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produced. Each chanson is a complete drama in itself, wellproportioned, and finished off with all the care of a consummate

artist.

The chansonnier was self-taught, and the only poet with whom we can fitly compare him is Burns. The Scottish minstrel, however, had a far finer perception of the beauties of nature, and far deeper sympathies with the highest aspirations of the soul, than Béranger.

To conclude. Literary powers, poetic genius, and a classical taste, are not all that we should look for, even in a writer of songs. Victor Hugo says somewhere, that "a poet has also the cure of souls." This, we believe, is true; and, if it be true, what must we think of him who disregards the most common ideas of morality? What must we think of the patriot who, after having celebrated in his strains the ennobling love of the father-land, condescends to disgrace his pen by appealing to the grossest passions and most degrading appetites? As an excuse, Béranger says, that "sans ce folles inspirations de la jeunesse, mes couplets politiques n'auraient per aller si loin." For our part, we refuse to think so ill of our neighbours as to suppose that they cannot accept patriotism unless when it walks hand in hand with licentiousness. The imputation is an insult; but if it were true, it would only lower our opinion of the French, without increasing our esteem for Béranger.

Travels in Arabia and Palestine, Early and Recent. 513

ART. VIII.-1. Early Travels in Palestine, comprising the Narratives of Arculf, Willibald, Bernard, etc. Edited, with Notes, by THOMAS WRIGHT, Esq. London: Bohn.

2. Biblical Researches in Palestine and the Adjacent Nations; a Journal of Travels in the years 1838 and 1852. By EDWARD ROBINSON, D.D., LL.D. Second edition, in 3 vols. 8vo. London: John Murray. 1856.

3. Sinai and Palestine, in connection with their History. By ARTHUR PENRHYN STANLEY, M.A. London: John Murray. 1856.

4. The Desert of Sinai: being Notes of a Spring Journey from Cairo to Beersheba. By HORATIUS BONAR, D.D. Second edition. London: J. Nisbet and Co.

1857.

5. The Holy Places: a Narrative of Two Years' Residence in Jerusalem and Palestine. By H. L. DUPUIS. Two vols. London: Hurst and Blacket.

1856.

6. The Tent and the Khan: a Journey to Sinai and Palestine. By ROBERT WALTER STEWART, D.D. Edinburgh: W.

Oliphant and Sons. 1857.

7. Tent Life in the Holy Land. By WILLIAM C. PRIME. London: Sampson Low, Son and Co. 1857.

8. The Land of Promise, being Notes of a Spring Journey from Beersheba to Sidon. By HORATIUS BONAR, D.D. London: J. Nisbet and Co. 1857.

MOST annalists can identify the localities over which their story rests; so that the two things, story and scene, like soul and body, being honestly knit together and fitted into each other, make up a substantial whole, a genuine historical being,-not only not lacking in any essential part or feature, but possessed of a sufficient amount of clothing and drapery to satisfy the reader that it really is the very piece of authenticity and life which it professes to be.

History has always sought to bring the two things together, at whatever cost or toil; and the annalist, who knows his office and mission, has invariably manifested an uneasiness, a sensitive consciousness of failure, when unable to achieve this union.

In many cases, however, the attempt at union has broken down, or been at once abandoned as hopeless. The two parts have, in the run of ages, been so thoroughly severed, that with our present amount of information and research, reknitting

is impossible. It is not that both parts have been found, but cannot be brought together, so that

"They stand aloof, the scars remaining,

Like cliffs which have been rent asunder:"

it is, that one has totally perished. One, indeed, is found,-entire enough, it may be, after its own kind; but its fellow is awanting. There is no "dreary sea" flowing between the sundered cliffs, but a stormy ocean, that has succeeded in wearing down and engulfing perhaps the mightier and more majestic of the two. Sometimes it is the site, sometimes it is the story, that is amissing, the survivor ill at ease, if not disconsolate, without its mate. The story, when it outlives the site, seems to hover, like one of Ossian's ghosts, over cities and regions, uncertain where to alight, or, indeed, whether it be possible or wise to alight at all. That Homer was born, and that he was born somewhere upon the face of the broad earth, is admitted by all, save those whose vocation is, not to find truth in fable, as in Esop's manlier days, but fable in truth, as in Strauss' less upright age. But for the birth-place itself we search in vain; and the old name still hovers, as it has done for ages, over the seven cities of Greece, unable in any of them to fix its home. The site, when it survives the story, lies cold, inexpressive, soul-less, like some corpse cast ashore from wreck which has no friend to recognise it, or some skeleton discovered in an unnamed and unknown sarcophagus. Who that has explored the wonders of Elora,-that magnificent Indian excavation that casts Petra into the shade,-has not eagerly asked for its history; and, standing in the vast rock-hewn hall of Keylas, has not felt surprised, almost ashamed, that the annals of that wondrous memorial of ancient science, strength, and riches,— city, palace, temple, all in one,-should have perished from the earth! That which, on a smaller scale, we feel when gazing on Stonehenge, or the round towers of Ireland, or the rude stonecircles of Shetland, or the Jebel-Kheim of Malta, or the Obelisk of Heliopolis, or even the Pyramids of Ghizeh and Sakharah,-we are made to feel, on a much larger scale, and in a more impressive manner, when looking at the marble-blocks of Goura, the cave-temples of Kennery, or Carlee, or Mavalipuram, the ruins of Bejapur (the Palmyra of the Deccan), or Petra the rock-city of Edom, or Yucatan with its constellation of forest-buried cities. From all these the history has perished. There they moulder; -bodies, out of which the soul has fled;-harp-frames, whose strings have been torn away.

The antiquarian or historical student,-nay, even the general reader of history or antiquities,-will be thoroughly conscious of the truth of these remarks. Of such students or readers we find

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two classes, the one the counterpart or converse of the other; both most important, and reciprocally helpful.

One class is seeking sites for histories; the other is seeking histories for sites.

The former go forth, with their finger in the well-replenished volume, in quest of localities which they desire to look upon and examine, as well as name, and into which they would fain fit the hundred floating items of authentic narrative or semi-authentic tradition. The latter betake themselves to some old ruin, whose name reveals nothing beyond some local incident or shadowy legend, but which does itself, in its every nook and tower and pillar, bear the most living marks of having once had a story; a story in every stone; a story which, though long lost, must evidently have been no common one; a story which the traveller longs to resuscitate, and on the recovery of which he would gladly bestow a life-time's research. These two classes, though often separate, sometimes unite in one individual, who, both as historian and antiquary, carries on the two lines conjunctly: at one time searching out localities for his narratives, and at another, narratives for his localities.

The exactest specimens of these classes are, perhaps, to be 'found in books of Eastern travel. The number of these works is very great, almost incredible. But they fall, with sufficient exactness, under the above twofold subdivision,-needing only this further remark, that the Syrian traveller is generally, though not without exceptions, the man seeking sites for histories, and the Egyptian traveller the man seeking histories for sites.1 Not with Egypt, however, do we mean at present to concern ourselves, save in passing, great as are the attractions of Abu-Sembel, Karnac, Luxor, and the Necropolis of Sakharah, of which last the discoverer Mariette has taken possession in the name of France, and which he would fain keep under lock and key as an antiquarian preserve of his own. We must not linger by the Nile, that most majestic of all noble streams, with its varied fringes of sand and verdure, of palm and tamarisk, of hut and palace, of pyramid, obelisk, temple, and mountain. We must leave, on the right, its fair waters, enlivened and beautified with the gleam of a hundred sails, moving gaily through the sunshine that lies in such joyous tranquillity upon its burnished waves.

We might sail or steam up the river to feed our wonder upon the gigantic temple-ruins that strew its banks, from Ghizeh to Denderah, Edfû, and Eswân,-with their white limestone or

The old travellers in Palestine are mere retailers of ecclesiastical legends. Their sites and their histories are for the most part traditional, and often purely fictitious. Felix Fabri (A.D. 1483), whose travels fill three Latin octavos, is decidedly the best of them. His narrative is minute and lively.

purple granite. But the travellers whose works head our article have not taken this route; so, leaving the Nile-boat or railway at Bulak, we strike eastward, tracking their footsteps. There is one advantage for this, at least to ourselves; we shall be saved the toil of seeking histories for sites, and shall have the easier and perhaps more lively occupation of finding sites for histories. Long before the traveller reaches Bulak, whether by boat or train, he is struck with the increasing fertility of the region through which he is moving. Alexandria, in spite of its gardens and palm-plantations, would seem by all accounts to have a dreary, barren aspect; and for miles around, the country is said to look pale and scorched,-a region of sandy flats or monotonous undulations. But, as he sweeps eastward and southward, the sand gives place to the black soil; verdure is becoming luxuriant; and he feels that he has entered on a territory whose superior fruitfulness is not of yesterday, a territory which, in spite of neglect and unskilfulness, still retains the evidence of having once been the garden, or at least the pastureland of Egypt. The question immediately rises, "Is not this Goshen?" Nor can there be much hesitation in answering the question affirmatively. This district of Lower Egypt must have formed part of the rich territory granted by Pharaoh to the sons of Jacob. It would be rash to attempt to mark the boundaries of the region. There are no relics of Israel anywhere to be found. Nor can the Egyptian cities, with which Israel's history stands connected in this quarter, be identified. Hence one can only speak generally, and say, Somewhere on this most eastern branch of the Nile, somewhere between this and the "Wilderness of Shur," must Goshen have been; and though you cannot mark off its outlines, nor map out its geographical details, you can say that this fruitful tract of Nile-watered soil was the very land on which Israel fed their flocks, and where they multiplied and grew. At the same time, it is to be remembered that this district has not been explored, and is perhaps less known than the more distant and inaccessible parts of Upper Egypt. Its interest is wholly Biblical, or, we might say, wholly Jewish. It has no stupendous ruins nor stately pyramids to attract the eye of the traveller or antiquarian. Hence it lies to this day unexplored. The traveller, hastening southward to Upper Egypt, or eastward to the Desert, gives it a passing glance, says, "Yes, that must have been Goshen," and goes upon his way to more showy scenes and more imposing regions. Let the next Egyptian traveller take a reviewer's counsel, and pass more leisurely through this unknown territory. Let him not grudge to lay out a few weeks upon it. He may obtain a richer prize than he thinks. But the railway between Alexandria and Cairo, which

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