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him through the siege, remained by his side. He might, perhaps, have borne up successfully-but Giustiniani was at length wounded; whether from the agony of his wound, or, as others thought, from a despair which he could control no longer, the gallantest of the Italian captains left the breach; and when the stranger forsook him, Constantine sunk beneath his fate. He perished, unrecognised, by an unknown hand. A few hours afterwards, Mahomet rode through the gate, in which the heaps of corpses showed where the last fierce struggle for the perishing empire had taken place; and knew not that the Cæsar's was among them. It was found before evening; and, for the second time within ten years, the head of a Christian king was borne on a pike through the camp of the Ottomans. The great capital city of the East had fallen, and both Greeks and Latins were alarmed, and mourned its fall. But it had changed owners before, and neither were at once alive to the full significance of this change, to the history of the world. Neither suspected, what strong and what cruel masters had come, to take possession of the desolate palaces, where the spider had long stretched her web,' and to fill once more, for centuries, their vast and echoing emptiness, with the crowds of a gorgeous court. Mahomet declared himself the protector of the Greeks of Constantinople. The new patriarch, he who had inveighed so fiercely against the Latin union and the compliances of Constantine, received his jewelled crozier from the hand of the infidel, according to the old ceremonial of the Byzantine court; paid him the same homage, received the same honours, as had accompanied the investiture of his predecessors under Christian emperors. But in time, the waste streets of Constantinople became peopled with new inhabitants from distant and strange regions. Where the venerable palace of Bucoleon had stood, the new Seraglio began to crown the promontory of the Golden Horn: the Mosque of the Conqueror rose on the ruins of the Church of the Holy Apostles, and the tombs of the Cæsars; and the Greeks were reminded, that in Constantinople they were in a capital which was not their own. And very soon too, the massacre of their noblest, and the dishonour of their fairest, told them more terribly what a change had come, in the place of the dull and oppressive, yet not sanguinary, Byzantine rule. Then they began to see what was meant by the settlement of the Ottomans at Constantinople; and Europe soon saw it too. The conquering fury of the Ottomans burst forth with new and consuming force, along all its old tracks; Austria and Hungary felt its desolations, renewed

1 See the Persian verses repeated by Mahomet. Gibbon, viii. p. 256.

again and again, though it broke it in vain against the walls of Belgrade; it drove Scanderbeg from the haunts to which he clung so fiercely, to die before he could be conquered; in Europe, Albania, Bosnia, and Peloponnesus-in Asia, Karamania, and the Christian kingdom of Trebizond, sank finally under its strength. But this was not all. Lords of the Bosphorus, the Ottomans from this time, began to claim the seas, as they had subdued the lands. Mahomet was the first builder of an Ottoman fleet, and he lived to see its power. It gave him Negropont and the Archipelago; then it destroyed the settlement of the Genoese at Kaffa, and explored the Sea of Azoff, and the mouths of the Don, and the Danube; and from Kilia and Akerman, from the Crimea and Trebizond, the Ottomans were masters of the Black Sea. First of the European states, the Signory of Venice understood the great revolution in the East, and measured its danger. From the time of Mahomet II., no state recognised the importance of the Ottomans so clearly, or had such continual relations with them, both in peace and war, as Venice. Her keen-sighted envoys soon discovered how firmly the Ottoman power was fixed at Constantinople; how, under its remorseless and able chief, it was. becoming consolidated and organized into a strong and enduring engine of conquest. Her own fierce wars and chequered negotiations with her new rival at once began, to last till both Venice and the Sultans were exhausted. And she had early and ample confirmation of her forebodings. In a few years, the Ottoman conquests had reached to the shores of her own Adriatic; their fleets had conquered Zante and Cephalonia, had crossed the Ionian Sea and sacked Otranto. And while the entrance of the jealously-guarded Gulf was bordered by a Turkish coast, and threatened by Turkish fleets, the Turkish horsemen had found their way, through Dalmatia and Friuli, across the rivers which pour into it at its head; and before the end of Mahomet's reign, the watch-fires and the burnings of the Ottoman ravagers had been descried from the steeples of the Lagunes.

The chronology of the Ottoman chiefs to Mahomet II. is as follows:

Othman, 1288-1325.
Orchan, 1325-1359.
Amurath I, 1359-1389.
Bajazet, 1389-1403.
Mahomet I., 1413-1421.
Amurath II., 1421-1451,
Mahomet II., 1451-1481.

Othman, Orchan, and Amurath I. styled themselves Emirs. The title of Sultan is said to have been first taken by Bajazet; but Mahomet II. still called himself, also, the Great Emir. His style, in the capitulation of Galata, 1453, isὉ μέγας Αὐθέντης, καὶ μέγας Αμυράς Σουλτάνος ὁ Μεχμέτ Μπέης, κ.τ.λ. Hammer, (Hellert,) ii. 523.



ART. II.-The many Mansions in the House of the Father, scripturally discussed, and practically considered. By G. S. FABER, B. D., Master of Sherburn Hospital, &c.; with a Prefatory Memoir of the Author. By FRANCIS A. FABER, Rector of Saunderton, Bucks. London: Royston & Brown. 1854. GEORGE STANLEY FABER belonged, in all his associations and habits, to an age of Anglican divines that is now passing away; and if we cannot wish for the resuscitation of his school, either in literature or theology, we can at any rate afford a sincere tribute to his indefatigable industry, his many amiable qualities, and the extent of his intellectual researches. He was of the class of dignitaries; though not in any unpleasant sense of the word; and, from the very commencement of his career, he was sufficiently in the way of promotion to have been relieved from any acute sense of neglected merit. Would that all his contemporaries, in possession of the Church's lucrative positions, had been equally deserving, and had equally devoted their dignified otium to study, and to the pursuit of truth! To wish they had all been equally voluminous in published writings, intended for the instruction of the public, would be an insincere act of regret, for we do not apprehend that, as a class, the result of their labours would have materially advanced the cause of theology, however useful they might have been to themselves in providing employment suitable to their calling. Mr. Faber, however, was a vast improvement on the worldly money-making dignitaries of his age. There were few of whom it could be said that they used their leisure for the benefit of literature and theology; that they were careful to fulfil such obligations as were connected with the offices they held, and that they made their house and income available for the general benefit of intellectual society.

The work before us was published by its author in 1851, professedly as the result of many years' thought, and in fact, as the expression of certain ideas, with reference to the future life of man, without which he felt in his own case that a Christian's hope would be wanting in tangible and real objects of anticipation. What those views were, we shall subsequently explain; whether or not they meet with any general sympathy on their own merits, it must be at least granted, that speculations on this subject come with peculiar interest from one, almost fourscore years old, whose whole manner of life, even from his

youth, had been calculated to promote serious thoughts of the future, and whose habit of mind had always led him to a very close dependence on the divine Word for his secret convictions. Grossly material, and even grotesque as some of his views may appear to be, they yet merit a degree of respect, as being the legacy of his old age, especially when it is remembered that they did not, by any means, owe their source to that age of life, when they were first published; but were conceived, in the full vigour of his intellectual progress, and were only indebted to the last years of the writer, for their expression in writing and for a confirmed testimony to their truth.

Faber was essentially a controversialist in religion. He felt more at home in this kind of writing than in any other. He was stimulated by the presence of an enemy, and his pen flourished with tenfold energy, when the vision of a hostile theologian was standing before his desk. Yet, withal, he was an amiable warrior, and all sense of honour in his cause was fully satisfied, if blood were drawn from the slightest scratch. He did not in his heart wish to inflict any deep or mortal wound. The pleasure of the combat was in his own adroitness, rather than in the enemies' discomforture; except, towards the latter end of his life, when the mysterious monsters of tractarianism somewhat stirred up that genuine thirst for blood, which strong passions and real home-convictions are at all times liable to encourage. It is a blot on Mr. Faber's literary career that he disfigured it with the intemperate and vulgar vituperations to which we allude. Happily for their writer's reputation, they only survive in the miserable newspaper in which they were first published.

In the earlier part of his life, brought up as he had been with ultra-protestant associations, and possessed also of an instinct for literary combativeness, he as naturally fixed on popery for his object of attack; as in the case of other persons, we find that an unfortunate class of animals, such as foxes, bulls, or badgers, are brought forward into the arena of their combative propensities. As long as Dr. Trevern, Bishop of Strasburg, was his antagonist, he was delightfully in his element. The enemy was respectable, definite, and tangible: he was too distant to provoke any but legitimate personalities, and altogether he was that kind of foe, with whom it is most practicable to fight, and at the same time to feel perfectly cool. Their controversies did, indeed, at length exceed those polite rules of courtesy which Mr. Faber most anxiously studied at their commencement; but it was much after the same manner, and with the same spirit, that distinguish the rival annotations of angry old classic commentators, who were wont to thunder no

measured anathemas at each other, correctly expressed in the Latin tongue.

The following passage conveys what we may almost call a picturesque and somewhat amusing idea of this controversy:

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'Another kind of compliment was paid to the Difficulties of Romanism by the manner in which the Bishop of Strasburg received it. He had been treated with marked and studied courtesy by Mr. Faber; and some of the friends of the latter thought that he had carried the principles of Lord Chesterfield rather further than was desirable. Dr. Trevern's answer was in a very different strain. Though "a gentleman and a Frenchman,” he forgot the politeness which is said to characterise his nation, and the loss of his temper proved that he was fighting a losing battle. His reply was soon greeted by a rejoinder from Long Newton, and in this publication Mr. Faber expressed his sense of the manner in which his courtesy had been received. "We have been wont," he says, "to esteem the wellpolished sword the appropriate weapon of the gentleman; but the Bishop inclines to prefer the obtuseness of a bludgeon, or the deformity of the tomahawk." Mr. Husenbeth came to Dr. Trevern's rescue, and an amusing pamphlet from Mr. Faber's pen was the result of that gentleman's interference. Subsequently, Mr. H. published a work of some length, entitled "Faberism exposed and refuted," which fell still-born from the press, and was heard of no more.'-Memoir, pp. xviii. xix.

Though Mr. Faber had many prejudices, habits, and sentiments, which were characteristic of his contemporaries in our Church, yet on many points he displayed an undoubted originality of thought, as well as most noticeable peculiarities of language, and great freedom from intellectual bondage or the trammels of party. We suspect, indeed, that the work before us, the publication of which gave him peculiar interest, as one with which he was anxious that his future name should be connected,-was so far antagonistic to the general views of his school in theology, that it was a kind of reaction against what he felt to be a narrow system; a supplement, though eccentric in its character, to fill up what had long appeared a void place in those theological schemes with which he had been associated. The manner in which this was accomplished, the peculiar theories, that is, which he propounded for the satisfaction of his own mind, partook, of course, of his own natural habits of thought, of his love for the positive and tangible, and so far must be received with no little caution; but yet, on the whole, we feel satisfied that, like the majority of errors, they sprang up from a real conviction of some existing defect in the sentiments and views that form the traditions of the day.

Thinking that our readers may take some interest in the very pleasant memoir of this theologian, supplied by his nephew, we propose, in the first place, to be biographical in our notice.

George Stanley Faber was the son of a Yorkshire clergyman, vicar of Calverley, and was born in 1773. His mother, whose

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