A Continental Tour

‘Are not the mountains, waves, and skies a part Of me and of my soul, as I of them? Is not the love of these deep in my heart With a pure passion? Should I not contemn All objects, if compared with these? A tide of suffering, rather than forego and stem Such feelings for the hard and worldly phlegm Of those whose eyes are only turn’d below, Gazing upon the ground, with thoughts which dare not glow?”

—Lord Byron.

“The things to be seen and observed are: the courts of princes, .... armouries, arsenals, magazines, exchanges, burses, warehouses; exercises of horsemanship, fencing, training of soldiers, and the like; comedies, Bach whereunto the better sort of persons do resort. As for triumphs, masks, feasts, weddings, funerals, capital executions, and such shows, men need not to be put in mind of them; yet they are not to be

neglected For quarrels, they are with care and discretion to be

avoided.” — Lord Bacon.

Mr Wilson first visited the Continent in 1816, takinoadvantage of that season which confined Napoleon to St Helena, and let Europe all abroad.

Of this tour he has preserved an ample record, filling a large quarto volume, and written in a style of neatly fluent penmanship, the index of a mind freely moving in its own gracefulness. This document he often threatened to destroy, and we have now to thank the affectionate care which rescued it from the author’s fastidiousness. Considering that it is the work of a young man who had not reached the years of legal majority, we are sure the reader will agree with us in deeming both the language and the range of thought remarkable.

In the voyage from Leith to Eotterdam he had for his companions three of his fellow-citizens, one of whom, Mi-David Laing, still finds appropriate scope for his antiquarian lore among the faded archives of the Signet Librae, and another, Mr Black, M.P., ably represents in Parliament his native city. And on his homeward way he was joined by friends. But most of the journey was in solitude. Whatever else it did, this loneliness was conducive to impressions deep and enduring. Over the scene which arrested him, he could linger without any impatient yoke-fellow pulling him away; and in moments of ravishment he could weep or shout forth his rapture without fear of derision.

It was essentially a poet’s pilgrimage. For the caveat against quarrelling there was no need; and we question if, before starting, he had read the rest of Lord Bacon’s rules. His purpose and his plan are best described in the following paragraphs: —

“Before setting out, I had determined to remain so totally unfettered, that I would not even prepare myself for the journey, by renewing or completing my very imperfect reading acquaintance with the chief parts that I was about to visit. I was going, in sober certainty, to view the real scenes, the ideal images of which had been the objects of my love — until within these few years my hopeless love — ever since I had known what it was that I really wished or wanted; and I was determined to come to the contemplation of them free from all other bias on my mind than Would be given to it by the delightful but somewhat misty and indistinct associations which had come to it, as it were of themselves, in my veiy earliest youth, and had ever since been congregating and engendering together, till at length they had formed a sort of colony there — a little kingdom of their own, of which Fancy was the sole and undisputed sovereign, and in the midst of which I

could at all times take refuge from the dull and dreary realities of common life. I determined, too, that this ideal kingdom should never be overturned but by Nature herself: in fact, that I would not go among these scenes for the purpose of forming a judgment of them for myself, but would leave them to build up for me a fabric of their own, in the place of the ideal one that I knew they would destroy. I felt it to be something worse than idle to go peeping and prying about, with a pencil and a note-book in my hand, among the mountains of “William Tell — to be sketching trees and cottages, or scribbling nothings, in the ideal presence of Manfred, or the real one of Mont Blanc — to be ascertaining the exact distance from Vevay across the lake to the rocks of Meillerie, in order to calculate whether St Preux really could see from thence the dwelling of Julie — to be inquiring the number of the inhabitants, and the price of the necessaries of life, at Clarens — the scene of that immortal kiss, the echoes of which may even now, to an ear properly attuned, be heard mingling with the breezes that whisper among the branches of its chesnut groves, or come fanning the brow — the burning brow — of him who gazes, for the first time, on that cradle and home and heaven of love.

“I repeat, my determination was not only not to prepare myself for visiting such scenes as these, but when T found myself in the midst of them, not even to examine or record my feelings about them, but to remain in what Wordsworth calls a ‘wise passiveness’ — to spread open, as it were, my mind and heart and senses to the powers and influences that would everywhere surround me, and leave them to work their own effects, believing that if I was worthy to receive the benefit of such influences, they would come to me of themselves, and remain with me; and that if I was not, no seekings or solicitations could entice them. I therefore wrote nothing about them at the time — I mean, for myself. I did not even endeavour to remember anything. I read the poetry of them, as I read written poetry, not for the purpose of criticising it, and getting particular passages by heart, in order to talk about and quote from it, but to feel and enjoy it; not that I might seem wiser and better in consequence, but that I might be so.”

VOYAGE AND FIEST IMPRESSIONS OF HOLLAND.

“We are at last safe in Rotterdam after a tedious, though, in other respects, not an unpleasant voyage. For the first forty hours from Leith the wind continued fresh and fair, but on approaching the coast of Norfolk it died away, and left us becalmed in Yarmouth Roads for the greater part of two days. We had then a pretty expeditious passage across to Holland, that is, within six or eight miles of the coast, but most unfortunately the wind then veered about, and kept us for three days and nights off the island of Voorn, at the mouth of the river Meuse. After sundry delays, we finally succeeded in landing ourselves and baggage on the left bank of the river, opposite Brielle, upon the morning of Sunday the — July, having been ten days on the passage. The time passed more agreeably than I anticipated, having often pictured in my mind the monotony of a voyage, lengthened beyond expectation as ours had been, as exceedingly painful. Indeed, the idea of existence on board of a ship, becalmed on a breathless Indian sea, had to my mind always presented a more dreaded image than a plague-struck city, or the horrors of the most raging tempest, and, what is singular, I have often in dreams leaped from the side of a vessel into the sea, rather than be so immured. But ’ time cures all,’ and on the tenth day, when I was about to land on the sandy beach of Holland, I felt tolerably reconciled to my situation, although well enough pleased to set foot on such terra firma as this marshy country affords. At the same time, though I felt less pain than I expected from this marine captivity, I also experienced less pleasure. The view of the ocean, boundless on every side, which 1 beheld for the first time, is less sublime than I had imagined, and our notions of the mighty deep are so indefinite that there must usually be a feeling of disappointment on witnessing the distinct circular line which binds the horizon apparently at so short a distance. The deck of the vessel being near the surface of the water, the extent of prospect is much foreshortened, and consequently limited; and, I think, I have frequently seen a greater expanse of water from the top of a high hill in the neighbourhood of the sea, than can be perceived from on board a ship. No doubt there is something impressive in the entire absence of land, and this I felt forcibly on coming on deck the first morning after we had lost sight of it. The feeling, however, such as it is, arises in a great measure from novelty, and decreases clay after day. During a storm, perhaps, it may appear to greater advantage, ’ the rueful sky and pageantry of fear ’ being more in unison with the character of the ‘green despot,’ and when he alone is visible he should appear under the most appropriate form. The tumultuous heaving of the waves also conceals the line of the horizon, and by shortening or extending the distances, as the vessel rises or falls, produces greater variety in the aspect of the scene. But the glory of sunset over a waveless sea is magnificent beyond expression — indeed, what sight in nature is equal to the splendour of the summer sun on a line evening, whether on the ocean or the land?....

“Coleridge’s description of the luminous appearance of the sea is, I think, the most picturesque and one of the most accurate I have ever read. Having the passage by my side in a note to one of his volumes, as extracted from The Friend, I cannot help transcribing it here: —

“‘A beautiful white cloud of foam at momentary intervals coursed by the side of the vessel with a roar, and little stars of flame danced, and sparkled, and went out in it, and every now and then light detachments of this white, cloud-like foam darted off from the vessel’s side, each with its own small constellation, over the sea, and scoured out of sight like a Tartar troop over the wilderness.’*

“We had a pleasant walk from the town of Maaslandsluis, near which we landed, to “Rotterdam, a distance of nine miles, or according to the Dutch computation, of three hours. Such of the natives as I have seen are clean and neat in their attire beyond conception. We were particularly fortunate in arriving upon a Sunday, as every one was moving under his, her, and its best attire and most demure countenance. We entered the church of Maaslandsluis immediately on our arrival in that town, and were much edified by an excellent sermon in Dutch, pronounced with great emphasis, and listened to with suitable devotion. The interior of the church is very grand, in common, I understand, with most others in Holland, and contains a very superb organ, the tone of which, I have no doubt, was very fine, but as each member of the congregation sung a most vociferous and open-mouthed accompaniment, my sense of hearing was completely deadened, in so far as regarded the perception of more delicate sounds. Among the ornaments which surrounded the organ, there were a number of little angels playing the fiddle, apparently in a very masterly style.”

THE STORKS.

“Delft, July 23. — One of the most interesting and picturesque features which I have yet witnessed in the scenery of Holland is the appearance of the storks on the chimney-tops, preening their feathers, and feeding their callow young. The snowy whiteness of their plumage, and their elegant and stately forms, have a fine effect amidst the confusion of a populous and bustling city. This bird, like the ibis among the ancient Egyptians, is considered sacred by the Hollanders. It is never killed or disturbed, however familiar or troublesome it may prove, and that dwelling is considered as fortunate on which it chooses to take up its abode. The young are, however, sometimes captured and sold to slavery, which seems in some degree inconsistent with the veneration which is paid to the personal dignity of the parent bird. I am told that they observe an astonishing regularity in their migrations to and from the country. They usually make their appearance in spring, towards the end of March, and depart in the autumn, about the beginning of September.

They are said to winter in Egypt and the north of Africa. Yesterday evening, which was beautifully calm and serene, when the sun had sunk, and dim twilight overspread the land, I found myself alone in a churchyard: not a voice was audible to disturb the utter solitude and silence with which I was surrounded. A soft and winnowing sound in the air suddenly attracted my attention, and immediately a beautiful pair of storks alighted in the church-yard, within a few paces of the place where I then stood. It was a mild and dewy night, and they were no doubt attracted there by the expectation of a plentiful supper on the slugs and insects which might have left their hiding-places. My unexpected presence, however, seemed to disturb them; for, in a few seconds, they mounted to the steeple of the church, where they sat, uttering their wild and singularly plaintive cries, which added greatly to those impressions of loneliness and seclusion which the situation tended naturally to inspire. Besides the usual note, I observe these birds make a singular noise, apparently by striking the two mandibles of the bill forcibly against each other. This, too, in the silence of a summer night, during which it is usually made, and when heard from the top of some lofty cathedral — a name which most of the churches in Holland deserve to bear — produces a fine effect; and is, indeed, in my mind, already intimately

connected with those undefinable sensations, the remnants as it were of the superstitions of our infancy, which, I believe, most men experience while wandering alone and in darkness, among those venerable piles which have been for so many ages consecrated to the purposes of religion. But I must for the present bid adieu to those ’ dwellers in the temple, though what I have said is due to their memory, from the pleasure which they afforded me during one beautiful evening of summer.”

DELFT AND ITS MONUMENTS.

“Delft is said to be an ancient town, and so it appears; for the canals are green and stagnant, and the streets narrow, except at the great central square, which is certainly not insignificant.

“Here I visited the principal church, which is well worthy of inspection for its own intrinsic excellence, and still more so on account of the remains of many illustrious men which it contains, and the superb monuments which a grateful country has erected to their memory.

“The church itself is very large, and is divided in the interior by two ranges of magnificent arched pillars; and there are no galleries to diminish the grandeur produced by the great height of the walls and the vaulting of the noble roof.

“The monuments are worthy of being held in undying remembrance. Indeed, I have somewhere read that Delft might be considered as the Westminster of Holland, on account of the remains of warriors and of learned men which it contains. In the centre of one compartment of the church stands the spleudid mausoleum of William the First, Prince of Orange, a man who is justly considered as the founder of Dutch liberty, and whose memory is revered throughout the land. It is the finest monument in Holland, and is thought by some competent judges to present one of the most perfect specimens of architectural magnificence in Europe.

“It consists of a square base of white marble and bronze, and of a beautiful canopy of similar materials, supported by four alabaster pillars. Between the two pillars facing the great organ sits a bronze statue of the prince, in complete armour, seemingly occupied in the administration of justice. On his right side there is a fiue statue of the goddess of Liberty, and on his left stands Justice with her scales. The former struck me as being the more beautiful; it is a production of real genius, and the greater is the pity that a work so perfect should be deformed by anything incongruous or absurd.

‘That it is true ’tis pity, and pity ’tis ’tis true.’

But either the evil star of the artist lias, in an inauspicious hour, darkened the light of his genius, or some patriotic son of Batavia, intent on immortality, has generously offered himself as the amender of a work, which, from the improvement suggested by him, he could not possibly understand; for over the left hand of the beautiful creature before mentioned is placed a ponderous chapeau-bras, richly gilded, and sufficiently large, in the eye of taste and feeling, to overshadow one-half of the mausoleum itself, though, no doubt, in the opinion of its infatuated manufacturer, spreading a halo light through every corner of the edifice. Above the canopy there is a large and beautiful alabaster urn, on which a suit of armour of white marble, and of most exquisite workmanship, is placed; and near it, the prince is represented stretched upon his tomb. At his feet there is the figure of the dog which, at a former period, having saved his life, by awakening him when his tent was beset by Spaniards, is reported to have refused all sustenance after the death of its beloved master. This great prince, if my memory serves me, was assassinated by a native of Burgundy, who shot him in the breast with three balls, when he was descending his own staircase after dinner. The assassin, whose name was Balthazar Gerard, was supposed to have been instigated on the one hand by the machinations of some diabolical monks, and on the other, allured by the gold and by the promises of the perfidious Philip. Gerard, like many other villains, was well endowed with personal courage; and, with a resolution worthy of a better cause, he sacrificed his own life in order to destroy this famous restorer and protector of religious liberty” To the left of this beautiful structure is the grave of Grotins, with a monument; but paltry in comparison with the former. It consists chiefly of a large medallion, representing the head of Grotius, in white marble, and a child leaning upon an inverted torch. As the medallion is considered as very like him, he must have been an ugly man. This city is the place of his birth.

“At the other end of the church, in a lonely corner, lie the remains of Leeuwenhoek, famous for his microscopical discoveries. Over his cold earth a plain monument is erected by his daughter, with a simple though beautiful inscription in Latin. I was pleased by the utter stillness of this corner of the church; it felt like a place where the person whose ashes it contained would have delighted to pursue his beautiful discoveries unmolested by the world, and in death accorded well with the gentle spirit of him whose life was peace.”

THE SPIEE AT DELFT, AND THE STOEKS AGAIN.

“From this elevated situation I had a fine view of my old friends the storks, all busily employed in feeding their young. I could even keep them in sight during their excursions to the neighbouring canals, in search, of food for their unfledged offspring. The impatience of the callow nestlings on perceiving the approach of the assiduous parent, was extreme. They stretched their long necks over the nests from the chimney- tops, the sooner to enjoy the wished-for morsel, and appeared every moment as if about to precipitate themselves into the streets below. En passant, I may remark that when in Rotterdam, I questioned a Dutchman concerning the probable origin of the respect and protection which is afforded to this bird; he answered, as I expected, that it was on account of their clearing the canals of frogs and other amphibious gentry with which they abound. I had not, however, proceeded ten yards after Mynheer had left me, when I observed an old woman sitting under a tree, with a most excellent supply of frogs in a basket, ready for sale, and in fact before I left her, a girl came up ’ nothing loth,’ and made a purchase. If, therefore, frogs are in request as an article of food, as it is known they have been for centuries, no thanks are due to the storks for their efforts in diminishing their number, and as, in as far as I have heard or read, there are no noxious or poisonous animals in the country, it is probable that the popular superstition in favour of these birds must have originated in some other cause. Besides, it is generally admitted that still waters stagnate sooner when deprived of animal life than when teeming with aquatic myriads, so that their claims to protection as purifiers of the water, are at best of a dubious nature. They may, however, act as a check to the superabundant production of such creatures during the heats of summer, the increase of which is no doubt favoured by the natural moisture of the soil and climate.”

LEYDEX AND THE GEEAT EXPLOSION.

“July 25. — In this church lie the remains of Gerard de Meerman, a well-known bibliographer. This man died of fright, in consequence of the explosion which took place here on the 12th of January 1807* A French vessel from Amsterdam for Delft, lying in the canal Van Eappenberg, in the centre of the city, laden with ten thousand pounds weight of gunpowder, blew up about five o’clock in the afternoon, killed some hundreds of the inhabitants, destroyed great part of the town, and produced the utmost havoc and consternation. My servant told me he heard the noise at Amsterdam, two-and-twenty miles off. Many of the inhabitants were sitting at dinner, and perished among the ruins of their dwellings, with their wives and children. A Jewish school suffered considerably; sixteen of the children were blown up. A charity school near it was also destroyed, with all its inmates. Fifty children at a boarding-school narrowly escaped by the collision of two walls which supported the roof, only two of these were crushed to death, and a third perished with fright in its father’s arms. Those who were saved rushed

* There is here seme mistake. Gerard Meerman died in 1771, and John Meerman lived many years after the fatal explosion of 1S07. — Ed.

into the court-yard, and the meeting there of parents and children is described to have been terrible. The windows of my bed-room command a view of this very spot, and of what I at first thought a fine park, with a canal, and trees, and pleasant walks. I did not then know that this was where the explosion had taken place, and that at one period it was the most populous quarter of the city.”

THE LIBRARY AT LEYDEN.

“In the course of my peregrinations I formed an acquaintance with a bookseller of some intelligence, whose name I forget. He is librarian to the University, and curator of its valuable Greek and Latin and Oriental manuscripts, and obligingly offered me an inspection of

every object of curiosity under his charge I went

to the library, where I found my newly acquired friend true to his appointment. He shewed me many old books worthy of attention, and sundry manuscripts of exceeding beauty, great age, and exquisite perfection. A manuscript copy of the Iliad, written on vellum, and richly illuminated, deserves inspection; also an illuminated copy of Virgil, on the same material. Divers MSS. of Dutchmen, with lononames of great celebrity, of whom I had never before heard a syllable, were shewn me; and many books with the annotations of Scaliger, and a MS. holograph of that author, besides many others, each worthy of a volume.

wood’s works. 41

“I must never cease to remember the ingenious and valuable present of the late king, Louis Bonaparte, to the collection of the library. It is the work of a German, and consists of 135 volumes formed of wood. The binding of each book is formed of a different tree; the back is ornamented with pieces of the bark, and such mosses, lichens, and other parasitical plants, as characterise the species. Each volume opens, as it were, in the centre of the leaves, and contains the bud, leaves, flower, fruit, farina, and every other part in any degree illustrative of the nature of the tree. It affords a complete and scientific exemplification of 1 35 trees, beginning with the oaks and ending with the juniper; and, in fact, may be considered as a brief and perfect epitome of the German groves and forests. In the case of plants, such as the rose and juniper, the ligneous parts of which are not sufficiently large for the purposes required, the binding is formed of some ordinary wood, sprinkled over with fine moss, and then elegantly barred with the rose or juniper wood, giving the volume the appearance of a valuable old manuscript with iron clasps. On the whole, it is one of the most ingenious and complete productions I have ever seen.

“My friend the librarian was, I found, one of the chief causes of the most valuable manuscripts in the collection not beino; transferred to Paris. He was continued in office during the administration of the French, and being naturally inimical to that nation, he endeavoured, by every device in his power, to elude their rapacity, and to prevent the manuscripts from being seen by the savans who visited Leyden. One professor was appointed by Bonaparte, and took up his residence in the city, with the avowed and express purpose of procuring whatever was rare or curious, for the adornment of the capital of the great nation. The keys were frequently demanded from our friend for the purposes of investigation, and the demand was as often eluded by him, under the pretence of their being in the charge of some professor or other, who was either confined by sickness or under the necessity of residing a few days in the country. In this manner the matter was fortunately delayed until the great and unexpected revolution took place, which rendered such precautions unnecessary; and the chief actor in the scheme, who seems passionately fond of the black letter, has happily survived to enjoy the fruits of his resolute and praiseworthy conduct.”

A PIOUS FRAUD.

“Antwerp, August 1. — By the by, the most ingenious piece of devotion of which I have heard for some time, took place here not long since, as I was informed by an ingenious merchant of the city with whom I supped the other evening. A respectable woman with an infant in her arms entered the cathedral one morning when the priest was alone, making the altar neat and tidy, and scraping off some spots of wax which had fallen the preceding night. The woman addressed him in a most earnest and affecting manner, and with due humility unfolded her tale of sorrow. Her child, she said, was suffering under some mortal malady, the skill of the leech had been applied in vain, and she was at last convinced that nothing could save her beauteous babe from the jaws of death but being placed for a moment in the arms of her tutelary saint. The saint’s name I forget, but he was stuck up in a niche of the wall, with a neat balcony before him, in the form of a goodly marble statue. The priest was at last moved by her entreaties; he procured a ladder and ascended to the sacred niche, entered the balcony and placing the babe in the arms of the statue, he asked the grateful mother if she was satisfied. ‘Perfectly so,’ said the lady, and, carefully removing the ladder, she walked coolly out of the church, leaving her rosy infant, the astonished priest, and the unconscious saint, all equally elevated, there to remain till the next brother of the community should arrive.”

WATERLOO.

“Brussels, August 3-5. — The first thing which an Englishman is expected, and, indeed, in a great measure obliged to do on arriving; here, is to betake himself to Waterloo.

‘Westward from Brussels lies the field of blood,
Some two hours’ journey for a well-girt man;
A horseman who in haste pursues his road,
Would reach it ere the second hour began.’

“So says the Laureate. Being neither a well-girt man, nor a horseman, I hired a voiture and departed. On this subject, as on all others on which so much has been said, and sometimes well said, by others, I shall say little. I spent three hours on the bloody spot. The field itself now bears scarce a trace of the fierce encounter. It is in a state of high cultivation, and covered with fine crops of beans and peas, and various kinds of grain, and as the divisions of the farms here are much more extensive than with us, it cannot be traversed this year with the same facility as last. There are, however, footpaths crossing over some of the more elevated parts, from which a tolerable view may be obtained at certain points. One feature of the vegetation is from the first very apparent, and when the cause is known, produces an impressive effect. In many parts of the field the grain is of a darker green and higher growth than in others, and appears at a distance as if the rays of the sun had been intercepted by dense clouds, but beneath these spots lie the thousands who perished in the fight, and whose bodies were buried where they fell. If, however, nature has resumed her sway in the fields, the houses of Hougoumont still present a most direful spectacle. The walls are for the most part blackened and in ruins, and such parts as remain bear terrible signs of destruction and death. They are pierced by cannon-balls and marked with bullets on every side, and many of the latter are still lodged in the half-burned beams which support the blighted remains of what were once human dwellings. The court-door is actually riddled, and the shot appears to have poured in from every direction. It was among these buildings that the most terrible and most individual fighting was maintained, and with what obstinacy on both sides may be seen from the face of things, were there no other proof. The well-known garden, with its little wood, which was attacked from so many points at once, was very interesting, although it now bears a very different aspect from what it did when the fight was done. Everything is neat and in order, the roses are in full blow, and the small fantastic parterres of flowers, all in their bright array, seemed strangely placed so near the houses of desolation. The surrounding trees, however, are credible witnesses of the bloody fray; most of them are pierced with bullets, and many have had branches and large pieces of the bark and wood carried away by cannon-balls. The spot is particularly pointed out where it is said that an officer and seven men were killed by one shot. It must evidently have been a spent ball, and shot from a distance, though probably a very heavy one; for at the place the garden is defended by two “walls, — the outer one and that which was next the French artillery is higher than the inner, yet it remains untouched, whereas there is the space of a foot on the top of the inner, near which the men were ranged, which is entirely driven in. There is the skull and armbone of a Frenchman sticking in the wall near this; and in another part of the garden the shoulder-blade of an English officer, who was buried there, is seen projecting from the ground, and still connected to the body by strong

ligaments The person who shewed me the grounds

of Hougoumont was in the house during the battle. A boy whom I saw told me he remained at home till two in the afternoon; but supposing the house might be set on fire, he set off for the wood with all speed, and, as he himself said, almost blind with fear, he had to cross a good part of the field of battle. All the women and children, as well from Hougoumont as the neighbouring villages, took refuge in the wood of Soignies. Such of the peasants as I conversed with denied having plundered the dead bodies during the night, alleging that it was done by the other soldiers. At Antwerp I supped with a gentleman who was on the field two days after the battle; it was covered with the dead and dying, and almost all the former, and several of the latter, were completely stripped. Many of the wounded, who had received no sustenance since the day of the battle, were offering the peasants five francs for a drink of water.”

ST DIE — MORN AMID THE MOUNTAINS.

“Sept. 10. — We halted for the night at St Die. Here there was for a time a slight interruption of that calm and placid state of things which to me is so inseparable from enjoyment. A French officer, who was now pretty far advanced in intoxication, had, it seems, engaged a chaise to carry him from St Die, at a certain hour, to a certain place. When that hour arrived, the vehicle came to the door as was meet, but the officer, who had indulged pretty freely during supper, felt himself so comfortable in his situation that he determined to remain where he was, and accordingly ordered the postilion to return in the morning. Now, by the laws of posting in this country, it is ordained, that he who orders a chaise to the door for the purpose of undertaking any journey, must either adhere to his intention or defray one half of the charges which would have been incurred in the event of the proposed journey being completed. But the gentleman in question refused to do either, and swore by his sabre that he should pass the night at St Die. This, of course, led to much altercation on both sides, which, while it lasted, was quite sufficient to interrupt all comfort. The rnaitredes-postes was at length sent for, and confirmed the position maintained by the postilion, that a payment of one half must be made before he could take his departure. In the meantime, the knight of the sabre became sober, and the interposition of magisterial authority being talked of, he thought it better to decamp; so, yielding to the importunities of m,ne host, who feared the disgust which his conduct might occasion to the other guests, he suffered himself to be half conducted, half dragged, into the chaise, and was soon whirled out of sight by the triumphant postilion, amid the shouts of a dozen or two of idle people, whom his noisy protestations had assembled at the door.

“I sat in the window of my bed-room for some hours after the inhabitants of the house had retired to rest. It was a heavenly night — the moon just appearing from the side of a dark and steejj mountain. She threw her pale light over a beautiful valley, in the centre of which there flowed a rapid stream, the rushing sound of which was distinctly audible. One or two white cottages were visible on the opposite side of the valley, near the outskirts of a thick wood, which extended upwards to the base of a long range of irregular and broken cliffs. These terminated the view; and above their highest peak, there was one brilliant star which, though lovely as any among the innumerable constellations which surrounded it, appeared to belong more to earth than to heaven; and but for its clear and constant ray, it might have been deemed a beacon light among the mountain tops.

“I was much delighted at the prospect of so soon breathing the mountain air. I retired to bed when the moon had sunk behind the cliffs, anticipating much pleasure from crossing the mountain-chain on the ensuing morn. Indeed, my passion for ascending to the tops of hills would almost induce me to believe in the transmigration of the human soul, and that, having been at some former period a chamois-hunter, or shepherd among the Alps, I still retain, in the debased spirit of an attorney’s clerk, a fellowship with those sublime impressions which, in another state, probably constituted the very essence of my existence.

“11th. — With this day’s journey I was not disappointed, though, from the accounts of a fellow-traveller, my expectations had been much excited. Leaving St Die at four in the morning, we, ere long, entered a narrow valley between two high and precipitous mountains, at the base of which were many romantic cottages. The sides of these mountains were well clothed with pines, and the summits composed of gray and castellated rocks, tenanted by the eagle alone. On arriving at the head of the valley all exit seems impossible. Rocks on rocks arise, as if to bid defiance to the power and ingenuity of man. The

mists of the morning were still resting on the bosom of

D the valley, and mid-way upon the hills; but higher up, and gray with the moss of years, with here and there a solitary pine, endeavouring to maintain the empire of vegetation, the summits lifted their venerable tops clear and unobscured to heaven. Ere long these snowy vapours, ’ into their airy elements resolved, were gone,’ and we beheld a road tortuously winding up the sides of a mountain among crags and torrents, by winch we were to ascend to the head of an adjoining valley. We here left the carriage, and pursuing a nearer and more direct route, after a pretty arduous ascent, gained the summit of the mountain. What a glorious view was now before our eyes! never shall I forget the valley of St Marie.

“The mountain air usually acts upon me like the famous elixir. I feel as if I were inhaling life, and strength, and immortality at every breath. The higher I ascend the happier I become; and when I reach the toprnost summit, a singular feeling prompts me to spring upwards and leave the earth. It was this which made me inquire so anxiously when in Paris concerning the possibility of ascending with some of the aeronauts, and I greatly deplored the disappointment, when I learned that my hopes were frustrated. In the present case, the change in my state of mind was sudden and remarkable, and when I contrasted my feelings, while breathing with pain and difficulty the tainted air of a corrupted city, with those which I experienced as a joyful mountaineer, I could scarcely credit my personal identity. A few days ago I was groping my way, by the pale light of a trembling taper, through the damp catacombs of Paris, surrounded by millions of grim grinning skulls, placed crossways and in circles, as if in derision of human life; and now I was breathing the natural and balmy breath of heaven, and standing on the verge of a valley so beautiful, that peace and happiness must surely dwell in it for ever.”

BRISSAC AND THE FIEST SIGHT OF THE RHINE.

“13th. — Towards the afternoon of this day I hired a char-a-bane, which is an open carriage in common use here, and proceeded on my journey towards Brissac, a French town on the banks of the Rhine. Mungo Park himself coidd scarcely have experienced a stronger desire to behold the yellow Niger, than I did to see the boundary of ’ the mighty Germany.’ Arriving at Brissac, I entered three gates, crossed over three fosses, passed under three portcullises, and had my passport examined by an old gentleman who could neither read French, German, nor Dutch, the only three languages of which it was composed. He seemed to consider it chiefly in the light of Hebrew, as he began at the end, and then turned it upside down. A few francs were sufficient to convince him how forlorn his hopes were of becoming a linguist at so advanced a period of life. There are here two towns of the same name. The French Brissac is two or three miles from the. river side, so I determined that same evening to depart for the German border. The German town, called Alt-Brissac, is built upon a high and rocky promontory of the river, and presents a formidable aspect, though now in a state of great dilapidation, having been dismantled by an opposite fortress during the French wars. It has still a noble appearance, and forms a fine representative of its mighty country,

‘With gray but leafy walls, where ruin greenly dwells.’

“At six in the evening I found myself standing by the side of the monarch of European rivers, and a most magnificent object it is. Here it is not less than six hundred feet broad, and runs apparently at the rate of nearly seven miles an hour. Immediately opposite the German fortress its waters are confined within two hundred feet of their natural bed, and the impetuous flow is prodigious; it rages past the dark rock which here endeavours to oppose its course, and appears as if rejoiced in avenging this violation of its power on the low willowy isles which are scattered on its bosom. The trees on these islands have suffered from its force, and bend before it, their summits being only a few feet from the ground, and pointing down the stream. Even those on the banks have the same oppressed appearance, having probably felt the power of the green despot during the raging of the winter flood. This gives a singular character to many parts of the scenery, and impresses one more forcibly than any other circumstance could do with an idea of the strength and rapidity of the river, besides bestowing upon it the aspect of an almost living power.

“The sun was now sinking behind the purple summits of the mountains of Lorraine, the outline of which was bordered by a brilliant line of golden light, and many lovely clouds, adorned with the brightest hues, were resting in the western sky. The Rhine appeared in the distance, sweeping down the valley, and reflecting on its waters the last beams of the god of day, while, on the opposite side, was heard the voice of the sentinel, and the war-like flourish of the trumpet, warning the peaceful labourers in the fields that the gates of the fortress were about to be closed. In the back-ground the high hills of Suabia were visible, embrowned with the remnants of the ancient forest, and their broad expanse rendered more magnificent as seen through the medium of the sultry twilight. Ere long the clouds of nisht descended on the valley; the course of the river was now only discernible by a vast serpentine wreath of mist which gathered on its waters, though its strong and sonorous flow was distinctly audible, ’ piercing the night’s dull ear, and the wild note of the bittern was heard while she ascended from her lonely nest in some willowy isle to the still region above the clouds. Without other sight or sound I stood alone in this majestic wilderness. I soon found, however, that I had unfortunately wandered so long and so far among the low brushwood near the river, that I had entirely lost all trace of anything resembling the footsteps of the human race. If I turned towards the land I might walk into one of those deep pools filled with water to defend the frontier — if I bent my course in the other direction, one step into the Rhine would be my first and last, and I might find myself off the Dogger-bank by the morning of the ensuing * day. What was to be done? I was about to ruminate seriously on this important subject, when I heard the vociferous shout of a ferryman within a few yards of my forlorn post. I accosted him in good Scotch and bad French, supposing if he were a German he would probably understand the one, if a Frenchman, possibly the other. He seemed to comprehend both, and with his assistance and direction I succeeded in returning to the town which I had left a few hours before, my head-quarters for the night”

PE^E-ETJSKINITE REMAKES ON LANDSCAPE-PAINTING, AND

A GHOST STOEY.

Next to Wordsworth’s Poems, there were few books which Mr Wilson received with such ardour, and read

THE SPIRIT OF LAN Of- CAPE. 55

with such self-abandonment, as the writings of Ruskin Indeed, the fourth volume of “Modern Painters” was the last volume he perused, and from which he made extracts into his commonplace book. Passages like the following, and others which will hereafter occur, shew how early thoughts had passed through his own mind akin to those which from Turner’s great idolater have since found fierce and eloquent expression: —

“Sept. 1 3. — Departing from Brissac after breakfast, I returned to the French town of the same name, and having arranged matters to our mutual satisfaction, I set out in a neat char-a-bane with one strong athletic horse, under the guidance of a Frenchman, who had had the honour of beingone of Bonaparte’s postilions during the Russian campaign. We travelled along the banks of the Rhine, through a district of finely varied aspect, sometimes close to the river, at other times at some distance from it, and reached the confines of Switzerland about sunset. It was a beautiful calm evening, with a sky such as Claude would have painted. All things lay in the still reposing beauty which characterises the works of that famous artist, and subdued and mellowed by the almost visible air which hung around them. It is this aerial and transparent veil which, to my mind, forms the pervading spirit of landscape, and the difficulty of representing it, or its influence and effects, may be one great cause of the rarity with which anything like a perfect triumph has hitherto accompanied the efforts of the painter. He can bring together an untroubled sky, a serene ocean, a smiling landscape; but that forming spirit which pervades and encircles the appearances of nature can scarcely be regarded as an attribute of human genius. Indeed, what imagination can conjure up scenes so enchanting as those which nature displays with such lavish profusion in every region of the earth? In the most inspired dream of creative fancy, or the most successful effort of imitative art, the objects, lovely though they may often be, always possess some qualities which hinder them from blending together into one just proportioned picture, and the scene thus raised or depicted partakes of the narrowness of mortal power. It is otherwise, however, with the representations of the human face divine; for this branch of the art seems to bear away the palm from nature herself. How many beautiful countenances are visible in every large town in Europe! but where is the one among them all which can bear a comparison with a fine Madonna of Raphael? Yet what landscape painter has ever given the far-receding splendour of the western sky which almost every fine summer evening affords? At the same time Claude, Turner, and Thomson are each an honour to his age and country; there are some fine conceptions of aerial grandeur in the wild combinations of cloud and vapour in some of Schetky’s skies; and I have little doubt that when Williams returns to his native land, the contents of his portfolio will create associations in the breast of every true lover of nature, not unworthy the calm glory of a Grecian autumn, or the evening splendour which invests the blue mountains of Friuli.

“But I forget my own picture while reflecting on those of others. I have said that the sky was such as Claude would have rejoiced to imitate. There was a mild and almost breathless stillness in the air, which he alone knew how to represent, although all who have studied the finest features of landscape must be aware, that it is to this we owe some of our most delightful and harmonious perceptions, while contemplating the beauty of external nature.

‘A harmony,
So do I call it, though it be the land
Of silence, though there be no voice.’ —

“The battlements of a strongly fortified city were seen at some height in the distance, their square lines broken by deep masses of wood; while in the nearer ground there were open groves, with green fields intersected by irregular footpaths, and scattered cottages partly concealed by large single trees. We were in the neighbourhood of Basle, the frontier town; but the gates were unfortunately closed for the night, so we were forced to remain in a small village on the outside of the walls. My excursion this day, considered geographically, was rather curious, as I had passed the morning in France, the forenoon in Germany, and the evening in Switzerland.

“Having solaced myself with a good supjjer, and a bottle of Burgundy, and not feeling inclined to sleep, I thought it better to take a ramble for an hour or two, though it was now not far from midnight. T accordingly set out, and having walked several miles, I at last found myself by the side of an ancient ruin of simple structure, which, I immediately convinced myself, must be the remains of a druidical temple. A few pale withered stumps of the mountain ash stood together in a row like the remains of some forlorn hope, and accorded well with the fancy which had entered my mind, as these trees are known to have been in ancient times religiously dedicated to protect and overshadow such buildings. Everything around me was bleak and desolate, and scarcely one relic of ancient grandeur assisted the imagination in peopling it with the spirits of the elder time. Yet the very idea of being upon the spot where the hoary Druid ruminated the mysteries of his religion, where the cromlek streamed with human blood, where the shady grove moaned with the cries of convulsive death, or where the sword of the Roman soldier put a period to the reign of this horrid infatuation — the veiy idea of this, even when entering the mind amid scenery ill calculated to excite emotions of any kind, con-A “PHANTOM OF FLIGHT.” 59

tained something that awakened many a long train of recollected thought, and subjected the soul to the temporary dominion of superstitious awe. I had already walked several cheerless miles, with my imagination full of those images which solitude and fancy suggest, and was now resting on an old mouldering ruin, which, whether druidical or not, had doubtless one day witnessed many a fearful siffht. Not a soul was near — the Rhine was heard wailing in the distance, the night-wind moaned through the chinks of the wall, and the moon, almost hid in clouds, gave a wild and uncertain light. What rendered my thoughts more solemn, was my ignorance of the part of the country I was in; for I had left the main road, and wandered over heaths and commons for some time. A peculiar creaking noise attracted my attention, and my astonishment and horror may be more easily imagined than described, when on looking up I beheld within a few yards the ghastly spectre of a human body. My fancied Druids vanished into thin air, and I sat for some moments rooted to the spot. Ere long, however, my resolution returned, and on investigating this horrible phantom, I discovered it to be no ’ unreal mockery,’ but the skeleton of a man in chains. I returned to the village with some difficulty, and got to bed about daylight.”

THE PEDESTRIAN’S ADVANTAGE.

“Sept. 1 6. — On leaving Basle I need not say how sorry I was. I had there only passed two little days, but they were pleasant and happy ones; and though I should live many a long year, I don’t think I shall ever forget them. My regret, however, at leaving it, gradually wore away as I proceeded on my journey to Lauffenburg, for every step I took discovered some new beauty. The road winds along a number of little valleys, caused by the wooded hills which form the banks of the Rhine; and as often as the traveller turns about, he beholds a beautiful extent of country behind him, covered with hanging woods, and either swelling into lofty hills, or sinking into deep dells with the most delightful variety. A number of lovely cottages scattered through the vales, and glimmering amid the trees, present continual objects for admiration, and each one becomes envied till a more beautiful one appears. So delighted was I with this walk, that though many leagues long, I scarcely knew where 1 was till it was over, and then I could not help wishing that I had to perform it again. There is certainly something in the noise and motion of a carriage, which prevents the mind from feeling excited by rural scenery in the way in which I feel mine to be when my body is unconfined. That calm and placid breathing of nature which every one must have seen and felt who has walked alone through a fine country, cannot be enjoye4 except on foot. The face of nature bears a different aspect, and the cracking of the coachman’s whip is sufficient to dissolve the charm, and cause

‘The silence that is in the starry sky,
The sleep that is among the lonely hills/

to vanish. But on foot everything makes an impression — every winding of a river, and each beautiful tree,

‘And the shrill matin song
Of birds from every bough,’

make the soul feel all the intoxication of delight. These are intellectual pleasures of a high and noble order; but there are others of a less dignified, though equally essential nature. I mean the delight of finding one’s-self in a comfortable inn, after a long walk, the fatigue of which, though by no means painfully perceptible at the time, is generally quite sufficient to render bodily repose most grateful, and the increased relish which is bestowed on everything which reminds one of the immortal Beauvilliers, and the peerless Robert.”

LATJFFENBURG.

“Sept. 17. — Of Lauffenburg, where I now am, what shall I say? That it is by far the most delightful little spot I ever saw. When I entered it I thought, Have I lived so long and never heard of this paradise? How many places are there in this world most lovely, that those at a distance know nothing of? Even in my waking dreams, when my fancy has combined in one scene every beauteous image that memory could supply — when the imperfections of reality mingled not with the fairy creation, and the spirit of loveliness was spread over the quiet glades of solitude, a more heavenly picture never charmed my wandering soul. Indeed, what imagination can conjure up a scene so enchanting as those which have started most beautiful from the hand of Nature, and when art with cautious touch has opened up the charms that are secret, without defacing those that are obvious and striking? In the blessed moments of holy meditation, mortal beings can indeed partake of heavenly powers, but a wide distance must exist even then between the aspiring efforts of frail mortality and the unlaboured sublimity of universal Intelligence. During the dreams of the soul, which our hopes and wishes create, and our reason is unable to destroy, I have wished to retire from the loud and stirring world, and among the loveliness of some far removed valley to pass the days that fate may have assigned me. Even when engaged in the busy scenes of social life, the thought of this has passed wildly over my heart, and at the same time a cold trembling fear that such wishes can never be realised. But if such a visionary scheme were indeed to be fulfilled, where could I be happier than where I now am? So sweet is this spot, that the very winds of heaven seem slowly and fondly to float over it, and the little summer birds sing more cheerily amid its holy solitude. Since I have seen it, I have not been conscious of feeling- any emotion allied to evil; and what could make the heart evil disposed amid such general peace and happiness?”

SCHAFFHAUSEN.

“/:

Sept. 1 9. — On Wednesday I departed, before the mists of the morning had risen from the valley, and pursued my route to Schaffhausen. An old ruined castle was seen on the brow of a steep hill, with white clouds breaking around it in a very picturesque style. I crossed one or two small streams, with antique mossy bridges, but the majestic river was inaudible. During my walk this day, 1 recollected that I was within a few days’ journey of the source of the Danube, and being suddenly inspired with the desire of beholding the parent of that famous river, I struck off to the leftward, and entered the Black Forest, with the intention of crossing the Suabian mountains next day. After walking, however, for several hours, without meeting a single being, and seeing nothing but bare hills before me, I began to think it might be as well to sleep beneath a human roof, particularly as I felt both fatigued and feverish; so turning to the right, I again directed my steps towards the Rhine, the course of which could easily be traced by the fine woods and cultivated fields on either side, and thus ingloriously terminated my excursion to the Danube. I arrived at SchafFhausen in the evening, having taken a near cut through a small forest in the neighbourhood, at the instigation of, and in company with, a German peasant. We descended upon the town from an elevated ridge of land, from which I had a noble view of the old Khine and the surrounding country. About a quarter of a mile from SchafFhausen, I passed close by a small mount surrounded by a stone wall, which altogether reminded me of the druidical temple I had erected near Basle. My attention was more particularly attracted to it by a group of children on the top, who seemed intently examining something on its surface. I accordingly ascended, and found to my surprise the verdant sod covered with blood. On inquiry, I found that this place was what the natives call the Mappenstein* which is the place of public execution. The blood I saw was possibly still warm, as an unhappy malefactor had been executed that afternoon. Their heads are chopped off with a two-handed sword, and this, by a dexterous executioner, is accomplished by a single blow.

“Sept. 20. — .... Immediately below the fall, the circling waters of the river form a broad expanse, in which there is a little island. On this there is a house, one room of which is fitted up with an excellent camera obscura. This gives a beautiful picture of the foaming cataract,

* That is, Rabenstein, the raven’s stone.

with its gray rocks and rich under-wood, as well as of the vineyards which encompass it, and their white cottages. The continual descent of the enormous river, the waving of the adjoining woods, and the dark shadows of the clouds floating over the vine-clad hills, produce the most complete deception I ever witnessed. Indeed, I could scarcely believe that it was only a reflection of nature, and not nature’s self, and when the light was admitted, the whole appeared to vanish rather by the hand of enchantment than from natural causes. I would certainly advise any one visiting this neighbourhood to make a point of seeing the camera, for I really think I derived as much pleasure from it as from the scene itself. The roaring voice of the river renders the delusion perfect.

“I saw this fall from many different points of view, each successively appearing finer than the other; and though I arrived at the foot of it about eleven in the forenoon, it was half-past eight in the evening before I returned to the auberge. One view from a pine wood opposite is particularly fine, and it was at this time adorned by a bright and macmiflcent rainbow. About eight o’clock, when everything was obscure except the foaming cataract, I was still seated by the river side, enjoying its tremendous melody. Suddenly a stream of fire shot up from the rock close by, and threw a flood of

stars among the silvery waters. For a few seconds I was 6G A CONTINENTAL TOUR.

a good deal astonished at this startling phenomenon, and the unceasing voice of the river deadening all other sounds, it was some little time before I discovered that a smith’s forge was built near the foot of the fall. It produced a singularly beautiful effect, as this stream of light ’ sprung upward like a pyramid of fire, or gently bending across the water, rose and fell like a magnificent plume of gold; and sometimes, when it was about to expire, the bright flickering flames gave a meteoric appearance to the columns of spray similar to that so frequently observed in a ship’s wake at sea. Salmon, and other migratory fish, advance no higher up the Rhine than the large pool below the fall.”

APPEOACH TO THE ALPS.

“Sept. 22. — I had by this time left Constance and its mighty waters at some distance behind me, and by the winding of the road among low and richly wooded hills, it was hidden from my view. The scenery continued beautiful during this day’s walk. The majestic Alps, covered with snow, were visible in the distance, and it gladdened my heart to be approaching them at every step. They seemed to my imagination the guardian angels of a mysterious and unknown land towards which I was journeying by slow but certain steps, and on entering which I felt as if certain of being purified from the sins of the world, and relieved of all its sorrows. The unsullied whiteness of the snow presented to my mind a beautiful emblem of the innocent lives of the inhabitants, unspotted by the crimes which contaminate the other races of mankind; and the increasing purity of the air, as I approached those awful barriers of nature, strengthened the idea which fancy had created, that I was about to make a pilgrimage into some region blissful as the gardens of Eden. The philosopher, or reasoning moralist, may smile contemptuously at all this, and I certainly am no ways disposed to prevent him. Perhaps he may never have experienced such feelings himself, and people are too apt to laugh at what they do not understand; or perhaps he has felt them and been ashamed io indulge in the overflowings of his own soul, because, forsooth, of the pride of reason. But Providence has wisely planned that happiness should sometimes be involuntary, and apparently without a cause — that the heart should be well pleased, it knows not why, and cares not to know.

“The different tempers and dispositions of mankind are in no way more clearly displayed than in the manner of their travelling, and the objects which principally engage their attention in the country through which they pass. It is not a little amusing to behold the very different points of view in which tourists contemplate the same object, and to read accounts of rural scenery given by minds of opposite formation. Were it not that the names of places very luckily remain pretty much the same, and also the great leading features of external nature, it would be frequently impossible to discover that the same scene was the object of those various descriptions which the generosity of tourists has afforded us. A man of lively imagination and enthusiastic soul is apt to describe the beauties of nature in too glowing colours — to swell rivulets into torrents, a few trees into a forest, and little eminences into lofty mountains. This is more peculiarly the case when the scene before him is really delightful, when his heart is expanded by the loveliness around him, and the fancy ready to people the surrounding scenery with the imaginary beings of its creation. In those hallowed moments of existence, it would discover a wisdom little to be envied, to destroy the dear delusion, to attend to those defects in beauty which eveiy reality possesses, and with the cold glance of heartless criticism dwell dissatisfied on a few imperfections, amid the many beauties of untouched, unprofaned nature. Whenever, therefore, my admiration of any rural scenery falls short of that expressed in any description of it, there are other feelings arise in my mind in ample recompence for the disappointment I may have sustained. I think that on the spot where my emotions are of little value, hearts either more enthusiastically framed than mine, or, at the particular time, more kindly disposed, have enjoyed great pleasures, have discerned hidden charms that my eye cannot perceive, and indulged in trains of associated thought to which I am a stranger. The consciousness of this makes me reflect with humility on the structure of my own soul, and inspires me with a kindness for mankind in general, by making me know that there are many persons in existence, whom I never saw, whose characters are noble, and who can see sources of enjoyment in objects that to me are indifferent. Such reflections are of no mean use, and do more to improve the heart than many a long page of morality, or many a

vaunted advice of sententious wisdom It has often

struck me since I entered this sublime country, that the inclination and the power which the soul possesses to connect moral feelings with natural scenery, are very beautiful indications of the benevolence of the Deity, for by means of them, wherever we may be placed, there are sources of enjoyment constantly within our reach. When the eye is closed, the imagination is awake; when the scene is barren, fancy can cover the wildness with beauties selected from everything that is lovely in nature. Since this is the case, why should the speech be so constantly repeated that travelling alone must be dull? Have I not been travelling in utter solitude through glorious valleys, by majestic rivers, and in sight of the most sublime mountains in Europe, and in what period of my life have

I felt less of the loneliness or oppression of being alone? Some people seem to entertain as mortal an aversion to solitariness as a mad dog to water, and accordingly so lay their plans that they are never above a few minutes out of sight of some person or another — a case certainly much to be pitied. The very use of society is to render solitude agreeable. The man who is afraid of being alone never enjoys the pleasure resulting from mental independence, which is the noblest, of all. He feels his happiness inseparable from some person whose company he may not always have it in his power to command — he lives more for others than for himself, that is to say, he puts the care of his hapjnness entirely in the hands of others, whereas, that care should only be intrusted to our own hearts. It becomes, therefore, the duty of every one to be able to be alone; and to acquire this ability the best method is practice. Every mind has sources of happiness unknown to itself; these sources are gradually discovered, and become more copious in proportion as pleasure is drawn from them. A knowledge of this fact, combined with a natural instinct for solitude, has long made rite fond of being alone, and of travelling alone; and though, in the course of my solitary perambulations, I have often felt those moments of listlessness to which I suppose every one is occasionally subject, I never had reason to attribute them to the circumstance of being alone, but to the imperfections of my nature, which would have been the same in the midst of crowded cities as in the loneliest valleys. It is not necessary that when alone our minds should be constantly revolving some subject of meditation. There is a kind of tranquil happiness independent of the exertions of the understanding, and even little connected with the excursions of fancy. During such moments we feel a kindness as it were for everything around us, animate and inanimate, all dislikes and animosities are forgotten, and we feel a disposition that is well expressed by the word ’ good ’ in its best and noblest signification. The heart is in a state of complete harmony, the images of hills, trees, waters, fields, and all the appearances of nature, make us virtuously inclined. We can then sit upon the bank of a stream, or the side of a hill, and look around us with feelings of contentment and peace; and even with the existence of sorrow, everything looks so quiet and so blessed, that grief itself partakes of the universal joy.”

A few years after this, the sober experience of life, and, we may add, a sounder theology, materially weakened Mr Wilson’s faith in nature as the panacea for the ills of mortality; but they only deepened his love of the landscape, and gave him intenser consciousness of that benign and adorable Presence to which it owes at once its life and its beauty. At the risk of wearying the reader, we cannot forbear to add one other extract on the mutual adaptation of outward nature and the mind of man — a theme on which, sixteen years afterwards, his eloquent friend Dr Chalmers, in his Bridgewater Treatise, discoursed so sublimely. It occurs after a glowing description of Chambery: —

“I never passed two whole days together of something so near to happiness as I did among the mountains of Savoy; and though I was too delighted to think of it at the time, I have since been very much pleased to recognise in this a very striking confirmation of a favourite creed of mine. I am now more than ever convinced that there are no mental ills that may not be cured by a timely, a sincere, and a trusting recurrence to those medicines which lie everywhere scattered about for us among the forms and influences of nature; that in an inartificial state of society and manners, all the fancies, and feelings, and associations that come to the mind from the external world are expressly adapted, by their very nature, to meet and combine with others which previously existed in the mind itself, and to engender, by their union, powers and effects that could not have been produced in any other way; in fact, that the mind of man and the external world are made expressly for each other, as the sexes are in man and woman, and that powers and capabilities exist in each, which can never be properly and naturally exerted but by the means and in the presence of those which belong to the other: that the mind is (almost literally) a musical instrument, whose tones can only be duly felt and brought out by meeting with corresponding tones in objects external from itself. I know that metaphysicians would laugh at all this; but I should not like it or believe it a bit the less on that account.”

THE BLIND MUSICIAN.

“Oct. 5. — Before my departure from this village (Munich, near Berne), I listened for an hour to an old man, who played delightfully on an instrument like a flute, with the mouth-piece of a flageolet attached to its side. I know that in cases of this kind a person is not difficult to please, and that when the eye is delighted the ear is easily prevailed on to be so likewise. This may in some measure have been the case with me, for the mellow tones of a flute, even though waked by no skilful hand, are delightful when surrounded with hills, and at a distance from everything that gives a hint of the world being in existence. This old man was blind, and, like many blind men, happy — a case which, though often occurring, never ceases to excite my wonder and surprise. I think that were I blind myself I never could be happy again. Every footstep I should chance to hear going past would make my heart sick; and to know the time that the sun was setting, without having the power to behold it, would make me wish for death. And yet the resources of my mind are not fewer than those of this poor ignorant peasant, I often think on the deprivation of sight, for I have a presentiment that the case will one day be mine. Yet the more I think of it the more fearful a thing does it become, and the more am I convinced of my own inability to be reconciled to such a destiny. I observed this old musician, when by himself, stop every twenty yards, and remain motionless for about a minute, turning his head a different way each time, and moving his lips as if he were speaking to himself. Perhaps he was recalling to his memory the appearance of the scene before him — the rich beauty of the winding valley, the sombre magnificence of the ancient forests, or the everlasting glory of the icy Alps, and haply for a moment he may have forgot that he was blind. Probably by doing this often, the idea of the landscape remained so constantly in his mind as to present itself always under the same appearance at the same resting-place, as much as if his eyes were not dark and sightless — ’ as if no drop serene had quenched their orbs, or dim suffusion veiled.’”

The wanderer among the mountains was after this no longer solitary. The following extract records a little incident, of which an Amciican friend was the hero: —

AN EQUESTPJAN ADVENTURE.

“Oct. 10. — During this day’s walk, P; who, upon

the whole, shews much more j>?wc& than most of his countrymen, suffered much from fatigue and tender feet. For an hour or two we scarcely advanced more than a couple of miles per hour. Towards evening a fair Savoyard, d’un certain age, passed by on horseback, after the manner usual in Switzerland. After much argument,

we induced P to request a seat behind the lady; so,

having hailed her, we descanted at some lenoth on the disabled state of the unfortunate foreigner, and, finally, persuaded her to take him with her the length of St Martin. He was, accordingly, mounted ’ with difficulty and labour hard, and the two dejparted on their way rejoicing. We had not proceeded far, however, before our eyes were attracted by an unusual spectacle. Either the

saddle-girths had given way, or P with his cherry

stick had tickled the fancy of the Alpine courser. Be that as it may, the twain were lying in the dust in a most deplorable condition, the horse peacefully grazing by the roadside, and the fair Savoyard, leaning over the exhausted Columbian, exclaiming, with clasped hands, ’ 0 pauvre Anglais! — 0 pauvre enfant!’ Neither of them could give a very intelligible account of the manner in which the accident happened, and, fortunately, neither of them was a bit the worse of it. After some time, they were both rehoisted on the unconscious beast, and reached their destination in safety, as happy as ‘before the fall/”

THE SCOTSMAN AND THE SWISS.

“Oct. 11. — During our walk this day we were fortunate enough to engage Jacques Balma (cles dames), a celebrated guide who ascended with Saussure to the summit of Mont Blanc, as our conductor on the following day. He is a tall, hardy-looking man, with a dark complexion, a little bent by age, as he must be now upwards of sixty. Yet he scales the glaciers with all the activity of a man in the prime of life. I had a good deal of conversation with another very entertaining and intelligent countryman, with whom I walked for four or five miles. He informed me at some length regarding the state of agriculture in the valley, and what was more interesting to me, the manners and customs of people like himself. From everything that I heard from him, as well as from others, and from my own observation, I conceive the national character of the Scots and Swiss to be very similar. They agree in a spirit of independence and integrity, in contentment with their situation in life, acuteness of intellect and extent of information, a lively sense of religious duties, and in many of their local usages, manners, and superstitions. For every one of these particulars both the above-mentioned nations are far superior to the French, and (not to speak it profanely) to the English. Enter into conversation with a Scotsman or a Swiss, and you are informed upon every subject of inquiry, to their extent of knowledge — sometimes, it must be confessed, rather in a round-about way by the former. They are devoid of that mean suspicion which characterises the common people of certain other countries. They perceive by your questions that you desire information, and they are happy to have it in their power to bestow it. Closely connected with this part of their character is their hospitality. Their door is open to the traveller, and their fare, such as it is, is laid before him. For such kindness they think that not even thanks are due; and short as your acquaintance with them has been, on taking leave they wish you happiness with all the earnestness and sincerity of old friends. Exhibitions of the human heart like these give joy that few things can equal, and instruction of no light kind. Often in former times, amid the mountains of Scotland, have I been the delighted guest of such hospitality; and short as my stay in Switzerland has been, I have had reason to admire the same feature of national character. Indeed, over all the world, the inhabitants of mountainous countries are famous for this virtue. As to the intellectual capacity of the different peoples of whom I speak, the most inattentive observer must be forcibly struck with the superiority in favour of the Scots and Swiss. The peasantry of the former nation are perhaps superior to those of any other country in the world. That they are naturally acute and shrewd is certain, and that character they have always maintained, both at home and abroad. This natural acuteness is increased by their excellent education, and by the peculiar effects resulting from the reformation in religion.”