use to them, because they are secluded, and wholly in the power of others. But sometimes it has been otherwise; the general rule in Asia is to find women. very much degraded, but when manners and customs have been such as to give effect to their privileges, they materially soften the rigour of their condition; and to beings brought up to believe their thraldom a law of nature, the pain of it is lessened. Whatever the consideration they may receive, however, it still seems to spring from the respect due to their owners, that is, their male friends, rather than from any perception that the rights of a citizen could be as indisputably theirs by the law of reason, as those of man himself. In every instance, I believe without any exception, the consequences of the system on the morals and prosperity of society have been baneful.

The reader who desires to see the best that can be said in favour of the privileges of Mahometan ladies, may read a very amusing chapter in MALCOLM's Sketches of Persia*, where both sides of the question are discussed, and with much truth and judgment, though it is playfully treated.

women.

Lord Byron's poems have familiarized the minds of most readers with the degradation of Turkish Over this page of human corruption, the very vehemence of his own feelings prevented his throwing any false colours, or attempting to lull the mind of his readers into the belief, that flowers, trinkets, and perfumes, could ever stop the cravings of the human heart for some strong affection,

some unfettered movements for the active spirit within.

The victims of this barbarous system whom he describes, are either sacrifices to ruthless vengeance for crimes real or suspected, or women born with ardent affections, who have been urged to acts of desperation to escape the tideless course of their degraded existence, where "Hope never comes, that comes to all."

My love stern Seyd's! oh-no-no-not my love,
Yet much this heart that strives no more, once strove
To meet his passion-but it would not be;

I felt I feel-love dwells with . . . with the free.
I am a slave-a favoured slave at best,

"No."

To share his splendour and seem very blest!
Oft must my soul the question undergo
Of "Dost thou love?" and burn to answer
Oh! hard it is that fondness to sustain
And struggle not to feel averse, in vain;
But harder still the heart's recoil to bear,
And hide from one, perhaps another there.
He takes the hand I give not, nor withhold,
Its pulse nor checked, nor quickened-calmly cold;
And when resigned, it drops a lifeless weight
From one I never loved enough to hate.

Yes, had I ever proved that passion's zeal,
The change to hatred—were at least to feel;
But still he goes unmourned-returns unsought,
And oft, when present, absent from my thought.-Corsair.

The tragic events on which his tales are founded are less common than formerly*. Some gleams of European sentiment, such as could pierce the intervening medium of war, hatred, and bigotry, seem to

* See notes to the Giaour. These feeble and prosaic lines are quoted simply as supplying the authority of a celebrated person, in confirmation of some of the views taken in the text.

have checked former recklessness of female life, rendered flagrant injustice to a woman an offence to her male relations, and authorized them to stipulate for her safety. Even vengeance on her actual guilt must now be privately executed.

The possibility of being suddenly put to death, is far from being the worst feature in the destiny of a prisoner for life. Love embittered by jealousy, rivalry, and mortification, would often make death a relief. But life without any strong affection or any pursuit, may be intolerable too.

It is surely an unexpected thing to find an apologist for Turkish manners in a woman! The incomparable vivacity of Lady Mary Wortley's descriptions, and her unrivalled epistolary style, divert the reader's attention from the spirit in which she writes. She was, in fact, a finished Epicurean. Her character was rather that of a gay, clever man of the world than of a woman. With her, love seemed rather a frolic than a passion; and it is rare, under a female form, to find so much ability and so little tenderness.

With an understanding capable of feeling even with enthusiasm the sublimity of scenery, poetry, and painting, who without scornful amazement can hear her declare she would rather be a rich effendi with all his ignorance, than Sir Isaac Newton with all his knowledge? In the meridian of youth and beauty, that she should prefer her own empire over the other sex to the grave honours of an aged philosopher, is only nature; but Circe's wand could not deform her more than the alternative she adopts

in this unqualified manner. Her senses were bewitched, her imagination dazzled by the splendour of Eastern luxury. Gardens and kiosks, from whence floods of sunshine were excluded by the dense green of luxuriant foliage, gemmed apartments cooled by crystal streams gushing through marble channels, an atmosphere of perfumes, graceful slaves, chains of diamonds, and last not least, rich repasts, were to her eyes a compensation for the want of all that dignifies existence, and renders woman almost the earthly deity, assuredly the equal companion, the unrivalled friend, of the man she loves.

It would wrong her admirable composition to garble it, for the purposes of quotation, and her letters are so much read, that every one will recollect the sort of ecstasy with which she expatiates on the luxury of the harem. The following passage, however, selected from many similar, may be required to justify the remarks made on the influence those scenes had on her mind.

"Thus you see, sir, these people are not so unpolished as we represent them. 'Tis true their magnificence is of a very different taste from ours, and perhaps of a better. I am almost of opinion they have a right notion of life. They consume it in music, gardens, wine, and delicate eating, while we are tormenting our brains with some scheme of politics, or studying some science which we can never attain to, or if we do, cannot persuade other people to set that value on it we do ourselves. "Tis certain what we feel and see is properly, if anything

is properly, our own; but the good of fame, the folly of praise, are hardly purchased, and when obtained, a poor recompense for loss of time and health.

"We die or grow old before we reap the fruit of our labours. Considering what short-lived weak animals men are, is there anything so beneficial as the study of present pleasure? I dare not pursue this theme, perhaps I have already said too much; but I depend on the knowledge you have of my heart."

Her letter to the Countess of Mar, dated Adrianople, April 18, 1717, contains the celebrated account of Fatima, whose apartments seem rather to have resembled a fairy palace, than a real scene, and it confirms still further the justice of this censure, but the whole of it should be read, if indeed any one can stop to criticize, while their imagination is so much amused.

In a subsequent letter to Lady Mar, she expresses her conviction that there was quite as much immorality among those secluded beings, as among ourselves, and she treats any other opinion as stupidity. ""Tis very easy," she says, "to see that they have more liberty than we have," and that there may be no doubt as to what she considers liberty, she observes, that their perpetual masquerade (as she styles the veil which conceals the entire person) secures them effectually from detection, whatever they may do; but that even when otherwise, the exposure of guilt occasions very slight inconvenience to the rich, as the custom is that they retain their property in their own hands.