SILENCE, and night! it is the time for thought;
And the lone dreamer turns his wearied eye,
Out from the casement, up to the dim stars,

And deems that from those rolling worlds comes to him
A cheering voice. How beautiful they are-
Those sparkling lamps in that eternal void!
They seem like gems upon the crown of Him—
The Lord! the crucified! They still hang there,
Bright, as when bursting on this lower world
Then heaving into beauty - the fair lands,

Valleys and hills; the streams, the lakes, the seas
With their blue depths; the ocean with its waves
Restless forever as when these burst forth,
And over them God spread this canopy

Of grandeur and of glory! There they hang,
Emblems of his great hand who placed them there,
And bade them roll to one eternal hymn
Of heavenly harmony! Away -away
Farther and farther on - thought flies; and yet
Reaches them not. Beyond the wild blue track
Of this our world, it sweeps; beyond the track
Of that ring'd orb, the heathen deified,
Old Saturn named; beyond the path of that
They called the Thunderer; ay, and beyond
The track sublime, of our great burning orb,
Hanging alone in heaven beyond all these,
Thought, seraph-wing'd, sweeps daringly-
Reaches not the first trace of those far fires,
Glowing yet never fading; myriads burning
In the blue concave, where no thought may pierce,
Save the Eternal's. And yet those bright orbs
Created were, and in harmonious march

Traverse the air together. Not one of all

and yet

Those sparkling points of scarce distinguishable flame,

But hath its part and place in that grand scheme

Fixed by the God of Heaven. Laws, times, place, motions, All these cach hath; and there they roll for ever,

Changing and yet unchanged. The wilder'd mind

Turns from the scene amazed, and asks itself

If this can be!

And yet, how fancy dreams

Of those bright worlds! Tell us, ye unseen influences,
Ye that do gather round us in these hours

When the impassion'd world lies locked in sleep,

And the day's whirl is over- tell us here,

What are those rolling worlds! Are there bright scenes,
Such as we dream of here? Are there fair realms,
Robed in such hues as this? Do wild hills, there,
Heave their high tops to such a bright blue heaven
As this which spans our world? Have they rocks there,
Ragged and thunder-rent, through whose wild chasms
Leap the white cataracts, and wreathe the woods
With rainbow coronets? Spread such bright vales
There in the sunlight, cots and villages,

Turrets, and towers, and temples dwell these there,
Glowing with beauty? Wilderness and wild,
Heaving and rolling their green tops, and ringing
With the glad notes of myriad-colored birds,
Singing of happiness have they these there?
Spread such bright plains there to th' admiring eye,
Veined by glad brooks, that, to the loose white stones,
Tell their complaint all day? Waves, spreading sheets,
That mirror the white clouds, and moon, and stars,
Making a mimic heaven? Streams, mighty streams
Waters, resistless floods, that, rolling on,
Gather like seas, and heave their waves about,

Mocking the tempest? Ocean, those vast tides,
Tumbling about the globe, with a wild roar,

From age to age? And tell us, do those worlds

Change like our own? Comes there, the soothing spring,

Soft and sweet-voiced; and in his hands the wealth

Of leaves to deck the forest; flowers, and scatter'd

On the green vales and on the slopes, to fling

Over a faery world; and feathery winds,
And airs, and smiling sunshine, bees and birds,
Filling the soft savannas with the sound

Of their low murmurings? Have they the months
Of the full summer, with its skies, and clouds,
And suns, and showers, and soothing fragrance, sent
Up from a thousand tubes? And autumn, too,
Pensive and pale- do these sweet days come there,
Wreathing the wilderness with such gay bands
Of brightness and of beauty, till the earth,
Late fresh and flowering, seems like some fair bride
Met in the month of dalliance with the frost
Of a too killing sorrow? And, sublime-
Within his grasp the whirlwinds, and his brows
White with the storm of ages, and his breath
Fettering the streams, and ribbing the old hills
With ice, and sleet, and snow; and far along
The sounding ocean's side his frosty chains
Flinging, till the wild waves grow mute, or mutter
Only in their dread caves-- old Winter! he
Have you him there? And tell us, hath a God,
Sentient and wise, placed there the abstruser realm
Of thinking and of feeling? Have ye minds,
Grasping and great like ours? And reaching souls
That, spurning their prison, burst away, and soar
Up to a mightier converse, than the rounds

Of a dull, daily being? And warm hearts,

Do they dwell there? Hearts fondly lock'd to hearts,

Into each other's natures pouring wild

Floods of deep feeling, and a life so sweet,

Death doth but make it sweeter? Have ye dreamers

Young hearts proud souls that catch from every thing

A greatness and a grandeur of delight,

That common souls feel not? Souls that do dwell

Only in thoughts of beauty, linking forth
Into one mystic chain the fadeless flowers
And wreaths of immortality? - that dwell
Only to think and feel, and be the slaves
Of a sad nature? And, when life is over,
Only to take the charnel with the hope,
A star may hang above them for the eye
Of the far slumbering ages?

False, false, all -

And vain the wing of fancy to explore
The track of angels! Vain thought, to fold back
This gorgeous canopy, and send the eye
On to those realms of glory! And the dreamer
Turns on his couch again, and feels the nothingness
Of poor humanity. Eternal One!

Thou who dost look on all-the great, the good,
Humbled or hoping- pride, or the poor wretch
Laid on his couch of misery- thou dost watch,
And thou hast power o'er all! Thou hast alone,
Wrapp'd in thine own immensity, the power
To paint a leaf, or roll ten thousand worlds
Around the universe! O, let the heart

Pained and in sickness here, lay its poor hope

Low at thy feet; and trust that thou, at last,

When thou shalt shake these heavens, and rend away

The pillars of the universe, wilt save

This glimmering mind now here, to be a star,

Bright, for some other world!

New-Haven, January 10, 1838.

WILLIAM THOMPSON BACON.

ORIENTAL FRAGMENTS.

FROM THE UNPUBLISHED MANUSCRIPTS OF A TRAVELLER IN THE EAST.

BY J. S. BUCKINGHAM.

THE interest that has recently been excited throughout all Europe, by the efforts for renewing the ancient communication between the Mediterranean and the Red Sea, on the one hand, and the opening of the route to India, by the Euphrates and the Persian Gulf, on the other, has directed public attention to whatever could elucidate the question, as to whether the Red Sea and the Mediterranean could be advantageously united, by means of a canal, from the one to the other, so as to shorten the communication between western Europe and eastern Asia, and thus avoid the long and generally stormy voyage round the great continent of Africa, by the passage of the Cape of Good Hope.

Having taken an early and a prominent part in the inquiries which were instituted on this subject, during my travels in Egypt, I was specially solicited by its present ruler, Mohammed Ali Pasha, to undertake a journey across the Isthmus of Suez, for the double purpose, first, of examining the capacity of that port to receive vessels of a certain burthen, and inspecting its anchorages; and secondly, of traversing the desert lying between the Red Sea and the Mediterranean, with the view of ascertaining whether any vestiges could still be traced of the ancient canal, said to have been begun by one of the Pharaohs, completed by Darius, and continued open up to the time of the Ptolemies. The object of these inquiries was not the mere gratification of a geographical or antiquarian curiosity, though that would have been motive sufficient to induce me to undertake the task; but it was intended as a prelude to the reopening of the ancient commerce, which, before the circumnavigation of the Cape of Good Hope, by Vasco Da Gama, was carried on extensively and profitably by this route, between Europe and India, by which indeed Alexandria had been enriched, and by which Genoa and Venice acquired such opulence and power, as to reign sole arbiters of the dominion along the shores of these two seas.

I accordingly entered into the project with zeal, believing that whatever might be the privations of the desert journey, I should be gratified by its novelty; and hoping, that beside my own personal gratification, some public good would result from the investigation on which I was about to enter.

It was on the evening of the 14th of February, that I took my leave of the Pasha, and of the numerous friends with whom I had enjoyed so many agreeable days in Cairo, and adopting their advice, to make the journey as privately as possible, so as to avoid the danger of being followed and plundered by the way, I prepared for travelling in the garb of an Arab of the humblest class, being now sufficiently qualified for this, by my knowledge of the Arabic tongue.

DEPARTURE FROM CAIRO. TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 15th. - I had slept but little, from the diversity of thoughts by which I was agitated

during the night; and stirring with the earliest dawn, we were dressed and equipped before sunrise. After receiving a letter of credit on Damietta, in case of our visiting that place, as well as the firman of the Pasha, to be shown only in case of need, we repaired to the okella, or stables, where our camels and their driver lodged. This individual, whose name was Phanoose, (literally a lantern, or a light for the path,) was a Bedouin Arab, from the mountain's near Horeb and Sinai; he had been long known among the merchants of Egypt for his tried fidelity, and was constantly entrusted by them to be the bearer of large sums in gold and silver between Sinai, Tor, Suez, and Cairo. He was thus charged for a journey at present, and to his care and protection I entirely committed myself. The great caravan of four thousand camels had departed from Cairo for Suez on the preceding evening, and coinciding with him in his opinion, that it was best to avoid their track, and journey by the upper and least frequented road, to the northward of their course, we left Cairo by the Bab-cl-Nasr, or Gate of Victory, for that route, about nine o'clock.

Our dresses were those of the Arab Fellahs, or Egyptian peasants, consisting of a simple shirt of blue cotton, over one of coarse calico next the skin, a coarse muslin turban for the head, and a woollen sash for the waist, with red slippers, and a blue cotton melyah, a kind of shawl, thrown loosely across the shoulders in the day, and serving for a slight covering at night. We had each long full beards, and wore sandals on our feet. Our provisions consisted of a small supply of bread, rice, butter, dates, a few hard boiled eggs and salt, some coffee, tobacco, and a goat's skin of water; our cooking utensils comprised only an iron kettle for boiling rice, and a small coffee-pot, with two coffee-cups. Our arms were a sabre, musket, and pistols each, all of the most ordinary quality, to prevent their exciting envy, or a desire in others to possess them; and these, with a straw mat for sleeping on, and a Bedouin cloak, or Burnoose, for a night covering, with the indispensable requisites of a pipe and tobacco-bag, completed our simple travelling equipage.

Taking a course almost due east from the gate we had left, we passed on through a narrow defile, or valley, formed by the near approach of two small yet steep hills, projecting against each other like bluff capes in miniature, leaving the Birket-el-Hadji,' or the Lake of the Pilgrims, the general point of rendezvous for caravans, to the north of us. The pace of our camels appeared to me light and easy, and as they bore only the few small sacks of money confided to the care of the Bedouin, beside our own baggage, their rate of progress was never less than a league in the hour. The weather was favorable for our journey; and Phanoose occasionally broke the silence of the desert by the songs with which he cheered his camels, so that I felt my spirits growing lighter with every step we took.

We halted for an hour about noon, and made a hearty, though a hasty meal, when overtaking a small caravan of Arabs bound to Tor, we joined their humble camp, for mutual protection, about two hours before sunset. Our salutations at meeting were rather like those of long absent friends than that of perfect strangers, and their rude hospitality had in it a sincerity which enhanced its worth. The camels were unladen, and suffered to feed upon the few dry herbs that were

scattered among the sands, which, in addition to their want of moisture, had the bitterest taste that could be endured. The sacks of grain which formed the lading of those bound to Tor, were ranged on each side of us, as a shelter from the wind; our arms were mustered and examined, and we felt ourselves in a state of security.

The party we had joined were named Moosa, or Moses, a deaf gray-bearded old Bedouin, Abdallah, a negro from the mountains beyond Habesh, or Abyssinia, and Suliman and Hassan, two Arab boys, which was now increased by Phanoose, our guide, and myself. The boys being immediately despatched to collect sufficient fuel for the night, Abdallah served us with coffee, prepared over a fire of dried camel's dung, collected on the spot. Our pipes were filled from each other's sacks, as a usual interchange of compliment, and my ready acceptance of a pinch from Moosa's snuff-box, (for the Arabs who frequent Cairo have learnt this habit of the Europeans there,) brought us at once upon a footing of intimacy.

As conversation became general, it was soon discovered that my language as well as color was not exactly that of the Bedouins; the Arabic spoken in Egypt, though pure, differing materially from that of the desert; and to pass for a Turk, though perfectly easy in the present instance, would have been of no advantage, their whole race being hated and despised by the Bedouins. I therefore confessed myself to be a traveller from the west, wandering over the eastern world in search of knowledge, and of good men; and as this elicited an expression of applause, mingled with surprise, and my protector, Phanoose, honestly avowed that my life was upon head, all things seemed likely to be turned to our advantage. Interesting as the task would have been, I found it impossible to remember the whole of the conversation which arose upon this single topic: namely, the avowed rarity of finding wisdom or honesty among men, and the grounds on which I hoped to meet with it in my travels through the world, for such appeared to them to be the state of the argument implied by my confession. But though this discussion was long, it was ingenious, and entertaining even to the end.

his

As it grew dark, the camels were collected together, and kneeling on the sand near us, their fore-legs were lashed in their bent position, which rendering them unable to rise, was the only precaution necessary for their safety. A small quantity of gunpowder, bruised in oil, was given to them in form of a bolus, and a bag of beans tied to their mouths, for their evening meal. Hassan and Suliman were returned with fuel for the night, and Abdallah, having in the short space of half an hour ground sufficient wheat for the party, mixed it, chaff and all, in the water of their own skin, baked cakes of it on the fire of dung, and made them, while warm, again into a paste, by breaking them in pieces, and kneading them in a wooden bowl, with oil and honey. Each of the party washed his hands in the sand, before commencing their meal, as water is too precious in the desert to be so used; and all dipping their fingers in the same dish, regaled themselves as at a feast of delicacies.

I could not refuse to join them, but it was a painful tribute to their hospitality; and keen as my appetite had been at alighting, it was more than satisfied by witnessing the preparation of our food, so that