MEMOIRS AND ADVENTURES OF SIR KIRKALDY OF GRANGE. men who had been working all night on the walls, and usually issued forth in the morning to breakfast, two men, whom the master of Rothes had placed over night, in ambush close to the fosse, rushed upon the porter, and secured the passage. So says Buchanan, who wrote upon those affairs from hearsay or memory; but other and more detailed accounts state, that when the warder lowered the bridge to let out the artisans, and receive in lime and stones, the young Laird of Grange and Peter Carmichael entered with six chosen men. As it was very early, Kirkaldy made a pretence of inquiring," when my lord the cardinal would be stirring, and when he would be seen-if he was awake yet?" 66 The porter answered no; " and so indeed it was," adds Knox, for he had been busy at his counts with Mistress Marion Ogilvie that very night; and, therefore, quietness after the rules of physic, and a morning sleep, were requisite for my lord." During this colloquy with William Kirkaldy, the warder, who probably was ignorant of the late altercation between his lord and Norman Leslie, whom he knew perfectly, permitted that bold conspirator, with his fierce followers, to enter also. In those days all men went abroad well armed-a breast-plate, a jack or pine doublet, were usual parts of every-day attire, and every gentleman of rank was followed by a train of swash-bucklers or stout jackmen-so that the retinue of armed servants attending those two gallants probably created no surprise in the mind of the gate-ward; but his suspicions were instantly roused when the fierce John of Parkhill, the known enemy of his lord, ap peared near the fosse with his drawn rapier in his hand, and others well armed behind him. The warder rushed to the counterpoise to raise the bridge, but the strong and active Leslie sprang across the widening gap, and, ere the poor man could save himself, drove his long sword through his body, with one tremendous lunge; then, seizing the corpse with his left hand, he hurled it into the deep fosse, tearing away the keys from it as it fell, and, at the head of his retainers, burst into the castle, sword in hand, with a shout of triumph. Some workmen, who were yet lingering within the walls, were expelled by a private postern; not a citizen was stirring; to shut the gates and raise the bridge was the work of a moment; and the boasted Babylon, the dreaded inquisition, the famous stronghold of the hapless Beatoun, was in the possession of his deadly enemies. William Kirkaldy, being well acquainted with the castle, now seized the most important post-the private postern through which the cardinal could alone have escaped. As he approached it, Marion Ogilvie of Lintrathen was seen hurriedly to leave it, closely muffled. This fair and unfortunate lady is said to have perished, like her lover, by a violent death. Her cipher is yet to be seen on the walls of her ruined castle, near Aberlemno. William Kirkaldy appears to have guarded the postern while his companions were busy in other parts of the vast bastille they had so boldly and adroitly captured. Upwards of one hundred and fifty individuals, gentlemen of the household, servants, workmen, &c., were threatened severally with death if they spoke, and were successfully compelled to dress and depart. Every person within the walls was turned out at the point of the sword, save the eldest son of the Regent Chatelheranlt, (or Arran, as the Scots usually prefer to style him,) whom the 355 cardinal had been keeping in a kind of durance vile, for political purposes of his own. The fate of Beatoun was sealed. His band of kirk vassals or paid jackmen must have been quartered in the city during the repair of the castle, as there is no mention made of them in any account of this desperate enterprise. Roused from slumber by the unusual noise and uproar, the unhappy prelate leaped from bed, threw on a rich morning-gown, and raised the casement of his apartment. The disordered aspect of the court, the absence of his own dependents, and the appearance of strange and armed men, filled him with amazement and dismay. A terrible light broke upon him. "What meaneth this noise?" he demanded. "The Master of Rothes hath taken your castle!" answered some exulting vassal of the house of Leslie. Alarmed to excess by this intelligence, he endeavored to escape by the private stair; but the postern door at the foot of it was already secured by William Kirkaldy and his vassals. The cardinal returned despairing to his bedchamber, where, assisted by a little boy, his page, (or chamberchield,) he barricaded the door with chests and other heavy furniture; then hiding a casquet of gold under some fuel that lay in a corner, he grasped a two-handed sword, resolving to die with honor to his name. These hasty preparations were scarcely completed, before the tread of the conspirators rang in the gallery, and a loud knocking shook the chamber-door. "Open!" cried John of Parkhill. 66 "Who calleth?" inquired the agitated cardinal. My name is Leslie," was the brief and ominous response. the 66 Leslie!" rejoined the cardinal; "which of Leslies?-is it Norman ?" Nay, my name is John.” "I must have Norman," replied the poor man, attempting to touch the heart of that relentless noble. I must have Norman-he is my friend." "Content yourself with those that are here, for you shall have none other," was the dubious answer; and again they commanded him sternly to undo the fastening of the door, which, no doubt, like all others in those days, was secured by a complication of locks and bars. Upon his refusal, they attempted to force it; but it was strong as a wall, and their efforts were in vain. Remembering the relentless and fanatical ferocity of these men, and how much he had to dread at their hands, all the danger and horror of his situation seem to have flashed vividly on the mind of the unfortunate cardinal. The window-alas! it was barred, and in the court below were those who longed to wash their hands in his very heart's blood. Overcome for a moment by the sudden prospect of a terrible death, he is said to have sunk into a chair, exclaiming in imploring accents 66 Sirs, I am a priest! I am a priest!" and conjured them, by the safety of their souls, to spare him and have mercy. But could mercy be expected from men whose hearts were fixed by the most furious fanaticism, by the basest mercenary motives, and most implacable revenge? The sole reply to his entreaties was the voice of fire! fire!" to burn Parkhill calling loudly for down the strong oaken barrier; burning coals were heaped against it with the utmost deliberation; and then Beatoun, secing the utter futility of resistance, on receiving a solemn promise of life, proceeded to | Some doubtful promise was given, and, throwing open the door, he stood before his destroyers. Such was the first exploit of Kirkaldy of Grange. His future career was equally daring, though less ruthless. It was to him that the unhappy Mary surrendered herself at Carberry, when Bothwell dared not draw his sword in her defence; and it was he who, at a later period, maintained her banner in Scotland with desperate valor, when all hope was lost of the success of her cause. His defence of the Castle of Edinburgh against all the forces of Morton is unparalleled in the records of Beatoun was a man in the prime of life, of noble aspect and most commanding stature; the dignity of his air, the fire of his eye, and the remembrance of his exalted rank-Cardinal of St. Stephen in chivalrous courage. Monte Cœlio, Bishop of Mire-poix, Legate of Paul III., Commendator of Arbroath, and Lord High Chancellor of the kingdom of Scotland-all seem to have awed the fierce conspirators for a time, and he calmly demanded their purpose. There was no reply. He had inflicted too much KIRKALDY ON THE SCAFFOLD. injury on his victors to be forgiven; the burghers of the capital, whose houses had been destroyed by his cannon, and whose property had been pillaged by his soldiers, called for his blood; and the vindictive prophecy of Knox, with whom he had "I am a priest !" he again urged; "I am a priest had a bitter quarrel, was thought to announce and -surely ye will not slay me?" The two-handed to justify his execution. There are few more imsword was in his grasp; he manifested no disposition to use so unclerical a weapon, but watched pressive passages in Scottish history than that one them with a pale and agitated countenance. For which exhibits an instant, but an instant only, they were irresolute; then simultaneously they rushed with their gleaming weapons upon him. John Leslie of Parkhill first drove his long arm-pit dagger into him; and then Peter Carmichael struck him repeatedly with his sword; but the wounds inflicted appear not to have been severe. Then the "gentle and modest" James Melville of Carnbee, (not of Raith, as it is often erroneously stated,) a fanatic of a milder though a sterner mood, and one who professed to do murder as a religious duty, struck up their weapons. "Reflect, sirs," said he, "that this sacrifice is the work of God, and as such, ought to be executed with becoming deliberation and gravity. Then pointing his weapon (which was a stag-sword, with a sharp-pointed blade, calculated only for thrusting) at the breast of the bleeding and sinking primate, he thus addressed him, with steady ferocity of purpose: 66 Through streets crowded to excess by scowling and vindictive citizens, by railing churchmen and pitying loyalists, he was drawn to the ancient mazket-cross, surrounded by the mailed soldiers of Morton. When the bright sunset of the summer evening streamed from the westward down the crowded and picturesque vista of that noble and lofty street, and "when he saw the day faire and the sunne shyning cleere" on the vast Gothic façade of St. Giles, the high fantastic gable of the old Tolbooth, grisly with the bleaching skulls of traitors, and the grim arm of the fatal gibbet, with its cords dangling near the tall octagon column and carved battlements of the cross, then his countenance changed," and so markedly that Lindesay asked why. In faith! Master David," he replied, "now I well perceive that Master Knox was a true servant of God, and that his warning is about to be accomplished. Repeat unto me his last words." The minister then rehearsed Knox's prediction, which was in every man's mouth and in all men's memory. "The soul of that man," Knox said, "is dear to me-I would fain have saved him; but he shall be dragged forth and hanged in the face of the sun!" Lindesay added that Knox had been “ear Repent thee, thou wicked cardinal, of all thy sins and iniquities, but especially of the murder of the pious Wishart, that instrument of God for the conversion of these lands. Though consumed in flames of fire before men, his death now cries for vengeance upon thee, and we are sent by God to inflict the deserved punishment. Remember that the stroke I am about to deal thee is not the merce-nest with God for him-was sorry for that which nary blow of a hired assassin, but that of a most just retribution. And hear me protest before the Almighty power, that it is neither hatred of thy person, nor fear of thy power, nor love of thy riches, which moves me to seek thy life; but only because thou remainest an obstinate enemy to Christ Jesus and his most holy gospel!" should befal his bodie, for the love he bore him; but was assured there was mercy for his soule." May his words prove true! rejoined Kirkaldy, fervently, and requested Lindesay to repeat them over to him once more. Knox had been one of his oldest and earliest friends, and now the strong spirit of the stately soldier was so subdued that he Having spoken these words, without permitting shed tears while Lindesay spoke. He expressed his victim to make that repentance to which he ex-regret for the answer he had sent to Knox's friendly horted him, he thrust the stag-sword into his breast.message, and added, with humility, that he was Again and again the same vengeful blade was sincerely penitent for any sins of which he had unplunged into his body, and the cardinal sank back-wittingly been guilty. To the last he expressed the ward upon a chair, with the blood gushing from his most devoted and unshaken attachment to his counwounds. try and its unhappy queen. "I am a priest!" he murmured; "fie! fie!all is gone!" and instantly expired! He was in the fifty-second year of his age. William Kirkaldy appears not to have put forth his weapon; but from the part he acted in the enterprise he fully shared in the odium which so deservedly fell to the lot of those who enacted that cool and barbarous murder. John Durie, another clergyman of Leith, attended him on the scaffold. "Master David," said he, with an unaltered manner, as Lindesay was about to descend from the fatal platform, "I hope that, after men shall think that I am dead and gone, I shall give them a token of assurance of mercy to my soul, according to the words of Knox, that man of God." The ministers retired. Al as each passage is generally brief, the reader is Exactly at four in the afternoon he was thrust not tired if not pleased. The result, however, is off the ladder by which he had ascended the scafnot equal to the design. Mr. Terry, though a fold. "The sun being about the north-west corner of good-humored, indefatigable, pleasant enough comthe steeple (of St. Giles,") continues the supersti-panion, does not seem to have been trained "how tious Calderwood, as he was hanging, his face to observe," and he lacks art to make the most of was set towards the east, but within a prettie space, his observations. He is true, but common. turned about to the west against the sunne, and so most any one, for example, who has been at Havre, remained; at which time Mr. David marked him or up the Seine, would be able to see more and when all supposed he was dead-to lift up his hands, which were bound before him, and to lay say more than he does. It is the same throughout them down again softlie, which moved him with the modern grand tour, which now extends to the exclamatioune to glorifie God before the people!" Pyramids at least. There is a want of depth and Then the people cried aloud that the prophecy character about what he selects; even when the of Knox was fulfilled. thing has interest in itself, his unstudied bonhommie rather flattens than raises it in description. More interest attaches to his Russian, Danubian, and Polish journey; the freshness of the scenes imparting something of novelty and interest to his accounts. His residence in Calcutta gave him an opportunity of seeing more of the natives than casual visitants, or, it would seem, than many officers of the company, take advantage of; and a three-months' trip to Arracan carried him into a region of which little is known. These sections of the Scenes and Thoughts in Foreign Lands are pleasant reading if not very striking, unless where the subject is obviously striking in itself; but the whole book is readable, from the straightforward, unaffected character of the writer. Here is an example of Mr. Terry benighted at a Russian posthouse. Kirkaldy must have been about forty-five years of age only. James Mossman was hanged at the same time, and, when the evening was further advanced, Sir James Kirkaldy and James Cockie were executed on the same scaffold; and then the four bodies were quartered. The head of Sir William was placed over the ruined gate of that castle which had been the scene of his last and most brilliant achievements. The heads of Sir James and the two burgesses were placed on high spikes on the most conspicuous parts of the walls; while their mangled remains were all consigned to some obscure place of burial. In this memoir the spirit of the contemporary records is admirably preserved. The narrative is terse, vigorous, and picturesque. For the splendid romances of Scott we have the highest admiration, yet we are free to confess that this volume, for sustained interest, for surprising adventure, and for incidents of daring and scenes of strife, surpasses the best of them. From the Spectator. TERRY'S TRavels. * IN 1842, Mr. Charles Terry left England for Calcutta via Egypt and Ceylon; and resided some three years in the city of palaces, either on private business or as a servant of the company. The state of his health, it appears, induced him to return to England in 1845; he then made a pretty extensive continental tour, embracing France, part of Italy, and Sicily; a call at Athens, Smyrna, and Constantinople; a tour along the Russian borders of the Black Sea, the Danube, and Poland; and came home by way of Vienna and the Rhine. The year 1847 found him again en route to India; whence he returned last summer. Mr. Terry is an active man, in mind apparently as well as body; and he seems to have carried on an extensive correspondence with his friends in relation to his travels; from those letters the present volume is compiled. The plan on which it has been done is a good one. There is no regular narrative, but the names of places fix the spot and mark the progression; the book consists of the more striking incidents that befell Mr. Terry, or the observations and reflections he made. By this mode, he gives us the cream of his rambles; and *Scenes and Thoughts in Foreign Lands. By Charles Terry. Published by Pickering. At last I thought of a language of signs, which I brought into play at once. Having two or three Cossacks round me, I directed their attention to my mouth, when I rattled my teeth and gave them and brought me a brown loaf with a strong-smelling some small money. This they rightly understood, them a present. sausage, of which latter I pleased them by making 66 Something to drink was my next important want, and how to manage to get it was a difficulty. I thought of lots of things I should have liked, but with no prospect of getting them. At last, with a lot of the village people around I bellowed out such tions so well, that they ran off immediately, milked bhaous," and imitated the milkmaid's manipulaa cow, and brought me a pitcher of warm milk. My language of signs and symbols was so catching that one of them rau up and down a wonderful gamut of " kak, kak, kak." This I understood to mean eggs or chickens; and rightly so, for presently I got some eggs which they boiled. and dropped asleep on the sofa, painfully tired. With these provisions I made a hearty supper, The following description, though evidently as common as pauper deaths in England, whether in the work-house or the lodging-house, is new to us; perhaps because few Calcutta visitants trouble their heads about such things as a Hindoo" dying-| bedstead, and all the numerous male relatives and house." Baboo came to tell me that a person in my employ was taken to the dying-house to die. I immediately said, I hoped no unfair means would be used towards him; and asked my native friend if I could be allowed to see the sick man. I ordered my carriage, and the Baboo accompanied me. We arrived at the house on the banks of the river; and the crowd assembled as usual on such occasions fell back and made way for me. I entered the little close room, and begged most of the company to retire to let in some air. The sick man was lying on a mattress on the floor, with his head bolstered up; I stooped down, felt his pulse, and watched his drowsy eye until he caught sight of me, and knew me. Poor fellow! he seemed so grateful to think I should have come to see him in such a place. I asked him if he was prepared, if he thought he was about to die? and he replied, "Yes." I then called for the native doctor; and believing him not to be in a dying state, I said so emphatically, and that I hoped no unfair means would be adopted in his case. After a little time the doctor came, and pronounced him better. I requested permission to call in European medical advice, but it was refused; nevertheless, the man did recover; and, strange to say, he returned into the world again from that place which few, very few, have left alive. When we afterwards met, he always called me his deliverer. After my visit to the sick man, who was in good circumstances, I determined to visit the other wretched rooms and their dying inmates. A more horrible scene I never saw or felt. In these unfurnished rooms were people dying of fever, dysentery, &c., with only an attendant, asleep or awake, waiting until death should leave their corpses to be carried to the neighboring pyre, or thrown into the holy stream. One poor fellow was in agony with cholera, on the damp stone balcony. He had nothing but a rag round his waist; and a boy was by, watching for his last moments. I took hold of his wrist; his pulse was nearly gone; he opened his eyes upon but they were almost fixed in death; and the look he gave me I shall probably never forget. me, I left this harrowing scene resolved to try my humble efforts towards stopping such cruel customs, in order to give the dying the friendly comfort all so greatly need at that last struggle of human ex istence. Mr. Terry proposes a plan to remedy the evil he saw; but superstition stands in the way. The Hindoo dies, if he can, by the sacred Ganges; and neither priests nor patients would bear interference with their customs, though some regulations of the house might be introduced for the poor, or, as Mr. Terry proposes, a hospital subsituted for the dying house. The rich, however, do not seem to be substantially any better off. Yesterday morning, one of the sons of an intimate Indian friend came into my room, in a flood of tears, to tell me that his father had been seized with paralysis, and that he was being taken to the river-side, according to Hindoo custom. I hastily dressed, and accompanied him in his carriage, and we soon overtook the whole party. It was a mournful sight. The old man, still alive, was borne by several attendants on a kind of low servants followed on foot and in vehicles. They halted on the banks of the Hooghly, previous to taking him to a small house on the opposite side, the usual resort for the wealthy in their last mo ments. Some of the family wished me to see him; and I shall never forget the scene. They formed a circle round him. I stooped down to catch his eye; the sun was rising, a northerly wind was blowing, it was a fresh morning-all around was life; yet in the midst was death near at hand. I still held his hand, until at length he saw me, knew me, and spoke to me for the last time. They took him across the river; and as soon as I returned to my house, I wrote a note to my friend, their European doctor, to ask if anything could be done for the Baboo. The following is a copy of his reply : 66 'My dear Terry-You may depend on it the Brahmins will not part with the old man's body, whatever becomes of his soul. I went to his house this morning about seven o'clock, and was told that he had been taken to the Ghaut on the other side, being the holy place; and there would not be a chance of doing him any good, unless I were to sit down all day by him, and with my own hand give him his medicine and food; for all that his relations dare give him is Gunga gal and mud, (Ganges water.) I had some hopes of him last night, had they persevered; but the only request the poor old man made to me, when he recovered sense enough to recognize me and to speak, was, 'Don't let me die at home, let me go to the river.' So you may see there is no use in such cases in forcing medical advice on them, and I am persuaded they neither want nor will allow it." In the afternoon I went over and met the doctor there. The sick man still lived. He wished to give him a little medicine, but there was not a glass to be had within half a mile. This morning I went over to pay a last visit to the poor old Baboo. The Brahmins had taken him to the water's edge; and there he lay, on a little mattress on the soft mud, panting, with nothing but a little thin muslin over his body, and his head bare. The rays of the sun fell on him hot enough to have injured a strong, healthy person. Three Brahmins continued to vociferate the names of goddesses in his ears, and to give him Ganges water. This mixture of superstition and cruelty disconcerted me; but, as the closing scene approached, the family begged me to retire, which I did. A few minutes afterwards, amidst one loud cry to the goddesses, the Baboo died. From the Examiner. Nineveh and its Remains: with an Account of a Visit to the Chaldean Christians of Kurdistan, and Yezidis, or Devil-worshippers; and an Enquiry into the Manners and Arts of the Ancient Assyrians. By AUSTEN HENRY LAYARD, Esq., D. C. L. Two vols. Murray. THERE is a remarkable and delightful combination, in the book before us, of valuable discovery and interesting personal narrative, such as we remember in no similar book of travel or discovery. In what seems a life-long familiarity with Eastern character and habits, in vigorous freshness and straightforward simplicity of description, in an easy power of picturesque detail sustained with 66 unflagging spirit-above all, in those personal of his work, Mr. Layard himself contrasts the asqualities which win submission and exert control pect of the great sites of ruin on either side the without appearing to exact either-Mr. Layard is Euphrates. The traveller in Asia Minor or Syria not surpassed by the best of the old travellers. In sees what was once the temple of Balbec or the the wonders of the story he has to tell, he very theatre of Ionia in graceful fragments of columns much surpasses them all. Books such as his may rising through thick myrtle foliage, and, by the help to keep us proud of the name of Englishman. beauty still appealing to his senses, can measure Wonderful! wonderful!" exclaimed a worthy the beauty of the past. The traveller in MesopoArab sheikh, whose people had been employed by tamia and Chaldea sees but vast, rude, shapeless Mr. Layard in removal of some of the gigantic mounds, rising from scorched plaius in huge mysmonuments of the buried Nineveh : "there is terious heaps, to which his imagination appeals ir. surely no God but God, and Mohammed is his vain. There is no response. The oracles have prophet. In the name of the Most High, tell long been dumb. Desolation announces desolame, O bey, (addressing Mr. Layard,) what you tion. "There is nothing to relieve the mind, to are going to do with those stones. So many lead to hope, or to tell of what has gone by." In thousands of purses spent upon such things! the midst of our modern scene the lively Greek Can it be, as you say, that your people learn still reigns and governs, by what is left, in mental wisdom from them; or is it, as his reverence the and material form, of his wondrous civilization. cadi declares, that they are to go to the palace of The Assyrian has passed away. His arts, letters, your queen, who, with the rest of the unbelievers, and life, have vanished from the earth. Those worship these idols? As for wisdom, these fig- unshapely silent barrows are all that mark where ures will not teach you to make any better knives, the city of the rulers of half the earth once stood: or scissors, or chintzes; and it is in the making and over them twelve centuries of Arabs have of those things that the English show their wis- pitched their tents without thought of a "palace dom. But God is great! God is great! Here under ground." We think it was the traveller are stones which have been buried ever since the Niebuhr who first conjectured that a great city time of the holy Noah-peace be with him! might have stood beneath the sullen range of hills Perhaps they were under ground before the del- and hillocks on the east bank of the Tigris. It uge. I have lived on the lands for years. My was a countryman of our own* who first anfather, and the father of my father, pitched their nounced his belief that actual ruins might yet be tents here before me; but they never heard of found there, and yield up some day the vanished these figures. For twelve hundred years have marvels of the past. So matters stood till about the true believers (and, praise be to God! all true five years ago. wisdom is with them alone) been settled in this country, and none of them ever heard of a palace under ground: Neither did they who went before them. But lo! here comes a Frank from many days' journey off, and he walks up to the very place, and he takes a stick, (the sheikh illustrated his description with the point of his spear,) and makes a line here, and makes a line there. Here, says he, is the palace; there, says he, is the gate; and he shows us what has been all our lives beneath our feet, without our having known anything about it. Wonderful! wonderful! Is it by books, is it by magic, is it by your prophets, that you have learnt these things? Speak, O bey; tell me the secret of wisdom." Certainly it is wonderful. Natural were the reflections of the good Abd-ur-rahman, and we hope everybody will be as anxious for the "secret of wisdom" as he was. It is told in Mr. Layard's book. In the enterprise, sagacity, patience, and indomitable energy, which will be found in these volumes, the secret is for all to read. This is the magic, these are the prophets. Where there is no wisdom but in knives, scissors, and chintzes, such things will continue to be foolishness; but England, for all that the excellent Arab may have been told, contains something more and better than even Birmingham and Manchester. The Arab hit the peculiarity of Mr. Layard's discoveries in dwelling most on their subterranean character. In an eloquent passage at the opening M. Botta was then appointed French Consul at Mosul. The nephew of the celebrated historian of Italy, he had inherited his antiquarian tastes, and, after various unproductive researches on the bank of the Tigris, the supposed site of the ancient city, his perseverance was rewarded by a most remarkable discovery in a little village (Khorsabad) near Mosul. He came upon what evidently appears to have been a palace built in the neighborhood of Nineveh by one of its great monarchs, and covered with sculptures commemorating the glories of his reign. Mr. Layard was at this time in the East, with which several years' previous wanderings had made him familiar; and had passed through Mosul on his way to Constantinople during M. Botta's unsuccessful investigations. He urged M. Botta to persevere, and subsequently, ignorant of his success elsewhere, wrote to him from Constantinople to suggest the great mound of Nimroud, a village on the Tigris eighteen miles below Mosul, as likely to prove the richest scene of discovery. This Nimroud had long been in Mr. Layard's thoughts and hopes, and some years before he had proposed an examination of it to an architect attached to the French embassy in Persia. But M. Botta, already repulsed in that direction and now successful in another, resisted these importunities, (renewed more strongly when what he had succeeded in was known,) preferred Rich's Travels in Koordistan. |