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tain-house of stone or marble, arches in the water; and this is usualy the legacy of some deceased Mussulman, who wished to leave this benefit and this memorial behind him, and for the maintenance and repair of which he generally also leaves a fund. This is the case a: Sultan Mahmoud's grave, where there is a splendid fountain-houx, and where a man always stands, ready to fill some of the hundreds of small dishes for any who desire a draught of fresh water. Provisi," is also made, with equal solicitude, to supply the thirst of the anima, and upon the prostrate gravestones in the large grave-yard, or, melproperly speaking, wood, at Sentari (for vou wander through an i' mense forest of cypresses and graves, for the most part an actual w" derness), you find small hollows hewn in the stone, in order that th rain water may collect there for the little birds to bathe in **** to drink -a beautiful and touching pietv, of which I canio: prit:':' myself carrying away a grateful memory. Harr.. I'll the fountain which the angel showed to their ances, or in the dette when her son was ready to perish of thirst, and she “lixel up ku voice and wept !" But the boy drank out of the desert well, s": grew and became a great people. Conscious or unconscious, it **778 to me that the sons of the desert desire to perpetuate his meme by continuing the blessing. Would that every people acted in the same spirit! How great is the blessing of springs of fresh wall can only be properly understood in the hot and thirsty land of th East.

After the fountain, the coffee-house is the Mussulman's place refreshment. At the former, you find principally womer *** children, who fill their jugs and gossip ; at the later, only. ** They sit outside by dozens and scores, smoking their largh. Tschibuck as if they had nothing else in the world to do, drink their coffee to the dregs out of coffee-cups the size of ha." eggshells; and between the pipe and coffee keep up alltalk listen to tellers of tales and ariventures. That is the Turk greatest enjoyment and felicity, his kirp -which is the same, bi b* the same time something more than th: l'alian's sleepir..! In every marke-place you find a fom.8in, and at least three (un houses ; and yon meet with the coffee-house even where there !!! fountain, but everywhere wherever a company of Turks is fit * found.

If the Turk cannot get his coffee and his pipe thus, take good care, fo; he is in that case Juckmurluck (a Persian expression which I learned from my erudite friend, Mr. Von Heidenstam, and which seems ! me worthy of adoption to express a condition of discomfort and 1 humour), and his coffee-cup then introduces him into his KIT, " he becomes the most peaceable and bet man in the world. Hele the very opposite of Muckmurluck; lies is 111,72buh--that is to say blessed.

The Bazaar of Constantinople is Constantinople in small: Pell find here beautiful squares and splendid shops; but at the same time filthy streets and lanes, with monldiness and rubbish and race

The broader walks are thronged with Turks and Greeks and Persians, easily recognisable by their tall sheepskin caps, and all kinds of people from the East and from the West, moving about, together with crowds of Turkish ladies, in their white veils and yellow slippers, which they slide along the ground in order not to lose from their feet. The bazaar is a little town of shops and covered walks; and these covered, cool walks, where one need fear neither heat, rain, nor wind, are a good institution for the trader, which seems to me deserving of imitation.

The dogs of Constantinople deserve a separate chapter, and are a regular town-plague, as is the case in all the large cities of the East. The Mussulman will not kill a dog-why, I know not. He feeds the dogs in the city, but otherwise takes no care of them, and they increase and live in a state of incessant warfare amongst themselves. One-eyed, blind, maimed, they are met with at every step, lying in the streets and lanes, where they do not trouble themselves to get out of anybody's way. They appear in the highest degree discontented and unhappy--nay, often most miserable. I cannot admire the humanity of the Turks in this respect, and should not be sorry to see my friend, Mr. W., Police-master, in Constantinople for a week.

On Saturday, I leave Constantinople and Turkey for Greece and Athens.

Incessant storm, rain, and bad weather, and as cold as with us in October,

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The first feeling which the death of our great historian excites in the minds of his fellow-countrymen is a sense of immeasureable loss. He had read enormously, and his memory retained all its impressions with marvellous vivacity. He had not been content merely to travel on the highway of letters—he had investigated all the byeways of learning—he had loitered in its shady lanes and nooks, he had traced the path of its ditches as well as of its brooks; there was nothing, however minute and apparently unworthy which his curiosity had spumed, which his judgment and imagination could not turn to account, and which his memory refused to carry. It is natural, therefore, at first sight, to think of the loss we have sustained as illimitable, and especially when we remember two things that he commenced his history with the

he pull the chief va+ had this Macaulay'iy

expression of a hope to be able to follow its course down to a period within the recollection of persons still living, and that he died before he had even reached that period—the age of Queen Anne—for which he had chiefly prepared. We cannot help thinking, however, that such an estimate of Macaulay's loss 15 quite unjust—that such despair is after all no great compliment to the historian. There is a large sense in which it seems to the that he had finished his work, and truly, if his work had not be in finished he has done enough to command our gratitude and admiration for ever. He might have gone on adding volume to rolume, but it may be questioned whether these additional volumes would be of equal value with its predecessors. Had he survived to publish eight rolumes of his history, these eight would not be twice as valuable as the four which we have now; still less would these eight be four times as valuable as the two which he published first. No history is valuable merely as a record of facts; the chief value of it lies in the interpretation of facts, and Macaulay's history had this further value, that it exhibited a new mode of stating them. But Macaulay's interpretation of English history is really complete in the first two volumes, and his style is perfectly developed in the same compass. For style, the remaining volumes would be merely a repetition of what we already have in perfection; and for interpretation we should have elucidated, in new scenes and new characters, the same Whig 17** of the English constitution, the same broad survey of state policy, the same ardent patriotism, the same noble toleran": Facts are manifold, but principles are fow and simple. In Macaulay might have gone on multiplying his fact to all eternity; but the principles which it is given to one man in a lifetime to seize and illustrate are limited, and we cannot help feeling that in what we possess of this great author's work, we have the cream of his mind, and the fulness of his power.

Mr. Isaac Tavlor has very justly divided thinkers into thre classes-the profound, the comprehensive, and the acute. Imag the Germans will be found the best examples of thinkirs, who are profound without being either comprehensive or acute. The French afford the best instances of thinkers who are acute, but neither comprehensive nor profound. The comprehensive thinker are chiefly English, and among these we must place loni Macaulay. His more ardent admirers speak of him as a deep thinker, but in these days any man is said to be deep who! original. Macaulay has given us a correct idea of his depth 10 his criticism of Lord Bacon's philosophy, where he has m ed the mark so completely that we begin to question even that alte* ness which was in him as remarkable as his breadth of view. lle

Facts are maine, ardent patrithe same broad

never advanced any opinions which he did not render plausible by felicity of illustration and a display of learning ; but in point of fact, nothing can be more shallow than the attempt to disprove the value of the Baconian logic by showing that unconsciously every man obeys its laws. He, for example, takes the case of a man who had eaten minced pies at Christmas, and became ill after it. The man proceeds to argue, “I ate minced pies on Monday and Wednesday, and I was kept awake by indigestion all night.” Here is one step in the argumentative process. “I did not eat any on Tuesday and Friday, and I was quite well ”—there is another. “I ate very sparingly of them on Sunday, and was very slightly indisposed in the evening”—here is a fact which makes the case still clearer. “On Christmas-day I almost dined on them, and was so ill that I was in great danger”—the evidence is growing to a point, and when the patient rejects the idea that it was from the brandy which he took at the same time that he suffered, he feels justified in arriving at the grand conclusion, which Bacon terms the vindemiatio, that minced pies do not agree with him. It is evident, therefore, that without any assistance from Lord Bacon, we are all acting on the inductive principles which have been associated with his name. The argument is of the same kind as that which impugns the value of the Aristotelian logic, because people made their deductions long before Aristotle was born, and continue to do so without ever having heard of his name. The objection is very much as if one should deny merit to Harvey because the blood circulated before he discovered that it did, or to Sir Charles Bell, because we moved and felt before he explained the nervous system. The merit of recognising a process of reasoning which for ages had been overlooked by the philosophers, of analyzing that process in all its details, and of announcing that in the application of it, we were likely to make greater advances in knowledge than in the study of the deductive process, was surely not small; and Lord Macaulay himself, in the example of the minced pies, represents his unconscious reasons as leaping to a conclusion which might have been erroneous, before he had gone through an adequate induction. “It could not have been the brandy that caused my suffering,” says the supposed logician, “ for I have been taking brandy all my life without any bad effects." There was yet a contingency for which the rules of the Baconian logic provided, but which had not been foreseen by the unlearned eater of minced pies—the possibility of illness having been produced neither by the brandy nor by the pies, but by the combination of the two; and it is by an analysis of the reasoning process which observed and would provide against, such an oversight, that Bacon conferred a great benefit on mankind. If

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e s were necessary to show that Macaulay was not a pritvo r ir, we might refer to his Essays on Milton and on Sunuci J . Sume mar le inclined to put the former out of seer entstein: the earliest essay contributed by him to the E , P . But ther show the character of his thought Estir. U te rt Ten'ered that in republishing his EXT E

::t the article on Milton contained, as far 38 Einsa ts & sina paragraph which his matun

: 1o. while he claimed no indulgence whatever :r

w: 5 Le had privunded. The principles, ai kish :

car which is devoted to the criticism of ETTSST

e as they can well be- for CILE .

L t hat savetry is a sort of madness which

Tw" of mind to be able to appreciate, a s the exploded thevry of Aristotle, in

i lit Duve azon the imitative arts. So III EJE... rainers the amazing paradox that e

taphy in the language, indeed, in i l i

littlelies of his nature. IIe Wits

_Tapher. Jr. Carlyle very justly i zeh a theory—“ Bad is by its nature c ilia Pre Watsoever enables us to do ... VI

. Buswell wrote a good book, s i kisi ali tre to discern wisdom, and an

Rek .zith ; ive of his frue insight, his lively taikiniure of his live art childlike open-mindedness. This W A Stephanies his girtiness and forwardnes, whatever was beach and earth in him, an so many blemishes in his back, which sil disturb us in its charles-wholly hindrances, not ki Towards Jhunn, however, his feeling was not sveophaney, which is the lowest, but reverence, which is the highest of human feelings Veither Jam - Boswell's good book, nor any other gun thing, in any time or in any place', was, is, or can be performed lix any man in virtue of his badness, but always and wel in spite thenni." We at once see the superior depth and truthful, new of Carlyle's view, while at the same time it must be remarked that he does not satisfactorily account for what Macaulay darlis upon as the most noticeable thing in Boswell-that he was not it m:n tu ben tud, but rather the contrary. Macaulay older aeropts that fact; he also willingly airpt the other fact that Baswell's book is an uncommonly good book-and he puts the two together in the statement that the book is very good, because the author is very bad. Carlyle, on the other hand, acupta but one of the facts, namely, that the book is good, and argues from it with invincible faith against the other fact that the man is to be

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