the place, went to our very hearts. We then entered a small quadrangle, exactly resembling that of Queen's College, Cambridge, filled with weeds. It was divided into two parts, one raised above the other: the principal side of the court containing an open cloister, supported by small, white marble columns. Every thing appeared in a neglected state: the women only reside here during the summer; their winter apartments may be compared to the late Bastile of France, and the decoration of these apartments is even inferior to that which I shall presently describe. From this court, forcing open a small window near the ground, we climbed into the building, and alighted upon a large range of wooden beds, on couches, covered by mats, prepared for the reception of a hundred slaves; these reach the whole extent of a very long corridor. From hence, passing some very narrow passages, the floors of which were also matted, we came to a stair-case leading to the upper apartments, of such irregular and confused architecture, it is difficult to give any adequate description. We passed from the lower dormitory of the slaves to another above; this was divided into two tiers; so that one half of the numerous attendants it was designed to accommodate slept over the other, upon a kind of shelf or scaffold, near the ceiling. From this second corridon we entered into a third, a long matted passage; on the left of this were small apartments for slaves of higher rank; and upon the right, a series of rooms looking towards the

sea.

By continuing along this corridon, we at last entered the great Chamber of Audience, in which the Sultan Mother receives visits of ceremony, from the Sultanas, and other distinguished Ladies of the Charem. Nothing can be imagined better suited to theatrical représentation than

this chamber, and I regret the loss of a very accurate drawing, which I caused Monsieur Preaux to complete upon the spot. It is exactly such an apartment, as the best painters of scenic decoration would have selected to afford a striking idea of the pomp, the seclusion, and the magnificence of the Ottoman court. The stage is best suited for its representation; and therefore the reader is requested to have the stage in his imagination while it is described. It was surrounded with enormous mirrors, the costly donations of Infidel kings, as they are stiled by the present possessors: these mirrors the women of the Seraglio sometimes break in their frolics. At the upper end is the throne, a sort of cage, in which the Sultana sits surrounded by latticed blinds, for even here, her person is held too sacred to be exposed to the common observation of slaves and females of the Charem. A lofty flight of broad steps, covered with crimson cloth, leads to this cage, as to a throne; immediately in front of it are two burnished chairs of state, covered with crimson velvet, and gold, one on each side the entrance. To the right and left of the throne, and upon a level with it, are the sleeping apartments of the Sultan Mother, and her principal females inwaiting. The external windows of the throne are all latticed; on one side they look towards the sea, and on the other into the quadrangle of the Charem; the chamber itself occupying the whole breadth of the building, on the side of the qua drangle into which it looks. The area below the latticed throne, on the front of the stage (to follow the idea at first proposed), is set apart for attendants, for the dancers, for actors, music, refreshments, and whatever is brought into the Charem, for the amusement of the court. This place is covered with Persian mats; but these are removed when the Sultan

is here, and the richest carpets substituted in their place.

Beyond the great Chamber of Audience is the Assembly Room of the Sultan, when he is in the Charem; here we observed the magnificent lustre before mentioned. The Sultan sometimes visits this chamber during the winter, to hear music, and to amuse himself with his favourites: it is surrounded by mirrors; the other ornaments display that strange mixture of magnificence, and wretchedness, which characterise all the state-chambers of Turkish Grandees. Leaving the assembly room by the same door through which we entered, and continuing along the passage, as before, which runs parallel to the sea shore, we at length reached what might be termed the Sanctum Sanctorum of this Paphian Temple. The baths of the Sultan Mother, and of the four principal Sultanas; these are small, but very elegant; constructed of white marble, and lighted by ground glass above; at the upper end is a raised sudatory, and bath, for the Sultan Mother, concealed by lattice-work from the rest of the apartment. Fountains play constantly. into the floor of this bath, from all its sides, and every degree of refined luxury has been added to the work, which a people, of all others best versed in the ceremonies of the bath, have been capable of inventing, or requiring.

Leaving the bath, and returning along the passage by which we came, we entered what is called the Chamber of Repose. Nothing need be said of it, except that it commands the finest view any where afforded from this point of the Seraglio. It forms a part of the building, well known to strangers, from the circumstance of its being supported, towards the sea, by twelve columns of that beautiful and rare breccia, the vivide Lacedæmonium of Pliny, called by the Italians, il vende antico. July 1812.

These columns are of the finest quality ever seen, and each of them consists of one entire stone. The two interior pillars are of green Egyptian breccia, more beautiful than any specimen of the kind existing.

We now proceeded to that part of the Charem which looks into the seraglio garden, and entered a large apartment, called Chalvert Yientzy, or, as the French would express it, talle de promenade. There the other ladies of the Charem entertain themselves by hearing and seeing comedies, farcical representations, dances, and music. We found it in the state of an old lumber-room: large dusty pierglasses, in heavy gilded frames, neglected and broken, stood like the Vicar of Wakefield's family picture, leaning against the wall, the whole length of one side of the room; old furniture, shabby bureaus of the worst English work, made of oak, walnut, or mahogany; inlaid broken cabinets; scattered fragments of chandeliers; scraps of paper, silk, rags, and empty confectionary boxes, were the only objects in this part of the palace.

From this room we descended into the court of the Charem, and having crossed it, ascended by a flight of steps to an upper parterre, for the purpose of examining a part of the building appropriated to the inferior ladies of the seraglio. Finding it exact ly upon the plan of the rest, only worse furnished, and in a more wretched state, we returned, to quit the Charem entirely, and effect our retreat to the garden. garden. The reader may imagine our consternation, on finding that the great door was closed upon us, and that we were locked in. Listening to ascertain if any one was stirring, we discovered that a slave had entered to feed some turkeys, who were gabbling and making a great noise at a small distance. We profited by their tumult to force back the huge lock of the gate with a large stone,

which

which fortunately yielded to our blows, and we made our escape.

We now quitted the lower garden of the seraglio, and ascended by a paved road towards the chamber of the garden of hyacinths. This promised to be interesting, as we were told the Sultan passed almost all his private hours in this apartment, and the view of it might make us acquainted with occupations and amusements which characterize the man, divested of the outward parade of the sultan. We presently turned from the paved ascent towards the right, and entered a small garden, laid out into very neat oblong borders, edged with porcelain, or Dutch tiles. Here no plant is suffered to grow except the hyacinth, whence the name of this garden, and the chamber it contains. We examined this apartment by looking through a window. Nothing could be more magnificent. Three sides of it were Three sides of it were surrounded by a divan, the cushions and pillows of which were of black embroidered satin. Opposite the windows of the chamber was a fireplace, after the ordinary European fashion, and on each side of this, a door, covered with hangings of crimson cloth. Between each of these doors and the fire-place, appear a glass case, containing the sultan's private library, every volume being in manuscript, and upon shelves, one above the other, and the title of each book written on the edges of its leaves.— From the ceiling of the room, which was of burnished gold, opposite each of the doors, and also opposite to the fire-place, hang three gilt cages, containing small figures of artificial birds; these sung by mechanism. In the centre of the room stood an enormous brazier, supported in a ewer by four gilt massive claws, like vessels seen under sideboards in England. Opposite to the entrance, on one side of the apartment, was a raised bench, crossing a door, on which were placed an

embroidered napkip, a vase and basin, for washing the beard and hands. Over this bench, upon the wall, was suspended the large embroidered porte-feuille, worked with silver thread or yellow leather, which is carried in procession when the sultan goes to mosque, or elsewhere, in public, to contain the petitions presented by his subjects. In a nook close to the door was also a pair of yellow boots, and on the bench by the ewer a pair of slippers of the same materials. These are placed at the entrance of every apartment frequented by the sultan. The floor was covered with Gobelin's tapestry, and the ceiling, as before stated, magnificently gilded and burnished. Groupes of arms, such as pistols, sabres, and poignards, were disposed, with very singular taste and effect, on the different compartments of the wall, the handles and scabbards of which were covered with diamonds of very large size; these, as they glittered around, gave almost gor geous effect to the splendour of this sumptuous chamber.

We had scarcely ended our survey of this costly scene, when, to our great dismay, a Bostanghy made his appearance within the apartment, but, fortunately for us, his head was turned from the window, and we immediately sunk below it, creeping upon our hands and knees until we got clear of the garden of hyacinths; thence ascending to the upper walks, we passed an aviary of nightingales.

The walks in the upper garden are very small, in wretched condition, and laid out in worse taste than the fore court of a Dutchman's house in the suburbs of the Hague. Small as they are, they constitute, until lately, the whole of the seraglio gardens near the sea, and from them may be seen the whole prospect of the entrance to the canal, and the opposite coast of Scutary. Here, in in an old kiosk, is seen a very ordinary marble slab, supported on iron

cramps;

cramps; this, nevertheless, was a present from Charles the Twelfth of Sweden. It is precisely the sort of sideboard seen in the lowest inns of England; and while it may be said, that no person would pay half the amount of its freight to send it back again, it shows the nature of the presents then made to the Porte by foreign Princes. From these formal parterres, we desended to the Gardener's Lodge, and left the gardens by the gate through which we entered.

I never should have offered so copious a detail of the scenery of this remarkable place, if I did not believe that an account of the interior of the Seraglio would be satisfactory from the secluded nature of the objects to which it bears reference, and the 'little probability there is of so favourable an opportunity being again granted to any traveller for its investigation.

Fate of Literary Scotsmen who have

gone to reside in LONDON.

From D'Israeli's Calamities of Authors.

WHAT literary emigrations from the North, of young men of genius, seduced by a romantic passion for literary fame, and lured by the golden prospects which the happier genius of some of their own countrymen opened on them! A volume might be written on literary Scotchmen, who have perished immaturely in this metropolis-little known, and slightly connected, they have dropped away among us, and scarcely left a vestige in the wrecks of their genius. Among them some Authors may be discovered who might have ranked, perhaps, in the first classes of our literature. I shall select four out of as many hundred, who were not entirely unknown to me; a romantic youth a man of genius-a fertile Authorbut LOGAN must be distinguished as

a tender poet, and one of the most brilliant prose writers.

ISAAC RITSON (not the well-known poetical antiquary) was a native of Cumberland, and a young man of genius, who perished immaturely in this metropolis, by attempting to exist by the efforts of his pen.

In early youth he roved among his native mountains, with the battles of Homer in his head, and his bow and arrow in his hand; in calmer hours, he nearly completed a spirited version of Hesiod, which constantly occupied his after-studies; yet our minstrelarcher did not less love the severer sciences.

Selected at length to rise to the eminent station of the Village Schoolmaster,-from the thankless office of pouring cold rudiments into heedless ears, RITSON took a poetical flight. It was among the mountains and wild scenery of Scotland, our young Homer, picking up fragments of heroic songs, and composing some fine ballad poetry, would, in his wanderings, recite them with such passionate expression, that he never failed of auditors; and found even the poor generous, when their better passions were mo

ved. Thus he lived like some old troubadour, by his rhymes, and his chaunts, and his virelays; and he who had set off on foot, after a year's absence, returned on horseback. This was the seducing moment of life; RITSON felt himself a laureated Petrarch. He had now quitted his untutored but feeling admirers, and the child of fancy was to mix with the every-day business of life.

At Edinburgh he studied medicine, lived by writing theses for the idle and the incompetent, composed a poem on Medicine, till at length his hopes and his ambition conducted him to London. But the golden age of the imagination soon deserted him in his obscure apartment in the glittering metropolis. He attended the hospitals, but these were crowded by stu

dents

dents, who, if they relished the science less, loved the trade more; he published a hasty version of Homer's Hymn to Venus, which was good enough to be praised, but not to sell; at length withering his fertile imagination over the task-work of literature, he resigned fame for bread; wrote the preface to Clarke's Survey of the Lakes, compiled medical articles for the Monthly Review; and, wasting fast his ebbing spirits, he retreated to an obscure lodging at Islington, where death relieved, without awaiting the tedious course of nature to remove, a hopeless Author, in the 27th year of his life.

About twenty years ago, the town was amused almost every morning by a series of humorous or burlesque poems by a writer under the assumed name of Matthew Bramble-he was at that very moment one of the most moving spectacles of human melancholy I have ever witnessed.

It was one evening I saw a tall, famished, melancholy man, enter a bookseller's shop, his hat flapped over his eyes, and his whole frame evident ly feeble from exhaustion and utter misery. The Bookseller enquired how he proceeded in his new tragedy? "Do not talk to me about my Tragedy! "Do not talk to me about my Tragedy! I have indeed more tragedy than I can bear at home!" was the reply, as the voice faltered as he spoke. This man was Mathew Bramble, or rather-M'DONALD, the author of the Tragedy of Vimonda, at that moment the writer of comic poetry-his Tragedy was indeed a domestic one, in which he himself was the greatest actor among a wife and seven children--he shortly afterwards perished. I heard at the time, that M'DONALD had walked from Scotland with no other fortune than the novel of "The Independent" in one pocket, and the Tragedy of "Vimonda" in the other. Yet he lived some time in all the bloom and flush

of poetical confidence. Vimonda was even performed several nights, but not with the success the romantic poet, among his native rocks, had conceived was to crown his anxious labours— the theatre disappointed him—and afterwards, to his feelings, all the world!

LOGAN had the dispositions of a poetic spirit, not cast in a common mould; but with fancy he combined learning illumined by philosophy, and adorned philosophy with eloquence; while no student had formed a loftier feeling of the character of a man of letters.

His claims on our sympathy will arise from those circumstances in his life, which open the secret sources of the Calamities of Authors; of those minds of finer temper, who, having tamed the heat of their youth by the severe patience of study, form that relish for the Beautiful in literary composition, whose memorial they leave in their works; yet still, from causes not always difficult to discover, find their favourite objects and their fondest hopes barren and neglected. It is then the thoughtful melancholy, which constitutes so large a portion of their genius, absorbs and consumes the very faculties to which it gave birth.

LOGAN studied at the University of Edinburgh, was ordained in the Church of Scotland-and early distinguished as a poet by the simplicity and the tenderness of his verses, yet the philosophy of history had as deeply interested his studies. He gave two courses of Lectures-I have heard from his pupils their admiration, after the lapse of many years; so striking were those lectures for their originality, and so seducing by their splendour. Logan's merits as an historical lecturer are justly described as having successfully applied the science of moral philosophy to the history of mankind. All wished that Logan should obtain the chair of the Professor of Universal History-but an unforeseen