. Among the things forbidden to women is that of allowing their features to be seen by men not wearing turbans-unless indeed they are handsome, and have soft and captivating manners; in that case their veils may be drawn aside without the apprehension of incurring blame, or in any degree exceeding the discretionary power with which they are traditionally invested. But they must scrupulously and religiously abstain from all such liberties with Mullahs and Jews; since, respecting them, the prohibition is imperative. It is not necessary, however, to be very particular in the presence of common people: there is nothing criminal in being seen by singers, musicians, servants of the bath, and such persons as go about the streets to sell their wares and trinkets.'-p. 61. 'On the very day a woman goes to the house of her husband, upon being married, it is necessary that everything of importance relating to her own interest and advantage should be first settled; all arrangements made to secure her own comfort, and the uninterrupted exercise of her own will; so that she may be exonerated from the responsibility which might otherwise attach to her; for it is right that all blame should be invariably laid upon the back of her husband. It is not to be conceived that a woman can live all her life with one husband, in one house. Why should he deprive her of the full enjoyment of this world's comforts? Days and years roll on and are renewed, whilst a woman continues the same melancholy inmate, in the same melancholy house of her husband. She has no renewal of happiness-none. "The seasons change, and spring Renews the bloom of fruit and flower; And birds, with fluttering wing, Give life again to dell and bower. But what is woman's lot? No change her anxious heart to cheer; Confined to one dull spot And one dull husband all the year!"'—pp. 65, 66. For a woman to be without familiar friends of her own sex is reckoned a heavy misfortune; and there is no one so poor who does not struggle hard to avoid so great a curse. A woman dying without friends or gossips has no chance of going to heaven; whereas happy is that woman whose whole life is passed in constant intercourse with kind associates, for she will assuredly go to heaven. What can equal the felicity of that woman whose daily employment is sauntering hand in hand with friends, amidst rose-bowers and aromatic groves, and visiting every place calculated to expand and exhilarate the heart? That woman, at the day of resurrection, will be seen dancing with her old companions on earth, in the regions of bliss. The very circumstance of living in such a state of social freedom and harmony always produces a forgiveness of sins. If a damsel dies before she has established a circle of intimates, to whom she can communicate her most secret thoughts and actions, the other world can never be to her a scene scene of happiness and joy. But if she is more favourably circumstanced, every supplication for pardon will have the effect of angelprayers; and this is the reward of those who in this life cultivate social connexions, and are bound in the endearing ties of friendship.' -pp. 74, 75. Trifling as this little work may appear in itself, yet it is impossible to glance over it without feeling that such gossiping pages as these are calculated to make us better acquainted with Persian female manners than a more grave and learned treatise. Life is composed of really little things-especially domestic life, in which the routine of one day scarcely differs from that which follows or precedes it. Foreigners can seldom penetrate the privacy of oriental families; and native writers too rarely think of describing habits which are of every hour's use, and have therefore no novelty to recommend them. ART. IX. Poems by Hartley Coleridge. Vol. I. 8vo. pp. 157. Leeds, 1833. TWO WO sons of Dryden were clever versifiers; but we are not aware of any instance in our literary history of the son of a great poet achieving for himself the name of poet. Here, however, is such a claim advanced by the son of Coleridge; and, weak and merely imitational as many of the pieces included in this volume are, we are bound to say that we consider its author as having already placed himself on high vantage-ground, as compared with any of the thymers of these latter years. From the locality of the publication, Leeds, taken together with various melancholy allusions in the verses themselves, we are compelled to believe that the fate of this gentleman has not been such as his birth, education, and talents, with the well-won celebrity of several of his immediate connexions, might have been expected to lead him to. What his actual situation may be we know not; but we are grieved to hear the language not only of despondency, but of self-reproach bordering almost on remorse, from one who must be young, and who certainly possesses feelings the most amiable, together with accomplishments rich and manifold, and no trivial inheritance of his father's genius. It is impossible to read the two following sonnets without deep and painful interest :— Too true it is, my time of power was spent From From duty and from hope,-yea, blindly sent • If I have sinn'd in act, I may repent; That makes my hungry passion still keep Lent In keen expectance of a Carnival; Where, in all worlds, that round the sun revolve And shed their influence on this passive ball, One sinful wish would make a hell of heaven.'-p. 27. We have no desire to penetrate the mystery in which this unfortunate shrouds his sorrow. Let us rather afford our readers some evidence, that whatever may have been his errors, he has the gentle heart, as well as the power and music of a poet. We remember no sonnets so nearly resembling the peculiar and unaccountable sweetness of Shakspeare's, as the three following, all addressed 'To a Friend.' When we were idlers with the loitering rills, Our love was nature; and the peace that floated In the Great City we are met again, Where many souls there are, that breathe and die, The - The sad vicissitude of weary pain :- 'We parted on the mountains, as two streams Have crept along from nook to shady nook, Where flow'rets blow, and whispering Naiads dwell. O'er rough and smooth to travel side by side.'-p. 3. The following, To SHAKSPEARE,' is worthy of being so inscribed it seems to us hardly inferior to any sonnet in Wordsworth : 'The soul of man is larger than the sky, Whate'er Love, Hate, Ambition, Destiny, Or the firm, fatal Purpose of the Heart Can make of Man. Yet thou wert still the same, Serene of thought, unhurt by thy own flame.' Some stanzas 'To the Nautilus' appear to us full of life and grace. We quote two of them :— Where Ausonian summers glowing, Leap Small Marinere, Are thine within thy pearly dwelling,- Obedience, perfect, simple, glad, and free, To the great will that animates the sea.'-pp. 57, 58. We are not less pleased with an address To certain Golden Fishes :' Restless forms of living light Were ye born of vital fire? Or of the shade of golden flowers, Such as we fetch from eastern bowers, As |