and was flourishing his pipe-stick for a fresh onset, when we were both seized, I by Hajji Aali, and he by some other of our party, and words of peace were administered to us. Meanwhile the gathering of male natives drew their daggers, and the bevy of women uttered their screams. War seemed imminent. In this state of affairs, I got my pair of big double-barrelled pistols, examined the nipples, put on fresh caps, and laying them by me in readiness for action, sat down to stitch at my place on the sail, announcing to the hostile party that the first man who ventured on the convas-covered territory should eat lead. Then the elder Moor, who was not of the sewing party, addressed the multitude.

appeared that in the vessel's marine stores, | shoulder. He staggered back a few paces, if any existed, packthread was a deficient item. A considerable crowd of natives had gathered round us, and there was a treaty instituted with one of the women for some loosely spun cotton yarn, which, when four doubled, might serve at a pinch. Indeed, my packing-needle was full of it while the discussion as to its price was going on. I had an unlimited supply of copper currency; and being in great haste to refit and take advantage of the long-desired wind which was blowing uselessly over our heads, I at once disbursed the sum named by the selling party, that the hands of the stitchers might not be stayed by altercation. But the woman being, I suppose, charged like a Leyden vase with a considerable stock of unexploded argument, demurred to the unconditional tender I had made, on the ground that she preferred Egyptian to Turkish currency.

"So had we rather have good firm packthread than this rotten fluff," I exclaimed, with an European impatience of unreason. "This is flat treason. The Sultan of Istampool is Suzerain of Masr. Who shall dare to refuse the sultan's coin? But since the good woman has refused our money, doubtless she wishes to make us a present of the thread without price and without reward. Therefore let us give her thanks in the name of Allah, and go on sewing." With which remarks I returned my rejected handful of ten and twenty para pieces to my pocket. The woman, on hearing these sentiments, pounced upon her bobbins of cotton twine, and was making off with them in great dudgeon, when I jumped up, followed her, and to delay her without laying hands on her, made a hoop with my arms and lowered it over her head. It was, of course, not my fault that she ran against my hands; on which she screamed, and threw away the bobbins, whereupon I dissolved the enclosure, and at the same instant found myself tackled from behind by an indignant husband, who had laid hold of my elbow. I turned round, shook him loose, and "led off numbers one and three," as my instructor in pugilism used to express it, and was prepared to "keep a leadin' of it hoff." But the village chief, whether by science or instinct, judiciously "juked" his head, so that my forearm only caught him on the

"Hearken, O sheikh, and men of the village! These days are not as the days of old. Formerly the Moslem was strong and the Frank weak. Now it is the reverse; and the Pacha of Egypt values the head of such a Frank as this more than three hundred such men as you. Therefore put up your daggers, and offer no violence. There reached me the narration of circumstances in which a Frank like this was treated with violence, and the pacha arrested three hundred of the inhabitants of that place, and sent them away on military services, so that none of them have yet seen their homes. This gentleman meant no insult to the wife of the sheikh. He only wished to prevent her from abstracting the thread, for which a just price and an ample reward had been offered."

These judicious remarks from the man pietate gravis, stilled the tumult, the coppers were accepted, and thus ended the battle of the sail and bobbins.

My anxiety to take prompt advantage of our fair wind was unnecessary. It blew us up the river briskly, past the rock-hewn colossi of Abou Simbel, and on to our destination. We landed on the western bank, opposite Wady Halfeh, and sat down for a few days in the sand to make our arrangements to go forward by camels. The camel men did not appear speedily, and the fair wind swept the sand steadily into our eyes, noses, mouths, shoes, pockets, cooking utensils, baggage-everywhere. I thought of that cruel conundrum about not starving in the desert because you might "live on the

sandwiches there." I never hope again to have such a surfeit of sand. I spread my mattress on a little jutting point of the bank, and slept there, and passed most of my time sprinkled with the spray of the wind-lashed river to escape from the sand. I was warned by the party that I might be eaten unawares by a crocodile, but I preferred that possibility to the certainty of sand. I put on a tall pair of boots that reached my thighs, but the sand got in; and as I ran to overtake what I supposed might be the last European boat of the season with a letter home, the sand in my boots rasped the skin off my ankles so severely that the scars of those sand-wounds lasted for years.

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66

spoonful of tea in it. He drank this as hot as possible, after which I gave him two 5gr. blue pills, another pot of tea, and in the morning followed up my treatment with a coffee-cupful of castor-oil. The hot tea relieved him for the time, and the patient allowed on the morrow, This, by Allah, is great medicine!' Nevertheless, being much relieved, he had leisure after breakfast to consult his vol ume of domestic medicine-a corpulent and handsome manuscript, in various colored inks. He turned to the heading ' Qowlunj,' and found it laid down that the remedy for that complaint was to inscribe a diagram on the palm of his hand. In the midst a bird was picking up seven dots. The fowl was so rudimentary in form that it would have puzzled Professor Owen to detect its genus, yet it was above Hajji Mohammed's artistic powers to reproduce. Therefore, when he had made his diagram and put in the cabalistic letters round about it, he requested me to make a fac-simile of the bird. This I did with great gravity, and before the ink was dry he licked the whole off his palm and gulped it down. I was not, however, disposed to let him lay his recovery to this

monies can have no beneficial efficacy, because you omitted (previous to absorbing the draught depicted in your hand) to say Bismillah!""

"

When the Arabs arrived with camels they waited for lucky days for making a start; and none of our party attempted to hurry them or their cattle. I was a good deal disheartened with the slowness of our progress, which made it more and more probable that I was in for the rainy season and a fever. Nevertheless, I resigned myself to my fate, went over the river to Wady Halfeh, presented my letter to the governor, and bought a donkey for my journey. Here is an ex-recipe; so I observed to him, These ceretract from a letter home, probably the one I rasped my ankles in attempting to post: "By the position of the moon, which is my candle, I take it to be about two o'clock in the morning. I write from my bed on the west bank of the Nile, opposite Wady Halfeh. The desert is my bedstead, and its curtain the sky, spangled (over my feet) with the scorpion, centaur, and southern cross. This last constellation I have just now seen for the first time. It only rises above the horizon after one passes the tropic. I am indebted for my sight of the cross, and you for this moonlit epistle, to the sudden indisposition of Hajji Mohammed. About an hour ago, I waked, in some alarm of crocodiles, and found a heavy hand on my shoulder shaking me. It was Hajji Aali, who said Arise! my brother is sick, and afflicted with pains severely.' I got up, and found the solemn old Moor in great trouble, moaning and rocking himself on his heels. He had violent pains in his bowels. I was not surprised; for the day before he had, not feeling well, prescribed for himself a large mess of some coarse-looking yellow gum, which he called 'sobr,' mixed with honey. It looked like gamboge, but (in the absence of an Arabic dictionary) I think sobr means aloes. However that be, unless aloes greatly resemble gamboge, I should trust my own eyesight more readily than Hajji Mohammed's chemistry. We made a bulrush fire, on which I boiled my little coffee-pot full of sugar and water, and stirred up a table

'By Allah, it is correct!" he exclaimed, with some vexation. However, he did not go through his formula again, and I had the credit of his cure. At last everything was settled for our start on the morrow. The camel-drivers had agreed that to-morrow was a fortunate day, and the hire of my camel was settled. That night after dark Ĭ heard the sound of the jubilant tam-tam from the opposite bank; and on the eventful morning saw yet another dahabieh on the other side of the river. Our journey was again, without any apparent reason, postponed; and I had leisure to go over and see what Frank gentlemen had arrived. They proved to be two English brothers, who were masters of their own boat. They offered me a cast down to Cairo, which I accepted. I rode my donkey with them, to scratch my name on the rock by the second cataract; and, on my return, bade farewell to the Moorish merchants. I presented the ass to Hajji Aali, and my shabby old tent to Hajji Mohammed. He begged me to leave him a few blue pills and some castor oil, which I did. The brothers gave me their blessing and a circular letter of recommendation, describing me as a "good man, who knew Arabic," to their kindred in the Fayoom and Tripoli. Next morning I sailed. away down the Nile. G. J. CAYLEY.

From The Saturday Review. VARNHAGEN VON ENSE'S DIARY.*

THIS is certainly the most startling and stirring book that has been published in Germany for many years. Humboldt's correspondence with Varnhagen may have shocked many readers, not only in Germany, but wherever Humboldt's name was known; and that is tantamount to the whole civilized, and a good portion of the uncivilized, world. Yet, compared with the volumes now before us, that correspondence resembles the dwarf that was to usher in the giant. There was something essentially petty and paltry in those letters. Every page was full of vanity, flattery, spite, small talk, and small thought on small matters of all kinds, quite unworthy of the great genius of Humboldt. The letters ought never to have been published. They destroyed the dignified appearance which Humboldt had preserved through life, both in his social and in his literary relations. They did no good to anybody, not even to the fair editor, Fräulein Ludmilla Assing, though they may have put a few thousand pounds into her pocket. Those who knew Humboldt best were fully aware of the frivolous side of his character-of his playfulness, of his sharp tongue, of his weakness in professing to despise courts and courtiers, whilst expecting to be treated by kings and emperors as their equel, if not their superior. But Humboldt had the good sense to hide all these weak points from the world at large, and it was the mistake of a lackey to exhibit his master en negligé, to the staring eyes of Europe. There was just here and there a flash of lightning in that correspondence to show that the same voice which we heard grumbling and growling was the voice of one who could thunder if he pleased. But there was little to redeem the whole book, which for many reasons was offensive in the extreme, and broke through some of the most sacred rules of good breeding and good faith. In spite of all the brave words of Fräulein Ludmilla Assing, to publish the letters of living persons without asking their leave is something worse than an outrage on common propriety. This she has done in several instances. Whether all the scraps of a man *Tagebücher, von K. A. Varnhagen von Ense. Leipzig. 1861.

so lately departed from us as Humboldt should have been published is simply a question of good taste, which it would be useless to argue with Fräulein Ludmilla As

sing.

It is with very different feelings that we put down the two first volumes of Varnhagen's Diary. At Berlin, no doubt, some people will cry shame at this book, even more than at Humboldt's correspondence with Varnhagen. Others will rub their hands and chuckle with delight at the fearful exhibition of the state of things in Prussia. We share neither of these feelings. We look upon the book as a most valuable contribution to the history of Prussian politics during a very critical period. It throws an unexpected and glaring light on things which were meant to be kept in profound darkness, never to be revealed to the profane gaze of the historian. It is a voice which was stifled during the writer's lifetime, and which now reaches our ears with greater solemnity from the other side of the grave. All considerations whether such a book should have been published or not vanish before the high and noble object which the writer had in view. He wrote to tell the coming generation of Prussia's greatness, in which he had shared in his youth, and of Prussia's degradation, which he witnessed during the Thirty Years' Peace, from 1818 to 1848. His Diary begins in 1835, under Frederick William III., and it will probably reach to the last days of the writer's life. The two volumes now published comprise the last four years of the reign of Frederick William III., and the first five years of the reign of Frederick William IV. Though there are many entries which can be of no interest except to those who know all the ministers and chamberlains and dames de la cour of the court of Berlin some twenty years ago, yet, as a sketch of public life in Prussia, the Diary is invaluable. Whatever may be said by his enemies, Varnhagen was evidently a true patriot, full of enthusiasm for Prussia, more, even, than for Germany at large. He had means of information such as were possessed by few historians. He had himself fought in the war of independence, and been wounded at Wagram. He then travelled for some time, and visited the court of Napoleon, in 1810. In 1812 he left the Aus

those who remained were needy men who had to choose between starvation and dishonor, and preferred the latter. Frederick William III. was a man of no will-Frederick William IV. a man of no character. In fact, it is perfectly clear, from occasional re

trian service, served for a short time in treated by the court and the Camarilla—all Prussia, and then joined the Russian army. this sounds perfectly incredible to English He was at Paris in 1813, as the aide-de- ears. All who showed a spark of independcamp of General Tettenborn. He then re-ence were removed from the public service; turned to his diplomatic career in Prussia, went to the Congress of Vienna with Prince Hardenberg, remained with the Prince on the breaking out of the war, and was again at Paris in 1815. When peace was restored, Varnhagen von Ense was raised to the rank of Prussian envoy to the court of Wurtem-marks jotted down by Varnhagen long before berg, but was placed on the retired list as early as 1819, and never employed again. He lived with his wife, the famous Rahel, at Berlin, and their house formed a brilliant centre of society during the most brilliant period of the history of Prussia. That period, however, was of short duration. All the truly liberal and patriotic statesmen retired one after the other from the scene of public life. Varnhagen devoted himself to the study of history; and he has well earned by his excellent biographies the name of the German Plutarch. He was a man of refined taste, of finished manners, full of information, and with a rare talent for conversation. We learn from his Diary how he continued to read the Greek and Roman classics to the end of his life; and many of his remarks on this subject are very happy and original. He spoke French fluently, English and Russian decently, and he was particularly proud of the correctness and elegance of his German. He was on intimate terms with all the great men of whom Germany could then be proud-statesmen, generals, philosophers, scholars, and artists. Kings and princes courted his society, queens and princesses

And

the fatal illness of the late king was suspected, that Frederick William IV. was from the beginning of his reign suffering from a disease of the brain. This is the most charitable explanation of his public career, and we wonder that the writer of the Diary should not have perceived this sooner. Varnhagen, like everybody else, expected great things from the late king. He knew his good qualities, and they were many; and throughout his Diary he seldom blames the king, though he loathes his ministers. be done to retrieve the mischief-to save yet, when he asks himself what could Prussia from the disgrace into which she had fallen, and to prevent a revolution like that of '48-it is painful to witness the utter helplessness of the Prussian patriot. Overtures seem to have been made to him at several times to enter the Prussian service. Metternich was his friend, and would have given much to secure Varnhagen's pen. Varnhagen saw the disease, but he knew of no cure; and all he could do as an honest man was to keep aloof from the charlatans who thought of themselves only, and cared nothing for the patient whom they had got into their grasping hands. Varnhagen bepatriots had long given him up. Varnhawere charmed with his visits. Of all this gen disliked constitutional innovations when there is a good deal in his Diary; and we the king himself had begun to dabble in must say to his credit that Varnhagen seems constitutions. There are remnants of his always to have preserved the most dignified aristocratic prejudices, qualms of diplomatic independence in his personal relations with etiquette scattered through the Diary, even the great and small, the crowned and un-at a time when he had long made up his crowned heads of Germany. His interview with the Grandduchess Helene of Russia is most charmingly described by the old cour

tier.

lieved in Metternich when most German

mind that nothing but a radical reform, Prussia. It was fortunate for Varnhagen nothing short of a revolution, could save that he kept aloof from public affairs. He would have failed as a statesman, and he The perusal of his two volumes produces would have lost, like many others, the fair a feeling of sadness and of indignation. name which he has left untarnished to posThe miserable policy of the court of Prus-terity. sia, the opportunities that were wasted, the promises that were broken, the insolence with which a brave, intelligent, and loyal people, like the Prussians of 1818, were

moir of an honest observer, and as the voice The Diary, though invaluable as the meof one who speaks in the name of thousands, is nevertheless to be used with great caution where we have to form an estimate of the

Varnhagen's judgments are always striking, but he has the misfortune of seeing most things in the most unfavorable light. We give as a specimen his estimate of the English character, written in 1840:

character of those whom Varnhagen consid-| throne. The question was asked at the taers the accomplices in the dishonor of Prus- ble d'hôte whether the king was ill; and sia. One of the most glaring instances of Varnhagen replied loud enough to be heard his recklessness in judging men of whom he by the whole party: "Il a une mauvaise conknew absolutely nothing, is Bunsen. He stitution." hates him from the beginning as an intruder. He is not a Prussian by birth, he says, what business has he at our court? How small, how unworthy of Varnhagen! He perceives clearly enough that the rumors which reach him about Bunsen all come, without exception, from the needy and greedy noblemen who were furious that this Dr. Bunsen should have been put over their heads. He remarks himself that those who call him a dog would lick his feet like curs as soon as he was in power. Yet he believes, or at least repeats, what he hears, and tries to blast, by the most infamous calumnies, the public and private character of a man whom he would have loved if he had known him. He hates him as a pietist, and when he is told that Bunsen, though a man of true Christian piety, had proved himself in England an extreme advocate of religious liberty, he calls him a double hypocrite, without knowing anything of the man, without bringing a single proof for his calumnious assertions. This is simply absurd. Varnhagen is equally unjust in his estimate of Radowitz, and it is extraordinary that a man with his knowledge of human nature should have been unable to assign any but the most grovelling motives to those from whom he differed, and whom he believed responsible for the misfortunes of Prussia. How would Varnhagen have judged of Humboldt, the courtier, the protege of Frederick William III., the friend of Frederick William IV., unless by accident he had known the man and allowed for his endeavors to do as much good as he could under a system that he could not

alter.

The book is full of curious anecdotes, not only about Prussian, but about European politics. What will M. Guizot say when he hears that his master, Louis Philippe, wrote to Metternich not to be afraid of France; that he would take care to make her harmless; and that in the year 1840! Varnhagen quotes the following from an autograph letter of Louis Philippe to Metternich :"Laissez-moi faire ! J'arrangerai les choses de sorte que les Français ne pourront penser pendant trente ans à faire sérieusement la guerre." And he adds, "after Metternich had received this note, he assumed very bold language in public."

In page 205, Varnhagen tells us that Austria spent four million florins for Don Carlos. there is a bon-mot of his about the late King of Hanover. He met him at a watering place soon after the king's accession to the

"The present general mode of thinking in England seems still to rest completely on the basis supplied by Bacon and Locke. The former is over-estimated-the latter is still attacked, but with his own weapons. The English mode of thinking is one-sided, rigid, heavy, clumsy. It proceeds laboriously from fact to fact; it will not jump or fly, but proceeds step by step only-tedious clearness, wretched accuracy! Their science consists of so many sciences, broken up into endless special researches. They are very backward in intellectual grasp. But they extend their outward influence, they test, dare, and do everything, singly or in company, always in a practical manner. A man of genius, however, can make his way among them by violence only, fighting wildly against all that is traditional; as for instance, Byron and Shelley. Intellectual enterprise is still dependent on old, imperfect machinery-it is slow, poor, mean. In this field we have our steam-engines, our railways, and telegraphs, and we use them with power and skill. Of men like Fichte, Schleiermacher, Schelling, Hegel, Goethe, Richter, Herder, Hamann, Jacobi, nay, of men like F. A. Wolf, Englishmen have no conception. In religious thought, Englishmen seem to me extremely limited. Besides strict orthodoxy and self-willed sectarianism, they have only blank infidelity and blasphemous freethinking. The intermediate field which supports the seed of our civilization is entirely wanting in England.

"English manners and customs are good if they have been got over; if an Englishman has fought his way through them to real freedom. It is a good school, but men ought not to remain schoolboys. French manners and customs have the advantage over English that they contain in themselves something of that freedom which must be conquered in spite of the former. True, English gentlemen see this, and they are by no means anti-French.

"Johnson is the English Gottsched; they both had their merits, but they both did great mischief. We Germans were wise enough to kick our Gottsched in time out of our literature: the English retained theirs in high honor and respect, to their incalculable disadvantage."