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discomfort did not carry with it the one advantage that I had always associated with dampness, that of being an effective substitute for Keating's Powder. Our Arab mattresses were of an age to have chaperoned any English fourpost bed, and their aristocracy of parasites far the most remarkable which we had met. Mahmoud, my muleteer, and a connoisseur in fleas, declaimed, before falling into a troubled sleep, almost in the manner of Shibli Bagarag at the Shaving of Shagpat, against our persecutors.

From this day on our worries ceased, and our march to Damascus was undiluted pleasure. It was a delightful end to what had been an eventful journey to both of us.

Its commencement had not been the least eventful part of it. I had caught typhoid in the Yemen, which developed on the journey to Bombay, and I had convalesced on an island in the Persian Gulf, where our boat had most conveniently struck upon a rock in the mists of dawn within easy distance of land. From this place I strove to penetrate Arabia. For a week I held the ambiguous position, half guest half prisoner, of the Turkish officers, and completed my cure on an Arab dhow. Riza had come from Constantinople in answer to a telegram of mine from Bombay, but as he neglected to tell me that he was coming, I had not waited in Bombay, and we met by accident on my return to the island after the unsuccessful Arabian expedition. "Oh,

the wondrous ways of God, that thou and I should meet upon these strange seas," said he with tremendous fervour. He had wandered about in Bombay, finding nobody who could understand him, until the repetition of my name excited the interest of an "Effendi," who put him on this boat: where the boat was bound he had not asked, but the "Arabs were a filthy race."

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It was not strange after such vicissitudes that we revelled in the beauty and the deliciousness of our last day's journey. In the evening we rode through flocks of sheep with tinkling bells and past children bathing on the outskirts of the villages, to cups of foaming milk and clean mattresses, and rooms where we slept alone, without the crowd of garlic-eating Arabs which had so often made the nights in the noktas detestable.

The motley gang

of followers who had attached themselves to us for protection sang with pleasure as we passed through friendly olives, and through gardens red and white with almond and peach blossom, and gay with running water. Semanghellina, a song which began "Deniz dalghasiz olmaz, minni minni mashallah!" ("The sea cannot be without waves"), and other tunes, were, with scented winds, our companions on the way.

It was not till some days later that I discovered that Riza had been in considerable pain from toothache during this time. One night in Damascus his words were indistinguishable, as he had just had

extracted.

five teeth His cheerfulness was unimpaired. The day was a good day, the teeth had undoubtedly been bad teeth, and the operator (who I believe was not a dentist) was a man of education. "Praise be. Allah rahatluk versin. May God give you rest. (Good night.)"

Perhaps I should have spoken more of the Albanians and less of Riza, but if I have any understanding of this people, it is to him that I owe it.

The paradox of religion, of blood, and of circumstances make the Ghegs a difficult race to know. They are extremely intelligent Europeans, yet followers of the desert Prophet. While they have the highest reputation for honesty, they are the most notorious brigands in Turkey. They combine a keen sense of humour with an Oriental gravity, and an unsur

passed vindictiveness of spirit with a delight in teasing and amusing children, which is almost an art. They adapt themselves with an easy versatility to a civilisation which they repudiate at home; and while they are in other lands an essentially progressive race, it is their policy to keep their own country in a condition of barbarism. Very generous, yet with the knowledge of what bitter poverty means, they grasp at money, which they instantly throw away on alms, hospitality, or clothes. Sensitive as children, whom a light word offends, a small kindness will make them devoted to the death. They are, as I have tried to show, good friends, and if they have their faults, well there is the Turkish proverb, "He who wants a faultless friend, friendless will remain." BEN KENDIM.

JOHN TIPTOFT.

BY CHARLES WHIBLEY.

I.

WHEN civil war threatened the Court. The way, then, lay England, and the opposing open before him. Wisdom and forces of York and Lancaster desire pointed to the same end. first met in the field, John He determined, with a moderaTiptoft, Earl of Worcester, tion which presently deserted prudently betook himself to him, to prefer peace before the Holy Land. So closely war, to hold himself aloof from was his sympathy engaged on the war of faction, to avoid either side, that he knew not the contamination of turbulence for whom he should draw the and conspiracy. Thus it was sword. If the Duke of York that to cite the language of held the higher place in his interested adulation—he imregard, he could not persuade itated the lofty-souled heroes himself as yet to show dis- whom the good ship Argo bore courtesy to Henry VI. That eastwards, enavigated all the amiable prince had advanced seas of the earth, and conhim beyond the measure of ferred upon all nations the his years and birth.1 He was benefit of his presence, maninot far past his youth when festing everywhere the divinity (in 1449) he was made Earl of of his soul, and leaving behind Worcester. At twenty-five he him the immortal memory of was Treasurer of the Ex- his name. In plainer prose, chequer, and two years later he travelled with becoming he was appointed Captain to state to Jerusalem, he visited guard the Sea. The contest the holy places, as in pious between gratitude and inclina- duty bound, and when the tion, which raged in his mind, Orient had lost its hold might have had another issue, upon him he came with had not Somerset, the King's what speed speed he he might might to Counsellor, dismissed him from Venice.

No man of his time was better fitted to appreciate the newly discovered treasures of

II.

Italy. Englishman though he was, he was the true child of the Renaissance. He had

1 He was of noble birth, being the son of John, Baron de Tiptoft, and Joyce, his "incomparable" wife, but not of so high a family as to justify his rapid rise to fortune.

learned at Balliol all that Oxford could teach him, and not even his sojourn at the Court had checked his ardent love of the Humanities. Few scholars or churchmen of his age surpassed him in knowledge of the classics or in felicity of expression; and so little did the natural arrogance of his temper show itself in his studies, that with all the modesty of a pupil he frequented the famous schools of Italy, and sat at the feet of the masters. He visited Ferrara, that he might hear the lectures of the renowned Guarino, whose method of discipline attracted students from every corner of Europe, even from Britain itself, a country "situate beyond the confines of the earth." There in Guarino's house he met many a wandering scholar, such as John Free, who, with the characteristic courage of his kind, had set out from Oxford to conquer the learning of Italy with no more than ten pounds in his pocket;1 William Grey, erudite and disinterested as Tiptoft himself, presently appointed in Rome to the bishopric of Ely; and John Gunthorpe, who studied the Humanities with

such success that he was rewarded with the deanery of Wells. These three he had known at Balliol a college which did more than any other to restore in England the wisdom of the ancients, and which may still take a just pride in its nurslings, who lived, learned, and taught in the cities of Italy. Of this company John Tiptoft was the natural sovereign. He dispensed his princely favours with a large and a large and generous hand. Whatever was asked of him he gave, to to this one one his friendship, to that the support of a well- filled purse, to all sympathy and encouragement. By general consent he was acclaimed the Mæcenas of his age, and learning has rarely found a nobler patron. So for three years he wandered up and down Italy-from Ferrara to Padua, from Padua to Florence, from Florence to Rome,— gathering treasures in manuscript and storing his head with the knowledge and policy of the time. Of his life at Florence Vespasiano has left us us an amiable sketch. Now Vespasiano, courtliest of booksellers, humanest of scholars,

1 The career of John Free-or Phreas, as he was called-was typical of his time and class. He was a fellow of Balliol, and became, says his biographer, "an admirable Philosopher, Lawyer, and Physician." He was public reader of physic at Ferrara, and afterwards at Florence and Padua. He seems to have been half scholar, half pedant. His letters and odes were alike elegant. He composed a set of fluent verses, in which Bacchus expostulates with a goat for gnawing a vine, he translated Synesius' treatise concerning baldness, and dedicated both works to his patron Tiptoft. Another work, which he laid at the feet of Pope Pius II., procured him the bishopric of Bath and Wells; 66 a month after he went to Rome, where he died before he could be consecrated, but not without suspicion of poison from some competitor, 1465." The story is wholly suitable to the Italy of the Renaissance, where the folio and the poisoned cup were always near neighbours.

seen

proof of his Latin eloquence. In vain would he have visited Italy if he had not Rome, which, says Leland, had not for many centuries received so noble and so welcome a guest, and which thought that ," that a god had descended from heaven, so much did it marvel at his humanity, his splendour, and the Ciceronian abundance of his discourse. The effect of his oratory upon Pius II.—that learned Pontiff who, fifteen years before, had wondered that the Latin tongue had penetrated as far as Britain was the highest tribute that could have been paid to Tiptoft's attainments. John Free, who may have been a witness of the scene, describes how the Pope burst into tears of joy as he listened to Tiptoft's eloquence. If only Time had spared the oration, we might form a clearer judgment. But the centuries have dealt hardly with the orator, and we must accept a verdict at second-hand.

a mediæval scribe who witnessed the triumph of the black art which came from across the mountains, had the fairest opportunity of observing the character of Tiptoft, to whom he gave a place among his "Illustrious Men," and we accept his account in the best of good faith. "He had a great abundance of books," says Vespasiano, "and in Florence be bought what more he could find, and also had a goodly number made for him. While certain books were being made which his lordship desired, he abode some days in Florence, and wished to see the whole place. Without attendants, alone and empty-handed, he went about; and if he was told to go to the right hand, he went to the left," an excellent method of sight-seeing truly, which may be commended to the idly obedient traveller of today. "And having heard of the fame of Messer Giovanni Argiropolo," thus Vespasiano continues, "he desired to hear one of his lectures at the school; and he came thither unknown, in the said manner, and he was well satisfied with the teaching of Messer Giovanni,"

A man of letters and of exceeding wisdom-thus it is that Vespasiano sums him up after his simple fashion, sending him on to Rome, where he "visited the Pontiff and the Cardinals and the other prelates who were there." It was at Rome, indeed, that Tiptoft won his highest triumph and gave the best

Harshly, too, have the centuries treated the collections of books, the divers choice and rare manuscripts which Tiptoft sent to Duke Humphrey's library at Oxford. The skill wherewith he hunted for the masterpieces of ancient literature, the munificence wherewith he purchased them, were legendary in his day. Ludovico Carbo, his friend of Ferrara, whom he would have carried with him to England, adds his testimony to the sure knowledge of Vespasiano. "He despoiled the libraries of Italy," says Carbo, "that he might

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