poesy, whose hands with kindly art,
Of kindred feelings weaves this mystic band,
To knit the Scottish to the Iranian strand,
And reach wherever beats a human heart.

AN APOLOGY FOR A REVIEW.

It is not our general practice to review books of travels; nor, in
truth, in noticing these little volumes, do we introduce any exception
to that general rule. Under what precise category in literature they may
fall, would admit, as Sir Thomas Browne observes as to the song sung by
the Sirens, of a wide solution. Plainly, however, in the ordinary sense
of the term, travels they are not. They will form no substitute for
Murray's admirable hand-books; for on the merits or demerits of
competing hostelries, which Mr Murray justly regards as a question of
vital importance--the very be-all, and often end-all of a tour--these
volumes throw no light. In statistics they are barren enough. To the
gentlemen of the rule and square, who think that the essential spirit of
architecture can be fathomed by measurement, they will be found a blank.
And though abounding in allusions, which betray, without obtruding, an
intimate acquaintance with ancient literature, and sufficient in
congenial minds to awaken a train of memories, classic or romantic,
medieval or modern; they contain few dates, no dissertations, no
discussion of vexed questions as to the ownership of statues, baths,
temples, or circuses; or the other disputed points which have so long
been the subject of strife in the antiquarian arena. And, really, when
we consider the way in which, in the course of a century, all the old
landmarks on the antiquarian map have been broken up, and the monuments
of antiquity made to change hands; how Nibbi supersedes Winckelman, only
to be superseded in turn; how a temple is converted into a senate-house;
one man's villa into another; how Caracalla is driven from his circus to
make way for Romulus; how Peace resigns her claim to a Pagan temple to
make way for a Christian basilica of Constantine; how statues, arches,
gardens, baths, forums, obelisks, or columns, are in a constant state of
transition, so far as regards their nomenclature; and, to borrow the
conceit of Quevedo, nothing about Rome remains permanent save that which
was fugitive--namely, old Tiber himself; we rather feel grateful to the
tourist who is content to take up the last theory without further
discussion, and to spare us the grounds on which the last change of
title