ing of a man's birth from ears, hands, etc., were curious enough. To me he was indeed a father, giving me letters, guards, and every possible accommodation. Our next conversations were of war and travelling, politics and England. He called my Albanian soldier. who attends me, and told him to protect me at all hazard. His name is Viscillie, and, like all the Albanians, he is brave, rigidly honest, and faithful; but they are cruel, though not treacherous; and have several vices, but no meannesses. They are, perhaps, the most beautiful race, in point of countenance, in the world; their women are sometimes handsome also, but they are treated like slaves, beaten, and, in short, complete beasts of burthen: they plough, dig, and sow. I found them carrying wood, and actually repairing the highways. The men are all soldiers, and war and the chase their sole occupation. The women are the labourers, which, after all, is no great hardship in so delightful a climate. Yesterday, the 11th of November, I bathed in the sea; to-day it is so hot that I am writing in a shady room of the English consul's, with three doors wide open, no fire, or even fireplace in the house, except for culinary purposes.

quired after by the vizier's secretary, "a la mode Turque." The next day I was introduced to Ali Pacha. I was dressed in a full suit of staff uniform, with a very magnificent sabre, etc. The vizier received me in a large room paved with marble; a fountain was playing in the centre; the apartment was surrounded by scarlet ottomans. He received me standing, a wonderful compliment from a Mussulman, and made me sit down on his right hand. I have a Greek interpreter for general use, but a physician of Ali's, named Temlario, who understands Latin, acted for me on this occasion. His first question was, why, at so early an age, I left my country (the Turks have no idea of travelling for amusement)? He then said. the English minister, Captain Leake, had told him I was of a great family, and desired his respects to my mother: which I now, in the name of Ali Pacha, present to you. He said he was certain I was a man of birth, because I had small ears, curling hair, and little, white hands, and expressed himself pleased with my appearance and garb. He told me to consider him as a father whilst I was in Turkey, and said he looked on me as his son. Indeed, he treated me like a child, sending me almonds and sugared sherbet, fruit and sweetmeats, twenty times a day. He begged me to visit him often, and at night, when he was at leisure. I then, after coffee and pipes, retired for the first time. I saw him thrice afterwards. It is singular that the Turks, who have no hereditary dig-gustus in honour of his victory. Last night nities, and few great families, except the sultans', pay so much respect to birth; for I found my pedigree more regarded than my title.

To-day I saw the remains of the town of Actium, near which Antony lost the world, in a small bay, where two frigates could hardly manoeuvre; a broken wall is the sole remnant. On another part of the gulf stand the ruins of Nicopolis, built by Au

I was at a Greek marriage; but this, and a thousand things more, I have neither time nor space to describe. I am going to-morrow, with a guard of fifty men, to Patras in the His highness is sixty years old, very fat, Morea, and thence to Athens, where I shall and not tall, but with a fine face, light blue winter. Two days ago, I was nearly lost in eyes, and a white beard. His manner is a very kind, and, at the same time, he possesses that dignity which I find universal among the Turks. He has the appearance of any thing but his real character: for he is a remorseless tyrant, guilty of the most horrible cruelties, very brave, and so good a general, that they call him the Mahometan Buonaparte. Napoleon has twice offered to make him king of Epirus; but he prefers the English interest, and abhors the French, as he himself told me. He is of so much consequence, that he is much courted by both; the Albanians being the most warlike subjects of the Sultan, though Ali is only nominally dependent on the Porte. He has been a mighty warrior; but is as barbarous as he is successful, roasting rebels, etc., etc. Buonaparte sent him a snuff-box, with his picture; he said the snuff-box was very well, but the picture he could excuse, as he neither liked it nor the original. His ideas of judg

Turkish ship of war, owing to the ignorance of the captain and crew, though the storm was not violent. Fletcher yelled after his wife, the Greeks called on all the saints, the Mussulmans on Alla, the captain burst into tears, and ran below deck, telling us to call on God; the sails were split, the main yard shivered, the wind blowing fresh, the night setting in, and all our chance was to make Corfu, which is in possession of the French, or (as Fletcher pathetically termed it) "a watery grave." I did what I could to console Fletcher; but, finding him incorrigi ble, wrapped myself up in my Albanian capote (an immense cloak) and lay down on deck to wait the worst. I have learnt to philosophize in my travels, and, if I had not, complaint was useless. Luckily, the wind abated, and only drove us on the coast of Suli, on the main land, where we landed, and proceeded, by the help of the natives, to Previsa again: but I shall not trust Turkish

sailors in future, though the pacha had ordered one of his own galliots to take me to Patras. I am, therefore, going as far as Missolonghi by land, and there have only to cross a small gulf to get to Patras. Fletcher's next epistle will be full of marvels; we were one night lost for nine hours in the mountains in a thunder-storm, and since nearly wrecked. In both cases Fletcher was sorely bewildered, from apprehensions of famine and banditti in the first, and drowning in the second instance. His eyes were a little hurt by the lightning or crying (I don't know which), but are now recovered. When you write, address to me at Mr. Strané's, English consul, Patras, Morea.

fers much from the ancient, though radically similar. I have no desire to return to England, nor shall I, unless compelled by absolute want and II. 's neglect; but I shall not enter into Asia for a year or two, as I have much to see in Greece, and I may perhaps cross into Africa, at least the Egyptian part. Fletcher, like all Englishmen, is very much dissatisfied, though a little reconciled to the Turks by a present of eighty piastres from the vizier, which, if you consider every thing, and the value of specie here, is nearly worth ten guineas English. He has suffered nothing but from cold, heat, and vermin, which those who lie in cottages, and cross mountains in a cold country, must undergo, and of which I have equally par taken with himself; but he is not valiant, and is afraid of robbers and tempests. I have no one to be remembered to in England, and wish to hear nothing from it, but that you are well, and a letter or two on business from H. . . ., whom you may tell to write. I will write you when I can, and beg you to believe me your affectionate son, BYRON.

I could tell you I know not how many incidents, that I think would amuse you, but they crowd on my mind as much as they would swell my paper; and I can neither arrange them in the one, nor put them down in the other, except in the greatest confusion. I like the Albanians much: they are not all Turks: some tribes are Christians; but their religion makes little difference in their manner or conduct: they are esteemed the best troops in the Turkish service. I lived on my route, two days at once, and three days again, in a barrack at Salora, and never found soldiers so tolerable, though I have been in the garrisons of Gibraltar and Malta, and seen Spanish, French, Sicilian, and British troops in abundance. I have had nothing stolen; and was always welcome to their provision and milk. Not a week ago an Albanian chief (every village has its chief, who is called primate), after helping us out of the Turkish galley in her distress, feeding us, and lodging my suite, consisting of Fletcher, a Greek, two Athenians, a Greek priest, and my companion Mr. Hobhouse, refused any compensation but a written paper stating that I was well received; and when I pressed him to accept a few sequins, "No," he replied, "I wish you to love me, not to pay me." These are his words. It is astonishing how far money goes in this country. While I was in the capital I had nothing to pay, by the vizier's order; but since, though I have generally had sixteen horses, and generally six or seven men, the expense has not been half as much as staying only three weeks at Malta, I do not think I shall return to London though Sir A. Ball, the governor, gave me immediately, and shall therefore accep* a house for nothing, and I had only one freely what is offered courteously,your servant. By the by, I expect H. . . . to re- mediation between me and Murray. I don't mit regularly; for I am not about to stay in think my name will answer the purpose, and this province for ever. Let him write to me you must be aware that my plaguy Satire at Mr. Strané's, English consul, Patras. will bring the North and South Grub-streets The fact is, the fertility of the plains is won-down upon the "Pilgrimage" ;-but, neverderful, and specie is scarce, which makes theless, if Murray makes a point of it, and this remarkable cheapness. I am going to you coincide with him, I will do it daringly; Athens to study modern Greek, which dif- so let it be entitled, "by the Author of Eng

P.S.-I have some very "magnifique" Albanian dresses, the only expensive article in this country. They cost fifty guineas each, and have so much gold, they would cost in England two hundred. I have been introduced to Hussim Bey and Mahmout Pacha, both little boys, grandchildren of Ali, at. Yanina. They are totally unlike our lads, have painted complexions, like rouged dowagers, large black eyes, and features perfectly regular. They are the prettiest little animals I ever saw, and are broken into the court ceremonies already. The Turkish salute is a slight inclination of the head, with the hand on the breast. Intimates always kiss. Mahmout is ten years old, and hopes to see me again. We are friends without understanding each other, like many other folks, though from a different cause. He has given me a letter to his father in the Morea, to whom I have also letters from Ali Pacha.

LETTERS ON CHILDE HAROLD. FROM LETTERS TO R. C. DALLAS, ESQ. NEWSTEAD, August 21, 1811.

must have a warm sun and a blue sky. I cannot describe scenes so dear to me by a sea-coal fire. I had projected an additional canto when I was in the Troad and Constantinople, and if I saw them again it would go on; but, under existing circumstances and sensations, I have neither harp, "heart nor voice," to proceed. I feel that you are all right as to the metaphysical part, but I also feel that I am sincere, and that, if am only to write "ad captandum vulgus,” I might as well edite a magazine at once, or spin canzonettas for Vauxhall. . . . My work must make its way as well as it can. I know I have every thing against me,— angry poets and prejudices; but if the poem is a poem, it will surmount these obstacles, and if not, it deserves its fate. . . . I am very sensible of your good wishes, and, indeed. I have need of them. My whole life has been at variance with propriety, not to say decency; my circumstances are becoming involved; my friends are dead or estranged; and my existence a dreary void. In M... I have lost my "guide, philosopher, and friend;" in Wingfield a friend only, but one whom I could wish to have preceded in his long journey.

lish Bards and Scotch Reviewers." My re-
marks on the Romaic, &c., once intended to
accompany the "Hints from Horace," shall
go along with the other, as being indeed
more appropriate; also the smaller poems
now in my possession, with a few selected
from those published in H. . . .'s Miscel-
lany. I have found, amongst my poor
mother's papers, all my letters from the
east, and one, in particular, of some length,
from Albania. From this, if necessary, II
can work up a note or two on that subject.
As I kept no journal, the letters written on
the spot are the best. But of this anon,
when we have definitely arranged. Has
Murray shown the work to any one? He
may; but I will have no traps for applause.
Of course there are little things I would
wish you to alter, and perhaps the two
stanzas of a buffooning cast on London's
Sunday are as well left out. I much wish
to avoid identifying Childe Harold's char-
acter with mine, and that, in sooth, is my
second objection to my name appearing in
the title-page. When you have made ar-
rangements as to time, size, type, &c., favour
me with a reply. I am giving you a uni-
verse of trouble which thanks cannot atone
for. I made a kind of prose apology for my
skepticism, at the head of the MS., which,
on recollection, is so much more like an
attack than a defence, that haply it might
better be omitted. Perpend, pronounce.
After all, I fear Murray will be in a scrape
with the orthodox; but I cannot help it,
though I wish him well through it. As for
me, "I have supped full of criticism," and
I don't think that the "most dismal treatise"
will stir and rouse my "fell of hair" till
"Birnam wood do come to Dunsinane."

I shall continue to write at intervals, and hope you will pay me in kind.

NEWSTEAD ABBEY, Sept. 7, 1811. As Gifford has been ever my 66 Magnus Apollo," any approbation, such as you mention, would, of course, be more welcome than "all Bokara's vaunted gold, than all the gems of Samarkand." But I am sorry the MS. was shown to him in such a manner, and had written to Murray to say as much, before I was aware that it was too late.

Your objection to the expression "central line," I can only meet by saying that, before Childe Harold left England, it was his full intention to traverse Persia, and return by India, which he could not have done without passing the equinoctial.

I

The other errors you mention I must correct in the progress through the press. feel honoured by the wish of such men that the poem should be continued; but, to do that, I must return to Greece and Asia; I

...

NEWSTEAD ABBEY, Sept. 26, 1811. In a stanza towards the end of canto first

there is, in the concluding line,

"Some bitter bubbles up, and e'en on roses stings." I have altered it as follows:

"Full from the heart of joy's delicious springs Some bitter o'er the flowers its bubbling venom flings."

If you will point out the stanzas on Cintra which you wish recast, I will send you mine answer. . ..

Pray do you think any alterations should be made in the stanzas on VATHEK? I should be sorry to make any improper allusion, as I merely wish to adduce an example of wasted wealth, and the reflection which arose in surveying the most desolate mansion in the most beautiful spot I ever beheld. . . .

I will have nothing to say to your metaphysics, and allegories of rocks and beaches: we shall all go to the bottom together; so "let us eat and drink, for to-morrow," &c. I am as comfortable in my creed as others, inasmuch as it is better to sleep than to be awake.

NEWSTEAD ABBEY, October 11, 1811.

Your objections I have in part done away by alterations which I hope will suffice; and I have sent two or three additional stanzas for both "Fyttes." I have been again

As he rose to receive us, he closed the volume which he had been extracting from, and came forward to shake hands. He was, of course, in deep mourning, with weepers and the other trappings of woe; but his countenance, though certainly a little woe-begonish, was not cast into any very deep furrows. His tone and manner were as friendly as heretofore; and when he saw that we had no intention of making any attempt at sympathy or moanification, but spoke to him as of old, he gradually contracted the length of his countenance, and allowed the corners of his mouth to curl almost imperceptibly upwards, and a rede-newed lustre came into his eye, if not exactly indicative of cheerfulness, at all events of well-regulated, patient, Christian resig nation. My meaning will be misunderstood if it be imagined from this picture that I suspected any hypocrisy, or an affectation of grief, in the first instance. I have no doubt, indeed, that he feels, and most acutely, the bereavements which have come upon him; but we may very fairly suppose, that among the many visitors he must have, there may be some who cannot understand that it is proper, decent, or even possible, to hide those finer emotions deep in the heart. He immediately began conversing in his usual style, the chief topic being Captain Denham (whom I had recently seen in London) and his book of African Travels, which Sir Walter had evidently read with much attention. . . . After sitting a quarter of an hour we came away, well pleased to see our friend quite unbroken in spirit,-and though bowed down a little by the blast, and here and there a branch the less, as sturdy in the trunk as ever, and very possibly all the better for the discipline,-better, I mean, for the public, inasmuch as he has now a vast additional stimulus for exertion, and one which all the world must admit to be thoroughly noble and generous.

quent guest; and, in short, what with his own family and the clouds of tourists, who, like so many hordes of Cossacks, pressed upon, there was not, perhaps, out of a palace, any man so attended, I had almost said overpowered, by company. His wife is now dead, his son-in-law and favourite daughter gone to London, and his grandchild, I fear, just staggering, poor little fellow, on the edge of the grave, which, perhaps, is the securest refuge for him,-his eldest son is married, and at a distance, and report speaks of no probability of the title descending; in short, all are dispersed, and the tourists, those "curiosos impertinentes," drive past Abbotsford gate, and curse their folly in having layed for a year too late their long-projected jaunt to the north. Meanwhile, not to mince the matter, the great man had, somehow or other, managed to involve himself with printers, publishers, bankers, gasmakers, wool-staplers, and all the fraternity of speculators, accommodation-bill manufacturers, land-jobbers, and so on, till, at a season of distrust in money matters, the hour of reckoning came, like a thief in the night; and as our friend, like the unthrifty virgins, had no oil in his lamp, all his affairs went to wreck and ruin, and landed him, after the gale was over, in the predicament of Robinson Crusoe, with little more than a shirt to his back. But, like that able navigator, he is not cast away upon a barren rock. The tide has ebbed, indeed, and left him on the beach, but the hull of his fortune is above water still, and it will go hard indeed with him if he does not shape a raft that shall bring to shore much of the cargo that an ordinary mind would leave in despair, to be swept away by the next change of the moon. The distinction between man and the rest of the living creation, certainly, is in nothing more remarkable than in the power which he possesses over them, of turning to varied account the means with which the world is stocked. But it has always struck me that there is a far greater distinction between man and man than between many men and most other animals; and it is from a familiarity with the practical operation of this marvellous difference that I venture to predict that our Crusoe will cultivate his own island, and build himself a bark in which, in process of time, he will sail back to his friends and fortune in greater triumph than if he had never been driven amongst the breakers.

Sir Walter Scott, then, was sitting at a writing-desk covered with papers, and on the top was a pile of bound volumes of the Moniteur,-one, which he was leaning over as my brother and I entered, was open on a chair, and two others were lying on the floor.

Captain Hall's Diary in Lockhart's Life of Scott.

SIR JOHN FREDERICK WILLIAM HERSCHEL, D.C.L., only son of Sir William Herschel, the distinguished astronomer, born at Slough, near Windsor, 1790, and educated at St. John's College, Cambridge, was made a baronet in 1838, D.C.L. of Oxford, 1839, and elected Lord-Rector of Marischal College, Aberdeen, 1842; Master of the Mint from 1850 until 1855, when he resigned on account of illhealth died 1871.

A Collection of Examples of the Application of the Calculus to Finite Differences.