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this rencontre, there were two against one; and even Hercules himself must yield to odds."

The other was at a wretched village not far from Silistria.

"A miserable wine-house received me -the only khan in the place, which was kept by two bachelor-brothers; one of whom was a fat man, that remained at home and dealt out arech to his peasant customers, whilst his brother attended to the extern affairs of this establish

ment.

"I spread my quilt on the clay floor of an apartment where the fowl had the same access as myself, and through the roof of which the rain gently descended. The room adjoining was open for company, where, amongst the dignitaries of the place, sat the village popas, crossing himself, playing cards, and drinking arech from morn to dewy eve, both reverenced and laughed at by those around. Had it not been for his cap (which was much dinged) I should not have distinguished him from the peasantry. Like many of them, he wore a white woollen tunic, girded with a black leather belt, short drawers of the same, but neither shoes nor stockings. The brothers permitted him to do as he pleased, and thus he had the arech bottle at his entire disposal. In the evening they closed the doors, and even these unnurtured persons seemed happy at the exclusion of the noisy, vacant throng which frequented their house during the day. When thus left to themselves, they appeared to advantage. The fat brother was a devotee, but far from unreasonable, and represented to the other that the essence of Christianity was the same amongst all its professors. Thus extending the cords of the tabernacle, that I might also be received in its kindly embrace, we sat down to a supper of Russian sauce, made of fish, in which to dip our bread, together with boiled eggs, on a table five inches from the ground after which, a door opened which I had not observed before, and in this wretched cottage appeared a neat apartment furnished as a sanctuary, where the fat brother performed an evening service, whilst the other went through the house with a small box of incense, repeating the word Christian when he presented it to my nose. The one who officiated as priest was such a character as in Ireland would be designated a man that understands his religion.' I confess I was by no means displeased with what I saw in these two amiable persons; who, though proprietors of an arech-house, yet kept its frequenters within bounds, and,

in the closing of their doors at night, shut out the publican character, whilst a higher tone of feeling triumphed over its disguise."

Dr. Burton does not seem to admire Wallachia much-and is inclined to give the preference to Turkey, which does not, either, occupy any very high place in his esteem:

« Wallachia is at present a nominally independent principality, much under Russian influence; its inhabitants are Christians of the Greek church; except for the groups of seven clumsy, wooden crosses which we every now and then passed on the way, I saw no difference between Wallachia and Turkey; in truth, the preference might, without injustice, be given to the latter country, the landscape of which is so much its superior; exerting herself to rank with European powers would make the traveller expect more, and yet not even a road, the primary evidence of civil association, facilitates his progress.

"The inhabitants have a thievish, black look, with large, low-crowned hats; perhaps the occurrence of the loss of my ring may have prejudiced me against this costume, but I am informed they are not over exact as to how they treat the property of others. Besides this broad hat of puritanical form, they wear the tunic reaching to the knees, with a girdle, to which is attached in front their tobacco pouch, pricker, and implements for striking light: they have short drawers and saudals, the thongs of which tie round the leg and fasten on a kind of woollen leggings, they have also long hair and mustachios, but the beard has gone entirely out of use, except with the popas, or some very old persons in remote parts of the country; a few of the inhabitants wear a dress of dark-brown cloth, consisting of a loose jacket, wide breeches, and a sheep-skin cap; you may also see some with the Turkish jacket, ornamented on the back, and the Turkish slippers these, with the large hat, have an incongruous appearance; they, however, combine the costumes of Europe and Asia. One would almost suppose the Wallachian was puzzled what habit to assume, and thus you see Europe and Asia maintain in him a constant conflict. On advancing into the interior, however, the broad hat, tunic, belt, drawers, and sandals, most of which he inherits from his Dacian ancestors, seem to obtain the ascendancy. A Wallachian peasant sometimes appears in a shaggy, sheep-skin cloak, from which you see him, like a bear, shake the heavy drops after a

shower; and united with this, let my readers imagine the aforesaid broad hat, knowing, low, round crown, and long black hair. I regret much that I was in no mood for sketching, otherwise my friends should have had a rich variety of Wallachian costume; but my spirits were sunk; I had a journey before me that I was uncertain how I should accomplish; and now trust that the description will satisfy my indulgent readers.

"These people speak a very corrupt Latin, called Romanisti, which I think in many respects approaches the Italian. This circumstance I was not at the time prepared for, and was not a little surprised when I first heard their language, and the sentinel in the lazaretto at night, calling out every half hour, asculta,' (hear,) evidently the Latin word ausculta. The Wallachians affirm, (and I believe with some truth,) that their race has been blended with the Roman legions who were encamped amongst the ancient Dacians, to subdue them. The language is, however, now mixed up with a number of Turkish and Greek words.

"Wine-houses flourish much in this country; their recurrence by the wayside is much more frequent than the huge, logwood-coloured crosses; a bunch of shavings, a bottle, or a small hoop, are the signs by which they may be distinguished; some of these houses were wicker roofs over an excavation in the ground.

"I consider Wallachia more objectionable than Turkey, since it affects to rank itself with European polity, and professes Christianity; yet how lamentably is the traveller disappointed at finding the same backwardness, the same indolence, and the same filth, in most cases even worse than in Turkey; they seem a selfish and boorish race-in short, things had only changed their name, but not their nature."

churches, and heard the solemn pealing of their bells." Dr. Burton says

"As I viewed this city at a distance, it reminded me strongly of Shrewsbury. The inhabitants of Hermanstadt, and a widely extended district, are a colony of Saxons, and profess the Lutheran faith: they still adhere to the language and manners of their forefathers. Sometimes you hear the Romanisti, and sometimes German, from the same individual; but there is a neatness and order in their habitations and farms that evince a superiority to those around. In the villages where they dwell, their church spires vie with those of the parochial fane-the latter being only distinguishable by the cross that crowns its summit."

Our traveller still footed it through Pesth to Vienna, thence through Prague, Dresden, Berlin, and to Hamburgh. At Hamburgh he embarked for London, and reached the Tower stairs on Monday the 16th day of October, 1837, in the same month, and he had sailed from Liverpool in the on the same day of the month in which preceding year. Before we have done

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we must make two observations; one is, that we fear Dr. Burton's mode of addressing the Jews may have (though, we are sure, quite unintentionally on his part) a tendency to lead them to think, that to be of the Hebrew blood is every thing, and to lead them to forget, that though a national restoration should await them, to participate in it, an humbled and penitent heart, a delivery from blood-guiltiness, through the acknowledgment of a crucified Saviour, and the cross which all must bear, ere peace and the deliverance from every enemy can be our lot, are necessary for each individual. other observation is, that no where are We would willingly extract Dr. there any traces, in Dr. Burton's book, Burton's description of the Wallachian of a disposition, which we think somecapital, Bucharest, emerging from Ot- times appears in our Protestant mistoman sway, and attempting to take its sionaries in the east, to treat the Oriplace among the cities of Christendom; ental churches as destitute of all light pause with him at the last lazaretto, to undervalue their apostolical sucthat of Kinneen, which, for a lazaretto appears really to have been comfortable; have caught a sketch from Transylvania; a picture from Hungary. But we must draw to a conclusion. We can well conceive the home associa tions which crowded on our traveller's mind when at Hermanstadt in Transylvania, on what was once and recently the border of Christendom. For the first time since leaving home he "beheld with delight the spires of

cession-and as, in one instance which we remember to have read of an English clergyman reproving a Greek prelate for calling the blessed Virgin the mother of God, to incur the peril of leading the Greek Christians to imagine that the Church of England is infected with the Nestorian heresy. But the mode of dealing with the Oriental church would be an extensive subject; our time is come, and, like other shadows, we must depart.

ANTHOLOGIA GERMANICA.-NO. XV.- -WETZEL'S POEMS.*

FIRST NOTICE.

WHEN one enthusiast takes up the cudgels for another, men witness a more than usually apt instance of the zeal that lacks discretion. Herr Zachariah Funck, we venture to predict, will not redeem the reputation of his late friend, Frederick Conrad Wetzel, from the oblivion into which it is fast falling, by taking upon himself the editorship of his poems. People may sometimes bear to be lectured into the belief that madness is inspiration, but certainly never where the lecturer is himself a madman. Paine was patronised rather to the detriment of his own celebrity by Cobbett. Hunt's glowing eulogies of Shelley have not tended to dissipate the cloud that rests upon the latter's character. We do, therefore, apprehend that the sober-minded Germans will continue to discountenance the poetical and political extravagances of Wetzel, notwithstanding Editor Funck's tempestuous vindication of both, and the scalding hot tide of invective in which his indignation finds vent against all who happen to be prosaic and apathetic enough to feel no sympathy with either.

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But with this We have nothing to do. The sole regret that the publisher's choice has caused us is occasioned by the absence from the volume before us of any biographical details respecting the poet. The verbose rhapsody that does the duty of preface to it talks of culmination-points," "halls of immortality," "paracentric aesthetics," "objectivity," and so forth, and denounces the age in a dialect that illustrates the vast advantage of having a dictionary at one's elbow; but it does not tell us where, when, why, or how it came to pass that Wetzel was so unfortunate as to die as we understand was the case-a neglected poet and a brokenhearted man. On these points we wanted to gain as much information as we possibly could; and on these points Editor F. has given us as little information as he possibly could, viz. none whatever. He talks instead-being obliged to talk of something-of the signs of the times, and the melancholy

prevalence of an anti-mystic materialism in modern poetry. We desire facts, and he treats us to disquisitions, as "germane to the matter" in hand as an air by Neukomin might be to a problem in algebra. His mode of establishing his protégé's claim to the title of poet strikes us also as rather inconclusive. 'Dasz Wetzel," he demands, "ein rechter Dichter war, wer vermag das zu bestreiten ?" "Who will dare to dispute that Wetzel was a genuine poet?" No argument is attempted; no evidence is tendered; the interrogatory is put, Who will dare, &c.; and so the matter is decided. One might, however, tolerate any little deficiency his logic exhibits for the sake of its brevity: the shortest follies are the best. But, alas, for his interminable metaphysics! their only recommendation is the strong probability that, as they are wholly and hopelessly incomprehensible, they must, after the first glance given to them, perforce compel the reader to pass them over altogether: the cloud that envelopes them is in fact the densest we have come into contact with since our first acquaintanceship with Kant, and as completely veils the writer's meaning from ordinary apprehension as the volume of smoke which filled the room while, pipe in mouth, he went through with his task, shrouded the characters he scrawled from his own eyes.

His favourite theme of panegyric is the poet's soul, which, nevertheless, he describes as loaded with rubbishsomewhat like his own meerschaumand the poet's spirit. in reference to which we have a vivid picture of a Bedlamite escaping from his keepers. Hear him blow the trumpet. "Die mannichfaltigsten Fesseln lähmender Erdgewalten, Schutt and Staub der erbärmlichsten Prosa, legten wie Berge sich auf seine Seele, und doch vermochten sie nicht seine Dichterkraft niederzubeugen, geschweige seinen Genius zu begraben. Sein junger, freier und kräftiger Geist durchbrach jeder äuszern Zwang, machte sich Platz mit seinen gewaltigen Adler

*F. C. Wetzel's gesammelte Gedichte und Nachlasz. Herausgegeben von Z. Funck. Leipzig: Brockhaus.

1839.

F. C. Wetzel's Poems and Remains, complete. Edited by Z. Funck. Leipsic : Brockhaus. 1839.

schwingen, entfloh der niedern Erde, reinigte mit raschem Flügelschlage die verpestete Luft und flog, dem ewigen Phönix gleich, dem Lande seiner Geburt, der Sonne, zu!" "The most multitudinous and multifarious manacles of the crippling and shackling earthauthorities, the rubbish and dust of the paltriest prose, cast themselves like mountains upon his soul, and yet prevailed not to bow down his poet's might, far less to sepulchre his genius. His young, chainless, and powerful spirit broke through every external barrier, made room for itself with its stupendous eagle-pinions, soared above this base earth, purified with the rapid rushing of its wings the pestilential atmosphere, and flew, like the eternal Phoenix, to its native clime--the sun!" If this be true, "that other great traveller," Munchausen, is left far behind, for he visited only the moon-the account of the voyage to the dog-star being now generally admitted by the learned to be spurious. Poor Wetzel! the coolness of his reception upon earth was indeed such as might naturally enough have induced in him a wish to exchange his habitation for warmer quarters. While, however, we lament his destiny, we do not go the length of blaming the world for it. No: Wetzel was a man of mere middling genius-and one fate alone awaits such men. Themselves are unsought, their books unbought; so was it always; so will it continue; it must be thus; there is no remedy for it. People somehow will not purchase an inferior article when they can have a superior one as cheap. If Herr Funck and a few like him mistake crockery for porcelain and potatoes for peaches, they have no right to fall foul of others for being better-sighted.

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Nay, even supposing the public in the wrong, these are still the best judges This is a of what pleases themselves. truth so obvious as to force itself upon the commonest minds; and they who abuse the public because of their taste or want of taste prove themselves either very splenetic or very irrational. We pity a man of talent, like Wetzel, for his sufferings in conscience we can afford to do no more. thought his deserts to be such as to have made the treatment he received unjustifiable we should perhaps be almost as indignant as Orator Funck himself. He is dead; the grave has closed over him; and, whatever his defects may have been, we can have no wish to quarrel either with his memory or his executors-even though he gained little fame, and made less money, and has got an editor to edit him who assumes that the secret of his want of success lay in the paramount sublimity of his genius-that is to say, that he was so magnificent and so fascinating a writer and so grandiloquent and so up-soaring," and so down-diving" a thinker that—nobody cared to read him.

66

I.

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We believe it were as well, to preclude any misconception with reference to the point, if we at once gave the reader a few samples of the poems. None of them are certainly of a worse order than any we have hitherto published; and some of them may perhaps be of a better. Our own anti-poetical modes of thought and tendencies of mind, indeed, license the likelihood that we see in them blemishes which to those better qualified for understanding them may be invisible. give one dozen of specimens ; not extracting at random, but selecting the best that offer.

Bamberg.

DROP-SCENE.

Du herrlichsten von Allen,

O, my own mother-city,

I could laud thee day and night,

Thy women are so pretty,
And thy wine is so bright,
And thy nightingales in cages
Warble songs of Paradise-
One would swear in ancient ages
They were angels in disguise!

Thy river keeps a-flowing
Very pleasant to behold,

We

And to-day thy roofs are glowing

In the noon like yellow gold,
And thy happy gardens blooming
With pied fruits and flowers,
And the Summer sun illuming

All thy lover-haunted bowers!

There's thy New town and Old one,
Each a darling in its way ;—
True, the last can hardly hold on,
Though so graceful in decay;
Indeed I don't know whether

I can well compare the two;
Still I love them altogether,
Both the Old and the New.

No hateful walls begird thee-
Here Nature hath her part,
And deems it not unworthy

To ally herself with Art :-
Thy walls are mighty mountains,
The cradles of the vine,
From which, as from fountains,
Outgushes purple wine!

Here winds a marble alley;
There gleams a singing rill ;-
Here spreads a rosy valley ;-
And yonder, on The Hill,
As large as life, or larger,
Sits Adelbert the Grand

On his blue metal charger,

With his blue sword in hand!

And oh the lighted altars

Of thy Church, beneath whose dome

The piety that falters

May revive as though at Rome !-
While visitors in numbers

Throng the long aisle beyond,
Where our Kaiser Heinrich* slumbers
By his virgin Cunigond.

Then a gay population,

But withal rather stout,

And of keen observation
From the lord to the lout,
May be seen in Summer walking
Through thy rural thoroughfares,
Smoking meerschaums, or talking,
All in fours, threes, or pairs.

O, were I a musician,

I would spend a many days
On a moving composition
Altogether in thy praise!

Henry II. Emperor of Germany, and founder of Bamberg, who, although married, lived in celibacy to the time of his death. His Empress was deservedly canonized for her sanctity and virtues.

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