scraped the leg as with a rough brush, _for his shaved head had the grain downwards. The operation concluded by his biting my heel._” We should like to see any human being, whether Turk, Pagan, Jew, or Christian, attempt such revolting liberties with our person. By the bones of Belshazzar! we would brain him with the bath-brush. The member for Stafford should be ashamed of himself. He positively makes us scunner. We have a firm and wholesome faith in the efficacy and cleanliness of a British spunging-bath and rough towel; we repel with abhorrence Mr Urquhart’s manipulatory innovations, and feel intense disgust at the Mahometan kneading, pummelling, trampling, sweating, soaping, and scraping, which he dwells upon with such nauseous minuteness, and whose results he describes as so wonderfully salubrious and delightful. We really hesitate at transferring to our page any more of his nasty details. We venture, however, to present him to our readers in the character of Marsyas, undergoing the flaying process which, it appears, forms an essential stage of the Turkish bathing operation. With a glove of camel’s hair, the bathman “commences from the nape of the neck in long sweeps down the back till he has started the skin; _he coaxes it into rolls_, keeping them in and up, till within his hand they gather volume and length; he then successively strikes and brushes them away, and they fall right and left as if spilt from a dish of macaroni. The dead matter which will accumulate in a week forms, when dry, _a ball of the size of the fist. I once collected it and had it dried—it is like a ball of chalk._” Well may the honourable gentleman declare the human body “a fountain of impurities,” when he can back the assertion by such a startling statement of the weekly amount of his own cuticular incrustations. No wonder he commiserates the condition of the unwashed portion of his countrymen, and urges the establishment of public baths on a scale more magnificent than practicable. Cleanliness is so nearly a virtue, that all deserve well of their country who efficaciously promote its spread amongst classes by whom it is too often neglected. But the carrying out of such plans must devolve upon philanthropists of a more practical stamp than this fantastical theorist and crotchety M.P. It were ridiculous to suppose that all the advantages would be realised which he predicts, from the adoption in this country of a universal system of bathing; but so manifold and enormous are they, that, if only a tithe of them were guaranteed, it would suffice to make us sigh for the days when in London there should be “no gin palaces, but a thousand baths!” GOLDSMITH. PART II.