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appearance of ancient ruby-glass. But even the pictorial part of the volumes displays the same timid and low view of his task which forbids his giving any theory of composition and design, or anything beyond dry facts, with a few moral and theological sentiments. The examples chosen are not such as display the greatest beauty and purity, but those which best illustrate his descriptions of distinctions in manner of execution or mechanical peculiarities. After all, however, as we have before intimated, there is no other English book which can serve the same purpose as this is calculated to serve. And, so far as we have ascertained, the same may be said of foreign works on the subject. There are more splendid and more original publications, such as the yet incomplete one of M. Lasteyrie, and there are several recent French and German pamphlets upon stained glass, but this is the first attempt at a manual.

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ART. II. The Expedition to Borneo of H.M.S. Dido, for the Suppression of Piracy: with Extracts from the Journal of JAMES BROOKE, ESQ., of Sarawak, (now Her Majesty's Commissioner and Consul-General to the Sultan and independent Chiefs of Borneo.) By CAPTAIN THE HON. HENRY KEPPEL, R.N. Third Edition. With an additional Chapter, comprising recent Intelligence, by WALTER K. KELLY. In 2 vols. London: Chapman & Hall. 1848.

THERE is a charm about the idea of a beautiful island which the imagination lays hold of with avidity. An insular position, either literally or metaphorically, gives intensity and vividness. Be a thing good or bad, beautiful or deformed, full of pleasant, happy thoughts, or fraught with terrors, it is the more so from being alone, for the imagination loves solitude, and delights in working out one idea undisturbed by a multiplicity of forces. The stranger, the widow, and the orphan, apart from higher motives, have ever been the subjects of poetic sympathy from the loneliness of their condition. Distress is aggravated by desolation; deformity is most hideous when made the mark of exclusion; while superstitious alarms are more quickly excited at the idea of one mighty, overwhelming creature of the fancy, stalking all in solitude and darkness, than by the thought of innumerable little imps, however troublesome and nasty they may be. Again, if we would apply the same argument to our notions of comfort and security, it is an obvious illustration to appeal to the idea of a man's home being his castle. Bars and bolts, forms and manners of society, and such exclusive influences add much to our domestic enjoyments. This is well described by Leigh Hunt in his amusing, though in some respects not very commendable work, Men, Women, and Books,' with regard to the furthest retreat of all in private life-the centre keep of the domestic castle we have alluded to. 'Bed is the home of home; the innermost part of the 'content. It is sweet within sweet; a nut in the nut; within 'the snuggest nest a snugger nest; my retreat from the publicity ' of my privacy; my room within my room, walled (if I please) 'with curtains; a box, a separation, a snug corner, such as ' children love when they play at "house;" the place where I ' draw a direct line between me and my cares; where I enter

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upon a new existence, free, yet well invested; reposing, but 'full of power; where the act of lying down, and pulling the 'clothes over one's head, seems to exclude matters that have to do with us when dressed and on our legs.' We ascend, however, to more imaginary pictures-to scenes which we know more of from the indulgences of hope than from the gratification of experience. What is most often the local habitation of a child's poetic fancies? What was the blissful retreat of Homer's wandering hero? What is the Utopia of many speculations and many plans, political, economical, philosophical? What is the brightest dream to the weary of the world's cares and troubles? What is the passing fancy of many an enthusiastic moment? Is it not to find a pleasant island encompassed by the dark blue ocean-to wander from shore to shore through fertile plains, by the side of romantic streams, or under the bold outline of a mountain range: with or without company, how many, or of what sort, depending on circumstances, we need not discuss. But the question will next occur, Where should the island be? To the excitable inhabitants of Tipperary, perhaps it might appear that, if cleansed of the cowardly Saxons, and freed from the restraining obligations of rent, no colour would contrast so well with the before-mentioned ocean blue, as the bright Emerald Isle; but to quote in this case the words of a graver censure 'in hac parte nullam ejus fiduciam habemus,' we like not the results which follow Tipperary excitement, and therefore do not recommend any, but such as in a very literal way are wearied with the busy world, to fix on Ireland as the realization of their Utopian aspirations.

We have moreover a decided admiration for a certain great luminary, which, in our humble judgment, exercises a powerful influence in brightening up the dull elements of which this earth is composed. Cheering as its inner strata may be to the speculating eye of the geologist, we yet feel confident that the particular part of it which is exposed to the light and heat of the sun will ever be most popular and most generally admired. If any one is inclined to be sceptical, let him descend the dark regions of a coal-pit, or even let him wander through limestone caverns with all their beauties of stalactites, stalacmites, and the many varieties of glistening spars; let him do this on a fine sunny day, and on emerging from below, let him cast his eyes around, and let him feel the warm beams of the sun. Then he will perceive what a glorious influence the sun has on all that meets its joyous face. In contrast with the dark, cold, and damp regions he has quitted, all will appear like fairyland; for a few brief moments he will think of Paradise, where every sense drinks in a spontaneous draught of most pleasing sensations, But to jump to our conclusion without further delay, we think that the sunny climes of the tropics have the best claim to be the residence of such fairy-like islands as imagination pictures. The geography of the world seems to sanction our judgment. No part of the globe is so sprinkled with islands as the torrid zone; the slightest glance at a map will show almost a girdle of Oceanides from the eastern shore of Africa to the west of America; and between these two continents there are the West Indies, with many scattered isles from those of Cape Verd to St. Helena. The propriety of this is obvious; the sun, though wonderful in its effects, yet, like all other mechanical powers, requires something to work on, some material which it is to use as its instrument, some fulcrum to move the world. Its insatiable thirst demands oceans of water, if the land, which dares to look him point blank in the face, is to profit by such fiery contact. As in a steam-engine you must proportion the elements of fire and water to produce power, or even to avoid disastrous effects, so you must have water if the sun is to produce fertility, and you must have it in proportion to the sun's power. The vast and dreary deserts of central Africa are a monument of the destructive powers of heat where its thirst is unquenched. The temperate zones are undoubtedly the proper places for large continents, as on land removed from the equator the supply of water required is not so great, and also, it is allowed to accumulate. The only continent indeed, besides Africa, through which the equator runs, is South America, and its course is there followed by the mighty Amazon, with its thousand tributaries irrigating with no mean supply of water the whole breadth of the continent, from the lofty table-lands of the Cordilleras on the west, to the Atlantic on the eastern shore. We know that in extolling a tropical climate, we are running counter to many dearly-bought opinions as to health and home comforts, and that we are also offending the poetical prejudices which linger round the succession of the seasons in the temperate regions of the earth. We like the modest budding of spring, the permanent luxuriance of a moderately hot summer, the richness of autumnal fruits, and the tints of departing verdure; we even cling, from the wholesome power of association, to the bitter frosts of winter; we would not willingly give up the cheerful fireside evenings, made doubly sweet by contrast with the external weather. Our religious prejudices are enlisted in favour of the temperate zones; we almost feel that we are morally tied to these regions-so shocking to the sensibilities would it be to sit down to the good fare of Christmas-day under the full blaze of a sun which made it requisite that all culinary operations, or even all the arrangements of a social party, should be conducted after quite a different system. Nor are we disposed rashly to find fault with such views; they have much good feeling at the bottom of them, and it is very unnecessary that they should be interfered with where no practical object is in view. Yet we think it must be admitted by the most strenuous admirer of our temperate seasons, with all their agreeable associations, that many days of the year, even in happy England, are not the brightest which an imaginative mind could picture, if called on to describe an earthly paradise, or to luxuriate in eloquent phrases of the full beauty and fertility of nature. We have but to look up from our paper to behold an horizon but dimly visible betwixt earth and heaven, yet itself the only distinguishable outline to separate the misty drizzle above from the same below. But a small portion of the year does, in fact, realize the beauties we attribute to it in idea. Yet we do not find fault with this our climate; it has done noble service, and we wish it well: but, may not those who truly admire nature be excused if they praise other climes where her powers are more strongly developed? where her vital essence is more vigorous and quick in its productive energies? If there is a wonder in the small acorn which becomes an oak; if there is beauty in the humble garland of flowers gathered from the hedge side; if there is luxuriance in the wooded hills that overhang some rippling stream; if there is splendour in a wide prospect of fertile lands, rich valleys, and bold, undulating forests, as seen over the foreground of a well preserved English country mansion; if there is beauty in all this, may not the more adventurous imagination of the soul be excused if one wishes to see the same lovely dame, who shows so fair a prospect fifty-three degrees north of the equator, revelling in the enjoyment of her own energetic freedom, under what may be called her high-pressure force?

Again, as regards health: there is no doubt that hot climates do not suit all European constitutions; nor is it to our point that they should, as we have no wish to encourage a general migration forthwith, as a simple-minded Dyak of Borneo proposed to Mr. Brooke; on the contrary, if our counsel were asked in a certain high quarter, we should decidedly recommend that Her Majesty had better pause before she undertakes such an expedition. Yet, we do not think that this objection is of such an insuperable nature as some may imagine. The tropical regions are not entirely composed of parched sandy deserts and deadly swamps: these are only the exceptions, and can be easily avoided in the countries we would at present call attention to.

The island of Borneo, so prominently under the notice of the public just now, in consequence of Mr. Brooke's achievements, is, in many respects, from the brilliant accounts we receive of it,

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