other horse for him, which is always richly caparisoned. When the party attending the bride is arrived at the place of meeting, the mother, or some duenna who has the superintendance of the business, first makes a present of value to the person who leads the horse, which, if it be a shawl, as is generally the case, is tied round the neck of the animal. Afterwards, many small handkerchiefs coarsely embroidered, and little pieces of linen, or of coarse printed cotton, are distributed, for which the guests contend in horseraces. This occupies much time, and, during the whole of it, the carriage which contains the bride waits at the distance of nearly half a mile. It never is brought nearer to the party, but the lady's father, or one of her brothers, attends it, in order to see the charge safely executed of delivering her unseen into the house of her husband. The better to effect this, the carriage is hung round with curtains inside, and if the party arrive somewhat early at the village, the vehicle is detained at the entrance of it till near the close of day, and till it is supposed that all are occupied in eating. When she reaches the door of her new prison, sherbet is brought her to drink, and some kind of sweatmeat is given with it. She is next presented with a lamb, which is actually put into the carriage with her, and afterwards transferred to one of her attendants. At length, after much bustle and preparation, the court being previously cleared of all spectators, large coarse blanketing is fixed up, so as to prevent all possibility of her being seen, and then, wrapped in a sheet, she is carried by her brother into the house. Here fresh forms and ceremonies await her. Being received into one of the most private rooms, a curtain is fixed up so as entirely to cover one corner of it. Behind this the poor girl is placed, who, after the annoyance and fatigue she has undergone, is glad to rest as much as she is able in this nook of her cage. corated now in all her gayest attire, and glittering with gold and brocade, she is still not permitted to be seen, except by her mother and female friends, who busy themselves in arranging her clothes in proper order, and in adorning the room with a profusion of gay dresses, embroidered handkerchiefs and towels, rich coverlids, and cushions of cotton or Turkish silk. All these are distributed around the room; even the shifts, being new for the occasion, are hung up with the rest, along the walls of the apartment, forming an extraordinary sort of tapestry.

De

While this arrangement is taking place, the bridegroom, having parted with most of his guests, begins to prepare for a visit to his bride. Being now washed, shaven, and gaily drest, he is allowed about midnight to see his wife for an hour, at the expiration of which he is summoned to retire. Throughout the whole of the next day she is destined to be fixed in a corner of the room, and to remain standing during the visits of as many strangers as curiosity may bring to see her. The men employ themselves in horse-racing; and three or four articles of some value are given for the winners. The bridegroom makes a point of paying an early visit to those whom he considers his friends, taking with him some little present of his wife's embroidery."

The Mahometan law, as is well known, allows a plurality of wives, but few Tartars, we are informed, avail themselves of this permission. The Tartar husband, though quite absolute over his wife, is said to be affectionate and kind to her, and instances of unhappy marriages are represented as rare. If a wife is ill used, she may complain to the Mulla, who pronounces a separation between the parties. In this case the woman returns to her relations.

Our next extract relates to the last ceremony in which human beings are concerned.

"I was present at the burial of an old woman who died in the village of Karagoss. This ceremony usually takes place about twelve hours after death. When the persons appointed to attend the funeral were assembled, the body was brought out of the house and laid upon a hurdle. Having first been well washed, some coarse new linen, sewn together in proper lengths for the purpose, was folded round it, and it was finally covered with the best kaftan and pelisse of the deceased. The corpse was next brought out by the bearers, from the shed in which these preparations had been made, and placed upon the ground at some little distance. The Mulla and some men hired to sing then assembled round it, and some short ejaculatory prayers were offered, during which the women stood attentive, a few paces from the spot. After the prayers and singing were ended, the bearers raised the hurdle, (which was affixed to very long poles, so as to allow four or five men to carry it, both before and behind,) and set off at a very quick pace, almost running. The women instantly began crying and howling, and followed the corpse with loud lamentations to the extremity of the village.

As the rapidity with which the bearers proceeded soon heated and tired them, they were relieved by others of the villagers, who all kept pace, and did not interrupt the procession for an instant by their changes. The priest, and some men from another village, attended on horseback. Arrived at the grave, which was prepared on the open Stepp, the body was placed on the ground, and the men gathered round it, praying as before. In the act of praying they hold up the hand, as if reading from it, and at the close of the prayer pass one hand over the forehead, or both down either side of the face. This part of the ceremony being over, they all went to a short distance, and seating themselves in a ring, were read to by the Mulla, and by some other persons. While this was going on, the son of the deceased distributed a small sum of money among those who were present, sending it round by one of his friends. My little boy being with me, he, among the rest, was offered a few kopeeks. These I at first was unwilling to let him take, but the man who brought them insisted on his accepting them; and when I asked him for what purpose they were given, he replied, to procure the prayers of those present for the deceased, that she may be receiv 'ed into Heaven."

Having mixed a portion of quicklime with the earth, they now prepared to put the corpse into the grave. This was dug perpendicularly for about four feet, at which depth an excavation was made on one side, nearly large enough to admit the width of the body. In this excavated niche it was laid, and some papers * written by the Mulla were disposed about it; one being placed on the breast, expressive of the character of the deceased, another in the hand, intended likewise as a sort of passport at the gates of Heaven; and a third above the head, which is said to be an intimation to the Evil One to refrain from disturbing the bones of a true believer. These papers having been properly arranged, stakes were fixed obliquely across the grave, from the upper to the lower side, opposite the body. They were placed very close to each other, and a quantity of hay being put over them, the earth was thrown in, and large stones collected to cover the whole.

* I persuaded the Mulla to give me copies of these papers, but as they were written in Arabic I found difficulty in getting them translated. Having given them to a Tatar sacerdatal for that purpose, I never received them again. I have little doubt that he handed them over to the Effendi, who prevented their being returned to

me.

"The final ceremony at the grave is a repetition of prayers and singing; the party then adjourn to the house of the deceased, where they and others, including all relations and friends, are feasted for one, two, or three successive days, according to the power and possessions of the mourners. After the dispersion of the other attendants, the Mulla remains alone, and reads by the grave."

"The Tatars commemorate the anniversary of the death of their relatives, on which occasion all the women and girls of the village visit the grave. The nearest relations remain reading and praying around it for about an hour, and the other women arrange themselves at some distance. The prayers being finished, all seat themselves together, within sight of the grave, when pancakes, and a finer sort of bread, are distributed amongst the party. I was present at one of these ceremonies, when the woman deceased had left five children, the two eldest of whom (girls of fourteen and sixteen years of age) evinced much real sorrow for her loss. In the interval of twelve months their father had married again, and his second wife made one of the party."

The only other passage we shall quote is as creditable to the author as to the friendly disposition of the Tartar people.

"During the last summer of my residence in the Crimea, a circumstance occurred, with the mention of which I will conclude these notes. When the time for my departure approached, and it became generally known that I was going, I was surprised one morning by a visit from a Tatar Murza with whom I was previously unacquainted. After much ceremony, he informed me, that having heard of my projected return to England, and supposing that I would not venture unprotected upon so long and perilous a journey, he waited upon me for the purpose of recommending to me two men, to act as an escort or guard. One of these was an old Tatar who was with him, and the other was his own brother. He ended by referring me to a common friend for further information, and gave me his address. Upon my asking him how far these men were willing to go, if I should require their attendance? As far as your own frontiers,' said he, 6 or even to England,

' if you wish it.' I informed him of the uncertainty of the time and mode of my journey, and that I possibly might return by sea from Theodosia ; but I assured him, that if I should stand in need of such attendants, I should not forget his recommendation.

"After this many other Tatars came on the same errand; and though the expectation of a handsome remuneration was undoubtedly the motives which induced these persons to make so extraordinary an application, from others of their nation with whom I had more intercourse, and particularly from some of our own villagers, I experienced at the eve of my departure, and indeed during the whole of my stay, so many instances of kindness and attachment, that I shall never cease to derive sincere gratification from the recollection of their disinterested good will."

In addition to the author's remarks, it gives us pleasure to state, that a Tartar prince, of the name of Katte Ghery, originally educated at Karass, the Scotish missionary station between the Euxine and Caspian, and some time resident in our city, has it in view to establish a seminary at Baktchissaray, in the Crimea, for the instruction of the Tartar population in useful knowledge, and to extend the benefits of the institution to the neighbouring tribes-a plan from the execution of which the best results may fairly be anticipated.

ART. VIII.-The Favourite of Nature: a Tale. In three Volumes. Pp. 1163. London: Whittakers. 1831.

WE are, of course, not swayed by the opinion, now gone by, that a work of genius is unworthy of critical notice, because there is no other name for it than that of a tale or novel. To say nothing of the important fact, that productions in this walk of literature have the greatest number of readers, and that, therefore, a more jealous critical surveillance of them is called for, there are no works in which more talent or eloquence may be displayed, more knowledge of man and mankind unfolded, or more practical and striking lessons of honour and feeling, and even wisdom and virtue, inculcated. We think the work before us cannot be read without deeply touching the feelings and mending the heart; and therefore our omission of it would have been an act of injustice to the public as well as the author. We should certainly not have noticed it, if it had only told a beautiful tale, if it did not, moreover, work out a moral of the deepest concernment and most extensive application.

Notwithstanding the important, and seemingly essential part assigned, in this novel, to the passion of love, in its most engrossing aspect-nay, notwithstanding the fact, that a person of each sex dies of unrequited love, we should not style it a mere love novel; in other words, a tale where the progress and fate of a love-affair, as it is called, forms the main object, and is not the medium for the conveyance of more dignified and edifying lessons. In the character under its dominion, love is one only of several violent passions, all operating at once; which passions, rather than love, bring on the catastrophe, and raise its warning monument. Although the reader, therefore, on opening this work, may meet with many of the worn-out features of very ordinary novels; may be startled by many pressings to the heart, and strainings to the bosom; may take alarm at the hackneyed, and therefore ill-chosen, names of Mortimer, Rivers, and Waldegrave,-names, we do think, the most prominent in circulatinglibrary nomenclature,-may read the first two-thirds of the story with but faint glimpses of the author's object, and in the belief that he is reading a common-place story, be tempted to throw it aside; we advise him to persevere, and we can assure him that, in the last third part of the tale, which has the farther effect of increasing the value of the whole, by shewing the bearing of the parts which preceded it, he will find a good sense, spirit, beauty, and pathos, an unity of plan, development of virtuous purpose,

and consummation of moral effect, which would induce us to place the work in a very respectable rank among those fictitious compositions which are at once interesting and useful.

The author's main object is to trace to a miserable and most tragical catastrophe, the impetuous course of several violent passions, which are unbridled by prudence, and uninfluenced by any steady principle of action; and to read this lesson to the young, that, even to the most attractive favourites of nature, if wrapped up in self, and rendered insensible to, because habitually unconscious of, the feelings of their fellow creatures, our sympathies cannot be accorded-nay, our compassion will be almost de nied to the acutest agonies of their self-inflicted misery, The lesson is strengthened, in the tale, by the contrast of an opposite character, endowed with warm affections, which, though ardent, are controlled by religious principle, generously and cheerfully making sacrifices of the dearest objects of life, when a sense of duty calls for them.

Eliza Rivers is the highly gifted subject of the author's experiment. In person she is all that youthful poets fancy when they love;" and has, moreover, every talent and accomplishment which we can imagine extending the power of female charms. She is not without kindly affections, but her whole character is lowered by the violence of her passions. In her, love is quite a disease of the mind, and the means of exciting in her to morbid activity, other passions--not only jealousy, and its attendant hatred, but pride in its most engrossing and selfish form-in so much that all her personal charms fail in producing in the reader's mind a genuine sympathy with her; and even his commiseration of her final sufferings is diminished by the feeling that, with all the noise and clamour of excessive selfish sensibility, she suffers no more than she herself has occasioned to a much worthier person, who suffered in silence. This externally captivating, though far from amiable maid, having been left an orphan, is the inmate of her guardian, Mr. Henley, rector of Fairfield, about a day's journey from London; a man of sense, piety, and `worth, which eminently fit him for his sacred office. His only daughter, Louisa, is a little older than his ward; and, as little addicted to self as Eliza is engrossed by it, is a pattern of unaffected piety and be nevolence.

Mortimer Durand, Mr. Henley's nephew, comes to Fairfield as his uncle's curate, and being much at the rectory, although not under its roof, is irretrievably in love with the beautiful Eliza, much sooner than we should have expected from the sagacity of his char acter. Eliza's vanity is gratified by his attachment, and, without