The Express.
London, England, 1851-01-25 00:00:00

THE EXPRESS, SATURDAY EVENING, JANUARY 25, 1851.

" That's rather a large matter to refuse in inceltaage fir a
bracelet," said he ; " but I suppose it's theca's* of the hair."
" A.b, that's it—the hair I end if I would give millions I
couldn't get a bit more, for the poor head on which it grew
la in the grave."
Ifi.o can't mean the hair of my poor old friend, your
lather," said he, loolthig up at her, and seeming, es he felt,
much shocked.
" My father ! Good gracious! Mr. Crsiglethorpe ; do you
think I would speak so lightly of him ? Alt, dear ---'
She was quite u much shocked as be was at this sadden
and abrupt mention of her father's name, and at the sus.
pieion implied that it wee pow ible she could treat his memory
with so much levity. She coloured—sat down again—looked
very grevc—and seemed to have forgotten all abiut the

" My good child," said I, " there is so difficulty in your
leaving immediately, r you are not professed. I my
self will take care that your relations are m
acquainted with your wish, in order that they wee
mod you change of clothes and take you home." • •
" The second bad beets trained by Savollello, and replied
to my questions in a manner which led me to suppose that
everyttoiog we, well conducted ; others were in the same
story ; bat one was so witty, and so well exposed the whole
by-play of thew wretched trier,, that I most quote some
of tie conversation with me. Upon being asked if he had
anything to say, he replied—
" I have plenty to soy, but I cannot speak."
" Why ? "
.. BOOMS, my mouth is shut, like that of a new-made
cardinal."
" And who has shut your mouth 1"
" Our pope, the novice-muter."
" Oh, it that he all, I am superior to him, and can open
it again, so I command you to speck."
" There is &difficulty in doing so, nevertkeleee ; in obeying
you, and not him, I shell 'spun myself to penrcution'trom
him, which would be urrible; and you cold not remove
the penance he would enjoin."
" I promise you, in the name of the father-goner 11, to
protect ycu against any p-rsecution from him. You know
that the I can change the master, sad I can tell you
this mush, that it is very probable he will change him,
unless he does his duty."
"In that case I will speak. You must know that the
prior, the novice master, and the procurator® all join In
persecuting us. Nevertheless, we fr.quently hear them
quarrelling among themselves. Only the other day I thongbt
they would have come to blows; when, however, there is
• question of some new rigour cr cb ervence, as they term
it, that is to 'ay, tome from torment or vexation for us, then
they are in perfect harmony with each other. We ere tired
of this system, which forms neither the Christien nor the
man, bat the hypocrite and the animal. All politeness,
ell,decency, among them is vanished. They are filthy In
their persona, and wish us to by the same. Cleatiline s and
neatness they call worldly-minded foppery. For my part I
never thought that to be a monk it was necessary to be • dirty
sloven. And then, both prior and muter do nothing but
send no to hell. Oa every little disobedience, they cry out,
t You sill go to hell.' If we speak a word in the hours of
silence, if we Mils our hoods, it we look about us in th,
least, if ever we langb,—. to hell with us.' I say nothing
cab iut singing ; ther is then no hell bad enough."
"Tell me—what do your masters teach you ? What do
they point out to you as the way of ssivatioi,, and in what,
aocordieg to them, does the Chri.tian Lie consist ?"
"The toaster lays, that to be saved we have only to imi-
tate the patriarch St. Dominic, be devout to the !Jadeites,
and observe the rules of the crier, and then we shall be the
beet Christians in the world, because these lead to per-
fection."
"Dies he ever speak of Christ?"
"Scarcely ever. He gins us the lives of the saints of the
order to read, and recounts to us the miracles done by them." .
My visit to the monastery of Sines Sable& had the effect of
making some quit the habit, and others opened their eyes to
a better mode of lila. The neutral wide acme cheese's in
the plans, but not such as 1 pointed out to him ; in short,
the same system was prectisid everywhere by monastic bi.
gate, ; and what the followers of it desired least of all was,
ha reform theresolve P.
Lest any one should say that British dominions
are exempt from the action of the Inquisition, Dr.
Achilli relates, from a well-vouched letter in his poe-
session, the history of a missionary priest sent fr im
Rome to Bombay to convert the Hindoos, but who
was led publicly to profess the protestant religion,
which he did before Dr. Carr, Bishop of Bombay. He
had been a few months a protestant, when the fact
related in the next extract took place :

tora-cel;'st.
He felt excessively annoyed at this little scene. He never
knew what to do with himself when present—rare occur-
lease—at any little display of feeling.
" I beg your pardon ; I didn't mean to hurt you," he
said,—but it was coldly.
" Say no mere about it," she answered, endeavourirg to
suppress her emotion feeling that this was no place to
expect sympathy. "Pray, say no more of it."
Bat your b.acelet, my dear," said Mrs. Selwyn; "you
forget your bracelet—it may be trampled upon and broken.
You seem quite to forget that you have lost your bracelet."
"Did I--h!—never mind. Ob, it is here after ell, got
under the other," said she, raising her beautiful area. She
had known that all the time well enough, and that the hair.
on which she had pretended to set so much value, was that
of a favourite lapdog ; but the abrupt mention of her father
had quite destroyed the zest of her little bit of misehist.
"Do let me look at it. What a sweet, pretty chain—and
this tiny clasp with a rose diamord in it ! Is the hair you
spoke of under ? And who's may it be ?"
She let Mrs. Selwyn handle and examine the bracelet, but
she made no answer. She seemed di*composed—she could
enjoy her little joke no longer. The allusion to her father
hod awakened other feelings. She could feel—and deeply,
as I told you, in spite of all her little faults and apparent
levity. die face was titled with the expression of sorrow and
pain. It was a face that, liks a mirror, refleoted every
Win r.
Why was she doomed to live with those who could not read
i's characters
He mistook her now, as be was destined for ever to min
take tier. He tliought she we. offended, when she was only
endeavouring to hide those feelings of regret and sorrow
which he had so suddenly revived. Theretore, he felt ia•
diced to be offended in his turn—his pride was hurt at her
manner. lie thought her manner of receiving his apology
rude. Sweet as it in reality had been—for she had turned
her face away from them both, and had sat some time silent
and thoughtful. She was trying to muter herself, for she I
felt tear, coming to her eyes. 'lbis was not the place, too,
for shedding tears, And she was eminently ono of that
who possess a pride—a foolish pride, I think it is—in not
yielOiog to her letlings before witnesses.
He ought to have understood this sort of dignity of the
heart, for no one porseued mere of it than he did. He
I always kept his emotion*, when emotions he had, proudly
end sternly to himself. But, instead of sympathising with
her, he was hurt—his pride was hurt. Ile had made an
apology—he had made it in vein. He was not accustomed
to make apologies, still less to make them in vain. He cared
more, and felt mere about this than the occasion demanded ;
but that was the ustural consequence of the power she had
already obtained over his falba.. A look or a word from
bee lorges then to have—as it long continued to have—a
strange faculty of exciting emotion, goad or bad, in his heart.
She, too, bad e.mething of his faults under her strongly
contrasted appearance and temperameut. They seemed
created to syropatlrx*, and not to sympathize—to view oh•
jects and mats under similar aspects, and yet never to
understand each other's views. They formed a curious
history of the heart, tbsee relations, which by and by ht•gan
to spring cp between the ward of fifteen and the guardian of
more than thirty.
At last he believes her to be thoroughly flippant
and heartless, and a grand quarrel takes place. The
lady marries Valentine llaubeny, a young gentleman, I
uniting all the graces of person and genius, with the
very valuable reputation of a " dreadful flirt." The
marriage is prosperous at first—until the "dreadful
flit t" is discovered to be a dreadful gambler into the
bargain. His love of play and pleasure causes his
ruin, and he dies miserably, in gaol, leaving his wife
and young child unprotected and pennyless.
Craigletborpe, though ignorant of Ye death is
aware of hie downfall, yet he will not relent or make ad-
vancestuher who now stands so much in need of his
assistance. Ile lives on in the old style, and it is not
until many years afterwards that he discovers the full
extent of his blindness and selfishness. An accident
throws in his way some papers which had passed into
other's hands through the sale of an old cabinet. They
contain the daily journal of Lilla—the record of
her most hidden emotions. The secret is out : he has
been beloved from the first by the young girl, who,
uncontaminated by conventional prejudices, judged
I the prossic merchant by the simple standard of nature
and truth. The sorrowing man now searches for
her in vain. She hu found a home in some
wild part of Wales, where, in the service
of peasants nearly as poor as herself, she is contented
to Lye in calm resignation, and the contemplation of
the growing manhood of ter son, who—tends sheep.
She re, however—to make the story short—eventually
discovered by Craigletborpe, now softened by sorrow
and an&rieg, and worthy of her rare gifts and graces.
The rest may be imagined.
It is impossible, however, in the above brief outline
to do justice the merits of a work that depends so
much upon detail—upon the lights and shades of cha-
racter—upon beauties nameless and innumerable. As
a story, it has the strongest interest, and this in spits
of a certain carelessness of construction, which, by the
continual introduction:of retrospective matter, some-
what impedes its progress.

The Golden Horn. By CHARLES J. MONK, M.A. Two
Volumes. Bentley.
The author informs us that these volumes were
prepared from notes made in the course of a tour in
the East. He arrived at the Golden Horn, as the
harbour of Constantinople is called, in June 1848, and
thence travelled through Asia Minor, Egypt, Syria,
and the Hauraan. The title of his book thus indicates
the starting-point, rather than the field of his observa-
tions. Mr. Monk gives us an early intimation that
we are not to expect from him any fresh and vivid
description of well-travelled scenes, by judiciously
borrowing a description of the " village' of Belgrade
from Mr. Murray's " Hand-book of the East." Where
the writer has staid long enough to observe character
his remarks are somwhat more original. The follow-
ing is his picture of
THI SIM& IN A FAST.
It was the first day of the month of Banissan, the ninth
in the Mahomedan year, which is strictly observed by all the
followers of the Prophet as a season of fasting. The
previous tvi ning the new moon had been duly
observed; at sunrise the fast commenced. Between
the ruing and setting of the sun, during the whole
month, whieh consists of thirty days, every Moslem
is enjoined to abstain from eating, drinking, and smoking.
Among the lower, and, generally speaking, among the
middle classes, this fast is strictly observed. Sad is the
countenance of the poor Muuulman as he sits on his carpet
or mat, before the door of his shrp, without the usual pipe in
his month, the never failing solace during the tedious hear,
of a summer's day. There is something droll, almost ludi-
room, in his resigned and patient looks as he squats in his
divan, anxiously expecting the welcome hour of release frith
this cruel privation. As the time of sunset, which is an-
nounced by the firing of cannon, draws nigh, be grows
anxious and restless, refers constantly to his watch, and
occasionally goes the length of comparing its minutethiusd
with that of one of his nearest neighbours, but this is a rare
exertion on the part of • lduasulman Yet one n failing
resource remains to him ; his string of beads is count, i and
recounted, with most exemplary perseverance, and of this
occupations he sums never to grow tired.
Mr. Monk thus describes his favourable impres-
sions of

Twelve Lectures on the Forin and Action of the Horse. By
William Percival', Id.E.C.S. and V.S. With Eight En-
gravings on steel. Longman.
This is the book of all the books for our country
readers, and for all town readers, too, who admire
horses, indulge in horsemanship, or dabble in betting.
It is impossible to tell, or, indeed, to discover the
enormous sums of money that change hands every
year in England in horse dealing and in bets on horse-
racing, and yet certainly not one man in a thousand
has any real knowledge of the structure of the animal
upon whose character and powers be stakes and pays
his money. Jockeys, and groomF, and turf-men, and
dealers get what is called very "knowing," and they
in many cases have much practical acquaintance with
the qual i ties of a horse, bat such knowledge is little more
than expert quackery, unless based, as:it very seldom
is, upon an acquaintance with veterinary anatomy.
To say this may startle some readers, and pos-
sibly
offend a few others, but it is strictly
true, nevertheless. No anatomy —no sound
THR TURKISH CHARAOTIE. I knowledge of horse-flesh. Bat this anatomy may
The countenance of a Turk is far more truthful than that
of a European. The former wears no double face ; he is
I cordial to thou whom he HAM, cold and reserved to thole gpod
be soon gained. A little determination, a
whom ha dislike.. He is not butt' in forming friendships; cue of a little common sense, and the thing is
book, a little steady reading, and the exer-
but when he has formed them he es a lure friend.
. • done. The jockey becomes a man of science—the
For my own part, I look back with unmixed pleasure and
vusrtais tie too teat. but
tlesntr•ird oefrsmyassojoeilelrun atiiiiieoi:gcttartibte
, sells, instead of a shallow empyric, liable to cheat when
horse-dealer a sound judge of what he buys and
to the poor and hospitality
escyh other strangers,
distress, has never been he might not mean it, and to be chested even when
questioned. Prom the Pasha In his palace' and the pessaat most upon his guard. It was thought that when
in his hut, I have received kindoess and hoep4+l4. They railways were introduced horse-flesh would fall in the
are not irquisitive in &mending the business or occasion mare k t and horse-kcowledge be of lees value. The
which brings a stranger to their doors. As such he is wet•
very reverse has proved to be the case. Sound horses
come; as he came so he may depart ; no present is required,
and rarely is it expected; no questions are asked; attentive never fetched a betterprice than now, and every
to the wants and comforts of his guests, the Turk seems to day both seller and buyer may find how loss or gain
forget his natural insouciance until the departure of the
stranger, when, returning for his salutation, he wishes him chimes in with knowledge or ignorance about
blood and bone, knee and cannon, shoulders
" God speed," and, ere he is out of sight, has alread7 and haunch, stifle and gaakin. Mr. Forel-
relapsed into kbusual state of indifference to all that is
passing around him in the material world. vall, who writes the book before us, is no
Having spent three months in Constantinople and stranger to the subject or to the public. He
its neighbourhood, Mr. Monk sailed by Smyrna for is Vet. to the First Life Guards, has been writing and
Alexandria, and engages a boat to navigate the Nile lecturing on horse-flesh for years ; and when he offers
:es far as the second cataract. Mr. Monk prints the so many of the results of his experience to the farmers
Itext of his agreements With the proprietor of the boat, and breeders of the country, it is quite vexing to
Ise he had previously done his passport, and cour- find so few of them take the trouble to
%mealy hopes such documents may prove interest- read what he is willing to telL England breeds the
lag to the reader. The voyage up the Nile beet horses in the world ; but now, that foreign cattle
lime not appear to have been marked by any cane over in the steamers to compete with our home-
unusual interest. Mr. Monk is robbed on; board, grown animals, we should all know more, and strive
be the night— as who is ioot ? and thinks he more than ever, to keep up the standard of quality
shot a crocodile. Thebes, Aboo-Simlel, Luxor, whilst producing quantity. Let foreigners send cheap 1
sad Devderah, and the way thither, are described peon horses if they like, and if it suits us to buy them,
with great detail. The author ham brought his ex- but let Englishmen still take pride in supplying
Wive reading to bear with great effect on this part all the world with those models of beauty,
of his narrative. hi. de Lamartine's Travels in the strength, and fleetness, for which she has