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covered another corridor, thirteen feet long, which led to another beautiful corridor, thirty-six feet six inches, by six feet eleven inches. The paintings still became more and more perfect as he advanced. A descent of ten steps led to another corridor, seventeen feet by ten feet five inches, which led to a chamber, twenty feet four inches by thirteen feet eight inches: in this chamber was a grand display of Egyptian gods and goddesses. This chamber led to a large hall, about twenty-eight by twenty seven feet, supported by two rows of square pillars: on each side of the hall is a small chamber, and the end led to a grand saloon with an arched roof, about thirty-two feet long, and twenty-seven wide. On the left of the saloon was a chamber about twenty-six feet long, and twentythree wide: at the end of this room, facing the hall of pillars, was another grand chamber, forty-three feet four inches by seventeen feet and a half wide. In the centre of this room, Mr. Belzoni discovered the most perfect and valuable remains of Egyptian antiquity,-a Sarcophagus of the finest oriental alabaster, nine feet five inches long, and three feet seven inches wide: its thickness is two inches; and it is transparent when a light is placed in the inside. It is sculptured within and without with several hundred figures and emblems. It was placed over a staircase in the centre of the saloon, leading to a subterraneous passage three hundred feet deep.

Mr. Belzoni, with the assistance of M. Ricci, made drawings afterwards of all the figures, hieroglyphics, emblems, ornaments, &c. in the tomb; and took impressions of every thing in wax, which occupied him more than twelve months. The paintings, &c. are all minutely described in the work before us the description, though brief, takes up fourteen pages.

a task

Shortly after the discovery of this celebrated tomb, Mr. Belzoni left Thebes for Cairo, to which he conveyed his second collection of antiquities. Even here the spirit of curiosity would not suffer him to be at rest-he formed a project of opening the second pyramid of Ghizeh-that enormous mass, which has baffled the conjectures of ancient and modern writers. Having mentioned his inEur. Mag. Vol. 82.

tention to Count de Forbin, who was then at Cairo, he sarcastically requested of him to send him a plan of it to France, when opened. The Count thought the thing impossible, but he was mistaken-Mr. Belzoni opened the pyramid, and sent him the plan. A paragraph appeared shortly after in a French paper, stating that Count de Forbin, Director General of the Royal Museum of France, penetrated into the second pyramid of Ghizeh, and brought the plan of the discovery along with him to France. The expenses of opening the pyramid Mr. Belzoni paid out of his own pocket; all his other expenses were paid by Mr. Salt, to whom he delivered both the collections which he brought from Thebes. He therefore determined, after opening the pyramid, to make a collection on his own account, and to make the drawings of the tomb of Psammuthis, and the wax impressions of which we have already spoken: having, accordingly, arranged his affairs with the Consul, he set off once more for Thebes. On his third journey to Thebes, he visited the Defterdar Bey of Siout, whom he found exercising his soldiers and young Mamelukes in gunnery and horsemanship:having obtained a firman from him, he continued his voyage to Thebes, where he commenced his drawings and models of the tomb as before stated, the moment he arrived.

It is disagreeable to revert to the difficulties he had here again to encounter, and the obstacles illiberally thrown in his way, not only by M. Drouetti and his agents, but by Mr. Salt himself. So determined were they to put a stop to his researches, that on his arrival at Thebes he found the ground on both sides of the Nile marked by the agents of one party or the other. "I verily believe," he says, "if I pointed out one of the sand banks or solid rocks, they would have said they just intended to have broken into it the next day." Perceiving the difficulties of making researches on his own account, without quarrelling with some of the parties, he retired to his tomb, and devoted his time to his drawings and models. His thirst for discovery, however, prompted him to diversify his pursuits by occasional excavations, whoever might reap the benefit of his discoveries.

Accordingly he dug, between the Memnonium and Medinet Aboo, a place which had been already examined by Mr. Salt and Mr. Drouetti to no purpose. He set his men to work where he imagined the Se kos and Cella must have been, and in two days came to a large statue which proved to be the finest he had yet found. It was a sitting figure of a man, at all points resembling the great colossus of Memnon, nearly ten feet high, and of the most beautiful Egyptian workmanship.

Having made this addition to his stock, Mr. Belzoni re-commenced his drawings, determined to return to his excavations the moment he had an interview with Mr. Salt, who had marked all this ground for himself. He took off many of the figures in basso relievo, an hundred and eighty-two of which he found to be as large as life. The smaller figures he computed at about eight hundred, and five hundred hierogly. phics, which he faithfully copied with their colours. Though he had ceased his researches, he still continued to purchase from the peasants of Gournou whatever he found of greatest value in their possession, by which means he was enabled to make a valuable, though small, collection.

About this time, Mr. Caliud, a silversmith, who had been recommended to the Bashaw of Egypt by M. Drouetti, was sent to examine certain mountains on the borders of the Red Sea, which were reported to contain a number of mines. On his return, he happened to reach Sakiet Minor, situated in a valley, a few miles from the mountain of Zabara, which he described as containing eight hundred houses and several temples. In a word, it appeared to him like the ruins of Pompeia. This led the antiquaries of Egypt to mistake it for the ancient Berenice. Mr. Belzoni happening to meet with one of the miners, who had been sent from the mountains to the Nile for provisions, received such information from him relative to Sakiet, as convinced him it could not be the Berenice mentioned by Heredotus and Pliny, and that it did not lie as far south as Berenice is marked by the geographer D' Anville. Determined, however, to judge for himself, he set off, in

company with Mr. Beechey, an Eng lish doctor, two Greek servants, the miner from whom he received his information, and two boys. During their passage up the Nile, it rose three feet and a half higher than it did during the former inundation, and spread desolation over the face of the country. Having arrived at the island of Hovassie, he made preparations for crossing the desert, and in a few days reached Sakiet, a mi serable village, containing only eighty-seven houses, out of which only one could be considered the habitation of a person of any dis tinction. Satisfied that this could not be the ancient Berenice, Mr. Belzoni, without halting a moment, continued his course, hoping every moment to come within sight of it; but, after several days' journey, he found himself suddenly on the coasts of the Red Sea, surrounded by "one of those moles of ruins which shew the spot of ancient towns, so often seen in Egypt." From a number of observations, which our limits do not permit us to mention, Mr. Bel zoni concluded that these were the ruins of the ancient Berenice. temple was Egyptian, the first of the kind discovered on the coasts of the Red Sea. Mr. Belzoni and his party, being almost destitute of provisions, returned to Mr. Caliud's Sakeit, a village which he thinks was built for the ancient miners, who worked in the adjacent mountains in search of emeralds. Mr. Belzoni, to convince himself whether there was any landing place besides that where he had discovered the ruins, returned again to the Red Sea; and, having satisfied himself on this point, returned again through Sakiet to Gournou, where he arrived after an absence of forty days.

The

Shortly after his arrival at Gournou, Mr. Bankes solicited him to ascend the Nile, as far as the Island of Philoe, to remove the obelisk of which he had already taken possession in the name of the British Consul, who had afterwards ceded it to Mr. Bankes. With this, Mr. Belzoni gladly complied, but M. Drouetti, on hearing of the design, sent Mr. Lebulo, one of his agents, to the Aga of Assouan, to persuade him not to suffer Mr. Belzoni to remove the obelisk. Finding the Aga paid no attention to him, knowing that

Mr. Belzoni had long since taken possession of it, he went direct to the Island; and affecting to the simple natives that he could read the hieroglyphics, pretended, that they indicated the obelisk to belong to M. Drouetti's ancestors. By this, and several other means, added to some presents, he nearly frustrated Mr. Belzoni's design of removing the obelisk; but he was not of a character to bend before difficulties, and he succeeded in carrying it to Thebes, where he met with Mrs. Belzoni, who had returned from Jerusalem. From the moment of his arrival, M. Drouetti took every opportunity of coming to an open quarrel with him; but finding he would not be provoked, he employed his two agents, Lebulo and the renegado Rossignan, to assault him publicly at the head of thirty Arabs.

They were soon joined by M. Drouetti himself, but several other Arabs who happened to be passing, stopped to see what was the matter, and took Mr. Belzoni's part. Finding it dangerous to remain any longer in Alexandria, Mr. Belzoni determined to leaveEgyptaltogether, and having conveyed his collection of antiquities, his sarcophagus, models, drawings, &c. on board, he sailed for Alexandria, where he found letters, on his arrival, from the Consul, and Mr. Bankes, who were then absent. The Consul requested of him to stop in Alexandria, till he had an answer from England, and obtained redress for the manner in which he was treated. In consequence of this delay, Mr. Belzoni purposed making a journey to the Oasis of Ammon, He set off, accordingly, and visited many of those places whose primitive glory is long since set, but which still derive an importance, from the splendour of their ancient fame. Amongst others, we may note the lake Moeris, the town and temple of Haron, the ancient town of Denay, the ancient Bacchus, the ruins of Arsinoe, &c. -With the present state of these places he makes us particularly acquainted, and his opinions, with regard to the relations which they bear to others, mentioned in ancient history, are peculiarly interesting. Having procured a guide through the desert, he pursued his course westward; and, after a journey of two days, came to various tumuli,

graves

which he considers to be the
of Cambyses' soldiers, who are known
to have perished in the desert.

Having passed on, he arrived at
the village of Zaboo, where he was
indebted to his address, and the
experience he had acquired from
travelling, for his reception among
the natives; who manifested, at first,
very great unwillingness to admit
him among them. Having, how-
ever, succeeded in conciliating their
friendship, he made many excur-
sions round the country, in search
of antiquities. The natives, how-
ever, took care to search him all
over, whenever he returned from a
cave, imagining he had found a trea-
sure, which they supposed all these
caves contained, but which they
dared not examine themselves, be-
lieving them to be the residence of
devils. He had more difficulty, how-
ever, in bringing the Sheik, Cady,
and inhabitants of El-Cassar, to ad-
mit him into their village, as they
could not be persuaded, that any
man would have travelled so far in
search of old stones; and, conse-
quently, that it must be treasure
alone, of which he was in pursuit.
He obtained permission, however, to
enter, on condition, that he should
not write a single word, nor prac-
tise any sort of magic, during his
residence among them, lest they
should fall sick and die. Having
agreed to these conditions, he was
permitted to pursue his researches.
He visited, among other places, the
tombs and fountain mentioned by
Herodotus in Melpomene, and which
he places near the temple of Jupiter
Ammon. Having explored every
thing of note here, and in the adja-
cent country, he returned once more
to Rosetta, and thence to Alexandria.
Having obtained no redress for the
assault, committed on his person by
Drouetti and his agents, he sailed
for his native country, where he
passed over to England, as already
related. Since his arrival, he has
published an account of his travels
and discoveries, from which we have
collected our materials for the pre-
sent memoir. Our limits, however,
do not permit us to enter into the
spirit of the work, or the reasonings
of its author; and we have, there-
fore, confined ourselves chiefly to
such matters as related to the active,
and not to the speculative part of
his life.

ESSAY ON THE GENIUS OF COWLEY, DONNE AND

CLIEVELAND.

(Continued from page 48.)

Our two souls, therefore, which are one,
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
Like gold to airy thinness beat.

they are two, they are two so,

As stiff, thin compasses are two;
The soul, the fixed foot, makes no show
To move, but doth if the other do.

And though it in the center sit,
Yet, when the other far doth roam,
It leans and hankers after it,
And grows erect as that comes home.

THE feelings of nature become, consequently, extinct; their voice is not heard: their impulse is disregarded; and we consider them just and natural only, when they If agree with those from whom we think it impious to dissent. This appears to me to be the reason, why all natural feeling is destroyed, while we are travelling from the state of nature, where we have no authority to direct us, to the state of perfect knowledge, where we are enabled to cstimate the real value of every authority to which our assent is required. It is only in these two states that we can exercise a perfect freedom of opinion and of language, because, in the one, we know not what restriction means, and, in the other, we despise the restriction to which the tyranny of authority would endeavour to subject us.

These appear to me to be the reasons, why every trace of natural feeling seems to be extinct in the writings of Cowley and his contemporaries.Perhaps I do not assert more than I could easily prove, when I say, that every line, every idea, every sentiment in Cowley, Donne, Clieveland, &c. can be traced to the philosophy, the metaphysics, or the literature of their predecessors. They never venture to think for themselves, and their highest aim is to present the thoughts of others in a different aspect. They never consult their own feelings: they even address their mistress as if she were totally destitute of all natural feeling, as if she were an intellectual being, who was not in the least subject to the dominion of the senses; and as if she could only esteem the man, whose love was a mere heterogeneous compound of conceit and wit, -not the man who loved her as a man, and whose love had not the remotest alliance with metaphysical combinations. Who can trace the least spark of natural affection in the following comparison, which Donne makes between himself who travels, and his wife who stays at home, to a pair of compasses?

Such wilt thou be to me, who must,
Like th' other foot, obliquely run;
Thy firmness makes my circle just,
And grows erect as that comes home.

Such wilt thou be to me, who must,
Like th' other foot, obliquely run;
Thy firmness makes my circle just,
And makes me end where I begun.

Dryden very justly observes of Donne, that "he affects the metaphysics, not only in his satires, but in his amorous verses, where nature only should reign, and perplexes the minds of the fair sex with nice speculations of philosophy, when he should engage their hearts, and entertain them with the softness of love."

Donne has not confined his metaphysical jargon to his poetical productions. It is equally characteristic of his prose writings. Even in the dedication of his poetical works to Lord Craven, where it might naturally be expected he would have laid aside his conceits and witticisms, he concludes, by representing the collection of his own poems as a pyramid on which his Lordship's statue might rest secure; in which, by the bye, the whole compliment is to himself, and not to his Lordship. -He leaves it doubtful, however, whether it be his Lordship's statue or himself, that is to rest on this pyramid. "Although these poems," he says, were formerly written upon several occasions, to several persons, they now unite themselves, and are become one pyramid to set your Lordship's statue upon, where

66

you (not the statue) may stand, like armed Apollo, the defender of the Muses, encouraging the poets now alive to celebrate your great acts."

Indeed, it is difficult to think well of the national character of the English nobility, at a time when such puerile absurdities were received as compliments. There is great reason to believe, that we owe little to our ancestors for that dig nity and true pride of character, of which we justly boast at present; nor would it, perhaps, be wandering far from the truth, to assert, that we are more nearly allied to the French, the Germans, or the Spaniards, of the present day, in point of national character, than we are to our own great grandfathers. We hear no longer of that prostitution of genius which was so common in England, down to the commencement of the eighteenth century. Patrons were at this time addressed as demi-gods. The language of adulation could not be too servile, and, indeed, it is difficult to determine, which is the most offensive and revolting to our nature, -the poet who basely sacrifices at the altar of wealth, or the patron who suffers himself to be exalted almost into the throne of omnipotence, where he

"Assumes the God,

Affects to nod,

And seems to shake the spheres."

Happily, these lords of the creation have no existence at present. -English noblemen are too enlightened to think themselves honoured by being elevated above their own species, and endowed with attributes of excellence, which are placed beyond the reach of human attainment. Reason has so far established her dominion amongst us, as to remove the veil which had been woven in the loom of feudal despotism, and interposed between the higher and lower classes of society. This veil prevented them from being mutually acquainted with each other; for the former class not only believed themselves to be of a superior order to the latter, but even the latter themselves became converts to the opinion. In many parts of Ireland, this blind homage to ancestry, arising from a belief that they inherit a sort of superior nature,

prevails at the present day,—a fact which it is so difficult to reconcile to reason, that few can give it credence who have not actually resided among them. The English nobleman, however, has long ceased to believe, that nature has drawn any line of distinction between him and the peasant. He has, indeed, frequently to pity the ignorance of the latter; he finds himself possessed of many endowments which are entirely denied to him; he finds himself removed from him by a vast expanse of mental illumination; but he places none of these differences to the account of nature; and he justly attributes them to the advantages of education and cultivated society;-to the agency of circumstances, and the influence which they exercise over the human mind.

The genius of the literature of every age is considerably influenced by the moral character of the people. Poets and historians are scarcely left any alternative but that of writing what will please, or of not writing at all. They cannot please, however, without accommodating themselves to the political prejudices and national character of the people for whom they write. A nation that respects its own character will produce chaste and moral writers, but where this character is forgotten, where every individual consults only the propensities of his own nature, the genius of morality and patriotic virtue wings her flight to some happier confines, and a swarm of licentious writers, sensual poets, and timeserving historians immediately succeed. The stage, particularly, becomes a theatre of profanation and impiety. This licentiousness seems to have infected the English nation, and, consequently, the English writers, from the middle of the seventeenth to the middle of the eighteenth century, more than any other country in Europe. The prostitution of genius was no where more evident than on the stage; and the writer, who could not accommodate himself to the rage of the times, had no chance of advancing himself in public estimation. If we were to judge of Dryden's character through the medium of his dramatic works, the sensuality of his muse would convey but a faint conception of that dith

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