"In books and gardens thou hast placed aright

Thy noble innocent delight"-?

In fact, a garden just accommodates itself to the perambulations of a scholar, who is not over-anxious about the extent of his limits, and who would perhaps rather wish his walks abridged than extended.-There is a good characteristic account of the mode in which the literati take exercise, given in Pope's Letters.

"I, like a poor squirrel, am continually in motion, indeed, but it is about a cage of three foot; my little excursions are like those of a shopkeeper, who walks every day a mile or two before his own door, but minds his business all the while."

There is one mode of exercise which we venture to recommend to our sedentary friends, which is a sort of compromise between riding and walking. Although this may be deemed a childish amusement, yet we have the authority of two celebrated men in its favour, Agesilaus and Martinus Scriblerus. We allude to the salutary exercise of riding on a stick, or, as the learned Scriblerus hath it, "equitare in arundine longa." This exercise seems to us to unite in itself many of the advantages of both the other modes. Perhaps, however, it may now be said to be superseded by the velocipedes.

The more violent and animal-like amusements of the field have never, we think, been greatly in vogue amongst the literati. They have but little relish for the "hounds and echoing horn." Hunting is, par excellence, the recreation of country squires. Who can fancy Spenser, after finishing a canto of the Faery Queen, pulling on his boots for a hunt, or Sir Isaac Newton asking for his whip and spurs? Squire Western, the least intellectual of all created beings, was hunting personified. A scholar cannot get rid of his thoughts all at once. The younger Pliny, when he used to go to hunt wild boars, generally carried his tablets with him. This was a sort of compromise between soul and want of soul. Shakspeare, to be sure, is said to have been fond of following the deer in his neighbours' parks; but the daring hazard of the chase probably was to him its chief charm. There is, however, one species. of these sylvan sports which has something of a scholastic nature about it, and which, indeed, has become a sort of literary property ever since it was sanctified by old Walton's pen. Perhaps it may be that there is something contemplative and scholar-like in the art itself. An angle is by no means incompatible with the poetical character, and even a mathematician may find ample time for reflection in the pauses of a nibble. Many learned men have accordingly been much attached to this diversion. The illustrious Sir H. Wotton, according to Walton, "did not forget his innate pleasure of angling, which he would usually call his idle time not idly spent; saying often he would rather live five May months than forty Decembers." So Dr. Paley would have his picture

Gilbert Wakefield, in his

taken with a rod and line in his hand. early life, was a great angler-a diversion which he afterwards relinquished, from a conviction of its cruelty. Those who wish to see a scholar's arguments against field-sports, may find them in Wakefield's Letters to Fox. They seem, however, to have taken very little effect on the deeply-rooted habits of the statesman.

After all, a literary life but seldom displays any extraordinary instances of corporeal activity. The generality of authors, like the Lazzaroni of Naples, are very much attached to the "benedetto far niente ;" and the author of the "Castle of Indolence,” eating peaches from the wall, with his hands behind him, is no unapt type of their personal activity.

R.

CAIN ON THE SEA-SHORE,

FROM THE GERMAN OF STOLBERG.

WHITHER doth frantic horror urge
My hurried steps ?-O woe is me!
These dark waves roll a sanguine tide—
No, no-they are the sea.

To the broad earth's remotest verge
The wrath of God before me flies,
And with a voice that tears my soul
"Vengeance-eternal vengeance" cries.
I am accursed-my brother's blood
Dashes against this wild sea-shore;
It shrieks upon the hollow blast-
It thunders in the torrent's roar.
As round the craggy wave-worn rock
Whirls the impetuous, eddying flood,
So fiercely terror racks my frame

From God's decree for Abel's blood.

Lay bare thy depths, thou great profound!
Shew me the womb of night, thou deep!
Vain prayer-the Avenger waits me there;
His eyes are flame-they never sleep—
Plunged in thy bottomless abyss,

Abel's pale form would meet my sight,
As flying-flying, now i see it

On the tall mountain's topmost height.
E'er since my brother's blood was spilt,
O woe is me !-O woe is me!

My steps the Avenger's curse pursues,
It follows-ever follows me!

Ω.

PERSIAN AND ARABIC LITERATURE.-NO. 1.

Quique pii vates, et Phœbo digna locuti,

Inventas aut qui vitam excoluere per artes.-VIRG.

IF the History of Nations is engaging and useful, because the events of past times, and the actions and fortunes of past heroes, like the wrecked vessel of Carthage, which furnished to the Romans a model for naval war, may supply to modern ages an example and a guide the language of nations, which is a transcript of their feelings, and which bears the marks of their progress from rudeness to refinement, no less deserves our attention.

That language and reflection exert a mutual influence on each other may be learned from the manner in which the civilization of any people corresponds with the improvement of their idiom. It is not therefore to be imagined, that the investigation of a varying and improving dialect is an unpleasing or unworthy task, since it opens the field for research into the manners of a tribe of mankind, and may introduce discussions illustrative of the condition of the peasant, the splendour of the monarch, the renown of the warrior.

Neither let it be urged by any considerate mind, that as the people are unknown and inglorious, their story will be but the dry and jejune detail of facts, and will too nearly resemble the uninviting but useful narrative of the antiquary. Yet when we remember that any sudden alteration in language is not usually effected without a corresponding change in dynasty, and that the transference of subjects from one lord to another, introduces the phrases and idioms, as well as the manners, of the conqueror, we shall find that while the etymologist is engaged in tracing the growth of a language, he may occasionally assume the more solemn deportment and the more animated style of the historian. If we

There is still another source of enlivening these discussions. can intersperse our remarks with examples and translations from the fine writers of this ingenious nation, and particularly from the poets, who have ever improved the melody and richness of a language, we may hope that the vicissitudes of polished diction may open a field for interesting study.

It is the acute observation of an elegant and judicious writer, that human affairs have an ultimate point of depression, as well as of exaltation, beyond which they never proceed either in their advancement or decline. "The regular progress of cultivated life," says Sir Joshua Reynolds, "is from necessities to accommodations, from accommodations to ornaments." That which takes place in the other arts, takes place also in that of language. It takes its march through gradual improvement to degeneracy. Its first birth is to supply the necessities of man; its latest employment to furnish him with luxuries.

It is not always, however, that innovation is gradual, or alteration slow. Besides negligence in the poet and indifference in the patron, causes which invariably affect the growth of letters; war and conquest, the hope of plunder, the desire of renown, often draw every aspiring mind to the field. The arts yield to the love of martial glory,

and the havoc of war succeeds to the slow exertions of civilized industry. Where peace flourishes, the arts of peace have full scope for growth and verdure. Domestic intercourse becomes regulated, and the happiness of private life flows on in an even and uninterrupted channel. There is opened a path to emulation; there are offered laurels to ambition. While science attains maturity, rhetoric and eloquence assume their merited station in the scale of human pursuits. Men study, not merely to discover truth, but to scatter flowers over truths already developed; they desire, not merely to instruct, but to persuade; not merely to teach virtue, but to paint her charms and loveliness.

It is then that a limited and generous monarchy is, perhaps, the very condition of society particularly favourable to the advancement of the arts. The gallantry of courts disposes minds formed to soar, to seek distinction or opulence through the refinements and delicacies of civilized manners. Since the path to honour and wealth lies directly through the favour of the sovereign, pleasure, in every variety, is pursued, and every elegant occupation which can administer amusement to the prince, is industriously sought. Politeness, it is said*, is the virtue of monarchies; even among the adherents of a Highland laird, nothing is so remarkable as the civility of the clansment.

The influence, however, of the fine arts on national character, was long since remarked by the eloquent and judicious Polybius, and illustrated by this reflection on the power of music among the natives of Arcadia. "Cynetum was a remarkable town in that happy country, the favourite land of pastoral poetry. But the clime of Arcadia, pursues the historian, above all others required the soothing influence of melody, in order to oppose the noxious effects of a keen and bracing temperature; and it is well known, that the peaceful occupations of this romantic people were the amusements of the syrinx and the lyre. But the natives of Cynetum disdained such enervating and (as they seemed) unmanly accomplishments; and the natives of Cynetum were marked, he observes, for cruelty unknown to all other Greeks."

The Greeks, inspired from infancy with the spirit of war, and accustomed to regard with scorn the useful operations of mechanical industry, considered even the culture of the earth as degrading, and assigned to helots, or other slaves, employments which they stigmatized as impairing the dignity of a free-born Hellene. Such arts of commerce as might expose their citizens to the risk of offering mer chandize to a slave, a foreigner, or a stranger, were revolting to the proud ideas of Grecian independence.

Excluded thus from those ordinary occupations which in modern states are considered as respectable and honourable, the pursuits of the field, or the games of the Palæstra, remained as the only exercises of the accomplished Dorian or Athenian. It was necessary, therefore,

* Montesquieu, Espr. des Loix, 1. 3.

† See Johnson's "Tour to the Hebrides," and Hume's "Essays."

that the fine arts should civilize the breast and tame the souls of this high-spirited people; and music, while the sister-art of painting had not as yet quitted the garb of infancy, was the ready resource of her acute and profound legislators.

The truth of the same principles may be remarked in the history of the Persians and Arabs previously, and at the time immediately subsequent, to the era of Mahomet.

The vindictive and sanguinary character of the Arabs is well known to the nations of Europe. Along the banks of the Red Sea, the ocean, and the Persian Gulf, at the earlier periods of Oriental independence, lived the Icthyophagi, in the rudest state of primitive barbarism. Without the influence of arts to soften, of laws to control, almost of language to express their desires, the helpless savage supported an existence not far superior to that of the brute. Some, however, of this desolate people emerged from such scenes of misery. Hordes of wandering freebooters quitted their dreary abodes, and sought happier and more secure settlements in the resources of a pastoral life. From these descended that formidable race, which, known under the name of Bedoweens, have, from age to age, scattered devastation and ruin through the climes of the East.

The Bedoweens, born in a state of separation from the rest of mankind, have been characterized, in every act of intercourse with them, by the bitterness of rancour and malevolence. The guarded caravan, or the solitary pilgrim, is alike exposed to the incursions of the wild freebooter of Arabia. If the Bedoween meet on the desert a lonely traveller, he, with remorseless rapacity, strips him of his garment, or devotes him to destruction on his resistance. Nor is the practice of licentious rapine confined to the lawless ruffian; the customs of the nation support the system of secret and predatory warfare: numerous armed bands infest every district, and assume the character of just and honourable armies.

In the civilized nations of Europe, the right is reserved to a few powerful sovereigns of carrying arms, or entering into alliances among each other; and the transactions of hostile potentates proceed with a degree of refinement and a spirit of humanity that tend at least to mitigate and cast a veil over the horrors of carnage and bloodshed. Among the Arabs every family, often every individual, might be the arbiter and avenger of his own quarrel. The acute sensibility of honour which feels a stain like a wound, and regards the intention of the offender rather than the injury, sheds its pernicious influence on their internal feuds, and transmits from father to son the animosities of kinsmen. Ignorant of pity or forgiveness, they could protract their revenge from year to year, and from age to age, and rest not until sanguinary cruelty have steeped their scimitars in the blood of their opponents.

Yet was the attachment of the Arabs to a life of predatory warfare scarcely more remarkable than their encouragement of some of the arts of peace. Their keen avidity for poetry was displayed at their solemn festivals, where genius received its laurels at the hands of the haughty warriors. The subjects of their song were the praises of