of the poem. It will be seen that it contains much more of satire than of philosophy, and, like most satires, is more frequently pointed than just. As a picture of society, the satirist's representations are always essentially untrue: they are, in point of fact, not less fictitious than the fairer visions of poetry, in which an ideal world is created by a mere selection of all that is beautiful and pure in nature, the elements of fancy being supplied by observation and memory, but refined from every thing of a contrary character. By an inverted process, the satirist selects for his dark picture, all that is most revolting and appalling in vice, or ridiculous in folly; and because he selects his forms from living originals, he is apt to imagine that he is more true to fact and nature, than the flattering artist. But he is mistaken. The grouping and the colouring are his own, and these are both fictitious and false. Some of the most serious practical errors result from a hasty generalizing of a few partial facts; and against no species of mistake is it more necessary to be constantly on our guard. It is the easily-besetting sin of all young thinkers and half-philosophers. Hence, the opinions which such persons form of society, are always incorrect, not because they are altogether mistaken as to particulars, but because they are ever premature and unjust in their conclusions. The Author of the present volume seems to be in some measure aware of the objection to which his statements are open, and offers in the following lines, something like an apology for his injustice. Deem not the Muse, incautious to offend, Friend to the good, she labours to be just, Spares where she can, but lashes where she must; And still, alas! to human frailty true, Must lash the many, while she spares the few. Else should bright names a seraph might rehearse, Cheer the dark picture and embalm her verse.' p. 111. These very lines, which represent the good as so inconsiderably few, convey a misrepresentation of the state of the times. With far more justice the case might be reversed, and the Amitors and Claras be considered as extreme specimens characteristic, not of the many, but of the few. Hypocrisy is the homage paid to virtue by those who would stand well with the better part of mankind; and the base coin passes unsuspected, only because it is mixed with the sterling currency. To hold up the selfish and hypocritical as specimens of the religious world, is not satire, but calumny. We acquit the present Writer of any malignant intention; but the tendency of his representations is to bring into discredit all pretensions to religion, all "holy ardour" and Christian zeal, as mere hollow pretence. And he even ventures to speak of the institutions which so honourably distinguish the present age, as the offspring of a blind faith,' a 'rash hope,' and a proud charity.' Such language does no credit to either his information, his charity, or his piety. It proves but too clearly, that there is a beam' in his own eye, which requires to be removed, and which has led him to mistake for the censor's seat the chair of the scorner. Would the Satirist be willing that we should receive his representations as the result of personal observation and experience, and apply to him the familiar test of character which is supplied by a man's connexions? Would he have us take him at his word, that the majority of those with whom he has been acquainted are such as he describes, the froth and scum that float on the upper surface of society? If so, he is either much to be censured or much to be pitied, for the fatality of his choice or the singular hardness of his fate, which has separated him from the better specimens of human nature and Christian excellence? Is he then some satiated worldling who turns king's evidence' against his old associates? Or are we to view him as a traitor within the camp, betraying to the infidel the nakedness of the land? Or must we give him credit for being, like the great Reformer of Israel in the reign of Ahab, under an innocent mistake with regard to the thousands who have never bowed the knee to Baal? Whatever be the true state of the case, the fact remains, that he has given a false view of men and things. "Say not thou, What is the "cause that the former days were better than these? for thou "dost not inquire wisely concerning this." His But the Writer might perhaps plead, that the specific design of his poem, as intended to illustrate the disordered state of human nature, required that only the dark side of the picture should be held up to view. It is obvious, however, that such an admission would invalidate the general argument. position is, that selfishness is universal;' this is either true or false. If any portion of society be redeemed from the operation of this depraved principle, the assertion, which is absolute, falls to the ground. A rule may admit of exceptions: an assertion of this nature is disproved by them. Besides, in forming a comparative estimate of the state of society at any particular period, or in a particular country, the character of the minority is far more deserving of consideration than the state of the many, which is but too much the same in all countries and at all periods. The higher classes have every where been chargeable with dissoluteness, the lower classes of the people with depravity; but that which mainly distinguishes one age and people above another, is the existence of a virtuous and enlightened class,-the few righteous,' the salt of the earth,' who realize the genuine influence of their principles, and leave the impress of their character on the institutions of society, and the history of their age. We have perhaps dwelt longer upon this topic than is warranted by the nature of the work before us; but the pretensions of the Author, as put forth in his preface, are so much above those of an ordinary satirist, and his motives would seem to be so laudable, that we have felt called upon to bestow more serious attention upon his performance, than its intrinsic merit deserves. With regard to his philosophy, it is not far from the truth, but the subject is too delicate for satire, and required to be treated with much more clearness and discrimination. Self-love, if, by that phrase, be meant, the desire of happiness, is so totally distinct from selfishness, that it can never become identified with it. The phrase has, indeed, in this sense little propriety, and it is, at best, equivocal; but it is in this sense only, that self-love is the acknowledged moving principle of sentient beings.' Self, in this case, is the passive subject of a necessary instinct, neither virtuous. nor vicious, from the operation of which no intellectual being can possibly disengage himself, since, for a creature not to desire his own happiness, would imply the absence of all intelligence. But, in the operation of selfishness, self is not the subject merely, but the object of the principle: it is the desire of happiness operating in a wrong direction, shewing that the affections have wandered from their proper centre, and that the will is perverted from its original bias to the chief good. Self-love sometimes means nothing more than self-indulgence or self-complacency, in which sense, it still differs widely from habitual and essential selfishness. The vain man may be benevolent: the selfish man feels for himself alone. The only true virtue, however, as the Writer justly intimates, consists in the principle of love to God, which can alone counterwork the love of the world or the selfish principle in the heart of man. All actions that are not performed from this motive, may not be selfish or vicious, but they fall short of virtue, which must always have respect to the law of all moral actions, the will of God, the end of all actions, the Divine glory, and the reward of all virtue, the favour and approbation of God. [55] Art. V. Travels in Mesopotamia. Including a Journey from Aleppo, across the Euphrates to Orfah, (the Ur of the Chaldees,) through the Plains of the Turcomans, to Diarbekr, in Asia Minor; from thence to Mardin, on the Borders of the Great Desert, and by the Tigris to Mousul and Bagdad: with Researches on the Ruins of Babylon, Nineveh, Arbela, Ctesiphon, and Seleucia. By J. S. Buckingham, Author of Travels in Palestine, &c. 4to. pp. xvi. 572. London, 1827. MR. R. BUCKINGHAM is certainly a most indefatigable man, as a writer, not less than as a traveller. This is the third quarto volume with which he has favoured the public; and it is impossible to rise from the perusal, with whatever prejudices the reader may have opened the work, without an impression highly favourable as regards the cleverness of the Writer, and the substantial accuracy of the information scattered through his pages. If, in point of original qualifications, he is not to be classed with the equally voluminous Dr. E. D. Clarke, he deserves to take rank, among modern travellers, far above Sir R. K. Porter. Like the former, he has been at considerable pains, in the getting up of his travels for the press, to give them the utmost benefit of his subsequent reading and research; and although this mode of converting travels into a series of geographical and historical disquisitions, adds greatly to the bulk of the volumes, we are not disposed to deny that their intrinsic value is upon the whole much enhanced by the variety of information thus brought under the eye of the reader, relating to the scene of the Author's journey. Mr. Buckingham may at least plead the precedent set him, and the favour with which similar publications have been received, as a sufficient apology for the discursive nature of his observations in the present work. The Author's route, in this part of his Travels, is fully described in the title-page which we have transcribed. It led him through countries not often visited by Europeans, and by sites of peculiar historical interest. Setting out from Aleppo, he crossed the Euphrates at Beer, where the stream was at ⚫ least equal to the Thames at Blackfriars-bridge.' This was in the beginning of June. Just below the town, it divides itself into twenty smaller channels, running between low, grassy islets, and opposite the town was a dry bank of mud: these, when the river is swelled by the rains, or the melting of the snows of Mount Taurus, change their form and situation; and the river may then possibly be, as Rauwolf represents it, a mile in breadth. Mr. Buckingham gives us a long note upon the etymology of the name, from Dr. Vincent and others; a subject which has been thought worthy of a distinct dissertation inserted in the Transactions of the Royal Society of Literature.* We e see no reason to doubt, as intimated in our notice of that article, that the import of the word is, the widespreading river. Rivers were most commonly named, in ancient times, either from their size, as "the Great River," Bahr el kebir, Guadalquiver, Rio Grande, &c.-their colour, as the Nile, and the numerous black, blue, white, and green rivers in all countries and languages,-or their course, as meandering or spreading, swift or sluggish. Diglath, the ancient name of the Tigris, according to Josephus, signifies narrow; but if it be the same as the Hid-dekhel of Scripture, its real meaning is more probably preserved in the modern appellation Tigris, which alludes to the swiftness of its course. In some parts, however, the rapidity of the current is at times far from being extraordinary, while its narrowness is a characteristic feature which accompanies it throughout. When Mr. Buckingham first came in sight of the Tigris, not far from Diarbekir, it appeared narrow, sluggish, and low in its bed.' In this part of its course, it has a double curvature: the rate of the current did not apparently exceed two miles per hour. When he again reached the river, near Eski Mousul (Old Mousul), he found the stream narrower than any part of the Thames from the Nore to London; and its current, which was disturbed and muddy, 'did not flow at a greater rate than three miles per hour.' Again, a little way below Bagdad, it is described as ' much narrower than the narrowest part of the Nile' below the Island of Rhouda; its waters dark and turbid; and the rate of the current about two miles an hour. At Bagdad, however, our Author subsequently states, (p. 471.) that it ran certainly at the 'full rate of three, and sometimes rushes at the rate of six or seven miles an hour.' In fact, its swiftness is the consequence of the depth and narrowness of its rocky channel, which prevents its spreading out into inundations when swelled by the mountain torrents, while the lowness of its level, which is much below that of the Euphrates, renders it the general drain of the superfluous waters of its vast basin, and precludes its discharging them by any other channels. Orfah, to which place the Author proceeded from Beer, is the Edessa of Roman history and of the middle ages, and is generally supposed to be the site of the ancient Ur. From its advantageous situation at the edge of a fertile plain, commanded and protected by a high hill crowned with the citadel, it must always have been a site of importance, and was long * See Ecl. Rev. March 1827. p. 227. |