hundred days being elapsed, barley is given; and if camels' milk is abundant, a bucket every evening with the allowance of barley.

During the whole year, the horses stand in the open air and are rarely ill. The Arabs never clean or rub their horses, but are careful in walking them gently when they return after a ride.

For the strangles, they burn some blue linen (which has been dyed with indigo) and let the smoke ascend into the horse's nose: this occasions a copious discharge. For the pole evil, they burn the flesh all round the swelling.

The finest race may be found in Syria, and the best district is Hauram. Most of the horses purchased at Basra for the Indian market belong to the Montefyk Arab, who have not the pure breed: this accounts for the badness of the horses which are occasionally sent from India to England. Fine horses of the Khomse are more numerous than the common horses belonging to the same breeds; but still, among those fine horses there can be found only a few worthy of being entitled "first rate" in respect of size, bone, beauty, and action; perhaps not five among a whole tribe. It seems a fair and probable calculation to say, that the Syrian deserts do not furnish more than two hundred of that preeminent description, each of which may be estimated in the desert itself at from 1501. to 2001. The Arab horses are purchased at Bombay at an average of 701.; this satisfactorily proves that they are not of the highest caste; and as almost all the Arabs which have been imported here have come from India, it will account for the Arab blood being at such a discount. There have been some splendid exceptions. The Darley Arabian came direct from Syria, and was of the Maneykeye tribe; a century afterwards Mr. Manesty, the consul at Aleppo, sent over some, and amongst them one of the pure Maneykeye, which was purchased by Lord Dartmouth. Mr. Cole sent over a chesnut horse of great merit; Sir W. Rumbold another, which the King of Prussia bought.

The Imaum of Muscat sent to His Majesty William the Fourth two very fine horses and two mares of high castes. The highest bred mare was purchased by Sir Tatton Sykes, the other by Mr. P. Duncomb. The two horses, from their beauty and bone, would have made a valuable cross for some of our long and bad-legged thorough-bred mares, but they were unfortunately sold to go into Germany. The King of Wurtemburg has a few Arabs of the true blood, and it is well worth going a long way to examine them.

HASSAN ABDALLAH.

THE CIGARISTS.

A PASTORAL.

"Ex fumo dare lucem."

"Think of this when you smoke tobacco."-OLD SONG.

'Tis night, and o'er the faggot's cheerful glare,
Strephon sits smoking in his easy chair,
And artless Corydon (Old Bond Street's pride)
Inhales a mild Havannah by his side.
Between a round and ready table stands
Prepared to give whate'er each hand demands:
Here it sustains the deep capacious cup,
By that, the simmering pot to fill it up;
And there, reposing in his cedar car
Basks the brown beauty of the rich cigar.
Content sits smiling o'er each gentle swain,
And sense and humour animate the twain ;
Whiles ever and anon, through whiffs of smoke,
Rings the loud laugh, and speeds the frequent joke.
And thus, as onward roll'd the instructive tide,
Wise Strephon spoke, and Corydon replied.

STREPHON.

"Vain pomps and glories of the world," good night! Where are my woes, when once my weed's alight? CORYDON.

Now, as the vapours harmonize each sense
To one full chord of rich benevolence,

Teach me, (oh! thou, by long experience taught !)
And cheaply sell the knowledge, time has bought:
Then to the task, my Strephon, straight proceed,
Kindly unveil the mysteries of the weed.

STREPHON.

My Corydon! let caution be your care,

When first you taste the sweets of a cigar;

Choose you the weed, whose smooth and well bound skin,
Foretells the flesh is plump and firm within;
Whose hazel-form, nor hard nor soft, is such,
That while it yields, it yet defies the touch;

Whose polished hide displays the frequent stain,
Which proves that long immured the leaf has lain;
While gradual tapering from its pregnant waist
It dwindles to a curly twig at last.

CORYDON.

And I with vigorous thumb, and horny nail,
Should cut away the unnecessary tail.

STREPHON.

-Ah Corydon forbear! nor rashly rend
From your cigar, that light and crisped end:
Lest, being deprived of this, (a guarding coil,)
You with the smoke, inhale the insidious oil.
(Black is this poison when the leaf is young.)
First, damp the surface with the pliant tongue;
Then, with firm lips, and teeth, that press, not bite,
Clasp the brown luxury and prepare to light.
Let not the candle's false obsequious glare
Allure the eager mouth to kindle there,
Pollution hovers o'er the greasy wick,

Infects the weed, and turns the palate sick.
But if 'tis yours, strike flint and steel, to show
The glowing spark in Punk or Amadou.

Here let thy Strephon, Corydon, proclaim

His first great maxim, "Light from fire, not flame!"

CORYDON.

If on the parched tongue a thirst should be,

Should Bacchus join my sober revelry?

And while the blue wreaths curl around my nose,
Should the red wine-cup rise and interpose?

STREPHON.

He who drinks wine, while revelling in cigars,
In mingling both, the sweets of either mars ;
For wine with weeds, (if that the taste be just,)
Jars on the palate, and creates disgust.
Thus, when some monster ignorant of song,
(While tuneful melodists their notes prolong,)
Shrieks, uninvited, a discordant C,

Or (hateful) growls an inappropriate B ;
By mingling his, (gratuitous buffoon!)

He mars their notes, and puts them out of tune;
And they will turn in anger and surprise,

And chorus something serious at his eyes.

CORYDON.

How must I act then, gentle Strephon, say?

I needs must moisten, while I smoke, my clay!*

STREPHON.

If you must drink, though the word "must" I doubt,
Take gin "hot with," or brandy "cold without."
But ne'er let these, your taste perverted, win,
Whilst coffee can be got for love or tin. †

CORYDON.

Methought I heard my Strephon once declare,
That cleanliness should be the smoker's care.

STREPHON.

That man the name of "smoker" ne'er awaits,
Who while his weed he puffs, expectorates.
The poorest husbandman who tills the soil,
When through his blacken'd pipe he sucks the oil,
Ejects the poison that his mouth contains,
And martyrs decency to save his brains.
But curs'd is he, who richer, purer, far,
Can thus demean him with a good cigar,

To some low spot let this lost wretch away,

Where men chew pigtail, and smoke yards of clay;
Where hodded labourers rejoice around,
And hob-nail'd "lace'ups" clatter on the ground;
Where grog is mixed with Birmingham-made spoons,
And sanded floors are crowded with spitoons;
There, through his hateful life obscurely wag,-
A thing of early purl and damaged shag!

CORYDON.

Most virtuous ire! but let us pause, my friend,
For lectures, like cigars, must have an end.

*"Smoke my clay." This term applies equally to cigars and pipes, and was used, (as we are instructed by Corydon to state,) in reference to the former.

"Tin." Pecunia. Argentum.-The ready-stumpy.

"I praythee give to me some tinne."-GENTLE Shepherd.

Pone sub curru nimium propinqui

Solis, in terrâ domibus negatâ, &c.

DOCTOR COTTON,-AND HIS COLLECTION OF ANGLING WORKS.

THE REV. H. S. Cotton, more familiarly known as Doctor Cotton,the humane and attentive pastor, in the dreary arcady of Newgate, over a flock that may be well styled feræ naturæ,-and the intelligent antiquarian and agreeable companion "without the city's walls,"has at length ceased to be "the sad shepherd,"-and has retired to real fields and real flocks in some pleasant farm in Sussex,-a-weary of guilt-deaths and rope-inspired repentancies. How refreshed will he now arise in the morning to the trill of the lark, and not to the toll of St. Sepulchre's bell! Will not "the cinque-spotted bottom of the cowslip" be sweeter to his eyes,-than the "sink-spotted soul" that is bending and drooping to its doom! Open pastures will unimprison his long stone-bound spirit-and the sigh of the southern early wind will be welcomed in the place of the clanking chain and the heavy grating bolt! He shall superintend other and less obdurate Greenacres-than his past experience has supplied to him-and fate shall at last gild for him, not only that milestone of his existence, the hour of eight o'clock in the morning,-but all his hours ;-and crime shall be forgotten, and bitter prayers shall fade out of his ears;-and all the spirit of the placid man, the gentle angler, and the lover of good old books, shall steal over his soul! The last unimbittered stealth with which he shall be henceforth familiar!

This is not, and yet it is,-an ordinary retirement !—the last time I saw this estimable man in the full bloom of his duty, was coming round the corner of Newgate in a five o'clock sun-rise on the morning of Greenacre's earthly atonement for his aggravated crimes. With the black-drop before our eyes,-and Newgate's walls for the back ground,-with ferocious spectators like a wedge beneath me (for I was windowed for what Brutus calls "the savage spectacle,")-he came with his white locks and white robes like a quieting spirit of peace,— and seemed to carry into the death-door at which he entered something like hope to the doomed !

In "actual service" I have invariably heard that he has been courageous in his attacks upon the apparently impenetrable fortress of the crime-petrified heart-unwearied in assiduity and zeal,-and kind, softening and consolatory after victory. With such a flock as that which surrounded him (I have heard him say after a morning's visitation to Newgate-" I have just been seeing my lambs !")—it could not but be expected that vulgar and ribald witticisms would not be