himself "thorough in the rudiments;" requiring eternally to settle the question whether there be such a thing as a foundation, before he will consent to look at the superstructure. His attention is occupied with the premises as the objects of chief importance, and hence he never gets beyond them. He will not look at reason, though you thrust it before his eyes; and though a fact as plain as the nose on a man's face be presented to him, he will deny it!

In contrast with this, we here present a man of lofty reason, who resembles a horse. And is not a horse like this, that

looks like one of Aurora's, fit to resemble an astronomer, a bold and original genius, like Sir Isaac Newton, one who stands as it were in the centre of the solar system, and darts his rays thence,and comprehends all the relations and dependencies with the facility and perfection of a master? Would you not place such a horse as that on vantage

ground? He looks as if he were standing on a hill, overlooking "the kingdoms of the world and the glory of them."

CHAPTER XXI.

It is funny that a certain fowl should receive the goodnatured diminutive which we apply to a small, pocket edition of the Turk, and to the country he inhabits. It is not always that a name is significant, but in the present instance it is peculiarly so, for "Turk" and "turkey" are as much alike as the characters to which they are applied; and we attach a dignity to the former, derived from a feeling of reverence, while to the latter we connect the idea of ridiculous familiarity. The turkey is too much like the Turk (who seems to be entirely unconscious of the position

in which we have placed him) to be teased by an allusion to the individual to whom he bears so strong a resemblance. He has already be

gun to strut, young as he is, and to exercise authority, but when he meets with a stronger than himself he is equally a pattern of submission. The sign of his extraordinary love of command is the muscular appendage at the top of the bill, where the sign of command is in the human face; and when

the faculty is in exercise, this muscle is contracted, and when it is quiescent the muscle hangs loosely over the end of the bill. The activity of the faculty is accompanied with an exercise of attack—a command and a blow-the dicta, "Humble yourself, and be my slave!" This is the trait of character most remarkable in the Turk. He makes a slave of every person whom he can force to acknowledge the right of the strongest, and to all others he is submissive to the last degree. To gratify his authority, more than to satisfy his lust, he purchases a large number of wives, for wives in all countries are bound to "obey."

The sign of submission in the turkey is that fold of skin which everybody has seen hanging down under the throat, and which answers to the dewlap in the cow. The Turks are like the English in reference to both authority and submission, only that in the former these two traits are still more extraordinary. The government of a sultan and a religion propagated by the sword are natural to them, and they feel no jealousy toward republicanism, for the simple reason that their country is not the soil upon which it can grow. Toleration, therefore, may take root there, and Liberty may find a home.

If the eye be the "window of the soul," the spirit of the Turk must be fond of shadow, for not much light can enter its habitation through such windows as those. There is a certain drowsy dullness expressed in them, like what we see in the turkey, especially while young. It reminds one of windows smeared with dirt, through which midday is converted into twilight; and the young turkey has an air about him well suited to confirm the impression that it is night within, and that the inhabitants are sleeping. There is something in the nature of the Turk that draws the curtains over his eyes; perhaps it is bigotry: at all events he is very indifferent to light. Houses in Turkey, that make a grand show of windows at a distance, are found on approach to be bricked up in the places where light was supposed to be admitted. It is from this disposition in the Turk to make a show of glass without the reality, that makes his eye itself a sort of blind

window. Certainly he is inclined to receive implicitly what Mohammed has told him, and to be as thoroughly hoodwinked as this hawk is that he holds

on his arm, and about which

he seems to be pronouncing a discourse.

But his

eyes are held a while in order that he may see more clearly, and may use them to better advantage: external light and external objects are shut out, that he may have the light of truth, and may exercise his reason. When this shall be, he will bear a resemblance to birds of powerful wing, as the hawk and the eagle. The gradations from the turkey to the eagle are miserable, hard, and difficult. First, he will resemble the turkey-buzzard then the stork— then the vulture—then the eagle. But the philosophy of this transition we can not stop now to describe. Suffice it to say

that the quality of strength in the turkey is tough, grasping, and firm, and altogether like that of the eagle; and that strength and vigor of the same nature are characteristic of the Turk.

The poppy is to the vegetable kingdom what the turkey is to the animal, and the Turk resembles them both. The turban resembles poppy-leaves, and the head containing the seed is like that of the Turk. There is a connection between "Turkey opium" and the drowsiness of those eyes. As sleep is more appropriate to children than to grown people, the eyes of young turkeys are particularly sleepy; they have not waked up yet; and the same expression in the eyes of the Turk indicates that there is vast promise of something worth

seeing for which the eyesight is being reserved. Opium is suited to the idiosyncracy of the Turk, and hence he can smoke it with comparative impunity; and children can bear this drug better than adults, for the simple reason that much sleep is natural to them. If there is a strong tendency to sleep, and the person is kept awake by pain, an opiate in exact proportion to the sleepiness does not act as poison; but if it is taken to produce sleepiness, or simply to subdue pain, it is deadly. If physicians and other people did but know this, how much suffering and death would be avoided!

The Turk and the turkey resemble the Arab and the camel. The Turk inclines partly to inhabit Arabia, and of course to rule there, for his love of command is as unbounded as that of the turkey. Yet he receives his religion from the Arab, thus acknowledging his inferiority—as the turkey, if he were endowed with reason, must needs acknowledge his inferiority to the camel, and at the same time desire to rule him. The turkey is slovenly in his eating, as the camel is; he "gobbles down" his food, and this manner of eating is to be observed in connection with the voice in the person who resembles the gobbler. The young bird peeps with his voice as well as with his eyes; and the same principle is true of the old bird in respect to gobbling, for the eyes are connected with the appetite for food, and they gobble also. The characteristic of the eye, the voice, and the appetite, is want of discrimination, and this is connected with the love of command. In respect to his voice, it is—"Hussle 'em out!" and his actions at the moment respond heartily to this sentiment; in respect to the eyes, it is"Hussle 'em about!" a sentiment to which his movements, his display of feathers, and his whole body, respond; in respect to his appetite, it is—"Hussle 'em in!" and it is no sooner said than done.

This is the manner in which the Turk receives and delivers his sentiments. In respect to faith, he "eats what is set before him, asking no questions, for conscience' sake;" and what he eats he thinks is good enough for others, and he is sure to offer it to them; it is not the love of proselyting, or the love of command merely, but it it is partly hospitality,