UNPUBLISHED MANUSCRIPTS OF A TRAVELLER IN THE EAST. No. I. [Ir may perhaps be agreeable to many, who have already passed through such scenes as these Sketches from a Traveller's Journal will describe, to be reminded of past sources of pleasure; and it will probably be as acceptable to others who have not personally visited countries which all read of with delight, to participate occasionally in the impressions made on the mind of one who has enjoyed for himself that high and enviable gratification. Should there appear in them too warm an enthusiasm of feeling, and too frequent a recurrence of classical and historical recollections, occasionally interrupting the easy progress of the narrative, the reader will, it is hoped, attribute it to its true cause,-the highly excited state of feeling natural to the first efforts of an ardent mind endeavouring to retain and embody the crowd of impressions which overpower the heart of the young enthusiast at the moment of his bursting the barrier of his native land, and going forth to explore the treasures which his imagination gives to other regions, hitherto known to him only through the medium of poetry, fable, and romance. But while the spirit of these first impressions will be carefully retained, such attention will be bestowed on the details as to remove all that may be considered irrelevant to the subject immediately before the reader, and to interweave occasionally such notes and illustrations as the existing state of the countries principally described may render necessary.] Voyage to the Straits of Gibraltar. It was on one of the finest mornings of an English summer, in the month of June, that, in company with a friend who was about to explore the "farther East," and whose views and feelings were in perfect harmony with my own, I embarked at Portsmouth for a voyage to the Straits," as the entrance to the Mediterranean Sea is called, par eminence, by all nautical men. We weighed from Spithead before noon, with the intention of proceeding through the Needles; but the wind failing us before sun-set, we were obliged to anchor off Yarmouth in the Isle of Wight. In the course of our passage along the shores of this beautiful island, we enjoyed some of the finest pieces of English scenery that are to be met with throughout her whole extent of coast. The luxuriant verdure, and the graceful slope of the northern shores descending to the sea, offered none of the wilder beauties of Scotland or Wales to our view; but, in their class and kind, nothing can be more pleasing than the continued series of rich and varied pictures presented by the edge of the coast at every change of position, and every fresh point of view. At the moment of our anchoring, the whole surface of the watery expanse presented the appearance of a "molten sea of liquid glass, and the stillness that reigned throughout the air added much to the solemnity and impressiveness of the scene. Some ships of war and smaller vessels, intending, with our own, to proceed through the narrow passage of the Needles, had, like ourselves, been obliged to anchor, and some of them were very near us. On the deck of one of these, we soon perceived a military band assembling, and heard the note of prepara tion "with anxious and outstretched ear. They began at length to fill the air with harmony; and never do I remember to have felt with such intense delight the soothing and the soul-subduing power of music. The pieces chosen were those of a pensive and romantic character: so well suited to the feelings of the moment, in which hundreds of warm-hearted beings-all leaving behind them hopes and fears-all breaking asunder the dearest ties of kindred, friendship, and love—were assembled in one spot by the accidental calm that obliged them to anchor for a few hours, as if to take a la Pook together of their native shores, and pour out in one common in of melancholy feeling, their warm, and, to many, their last adieu ! We enjoyed, with mingled feelings of pain and pleasure, this "luxury of woe," unable to say whether the hopes of the future or the regrets of the past predominated in the conflict. The local features of the scenery by which we were surrounded, assisted powerfully to enhance the charm; and it seemed to us as if there had never been so appropriate an assemblage of images and feelings since the splendid passage of Collins was written,-every line of which was realized so perfectly in our existing situation, that we recurred to it involuntarily, and repeated it with increased pleasure : With eyes upraised, as one inspired, And from her wild sequester'd seat, Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul; Bubbling runnels join'd the sound; Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole, Love of peace, and lonely musing, In hollow murmurs died away! We passed through the Needles at midnight, and after a fine run, made Cape Finisterre on the 25th, and passed the Rock of Lisbon on the 27th of June. On the morning of this day, the weather being moderate and the wind southerly, we stood close in towards the land, and enjoyed a complete view of the Burlings, a cluster of islands to the northward of the rock. They appeared arid and unproductive, and are now uninhabited; though at one period they were made places of exile for Portuguese convicts. No danger is to be apprehended from a near approach to them, as they have bold shores, and are surrounded with deep water. As we stood along the coast southerly, with the wind at west, the face of the country presented more agreeable landscapes, diversified by villages and summer retreats, as well as by a superb palace of considerable extent, formed by a long range of buildings adorned with spires and domes. It was delightfully seated on the brow of a hill, cominanding a complete view of the entrance to Lisbon, and advantageously situated to receive the refreshing coolness of the sea breeze. The extent and magnificence of this pile induced us to suppose it of royal foundation, or of religious institution, as nothing short of the funds of the state or the church could be adequate to the erection and support of so extensive and superb a building. At noon we were nearly abreast of the Rock of Lisbon, whose rugged summit towers above the hills that surround it, and projects with boldness into the sea, presenting a strong rocky cape, that braves, unaltered, the whole fury of the western ocean; for though the united waves of the Atlantic foam almost incessantly against it, there are no traces of waste or destruction occasioned by their influence. On the 28th, we approached close to Cape St. Vincent's, the promontory which terminates the western coast of Portugal, towards the south. present a striking nctly with a glass the Cape, are a It is steep and rocky, and some of the adjacent cliffs appearance of oblique strata, which may be seen in their separate veins. Immediately on the summ number of well-built houses, and an edifice resembling a castle. A little to the southward of this, stands the town and fortifications of Sagres, (on which we could distinctly discern the guards,) built by that illustrious patron of the naval character, Henry Duke de Viseo, in the reign of Alphonso III. about 1250. It was called the "Sainted Cape," in consequence of the bones of St. Vincent having been buried there, from whence they were conveyed to Lisbon by Alphonso I. The Portuguese poet, Camoens, in the third book of his Lusiad, adverts to this event: But holy rites, the pious king preferr'd, The martyr's bones on Vincent's Cape interr'd, The mountainous scenery of the back-ground, indistinctly appearing through the blue haze of distance, was beautifully picturesque. The kingdom of Portugal, the ancient Lusitania, first submitted to the Carthagenians, and afterwards to the Romans. Its inhabitants are described to have been a kind of savages, by some of the Roman historians, who represent them as preferring to live by reprisals on their neighbours, rather than to cultivate the earth, although they were surrounded with every inducement in the fertility of their soil. Their manner of living was simple, and they were naturally brave. The Romans brought them into subjection rather by artifice than by force. Lusitania formerly produced gold in abundance, and even in modern times it has been found mingled with the sands of the Tagus; a circumstance that would alone. account for its exciting the envy of other powers, in those ages in which the precious metals were deemed the only sources of wealth; for it was successively conquered by the Suevi, the Alans, and the Visigoths; after which, the Moors possessed it for a considerable time, until, by a union of the forces of the Duke of Burgundy, the King of France, and the King of Castile and Leon, they were defeated and driven out of Portugal. The throne was then usurped by the Spanish monarchs, in whose possession it remained until about 1640, when the Portuguese revolted under John Duke of Braganza, and were successful. This revolution (effected too without bloodshed) is said to have been excited by the courage of Braganza's wife, a woman of great natural endowments. Although its early history appears to have been too slightly noticed, it certainly is not for want of materials. It might, without presumption, be said to have been the parent of commercial enterprise, and the nurse of maritime discovery; for it gradually arose to give laws to the submissive realms of India, and to direct the source of European commerce. The sceptre of the East, held by a precarious tenure, has since caused the prosperity or adversity of other nations, whilst Portugal remains a striking example, in the revolutions of its history, to humble the arrogance of high maritime power, and to moderate the excesses of great commercial aggrandisement. Yet no English writer of eminence has hitherto illustrated a subject of so much importance to a maritime kingdom as the rise and fall of this commercial power; although no lesson could be of greater national importance than such a history. The view of what Oriental Herald, Vol. 6. C uired, and what might have been still added, the empire might have been continued, and the errors are particularly conspicuous in the naval and com advantages were It is impossible to revert to this subject without a vivid recollection of the Portuguese poem, 'Os Lusiadas;' and equally impossible to think of the history of its unhappy author, Camoens, without feeling great contempt for the ingratitude of mankind. This poet, of whose merit the world still continues too insensible, was born at Lisbon about the year 1520. His father, the commander of a vessel (commanders were in those days necessarily men of science-alas! how changed!) was shipwrecked on the coast of Goa in Africa, and perished, with the greater part of his fortune. The son's education was completed by his mother, in the University of Coimbra. Soon after, while in retirement at Santarene, he began his epic poem on the discovery of India, which he continued during his military operations in Africa. In an action with the Moors off Gibraltar, he lost his right-eye, when among the foremost in boarding. After several years' service in Africa, he returned to Lisbon, and on leaving it for India, was heard to exclaim, in the monumental words of the Roman, Scipio Africanus, "Ingrata Patria! non possidebis ossa mea!' Thus, though he began his Lusiadas' in Europe, the greater part was most probably written during the night, when encamped in Africa, or amidst the greater turbulence of the restless ocean. His ship being cast away on the coast of China, all that he had accumulated by enterprise was buried in the waves. His poem, like the Commentaries of Cæsar,' was saved by the intrepidity of its author, who swam with it in his hands towards the shore! On printing it, the reigning monarch to whom it was dedicated, allowed him a pension, which his successor ungenerously cut off; and the remainder of his life was thus rendered wretched and miserable. It is recorded, that an old black servant, a native of Java, who had grown gray-headed in his service, and who doated on his master, literally begged in the streets of Lisbon, to support the life of Camoens, whom he had been also instrumental in saving from shipwreck. This was the fate of one who had deservedly acquired the title of the Lusitanian Homer, in whom the first judges of literary merit have declared the genius of Ovid, Virgil, Sophocles, and Pindar were united! and who, when resting from the bolder flights of epic strains, could tune his harp to gentler lays of love. Moore, in his beautiful epistle to Lord Strangford, from off the Açores, says : Dear Strangford! at this hour, perhaps, Some faithful lover (not so blest Warbles, to touch his dear one's soul,- Oh! could the lover learn from thee, And breathe them with thy graceful tone, Such dear beguiling minstrelsy Would make the coldest nymph his own! The circumstances which led to the foundation of the town of Sagres, |