I enjoyed a piece of good fortune which I believe has fallen to the lot of few men. Often as I passed by the garden walls of some rich Pacha, I felt, as every one who visits Constantinople feels, no small desire to penetrate into that mysterious region, his harem, and see something more than the mere exterior of Turkish life. 'The traveller landing at Stamboul complains,' I used to say to myself, of the contrast between its external aspect and the interior of the city; but the real interior, that is, the inside of the houses, the guarded retreats of those veiled forms which one passes in gilded caiques of these he sees nothing.' Fortune favoured my aspirations. I happened to make acquaintance with a young Frenchman, lively, spirited, and confident, who had sojourned at Constantinople for a considerable time, and who bore there the character of prophet, magician, and I know not what beside.

"One day this youth called on me, and mentioned that a chance had befallen him which he should be glad to turn to account, particularly if sure of not making too intimate an acquaintance with the Bosphorus in the attempt. A certain wealthy Turk had applied to him for assistance under very trying domestic circumstances. His favourite wife had lost a precious ring, which had doubtless been stolen either by one of his other wives, under the influence of jealousy, or by a female slave. Would the magician pay a visit to his house, recover the ring, and expose the delinquent? Now,' said he, 'if I once get within the walls, I shall be sure to force my way into the female apartments on some pretence. If I find the ring, all is well; but if not, this Turk will discover that I have been making a fool of him. However,

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as he is a favourite at court, and cannot but know in what flattering estimation I am held there, he will probably treat me with the distinction I deserve. In fine, I will try it. Will you come, too? you can help me in my incantations, which will serve as an excuse.' The proposal was too tempting to be rejected, and at the hour agreed on we set off in such state as we could command (in the East, state is essential to respect), jogging over the rough streets in one of those hearselike carriages without springs, which bring one's bones upon terms of far too intimate a mutual acquaintance.

"We reached at last a gate, which promised little; but ere long we found ourselves in one of those 'high-walled gardens, green and old,' which are among the glories of the East. Passing between rows of orange and lemon-trees, we reached the house, where we were received by a goodly retinue of slaves, and conducted, accompanied by our dragoman, through a long suite of apartinents. In the last of them stood a tall, handsome, and rather youthful man, in splendid attire, who welcomed us with a grave courtesy. We took our seats, and were presented in due form with long pipes, and with coffee, to me far more acceptable. After a sufficient interval of time had passed for the most meditative and abstracted of men to remember his purpose, our host, reminded of what he had apparently forgotten by my companion's conjuring robes, an electrical machine, and other instruments of incantation, which the slaves carried from our carriage, civilly inquired when we intended to commence operations. 'What operations ?' demanded my companion, with much apparent unconcern. "The discovery of the ring.' 'Whenever his highness pleased, and it suited the female part of his household to make their appearance,' was the

answer.

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"At this startling proposition even the Oriental sedateness of our majestic host gave way, and he allowed his astonishment and displeasure to become visible. • Who ever heard,' he demanded, of the wives of a true believer being shown to a stranger, and that stranger an Infidel and a Frank?' As much astonished in our turn, we demanded, 'When a magician had ever been heard of, who could discover a stolen treasure without being confronted either with the person who had lost or the person who had appropriated it?' For at least two hours, though relieved by intervals of silence, the battle was carried on with much occasional vehemence on his part, and on ours with an assumption of perfect indifference. Our host at last, perceiving that our obstinacy was equal to the decrees of fate, retired, as we were informed, to consult his mother on the subject. In a few minutes he returned, and assured us that our proposition was ridiculous; upon which we rose with much dignified displeasure, and moved toward the door, stating that our beards had been made little of. A grave-looking man

who belonged to the household of our host, and occupied apparently a sort of semiecclesiastical position, now interposed, and after some consultation it was agreed that as we were not mere men, but prophets, and infidel saints, an exception might be made in our favour without violation of the Mussulman law; not, indee 1, to the extent of allowing us to profane the inner sanctuary of the harem with our presence, but so far as to admit us into an apartment adjoining it, where the women would be summoned to attend

us.

"Accordingly, we passed through a long suite of rooms, and at last found ourselves in a chamber lofty and large, fanned by a breeze from the Bosphorus, over which its lattices were suspended, skirted by a low divan, covered with carpets and cushions, and invested with purpureal gleams,' by the splendid hangings, through which the light feebly strove. Among a confused heap of crimson pillows and orange drapery, at the remote end of the apartment, sat, or rather reclined, the mother of our reluctant host. I could observe only that she was aged, and lay there as still as if she had belonged to the vegetable, not the human world. Usually, she was half-veiled by the smoke of her long pipe; but when its wreaths chanced to float aside, or grow thin, her dark eyes were fixed upon us with an expression half indifferent and half averse.

"Presently a murmur of light feet was heard in an adjoining chamber; on it moved along the floor of the gailery, and in trooped the company of wives and female slaves. They laughed softly and musically as they entered, but seemed frightened also; and at once raising their shawls, and drawing down their veils, they glided simultaneously into a semicircle, and stood there with hands folded on their breasts. I sat opposite to them drinking coffee, and smoking, or pretending to smoke, a pipe eight feet long: at one side stood the Mollah, and some male members of the household at the other stood the handsome husband, apparently but little contented with the course matters had taken; and my friend, the magician, moved about among the implements of his art, clad in a black gown, spangled with flame-coloured devices, strange enough to strike a bold heart with Beyond the semicircle stood two children, a boy and a girl, holding in their hands twisted rods of barley-sugar about a yard long each, which they sucked assiduously the whole time of our visit. There they stood, mute, and still as statues, with dark eyes fixed, now on us, and now on the extremity of their sugar wands.

awe.

"My companion commenced operations by displaying a number of conjuring tricks, intended to impress all present with the loftiest opinion of his powers, and stopped every now and then to make his dragoman explain that it would prove in vain to endeavour to deceive a being endowed with such gifts. To

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these expositions the women apparently paid but litle attention; but the conjuring feats delighted them, and again and again they laughed, until, literally, the head of each dropped on her neighbour's shoulder. After a time the husband, who alone had never appeared the least entertained, interposed, and asked the conjuror whether he had yet discovered the guilty party? With the utmost coolness my friend replied, Certainly not; how could he, while his highness's wives continued veiled? This new demand created new confusion and a long debate; I thought, however, that the women seemed rather to advocate our cause. The husband, the Mollah, and the mother again consulted, and in another moment the veils had dropped, and the beauty of many an eastern nation stood before us revealed.

"Four of these unveiled Orientals were, as we were informed, wives, and six were slaves. The former were beautiful indeed, though beautiful in different degrees, and in various styles of beauty of the latter, two only. They were all of them tall, slender, and darkeyed, shadowing high beauty in their airy brows,' and uniting a mystical with a luxurious expression, like that of Sibyls who had been feasting with Cleopatra. There was something to me strange, as well as lovely, in their aspect-as strange as their condition, which seems a state half-way between marriage and widowhood. They see no man except their husband; and a visit from him (expect in the case of the favourite), is a rare and marvellous occurrence, like an eclipse of the sun. Their bearing toward each other was that of sisters; in their movements I remarked an extraordinary sympathy, which was the more striking on account of their rapid transitions from the extreme of alarm to child-like wonder, and again to boundless mirth.

"The favourite wife was a Circassian, and a fairer vision it would not be easy to see. Intellectual in expression she could hardly be called; yet she was full of dignity, as well as of pliant grace and of sweetness. Her large black eyes, beaming with a soft and stealthy radiance, seemed as if they would have yielded light in the darkness; and the heavy waves of her hair, which, in the excitement of the tumultuous scene, she carelessly flung over her shoulders, gleamed like a mirror. Her complexion was the most exquisite I have ever seen; its smooth and pearly purity being tinged with a colour, unlike that of flower or of fruit, of bud, or of berry, but which reminded me of the vivid and delicate tints which sometimes streak the inside of a shell. Though tall, she seemed as light as if she had been an embodied cloud, hovering over the rich carpets, like a child that does not feel the weight of its body; and though stately in the intervals of rest, her mirth was a sort of rapture. She, too, had that peculiar luxuriousness of aspect, in no degree opposed to modesty, which belongs to the

East; around her lips was wreathed, in their stillness, an expression at once pleasurable and pathetic, which seemed ever ready to break forth into a smile; her hands seemed to leave with regret whatever they had rested on, and in parting, to leave something behind; and, in all her soft and witching beauty, she reminded me of Browning's lines:

"No swan-soft woman, rubbed in lucid oils, The gift of an enamoured god more fair.' "As feat succeeded to feat, and enchantment to enchantment, all remnant of reserve was discarded, and no trace remained of that commingled alarm and pleased expectation which had characterised those beaming countenances, when first they emerged from their veils. Those fair women floated around us, and tossed their hands in the air, wholly forgetting that their husband was by. Still, however, we had made but little progress in our inquiry; and when the magician informed them that they had better not to try to conceal anything from him, their only answer was a look that said, 'You came here to give us pleasure, not to cross-question us.' Resolved to use more formidable weapons, he began to arrange an electrical machine, when the Mollah, after glancing at it two or three times, approached, and asked him whether that instrument also was supernatural. The quick. witted Frenchman replied at once, By no means; it is a mere scientific toy.' Then, turning to me, he added, in a low voice,' He has seen it before-probably he has travelled.' In a few minutes the women were ranged in a ring, and linked hand in hand. He then informed them, through our interpreter, that if a discovery was not immediately made, each person should receive, at the same moment, a blow from an invisible hand; that the second time the admonition would be yet severer; and that the third time, if his warning was still despised, the culprit would drop down dead. This announcement was heard with much gravity, but no confession followed it. The shock was given, and the lovely circle was speedily dislinked, 'with shrieks and laughter.' Again the shock was given, and with the same effect; but this time the laughter was more subdued. Before making his last essay, the magician addressed them in a long speech, telling them that he had already discovered the secret, that if the culprit confessed, he would make intercession for her; but that if she did not, she must take the consequences. Still no confession was made. For the first time my confident friend looked downcast. 'It will not do,' he said to me; 'the ring cannot be recovered they know nothing about itprobably it was lost. We cannot fulfil our engagement; and, indeed, I wish,' he added, 'that we were well out of all this.'

"I confess I wished the same, especially when I glanced at the master of the household, who stood apart, gloomy as a thunder

cloud, and with the look of a man who thinks himself in a decidedly false position. The Easterns do not understand a jest, especially in a harem; and not being addicted to irony (that great safety-valve for enthusiasm), they pass rapidly from immoveability to very significant and sometimes disagreeable action. Speaking little, they deliver their souls by acting. I should have been glad to hear our host talk, even though in a stormy voice; on the whole, however, I trusted much to the self-possession and address of my associate. Nor was I deceived. Do as you see me do,' he said to me and the dragoman; and then, immediately after giving the third shock, which was as ineffectual as those that preceded it, he advanced to our grim host with a face radiant with satisfaction, and congratulated him vehemently. 'You are a happy man,' he said. 'Your household has not a flaw in it. Fortunate it was that you sent for the wise man I have discovered the matter.' 'What have you discovered?''The fate of the ring. It has never been stolen: if it had, I would have restored it to you. Fear nothing; your household is trustworthy and virtuous. I know where the ring is; but I should deceive you if I bade you hope ever to find it again. This is a great mystery, and the happy consummation surpasses even my hopes. Adieu. The matter has turned out just as you see. You were born under a

lucky star. Happy is the man whose household is trustworthy, and who, when his faith is tried, finds a faithful counsellor. I forbid you, henceforth and for ever, to distrust any one of your wives.'"

Well, how do you like this, gentle reader? In the spirit of Miss Baillie's preface, it would, perhaps, be a pleasant thing to dwell upon it for some three or four days before taking up anything else; but such is not the condition of life-not of our's, a reviewer's life; or of yours, who have resigned yourselves to our guidance for a little while. Away, then, with De Vere!-forget him if you can, and let us see who next comes. What is this? "Fides Laici"a poem-in verse too, and in something of the verse of Dryden-bringing him to the ear and to the mind-with some touches of Crabbe; and something of the author's own, different from, and perhaps better than anything in either. The writer loves the Church of England, and is scandalised with her dissensions. Listen to the opening of

the poem :

"Come, let us then awhile the scene survey, Where hot dispute frets out its little day; And see what causes vex the quiet state

Of England's Church, with wrangling harsh debate. There are who seem to think that Church a theme Fit only for some fond enthusiast's dream ;—

As though Religion were a thing of Art,
Where each might play a sentimental part.
Thus in God's temple sense they gratify,
With all that soothes the ear and charms the eye;
Music, and flowers, and altar-cloths inlaid
With holy symbols by fair fingers made:
The fretted roof with gewgaw gilding gleams,
And softened light through tinted windows streams;
While tapers burning in the face of day
With import deep mysterious truth convey.
Devotion surely is a sickly plant

The aid of such appliances to want;
Nor feels that soul its own tremendous stake
Which of religion can a plaything make.
But more than this: we must adopt the tone
Of bygone days, abandoning our own,
As though it were a sacrilegious crime
To use a word or term of modern time;
And Christians dared not utter prayer or praise,
Except in some old medieval phrase.

"Sometimes the evil they admit- but say,
The Rubric orders, and we must obey-
The Church ordains-the Canons are her voice-
Our law her mandates-and we have no choice-
It is a point of conscience.' Oh! beware,
A morbid conscience is a dangerous snare.

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"Suppose, for some quaint oddity of dress, I cite the usage under good Queen Bess; Or in slashed doublet clothed, with ribands gay, Point to the gallants of King Charles's day ; If I should walk the street thus strangely clad, Could I complain if people called me mad? Yet surely to defend my tailor creed, I might like you ancestral habits plead. As Time rolls onward in its silent course, New customs rise, and statutes lose their force; Without express repeal a law may die, And long disuse can void authority."

The subterfuges by which an escape is made from the doctrines of Christianity, in the novel devices of "Development" and "Reserve," as if Christianity had any esoteric doctrines, are exceedingly well exposed; but we prefer giving the close of the poem :

"Sce! where the Southern Cross is hung on high, That mystic symbol glitters in the sky; And beckons men across the pathless sea, Lighted by that resplendent galaxy. And not in vain! I see a pilgrim host Go forth to seek New Zealand's island coast, And found an Empire which perhaps will last When England's name and glory shall be past. It is not Mammon's voice nor lust of sway That sends that band of wanderers away; But zeal to spread through earth the Word of Heaven, Through her to whom that Word was first divinely

"Bright is the hope we cherish, when at length For her great task the Church is gathering strength; And unborn millions of a foreign clime, May yet hereafter live to bless the time, Which some, faint-hearted, deem with ruin rife, Because around us roars the din of strife. Such fears are treason-and themselves create The dangers which they only seem to state; Patience and Faith their sure reward receive, And happiest they, who firmest can believe That God knows how His promise to fulfil, And all things but conspire to work His sovereign will."

In the same serious spirit with this poem, is the next volume which we