SECT. I. OF THE VOLCANOS IN ICELAND, AND PAR­TICULARLY MOUNT HECLA.

UPON our arrival in Iceland, on the 28th of Au­gust, 1772, we saw a prospect before us, which, tho' not pleasing, was uncommon and surprizing. What­ever presented itself to our view bore [...] [...] ­vastation and our eyes, accusto [...] [...] the pleasing coasts of England and [...] on­ly the vestiges of the operation [...] ancient!

[Page 8] The description of a country, where, quite close to the sea, you perceive almost nothing but craggy cliffs vetrified by fire, and where the eye loses itself in high and rocky mountains, covered with eternal snow, can­not possibly produce such emotions, as at first sight might entirely prepossess the thinking spectator. It is true, beauty is pleasing both to our eyes and our thoughts, but wonderful nature often makes the most lasting impressions.

We cast anchor not far from the dwelling-place of the celebrated Sturleson, where we found two tracks of lava, of which the last in particular was remarkable, since we found there, besides a large field covered with lava, which must have been liquid in the highest de­gree, whole mountains of turf. Chance had directed us exactly to a spot, on which we could, better than on any other part of Iceland, consider the operations of a fire, which had laid waste a tract of sixty or seventy English miles. We spent several days here in exam­ining every thing with so much the more pleasure, as we found ourselves, as it were, in a new world.

We had now seen almost all the effects of a volcano, except the crater from which the fire had proceeded. In order, therefore to examine this likewise, we under­took a journey of twelve days; to Mount Hecla itself. We travelled about 300 miles over an uninterrupted [Page 9] trac [...] of lava, and gained the pleasure of being the first who ever reached the summit of this celebrated volca­no. The cause that no one had been there before, is partly founded in superstition, and partly in the ex­treme difficulty of the ascent, before the last eruption of fire. There was not one of our company who did not wish to have his clothes a little singed, only for the sake of seeing Hecla in a blaze; and we almost flattered ourselves with this hope, for the Bishop of Skallholt had informed us by letter, in the night between the 5th and 6th of September, the day before our arri­val, that flames had proceeded from it; but now the mountain was more quiet than we wished. We how­ever passed our time very agreeably before one o'clock in the morning till two in the afternoon, in visiting the mountain. We were even so happy, that the clouds, which covered the greatest part of it, dispersed towards the evening, and procured us the most extensive pros­pect imaginable.

The mountain is something above 5000 feet high, and separates at the top into three points, of which that in the middle is the highest. The most inconsid­erable part of the mountain consists of lava, the rest is ashes, with hard solid stones thrown from the craters, together with some pumice stones, of which we found only a small piece, with a little native sulphur. A [Page 10] description of the various kinds of stones to be found here, would be too prolix and partly unintelli­gible.

Amongst many other craters or openings, four were peculiarly remarkable; the first, the lava of which had taken the form of stacks of chimneys, half broken down; another from which water had streamed; a third, all the stones of which were red as brick; and lastly, one from which the lava had burst forth into a stream, and was divided at some distance into three arms.

I have said before, that we were not so happy as to see Hecla vomit fire. But there were sufficient traces of its burning inwardly: for, on the upper half of it, covered over with snow four or five inches deep, we frequently observed spots without any snow; and on the highest point where Farenheit's thermometer was at 24° in the air, it rose to 153° when it was set down on the ground; and in some little holes it was so hot, that we could no longer observe the heat with a small pocket thermometer. It is not known whether, since the year 1693, Hecla has been burning till 1766, when it began to vomit flames on the 1st of April, burnt for a long while, and destroyed the country many miles round. In December, 1771, some flames likewise proceeded from it; and the people in the neighbourhood believe it will begin to burn again very soon, as they pretend to [...] observed, that the [...] thereabouts are drying up. It [Page 11] is believed that this proceeds from the mountain's at­tracting the water, and is considered as a certain sign of an impending eruption.

SECT. II. OF THE WARM BATHS, AND HOT SPOUTING SPRINGS OF WATER IN ICELAND.

THESE waters have different degrees of warmth, and are, on that account, divided by the inhabitants themselves into warm baths, and springs that throw up the water to a considerable heighth. The first are found in several other parts of Europe, though I do not believe that they are employed to the same purposes in any other place; that is to say, the inhabitants do not [...] in them here merely for their health, but they are likewise the occasion for a scene of gallantry. [...] poverty prevents the lover from making presents to his fair one, and nature presents no flowers of which garlands elsewhere are made. It is [...], that instead of all this, the [...] one of these baths, which is afterwards to be honoured with the visits of his bride.

[Page 12] The springs that throw up water in the air deserve more attention. I have seen a great number of them, but will only say something of the two most remarka­ble. Near Laugervatan, a small lake of about a mile in circumference, which is two days journey distant from Hecla, I saw the first hot spouting spring; and I must confess, that it was one of the most beautiful sights I ever beheld. The morning was uncommonly clear, and the sun had already began to gild the tops of the neighbouring mountains. It was so perfect a calm, that the lake, on which swans were swimming, was as smooth as a looking-glass, and round about it arose, in eight different places, the steam of the hot springs, which lost itself high in the air.

Water was spouting from all these springs; but one, in particular, continually threw up in the air a column from 18 to 24 feet high, and from 6 to 8 feet diameter. The water was extremely hot. A piece of mutton, and some salmon trouts, as also a ptarmigan, were almost boiled to pieces in six minutes, and tasted excellently. I wish it were in my power to give such a description of this place as it deserves; but I fear it would always remain inferior in point of expression; so much is cer­tain at least, that nature never drew from any one a more cheerful ho [...] [...] to her great Creator, than I here paid him.

[Page 13] The description of the most remarkable water spout will appear almost incredible; but every part of it is perfectly true, for I would not aver any thing but what I have seen myself. At Gyser, not far from Skallhalt, one of the Episcopal sees in Icelands a most extraordi­nary large spouting fountain is to be seen, with which the celebrated water-works at Marley and St. Cloud, and at Cassel, and Herrenhausen near Hanover, can hard­ly be compared. One sees here, within the circumfer­ence of three English miles, forty or fifty boiling springs together, which, I believe, all proceed from one and the same reservoir. In some, the water is per­fectly clear, in others thick and clayey; in some, where it passes through a fine ochre, it is tinged red as scarlet; and in others, where it flows over a paler clay, it is white as milk.

The largest spring which is in the middle particu­larly engaged our attention the whole day that we spent here, from 6 in the morning till 7 at night. The aperture through which the water arose, is nineteen feet in diameter; round the top of it is a bason, which, together with the pipe, has the form of a cauldron. The margin of the bason is upwards of nine feet highet than the conduit, and its diameter [...] feet. Here the water does not spout continually, but only by intervals several times a day; and as I was inform­ed [Page 14] by the people in the neighbourhood, in wet weath­er higher than at other times.

One day that we were there, the water spouted ten different times, between the hours of six and eleven in the morning, each time to the heighth of eight or ten fathoms. Till then the water had not risen above the margin of the pipe; but now it began by degrees to fill the upper bason, and at last to run over. The people who were with us, gave us to understand, that the wa­ter would soon spout up much higher than it had done till then, and this appeared very credible to us. To determine its heighth, therefore, with the utmost accu­racy, Dr. Lind, who had accompanied us on this voy­age, in the capacity of an astronomer, set up his qua­drant.

Soon after four o'clock, we observed that the earth began to tremble in three different places, as well as the top of a mountain which was about three hundred fa­thoms distant from the mouth of the spring. We also frequently heard a subterraneous noise, like the dis­charge of a cannon; and immediately after a column of water spouted from the opening, which, at a great heighth, divided itself into several rays, and, according to the observations made with the quadrant, was 92 feet high. Our great surprise at this uncommon force of the air and fire was increased, when many stones, which we had flung into the aperture, were thrown up again with the spouting water. It is easy to conceive [Page 15] with how much pleasure we spent the day here; and indeed, I am not surprised, that a people so much in­clined to superstition as the Icelanders are, imagine this to be the entrance of hell. The idea is very natural to uninformed minds.

SECT. III. OF THE MANNERS OF THE ICELANDERS.

THE Icelanders are of a good honest disposition; but they are, at the same time, so serious and sullen, that I hardly remember to have seen any one of them laugh. They are by no means so strong as might be supposed, and much less handsome. Their chief a­musement in their leisure hours, is to recount to one another the history of former times; so that to this day you do not meet with an Icelander, who is not well acquainted with the history of his own country. They also play at cards.

Their houses are built of lava, thatched with turf, and so small, that one can hardly find room to [...] in. They have no floors; and their windows, instead of glass are composed of thin membranes of certain ani­mals. [Page 16] They make no use of chimnies, as they never light a fire except to dress their victuals, when they only lay the turf on the ground. It may therefore be said, that we saw no houses except shops and ware­houses; and on our journey to Hecla, we were o­bliged to take up our lodgings in the churches.

Their food principally consists of dried fish, sour butter, which they consider as a great dainty, milk mix­ed with water and whey, and a little meat. They re­ceive so little bread from the Danish company, that there is scarcely any peasant who eats it above three or four months in the year. They likewise boil groats of a kind of moss, which has an agreeable taste. The principal occupation of the men is fishing, which they follow both winter and summer. The women take care of the cattle and knit stockings. They like­wise dress and dry the fishes brought home by the men, and otherwise assist in preparing this staple commodity of the country.

Money is very rare, which is the reason that all trade is carried on by fish and ells of coarse unshorn cloth. One ell is worth two fishes, and forty-eight fishes are worth a rix-dollar in specie. They were better ac­quainted with gold at our departure than at our arrival.

They are well provided with castle, which are gene­rally [Page 17] without horns. They have likewise sheep and very good horses. Both the last are the whole winter in the fields. Of wild animals they have only foxes, and bears, which come every year from Greenland with the floating ice; these, however, are killed as soon as they appear, partly on account of the reward of ten dollars, wh [...] the king pays for every bear, and partly to prevent them from destroying their cattle. The pre­sent Governor has introduced rein-deer into the island; but out of thirteen, ten died on their passage, the other three are alive with their young.

It is extraordinary that no wood grows successfully in Iceland; nay, there is scarcely a single tree to be found on the whole island, though there are certain proofs of wood having formerly grown there in great abundance. Corn cannot be cultivated here to any advantage, though I have met with cabbages, parsley, turnips, and pease, in five or six gardens, which are the only ones in the whole island.

SECT. IV. OF THE FOOD OF THE ICELANDERS.

THE Icelanders in general eat thr [...] [...]ls a day; at seven in the morning, at two in the afternoon, and at nine in the evening.

[Page 18] In the morning and evening they commonly eat curds mixed with new milk, and sometimes with juni­per-berries; in some parts they also have pottage of rock-grass, dried and made into flour, which is very palatable, or curdled milk, boiled till it becomes of a red colour, or new milk, boiled a long while.

At dinner their food consists of dried fish, with plen­ty of sour butter. They also sometimes eat fresh fish, and, when possible, a little bread and cheese with them. It is reported by some, that they do not eat any fish till it is quite rotten. This report perhaps proceeds from their being fond of it when a little tainted. However, they frequently eat fish that is quite fresh.

On Sunday, and in harvest-time, they have broth made of meat, which is often boiled in syra, or ferment­ed whey instead of water; and in winter they eat hung or dried meat.

Their common beverage is milk, either warm from the cow, or cold, and sometimes boiled. They like­wise drink butter-milk, with or without water.

They seldom make use of fresh or salt butter, but let it grow sour before they eat it. In this manner it may be kept twenty years, and even longer; and the Icelanders look upon it as more wholesome and palata­ble than the butter used amongst us. It is reckoned better the older it is; and one pound of it then is as much valued as two pounds of fresh butter.

[Page 19] This is the usual manner of life in Iceland. In all countries the living of the poor differs essentially from that of the rich; and if an Iceland gentleman can af­ford to eat meat, butter, shark, and whale, the peasants are obliged to content themselves with fish, blands, or milk mixed with water, and milk pottage of rock-grass. Though the Icelanders cannot be said to be in want of necessary aliment, yet the country has several times been visited by great famines. These, however, have been chiefly owing to the Greenland floating ice, which, when it comes in great quantities, prevents the grass from growing, and puts an entire stop to their fishing.

SECT. V. OF THE MANNERS OF THE MODERN EGYPTIANS.

LIFE, at Grand Cairo, is rather passive than active. Nine months of the year the body is oppressed by heat; the soul, in a state of apathy, far from being continu­ally tormented by a wish to know and [...] after calm tranquility. Inaction, under a [...] climate, is painful; here, repose is enjoyment. The most fre­quent salutation at meeting or parting [...], "Peace be [Page 20] with you." Esseminate indolence is born with the E­gyptian, grows as he grows, and descends with him to the grave. It is the vice of the climate; it influences his inclinations, and governs his actions. The sofa, there­fore, is the most luxurious piece of furniture of an a­partment. Their gardens have charming arbours, and convenient seats, but not a single walk. The French­man, born under an ever-varying sky, is continually receiving new impressions, which keep his mind as con­tinually awake. He is active, impatient, and agitated like the atmosphere in which he exists; while the Egyp­tian, feeling the same heat, the same sensation, two-thirds of the year, is idle, solemn and patient.

He rises with the sun, to enjoy the morning air; purifies himself, and repeats the appointed prayer. His pipe and coffee are brought him, and he reclines at case on his sofa. Slaves, with their arms crossed, re­main silent at the far end of the chamber, with their eyes fixed on him, seeking to anticipate his smallest want. His children, standing in his presence, unless he permits them to be seated, preserve every appear­ance of tenderness and respect. He gravely caresses them, gives them his blessing, and sends them back to the harem. He only questions, and they reply with modesty. He is the chief, the judge, the pontiff of the family, before whom these sacred rights are all res­pected.

[Page 21] Breakfast ended, he transacts the business of his trade or his office; and as to disputes they are few, among a people where the voice of the hydra, chicanery, is ne­ver heard; where the name of attorney is unknown; where the whole cod of laws consist in a few clear and precise commands in the Koran, and where each man is his own pleader.

When visitors come, the master receives them with­out many compliments, but with an endearing man­ner. His equals are seated beside him, with their legs crossed, which posture is not fatiguing to the body, un­embarrassed by dress. His inferiors kneel and sit upon their heels. People of distinction are placed on a rais­ed sofa, whence they overlook the company. Thus AEneas, in the palace of Dido, had the place of honour, while seated on a raised bed ^*, he related the burning of Troy to the queen. When every person is placed the slaves bring pipes and coffee, and set the perfume brasier in the middle of the chamber, the air of [...] is impregnated with its odours, and afterwards present sweetmeats and sherbet.

When the visit is almost ended, a slave bearing a [...] plate, on which precious essences are burning [Page 22] goes round to the company; each in turn perfumes the beard, and afterward sprinkles rose-water on the head and hands. This is the last ceremony, and the guests are then permitted to retire. We see, therefore, that the ancient custom of perfuming the head and beard, as sung by the royal prophet ^*, is not lost. Anacreon, the father of the festive ode, and the poet of the graces, in­cessantly repeats, "I delight to sprinkle my body with precious perfumes, and crown my head with roses."

About noon the table is prepared, and the viands brought in a large tray of tinned copper; and though not great variety, there is great plenty. In the center is a mountain of rice cooked with poultry, and highly seasoned with spice and saffron. Round this are harsh­ed meats, pigeons, stuffed cucumbers, delicious melons and fruits. The roast meats are cut small, laid over with the fat of the animal, seasoned with salt, spitted, and done on the coals. The guests seat themselves on a carpet round the table. A slave brings water in one hand, and a bason in the other to wash. This is an indispensible ceremony, where each person puts his hand into the dish, and where the use of forks is un­known. It is repeated when the meal is ended.

[Page 23] After dinner they retire to the harem, where they slumber some hours among their wives and children.

Such is the ordinary life of the Egyptians. On shows, plays, and pleasures, are to them unknown. A monotony, which to an European would be death, I delight to an Egyptian. Their days are passed in re­peating the same thing, in following the same customs without a wish or a thought beyond. Having neither strong passions, nor ardent hopes, their minds know not lassitude. This is a torment reserved for those who, unable to moderate the violence of their desires, or satisfy their unbounded wants, are weary every where, and exist only where they are not.

SECT. VI. OF THE RIVER NILE.

THE country of Egypt is in fact so low, that were it not for a few little hillocks, formed by the ruins of ancient Alexandria, and the prodigious heighth of Pom­pey's Pillar, the land would not be distinguishable. The whole coast is horizon; and it is with difficulty one perceives, from three leagues off at sea, some palm­trees, which seem to grow out of the water. It is not [Page 24] to the flatness of the country alone, however, that E­gypt is indebted for its periodical inundation.

The trade winds, from West and North, by pushing the clouds of Europe on Abyssinia, blow in the direction of the Nile, in which mechanism of nature it must be remarked, that the wind, by driving back the waters of the river, becomes the principal cause of its ovarflow­ing. Having reached its highest degree towards the middle of September, the winds then becoming trade-winds from the southward, concur with the natural des­cent of the Nile, to accelerate the draining of the water, to the same time that they collect the superfluous clouds, now of no further use, over Abyssinia and Ethiopia, and carry them, for the same beneficial purpose of a periodical inundation, towards the sources of the Eu­phrates, to enrich Mesopotamia, after abundantly wa­tering Egypt. At this period, therefore, one sees a co­lumn of clouds pass the Red Sea, towards the Isthmus of Suez, spread over Syria, and collect on mount Ara­rat, whilst the same trade-wind blowing in the gulf of Persia, compressing the waters of the Euphrates, pro­duces in Mesopotamia, by the same means, the same advantages enjoyed by Egypt.

This meteorological observation, the particulars of which I have carefully attended to, may be verified e­very year, in a climate where the serenity of the heav­ens cannot admit of error.

[Page 25] All the descriptions of Egypt hitherto, agree in con­sidering the mud, with which the waters of the Nile an loaded during its increase, and which are left on the lands they overflow, as a fattener which fertilizes the country. In analysing it, however, no vegetative qual­ity is discoverable before its union with the sand, which together with the clay, composes the soil of Egypt, i [...] about the same proportion as in the earthen manufac­tures; nor is this mud any other than the produce o [...] the crumbling of the two banks of the Nile, when i [...] carries off the clayey part. Its specific lightness, joined to the motion of the waters, keeps its particles sus­pended, whilst the sand settles, and forms new island for the inhabitants after the draining of the waters. The cultivator takes immediate possession of them, his in­dustry supplying the barrenness of the sand, with which he mixes pigeons dung, then sows his water-melons and enjoys a plentiful crop, before the succeeding in­undation destroys these islands to produce others.

The whirlpools which occasion these variations, ne­cessarily arise from the double effort, of the descent of the waters, and the wind which counteracts them; but the Nile, notwithstanding this agitation, is so easy to be kept within its bounds, that many fields, situated below the surface of the water, in its increase, are preserved from suffering from the inundation, by means only of a dam of eight or ten inches thickness in moist grounds.

[Page 26] This method, which costs the husbandman but little labour, is made use of to preserve the Delta, when it is threatened by an inundation. This island, which pro­duces annually three crops, is constantly watered by machines built on the Nile, and on the canals which in­tersect it, but it is very seldom in danger of being drow­ned; and this rich part of Egypt, which is close to the sea, would feel the effects of the swelling still less, did not the trade-winds accumulate the waters of the Med­iterranean towards the south.

It is important to observe, that the Delta, higher than the rest of Egypt, is bordered, towards the sea, by a for­est of palm-trees, called the forest of Beleros, the ground of which is far above the highest elevation of the waters, a topographical remark of itself, sufficient to overthrow the formation of the Delta by a sediment. Land, which is higher than the greatest inundations, can never owe its origin to them. It can only have occasioned the divi­sion of the Nile into two branches. But neither this cir­cumstance, nor the existence of the island, which separ­ates them, required so much labour; and Mr. Maillet might in this respect, have spared himself the repetition of the system of Ephorus, which was not held in esti­mation, even by his cotemporaries.

The vestiges of the canals, which watered the eastern and western provinces of the Delta, prove that it was formerly the seat of the richest cultivation in Egypt. It may also be presumed, from the extent of the ruins of Alexandria, the structure of the canal, and the natural equality of the lands, which surround lake Mareotis, [Page 27] and which extend from the westward, as far as the king­dom of Barca, that this country, now in the possession of the Arabs, and almost totally uncultivated, was former­ly as rich in productions of every kind, as was necessary for the subsistence of Alexandria.

One [...]sees, from the situation of the canal of Alexan­dria, that after watering that town, and assisting its com­merce, it must have fertilized the upper part of those lands, situated on the left bank of the Nile, opposite to the Delta; whilst a dyke, thrown up at Bequers, keep­ing off the sea, added a large territory to Egypt, the cul­tivation of which reached to the suburbs of that im­mense city, reduced at present to a small town built on the new isthmus, formed between the two ports, and which jonis the Isle of Pharos to the continent. This capital of the commerce of the universe, long since condemn­ed to serve only as a staple for the consumption of E­gypt, seems to have banished itself from its own walls; but it is impossible to throw one's eyes on the extent and magnificence of its ruins, without feeling, that the greatest powers have only a value proportionate to the age which employs them, and the genius of the men entrusted with their management.

Egypt, so situated as to combine the commerce of Europe, Africa, and the East Indies, was in want of a port, which should at once be spacious and easy of ap­proach. The mouth of the Nile offered none of these requisites. The only harbour, on that coast, was in the midst of a desert, at twelve leagues from the river, and could only be discovered by an [...] [Page 28] genius. A town was to be built, and it was himself who furnished the plan of it.

To what a pitch of splendor did he not raise Alex­andria, in its origin? He joined it to the Nile by a canal at once navigable, and useful for cultivation. It became the city of all nations, the metropolis of com­merce. He is honoured even by its ashes, piled up by the barbarity of ages, and which wait only for some beneficent hand to expand them, and cement the re­construction of the most stupendous edefice hitherto conceived by the human mind.

The nature of the rock, which lines the coast of Egypt, proves that the island, on which the Pharos is built, can only have been formed by the ashes of Alex­andria, and that the shallow, which separates the two basons, arose from the ruins brought there by the sea. This new shore further testifies the truth of this obser­vation; and the waves daily expose to view a number of engraved stones, which must have belonged to the ruins of the ancient city.

Its ruins testify, at every step, its ancient splendor; and the form of its inclosure, which represents a Mace­donian cloak, seems to have awed the very barbarians, in their different sackings of this town, by recalling the memory of its founder. The same walls, which pro­tected its industry and riches, defend, at this day, its ru­ins, and exhibit a master-piece of masonry.

Some historians pretend, that the Saracens built the present walls, instead of those they had destroyed. But, if the hand of these plunderers is to be traced at [Page 29] all, it is only in the repairs, which areas [...] neatness as of regularity.

SECT. VII. OF THE MANNERS AND GENERAL CHARACTER OF THE FRENCH.

ONE can scarcely believe the influence which men of letters have in the gay and dissipated city of Paris. Their opinions not only determine the merit of works of taste and science, but they have considerable weight on the manners and sentiments of people of rank, of the public in general, and consequently are not with­out effect on the measures of government.

The same thing takes place, in some degree, in most countries of Europe; but if I am not mistaken, more at Paris than any where else; because men of letters are here at once united to each other by the various acad­emies, and diffused among private societies, by the manners and general taste of the nation.

As the sentiments and conversation of men of letters influence, to a certain degree, the opinions and con­duct of the fashionable world; the manners of these last have a more obvious effect upon the behaviour, and the conversation of the former, which in general is polite and easy; equally purified from the awkward timidity contracted in retirement, and the disgusting ar­rogance inspired by university honours, or church dig­nities. At Paris, the pedants of Moliere are to be seen on the stage only.

In this country, at present, there are many men dis­tinguished [Page 30] by their learning, who at the same time are chearful and easy in mixed company, unpresuming in argument, and in every respect as well bred, as those who have no other pretension.

Politeness and good manners, indeed may be traced, though in different proportions, through every rank, from the greatest of the nobility to the lowest mechan­ic. This forms a more remarkable and distinguishing feature in the French national character, than the vi­vacity, impetuosity, and fickleness, for which the an­cient as well as the modern inhabitants of this country have been noted. It is certainly a very singular phae­nomenon, that politeness which, in every other coun­try, is confined to people of a certain rank in life, should here pervade every situation and profession. The man in power is courteous to his dependant, the prosperous to the unfortunate, the very beggar, who solicits charity, does it "en homme comme il saut;" and if his request be not granted, he is sure, at least, that it will be refused with an appearance of humani­ty, and not with harshness or insult.

A stranger, quite new and unversed in their language, whose accent is, uncouth and ridiculous in the ears of the French, and who can scarcely open his mouth, without making a blunder in grammar or idiom, is heard with the most serious attention, and never laugh­ed at, even when he utters the oddest solecism or equi­vocal expression.

I am afraid, said I, yesterday, to a French gentleman, [Page 31] the phrase which I used just now is not French. "Mon­sieur," replied he, "cette expression effectivement n'est pas Francoise, mais elle m [...]rite bien de l'ètre." ^*

The most daring deviation from fashion, in the im­portant article of dress, cannot make them forget the laws of good-breeding. When a person appears at the public walks, in clothes made against every law of the mode, upon which the French are supposed to lay such stress, they do not stare or sneer at him; they allow him first to pass, as it were unobserved, and do not till then turn round to indulge the curiosity, which his un­common figure may have excited. I have remarked this instance of delicacy often in the streets, in the low­est of the vulgar, or rather of the common people; for there are really very few of the natives of Paris, who can be called vulgar.

There are exceptions to these, as to all general re­marks on the manners and character of any nation.

Loyalty, or an uncommon fondness for, and attach­ment to the persons of their princes, is another strik­ing part of the French national character.

An Englishman, though he views the virtues of his king with a jealous eye during his reign, yet he will do them all justice in the reign of his successor.

A German, while he is silent with respect to the foi­bles of his prince, admires all his talents much more than he would the same qualities in any other person.

[Page 32] A Turk, or Persian, contemplates his Emperor with fear and reverence, as a superior being, to whose plea­sure it is his duty to submit, as to the laws of nature, and the will of Providence.

But a Frenchman, while he knows that his king is of the same nature, and liable to all the weaknesses of other men; while he enumerates his follies, and laughs as he laments them, is nevertheless attached to him by a sentiment of equal respect and tenderness; a kind of affectionate prejudice, independant of his real charac­ter.

Roi is a word which conveys to the minds of French­men the ideas of benevolence, gratitude, and love; as well as those of power, grandeur, and happiness.

They flock to Versailles every Sunday, behold him with unsated curiosity, and gaze on him with as much satisfaction the twentieth time as the first.

They consider him as their friend, though he does not know their persons; and as their benefactor, while they are oppressed with taxes.

They magnify into importance his most indifferent actions; they palliate and excuse all his weaknesses; and they impute his errors or crimes, to his ministers or other evil counsellors, who (as they fondly assert) have, for some base purpose, imposed upon his judg­ment, and perverted the undeviating rectitude of his in­tentions.

They repeat with fond applause, every saying of his which seems to indicate the smallest approach to wit, or even bears the mark of ordinary sagacity.

[Page 33] The most inconsiderable circumstance, which relates to the monarch, is of importance. Whether he eat much or little at dinner; the coat he wears, the horse on which he rides, all afford matter of conversation in the various societies at Paris, and are the most agreeable subjects of epistolary correspondence with their friends in the provinces.

If he happens to be a little indisposed, all Paris, all France, is alarmed, as if a real calamity was threaten­ed; and to seem interested, or to converse upon any o­ther subject, till this has been discussed, would be consid­ered as a proof of unpardonable indifference.

At mass, it is the king, not the priest, who is the ob­ject of attention. The host is elevated, but the peo­ple's eyes remain fixed upon the face of their beloved monarch.

Even the most applauded pieces of the theatre, which in Paris create more emotion than the ceremonies of re­ligion, can with difficulty divide their attention. A smile from the king makes them forget the sorrows of Andromache, and the wrongs of the Cid.

All this regard seems real, and not affected from any motive of interest; at least it must be so, with respect to the bulk of the people, who can have no hopes of ever being known to their princes, far less of ever receiving any personal favour from them.

The philosophical idea, that kings have been appoint­ed for public conveniency; that they are accountable [Page 34] to their subjects for mal-administration, or for continu­ed acts of injustice and oppression, is a doctrine very opposite to the general prejudices of this nation. If any of their kings were to behave in such an impru­dent and outrageous manner, as to occasion a revolt, and if the insurgents actually got the better, I question if they would think of new-modelling the government, and limiting the power of the Crown, as was done in Britain at the Revolution, so as to prevent the like abuses for the future. They never would think of going fur­ther, I imagine, than placing another prince of the Bourbon family on the throne, with the same power that his predecessor had, and then quietly lay down their arms, satisfied with his royal word or declaration, to govern with more equity.

The French seem so delighted and dazzled with the lustre of monarchy, that they cannot bear the thoughts of any qualifying mixture, which might abate its vio­lence, and render its ardor more benign. They con­sider the power of the king, from which their servitude proceeds, as if it were their own power. One would hardly believe it; but I am sure of the fact; they are proud of it; they are proud that there is no check or limitation to his authority.

They tell you with exultation, that the king has an army of near two hundred thousand men in the time of peace. A Frenchman is as vain of the palaces, fine gardens, number of horses, and all the parapharnalia belonging to the court of the monarch, as an English­man can be of his own house, gardens, and equipage.

[Page 35] When they are told of the diffusion of wealth in En­gland, the immense fortunes made by many individuals, the affluence of those of middle rank, the security and easy situation of the common people; instead of being mortified by the comparison, which might naturally occur to their imaginations, they comfort themselves with the reflection, that the Court of France is more brilliant than the Court of Great Britan, and that the Duke of Orleans and the Prince of Conde have greater revenues than any of the English nobility.

When they hear of the freedom of debate in Parlia­ment, of the liberties taken in writing or speaking of the conduct of the king, or measures of Government, and the forms to be observed, before those who ven­ture on the most daring abuse of either can be brought to punishment, they seem filled with indignation, and say with an air of triumph, that their minister would give himself no trouble about forms or proofs; that suspicion was sufficient for him, and without more ado he would shut up such impertinent people in the Bas­tile for many years; and then raising their voices; as if what they said were a proof of the courage or mag­nanimity of the minister—"On peut-être il feroit con­damner ces drôles là aux galères pour la vie." ^*

SECT. VIII. OF THE COMPLIMENTAL PHRASES USED BY THE FRENCH.

THE French have often been accused of insincerity, and of being warm in professions, but devoid of real friendship.

Our countrymen in particular are led into this opin­ion, from the manners in general being more obsequi­ous here than in England. What Frenchmen consider as common good manners, many Englishmen would call flattery, perhaps fawning.

Their language abounds in complimental phrases, which they distribute with wonderful profusion and vo­lubility; but they intend no more by them, than an Englishmen means when he subscribes himself your most obedient humble servant, at the conclusion of a letter.

A Frenchman not only means nothing beyond com­mon civility, by the plentiful shower of compliments which he pours on every stranger; but also, he takes it for granted, that the stranger knows that nothing more is meant. These expressions are fully understood by his countrymen; he imagines all the world are as well informed; and he has not the smallest intention to de­ceive. But if any man takes these expressions in a lite­ral sense, and believes that people are in reality inspir­ed with friendship, or have fallen in love with him at first sight, he will be very much disappointed; especial­ly if he expects strong proofs of either.

[Page 37] Yet [...] has no right to accuse the French of insince­rity, or breach of friendship. Friendship is entirely out of the question. They never intended to convey any other idea, than that they were willing to receive him on the footing of an acquaintance; and it was the business of his language-master to have informed him of the real import of their expressions.

If the same words, indeed, were literally translated into English, and used by one Englishman to another, the person to whom they were addressed, would have good reason to imagine, that the other had a particular regard for him, or meant to deceive him; because the established modes of civility and politeness in England do not require such language.

The not making a proper allowance for different modes and usages, which accident has established, is one great cause of the unfavourable and harsh senti­ments, which the people of the different countries of the world too often harbour against each other.

It may be said, perhaps, that this superfluity of com­pliments, which the French make use of, is a proof of the matter in question, that the French have less since­rity than their neighbours. By the same rule we must conclude, that the common people of every nation, who use few complimental phrases in their discourse, have a greater regard to truth, and stronger sentiments of friendship, than those in the middle and higher [Page 38] ranks. But this is what I imagine it would be difficult to prove.

These complimental phrases, which have crept into all modern languages, may, perhaps, be superfluous: or, if you please, absurd. But they are so fully estab­lished, that people of the greatest integrity make use of them, both in England and in France, with this differ­ence, that a smaller proportion will do in the language of the one country than in that of the other. They are, however, indications of friendship in neither.

Friendship is a plant of slow growth in every climate. Happy the man who can rear a few, even where he has the most settled residence. Travellers, passing through foreign countries, seldom take time to culti­vate them. If they be presented with some flowers, although of a flimsey texture and quicker growth, they ought to accept of them with thankfulness, and not quarrel with the natives for choosing to retain the oth­er more valuable plant for their own use.

Of all travellers, the young English nobility and gen­try have the least right to find fault with their enter­tainment while on their tours abroad; for such of them as show a desire of forming a connection with the inhabitants, by even a moderate degree of atten­tion, are received upon easier terms than the travellers from any other country; but very considerable num­bers of our countrymen have not the smallest desire of [Page 39] that nature. They seem rather to avoid their society and accept with reluctance every offer of hospitality. This happens, partly from a prejudice against for­eigners of every kind, partly from timidity or natural reserve, and in a great measure from indolence, and an absolute detestation of ceremony and restraint. Be­sides, they hate to be obliged to speak a language, of which they seldom acquire a perfect command.

They frequently, therefore, form societies or clubs of their own, where all ceremony is dismissed, and the greatest ease and latitude allowed in their behaviour, dress, and conversation. There they confirm each o­ther in all their prejudice, and with united voices, con­demn and ridicule the customs and manners of every country but their own.

By this conduct, the true purpose of travelling is lost or perverted; and many English travellers have remained four or five years abroad, and have seldom, during all this space, been in any company but that of their own countrymen.

To go to France and Italy, and there converse with none but English people, and merely that you may have it to say, that you have been in those countries, i [...] certainly absurd. Nothing can be more so, except to adopt with enthusiasm, the fashions, fopperies, taste, and manners of those countries, and transplant them to England, where they never will thrive, and where [Page 40] they always appear aukward and unnatural. For, af­ter all his efforts of imitation, a travelled Englishman is as different from a Frenchman or an Italian, as an English mastiff is from a monkey or a fox. And if e­ver that sedate and plain meaning dog should pretend to the gay friskiness of the one, or to the subtilty of the other, we should certainly value him much less than we do.

But I do not imagine that this extreme is by any means so common as the former. It is much more natural to the English character to despise foreigners than to imitate them. A few tawdry examples to the contrary, who return every winter from the conti­nent, are hardly worth mentioning as exceptions.

SECT. IX, OF GENEVA.

THE situation of Geneva is, in many respects as happy as the heart of man could desire, or his imagina­tion conceive. The Rhone, rushing out of the no­blest lake in Europe, flows through the middle of the [Page 41] city, which is encircled by fertile fields, cultivated by the industry, and adorned by the riches and taste of the inhabitants.

The long ridge of mountains, called Mount Jura, on the one side, with the Alps, the Glaciers of Savoy, and the Snowy head of Mont Blanc, on the other, serve as boundaries to the most charmingly variegated landscape that [...]ver delighted the eye.

With these advantages in point of situation, the citi­zens of Geneva enjoy freedom untainted by licentious­ness, and security unbought by the horrors of war.

The great number of men of letters, who either are natives of the place, or have chosen it for their resi­dence, the decent manners, the easy circumstances, and humane dispositions of the Genevois in general, render this city and its environs a very desirable retreat for people of a philosophic turn of mind, who are content­ed with moderate and calm enjoyments, have no local attachments or domestic reasons for preferring another country, and who wish, in a certain degree, to retire from the bustle of the world, to a narrower and calmer scene, and there for the rest of their days—

As education [...] is equally [...] and liberal, the citizens of Geneva of both sexes are remarkably well instructed. I do not imagine that any country in the world can produce an equal number of persons, (taken [Page 42] without election from all degrees and professions) with minds so much cultivated as the inhabitants of Geneva possess.

It is not uncommon to find mechanics, in the inter­vals of their labour, amusing themselves with the works of Locke, Montesquieu, Newton, and other productions of the same kind.

When I speak of the cheapness of a liberal education, I mean for the natives and citizens only; for strangers now find every thing dear at Geneva. Wherever En­glishmen resort, this is the case. If they do not find things dear, they soon make them so.

The democratical nature of their government in­spires every citizen with an idea of his own impor­tance. He perceives, that no man in the republic can insult, or even neglect him with impunity.

It is an excellent circumstance in any government, when the most powerful man in the state has something to fear from the most feeble. This is the case here. The meanest citizen of Geneva is possessed of certain rights, which render him an object deserving the atten­tion of the greatest. Besides, a consciousness of this makes him respect himself; a sentiment which, with­in proper bounds, [...] tendency [...] render a man res­pectable to others.

The general character of human nature forbids us to expect that men will always act from motives of pub­lic [Page 43] spirit, without an eye to private interest. The best form of government, therefore, is, that in which the interest of individuals is most intimately blended with the public good. This may be more perfectly ac­complished in a small republic than in a great mon­archy. In the first, men of genius and virtue are dis­covered and called to offices of truth, by the impar­tial admiration of their fellow citizens; in the other, the highest places are disposed of by the caprice of the prince, or of those courtiers, male or female, who are nearest his person, watch the variations of his humour, and know how to seize the smiling moments, and turn them to their own advantage, or that of their depend­ents. Montesquieu says, that a sense of honour pro­duces the same effects in a monarchy, that public spirit or patriotism does in a republic. It must be remem­bered, however, that the first, according to the modern acceptation of the word, is generally confined to the no­bility and gentry; whereas public spirit is a more u­niversal principle, and spreads through all the mem­bers of the commonwealth.

As far as I can judge, a spirit of independency and freedom, tempered by sentiments of decency, and the love of order, influence, in a most remarkable manner, the minds of the subjects of this happy republic.

Before I knew them I had formed an opinion, that the people of this place were fanatical, gloomy mind­ed, [Page 44] and unsociable as the Puritans in England, and the Presbyterians in Scotland were, during the civil wars, and the reigns of Charles II. and his bro­ther. In this however, I find I had conceived a very erroneous notion.

There is not, I may venture to assert, a city in Eu­rope, where the minds of the people are less under the influence of superstition or fanatical enthusiasm than at Geneva. Servetus, were he now alive, would not run the smallest risk of persecution. The present clergy have, I am persuaded, as little the inclination as the power of molesting any person of speculative o­pinions. Should the Pope himself chuse this city for a retreat, it would be his own fault if he did not live in as much security as at the Vatican.

The clergy of Geneva in general, are men of sense, learning, and moderation, impressing upon the minds of their hearers the tenets of Christianity, with all the graces of pulpit eloquence, and illustrating the effica­cy of the doctrine by their conduct in life.

The people of every station in this place, attend sermons and the public worship with remarkable punctuality. The Sunday is honoured with the most respectful decorum during the hours of divine service; but as soon as that is over, all the usual amusements commence.

The public walks are crouded by all degrees of [Page 45] people in their best dresses. The different societies, and what they call circles, assemble in the houses and gardens of individuals. They play at cards and at bowls, and have parties upon the lake with music.

There is one custom universal here, and, as far as I know, peculiar to this place. The parents form soci­eties for their children, at a very early period of their lives. These societies consist of ten, a dozen or more children of the same sex, and nearly of the same age and situation in life. They assemble once a week in the houses of the different parents, who entertain the company by turns with tea, coffee, biscuits, and fruit, and then leave the young assembly to the freedom of their own conversation.

This connection is strictly kept up through life, whatever alterations may take place in the situations or circumstances of the individuals. And although they should afterwards form new or preferable intima­cies, they never entirely abandon this society; but to the latest period of their lives continue to pass a few e­venings every year with the companions of their youth and their earliest friends.

The richer class of the citizens have country houses adjacent to the town, where they pass one half of the year. These houses are all very neat, and some of them are splendid. One piece of magnificence they possess in greater perfection than the most superb villa of the [Page 46] greatest lord in any other part of the world can boast; I mean the prospect which almost all of them command. The gardens and vineyards of the republic, the Pais de Naux, Geneva with its lake, innumerable country­seats, castles, and little towns around the lake; the vallies of Savoy, and the loftiest mountains of the Alps, are all within one sweep of the eye.

Those whose fortunes or employments do not permit them to pass the summer in the country, make fre­quent parties of pleasure upon the lake, and dine and spend the evening at some of the villages in the envi­rons, where they amuse themselves with music and dancing.

Sometimes they form themselves into circles, con­sisting of forty or fifty persons, and purchase or hire a house and garden near the town, where they assemble every afternoon during the summer, drink coffee, lem­onade, and other refreshing liquors, and amuse them­selves with cards, conversation, and playing at bowls, a game very different from that which goes by the same name in England; for here, instead of a smooth level green, they often chuse the roughest and most un­equal piece of ground. The player, instead of rolling the bowl, throws it in such a manner, that it rests in the place where it first touches the ground; and if that be a fortunate situation, the next player pitches his bowl directly on his adversary's, so as to make that [Page 47] spring away, while his own fixes itself in the spot from which the other has been dislodged. Some of the ci­tizens are astonishingly dexter [...] [...] this game, which is more complicated and interesting than the English manner of playing.

They generally continue these circles till the dusk of the evening, and the sound of the drum from the ramparts call them to the town; and at that time the gates are shut, after which no person can enter or go out, the officer of the guard not having the power to open them, without an order from the Syndics, which is not to be obtained but on some great emergency.

SECT. X. OF THE GLACIERS OF SAVOY.

I RETURNED to Geneva, a few days since, from a journey to the Glaciers of Savoy, the Pais de Val­lais, and other places among the Alps.

The wonderful accounts I had heard of the Gla­ciers had excited my curiosity a good deal, while the air of superiority assumed by some who had made this boasted tour, piquid my pride still more.

[Page 48] One could hardly mention any thing curious or sin­gular, without being told by some of those travellers, with an air of cool contempt—"Dear Sir—that is pretty well; but take my word for it, it is nothing to the Glaciers of Savoy."

I determined at last not to take their word for it, and I found some gentlemen of the same way of thinking.

We left Geneva early in the morning of the 3d of August, and breakfasted at Bonneville, a small town in the duchy of Savoy, situated at the foot of Mole, and on the banks of the river Arve.

We passed the night at Sallenche, and the remain­ing part of our journey not admitting of chaises, they were sent back to Geneva, with orders to the drivers to go round by the other side of the lake, and meet us at the village of Martigny, in the Pais de Vallais.

We agreed with a muleteer at Sallenche, who pro­vided mules to carry us over the mountains to Mar­tigny. It is a good day's journey from Sallenche to Chamouni, not on account of the distance, but from the difficulty and perplexity of the road, and the steep ascents and descents with which one is teazed alternate­ly the whole way.

Some of the mountains are covered with pine, oak, beech, and walnut-trees. These are interspersed with apple, plumb, cherry, and other fruit-trees, so that we rode a great part of the morning in shade.

[Page 49] Besides the refreshing coolness which this occasion­ed, it was most agreeable to me on another account. The road was in some places so exceedingly steep, that I never doubted but some of us were to fall; I there­fore reflected with satisfaction, that those trees would probably arrest our course, and hinder us from rolling a great way.

But many pathless craggy mountains remained to be traversed, after we had lost the protection of the trees. We then had nothing but the sagacity of our mules to trust to. For my own part, I was very soon convinc­ed, that it was much safer, on all dubious occasions, to depend on their's than on my own. For as often as I was presented with a choice of difficulties, and the mule and I were of different opinions, if, becoming more obstinate than he, I insisted on his taking my track, I never failed to repent it, and often was obliged to return to the place where the controversy had be­gun, and follow the path to which he had pointed at first.

It is entertaining to observe the prudence of these animals in making their way down such dangerous rocks. They sometimes put their heads over the edge of the precipice, and examine with anxious cir­cumspection, every possible way by which they can descend, and at length are sure to fix on that, which upon the whole is the best. Having observed this in [Page 50] several instances, I laid the bridle on the neck of my mule, and allowed him to take his own way, without presuming to controul him in the smallest degree.

This is doubtless the best method, and what I re­commend to all my friends in their journey through life, when they have mules for their companions.

We began pretty early next morning to ascend Mon­tanvert, from the top of which there is easy access to the Glaciers of that name, and to the valley of ice.

Having ascended Montanvert from Chamouni, on descending a little on the other side, we found our­selves on a plain, whose appearance has been aptly compared to that which a stormy sea would have, if it were suddenly arrested, and fixed by a strong frost. This is called the Valley of Ice. It stretches several leagues behind Montanvert, and is reckoned 2300 feet higher than the valley of Chamouni.

From the highest part of Montanvert, we had all the following objects under our eye, some of which seem­ed to obstruct the view of others equally interesting;—the Valley of Ice, the Needles, Mont Blanc, with the snowy mountains below, finely contrasted with Breven, and the green hills on the opposite side of Cha­mouni, and the sun in full splendor showing all of them to the greatest advantage. The whole forms a scene equally sublime and beautiful, far from my pow­er of description, and worthy of the eloquence of that [Page 51] very ingenious gentleman, who has so finely illustrated these subjects, in a particilar treatise, and given so many examples of both in his parliamentary speeches.

The Valley of Ice is several leagues in length, and not above a quarter of a league in breadth. It divides into branches, which run behind the chain of moun­tains formerly taken notice of. It appears like a fro­zen amphitheatre, and is bounded by mountains, in whose clefts columns of crystal, as we are informed, are to be found.

The hoary majesty of Mont Blanc—I was in danger of rising into poetry, when recollecting the story of Icarus, I thought it best not to trust to my own waxen wings. I beg leave rather to borrow the following lines, which will please better than any flight of mine, and prevent me from a fall.

There are five or six different Glaciers, which all terminate upon one side of the Valley of Chamouni, within the space of about five leagues.

[Page 52] These are prodigious collections of snow and ice, formed in the intervals of hollows between the moun­tains that bound the side of the Valley, near which Mont Blanc stands.

The snow in those hollows being screened from the influence of the sun, the heat of summer can dissolve only a certain portion of it. These magazines of ice and snow are not formed by what falls directly from the heavens into the intervals. They are supplied by the snow which falls during winter on the loftiest parts of Mont Blanc; large beds of strata of which slide down imperceptibly by their own gravity, and finding no resistance at these intervals, they form long irregular roots around all the adjacent mountains.

Five of these enter, by five different embouchures, into the valley of Chamouni, and are called Glaciers, on one of which we were. At present their surface is from a thousand, or two thousand feet high above the valley.

Their breadth depends on the wideness of the inter­val between the mountains in which they are formed. Viewed from the valley, they have, in my opinion, a much finer effect than from their summit.

The rays of the sun striking with various force on the different parts, according as they are more or less exposed, occasion an unequal dissolution of the ice; and, with the help of a little imagination, give the ap­pearance [Page 53] of columns, arches, and turrets, which are in some places transparent.

A fabric of ice in this taste, two thousand feet high, and three times as broad, with the sun shining full upon it, we must acknowledge to be a very singular piece of architecture.

Our company ascended only the Glacier of Mon­tanvert, which is not the highest, and were contented with a view of the others from the valley; but more curious travellers will surely think it worth their la­bour to examine each of them more particularly.

Some people are so fond of Glaciers, that not satis­fied with their present size, they insist positively, that they must necessarily grow larger every year, and they argue the matter thus:

The present existence of the Glaciers, is a sufficient proof, that there has, at some period or other, been a greater quantity of snow formed during the winter, than the heat of the summer has been able to dissolve. But this disproportion must necessarily increase every year, and, by consequence, the Glaciers must augment: because, any given quantity of snow and ice remain­ing through the course of one summer, must increase the cold of the atmosphere around it in son [...] degree; which being reinforced by the snow of the succeeding winter, will resist the dissolving power of the sun more [Page 54] the second summer than the first, and still more the third than the second, and so on.

The conclusion of this reasoning is, that the Gla­ciers must grow larger by an increasing ratio every year, till the end of time. For this reason, the au­thors of this theory regret, that they themselves have been sent into the world so soon; because if their birth had been delayed for nine or ten thousand years, they should have seen the Glaciers in much greater glory, Mont Blanc being but a Lilliputian at present, in compa [...]ison of what it will be then.

However rational this may appear, objections [...]ave nevertheless been suggested, which I am sorry for; be­cause when a theory is tolerably consistent, well fabri­cated and goodly to behold, nothing can be more vex­atious, than to see a plodding officious fellow over­throw the whole structure at once, by a dash of his pen, as Harlequin does a house with a touch of his sword, in a pantomine entertainment.

Such cavillers say, that as the Glaciers augment in size, there must be a greater extent of surface for the sun-beams to act upon, and, by consequence, the dis­solution will be greater, which must effectually pre­vent the continual increase contended for.

But the other party extricate themselves from this difficulty by roundly asserting, that the additional cold, occasioned by the snow and ice already deposited, has [Page 55] a much greater influence in retarding their dissolution, than the increased surface can have in hastening it; and, in confirmation of their system, they tell you, that the oldest inhabitants of Chamouni remember the Glaciers when they were much smaller than at present; and also remember the time, when they could walk from the Valley of Ice, to places behind the moun­tains, by passages which are now quite choaked up with hills of snow, not above fifty years old.

Whether the inhabitants of Chamouni assert this from a laudable partiality to the Glaciers, which they may now consider (on account of their drawing stran­gers to visit the Valley) as their best neighbours; or from politeness to the supporters of the above men­tioned opinion; or from real observation, I shall not presume to say. But I myself have heard several of the old people of Chamouni assert the fact.

The cavillers, being thus obliged to relinquish their former objection, attempt in the next place to show, that the above theory leads to an absurdity; because, say they, if their Glaciers go on increasing the bulk ad infinitum, the globe itself would become, in process of time, a mere appendage to Mont Blanc.

The advocates for the continual augmentation of the Glaciers reply, that as this inconveniency has not already happened, there [...]needs no other refutation of the impious doctrine of certain philosophers, who assert [Page 56] that the world has existed from eternity; and as to the globe's becoming an appendage to the mountain, they assure us, that the world will be at an end long before that event can happen; so that those of the most timid na­tures, and most delicate constitutions, may dismiss their fears on that subject.

For my own part, though I wish well to the Gla­ciers, and all the inhabitants of Chamouni, having passed some days very pleasantly in their company, I will take no part in this controversy.

SECT. XI. OF VOLTAIRE.

SINCE I arrived at Geneva, my correspondents have made many enquiries concerning the philosopher of Ferney, which I am not at all surprised at. This extraordinary person has contrived to excite more cu­riosity, and to retain the attention of Europe for a longer space of time than any other man this age has produced, monarchs and heroes included. Even the most trivial anecdote relating to him seems, in some degree, to interest the public.

[Page 57] I have had frequent opportunities of conversing with him, and still more with those who have lived in intimacy with him for many years; so that the fol­lowing remarks are founded, either on my own obser­vation, or on that of the most candid and intelligent of his acquaintance.

He has enemies and admirers here, as he has every where else; and not unfrequently both united in the same person.

The first idea which has presented itself to all who have attempted a description of his person, is that of a skeleton. In as far as this implies excessive leanness, it is just; but it must be remembered, that this skele­ton, this mere composition of skin and bone, has a look of more spirit and vivacity than is generally produced by flesh and blood, however blooming and youthful.

The most piercing eyes I ever beheld are those of Voltaire, now in his eightieth year. His whole coun­tenance is expressive of genius, observation, and ex­treme sensibility.

In the morning he has a look of anxiety and discon­tent; but this gradually wears off, and after dinner he seems cheerful. An air of irony, however, never en­tirely forsakes his face, but may always be observed lurking in his features, whether he frowns or smiles.

When the weather is favourable, he takes an airing in his coach, with his niece, or with some of his guests, [Page 58] of whom there is always a sufficient number at Fer­ney. Sometimes he saunters in his garden; or if the weather does not permit him to go abroad, he employs his leisure hours in playing at chess with Pere Adam, or in receiving the visits of strangers, a continual suc­cession of whom attend at Ferney, to catch an oppor­tunity of seeing him; or in dictating and reading let­ters: for he still retains correspondents in all the countries of Europe, who inform him of every remark­able occurrence, and send him every new literary pro­duction as soon as it appears.

By far the greatest part of his time is spent in his stu­dy; and whether he reads himself, or listens to anoth­er, he always has a pen in his hand, to take notes, or make remarks.

Composition is his principal amusement. No au­thor, who writes for daily bread, no young poet, ar­dent for distinction, is more assiduous with his pen, or more anxious for fresh fame, than the wealthy and ap­plauded Seigneur of Ferney.

He lives in a very hospitable manner, and takes care always to keep a good cook. He has generally two or three visitors from Paris, who stay with him a month or six weeks at a time. When they go, their places are soon supplied; so that there is a constant rotation of society at Ferney. These, with Voltaire's own family, and his visitors from Geneva, compose a [Page 59] company of twelve or fourteen people, who dine daily at his table, whether he appears or not. For, when engaged in preparing some new production for the press, indisposed, or in bad spirits, he does not dine with the company; but satisfies himself with seeing them for a few minutes, either before or after dinner.

All who bring recommendations from his friends, may depend upon being received if he be not really in­disposed. He often presents himself to the strangers, who assemble almost every afternoon in his anti­chamber, although they bring no particular recommen­dation. But sometimes they are obliged to retire, without having their curiosity gratified.

As often as this happens, he is sure of being accused of peevishness; and a thousand ill-natured stories are related, perhaps, invented, out of revenge, because he is not in the humour of being exhibited like a danc­ing bear on a holiday. It is much less surprising that he sometimes refuses, than that he should comply so often. In him, this compliance must proceed solely from a desire to oblige; for Voltaire has been so long accustomed to admiration, that the stare of a few stran­gers cannot be supposed to afford him much pleasure.

His niece, Madame Denis, does the honours of the table, and entertains the company, when her uncle is not able, or does not chuse to appear. She is a well-disposed woman, who behaves with good humour to [Page 60] every body, and with unremitting attention and ten­derness to her uncle.

The morning is not a proper time to visit Voltaire. He cannot bear to have his hours of study interrupted. This alone is sufficient to put him out of humour; besides, he is then apt to be querulous, whether he suf­fers by the infirmities of age, or from some acccidental cause of chagrin. Whatever be the reason, he is less an optimist at that part of the day than at any other. It was in the morning probably that he remarked, " ^† (que c'etoit domage que le quinquina se trouvoit en Amérique, et la fiévre en nos climats.")

Those who are invited to supper, have an opportuni­ty of seeing him in the most advantageous point of view. He then exerts himself to entertain the compa­ny, and seems as fond of saying, what are called good things, as ever. And when any lively remark, or bon mot, comes from another, he is equally delighted, and pays the fullest tribute of applause. The spirit of mirth gains upon him by indulgence. When sur­rounded by his friends, and animated by the presence of women, he seems to enjoy life with all the sensibili­ty of youth. His genius then surmounts the restraints of age and infirmity, and flows along in a fine strain of pleasing, spirited observation, and delicate irony.

[Page 61] He has an excellent talent of adapting his conversa­tion to his company. The first time the D—of H—waited on him, he turned the discourse on the ancient alliance between the French and Scotch nations. Reciting the circumstance of one of his Grace's predecessors having accompanied Mary Queen of Scots, whose heir he at that time was, to the court of France, he spoke of the heroic characters of his an­cestors, the ancient Earls of Douglas, of the great liter­ary reputation of some of his countrymen then living; and mentioned the names of Hume and Robertson in terms of high approbation.

A short time afterwards he was visited by two Rus­sian noblemen, who are now at Geneva. Voltaire talk­ed to them a great deal of their Empress, and the flour­ishing state of their country. Formerly, said he, your countrymen were guided by ignorant priests, the arts were unknown, and your lands lay waste; but now the a [...]ts flourish, and the lands are cultivated. One of the young men replied, that there was still a great pro­portion of barren land in Russia. At least, said Vol­taire, you must admit, that of late your country has been "very fertile in laurels."

Voltaire has great merit as a dramatic writer; and it is much to be wished, that this extraordinary man had confined his genius to its native home, to the walks which the muses love, and where he has always been [Page 62] received with distinguished honour, and that he had ne­ver deviated from these, into the thorny paths of con­troversy. For, while he attacked the tyrants and op­pressors of mankind, and those who have perverted the benevolent nature of Christianity to the most self­ish and malignant purposes, it is for ever to be regret­ted, that he allowed the shafts of his ridicule to glance upon the Christian religion itself.

By persevering in this, he has not only shocked the pious, but even disgusted infidels, who accuse him of borrowing from himself, and repeating the same argu­ment in various publications; and seem as tired of the stale sneer against the Christian doctrines, as of the dullest and most tedious sermons in support of them.

SECT. XII. OF SCHAFFHAUSEN IN SWISSERLAND; OF THE BRIDGE OVER THE RHINE; AND OF THE FALL OF THE RHINE.

I ARRIVED here on the 22d day of July 1776, and find great pleasure in breathing the air of liberty. Every person here has apparently the mein of content [Page 63] and satisfaction. The cleanliness of the houses, and of the people, is peculiarly striking; and I can trace in all their manners, behaviour and dress, some strong outlines which distinguish this happy people from the neighbouring nations. Perhaps it may be preju­dice and unreasonable partiality; but I am more pleas­ed, because their first appearance very much reminds me of my own countrymen, and I could almost think, for a moment, that I am in England.

Schaffhausen is a neat and tolerably well-built town, situated upon the nothern shore of the Rhine. It is the capital of the canton of the same name, and ows its ori­gin to the interruption of the navigation of that river by the cataract at Lauffen. Huts were at first con­structed here for the convenience of unloading the merchandize from the boats; and these huts by de­grees, increased to a large town. Schaffhausen was formerly an imperial city, and was governed by a [...] aristocracy. It preserved liberties, which were attack­ed by the Dukes of Austria, by entering into an alli­ance with several other imperial towns, and with the Swiss cantons. In 1501, it was admitted a member of the Helvetic confederacy, being the twelfth canton in rank. Of all the cantons it is the least in size, be­ing only five leagues in length, and three in breadth. Its population is supposed to amount to 30,000 souls; of which the capital contains about 6000.

[Page 64] The whole number of citizens or burgesses (in whom the supreme power ultimatey resides) is, I am informed, about six hundred. They are divided into twelve tribes; and from these are elected eighty-five members, who form the sovereign council, consisting of a great and little council. To these two councils combined, the administration of affairs is committed; the senate, or little council of twenty-five, being en­trusted with the executive power; and the great coun­cil, comprising the senate, finally deciding all appeals and regulating the more important concerns of gov­vernment.

The revenues of the state arise partly from the tythes, and other articles of the like nature; but principally from the duties laid upon the merchandise which passes from Germany; and I am informed, that these cus­toms are nearly sufficient to defray all the public ex­pences. These, indeed, are not very considerable, as will appear from the salary of the burgo-master, or chief of the republic, which barely amounts to an hundred and fifty pounds per annum. The reform­ation was introduced here in 1529. The clergy are paid by the state, but their income is literally not suf­ficient for their maintenance; the best living being on­ly about an hundred pounds, and the worst only forty pounds per annum. The professors of literature also, who are taken from the clergy, are paid likewise by [Page 65] government; and a public school is supported at the expence of the same.

Sumptuary laws are in force here, as well as in most parts of Swisserland; and no dancing is allowed, ex­cept upon particular occasions. Silk, lace, and sever­al other articles of luxury are prohibited. Even the ladies head-dresses are regulated. How would such Gothic ordinances be received in England? They would serve at least to lower the price of feathers.

But what is of still greater importance, all games of hazard are strictly prohibited; and in other games, the party who loses above fix florins (about nine shillings of our money) incurs a considerable fine. An excel­lent regulation! And I was informed, that these laws are not, like ours of the same kind, mere cyphers, but are well observed.

The principal article of exportation is wine, of which they make a large quantity, the country abounding in vineyards. And as the canton furnishes but little corn, they procure it from Suabia, in exchange of their wine. In the town there are some, but not very con­siderable, manufactures, of linen, cotton, and silk. Their commerce, however, is very flourishing.

Scaffhausen, although a frontier town, has no gar­rison; and the fortifications are but slight. Nothing can give a better idea of the security of the Swiss can­tons; the citizens mount guard by turns; and the [Page 66] people of the canton being divided into regular com­panies of militia, which are exercised yearly, are al­ways ready and prepared to take up arms in defence of their country. This canton has some troops in the service of France, Sardinia, and Holland; the only foreign services into which the subjects of the Protest­ant cantons enlist.

Before I take my leave of this city, I must not omit mentioning the famous bridge over the Rhine, justly admired for the beauty and singularity of its architec­ture. The river is extremely rapid, and had already destroyed several bridges of stone, built upon arches of the strongest construction; when a carpenter of Apen­zel, undertook to throw a wooden one, of a single arch, across the river, which is near three thousand feet wide. The magistrates, however, insisted, that it should con­sist of two arches, and that he should make use, for that purpose, of the middle pier of the old bridge, which remained entire. Accordingly, the architect was obliged to obey; but he has contrived it in such a manner, that the bridge is not all supported by the middle pier; and it would certainly have been equally safe, and considerably more beautiful, had it consisted solely of one arch. But how shall I attempt to give an idea of it? I who am totally unskilled in architec­ture, and who have not the least knowledge of draw­ing, [Page 67] I shall, however, venture the following descrip­tion, and hope its inaccuracy will be excused.

It is a wooden bridge, of which the sides and top are covered, and the road over it is almost perfectly level. It is what the Germans call a haengewerk, or hanging bridge, the road not being carried, as usu­al, over the top of the arch; but, if I may use the ex­pression, is let down into the middle of it, and there suspended. The middle pier is not absolutely in a right line with the side ones that rest upon the shore; as it forms with them a very obtuse angle, pointing down the stream, being eight feet out of the linear di­rection. The distance of this middle pier from the shore that lies towards the town, is one hundred and seventy-one feet, and from the other side, one hundred and ninety-three: in all three hundred and sixty four feet; making, in appearance, two arches of a suppris­ing width, and forming the most beautiful perspective imaginable, when viewed at some distance. A man of the slightest weight walking upon it, feels it tremble under him: yet waggons, heavily laden, pass, over it without danger. And although, in the latter instance, the bridge seems almost to crack with the pressure, it does not appear to have suffered the least damage. It has been compared, and very justly, to a tight rope, which trembles when it is struck, but still preserves its firm and equal tension. I went under this bridge, [Page 68] close to the middle pier, in order to examine its me­chanism; and though in no respect a mechanic, I could not help being struck with the elegant simplici­ty of the architecture. I was not capable of determin­ing whether it rests upon the middle pier, but most judges agree that it does not.

When one observes the greatness of the plan and the boldness of the construction, one is astonished that the architect was a common carpenter, without the least tincture of literature, totally ignorant of mathe­matics, and not at all versed in the theory of mechanics. The name of this extraordinary man was Ulric Gru­benman, an obscure drunken fellow of Tuffen, a small village in the canton of Apenzel. Possessed of uncommon natural abilities, and a surprising turn for the practical part of mechanics, he raised himself to great eminence in his profession, and may justly be considered as one of the most ingenious architects of the present century. This bridge was finished in less than three years, and cost 90,000 florins, or about 8000l. sterling.

A few days ago, we set out on horseback, in order to see the fall of the Rhine at Lauffen, about a league from this place. Our road lay over the hills which form the banks of the Rhine; from whence we had some fine views of the town and castle of Schaffhau­sen. The environs are picturesque and agreeable: [Page 69] the river more beautifully winding through the vale. Upon our arrival at Lauffen, a small village in the canton of Zuric, we dismounted; and advancing to the edge of the precipice which overhangs the Rhine, we looked down perpendicularly upon the cataract, and saw the river tumbling over the sides of the rock with amazing violence and precipitation. From hence we descended till we were somewhat below the upper bed of the river, and stood close to the fall; so that I could almost have touched it with my hand. A scaf­fold is erected in the very spray of this tremendous cataract, and upon the most sublime point of view:—the sea of foam tumbling down,—the continual cloud, of spray scattered around at a great distance, and to a considerable heighth,—in short, the magnificence of the noble scenery far surpassed my most sanguine expectations, and exceeds all description. Within a­bout an hundred feet, as it appeared to be, of the scaf­folding, there are two rocks in the middle of the fall, that prevent one from seeing its whole breadth from this point. The nearest of these was perforated by the continual action, of the river; and the water forc­ed itself through in an oblique direction, with inexpres­sible fury, and an hollow sound. After having con­tinued some time comtemplating in silent admiration the awful sublimity of this wonderful landscape, we descended: and below the fall we crossed the river, which was exceedingly agitated.

[Page 70] Hitherto I had only viewed the car [...]aract sideways. But here it opened by degrees, and displayed another picture which I enjoyed at my leisure, as I sat myself down upon the opposite bank. The most striking ob­jects were on the side we came from; a castle, erected upon the very edge of the precipice, and projecting over the river; near it, a church and some cottages; on the side where I was sitting, a chump of cottages close to the fall; in the back ground, rising hills, planted with vines, or tufted with hanging woods; a beautiful little hamlet upon the summit, skirted with trees; the great body of water, that seemed, as it were, to rush out from the bottom of these hills; the two rocks above men­tioned, boldly advancing their heads in the midst of the fall, and in the very point of its steepest descent, their tops covered with shrubs, and dividing the cata­ract into three principal branches. The colour of the Rhine is extremely beautiful, being of a clear sea-green; and I could not but remark the fine effect of the tints, when blended with the white foam in its descent. There is a pleasing view from an iron foundry close to the river, which is dammed up, in order to prevent its carrying away the works and neighbouring cot­tages. By means of this dam, a small proportion of the river, in its fall, enters a trough, turns a mill, and forms a beautiful little silver current, gliding down the hare rock, and detached from the main cataract. Be­low [Page 71] the fall, the river widens considerably into a more ample bason. At the fall, the breadth, as well as I could judge by my eye, seemed to be about 250 feet. As to its perpendicular height, travellers differ. Those who are given to exaggeration reckon it an hundred feet high. But I should imagine about fifty feet would be nearer the truth. I stood for some time upon the brink of the cataract; beheld in admiration, and lis­tened in silence; then crossed the river, re-mounted my horse, and returned to Schaffhausen.

Some writers have asserted that the river precipi­tates itself in one sheet of water; and, as I before ob­served, from a perpendicular heighth of an hundred feet. In former ages this account was probably agree­able to fact; as it is imagined, that the space between the two banks were once a level rock, and considera­bly higher; that the river has insensibly worn away, and undermined those parts, on which it broke along with the utmost violence. For, within the memory of several of the inhabitants of this town, a large rock has given way, that has greatly altered the view In­deed I am convinced that the perpendicular heighth of the fall becomes less and less every year, by the con­tinual friction of so large and rapid a body of water; and have no doubt but that the two rocks, which now rise in the midst of the river, will in time, be under­mined and carried away. The river, for some way be­fore [Page 72] the fall, even near the bridge, dashes upon a rocky bottom, and renders the navigation impossible for any kind of vessel. A few weeks ago a countryman of ours tried an experiment with a small boat, which he contrived to have gently pushed to the edge of the cat­aract. It shot down entire to the bottom of the fall, was out of sight for a few moments, and then rose up, dashed into a thousand splinters.

SECT. XIII. OF GESNER THE AUTHOR OF THE DEATH OF ABEL, AND LAVATER THE PHYSIOGNOMIST.

ON the second of August we dined luxuriously with the Capuchin friars at Rapperschwyl, who seldom re­gale their guests in so sumptuous a manner. It was one of their great feast-days; and accordingly they gave us every possible variety of fresh-water fish, with which the lake and the neighbouring rivers abound. The convent is built upon the edge of the water, and commands from some of the apartments a very agreea­ble prospect. The library is by far the pleasantest room, though not the most frequented. The cells of [Page 73] of the monks are small, and yet not inconvenient; but cleanliness does not seem to constitute any part of their moral or religious observances. Indeed the ve­ry habit of the order is ill calculated for that purpose, as they wear no shirt or stockings, and are clothed in a course kind of a brown drugget robe, which trails upon the ground. Strange idea of sanctity! as if dirt could be acceptable to the Deity. I reflected with particular satisfaction, that I was not born a member of the Ro­man Catholic church; as perhaps the commands of a parent, a sudden disappointment, or a momentary fit of enthusiasm, might have sent me to a convent of Capuchins, and have wedded me to dirt and supersti­tion for life.

After dinner we took leave of our hosts, and depart­ed for Zuric by water. The lake of Zuric is near ten leagues in length, and one in breadth. The city stands upon a gentle eminence on the northern extremi­ty of the lake; a beautiful situation, and advantageous for commerce. For by means of the river Limmat, which issues from the lake, and dividing the town, falls into the Aar, there is a communication with the Rhine. And this advantage has not been neglected; as the trade of the town is verey extensive. The inhabitants are exceedingly industrious, and carry on with success several different branches of manufacture; the princi­pal is that of crape. Their chief traffic is with France, Russia, Italy, and Holland.

[Page 74] Since the reformation many persons have flourished here, eminent for their learning in all branches of lite­rature: and there is no town in Swisserland, where letters are more encouraged, or where they are culti­vated with greater success. I waited this morning upon the celebrated Gesner, author of the Death of Abel, and several other performances, which for their delicate and elegant simplicity are justly esteemed. They abound with those nice touches of exquisite sen­sibility, which discover a mind warmed with the finest sentiments; and love is represented in the chastest col­ouring of innocence, virtue, and benevolence. Nor has he confined his subjects merely to the tender pas­sion. Paternal affection, and filial reverence; grati­tude, humanity; in short, every moral duty is ex­hibited and inculcated in the most pleasing and affect­ing manner. He has for sometime renounced poetry in order to take up the pencil; and painting is at pre­sent his favourite amusement. A treatise which he has published on landscape-painting, shows the ele­gance of his taste, and the versatility of his genius; while his compositions in both kinds prove the resem­blance of the two arts; and that the conceptions of the poet and of the painter are congenial. I prefer his drawings in black and white to his paintings; for, although the ideas in both are equally beautiful or sub­lime, his colouring is inferior to his design. He is [Page 75] preparing an handsome edition of his writings in quar­to, in which every part of the work is carried on by himself. He prints them at his own private press, and is at once both the drawer and engraver of his plates. It is to be lamented that he has renounced poetry; for, while ordinary writers spring up in great plenty, au­thors of real genius are rare and uncommon. His drawings are seen only by a few, and will scarcely be known to posterity. But his writings are dispersed abroad, translated into every language, and will be ad­mired by future ages, as long as there remains any re­lish for true pastoral simplicity, or any taste for origi­nal composition. He is plain in his manners; open, affable, and obliging in his address; and of singular modesty. He has nothing of the poet in his appear­ance, except in his eye, which is full of sense, fire, and expression.

We waited also on Mr. Lavater, a clergyman of Zu­ric, and celebrated physiognomist, who has published a famous treatise on that fanciful subject. He express­ed himself badly in French; but there was an agreeable warmth and vivacity in his countenance and manner, while he conversed upon his favourite subject. That particular passions have a certain effect upon particu­lar features, is evident to the most common observer; and it may be conceived, that an habitual indulgence of these passions may possibly, in some cases, impress [Page 76] a distinguishing mark on the countenance. But that a certain cast of features constantly denotes certain passions; and that by contemplating the former, we can infallibly discover also the mental qualities of the owner, is an hypothesis liable, I should think, to so many exceptions, that no general and uniform system could be justly formed upon it. Nevertheless Mr. Lavater, like a true enthusiast, carries his theory much farther. For he not only pretends to discover the cha­racters and passions by the features, by the complex­ion, by the form of the hand, and by the motion of the arms, but he also draws some inferences of the same kind even from one's hand-writing. And indeed his system is formed upon such universal principles, that he applies the same rules to all animated nature, extending them not only to brutes, but even to insects. That the temper of a horse may be discovered by his countenance, does not strike one as any thing absurd. But was it ever heard before that any quality could be inferred from the physiognomy of a Bee, or of an Ant? While I give my opinion thus freely concerning Mr. Lavater's notions, it will be readily perceived, that I am not one of those, who are initiated into the myste­ries of his art. Nor do I mean to censure indiscrimi­nately the system of that celebrated writer. For, not­withstanding the extravagance of some of his tenets, the severest critics allow, that there is a fund of good sense and a variety of fine observations dispersed [Page 77] throughout his treatise; and that it is one of those works, which, to be admired, needs only to be read with attention.

The clergy of Zuric are in general better paid than in the other Protestant cantons; and among that body there are some who are very decently provided for; a circumstance rather uncommon in the Reformed or Presbyterian churches.

Sumptuary laws, as well as those against immorali­ty, are here well observed. The former indeed may exist, and be carried into execution even among a peo­ple much corrupted; for it may be the policy of gov­ernment to enforce their observance. But the severest penalties will not be sufficient to prevent crimes of an immoral tendency, amidst a general dissoluteness of manners. It is the popular principles that can alone invigorate such laws, and give them their full opera­tion. Among the Romans, the laws against adultery were severe; and yet where was adultery more practis­ed than at Rome? In Zuric it is rigorously punished, without any distinction of rank, by fine, by expulsion from office, and by imprisonment. But the frequency of this crime is not so much restrained by the penalty annexed to it, as from the general good morals of the inhabitants. Secret crimes cannot be prevented; but it is an evident proof of public virtue, when open breaches of morality are discountenanced. Among their sumptuary laws, the use of a carriage in the town [Page 78] is prohibited to all sorts of persons except strangers. And, it is almost inconceivable that, in a place so very commercial and wealthy, luxury should so little prevail.

The bublic granary, on account of its admirable in­stitution, deserves to be particularly mentioned. Corn is purchased by government, and given out to those who chuse to buy it at the common price; but in sea­sons of scarcity it is sold considerably cheaper than it can be bought at the market. The use of this institu­tion appeared in the late dearth; when bread, from the dearness of corn, was sold at ten pence the pound, gov­ernment delivered the same quantity for four pence.

The arsenal is well supplied with cannon, arms, and amunition; and contains a reserve of muskets for thir­ty thousand men. We saw there, and admired, some of the two-handed swords and weighty armour of the old Swiss warriors; as also the bow and arrow, with which William Tell is said to have shot the apple off the head of his son.

SECT. XIV. EXPEDITION ACROSS THE VALLEY OF ICE, IN THE GLACIER OF MONTANVERT. A. D. 1776.

ON the 23d of August we went to see " ^* Les Mu­railles de Glace," so called from their resemblance to walls. They consist of large ranges of ice, of prodigi­ous thickness and solidity, rising abruptly from their base, and parallel to each other. Some of these rang­es appeard to us about an hundred and fifty feet high; but, if we may believe our guides, they are four hun­dred feet above their real base. Near them were py­ramids and cones of ice of all forms and sizes, shoot­ing up to a very considerable height, in the most beau­tiful and fantastic shapes imaginable. From this Gla­cier, which we crossed without much difficulty, we had a fine view of the value of Chamouni.

On the 24th, we proposed sallying forth very early, in order to go to the Valley of Ice, in the Glacier of Montanvert, and to penetrate as far as the time would admit; but the weather proving cloudy, and likely to rain, we deferred setting out till nine, when appearan­ces gave us the hope of its clearing up. Accordingly [Page 80] we procured three excellent guides, and ascended on horseback some part of the way over the mountain, which leads to the Glacier above-mentioned. We were then obliged to dismount, and scrambled up the rest of the mountains, (chiefly covered with pines) a­long a steep and rugged path called "the road of the chrystal-hunters." From the summit of Montanvert we descended a little to the edge of the Glacier, and made a refreshing meal upon some cold provision which we brought with us. A large block of gra­nite, called " ^* La Pierre des Anglois," served us for a table; and near us was a miserable hovel, where those who make expeditions towards Mont Blanc, frequent­ly pass the night. The scene around us was magnifi­cent and sublime; numberless rocks rising boldly a­bove the clouds, some of whose tops were bare, others covered with snow. Many of these, gradually dimin­ishing towards their summits, end in sharp points; and from this circumstance they are called the Needles. Between these rocks the Valley of Ice stretched several leagues in length, and is nearly a mile broad; extend­ing on one side towards Mont Blanc, and, on the other, towards the plain of Chamount.

After we had sufficiently refreshed ourselves, we drepared for our adventure across the ice. We had each of us a long pole spiked with iron; and, in order [Page 81] to secure us as much as possible from slipping, the guides fastened to our shoes crampons, consisting of a small bar of iron, to which are fixed four small spikes of the same metal.

The difficulty of crossing these valleys of ice, arises from the immense chasms. They are produced by several causes; but more particularly by the continual melting of the interior surface. This frequently occa­sions a sinking of the ice; and under such circumstan­ces, the whole mass is suddenly rent asunder in that particular place with a most violent explosion. We rolled down large stones into several of them, and the great length of time before they reached the bottom, gave us some conception of their depth. Our guides assured us, that in some places they are five hundred feet deep. I can no otherwise convey to you an im­age of this immense body of ice, consisting of continu­ed irregular ridges and deep chasms, than by resem­bling it to a raging sea, that had been instantaneously frozen in the midst of a violent storm.

We began our walk with great slowness and delibera­tion, but we gradually gained more courage and con­fidence as we advanced; and we soon found that we could safely pass along those parts, where the ascent and descent were not very considerable, much faster even than when walking at the rate of our common pace. In other parts we leaped over the clefts, and [Page 82] slid down the steeper descents as well as we could. In one place where we descended, and stepped across an opening upon a narrow ridge of ice scarcely three in­ches broad, we were obliged to tread with peculiar caution; for on each side were chasms of a great depth. We walked some paces sideways along this ridge; [...]ept across the chasm into a little hollow, which the guides made on purpose for our feet, and got up an ascent, by means of small holes, which we made with the spikes of our poles. All this sounds terrible; b [...] at the time we had none of us the least apprehensions of danger, as the guides were exceedingly careful, and took excellent precautions. One of our servants had the courage to follow us without crampons, and with no nails to his shoes, which was certainly dangerous, on account of the slipperiness of the leather when wet­ted. He got along, however, surprisingly well: though in some places we were alarmed, lest he should slip up­on the edge of one of those chasms; for had that acci­dent happened to any of us, we must inevitably have been lost, having neglected to provide ourselves with long ropes in case of such an event. This man was probably the first person who ever ventured across the Valley of Ice, without either crampons or nails to his shoes.

We were now almost arrived at the other extremity, when we were stopped by a chasm so broad that there [Page 83] was no possibility of passing it. We were obliged to make a circuit of above a quarter of a mile, in order to get round this vast opening. This will give you some idea of the difficulty attending excursions over some of these Glaciers; and our guides informed us, that when they hunt the chamois and the marmottes in these [...] regions, these unavoidable circuits generally carry them six or seven miles about, when they would have only two miles to go if they could proceed in a straight line.

A storm threatening us every moment, we were o­bliged to hasten off the Glacier as fast as possible, for rain renders the ice exceedingly slippery; and in case of a fog (which generally accompaneis a storm in these upper regions) our situation would have been extreme­ly dangerous. And indeed we had no time to lose; for the tempest began just as we had quitted the ice, and soon became very violent, attended with frequent flashes of lightning, and loud peals of thunder, which being re-echoed within the hollows of the mountains, added greatly to the awful sublimity of the scene. We now descended a very steep precipice, and for some way were obliged to crawl upon our hands and feet down a bare rock; the storm at the same time roaring over us, and rendering the rock extremely slippery. We were by this time quite wet through, but we got to the bottom, however, without much hurt. Upon [Page 84] observing the immense extent of these Glaciers, I could not help remarking, (and it is a circumstance which many other travellers have observed before) what a fund is here laid up for the supply of rivers, and that the sources which give rise to the Rhine, the Rhone, and the Po, will never fail. I returned at length to the inn, as dripping wet as if I had been plunged into water, but perfectly satisfied with my ex­pedition.

I cannot conceive any subject in natural history more curious than the formation and progress of these Glaciers; running far into fields of corn and rich pas­ture, and lying, without being melted, in a situation where the sun has power sufficient to ripen the fruits of the field. It is literally true, that with one hand we could touch ice, and with the other ripe corn. But as this is a subject too important to be treated su­perficially, and requires much accurate observation, and repeated experimental investigation, I shall not at­tempt to enter into it. I beg leave nevertheless, to make one observation, which will serve to prove the occasional increase and diminution of the Glaciers, contrary to the opinion of some philosophers, who ad­vance that they remain always the same; and of oth­ers, who assert that they are continually increasing. I think I may venture to assert, that both these opini­ons are untenable; and it happens in this, as in many [Page 85] other subjects, that experience and truth are sacrificed to the supporting of a favourite hypothesis. Indeed the fact seems to be, that these Glaciers in some years, increase considerably in extent, while in others they recede; and of this I am perfectly convinced from the following circumstances.

The borders of the Valley of Ice of the Glacier of Montanvert are mostly skirted with trees. Towards its foot a vast arch of ice rises to near an hundred feet in heighth; from under which, the continued drop­pings from the melting of the ice and snow are collect­ed together, and form the Arveron, which rushes forth with considerable force, and in a large body of water. As we approached the extremity of this arch, we pass­ed through a wood of firs. Those which stand at a little distance from the ice are about eighty feet high, and are undoubtedly of a very great age. Between these and the Glacier, the trees are of a later growth, as is evident as well from their inferior size, as from their texture and shape. Others, which resemble the latter, have been overturned and enveloped in the ice. In all these several trees, respectively situated in the spots I have mentioned, there seems to be a kind of regular gradation in their age, from the largest size to those that lie prostrate.

These facts fairly lead, it should seem, to the follow­ing conclusions;—that the Glacier once extended as [Page 86] far as the row of tall firs; that, upon its retiring, a number of trees have shot up in the very spots, which it formerly occupied; that within some years the Gla­cier has again begun to advance, and in its progress has overturned the trees of later date, before they have had time to grow up to any considerable heighth.

To these circumstances, another fact may be added, which appears to me convincing. There are large stones of granite, which are found only at a small dis­tance from the extremities of the Glacier. These are vast fragments, which have certainly fallen down from the mountains upon the ice, have been carried on by the Glacier in its increase, and have tumbled into the plain, upon the melting or sinking of the ice which supported them.

SECT. XV. OF BERNE, IN SWISSERLAND.

I WAS very much struck upon my entrance into Berne, with its singular neatness and beauty. I do not remember to have seen any town (Bath alone except­ed) the first appearance whereof had so pleasing an ef­fect. [Page 87] The principal street is broad and long; the houses are mostly uniform, built of a greyish stone up­on arcades, which are admirably well paved. Through the middle of the street runs a lively stream of the clearest water, in a channel constructed for its recep­tion. But besides this stream, it abounds with foun­tains, not less ornamental to the place than beneficial to the inhabitants. The river Aar flows close by the town, and indeed almost surrounds it, winding its ser­pentine course over a rocky bottom, much below the level of the streets; and for a considerable way form­ing by its banks, which are steep and craggy, a kind of natural rampart. The cathedral church is a noble piece of Gothic architecture. It stands upon a plat­form that has been raised at a great expence from the bed of the river, and which commands as fine a view as any I have seen in Swisserland.

The country around is richly cultivated, and agree­ably diversified with hills, lawns, wood, and water; the river flows rapidly below, and an abrupt chain of high and rugged Alps appears at some distance, the tops whereof are covered with eternal snow. Such an as­semblage of beautiful objects would, in any view, pre­sent a most striking prospect; but its effect becomes greatly heightened when seen from the midst of a large town.

All the public buildings are in a most noble simpli­city [Page 88] of style, and announce the riches and grandeur of the republic. The arsenal contains arms for sixty thousand men, besides a considerable quantity of cannon which were cast here. The granary is an excellent institution, similar to that of Zuric; but it differs from that of Geneva, as the expence does not fall chiefly upon the poor: for the bakers are not compelled by government to purchase their corn from the public magazine.

The hospitals, which are large, airy, and well bulit, are excellently regulated, both with respect to the care and attention paid to the sick, and to the cleanliness of the several wards. The town is kept neat by a num­ber of felons, who are sentenced to this drudgery dur­ing a certain time, according to the nature of their of­fences; and as capital condemnations are very rare, this is the most usual manner of punishing their cri­minals. These culprits are distinguished by an iron collar, with a hook projecting over their heards.

The library is a small, but well chosen collection, and contains some very curious manuscripts. Of these, Mr. Sinner, a man of great erudition, has pub­lished a very satisfactory and judicious catalogue. He has not only set forth their titles, and ascertained their age, but has also given a general and succinct account of their respective subjects; and from many of them has published extracts equally curious and interesting. [Page 89] Among these manuscripts are some of the thirteenth century, consisting of several songs and romances of the Troubadours, written in that and the preceding ages, which merit the attention of those who are con­versant in that species of ancient poetry.

I have been much disappointed in not seeing the great Haller. His very infirm state of health would not admit of his receiving a visit from us. I need not mention how eminently that celebrated author has dis­tinguished himself in every species of polite literature, and in several branches of natural philosophy. Unlike certain minute philosophers of the present age, whose atheistical and infidel writings are too well known, and too widely dissemminated, this great man is so unfash­ionable as to have followed the steps of a Locke and a Newton; and to have proved himself, both in his life and his writings, a zealous friend and able advocate of Christianity. When literature and philosophy, in­stead of being employed, as they too often have been, in supporting sceptical tenets by artful sophistry, thus lend their joint assistance to the cause of religion, it is then only that they become an honour to the possessor, and a benefit to society.

Learning is neither so universally encouraged, nor so successfully cultivated here as at Zuric. The acade­mical studies are almost solely directed to those branch­es of knowledge more essentially necessary for entering [Page 90] into the church. The society for the promotion of agriculture, is almost the only establishment which di­rectly tends to the progress of the arts and sciences; and even this meets with no great countenance from government. There is but little trade in the capital. Some few manufactures indeed (chiefly of linen and silk) have been established; but they are carried on by those only who have no prospect of being admit­ted into the sovereign council. For those famalies, who have any influence on public affairs, would hold themselves degraded were they to engage in any branch of commerce; and as offices of the state, except bail­liages, are in general not very profitable, nor indeed, numerous, many of them enter, as their sole resource, into sovereign armies. With respect to those among them who have sufficient interest to be chosen into the sovereign council, they must have attained the full age of twenty-nine before they are eligible. In the mean while, as very few of them apply their minds to literary pursuits, they usually, from mere want of em­ployment, waste the interval in an idle and dissipated course of life. Nevertheless, there are several mem­bers of the sovereign council, who are justly distinguish­ed for their political abilities; and, being thoroughly acquainted with the respective interests of the differ­ent powers of Europe, they know perfectly well how to avail themselves of every conjuncture, which may [Page 91] be turned to the advantage or the glory of their own republic.

The inhabitants of Berne value themselves much upon their politeness to strangers. And indeed, it is but doing them strict justice to acknowledge, that they have shown us (with that peculiar frankness and unaf­fected affability I have so often had occasion to admire in the Swiss) every civility in their power.

SECT. XVI. OF THE PRICE OF PROVISIONS IN SWISSER­LAND. A. D. 1776.

The following is the ordinary price of provisions throughout the mountainous parts of Swisserland:

[Page 92] But this, as one may perceive, that in proportion, bread is much dearer than the other articles, and the reason is obvious; for all these mountainous parts consist almost entirely of pasturages, and produce little corn. The peasants of Swisserland (I mean those who inhabit the mountainous districts) live chiefly upon milk, and what results from it, together with potatoes, which are here much cultivated. According to the price of provisions in England, the above list will ap­pear exceedingly cheap; but then it ought, at the same time, to be considered, that money is very scarce in these parts. Nor indeed is it so much necessary in a country, where there is no luxury; where all the pea­santry have, within themselves, more than sufficient for their own consumption; and are tolerably well provi­ded with every necessary of life from their own little demesnes. I had a long conversation with one of the lads, who came with us from Altdorf, and takes care of the horses. He lives upon the mountains of Uri; and, as their winter lasts near eight months of the year, dur­ing some part of which time there can be little com­munication between the several cottages, every fami­ly is of course obliged to lay in their provision for the whole winter. His own, it seems, consists of seven persons, and is provided with the following stores;—Seven cheeses, each weighing twenty-five pounds; an hundred and eight pounds of hard bread, twenty-five [Page 93] baskets of potatoes, each weighing about forty pounds; seven goats, and three cows, one of which they kill. The cows and horses (if they keep any) are fed with hay, and the goats with the boughs of firs; which in a scarcity of hay, they give also to their other cattle. During this dreary season the family are employed in making linen, shirts, &c. sufficient for their own use: and, for this purpose, a small patch of the little piece of ground belonging to every cottage, is generally sown with flax. The cultivation of the latter has been much attended to and with increasing success, in these moun­tainous parts of Swisserland.

The houses are generally built of wood; and it was a natural remark of one of our servants, as we passed through such a continued chain of rocks, that as there was stone enough to build all the cottages in the coun­try, it was wonderful they should use nothing but wood for that purpose; a remark that has been made by many travellers. But it should seem, that these wood­en houses are much sooner constructed, and are easily repaired; that they are built in so solid and compact a manner (the rooms small, and the ceilings low) as to be sufficiently warm even for so cold a climate. The chief objection to them arises from the danger of fire; as the flames must rage with great rapidity, and com­municate easily from one to the other. This incon­venience however, is in a great measure obviated by [Page 94] the method of building their cottages apart; all their villages consisting of detached and scattered hamlets. But this observation does not hold with respect to some of their largest burghs; and these must consequently be exposed to the ravages of this most dreadful of all calamities.

SECT. XVII. GENERAL REFLECTIONS UPON THE THIR­TEEN SWISS CANTONS. A. D. 1776.

THERE is no part of Europe which contains, with­in the same extent of region, so many independent commonwealths, and such a variety of different gov­ernments, as are collected together in this remarkable and delightful country; and yet, with such wisdom was the Helvetic union composed, that so little have the Swiss, of late years, been actuated with the spirit of conquest, that since the firm and complete establish­ment of their general confederacy, they have scarcely ever had occasion to employ their arms against a fo­reign enemy; and have had no hostile commotions a­mong themselves, which were not very soon happily terminated. Perhaps there is not a similar instance in ancient or modern history, of a warlike people, di­vided [Page 95] into little independent republics, closely border­ing upon each other, and of course having occasional­ly interfering interests, having continued, during so long a period, in an almost uninterrupted state of tran­quility. And thus, while the several neighbouring kingdoms have suffered, by turns, all the horrors of in­ternal war, this favoured nation hath enjoyed the feli­city described by Lucretius, and looked down with security upon the various tempests, which have sha­ken the world around them.

But the happiness of a long peace, has neither bro­ken the spirit, not enervated the arm of this people. The youth are diligently trained to all the martial ex­ercises, such as running, wrestling, and shooting both with the cross-bow and the musket; a considerable number of well disciplined Swiss troops are always em­ployed in foreign services; and the whole people are enrolled, and regularly exercised in their respective militia. By these means they are capable, in case it should be necessary, of collecting a very respectable body of forces, which could not fail of proving formi­dable to any enemy, who should invade their country, or attack their liberties. Thus, while most of the o­ther states upon the continent are tending more and more towards a military government, Swisserland alone has no standing armies; and yet; from the nature of its situation, from its particular alliances, and from the [Page 96] policy of its internal government, is more secure from invasion than any other European power, and full as able to withstand the greatest force that can be brought against it.

But the felicity of Swisserland does not consist mere­ly in being peculiarly exempted from the burdens and miseries of war; there is no country in which happi­ness and content more universally prevail among the people. For, whether the government be aristocrati­cal, democratical, or mixed; absolute or limited; a general spirit of liberty pervades and actuates the sev­eral constitutions; so that even the eligarchical states (which, of all others, are usually the most tyrannical) are here peculiarly mild; and the property of the sub­ject is securely guarded against every kind of viola­tion.

But there is one general defect in their criminal ju­risprudence, which prevails throughout this country. For although the Caroline code, as it is styled, or the code of the Emperor Charles V. forms in each of the republics, the principal basis of their penal laws, with particular modifications and additions in different districts, yet much too great a latitude is allowed to the respective judges, who are less governed in their determinations by this code, or any other written law, than by the common principles of justice. How far long experience may have justified the prudence of trusting them with this extraordinary privilege, I can­not [Page 97] say; but discretionary powers, of this kind are un­doubtedly liable to the most alarming abuse, and can never, without the greatest hazard, be committed to the hands of the magistrate.

I cannot forbear reflecting, upon this occasion, on the superior wisdom, in the present instance, as well as in many others, of our own most invaluable consti­tution; and indeed, it is impossible for an Englishman to observe, in his travels, the governments of other countries, without becoming a warmer or more affec­tionate admirer of his own. In England, the life and liberty of the subject does not depend upon the arbi­trary dicision of his judge, but is secured by express laws, from which no magistrate can depart with impu­nity. This guarded precision, it is true, may occa­sionally, perhaps, be attended with some inconvenien­cies; but they are over-balanced by advantages of so much greater weight, as to be scarcely perceptible in the scales of justice. I do not mean, however, to throw any imputation upon the officers of criminal jurisdic­tion in Swisserland. As far as I could observe, they administer distributive justice with an impartial and equitable hand.

One cannot but be astonished, as well as concerned, to find, that, in a country where the true principles of civil government are so well understood, and so gene­rally adopted as in Swisserland, the trial by torture is [Page 98] yet abolished. For in some particular cases, the sus­pected criminal is still put to the rack. The ineffica­cy, no less than the inhumanity, of endeavouring to extort the truth by the several horrid instruments, which too ingenious cruelty have devised for that pur­pose, has been so often exposed by the ablest writers, that it would be equally impertinent and superfluous to trouble the world with any reflections of mine up­on the subject. And indeed, the whole strength of the several arguments, which have been urged upon this occasion, is comprised in the very just and pointed ob­servation of the admirable Bruyere, that " ^* la question est une invention marveilleuse et tout-a-fait sure, pour perdre un innocent qui a la complexion foible, et sau­ver un coupable qui est ne robuste." I cannot howe­ver but add, in justice to the Swiss, that zealous advo­cates have not been wanting among them for the total abolition of torture. But arguments of reason, and sentiments of humanity, have been found, even in this civilized and enlightened country, to avail little against inveterate custom and long confirmed preju­dices.

[Page 99] Criminal justice is in Swisserland, as in the great­est part of Europe, administered agreeable to the rules of the civil law. According to the maxims of that code, the criminal's confession is absolutely requisite, in order to his suffering capital punishment; and con­sequently, all those nations, who have not established a new code of criminal jurisprudence, retain the use of torture.

The present king of Prussia, it is well known, set the example in Germany, of abolishing this inhuman practice, but few, perhaps, are apprised, that the first hint of this reformation was suggested to him by read­ing the History of England. For, one of the princi­pal arguments in support of this method of extorting confession, being, that it affords the best means of dis­covering plots against government, the sagacious mon­arch remarked, that the British annals fully confute the fallacy of that reasoning. Few kingdoms, he ob­served, had abounded more in conspiracies and rebel­lions than England; and yet that the leaders and abet­tors of them had been more successfully traced and discovered, without the use of torture, than in any country where it was practised. "From thence," ad­ded this wise politician, speaking upon the subject, "I saw the absurdity of torture, and abolished it ac­cordingly."

The above anecdote, which I had from very respec­table [Page 100] authority, bears the most honourable testimony to the efficacy as well as the mildness of our penal laws, and to the superior excellency of the process ob­served in our courts of criminal justice.

With respect to agriculture; there is, perhaps, no country in the world where the advantageous effects of unwearied and persevering industry are more remarka­bly conspicuous. In travelling over the mountainous parts of Swisserland, I was struck with admiration and astonishment, to observe rocks, that were formerly bar­ren, now planted with vines, or abounding in rich pasture; to mark the traces of the plough, along the side of the precipices, so steep, that it must be with great difficulty, that a horse could even mount them. In a word, the inhabitants seem to have surmounted every obstruction which soil, situation, and climate, had thrown in their way, and to have spread fertility over various spots of the country, which nature seem­ed to have consigned to everlasting barrenness. In fine, a general simplicity of manners, an open and un­affected frankness, together with an invincible spirit of freedom, may justly be mentioned in the number of those peculiar qualities, which dignify the public character of the people, and distinguish them with honour among the nations of Europe.

Learning is less generally diffused among the catho­lic than the protestant states. But in both, a man of [Page 101] letters will find abundant opportunities of gratifying his researches and improving his knowledge. To the natural philosopher, Swisserland will afford an inex­haustible source of entertainment and information, as well from the great variety of physical curiosities, so plentifully spread over the country, as from the con­siderable number of persons eminently skilled in that branch of science. Indeed in every town, and almost in every village, the curious traveller will meet with collections worthy of his attention.

SECT. XVIII. OF FRANKFORT. A. D. 1775.

AMONG the remarkable things in Frankfort, the inns may be reckoned. Two in particular, the Empe­ror and the Read House, for cleanliness, conveniency, and number of apartments, are superior to any I ever saw on the continent, and vie with our most magnifi­cent inns in England.

At these, as at all other inns in Germany, there is an ordinary, at which the strangers may dine and sup. This is called the Table d'Hôte, from the cir­cumstance of the landlord's sitting at the bottom of the table and carving the victuals. The same name [Page 102] for an ordinary is still retained in France, though the landlord does not sit at the table, which was the case formerly in that country, and still is the custom in Ger­many.

There are no private lodgings to be had here as in London. Strangers, therefore, retain apartments at the inn during the whole time of their residence in any of the towns. And travellers of every denomination in this country, under the rank of sovereign princess, make no scruple of eating occasionally at the table d'Hôte of the inn where they lodge, which custom is universally followed by strangers from every country on the continent of Europe.

Many of our countrymen, however, who despise oeconomy, and hate the company of strangers, prefer eating in their own apartments to the table d'Hôte, or any private table to which they may be invited.

It would be arrogance in any body to dispute the right which every free born Englishman has to follow his own inclination in this particular. Yet when peo­ple wish to avoid the company of strangers, it strikes me, that they might indulge their fancy as completely at home as abroad; and while they continue in that humour, I cannot help thinking that they might save themselves the inconveniency and expence of travelling.

The manners and genius of nations, it is true, are not to be learnt at inns; nor is the most select compa­ny [Page 103] to be found at public ordinaries; yet a person of observation, and who is fond of the study of charac­ter, will sometimes find instruction and entertain­ment at both. He there sees the inhabitants of the country on a less ceremonious footing than he can elsewhere, and hears the remarks of travellers of ev­ery degree.

The first care of a traveller certainly should be, to form an acquaintance and some degree of intimacy with the principal people in every place where he in­tends to reside;—to accept invitations to their family parties, and attend their societies;—to entertain them at his apartments, when that can be conveniently done, and endeavour to acquire a just notion of their gov­ernment, customs, sentiments, and manner of living.

Those who are fond of the study of man, which, with all due deference to the philosophers who prefer that of beasts, birds and butterflies, is also a pardona­ble amusement, will mix occasionally with all degrees of people, and when not otherwise engaged, will not scruple to take a seat at the table d'Hôte. It is said, that low people are sometimes to be found at these or­dinaries. This, to be sure is a weighty objection; but then it should be remembered, that it is within the bounds of possibility that men, even engaged in com­merce, may have liberal minds, and may be able to give as distinct accounts of what is worthy of observa­tion, [Page 104] as if they had been as idle as people of the high­est fashion through the whole of their lives. A man must have a very turgid idea of his own grandeur, if he cannot submit, in a foreign country, to dine at ta­ble with a person of inferior rank, especially as he will meet, at the same time, with others as equal, or supe­rior rank to himself. For all etiquette of this nature is waved, even in Germany at the tables d'Hôtes.

A knowledge of the characters of men, as they appear varied in different situations and countries; the study of humun nature, indeed, in all its forms and modifica­tions, is highly interesting to the mind, and worthy the attention of the greatest man. This is not to be perfectly attained in courts and palaces. The investi­gator of nature must visit her in humbler life, and put himself on a level with the men whom he wishes to know.

It is generally found, that those who possess real great­ness of mind, never hesitate to overleap the obstacles, and despise the forms, which may stand in the way of their acquiring this useful knowledge.

The most powerful of all arguments against entirely declining to appear at the public table of the inn, is, that in this country it is customary for the ladies them­selves, when on a journey, to eat there; and my parti­ality for the table, d'Hôte may possibly be owing in some degree to my having met at one of them, with [Page 105] two of the handsomest women that I have seen since I have been in this country, which abounds in female beauty.

There is more expression in the countenances of French women; but the ladies in Germany have the advantage in the fairness of their skin and the bloom of their complexion. They have a greater resem­blance to English women than to French; yet they differ considerably from them both. I do not know how to give an idea of the various shades of expres­sion, which, if I mistake not, I can distinguish in the features of the sex in these three countries.

A handsome French woman, besides the ease of her manner, has commonly a look of cheerfulness and great vivacity. She appears willing to be acquainted with you, and seems to expect that you should address her.

The manner of an English woman is not so devoid of restraint; and a stranger, especially if he be a foreign­er, may observe a look which borders on disdain in her countenance. Even among the loveliest features, some­thing of a sulky air often appears.

A German beauty, without the smart air of the one or the reserve of the other, has generally a more placid look than either.

SECT. XIX. OF THE QUEEN OF DENMARK. A. D. 1775.

THE D—of H—having determined to pay his respects to the Queen of Denmark before he left Han­over, chose to make his visit while the Hereditary princess was with her sister.

I accompanied him to Zell, and next day waited on the Count and Countess Dean, to let them know of the D—'s arrival, and to be informed when we could have the honour of being presented to the Queen. They both belong to the princess of Bruns­wick's family, and while I was at breakfast with them, her royal highness entered the room, and gave me the information I wanted.

Before dinner I returned with the duke to the castle, where we remained till late in the evening. There was a concert of music between dinner and supper, and the queen seemed in better spirits than could have been expected.

Zell is a small town, without trade or manufactures; the houses are old, and of a mean appearance, yet the high courts of appeal for all the territories of the Elec­toral House of Brunswick Lunenburg are held here. [Page 107] The inhabitants derive their principal means of subsist­ence from this circumstance.

This town was severely harrassed by the French army at the beginning of the late war, and was afterwards pillaged, in revenge for the supposed infraction of the treaty of Closter-Seven. The Duke de Richlieu had his head quarters here, when Duke Ferdinand re as­sembled the troops who had been disarmed and dispers­ed immediately after that convention.

The castle is a stately building, surrounded by a moat, and strongly fortified. It was formerly the resi­dence of the Dukes of Zell, and was lately repaired by order of the King of Great Britain, for the recep­tion of his unfortunate sister. The apartments are spacious and convenient, and now handsomely furnish­ed.

The officers of the court, the Queen's maids of honor, and other attendants, have a very genteel appearance; and retain the most respectful attachment to their ill-fated mistress. The few days we remained at Zell were spent entirely at court, where every thing seemed to be arranged in the style of the other small German courts, and nothing wanting to render the Queen's situation as comfortable as circumstances would ad­mit; but by far her greatest consolation is the compa­ny and conversation of her sister. Some degree of sa­tisfaction appears in her countenance, while the Prin­cess [Page 108] remains at Zell; but the moment she goes away, the Queen, as we were informed, becomes a prey to dejection and despondency. The Princess exerts her­self to prevent this, and devotes to her sister all the time she can spare from the duties she ows to her own family. Unlike those who take the first pretext of breaking connections which can no longer be of ad­vantage, this humane Princess has displayed even more attachment to her sister since her misfortunes, than she ever did while the Queen was in the meridian of her prosperity.

The youth, the agreeable countenance, and obliging manners of the Queen, have conciliated the minds of every one in this country. Though she was in per­fect health, and appeared cheerful, yet, convinced that her gaiety was assumed, and the effect of a strong ef­fort, I felt an impression of melancholy, which it was not in my power to overcome all the time we remained at Zell.

On the evening of our arrival at Hanover, we had the pleasure of hearing Handel's Messiah performed. Some of the best company of this place were assem­bled on the occasion, and we were here made acquaint­ed with old Field-Marshal Sporken, and other people of distinction. Hanover is a neat, thriving, and a­greeable city. It has more the appearance of an En­glish town than any other I have seen in Germany; [Page 109] and the English manners and customs gain ground ev­ery day among the inhabitants. The genial influence of freedom has extended from England to this place. Tyranny is not felt, and ease and satisfaction appear in the countenances of the citizens.

SECT. XX. ON THE PALACE AT POTSDAM, AND THE KING OF PRUSSIA. A. D. 1775.

THE palace at Potsdam, or what they call the castle, is a very noble building, with magnificent gardens ad­jacent. I shall not particularly describe either; only it struck me as a thing rather uncommon in a palace, to find the study by far the finest apartment in it. The ornaments of this are of massy silver. The writing-desk, the embelishments of the table, and the accommo­dations of the books, were all in fine taste.

The person who attended us, asked if we had a de­sire to see his Majesty's wardrobe? On being answer­ed in the affirmative, he conducted us to the chamber where the monarch's clothes are deposited. The whole wardrobe consisted of two blue coats faced with red, the lining of one a little torn;—two yellowish waist; [Page 110] coats, a good deal soiled with Spanish Snuff;—three pair of yellow breeches, and a suit of blue velvet, embroidered with silver, for grand occasions.

I imagined at first, that the man had got a few of the King's old clothes, and kept them here to amuse strangers. But, upon enquiry, I was assured, that what I have mentioned, with two suits of uniform which he has at Sans-Souci, from the entire wardrobe of the King of Prussia. Our attendant said he had never known it more complete. As for the velvet suit, it was about ten years of age, and still enjoyed all the vigour of youth. Indeed, if the moths spared it as much as his Majesty has done, it may last the age of Methusalem.

In the same room are some standards belonging to the cavalry. Instead of the usual square flag, two or three of these have the figures of eagles in carved sil­ver, fixed on a pole.

In the bed-chamber where the late King died, at the lower part of the window which looks into the garden, four p [...]anes have been removed, and a piece of glass, equal in size to all the four, supplies their place. We were informed that his late Majesty's supreme de­light through life had been to see his troops exercise, and that he had retained this passion till his late breath. When he was confined to his room by his last illness, he used to sit and view them through the window, [Page 111] which had been framed in this manner, that he might enjoy these dying contemplations with the greater con­veniency. Becoming gradually weaker by the increas­ing distemper, he could not sit, but was obliged to lie on a couch through the day. When at any time he was uncommonly languid, they raised his head to the window, and a sight of the men under arms was per­ceived to operate like a cordial, and revive his spirits. By frequent repetition, however, even this cordial lost its effect. His eyes became dim; when his head was raised, he could no longer perceive the soldiers, and he expired.

This was feeling the ruling passion as strong in death as any man ever felt it.

When we arrived at Potsdam, there was nothing I was so eager to see, as the Prussian troops at their ex­ercise; but the frequent reviews have completely sati­ated my curiosity. And though the gardens of the palace are just opposite to the windows of our inn, I hardly ever go to look at the guards, who parade there every morning. A few days ago, however, I happen­ed to take a very early walk about a mile out of town, and seeing some soldiers under arms, in a field at a small distance from the road, I went towards them. An offi­cer on horseback, whom I took to be the Major, for he gave the word of command, was uncommonly ac­tive, and often rode among the ranks to reprimand, or [Page 112] instruct the common men. When I came nearer, I was much surprised to find that this was the King him­self. He had his sword drawn and continued to ex­ercise the corps for an hour after. He made them wheel, march, form the square, and fire by divisions, and in platoons, observing all their motions with infi­nite attention; and, on account of some plunder, put two officers of the Prince of Prussia's regiment under arrest. In short, he seemed to exert himself with all the spirit of a young officer, eager to attract the notice of his General by uncommon alertness.

I expressed my surprise to an officer present, that the King was not willing to take some repose, particularly from that kind of employment of which he had had so very much of late, and that he could take so much pains with a mere handful of men, immediately after he had come from exercising whole armies.

This gentleman told me, that on this particular day the King had been trying some new evolutions; but though this had not been the case, he might very possi­bly have been in the field:—for his maxim was, that his troops should display as much briskness on a common field day, as if they were to engage in battle; and therefore it was never known when he intended to be present, or when not;—that as for repose, he took it between ten at night and four in the morning, and his other hours were all devoted to action, either of body [Page 113] or mind, or both; and that the exercise he had just ta­ken, was probably by way of relaxation, after three hours previous labour in his cabinet.

The more I see and hear of this extraordinary man, the more am I astonished. He reconciles qualities which I used to think incompatible. I once was of opinion, that the mind, which stoops to very small objects is incapable of embracing great ones. I am now convinced that he is an exception; for while few objects are too great for his genius, none seem too small for his attention.

I once thought that a man of much vivacity was not capable of entering into the detail of business, I now see that he, who is certainly a man of wit, can continue methodically the necessary routine of busi­ness, with the patience and perseverance of the great­est d [...]nce that ever drudged in a comp [...]ing-house.

We have lately seen the Italians perform; but nei­ther the plays, nor the operas, nor any part of the en­tertainments, interest me half so much, or could draw me so assiduously to Sans-Souci, as the opportunity this attendance gives of seeing the King. Other monarchs acquire importance from their station; this Prince gives importance to his. The traveller in other coun­tries has a wish to see the King, because he admires the kingdom:—here the object of curiosity is revers­ed. [Page 114] —And let us suppose the palaces, and the towns, and the country, and the army of Prussia ever so fine, yet our chief interest in them will arise from their be­longing to Frederick the Second; the man who, with­out any ally but Britain, repelled the united force of Austria, France, Russia, and Sweden.

Count Nesselrode, talking with me on this subject, had an expression equally lively and just:—" ^* C'est dans l'adversité qu'il brille, lorsqu'il est bien comprimé il a un ressort irrésistible."

The evening of the day on which I had seen the King in the field, I was at Sans-Souci; for I wish to neglect no opportunity of being present where this monarch is. I like to stand near him, to hear him speak, and to observe his movements, attitudes, and most indifferent actions. He always behaves with par­ticular affability to the D—of H—. One evening, before the play began, his Grace and I were standing accidentally with Count Finkenstein, in a room adjoin­ing to the great apartment where the company were. The King entered alone, when he was not expected, and immediately began a conversation with the D—.

He asked several questions relating to the British constitution; particularly at what age a Peer could [Page 115] take his seat in parliament? When the Duke re­plied, "At twenty-one." It is evident from that, said the King, that the English patricians acquire the ne­cessary talents for legislation much sooner than those of ancient Rome, who were not admitted into the sen­ate till the age of forty.

He then enquired about the state of Lord Chatham's health, and expressed high esteem for the character of that minister. He asked me if I had received letters by the last post, and if they mentioned any thing of the affairs in America? He said there were accounts from Holland, that the English troops had been driv­en from Boston, and that the Americans were in pos­session of that place. I told him our letters informed us, that the army had left Boston to make an attack with more effect elsewhere.

He smiled, and said,—If you will not allow the re­treat to have been an affair of necessity, you will atleast admit, that it was " ^* tout-á-fait á-propos."

He said he heard that some British officers had gone into the American service, and mentioned Colonel Lee, whom he had seen at his court. He observed, that it was a difficult thing to govern-men by force at such a distance; that if the Americans should be beat (which appeared a little problematical), still it would [Page 116] be next to impossible to continue to draw from them a revenue by taxation;—that if we intended concilia­tion with America, some of our measures were too rough; and if we intended its subjection, they were too gentle. He concluded by saying. " ^* Enfin, Messieurs, je ne comprends pas ces choses lá; je n'ai point de co­lonie; j'espère que vous vous tirerez bien d'affaire, mais elle me paròit un peu épineuse." Having said this, he walked into the Princess's apartment, to lead her to the play-house, while we joined the company already assembled there. The tragedy of Mahomet was performed, which, in my opinion, is the finest of all Voltaire's dramatic pieces, and that in which Le Kain appears to the greatest advantage.

As most people are desirous to be made acquainted with every thing which regards the King of Prussia, I am perhaps, in danger of lengthening my descriptions with a tedious minuteness. I do not, however, pre­tend to draw a complete portrait of this monarch. That must be the work of much abler painters, who have seen him in a more familiar, manner and whose colours can give an expression worthy of the original. I shall only attempt to give a faithful sketch of such features as I was able to seize during the transient views I my­self [Page 117] had, or which I have learnt from those who have passed with him many of the hours, which he dedi­cates to free conversation and the pleasures of the table.

The King of Prussia is below the middle size, well made, and remarkably active for his time of life. He has become hardy by exercise and a laborious life; for his constitution originally seems to have been none of the strongest. His look anounces spirit and penetra­tion. He has fine blew eyes; and, in my opinion, his countenance upon the whole is agreeable. Some who have seen him are of a different opinion. All who judge from his portraits only, must be so; for although I have seen many, which have a little resemblance of him, and some which have a great deal, yet none of them do him justice. His features acquire a wonder­ful degree of animation, while he converses. This is entirely lost upon canvas.

He stoops considerably, and enclines his head almost constantly on one side.

His tone of voice is the clearest, and most agreeable in conversation I ever heard.

He speaks a great deal, yet those who hear him re­gret that he does not speak a great deal more. His ob­servations are always lively, very often just, and few men possess the talent of repartee in greater perfection.

He hardly ever varies his dress, which consists of a blue coat, lined and faced with red, and a yellow [Page 118] waistcoat and breeches. He always wears boots, while hussar tops, which fall in wrinkles about his ancles, and are oftener of a dark brown than a black colour.

His hat would be thought extravagantly large in England, though it is of the size commonly used by the Prussian officers of cavalry. He generally wears one of the large side corners over his forehead and eyes, and the front cock at one side.

He wears his hair cued behind, and dressed with a single buckle on each side. From their being very carelessly put up and unequalled powdered, we may naturally conclude, that the friseur has been greatly hurried in the execution of his office.

He uses a very large gold snuff-box, the lid orna­mented with diamonds, and takes an immoderate quan­tity of Spanish snuff, the marks of which very often appear on his waistcoat and breeches. These are also [...]able to be soiled by the paws of two or three Italian grey hounds, which he often caresses.

He dresses as soon as he gets up in the morning. This takes up but a few minutes, and serves for the whole day. It has often been said, that the King of Prussia's hours, from four or five in the morning till ten at night, are all dedicated methodically to particu­lar occupations, either of business or amusement. This is certainly true; and the arrangement has not sustain­ed [Page 119] such an interruption for many years, as since the present company came to Potsdam.

Some, who pretend to more than common pene­tration, assert, that at present they can perceive marks of uneasiness in his countenance, and seem convinced, that there will not be such another company at Sans-Souci during his reign.

All business with the King is transacted by letters. Every petition or proposal must be made in this form, which is adhered to so invariably, as I have been as­sured, that if any of his Generals wished to promote a cadet to the rank of an ensign, he would not venture to make his proposal in any other manner, even though he had daily opportunities of conversing with his Ma­jesty.

The meanest of his subjects may apply to him in writing, and are sure of an answer. His first business every morning is the perusing the papers addressed to him. A single word written with his pencil on the margin, indicates the answer to be given, which is af­terwards made out in form by his secretaries. This method affords the King time to deliberate on the just­ice and propriety of every demand, and prevents the possibility of his being surprised into a promise, which it might be inconvenient to perform.

He sits down to dinner precisely at noon. Of safe he allows more time to his repast than formerly. It is [Page 120] generally after three before he leaves the company. Eight or nine of his officers are commonly invited to dine with him. Since our coming to Potsdam, Count Nesselrode, and the Abbé Bastiani, two men of letters, were the only company besides the officers, who dined with the King, while he lived in his usual way at the Old Palace of Sans-Souci; and these two were then of his party almost every day. The Count has now left this Court; the Abbé has an apartment in the Palace. He is an Italian by birth, a man of wit, and an excel­lent companion.

At table, the King likes that every person should ap­pear to be on a footing, and that the conversation should be carried on with perfect freedom. The thing, by the way, is impossible. That confidential unre­strained flow of the heart, which takes place in a soci­ety of equals, is a pleasure, which a despotic Prince can never taste. However, his Majesty desires that it may be so, and they make the best of it they can.

At one of these meetings, when the King was in a gay humour, he said to Bastiani,—When you should obtain the tiara, which your exemplary piety must one day procure you, how will you receive me when I arrive at Rome to pay my duty to your Holiness?—I will immediately give orders, replied the Abbé, with [Page 121] great readiness, " ^† Qu'on fasse entrer l'aigle noir,—qu'il me couvre de ses ailes, mais—qu'il m'épargne de son bec."

Nobody says more lively things in conversation than the King himself. Many of his bon mots are repeat­ed here. I shall only mention one, which is at once an instance of his wit, and greatness of mind in ren­dering justice to the merit of a man, who has caused him more vexation than perhaps any other person a­live. When the King of Prussia had a personal meet­ing some years since with the Emperor, they always dined together, a certain number of their principal officers being with them. One day General Laudohn was going to place himself at the bottom of the table, when the King, who was at the head, called to him, " ^‖ Venez, je vous en prie, Monsieur Landhon, placez vous ici. J' aime infiniment mieux vous avoir de mon cotè que vis-à-vie."

Though all the cordiality of friendship, and the full charms of unreserved society, cannot exist, where the fortune of every other individual depends on the will of one of the company; yet the King endeavours to put every one as much at his ease as the nature of the [Page 122] will admit, and I have heard of his bearing some very severe retorts with perfect good humour. He has too much wit himself, and is too fond of it in others, to re­pel its attacks with any other weapons than those which it furnishes. None but the most absurd of dunces could attempt to ralley, without being able to allow of raillery; and only the meanest of souls would think of revenging the liberties taken with a compa­nion by the power of a King.

A very striking instance of the freedom which may be used with him occured a little before the late re­views, and what makes it more remarkable, it happen­ed, not during the gaiety of the table, but on the very scene of military strictness.

Two regiments were in the field. That of General—was one of them. This officer is fond of com­pany, and passes more of his time in the society of strangers, and with the foreign ministers, than most others in the Prussian service. Something, it is proba­ble, had chagrined the King that morning. While the regiment advanced in a line, he said to the Gene­ral, who stood near him, " ^‡ Votre regiment n'est pas aligné Monsieur—, et ce n'est pas surprenant, vous jouez tant aux cartes." The General called out instantly with a loud voice to the regiment, ^§ Alte! and [Page 123] they immediately stopped. Then, turning to the King, he said, " ^§ ll n'est pas question, Sire, de mes cartes—Mais, ayez la bonté de regarder si [...]ce regiment n'est pas aligné,"—The regiment was in a very straightline, and the King moved away without speaking, and seemingly displeased, not with the General, but with himself. This manly officer never had reason after­wards to believe that the King had taken his freedom amiss.

It is absolutely impossible for any man to enjoy an office in the King of Prussia's service, without per­forming the duty of it. He is himself active and assi­duous, and he makes it a point that all his ministers and servants shall be so too. But to those who know their business, and perform it exactly, he is an easy and equitable master.

A gentleman, who has been many years about his person, and is now one of his aid-de-camps, assured me of this:—The King understands what ought to be done; and his servants are never exposed to the ridi­culous or contradictory orders of ignorance, or the mortifications of caprice.

His favourites, of whatever kind, never were able acquire influence over him in any thing regarding bu­siness. [Page 124] Nobody ever knew better how to discrimi­nate the merit of those who serve him in the impor­tant departments of state, from theirs who contribute to his amusement. A man who performs the duties of his office with alertness and fidelity, has nothing to apprehend from the King's being fond of the compa­ny and conversation of his enemy. Let the one be regaled at the King's table every day, while the other never receives a single invitation; yet the real merit of both is known; and if his adversary should ever try to turn the King's favour to the purposes of private hatred or malice, the attempt will be repelled with disdain, and the evil he intended to another will fall on himself.

SECT. XXI. OF THE HEREDITARY PRINCE OF PRUSSIA.

THE Hereditary Prince of Prussia lives in a small house in the town of Potsdam. His appointments do not admit of that degree of magnificence, which might be expected in the heir of the crown;—but he displays a spirit of hospitality far more obliging than magnificence, and doubly meritorious, considering th [...] [Page 125] very moderate revenue allowed him. We generally slip there two or three times a week.

The Prince is not often of the King's parties, nor is it imagined that he enjoys a great share of his uncle's favour. In what degree he possesses the talants of a general is not known, as he was too young to have any command during the late war. But he certainly has a very just understanding, which has been improved by study. He has taken some pains to acquire the En­glish language, to which he was enduced by an admi­ration of several English authors, whose works he had read in French and German. He is now able to read English prose with tolerable facility, and has been of late studying Shakespear, having actually read two or three of his plays.

I took the liberty to observe, that as Shakespear's ge­nius had traced every labyrinth, and penetrated into every recess of the human heart, his sentiments could not sail to please his Royal Highness; but as his lan­guage was uncommonly bold and figurative, and full of allusions to national customs, and the manners of our island two centuries ago, the English them­selves, who had not made a particular study of his works, did not always comprehend their full en­ergy. I added, that to transfuse the soul of Shake­spear into a translation, was impossible; and to taste all his beauties in the original, required such a know­ledge [Page 126] of the English manners and language, as few for­eigners, even after a long residence in the capital, could attain.

The Prince said he was aware of all this; yet he was determined to struggle hard for some acquaintance with an author so much admired by the English na­tion; that though he should never be able to taste all his excellencies, he was convinced he should under­stand enough to recompence him for his trouble; that he had already studied some detached parts, which he thought superior to any thing he had ever met with in the works of any other poet.

His Royal Highness attends to military business, with as much assiduity as most officers of the same rank in the army; for in the Prussian service, no de­gree of eminence in the article of birth can excuse a remission in the duties of that profession. He is much esteemed by the army, and considered as an exceeding good officer. To the frankness of a soldier he joins the integrity of a German, and is beloved by the pub­lic in general, on account of his good nature, affabi­lity, and humane turn of mind.

SECT. XXII. OF THE EMPEROR OF GERMANY.

THE Emperor is of a middle size, well made, and of a fair complexion. He has a considerable resem­blance to his sister, the Queen of France, which, in my opinion, is saying a great deal in favour of his looks. Till I saw something of his usual behaviour, I did not think it possible for a person in such an ele­vated situation, to put every body with whom he con­versed upon so easy a footing.

His manner is affable, obliging, and perfectly free from the reserved and lofty deportment assumed by some on account of high birth. Whoever has the honor to be in company with him, so far from being checked by such despicable pride, has need to be on his guard, not to adopt such a degree of familiarity as, whatever the condition of the one might permit, would be high­ly improper in the other to use.

He is regular in his way of life, moderate in his pleasures, steady in his plans, and diligent in business. He is fond of his army, and enclines that the soldiers should have every comfort and necessary consistent with their situation. He is certainly an oeconomist, and lavishes very little mony on useless pomp, mistres­ses, or favourites; and it is, I suppose, on no better [Page 128] foundation than this, that his enemies accuse him of avarice.

I cannot help regarding oeconomy as one of the most useful qualities in a prince. Liberality, even when pushed to an imprudent length, may, in a private per­son, proceed from a kind of greatness of mind, be­cause his fortune is in every sense his own, and he can injure no body but himself in lavishing it away. He knows that when it is gone, no body will reimburse him for his extravagance. He seems, therefore to have taken the resolution to submit to the inconveniency of future poverty, rather than renounce the present hap­piness of acting with a magnificent liberality, and be­stowing on others more than he can afford.

This is not the case with a prince. What he squan­ders is not his own, but the public money. He knows that his pomp and splendour will be kept up, and that his subjects, not himself, are to feel the inconvenien­cies of his prodigality. When I hear, therefore, that a king has given great sums of money to any particular person; from the sums given, the person who receives it, the motive for the gift, and other circumstances, I can judge whether it is well or ill disposed of; but in either case, it cannot be called generosity.

The virtue of generosity consists in a man's depriv­ing himself of something for the sake of another. There can be no generosity in giving to John what James [Page 129] must replace the next moment. What is called gene­rosity in kings, very often consists in bestowing that money on the idle part of their subjects which they have squeezed from the industrious. I have heard a parcel of fiddlers and opera dances praise a prince for his noble and generous behaviour to them, while men near his person, of useful talents and real worth, were distressed for bread. The Emperor certainly has none of that kind of generosity.

His usual dress (the only one indeed in which I ever saw him, except at the feast of the Knights of St. Ste­phen) is a plain uniform of white, faced with red. When he goes to Laxenberg, Schonbrun, and other places near Vienna, he generally drives two horses in an open chaise, with a servant behind, and no other at­tendant of any kind. He very seldom allows the guard to turn out, as he passes through the gate. No body ever had a stronger disposition to judicious enquiry. He is fond of conversing with ingenious people. When he hears of any person, of whatever rank or country, being distinguished for any particular talent, he is ea­ger to converse with him, and turns the conversation to the subject on which the person is thought to excel, drawing from him all the useful information he can. Of all the means of knowledge, this is perhaps the most powerful, and the most proper that can be used by one [Page 130] whose more necessary occupations do not leave him much time for study.

He seems to be of opinion, that the vanity and ig­norance of many princes are frequently owing to the forms in which they are entrenched, and to their being deprived of the advantages which the rest of mankind enjoy from a free comparison and exchange of senti­ment. He is convinced, that unless a king can con­trive to live in some societies on a footing of equality, and can weigh his own merit, without throwing his guards and pomp into the scale, it will be difficult for him to know either the world or himself.

One evening at the Countess Walstein's, the con­versation leading that way, the Emperor enumerated some remarkable and ludicrous instances of the incon­veniences of etiquette, which had occurred at a cer­tain court. One person hinted at the effectual means his Majesty had used to banish every inconveniency of that kind from the court of Vienna; to which he re­plied, it would be hard indeed, if, because I have the ill fortune to be an Emperor, I should be deprived of the pleasures of social life, which are so much to my taste. All the grimace, and parade to which people in my situation are accustomed from their cradle, have not made me so vain, as to imagine that I am in any essential quality superior to other men; and if I had any tendancy to such an opinion, the surest way to [Page 131] get rid of it is the method I take of mixing in society, where I have daily occasions of finding myself inferi­or in talents to those I meet with. Conscious of this, it would afford me no enjoyment to assume airs of a superiority, which I feel does not exist. I endeavour therefore to please, and to be pleased; and as much as the inconveniency of my situation will permit, to enjoy the blessings of society like other men, convinced that the man who is secluded from those, and raises him­self above friendship, is also raised above happiness, and deprived of the means of acquiring knowledge.

This kind of language is not uncommon with poor philosophers; but I imagine it is rarely held by prin­ces, and the inferences to be drawn from it more rare­ly put in practice.

A few days after this, there was an exhibition of fire­works on the Prater. This is a large park, planted with wood, and surrounded by the Danube, over which there is a wooden bridge. No carriages being allowed to pass, the company leave their coaches at one end, and walk. There is a narrow path railed off on one side of the bridge. Many people very injudi­ciously took this path, to which there is an easy en­trance at one end, but the exit is difficult at the oth­er; for only one person can go out at a time. The path, therefore, was very soon choaked up; the unfor­tunate passengers crept on a snail's pace, and in the [Page 132] most straitened and disagreeable manner imaginable; whilst those who had kept the wide path in the middle of the bridge, like the fortunate and wealthy in their journey through life, moved along at their ease, total­ly regardless of the wretched circumstances of their fel­low passengers.

Some few of the prisoners in the narrow passage, who were of a small size and uncommon address, crawled under the rail, and got into the broad walk in the mid­dle, but all who were tall, and of a larger make, were obliged to remain and submit to their fate. An En­glishman, who had been at the Countess Walstein's when the Emperor expressed himself as above men­tioned, was of the last class. The Emperor, as he passed, seeing that those of a small size extricated themselves, while the Englishman remained fixed in a very awk­ward situation, called out, " ^§ Ah, Monsieur! Je vous ai bien annoncé combien il est incommode d [...]tre trop grand. A present vous devez être bien de mon avis. Mais comme je ne puis rien fair pour vous soulager, je vous recommende á Saint George."

There are people who having heard of the Empe­ror's [Page 133] uncommon affibility, and of his total contempt of pomp and parade, of which the bulk of mankind are so much enamoured, have asserted that the whole is af­fectation. But if the whole tenor of any person's words is to be considered as affectation, I do not know by what means we are to get at the bottom of his real character. Yet, people who have a violent taste for any particular thing, are extremely ready to believe, that those who have not the same taste are affected.

SECT. XXIII. OF THE IDOLATRY OF THE ROMAN CATHOLICS.

THE preference which is given by individuals in Roman Catholic countries, to particular saints, pro­ceeds sometimes from a supposed connection between the characters of the saints and the votaries; men ex­pect the greatest favour and indulgence from those who most resemble themselves, and naturally admire others for the qualities which they value most in their own character.

A French officer of dragoons, being at Rome, went to view the famous statue of Moses, by Michael An­gelo. [Page 134] The artist has conveyed into this master-piece, in the opinion of some, all the dignity which a hu­man form and human features are capable of receiv­ing. He has endeavoured to give this statue a coun­tenance worthy of the great legislator of the Jews, the favorite of heaven, who had conversed face to face with the Deity. The officer happened to be acquaint­ed with the history of Moses, but he laid no great stress on any of these circumstances. He admired him much more on account of one adventure, in which he imag­ined Moses had acquitted himself like a man of spirit, and as he himself would have done:—" ^† Volià qui est terrible! volià qui est sublime!" cried he at sight of the statute; and after a little pause he added:—'On voit là un drôle qui a donné des coups de bâton en son tems, et qui a tué son homme."

The crucifixes, and statues, and pictures of saints, with which popish churches are filled, were no doubt intend­ed to awaken devotion when it became drowsy, and to excite in the mind gratitude and veneration for the ho­ly persons they present. But it cannot be denied, that the gross imaginations of the generality of mankind, are exceedingly prone to forget the originals, and transfer their adoration to the senseless figures which they behold, [Page 135] and before which they kneel. So that whatever was the original design, and whatever effects those statues and pictures have on the minds of calm, sensible Roman Catholics, it is certain, that they often are the objects of as complete idolatry as ever was practised in Athens or Rome, before the statues of Jupiter or Apollo.

On what other principle do such multitudes flock from all the Roman Catholic countries in Europe, to the shrine of our Lady at Loretto? Any statue of the Virgin would serve as effectually as that to recal her to the memory; and people may adore her as devoutly in their own parish churches, as in the chapel at Lo­retto. The pilgrims therefore must be persuaded, that there is some divine influence or intelligence in the statue which is kept there; that it has a consciousness of all the trouble they have taken, and the inconveni­encies to which they have been exposed, by long jour­nies, for the sole purpose of kneeling before it in pre­ference to all other images.

It was probably on account of this tendency of the human mind, that the Jews were forbid to make unto themselves any graven image. This indeed seems to have been the only method of securing that supersti­tious people from idolatry; and notwithstanding the peremptory tenor of the commandment, neither the zeal nor remonstrances of their judges and prophets could always prevent their making idols, nor hinder [Page 136] their worshipping them wherever they found them rea­dy-made.

Statues and pictures of saints, which have been long in particular families, are generally kept with great care and attention. The proprietors often have the same kind of attachment to them, that the ancient heathens had to their Dii Penates. They are considered as tu­telary and domestic divinities, from whom the family expect protection. When a series of unfortunate e­vents happens in a family, it sometimes creates a sus­picion that the family statues have lost their influence. This also is a very ancient sentiment. Suetonius in­forms us, that the fleet of Augustus having been dis­persed by a storm, and many of the ships lost, the Em­peror gave orders that the statue of Neptune should not be carried in procession with those of the other Gods, from an opinion that the God of the Sea was unwil­ling or unable to protect his navy, and in either case he deemed him not worthy of any public mark of dis­tinction.

The genuine tenets of the Roman Catholic church certainly do not authorise any of the superstitions above mentioned, which are generally confined to the credu­lous and illiterate in the lower ranks of life. Yet in­stances are sometimes to be met with in a higher sphere. A Frenchman in a creditable way of life, had a small figure of our Saviour on the cross, of very curious [Page 137] workmanship; he offered it for sale to an English gen­tleman of my acquaintance; after expatiating on the excellency of the workmanship, he told him he had long kept this crucifix with the most pious care; that he had always addressed it in his private devotion, and that in return he had expected some degree of protec­tion and favour; instead of which he had of late been remarkably unfortunate; that all the tickets he had in the lottery had proved blanks; and having had a great share in the cargo of a ship coming from the West In­dies, he had recommended it in the most fervent man­ner in his prayers to the crucifix, and that he might give no offence, by any appearance of want of faith, he had not insured the goods; notwithstanding all which, the vessel had been shipwrecked, and the cargo totally lost, though the sailors, in whose preservation he had no concern, had been all saved. "Enfin, Mon­sieur," cried he, with an accent of indignation mingled with regret, and raising his shoulders above his ears, " ^§ Enfin, Monsieur, il m'a manqué, et je vends mon Christ."

Happy for Christians of every denomination, could they abide by the plain, rational, benevolent precepts of the christian religion, rejecting all the conceits of superstition, which never fail to deform its original beauty, and to corrupt its intrinsic purity!

SECT. XXIV. OF COPENHAGEN. A. D. 1774.

I FIND hardly any inconveniency resulting from my ignorance of the Danish language. Every person of fashion speaks French, and many of them English.

The gentlemen of the army and navy here in parti­cular, are almost universally used to these languages. They are, at least several of them with whom I have fallen into company, extremely disposed to treat a stranger with every mark of urbanity and politeness. One of them has already promised to accompany me over the island of Zealand, and to be my conducter on a tour I propose making to see the royal palaces.

Though the month of May will begin in a few days, the weather is still very cold here. We have had hail almost every day since my arrival; nor are there as yet any marks of that sweet season, which the Italians so justly denominate, the Gioventa del anno, but which is pretty much unknown to Danish poets. Indeed, I apprehend the year is more properly divided here into the summer and winter, than as with us into four sea­sons. A short summer succeeds to the long series of cold and darkness, which environs them from October till April; and during this period, they often experi­ence very great heats for a few days, or sometimes [Page 139] weeks. Certainly man is much affected by physical causes, and one is not surprised to find the elegant arts chiefly confined to luxurious and southern climates, and faintly raising their heads amid these snowy and inhospitable regions, where the inhabitants seem, in some degree, to partake of the asperities of their soil, and where royal munificence, however unbounded, can only raise a few sickly and straggling plants.

They seem to have a great turn for politics here, and as it may not be quite so safe to inspect too deep­ly into the conduct of their own sovereign and states­men, they make themselves some amends by interesting themselves in those of the English nation. I am asked a thousand questions here, in every company, about the inhabitants of Boston, and relative to the East In­dia affairs. They are unanimous in opinion, that the colonies will be soon absolutely free; and they give me a look of incredibility, and a significant shake of the head, when I assure them, that Boston must submit, and that government have uniformly embraced the most gentle, mild, and parental measures; I see they do not believe me, and I am obliged to refer them to futurity for the test of my assertions.

So few persons visit this metropolis or kingdom from motives of curiosity, that they are quite surprised when I assure them I have no sort of business here, and [...] only employed in the search of knowledge. Indeed, [Page 140] apprehend, a month or five weeks is fully adequate to the completion of these purposes; and I shall not delay my departure an hour after that time.

There is no face of industry or business here; and Copenhagen, though one of the finest ports in the world, can boast of little commerce. The public pla­ces are filled with officers either in the land or sea ser­vice, and they appear to constitute three-fourths of the audience at the comedy and opera. The number of forces are, indeed, much too large for this little kingdom, which has not been engaged in war these fifty years. They can boast, 'tis true, a vast extent of dominion; but of what importance are the barren and almost uninhabited mountains of Norway and Lap­land, stretching to the pole? or the plains of Iceland, where the inhabitants are yet, and will probably ever remain, in the most profound barbarism? Their Ger­man dominions in Holstein are by far the most rich, and furnish a large part of the royal revenue. There needs, indeed, no stronger proof of the poverty of the kingdom, than the scarcity of specie. I have seen no gold, and hardly any silver. They pay every thing in paper; and if you lose a single dollar at the card-table, or the billiard table, it is given in a bill. I received two hundred rix dollars yesterday morning, and not a sin­gle one in money.

The police of Copenhagen is exceedingly good, and [Page 141] one may walk through the whole city at midnight with the most perfect safety. No robberies, no assas­sinations are beard of. They wear no cloaks nor con­ceal any stillettoes under their habits, as in the south­ern kingdoms of Europe. Indeed, it is usually almost as quiet here at eleven o'clock at night as in a coun­try village, and scarce a coach rattles through the streets.

I do not apprehend this capital can be above the fourth part of the size of London, possibly not so much. It is fortified towards the land by a fossè, al­ways full of water. The streets are commonly of a good breadth, and the houses very neat and handsome. There is one very beautiful place here, which ap­proaches nearer to a circus than a square; each side or division of which is only one palace, and in the cen­tre is an equestrian statue in bronze of the late King Fredeick V. I must own I was much more pleased with this, than with the Place de Victories at Paris, and think it has a much better effect.

SECT. XXV. OF THE COURT AT COPENHAGEN.

I HAVE not had the honour of being presented to the sovereign here, as is customary with strangers from the other kingdoms of Europe. It is sufficient that I am an Englishman not to wish it; and, indeed, with so jealous an eye are we regarded, at present, in this capital, that I can assure you, because I have it from the most respectable and incontestable authority, that so little an individual as myself, so humble and un­known a traveller as I am, is not only publickly talk­ed of, but even suspected as a spy, because I came from England, and have no avowed motive, except curiosity and knowledge. I have never, therefore, been at the levee, which is every Friday; but I go to the drawing room, and mingle unnoticed among the crowd. I was there last night, when his majesty, the queen dowager, and Prince Frederick the king's brother, were present. To give you a picture of the court as it now exists, I must carry you back to the time of the late celebrated and unhappy favourite, Count Struensee. I have made it my endeavour, since my arrival here, to gain the most authentic and unprejudiced intelli­gence respecting him, and the late extraordinary revo­lution [Page 143] which expelled a queen from her throne and kingdom, and brought the ministers to the scaffold.

I shall only mention some few anecdotes, which elu­cidate his character, and with which many may be unacquainted; though, as I never perused the printed account of his life, and trial, which appeared in En­gland, I must be excused if I repeat what is contained there.

Struensee had not any noble blood in his veins, nor consequently any hereditary and prescriptive title to the immediate guidance of affairs of state. Fortune, and a train of peculiar circumstances, coinciding with his own talents and address, seem to have drawn him from his native mediocrity of condition, and placed him in an elevated rank. He originally practised phy­sic at Altena on the Elbe, and afterwards attended the present king of Denmark on his travels into England, in quality of physician. On his return, he advanced by rapid strides in the royal favour, and seems to have eminently possessed the powers of pleasing, since he became equally the favourite of both the king and queen. He was invested with the order of St. Matilda, instituted in honour of her majesty, created a count, and possessed unlimited ministerial power. His con­duct, in this sudden and uncommon eminence, marks a bold and daring mind; perhaps I might add, an ex­panded and patriotic heart. Unawed by the pre­carious [Page 144] tenure of courtly greatness, and more peculi­arly of his own, he began a general reform. The state felt him through all her members. The finances, chan­cery, army, navy, nobles, peasants—all were sensible of his influence. He not only dictated, but penned his replies to every important question or dispatch; and a petition, or a scheme of public import and utility, rarely waited two hours for an answer. At present, I am told, you may be two months without receiving a­ny. The civil judicature of this capital was then vest­ed in thirty magistrates. Struensee sent a message to this tribunal, demanding to know the annual salary or pension annexed to each member. Rather alarmed at this enquiry, they sent an answer, in which they di­minished their emoluments two thirds, and estimated them at 1500, instead of 4000 rix-dollars. The count then informed them, that his majesty had no farther occasion for their services; but in his royal munifi­cence and liberality, was graciously pleased to contin­ue to them the third part of the avowed incomes, as a proof of his satisfaction with their conduct. He at the same time constituted another court, composed only of six persons of approved integrity, to whom the same power was delegated. He proceeded to purge the chancery, and other bodies of the law. Then enter­ing on the military department, he, at one stroke, broke all the horse-guards, and afterwards the regiment [Page 145] of Norwegian foot-guards, the finest corps of the ser­vice, and who were not disbanded without a short, but very dangerous sedition. Still proceeding in this salu­tary, but most critical and perilous atchievement, he ultimately began to attempt a diminution of the power of the nobles, and to set the farmers and peasants at perfect liberty. We must not, therefore, wonder that he fell a victim to such measures, and that all parties joined in his destruction. These were his real crimes, and not that he was too acceptable to the queen, which only formed a pretext. It was the minister, and not the man, who had became obnoxious. I do not pre­tend, in the latter capacity, either to excuse or con­demn him; but as a politician, I rank him with the Clarendons and the Mores, whom tyranny, or public baseness, and want of virtue, have brought, in almost every age, to an untimely and ignominious exit; but to whose memory impartial posterity have done am­ple justice. Yet I must avow, that though I cannot think Struensee made a bad use, he certainly made a violent and imprudent one, of his extensive power. He seems, if one may judge from his actions, to have been in some measure intoxicated with royal favour and such accumulated honours, and not to have ad­verted sufficiently to the examples which history fur­nishes of Wolsey's in former days, and of Choseuls in modern times who most strikingly evince the slippery [Page 146] foundation of political grandeur. When he was even pressed only a short time before his seizure, to with­draw from court, and pass the Belts, with the most ample security for his annual remitment of forty, fifty, a hundred thousand dollars, an unhappy fascination detained him, in defiance of every warning, and reserv­ed him for the prison and the block. The Queen Dowager, and Prince Frederic, were only the feeble instruments to produce this catastrophe, as being by their rank immediately about the person of the sover­eign; though common report has talked loudly of the former's intrigue, and attributed it to her imaginary abilities. The only mark of capacity or address they exhibited, was in preserving a secrecy, which deluded Struensee and the Queen Matilda, till the time of their being arrested. I have been assured, that on the last levee day preceeding this event, the Count was habit­ed with uncommon magnificence, and never received greater homage of court servility from the crowd, than when on the verge of ruin. On the night fixed for his seizure, there was a bal paré in the palace; the Queen, after dancing as usual, one country dance with the King, gave her hand to Struensee during the rest of the evening. She retired about two in the morning, and was followed by him and Count Brandt. The mo­ment was now come. The Queen Dowager, and her son Prince Frederic, hastened to the King's private [Page 147] chamber, where he was already in bed. They kneed­ed down beside it, and implored him with tears and expostulations to save himself and Denmark from im­pending destruction, by arresting those whom they called the authors of it. 'Tis said, the King was no easily induced to sign the order, but did it with reluc­tance and hesitation. At length, their intreaties pre­vailed, and he fixed his sign manuel to the paper. Co­lonel Koller Banner instantly repaired to Struensee's a­partment, which, as well as Brandt's, was in the palace they were both seized nearly at the same instant, and, a [...] all defence was vain, hurried away immediately to the citadel. When Count Struensee stepped out of the coach, he said with a smile to the commandant, " [...] believe you are not a little surprised at seeing m [...] brought here a prisoner." "No, and please your Ex­cellency," replied the old officer bluntly; "I am no [...] at all surprised, but on the contrary, have long expect­ed you." It was five o'clock in the morning when the Count Rantzau came to the door of her Majesty's anti-chamber, and knocked for admitance. One of the women about the Queen's person was ordered to wake her, and give her information that she was ar­rested. They then put her into one of the King's coaches, drove her down to Elsinoor, and shut her up in the castle of Cronsberg.

Mean while, as they dreaded an insurrection in Co­penhagen [Page 148] every military precaution was taken to pre­vent it. The most infamous and silly reports were circulated among the populace, to render the state pri­soners odious: that they had put poison in the king's coffee to destroy him; that they intended to declare him incapable of governing; to send the Dowager Queen Juliana out of the kingdom, as well as her son Prince Frederic, and to proclaim Matilda regent. To confirm these extraordinary and contradictory reports, the King himself and he brother appeared in a state-coach, and paraded through the streets of the city, to show himself unhurt, and as if escaped from the most horrid conspiracy.

During these transactions, Struensee and Brandt were detained in the most rigourous imprisonment. They loaded the former with very heavy chains about his arms and legs, and as he was at the same time fixed to the wall by an iron bar. I have seen the room, which is not above ten or twelve feet square, with a little bed in it, and a miserable iron stove. Yet here, in this a­bode of misery, did he, though chained, complete with a pencil an account of his life and conduct as a min­ister, which is penned as I have been assured, with un­common genius. A tribunal was appointed for the tri­al of the Queen and the two Counts, and a council as­signed for each, to preserve an appearance of justice and equity. All the world know the result, and the [Page 149] winding up of the whole on the 28th of April, 1772. I shall, however, mention some particulars relative to Count Brandt, as they are very remarkable and equal­ly true; nor do I apprehend that many in England have ever heard them.

This unfortunate man rose chiefly under Struensee's auspices, though he was originally of an honourable descent. During a residence which the court made at one of the royal palaces, that of Hercsholm, it happen­ed that his Majesty quarrelled with Brandt, and, which was singular enough, challenged him. This the Count-declined. When they met soon after, the King re­peated his defiance; called him coward; and Brandt still behaving with temper, as became a subject, he thrust his hand into his mouth, seized his tongue, and had very nearly choaked him. In this situation can it be wondered at, that he should bite the King's fin­ger, or strike him, or both? Self-preservation must necessarily supersede every other feeling at such a mo­ment, and plead his pardon. By Struensee's mediation the quarrel was immediately made up, and the King promised never more to remember or resent the cir­cumstance of his striking him. Yet was this blow, given to preserve himself from imminent destruction, and from the fury of an enraged man, made the pre­tence for his condemnation. They said, he had listed his hand against the King's sacred person, which was [Page 150] death by the laws of Denmark. His lawyer, I am told, made an excellent defence for him, and very forcibly remarked the essential difference between assaulting the sovereign, and defending himself from a private attack. "One of our former monarchs, said he (Christian V.) was used frequently to unbend himself among his no­bles. On these occasions it was his custom to say, "The King is not at home." All the courtiers then behaved with the utmost freedom and familiarity, un­restrained by the royal presence. When he chose to resume his kingly dignity, he said, "The King is again at home." But what, added he, must we do now, when the King is never at home?" This seems more like the speech of an Englishman than a Dane, and breathes a manly and unfettered spirit.

The skulls and bones of these unhappy men are yet exposed on wheels about a mile and a half out of town. I have viewed them with mingled commiseration and horror. They hold up an awful and affecting lesson for future statesmen.

I have been assured, that Struensee resigned himself to his own sentence without murmuring, or attempt­ing to deprecate the blow; but that he expressed the utmost pity and abhorrence at the flagrant injustice committed in sentencing Count Brandt to the same, death. They have portraits of Struensee in all the shops, with this motto round him; "Mala multa Str [...] ­ens-se [Page 151] ipsum perdidit." You see it is a miserable sort of pun upon his name. Yet, in defiance of all the ca­lumnies of a triumphant party, the terrors of a despo­tic government, and the natural reserve among the people, there are, even here, who dare to speak, though ambiguously, their genuine sentiments. "Sir," said a man of sense and honour to me, a few days since, "between ourselves, all is not as it should be; we have at present neither king nor minister. An imbe­cility mingled with disorder, characterizes our govern­ment. The effects are too visible. The blue and white ribbons are prostituted and contemptible. The finances are in a worse state than when Struensee found them. The army devour us. In Norway, affairs are yet worse. The king is unpopular there, and so lit­tle is his authority respected, that the Norwegians have refused and still refuse, to pay the capitation tax; nor can it be levied among them." I have not amplified or exaggerated in this picture, which I really believe it too just in most of the particulars. The King has cer­tainly suffered much in his intellectual capacity, and they make very little scruple in general to own it. He can play indeed at cards; he can dance, or go to an op­era; but he is doubtless in a state of debility, which disqualifies him for the conducting or superintending affairs of national import and public consequence. These are left to the ministers, who tread very cautious­ly, [Page 152] and will not presently prosecute Struensee's patri­otic measures. His fall is too recent, nor have his bones yet returned to their parent earth. There is a vacuity in his aspect, which is strongly marked; and he is much paler and thinner than when he was on his tour in England. The Queen Dowager and Prince Frederic live in the palace with him, and accompany him, like his shadow, wherever he moves. The Prince has received no other mark of bounty from nature, or fortune, than royal birth. He is very much deform­ed; and this personal imperfection has gained him the appellation of Richard III. among those who do not love the court, though it doubtless originated among the English.

SECT. XXVI. OF STOCKHOLM. A. D. 1774.

AS I approached to this capital, the country appear­ed more rocky, barren, and desert; and at the distance of a single mile from it, one is tempted to suppose one's-self in the most unfrequented and desolate wild. Nothing marks the vicinity of a great metropolis. Ag­riculture cannot exert her powers, nor labour produce, harvests where nature has denied the means. The eye [Page 153] discerns nothing on every side except firs and rugged rocks; and it would seem as if famine had here fixed her eternal residence.

I entered Stockholm over a floating bridge of a very considerable length across the river. I was, indeed, s [...]opt at the gates; but policy, and not religion, was the cause.

I am lodged at present close to the palace; and, as my landlord informs me, in the very apartment where his Grace the Archbishop of Upsal resided, during six months previous to the coronation of his present Ma­jesty, which office he performed. You will perhaps suppose from this, that they are very elegant; that the hangings are of tapestry, and the chairs covered with velvet. Nothing less so, I assure you! A monk of La Trappe might almost occupy them without any in­fringement of his vow of mortification; and though I pay a ducat and a half, or fourteen shilling a week, I was scarce ever so indifferently lodged in any city of Europe. The quality which induced the Archbishop to take them, was, no doubt, their neig [...]bourhood to the palace. It would be difficult to discover any other to recommend them.

I cannot say that I have sound many charms as yet in this city. The court are all in the country, at their respective palaces, and there is only one public diver­sion during the week, which is a Swedish opera. [Page 154] What kind of an entertainment this is, and how far the language is capable of musical beauty, I am not yet a judge, as there was no representation last Thursday, which is the night when they usually perform. For want, therefore, of other avocation, I have wandered over every part of the metropolis, and taken different views of it from the numerous eminences which sur­round it. Perhaps I may be accused of presumption when I assert, that in almost every point of view, the situation of Stockholm is injudicious and improper for the capital of the kingdom. Policy, plenty, and com­merce, seem all to dictate another part of Sweden as much more elegible. I shall endeavour to justify my opinion by a few remarks.

The inhabitants themselves assure me, that the place owed its original, only about three centuries ago, to an accidental contingency. The viceroy, who at that time governed the country under Christian II. of Denmark, determined to found a city, and instead of fixing on a proper spot for the execution of his plan, he very wisely set a large piece of wood a-float, down the M [...]ler Lake, and resolved that at whatever place it should stop, there to build his projected town. A small island arrested the stick in its progress, and the name of Stockholm is said to have been given it from this circumstance

I was shown the exact point of land where tradition [Page 155] says it happened, and where the first buildings of the city were erected. However this be, it was hardly possible to have found a more barren desert, or a less inviting situation in almost all respects. Even the ri­ver has a number of inconveniencies, as it winds in a surprising manner, and having no tides, ships must have a fair wind to reach the town; and should it be con­trary, it is absolutely impossible. If I pointed out that part of Sweden, which appears to me designed by nature and wisdom for the foundation of a capital, I should mention Carlscrone. Its centrical situation between Copenhagen and Petersburg; its vicinity to Pomerania and Germany; the fertile province of Scania, account­ed the finest in Sweden, behind it; a port capable of containing the whole fleet and in which they are at this time always stationed; its climate, more mild and southern than that of Stockholm, by some degrees; all these circumstances seem to leave an unprejudiced person little room to dispute its more advantageous sit­uation.

There is somewhat uncommonly savage and inhos­pitable in the whole circumjacent country here. Even in this lovely season, when all animate and inanimate nature awakes from the long slumber of a polar winter, every thing is joyless and unfertile, and the rays of the sun are reflected from the expanse of stone which invests the city round on every side; and from [Page 156] whose bosom no verdure springs to regale the eye. I repeat instinctively, as I gaze around, the celebrated lines in Churchill's prophecy of Famine, which, how­ever exaggerated they may be for the country he inten­ded to paint, are almost strictly and literally true here; nor am I surprised to find a Christian flying from these uncivilized and unlettered regions, to the abodes of art and elegance.

This kingdom has however, been move productive of immortal and sublime spirits, than all the others of the north. I feel myself affected with a reverential awe, as I walk through the church where repose the great names of Gustavus Adolphus, of Torstenson, of Baner, and Charles XII. I tread with decent humility over the vaults where their bodies are interred, and find a melancholy satisfaction in surveying the marble rais­ed to their deathless same.

I have conversed several times since my arrival here with Swedes on the subject of the victories and death of the last of these heroes. They are almost unanimous in the apprehension, or rather avowal, that he was put to death by those about him, and did not fall by a shot from the walls of Fredericshall, as is commonly sup­posed. As every circumstance relative to the fall of so extraordinary a man interests, and as there seems great reason to imagine he did not die by the chance of war, I hope shall not give offence, If I am some­what minute on this article.

[Page 157] Monsieur Voltaire has taken great pains to prove the contrary, and to vindicate the engineer who ac­companied him, at the time, from so foul a suspicion. I, however, think his reasons very apocryphal, and even some of the facts he relates, as rather tending to give rise to an opposite conclusion. "The King," says he, "walked out to view the state of the advances made by his forces; it was night. He kneeled down the better to inspect them, and leaned his head on his hands. In this attitude, amid the darkness, he receiv­ed a ball into his temple, and fell on the parapet, fetch­ing a deep sigh. He was dead in an instant; but in that instant he had yet force and courage to put his hand to his sword, and lay in that posture. Merget, a French engineer, immediately said, with a coolness which distinguished his character.—The play is over, let us begone!" I quote by memory, and therefore ask Voltaire's pardon if I do not exactly and literally relate it, as he has given it to the world; but nothing material is added or omitted.

The Swedes allow most of these circumstances to be true, though they infer very differently. Is it, say they, probable, that a ball from the fort, fired at ran­dom, and in the night, should so exactly enter the King's brain? Or, is it not much more natural to be­lieve, that a pistol from some nearer hand gave so well-aimed and decisive a blow? His attitude indicated an [Page 158] intention of defence from some near attack; nor would he have laid his hand on his sword to resist a cannon shot.

Merget's remark was such, as one can with difficul­ty suppose any one to make on so disastrous and unex­pected an event, as the King's death, and seems rather that of a pre-sentiment of the winding up of this bloody catastrophe. Add to this, that the Swedes were tired of a prince, under whom they had lost their richest provinces, their bravest troops, their national riches; and who yet, untamed by adversity, pursued an unsuc­cessful and pernicious war, nor would ever have listen­ed to the voice of peace, or consulted the internal tran­quility of his country. Baron Gortz's oppressions, superadded to these, were intolerable; and no resource remained unless to dispatch the King. It was a very favourable opportunity, and was improved to the ut­most. The Prince of Hesse, his brother-in-law, made little enquiry into the affair, and all passed without noise or tumult.

I have been the more inclined to give credit to this relation of Charles's death, from my own remarks on his dress. In the arsenal they preserve with great care, the cloathes he was habited in at the time he fell. These I have examined very minutely. The coat is a plain blue cloth regimental one, such as every common sol­dier wore. Round the waist he had a broad buff-leather-belt, [Page 159] in which hung his sword. The hat is torn only about an inch square in that part of it which lies over the temple, and certainly would have been much more injured by a large shot. His gloves are made of very fine leather, and as the lest one is perfectly clean and unsoiled, could only have been newly put on. The right hand glove is covered in the inside with blood; and the belt, at that part where the handle or hilt of his sword lay, is likewise bloody; so that it seems clear he had previously put his hand to his head on receiv­ing the blow, before he attempted to draw his sword and make resistance. However, as he expired in the instant, no absolute inference can be made; and after having exhausted conjecture, we must draw a veil over this ambiguous and dark transaction, and rest content­ed with that ignorance and uncertainty which so often waits on the death of sovereigns. Dr. Johnson has drawn the most finished and masterly portrait of this extraordinary man, which ever fell from the pen of ge­nius. The four concluding lines describes his death.

SECT. XXVII. OF PETERSBURG, A. D. 1774.

THIS great capital, though only a creation of the present century, has already grown to a vast size, and con­tains infinitely higher matter of entertainment and instruc­tion, than either of those from whence I am lately come. I am struck with a pleasing astonishment, while I wander among havens, streets, and public buildings, which have risen as by inchantment, within the memory of men still alive, and have converted the marshy islands of the Neva into one of the most magnificent cities of the earth. The imagination, aided by so many visible objects, rises to the wondrous founder, and beholds in idea the tutelary genius of Peter, yet hovering over the child of his own production, and viewing with a par­ent's fondness, its rising palaces and temples. The names, on which ancient story dwells with so much fondness, sink on a comparison with this immortal man, and the fabulous legislators of Greece and Egypt nev­er presumed to attempt the mighty transformation which the Czar completed. The followers of Cadmus, of Theseus, and of Romulus, were animated with the same ardour as their leader; but the Muscovites, wrapt in the most profound barbarism, secluded by their illiberal prejudices from an intercourse with Eu­ropean [Page 161] nations, and equally the slaves of superstition and long prescription, were forcibly torn from this night of ignorance, and compelled to accept of know­ledge, of refinement, and of civilization. I must own, I never consider this so recent and so wondrous an e­vent without being hurried away by an enthusiasm I cannot avoid feeling, and from which I now return, to give an imperfect description of the festivities to which I have been a witness during my stay here, and from which I am only just returned.

I had the pleasure to accompany Sir Robert Gunn­ing last Saturday to the palace of Peterhoff, where the empress at present resides. It was the anniversary of her accession, when there is generally a very brilliant court. As we arrived early, I had an opportunity of viewing the gardens before her majesty's appearance. They are very extensive, lying along the shore of the gulf of Finland, and washed by its waters. In she midst of them stands the palace itself, situate on an em­inence, and commanding a fine view. The apart­ments are all very splendid, but my attention was chiefly engrossed by the drawing-room, where hung five matchless portraits of the sovereigns of Russia. They are all length pieces, but by what master I can­not say. Peter himself is the first, and opposite to him appears the Livonian villager, whom he raised from a cottage to the most unbounded sovereignty. I stood [Page 162] for some moments under this painting in silent admi­ration of the woman, who had passed from so humble a station to an imperial diadem, of which her genius, her fidelity, and her virtue made her worthy. She is drawn by the painter as in middle life; her eyes and hair black, her countenance open, smiling and ingratia­ting, and her person not exceeding the middle size. The Empress Anne and Elizabeth fill their respective places in this apartment, but did not long detain me from a portrait of the reigning sovereign, which is of a singular kind. She is habited in the Russian uniform, booted, and sits astride on a white horse. In her hat is the oaken bough, which she wore at the memorable revolution, which placed her on the throne, and which was likewise taken by all her adherents. Her long hair floats in disorder down her back; and the flush­ing in her face, the natural effect of the fatigue and heat she had undergone, is finely designed. It is a faithful and exact resemblance of her dress and person, as she appeared twelve years ago, when she came to Peterhoff, and seized the throne of Russia.

While my eyes were rivetted to this picture, and my thoughts employed on the melancholy catastrophe of the unhappy emperor which so soon followed, the em­press's entrance was announced. She was pr [...]ceeded by a long train of lords and gentlemen. I felt a plea­sure corrected with awe as I gazed on this [...] [Page 163] woman, whose vigour and policy, without any right of blood, has seated and maintains her in the throne of the Czars.

Though she is now become rather corpulent, there is a dignity tempered with graciousness in her deport­ment and manner, which strikingly impresses. She was habited in a deep blue silk with gold stripes, and her hair ornamented with diamonds. After the for­eign ministers had paid her the customary compliments on this day, I had the honour to be presented and to kiss her hand. The grand duke and duchess of Rus­sia followed the empress, who continued scarce a min­ute in the circle, but sat down at the card table.

There is not only a magnificence and regal pomp in this court, which far exceeds any I have beheld else­where, but every thing is on a vast and colossal scale, resembling that of the empire itself. The public buil­dings, churches, monasteries, and private palaces of the nobility, are of an immense size; and seem as if designed for creatures of a superior heighth and di­mensions to man; "to a puny infect shivering at the breeze!"

The statue and pedestal which will soon be set up of Peter the Great, are of the same enormous and gi­gantic proportions, and may almost rank with the [...]hynxes and pyramids of Egyptian workmanship. [...] Moscow, I am told, this style is yet more common, [Page 164] and more universal. The palace which the present empress has begun, is designed to be two or three En­glish miles in circumference; and in the mean time they have erected a tempory one of brick for her recep­tion. The city itself is an immense aggregate of vil­lages, and the Muscovite lords commonly go fifty or sixty versts which are at least forty of our miles, to make visits to each other. There is a sort of savage and barbarous grandeur in this taste, which never ap­pears in the edifices and productions of Athenian sculpture or architecture. I know it may be said, that the difference of extent and greatness between the little republic of Attica, and the wide empire of Russia, may give rise to a different standard of beauty and elegance; but this is not sufficient to alter the original and inva­riable criterion of nature, which is the same in every country.

Petersburg is as yet only an immense outline, which will require future empresses, and almost future ages to complete. It stands at present on a prodigious ex­tent of ground; but as the houses in many parts are not contiguous, and great spaces are left unbuilt, it is hard to ascertain its real size and magnitude. Devo­tion has not been wanting to add her magnificence, and to erect places of worship in almost every part. Cu­riosity and novelty have carried me to all of them. The external architecture differs very little in any. [Page 165] The Greeks seem as fond of domes, as the Mahome­tans are of Minarets in their churches. They usually encircle one large with four smaller cupolas, and cov­er them with copper gilt, which has a fine effect to the eye, when the sun shines upon it. The ornaments within are costly and barbarous. A Mexican temple can hardly be more so. They surround a daubing of the Virgin and Jesus, with gold or silver head-dresses, and sometimes complete habits, and only leave exposed the fingers, which the multitude very devoutly kiss. The papas or priests are dressed in vestments which ve­ry much resemble the Romish, and are generally com­posed of tissue and expensive silks. The manner in which they perform the service rather reminds one of an incantation, than of a prayer offered to the Deity; and they repeat much of it so incredibly fast, that one is tempted to suppose it impossible the auditory can understand one articulate word the priest utters, let their attention be ever so strong.

In the church of the citadel repose the body of Pe­ter I. and the successive sovereigns since his death, who are ranged in coffers, side by side, but have not any of them marble monuments erected to their me­mories; nor is there any other motive to induce a tra­veller to enter this church, except the consciousness that he beholds the wood which contains the ashes of Peter, and that mingled sentiments of reverence and [Page 166] pleasure which the mind may experience from the con­templation of it. Only one monarch is excluded, as if unworthy to be entombed with his progenitors and predecessors in the throne of Russia. This is the late unhappy Peter III. who, after his death, was exposed during some days in the monastery of St. Alexander Newfsko;, a few miles out of town, to convince the people that he had not suffered any violence, but end­ed his life naturally. He was afterwards privately in­terred there.—As I have mentioned his name, I am led to make a few remarks on his life and character. Though under the present reign it may be imagined, that few persons either dare or chuse to speak their sen­timents freely with respect to him, yet I am induced to believe from universal testimony, that he was very unworthy and unfit to reign, and that whatever private condemnation the empress, as his wife, may undergo, it was a most salutary and requisite policy for Russia to depose him. He brought to Petersburg all the illiberal and pernicious prejudices of a German; he avowed his open contempt for their religion, their manners, their laws; he was on the point of commencing a war with Denmark for the recovery of his Holstein dominions, and would have begun his march across the immense track of country which separates these kingdoms in a few days; he had personally ill-treated and injured his wife, and alienated by his imprudence and folly every heart. [Page 167] The vigour and celerity with which the Empress acted in effecting the revolution, could only be exceeded by the pusillanimity and meanness with which Peter re­signed the crown. He was himself, on the day which preceeded this event, at the palace of Oranienbaum, and totally unprepared for such a change, of which he entertained no suspicion. She departed from Peter­hoff, where she then was, by a postern door in the gar­dens, very early in the morning, Prince Orloff con­ducting her in his coach, and reached Petersburg be­fore her absence was known. She instantly took pos­session of the palace without difficulty or opposition, and putting herself in an uniform at the head of the guards, marched towards Peterhoff. As soon as the Emperor received this intelligence, he embarked immediately from Oranienbaum, which is situate on the shore of the gulf of Finland, in one of the imperial yachts, in hopes to reach constadt, which is nearly opposite, and in the fortress of which he would have been secure. Here, however, he was disappoint­ed, as the Empress had already anticipated his inten­tion, and dispatched two admirals, who secured it. When he came near the fortress, they ordered him to keep off, or they would sink him, and at the same time pointed the guns for that purpose. Besides his mistress, the Countess of Voronzoff, he had a number of wo­men and attendants in the vessel with him. Terrified [Page 168] with the appearance of opposition, they knelt round him, and rent the air with their cries, to enduce him to relinquish his purpose: effectively he did so, and yielding to his own fears, and their importunities, he had not the courage to attempt to land, but returned back to Oranienbaum. It proved afterwards that these guns were not loaded. The old Felt Marechal Count Munich, who had been newly recalled from his long exile in Siberia, was with him at this critical emergen­cy, and gave him the only advice which could possi­bly have saved him. He implored him to go boldly and meet the empress, to charge the guards on their al­legiance to obey his orders as their sovereign, and of­fered to lose his own life in his defence. Peter had not sufficient magnanimity and greatness of mind, either to perceive the absolute necessity of this conduct, or to embrace it instantly. On the contrary, consulting only with his terrors, he threw himself on the ground before the empress, in the gardens Oranienbeum, cov­ering his feet with both his hands, burst into all the impotence of tears, and only implored in terms of the most abject submission, that his life might be spar­ed, and his paternal dominions of Holstein assigned him. She commanded him to rise, and conducted him to the palace of Peterhoff, where he sign­ed a paper, by which he resigned all power into her hands. Mean while covered waggons were pro­vided, [Page 169] which took different roads, that it might not be known in which was the deposed prince; and this mighty revolution, which transferred the great­est empire on earth, was effected in a few hours, al­most without any confusion or uproar. The people accustomed to despotism, and indifferent who was the ruler, remained silent and quiet spectators of it, the guards being the only actors, and the whole a repeti­tion of the princess Elizabeth's conduct some years be­fore, when young Ivan was deposed, and she seized the throne.—Over the rest of this mournful story we must draw a veil. Such a prisoner, it is natural to suppose, could not long remain in that condition. On the ninth day consequent to his seizure it was reported he had a disorder in his bowels, and soon after his death was announced. We know no more. History, in some future age, may possibly elucidate his end; but in this century it is not likely such a secret will be divulged.

Though I would not, however indirectly, appear the apologist of crimes, yet justice requires I should say, that it is universally allowed the empress might plead self-defence, if not even self-preservation to justi­fy her conduct, as it is known that Peter had concert­ed and would have carried into execution the most se­vere measures against her if he had not been prevented by so vigorous an attack. If we add to this, the uni­form [Page 170] tenor of her life and reign since that aera, during which humanity and wisdom seem scarce ever to have forsaken her, candor will, perhaps, be induced to pass over one spot, which state-policy rendered necessary, and which, from the moment of her resistance, be­came unavoidable.

SECT. XXVIII. OF BREMEN. A. D. 1774.

THIS is a great city, a rich city, and a commercial one; but I cannot say I think it very agreeble, or that it contains much to gain a traveller's attention. Was human life of double the limits nature has assigned to it, one should not be tempted to visit it more than once. It must however be confessed I saw it to some disadvantage, not being provided with letters of intro­duction, as I had not intended to have included it in the plan of my tour. By the help, however, of my landlord, to whose good offices necessity has made me a debtor, I have seen every thing deserving attention here, and shall leave it this afternoon perfectly well sa­tisfied with my stay. One of these has appeared to me so extraordinary; and is in itself, I apprehend, so very [Page 171] singular, that if I had not been an eye witness of it, no testimony would have convinced me of its reality; and if it was not of such a nature as to be universally examined, I should fear the world would doubt my veracity.

I always apprehended that human bodies after death, if interred, or exposed to the air without any prepa­ration to defend them from the attacks of it, would of necessity corrupt, become offensive and putrify. The art of embalming is very ancient, and was invented to preserve them from this inevitable consequence of death; but that they may remain unputrified for cen­turies without any sort of artificial aid, I have seen so incontestibly proved since my arrival, that I imagine not the shadow of doubt can remain about it.

Under the cathedral church is a vaulted apartment, supported on pillars; it is near sixty paces long, and half as many broad. The light and air are constantly admitted into it by three windows, though it is several feet beneath the level of the ground. Here are five large oak coffers, rather than coffins, each containing a corpse. I examined them severally for near two hours. The most curious and perfect, is that of a wo­man. Tradition says she was an English countess, who dying here at Bremen, ordered her body to be pla­ced in this vault uninterred, in the apprehension that her relations would cause it to be brought own [...] her [Page 172] native country. They say it has lain here 250 years. Though the muscular skin is totally dried in every part, yet so little are the features of the face sunk or changed, that nothing is more certain than that she was young, and even beautiful. It is a small counte­nance, round in its contour. The cartilage of the nose and the nostrils have undergone no alteration. Her teeth are all firm in the sockets, but the lips are drawn away from over them. The cheeks are shrunk in, but yet less than I ever remember to have seen in embalmed bodies. The hair of her head is at this time more than eighteen inches long, very thick, and so fast, that I heaved the corps out of the coffer by it. The colour is a light brown, and as fresh and glossy, as that of a living person. That this lady was of high rank seems evident, from the extreme fineness of the linen which covers her body; but I have in vain en­deavoured to procure any lights into her history, her title, or any other particulars, though I have taken no little pains for that purpose. The landlord of the inn, who was with me, said he remembered it for forty years past, during which time there is not the least per­ceptible alteration in it.

In another coffer is the body of a workman, who is said to have tumbled off the church, and was killed by the fall. His features evince this most forcibly. Extreme agony is marked in them. His mouth is [Page 173] wide open, and his eye-lids the same. The eyes are dri­ed up. His breast is unnaturally distended, and his whole frame betrays a violent death.

A little child who died of the small-pox is still more remarkable. The marks of the pustules, which have broken the skin on his hands and head, are very dis­cernible; and one should suppose that a body which died of such a distemper, must contain in a high de­gree the seeds of putrefaction.

The two other corpses are not less extraordinary. There are in this vault, likewise, turkeys, hawks, wea­sels, and other animals, which have been hung up here; some, time immemorial, some very lately; and are in the most complete preservation; the skin, bills, feathers, all unaltered. The cause of this phaenome­non is, doubtless, the dryness of the place where they are laid. It is in vain to seek for any other. The mag­istrates do not permit that any fresh bodies be brought here, and there is no other subterranean chamber which has the same property. It would have made an excellent miracle two or three centuries ago in pro­per hands, but now mankind are grown too wise.

This city is celebrated for its old hock. The wine is all brought from the banks of the Rhine by land carriage, and deposited in the public cellars. These are wondrously capacious, running beneath the Town-House and Exchange; but are not comparable in mag­nificence [Page 174] to those I have seen at Oeyras in Portugal, belonging to the Marquis de Pombal, or those of Constantia at the Cape of Good-Hope. There is one particular room, called the Rose, where they keep wine, as they say, of 170 years old, and for which they ask seven dol­lars, or twenty-five shillings a bottle; but it is not fit at this time to drink.

Bremen stands upon the river Wesel. Vessels of burden lie twelve or fifteen miles below the city, there not being sufficient depth of water higher up. It con­tains 45,000 inhabitants. It is a free city, under the protection of the empire, and stiles itself a republic, on the [...] struck here. The king of England, as elec­tor of Hanover, has, however, some important rights within the place; and not only the cathedral belongs to him, but a considerable number of buildings, public and private. He possesses, likewise, a species of su­preme judicatorial power, as, though the magistrates take cognizance of all crimes within the territory of Bremen, his delegate or bailiff must pronounce sen­tence. The fortifications though kept in very good order, are of no consequence or strength. The strong­est army in the field is ever master; and during the last war, French or English were alternately received into the place, as they appeared before it.

By the municipal laws, all the race of Abraham is excluded from the capacity of trading and [...] [Page 175] here; or at least there is so high a duty laid on their persons, that a man may remain here a century, I sup­pose, and not see one, it amounting to no less than a ducat a day. This exclusion has given rise to a sar­castic remark on the inhabitants themselves, which, whether just or not, I am no judge. Hamburg has adopted a contrary policy, and admits indiscriminately these people, with European nations. In a lucrative view, I know not which may be the wisest measure, but certainly the latter is the most generous, and breathes a greater philanthropy. If every government barred its gates to these wanderers of Palestine, alrea­dy labouring under the curse of dispersion without leaders, without political strength, where must they fly for asylum? Their character, to be sure, as a nation is not much in their favour, and I am not at all sur­prised at their ancient passion for idolatry, since there are very few of them, I imagine, at this time, who would not bow down before a golden calf set up in London or Amsterdam, with as much devotion as their ancestors did before that in Horeb. The princi­ple, indeed, might be somewhat different, though it has always seemed to me, as if the intrinsic value of the first calf constituted the most adorable part of his divinity in the opinion of his worshippers; else why did not Aaron make him of brass at once?

Plutus and Mercury are the chief dieties venerated [Page 176] in this city, and like the senate in Tiberius's time, they will not admit the gods of strangers. Pleasure under every shape, of dance, of comedy, of masque, seems peculiarly hateful. She has, indeed, lately stole in, as my landlord tells me, once a month during the win­ter, in the form of a concert, to the no little terror of the burgomasters, who have endeavoured to proscribe this unprecedented refinement. The most polite man­ner of spending an evening known for several centu­ries past in Bremen, has been that of meeting in small-boxes about twenty feet long and fix wide, in the pub­lic cellar, where they drink hock under a cloud of [...] from their own pipes. One may swear these are the genuine descendants of the ancient Saxons, who imagined the joys of heaven to consist in drink­ing ale out of the skulls of their enemies! Women, the only venial object of idolatry, seem not here to hold any rank in society, or to form the connecting charm which binds the jarring principles of human nature together. Man, solitary man, meets in clubs and companies, to doze, to drink, and to dispute. The very idea is odious and disgusting.

SECT. XXIX. CONVERSATION AT COURTRAY IN FLAN­DARS WITH AN IMPATIENT PASSENGER FOR THE DEPARTURE OF A DILIGENCE.

WHILE I was changing horses, I was peculiarly stricken with the singular impatience of a passenger for the departure of the diligence. I observed him to intreat his companions, with a gentleness and elegant courtesy, to hasten the same; then he flew to the land­lord, to give his commands to the driver, then [...] the driver himself, then to the stable to see if the horses were harnessed; then to the gateway biting his nails, and walking backwards, and forward, much agitated. His countenance was urgently thoughtful; his complex­ion livid; his eyes sunk into his head, and over-arched with a large circular and black brow; his look altogether seemed hagged through fatigue, and an inward dejec­tion which preyed upon him. I judged him to be a­bout five and thirty years of age. He was genteel; a­bove the common in his manner, but very negligently attired. In short, his appearance touched me home, and awakened my curiosity.

Mon Dieu! cried the Flemish Whip, that there was a little more patience in the world.—It would [Page 178] be a six sous out of your pocket, if there was, I thought within myself; for I observed the impatient passenger to give him that little sum, as a stimulus to accelerate his motions.

A difficulty arose, which increased the passenger's impatience beyond all bounds. He was almost mad with disappointment; for as the diligence was prepar­ing to set off, a female passenger was unfortunately missing, who, having some business in the own, ab­sented herself till the usual time of its departure; and now the driver declared that it was impossible to set off before the clock struck a certain hour, the stated time for its departure, unless Madame arrived.

My barouche was, at this instant, drawing up to the door; and as curiosity was fermenting just as strong in me as impatience in the passenger, I offered him a feat in it; concluding, Ghent was his next station.

There was a polite gratitude in the manner with which he accompanied his simple thanks; and he flew like an arrow to the diligence, snatching out of it a small valise. We ascended our vehicle, and it moved in time to the impetuosity of my companion's wishes. A cloud of melancholy soon overshadowed his coun­tenance; his eyes were immoveably fixed, and thought seemed busy within him. This torpor continued up­on him the greatest part of our stage to Ghent [...] except­ing, that now and then, it was broken by a few polite [Page 179] expressions, to convince me of the greatness of his ob­ligation.

I could not avoid puzzling my brain about the cha­racter of this man; turning in my head over and over, the motives that could possibly ferment such great im­patience to arrive at the end of his journey.

There was education in his look; which made me address him with,

But your present had not the power to procure the departure of the diligence. Horace is certainly right, answered my companion; the bribe was only of sil­ver; the power of gold, doubtless, would have con­quered the driver's s [...]uples about the lady: He would have driven off without her. But when a man is in haste, I replied, he should not travel in a Flemish dili­gence. But this, says my companion, is the only con­venience, when our bad fortune will not permit us to purchase a more expeditious one. Pour moi les deni­ers me manque; I am as poor as a church mouse, and this is another reason for my wishing to be at the end of my journey; where, God be thanked! I should have—Yes, says my stranger, making a reflective pause, and repeating the words, "I should have some of this [Page 180] world's trifles."—Here he turned up his eyes wish a groan, shrugged up his shoulder and pressed his hands on his knees—

And why that piteous, miserable look?—thy home, and this world's comforts too!—yet this drew forth—

It is unique, I thought, that of all the Frenchmen I ever met with in my life, the natural character of the nation should prevail so little in my [...]-traveller; barring the shrug of his shoulder, and the wan meagre countenance, there was nothing Gallic in him. The French, even in the most awful periods of their dis­tress, discover certain intervals, in which the traits of their native cheerfulness are conspicuous; but the spi­rit of my companion seemed enveloped in an endless gloom.

The subjects we conversed on were not much diver­sified, and rather confined to the classics. He seemed well read, and his remarks were tinctured with judg­ment. In the course of that natural and innocent va­nity, of displaying our little store of learning, I could not suppress the effect which the eighth Ode of Hor­ace had upon me, which my companion repeated [...] no small degree of energy. He said it was his [Page 181] favourite Ode, when he was once in love. It was like the protasis of ancient drama to me, where the subject of the piece became entertaining. It suspend­ed for some time our conversation, and proved a most powerful advocate for the romantic feelings I was brooding upon.—Aye, says I,—

As I live, [...] is a person above the common rank of people; [...] love, at a particular period of his life, has [...] forced into some affecting adventure; and, perhaps, driven by the fascinating charms of a Lydia, into a desperate path of fortune. He is certain­ly " ^* tout autre homme," than his appearance an­nounces. So, while I was finishing my pedantry with,

and positively settled in my mind, that this was actual­ly the true case, I found the barouche entering Ghent.

There are ever circumstances to disappoint the wish­es of those, who have the world to run through, which, [Page 182] by the bye, is something like travelling through this part of Flanders, where we find post-horses heavy and slow; and, in my opinion, every thing cheerless and comfortless in the inns; grass growing in the center of towns; and all the arts and sciences uncultivated, as their streets are neglected by the industrious foot­steps of men. I was flattering myself, with learning the historic feats of my dejected companion; when I found myself, on my arrival at Ghent, ready to be rob­bed of this "bon bouche" for my curiosity. As for myself, I can scarcely reconcile these fortifications, about which nine tenths of the wor [...] [...] care a German krüytzer.

SECT. XXX. A SERMON TO ENGLISH TRAVELLERS.

WHEN your equipages arrive in a town on the Continent, the rascals of trades-people, and much grea­ter knaves of inn-keepers, are laying plans to plunder you; and troops of famished wretches, devoted to [...] office that travellers think proper to employ [...] [Page 183] starved Tyrolian wolves prowling for repine, sur­round you on every side; for they conceive your rich­es to be immense, and your ostentatious extravagance still more excessive. They first flatter you on the known liberality of your character as Englishmen, and then they prescribe in the most servile manner to all your absurd ridiculous caprices. The police and shop­keepers have in pay their lay-laqueys, who surround your hotels; the former to learn your history, perhaps, from your English valet, who probably may smatter just enough of the language to perplex you on all occa­sions; and [...] [...]latter to cozen you in their boutiques, where [...] cent. per cent. more than the natives.

The inhabitants of distinction invite you into their circles to filch you at their card parties. A pert co­quet, of some beauty and fashion, shams an intrigue with you, to wheedle you to lose your money at pi­quet; who, while you are racking your imagination to tell her some dull story, and to play off some piece of gallant witticism, is counting her game, and under the mask of "nonchallant badinage," studying to ca­pot you. You suffer your purses to be drained with a grace, in hopes of acquiring the name of Madam's bien aim [...], while the lady smiles at your bad imitation of foreign intrigue, and supremely ridicules your En­glish fadaise.

Men, who have been trained from their earliest in­fancy, [Page 184] under the hands of a frisseur, to wear their bags, solitaires, and brocades, with magnanimous dignity, look contemptuously on your affected case in the ma­noeuvres of your snuff boxes, and your awkward car­riage in sporting your persons.

Do not, therefore, my dear countrymen, when you travel for improvement, and when you should travel as respectable representatives of a body of people, who, as long as ever civil society has been known to flou­rish, have been courted and esteemed, do not attempt to imitate any other nation than your [...]. Ye have virtues and refinements among yourself [...] sufficient to render you completely amiable as men; [...] under­standing to put you on equality with the most enligh­tened of mankind. In short, ye have talents within yourselves, when properly exerted which command, the esteem of all the world. Let the end then of your visits among foreigners be, to enhance the blessings of your own country; to glean that species of informa­tion, which may teach you how to prize the comforts ye possess at home; and by learning the distinct qua­lities of men, to secure to yourselves private happiness, that may last you all your lives; to bring back with you the laws of different empires; politics to serve your king in a national exigency; improvement in the arts to benefit your countrymen; and an univer­sal benevolence to carry you through life without [...] [Page 185] to yourselves, and with happiness to those who have any commerce with you.

Suffer not the light character of Frenchmen, the ab­surd hauteur of the German Baron of the sixteenth gen­eration, or the vain-glorious insolence of a romantic Italian, to brand you with ridicule. If you perceive virtues in either, that will mend your hearts, or be of national benefit in the application [...] them to your country at large, treasure them in your memory. But leave their vices where they were at first engendered, to secure to you that ascendancy you have always had over them [...] by these exotic acquisitions, you re­turn home with a poison more fatally administered, than by the hands of your enemies; and which, in suc­ceeding commotions with your neighbours, will be a remote conquest, which you have drawn upon your­selves. Show yourselves therefore liberal, but avoid the character of magnificent fools, whose greatness is only manifest in the superior faculty of squandering riches, more profusely than the natives you are associ­ating with.

I have seen you laughed at, and my heart has bled for you. I have seen, when your backs have been turned, an insolent foreigner speak with contempt of you, who has flattered you with a most egregious irony of praise before your faces. Assert your solidity of character, and even your deficiencies in the agrèmens, [Page 186] with an Englishman's dignity. Consider your charac­teristic qualities in a physical sense; balance them a­gainst those of the foreigner; and, believe me, that your natural character, joined with your early and substan­tial education, will make you ever respected. But suf­fer not your fame to be tarnished with the affected im­itation of foreign buffoonery, and the folly of bòasted extravagance.

SECT. XXXI. OF THE CITY OF CANTON, IN CHINA.

THE city of Canton is situate upon the east side of the large river Ta, from the mouth of which it lies a­bout fifty miles. It is defended towards the water by two high walls, and two strong water-castles built in the middle of the river Ta.

Canton is the greatest port in China, and the only one frequented by Europeans. The city wall is about five miles in curcumference, with pleasant walks a­round it. On the east side is a large ditch close to the wall.

From the tops of some adjacent hills, on which forts are built, you have a fine prospect of the country. It is beautifully interspersed with mountains, little [...] [Page 187] and valleys, all green; and these again pleasantly di­versified with small towns; villages, high towers, tem­ples, the seats of Mandarines and other great men, which are watered with delightful lakes, canals, and small branches from the river Ta; on which are num­berless boats and jonks sailing different ways through the most fertile places of the country.

The city is entered by seven iron gates, and within-side of each there is a guard-house. No European is allowed to enter these, if known; I have myself been frequently expelled, after I had been a good way with­in the city, when they discovered that I was a stran­ger. The soldiers, who keep guard, are armed with spears, darts, swords; match-lock guns, but most of them with bows and arrows, which they still esteem more than any other warlike weapon.

The streets are very straight, but generally narrow, and paved with flag stones.

There are many pretty buildings in the city, great numbers of triumphal arches, and temples well [...] with images.

The streets of Canton are so crowded, that it is dif­ficult to walk in them; yet you will seldom see a wo­man of any fashion, unless by chance, when coming out of their chairs. And, were it not that curiosity in the Chinese ladies make them sometimes peep at us, we should never get a glance at them.

[Page 188] Though there are no magnificent houses in Can­ton, most of them being built only one, and none more than two stories; yet they take up a large extent of ground, many of them having square courts with­in their walls.

They have all such a regard to privacy, that no windows are made towards the streets, but in shops and places of pulic business. None of their windows look towards those of their neighbours. Within the gate or entry of each house, a screen is placed, to pre­vent strangers from looking in upon the opening of the gate; and you enter the house either on the right or left side of the middle screen, where there are little al­leys to the right and left, from whence you pass into the several courts, which are walled on all sides.

Their entertainments are held in a sort of hall at the entrance of their houses, which have no other orna­ment, besides a single order of painted columns which support the building. The roofs are open to the tiles, without any ceiling. In these they use no looking-glasses, hangings, or fine chairs; and their beds, which are the principal ornaments of their house, are seldom seen by strangers, who are not permitted to go farther than the first great hall. The Chinese, who keep shops, were less reserved, and would frequently invite us to their houses with great freedom, as they observed it would be agreeable to us.

[Page 189] The furniture of the best houses is cabinets, tables, painted screens, china, pictures, and pieces of white taffety upon the walls, upon which are written in Chi­nese characters, religious and moral sentences.

They have no chimneys; but in their stead, they place a shallow [...] pot filled with charcoal, in the middle of the room, in winter, which is ready to suf­focate people who are not accustomed to it. They have a copper built in brick-work in their kitchen for boiling, much about the heighth of our English stoves.

The insides of their houses are never [...] nor painted, but are covered with thin paper.

The windows are made of cane or rattan. In winter they cut oyster-shells into diamond-shapes, and set them in wooden frames, which afford but a very dull light.

The shops of those that deal in silk are very neat, make a fine show, and are all in one place; for trades­men, or dealers in one kind of goods, herd together in the same street. For this reason, you may hear the English sailors talking of the streets of Canton, as if they were speaking of London, or some other English city. The streets where the china-shops are, they call China-row; the streets where clothes are fold, they call Monmouth-street; that narrow street where men's caps, shoes, &c. are sold, is well known by the name of Mandarine Cap-alley; and a narrow passage close [Page 190] by the city-wall, where lapidary and glass-work are sold, is called Stone-cutters alley; and so of many oth­ers. The shops have counters, drawers, and divi­sions, much like our own; and there are few of the merchants but have a person who can speak broken English or Portuguese. So that French, Dutch, and Danes, are obliged to speak either the one or the other when they traffic with them.

There are great numbers of market-places for fish, flesh, poultry, garden herbs, and all provisions. Eve­ry thing is sold cheap. Fishmongers keep their fishes in [...] alive. Carp, and all other fish are here in variety and plenty, but have a muddy taste. I have seen the fishermen take great numbers of different fish­es in the ditch on the east side of the city-wall, where a multitude of small boats or sampans are continually plying. The ditch goes quite round the city, and some small canals run in it; and as it has a connec­tion with the river Ta, it is of great advantage to the city.

I was very much surprised at first, to see dogs, cats, rats, frogs, &c. in their market-places for sale. But I soon found that they made no scruple of eating any sort of meat, and have as good an appetite for that which died in a ditch, as that which was killed by a butcher.

The dogs and cats, which they generally [...] [Page 191] live in baskets, were for the most part young and fat, and kept very clean.

The rats, some of which are of a monstrous size, were very fat, and commonly hung up with the skin upon them, on nails at the posts of the market-place.

Frogs, which are the greatest dainty here, are sold very dear. They are black and loathsome to an Eu­ropean eye; but the Chinese say they have a very fine taste. The rats, they say, eat well; and snake broth has been in reputation there, long before it was known to us. The frogs are strung upon a rod in the same manner as we do fish in England.

In passing through some of their streets, I have al­most been suffocated by the stench of the houses on each side; and particularly a street about a mile above the English factory, where there was nothing but cook's shops. They had large hogs roasted whole, and numbers of dogs, cats, and rats on the spit, [...] the [...] themselves, with their utensils, had such a dirty appearance, that the sight and smell might almost satisfy even the keenest European appetite. They send about their victuals for sale with cowleys or [...].

The common people eat four times a day; and are such [...]shttons, that, if they are ever so much engaged in [...], they will hastily leave it, and [...] hour. I have seen one [...] fol­low [Page 192] eat six pint basons of rice at one meal. Rice they eat greedily, and cram it down with their chop-sticks; which would probably choak them, if they did not wash it dowd every now and then with a cup of Sham­shue standing by them.

In the streets of Canton, we often meet with blind beggars, of both sexes, a disease which some imagine is the consequence of their living so much on rice; but I rather think it may be occasioned by the hot winds which blow here at certain seasons. They are indeed miserable objects, and commonly go naked, excepting a trouser or cloth over their middle. They go sometimes in companies, and are sure to plague and follow the Europeans; because from one of them they [...]ill get more at one time than from a dozen of their own countrymen. The Chinese are very uncharita­ble. I never saw them give money to a beggar; but they generally put them off with a small handful of rice.

As it is natural for Europeans to let flip no oppor­tunity of seeing the fair sex, and as the women there are kept so very private, that many of us have made seve­ral voyages thither, without having seen a woman a­bove the lowest rank, we were now and then induced, on proper occasions, to pry into the most retired and unfrequented places, where we imagined the females might be less upon their guard; as few Europeans [...] thereabouts to disturb them. In these [...] [Page 193] curiosity was seldom entirely disappointed. Sometimes we would pop in upon a percel of young boys and girls, attended by their nurses, who were all so affright­ed at the fight of Fanquay, as they called us, that they would scream aloud, run into their houses, and, by the noise, alarm the whole street. As I have observed al­ready, that they have no windows to the street, and have a screen of split cane before the door of each house, we could not see them, though they could ea­sily see us through that lattice: we could only very in­distinctly perceive them peeping at us, and pointing to us withinside the screen.

Now and then, on turning a corner, or entering a private street, all of a sudden we found ourselves in the midst of a company of young ladies conversing o [...] playing together; which immediately set them all a screeming, and made them run for shelter into their several apartments.

These accidental opportunities made us very happy; for we frequently saw some charming creatures, sur­passing all description, and whose beauty it would ap­pear, most Europeans who have been here, are entirely ignorant of. Indeed we could only be happy in the glance of one or two such in a street; for the scream­ing of one caught without doors, immediately alarmed [...] the ladies, and baffled our curiosity.

[...] indeed, we met them at a considerable [Page 194] distance from their houses; and as their feet are so lit­tle that they cannot walk or run, but rather trip or hobble along, and are often obliged to assist themselves by laying hold of the wall as they move along; this gave us an opportunity of gazing upon them attentive­ly on these occasions. They seemed so affrighted, and walked so awkwardly, that we were glad to retire, lest we should have made them stumble and fall, for which we should certainly have been bamboo'd.

The complexion of the ladies is exceedingly fair, their hair of the finest black, dressed up with gold and silver bodkins, adorned with flowers. Their shape is exquisitely fine, and their dresses the most becoming, natural, easy and splendid of any I ever saw.

It is reckoned, that there are in the city and suburbs of Canton 1,200,000 people; and you will scarce find a day in the whole year, but there are 5000 trading vessels lying before the city.

The temples and places of public worship are the most magnificent buildings in Canton. They are well filled with images. The people pay profound adoration to them, by falling down on their knees be­fore them, wringing their hands, and beating their foreheads against the ground. These tempels are dec­orated with a great number of artificial flowers, em­broidered hangings, curtains and fringes. [...] of them, situated in the skirt of the north-east [...] [Page 195] suburbs, makes a splendid appearance. It is four sto­ries high, has a fine cupola, with many out-houses and galleries. The lower part of it is built with fine hewn stone, but the upper part is all of timber. We went first into the lower hall, where we saw images of all sizes, of different dignities, and finely gilded, and kept exceedingly clean by the priests. The lesser images, were placed in corners of the wall, and one of a larger size in the middle of the hall. The large god, who is placed in the center, sits in a lazy posture, almost na­ked, and leaning on a large cushion. He is ten times larger than an ordinary man, very corpulent, of a merry countenance, and gilt all over. We were next conducted up stairs, where we saw a great many ima­ges of men and women; who had been deified for their brave and virtuous actions.

Though Canton is but twenty-four degrees from the equator, and is scorching hot in summer, yet about the months of December and January, it is subject to high winds and very heavy rains. The sudden alter­ation which the climate then undergoes, is very surpri­sing. At this time the people of China take to their winter dress, which is lined with furs, or quilted cot­ton. Instead of wearing fans, which are used by men, women, and children, in hot weather, they hold a live quail in their hands to keep them warm, and have the [...] sleeves of their gowns drawn down to cover their [Page 196] hands. Thus equipped, they walk so stiff, and shrug up their shoulders so much, that one would think they were freezing to death.

The river Ta at Canton is somewhat broader than the Thames at London. But the crowds of small ves­sels that ply the Ta, are vastly more numerous. For the space of four or five miles opposite the city of Can­ton, you have an extensive wooden town of large ves­sels and boats, stowed so closely, that there is scarcely room for a large boat to pass. They are generally drawn up in ranks, with a narrow passage left for ves­sels to pass and repass. Some of them are large ves­sels of eight or nine hundred tons burden, called jonks, with which they perform their foreign voyages. Here are also an incredible number of small boats, in which poor families live all their life long, without e­ver putting a foot on shore. In these they keep dogs, cats, hogs, geese, and other domestic animals, both for subsistence and sale. There is nothing similar to this in Europe; for the people in this country are so ex­ceedingly numerous, that vast numbers of families are obliged to betake themselves to boats on the river, for want of room, or the means of subsistence on land, where almost every habitable spot is occupied. These boats are very conveniently built, with arched covers and tilts made of solid wood, or bamboo or caian leaves, so high, that the people can walk upright un­der [Page 197] them. They manage them very nimbly, having asculling oar at the stern, with which they make them go surprisingly fast; and I have often been amazed to see with what ease and safety they pass one another.

SECT. XXXII. OF THE POLICY AND GOVERNMENT OF CHINA.

AMONGST the several models and plans of gov­ernments which the ancients framed, we shall perhaps meet with none so perfect and exact as is that of the Chinese monarchy. The ancient lawgivers of this potent empire formed it in their days very little differ­ent from what it is in ours. Other states, according to the common fate of the things of this world, are sensible of the weakness of infancy; are born missha­pen and imperfect; and like men, they owe their per­fection and maturity to time. China seems more ex­empted from the common laws of nature; and as though the Supreme being himself had founded their empire, the plan of their government was not a whit less perfect in its cradle, than it is now after the expe­rience and trial of four thousand years.

[Page 198] During all which time the Chinese had never so much as heard of the name of a Republic; and when lately, on the arrival of the Hollanders, they heard of it, it seemed so strange to them, that they have scarcely yet done admiring at it. Nothing could make them understand how a state could regularly be governed without a king. They looked upon a republic to be a monster with many heads, formed by the ambition, headiness, and corrupt inclination of men in times of public disorder and confusion.

As they bear an aversion to republican govern­ment, so they are yet more set against tyranny and op­pression, which they say proceeds not from the abso­luteness of the prince's power, but from his wildness, which neither the voice of nature, nor the laws of God can ever countenance. The Chinese are of o­pinion, that the obligation which is laid on their kings not to abuse their power, is rather a mean to confirm and establish them, than to occasion their ruin; and that this useful constraint, which they themselve lay on their passions, does not more diminish their power or authority here on earth, than the like constraint derogates from the majesty and power of the Almigh­ty, who is not the less powerful because he cannot do evil.

An unbounded authority which the laws give the Emperor, and the necessity which the same lay upon [Page 199] him to use that authority with moderation and discre­tion, are the two props which have for so many ages supported this great fabric of the Chinese monarchy. The first principle, therefore, that is instilled into the people, is to respect their prince with so high a ven­eration as almost to adore him. They stile him the son of heaven, and the only master of the world. His commands are indisputable. His words carry no less authority with them than if they were oracles. In short, every thing that comes from him is sacred. He is seldom seen, and never spoken to but on the knees. The grandees of the court, the princes of the blood, nay, his own brothers bow to the ground, not only when he is present, but even before the throne; and there are set days every week or month, on which the nobility assemble, who meet in one of the courts of the palace to acknowledge the authority of their prince, by their most submissive adorations, though he, per­haps, be not there in person.

When he is ill, the palace is full of Mandarines of every òrder, who spend night and day, in a large court, in habits proper for the occasion, to express their own grief, and to ask of heaven their prince's cure. Rain, snow, cold, or any other inconveniencies, excuse them not from the performance of this duty; and as long as the Emperor is in pain, or in danger, any one that saw the people would think that they feared nothing but the loss of him.

[Page 200] The towns of China are generally divided into four parts, and those again into several smaller divisions, each of which contains ten houses, over every one of which subdivisions an officer presides, who takes no­tice of every thing which passes in his little ward, tells the Mandarine what contentions or extraordinary things happen, and what strangers come thither or go thence. The neighbourhood is obliged to give mutual assistance, and in case of any alarm to lend one anoth­er a helping hand; for if any theft or robbery is com­mitted during the night, the neighbourhood must con­tribute towards repairing the loss. Lastly, in every family the father is responsible for the disorders and ir­regularities committed either by his children or servants.

The gates of the cities are well looked after, and even in time of peace are shut up at the approach of night. In the day time there are guards to examine all who come in. When they observe any thing extraordina­ry or suspicious, they take the person up, or inform the Mandarine of it. So that European missionaries, whose aspect is infinitely different from that of the Chinese, are known at first sight; and those who have not the Emperor's approbation, find it very difficult to make a long journey.

In certain places, as at Pekin, as soon as night comes on, they tie chains a-cross the streets: the guards go the patrole up and down the principal streets, and [Page 201] guards and centinels are placed here and there. The horse go the rounds upon the fortifications; and wo [...] be to him who is found then from home. Meetings, [...]usquerades, and balls, and such like night works, are good, say the Chinese, for none but thieves and the mob. Orderly people ought, at that time, either to sit up providing for their family, or else to take their rest, that they may be refreshed, and better able the next day to manage the business of the family.

Gaming is forbidden both to the common people and the gentry. This, however, does not hinder the Chinese from playing, sometimes even so long, as till they had lost all their estates, their houses, their chil­dren, and their wives, which they sometimes hazard upon a card; for there is no degree of extravagance to which the desire of lucre and riches will not carry a Chinese.

What I have said concerning wives, that their hus­bands may fell them, or lose them at play, puts me in mind to give some account of the rules which their civil constitution, rather than their religion, has ordain­ed concerning marriages. Those who have a mind to marry, do not, as among us, follow their own fancies in the choice of a wise. They never see the women they are to have, but take her parents' word in the case; or else they have their information from some old wo­men, who seldom give a just description of her whom they go to view.

[Page 202] The woman's parents generally give money to these emissaries, to oblige them to give a favourable charac­ter. It is for the advantage of the parents that their daughter should be reputed handsome, witty, and gen­teel; because the Chinese buy their wives, and, as in other merchandise, they give more or less according to the good or bad properties of them.

When the parties are agreed about the price, the contract is made, and the money paid down. Then preparation is made on both sides for the nuptial so­lemnities. When the day of marriage is come, they carry the bride in a sumtuous chair, before which go hautboys, drums and fifes, and after it follow her pa­rents, and other particular friends of her family. All the portion which she brings, is her marriage-garments, some clothes and household goods, which her father presents her with. The bridegroom stands at his door richly attired, waiting for her. He himself opens the sedan, which is closely shut; and having conducted her into a chamber, delivers her to several women, in­vited thither for that purpose, who spend there the day together in feasting and sporting, while the hus­band in another room entertains his friends acquaint­ance.

This being the first time that the bride and bride­groom see each other, and one, or both, perhaps, not liking their bargain, it is frequently a day of rejoicing [Page 203] for their guests, but of sorrow for themselves. The women must submit, though they do not like, because their parents have sold them; but the husbands some­times are not so complaisant; for there have been some, who when they first opened the sedan to receive the bride, repulsed by her shape and aspect, have shut the chair, and sent her and her parents and friends back a­gain, willing rather to lose their money than enter up­on so bad a purchase.

Although a man be allowed but one wife, he may have as many concubines as he pleases. All the chil­dren have an equal claim to the estate, because they are reckoned as the children of the wife, even though they be those of the concubines. They all call the wife mother, who is indeed sole mistress of the house. The concubines serve and honour her, and have no manner of authority or power but what they derive from her.

The Chinese think it a strange thing that the Europe­ans are not allowed to have concubines; yet they con­fess it is a commendable sign of moderation in them. But when we observed to them the troubles, quarrels, contentions, and jealousies which many women must needs occasion in a family, they say that there was no state without some inconvenience; but that perhaps there were more crosses in having but one, than in hav­ing many women. The best way, they owned, was to have none at all.

SECT. XXXIII. OF CONFUCIOUS.

THIS celebrated Chinese philosopher was born in the kingdom of Lou, which is at present in the pro­vince of Chan, 551 years before the birth of Christ. He was contemporary with Pythagoras, and a little be­fore Socrates. He was but three years old when he lost his father, who had enjoyed the highest offices of the kingdom of Long.

Confucius did not grow in knowledge by degrees, as children usually do, but seemed to arrive at reason and the perfection of his faculties almost from his infancy.

He took no delight in playing, running about, and such amusements as were proper for his age. He had a grave and serious deportment, which gained him re­spect, and plainly foretold what he would one day be. But what distinguished him most was his unexampled and exalted piety. He honoured his relations; he en­deavoured in all things to imitate his grandfather, who was then alive in China, and a most holy man. And it was observable, that he never ate any thing but he prostrated himself on the ground, and offered it first to the supreme Lord of heaven.

One day, while he was a child he heard his grand­father fetch a deep sigh; and going up to him with [Page 205] much reverence, "May I presume," says he, "with­out losing the respect I owe you, to enquire into the occasion of your grief? Perhaps you fear that your posterity should degenerate from your virtue, and dis­honour you by their vices." What put this thought in­to your head, says his grandfather to him; and where have you learnt to speak in this manner? "From yourself," replied Confucius. "I attend diligently to you every time you speak; and I have often heard you say, that a son, who does not by his virtue support the glory of his ancestors, does not deserve to bear their name."

After his grandfather's death, Confucius applied him­self to Teem-se, a celebrated doctor of his time; and under the direction of so great a master, he soon made a vast progress into antiquity, which he considered as the source, from whence all genuine knowledge was to be drawn. This love of the ancients very nearly cost him his life, when he was no more than sixteen years of age. Falling into discourse one day about the Chinese books with a person of high quality, who thought them obscure, and not worth the pains of searching into; "The books you despise, says Con­fucius are full of profound knowledge, which is not to be attained but by the wise and learned; and the people would think cheaply of them, could they com­prehend them of themselves. This subordination of [Page 206] spirits, by which the ignorant are dependent upon the knowing, is very useful, and even necessary to society. Were all families equally rich, and equally powerful, there could not subsist any form of government; but there would happen a yet stranger disorder, if all men were equally knowing; for then every one would be for governing, and none would think themselves obli­ged to obey. Some time ago, added Confucius, an ordinary fellow made the same observation to me a­bout the books as you have done; and from such a one indeed nothing better could be expected; but I admire that you, a doctor, should thus be found speaking like one of the lowest of the people.

This rebuke had indeed the good effect of silencing the Mandarine, and bringing him to a better opinion of the learning of his country; yet it vexed him so at the same time, as it came from almost a boy, that he would have revenged it by violence, if he had not been prevented.

At the age of nineteen years Confucius took a wife, who brought him a son [...] Tsou-tse, who, in imi­tation of his father, applied himself entirely to the stu­dy of wisdom, and by his merit arrived to the highest offices of the empire. Confucius was content with his wife only, so long as she lived with him; and never kept any concubines, as the custom of his country would have allowed him to have done, because he thought [Page 207] it contrary to the law of nature. I say, so long as she lived with him; for it seems he divorced her after some time, and for no other reason, say the Chinese, but that he migh be free from all incumbrances and con­nections, and at liberty to propogate his philosophy throughout the empire. At the age of twenty-three, when he had gained a considerable knowledge of anti­quity, and acquainted himself with the laws and cus­toms of his country, he began to project a scheme for a general reformation; for then every province of the empire was a distinct kingdom, which had its particu­lar laws and was governed by a prince.

To say the truth, all the little kingdoms depended upon the emperor; but it often happened that the im­perial authority was not able to keep them within the bounds of their duty. Every one of these kings was master in his dominions. They levied taxes, impo­sed tributes, disposed of dignities and offices, declared war against their neighbours when they thought pro­per, and sometimes became formidable to the emperor himself.

Confucius, wisely persuaded that the people could never be happy, so long as avarice, ambition, voluptu­ousness, and false policy should reign in this manner, resolved to preach up a severe morality; and accord­ingly he began to enforce temperance, justice, and oth­er virtues, to enspire a contempt of riches and out­ward [Page 208] pomp, to excite to magnanimity and a greatness of, soul, which should make men incapable of dissimula­tion and insincerity: and to use all the means he could think of, to redeem his countrymen from a life of plea­sure to a life of reason. He was every where known, and as much beloved. His extreme knowledge and great wisdom soon made him known; his integrity, and the splendor of his virtues made him beloved. Kings were governed by his wisdom, and the people reverenced him as a saint. He was offered several high offices in the magistracy which he sometimes ac­cepted; but never from a motive of ambition, which he was not at all concerned to gratify, but always with a view of reforming a corrupt state, and amend­ing mankind: for he never failed to resign those of­fices, as soon as he perceived that he could be no lon­ger useful in them. Thus, for instance, he was rais­ed to a considerable place of trust in the kingdom of Lou, his own native country; where he had not exer­cised his charge above three months, when the court and provinces, through his counsels and management, were become quite another thing. He corrected ma­ny frauds and abuses in the mercantile way, and redu­ced the weights and measures to their proper standard. He inculcated fidelity and candour among the men, and exhorted the women to chastity and simplicity of manners. By such methods he wrought a general [Page 109] reformation, and established every where such con cord and unanimity, that the whole kingdom seemed as if it were but one great family.

The neighbouring princes began to be jealous. They easily perceived, that a king, under the counsels of such a man as Confucius, would quickly render himself too powerful; since noting can make a state flourish more than good order among the members, and an exact observance of its laws. Alarmed at this, the king of [...] assembled his ministers to consider of methods, which might put a stop to the career of this new government; and after some deliberations the fol­lowing expedient was resolved upon. They got to­gether a great number of young girls, of extraordinary beauty, who had been instructed from their infancy in singing and dancing, and were perfect mistresses of all those charms and accomplishments, which might please and captivate the heart. These, under the pre­text of an embassy, they presented to the king of Lou, and to the grandees of his court. The present was joy­fully received, and had its desired effect. The arts of good government were immediately neglected, and no­thing was thought of, but inventing new pleasures for the entertainment of the fair strangers. In short, nothing was regarded for some months, but feasting, dancing, shows, &c. and the court was entirely dis­solved in luxury and pleasure. Confucius had fore­seen [Page 210] all this, and endeavoured to prevent it by advi­sing the refusal of the present; and he now laboured to take off the delusion they were fallen into, and to bring men back to reason and their duty. But all his endeavours proved ineffectual. There was nothing to be done; and the severity of the philosopher, whether he would or no, was obliged to give way to the over­bearing fashion of the court. Upon which he imme­diately quitted his employment, becoming an exile at the same time from his native country, to try, if he could find in other kingdoms, minds and dispositions more fit to relish and pursue his maxims.

He passed through the kingdoms of Tsi, Guci, and Tsom, but met with insurmountable difficulties every where. He had the misfortune to live in times, when rebellion, wars, and tumults raged throughout the empire. Men had no time to listen to his philosophy. They had even less inclination to do it; for as we have said, they were ambitious, avaricious, and voluptuous. Hence be often met with ill treatment and reproach­ful language, and it is said, that conspiracies were formed against his life; to which may be added, that his neglect of his own interests had reduced him to the extremest poverty. Some philosophers among his contemporaries were so effected with the terrible state of things, that they had rusticated themselves into the mountains and deserts, as the only places where happi­ness [Page 211] could be found; and would have persuaded Con­fucius to follow them. But, "I am a man, says Con­fucius, and cannot exclude myself from the society of men, and consort with boasts. Bad as the times are, I shall do all that I can to recal men to virtue; for in virtue are all things, and if mankind would but once imbrace it, and submit themselves to its discipline and laws, they would not want me nor any body else to instruct them. It is the duty of a good man, first to perfect himself, and then to perfect others. Human nature, said he, came to us from heaven pure and per­fect; but in process of time, ignorance, the passions, and evil examples, have corrupted it. All consists in restoring it to its primative beauty: and to be perfect, we must re-ascend to that point, from whence we have fallen. Obey heaven, and follow the orders of, him who governs it. Love your neighbour as yourself. Let your reason, and not your senses, be the rule of your conduct; for reason will teach you to think wise­ly, to speak prudently, and to behave yourself worthily on all occasions."

Confucius in the mean time, though he had with­drawn himself from kings and palaces, did not cease to travel about, and do what good he could among the people, and among mankind in general. He sent six hundred of his disciples into different parts of the empire, to reform the manners of the people; and not [Page 212] satisfied with benefiting his own country only, he made frequent resolutions to pass the seas, and propa­gate his doctrine to the farthest part of the world. Hardly any thing can be added to the purity of his morality. He seems rather to speak like a doctor of a revealed law, than like a man who had no light, but what the law of nature afforded him: and what con­vinces us of his sincerity is, that he taught as forci­bly by example as by precept. In short, his gravity and sobriety, his rigorous abstinence, his contempt of riches and what are commonly called the goods of this life, his continual attention and watchfulness over his actions, and above all that modesty and humility, which are not to be found among the Grecian sages; all these, I say, would almost tempt one to believe, that he was not a more philosopher formed by reason only, but a man inspired by God for the reformation of the world, and to check that torrent of idolatry and su­perstition, which was going to overspread that particu­lar part of it.

Confucius is said to have lived in retirement three years, and to have spent the latter part of his life in sor­row. A few days before, his last illness, he told his disciples with tears in his eyes, that he was overcome, with grief at the sight of the disorders, which prevail­ed in the empire. "The mountain, said he, is fallen; the high machine is demollished, and the sages are all [Page 213] sled." His meaning was, that the edifice of perfection, which he had endeavoured to raise, was entirely over­thrown. He began to languish from that time, and on the seventh day before his death, "The kings, said he, reject my maxims; and since I am no longer use­ful on the earth, I may as well leave it." After these words he fell into a lethargy, and at the end of seven days expired in the arms of his disciples, in the seven­ty-third year of his age. Upon the first hearing of his death, the king of Lou could not refrain from tears: "The Tien is not satisfied with me, cried he, as Confucius is taken away from me." In reality, wise men are precious gifts, with which heaven bles­ses the earth; and their worth is never so well known till they are taken away. Confucius was lamented by the whole empire, which from that very moment be­gan to honour him as a saint; and established such a veneration for his memory, as will probably last for e­ver in those parts of the world. Kings have built palaces for him in all the provinces, whither the learn­ed go at certain times to pay him homage. There are to be seen upon several [...], raised in honour of him, inscriptions in large characters; "To the great master. To the head doctor. To the saint. To him who taught emperors and kings."

Confucius did not altogether trust to the memory of his disciples for the preservation of his philosophy, [Page 214] but committed the substance of it to writing. His books are four in number. The first is entitled, "Ta Hio the Grand Science, or the School of the Adults." It is this that beginners ought to study, first, because it is, as it were, the porch of the temple of wisdom and virtue. It treats of the care we ought to take in governing ourselves, that we may be able afterwards to govern others. The second book is called, "Tchong Young, or the Immutable Mean;" and treats of the means which ought to be observed in all things. The third book, "Yun Lu, or the Book of Maxims," is a collection of sententious and moral discourses; and the fourth book gives an idea of a perfect govern­ment. They who would have a perfect knowledge of all these works, will find it in the Latin of father Noel, one of the most ancient missionaries of China, which was printed at Prague in the year 1711.

SECT. XXXIV. OF THE NUMBER OF INHABITANTS IN CHINA; AND OF THE CHINESE LANGUAGE.

IT is remarkable that the manners of the modern differ not much from those of the ancient Chinese. Pliny says "that silk originally came from China; that the Chinese, whom he called Seres, (from which name is derived the Roman word sericum, silk) like wild animals, industriously shunned any communi­cation with strangers; and that they were of mild dis­positions." They are at this day courteous and gen­tle, but will not suffer merchants of other nations to penetrate into their country.

How admirable are their political maxims! They demonstrate by experience, that from the natural pro­duce of the ground the true riches and prosperity of a country arise. By the assiduous cultivation of every inch of ground, they are enabled to maintain an ama­zing multitude of people, who are said to be more in number than all the inhabitants of Europe. It is com­puted that in China there are seventy millions of peo­ple, though it does not seem to be more than three times the size of great Britain, which does not contain above seven or eight millions. How great a dispro­portion [Page 216] do we find with respect to the number of inhabitants of these two countries! And indeed, if we cast our eyes upon any neglected country, for in­stance the Highlands of Scotland, we shall always see few inhabitants and even those distressed and poor. Their circumstances would not be much happier, if they even had the rich metals of Peru, whilst they idly refuse to till the earth, which always gratefully rewards the toil of the husbandman. Riches ebb faster out than they flow into a country, where the natives thereof must purchase the necessaries and conveniences of life from strangers.

The Chinese language bears no affinity to any lan­guage, dead or living, with which we are acquainted. All other languages have an alphabet composed of a certain number of letters, by the various combina­tions of which, syllables and words are formed. Whereas there is no alphabet of the Chinese language; but there are as many different characters and figures as words. The number of Chinese characters is com­puted to be about 80,000. A person, however, that understands 10,000 characters is able to express him­self in this language, and to understand many books. Most of the learned do not understand above 15,000 or 20,000; and but few doctors are masters of 40,000,

A dictionary was compiled, by order of the late em­peror, consisting of one hundred and nineteen vol­umes, [Page 217] most of them written in a small character, and very thick. It is certain that no language in the world is more copius than the Chinese.

The sense of the Chinese language is very much varied by the different accents, inflections, tones, as­pirations, and other changes of the voice; hence it is, that persons, who are not exceedingly well versed in this language, often mistake one word for another. Of this father du Halde gives some examples; such as that the world Tchu, when differently sounded, signi­fies a lord, or master, a hog, a kitchen, or a column. In like manner the syllable Po, has, according as it is sounded, the following different meanings; glass, wise, liberal, to prepare, an old woman, to break, to cleave, inclined, a very little, to water, a slave, a captive, to boil, to winnow rice. Likewise the same word join­ed to others is capable of a variety of senses. For in­stance, Mou or Moo, when single, signifies, a tree or wood; but when compounded, it has many more sig­nifications; Moo siang, signifying a chest of drawers; Moo nu, a kind of small orange, &c.

In this manner the Chinese, by variously combin­ing their monosyllables, can form regular discourses, and express themselves with clearness and elegance, almost in the same manner as the Europeans compose all their words by the different combinations of about twenty-four letters.

SECT. XXXV. OF THE TEA-PLANT.

OF all the vegetable productions of China, the tea-plant is the most valuable. The shrub, which seems to be a species of myrtle, seldom grows beyond the size of a rose-bush, or at most six or seven feet in heighth, though some have extended it to an hundred. It succeeds best in a gravelly soil, and is usually plant­ed in rows upon little hills, about three or four feet distant from each other. Its leaves are about an inch and an half long, narrow, tapering to the point, and indented like our rose or sweet-briar leaves, and its flow­ers are much like those of the latter. The shrub is an e­vergreen, and bears a small fruit which contains seve­ral round blackish seeds, about the bigness of a large pea; but scarce above one in an hundred comes to per­fection. By these seeds the plant is propagated, nine or ten of them being put into a hole together; and the shrubs thence arising are afterwards transplanted into proper ground. They thrive best when exposed to the south-sun, and yield the best tea; but there is a sort that grows without any cultivation, which, though less valuable, often serves the poorer sort of people.

The Chinese know nothing of imperial tea, and sev­eral other names which in Europe serve to distinguish [Page 219] the goodness and price of this fashionable commodity. In truth, tho' there be various kinds of tea, they are now generally allowed to be the produce of the same plant, only differing in the colour, fragrancy, &c. according to the difference of soil, the time of gathering it, and the method of preparation. Bohi or Bohea tea, is so called, not from the mountains of Bokein, where the best of that sort is said to grow, but from its dark and black­ish colour. This chiefly differs from the green tea, by its being gathered six or seven weeks sooner, that is in March or April, according as the season proves, when the plant is in full bloom, and the leaves full of juice; whereas the other, by being left so much the longer up­on the tree, loses a great part of its juice, and contracts a different colour, taste, and virtue.

The green tea is most valued and used in China; and the Bohea seems not to have been known there till about the conclusion of the fifteenth century; for a ju­dicious Hollander, who was physician and botanist to the emperor of Japan at that period, tells us that he had heard of the Bohi or black tea being come into vogue in China; but upon the strictest search he could make, could find no such thing, and therefore believed it was a false report. This makes it probable, that ori­ginally they gathered all the tea at the same time, but that, since the discovery of the smoothness and excel­lence of the more juicy Bohea, they have carried on [Page 220] the experiments still farther, by gathering it at differ­ent seasons.

As to the manner of curing the tea, the Bohea is first dried in the shade, and afterwards exposed to the heat of the sun, or over a slow fire, in earthern pans, till it is convolved or shrivelled up (as we see it) into a small compass. The other sorts are commonly crisped and dried as soon as gathered; though according to Dr. Cunninham, the Bohea is dried in the shade, and the green in pans over the fire.

It is very rare to find tea perfectly pure, the Chinese generally mixing other leaves with it to encrease the quantity; though one would think the price is too mo­derate to tempt them to such a cheat, it being usually sold amongst them for three-pence per pound, and ne­ver for more than nine-pence; so that it is most pro­bable the worst adulterations of it are made by our own retailers.

Bohea, if good, is all of a dark colour, crisp and dry, and has a fine smell.

Green tea is also to be chosen by its crispness, fra­grant smell, and light colour with a bluish cast; for it is not good if any of the leaves appear dark or brownish.

As to the properties of tea, they are very much con­troverted by our physicians; but the Chinese reckon it an excellent diluter and purifier of the blood, a great strengthener of the brain and stomach, a promoter of [Page 221] digestion, perspiration, and other secretions. They drink large quantities of it in fevers, in some sorts of colics, and other accute diseases; and think it corrects the acrimony of the humours, removes obstructions of the viscera, and restores decayed sight. That the gout and stone are unknown in China, is ascribed to the use of this plant. Some of the virtues attributed to tea, are undoubtedly imaginary, and it has bad ef­fects upon some constitutions; but experience shows, that several advantages attend the drinking it with dis­cretion. It quickens the senses, prevents drowsiness, corrects the heat of the liver, removes the head-ach, especially that proceeding from a crapula, and being greatly astringent, it strengthens the tone of the sto­mach.

SECT. XXXVI. OF THE PRIVATE LIFE OF THE EGYP­TIAN LADIES.

IN Europe, women act parts of great consequnce, and often reign sovereigns on the world's vast theatre: they influence manners and morals, and decide on the most important events; the fate of nations is frequent­ly in their hands. How different in Egypt, where they [Page 222] are bowed down by the fetters of slavery, condemned to servitude, and have no influence in public affairs. Their empire is confined within the walls of the Ha­rem. There are their graces and charms entombed. The circle of their life extends not beyond their own family and domestic duties.

Their first care is to educate their children, and a numerous posterity is their most fervent wish. Moth­ers always suckle their children. This is expressly commanded by Mahomet. "Let the mother suckle her child full two years, if the child does not quit the breast; but she shall be permitted to wea [...] it with the consent of her husband."

When obliged by circumstances to take a nurse, they do not treat her as a stranger. She becomes one of the family, and passes her days amidst the children she has suckled, by whom she is cherished and honoured as a second mother.

Racine, who possessed not only genius, but all the knowledge necessary to render genius conspicuous, stored with the learning of the finest works of Greece, and well acquainted with oriental manners, gives Phae­dra her nurse as her sole confidante. The wretched queen, infected by a guilty passion she could [...] con­quer, while the fatal secret oppressed a heart that durst not unload itself, could not resolve to speak her thoughts to the tender AEnone, till the latter had said,

The harem is the cradle and school of infancy. The new-born feeble being is not there swaddled and fillet­ed up in a swathe, the source of a thousand diseases. Laid [...]naked on a mat, exposed in a vast chamber to the pure air, he breathes freely, and with his delicate limbs sprawls at pleasure. The new element in which he is to live, is not entered with pain and tears. Dai­ly bathed beneath his mother's eye, he grows apace. Free to act, he tries his coming powers; rolls, crawls, rises, and should he fall, cannot much hurt himself on the carpet or mat which covers the floor.

He is not banished his father's house when seven years old, and sent to college with the loss of health and innocence. He does not, 'tis true, acquire much learning. He perhaps can only read and write; but he is healthy, robust, fears God, respects old age, has filial piety, and delights in hospitality; which virtues continually practised in his family, remain deeply en­graven in his heart.

The daughter's education is the same. Whalebone and busks, which martyr European girls they know not. They are only covered with a shift till six years [Page 224] old; and the dress they afterwards wear, confines none of their limbs, but suffers the body to take its true form: and nothing is more uncommon than ricketty children and crooked people. Man rises in all his ma­jesty, and woman displays every charm of person in the East. In Georgia and Greece, those fine marking outlines, those admirable forms, which the Creator gave the chief of his works, are best preserved. Apel­les would still find models worthy of his pencil there.

The care of their children does not wholly employ the women. Every other domestic concern is theirs. They overlook their household, and do not think themselves debased, by preparing their own food, and that of their husbands. Former customs still subsist­ing, render these cares duties. Thus Sarah hastened to bake cakes upon the hearth, while angels visited Abra­ham, who performed the rights of hospitality. Men­elaus thus intreats the departing Telemachus:

Subject to the immutable laws by which custom governs the east, the women do not associate with the [Page 225] men, not even at table ^*, where the union of sexes produces mirth, and wit, and makes food more sweet. When the great incline to dine with one of their wives, she is informed, prepares the apartment, perfumes it with precious essences, procures the most dilicate vi­ands, and receives her lord with the utmost attention and respect. Among the common people, the women usually stand, or sit in a corner of the room, while the husband dines, often hold the bason for him to wash, and serve him at table ^‡. Customs like these, which the Europeans rightly call barbarous, and exclaim a­gainst with justice, appear so natural here, that they do not suspect it can be otherwise elsewhere. Such is the power of habit over man. What has been for a­ges, he supposes a law of nature.

Though thus employed, the Egyptian women have much leisure, which they spend among their slaves, embroidering sashes, making veils, tracing designs to [Page 226] decorate their sofas, and in spinning. Such Homer painted the women of his times.

Telemachus, seeing Penelope speak to [...] suitors on affairs to which he thought her incompetent, says—

[Page 227] The Queen, far from being offended at this free­dom, retired, admiring the manly wisdom of her son.

Labour has its relaxations. Pleasure is not banish­ed the harem. The nurse recounts the history of past times, with a feeling which her hearers participate. Cheerful and passionate songs are accompanied by the slaves, with the tambour de basque and castanets. Sometimes the Almai come, to enliven the scene with their dance, and effecting recitals, and by rela­ting amorous romances; and at the close of the day there is a repast, in which exquisite fruits and perfumes are served with profusion. Thus do they endeavour to charm away the dulness of captivity.

Not that they are wholly prisoners: once or twice a week they are permitted to go to the bath, and visit female relations and friends. To bewail the dead is, likewise, a duty they are allowed to perform. I have often seen distracted mothers round Grand Cairo, re­citing funeral hymns over the tombs they had strewed with odoriferous plants. Thus Hecuba and Andro­mache lamented over the body of Hector; and thus Fatima and Sophia wept over Mahomet.

"O my father! (said Fatima) minister of the Most-High! Prophet of the most merciful God! And art thou gone? With thee divine revelation is gone also! The angel Gabriel has, henceforth, for ever taken his slight into the high heavens! Power supreme! hear [Page 228] my last prayer; hasten to unite my soul to his; let me behold his face; deprive me not of the fruit of his righteousness, nor of his intercession at the day of judgment.

Then taking a little of the dust from the coffin, and putting it to her face, she adds,

"Who, having smelt the dust of his tomb, can ever find odour in the most exquisite perfumes! Alas! agreeable sensations are all extinct in my heart! The clouds of sorrow envelope me, and will change the brightest day to dismal night!"

This custom was not unknown to the Romans. They had their funeral urns strewed with cypress. How charmingly does the elegant Horace shed flowers over that of Quinctilius! How effecting, how passion­ate is the ode he addresses to Virgil on the death of their common friend.

Among European nations, where ties of kindred are much relaxed, they rid themselves all they can of the religious duties which ancient piety paid the dead; but the reason why we die unregretted is, because we have had the misfortune to live unbeloved.

[Page 230] The Egyptian women receive each other's visits very affectionately. When a lady enters the harem, the mistress rises, takes her hand, presses it to her bo­som, kisses, and makes her sit down by her side; a slave hastens to take her black mantle; she is intreat-to be at ease, quits her veil and her outward shift ^*, and discovers a floating robe, tied round the waist with a sash, which perfectly displays her shape. She then receives compliments according to their manner. "Why, my mother, or my sister, have you been so long absent? We sighed to see you! Your presence is an honour to our house! It is the happiness of our lives! ^§"

Slaves present coffee, sherbet, and confectionary. They laugh, talk, and play. A large dish is placed on the sofa, on which are oranges, pomegranates, bananas, and excellent melons. Water, and rose-water mixed, are brought in an ewer, and with them a silver bason to wash the hands, and loud glee and merry con­versation season the meal. The chamber is perfumed by wood of aloes, in a brazier; and the repast ended, [Page 231] the slaves dance to the found of cymbals, with who the mistresses often mingle. At parting they sever [...] times repeat, God keep you in health! Heaven grant you a numerous offspring! Heaven preserve your children; the delight and glory of your family!

While a visitor is in the harem, the husband must not enter; it is the asylum of hospitality, and cannot be violated without fatal consequences; a cherished right, which the Egyptian women carefully maintain, being interested in its preservation. A lover, disguis­ed like a woman, may be introduced into the forbid­den place ^*, and it is necessary he should remain undis­covered; death would otherwise be his reward. In this country, where the passions are excited by the cli­mate, and the difficulty of gratifying them, love often produces tragical events.

The Turkish women go, guarded by their eunuchs, upon the water also, and enjoy the charming pros­pects of the banks of the Nile. Their cabins are plea­sant, richly embellished, and the boats well carved and painted. They are known by the blinds over the windows, and the music by which they are accom­panied.

When they cannot go abroad, they endeavour to be merry in their prison. Toward sun-setting they go [Page 232] on the terrace, and take the fresh air among the flow­ers which are there carefully reared. Here they often bathe; and thus, at once, enjoy the cool, limped wa­ter, the purfume of odoriferous plants, the balmy air, and the starry host, which shine in the firmament.

Thus Bathsheba bathed, when David beheld her from the roof of his palace.

Such is the usual life of the Egyptian women. Their duties are to educate their children, take care of their household, and live retired with their family & their pleasures to visit, give feasts, in which they often yield to excessive mirth and licentiousness, go on the water, take the air in orange groves and listen to Al­mai. They deck themselves as carefully to receive their acquaintance, as French women do to allure the men. Usually mild and timid, they become daring and furious when under the dominion of violent love. Neither Locks nor grim keepers can then prescribe bounds to their passions; which, though death be sus­pended over their heads, they search the means to gra­tify, and are seldom unsuccessful.

SECT. XXXVII. OF NAPLES AND MOUNT VESUVIUS.

I AM persuaded that our physicians are under some mistake with regard to this climate. It is certainly one of the warmest in Italy; but it is as certainly one of the most inconstant; and from what we have ob­served, disagrees with the greatest part of our valetu­dinarians; but more particularly with the gouty peo­ple, who have all found themselves better at Rome; which, though much colder in winter, is, I be­lieve, a healthier climate. Naples, to be sure, is more eligible in summer, as the air is constantly refreshed by the sea breeze, when Rome is often scorched by the most insupportable heat.

We have some very agreeable society amongst our­selves here, though we cannot boast much of that with the inhabitants. There are to be sure many good people among them; but in general, there is so very little analogy betwixt an English and a Neapolitan mind that the true social harmony, that great sweeten­er of human life, can seldom be produced. In lieu of this, (the exchange you will say is but a bad one) the country round Naples abounds so much in every thing that is curious, both in nature and art, and affords so ample a field of speculation for the naturalist and an­tiquary, [Page 234] that a person of any curiosity may spend some months here very agreeably, and not without profit.

Besides the discoveries of Herculaneum and Pom­peia, which of themselves, afford a great fund of enter­tainment, the whole coast that surrounds this beautiful bay, particularly that near Puzzoli, Cuma, Micenum, and Baia, is covered with innumerable monuments of Roman magnificence. But, alas? how are the mighty fallen! This delightful coast, once the garden of all Italy, and inhabited only by the rich, the gay, and luxurious, is now abandoned to the poorest and most miserable of mortals. Perhaps there is no spot on the globe that has undergone so through a change, or that can exhibit so striking a picture of the vanity of human grandeur. Those very walls that once lodged a Cae­sar, a Lucullus, an Anthony, the richest and most vo­luptuous of mankind, are now occupied by the very meanest and most indigent wretches on earth, who are actually starving for want in those very apartments that were the scenes of the greatest luxury. There we are told that suppers were frequently given that cost fifty thousand pounds; and some that even amounted to double that sum.

The luxury indeed of Baia was so great, that it be­came a proverb, even amongst the luxurious Romans themselves; and at Rome, we often find them un­braiding with eff [...]miuacy and epicurism, those who [Page 235] spent much of their time in this scene of delights. Clodius throws it in Cicero's teeth more than once: and that orator's having purchased a villa [...]here, hurt him not a little in the opinion of the graver and more austere part of the senate. The walls of these palaces still remain, and the poor peasants, in some places, have built up their miserable huts within them; but at present, there is not one gentleman or man of fash­on residing in any part of this country: the former state of which, compared with the present, certainly makes the most striking contrast imaginable. We rode over the greatest part of it a-shooting porcupines, a new species of diversion which I had never heard of before. We killed, several of these animals on the Monte Barbaro, the place which formerly produced the Falernian wine, but now a barren waste. The novelty of this sport was to me its greatest merit; and I would not at any time give a day of patridge for a month of Porcupine shooting. Neither, indeed is the flesh of these animals the most delicious in the world. It is extremely luscious, and soon palls upon the appe­tite.

The bay of Naples, surrounded by the most beauti­ful scenery in the world, deserves a particular descrip­tion. It is of a circular figure; in most places up­wards of twenty miles in diameter; so that includ­ing all its breaks and inequalities, the circumference [Page 236] is considerably more than sixty miles. The whole of this space is so wonderfully diversified, by all the rich­es both of art and nature, that there is scarce an object wanting to render the scene complete; and it is hard to say, whether the view is more pleasing from the sin­gularity of many of these objects, or from the incredi­ble variety of the whole. You see an amazing mix­ture of the ancient and modern; some rising to fame, and some sinking to ruin. Palaces reared over the tops of other palaces, and ancient magnificence tram­pled under foot by modern folly.—Mountains and islands, that were celebrated for their fertility, chang­ed into barren wastes, and barren wastes into fertile fields and rich vineyards. Mountains sunk into plains, and plains swelled into mountains. Lakes drank up by volcanos, and extinguished volcanos tur­ned into lakes. The earth still smoking in many pla­ces, and in others throwing out flame. In short, na­ture seems to have formed this coast in her most ca­pricious mood; for every object is a lusus natur [...]. She never seems to have gone seriously to work; but to have devoted this spot to the most unlimited indul­gence of caprice and frolic.

The bay is shut out from the Mediterranèan by the island of Caprè, so famous for the abode of Augustus; and afte [...]wards so infamous for that of Tiberius. A little to the west lie those of Ischia, Procida, and Mi­sida; [Page 237] the celebrated promontory of Micaenum, where AEneas landed; the classic fields of Baia, Cuma, and Puzzoli, with all the variety of scenery that formed both the Tartarus and Elysium of the ancients; the Campi Phlegrei, or burning Plains, where Jupiter o­vercame the giants; the Monte Novo, formed of late years by fire; the Monte Barbaro; the picturesque city of Puzzoli, with the Solfaterra smoking above it; the beautiful promontory of Paussillippe, exhibiting the finest scenery that can be imagined; the great and opulent city of Naples, with its three castles, its har­bour full of ships from every nation, its palaces, chur­ches, and convents innumerable. The rich country from thence to Portici, covered with noble houses and gardens, and appearing only a continuation of the ci­ty. The palace of the King, with many others sur­rounding it, all built over the roofs of those of Hercu­laneum, buried near a hundred feet by the eruptions of Vesuvius. The black fields of lava that have [...] from that mountain, intermixed with gardens, vine­yards, and orchards. Vesuvius itself, in the back ground of the scene, discharging volumes of fire and smoke, and forming a broad track in the air over our heads, extending without being broken or dissipated, to the utmost verge of the horizon: a variety of beautiful towns and villages, round the base of the mountain, thoughtless of the impending ruin that daily threatens [Page 238] them. Some of these are reared over the very roofs of Pompeia and Stabia, where [...]liny perished, and with their foundations have pierced through the sacred abodes of the ancient Romans; thousands of whom lie buried here, the victims of this inexorable mountain. Next follows the extensive and romantic coast of Cas­tello Mare, Sorrentum, and Mola, diversified with eve­ry picturesque object in nature. It was the study of this wild and beautiful country that formed our great­est land scape-painters. This was the school of Pous­sin, and Salvator Rosa, but more particularly of the last, who composed many of his most celebrated pieces from the bold craggy rocks that surround this coast; and no doubt it was from the daily contemplation of these romantic objects that they stored their minds with that veriety of ideas they have communicated to the world with such elegance in their works.

Now, should I say that this extensive coast, this pro­digious variety of mountains, valleys, promontories, and islands, covered with an everlasting verdure, and loaded with the richest fruits, is all the produce of subteraneous fire; it would require, I am afraid, too great a stretch of faith to believe me; yet the fact is certain, and can only be doubted by those who have wanted time or curiosity to examine it. It is strange, one may say, that nature should make use of the same agent to create as to destroy; and that what has only [Page 239] been looked upon as the consumer of countries, is in­fact the very power that produces them. Indeed, this part of our earth seems already to have undergone the sentence pronounced upon the whole of it; but, like the phoenix, has risen again from its own ashes, in much greater beauty and splendour than before it was consumed. The traces of these dreadful conflagrations are still conspicuous in every corner; they have been violent in their operations, but in the end have prov­ed salutary in their effects. The fire in many places is not yet extinguished, but Vesuvius is now the only spot where it rages with any degree of activity.

SECT. XXXVIII. OF STROMBOLO.

THE Lipari Islands are very picturesque, and seve­ral of them still emit smoke, particularly Volcano and Volcanello; but none of them, for some ages past, ex­cept Strombolo, have made any eruptions of fire. It appears to be a Volcano of a very different nature from Vesuvius, the explositions of which succeed one ano­ther with some degree of regularity, and have no great variety of duration. I cannot account for the variety of Strombolo.—Sometimes its explosions resemble [Page 240] those of Vesuvius, and the light seems only to be occa­sioned by the quantity of fiery stones thrown into the air; and as soon as these have fallen down, it appears to be extinguished, till another explosion causes a fresh illumination. This I have observed always to be the case with Vesuvius, except when the lava has risen to the summit of the mountain, and continued without variety to illuminate the air round it. The light from Strombolo evidently depends on some oth­er cause. Sometimes a clear red flame issues from the [...] of the mountain, and continues to blaze with­out interruption, for near the space of half an hour. The fire is of a different colour from the explosions of stones, and is evidently produced from a different cause. It would seem as if some inflammable sub­stance were suddenly kindled up in the bowels of the mountain.

The crater of Strombolo seems to be different from that of Vesuvius, and all the old volcanoes that sur­rounded Naples. Of these, the craters are without exception in the centre, and from the highest part of the mountain. That of Strombolo is on its side, and not within two hundred yards of its summit. From the crater to the sea, the island is entirely composed of the same sort of ashes and burnt matter as the conical part of Vesuvius; and the quantity of this matter is per­petually increasing, from the uninterrupted discharge [Page 241] from the mountain; for of all the volcanos we read of, Strombolo seems to be the only one that burns with­out ceasing. AEtna and Vesuvius often lie quiet for many months, even years, without the least appearance of fire, but Strombolo is ever at work, and for ages past has been looked upon as the great light-house of these seas.

It is truly wonderful, how such a constant and im­mense fire is maintained, for thousands of years, in the midst of the ocean! That of the other Lipari islands seem now almost extinct, and the force of the whole to be concentered in Strombolo, which acts as one great vent to them all. We still observe Volcano and Volcanello throwing out volumes of smoke, but during the whole night we could not perceive the least spark of fire from either of them.

It is probable, that Strombolo, as well as all the rest of these islands, is originally the work of subterrane­ous fire. The matter of which they are composed, in a manner demonstrates this; and many of the Sici­lian authors confirm it. There are now eleven of them in all, and none of the ancients mention more than seven. Fazzello, one of the best Sicilian authors, gives an account of the production of Volcano, now one of the most considerable of these islands. He says it happened in the early time of the republic, and is re­corded by Eusebius, Pliny, and others. He adds, that [Page 242] even in his time, in the beginning of the sixteenth cen­tury, it still discharged quantities of fire and of pumice stones; but that in the preceeding century there had been a very great eruption of this island, which shook all Sicily, and alarmed the coast of Italy as far as Na­ples. He says the sea boiled all around the island, and rocks of a vast size were discharged from the crater; that fire and smoke in many places pierced through the waves, and that the navigation amongst these islands was totally changed; rocks appearing where it was formerly deep water; and many of the straits and shal­lows were entirely filled up. He observes that Aristo­tle, in his book on meteors, takes notice of a very ear­ly eruption of this island, by which not only the coast of Sicily, but likewise many cities in Italy were cover­ed with ashes. It has probably been that very erup­tion which formed the island. He describes Strombo­lo to have been, in his time, pretty much the same as at this day; only that it then produced a great quanti­ty of cotton, which is not now the case. The greatest part of it appears to be barren. On the north side there are a few vineyards; but they are very meagre.

SECT. XXXIX. AN ACCOUNT OF THE ERUPTION OF MOUNT VESUVIUS, WHICH HAPPEN­ED IN AUGUST, 1779.

AS many poetical descriptions of this eruption will not be wanting, I shall confine mine to simple matter of fact, in plain prose, and endeavour to convey to my readers, as clearly and distinctly as I am able, what I saw myself, and the impression it made upon me at the time, without aiming in the least at a flowery style.

The usual symptoms of an approaching eruption, such as rumbling noises and explosions within the bowels of the volcano, a quantity of smoke issuing with force from its crater, accompanied at times with an emission of red hot scoriae and ashes, were manifest, more or less, during the whole month of July; and to­wards the end of the month, those symptoms were in­creased to such a degree, as to exhibit in the night time the most beautiful fire-works that can be imagined.

These kinds of throws of red-hot scoriae, and other volcanic matter, which at night are so bright and lu­minous, appear, in broad day-light like so many black spots in the midst of the white smoke; and it is this cir­cumstance [Page 244] which occasions the vulgar and false suppo­sition, that volcanos burn much more during the night than in the day-time.

On Thursday the 5th August, about two o'clock in the af­ternoon, I perceived from my villa at Pausilipo, in the bay of Naples, from whence one has a full view of Vesuvius (which is just opposite, and at the distance of about six miles in a direct line from it) that the volcano was in a most violent agitation. A white and sulphureous smoke issued continually and impetuously from its cra­ter, one puff impelling another, and by an accumula­tion of those clouds of smoke, resembling bales of the whitest cotton, such a mass of them was soon piled over the top of the volcano, as exceeded the height and size of the mountain itself at least four times. In the midst of this very white smoke, an immense quantity of stones, scoriae, and ashes, were shot up to a wonderful height, certainly not less than two thousand feet. I could also perceive, by the help of one of Ramsden's most excellent refracting telescopes, at times, a quantity of liquid lava, seemingly very weighty, just heaved up high enough to clear the rim of the crater, and then take its course impetuously down the steep side of Ve­suvius, opposite to Somma. Soon after the lava broke out on the same side, from about the middle of the conical part of the volcano, and having run with vio­lence some hours, ceased suddenly, just before it had [Page 245] arrived at the cultivated parts of the mountain above Portici, near four miles from the spot where it issued.

During this day's eruption, as I have been credibly informed since, the heat was intolerable at the towns of Somma and Ottaiano, that the air was darkened in such a manner, as that objects could not be distingush­ed at the distance of ten feet. Long filaments of vit­rified matter, like spun glass, were mixed, and fell with these ashes; and the sulphureous smoke was so violent, that several birds in cages were suffocated, and the leaves of the trees in the neighbourhood of Som­ma and Ottaiano were covered with white salts very corrosive. About two o'clock in the afternoon, an ex­traordinary globe of smoke, of a very great diameter, was distinctly perceived by many of the inhabitants of Portici, to issue from the crater of Vesuvius, and proceed hastily towards the mountain of Somma, against which it struck and dispersed itself, having left a train of white smoke, marking the course it had taken. This train I perceived plainly from my villa, as it lasted some minutes; but I did not see the globe itself.

A poor labourer, who was making faggots on the mountain of Somma lost his life at this time; and his body not having been found, it is supposed that, suf­focated by the smoke, he must have fallen into the val­ley from the craggy rocks on which he was at work, and been covered by the [...] of lava, that took its [Page 246] course through that valley soon after. An ass, that was waiting for its master in the valley, left it very ju­diciously as soon as the mountain became violent, and arriving safe home, gave the first alarm to this poor man's family.

It was generally remarked, that the explosions of the volcano were attended with more noise during this day's eruption, than in any of the succeeding one's, when, most probably, the mouth of Vesuvius was wid­ened, and the volcanic matter had a freer passage. It is certain, however, that the great eruption of 1767, (which in every other respect was mild when compared to the late violent eruption) occasioned much greater concus­sions in the air by its louder explosions.

Friday, August the 6th, the fermentation in the mountain was less violent; but about noon there was a loud report, at which time it was supposed that a portion of the little mountain within the crater had fallen in. At night the throws from the crater increas­ed, and proceeded evidently from two separate mouths, which, emitting red-hot scoriae, and in different direc­tions, formed a most beautiful and almost continued firework.

On Saturday, August the 7th, the volcano remained much in the same state; but about twelve o'clock at night, its fermentation [...]creased greatly. The second fever fit of the mountain [...] said to have mani­fested [Page 247] itself at this time. I was watching its motions from the mole of Naples, which has a full view of the volcano, and had been witness to several glorious pic­turesque effects produced by the reflection of the deep red fire which issued from the crater of Vesuvius, and mounted up in the midst of the huge clouds, when a summer storm, called here a tropea, come on suddenly, and blended its heavy watery clouds with the sulphu­reous, and mineral ones, which were already like so many other mountains, piled over the summit of the volcano. At this moment a fountain of fire was shot up to an incredible height, casting so bright a light, that the smallest objects could be clearly distinguished, at any place within six miles or more of Vesuvius.

The black stormy clouds passing swiftly over, and at times covering the whole or a part of the bright col­umn of fire, at other times clearing away, and giving a full view of it, with the various tints produced by its reverberated light on the white clouds above, in contrast with the pale flashes of forked lightning that attended the tropea, formed such a scene as no pow­er of art can ever express.

That which followed the next evening was surely much more formidable and alarming; but this was more beautiful and sublime than even the most lively imagination can paint to itself. This great explosion did not last above [...] minutes, after which [Page 248] Vesuvius was totally eclipsed by the dark clouds, and there fell a heavy shower of rain.

Some scoriae and small stones fell at Ottaiano dur­ing this eruption, and some of a very great size in the valley between Vesuvius and the hermitage. All the inhabitants of the towns at the foot of the volcano were in the greatest alarm, and preparing to abandon their houses, had the eruption continued longer.

One of his Sicilian majesty's game keepers, who was out in the fields near Ottaiano, whilst this combined storm was at its height, was greatly surprised to find the drops of rain scald his face and hands, which phe­nomenon was probably occasioned by the clouds hav­ing acquired a great deal of heat in passing through the above mentioned column of fire. The king of Naples did me the honour of informing me of this curious circumstance.

Sunday, August the eighth, Vesuvius was quiet till towards six o'clock in the evening, when a great smoke began to gather again over its c [...]ater, and about an hour after, a rumbling subterraneous noise was heard in the neighbourhood of the volcano; the usual throws of red-hot stones and scoriae began and increased eve­ry instant. I was at this time at Pausilipo, in the com­pany of several of my countrymen, observing with good telescopes the various phenomena in the crater of Vesuvius, which, [...] help, we could distin­guish [Page 249] as well as if we had been actually seated on the summit of the volcano. The crater seemed much en­larged by the violence of last night's explosions, and the little mountain no longer existed. About nine o'­clock there was a loud report, which shook the houses of Portici and its neighbourhood to such a degree, as to alarm their inhabitants, and drive them [...] into the streets; and as I have since seen, many windows were broken and walls cracked, by the confusion of the air from that explosion, though faintly heard at Naples.

In an instant a fountain of liquid, transparent fire began to rise, gradually increasing, arrived at so ama­zing a heighth as to strike every one who beheld it with the most awful astonishment. I shall scarcely be credited when I affirm, that, to the best of my judg­ment, the heighth of this stupendous column of fire could not be less than three times that of Vesuvius it­self, which rises perpendicularly near 3700 feet above the level of the sea.

Puffs of smoke, as black as can possibly be ima­gined, succeeded one another hastily, and accompani­ed the red-hot transparent and liquid lava, interrupting its splendid brightness here and there by patches of the darkest hue.

Within these puffs of smoke, at the very moment of their emission from the crater, I could perceive a bright, but pale electrical fire, briskly playing about in zig-zag lines.

[Page 250] The wind was S. W. and though gentle, was suffi­cient to carry these detatched clouds or puffs of smoke out of the column of fire; and a collection of them, by degrees, formed a black and extensive curtain (if I may be allowed the expression) behind it; in other parts of the sky it was perfectly clear and the stars were bright.

The fiery fountain, of so gigantic a size upon the dark ground above-mentioned, made the most glorious contrast imaginable, and the blaze of it reflected strong­ly on the surface of the sea, which was at that time perfectly smooth, added greatly to this sublime view.

The liquid lava, mixed with stones and scoriae, after having mounted, I verily believe, at the least ten thou­sand feet, was partly directed by the wind towards Ot­taiano, and partly falling almost perpendicularly, still red-hot and liquid, on Vesuvius, covered its whole cone, part of that of the mountain of Somma, and the valley between them. The falling matter being near­ly as vivid and inflamed, as that which was continual­ly issuing fresh from the crater, formed with it one com­plete body of fire, which could not be less than two miles and a half in breadth, and of the extraordinary heighth above mentioned, casting a heat to the distance of at least six miles around it.

The brush-wood on the mountain of Somma was soon in a blaze; which flame being of a different tint [Page 251] from the deep red of the matter thrown out of the vol­cano, and from the silvery blue of the electrical fire, still added to the contrast of this most extraordinary scene.

The black cloud increasing greatly, once bent tow­ards Naples, and seemed to threaten this fair city with speedy destruction; for it was charged with electrical matter, which kept constantly darting about it in strong and bright zig-zags, just like those described by Pliny the younger in his letter to Tacitus, and which accom­panied the great eruption of Vesuvius that proved fatal to his uncle. "Ab altero latere, nubes atra et horren­da, ignei spiritus tortois vibratisque discursibus rupta, in longas flammarum figuras dehiscebat; fulgoribus illae et similis et majores."

This volcanic lightning, however, as I particularly remarked, very rarely quitted the cloud, but usually re­turned to the great column of fire towards the crater of the volcano from whence it originally came. Once or twice, indeed, I saw this lightning (or ferilla as it is called here) fall on the top of Somma, and set fire to some dry grass and bushes.

Fortunately for us, the wind increasing from the S.W. quarter, carried back the threatening cloud just as it had reached the city, and began to occasion great alarm. All public diversions ceased in an instant, and the theatres being shut, the doors of the churches were [Page 252] thrown open. Numerous processions were formed in the streets, and women, and children, with dishevel­ed heads filled the air with their cries, insisting loudly upon the relics of St. Januarius being immediately op­posed to the fury of the mountain. In short, the po­pulace of this great city began to display its usual ex­travagant mixture of riot and bigotry; and if some speedy and well-timed precautions had not been taken, Naples would, Perhaps, have been in more danger of suffering from the irregularities of its lower class of in­habitants, than from the angry volcano.

But to return to my subject. After the column of fire had continued in full force near half an hour, the eruption ceased all at once, and Vesuvius remained sullen and silent. After the dazzling light of the fiery fountain, all seemed dark and dismal except the cone of Vesuvius, which was covered with glowing cinders and scoriae, from under which, at times, here and there, small streams of liquid lava had escaped, and rolled down the steep sides of the volcano. This scene put me in mind of Martial's description of Etna.

In the parts of Naples nearest Vesuvius, whilst the eruption lasted, a mixed smell, like that of sulphur, with the vapours of an iron foundry, was sensible; but near­er to the mountain that smell was very offensive, as I [Page 253] have often found it in my visits to Vesuvius during an eruption.

Thus have I endeavoured to convey to my readers, at least a faint idea of a scene so glorious and sublime, as perhaps may have never before been viewed by hu­man eyes, at least in such perfection.

SECT. XL. OF MOUNT AETNA. MAY 29, 1770.

A FEW days ago, we set off to visit Mount AEtna, that venerable and respectable father of mountains. His base, and his immense declivities, are covered over with a numerous progeny of his own; for every great eruption produces a new mountain; and perhaps, by the number of these, better than by any other method, the number of eruptions, and the age of AEtna itself, might be ascertained.

The whole mountain is divided into three distinct regions, called La Regione Culta, or Piedmontese, The Fertile Region; La Regione Sylvosa, or Nemorosa, The Woody Region; and La Regione Deserta, or Scoperta, The Barren Region.

These three are as different, both in climate and pro­ductions, as the three zones of the earth, and perhaps [Page 254] with equal propriety, might have been stiled the Tor­rid, the Temperate, and the Frigid zone. The first region surrounds the foot of the mountain, and consti­tutes the most fertile country in the world on all sides of it, to the extent of about fourteen or fifteen miles, where the woody region begins. It is composed almost entirely of lava, which, after a number of ages, is at last converted into the most fertile of all soils.

At Nicolosi, which is twelve miles up the mountain, we found the barometer at 27 1½: at Catania it stood at 29 8½ although the former elevation is not very great, probably not exceeding 3000 feet, yet the climate was totally changed. At Catania the harvest was en­tirely over, and the heats were insupportable; here they were moderate, and in many places the corn is as yet green. The road for these twelve miles is the worst I ever travelled; entirely over old lavas and the mouths of extinguished volcanos, now converted into corn-fields, vineyards, and orchards.

The fruit of this region is reckoned the finest in Si­cily, particularly the figs, of which they have a great variety. One of these of a very large size, esteemed superior in flavour to all the rest, they pretend is pecu­liar to AEtna.

The great eruption of 1669, after shaking the whole country around for four months, and forming a very large mountain of stones and ashes, burst out about a [Page 255] mile above Monpelieri, and descending like a torrent, bore directly against the middle of that mountain, and (they pretend) perforated it from side to side. This however I doubt, as it must have broken the regular form of the mountain, which is not the case. But cer­tain it is, that it pierced it to a great depth. The la­va then divided into two branches; and surrounding this mountain, joined again on its south side; and lay­ing waste the whole country betwixt that and Catania, scaled the walls of that city, and poured its flaming torrent into the ocean. In its way, it is said to have destroyed the possessions of near 30,000 people, and re­duced them to beggary. It formed several hills where there were formerly valleys, and filled up a large lake, of which there is not now the least vestige to been seen.

As the events of this eruption are better known than any other, they tell a great many singular stories of it; one of which, however incredible it may appear, is well ascertained. A vineyard, belonging to a convent of Je­suits, lay directly in its way; this vineyard was form­ed on an ancient lava, probably a thin one, with a number of caverns and crevices under it. The liquid lava entering into these caverns, soon filled them up, and by degrees bore up the vineyards; and the Jesuits, who every moment expected to see it buried, beheld with amazement the whole field began to move off. It was carried on the surface of the lava to a considerable [Page 256] distance; and though the greatest part was destroyed, yet some of it remains to this day.

We went to examine the mouth from whence this dreadful torrent issued; and were surprised to find it only a small hole, of about three or four yards diame­ter. The mountain from whence it sprung, I think, is little less than the conical part of Vesuvius.

There is a vast cavern on the opposite side of it where people go to shoot wild pigeons, which breed there in great abundance. The innermost parts of this cavern are so very dismal and gloomy, that our landlord told us some people had lost th [...] [...]enses from having advanced too far, imagining they saw devils and the spirits of the damned, for it is still very generally believed here, that AEtna is the mouth of hell.

We found a degree of wildness and ferocity in the inhabitants of this mountain, that I have not observed any where else. It was with much difficulty I could persuade them that we were not come to search for hidden treasures, a great quantity of which they believe is to be found in Monpelieri; and when I went to that mountain, they were then fully convinced that this was our intention. Two of the men followed me, and kept a close eye on every step that I took; and when I lifted any bit of lava or pumice, they came running up, thinking it was something very precious; but when they observed they were only bits of stones, and that I [Page 257] put them into my pocket, they laughed heartily, talk­ing to one another in their mountain jargon, which is unintelligible even to Italians. However, as most of them speak Italian so as to be understood, they asked me what I was going to make of those bits of stone? I told them they were of great value in our country; that the people there had a way of making gold of them. At this they both seemed exceedingly surpris­ed, and spoke again in their own tongue. However, I found they did not believe me. One of them told me, if that had been true, I certainly would not have been so ready in [...] it. But, said he, if it is so, we will serve you for ever, if you will teach us that art; for then we shall be the richest people on earth. I assured them, that I had not yet learned it myself, and that it was a secret known only to very few. They were likewise a good deal surprised to see me pull out of my pocket a magnetical needle, and a small electro­meter, which I had prepared at Catania to examine the electrical state of the air; and I was at first afraid they should have taken me for a conjurer, (which al­ready happened amongst the Appenines) but luckily that idea did not strike them.

After leaving Nicolosi, and travelling for about an hour and a half over barren ashes and lava, we arrived on the confines of the Regione Sylvosa, or the Tempe­rate Zone. As soon as we entered these delightful for­ests, [Page 258] we seemed to have got into another world. The air, which before was sultry and hot, was now cool and refreshing; and every breeze was loaded with a thousand perfumes, the whole ground being covered over with the richest aromatic plants. Many parts of this region are surely the most heavenly spots, upon earth; and if AEtna resembles hell within, it may with equal justice be said to resemble paradise without.

It is indeed a curious consideration, that this moun­tain should re-unite every beauty and every horror; and, in short, all the most opposite and dissimilar ob­jects in nature. Here you [...] a gulf that former­ly threw out torrents of fire, now covered with the most luxuriant vegetation; and from an object of ter­ror, become one of delight. Here you gather the most delicious fruit, rising from what was but lately a black and barren rock. Here the ground is covered with ev­ery flower; and we wander over these beauties, and con­template this wilderness of sweets, without consider­ing that hell, with all its terrors, is immediately under our feet; and that but a few yards separate us from lakes of liquid fire and brimstone.

But our astonishment still increases, on casting our eyes on the higher regions of the mountain. There we behold, in perpetual union, the two elements that are at perpetual war; an immense gulph of fire, for ever existing in the midst of snows which it has not [Page 259] power to melt, and immense fields of snow and ice for ever surrounding this gulph of fire which they have not power to distinguish.

The woody region of AEtna ascends for about eight or nine miles, and forms a zone or girdle, of the bright­est green, all around the mountain. This night w [...] passed through little more than the half of it; arriving some time before sun-set at our lodgings, which was no other than a large cave, formed by one of the most ancient and venerable lavas. It is called La Spelonca dal Capriole, or the goats cavern, because frequented by those animals, [...] refuge there in bad weather.

Here we were delighted with the contemplation of many grave and beautiful objects; the prospect on all sides is immense; and we already seem to be lifted up from the earth, and to have got into a new world.

After taking a comfortable nap in the cave, on a bed of leaves, we awoke about eleven o'clock; and melt­ing down a sufficient quantity of snow, w [...] boiled our tea-kettle, and made a hearty meal to prepare us for the remaining part of our expedition. We were nine in number; for we had our three servants, the Cyclops (our conductor) and two men to take care of our mules. The Cyclops now began to display his great knowledge of the mountain, and we followed him with implicit confidence. He conducted us over "Antres [...]ast, and Deserts wild," where scarce human [...] had [Page 260] ever trod. Sometimes through gloomy forests, which by day-light were delightful; but now, from the uni­versal darkness, the rustling of the trees, the heavy, dull, bellowing of the mountain, the vast expanse of ocean stretched at an immense distance below us, in­spired a kind of awful horror. Sometimes we found ourselves ascending great rocks of lava, where if our mules should make but a false step, we might be thrown headlong over the precipice. However, by the assistance of the Cyclops, we overcame all these difficulties; and he managed matters so well, that in the space of two hours, we fou [...] [...] had got above the regions of vegetation, and had left the forest of AEtna far behind. These appeared now like a dark gloomy gulf below us, that surrounded the mountain.

The prospect before us was of a very different na­ture; we beheld an expanse of snow and ice that alar­med us exceedingly, and almost staggered our resolu­tion. In the centre of this, but still at a great distance, we descried the high summit of the mountain, rear­ing its tremendous head, and vomiting out torrents of smoke. It indeed appeared altogether inaccessable, from the vast extent of the fields of snow and ice that surround it. Our diffidence was still encreased by the sentiments of the Cyclops. He told us that it often happened that the surface of the mountain being hot below, melted the snow in particular spots, and form­ed [Page 261] pools of water, where it was impossible to foresee our danger; that it likewise happened, that the sur­face of the water, as well as the snow, was sometimes covered with black ashes, that rendered it exceedingly deceitful; that, however, if we thought proper, he would lead us on with as much caution as possible. Accordingly; after holding a council of war, which people generally do when they are very much afraid, we detached our cavalry to the forest below, and pre­pared to climb the snow. The Cyclops, after taking a great draught of brandy, desired us to be of good cheer; that we had [...] of time, and might take as many rests as we pleased; that the snow could be lit­tle more than seven miles, and that we certainly should be able to pass it before sun-rise. Accordingly, taking each of us a dram of liqueur, which soon removed ev­ery objection, we began our march.

SECT. XLI. A VIEW OF THE STARS AND RISING SUN FROM MOUNT AETNA.

The ascent for some time was not steep; and as the surface of the snow sunk a little, we had tolerable good footing: but as it soon began to grow steeper, we found [Page 262] labour greatly increase. However, we determined to persevere, calling to mind in the midst of our labour, that the Emperor Adrian, and the pholosopher Plato had undergone the same, and from the same motive too; to see the rising sun from the top of AEtna. After incredible labour and fatigue, but at the same time mixed with a great deal of pleasure, we arrived before dawn at the ruins of an ancient structure, called Il Tor­re del Filosefo, supposed to have been built by the phi­losopher Empedocles, who took up his habitation here, the better to study the nature of Mount AEtna. By others it is supposed to be the [...] of a temple of Vul­can, whose shop, all the world knows, (where he us­ed to make excellent thunderbolts and celestial armour, as well as nets to cach his wife when she went astray) was ever kept in mount AEtna. Here we rested our­selves for some time, and made a fresh application to our liqueur bottle, which I am persuaded both Vulcan and Empedocles, had they been here, would have great­ly approved of after such a march.

I found the mercury had fallen to 20. 6. We had now time to pay our adorations in a silent contempla­tion of the sublime objects of nature. The sky was clear, and the immense vault of the heavens appeared in awful majesty and splendour. We found ourselves more struck with veneration than below, and at first were at a loss to know the cause; till we observ­ed [Page 263] with astonishment, that the number of stars seemed to-be infinitely increased, and the light of each of them appeared brighter than usual. The white­ness of the milky way was like a pure flame that shot across the heavens; and with the naked eye we could observe clusters of stars that were invisible in the regions below. We did not at first attend to the cause, nor recollect that we had now passed through ten or twelve thousand feet of gross vapour, that blunts and confuses every ray, before it reaches the surface of the earth. We were amazed at the distinctness of vi­sion, and exclaimed together, What a glorious situation for an observatory! Had Empedocles had the eyes of Galileo, what discoveries must he not have made! We regretted that Jupiter was not visible, as I am persua­ded we might have discovered some of his satellites with the naked eye, or at least with a small glass, which I had in my pocket. We observed a light a great way below us on the mountain, which seemed to move a­mongst the forests, but whether an Ignis Fatuus, or what it was, I shall not pretend to say. We likewise took notice of several of those meteors, called Falling Stars, which still appeared to be as much elevated above us, as when seen from the plain; so that in all probability, th [...]e bodies move in regions much beyond the bounds that some philosophers have assigned to our atmosphere.

[Page 264] After contemplating these objects for some time, we set off, and soon after arrived at the foot of the great crater of the mountain. This is of an exact conical fig­ure, and rises equally on all sides. It is composed sole­ly of ashes and other burnt materials, discharged from the mouth of the volcano, which is in its centre. This conical mountain is of a very great size. Its circum­ference cannot be less than ten miles. Here we took a second rest, as the greatest part of our fatigue still re­mained. The mercury had fallen to 20 4½ We found this mountain excessively steep; and although it had appeared black, yet it was likewise covered with snow; but the surface (luckily for us) was spread over with a pretty thick layer of ashes, thrown out from the crater. Had it not been for this, we never should have been a­ble to get to the top, as the snow was every where fro­zen hard and solid from the piercing cold of the air.

In about an hour's climbing, we arrived at a place where there was no snow, and where a warm and com­fortable vapour issued from the mountain, which indu­ced us to make another halt. Here I found the mer­cury at 19 6½. The thermometer was fallen three de­grees below the point of congelation; and before we left the summit of AEtnea, it fell two degrees more, viz. to 27.—From this spot it was only about three hundred yards to the highest summit of the mountain, [...] arrived in full time to see the most wonderful and most sublime fight in nature.

[Page 265] But here description must ever fall short; for no im­agination has dared to form an idea of so glorious and so magnificent a scene. Neither is there on the sur­face of this globe, any one point that unites so many awful and sublime objects. The immense elevation from the surface of the earth, drawn as it were to a single point without any neighbouring mountain for the sen­ses and imagination to rest upon, and recover from their astonishment in their way down to the world. This point or pinacle raised on the brim of a bottom­less gulph, as old as the world, often discharging rivers of fire, and throwing out burning rocks, with a noise that shakes the whole island. Add to this the un­bounded extent of the prospect, comprehending the greatest diversity, and the most beautiful scenery in na­ture, with the risign sun advancing in the east to illumi­nate the wondrous scene.

The whole atmosphere by degrees kindled up, and showed dimly and faintly the boundless prospect a­round. Both sea and land looked dark and confused, as if only emerging from their original chaos, and light and darkness seemed still undivided; till the morning by degrees advancing, completed the separation. The stars are extinguished, and the shades disappear. The forests, which but now seemed black and bottomless gulphs, from whence no ray was reflected to show their form or colours, appear a new creation rising to the [Page 266] sight, catching life and beauty from every increasing beam. The scene still enlarges, and the horizon seems to widen and expand itself on all sides; till the sun, like the great Creator, appears in the east, and with his plastic ray completes the mighty scene.—All ap­pears enchantment, and it is with difficulty we can be­lieve we are still on earth. The senses, unaccustomed to the sublimity of such a scene, are bewildered and confounded; and it is not till after some time, that they are capable of separating and judging of the ob­jects that compose it. The body of the sun is seen ri­sing from the ocean, immense tracks both of sea and land intervening; the islands of Lipari, Panari, Alicu­d [...], Strombolo, and Volcano, with their smoking sum­mits, appear under your feet; and you look down on the whole of Sicily as on a map, and can trace every river through all its windings from its source to its mouth. The view is absolutely boundless on every side; nor is there any one object within the circle of vision to interrupt it; so that the sight is every where lost in the immensity: and I am persuaded it is only from the imperfection of our organs, that the coasts of Africa, and even of Greece, are not discovered, as they are certainly above the horizon. The circumference of the visible horizon on the top of AEtna, cannot be less than 2000 miles. At Malta, which is near 200 miles distant, they perceive all the eruptions from the se­cond [Page 267] region, and that island is often discovered from about one half the elevation of the mountain; so that at the whole elevation, the horizon must extend to near dou­ble that distance, or 400 miles, which makes 800 for the diameter of the circle, and 2400 for the circumfer­ence. But this is by much too vast for our senses, not intended to grasp so boundless a scene.

I find indeed, by some of the Sicilian authors, par­ticularly, Massa, that the African coast as well as that of Naples, with many of its islands, have been discov­ered from the top of AEtna. Of this, however, we can­not boast, though we can very well believe it. Indeed, if we knew the heighth of the mountain, it would be easy to calculate the extent of its visible horizon, and ( vice versa) if its visible horizon were exactly ascertain­ed, it would be an easy matter to calculate the heighth of the mountain.

But the most beautiful part of the scene is certainly the mountain itself; the island of Sicily, and the nu­merous islands lying round it. All these, by a kind of magic in vision, that I am at a loss to account for, seem as if they were brought close round the skirts of AEtna, the distances appearing reduced to nothing. Per­haps this singular effect is produced by the rays of light passing from a rarer medium into a denser, which (from a well-known law in optics) to an observer in the rare medium, appears to lift up the objects that are [Page 268] at the bottom of the dense one, as a piece of money placed in a bason appears lifted up as soon as the ba­son is filled with water.

The Regione Deserta, or the frigid zone of AEtna, is the first object that calls your attention. It is marked out by a circle of snow and ice, which extends on all sides to the distance of about eight miles. In the cen­ter of this circle, the great crater of the mountain rears its burning head; and the regions of intense cold, and of intense heat, seem for ever to be united in the same point. On the north side of the snowy region, they assure us there are several small lakes that are never thawed; and that in many places, the snow, mixed with the ashes and salts of the mountain, is accumu­lated to a vast depth. And indeed I suppose the quantity of salts contained in this mountain is one great reason of the preservation of its snows.

The Regione Deserta is immediately succeeded by the Sylvosa, or the woody region, which forms a circle or girdle of the most beautiful green, which surrounds the mountain on all sides, and is certainly one of the most delightful spots on earth. This presents a remark­able contrast with the desert region. It is not smooth and even like the greatest part of the latter; but it is finely variegated by an infinite number of those beau­tiful little mountains that have been formed by the dif­ferent eruptions of AEtna. All these have now acquir­ed a wonderful degree of fertility, except a very few [Page 269] that are but newly formed; that is, within these five or six hundred years: for it certainly requires some thousands to bring them to their greatest degree of perfection. We looked down into the craters of these, and attempt­ed, but in vain, to number them.

The circumference of this zone or great circle on AEtna, is not less than seventy or eighty miles. It is evry where succeeded by the vineyards, orchards, and corn-fields that compose the Regione Culta, or the fertile region. This last zone is much broader than the oth­ers, and extends on all sides to the foot of the moun­tain. Its whole circumference, according to Recupe­ro, is 183 miles. It is likewise covered with a number of little conical and spherical mountains, and exhibits a wonderful variety of forms and colours, and makes a delightful contrast with the other two regions. It is bounded by the sea to the south and south-east, and on all its other sides by the river Semetus and Alcantara, which run almost round it. The whole course of these rivers is seen at once, and all their beautiful wind­ing through these fertile valleys, looked upon as the fa­vourite possession of Ceres herself, and the very scene of the rape of her daughter Proserpine.

Cast your eyes a little farther, and you embrace the whole island, and see all its cities, rivers and moun­tains, delineated in the great chart of Nature: All the adjacent islands, the whole coast of Italy, as far as your [Page 270] eye can reach; for it is no where bounded, but every where lost in the space. On the sun's first rising, the shadow of the mountain extends across the whole isl­and, and makes a large tract visible even in the sea, and in the air. By degrees this is shortened, and in a little time is confined only to the neighbourhood of AEtna.

We now had time to examine a fourth region of this wonderful mountain, very different indeed from the o­thers, and productive of very different sensations; but which has, undoubtedly, given being to all the rest; I mean the region of fire.

The present crater of this immense volcano is a cir­cle of about three miles and a half in circumference. It goes shelving down on each side, and forms a regular hol­low like a vast amphitheatre. From many places of this space, issue volumes of sulphureous smoke, which be­ing much heavier than the circumambient air, instead of rising in it, as smoke generally does, immediately on its getting out of the crater, rolls down the side of the mountain like a torrent, till coming to that part of the atmosphere of the same specific gravity with itself, it shoots off horizontally, and forms a large track in the air, according to the direction of the wind; which happily for us, carried it exactly to the side opposite to that where we were placed.

The crater is so hot, that it is very dangerous, if [Page 271] not immoffible, to go down into it; besides the smoke is very incommodious, and, in many places, the sur­face is so soft, there have been instances of people sink­ing down in it, and paying for their temerity with their lives. Near the centre of the crater is the great mouth of the volcano: That tremendous gulph so celebrated in all ages, looked upon as the terror and scourge both of this and another life; and equally useful to anci­ent poets, or to modern divines, when the Muse or when the Spirit inspires. We beheld it with awe and with horror, and were not surprised that it had been considered as the place of the damned. When we re­flect on the immensity of its depth, the vast cells and caverns whence so many lavas have issued; the force of its internal fire, to raise up those lavas to so vast a heighth, to support them, as it were, in the air, and e­ven to force them over the very summit of the crater, with all their dreadful accompaniments; the boiling of the matter, the shaking of the mountain, the explo­sions of flaming rocks, &c. we must allow, that the most enthusiastic imagination, in the midst of all its terrors, hardly ever formed an idea of a hell more dread­ful.

It was with a mixture both of pleasure and pain, that we quitted this awful scene. But the wind had risen very high, and clouds began to gather round the mountain. In a short time they formed like ano­ther [Page 272] heaven below us, and we were in hopes of seeing a thunder-storm under our feet; A scene that is not uncommon in these exalted regions, and which I have already seen on the top of the high Alps. But the clouds were soon dispelled again by the force of the wind, and we were disappointed in our expectations.

I had often been told of the great effect produced by discharging a gun on the top of high mountains. I tried it here, when we were a good deal surprised to find, that instead of increasing the sound, it was almost reduced to nothing. The report was not equal to that of a pocket-pistol. We compared it to the stroke of a stick on a door; and surely it is consistent with rea­son, that the thinner the air is, the less its impression must be on the ear; for in a vacuum there can be no noise; and the nearer the approach to a vacuum, the impres­sion must always be the smaller. Where those great effects have been produced, it must have been amongst a number of mountains, where the sound is reverbera­ted from one to the other.

SECT. XLII. OF THE DESCENT FROM MOUNT AETNA; OF ITS HEIGHTH AND OF THE ELEC­TRICITY OF THE AIR NEAR VOLCANOS.

WE left the summit of the mountain about six o'­clock, and it was eight at night before we reached Ca­tania. We observed, both with pleasure and pain, the change of the climate as we descended. From the re­gions of the most rigid winter, we soon arrived at those of the most delightful spring. On first entering the fo­rests, the trees were still bare as in December, not a single leaf to be seen; but after we had ascended a few miles, we found ourselves in the mildest, and the soft­est of climates; the trees in full verdure, and the fields covered with all the flowers of the summer; but as soon as we got out of the woods, and entered the torrid zone, we found the heats, altogether insupportable, and suffered dreadfully from them before we reached the city.

On our arrival at Catania, we went immediately to bed, being exceedingly oppressed by the fatigue of our expedition; but still more by the violent heat of the day.

AEtnea has been often measured, but I believe never with any degree of accuracy; and it is really a shame [Page 274] to the society established in this place called the AEtne­an Academy, whose original institution was to study the nature and operations of this wonderful moun­tain. It was my full intention to have measured it geometrically; but I am sorry to say, although this is both the seat of an academy and university, yet there was no quadrant to be had. Of all the mountains I have ever seen, AEtna would be the easiest to measure, and with the greatest certainty, and perhaps the pro­perest place on the globe to establish an exact rule of mensuration by the barometer. There is a beach of a vast extent, that begins exactly at the foot of the mountain, and runs for a great many miles along the coast. The sea-mark of this beach forms the meridian to the summit of the mountain. Here you are sure of a perfect level, and may make the base of your trian­gle of what length you please. But unfortunately this mensuration has never been executed, at least with any tolerable degree of decision.

Kircher pretends to have measured it, and to have found it 4000 French toises in heighth; which is more than any of the Andes, or indeed than any mountains upon earth. The Italian mathematicians are still more absurd. Some of them make it eight miles, some six, and some four.

Amici, the last, and I believe the best who has made the attempt, reduces it to 3 miles, 264 paces; but even [Page 275] this must be exceedingly erroneous; and probably the perpendicular height of AEtna does not exceed 12,000 feet, or little more than two miles.

I own I did not believe we should find AEtna so high as it really is. I had heard indeed that it was higher, than any of the Alps, but I never gave credit to it. How great then was my astonishment to find that the mercury fell almost two inches lower than I had ever observed it on the very highest of the accessible Alps; at the same time I am persuaded there are many inacessible points of the Alps, (particularly Mont Blanc) are still much higher than AEtna.

The wind, and other circumstances, in a great mea­sure prevented our electrical experiments, on which we had built not a little; however I found that round Nicolosi, and particularly on the top of Monpelieri, the air was in a very favourable state for electrical ope­rations. Here the little pith-balls, when insolated, were sensibly affected, and repelled each other above an inch. I expected this electrical state of the air would have increased as we advanced on the mountain; but at the cave where we slept, I could observe no such effect. Perhaps it was owing to the exhalations from the trees and vegetables, which are there exceedingly luxuriant; whereas about Nicolosi, and round Monpelieri, there is hardly any thing but lava and dry hot sand. Or per­haps it might be owing to the evening being farther advanced, and the dews beginning to fall. However; [Page 276] I have no doubt, that upon these mountains formed by eruption, where the air is strongly impregnated with sulphureous effluvia, great electrical discoveries might be made. And perhaps, of all the reasons assigned for the wonderful vegetation that is performed on this mountain, there is none that contributes so much tow­ards it, as this constant electrical state of the air. For, from a variety of experiments, it has been found, that an increase of the electrical matter adds much to the progress of vegetation. It probably acts there in the same manner as on the animal body. The circulation we know is performed quicker; and the juices are dri­ven through the small vessels with more ease and cele­rity. This has often been proved from the immediate removal of obstructions by electricity;—and probably the rubbing with dry and warm flannel, esteemed so ef­ficacious in such cases, is doing nothing more than ex­citing a greater degree of electricity in the part; but it has likewise been demonstrated, by the common ex­periment of making water drop through a small capil­lary syphon, which the moment it is electrified runs in a full stream. I have, indeed, very little doubt, that the fertility of our seasons depend as much on this qua­lity in the air, as either on its heat or moisture.

Electricity will probably soon be considered as the great vivifying principal of nature, by which she car­ries on most of her operations. It is a fifth element, [Page 277] distinct from, and of superior nature to the other four, which only compose the corporeal parts of matter. But this subtile and active fluid is a kind of soul that pervades and quickens every particle of it. When an equal quantity of this is diffused through the air, and over the face of the earth, every thing continues calm and quiet; but if by any accident one part of matter has acquired a greater quantity than another, the most dreadful consequences often ensue before the e­quilibrium can be restored. Nature seems to fall into convulsions, and many of her works are destroyed:—All the great phaenomena are produced; thunder, light­ning, earthquakes, and whirlwinds: for, I believe, there is little doubt, that all these frequently depend on this sole cause. And again, if we look down from the sublime of nature to its minutiae, we shall still find the same power acting though perhaps in less legible cha­racters; for as the knowledge of its operations is still less in its infancy, they are generally misunderstood, or ascribed to some other cause. However, I have no doubt, that in process of time these will be properly investigated; when mankind will wonder how much they have been in the dark. It will then possibly be found, that what we call sensibility of nerves, and ma­ny of those diseases that the faculty have as yet only invented names for, are owing to the body's being pos­sessed of too large or too small a quantity of this sub­tile [Page 278] and active fluid, that very flued perhaps, which is the vehicle of all our feelings; and which they have so long searched for in vain in the nerves. For I have sometimes been led to think, that this sense was noth­ing else than a slighter kind of electric effect, to which the nerves serve as conductors; and that it is by the rapid circulation of this penetrating and animating fire that our sensations are performed. We all know, that in damp and hazy weather, when it seems to be blunted and absorbed by the humidity; when its activity is lost, and little or none of it can be collected; we ever find our spirits more languid, and our sensibility less acute; but in the Sirecc wind at Naples, when the air seems totally deprived of it, the whole system is un­strung, and the nerves seem to lose both their tension and elasticity, till the north or west wind awakens the activity of this animating power, which soon restores the tone, and enlivens all nature, which seemed to droop and languish during its absence.

It is likewise well known that there have been in­fluences of the human body becoming electric without the mediation of any electric substance, and even e­mitting sparks of fire with a disagreeable sensation, and an extreme degree of nervous sensibility.

About seven or eight years ago, a lady in Switzer­land was affected in this manner, and though I was not able to learn all the particulars of her case, yet se­veral [Page 279] Swiss gentlemen have confirmed to me the truth of the story. She was uncommonly sensible of every change of weather, and had her electrical feelings stron­gest in a clear day, or during the passage of thunder-clounds, when the air is known to be replete with that fluid. Her case, like most others which the doctors can make nothing of, was decided to be a nervous one; for the real meaning of that term I take to be only, that the phisician does not understand what it is.

Two gentlemen of Geneva had a short experience of the same sort of complaint, though still in a much su­perior degree. Professor Saussure and young Mr. Jala­bert, when travelling over one of the high Alps, were caught amongst thunder clouds, and to their utter as­tonishment, found their bodies so full of electrical fire, that spontaneous flashes darted from their fingers with a crackling noise, and the same kind of sensation as when strongly electrified by art. This was communi­cated by Mr. Jalabert to the Academy of Sciences at Paris, I think, in the year 1763; and you will find it recorded in their memoirs.

It seems pretty evident, I think, that these feelings were owing to the bodies being possessed of too great a share of electric fire. This is an uncommon case; but I do not think it at all improbable, that many of our invalids, particularly the hypochondriac, and those we call Malades Imaginares, owe their disagreeable feel­ings [Page 280] to the opposite cause, or the bodies being possessed of too small a quantity of this fire; for we find that a di­minution of it in the air seldom fails to increase their uneasy sensations, and vice versa.

Perhaps it might be of service to these people to wear some electric substance next their skin, to de­fend the nerves and fibres from the damp, or non-elec­tric air. I would propose a waistcoat of the finest flannel, which should be kept perfectly clean and dry; for the effluvia of the body, in case of any violent per­spiration, will, soon destroy its electric quality. This should be covered by another of the same size of silk, the animal heat, and the friction that exercise must occasion betwixt these two substances, produce a power­ful electricity; and would form a kind of electric at­mosphere around the body, and might possibly be one of the best preservatives against the effect of damps.

As for our Swiss lady, I have little doubt that her complaints were owing in great part, perhaps entirely, to her dress; and that a very small alteration, would effectually have cured her. A lady who has her head [...]rounded with wires, and her hair stuck full of me­tal pins, and who at the same time stands upon dry silk, is to all intents and purposes an electrical conduc­tor insolated, and prepared for collecting the fire from the atmosphere. And it is not at all surprising that during thunderstorms, or when the air is extremely re­plete [Page 281] with electrical matter, she would emit sparks, and exhibit other appearances of electricity. I ima­gine a very trifling change of dress, which from the constant versatility of their modes may some day take place, would render this lady's disease altogether epi­demical amongst the sex. Only let the soles of their shoes be made of an electric substance, and let the wires of their caps, and pins of their hair, be somewhat lengthened and pointed outwards; and I think there is little doubt, that they will often find themselves in an electrified state. But, indeed, if they only wear silk, or even worsted stockings, it may sometimes prove suffi­cient; for I have often insolated electrometers as per­fectly by placing them on a piece of dry silk or flan­nel, as on glass.

How little do our ladies imagine, when they sur­round their heads with wire, the most powerful of all conductors; and at the same time wear stockings, shoes, and gowns of silk, one of the most powerful re­pellents, that they prepare their bodies in the same manner, and according to the same principles as elec­tricians prepare their conductors for attracting the fire of lightning! If they cannot be brought to relinquish their wire caps and their pins, might they not fall up­on some such preservative as those which of late years have been applied to objects of less consequence?

Suppose that every lady should provide herself with a [Page 282] small chain or wire, to be hooked on at pleasure dur­ing thunder-storms. This should pass from her cap over the thickest part of her hair, which will prevent the fire from being communicated to her head; and so down to the ground. It is plain this will act in the same manner as the conductors on the tops of steeples, which from the metal spires that are commonly placed there, analagous to the pins and wires, were so liable to accidents. Some people may laugh at all this; but I never was more serious in my life. A very amia­ble lady of my acquaintance, Mrs. Douglas, of Kelso, had almost lost her life by one of those caps mounted on wire. She was standing at an open window during a thunder-storm. The lightning was attracted by the wire, and the cap was burnt to ashes; happily her hair was in its natural state, without powder, pomatum, or pins; and prevented the fire from being conducted to her head; for as she felt no kind of shock, it is proba­ble that it went off from the wires of the cap to the wall, close to which she then stood. If it had found any conductor to carry it to her head or body, in all probability she must have been killed. A good strong head of hair, if it is kept perfectly clean and dry, is probably one of the best preservatives against the fire of lightning. But so soon as it is stuffed full of powder and pomatum, and bound together with pins, its repel­lent force is lost, and it becomes a conductor.—But I [Page 283] beg pardon for these surmises. I throw them in the way of my readers only for them to improve upon at their leisure: For we have it ever in our power to be making experiments in electricity. And although this fluid is the most subtile and active of any we know, we can command it on all occasions; and I am now so ac­customed to its operations, that I seldom comb my hair, or pull off a stocking, without observing them un­der some form or other. How surprising is it then, that mankind should have lived and breathed in it for so many years, without almost ever supposing that it existed! But to return to our mountain.

So highly electrical is the vapour of volcanos, that it has been observed in some eruptions both of AEtna and Vesuvius, that the whole track of smoke, which sometimes extended above an hundred miles, produ­ced the most dreadful effects; killing shepherds and stocks on the mountains; blasting trees, and setting fire to houses, wherever it met with them on an eleva­ted situation. Now probably the flying of a kite, with a wire round its string, would soon have disarmed this formidable cloud. These effects, however, only happen when the air is dry and little agitated; but when it is full of moist vapour, the great rare faction from the heat of the lava generally brings it down in violent torrents of rain, which soon convey [Page 284] the electrical matter from the clouds to the earth, and restores the equilibrium.

SECT. XLIII. OF MODERN ROME.

A man, on his first arrival at Rome, is not much fir­ed with its appearance. The narrowness of the streets, the thinness of the inhabitants, the prodigious quanti­ty of monks and beggars, give but a gloomy aspect to this renowned city. There are no rich tradesmen here, who, by their acquisitions, either ennoble their sons, or marry their daughters into the houses of princes. All the shops seem empty, and the shop-keepers poor. This is the first impression. But turn your eye from that point of view to the magnificence of their church­es, to the venerable remains, of ancient Rome, to the prodigious collection of pictures and antique statues, to the very river and ground itself; formerly the habi­tation of that people, whom, from our cradles we have been taught to adore, and with a very few grains of en­thusiasm in your composition, you will feel more than satisfied.

The surface of modern Rome is certainly more ele­vated [Page 285] than it was in ancient times. Such an alteration must happen, in the course of ages, to every city which has been often destroyed by time and fire, as all the rubbish is seldom removed; but the ancient pavement, on which Trajan's pillars stands, shoes the elevation in that place not to be above seven or eight feet; and, I am informed, some of the triumphal arches are not a­bove three or four feet in the ground. The most re­markable change is this; that the Campus Martius was in the time of the ancient Romans an open area, and now it is covered with houses. The circuit of the ci­ty, in Pliny's time, did not, by his account, exceed the present dimensions, but its populousness must have been amazingly different.

Were an antiquarian to lament over any fall, any metamorphosis of ancient Rome, perhaps it might be the present state of the Forum, where, now, there is e­very Thursday and Friday, a market for cows and ox­en, on the very spot where the Roman orators were accustomed to thunder out their eloquence in the cause of their clients, their country, and their gods. Accor­dingly, the Forum is now known by the name of Cam­po Vaccino.

Surrounding the Forum are many vestiges of antique grandeur, triumphal arches, remains of temples, the ru­ins of the Imperial Palace, the Campidoglio, &c. all bespeaking the magnificent state of Rome in the times [Page 286] of the Emperors. The great Amphitheatre, called also Il Colosseo, where the spectacle of combats was exhib­ited, is also in its neighbourhood. In this place the spirit of modern Rome seems to prevail over that of ancient Rome; for where the wild beasts and gladia­tors formerly entertained seventy or eighty thousand spectators, you now see a few miserable old women and beggars, who are praying at the feet of fourteen small chapels, which represent the fourteen mysteries of our Saviour's passion.

The magnificence of the Roman Emperors, in em­bellishing the city, rose to such a heighth, that they ransacked all the quarries of Egypt for alabaster, gra­nite, porphyry, and every kind of marble that country afforded; and though time and Gothic rage must have destroyed great quantities, yet, such was the profusion brought to Rome, that, besides the amazing number of columns, statues, vales, and tables, still preserved en­tire, you see the very posts in the streets, all of them without exception, made of granite, alabaster, or mar­ble. But the most stupendous sights of all, are the prodigious obelisks, consisting of only one piece of marble. I meditate on these objects till I am lost in wonder and confusion. We have no idea of the me­chanical powers by which they were dug out of the quarry, and brought from Egypt. We are astonished at the enormous size of the stones at Stonehenge, and [Page 287] cannot comprehend by what contrivance they were carried and laid in that form; but the largest of them is small, when compared with the largest obelisk at Rome, which I think is one hundred and one feet long, and proportionably thick.

The ruin of the triumphal bridge near St. Angelo is in object that cannot but strike a man of letters. This was the bridge over which every general marched in­to the city, to whom a triumph was decreed, either for the conquest of a province, or any other signal vic­tory. From the time of Romulus to that of the em­peror Probus, there were about three hundred and twenty of these triumphs. There are now only a few remains of the piers. Who can behold this scene, without ruminaring on the nature of the human heart, and recollecting to what trials it must have been expo­sed in the course of so proud and so flattering a pro­cession?

Many of the churches in this city, and above all St. Peter's, are so very magnificent, that they vie with anci­ent Rome in every article but that of durableness, much of their beauty being derived from pictures, stucco, and gilding, the transitory ornaments of two or three ages. I cannot forbear remarking, in this place, that the pride of modern Rome is one of the causes of her wretchednese. She boasts of her gold and silver lying dead in her churches; but had that gold and silver a [Page 288] free circulation through the country; it would enliven trade, and furnish property to thousands, who are now starving in the most pressing indigence.

St. Peter's never fails to please both the learned and the unlearned eye. The wonderful regularity and ad­justment of its parts, like the beauty of a fine face, de­mand no skill in drawing to taste its charms. Its colo­nades, fountains, and obelisk, give it an inimitable ele­gance. It must be confessed, however, that the ap­proach to this noble edifice is confined and shabby; but they now talk of demolishing the narrow mean street leading from St. Angelo; and should this design take place, the avenue will be answerable to the build­ing; though, to render St. Peter's church still more per­fect, the Vatican, with its eleven thousand chambers, should be removed, which like an ugly excrescence, protuberates' on one side, and destroys the symmetry of the elevation.

In the Vatican, besides a great number of Raphael's paintings, and the excellent and celebrated statues of the Belvedere Appollo, the Laocoon, and the Anti­nous. The Laocoon wants an arm. There lies on the ground one of marble, which, it is said, Michael Angelo had begun, in order to perfect the statue, but, perceiving how unspirited his work would appear, compared with the original, he left the limb in the state we see it; not half executed, a monument of his modes­ty [Page 289] and self-knowledge. It may be imagined that no one since has been so presumptuous as to make an at­tempt after him, and therefore the deficiency is sup­plied by an arm of terra cuota.

SECT. XLIV. OF THE MODERN ROMANS.

IN their external deportment, the Italians have a grave selemnity of manner, which is sometimes thought to arise from a natural gloominess of disposition. The French, above all other nations, are apt to impute to melancholy, the sedate serious air which accompa­nies reflection.

Though in the pulpit, on the theatre, and even in common conversation, the Italians make use of a great deal of action; yet Italian vivacity is different from French; the former proceeds from sensibility, the lat­ter from animal spirits.

The inhabitants of this country have not the brisk look, and elastic trip, which is universal in France: they move rather with a slow composed pace. Their spines never having been forced into a straight line, re­tain the natural bend; and the people of the most fi­nished fashion, as well as the neglected vulgar, seem [Page 290] to prefer the unconstrained attitude of the Antinous, and other antique statues, to the artificial graces of a French dancing-master, or the erect strut of a German soldier. I imagine I perceive a great resemblance be­tween many of the living countenances I see daily, and the features of the ancient busts, and statues; which leads me to believe, that there are a greater number of the genuine descendants of the old Romans in Italy, than is generally imagined.

I am often struck with the fine character of coun­tenance to be seen in the streets of Rome. I never saw features more expressive of reflection, sense, and geni­us. In the very lowest ranks there are countenances which announce minds fit for the highest and most im­portant situations; and we cannot help regretting, that those to whom they belong, have not received an edu­cation adequate to the natural abilities we are convin­ced they possess, and been placed where these abilities could be brought into action.

Of all the countries in Europe, Switzerland is that, in which the beauties of nature appear in the greatest variety or forms, and on the most magnificent scale. In that country, therefore, the young landscape painter has the best chance of seizing the most sublime ideas. But Italy is the best school for the history painter, not only on account of its being enriched with the works of the greatest masters, and the noblest models of an­tique sculpture; but also on account of the fine expres­sive style of the Italian countenance.

[Page 291] Strangers, on their arrival at Rome, from no high idea of the beauty of the Roman women, from the specimens they see in the fashionable circles to which they are first introduced. There are some exceptions; but in general it must be acknowledged, that the pre­sent race of women of high rank, are more distinguish­ed by their other ornaments than by their beauty. Among the citizens, however, and the lower classes, you frequently meet with the most beautiful counte­nances. For a brilliant red and white, and all the charms of complexion, no women are equal to the En­glish. If a hundred, or any greater number, of English women were taken at random, and compared with the same number of the wives and daughters of the citizens of Rome, I am convinced, that ninety of the English would be found handsomer than ninety of the Romans; but the probability is, that two or three in the hundred Italians, would have finer countenances than any of the English. English beauty is more remarkable in the country than in towns. The peasantry of no country in Europe can stand a comparison, in point of looks, with those of England. That race of people have the conveniencies of life in no other country in such per­fection; they are no where so well fed, so well defend­ed from the injuries of the seasons, and no where else do they keep themselves so perfectly clean, and free from all the vilifying effects of dirt. The English [Page 292] country girls, taken collectively, are unquestionably, the handsomest in the world. The female peasants of most other countries, indeed, are so hard worked, so ill fed, so much tanned by the sun, and so dirty, that it is difficult to know whether they have any beauty or not. Yet I have been informed, by some amateurs, since I came here, that, in spite of all these disadvanta­ges, they sometimes find among the Italian peasantry, countenances highly interesting, and which they prefer to all the cherry cheeks of Lancashire.

Beauty, doubtless, is infinitely varied; and happily for mankind, their tastes and opinions on the subject are equally various. Notwithstanding this variety, howev­er a style of face, in some measure peculiar to its own inhabitants, has been found to prevail in each differ­ent nation of Europe. This peculiar countenance is again varied, and marked with every degree of discri­mination between the extremes of beauty and ugliness. I will give you a sketch of the general style of the most beautiful female heads in this country, from which you may judge whether they are to your taste or not.

A great profusion of dark hair, which seems to en­croach upon the forehead, rendering it short and nar­row; the nose generally either aquiline, or continued in a straight line from the lower part of the brow; a full and short upper lip; (by the way nothing has a worse effect on a countenance, than a large interval be­tween the nose and month;) the eyes are large, and of [Page 293] a sparkling black. The black eye certainly labours under one disadvantage, which is that from the iris and pupil being of the same colour, the contraction and dilatation of the latter is not seen, by which the eye is abridged of half its powers. Yet the Italian eye is won­derfully expressive; some people think it says too much. The complexion, for the most part, is of a clear brown, sometimes fair, but very seldom florid, or of that bright fairness which is common in England and Saxony. It must be owned, that those features which have a fine expression of sentiment and meaning in youth, are more apt than less expressive faces, to be­come soon strong and masculine. In England and Germany, the women, a little advanced in life, retain the appearance of youth longer than in Italy.

SECT. XLV. DESCRIPTION OF POMPEY'S PILLAR IN THE NEIGHBOURHOOD OF ALEXANDRIA, IN EGYPT, AND AN ANECDOTE OF SOME ENGLISH SEA OFFICERS THERE.

IN the afternoon a large party of us sallied out to take a view of Pompey's Pillar, the theme of the pre­sent age, and the admiration of past times! Besides my [Page 294] companions and myself we were joined by the two En­glish commanders of the ships in the harbour, and M [...] ­sier Meillon, and some young gentleman of the French factory. We mounted the first asses that presented themselves for hire, and, attended by our Janizary, took the course we persued yesterday. We left the con­vent on our right, and presently came among broken arches and long pavements, which are the remains of an aqueduct. Several towers reared up their dismant­led heads on each side of us, whose appearance pro­nounces them to have been posts of great importance and strength.

A number of stately pillars next engaged our atten­tion. They are placed in two parallel lines, and seem to have formerly supported some magnificent portico. The pillars are of granite, or Thebaic marble, and a­bout thirty feet high, of a single stone; and we count­ed no less than thirty of them still standing. But how­ever choice these columns might be in any other place, they were but foils to the pillar which now appeared before us. We had been buried amid the ruins and the hills of sand which the winds have thrown up, when leaving the city by the gate of Roseto, we came unexpectedly upon the pillar. It is impossible to tell which is most worthy of admiration, the heighth, the workmanship, or the condition of this pillar. By the best accounts we can obtain, it is an hundred and tent [Page 295] feet high. The shaft, which is of a single stone of granite, is ninety feet, and the pedestal is twenty feet more. It is of the Corinthian order, which gives a beautiful dignity to its simplicity, rarely to be met with in modern architecture. It has suffered little or no in­jury from time. The polish upon the shaft has won­derfully withstood the buffeting of the tempest; and it promises to hand down a patriot name to the late pos­terity of the ignorant native, who has no other trace of the fame of Pompey! The pedestal has been somewhat damaged by the instruments of travellers, who are cu­rious to possess a relic of this antiquity; and one of the volutes of the column was immaturely brought down about four years ago, by a prank of some English cap­tains which is too ludicrous to pass over.

The jolly sons of Neptune had been pushing about the cann on board one of the ships in the harbour un­till a strange freak entered into one of their brains. The eccentricity of the thought occasioned it immedi­ately to be adopted; and its apparent impossibility was but a spur for putting it into execution. The boat was or­dered, and with proper implements for the attempt, these enterprising heroes pushed a shore to drink a bowl of punch on the top of Pompey's Pillar! At the spot they arrived, and many contrivances were proposed to accomplish the desired point. But their labour was vain; and they began to despair of success, when the [Page 296] genius who struck out the frolic, happily suggested the means of performing it. A man was dispatched to the city for a paper kite. The inhabitants were by this time apprized of what was going forward, and flocked in crouds to be witnesses of the address and boldness of the English. The Governor of Alexandria was told, that these seamen were about to pull down Pompey's Pillar. But whether he gave them credit for their re­spect to the Roman warrior, or to the Turkish govern­ment, he left them to themselves, and politely answered, that the English were too great patriots to injure the re­mains of Pompey.

He knew little, however, of the disposition of the peo­ple who were engaged in this undertaking. Had the Turkish empire rose in opposition, it would not, per­haps, at that moment have detered them. The kite was brought, and flown so directly over the pillar, that when it fell on the other side, the string lodged upon the cap­ital. The chief obstacle was now overcome. A two-inch rope was tied to one end of the string, and drawn over the pillar by the end to which the kite was affixed. By, this rope one of the seamen ascended to the top, and in less than an hour a kind of shroud was constructed, by which the whole company went up, and drank their punch amid the shouts of the astonished multitude.

To the eye below, the capital of the pillar does not ap­pear capaple of holding more than one man upon it— [Page 297] but our seamen found it could contain no less than eight persons very conveniently. It is astonishing that no accident befel these mad-caps, in a situation so ele­vated, as would have turned a landman giddy in his so­ber senses. The only detriment which the pillar re­ceived, was the loss of the volute before mentioned, which came down with a thundering sound, and was carried to England by one of the captains, as a pre­sent to a lady who commissioned him for a piece of the pillar. The discovery which they made amply compensated for this mischief; as without their evi­dence the world would not have known at this hour, that there was originally a statue on this pillar, one foot and ancle of which are still remaining. The statue was probably of Pompey himself; and must have been of a gigantic size, to have appeared of a man's proportion at so great a heighth.

There are circumstances in this story which might give it an air of fiction, were it not demonstrated be­yond all doubt. Besides the testimonies of many eye­witnesses, the adventurers themselves have left us a token of the fact, by the initials of their names, which are very legible in black paint, just beneath the capital.

SECT. XLVI. OF THE MODERN PERSIANS.

THE modern Persians are robust, warlike, and har­dy, and are now become all soldiers. They are natur­ally inclined to temperance; and with regard to diet, seem to be more in a state of nature than the Europe­ans. By way of amusement they use opiates, but not near so much as the Turks. They drink coffee in small quantities with the lees, also sherbets, and an in­fusion of cinnamon with sugar. Their simplicity of life generally renders their domestic expence easy. The Persians, however, understand very little of what we call prudence and oeconomical government.

In their common discourses they often introduce moral sentences, and poetical narrations, extracted from their poets and other writers. It was formerly their con­stant custom to entertain their guests with favourite passages out of their poets. Reflection and repetition are the only means of strengthening or supporting the memory. Custom has made it a kind of pedantry in Europe to be frequent in the repetition of the wise say­ings either of the ancient or modern divines, philoso­phers, or poets. But if, from the nature of the hu­man mind, we ever stand in need of a monitor, what [Page 299] office is more consistent than to render the whole­some rules of life familiar, by making them a part of our ordinary conversation? It might be wished, that this practice were introduced among the Europeans, rather than the barrenness of discourse we often find, or the irksome and pernicious amusement of cards.

Now I have mentioned a circumstance so interest­ing to the great world in Europe, I must acknowledge that cards, in the original use of them, are confessedly as innocent as any other instrument of diversion, to those who are at a loss for something more rational ^§; yet in the manner now in fashion, they cannot but dissipate the thoughts in some, and enervate the mind in almost every one who is closely attached to them. They must be a great mean of feeding those passions which corrode the heart, and warping the affections from their proper bias, oppose the establishment of virtue in the mind. We often see this verified, though few will confess it. Is it possible, in the nature of the thing, that those who give a constant application to this entertainment, especially if they play high, can support tranquility of mind? And in proportion as the mind is disturbed, is it not disqualified for the essential duties of life? This matter is best understood by those [Page 300] very persons who play high, and consume their time in this polite idleness. The Persians seem to fall into the contrary extreme. They delight in sitting still and musing. I never observed any of them walk in their apartments as the Europeans, and particularly the En­glish, are used to do. I remember to have heard of a Turk, who being on board an English man of war, en­quired very seriously if the people were troubled with an evil spirit? because, says he, "they are never at rest."

The persians are polite, but extravagantly hyperbol­ical in their compliments. This indeed is peculiar to the Eastern nations; and the scripture, which partakes so much of that style, is known to be derived from that quarter. The persians were celebrated for a parti­cular genius to poetry, but war which has destroyed their morals and learning, seems also to have damped their poetic fire; though they have still many traces of that fertility and strength of imagination, for which in past times they were deservedly famous. The ancient Persians are recorded to have taught their children a most exact reverence for truth; but the present genera­tion are as notorious for falsehood. They poison with a sweet meat, in always saying what is pleasing, with­out regarding the truth. In their dispositions they are chearful, but rather inclined to seriousness than loud mirth. In this they are not so much the French of Asia, as in their politeness and civility to strangers. Hospi­tality [Page 301] is a part of their religion. On occasions of the least intercourse, men of any distinction invite stran­gers, as well as their friends, to their table; and it is re­markable how they pride themselves in other testimo­nies of respect.

The Persians, as well as the Turks, believe the Mo­saic to have been the true religion before Christ, whom also they acknowledge to be a true prophet, and teach­er sent from God; but that the religion he taught was contained in a book, which, at Mahomet's coming, was taken by the angel Gabriel into heaven, and the Koran brought down in its stead. This however they do not attempt to prove. They say also, that Jesus Christ did not die upon the cross, but that another per­son was miraculously brought there in his place; thus confessing the truth of our Saviour's mission, but con­founding it with absurd fables.

The common people pray at break of day, noon, and sun-set. The MULLAH, or High-Priest, when he goes to prayers, mounts a turret appointed for that purpose, which over tops the houses; from whence at day­break, mid-day, and evening, he invokes the Supreme Being, by saying, "O God, there is but one God, Ma­homet is his prophet, and Ali his friend." After repeat­ing these words three times, he makes a prayer to this effect: "Glory be to the Sovereign of the Universe, and to the Judge of the Last Day. We glorify thee. [Page 302] We beseech thee to assist us in our necessities, to lead us in thy ways, and in the paths of righteousness, and to prevent our falling into the snares of perdition."

I never observed that the Persians have any marks of that false modesty which prevails among Christians of the best sort, who, to avoid the imputation of affec­tation or hypocrisy, are as jealous to be seen on their knees, as afraid to commit any criminal action. If a bold masculine piety, and a sincere awful sense of the Deity are very consistent things, this false modesty must be owing to an error in education.

The Persians have some of the Jewish rites among them; and also this peculiarity, that when they pray, they never permit the image of any sensible object to lie before them; nor is it permitted to pray with any thing of gold about them, as if it was esteemed an ob­ject of idolatry. They invoke the intercession of the departed souls of some of their prophets and pious men. They give one proof of religion vastly superior to Chri­tians; for I never could observe, that they mentioned the name of the Supreme Being except upon solemn occasion; or at least in a respectful manner.

The Turkish language is the most common in Persia. In matters of learning they use the Arabian language, in which is deposited the greatest part of that know­ledge, for which the Persians, were once distinguished. The learned languages, familliar to Europeans, are not known amongst them. As time seems to have made [Page 303] no change in the customs of Asia, but the same man­ners remain as we read of two thousand years ago, so the language, particularly of the Persian, has the same idiom and sublimity of expression.

They write as the Hebrews, from the right to the left, and often range their lines in an arbitrary manner; so that upon one leaf of paper they sometimes write in ten different directions, and this only to show the wri­ter's ability in observing the proportion of words and lines in each.

SECT. XLVII. OF THE MANNERS OF ORDERING SILK WORMS AT GHILAN IN PERSIA.

THE silk worm, as it is well known, takes its birth from an egg no bigger than a small pin's head. In the month of March, when the sun is already very warm, I observed the peasants in Ghilan prepare to give life to the eggs, which they had preserved during the winter, carrying them for the most part about them, in the warmest part of their bodies, and particularly un­der their arms. In ten or more days, according to the heat it receives, it becomes a maggot, and begins to seed. The shrub mulberry-trees, which are annually [Page 304] produce the most tender and proper leaves for their food. In about forty days the worm arrives to its maturity, and winds itself by daily gradations into a pod of silk as big as a pigeon's egg.

When this egg is completely formed, which is usual­ly known by the silence of the worm within, they suf­focate it by covering it with blankets, or by the heat of the sun; unless they wind off the silk immediately, for then warm water answers the same purpose. Some of them, however, must be permitted to live and perfo­rate the pod; for when it breaks from its enclosure, it casts its seed or eggs, by means of which the genera­tion is preserved. From the pods thus perforated, the silk cannot be wound off as from the others, but being prepared by pounding, it is spun off like cotton yarn. This silk we call kedge, the remains or refuse of which is so inferior, as to admit only of being milled and made into silk wadding.

SECT. XLVIII. OF THE HOT-BATHS AT SOPHIA.

SOPHIA is one of the most beautiful towns in the Turkish empire, and famous for its hot baths, that are resorted to both for diversion and health. I stopped [Page 305] there one day on purpose to see them, and designing to go incognito, I hired a Turkish coach. These voitures are not at all like ours, but much more covenient for the country, the heat being so great that glasses would be very troublesome. They are made a good deal in the manner of the Dutch stage-coaches, having wooden lattices painted and gilded, the inside being also painted with baskets and nosegays of flowers, intermixed com­monly with little poetical mottos. They are covered all over with scarlet cloth, lined with silk, and very often richly embroidered and fringed. This covering entirely hides the persons in them, but may be thrown back at pleasure, and thus permits the ladies to peep through the lattices. They hold four people very con­veniently, seated on cushions, but not raised.

In one of those covered waggons I went to the bath­ing house about ten o'clock. It was already full of wo­men. It is built of stone, in the shape of a dome, with no windows but in the roof, which gives light enough. There were five of these domes joined together, the outmost being less than the rest, and serving only as a hall, where the portress stood at the door. Ladies of quality generally give this woman a crown or ten shil­lings; and I did not forget that ceremony. There were four fountains of cold water in this room, falling first into marble basons, and then running on the floor in little channels made for that purpose, which carried [Page 306] the streams into the next room, something less than this, with the same sort of marble sofas, but so hot with streams of sulphur proceeding from the baths joined to it, that it was impossible to stay there with one's clothes on. The two other domes were the hot baths, one of which had cocks of cold water turning into it, to tem­per it to what degree of warmth the bather pleased to have.

I was in my travelling habit, which is a riding dress, and certainly appeared very extraordinary to them. Yet there was not one of them that showed the least sur­prise or impertinent, curiosity, but received me with all the obliging civility possible. I know no European court where the ladies would have behaved themselves in so polite a manner to such a stranger. I believe, up­on the whole, there were two hundred women, and yet none of those disdainful smiles, and satirical whis­pers, that never fail in our assemblies, when any body appears that is not dressed exactly in the fashion.

The first sofas were covered with cushions and rich carpets, on which sat the ladies; and on the second their slaves behind them, but without any distinction of rank by their dress, all being in the state of nature. Yet there was not the least wanton smile or immodest gesture amongst them.

They generally take this diversion once a weak, and stay there at least four or five hours, without getting [Page 307] cold by immediatly coming out of the hot bath into the cool room, which was very surprising to me.

The lady that seemed the most considerable amongst, them intreated me to sit by her, and would fain have undressed me for the bath. I excused myself with some difficulty. They being, however, all so earnest in per­suading me, I was at last forced to open my shirt and show them my stays; which satisfied them very well; for I saw they believed I was locked up in that ma­chine, and that it was not in my own power to open it; which contrivance they attributed to my husband. I was charmed with their civility and beauty, and should have been very glad to pass more time with them, if I could have conveniently done it.

SECT. XLIX. OF THE NATURE OF THE TURKISH GOV­ERNMENT; AND OF THE GRAND SIG­NIOR'S PROCESSION TO THE MOSQUE.

THE government here is entirely in the hands of the army. The Grand Signior, with all his absolute pow­er, is as much a slave as any of his subjects, and trem­bles at a janizary's frown. Here is, indeed, a much greater appearance of subjection than amongst us. Ad­minister [Page 308] of state is not spoke to but upon the knee. Should a reflection on his conduct be dropt in a cof­fee-house (for they have spies every where) the house would be razed to the ground, and perhaps, the whole company put to the torture. No huzzaing mobs, sense­less pamphlets, and tavern disputes about politics:

None of our harmless calling names! but when a min­ister here dipleases the people, in three hours time he is dragged even from his master's arms. They cut off his hands, head and feet, and throw them before the palace-gate with all the respect in the world; while the sultan (to whom they all profess an unlimited adora­tion) sits trembling in his apartment, and dares neither defend nor avenge his favourite. This is the blessed condition of the most absolute monarch upon earth, who owns no law but his will.

I cannot help wishing, in the loyalty of my heart, that the parliament would send hither a ship-load of your passive obedient men, that they might see arbitra­ry government in its clearest and strongest light, where it is hard to judge whether the prince, people, or min­isters are most miserable.

I went yesterday, along with the French ambassa­dress, to see the Grand Signior in his passage to the mosque. He was preceeded by a numerous guard-of [Page 309] janizaries, with vast white feathers on-their heads, as also by the foot and horse guards, and the royal garden­ers, which are a very considerable body of men, dressed in different habits of fine lively colours, so that at a distance they appeared like a parterre of tulips. After them the aga of the janizaries, in a robe of purple vel­vet, lined with silver tissue, his horse led by two slaves richly dressed. Next to him the chief guardian of the seraglio ladies, in a deep yallow cloth (which suited very well to his black face) lined with fables. Last of all came his sublimity himself, arrayed in green, lined with the sur of a black Muscovite fox, which is supposed worth a thousand pounds sterling, and mount­ed on a fine horse, with furniture embroidered with jewels. Six more horses richly caparisoned were led with him, and two of his principal courtiers bore, one his gold, and the other his silver coffee-pot on a staff. Another carried a silver stool on his head for him to sit on.

It would be too tedious to describe the various dres­ses and turbants by which their rank is distinguished; but they were all extremely rich and gay, to the num­ber of some thousands; so that, perhaps, there cannot be seen a more beautiful procession. The sultan appear­ed to us a handsome man of about forty, with some­thing, however, severe in his countenance, and his eyes were full and black. He happened to stop under the [Page 310] window where we stood, and (I suppose being told who we were) looked upon us very attentively, so that we had leisure to consider him.

SECT. L. OF THE PERSONS AND MANNERS OF THE TURKISH LADIES.

IN this country it is surprising to see a young wo­man that is not very handsome. They have naturally the most beautiful complexion in the world, and gene­rally large black eyes: I can with great truth assert, that the court of England (though I believe it the fairest in Christendom) does not contain so many beau­ties as are under our protection here. They generally shape their eye-brows, and both Greeks and Turks have the custom of putting round their eyes a black tincture, that at a distance, or by candle-light, adds very much to the blackness of them. I fancy many of our ladies would be over-joyed to know this secret; but it is too visible by day. They dye their nails a rose colour: but I own I cannot enough accustom myself to this fashion to find any beauty in it.

Their hair hangs at its full length behind, divided into tresses, braided with pearl or ribbon, which is al­ways [Page 311] in great quantity. I never saw in my life so ma­ny fine heads of hair. In one lady's I have counted one hundred and ten of the tresses all natural; but it must be owned that every kind of beauty is more common here than with us.

The head-dress is composed of a cap called talpock, which is in winter of fine velvet embroidered with pearls or diamonds, and in summer, of a light shining silver stuff. This is fixed on one side of the head, hang­ing a little way down, with a gold tassel, and bound on either side with a circle of diamonds, or a rich embroi­dered handkerchief. On the other side of the head the hair is laid flat; and here the ladies are at liberty to show their fancies, some putting flowers, others a plume of heron's feathers, and, in short, what they please; but the most general fashion is a large bouquet of jewels, made like natural flowers, that is, the buds of pearl, the roses of different coloured rubies, the jessa­mins of diamonds, and the jonquils of topazes, so well let and enamelled, that it is hard to imagine any thing of the kind so beautiful.

As to their morality, or good conduct, I can say, like Harlequin, that it is just as it is with you; and the Turkish ladies do not commit one sin the less for not being Christians. Now, that I am a little acquaint­ed with their ways, I cannot forbear admiring either the examplary discretion, or extreme stupidity, of all [Page 312] the writers that have given accounts of them. It is ve­ry easy to see they have in reality more liberty than we have. No woman, of what rank soever, is per­mitted to go into the streets without two murlins, one that covers her face all but her eyes, and another that hides the whole dress of her head, and hangs half way down her back. Their shapes are also wholly con­cealed by a thing they call a ferigee, which no woman of any sort appears without. This has strait sleeves that reach to their finger-ends, and it laps all round them, not unlike a riding-hood. In winter it is of cloth, and in summer, of plain stuff or silk. You may guess then how effectually this disguises them; so that there is no distinguishing the great lady from her slave. It is im­possible for the most jealous husband to know his wife when he meets her, and no man dare touch or follow a woman in the street.

This perpetual masquerade gives them entire liberty of following their inclinations without danger of disco­very. The great ladies seldom let their gallants know who they are! and it is so difficult to find it out that they can very seldom guess at her name, whom they have corresponded with for above half a year together. You may easily imagine the number of faithful wives very small in a country, where they have nothing to fear from a lover's indiscretion, since we see so many have the courage to expose themselves to that in this [Page 313] world, and all the threatened punishment in the next, which is never preached to the Turkish damsels. Nei­ther have they much to apprehend from the resentment of their husbands; those ladies that are rich having all the money in their own hands.

Upon the whole, I look upon the Turkish women as the only free people in the empire. The very divan pays respect to them; and the Grand Signior himself, when a bassa is executed, never violates the privileges of the harem, or women's apartment, which remains unsearched and entire to the widow. They are queens of their slaves, whom the husband has no permission so much as to look upon, except it be an old woman or two that his lady chuses. It is true, their law permits them four wives; but there is no instance of a man of quality that makes use of this liberty, or of a woman of rank that would suffer it.

Thus you see the manners of mankind do not differ so widely as our voyage writers would make us believe. Perhaps it would be more entertaining to add a few surprising customs of my own invention; but nothing seems to me so agreeable as truth, and I believe nothing so acceptable to you.

SECT. LI. OF THE PLEASANT SITUATION OF ADRIANO­PLE, AND THE MANNER IN WHICH THE TURKS PASS THEIR TIME THERE.

SOMETHING extraordinary will no doubt, be ex­pected from me, after I have gone a journey not under­taken by any Christian for some hundred years. The most remarkable accident that happened to me was my being very near overturned into the Hebrus; and if I had much regard for the glories that one's name en­joys after death, I should certainly be sorry for having missed the romantic conclusion of swimming down the same river, in which the musical head of Orpheus repeated verses so many ages since:

Who knows but some of your bright wits might have found it a subject affording many poetical turns, and have told the world in an heroic elegy, that,

I despair of ever hearing so many fine things said of me as so extraordinary a death would have given occasion for.

[Page 315] I am, at this present moment, writing in a house sit­uated on the bank of the Hebrus, which runs under my chamber-window. My garden is full of tall cypress-trees, upon the branches of which several couple of true turtles are saying soft things to one another from morning till night. How naturally do boughs and vows come into my mind at this minute; And must you not confess, to my praise, that it is more than an ordinary discretion, which can resist the wicked suggestions of poetry in a place where truth, for once, furnishes all the ideas of pastoral.

The summer is already far advanced in this part of the world; and, for some miles round Adrianople, th [...] whole ground is laid out in gardens, and the banks of the rivers are set with rows of fruit trees, under which all the most considerable Turks divert themselves every evening; not with walking, (that is not one of their pleasures,) but a set party of them choose out a green spot, where the shade is very thick, and there they spread a carpet on which they sit drinking their coffee, and are generally attended by some slave with a fine voice, or that plays on some instrument. Every twen­ty paces you may see one of these little companies lis­tening to the dashing of the river; and this taste is so universal, that the very gardeners are not without it. I have often seen them and their children sitting on the banks of the river, and playing on a rural instrument, [Page 316] perfectly answering the description of the ancient fistu­la, being composed of unequal reeds, with a simple but agreeable softness in the sound.

Mr. Addison might here make the experiment he speaks of in his travels, there not being one instrument of music among the Greek or Roman statues, that is not to be found in the hands of the people of this coun­try. The young lads generally divert themselves with making garlands for their favourite lambs, which I have often seen painted and adorned with flowers, lying at their feet while they sung or played. It is not that they ever read romances; but these are the ancient amuse­ments here, and as natural to them, as cudgel-playing and foot-ball to our British swains, the softness and warmth of the climate forbidding all rough exercises, which were never so much as heard of amongst them, and naturally inspiring a laziness and aversion for la­bour, which the great plenty indulges. These garden­ers are the only happy race of country people in Tur­key. They furnish all the city with fruits and herbs, and seem to live very easily. They are most of them Greeks, and have little houses in the midst of their gar­dens, where their wives and daughters take a liberty not permitted in the town, I mean, to go unveiled. These girls are very neat and handsome, and pass the time at their looms under the shade of the trees.

I no longer look upon Theocritus as a romantic wri­ter. [Page 317] He has only given a plain image of the way of life among the peasants of his country, who, before oppression had reduced them to want, were, I suppose, all employed as the better sort of them are now. I do not doubt, had he been born a Briton, but his Idyl­liums had been filled with descriptions of threshing, and churning, both which are unknown here, the corn being all trod out by oxen; and butter (I speak it with sorrow) unheard of.

SECT. LII. OF THE ENTERTAINMENT GIVEN BY THE GRAND VIZIER'S LADY.

AT Adrianople I was invited to dine with the Grand Vizier's lady, and it was with a great deal of pleasure I prepared myself for an entertainment, which was ne­ver before given to any Christian. I thought I should very little satisfy her curiosity, (which I did not doubt was a considerable motive to the invitation,) by going in a dress she was used to see, and therefore dressed my­self in the court-habit of Vienna, which is much more magnificent than ours. However, I chose to go incog­nito, to avoid any disputes about ceremony, and went in a Turkish coach, attended only by my woman that held up my train, and the Greek lady who was my in­terpretess.

[Page 318] I was met at the court-door by her black eunuch, who helped me out of the coach with great respect, and conducted me through several rooms, where her female slaves, finely dressed, were ranged on each side. In the innermost I found the lady sitting on her sofa, in a sa­ble vest. She advanced to meet me, and introduced me to half a dozen of her friends with great civility. She seemed a very good woman, near fifty years old. I was surprised to observe so little magnificence in her house, the furniture being all very moderate, and except the habits and number of her slaves nothing about her appeared expensive. She guessed at my thoughts, and told me she was no longer of an age to spend either her time or money in superfluities; that her whole expense was in charity, and her whole employment praying to God. There was no affectation in this speech. Both she and her husband are entirely given up to devotion. He never looks upon any other woman, and what is much more extraordinary, touches no bribes, notwith­standing the example of all his predecessors. He is so scrupulous on this point, he would not except Mr. W—'s present, till he had been assured over and over, that it was a settled perquisite of his place at the en­trance of every ambassador. She entertained me with all kind of civility till dinner came in, which was served one dish at a time, to a vast number, all finely dressed after their manner, which I do not think so bad, as it has been sometimes represented.

[Page 319] I am a very good judge of their eating, having lived three weeks in the house of an effendi at Belgrade who gave us very magnificent dinners, dressed by his own cooks. The first week they pleased me extremely; but I own I then began to grow weary of their table, and desired our own cook might add a dish or two after our manner. But I attribute this to custom, and am very much inclined to believe, that an Indian, who had nev­er tasted of either, would prefer their cookery to ours. Their sauces are very high, and all the roast very much done. They use a great deal of very rich spice. The soup is served for the last dish, and they have at least as great a variety of ragouts as we have. I was very sorry I could not eat of as many as the good lady would have had me, who was very earnest in serving me of every thing. The treat concluded with coffee and perfumes, which is a high mark of respect; two slaves kneeling, perfumed my hair, clothes, and hand­kerchief. After this ceremony she commanded her slaves to play and dance, which they did with their guitars in their hands; and she excused to me their want of skill, saying she took no care to accomplish them in that art, I returned her thanks, and soon after took my leave.

SECT. LIII. OF CONSTANTINOPLE.

I HAD the advantage of very fine weather all my journey from Adrianople to this city. The Grand Sig­nior furnished us with thirty covered waggons for our baggage, and five coaches of the country for my women. We found the road full of the great saphis, and their e­quipages, coming out of Asia to the war. They al­ways travel with tents; but I chose to lie in houses all the way. I will not trouble you with the names of the villages we passed, in which there was nothing remark­able but at Ciorlei, where there was a little seraglio, built for the use of the Grand Signior when he goes this road. I had the curiosity to view all the apartments destined for the ladies of his court. They were in the midst of a thick grove of trees made fresh by fountains. But I was most surprised to see the walls almost cover­ed with little distichs of Turkish verse, written with pencils. I made my interpreter explain them to me, and I found several of them very well turned; though I easily believed him, that they had lost much of their beauty in the translation. One was literally thus in En­glish:

The rest of our journey was through fine painted [Page 321] meadows, by the side of the sea of Marmora, the anci­ent Propontis.

A certain French author says, Constantinople is twice as big as Paris. It does not appear to me to be much bigger than London; I am apt to think it is not so populous. The burying-fields about it are certainly much larger than the whole city. It is surprising what a vast deal of land is lost this way in Turkey. Some­times I have seen burying-places of several miles, be­longing to very inconsiderable villages, which were for­merly great towns, and retain no other mark of their ancient grandeur than this dismal one.

On no occasion do they ever remove a stone that serves for a monument. Some of them are costly e­nough, being of very fine marble. They set up a pillar, with a carved turbant on the top of it, to the memory of a man; and as the turbants, by their different shapes, show the quality or profession, it is in a manner putting up the arms of the deceased. Besides, the pillar com­monly bears an inscription in gold letters. The ladies have a simple pillar without other ornaments, except those that die unmarried, who have a rose on the top of their monument. The sepulchres of particular fami­lies are railed in, and planted round with trees. Those of the sultans, and some great men, have lamps con­stantly burning in them.

The exchanges are all noble buildings, full of fine [Page 322] alleys, the greatest part supported with pillars, and kept wonderfully neat. Every trade has its distinct alley, where the merchandise is disposed in the same order, as in the New Exchange at London. The jeweller's quarter shows so much riches, such a vast quantity of diamonds, and all kinds of precious stones, that they dazzle the sight. The embroiderer's is also very glittering, and people walk here as much for diversion as business. The markets are most of them handsome squares, ad­mirably well provided, perhaps better than in any oth­er part of the world.

I have taken care to see as much of the seraglio here as is to be seen. It is on a point of land running into the sea; a palace of prodigious extent, but very irregu­lar. The gardens take in a large compass of ground, full of high cypress-trees, which is all I know of them. The buildings are all of white stone, leaded on the top, with gilded turrets and spires, which look very magnificent; and, indeed, I believe there is no Christian king's pa­lace half so large. There are six large courts in it, all built round, and set with trees, having galleries of stone; one of these for the guard, another for the slaves, ano­ther for the officers of the kitchen, another for the sta­bles, the fifth for the divan, and the sixth for the apart­ment destined for audiences. On the ladies side there are at least as many more, with distinct courts belong­ing to their eunuchs and attendants.

[Page 323] The climate about Constantinople, is delightful in the highest degree. I am now sitting, on the fourth of January, with the windows open, enjoying the warm sun-shine, while you are freezing over a sad sea-coal fire; and my chamber is set out with carnations, roses, and jonquils, fresh from my garden.

The pleasure of going in a barge to Chelsea is not comparable to that of rowing upon the canal of the sea here, where, for twenty miles together down the Bos­phorus, the most beautiful variety of prospects present themselves. The Asiatic side is covered with fruit-trees, villages, and the most delightful landscapes in nature. On the European stands Constantinople, situ­ated on seven hills. The unequal heights make it seem twice as large at it is, (though one of the largest cities in the world,) showing an agreeable mixture of gardens, pine and cipress trees, palaces, mosques, and public buildings, raised one above another with as much beau­ty, and appearance of symmetry, as any person ever saw in a cabinet adorned by the most skilful hands, where jars shew themselves above jars, mixed with cannisters, babies, and candlesticks. This is a very odd compari­son, but it gives me an exact ideal of the thing.

SECT. LIV. VERSES ADDRESSED TO LADY M. W. MONTAGUE.

SECT. LV. OF VENICE. A. D. 1703.

HAVING often heard Venice represented as one of the most defensible cities in the world, I took care to inform myself of the particulars in which its strength consists. And these I find are chiefly owing to its ad­vantageous situation; for it has neither rocks nor fortifications near it, and yet is, perhaps, the most im­pregnable town in Europe. It [...] at least four miles from any part of the Terra Firma; nor are the shallows [Page 8] that h [...] about it ever frozen hard enough to bring over an army from the land-side; the constant flux and re­flux of the sea, or the natural mildness of the climate, hindering the ice from gathering to any thickness; which is an advantage the Hollanders want; when they have laid all their country under water.

On the side that is exposed to the Adriatic, the en­trance is so difficult to hit, that they have marked it out with several stakes driven into the ground, which they would not fail to cut, upon the first approach of an enemy's fleet. For this reason they have not for­tified the little islands, that lie at the entrance, to the best advantage, which might otherwise very easily com­mand all the passes that lead to the city from the A­driatic. Nor could an ordinary fleet with bomb-vessels, hope to succeed against a place that has always in its arsenal a considerable number of gallies and men of war ready to put to sea on a very short warning. If we could therefore suppose them blocked up on all sides, by a power too strong for them, both by sea and land, they would be able to defend themselves against every thing but famine: and this would not be a little mitigated by the great quantities of fish that their seas abound with, and that may be taken up in the midst of their very streets; which is such a natural magazine as few other places can boast of.

The city stands very convenient for commerce. It [Page 9] has several navigable rivers that run up into the body of Italy, by which they might supply a great many countries with fish and other commodities; not to men­tion their opportunities for the Levant, and each side of the Adriatic. But notwithstanding these conve­niences, their trade is far from being in a flourishing condition for many reasons. The duties are great that are laid on merchandises. Their nobles think it be­low their quality to engage in traffic. Their merch­ants, who are grown rich, and able to manage great dealings, buy their nobility, and generally give over trade. Their manufactures of cloth, glass, and silk, formerly the best in Europe, are now excelled by those of other countries. They are tenacious of old laws and customs to their great prejudice; whereas a trading nation must be still for new changes and expe­dients, as different junctures and emergencies arise. The state is at present very sensible of this decay in their trade, and as a noble Venetian, who is still a mer­chant, told me, they will speedily find out some meth­od to redress it: possibly by making a free port, for they look with an evil eye upon Leghorn, which draws to it most of the vessels bound for Italy. They have hitherto been so negligent in this particular, that many think the Great Duke's gold has had no small influence in their councils.

Venice has several particulars, which are not to be [Page 10] found in other cities, and is therefore very entertaining to a traveller. It looks at a distance, like a great town half-floated by a deluge. There are canals èvery where crossing it, so that one may go to most houses either by land or by water. This is a very great con­venience to the inhabitants; for a gondola with two oars at Venice, is as magnificent as a coach and six horses with a large equipage, in another country; besides that it makes all other carriages extremely cheap. The streets are generally paved with brick or freestone, and always kept very neat; for there is no carriage, not so much as a chair that passes through them. There is an innumerable multitude of very handsome—bridges, all of a single arch, and without any fence on either side, which would be a great inconvenience to a city less sober than Venice. One would indeed wonder that drinking is so little in vogue among the Venetians, who are in a moist air and a moderate climate, and have no such diversions as bowling, hunting, walking, riding, and the like exercises to employ them without doors. But as the nobles are not to converse too much with strangers, they are in no danger of learning it; and they are generally too distrustful of one another for the freedoms that are used in such kind of conversa­tion.

There are many noble palaces in Venice. Their furniture is not commonly very rich, if we except the [Page 11] pictures, which are here in greater plenty than in any other place in Europe, from the hands of the best masters of the Lombard school; as Titian, Paul Ve­ronese, and Tintoret. The last of these is in greater esteem at Venice than in other parts of Italy.

The rooms are generally hung with gilt leather, which they cover on extraordinary occasions with ta­pestry, and hangings of greater value. The flooring is a kind of red plaister made of brick ground to powder, and afterwards worked into mortar. It is rubbed with oil, and makes a smooth, shining, and beautiful surface. These particulars are chiefly owing to the moisture of the air, which would have an ill effect on other kinds of furniture, as it shows itself too visibly in many of their finest pictures.

Though the Venetians are extremely jealous of any great fame or merit in a living member of their com­monwealth, they never fail of giving a man his due praises, when they are in no danger or suffering from his ambition. For this reason; though there are a great many monuments erected to such as have been bene­factors to the republic, they are generally put up after their deaths. Among the many eulogiums that are giv­en to the Doge, Pisauro, who had been [...] in England, his epitaph says, "In Angli [...] [...] Regis obitum mirâ calliditate celatum, mirasagacitale rima­tus, priscan benevolentiam firmavit;" that is, "In En­gland, [Page 12] having with wonderful sagacity discovered the death of king James, which was kept secret with won­derful art, he confirmed the ancient friendship."

The particular palaces, churches, and pictures of Venice, are enumerated in several little books that may be bought in the place, and have been faithfully trans­cribed by many voyage-writers. When I was at Ve­nice, they were putting out very curious stamps of the several edifices, which are most famous for their beau­ty or magnificence.

The arsenal of Venice is an island of about three miles round. It contains all the stores and provisions for war that are not actually employed. There are clocks for their gallies and men of war, most of them full, as well as work-houses for all land and naval pre­parations. That part of it, where the arms are laid, makes a great show, and was indeed very extraordinary about a hundred years ago; but at present a great part of its furniture is grown useless. There seem to be almost as many suits of armour as there are guns. The swords are old-fashioned and unweildy, and the fire-arms fit­ted with locks of little convenience, in comparison of those that are now in use. The Venetians pretend they could set out, in case of great necessity, thirty men of war, a hundred gallies, and ten galeasses, though I cannot conceive how they could man a fleet of half the number.

[Page 13] It was certainly a mighty error in this state to effect so many conquests on the Terra Firma, which has only served to raise the jealousy of the Christian princ [...] and, about three hundred years ago, had like to have ended in the utter extirpation of the commonwealth; whereas had they applied themselves, with the same politics and industry, to the increase of their strength by sea, they might perhaps have had all the islands of the Archipelago in their hands, and, by consequence, the greatest fleet, and the most seamen of any other state in Europe. Besides, that this would have given no jealousy to the princes their neighbours, who would have enjoyed their own dominions in peace, and have been very well contented to have seen so strong a bul­wark against all the forces and invasions of the Otto­man empire.

The republic, however, will still maintain itself, if policy can prevail upon force; for it is certain the Ve­netian senate is one of the wisest councils in the world, though at the same time, if we believe the reports of several that have been well versed in their constitution, a great part of their politics is founded on maxims, which others do not think consistent with their hon­our to put in practice. The preservation of the repub­lic is that to which all other considerations submit. To encourge idleness and luxury in the nobility, to cherish ignorance and licentiousness in the clergy, to [Page 14] keep alive a continual faction in the common people, to connive at the viciousness and debauchery of con­vents, to breed dissensions among the nobles of the Ter­ra Firma, to treat a brave man with scorn and infamy; in short, to stick at nothing for the public interest, are represented as the refined parts of the Venetian wisdom.

Among all the instances of their politics, there is none more admirable than the great secrecy which reigns in their public councils. The senate is gene­rally as numerous as our house of commons, if we on­ly reckon the sitting members, and yet carries its reso­lutions so privately, that they are seldom known till they discover themselves in the execution. It is not many years since they had before them a great debate concerning the punishment of one of their admirals, which lasted a month together, and concluded in his condemnation; yet was there none of his friends, nor of those who had engaged warmly in his defence, that gave him the least intimation of what was passing a­gainst him, until he was actually seized, and in the hands of justice.

The carnival of Venice is every where talked of. The great diversion of the place at that time, as well as on all other high occasions, is masking. The Veneti­ans, who are naturally grave, love to give into the fol­lies and entertainments of such seasons, when disguised in a false personage. They are, indeed, under a necessity [Page 15] of finding out diversions that may agree with the na­ture of the place, and make some amends for the loss of several pleasures, which may be met with on the continent. These disguises give occasion to abun­dance of love-adventures; for there is something more intriguing in the amours of Venice, than in those of other countries; and I question not but the secret his­tory of a carnival would make a collection of very di­verting novels.

Operas are another great entertainment of this sea­son: the Italian poets, besides the celebrated smooth­ness of their tongue, have a particular advantage above the writers of other nations, in the difference of their poetical and prose language. There are indeed sets of phrases which in all countries are peculiar to the po­ets; but among the Italians there are not only senten­ces, but a multitude of particular words, that never en­ter into common discourse. They have such a differ­ent turn and polishing for poetical use, that they drop several of their letters, and appear in another form, when they come to be ranged in verse. For this rea­son the Italian Opera seldom sinks into poorness of language, but, amidst all the meanness and familiarity of the thoughts, has something beautiful and sonorous in the expression. Without this natural advantage of the tongue, their present poetry would appear wretchedly low and vulgar, notwithstanding the many [Page 16] strained allegories that are so much in use among the writers of this nation. The English and French, who always use the same words in verse as in ordinary con­versation, are forced to raise their language with meta­phors and figures, or by the pompousness of the whole phrase, to wear off any littleness that appears in the particular parts which compose it. This makes our blank verse where there is no rhyme to support the ex­pression, extremely difficult to such as are not masters in the tongue, especially when they write on low sub­jects; and it is probably for this reason that Milton has made use of such frequent transpositions, latinisms, antiquated words and phrases, that he might the better deviate from vulgar and ordinary expressions.

There is a custom at Venice, which they tell me is particular to the common people of this country, of singing stanzas out of Tasso. They are set to a pretty solemn time, and when one begins in any part of the poet, it is odd, but he will be answered by somebody else that overhears him. So that sometimes you have ten or a dozen in the neighbourhood of one another, taking verse after vese and running on with the poem as far as their memories will carry them.

On Holy Thursday, among the several shows that are yearly exhibited, I saw one that is odd enough, and particular to the Venetians. There is a set of artisans, who, by the help of several poles, which they lay across [Page 17] each others shoulders, build themselves up into a kind of pyramid; so that you see a pile of men in the air of four or five rows rising one above another. The weight is so equally distributed, that every man is very able to bear his part of it, the stories, if I may so call them, growing less and less as they advance higher and high­er. A little boy represents the point of the pyramid, who, after a short space, leaps off, with a great deal of dexterity, into the arms of one that catches him at the bottom. In the same manner the whole building falls to pieces. I have been the more particular on this, be­cause it explains the following verses of Claudian, which show that the Venetians are not the inventors of this trick.

SECT. LVI. OF THE CHARACTER AND MANNERS OF THE VENETIANS.

I AM very sensible, that it requires a longer resi­dence at Venice, and better opportunities than I have had, to enable me to give a character of the Venetians. But were I to form an idea of them from what I have seen, I should paint them as a lively ingenious people, extravagantly fond of public amusements, with an un­common relish for humour, and yet more attached to the real enjoyments of a life, than to those which de­pend on ostentation, and proceed from vanity.

The common people of Venice display some quali­ties very rarely to be found in that sphere of life, being remarkably sober, obliging to strangers, and gentle in their intercourse with each other. The Venetians in general are tall and well made. Though equally ro­bust, [Page 26] they are not so corpulent as the Germans. The latter also are of fair complexions, with light grey, or blue eyes; whereas the Venetians are for the most part of a ruddy brown colour, with dark eyes. You meet in the streets of Venice many fine manly counte­nances, resembling those transmitted to [...]s by the pen­cils of Paul Veronese and Titian. The women are of a fine stile of countenance, with expressive features, and a skin of rich carnation. They dress their hair in a fanciful manner, which becomes them very much. They are of an easy address, and have no aversion to cultivating an acquaintance with those strangers who are presented to them by their relations, or have been properly recommended.

Strangers are under less restraint here, in many par­ticulars, than the native inhabitants. I have known some, who, after having tried most of the capitals of Europe, have prefered to live at Venice on account of the variety of amusements, the gentle manners of the inhabitants, and the perfect freedom allowed in every thing, except in blaming the measures of government. When a stranger is so imprudent as to declaim against the form or the measures of government, he will either receive a message to leave the territories of the state, or one of the Sbirri will be sent to accompany him to the Pope's or the Emperor's dominions.

The houses are thought inconvenient by many of [Page 27] the English. They are better calculated, however, for the climate of Italy, than if they were built according to the London model, which, I suppose, is the plan those critics approve. The floors are of a red plaister, with a brilliant glossy surface, much more beautiful than wood, and far preferable in case of fire, whose progress they are calculated to che [...]k.

The principal apartments are on the second floor. The Venetians seldom inhabit the first, which is often entirely filled with lumber. Perhaps they prefer the second, because it is farthest removed from the mois­ture of the lakes; or perhaps they prefer it because it is better lighted and more cheerful: or they may have some better reason for this preference than I am ac­quainted with, or can imagine.

Though the inhabitants of Great Britain make use of the first floors for their chief apartments, this does not form a complete demonstration that the Venetians are in the wrong for prefering the second. When an acute sensible people universally follow one custom, in a mere matter of conveniency, however absurd that cus­tom may appear in the eyes of a stranger at first sight, it will generally [...]e found that there is some rea [...] advan­tage in it, which compensates all the apparent incon­veniencies. Of this, travellers who do not hurry with too much rapidity through the countries they visit, are very sensible: For, after having had time to [...]gh ev­ery [Page 28] circumstance, they often see reason to approve what they had formerly condemned. Custom and fashion have the greatest influence on our taste of beau­ty, or excellence of every kind. What from a variety of causes has become the standard in one country, is sometimes just the contrary in another. The same thing that makes a low-brimmed hat appear genteel at one time, and ridiculous at another, has made a differ­ent species of versification be accounted the model of perfection in old Rome and modern Italy, at Paris, or at London. In matters of taste, particularly in drama­tic poetry, the prejudices which each particular nation acquires in favour of its own, are difficult to be remov­ed. People seldom obtain such a perfect knowledge of a foreign language and foreign manners, as to un­derstand all the niceties of the one and the allusions to the other. In consequence of this, many things are insipid to them, for which a native may have a high relish.

The dialogues in rhime of the French plays, appear unnatural and absurd to Englishmen, when they first attend the French theatre; yet those who have remain­ed long in France, and acquired a more perfect know­ledge of the language, assure us, that without rhime the dignity of the tragic muse cannot be supported and that, even in comedy, they produce an addition: elegance, which overbalances every objection. [...] [Page 29] French language being more studied and better under­stood by the English, than our languag is by the French nation, we find many of our countrymen who relish the beauties and pay the just tribute of admiration to the genius of Corneille, while there is scarcely a single Frenchman to be found, who has any idea of the merit of Shakespeare.

Without being justly accused of partiallity, I may assert, that in this instance the English display a fairness and liberality of sentiment superior to the French. The irregularities of Shakespeare's drama are obvious to ev­ery eye, and would, in the present age, be avoided by a poet not possessed of an hundredth part of his genius. His peculiar beauties on the other hand, are of an ex­cellence which has not, perhaps, been attained by any poet of any age or country. Yet the French critics, from Voltaire down to the poorest scribbler in the lit­erary journals, all stop at the former, declaim on the barbarous taste of the English nation, insist on the gro­tesque absurdity of the poet's imagination, and illus­trate both by partial extracts of the most exceptionable scenes of Shakespeare's plays.

When a whole people, with that degree of judgment which even the enemies of the British nation allow them to have, unite in the highest admiration of one man, and continue, for ages, to behold his pieces with unlaced delight, it might occur to those Frenchmen, [Page 30] that there possibly was some excellence in the works of this poet, though they could not see it; and a very moderate share of candour might have taught them, that it would be more becoming to spare their ridicule till they acquired little more knowledge of the author against whom it is pointed.

An accident which occured since my arrival at Ven­ice, though founded on a prejudice much more excus­able than the conduct of the critics abovementioned, has brought home to my conviction the rashness of those who form opinions, without the knowledge re­quisite to direct their judgment.

I had got, I don't know how, the most contemptu­ous opinion of the Italian drama. I had been told, there was not a tolerable actor at present in Italy; and I had been long taught to consider their comedy as the most despicable stuff in the world, which could not a­muse, or even draw a smile from any person of taste, being quite destitute of true humour, full of ribaldry, and only proper for the meanest of the vulgar. Impres­sed with these sentiments, I went with a party to the stage-box of one of the playhouses the very day of our arrival at Venice.

The piece was a comedy, and the most entertaining character in it was that of a man who stuttered. In this defect, and in the singular grimaces with which the actor accompanied it, consisted a great part of the a­musement.

[Page 31] Disgusted at such a pi [...]iful substitution for wit and humour, I expressed a contempt for an audience which could be entertained by such buffoonery, and who could take pleasure in the exhibition of a natural in­firmity.

While we inwardly indulged sentiments of self-ap­probation, on account of the refinement and superi­ority of our own taste, and supported the dignity of those sentiments by a disdainful gravity of countenance, the stutterer was giving a piece of information to Har­lequin, which greatly interested him, and to which he listened with every mark of eagerness. This unfortu­nate speaker had just arrived at the most important part of his narrative, which was, to acquaint the impatient listener where his mistress was concealed, when he un­luckily stumbled on a word of six or seven syllables which completely obstructed the progress of his narra­tion. He attempted it again and again, but always without success. Though many other words might explain the meaning equally well, it is as easy to make a saint change his religion, as prevail on a stutterer to accept of another word in place of that at which he has stumbled. He adheres to his first word to the last, and will sooner expire with it in his throat, than give it up for any other you may offer. Harlequin, on the present occasion, presented his friend with a dozen, but he rejected them all with disdain, and persisted in [Page 32] his unsuccessful attempts on that which had first come in his way. At length, making a desperate effort, when all the spectators were gaping in expectation of his safe delivery, the cruel word came up with its broad-side foremost, and stuck directly across the unhappy man's wind-pipe. He gaped, and panted, and croaked; his face flushed, and his eyes seemed ready to start from his head. Harlequin unbuttoned the Stutterer's waist­coat, and the neck of his shirt; he fanned his face with his cap, and held a bottle of hartshorn to his nose. At length, fearing his patient would expire before he could give the desired intelligence, in a fit of despair he pitched his head full in the dying man's stomach, and the word bolted out of his mouth to the most distant part of the house.

This was performed in a manner so perfectly droll, and the humorous absurdity of the expedient came so unexpectedly upon me, that I immediately burst into a most excessive fit of laughter, in which I was accompa­nied by my friends; and our laughter continued in such loud, violent, and repeated fits, that the attention of the audience being turned from the stage to our box, occasioned a renewal of the mirth all over the playhouse with greater vociferation than at first.

When we returned to the inn, I was asked, if I were as much convinced as ever, that a man must be per­fectly devoid of taste who could condescend to laugh at an Italian comedy?

SECT. LVII. OF THE SITUATION OF VENICE, ITS CANALS AND BRIDGES.

THE view of Venice, at some little distance from the town, is mentioned by many travellers in terms of the highest admiration. I had been so often forewarn­ed of the amazement with which I should be struct at the first sight of this city, that when I actually did see it, I felt little or no amazement at all. You will be­hold, said those anticipators, a magnificent town; or more frequently, to make the deeper impression, they gave it in detail;—You will behold, said they, magni­ficent palaces, churches, towers and steeples, all stand­ing in the middle of the sea. Well, this unquestiona­bly is an uncommon scene; and there is no manner of doubt that a town, surrounded by water, is a very fine sight; but all the travellers that have existed since the days of Cain, will not convince me, that a town, surrounded by land, is not a much finer. Can there be any comparison, in point of beauty, between the dull monotony of a watery surface and the delightful variety of gardens, meadows, hills and woods?

If the situation of Venice renders it less agreeable than another city, to behold at a distance, it must ren­der it, in a much stronger degree, less agreeable to in­habit. [Page 34] For you will please to recollect, that, instead of walking or riding in the fields, and enjoying the fra­grance of herbs, and the melody of birds; when you wish to take the air here, you must submit to be pad­dled about from morning to night, in a narrow boat, a­long dirty canals; or, if you don't like this, you have one resource more, which is, that of walking in St. Mark's Place.

These are the disadvantages which Venice labours under, with regard to situation; but it has other pecu­liarities, which, in the opinion of many, overbalances them, and render it, on the whole, an agreeable town.

Venice is said to be built in the sea: that is, it is built in the midst of shallows which stretch some miles from the shore, at the bottom of the Adriatic Gulph. Though those shallows, being now all covered with wa­ter, have the appearance of one great lake, yet they are called Laguna, or lakes, because formerly, as it is ima­gined, they were several. On sailing on the Laguna, and looking to the bottom, many large hollows are to be seen, which, at some former period have, very pos­sibly been distinct lakes, though now, being all covered with a common surface of water, they form one large lake, of unequal depth. The intervals between those hollows, it is supposed, were little islands, and are now shallows, which, at ebb, are all within reach of a pole.

When you approach the city, you come along a li­quid [Page 35] road, marked by rows of stakes on each side, which direct vessels, of a certain burthen, to avoid the shollows, and keep in deeper water. These shallows are a better defence to the city than the strongest for­tifications. On the approach of an enemy's fleet, the Venetians have only to pull up their stakes, and the e­nemy can advance no farther. They are equally be­yond the insult of a land army, even in the midst of winter; for the flux and reflux of the sea, and the mild­ness of the climate, prevent such a strength of ice as could admit the approach of an army that way.

The lake in which Venice stands, is a kind of small inner gulph, separated from the large one by some isl­ands, at a few miles distance. These islands, in a great measure, break the force of the Adriatic storms, before they reach the Laguna; yet, in very high winds, the navigation of the lake is dangerous to gondolas, and sometimes the gondoleers do not trust themselves, even on the canals within the city. This is not so great an inconveniency to the inhabitants, as you may imagine; because most of the houses have one door opening up­on a canal, and another communicating with the street; by means of which, and of the bridges, you can go to almost any part of the town by land, as well as by water.

The number of inhabitants are computed at 150,000; the streets in general are narrow; so are the ca­nals, [Page 36] except the grand canal, which is very broad, and has a serpentine course through the middle of the city. They tell you, there are several hundred bridges in Venice. What pass under this name, however, are sin­gle arches thrown over the canals; most of them pal­try enough.

The Rialto consists also of a single arch, but a very noble one, and of marble. It is built across the grand canal, near the middle, where it is narrowest. This celebrated arch is ninety feet wide on the level of the canal, and twenty-four feet high. Its beauty is impaired by two rows of booths, or shops, which are erected up­on it, and divide its upper surface into three narrow streets. The view from the Rialto is equally lively and magnificent. The objects under your eye are the grand canal, covered with boats and gondolas, and flanked of each side with magnificent palaces, churches, and spires; but this fine prospect is almost the only one in Venice; for except the grand canal, and the canal Regio, all the others are narrow and mean; some of them have no keys; the water literally washes the walls of the houses. When you sail along those wretched canals, you have no one agreeable object to cheer the sight; and the smell is overwhelmed with the stench which, at certain seasons, exhales from the water.

SECT. LVIII. OF VARIOUS NATURAL BEAUTIES IN WALES.

ON our journey we passed through Ludlow, a fine, handsome town, which has an old castle, now in a ne­glected and ruinous state; but which, by its remains, appears to have been once a very strong fortress, and an habitation very suitable to the power and dignity of the Lord President of Wales, who resided there. Not far from this town is Okely park, belonging to Lord Powis, and part of that forest which Milton, in his masque, supposed to have been inhabited by Comus and his rout. The god is now vanquished; but, at the revolution of every seven years, his rout does not fail to keep up orgies there, and in the neighbouring town, as Lord Powis knows to his cost, for he has spent twenty or thirty thousand pounds in entertaining them at these seasons, which is the reason that he has no house at this place fit for him to live in. He talks of building one in the park, and the situation deserves it; for there are many scenes, which not only Comus, but the lady of Milton's masque, would have taken delight in, if they had received the improvements they are ca­pable from a man of good taste; but they are as yet very rude and neglected. In our way from hence to Montgomery, we passed through a country very roman­tic [Page 38] and pleasant, in many spots; in which we saw farms so well situated, that they appeared to us more delightful situations than Clermont or Burleigh. At last we came by a gentleman's house, on the side of a hill opening to a sweet valley; which seemed to be built in a taste much superior to that of a mere coun­try esquire. We therefore stopt and desired to see it, which curiosity was well paid for. We found it the neatest and best house of a moderate size that we ever saw. The master, it seems, was bred to law, quitted the profession about fifteen years ago, and retired into the country upon an estate of five hundred pounds per annum, with a wife and four children; notwithstanding which incumbrances, he found means to fit up the house in the manner we saw it, with remarkable ele­gance, and to plant all the hill about him with groves and clumps of trees, that, together with an admirable prospect seen from it, render it a place which a mon­arch might envy. But, to let you see how vulgar minds value such improvement, I must tell you an an­swer made by our guide, who was servant to Lord Powis's steward, and spoke, I presume, the sense of his master, upon our expressing some wonder that this gen­tleman had been able to do so much with so small a fortune; "I do not, said he, know how it is, but he is always doing some nonsense or other." I apprehend, most of my neighbours will give the same account of my improvements at Hagley.

[Page 39] Montgomery town is no better than a village; and all that remains of an old castle there, is about a third part of a ruinous tower: but nothing can be finer than the situation of it and the prospect. It must have been exceedingly strong in ancient times, and able to resist all the forces of the Welsh: to bridle them it was built in the reign of William Rufus; three sides of it are a precipice quit inaccessible, guarded with a deep and broad ditch! I was sorry that more of so noble a cas­tle did not remain, but glad to think, that, by our in­corporating union with the Welsh, this and many o­thers, which have been erected to s [...]ure the neighbour­ing counties of England against their incursions, or to maintain our sovereignty over that fierce and warlike people, are now become useless.

From hence we travelled with infinite pleasure (through the most charming country my eyes ever be­held, or my imagination can paint) to Powis castle, part of which was burnt down about thirty years ago; but there are still remains of a great house, situated so finely, and so nobly, that, were I in the place of Lord Powis, I should forsake Okely park, with all its beauties, and fix my seat as near there, as the most el­igible in every respect. About three thousand pounds laid out upon it, would make it the most august place in the kingdom. It stands upon the side of a very high hill; below lies a vale of incomparable beauty, [Page 40] with the Severn winding thro [...]gh it, and the town of Welsh-Pool, terminated with high mountains. The opposite side is beautifully cultivated half way up, and green to the top, except in one or two hills, whose summits are rocky, and of grotesque shapes, that give variety and spirit to the prospect. Above the castle is a long ridge of hills finely shaded, part of which is the park; and still higher is a terrace, up to which you are led through very fine lawns, from whence you have a view that exceeds all description.

The county of Montgomery, which lies within this view, is to my eyes the most beautiful in South Bri­tain; and though I have not been in Scotland, I can­not believe I shall find any place there superior, or e­qual, to it; because the highlands are all uncultivated, and the lowlands want wood; whereas this country is admirably shaded with hedge-rows. It has a lovely mixture of corn fields and meadows, though more of the latter. The vales and bottoms are large, and the mountains, that rise like a rampart all around, add a magnificence and grandeur to the scene, without giv­ing you any horror or dreadful ideas, because at Powis castle they appear at such a distance as not to destroy the beauty and softness of the country between them. There are indeed some high hills within that inclosure, but being woody and green, they make a more pleas­ing variety, and take off nothing from the prospect. [Page 41] The castle has an old-fashioned garden just under it, which a few alterations might make very pretty; for there is a command of water and wood in it, which may be so managed as to produce all the beauties that art can add to what liberal nature has so lavishly done for this place.

We went from thence to see Pestill Rhaider, a fa­mous cascade; but it did not quite answer my expec­tations, for though the fall is so high, the stream is but narrow, and it wants the complement of wood, the water falling like a spout on an even descent, down the middle of a wide naked rock, without any breaks to scatter the water. Upon the whole, it gave me but little pleasure.

After having seen the Velino, we lay that night at the house of a gentleman, who had the care of Lord Powis's lead mines; it stands in a valley, which seems the abode of quiet and security, surrounded with very high mountains on all sides; but in itself airy, soft, and agreeable. If a man was disposed to forget the world, and be forgotten by it, he could not find a more proper place. In some of those mountains are veins of lead ore, which have been so rich as to produce in time past, twenty thousand pounds per annum, to the old Duke of Powis, but they are not near so valuable now. Perhaps you will object, that the idea of wealth dug up in this place does not consist with that of retire­ment. I agree it does not; but, all the wealth being [Page 42] hid under ground, the eye sees nothing there but peace and tranquilty.

The next morning we ascended the mountain of Ber­win, one of the highest in Wales; and when we came to the top of it, a prospect opened to us, which struck the mind with awful astonishment. Nature is in all her majesty there; but it is the majesty of a tyrant, frowning over the ruins and desolation of a country. The enormous mountains, or rather rocks, of Merion­ethshire inclosed us all round. There is not upon these mountains a tree or shrub, or a blade of grass; nor did we see any marks of habitations or culture in the whole place. Between them is a solitude fit for Despair to inhabit; whereas all we had seen before in Wales seemed formed to inspire the meditations of love. We were some hours in crossing this desart, and then had the view of a fine woody vale, but narrow and deep through which a rivulet ran as clear and rapid as the Scotch burns, winding in very agreeable forms, with a very pretty cascade. On the edge of this valley we travelled on foot, for the steepness of the road would not allow us to ride without some danger; and in a­bout half an hour we came to a more open country, though still inclosed with hills, in which we saw the town of Bala with its beautiful lake. The town is small and ill-built; but the lake is a fine object. It is about three miles in length, and one in breadth; [Page 43] the water of it is clear, and of a bright silver colour. The river Dee runs through very rich meadows; at the other end are towering high mountains; on the sides are grassy hills, but not so well wooded as I could wish them to be. There is also a bridge of stone built over the river, and a gentleman's house which embelishes the prospect. But what Bala is most famous for is the beauty of its women; and indeed I there saw some of the prettiest girls I ever beheld. The lake produces ve­ry fine trout, and a fish called whiting, peculiar to itself, and of a very delicate taste.

After we left the banks of the lake, where we had an agreeable day, we got again into the desart; but less horrid than I have already described, the vale being more fertile, and feeding some cattle. Nothing remark­able occurred in our ride, until we came to Festiniog, a village in Merionethshire, the vale before which is the most perfectly beautiful of all we had seen. From the heighth of this village you have a view of the sea. The hills are green, and well shaded with wood. There is a lovely rivulet, which winds through the bottom; on each side are meadows, and above are corn fields a­long the sides of the hills; at each end are high moun­tains, which seemed placed there to guard this charm­ing retreat against any invaders. With the women one loves, with the friend of one's heart, and a good study of books, one might pass an age there, and think [Page 44] it a day. If one has a mind to live long and renew his youth, let him come and settle at Festiniog. Not long ago there died in that neighbour [...]ood an honest Welch farmer, who was 105 years of age; by his first wife he had 30 children, 10 by his second, and 4 by his third; his youngest son was 81 years younger than his eldest, and 800 persons descended from his body, at­tended his funeral.

When we had skirted this happy vale an hour or two, we came to a narrow branch of the sea, which is dry at low water. As we passed over the sands we were surprised to see that all the cattle preferred that barren place to the meadows. The guide said it was to avoid a fly, which in the heat of the day came out of the woods, and infested them in the valleys. The view of the said sands is terrible, as they are hemmed in on each side with very high hills, but broken into a thousand irregular shapes. At one end is the ocean, at the other the formidable mountains of Snowdon, black and naked rocks, which seemed to be piled one above another. The summits of some of them are covered with clouds, and cannot be ascended. They do alto­gether strongly excite the idea of Burnet, of their be­ing the fragment of a demolished world.

In the evening we rode along the sea coast, which is here very cold. The grandeur of the ocean, correspond­ing with that of the mountains, formed a majestic and [Page 45] solemn scene; ideas of immensity swelled and exalted our minds at the sight; all lesser objects appeared mean and trifling, so that we could hardly do justice to the ruins of an old castle, situated upon the top of a con­ical hill, the foot of which is washed by the sea, and which has every feature that can give a romantic ap­pearance.

Next morning being fair, we ventured to climb up to the top of the mountain, not indeed so high as Snow­don, which is here called Moel Guidon, that is, the nest of the eagle; but one degree lower than that called Moel Happock, the nest of the hawk; from whence we saw a Phaenomenon, new to our eyes, but common in Wales; on the one side was midnight, on the other bright day. The whole extent of the mountain of Snowdon, on our left hand, was wrapped in clouds, from top to bottom; but on the right the sun shone most gloriously over the sea-coast of Carnarvon. The hill we stood upon was perfectly clear, and the way we came up a pretty easy ascent; but before us was a precipice of many hundred yards, and below, a vale, which though not cultivated, has much savage beau­ty; the sides were steep, and fringed with low wood.

There were two little lakes, or rather large pools, that stood in the bottom, from which issued a rivulet, that serpentined in view for two or three miles, and was a pleasing relief to the eyes.

[Page 46] But the moutains of Snowdon, covered with dark­ness and thick clouds, called to my memory the fall of Mount Sinai, with the laws delivered from it, and filled my mind with religious awe.

SECT. LIX. OF CARNARVON, AND THE ISLE OF ANGLESEA.

WHEN I arrived at Carnarvon, I had a very fine view of the sea, and one of the finest towns I had seen in England or Wales; the old walls of which, with the towers and bulwarks, are almost entire; they are high and strongly built. The towers are round, and rather more of the Roman than the Gothic form of architecture. At one end they join to the wall of the castle, which is a vast and noble building, of which the outside is likewise well preserved, but the inside is de­molished. The people here show the remains of a chamber, where King Edward II. was born, and re­ceived the submission of all the nobility in Wales in his cradle. The castle itself was built by his father, and is indeed a noble work.

As we rode from Carnarvon, the country about was [Page 47] softened into a [...]ence of the most pleasing kind, and was rendered more so by the contrast with that from which we came. We travelled along the shore of Menai, an arm of the sea, as broad as the Thames, op­posite to Lord Duncannon's. Our road led us over fine shady lawns, perfumed so with honey suckles, that they were a Paradissetto; and over gentle hills, from whence we had a lovely view of the Menai and the isle of Anglesea, which [...]ies on the opposite side of it, and then lost them again in agreeable valleys, like those of Reading, or the Hertfordshire vales. We enjoyed these scenes for some miles, till we came to a ferry, by which we passed into Anglesea, and landed at the seat of Sir Nicholas Bayley, which is the pleasantest spot in the island. He has Gotherised an old house with good judgment and taste. The view from it is charm­ing. He sees the sweet country, through which we had travelled, from Carnarvon to Snowdon above it, which ennobles the prospect; the Menai winds in a most beautiful manner, just under his windows; his woods shade the banks of it on each side, quite down to the water; above which, intermixed with them, are ever-green lawns, which, if helped with a very little art, would, together with his wood, make a garden or park, of the most perfect beauty; but all is yet in a rude and neglected state. From thence we went to Baronhill, the seat of Lord Bulkeley, above the town [Page 48] of Beaumaris, in the same island, it has a view of the sea, and coast of Carnarvon, which is indeed very fine, but I think inferior to that of Lord Edgecomb's, with which I have heard it compared. The house is a bad one; the gardens are, made in a very fine taste; but upon the whole, I like it much less than Sir N. Bailey's, though the reputation of the former is greater in Wales.

All the rest of the isle of Anglesea is a naked and unpleasant country, without a tree or hedge to be seen in it, uncultivated still, from the obstinacy of the peo­ple, in adhering to the ignorance of their forefathers; so that I am told it does not produce the tenth part of what the land is capable if improved by the agriculture of England. From Beaumaris we rode over the lands, at low water to Penman Mawr, a high and rocky moun­tain, the passage over which must have been very fright­ful, before they built a wall along the edge of the wood, which secures you from the danger of falling down the precipice that is below it into the sea; but with this guard it is very agreeable, the prospect of the sea and country being very fine.

I never saw any thing that struck me more than the first view of Conway castle, to which we soon came af­ter passing this mountain. It was built by Edward the First, in much the same style with that of Carnarvon; but stronger and more regular. The situation is noble, and it stands upon a rock of considerable heighth; in­stead [Page 49] of a ditch, three sides of it are defended by an arm of the sea, and four turrets that rise above the towers, besides two others at one end standing below the others, about the middle of the rock that over-hangs the sea. The walls between are battlements, and look ve­ry strong; they are, in some places, fourteen or fifteen feet thick, in none less than twelve. The whole to­gether hath the grandest appearance of any building I ever beheld, especially as the walls of the town, which are built like those of Carnarvon, but with bolder and handsomer towers, appear right in one view to the eye with the castle, when first you approach it. All the outside remains, except one tower, as in the time of Edward the first; and that was not demolished either with battering engines or with cannons, but by the peo­ple of the place taking stones from the foundation, for their own use, whenever they pleased; the conse­quence of which was, that the greatest part of the tow­erfell into the sea. But the upper part more surprisingly continues still firm in the form of an arch; and Lord Hertford, the present proprietor, hath forbid any dil­appidation for the future. We were told his grandfa­ther would have lived in this castle, could he have per­chased any lands in the country about; but finding none to be fold, he dropt the design.

I wish he had pursued it, for then we might have seen the inside entire; a sight which would have given, [Page 50] me a great deal of pleasure: But now the floors, ciel­ings, and roofs, are all taken away, so that we can hardly guess at its ancient magnificence. The ha [...] must have been a noble room; it is 100 feet long, thir­ty wide, and thirty high. The roof was supported by very beautiful arches, which still remain. There are two chimneys in it, and it was well lighted. The stone­work of the windows is exceeding handsome. Had our friend Milla (the builder of Hagley house) been with us, he would have fallen down and adored the architect. The eight towers seem to have contained three very good bed-chambers each, placed one above another, besides some upper rooms. The chambers are eighteen feet diameter, except one called the king's chamber, which has a bow window, gained out of the thickness of the wall; and the room is by that means extended about thirty feet. Over the arch of that win­dow are the arms of Edward the First.

From Conway castle, we travelled half a day's jour­ney through a very romantic country, to Rudland, or rather Land castle, the remains of which are less per­fect than Carnarvon or Conway; nor was it ever e­qual to them, either in extent or beauty, which I am sorry for, as it was built by Henry the Second.

Not far from hence, at a place called Bodrudan, we passed a rainy day in a very comfortable manner, with an old acquaintance of mine, who is the lady of the [Page 51] castle, and hath forbid all depredations, which the peo­ple of the neighbourhood used to make, by taking it down to build and repair their houses and pigsties, which would have demolished it like the tower of Con­way.

The next morning we went to the top of the hill, from whence we had a view of the whole vase of Clwydd, from one end to the other, which is equalled by none in England for fertility and beauty. There is neither mountain nor rock to be seen in any part of it. After you turn your back upon Rudland, the hills on one side of it rise very gradually by gentle ascents. Most of them are cultivated quite to their summits, oth­ers half way up; and when the tops are not enclosed, they are a fine grassy down, like Clent-hill, and shaded and enlivened with wood, like the slopes in my park. But yet I prefer the scenes in Montgomery shire to this lively vale. There is a great beauty in this, but there is no majesty. Whereas there, as in the mind of a cer­tain lady, with whom I have the honour to be inti­mately acquainted, the soft and the agreeable is mixed with the noble, the great, and the sublime.

About the middle of this vale, upon the brow of a hill, stands Denbigh castle, a very fine ruin; it enclo­ses as much ground as Conway or Carnarvon, but hath not so much building. The towers of it are standing at a very considerable distance from one another, be­ing [Page 52] fewer in number; but they are in the same style of architecture, having been built in the reign of the same king, who by these strong fortresses secured to himself and his postery the dominion of North Wales. The hall is still pretty entire, and rivals that of Conway, ex­cept that the roof doth not appear to have been arched.

The towers are all in a ruinous state. I think it a pi­ty and shame to the owner, that more care is not taken to preserve such respectable remains of antiquity. When we left the vale of Clwydd, we went into a bar­ren and mountainous country which continued from Rythin as far as Wrexham.

From Wrexham we went to Wynstay, the seat of Sir Watkin Williams Wynn. Part of the house is old; but he had begun building a new one before his death, in a very good taste. One wing is finished, and that alone makes a very agreeable house. The view from it is the most chearful I ever beheld. It stands in the middle of a very pretty park, and looks over that to a most delightful country. But if the park was extend­ed a little farther, it would take in a hill, with the view of a valley, most beautifully wooded; and the river Dee winding in so romantic and charming a manner, that I think it exceeds that of Festiniog, or any confined pros­pect I ever beheld.

Indeed the country, for five or six miles, is of anoth­er temper, exceedingly fertile, and very romantic. [Page 53] While I was looking at it; I asked one of my friends, "Whether he thought it possible for the eyes to behold a more pleasing sight." He said, "Yes; the sight of a woman one loves." My answer was, "When I was in love I thought so."

SECT. LX. A TRAVELLING ANECDOTE AT MACHYN­LLETH IN WALES.

MACHYNLLETH lies in a small verdant plain, surrounded with mountains. It stands in the extreme west angle of Montgomery shire, and the bridge from the town carried us into Merioneth.

I cannot omit a ridiculous circumstance which oc­curred to us at the inn of Machynlleth.

A gentleman of the neighbourhood politely introdu­ced himself to us, and hearing we travelled to satisfy our curiosity, civilly offered to gratify it, as far as he could. It was natural for me, among other things, to enquire about the roads, and the inns. I therefore ask­ed him, if there was a good house at our next stage? He answered there were many, Mr. Lloyd's Mr. Pow­ell's, Mr. Edwards's, &c. I still enquired which was the best. He replied, they were all very good. But to [Page 54] make him explicit, I persisted in asking him, whether either of them was as proper, as that in which we were? "Sir!" said he, with a peevish surprise, "should you take this house for a Gentleman's?"

I quickly explained myself, and begged his pardon. We might indeed have travelled through the whole country with a constant suite of recommendations; and this gentleman pressed us to accept of his invita­tion to his hospitable friends; but it did not agree with our plan, nor had we resolution enough to sacrifice our time to a daily succession of jolly company.

Leaving Machynlleth we soon found ourselves in a truly Alpine valley; the rapid torrent roaring over a bed of broken rocks, and now and then interrupted by immense fragments, from which it fell in considerable cataracts; the woody and exalted precipices on each side of the river, and the mountain brooks continual­ly rattling about us formed a romantic picture of the romantic road between Aigues Belles and mount Ce­nis. Towards the extremity of this beautiful scene, the huge mountain of Cader Idris presented its naked, craggy, and prominent cliff, full to our front. I never saw an object more awfully sublime; it extends more than half a mile in length, and is at least a thousand feet high.

The road passes under part of this gloomy and tre­mendrous precipice, on the right hand, within sight of [Page 55] a large lake on the left, and close to the brink of a smaller. It then crosses an arm of Cader Idris, and with a quick descent of two rocky miles, ends at Dolgelley. Part of this latter path leads through a thin oak wood, which hangs over an impetuous torrent, foaming down a rug­ged declivity, as steep as the road.

The wretched town of Dolgelley is finely situated upon the Avon's bank. The vallies around are rich­ly interspersed with woods and decent houses, while the mountains bound every prospect from the town at ir­regular distances.

Cader Idris, from the quickness of its ascent, and the nearness of its summit, appears much higher than it re­ally is; many people, on this account, have considered it as the highest mountain in Wales, but Snowdon is indisputably higher.

I could learn no intelligence of its real perpendicular elevation; but I should think it must be more than half a mile above the level of the river at Dolgelley, which receives the tide at a small distance below the town.

There appears some spirit in the flannel trade in this neighbourhood, which extends its busy influence for many miles round the country.

About five miles from Dolgelly, (a few large Scotch firs on each side of the rode marking the spot) we turn­ed upwards on our left, to see a water-fall behind a [Page 56] small housè of a widow Vaugham. This cataract is bro­ken into two broad parts; the upper descends about thir­ty-five feet, upon a small craggy ridge, and the lower about twenty feet, into a romantic bafon, encircled with perpendicular or impending rocks. A fine wood sur­rounds it, and some of the largest trees project their shady branches over the precipices of the cascade.

Returning to the high road, we soon crossed a bridge, under which the torrent rattled from the above cas­cade, down a steep declivity, and through large dis­jointed fragments towards the river.

We quitted the valley two miles farther, and ascend­ed a barren and dismal mountain. The road continu­ed lonesome and melancholy for several miles, but at length conducted us to a comfortable little inn.

My companion's curiosity led him to turn to the right hand from nearly the summit of the mountain, which is called Pen-maen, towards the falls of the riv­ers Mothvaye and Cayne. He found the road exceed­ingly bad, but his troublesome ride was amply repaid by the object in pursuit. The cataracts were very deep, and fell in broad sheets of water, through a vari­ed scenery of woods and rocks.

These remarkable cataracts are each of them the fall of a whole river, and situated within a quarter of a mile of one another. That of the Mothvaye forms two very broad sheets of water, divided about half way [Page 57] down by a ridge in the rock, each part being also beau­tifully broken by frequent crags projecting through it. This whole fall may be about seventy or eighty feet in depth.

That of the Cayne is a continued steep fall from rock to rock, not near so wide as the former but much higher. I should imagine it must be from an hundred and fifty or two hundred feet high, but the bottom is of very difficult access. The scenery, which imme­diately surrounds them both, is noble beyond descrip­tion, producing a fine contrast to the naked hills in their neighbourhood.

SECT. LXI. OF DUBLIN, AND THE HOSPITALITY OF THE IRISH. A. D. 1774.

HAVING crossed St. George's Channel from Liv­erpool, the most prosperous sea-port town on the west­ern coast of England, the first land we made was Houth Heath, a point of land about eight miles east of Dub­lin, forming the north point of its bay, which is about three or four miles wide, and six or seven deep. The bar of this harbour, is very incommodious; but the [Page 58] entrance into the harbour, being at least eight miles from Dublin city, is extremely beautiful and pictur­esque, diversified with hills and promontories on either hand, exhibiting a very spacious amphitheatre, bound­ed by a high shore, and said to be exceeded in grandeur by none, except the bay of Naples, to whose superior­ity of view, Mount Vesuvius does not a little contri­bute. The country all round is sprinkled with white villas. From the entrance, the light-house on the south side of the harbour appears to great advantage. At a little distance from it is Irish town (two miles dis­tant from Dublin) to which place the dyke from that city reaches; and which, when carried on to the extent proposed, will considerably increase the quantity of marsh ground already retrieved from the bay, at the bottom of which the river Liffy discharges itself.

The city of Dublin is not seen to advantage from the water; yet the landscape upon the whole is highly rich and beautiful, being horizoned in some places by mountains, exactly conical, called the Sugar-loaf hills. I am persuaded there are many who would not regret a journey thither for this single prospect, to render which complete, a number of circumstances are necessary, but which can seldom concur, such as the season of the year, the time of the day, and the clearness of the atmosphere when you enter the bay.

The magnitude of the city of Dublin is much great­er [Page 59] than in general imagined, being nearer a fourth than a fifth of that of London. If you view it from any of the towers, it seems more; but from walking the streets, you would suppose it to be less. In 1754, there were 12,857 houses in this city; but in 1766, they were en­creased to 13,194; and are now further augmented to 13,500, which indeed is far short of one fourth of the number of houses in London; yet there is not so great a disproportion in the number of inhabitants who are supposed, at a moderate computation, to amount to 160,000. It is nearly circular, about eight miles in cir­cumference. We see it to great advantage from any of its steeples, the blue slate having a very good effect.

The best view is from the Phoenix Park, (the Hyde Park of Dublin) but much more extensive than ours, and would be exquisitely beautiful i [...] dressed and plant­ed; but except some thorns and the clumps of elms planted by the late lord Chesterfield when he was lord Lieutenant, there are very few trees upon it. In one part of this park his Lordship raised a handsome col­umn of free-stone, fluted, with a phoenix on the top, issuing out of a flame; it has an inscription on the base, importing that he embellished the park at his own expence, for the recreation of the citizens of Dublin; and his name is still held in veneration among them. In this park there is a fort.

The greatest part of Dublin is very indifferent, but [Page 60] the new streets are as elegant as the modern streets of Westminster. Lately has been added to it an elegant square, called Merryon's square, built in a superb stile. Near that is the square called St. Stephen's Green, each side being near a quarter of a mile, probably the largest in Europe, round which is a gravel-walk of near a mile, where genteel company walk in the evenings, and on Sunday's after two o'clock. This square has some grand houses, and is in general well built; and although there is a great inequality in the houses, yet this in some respect adds to its beauty. In the midst of it is an equestrian statue of George II. in brass, e­rected in 1758. The situation is chearful, and the buildings around it multiply very fast. A new square has lately been begun, called Palatine square, near the barracks, a regular fine range of buildings, which when completed, will considerably add to the growing im­provements of this city.

The quays of Dublin are its principal beauty. They lie on each side the river Liffy, which is banked and walled in the whole length of the city; and at the breadth of a wide street from the river on each side, the houses are built fronting each other, which has a good effect. This embarkment, when paved, will be supe­rior to any part of London.

The Liffy runs for about two miles almost in a straight line through the city. It has five bridges over [Page 61] it; of which Essex bridge is the most worthy of notice. It consists of five arches of stone. The chord of the middle one is forty-eight feet. It was begun in 1753, finished in about a year and a half, and cost 20,000 gui­neas. It has raised foot-paths, alcoves, and ballustrades like Westminster-bridge, of a white stone, coarse but hard. It fronts Chapel-street to the north, and Parlia­ment-street to the south. The length is two hundred and fifty feet, and the breadth much the same as that of Westminster. Queen's bridge was rebuilt in 1764, is exceedingly neat, and consists of three elegant arches. The other bridges are not worth mentioning, as they are merely conveniences to save the trouble of ferrying across the river, and defy every order of architecture.

At the end of Essex-bridge is the elegant new build­ing of the Exchange, which does honour to the mer­chants who conducted it, the expence being mostly de­frayed by lotteries. The whole is of white stone, richly embellished with semi-columns of the Corinthian order, a cupola, and other ornaments, with a statue of his pres­ent Majesty George III: erected in 1779.

Near this, on a little eminence, is situated the castle, the residence of the Lord Lieutenant, which consists of two large courts, called the upper and lower castle-yard; in the latter of which are the Treasury, and some other public offices. Though there is little grandeur in the outward appearance of either, yet, up­on [Page 62] on the whole, this castle is far superior to the palace of St. James's, as well in the exterior, as the size and the elegance of the apartments within.

Here are two cathedrals, eighteen parish churches, besides several chapels and meeting houses. Neither of the cathedrals are remarkable for their architecture; and as to the parish-churches, except on the front of 3 or 4 of their steeples, external embellishments have been lit­tle studied, all that seems to have been attended to was neatness and convenience within; but they are gene­rally destitute of every monumental decoration. In the cathedrals only, can be seen whatever of the monu­mental kind is worthy of observation.

From the general badness of the streets of Dublin, hackney coaches are more frequent in proportion than in London, and sedan chairs are every where as com­mon as about St. James's.

In the year 1749, it was computed, that in the city and liberties there were two thousand ale-houses, three hundred taverns, and twelve thousand brandy-shops. At present, in this extensive place, there are but 7 or 8 coffee houses, and they are resorted to for tea and cof­fee only, not like those in London, where dinners and suppers make a very convenient addition; nor are there above half a dozen chop-houses; such accom­modations, being novel in Dublin.

It is very extraordinary, that in this large and popu­lous [Page 63] city, there should be such an almost total want of strangers and travellers. This defect obliges every bo­dy, who is acquainted with the place, to get into pri­vate lodgings as soon as he arrives, or to use the hotels lately set up; some of which are elegant.

During my stay here, I was frequently presented with the picture of a late Tourist, at the bottom of the chamber-vessels, with his mouth and eyes open, ready to receive the libation; and on enquiry found, that even the utensil now is more frequently called by the name of a Twiss than any other, in contempt of the illiberal reflections of that gentleman, who was so hos­pitably received here; Indeed, hospitality holds its re­sidence here; for it is customary for almost every gen­tleman, who dines with your friend, to ask you for a day; nay, they will sometimes invite the whole com­pany to be of your party. This social custom is still very prevalent, though not so much, I am told, as it has been.

With respect to drinking, I have been happily dis­appointed. The bottle is circulated freely but not to the excess we have heard it was, and I of course dread­ed to find. Common sense is resuming her empire. The practice of cramming guests is already exploded, and that of gorging them is daily losing ground. Wherever I have yet been, I was always desired to do just as I would chuse; nay, I have been at some tables [Page 64] where the practice of drinking healths at dinner was entirely laid aside. Let the custom originate whence it may, it is now unnecessary; in many cases it is un­seasonable, and in all superfluous.

The tables of the first fashion are covered just as in London; I can scarcely see any difference, unless it be that there is more variety here. Well bred people of different countries approach much nearer to each other in their manners, than those who have not seen the world. This is visible in the living of the merchants of London and Dublin. With these you never see a stinted dinner at two o'clock, with a glass of port af­ter it; but you find a table, not only plentifully, but luxuriously spread, with choice wines, both at dinner and after it; and, which gives the highest zest to the entertainment, your host receives you with such an appearance of liberality and indeed urbanity, as is very pleasing. Here they betray no attention to the counter, discover no sombrous gloom of computation, but dis­play an open frankness and social vivacity of spirit.

If you prefer the men of this country for their hos­pitality, and the women for their beauty, you are like­ly to live well with them.

In general, the outskirts of Dublin consist chiefly of huts, or cabins, constructed of mud dried, and mostly without either chimney or window; and in these mis­erable kind of dwellings, far the greater part of the in­habitants [Page 65] of Ireland linger out a wretched existence. A small piece of ground is generally annexed to each, whose chief produce is potatoes; and on these roots and milk the common Irish subsist all the year round, without tasting either bread or meat, except perhaps at Christmas once or twice. What little the men can earn by their labour, or the women by their spinning, is generally consumed in whisky, a spirituous liquor resembling Geneva. Shoes and stockings are seldom worn by these beings, who seem to form a different race from the rest of mankind. Their poverty is far greater than that of the Spanish Portugese, or even the Scotch Peasants, notwithstanding which, they wear the appear­ance of content.

The indigence of the middling class of people is vi­sible even in Dublin; yet from the most attentive and minute enquries, I am confident that the produce of this kingdom, either of corn or cattle is not above two thirds, at most, of what by good cultivation it might yield; notwithstanding which, the landed gentlemen, I believe, make as much, or more of their estates, than any in the three kingdoms, while the lands, for equal goodnest produce the least. The consequences of this, with respect to the different classes are obvious;—the landlords first get all that is made of the land, and the tenants, for their labour, get poverty and potatoes.

The roads i [...] Ireland are generally good enough for [Page 66] riding, but by no means equal to the English roads for a carriage; and though the inns are very far from mak­ing the appearance of those in England, yet the English traveller will universally, almost, meet with civil us­age, good provisions, and, for himself, clean decent lodging; but an English horse, could he speak as well as Balaam's vehicle, would curse the country, whose hay and litter are worse than can be conceived. In­deed, their oats for the most part are tolerably good, ex­cepting two or three countries in the East of Leinster, and one or two in Ulster. Almost all the straw pro­duced in the country is put upon their houses and cab­ins. The furniture of the saddle-horses also, such as saddle, bridle, stirrups, and crupper, are frequently made all of straw. Sometimes the bridle and stirrups are of cord.

The high roads throughout the southern and western parts are lined with beggars, who live in huts or cab­ins, of such shocking materials and construction, that in hundreds of them you may see the smoak ascend­ing through almost every inch of their defenceless cov­ering, for scarce one in twenty of them has any win­dow or chimney; and through those chasms, of course, the rain must make its way to drip upon the half-na­ked, shivering, and almost half-starved inhabitants within. Notwithstanding their ill appearance, a travel­ler is frequently presented with boards at the side of the [Page 67] cabin door, with "dry lodgings and tobacco;" some­times only "good dry lodgings," or "lodgings and snuff." As a symbol where milk is sold, they hang out a white rag on a stick. Indeed these huts spoil the figure and appearance of the much greater number of even their largest towns in the whole kingdom, whose entrances are generally dirty, with long strings of these despicable hovels, with which most of them are prefa­ced. Into the inland towns especially, you are gene­rally introduced through a line of fifty or an hundred of these habitations of poverty and oppression on either hand. Even the metropolis itself is not without this disgraceful deformity, which exhibits the penury and wretchedness of the tenants, and the mean spiritedness of the landlords, who, too generally for their own, or the reputation of their country, impose the building houses on their lands, upon a set of people, whose abi­lities will not enable them to build with materials so good as those of a swallow's nest; and to the infamy of the proprietors may it be said, that most of the farm­houses in Ireland are constructed in this miserable man­ner.

SECT. LXII. OF THE COMPARATIVE MERIT OF THE FRENCH AND ENGLISH.

"A FRENCHMAN," says the Earl of Chesterfield, "who, with a fund of learning, virtue, and good sense, has the manners and good-breeding of his country, is the perfection of human nature." I am not an enemy to the French; but I do not think this assertion true. In my opinion, the following would have been juster: "An Englishman, who joins manners and good-breed­ing to the solidity, energy, and greatness of mind which characterise his country, is the perfection of human na­ture." I do not mean to compliment. But sentiments and actions are upon a more elevated scale here than they can be found in any other nation in the world. There are no effects without causes; and the causes of this are very obvious. We pass our youth with the Greeks and Romans. Their great examples expand our souls; the brightness of their actions, and the splen­dour of their principles, kindle the most noble passions in our minds; and, when we come to be men, the na­ture of our government feeds this flame, and we glow with a certain internal ardour, which occasionally breaks out into action, and which is neither known nor com­prehended but in the dominions of Britain.

[Page 69] I do justice here to my country; and my soul feels happy, that I am able to give her, with truth, a superi­ority over the universe in genius and magnanimity. But if from this I shall be understood to think meanly of the French, because they are the rivals and enemies of this nation, it would indeed be to misinterpret me much. Though I do not think that people equal to this in greatness, I think them a very great people. And if the English are superior to the French in all the more elevated qualities which dignify and ennoble humani­ty; so the French surpass the English in all the milder and gentler virtues, which grace can adorn it.

In England the French have few friends. But they have one; and that one am I They could not, I acknowledge, have a feebler advocate; but while I have a tongue to speak, or a pen to write, wherever I go I'll do them justice.

Let every man who knows that nation speak of it as he found it. If he lived in their intimacy for years (as I did,) and if he found them ill-natured, ill-mannered, treacherous, and cowardly, let him speak his mind. I quarrel with no man who judges for himself, and who speaks the truth. But let the indulgence I grant be granted to me again; and let me be permitted to tell the world, that however other men may have found them, I found them good-humoured, good-natured, brave, polished, frank, and friendly.

I found them all animated with a desire to please, and always ready to do me every service in their pow­er. I owe them a thousand obligations. I had faults; they corrected them. I wanted knowledge; they in­formed me. I was rough; they softened me. I was sick; they visited me. I was vain; they flattered me. I had need of counsel; they gave me the best advice. Every man has need of agreeable company, and every man may be sure to find it in France.

I could be lavish in praise of this nation; but I am sorry to say, that too many people here have prejudices against them, as ridiculous as they are ill-founded. They despise the French as if they were beings with­out either sense or sentiment; though their writings and actions show they are full of both. Because two states have different interests, is that a reason that every individual belonging to those states should promote, to the utmost of his abilities, the interest and glory of the country to which he belongs? It certainly is. And therefore, every Frenchman has the same merit in la­bouring with all his might for the destruction of the British fleet, that every Englishman has in exerting all [Page 71] his powers to annihilate the navy of France. If a blast of my breath could send all the ships she has to the bot­tom of the sea—puff—they were sunk before you could finish this period. But is it a reason I should hate or despise the French, because I am naturally and neces­sarily the enemy of France?

The best way I think to judge this matter is, to take two other rival nations; Austria and Prussia; Athens and Sparta. Here you are dispassionate; your judg­ment will be just. Do you think it the duty of a liber­al-minded Prussian to despise an Austrian? Or, should a well-born Athenian detest a Laced aemonian, because he is equally animated by the same noble flame that warms himself—the love of his country? The nation which is able to rival another, proves herself worthy the admiration of that nation, even by her rivalry; and had I no other reason to consider the French as a great people, beside their being able to contend with England, that proof for me would be sufficient.

But the French are perfidious in politics. I deny that they can be perfidious with the English. They may be treacherous, for aught I know, with the Aus­trians and the Spaniards. There they profess friend­ship. They are of the same religion, frequently inter­marry, and have frequent alliances. With England France has no connection. She may over reach her in politics, but she never can deceive her by perfidy; [Page 72] because she is her uniform enemy. There is not an infant that does not know, that France ever was, and ever will be, the enemy of England. The making a peace is not making a friendship; and the French will not be more the friends of England when this peace is made, than they were five years before the war began, or than they are now. The rivalry between the two nations will last while the nations last. They are lit­tora littoribus contraria, opposite in every thing. It is the duty of France to depress England as much as she can. It is the duty of England to keep down France as much as is in her power. It is the duty of both to do justice to the other. This justice the French do render the English. I am sorry I cannot say the English do the same by them. Every class of men in France praise the people of this country: some the solidity of their understanding, and the extent of their genius; others the energy and vigour of their charac­ter; many their magnanimity and benevolence; and all, their courage and good faith. While here—but I blush for numbers, and am ashamed to finish my period.

SECT. LXIII. CHARACTER OF THE FRENCH LADIES, COM­PARED WITH THAT OF THE ENGLISH.

WOMEN are a subject upon which so much has been said and written by so many men of abilities, that it is not easy to imagine a new light, in which they have not been already placed. But, talking of a nation, if one did not say something about so considerable a part of it, the subject must appear mutilated and imperfect.

As brevity is the soul of wit, I shall be brief; and I shall only touch on the principal points in which the women of France differ from those of other countries.

When a French lady comes into a room, the first thing that strikes you is, that she walks better, holds herself better, has her head and [...]eet better dressed, her cloth [...] better fancied, and better put on, than any woman you have ever seen.

When she talks, she is the part of pleasing personifi­ed. Her eyes, her lips, her words, her gestures, are all prepossessing. Her language is the language of amia­bleness; her accents are the accents of grace. She embellishes a trifle; she interests upon a nothing; she softens a contradiction; she takes off the insipidness of a compliment, by turning it elegantly; and when she has a mind, she sharpens and polishes the point of an epigram better than all the women in the world.

[Page 74] Her eyes sparkle with spirit; the most delightful sal­lies flash from her fancy; in telling a story, she is inim­itable; the motions of her body, and the accents of her tongue, are equally genteel and easy; an equal flow of softened sprightliness keeps her constantly good-hu­moured and cheerful; and the only objects of her life are to please, and to be pleased.

Her vivacity may sometimes approach to folly; but perhaps it is not in her moments of folly she is least in­teresting and agreeable. English women have many points of superiority over the French; the French are superior to them in many others. I have mentioned some of those points in other places. Here I shall on­ly say, there is a particular idea in which no woman in the world can compare with a French woman; it is in the power of intellectual irritation. She will draw wit out of a fool. She strikes with address the cords of self-love, that she gives unexpected vigour and agility to fancy; and electrifies a body that appeared non-electric.

I have mentioned here the women of England; and I have done wrong. I did not intend it when I began the letter. They came into my mind as the only wo­men in the wolrd worthy of being compared with those of France. To settle the respective claims of the fair sex in these two countries, requires an abler pen than mine. I shall not dare to examine it even in a single point; nor presume to determine whether, in the important ar­ticle [Page 75] of beauty, form and colour are to be preferred to expression and grace; or whether grace and expression are to be considered as preferable to complexion and shape. I shall not examine whether the piquant of France is though to be superior to the touchant of Eng­land; or whether deep sensibility deserves to be pre­ferred to animation and wit. So important a subject requires a volume. I shall only venture to give a trait. If a goddess could be supposed to be formed, com­pounded of Juno and Minerva, that goddess would be the emblem of this country. Venus, as she is, with all her amiablenesses and imperfections, may stand, just­ly enough, for an emblem of French women. I have decided the question without intending it; for I have given the preference to the women of England.

One point I had forgotten; and it is a material one. It is not to be disputed on; for what I am going to write is [...]he opinion and sentiment of the universe. The English women are the best wives under heaven—and shame be on the men who make them bad husbands.

SECT. LXIV. OF MONTPELIER IN THE SOUTH OF FRANCE. A. D. 1775.

MONTPELIER is a delightful place of residence. I staid there four days, and left it with excessive regret. The town itself is by no means beautiful, the streets being almost all narrow, winding, and badly laid out; but nature seems to have chosen the hills on which it stands, to enrich with her choicest favours. The as­cent is easy and gradual on every side; and the states of Languedoc have ornamented the summit of it at a vast expence, in a manner where taste and magnifi­cence are equally blended.

The prospect from this happy spot I cannot describe, though I studied it every day with an enthusiastic plea­sure. Raphael's pencil, or that of Lorraine, might paint it, but not even Shakespear's powers of description could do justice to its beauties. The vales of Lan­guedoc, covered with olives or laid out in vineyards, are finely contrasted with rude rocks to the north, and melt away into the sea of the south. Though winter has almost stripped the trees of their verdure, there is nothing melancholy or desart which presents itself to the eye. A sky serene and unclouded, an invigorating sun, a keen and wholesome air spread a gaiety over [Page 77] November itself, which here is neither accompanied with fogs or rain. Montpelier has, notwithstanding, lost, within these last thirty years, that reputation for salubrity which conduces more to the support of a place, than any real advantages it may possess; and the num­ber of strangers who visit it from motives of health di­minishes annually. Some trade is still carried on from thence by a small river called the Les, which emp­ties itself into the sea at the distance of a league; but the Mediterranean has been retiring these three centu­ries from the whole coast of Languedoc and Provence. Frejus, which is situated between Toulon and Antibes, where the Emperor Augustus laid up his gallies after the battle of Actium, is now become an inland city.

The country from Montpelier to Nismes, is a gar­den, level, and every where cultivated. The peasants are just beginning to gather olives, which are very numerous, and the trees are planted with the same re­gularity as our orchards in England. I cannot but envy the inhabitants this genial climate and these fer­tile plains, and am ready to accuse Nature of partiali­ty in the infinite difference which she has placed be­tween the peasants of Languedoc and of Sweden. In vain will you tell me that the A [...]r Patrioe, the attach­ment we naturally bear to that country where we were born, renders them equally happy, and extinguishes all other distinctions. I know the force of this princi­ple; [Page 78] I feel and cultivate it with the greatest ardour—but it cannot blind me to the infinite superiority with which certain countries of the earth are endowed; a­bove other less favoured latitudes and regions.

I passed three days at Nismes in the survey of those magnificent and beautiful remains of Roman great­ness which yet subsist there. They have been describ­ed a thousand times, and it is not my intention to fa­tigue you with a repetition of them. The Amphithea­tre, and the "maison quarrée," are known throughout every kingdom of Europe. The first of these impres­ses the beholder with the deepest veneration; the lat­ter excites the most elegant and refined delight. In­dignation against the barbarians who could violate and deface these glorious monuments of antiquity, will mix with the sensations of every spectator.

One can scarce believe that Charles Martel, from hatred to the Roman name, had the savage fury to fill the corridores of the amphitheatre with wood, to which he set fire with an intent to injure, though it surpassed his power to demolish so vast an edifice. Yet notwithstanding these attempts of the barbarous nations, notwithstanding the lapse of so many ages, and the effects of time, its appearance at present is the most august and majestic which can be presented to the mind, or to the senses. The prodigious circumfer­ance of the amphitheatre, the solidity and strength of [Page 79] its construction, the awful majesty of so vast a pile, half perfect, half in ruin, impress one with a tumult of sentiments which it is difficult to convey to you by a­ny description.

The "maison quarrée," is in the most complete preservation, and appears to me to be the most perfect piece of architecture in the world. The order is the Corinthian, and all the beauties of that elegant style seem to be exhausted in its construction. This su­perb temple is now converted into a chapel dedicated to the Virgin, ornamented with gilding and other ho­ly finery, suitable to such an alteration.

SECT. LXV. OF THE FERTILITY OF THE COUNTRY BE­TWEEN BOURDEAUX AND AGEN.

WHEN I left Bourdeaux I took the road to Agen, along the southern bank of the Garonne. The coun­try through which I passed from Langon, where I cros­sed the Garonne, to the gates of that city, is fertile be­yond any I have seen in Europe. The hills are all covered with vineyards to the summit, and the vallies scarce require the industry of the peasants to produce in plenty whatever is necessary for their subsistance. [Page 80] The climate at this season is delicious; and no marks of winter appear in any of the productions of nature. Cherry-trees, figs, acacias, poplars, and elms, are in full verdure. In many places, where they border on the side of the road, the vines have run up, and mixed their clusters among the boughs. This is truly beau­tiful and picturesque. Milton, in his divine flights of imagination, could employ our first parents in no more delightful occupation, even in Paradise.

In the midst of this charming country, in a plain, close to the Garonne, stands the city of Agen. Be­hind it, to the north, rises a very high hill, called "Le Bocher de la belle Vue." I went up to the sum­mit, on which there is a convent. The chapel and some of the adjoining cells are hallowed out of the rock. It is said that these apartments are very ancient, and were made many centuries ago by hermits, who retir­ed thither from motives of devotion and austerity. The prospect is beautiful. Beneath lies the city of A­gen, and through the meadows which surround it rolls the Garonne.

One of the monks showed me the apartments of the [Page 81] convent; and in the recesses of the rock heled me to a spring which is never dry, and which he assured me had been opened by miracle, at the intercession of some holy recluse in ages past. Their little refectory was hung with portraits of the same monastic heroes, among which was St. William, duke of Aquitaine; and at the upper end, in golden letters, was written, "Silentium."

Agen is a very mean and disagreeable place, the houses are ill built, the streets narrow, crooked, and dirty. I saw only one building in it which appeared to me deserving of notice. It is a chapel belonging to a nunery of Carmelites. The walls are exquisitely painted in chiaro oscuro, and the deception of the roof, which is executed in the same manner, is admirable. The high altar is magnificent, and adorned with a piece of painting, the subject of which is very inter­esting. It is a nun, sinking under the transports of holy contemplation. She appears as if incapable of supporting the divine effulgence of her celestial lover, with eyes half closed, and arms expanded. Above, de­scends a radiant figure, with looks of tenderness and pleasure, surrounded with the glories of the skies, too strong for motal sight. If it had not been a religious edifice, I should have supposed it to be the story of Jupiter and Semelé, to which it bears the most apt re­semblance. Near the piece is this inscription.

Here one cannot help being struck with the justice of a remark, which has often been made on the inti­mate alliance between love and devotion, when carri­ed to an excess. The same enthusiasm, the same melt­ing language, the same overpowering delights, are com­mon to both passions. Love, says Rousseau, in extreme, borrows the language of Devotion; and Devotion, in her flights, adopts the expressions of attachment and fondness.

We are used to apprehend the condition of a young women who has taken the veil to be very miserable. Where convenience, or chagrin, or melancholy, are the motives to this act of self-dedication, I fully con­cur in that opinion; but there are women, I doubt not, who, in the gloom of a convent, amid shrines and crucifixes, are yet supremely happy. Married to a hea­venly spouse, and dedicated to the embraces of a su­perior and invisible being, Enthusiasm has ample room to exert her powers, and raise her votary above the poor gratifications of earth.

SECT. LXVI. AN ACCOUNT OF THE DIFFERENT WAYS THAT LEAD INTO ITALY.

IF you enter Italy by the way of France, you will probably go to Lyon. From thence you have your choice, either to go by land through Savoy, and across Mount Cenis to Turin; or passing through Provence, to embark at Antibes or Nice, for Genoa or Leghorn. From Swisserland you may pass Mount S. Gothard; from the Valais, Mount S. Bernard; and from Ger­many you may go through the Tyrol. Carriages can pass only by the first and last of these routes. In cros­sing Mount Cenis they must be taken to pieces; but the whole road through the Tyrol is not merely practi­cable, but even excellent for a carriage.

From Lyon to Turin they reckon thirty-five posts, sixty-four leagues, or one hundred and ninety-three English miles; the time, fifty-six hours. The road passes through the Lyonnois, Savoy, and Peidmont, by Pont-Beauvoisin and Chambery over Mount Cenis.

Pont-Beauvoisin, which is fifteen leagues or nine posts from Lyon, is on the frontier; a little river separates it into two parts, one of which belongs to France, and the other to Savoy:

No sooner have you passed the frontiers of France, [Page 84] than you perceive a change of country, climate, and people. The mountains of Savoy afford a new scene. Woods, rocks, precipices, cascades and torrents, form views that charm an eye fond of rude nature. Others find this journey dreary and disagreeable. The road, however, is safe and good, and in many places even beautiful. From Pont-Beauvoisin you go to Cham­bery, which, though the capital of Savoy, affords no­thing worth seeing. The situation indeed is fine, in a wide delightful valley, where there is the greatest va­riety of objects that a fine country and mountains can produce: but it is a poor dirty town; the houses dark, the streets narrow, the convents and other public buil­dings miserable. The remainder of the ducal palace is a castle; over the gate-way are the governor's lodg­ings, commanding the town and adjacent country. During the carnival they have plays and masked balls.

If instead of taking the direct route you go by Gene­va, you will find it nineteen posts, or ninety-five miles three furlongs from Lyon to that place, the time twen­ty one or twenty-two hours. From Geneva to Cham­bery it is seven posts, or forty-six miles and a half; and the time thirteen or fourteen hours. This there­fore is seventy-two miles out of the way, and will take sixteen or seventeen hours more in time. But if you have already seen Paris and Lyon, there is a road from Calais to Dijon, by S. Omer, Arras, Cambray, Laon, [Page 85] Rheims, Chalon sur Marne, Joinville, and Langres, which is sixty-six posts, or three hundred and fifty-one English miles; and from Dijon to Geneva, by Auxone, Dole, Poligny, and from Morey across Mount Jura to Nyon, twenty-one posts: the time of the whole route about eighty-one hours. Whereas by Paris and Lyon, it will cost you one hundred and two hours; but dur­ing four or five months Mount Jura is impracticable.

From Geneva, your best way is to hire horses to con­vey you to Chambery, there being very few horses on the road till you come into the direct way fram France. It is seven posts from Geneva to Chambery, and the voiturier will be at least twelve hours in going them, unless your carriage is light. If you think this too much for one day, you may set out in the afternoon from Geneva, lay at Frangy, and arrive easily at Cham­bery the next day, time enough to see that place.

Montmelian, which is only a post and a half, or nine miles from Chambery, is also most delightfully situa­ted at the head of three vallies. The inn is not in the town, but half a league on this side of it, and the ascent from it is very steep. Having passed the mountain, the road lies in a very narrow valley which winds in­cessantly. The wine made about Montmelian is much esteemed. After this you meet with nothing but wretched towns and villages, and a country of terrible poverty and filth. The honest, plain, and thrifty Sa­voyards [Page 86] have very little land to cultivate, and look ex­tremely unhealthy. Aiguebelle lies in a bottom close­ly surrounded by mountains. It is but a poor strag­gling village. The water is clear, light, and sparkling.

After you have passed Aiguebelle, goitres or swelled necks become frequent. St. Jean de Maurienne was formerly the residence of the counts of this country. It is situated in the middle of the highest Alps, in a valley tolerable wide. The roads are pretty good, ex­cept through the towns, where they are ill paved, and barely wide enough for a carriage to pass. Indeed they are in general narrow, which is no wonder, where there is so little land to spare. Frequently you find no more than room for this confined way between the steep mountain and the torrent; and in some places they are obliged to hew it out of the rock itself. Whenever the valley widens a little, you find a miserable village; and some of these, as if it were to spare their useful land for cultivation, are placed in the very bed of the torrent, which occupies so large a portion of all that is not bar­ren rock. The road is almost a continued ascent and descent by the side of the Arche, a river which rises in Mount Iserau, and joins the Isere near Montmelian. As you advance, the mountains grow higher and more steep, till at length the road closes in a narrow gorge, and a very long and heavy ascent to Lannebourg, which is at the foot of Mount Cenis. There are about [Page 87] two hundred and twenty houses in this village, and a­bout one hundred porters on the Syndic's list, who are employed in their turns.

The inns on this road are very bad; it is therefore adviseable, if you can bear the fatigue, to go through without stopping. You should by all means have the whole day before you to cross Mount Cenis, that you may not be hurried in the double operation of taking your carriage to pieces, and putting it together again; and that you may have time in the evening to arrive at Suze; in which case the next day you will easily reach Turin to dinner. The whole passage of the mountain from Lannebourg to Novalize may easily be accomplished in four or at most five hours; and has nothing terrible in it; at least from May to October. In a deep snow, in a violent tempest, and especially in a great thaw, there is certainly some danger; at all oth­er times there is nothing but the inconvenience of tak­ing the carriage in pieces, to send it over the moun­tain on mules; but the people are so adroit in this op­eration, and restore it to its primitive state so easily, that the whole rather furnishes amusement than gives pain to the traveller.

You have it in your option to pass over on muses or in chaises-a-porteurs, which is rush-bottomed elbow chairs, without legs. Two men carry them by means of two poles, and they have a foot-board. These fel­lows [Page 88] are very strong and nimble, never missing a step, but treading firm in the roughest ways with the agili­ty of goats. They relieve each other at proper inter­vals. In descending, they show great dexterity in the frequent windings of the mountain. From six to ten of these men are assigned to each person, in proportion to his size. Their pay is fifty sols of Savoy each, that is about two shillings and seven-pence halfpennny. The price of a mule to carry the baggage is the same: of a mule to ride, forty sols, or two shillings and a pen­ny. A mule is not obliged to carry above 350lb. so that if the body of your carriage exceeds that weight, they may demand what they please. There is also one sedan chair at Suze, which may generally be had by sending notice before hand to the other side of the mountain; and lately they have provided other cover­ed chairs. The ascent is not bad, and is easily perform­ed in an hour and a half. At the top is a plain, about five miles in length; it is a fine turf, and may be gal­loped over, not only with perfect safety, but with plea­sure. There is a beautiful lake on this plain, with ex­cellent trout in it.

It is often related, as a wonderful circumstance, that there should be a lake on the top of Mount Cenis; but the truth is, that this plain is no more than a very high valley or gorge of the mountain; and though it be indeed the highest part which travellers pass over, [Page 89] yet there are lofty pikes which rise at least three thou­sand feet above it. The lake is supplied from the snow that melts on these, and trickles through the crevices. It gives rise to the river Dora, and therefore may be looked upon as one of the sources of the Po. You may stop at a public house by the hospital to refresh the men; and having traversed the plain, you begin to de­scend into Piedmont. The prospect on each side of tall firs, larches, and chesnuts, of natural water-falls and roaring mountain rivers, affords a variety at once awful and pleasing. From the plain of S. Nicholas you have a view of a beautiful cascade; and half way between the great cross and Novaleze you pass a wretched village, called La Ferriere. You will be two hours at least in getting to Novaleze. The descent is steep, but no where dangerous.

Some adventurous people, who return from Italy by the way of Mount Cenis in winter, when the moun­tain is covered with snow, slide down on sledges. The descent towards Lannebourg is very steep, and it takes almost an hour to go down it, on account of the ma­ny turnings and windings you are obliged to make; but the whole side of the mountain being then covered with one solid smooth crust of snow, at the proper place you may put yourself on a sledge, with a guide on the fore part of it, who will conduct it, and change the direction of it with his foot, whenever it is necessa­ry, [Page 90] and thus bring you to the bottom in ten or twelve minutes very safe; or if the sledge now and then over­turns, they say it is without any bad consequence. This is called in French, "se faire ramasser," and the place whence you set out, "les ramasses." Novaleze is a poor place, with an indifferent inn, where is the first custom-house for Piedmont; and a stranger must take care not to have snuff, or any new foreign com­modities.

You will quit this place if you had not time to reach Suze the evening before, by nine or ten in the morn­ing, that you may have the day before you, and be sure to arrive at Turin before ten o'clock, after which hour the gates are not opened. The road to Suze is rough and bad, with a steep ascent and descent, and the town is not considerable. You will pass the formidable for­tress of the Brunetta, along a narrow gorge of the mountain. This is the barrier of Italy, and the key of Piedmont. The fortifications are said to be well worth seeing, but it is difficult to obtain the permission. At Suze, in the gardens of the castle, is a triumphal arch, erected in the time of Augustus.

At Rivoli, which is only two leagues from Turin, the King of Sardinia has a country house. From hence to the capital is a handsome broad straight road, bordered by double rows of fine elms. There are some wild and magnificent views between Mount Cenis and Turin; [Page 91] and the meadows in some seasons are equal in point of verdure to any in England. They are watered by the Dora, which descends with vast impetuosity from the Alps.

SECT. LXVII. CHARACTER OF THE ITALIANS. A. D. 1776.

MEDIOCRITY is rare here; everything is in extremes. No where is so fine music to be heard; no where (ex­cept at the opera of Paris) are the ears so cruelly tor­tured. The eyes are charmed and tormented alternate­ly by the most superb and most detestable pictures and statues. No citizens; and excessive luxury amongst in­dividuals; and the people in the most abject misery.

It is the same with regard to religion; you will see nothing but a blind superstition, or determined atheists. But of all the extremes, the most striking are those which are observed in the character of the nation. The Italian, in general, is exceedingly good or wicked to a degree. There are excellent hearts in this country; but like the great pictures they are scarce. Men are born there with strong passions, and not receiving any education, it is not astonishing that they often commit great crimes. Under a cold exterior they conceal burn­ing [Page 92] hearts; and the exterior is cold only to conceal their hearts. Love, jealousy, and revenge are their ruling passions. As they think only of the sensual part of love, and know well the constitutions of their women, and the wiles of their rivals, their jealousy is always a­wake and their revenge is implacable.

As to understanding, it is nearly the same; men of talants form the large class; there are few fools; and middling men are very rare. "Why then, you will ask, do not these men produce nothing excellent?" Be­cause they have ungoverned imaginations, and no phy­losophy; and because good taste has not yet penetrated into their country. And why has not good taste enter­ed Italy? Because Italy has neither a London nor a Pa­ris, and because she never had a Lewis the Fourteenth.

Travellers are often mistaken in judging of the Itali­an, especially the Neapolitan. They think he has no sense, because he wants ideas. A man can have but few ideas when he has never been out of his own coun­try, and when he has read nothing; but examine the Neapolitan on all the subjects with which he is acquain­ed, and you will see whether he wants natural capa­city. He resembles the soil of his own country. A field well tilled in Naples produces the most plentiful crops; neglected, it yields but briars and thistles. It is the same with the genius of the inhabitants; cultivated, it is capable of every thing; untilled produces only folly and vice.

SECT. LXVIII. TWO CURIOUS REMARKS.

I MADE two observations in my travels; one that the people of every country make something well; the other, that every nation has a peculiar manner of ruin­ing itself. The English ruin themselves by play; the French, by women; the Irish by a hospitality; the Swiss, by drinking; and the Germans, by a multitude of servants. I should not have said every I should have sad almost every. The Italians don't ruin themselves, because they are ruined already. However, individu­als among them do; some Milanese, for example, by eating; some Venetians, by gallantry and gaming; some Neapolitans by equipages and embroidery; and several Romans, by every species of impurity. Nei­ther do the Dutch ruin themselves; it is not, however, because they are already ruined, but because they are too phlegmatic to ruin themselves any way. The few who do destroy themselves, do it by avarice, by lending money at exorbitant interest on bad securities.

There are Dutchmen too who ruin themselves by flowers. I do not guaranty the truth of this anecdote, though I heard it from persons of veracity in Holland. A man, whose passion was for flowers, and who had an uncommon fine tulip-root of a very particular kind, [Page 94] heard that another florist had one as fine as his. He purchased it from him for a sum of money so large, I dare not mention it; and when he had got it into his possession, he broke it to pieces with his heel, saying, "Now there is not in the world another tulip-root equal to mine."

Every nation excells too in making something. The French make gold and silver stuffs, and political lies better than any people in the world. The Italians make ices, maccaroni, and religious lies to admiration. The Saxons make excellent porcelaine. The Dutch are fa­mous for making sea-landscapes. The Flemish for making lace. And the English—why the English, I, think, make men and women better than any nation I know.

There is a better race of men and women in England then I have ever seen in any other country. If any one asks me why it is so? I answer, I can't tell. If he asks me how I know that it is so? I answer, by looking at them. There is also a better race of dogs ^* and hor­ses here than in any other country I have seen; but there are too a great many garrons and curs.

SECT. LXIX. THE REASONS WHY THE FRENCH HAVE MORE WIT AND BETTER SPIRITS THAN THE ENGLISH.

SIR, says a man to Swift, I have a mind to set up for a Wit. Sir, says Swift, I advise you to sit down again. This was very good advice, particularly in this coun­try, where that same author has observed, not one man in ten thousand has wit. Almost every body is witty in France. Why then there, and not here? The rea­sons are purely physical; for Englishmen ought to have twenty times more wit than Frenchmen.

Ideas are the matter of which wit is made, and the English have infinitely more ideas than the French. This arises from their early education, from their be­ing a more reading people, &c. You see this is a very strong reason why the English ought to be superior to the French in this point.

But if ideas are the materials, fancy is the instrument which operates on those materials; and here comes in the superiority of the French. Their fancies are liveli­er, brighter, and quicker.

The force of the imagination depends a great deal on the influence of the animal spirits; its brightness [Page 96] on the refinement of those spirits: and its quickness on the celerity of their movement. Now, in point of co­piousness of spirits, the English, I believe, have the ad­vantage of the French. A bull has more spirits in him than an ape; but the ape's spirits are always in motion, and it is very difficult to move the bull's. This, you see, is a case in point: and John Bull, I am persuaded, has a greater quantity of spirits than Jack Singe. But the Frenchman's spirits are more refined and quicker in their motions than ours, and this for a number of reasons. I shall here mention some of the principal.

A Frenchman never tastes malt liquor, he eats no butter, and his bread is light. The meat in France is not near so fat as it is here, and it is much better dres­sed. The sauces are poignant and not greasy. He eats a great deal of soup and light vegetables. He drinks in moderation as much wine and water as is necssary to dilute his dinner, and then he takes as much good wine, coffee, and liqueurs, as is necessary to heat his stomach, and quicken the circulation of his blood, and no more. Add to this, the pureness of the air, and the light socie­ty of the most amiable women in the world, in which he passes so much of his time; and you will see rea­sons enough why his spirits should be quicker in their motion, and more refined than ours.

I need not mention how opposite our manner of liv­ing is; the quantities of blood-food we eat, the quanti­ty [Page 97] of bad wine we drink, the grossness of our atmos­phere, nor many other causes that hinder the celerity of our fancies, and consequently impede considerably the vivacity of our wit.

However, the English do not think much of the su­periority of the French in this article. They pique themselves on having better sense and more learning than their neighbours; and they have more sense and learning. The French allow this, and it does not give them any uneasiness. They value themselves on be­ing wittier and more amiable than the English. When a Frenchman has knowledge, and is grown a little steady, his company is delightful; when an English­man has fancy and good manners, his society is en­chanting. I always thought that those two nations, blended together, would produce perfection in every thing.

SECT. LXX. OF EDINBURGH. A. D. 1774.

THE situation of Edinburgh is probably as extraor­dinary an one as can well be imagined for a metropolis. The immense hills, on which great part of it is built, though they make the views uncommonly magnificent, [Page 98] not only in many places render it impassable for car­riages, but very fatiguing for walking. The principal or great street runs along the ridge of a very high hill, which, taking its rise from the palace of Holyrood house, ascends, and not very gradually, for the length of a mile and a quarter, and after opening a spacious area, terminates in the castle. On one side, far as the eye can reach, you view the sea, the port of Leith, its harbour and various vessels, the river of Forth, the im­mense hills around, some of which ascend above even the castle; and on the other side you look over a rich and cultivated country, terminated by the dark, abrupt, and barren hills of the Highlands.

The famous street at Lisle, la Rue Royale, leading to the port of Tourney, which is said to be the finest in Europe, is not to be compared, either in length or breadth, to the High-street at Edinburgh; and would they be at the expence of removing some buildings which obstruct the view, by being placed in the mid­dle of the street, nothing could be conceived more magnificent. Not content, however, with this, they suffer a weekly market to be held, in which stalls are erected nearly the whole length of it, and make a con­fusion almost impossible to be conceived. All sorts of iron and copper ware are exposed to sale; here likewise the herb market is held, and the herb women, who are in no country either the most peaceable or the most [Page 99] cleanly beings upon earth, throw about the roots, stalks, &c. of the bad vegetables, to the great nuisance of the passengers.

The style of building here is much like the French. The houses, however, in general are higher, as some rise to twelve, and one in particular to thirteen stories in heighth. But to the front of the street nine or ten stories is the common run. It is the back part of the edifice, which, by being built on the slope of an hill, sinks to that amazing debth, so as to form the above number. This mode of dwelling, though very proper for the turbulent times to which it was adapted, has now lost its convenience. As they no longer stand in need of defence from the castle, they no more find the benefit of being crowded together so near it. The com­mon staircase, which leads to the apartments of the different inhabitants, must always be dirty, and is in general very dark and narrow. It has this advantage, however, that as they are all of stone they have little to apprehend from fire, which in the opinion of some, would more than compensate for every other disadvan­tage. In general, however, the highest and lowest ten­ements are possessed by the artificers, while the gentry and better sort of people dwell in fifth and sixth stories.

In London such an habitation would not be deem­ed the most elegible, and many a man in such a situa­tion would not be sorry to descend a little lower. The [Page 100] style of building here has given rise to different ideas. Some years ago, a Scotch gentleman, who went to Lon­don for the first time, took the uppermost story of a lodging-house, and was very much surprised to find what he thought the genteelest place in the whole at the lowest price. His friends who came to see him, in vain acquainted him with the mistake he had ben guil­ty of: "He ken'd very weel," he said, what gentility was, and when he had livéd all his life in a sixth story, he was not come to London to live upon the ground."

From the right of the High-street you pass over a very long bridge to the New Town. Before this bridge was built, you had a very steep hill to descend and to ascend, which was found extremely inconvenient. A subscription therefore was entered into to build one: and a most stupendous work it is indeed. It is thrown over this immense valley; and as no water runs under it, you have the whole effect of its heighth. From it you have a fine view up and down the vale, and the prospect through the middle arch is inconceivably beautiful. Not long ago a part of this bridge gave way and many people who were upon it sunk into the chasm, and were buried in the ruins. Many others, who were likewise upon the bridge, saw the fate of their unfortunate companions, without being able to assist them. All was terror and consternation. Every one fled from this scene of death as fast as possible, expect­ing [Page 101] the bridge to sink under them at every step, and themselves to be crushed to pieces. When the bridge was cleared, and the general consternation had a little subsided, it was found that only a small part had given way, which they are now repairing, and making strong­er than ever. But so great was the fear it occasioned a­mongst all ranks of people, that many of them look upon it with terror even to this day, and make it an objection to residing in the New Town, that they must necessarily pass over it.

The New Town has been built upon one uniform plan, which is the only means of making a city beauti­ful. Great part of this plan as yet remains to be exe­cuted, though they proceed as fast as their supplies of money will allow them: The rent of the houses in ge­neral amounts to an hundred pounds per annum, or upwards, and are most of them let to the inhabitants by builders, who buy the ground, and make what ad­vantage they can of it. The greatest part of the New Town is built after the manner of the English, and the houses are what they call here "houses to themselves." Though this mode of living, one would imagine, is much preferable to the former, yet such is the force of prejudice, that there are many people who prefer a lit­tle dark confined tenement on a sixth story, to the con­venience of a whole house. One old lady fancies [...] should be lost if she was to get into such an habitation, [Page 102] another, that she should be blown away in going over the new bridge; and a third lives in the old style, be­cause she is sure that these new fashions can come to "nae gude." But different as these sentiments are in regard to living, they are not more different than the buildings themselves. In no town that I ever saw can such a contrast be found betwixt the modern and anci­ent architecture, or any thing that better merits the ob­servation of a stranger.

The pavement of the whole town is excellent. The granite, which long supplied London, till Jersey and Guernsey robbed them of those advantages, is dug from the hills close to the town, and brought at very small expence. Maitland, in his history of this town, calls it "grey marble;" but without disputing about the propriety of the name, every one must allow it the very best stone possible for the purpose. They finish it with an exactness which the London workmen are indiffer­ent about, and which indeed London would not admit of, from the number of weighty carriages that continu­ally go over it.

From the left of the High-street you pass down by a number of different allies, or as they call them here, wynds and closses, to the different parts of the old town: They are many of them so very steep, that it requires great attention to the feet to prevent falling; but so well accustomed are the Scotch to that position [Page 103] of body required in descending these declivities, that I have seen a Scotch girl run down them with great swiftness in pattens.

This town has long been reproached with many un­cleanly customs. A gentleman, who lately published his travels through Spain, says, "that Madrid, some years ago, might have vied with Edinburgh in filthi­ness." It may probably be some pleasure to this au­thor, and to those who read him, to learn that his re­marks are now very erroneous.

But if a stranger may be allowed to complain, it would be, that in these wynds, which are very numer­ous, the dirt is sometimes suffered to remain two or three days without removal, and becomes offensive to more senses than one. The magistrates by imposing [...]es and other punishments, have long put a stop to the throwing any thing from the windows into the o­pen street. But as these alleys are unlighted, narrow, and removed from public view, they still continue these practices with impunity. Many an elegant suit of clothes has been spoiled: many a powdered well-dress­ed maccaroni sent home for the evening; and to con­clude this period in Dr. Johson's own simple words, "Many a full-flowing periwig moistened into flacidi­ty."

Such particulars, however, as these, scarce merit ob­servation. They are circumstances resulting from the [Page 104] peculiar inconveniency of the buildings, and not from the natural disposition of the Scotch, who love cleanli­ness, and practice it. They lament the impropriety of these customs, and join in the laugh at the accidents they occasion.

It has been the misfortune of almost every nation to be prejudged at a distance, or to be visited by a num­ber of men whose resolutions are too strong for con­viction. They come with a fixed idea, that the Scotch are a dirty people. They probably meet with some person who is so, and would be so in any country; and away they hurry back and give, as they think, the just character of the whole nation. It has been the pe­culiar fortune of the Scotch to have been thus treated, but they are a sensible and ingenious people, and look upon these hasty censures in the manner they deserve. But to every man, who is "Nullius addict us jurare in verba magistri," and who is biggoted to no particular customs, I make no scruple of declaring, that this me­tropolis is not, as some of our countrymen please to say, dirty and disagreeable; but adorned with many elegant and beautiful structures, the seat of several of the most ingenious men in Europe; and who are an honour to the age they live in abounding in many of the politer embellishments [...], and well deserving the attention of a traveller.

SECT. LXXI. A SINGULAR ANECDOTE.

ON our first arrival at Edinburgh, my companion and self, after the fatigue of a long day's journey, upon enquiring for an inn, were taken to a house, where we were conducted by a girl without shoes or stock­ings, and with only a single linsey-woollen petticoat, which just reached half-way to her ancles, into a room where about twenty Scotch drovers had been regaling themselves with whisky and potatoes. You may guess our amazement, when we were informed, "that this was the best inn in the metropolis—that we could have no beds, unless we had an inclination to sleep together; and in the same room with the company, which a stage, coach had that moment discharged." Well, said I to my friend, (for I have more patience on these occasi­ons, than wit on any other) there is nothing like see­ing men and manners; perhaps we may be able to re­pose ourselves at some coffee house. Accordingly, on enquiry, we discovered that there was a good dame by the Cross, who acted in the double capacity of pour­ing out coffee, or letting lodgings to strangers as we were. She was easily to be found out; and with all the conciliating complaisance of a Maitresse d'Hotel, [Page 106] conducted us to our destined apartments, which were indeed six stories high; but so infernal to appearance, that you would have thought yourself in the regions of Erebus. The truth of this, I will venture to say, you will make no scruple to believe, when I tell you, that in the whole we had only two windows, which looked into an alley five feet wide, where the houses were at least ten stories high, and the alley itself was so sombre in the brightest sun-shine, that it was impossible to see any object distinctly.

And now I am in the story-telling humour, I can­not omit giving an account of an adventure which happened here very lately to a friend of mine; as it tallies in some measure with what I have already rela­ted, and serves to confirm the wretchedness of accom­modation which must be put up within this city. A gentleman from London, who had been appointed to some duty in a public office, came to Edinburgh, and having no friends to furnish him with a bed, and few acquaintances to give him any assistance, found him­self obliged to conceal himse [...] in one of these dark a­bodes, in order to be nigh the centre of the town, where his employment compelled him to pass most part of the day. As he perceived his lodgings as good as his neighbours, it induced him to continue there until he discovered himself extremely weak and emaciated, oc­casioned by constant violent perspirations, in which be [Page 107] waked every morning. The observation which some of his associates made on the alteration of his embonpoint, and the situation to which he was reduced, (for from a stout and lusty man he was now become a mere sha­dow) persuaded him to think himself really ill, and in a consumption. Accordingly he sent for the Professor, and another or two of the learned fraternity, who, with all the significancy of pompous physic, pronounced him to be in a very declining state, and administered every restorative which the AEsculapian art could suggest or supply. But all without effect. He still continued to grow worse; and at length, almost totally exhausted, and giving himself a prey to despair, he sent up for his landlady to be a witness to his will; who, much con­cerned for the melancholy event, and with tears in her eyes, said, "How unfortunate she had been since she kept house; that her two former lodges had died with her; that she was sure she did every thing to serve them all; that for her part, she always took care that their linen was well aired; and as for her rooms, nothing could be drier or more free from dampness; that her neighbour, good man, was a baker, and his oven was di­rectly under them; that she was sure; therefore, they must be warm, and it was impossible to catch cold in her house."—"Good God," cried the gentleman, "an oven under my room! no wonder I am in a con­sumption [Page 108] after having been baked for th [...]se [...] months." Upon which he sent for the baker, and found what she said was really true; that the oven was immediately under his bed, and that the decrease of his health had been in proportion to the increase of the baker's business. The discovery, therefore, being a much better medicine than any the professors could prescribe, he quitted this enfer, by degrees recovered his strength and constitution, and lives now to ridicule the oddity of the accident.

After all this, I am sure every one will agree with me, that it is extremely strange, that a city, which is a thorough fare into all Scotland, and now little inferior in politeness to London in many respects, should not be better furnished with conveniences for strangers, or have a public lodging-house where you can find toler­able entertainment. But it really has not; and I am the more surprised at it, as, in their manner of living, and ma­ny customs, I think the inhabitants much resemble the French. But in this particular, what a difference be­tween this place and Paris! where in a minute you may be provided with a house equal to one of the greatest nobility, with servants, equipage, and all the luxuries of elegance and taste; whilst at Edinburgh, without an inn to put your head into, and without a lodging that you can breath in, you are obliged to bless your stars to get any place to repose yourself, till better [Page 109] fortune, or better acquaintance, have interest enough to procure it in some private house.—It is a pity,—it is a disgrace to the country; and I should hope, ere long, the pride or good sense of Scotland will so far prevail, as to establish an hotel ^* in some suitable part of the town, to obviate the inconvenience of the want of these necessaries.

SECT. LXXII. OF THE HOSPITALITY AND GOOD-BREEDING OF THE SCOTCH; THEIR LANGUAGE, PARTICULAR BEAUTIES OF IT, AND EXPRESSIONS.

THIS country has long been celebrated for its hos­pitality to strangers; and I am sure I can with great truth add my humble suffrage to this general observa­tion. They do not think they have paid you all the attention that is necessary, when they have invited you once to dinner, and then take no more notice of you. They are eager to show you repeated civilities. They [Page 110] are happy to explain, to inform you of what is really curious in their country. They give you a general in­vitation to their houses. They beg of you to visit them familiarly, and are sorry if you do not do so. I am ashamed to say that many of my countrymen seem to have forgot all their kindness the moment they return­ed over the Tweed. I trust those waters will never wash away my remembrance, but that I shall always be proud to own the hospitality of the Scotch, and the civilities I received in Scotland.

I know of no quality more conspicuous in the in­habitants of this country, than complaisance; which is common to every age and sex, but more particularly to the women, who seem to make it a study to oblige, and endeavour to emulate each other in good breed­ing; which, I think, is the art of showing people, by external signs, the inward regard which we have for them. As nothing indicates the judgment of a nation more than good breeding, so it likewise discovers their good nature. For politeness is, in my opinion, the re­sult not only of good nature, but of good sense. It gives a lustre to every other charm, and conceals, in a great degree, every disadvantage which women may lie under in their persons. But I assure you, the Scotch ladies have no need of this enchanting accomplishment on the last account. Nature has been as liberal to them in decorating their external parts, as in orna­menting [Page 111] their minds; and I believe as few nations ex­cel them in beauty, as in advantages derived from dis­position and education. No women understand better the rules of decorum, nor are they rivalled by the French in the talent of agreeable conversation; for which they seem to be better calculated, as well from their superi­or knowledge of the world, as from their more exten­sive acquaintance with books and literature.

When you are told, that on the first introduction to a lady in this country, you are favoured with a salute, which immediately discovers the fragrance of her breath, the downy velvet of her skin, and pearly enamel of her teeth; that the first words she utters to you is either My good friend, or My dear sir, which softened by the sweetness of her voice, and affability of her manner, must receive an additional degree of warmth and kind­ness; can you wonder that I am so enamoured with their company? or rather, do you not wonder that I can think of leaving them? But alas! alas! the time approaches for my departure; and if it was not for one dear object, who attracts me, like the faithful steel, to the magic circle of her arms, it would be with the ut­most regret I should bid farewell to a country, which is the land of pleasure, rapture, and delight.

But suppose you should say, that these words, though very pleasing at first on account of their novelty, must soon lose their charm, when we come to be acquaint­ed [Page 112] that they are mere words of custom, and ceremony, and uttered without any intention of good-will or sin­cerity; and that expressions of kindness, when they are not known to be the marks and effects of kindness, are empty sounds; I must grant, that by degrees they become habitual, and do not operate so strongly by use, as on a stranger. But surely, at any time they are the highest signs of complaisance; and giving the appearance of truth to actions, and a strong desire to please and oblige, certainly produce a partiality for the speaker: not by the words, which in common speech signify scarce any thing; but because by these words he shows that he thinks you worth notice. Ex­pressions of this nature are ingenious flattery. It makes those, to whom it is paid, flatter themselves, whilst they look on it as a declaration of merit in themselves: and pray, what mortal man does not love to be flattered by a lady; For my own part, if it is a fault, I must plead guilty; and though I detest it as much as hypocrisy in the male part of our species, I am not proof against it when assisted by the fire of sparkling eyes, and deliv­ered by female eloquence. A staunch philosopher would derive this credulity from the orig [...]nal perverse­ness of human nature; and in the same manner as Ad­am swallowed the forbidden fruit, though he knew it contained none of those excellent qualities ascribed to it by Eve; so we, his progeny, are tempted by the [Page 113] flattery of the fair sex, and sure to give it credit, not­withstanding we are conscious of its untruth and insin­cerity.

The Scotch language has one beauty, in which it greatly excels the English, and in which also it con­forms to the Italian; that of diminutives, which are created at pleasure, and expressed in one word, by the addition of a letter or syllable. Thus, they say, "man­ny, doggy, catty," for a little man, dog, or cat: "wifey" for a little wife; and if it was necessary to speak of an inanimate thing, they do it in the same manner; as "a buckley, knifey, booky, housey," for a little buc­kle, knife, book, and a house. I need not tell you how emphatical this makes their tongue, and what an im­provement it is on ours. But their pronunciation and accent is far from being agreeable. It gives an air of gravity, sedateness, and importance to their words; which though of use sometimes in an harrangue or public discourse, in common conversation seems dull, heavy, stupid, and unharmonious. On which account I scarcely ever heard a Scotchman tell a good story in all my life: for notwithstanding he might put in all the circumstances to work it to a point, he would be sure to spoil it by his deficiency in manner, and re­move the sting, which ought to tickle the imagination of the hearer, by appearing not to feel it himself. The inhabitants of this place, who are acquainted with the [Page 114] English, are sensible of this, and endeavour to speak like them, especially the politer sort of people, and the Professors of the College, who, in their lectures, strive to shake off the Scotch pronunciation as much as pos­sible. The literary productions of this country being well known, it is unnecessary for me to make any ob­servations on their style. I shall only say, that they appear to me, from their conversation, to write En­glish as a foreign tongue; their mode of talking, phrase, and expression, but little resembling the language of their works; though I cannot but add, that even some of them, in their conversation are fond of showing their learning, by making use of words derived from an­cient languages. Amenity is a favourite word of a celebrated historian, who is truly the boast of his coun­try; who, in private reputation has as few equals, as in public, superiors; and whose works may be justly said to be "non ludicra cantilena ad momentum tem­poris, sed monumentum ad aeternitatem."

SECT. LXXIII. OF THE SUPPERS OF THE SCOTCH, AND THEIR MANNER OF CONDUCTING THEM.

A MAN who visits this country, after having been in France, will find, in a thousand instances, the re­semblance, [Page 115] which there is betwixt these two nations. That air of mirth and vivacity, that quick and penetrating look, that spirit of gaiety which distinguish­es the French, is equally visible in the Scotch. It is the character of the nation; and it is a very happy one, as it makes them disregard even their poverty. Where there is any material difference, I believe, it may be attributed to the difference of their religion; for that same catholic religion, to say the truth of it, is a most comfortable one. The article of absolution is certainly a blessed invention, and renders the spirits free and unclouded, by placing all the burthen of our sins upon another man's back. A poor Englishman goes fretting and groaning, and carrying his miserable face into all companies, as contagious as an epidemic­al disorder, without one soul to take compassion on him, or pity his weakness: and should he not have a wife or family at home who cannot avoid him, he finds no person who will bear his infirmities, or look as sad as he does; but is constrained to wander about an un­sociable being, till the month of November, and the maladie Angloise relieve him from his distresses.

But though the Scotch have no absolution, they have something very like it—a superstitious reliance on the efficacy of going constantly to church. Many of them may be said to pass half their lives there; for they go almost without ceasing, and look as sorrowful [Page 116] at the time as if they were going, not only to bury their sins, but themselves. At other hours, they are as cheerful and as gay as possible; and probably, from hence arises that ease, that spirit in their conversation, which charms in every company, and which is the life of every society. They see no harm in innocent fa­miliarity. They think a frank and unrestrained beha­viour the best sign of a good heart; and agree with Lord Shaftesbury, "that gravity is the very essence of imposture."

Whenever the Scotch of both Sexes meet, they do not appear as if they had never seen each other before, or wished never to see each other again. They do not sit in sullen silence, looking on the ground, biting their nails, and at a loss what to do with themselves; and if some one should be hardy enough to break silence, start, as if they were shot through the ear with a pis­tol. But they address each other at first sight, and with an impressement that is highly pleasing. They appear to be satisfied with one another, or at least, if they re­ally are not so, they have the prudence to conceal their dislike. To see them in perfection, is to see them at their entertainments.

When dinners are given here, they are invitations of form. The entertainment of pleasure is their sup­pers, which resemble the petit soupers of France. Of these they are very fond; and it is a mark of their [Page 117] friendship to be admitted to be of the party. It is in these meetings that the pleasures of society and conver­sation reign, when the restraints of ceremony are ban­ished, and you see people really as they are: and I must say, in honour of the Scotch, that I never met with a more agreeable people, with more pleasing or more insinuating manners, in my life. These little parties generally consist of about seven or eight persons, which prevents the conversation from being particular, and which it always must be in larger companies.

During the supper, which continues some time, the Scotch ladies drink more wine than an English wo­man could well bear; but the climate requires it and probably in some measure it may enliven their natural vivacity. Without quoting foreign authorities, you will allow that a certain degree of wine adds great life to conversation. An Englishman, we know, is some­times esteemed the best companion in the world after the second bottle; and who, before that, would not have opened his lips for the universe. After supper is removed, and they are tired of conversing, they vary the scene by singing, in which many of the Scotch ex­cel. There is a plaintive simplicity in the generality of their songs, to which the words are extremely well adapted, and which, from the mouth of a pretty Scotch girl, inconceivably attracting. You frequently feel the force of those very expressions, that at another time you [Page 118] would not understand, when they are sung by a young person, whose inclinations and affections are frequent­ly expressed in the terms made use of, and which the heart claims as its own. The eye, the whole counte­nance, speak frequently as much as the voice; for I have sometimes found that I had a very just idea of the tenor of a song, though I did not comprehend three words in the whole. Formerly it was the custom for the bagpipe to play during their entertainments, and every family had their bard. In these songs were re­hearsed the martial and heroic deeds of their ancestors, as incentives to their own courage; but in these pip­ing times of peace, "our stern alarms are changed to merry meetings," and tales of love and gentleness have succeeded to those of war. Instead of the drowsy hum of a bagpipe, which would certainly have laid my noble courage asleep, the voice of some pretty girl claims your attention, which in my opinion, is no bad change. I must confess, I have not much opinion of those feasts "of other times," where your ears were continually stunned with the murders such a man had committed, and where he was continually told of what he had already done, that he might perform the same again. His modesty must certainly be put out of the question, otherwise he could never have sat to hear a de­tail of his own deeds.

It is observed of a Welch hero, "that he was a de­vout man, a great warrior, and an excellent piper; [Page 119] and that he could play with great [...], the songs of all his actions." This is still better—With such authori­ty, ought any man to be blamed for talking of himself, and being the hero of his own tale? While every one is railing at the present times, it is some consolation to find, that in many instances our forefathers were as ab­surd as we are; and that if we possess little, we have at least the negative merit of not boasting of what we have. I own I feel a pleasure in reconciling us to ourselves; for as some ingenious writers have proved that we are every way inferior to our ancestors, since we cannot rise to them, the only way left is to bring them down to us.

SECT. LXXIV. ON THE CIVILITY OF THE COMMON PEOPLE IN SCOTLAND.

I FIND the vulgar inhabitants of this country as va­rying in their disposition from those of the southern parts of Great Britain, as the AEthiopians from the na­tives of Mexico, and as unlike, as if they were Anti­podes. Though Scotland and England together are very minute in comparison with any of the countries on the European Continent, yet you cannot conceive a [Page 120] greater dissimilarity of manners; and so wide is the dif­ference, that you would think the distance between them, was from heaven to earth. I speak of the com­mon people only; for the polished and polite are near­ly the same in many respects.

Instead of that stubborn rudeness, and uncouth mind, that shyness and barbarism, which is even culti­vated by our peasants, you find in the lowest kind in Scotland a compliant obsequiousness and softness of temper, an ambition to oblige, and a sociability which charms you. They are naturally, grave, hospitable, and friendly; and have such a peculiar attachment to their own country and families, that, were I to relate to you the wonderful accounts which I have listened to with astonishment, you could not but think that I was bordering on romance.

But what distinguishes them from the vulgar inhabi­tants of almost any nation, is that peculiar desire to o­blige and instruct, a philanthropy which they discov­er, on all occasions, to be of service and to do good, and which never can fail of rendering their intercourse and conversation most agreeable, and of the greatest utility to the traveller.

In a wild and uncultivated country, in a miserable hovel, destitute of every convenience of life, exposed to all the inclemencies of climate, without common necessaries to drag on a wretched, uncomfortable be­ing, it is here you meet with souls, generous, contented, [Page 121] and happy, ever ready to the call of humanity, religious and charitable.

In a short tour that I lately made to the highlands, an opportunity presented itself of making my observa­tions on the minds of this people; since I mixed with them, conversed on variety of subjects, lived in their families, and passed with them many a happy hour. As I frequently wandered over the mountains with my gun, I often found a sequestered village, which had lit­tle communication with the rest of mankind, that had received scarce any form or fashion from art and human invention; and, consequently, not far remote from its ori­ginal simplicity. One day a storm drove me to seek shel­ter in a small cottage, which I by chance espied in a deep valley at the foot of one of their mountains; and on entering, I saw a venerable old woman, with another about thirty, and five or six pretty infants, which, by their resemblance, I easily discovered to be her children, all employed in some domestic concer [...], and waiting the return of the master of the family, who, I afterwards found, was gone to provide fish and other necessaries, from a small town on the banks of the neighbouring lake. When they perceived me at the door, the moth­er of the little ones came immediately to meet me, and, with a countenance full of benevolence and hospitality, saluted me in the Earse language; which, though I did not understand it, seemed to welcome to whatever [Page 122] they could afford, or I could expect to find there. She then reached me a stool, which was made of rushes, seeing I did not comprehend her tongue, and was pointing to me to sit down by the fire, when I addressed myself to the old lady in the corner, and de­manded whether she could speak English; but they all shook their heads and were silent. I then unloaded my game-bag, which contained a white hare, and some ptarmigan, and began to court their good opinion, by presenting them to the children, and endeavouring to divert them, by showing them my shooting implements and other things which I had in my pocket, and which seemed to give them much delight: the woman in the mean time, making signs to me to pull off my wet clothes, and holding out a plaid which they had warm­ed by the fire. On my seeming to refuse their kind offices, they shook themselves and looked sorrowful, which meant as I since learned, if I did not change my dress, I should catch an ague: a disorder to which they were extremely subject.

As the weather continued to threaten, and night was not far off, I sat myself down by the hearth and a­mused myself by pulling off the feathers of one of the birds, which I made them comprehend would be very acceptable, as I had eat nothing almost the whole day; and just as I was preparing to broil it, the highlander opened the door, and, expressing his surprise at finding [Page 123] a stranger had taken possession of his houshold goods, in a free and good-natured tone of voice, in the Scotch language, begged of me to proceed in my employ, and enquired the reason of this visit; adding, with a smile, "that I must have entertained his wife and mother ex­tremely well during his absence, to become so familiar with them; especially as they did not understand me, and had never in their lives beheld the face of any hu­man person, except a few of their own Clan, who in­habited the other side of the hill."

When I had told him my story, and intreated par­don for the freedom I had taken, he embraced me with the highest degree of rapture, and ordering the others to do the same, told me, "the gentleman with whom I had been, and to whose house I wished to return the next day, was the head of his Clan; that he respected him, and would die for him; and since I was a visitor to the Laird, I claimed from him every kind of hospital­ity and convenience, which his poor pittance could supply; though he added, as a stranger, who had lost my way, I had a right to civility and assistance from every man."

When I had finished my ptarmigan, of which they would none of them partake, he produced on the ta­ble some dried fish, cheese, and oat-cake, of which they all eat with an appetite that discovered their pov­erty, and that brought to my remembrance the saying [Page 124] of the philosopher, that "He that eats with an empty stomach needs no variety of food; he that drinks only for thirst desires least change of liquor; and he that wants least, comes nearest to the gods." On our being satisfied, he gave some to the infants, and said a grace in the presbyterian form, praising God with more fervent devotion than ever I met with in an English bishop at the administration of the sacrament.

The rest of the night we spent in conversation, whilst they plied me heartily with whiskey; and I answered a number of questions which were demanded of me by the women, thro' him as interpreter; till at length, o­ver-powered by fatigue, I reposed myself in a plaid by the fire, and enjoyed as sound a slumber, as if my head had been pillowed on down,

The morning arose, and I took farewell of my kind hostesses, who parted with me, with many expressions of friendship; and, if I may judge from their counte­nance, wished that the stormy weather had continu­ed, that I might have been detained longer. The highlander accompanied me across the mountains in my progress homeward, cheating the dreariness of the way by his entertaining discourse, concerning the an­tiquity of his family, and the ancestors of his Laird, whom he had followed in the rebellion, and under [Page 125] whose banners he had ventured his life and fortune. We had now arrived within sight of the house of my friend, when he wished me health and success through life, and that I might never go further out of my right way than when I wandered to his habitation. I paid this kindness with all the coin I was then master of, and parted with a thousand thanks and gratitude for his civilities.

I have detained you all this while with this length of story, in order to paint to you the true character of a Scotch peasant; and I dare say you will be astonish­ed to find so many virtues in a family in the High­lands, where the inhabitants are thought by us to be in a state of barbarism. But such, I assure you, they all are,

Even in Edinburgh, the same spirit runs through the common people, who are infinitely more civil, human­ized, and hospitable, than I ever met with. Every one is ready to serve and assist a stranger; they show the greatest respect to a person superior to them, and you never receive an impertinent answer. As to their country, it is beautiful and grand to a mira­cle, and though far from being temperate, is so healthy, that you hear of fewer disorders than amongst any o­ther people; and I declare, in every part that [Page 126] I have been, I never saw either an exceedingly deform­ed person, or an aged, toothless, paralytic highlander. They eat a great quantity of fish dried in the sun, and a cake made of oatmeal, baked hard and flat. Their constant liquor is whisky, which is also made from oats, has a quick taste, extremely heady, but comfortable to the stomach; unpalatable to strangers, though hot and nourishing to those who are used to it.

SECT. LXXV. OF THE PUBLIC AND PRIVATE DIVERSIONS OF THE INHABITANTS OF EDINBURGH; AND MANNER OF EDUCATING THE YOUNG LADIES.

THEY have at Edinburgh an elegant play-house, and tolerable performers: assemblies, concerts, pub­lic gardens, and walks, card parties, and a hundred o­ther diversions, which in some degree keep me from pining for your Festino, Bach's concert, or Almack's.

As the genius of any people is not more easily dis­covered in their serious moments, than when they give a loose to freedom and pleasure; so the Scotch nation is peculiarly characterized by the mode of their diver­sions. A sober sedate elegance pervades them all, [Page 127] blended with an ease and propriety which delights, and is sure to meet with approbation. A Scotchman does not relax himself for amusements, as if to pass away the hour. He seems even in the heighth of pleasure, busy and intent, and as he would do, were he about to gain some advantage. His diversions are not calculated to seduce the unwary, or recreate the idle, but to unbend the mind, without corrupting it. He seems as if in his infancy he had been taught to make learning his diver­sion, and was now reversing it, and making his diver­sion his study.

But besides the public entertainments of this city, which are derived from company, the inhabitants have more resources of pleasure within themselves than in many other places. The young people paint, draw, are fond of music, or employ their hours in reading, and acquiring the accomplishments of the mind. Every boarding-school Miss has something of this kind to recommend her, and make her an agreeable compan­ion; and instead of a little smattering of French, which is the highest ambition to attain in Queen's Square, you find them in Edinburgh entertaining in conversation, sentimental, and well-informed. The mode of educa­tion of the young ladies, is here highly to be com­mended, and admirably calculated to make them good wives. Besides needle-work, and those trifling arts, which are the principal part of their instruction in En­gland, [Page 128] the precepts of morality, virtue, and honour, are taught them from their earliest infancy, whilst they are instructed to consider themselves as beings born for society, for more than outside appearance, and transitory pleasure, and to attend to the knowledge of what is useful, rather than the oeconomy of a tambour­frame.

The ladies also who undertake this arduous task of instruction, are persons much better qualified in gene­ral than in other countries. They likewise introduce them into the politest company, and give them a taste for elegant and proper amusements; so that when they leave school, they are not only mistresses of those ac­complishments which are necessary to command a fa­mily, but have the deportment and behaviour of expe­rienced women of fashion.

No ladies in Scotland ever murder the precious mo­ments in what is called "work," which is neither en­tertainment nor profit, merely because they must have the appearance of doing something, whilst they see ev­ery one employed around them. They let no minute escape without its respective office, which may be of utility to themselves or others; and after a proper sacri­fice to reading and literature, gain instruction from so­ciety and conversation.

I have often thought it a principal defect in the ed­ucation [Page 129] of the English ladies, that they are taught to pay so much attention to the practice of sewing work, and other needle operations, whilst they neglect learn­ing of greater importance and pleasure. Since they have minds equally capable of instruction with the o­ther sex, why should they not be enlightened with the same kind of knowledge? especially as they seem more suited to it, as well from their superior sensibility, as their greater leisure and domestic life. Why should the characterestic which distinguishes us from brutes, be so strongly cultivated in the male, and have so little attention paid to it in the female species? Wisdom and science are not perfections in us merely because we are men; but as reasonable creatures, who have the pre-eminence over the rest of the creation. It is in­deed necessary for the ladies to know these things, in order to qualify them for domestic oeconomy; but I have no idea of any woman, except her whose circum­stances cannot afford the expence of paying a ser­vant, making them her employ, or putting them in practice.

The married ladies of this city seldom entertain large sets of company, or have routs as in London. They give the preference to private parties, and conversaziones, where they play at cards for small sums, and never run the risk of being obliged to discharge a debt of honour at the expence of their virtue and innocence. They [Page 130] often frequent the theatre, and show great taste and judgment in the choice of plays, where Mr. Digges performs a principal character.

As to exercise, they seldom ride on horseback; but find much pleasure in walking, to which the soil and country is peculiarly adapted, being dry, pleasant, and abounding in prospects and romantic scenes. It is likewise customary for them to drive in their carriages to the sands at Leith and Musselburgh, and parade backwards and forwards, after the manner of Scarbo­rough; and other public places of sea-bathing resort. For vivacity and agility in dancing, none excel the Scotch ladies. Their execution in reels and coun­try-dances is amazing; and the variety of steps which they introduce, and the justness of their ear is beyond description. They are very fond also of minuets, but fall greatly short in the performance of them, as they are deficient in grace and elegance in their motions. Ma­ny of them play on the harpsicord and guitar, and some have music in their voices, though they rather love to hear others perform than play themselves.

I do not think the Scotch ladies are great proficient in the languages. They rarely attempt any thing fur­ther than the French; which, indeed, they speak with great propriety, fluency, and good accent; but they make up for it by their accurate and just knowledge [Page 131] of their own. They talk very grammatically, are pe­culiarly attentive to the conformity of their words to their ideas, and are great critics in the English tongue. They chiefly read history and plaintive poetry; but elegies and pastorals are their favourites. Novels and romances they feel and admire; and those chiefly which are tender, sympathetic, soothing, or melan­choly.—Their hearts are soft, and full of passion, and a well told story makes a deep impression on them. Like virgin wax, a gentle heat mollifies their minds, which reflects the finest touches of art and sentiment.

Nor are the gentleman in Edinburgh less rational in their diversions than the ladies. There is only one in which I can censure their conduct. They rather pay too much respect to the divinity of Bacchus, and offer too copious libations at the shrine of that jovial deity. Their wines, indeed, of all kinds are excellent, and their climate not the most comfortable; so that some allowance ought to be made them in that respect. But as they are, they are by no means so intemperate as the Germans; and, perhaps, their appearing to me in the least intemperate, may be occasioned by my peculiar aversion to, and abstinence from all intoxica­ting liquors. I have neither taste to relish, nor head to bear them. I have no idea of a man extending the pleasure of drinking beyond thirst, or forcing, in ima­gination, an appetite artificial, and against nature.

[Page 132] The youths in this country are very manly in their exercises and amusements. Strength and agility seem to be most their attention. The insignificant pastimes of marbles, tops, &c. they are totally unacquainted with. The diversion which is peculiar to Scotland, and in which all ages find great pleasure, is golf. They play at it with a small leathern ball, like a fives ball, and a piece of wood, flat on one side, in the shape of a small bat, which is fastened at the end of a stick, of three or four feet long, at right angles to it. The art consists in striking the ball with this instrument, into a hole in the ground, in a smaller number of strokes than your adversary. This game has the superiority of cricket, and tennis, in being less violent and danger­ous; but in point of dexterity and amusement, by no means to be compared with them. However, I am informed that some skill and nicety are necessary to strike the ball to the proposed distance and no further, and that in this there is a considerable difference in players. It requires no great exertion and strength, and all ranks and ages play at it. They instruct their children in it, as soon as they can run alone, and grey hairs boast their execution. As to their other diver­sions, they dance, play at cards, love shooting, hunting, the pleasures of the field; but are proficients in none of them. When they are young, indeed, they dance, in the manner of their country, extremely well; but afterwards (to speak in the language of the turf) they train off, and are too robust and muscular to possess ei­ther grace or agility.

SECT. LXXVI. OF THE HAGUE AND ROTTERDAM.

NOTHING can be more agreeable than travelling in Holland. The whole country appears a large gar­den; the roads are well paved, shaded on each side with rows of trees, and bordered with large canals, full of boats passing and repassing. Every twenty paces gives you the prospect of some villa, and every four hours that of a large town, so surprisingly neat, I am sure you would be charmed with them. The Hague is certainly one of the finest villages in the world. Here are several squares finely built, and (what I think a par­ticular beauty) the whole set with thick large trees. The Voor-hout is, at the same time, the Hyde-Park and Mall of the people of quality: for they take the air in it both on foot and in coaches.

The appearance of Rotterdam gives one very great pleasure. All the streets are paved with broad stones, and before many of the meanest artificers doors are placed seats of various coloured marbles, so neatly kept, that I assure you I walked almost over the town yesterday, incognito, in my slippers, without receiving one spot of dirt; and you may see the Dutch maids washing the pavement of the streets with more application than ours do our bed chambers.

[Page 134] The town seems so full of people, with such busy faces, all in motion, that I can hardly fancy it is not some celebrated fair; but I see it is every day the same. It is certain no town can be more advantageously situ­ated for commerce. Here are seven large canals, on which the merchants ships come up to the very doors of their houses. The shops and wharehouses are of a surprizing neatness and magnificence, filled with an incredible quantity of fine merchandize, and so much cheaper than what we see in England, that I have much ado to persuade myself I am still so near it. Here is neither dirt nor beggary to be seen. One is not shock­ed with those loathsome cripples so common in Lon­don, nor teazed with the importunity of idle persons that chuse to be nasty and lazy. The common ser­vants and little shop-women here are more nicely clean than some of our Ladies; and the great variety of neat dresses (every woman dressing her head after her own fashion) is an additional pleasure in seeing the town.

SECT. LXXVII. ANOTHER ACCOUNT OF ROTTERDAM AND THE HAGUE. A. D. 1784.

ROTTERDAM lies on the north side of the Maese, about fifteen miles from the sea, is of a triangular form, and, in point of trade, inferior only to Amsterdam; in [Page 135] the spaciousness of the streets, and elegance of the hous­es, infinitely beyond it. The canals are so large as to admit ships of two or three hundred tons, even to the very doors of the merchants; and I know not so ro­mantic a sight, as to see from the environs, the chim­nies, masts of ships, and the tops of trees, so promis­cuously huddled together, that it would acquire a de­gree of divination to tell whether it is a town, a fleet, or a forest.

The grandest, as well as most agreeable street in Rot­terdam, is the Bomb Quay, which lies parallel with the Maese. On one side it is open to the river, and the other is ornamented with a grand facade of the best houses in the city, inhabited chiefly by the English. They are five or six stories high, massy, and very clum­sy. Wherever there is any attempt at ornament, it is the worst that can be conceived. One sees no Gre­cian architecture, except Doric entablatures, stuck up­on the top of the upper story, without pilasters; Ionic volutes, turned often the wrong way, and an attempt at Corinthian capitals, without any other part of the or­der. The doors are large, and stuck with great knobs and clumsy carving. You ascend to them, not in front, but by three or four steps going up on each side, and you are assisted by iron rails of a most immense thick­ness. These houses are almost all window, and the window shutters and frames being painted green, the [Page 136] glass has all a green cast, which is helped by the re­flection from the trees that over-shadow their houses, which, were it not for this circumstance, would be in­tolerably hot, from their vicinity to the canals. Most of the houses have looking-glasses placed on the outsides, of the windows, on both sides, in order that they may see every thing which passes up and down the street. The stair-cases are narrow, steep, and come down al­most to the door. The Bomb Quay is so broad, that there are distinct walks for carriages and foot passen­gers, lined and shaded with a double row of trees. You look over the river on some beautiful meadows, and a fine avenue of trees, which leads to the Pest-house. It seems to be an elegant building, and the trees round it are so disposed as to appear a thick wood.

This street is at least half a mile in length, and ex­tends from the Old to the New Head, the two places where the water enters to fill the canals of this extensive city. I must observe, that when water runs through a street, it then assumes the name of a canal, of which kind the Heerenfleet has the pre-eminence. The hous­es are of free-stone, and very lofty; the canal is spa­cious, and covered with ships. At one end stands the English church, a neat pretty building, of which the bishop of London is Ordinary.

Upon the Great Bridge, in the Grand Market-place, is the statue of that wonderful man Era [...]us. It is [Page 137] bigger than the life, in brass, and clad in a Doctor's gown. He was born in 1467, and died at Friburg in Alsace, in the year 1536.

Near to the market place is the great church of St. Laurence. From the tower I had as extensive a view as my eye could command, there being neither hill nor wood to interrupt my sight. I saw Delft and the Hague to the north; Dort, to the south; Brill, to the west; Amsterdam, to the east, and Utrecht lies off to the south-east.

There are four churches in Rotterdam of the estab­lished religion, which is Calvinism, and twelve clergy­men to attend them, whose stipends are one hundred and seventy pounds per au [...]um each, which is paid out of the revenues of the city. St. Laurence is like all o­ther Dutch churches, divested of ornament; gloomy and dark, by reason of the numberless atchievements; which are hung every where round the walls, and which are in general of black velvet, with the arms blazon­ed, encompassed in a heavy black frame.

I look on the exchange, which was finished in 1736, to be the finest building in Rotterdam. It is a quad­rangle of free-stone, with a light cloister. It is much neater, though not so large as our Royal Exchange. There is, however, no merit in the architecture.

We last night hired a coach, which is fixed at a guil­der an hour, to take us to Delfts-Hagen, a little village [Page 138] about half an hour's distance. The road was very pleasant, being planted on each side with trees. There was nothing sufficiently curious in the place itself to drag us from Rotterdam; but it being a public fair, we wished to see the humours of a Dutch Wake. Chil­dren's toys and womens slippers seemed to make the chief figure, there being little else to be fold.

We followed the sound of a fiddle into a little ale­house, and walked up stairs into a room full of peas­ants and tobacco. There were four girls jumping a­bout which they called dancing, and thirty or forty men sitting round with their pipes and tabacco, admi­ring the activity of the nymphs, and rolling out such clouds of smoke, that we were soon obliged to with­draw to avoid suffocation. From thence we went to a barn to see a Dutch tragedy and farce. Two of the actresses were tolerably pretty. But Dutch, even from the mouth of beauty, would be an antidote to love.

Leaving Rotterdam, we went to Delft in the treck­schuyte, and walked through the town to the Hague­gate, where we found the boat just ready to push off. The canal from thence to Ryswick is skirted with rows of elms. Instead of going on to the Hague, we got out at the bridge, and walked down to the village, at about half a mile's distance. The palace is old, unre­paired and unfurnished; famous only for the peace [Page 139] made there, so advantageous to the Dutch, by the con­federate powers of Europe, with Lewis XIV. in 1697. The Prince now and then comes there for half an hour, and amuses himself with coursing hares in the court yard, which is within a wall about fifty yards square. A very princely recreation!

We dined at the Strack-huis, and met with a com­fortable repast, which we little expected in such a place. In the cool of the evening we walked to the Hague, at the distance of two short miles, under the shade of a row of elms.

The Hague in French, la Haye, the Hedge, is only a village, not being walled, nor sending deputies to the states. Nevertheless, it is the residence of all the for­eign ambassadors, the seat of government, and, with­out dispute, the most beautiful place on earth. On the south side lies Delft, on the north the house in the Wood, Scheveling, and the sea to the west, and the great canal to Leyden on the east.

The Hague is totally surrounded with a canal, over which are many bridges, and a row of lofty trees bor­ders the water's edge. The streets are so spacious, and so much adorned with trees and water, that you can scarce conceive yourself in a town; and there are so many squares and public places laid out in shady walks, and surrounded with such magnificent buildings, that it beggars all description.

[Page 140] I will mention two or three of the most striking parts of the Hague, among which I think the Vyverburg has the pre-eminence. It is a kind of square, consist­ing of several shady walks; on one side, a row of mag­nificent houses; on the other, the Vyver, which is a large bason of water faced with stone, two hundred yards in length, and near one hundred in breadth. In the centre of it is an island planted with trees. One end of the Vyverburg opens to the Voor-hout, which is a large plantation of trees, in the Middle of which is the Mall, railed in on both sides. It is strewed with shells, as are all the walks in Holland, there being neither stone nor gravel in the whole country. The walks are consequently unpleasant, as the shells never bind, but crumble into dust, and feel like loose sand under your feet.

The New Princess Graft is a row of palaces, rather than of houses, which front the wood, from which they are divided by a broad pavement and a canal. Casuari­street is adjoining, in which is the French Play-house, a neat little theatre. We were at the Comedy on Fri­day evening. The actors were tolerably good.

I must not omit mentioning the Prince Graft, which is half a mile in length, proportionably broad, and per­fectly straight, with a canal shaded with trees, running through the midst of it, over which are thrown many fine stone bridges, with iron rails on them.

[Page 141] One of the greatest curiosities in the Hague, is the Prince's cabinet, which is open at twelve o'clock on Fridays, and accessible to all strangers, who previously send their names. This house was purchased of the Countess of Albemarle, faces the Vyver, and is situat­ed at the corner of the Outer Court, where the horse­guards parade.

In the first room you see a small, but most excellent collection of Chinese swords, knives, and other instru­ments in gold, richly inlaid with precious stones; and ear-rings, bracelets, and much female ornament and apparel. In the next apartment is a good collection of shells, among which the Concha Veneris did not es­cape my notice; the shape being entirely analagous to the name.

In the third room is a brilliant show of precious stones, fossils, minerals, and petrifactions. The fourth apartment is filled with various kinds of serpents and small animals; and the last room is ornamented with a large collection of birds extremely well preserved.

These are the best part of the Cabinet, and there are many rare species among them; but the collection is now eclipsed by that which has been since collected by Sir Ashton Lever, and is now exhibited at London by Mr. Parkinson.

The disposition and neatness of the whole is admira­ble, and well worthy of a stranger's attention.

[Page 142] The palace of the stadtholder is situated in the center of the town, surrounded by a moat. Its external ap­pearance is not very striking, being an old irregular building; but a finer collection of pictures by the Dutch and Flemish masters I have never seen; espe­cially in a little room called the Study, filled by the most capital painters.

The Virgin, with the blessed Infant in her arms, by Raphael; Adam and Eve in Paradise, surrounded with birds and beasts, by Brughel; Portraits, by Rembrandt, Vandyke, and Hans Holbein. A Dutch kitchen full of game, fish, and flesh, most admirably done, by Ten­iers. Many landscapes and fancy pieces, by Gabriel Metzu, Jan-Steen, Potter, and Wouvermans. I look on this room to be complete. There is not a picture, but may be dwelt on with delight.

In the other apartments among many fine pieces, you will find a very large one by Potter, painted in 1647. The design is a peasant looking at his cattle. The flies on the cows seem alive, and a toad sitting on the grass has equal excellence.

Abraham sacrificing Isaac, in ivory, is inimitably carved.

There are some fruit and game pieces by Weeninx, well done; and some excellent pieces on copper, by Rothenamer.

At a church near the Hague we saw many storks walking about as tame as our turkies. They are some. [Page 143] what in shape like a heron. Their colour is white, and their wings are tipped with black. They live upon the offal of the fish-market, which is near the church. I have seen numbers of them in the meadows, though they are esteemed birds of passage, and in autumn they are not very common. The vul­gar error is, that these birds are so fond of liberty, that they will live only in a republic. I am sure, in point of policy, they cannot live in a more desirable country, as they have fish and frogs in abundance for their food, and the utmost security for themselves, it being deem­ed a crime to mal-treat or kill them.

SECT. LXXVIII. OF LEYDEN.

WE went in the treckschuyte to Leyden with a Dutch General we had lived with at the Table d'Hote at the Hague. The distance was only ten miles; but the whole canal being edged with summer-houses and gardens belonging to the inhabitants of those towns, who in the summer retire to these little boxes, made the scene appear most beautiful, and the distance nothing.

[Page 144] When we arrived at the inn we were recommended to, we found it filled by the French Ambassador and his train; and for want of an interpreter we wandered about the town till it was dark, and met with two or three disagreeable circumstances, which made me la­ment my ignorance of the Dutch language; but at length we found the Golden Ball, an English house, and with my wants vanished my desire of talking Dutch.

Leyden is esteemed, in point of size, the second ci­ty in Holland, but its trade is now inconsiderable, which in the woollen manufactory was formerly very extensive. The city is surrounded with a rampart and a wide canal. The most elegant street is the Broad­street, which runs from the Hague-gate to the Utrecht­gate. It is a little on the curve, which adds, I think, much to its beauty. The pavement is extremely fine, and the street rises in the center like the new paved streets in London. It is very spacious, as indeed are most of the streets in Leyden.

Among the canals the Rapinbury is the most beautiful. The houses are magnificent; the bridges stone, with iron rails; and there are trees on each side of the canal. It is said that there are 145 bridges, and 180 streets in the city of Leyden. The Old Rhine runs through this town, and loses itself in the little village of Catwick, which lies in the neighbourhood.

The university is the most renowned of the five [Page 145] which are in the United Provinces, ^* and is the most ancient, being founded in 1575, by the States as a re­ward to the inhabitants for defending themselves a­gainst the Spaniards during a six mo [...]ths siege, in which they suffered all the horrors of war, and extremities of famine.

The Academy abounds with many curiosities. It is there the professors read lectures to the students who lodge in the town, and are not distinguished by any academical habit. It is there that the learned Scaliger, Lipsius, Salmasius, and Boerhaave gained so much re­putation by their lectures, and brought students from all parts of Europe to attend them.

The Botanic Garden has always been one of the most respectable in Europe, both on account of the famous professors who have presided over it, and the number of curious exotics growing in it as may be seen in Boerhaave's and Van Royen's catalogues. It is nicely arranged, and kept in excellent order.

On one side of these gardens is a very curious col­lection of antique marbles, given by Gerard Papen­brochius, a burgo-master of Amsterdam. I cannot o­mit [Page 146] mentioning the statues of Hercules, of Bacchus leaning on a fawn, attended by a tyger, of an Abun­dantia as big as the life, and of a naked Apollo; all which have especial merit.

Adjoining to the statues is the Natural Philosophy School, in which lectures are read. You will find in it a good collection of natural curiosities; some very fine petrifactions; in particular, a piece of oak, one side of which has been polished, and vies both in hardness and colour with an agate. Some curious pieces of crystal, formed by nature to an apex, with six angles, as exact and as finely polished as if the production of art. A fish called the Medusa's Head, from a thousand little fibres darting out from its body in a circle like twisted rays. This, in itself, is very curious; but the exact representation of it in a natural agate, is much more so.

But I think one of the greatest curiosities is the asbes­tos from Transylvania. It is a stone with a soft down on it like velvet, of a dove colour. Of this is made both paper and linen; we saw samples of both. The very peculiar property of it is, that fire has no effect on it, for it still continues its form unchanged and un­consumed.

Among the beasts was an ermine, about the size and shape of a weasel. This little animal is so fearful of [Page 147] dirtying its skin, that it would sooner lose its liberty than its cleanliness.

There was a kind of toad which brings forth its young from its back. On observing it, we perceived infinite numbers of young toads adhering to the back, which appeared like the broken scales of a fish.

The toad-fish from America is an extraordinary crea­ture. It is for the first six months a toad, then changes by degrees into a fish. This had half completed its transformation, having the tail of a fish, with the head and fore parts of a toad.

The Penna Marina belongs to the animal species. It is the production of the ocean, looks like a plant, and is nothing more than a stem of about two inches long with a kind of feather at the end of it, not unlike a quill with part of the feathers cut off.

Among the feathered race, the most curious was the Hydracorax Indicus; the only one in Europe; larger than a turkey—black—"Rostro unicorni, cornu, re­curvo,"—if I may express myself in the technical terms of Ornithology.

There was an immense beast, called the Hippopota­mus, as large as an elephant, its colour black, with a row of grinders in the interior part of its mouth, be­sides a good number in front.

SECT. LXXIX. OF AMSTERDAM.

AMSTERDAM is situated on the river Amstel, and an arm of the sea called the Y, at the mouth of the Zuyder Sea, and is built in the form of a crescent. It is fortified with a fosse of great depth and width, with a rampart of earth faced with brick, strengthened with twenty-six bastions, in each of which stands a wind­mill, ornamented with eight magnificent gates of free­stone, built either in a semi-circular or octagonal shape. In all the chief streets are canals shaded with trees, the grandest of which is the Heere-grast, or canal of Lords. This is the place of residence for the bankers and chief merchants; for here every one is in trade. The few nobles of Holland reside always at the Hague. Those streets in which there are no canals, are vilely narrow. The Ness, in which we live, I had the curiosity to mea­sure, and it is only sixteen feet wide. The houses are lofty, and the bridges are chiefly of stone.

The squares are neither spacious nor elegant. The dam is the largest, in which the stadt-house is situated; but it is irregular, and vi [...]ely disfigured by a weighing house. The others no more deserve the name of squares, than Clare-market or Palace yard, Westminster.

This populous city contained 26,035 houses in 1732, [Page 149] and is supposed, according to the best calculation, to contain at present 250,000 inhabitants, though it was at the beginning of the thirteenth century, an inconsid­erable fishing village on the edge of a morass, which is now covered with buildings, erected upon piles of tim­ber, driven into the earth, at immense labour and ex­pence. For the foundation only of one tower, 6000 trees were rammed into the ground. Notwithstand­ing these precautions, the magistrates are so apprehen­sive of the foundations, that very few coaches are li­censed. The carriages in general are fixed on sledges, drown by one horse, the driver attending on foot.

There are fifteen churches of the established, that is, the Calvinistic religion, which are served by thirty mi­nisters, equal in authority and revenue. They are al­lowed two hundred and forty pounds per annum each, which is paid by the city.

The most stupendous undertaking in this city is the Stadt house, which you enter by seven small gates par­allel to each other, instead of one magnificent portal, equal to a front, which extends itself 282 feet, whose heighth is 116, and the breadth 232 feet. The build­ing is of stone, with pillars of the Corinthian order. It is erected on 13,659 piles of timber, and was finished in 1655. On the top is a statue of Alas in brass, bear­ing on his shoulders a copper globe, said to be larger than that of St. Peter's at Rome; and on the center is a cupola, from whence is an extensive view of the city [Page 150] and its environs. The piles cost 100,000l. The whole expence was computed at two millions. Ver­sailles cost only 800,000l; the Escurial, one million; and St. Paul's, one million five hundred thousand pounds. It is upon record, that St. Peter's at Rome, with all that is contained in it, has cost near thirteen millions sterling.

The cornices of the rooms are finely carved, the floors laid with marble, and the sides of the apartments [...]ined either with marble or valuable paintings. Over the doors and chimney-pieces are several historical pieces in basso relievo, inimitably executed in Italian marble. And there are some deceptions in a kind of grey painting, to imitate basso relievo, (especially of some children) by De-Wit, so finely touched, that the most critical eye at half the distance of the room would be deceived.

A large piece, by Vanderhelst, is deservedly esteem­ed. It is a feast given to the Spanish Ambassador by the burgo-masters of Amsterdam, on the making peace between the two countries in 1648. But the best piece is by Vandyke, which represents an enter­tainment, where you see the portraits of all the con­siderable persons of the city. An old grey haired man is so much admired in this wonderful picture, that seven thousand guilders were offered to cut out the head.

[Page 151] The Stadt-house is admirably contrived for public utility. Here is the bank, supposed to be the richest in Europe; here are the courts of justice, the prisons for criminals and debtors, the chambers of the Senate, the Treasury, the magazine of arms, and in short, all the public offices, with eight large cisterns of water on the top, with pipes to every room to extinguish fires. The citizens hall is the grandest, being one hundred and twenty feet by fifty-seven, and ninety feet high: It is paved with marble, in which are stained the ter­restrial and celestial globes. The sides, the roof, and the pillars, are all of marble; but there always is some­thing wanting;—there is not light enough to ad­mire with accuracy the wonderful magnificence of this apartment.

From the Stadt-house you cross the Dam to the Ex­change, which is not to be compared with that of Rot­terdam in beauty, nor to our Royal Exchange in size. The building is of brick, and at full change, if appear­ances may be relied on, was crowded with the most blackguard fellows on the face of the earth. In the afternoon I paid a second visit to the Exchange, to see the city militia perform their exercise; to which every man is subject, unless he makes a pecuniary compensa­tion. Those, therefore, who from their poverty can­not, or from their avarice, will not pay the fine, are o­bliged to serve. Here penury and parsimony were [Page 152] collected together in such various habits (for they have no regular uniform) as to make the most ludicrous group imagination can suggest. A giant and a dwarf, a Falstaff and a slender, a bob wig and shock head of hair, in coats of all the colours of the rainbow, joined most heterogeneously together to form a rank, in which every man followed his own invention, in as many dif­ferent attitudes and manoeuvres, as there were men to make them.

In the evening we went to the theatre, which, like all playhouses, our own excepted, is dark, long, and small. The pit is excellent, having seats with low backs, and marked with numbers, to distinguish the sea [...] of each person, by which, both crowding and dis­putes are prevented. This is the only house I ever saw abroad, in which there are seats in the pit, or parterre, as it is called. It is under the contro [...]l and direction of the city. The magistrates receive the money, defray the charges, and pay the actors. The residue is appli­ed to the maintenance of the poor, and to the support of the different hospitals.

Every rope dancer, puppet-player, as well as all oth­ers who pretend to entertain the public, are obliged to contribute one third of their profits towards the main­tenance of the poor.

On Friday we looked into the Rasp house, which is a prison for criminals, as well as for children who [Page 153] are profligate or disobedient. The former are confin­ed in a small room, chained to a block, and spend their whole time in fawing or rasping Brazil wood, or in other work equally laborious. I was shocked at the sight of so many of my species, naked to the waist, worn out with labour, pale with confinement, and emaciated by want. Yet how much wiser this method than the English law, which, for thirteen pence deprives a man of his life, and the king of a subject, whom the Dutch show us may be made useful to the public.

From thence we went to the Spin-house, for the correction, but not, I think, for the amendment of loose women, as every one is permitted to see and con­verse with them through the rails, which can only har­den them in impudence. We walked into the New Church to see a burial. In this nation of industry, time is too precious to be complimented away on the dead, who can make them no return; therefore the ceremony of prayers is laid aside as superfluous. The coffin is instantly put into the grave, which is imme­diately filled up. The relations bow, and return to their avocations. The organ in this church is inferi­or only to the organ at Harlem. The partition which divides the chancel from the nave, is of Corinthian brass. The sounding board over the pulpit is justly admired for the inimitable carving with which it is or­namented. From thence we proceeded to the Admi­ralty [Page 154] and Dock-yard, which are situated at the extrem­ity of the quay. The Admiralty forms three sides of a square, in the middle of which is the yard for build­ing of the men of war; the fourth side is open to the water. Here is not an appearance to be feared by the English, though much to be admired for the excellent order in which the arms and stores are disposed.

Among the number of hospitals in this city, the Gast-house for the sick is the most worthy a stranger's visiting. It is an elegant stone quadrangle, at the end of which are some neat little shops for toys, lace, &c. The revenue of this hospital is computed at eight thousand pounds sterling a year, which is a large sum; but the General hospital for men at Madrid, contains one thousand five hundred iron beds, and its revenue amounts to forty thousand doubloons; about thirty thousand pounds sterling.

There is an hospital where all poor travellers with­out distinction are lodged and entertained for three nights and no longer.

It is computed that twenty thousand souls are main­tained in the different hospitals, which are either en­dowed or supported out of the public revenue, assisted by the contributions of the charitable: for which purpose, men belonging to the hospitals go twice a week to every house begging for alms.

On Saturday morning we went to the Portuguese [Page 155] Synagogue; which is a large spacious building filled with a numerous congregation. The women sit togeth­er in a gallery, with lattices before them. The men sit below on benches with tawlises ^* on, which they throw over their shoulders; and I declare, at first sight, I took the whole assembly to be old-clothes men, with their bags over their arms.

There are some regulations in the police of Amster­dam, which would be well worthy of imitation in London. You never meet a watchman alone; two al­ways walk together, by which means they add strength as well as give courage to each other. Many a house is broke open in London, and many a sober citizen is knocked down in the presence of a watchman, who ei­ther from fear or knavery suffers the [...]illains to escape.

There is another admirable custom to prevent the spreading of fire, by giving almost an immediate alarm. On the tops of four churches, situated at four dif­ferent quarters of the city, watchmen are fixed during the night, who are obliged to sound a trumpet every half hour, as a signal of their being awake and on their duty. On the breaking out of a fire they ring the a­larm bell, which calls their brethren to the spot in a moment. Of what service would a plan something similar to this be in our metropolis!

[Page 156] There are few general conveniences which carry not a mischief along with them. Canals, for instance, are great ornaments to the streets, and of infinite use to the inhabitants; but the mischief is, that many an honest man looses his life in Amsterdam, who in Lon­don would only lose his money; for the villains first rob him, and then push him into the canal, to prevent his telling tales; thus charitably easing him of his mo­ney, lest the weight of it should sink him.

I must not omit mentioning the neatness of the peo­ple; but in this they have no merit: for the neat­ness of their houses and cleanliness of their towns pro­ceed from necessity. Such is the moisture of the air, that were it not for these customs, pestilential diseases would be the consequence, which, careful as they are, now often happen. This perpetual dampness in the atmosphere rusts metals and moulds wood, which obliges the inhabitants, not from a principle of neatness, but of oeconomy, by scouring the one and painting the other, to seek a prevention or a cure. Hence arises the neatness, which by people who judge only by ap­pearances is called natural; but indeed most national customs are the effects of unobserved causes and ne­cessities. In this country the mind is perpetually struck with wonder and admiration. If mathemati­cians are to be credited, on the measure of the two ele­ments, they found the sea even in a calm, above half [Page 157] a foot higher than the land. The waves are checked by an infinity of sand-hills, which lie along the coast. Add to this natural defence, a dyke of twenty feet high, twenty-five feet broad at the bottom, and about ten at top, running parallel to the high-water mark. This is made of clay, strengthened towards the land with planks and stone, towards the water with rushes, sea-weeds, and flags staked down, which give way to the force of the waves, and resume their place again, when they retire. Goldsmith has drawn a very ele­gant picture of this country in his admirable poem of the Traveller.

It is wonderful, that in a country without a stone or pebble, there should be stone edifices the most mag­nificent. Without forests, or an oak-tree (two little woods excepted) the Dutch navy is the second in the world. Without arable land, they supply half Europe with corn; and with a tract of country, scarce larger than an English county, they can raise men and money to make themselves of importance in the eyes of the first power in Christendom.

[Page 158] Facts so extraordinary require explanation. Let it then be remembered, that this state was founded on Liberty and Religion; was reared by Industry and OEconomy, and has flourished by its situation and com­merce. The bigotted maxims of Philip II, the intro­duction of the inquisition, and the erecting of four­teen new bishopricks in the Low Countries, the unre­lenting rigour of the Cardinal Granville, and the suc­ceeding cruelty of the Duke of Alvah, together with the Council of Twelve, called the council of Blood, and the execution of Count Egmont and Horn, were the causes which drove the people to shake off the yoke, and gave rise to the union of Utrecht. Perse­vering valour, joined to the political assistance of oth­er powers, has been the means of their preserving their independence, while the decline of the Venetian navy has made them the common carriers of Europe, and the wars in Flanders and situation of Holland have con­spired to render Amsterdam the seat of universal com­merce.

Till the beginning of the sixteenth century, Venice by its shipping, and Florence by its manufactories, pos­sessed the whole trade of Europe, Persia, and the Indies; but the discovery of a passage to the East, by the Cape of Good-Hope, and the settlements of the Portuguese in India, proved fatal to the republic of Venice. Lis­bon then became the staple of the trade to the East-In­dies, [Page 159] and the Easterlings who inhabited the Hans Towns were the great merchants of the North.—They brought commerce first to Bruges, and from thence to Antwerp, which the revolt of the Netherlands drew afterwards to Holland. The Dutch likewise, by their success a­gainst the Portuguese in India, and by their treaties with the natives, in process of time drew the whole trade of India from Lisbon.

Their country is most admirably situated for the trade of the Baltic, which includes Norway, Denmark, Sweden, Russia, Poland, and the North coast of Ger­many, while they send merchandize into the interior parts of the Empire and the Austrian Netherlands, by the Rhine, Maese, and Scheld. It must likewise be considered, that each town values itself upon some par­ticular branch of trade, by which it is improved to the utmost: as for instance, Delft, for the Dutch porce­lain, Sardam for ship building; Rotterdam for the Scotch and English trade; Amsterdam for that of the Streights, Spain, and the East-Indies; and the whole province for the Herring Fishery, which supplies the southern parts of Europe. Thus the greatness of this country has arisen from a wonderful concurrence of circumstances; from a long course of time; from the confluence of strangers, driven either by persecution, or invited by the credit of their government; from the cheapness of carriage by the convenience of the [Page 160] canals; from the low interest of money and dearness of land, which consequently turn specie into trade; from particular traffic carried on at particular places; from their intense application to their navy; from the vast nurseries for their sailors, and from their amazing acquisitions in the East-Indies. All these circumstan­ces have conspired to make this little republic the en­vy and admiration of the world.

SECT. LXXX. A SINGULAR HEAD-DRESS—A SINGULAR CUSTOM—SIR WILLIAM TEMPLE'S OPINION OF HOLLAND.

THE head-dress of the women in North Holland is very extraordinary. They have a little hair cut short and thin, which is combed down on the forehead and powdered. The cap sticks close to their ears, under which are two little pieces of silver or gold which ap­pear at each temple, and a large piece like a broad rib­bon is under the cap on the back part of the head.

A singular custom is likewise retained in this coun­try of having a door in every house, which is never o­pened but when a corpse is carried out, which must be [Page 161] brought through that door, and no other. I think there is something uncommonly solemn in it; and such a door in every house would be an admirable memen­to to the family.

Having made the tour of the whole Province of Holland, and suffered nothing curious to escape me, my head, at present, is a confused medley of dykes and pictures, churches and canals, bridges and stadthouses, but a void in respect to the customs, police, and man­ners of the people, the only useful knowledge to be ac­quired by travelling.

I have seen enough to confirm me in the justness of Sir William Temple's opinion, who, in speaking of Holland, if my memory misleads me not, says, "That it is a country where the earth is better than the air, and profit more in request than honour; where there is more sense than wit, more good-nature than good-humour, and more wealth than pleasure; where a man would chuse rather to travel than to live; shall find more things to observe than desire; and more per­sons to esteem than to love."

SECT. LXXXI. OF ANTWERP AND BRUSSELS.

THE approach to the city of Antwerp is noble, by a straight paved road bordered with oaks. It is the capital of the province whose name it bears, belonging to the Austrian Netherlands, and under the dominion of the Emperor. It is situated on the eastern shore of the Scheld, a noble river, twenty feet deep at low wa­ter; so that ships of great burden may unload upon the quays, or enter the town by eight canals, which com­municate with the river, some of which are large enough to contain an hundred ships at the same time.

The city is much decayed from its ancient grandeur though it still remains a beautiful place. It is built in the form of a cresent, about seven miles in circumfer­ence, surrounded with a wall and bastions faced with stone. The top of the wall is an hundred feet broad, with a double row of trees, between which is a most a­greeable walk. The streets are well paved, very spa­cious and uniform. The houses in general are seven or eight stories high, but old, and in that miserable style of building which disgraces the towns in Holland. At the distance of a quarter of a mile is the citadel, built by the Duke of Alva, to keep the city in sub­jection. It stands on the banks of the Scheld, and [Page 163] commands at once the river, the city, and the adjacent country. It is built in a pentagonal form, with five bastions, which defend each other, surrounded with double ditches.

To this citadel is only one entrance, which is over a draw-bridge. It is about a mile in circumference, and well supplied with arms, amunition, and all war­like stores, with barracks for three thousand men. This fortress has been of such repute for strength and regu­larity, that it has been a model for subsequent engi­neers; notwithstanding which the French in 1746 took it in seven days.

The trade of Antwerp is now confined to very nar­row limits, though so late as the middle of the sixteenth century, there were two hundred thousand [...] two thousand five hundred ships lying often in the riv­er at a time; and it was far from unfrequent for five hundred vessels to come in or go out of the harbour in a day.

The trade of Antwerp in the year 1550, if the an­nals of their city can be relied on, amounted to one hundred and thirty-three millions of gold, without in­cluding the bank.

As an instance of the amazing opulence of the mer­chants, there is a story upon record, of John Daens, a merchant, who lent a million of gold to Charles V. to carry on his wars in Hungary. The Emperor on his [Page 164] return dined with the merchant, who gave him a most sumptuous entertainment, and at the close of it burnt the contract by which the emperor was bound to pay him a million of gold, in a fire of cinnamon, which was the only fire during the repast.

The rise of their trade was as rapid as the decline, and both proceeded from the same causes. At the be­ginning of the sixteenth century Bruges was the mart of Europe; but the war at that time breaking out in Flanders, the merchants with-drew from Bruges, and were invited to Antwerp, as a place of greater safety, whose situation was happily calculated for commerce. But this did not last long, for the civil wars breaking [...] in the Low Countries, and Antwerp having twice been sacked, drove trade to seek a more peaceful re­fuge in Amsterdam.

The established religion is the Catholic; the lan­guage Low Dutch! but a bastard kind of French is spoken by most of the inhabitants.

We have been so fortunate as to see a grand proces­sion in honour of St. Rocque. The whole Mer, the most magnificent street in Antwerp, was illuminated with torches, and many hundred people in procession with flambeaux, followed by the Virgin Mary, pre­cious relicks, the Host, and an infinity of such kind of [Page 165] trumpery, amidst the chorus of voices, serpents, ^* and trumpets.

The whole road from Antwerp to Brussels is delight­ful. Brussels is the capital of Brabant and of all the Austrian Netherlands. It is the residence of the Gov­ernor-General of the Low Countries. It is twenty-four miles south of Antwerp, and thirty south-east of Ghent, situated on the Senne, an inconsiderable river. The scite of this city resembles Guildford, being built on the brow of a hill. Its figure is oval, about four miles in circumference, surrounded with a wall and tolerably fortified. The Low Town has the benefit of canals, which admit boats of cosiderable burden.

The upper town is magnificent, and has lately been much improved by new buildings, and by inclosing a piece of waist ground, planting it, and laying it out in walks.

The arsenal stands on the top of the street called Montagne à la Cour. There is some old armour in it of neither curiosity nor use; except an iron shield, which no sword can pierce, and a steel shield so finely engraved that the figures seem reflected from the po­lish, not to be etched in the steel. The nicest touch [Page 166] cannot perceive the least scratch; notwithstanding which the figures appear to be strongly marked, when the shield is held obliquely.

Just below the arsenal is the Palace of the gover­nor of the Austrian Netherlands. The present palace is not more than half finished. There was upon this spot an old one, which was bought of the Prince of Orange, at the time the grand palace was burnt, in which was a most capital collection of pictures, espe­cially of Rubens's, which with many valuable curio­sities perished in the flames.

The staircase of the present palace is very magnifi­cent. The steps are of marble, and the balustrade of iron, gilt, and adorned with compartments of birds and beasts, nicely executed in polished steel by Trieste. The ceiling is painted of Fresco.

The apartment of the Princess is hung with the Brussels tapestry, which is brought to great perfection. The floors are all inlaid with mahogany and box. The Princess's cabinet is much admired, being covered throughout with the finest Japan. The late Prince was a great mechanic, and had a cabinet of curiosities tri­fling enough, among which were two boxes, contain­ing all the common trades in miniature.

SECT. LXXXII. OF BARCELONA IN SPAIN.

THIS city is a sweet spot. The air equals in pu­rity, and much excels in mildness, the boasted climate of Montpelier. Except in the dog-days, you may have green pease all the year round. The situation is beautiful, appearance both from land and sea remark­ably picturesque. A Great extent of fruitful plains, bounded by an amphitheatre of hills, backs it on the west side; the mountain of Montjuich defends it on the south from the unwholesome winds that blow over the mashes at the mouth of the Llobregat; to the north­ward, the coast projecting into the sea forms a noble bay; it has the Mediterranean to close the prospect to the east. The environs are in a state of high culti­vation, studded with villages, country houses, and gar­dens.

The form of Barcelona is almost circular, the Ro­man town being on the highest ground in the center of the new one. The ancient walls are still visible in several places; but the sea has retired many hundreds of yards from the portgates. One of the principal Gothic churches, and a whole quarter of the city, stand upon the sands that were once the bottom of the har­bour. The immense loads of sand hurried down into [Page 168] the sea by the rivers, and thrown back by wind and current into this haven, will in all probability, choak it quite up, unless greater diligence be used in prevent­ing the gathering of the shoals. A southerly wind brings in the sand, and already a deep-loaded vessel finds its dangerous to pass over the bar. Some years a­go a company of Dutch and English adventurers offered to bring the river into the port by means of a canal, if government would allow them a free importation for ten years. This project might have cleared away the sand-banks, but might also have given a fatal check to the infant manufactures of the country; for which rea­son the proposal was rejected. The port is handsome; the mole is all of hewn stone, a master-piece of solidity and convenience. Above is a platform for carriages; below, vast magazines, with a broad key reaching from the city gates to the light house. This was done by the orders of the late Marquis de La Mina, captain-general of the principality, where his memory is held in greater veneration than at the court of Mad­rid. He governed Catalonia many years, more like an independant sovereign, than like a subject invested with a delegated authority. Great are the obligations Bar­celona has to him. He cleansed and beautified its streets, built useful edifices, and forwarded its trade and manufactures, without much extraordinary ex­pence to the province; for he had more resources, and [Page 169] made money go father than most other governors can do, or indeed wish to do.

The citadel has six strong bastions, calculated to o­verawe the inhabitants, at least as much as to defend them from a foreign enemy. The lowness of its situ­ation renders it damp, unwholesome, and swarming with musquitos. The major of this fortress owes his promotion to a singular circumstance. When the present king arrived at Madrid in 1759, a magnificent bull-feast was given in honour of that event. As it is necessary, upon such occasions, that those who fight on horseback should be gentlemen born, the mana­gers of the exhibition were greatly at a loss; till this man, who was a poor, starving officer, presented him­self, though utterly ignorant both of bull-fighting and horsemanship. By dint of resolution, and the particu­lar favour of fortune, he kept his seat, and performed his part so much to the public satisfaction that he was rewarded with a pension and a majority.

The streets of Barcelona are narrow but well paved. A covered drain in the middle of each street carries off the filth and rain water. At night they are tolerably well lighted up, but long before day-break every lamp is out. The houses are lofty and plain. To each kind of trade a particular district is allotted.

Catalonia, of which Barcelona is the capital, is al­most throughout extremely mountainous. The nature [Page 170] of the country appears to have great influence on that of the inhabitants, who are a hardy, active, and indus­trious race, of a middle size, brown complexion, and strong features; their limbs well knit together, and by education and practice well inured to the greatest fa­tigues. There are few lame or distorted persons, or beg­gars, to be met with among them. Their mocos or mule­boys are stout walkers. Some of them have been known to go from Barcelona to Madrid and back again, in nine days, which by the high road is six hundred miles.

The loss of all the immunities, the ignominious prohibition of every weapon, even a knife, and an e­normous load of taxes, have not been able to stifle their independent spirit, which brakes out upon the least stretch of arbitrary power. Within these few years, many of their ancient privileges have been gradually re­stored; and this is at present one of the most flourish­ing provinces of Spain. Their taxation is still very high. All trade is assessed according to the business you are supposed to transact in the course of the year; without regard to your loss or gain.

Amongst other restrictions, the use of slouched hats, white shoes, and large brown cloaks is forbidden. Till of late, they durst not carry any kind of knife; but in each public house there was one chained to the table for the use of all comers. The good order maintained [Page 171] by the police, and the vigilance of the thief-takers, sup­ply the place of defensive weapons, robberies and mur­ders being seldom heard of. You may walk the streets of Barcelona at all hours unarmed, without the least apprehension, provided you have light; without it you are liable to be carried to prison by the patrol.

The Catalonians cannot brook the thought of being menial servants in their own country, but will rather trudge it all over with a pedlar's pack on their shoul­ders, or run about upon errands, than be the head do­mestic in a Catalonian family. Far from home they make excellent servants, and most of the principal houses of Madrid have Catalonians at the head of their affairs.

They are the general muleteers and calessieros of Spain. You meet with them in every part of the kingdom. Their honesty, steadiness and sobriety, en­title them to the confidence of travellers, and their thirst after lucre makes them bear with any hardships. With good words you will always find them docile, but they cannot bear hard usuage or approbrious lan­guage.

Those that remain at home for the labours of the field, are exceedingly industrious. Their corn-harvest is in May or early in June; but, as these crops are lia­ble to frequent burstings and mildews, they have turn­ed their attention more to the vine, which they plant [Page 172] even to the summits of their most rugged mountains. In many places they carry up earth to fix the young set in; and in others have been known to let one a­nother down from the brow of the rock by ropes, rath­er than suffer a good patch of soil to remain useless. Their vintages are commonly very plentiful. This au­tumn, there was such a super abundance of grapes in the valley of Talarn, in the neighbourhood of Pallas, that whole vineyards were left untouched for want of vessels to make or hold the wine in. Notice was pasted upon the church-doors, that any one was at liberty to take away any quantity he pleased, on paying a small acknowledgement to the proprietors. The best red wine of Catalonia is made at Mataro, north of Barce­lona, and the best white at Sitges, between that city and Tarragona.

The scarcity of corn is sometimes very great, the principality not producing above five months provision. Without the importation from America, Sicily, and the north of Europe, it would run the risk of being famished. From four hundred thousand to six hundred thousand quarters of wheat are annually imported. Canada a­lone sent this year about eighty thousand quarters. There are public ovens, where the bakers are bound by contract to bake every day into bread one thou­sand bushels of flour, or more, at a stated price, and in case the other bakers should refuse to work, they are [Page 173] under the obligation of furnishing the city with bread.

The number of the inhabitants of Barcelona, is made to amount to one hundred and fifty thousand souls, and those of Barceloneta to ten thousand. But although trade and population have increased surprisingly in the course of a few years, I doubt there is some exagge­ration in this reckoning.

The great export commerce consists in wine, bran­dies, Salt, and oil, which are mostly taken in by for­eign ships at the little ports and roads along the coast, and not brought to be shipped off at the capital.

There are mines of lead, iron, and coal, in the moun­tains, but they are ill wrought, and turn to poor ac­count. The manufactures are of more importance. Barcelona supplies Spain with most of the cloathing and arms for the troops. This branch of business is carried on with much intelligence. They can equip a battalion of six hundred men completely in a week.

A great trade is driven in silk handkerchiefs and stockings; in woollens of various qualities: in silk and thread lace; in fire arms. The gun-barrels of Barcelona are much esteemed, and cost from four to twenty guineas; but about five is the real value; all above is paid for fancy and ornament. They are made out of the old shoes of mules. Several manufactures of printed linens are established here, but have not yet ar­rived [Page 174] at any great elegance of design or liveliness of co­lour.

The imports are, besides corn, about eighty thou­sand hundred weight of Newfoundland cod, which pays three persettas per hundred-weight duty, and sells upon an average at a guinea; beans from Holland for the poor people, and an inferior sort from Africa for the mules; English bale goods, and many foreign arti­cles of necessity or luxury. House-rent and living are dear; provisions but indifferent. The fish is flabby and insipid; the meat poor, but the vegetables are ex­cellent, especially brocoli and cauliflower. I believe their meet and fish are much better in summer than at this season of the year.

The devotion of the Catalonians seems to be pretty much upon a par with that of their neighbours in the southern provinces of France, and, I am told, much less ardent than we shall find it as we advance into Spain; but they still abound with strange practices of religion and local worship. One very odd idea of theirs is, that on the first of November, the eve of All-Souls, they run about from house to house to eat chesnuts, believing that for every chesnut they swallow, with pro­per faith and unction, they shall deliver a Soul out of purgatory.

The influx of foreigners, increase of commerce, and protection granted to the liberal arts begin to open the [Page 175] understanding of this people, who have made great strides of late towards sense and philosophy.

There are now but one or two churches at most in each city, that are allowed the privilege of protecting offenders; and murderers are excluded from the be­nefit of the sanctuary. The proceedings of the inquisition are grown very mild. If any person leads a scanda­lous life, or allows his tongue unwarrantable liberties, he is summoned by the holy office and privately ad­monished; in case of non-amendment, he is commit­ted to prison. Once a year you must answer to that tribunal for the orthodoxy of your family, even of eve­ry servant, or they must quit the country. But the fo­reign Protestant houses are passed over unnoticed. A­void talking on religion, and with a little discretion you may live here in what manner you please.

Every Jew that lands in Spain must declare himself to be such at the Inquisition; which immediately ap­points a familiar to attend him all the time he stays a­shore, to whom he pays a pistole a day: Were he to neglect giving this information, he would be liable to be seized. Yet I have been assured by persons of un­doubted credit, that a Jew may travel incognito from Perpignan to Lisbon, and sleep every night at the house of a Jew, being recommended from one to another; and that you may take it for granted, that wherever you see a house remarkably decked out with images, [Page 176] relics, and lamps, and the owner noted for being the most enthusiastic devotee of the parish, there it is ten to one but the family are Israelites at heart.

SECT. LXXXIII. OF THE FLOCKS ON THE PYRENEAN MOUNTAINS.

ON the 10th of July, 1787, we left Bagnere de Lu­chon, and crossed the mountains to Vielle, the first town on the Spanish side. The Pyrenees are so great an ob­ject of examination, in whatever light they are consid­ered, but especially in that of agriculture, that it would be adding a great deal too much to the length of this paper to speak of them here; I shall on another occa­sion be particular in describing the husbandry practis­ed in them, and at present stop no longer than to men­tion the pasturage of Catalonian sheep in them. By a little detour out of our direct road, and by passing Hos­pital, which is the name of a solitary wretched inn, we gained the hights, but free from snow, which the Spaniards hire of the French for the pasturage of their flocks. I must observe, that a considerable part of the [Page 177] mountains belong in property to the communities of the respective parishes, and are disposed of by what we should call the Vestry. They hire a very considera­ble range of many miles. The French mountains, on which they pasture, are four hours distant from Bagnere de Luchon, and belong to that town. Those hours are more than twenty English miles, and are the most distant part of the parish. To arrive at them we fol­lowed the river Pique, which upon the maps is some­times called the Neste. The whole way it runs in a torrent, and falls in cascades of many stories, formed either by large pieces of rock, or by trees carried down and stopped by stones. The current, in process of ages, has worn itself deep glens to pass through, at the bot­tom of which the tumbling of the water is heard, but can be seen only at breaks in the wood, which hang over and darken the scene. The road, as it is called, passes generally by the river, but hangs, if I may use the expression, like a shelf on the mountain side, and is truly dreadful to the inhabitants of plains, from being broken by gullies, and sloping on the edges of preci­pices. It is, however, passable by mules, and by the horses of the mountains. The vale grows so narrow at last, that it is not above an hundred yards wide in some places. The general scene at last has little wood.

The mountains on the south side finish in a pyra­midical [Page 178] rock of micaceous schistus, which is constant­ly tumbling into the plain, from the attacks of the frost, and the melting of the snows, the slope to the river being spread with fragments. We met here with pieces of lead ore and manganese.

On the nothern ridge, bearing to the West, are the pastures of the Spanish flocks. This ridge is not, how­ever, the whole. There are two other mountains, quite in a different situation, and the sheep travel from one to another, as the pasturage is short or plentiful. I examined the soil of these mountain pastures, and found it in general stony; what in the West of En­gland would be called a stone brash, with some mixture of loam, and in a few places a little peaty. The plants are many of them untouched by the sheep. Many ferns, narcissus, violets, and the narrow-leaved plan­tain, were eaten, as may be supposed, close. I looked for trefoils, but found scarcely any. It was very ap­parent, that soil and peculiarity of herbage had little to do in rendering these heights proper for sheep. In the nothern parts of Europe, the tops of mountains half the height of these, (for we were above snow in July) are bogs. All are so which I have seen in our islands: or at least, the proportion of dry land is very trifl [...]ng to that which is extremely wet. Here they are in gene­ral very dry. Now a great range of dry land, let the plants be what they may, will in every country suit [Page 179] sheep. The flock is brought every night to one spot, which is situated at the end of the valley on the river I have mentioned, and near the port or passage of Pica­da. It is a level spot sheltered from all winds. The soil is eight or nine inches deep of old dung, not at all inclosed; and from the freedom from wood all around it, seems to be chosen partly for safety against wolves and bears. Near it is a very large stone, or rather rock, fallen from the mountain. This the shephards have taken for a shelter, and have built a hut against it. Their beds are sheep-skins, and their doors so small that they crawl in. I saw no place for fire, but they have it, since they dress here the flesh of their sheep, and in the night sometimes keep off the bears, by whirling fire-brands. Four of them, belonging to the flock mentioned above, lie here. We viewed their flock very carefully, and by means of our guide and interpreter, made some inquiries of the shepherds, which they answered readily, and very civily. A Spaniard at Venasque, a city in the Pyrenees, gives six hundred livres French (the livre is ten pence halfpen­ny English) a year, for the pasturage of this flock of two thousand sheep. In the winter he sends them into the lower parts of Catalonia, a journey of twelve or thirteen days, and when the snow is melted enough in the spring, they are conducted back again. They are the whole year kept in motion, and moving from spot [Page 180] to spot, which is owing to the great range they every where have of pasture. They are always in the open air, never housed or under cover, and never taste of any food, but what they can find on the hills.

Four shepherds, and from four to six large Spanish dogs have the care of this flock. The latter are in France called of the Pyrenees breed. They are black and white, of the size of a large wolf, a large head and neck, armed with collars stuck with iron spikes. No wolf can stand against them; but bears are more potent adversaries. If a bear can reach a tree he is safe. He rises on his hind legs, with his back to the tree, and sets the dogs at defiance. In the night the shepherds rely entirely on their dogs, but on hearing them bark are ready with fire-arms, as the dogs rarely bark if a bear is not at hand. I was surprised to find that they are fed only with bread and milk. The head shepherd is paid one hundred and twenty livers a year wages and bread; the others eighty livers and bread. But they are allowed to keep goats, of which they have many, which they milk every day. Their food is milk and bread, except the flesh of such sheep or lambs as accidents give them. The head shepherd keeps on the mountain top, on an elevated spot, from whence he can the better see around, while the flock tra­verses the declivities. In doing this the sheep are ex­posed to great danger in places that are stony; for some [Page 181] of them, especially the goats, by walking among the rocks, move the stones, which rolling down the hills, acquire an accelerated force enough to nock a man down; and sheep are often killed by them. Yet we saw how alert they were to avoid such stones, and cau­tiously on their guard against them. We examined the sheep attentively. They are in general polled, but some have horns; which in the rams turns backward behind the ears, and project half a circle farwards; the ewes horns turn also behind the ears, but do not project: the legs white or reddish; speckled faces, some white, some reddish: they would weigh, fat, I rekon, on an average, from fifteen to eighteen pounds a quarter. There are a few black sheep among them; and some with a very little tuft of wool on their fore­heads. On the whole they resemble those on the South Downs. Their legs are as short as those of that breed; a point which merits observation, as they travel so much and so well.

Having satisfied ourselves with our examination of this flock, we returned to the direct road for Vielle, which also leads to one of the most woody regions of the Pyrenees, and at the same time the most romantic. The road is so bad that no horse but those of the moun­tains could pass it; but our mules trod securely amidst rolling stones on the edges of precipices of a tremen­dous depth; but sure-footed as they are, they are not [Page 182] free from stumbling; and when they happen to trip a little in those situations, they electrify their riders in a manner not altogether so pleasant as Mr. Wal­ker. These mountains are chiefly rocks of micace­ous schistus, but there are large detached fragments of granite.

We pass the frontier line which divides France and Spain; and rising on the mountains, we see the Spanish valley of Aran, with the river Garonne winding through it in a beautiful manner. The town of Bo­soste is at the foot of the mountains, where is the Spa­nish custom-house. Mules imported into Spain pay here sixteen livers. A four year old horse the same. A six year old one thirteen ditto. An ox five; and a sheep one and a half sol. This vale of Aran is richly cultivated, and without any fallows. Nothing scarcely can be finer than the view of the valley from heights so great as to render the most common objects interest­ing. The road leads under trees, whose arching boughs present at every ten paces new landscapes. The woods here are thick, and present fine masses of shade; the rocks large, and every outline bold: and the ver­dant vale that is spread far below at your feet, has all the features of beauty, in contrast with the sublimity of the surrounding mountains.

We descend into this vale, and bait at our first Spanish inn. No hay, no corn, no meat, no windows; [Page 183] but cheap eggs and bread, and some trout for fifteen sous. (Seven pence halfpenny English.)

We followed from hence the Garonne, which is al­ready a fine river, but very rapid. On it they float many trees to their saw-mills, to cut into boards. We saw many at work. The vale is narrow, but the Hills to the left are cultivated high up. There are no fal­lows. They have little wheat, but a great deal of rye; and much better barley than in the French mountains. Instead of fallows they have maize and millet, and ma­ny more potatoes than in the French mountains. They have also French beans, and a little hemp. We saw two fields of vetches and square pease. The small potatoes they give to their pigs, which do very well with them; and the leaves to their cows, but assert that they refuse the roots. Buck-wheat also takes the place of fallow. Many crops of it were good, and some as fine as possible.

The whole valley of Aran is well cultivated and highly peopled. It is eight hours long, or about for­ty miles English, and has in it thirty-two villages. These villages, or rather little towns, have a very pretty ap­pearance, the walls being well built, and the houses are well slated. But on entering these towns the spectacle changes at once. We found them the abodes of pov­erty and wretchedness; not one window of glass to be seen in a whole town; scarcely any chimnies, both [Page 184] ground floor and the chimnies vomiting the smoke out of the windows.

We arrive at Vielle, the capitol of this valley, and the passage from this part of France to Barcelona; a circumstance which has given some trifling resources to it. We were informed here, that we could not go into Spain without a passport; we therefore waited on the governor, who presides over the whole valley and its thirty-two towns. His house was the only one we had seen with glass windows. He is a lieutenant colo­nel, and knight of Calatrava. In his ante-room was the king's picture, with a canopy of state over it. The governor received us with the Spanish formality, and assured us that a few months ago, there was an order [...]o send every foreigner, found without a passport, to the troops. Such orders show pretty well the number of foreigners here. On each side of his bed was a brace of pistols, and a crucifix in the middle. We did not ask in which he put the most confidence.

We made enquiries concerning the agriculture. They have no farmers. Every one cultivates his own land, which is never fallowed. They have no species of manufactures, but spinning and weaving for the private use of every family.

The mountains belong, as in the French Pyrenees, to the parishes. Each inhabitant has a right to cut what wood he pleases for fuel and repairs, in the [Page 185] woods assigned for that purpose. Others are let by lease at public auction for the benefit of the parish, the trees to be cut being marked; and in general, the po­lice of their woods is better than on the French side. When woods are cut they are preserved. Their moun­tain pastures not used by themselves, they let to the owners of large flocks, who bring them from the low­er part of Catalonia. These flocks rise to four thou­sand sheep, the rent, in general, being from five to se­ven sous a head for the summer food. Every inhabi­tant possesses cattle, which he keeps in the common mountains in what quantity he pleases; but others, who do not belong to the parish, pay five to seven sous a head for the sheep, and ten sous for a cow; which disproportion they explain, by saying, that sheep must have a much greater range. In summer they make cheese, which we tasted and found good. In winter their cattle are kept at home, and their cows fed on buck-wheat straw, which they assert to be good food; also that of maize and millet, and a little hay; most of it being assigned to their mules. They have good sheep, but all are sent to Saragosa or Barcelona. They have scarce any oxen; what few they kill, they salt for winter.

Taxes are light; the whole which the town is assessed at being only two thousand seven-hundred livers, which they pay by the rent of their woods and pastures [Page 186] let. When the principles of a government tend to despotism and the very pictures of kings are treated with reverence, the consequence is light taxation. The only effectual means of insuring a great revenue, is to extend the principles and the exercise of liberty. The change is, and ever will be, as much for the benefit of the prince as of the subject.

At Bagnere de Luchon we were told that the inn at Vielle was good. We found the lower floor a stable, from which we mounted to a black kitchen, and through that to a baking-room with a large batch of loaves making for an oven which was heating to receive them. In this room were two beds for all the travel­lers that might come. If too numerous, straw is spread on the floor, and you may rest as you can. There was no glass in the windows. One of the beds was occupi­ed, so that my companion slept on a table. The house, however, afforded eggs for an omelet, good bread, thick wine, brandy, and fowls, killed after we arrived. The people were very dirty, but civil.

On the eleventh of July we reached Scullo. The inn was so bad, that our guide would not permit us to enter it, but conducted us to the house of the Cúre. A scene followed so new to English eyes, that we could not refrain from laughing very heartily. Not a pane of glass in the whole town, but our reverend host had a chimney in his kitchen. He ran to the river to catch [Page 187] trout. A man brought us some chickings, which were put to death on the spot. For light they kindled splinters of pitch-pine, and two merry wenches, with three or four men collected to stare at us, as well as we at them, were presently busy in satisfying our hunger. They gave us red wine so dreadfully putrid from the borachio, that I could not touch it; and bran­dy, but poisoned with aniseed. Then a bottle of ex­cellent rich white wine was produced, resembling good mountain, and all was well. But when we came to exa­mine our beds there was only one. My friend would again do the honours, and insisted on my taking it. He made his on a table; and what with bugs, fleas, rats, and mice, slept not. I was not attacked; and though the bed and a pavement might be ranked in the same class of softness, fatigue converted it to down. This town and its inhabitants are, to the eye, equally wretched. The smoke-holes instead of chimneys; the total want of glass windows, the chearfulness of which, to the eye, is known only by the want; the dress of the women, all in black, with cloth of the same co­lour about their heads, and hanging half down their backs; no shoes; no stockings; the effect upon the whole dismal; savage as the rocks and mountains.

SECT. LXXXIV. OF MADRID. A. D. 1778.

IN the afternoons, we spent our time in visiting the most remarkable edifices of this city. If you except the royal palaces, there are few buildings worthy of atten­tion, nor do I believe there is in Europe a capital that has so little to show as Madrid. Having never been the see of a bishop, it has of course no cathedral, nor indeed any church, that distinguishes itself much from the common herd of parishes and convents. Allow­ing some few exceptions, I think I may safely pro­nounce the outward artchitecture of them all to be bar­barous, and their manner of ornamenting the inside as bad as that of the worst ages. Most of them were e­rected or retouched during the term of years that elaps­ed between the middle of the seventeeth century and the year 1759, a period in the history of Spain when all arts and sciences were fallen to the lowest ebb; the effects of the degeneracy of manners, the want of pub­lic spirit, and the disorder and weakness of a decaying monarchy. These vices in the political system under the three last princes of the Austrian line, could not be removed immediately on the accession of another family. The wars that shook the very foundations [Page 189] of their throne for the first ten years of this century, kept all polite arts groveling in the dust; and when they ventured to raise their heads again, and court the favour of the sovereign, there seems to have been a to­tal want of able professors to second their efforts, and assist them in returning to the paths of good sense and true taste.

No mad architect ever dreamed of a distortion of members so capricious, of a twist of pillars, cornices, or pediments, so wild and fantastic, but what a real sample of it may be produced in some or other of the churches of Madrid. They are all small, and poor in marbles as well as pictures. Their alters are piles of wooden ornaments, heaped up to the ceiling, and stuck full of wax lights, which more than once have set fire to the whole church.

The convents, which may be said to possess a good collection of pictures, are those of Saint Pasqual, and of the bare-footed Carmelite nuns. The former has a fine Titian, a capital Guerchino, and many other pieces by esteemed Italian masters. In the sacristy of the latter, is a numerous collection of paintings by va­rious hands, many of which are of superior merit. The tombs of Ferdinand the Sixth, and of his queen Babara, in the church of the Visitation, are almost the only se­pulchral monuments of any consequence.

The royal palace is all of white stone. Each of the [Page 190] fronts being four hundred and seventy feet in length, by one hundred high, this pile towers over all the coun­try, where nothing intercepts the view for many miles. The entrances and ground-floor appear more like those of some mighty fortress, than of the peaceable habitation of a powerful monarch, an hundred leagues removed from his frontiers. The range of large glazed arches round the inner court, resembles the inside of a manu­factory. This is the more unpardonable, as they had at no great distance, in the Alcazar of Toledo, as ele­gant a colonnade as the nicest critic could desire. The beautiful circular court of Granada might have suggested noble ideas to the architect; but perhaps at that time the very existence of such a thing was a se­cret at Madrid.

The stair-case was meant to be double, but it was afterwards judged more convenient to shut up one [...]ight, as the remaining half answered every purpose. At the foot of the stairs I shall leave all my spleen, and prepare myself with unfeigned satisfaction to describe to you the beauty and grandeur of the upper apart­ments.

I know no place in Europe fitted up with so much true royal magnificence. The richest marbles are em­ployed with great taste in forming the cornices and [...]ocles of the rooms, and the frames of the doors and windows. What enhances the value of these marbles, [Page 191] is the circumstance of their being all produced in the quarries of Spain, from whence it is the opinion of a learned writer, that ancient Rome was supplied with many of the precious m [...]terials that enriched her por­ticoes and temples. At least, there is no presumption in asserting, that the bowels of the earth in Spain con­tain most of those species of marbles, that are to be seen in the ruins of the mistress of the world, whatever might be the countries from which they were drawn. Porphyry is found near Cordova; the finest jasper near Aracena; the mountains of Granada furnish a beauti­ful green, those of Tortosa a variety of brown marbles. Leon and Malaga send alabaster; Toledo, Talavera, Badajoz, and Murviedro, abound in marbles of differ­ent colours, and most parts of the kingdom afford some specimen or other of jasper, besides the amethyst and its radix, for which Spain is celebrated above most oth­er countries.

The great audience chamber is one of the richest I know. The ceiling, painted by Tiepolo, represents the triumph of Spain. Round the cornice the ar­tist has placed allegorical figures of its different pro­vinces distinguished by their productions, and attend­ed by several of their inhabitants in the provincial ha­bit. These form a most uncommon picture, and a cu­rious set of Costumi. The walls are incrustated with beautiful marble, and all around hung with large plates [Page 192] of looking glass in rich frames. The manufactory of glass is at Saint Ildefonso, where they cast them of a very great size; but I am told they are apt to turn out much rougher, and fuller of flaws, than those made in France.

A collection of pictures, by the greatest masters of the art, adorns the walls of the inner apartments; but even this vast fabric does not afford room for all the riches his Catholic Majesty possesses in this branch. The detail and catalogue of a number of paintings, is sure to fatigue a reader who has never seen, nor can ever rationally expect to see them; therefore it is in­cumbent on me to select only a few of my favourites from my memorandums.

Of the works of Titian, the most remarkable are, a bacchanalian woman lying on her back asleep. The liquor has diffused a glow over her beautiful face, and her body is divinely handsome. One of the greatest painters of the age has often declared, he never passed before this picture without being struck with admira­tion; some boys playing, full of grace, and a charming variety of attitudes.

Rubens—Christ and St. John Baptist, lovely chil­dren. A priest on horseback, carrying the viaticum to a sick person, accompanied by Rodolph earl of Hapsburgh, one of the master-pieces of his pencil.

Murillo—A vintager, wine-seller, holy family, two [Page 193] boys; all in their different characters, excellently painted with a rich mellow colour.

Vandyke—The seizing of Christ in the garden, a strong composition; several portraits absolutely a­live.

Spagnolet—Isaac feeling Jacob's hands; very capi­tal.

In the shallow vale between the Retiro and the town, which has not the least suburb of any kind be­longing to it, the present King has finished the Prado, which in a few years, provided they manage the trees properly, will be one of the finest walks in the world. Its length and breadth are great, the avenues drawn in an intelligent, noble style, the foot-paths wide and neat, the iron railing and stone seats done in a grand expensive manner. All the coaches of Madrid drive in the ring here; and though the absence of the court lessens the appearance more than two thirds, yet last night I counted two hundred carriages following each other. On the declivity of the Retiro, they mean to plant a botanical garden.

The view from this walk is, as it should be, confi­ned; for the winds are so sharp and boisterous, and the landscape so horrid all round the city, that no place of public resort could be comfortable, unless it were, like this, shut in from all distant views, and [Page 194] sheltered by the hills from the blasts that sweep over the highlands of Castile.

To the west, it has the town, the three principal streets of which terminate in the Prado. These are three noble openings, excellently paved, and clean e­ven to a nicety; indeed so are most of the streets of Madrid since the edict for paving and cleaning them. The foreigners that resided here before that time, shud­der at the very recollection of its former filth.

Some of the natives regret the old stinks and nasti­ness; as they pretend that the air of Madrid is so sub­tle as to require a proper mixture of grosser effluvia, to prevent its pernicious effects upon the constitution. The extremes of cold and heat are astonishing in this place, and the winds so searching, that all the Spaniards wear leathern under waistcoats, to preserve their chests; for they pervade every other kind of clothing. In summer the dust is intolerable.

SECT. LXXXV. OF THE ROYAL FAMILY OF SPAIN.

WE have just finished our round of presentations, which in so numerous a royal family, is a work of more days than one. As I know you expect a minute ac­count of each of those that compose it, I am sorry I am incapable of satisfying your curiosity, in as ample a manner as I could wish. You shall have a descrip­tion of their persons, and as much of their characters as I have learned from well-informed people, in whose judgment I can confide. I beg you will consider how hard it is to discern the true character of the great, as your intelligence can only flow to you through the sus­picious channel of many jarring passions and interests. It is impossible for a stranger to seize a good likeness in so short a time, and to transmit to others a faithful repre­sentation of a prince that does not admit him to a fa­miliar intercourse.

I don't know but sovereigns are the most difficult characters to define in a whoe nation; for all princes appear pretty nearly alike. Their mode of life is uni­form. By seeing none but inferiors about them, they [...] a great indifference in their manner, and seldom [Page 196] betray in their countenance any of those strong emo­tions that mark the various feelings of men obliged to bustle through the world. Their passions lack the re­lish which arises from delays and difficulties. What the French call Ennui, wearisomeness is, methinks, the grand malady of princes, and therefore amusement is their main pursuit in life.

In the princess of the house of Bourbon, the passion of fowling predominates: yet in the Spanish royal fa­mily, there are some who toil at the gun with more reluctance than the farmer's boy does at the plough; have a taste for arts and sciences, and wish for nothing more than to be freed from the obligation of following the diversion.

The ceremony of presentation is performed as the king rises from table. Charles the Third is a much better looking man than most of his pictures make him. He has a good natured laughing eye. The lower part of his face, by being exposed to all weathers, is be­come of a deep copper colour. What his hat covers is fair, as he naturally has a good skin. In stature he is rather short, thickly built about the legs and thighs, and narrow in the shoulders. His dress seldom varies from a large hat, a plain grey Segovia frock, a buff waistcoat, a small dagger, black breeches, and worsted stockings. His pockets are always stuffed with knives, gloves, and shooting tackle. On Gala days a fine suit [Page 197] is hung upon his shoulders, but as he has an eye to his afternoon sport, and is a great oeconomist of his time, the black breeches are worn to all coats. I believe there are but three days in the whole year that he spends without going out a-shooting, and those are no­ted with the blackest mark in the callender. Were they to occur often, his health would be in danger, and an accident that was to confine him to the house, would infallibly bring on a fit of illness. No storm, heat, cold, or wet, can keep him at home; and when he hears of a wolf being seen, distance is counted for nothing. He would drive over half the kingdom rath­er than miss an opportunity of firing upon that favour­ite game.

Besides a most numerous retinue of persons belong­ing to the hunting establishment, several times a year, all the idle fellows in and about Madrid are hired to beat the country, and drive the wild boars, deer, and hares, into a ring, where they pass before the royal fa­mily. A very large annual sum is distributed among the proprietors of land about the capital, and near the country palaces, by way of indemnification for the damage done to the corn. I was assured that it cost seventy thousand pounds sterling for the environs of Madrid, and thirty thousand for those o [...] Saint Ilde­fonso. In order to be entitled to this reimbursement, the farmers scatter just as much seed-corn over their [Page 198] grounds, as will grow up into something like a crop; but they do not always give themselves the trouble of getting in the scanty harvest, being sufficiently paid for their labour by the royal bounty.

Being naturally of an even phlegmatic temper, the king is sure to see events on their favourable side only; and whenever he has determined in his own mind, that a measure is proper to be persued, he is an utter enemy to alteration. As far as I can judge, by com­paring the different accounts I have had, he is a man of the strictest probity, incapable of adopting any scheme, unless he is perfectly satisfied in his conscience that it is just and honourable;—of such immovable features, that the most fortunate or the most disastrious occurren­ces, are alike unable to create the smallest variation in them;—rigid in his morals, and strenuously attached to his religion; but he does not suffer his devotion to lay him open to the enterprizes of the court of Rome, or the encroachments of his own clergy; on the contrary, they have frequently met with rougher usage at his hands than they might have expected from a freethinker.

The regularity of his own life renders him very strict about the conduct of his children, whom he obliges to be out fishing or shooting as long as he is absent on the same business. This he does to prevent their hav­ing time or opportunity to harbour bad thoughts; and truly I believe he goes out so constantly himself, in or­der [Page 199] to keep down the vigour of his own constitution. He seldom addresses himself to any young men of his court; but delights in conversing and joking with el­derly persons, and such as are of his own age, especial­ly monks and friars. He is very partial to Naples, and always speaks of that country with great feeling.

Since his accession, many great works have been completed; noble roads made to all the palaces round the metropolis; several others undertaken in more re­mote provinces. He has finished the palace at Ma­drid, and added considerably to those of the Prado and Aranjuez; built new towns at Aranjuez, and Escuri­al, and St. Ildefonso; and planted a great deal at A­ranjuez. The Marquis of Grimaldi has the merit of having suggested and conducted most of these improve­ments, and of having urged on the king, who although he has naturally no great relish for the arts, thinks it the duty of a sovereign to encourage them.

The Prince of Asturias is of an athletic make, his countenance rather severe, and his voice harsh. He seemed in a great hurry to get away from us; but the princess stayed chatting a great while, She is not handsome, being very sickly, but seems lively and gen­teelly shaped, with a very fine hand and arm. If she lives to be a queen, I dare say she will render this court a very gay one; for she appears to like to go a­broad, and converse with strangers. When she walks [Page 200] out, all persons that have been presented, and chance to be in the way, are expected to join her company, and escort her as long as she thinks proper. Her mildness and good-nature have softened much of her husband's roughness of manner; and of late he seems to have more pleasure in sitting with her in a domes­tic way, than in trudging over the heath in quest of game.

Don Gabriel is a tall well looking man, but timid to excess. He possesses many talents, but his constant avocations out of doors prevent his applying to study as much as he could wish. I have seen some good pictures done by him, and have heard much of his clas­sical learning, and turn for mathematics.

Don Antonio appears to be very well pleased with the active life of a sportsman.

The Infanta Maria Josepha has reason to envy every country wench she sees roaming at liberty; for con­finement, etiquette, and celibacy, are likely to be her lot during life.

Don Lewis, the king's brother, after having been a cardinal and an archbishop, is now on the eve of matrimony with a pretty Arragonese girl, whom he took a fancy to last year, as she was running across the fields after a butterfly. As he has made a collection of natural history, the similarity of taste made a great impression upon him. This wedding, which the king [Page 201] has consented to with reluctance, has produced a total revolution in the marriage-laws of Spain. A new pragmatica or edict is published, to prevent all match­es betwixt persons of unequal rank and quality. By this decree the old custom is abrogated. Heretofore it was out of the power of parents to hinder their chil­dren from marrying whom they liked, and the church interposed to oblige them to make a suitable settlement upon the young couple.

Don Lewis's bride is not to be allowed the title or rank of a princess of the blood, nor are her children to be deemed qualified to succeed to the crown. He is to reside near Talavera, where I make no doubt but he will lead a happy life, as he has a great taste for mu­sic and natural history. His cabinet already contains a very valuable collection of rarities, especially such as are found in the Spanish dominions. This prince is chearful, humane, affable, and full of pleasantry: good qualities that render him the darling of the na­tion.

The king and all the males of his family wear the ensigns of a great variety of military orders. On their left breast is a row of stars like the belt of the constel­lation of Orion. They are also decorated with the blue ribband of the French order of the Holy Ghost, and the insignia of the Burgundian golden fleece. They have besides the Neapolitan red sash of St. Januarius, [Page 202] the red crosses of Calatrava, founded in 1158, of St. Jago, dated from 1175, and of Montesa, instituted in 1317, and the green cross of Alcantaria, invented in 1176. After all these badges, comes the blue and white ribband of the Conception of Carlos Tercero, established by the present king, on the birth of the late son of the Prince of Asturias.

SECT. LXXXVI. CHARACTER OF THE SPANIARDS.

IT has been my constant study, during our tour round Spain, to note down and transmit to you every peculiarity that might throw light upon the distinctive turn and genius of the nation. Experience has taught me to look upon this method as the best, and indeed the only sure guide to the knowledge of a people; but at the same time has made me sensible how imperfect an idea is to be acquired by a transitory view, in a progress of a few months. Customs that struck me at first as unaccountable, from my ignorance of mo­tives and situations, have frequently since appeared to [Page 203] me not only proper and rational, but absolutely so much in the common course of things, that I have wondered how I came to put them down as extraordi­nary.

The mistakes I have found myself guilty of in seve­ral little remarks made, in the first part of my journey, have rendered me very cautious of deciding upon mat­ters, where I could not come at a knowledge of their causes. I therefore very early learned to mistrust my senses, and applied where I expected to have my doubts resolved, and the reasons of modes and usages explain­ed to me.

Accordingly I omitted no opportunity of drawing information from the natives of all ranks; from stran­gers long established in Spain, and from those who, hav­ing resided but a few years there, were more likely to be sensible of the singularities of the national dispo­sition. I cannot say my endeavours have been crown­ed with much success.

Were I to draw the picture of the Spaniards from the manifold sketches traced by their countrymen, eve­ry province in the kingdom would in its turn appear a Paradise, and a Pandoemonium, a seat of holy spirits, and a receptacle of malicious devils. The most con­tradictory accounts, enforced by the most positive asse­verations, have been repeatedly given me of the same places. I have often found the virtue one province [Page 204] prides itself in, as being the specific mark of its inhabitants, not only refused them by a neighbouring country, but the very opposite vice imposed upon them as their cha­racteristic. The English, French, and other foreign­ers, living in Spain, are in general but indifferently qualified to decide upon these matters. As long as they retain the prejudices they brought from home a­gainst every thing that clashes with their native cus­toms, they are but partial judges; and when once they fall into the ways of the place where commerce has fixed their lot, they become such thorough paced Span­iards, that they can neither perceive the particularities you speak to them of, nor assign reasons for uses that are grown habitual to them.

As I am not ashamed to acknowledge my insuffici­ency, I frankly confess it is not in my power to give what you may think a satisfactory character of the Spaniards. Were I inclined to flatter my self-love, I might add, that I do not esteem any of those who have already written on the subject, much better qualified than myself. What I can venture to say amounts to very little.

The Catalonians appear to be the most active, stirring set of men, the best calculated for business, travelling and manufactories. The Valencians are a more sul­len sedate race, better adapted to the occupations of husbandmen, less eager to change place, and of a much [Page 205] more timid, suspicious cast of mind than the former. The Andalusians seem to me the great talkers and rhodomontadoes of Spain. The Castillians have a manly frankness, and less appearance of cunning and deceit. The new Castillians are perhaps the least in­dustrious of the whole nation; the old Castillians are laborious, and retain more of an ancient simplicity of manners; both are of a firm, determined spirit. I take the Arragonese to be a mixture of the Castillians and Ca­talonians, rather inclining to the former. The Biscay­ners are acute and diligent, fiery and impatient of controul; more resembling a colony of republicans, than a province of an absolute monarchy. The Ga­licians are a plodding, pains-taking race of mortals, that roam over Spain in search of an hardly-earned sub­sistance.

The listless indolence equally dear to the unciviliz­ed savage, and to the degenerate slave of despotism, is no where more indulged than in Spain. Thousands of men in all parts of the realm are seen to pass their whole day, wrapped up in a cloak, standing in rows against a wall, or dozing under a tree. In total want of every excitement to action, the springs of their intellectual faculties forget to play, their views grow confined within the wretched sphere of mere existence, and they scarce seem to hope or foresee any thing bet­ter than their present state of vegetation. They feel [Page 206] little or no concern for the welfare or glory of a coun­try, where the surface of the earth is engrossed by a few over-grown families, who seldom bestow a thought on the condition of their vassals. The poor Spaniard does not work, unless urged by irresistable want, be­cause he perceives no advantage accrue from industry. As his food and raiment are purchased at a small ex­pence, he spends no more time in labour, than is ab­solutely necessary for procuring the scanty provision his abstemiousness requires. I have heard a peasant refuse to run an arrand because he had that morn­ing earned as much already as would last him the day, without putting himself to any further trouble.

Yet I am convinced that this laziness is not essenti­ally inherent in the Spanish composition. For it is impossible, without seeing them, to conceive with what eagerness they persue any favourite scheme, with what violence their passions work upon them, and what vigour and exertion of powers they display when awakened by a bull-feast, or the most constant agita­tion of gaming, a vice to which they are superlatively addicted. Were it again possible, by an intelligent spirited administration, to set before their eyes, in a clear and forcible manner proper incitements to acti­vity and industry, the Spaniards might yet be roused from their lethargy, and led to riches and reputation; but I confess the task is so difficult, that I look upon [Page 207] it rather as an Utopian idea, than as a revolution like­ly ever to take place.

Their soldiers are brave, and patient of hardships. Wherever their officers lead them, they will follow without flinching, though it be up to the mouth of a battery of cannon; but unless the example be given them by their commander, not a step will they ad­vance.

Most of the Spaniards are hardy; and when once engaged, go through difficulties without murmuring, bear the inclemancies of the seasons with firmness, and support fatigue with amazing perseverance. They sleep every night in their cloaks on the ground; are sparing in diet, perhaps more from a sense of habitual indigence, than from any aversion to gluttony. When­ever they can riot in the plenty of another man's ta­ble, they will gormandize to access, and, not content with eating their fill, will carry off whatever they can stuff into their pockets. I have more than once been a witness to the pillage of a supper, by the numerous beaux and admirers which the ladies lead after them in triumph, wherever they are invited. They are fond of spices, and scarce eat any thing without saffron, pimen­to, or garlic. They delight in wine that tastes strong of the pitched skin, and of oil that has a rank smell and taste. Indeed, the same oil feeds their lamp, swims in their pottage, and dresses their sallad. In inns the light­ed [Page 208] lamp is frequently handed down to the table, that each man may take the quantity he chuses. Much tobacco is used by them in smoaking and chewing. All the [...]e hot, drying kinds of food, co-operating with the parching qualities of the atmosphere, are assigned as causes of the spare make of the common people in Spain, where the priests and the inn keepers are almost the only well-fed, portly figures to be met with.

The Spanish is by no means naturally a serious mel­ancholy nation. Misery and discontent have cast a gloom over them, increased no doubt, by the long habit of distrust and terror inspired by the inquisition; yet every village still resounds with the music of voices and guitars; and their fairs and Sunday wakes are re­markable noisy and riotous. They talk louder, and argue with more vehemence than even the French or Italians, and gesticulate with equal, if not superior ea­gerness. In Catalonia the young men are expert at ball; and every village has its pelota, or ground for play­ing at fives; but in the South of Spain I never percei­ved that the inhabitants used any particular exercise. I am told, that in the island of Majorca they still wield the sling, for which their ancestors, the Baleares, were so much renowned.

Like most people of Southern climates, they are dir­ty in their persons, and overrun with vermin.

As their constitution may be said to be made up of [Page 209] the most combustible ingredients, and prone to love in a degree that natives of more northen latitudes can have no idea of, the custom of embracing persons of the other sex, which is used on many occasions by foreign­ers, sets the Spaniards all on fire. They would as soon allow a man to pass the night in bed with their wives or daughters, as suffer him to give them a kiss.

I was surprized to find them so much more luke­warm in their devotion than I expected; but I will not take upon me to assert, though I have great reason to believe it, that there is in Spain as little true moral religion as in any country I ever travelled through, al­though none abounds more with provincial protectors, local Madonnas, and altars celebrated for particular cures and indulgencies. Religion is a topic not to be touched, much less handled with any dgree of curiosity, in the dominions of so tremendous a tribunal as the Inquisition. From what little I saw, I am apt to sus­pect, that the people here trouble themselves with very few serious thoughts on the subject; and that, provi­ded they can bring themselves to believe that their favourite Saint looks upon them with an eye of affec­tion, they take it for granted, that under his benign influence, they are freed from all apprehensions of damnation in a future state; and indeed, from any great concern about the moral duties of this life. The burning zeal which distinguished their [Page 210] ancestors above the rest of the Catholic world, appears to have lost much of its activity, and really seems nearly extinguished. It is hard to ascribe bounds to the chan­ges of a crafty, steady, and popular monarch might make in ecclesiastical matters. The unconcern betrayed by the whole nation at the fall of the Jesuits, is a strong proof of their present indifference. Those fathers, the most powerful body politic in the kingdom, the rulers of the palace, and the despots of the cottage, the directors of the conscience, and disposers of the fortune of every rank of men, were all seized in one night, by detachments of soldiers, hurried like malefac­tors to the sea-ports, and banished forever from the realm, without the least resistance to the royal man­date being made, or even threatened. Their ve­ry memory seems to be annihilated with ther power.

We found the common people inoffensive, if not civil; and having never had an opportunity of being witnesses to any of their excesses, can say nothing of their violent jealousy or revenge, which are points most writers on Spain have expatiated upon with great pleasure. I believe in this line, as well as in many others, their bad as well as good qualities have been magnified many degrees above the truth.

The national qualities, good and bad, conspicuous in the lower classes of men, are easily traced, and very discernible in those of higher rank; for their educa­tion [Page 211] is too much neglected, their minds too little en­lightened by study or communication with other na­tions, to rub off the general rust, with which the Spa­nish genius has, for above an age, been as it were in­crustated. The public schools and universities are in a despicable state of ignorance and irregularity. Some feeble hope of future reformation is indulged by pa­triots; but time must show what probabilities they are grounded on.

The reigns of Charles V. and Philip II. were the times of great men and good authors, the Spanish Au­gustan age, and continued a few years under Philip III. Since those days, it is difficult to point out any orig [...]nal work of learning or merit, except those of Cer­vantes and La Vega, who survived the rest of the geni­uses of that period.

The common education of an English gentleman would constitute a man of learning here; and should be understand Greek, he would be quite a phaenome­non.

As to the nobility, I wonder how they ever learned to read or write: or having once attained so much, how they contrive not to forget it. It is difficult to say what they pass their time in; or by what means, besides inattention to business, they employ in running through their immense incomes.

In the great houses one custom may contribute to [Page 212] extravagance. A servant once established, is never discharged, unless for some very enormous offence. He and his family remain pensioners as long as they live. The Duke of I—pays near ten thousand pounds sterling a year in wages and annuities to ser­vants.

SECT. LXXXVII. OF THE SPANISH LADIES.

THE Spanish women are in general little and thin. Few are strikingly beautiful, but almost all have spark­ling black eyes, full of expression. It is not the fash­ion here, as in France, to heighten their eclat with paint. They are endowed by nature with a great deal of wit and lively repartee, but for want of the polish and suc­cours of Education, the wit remains obscured by the rudest ignorance, and the most ridiculous prejedices. Their tempers having never been fashioned by polite in­tercourse, nor softened by necessary contradiction, are extremely pettish and violent. They are co [...]tinually [Page 213] about something or other, and put out of hu­mour by the merest trifles.

Most of the ladies about court are the reverse of handsome, and do not seem to have any ambition of passing for clever or accomplished. Not one talent do they possess; nor do they ever work, read, write, or touch any musical instrument. Their Cortejo, or gal­lant, seems their only plaything. I believe no coun­try exhibits more bare faced amour, and such an ap­pearance of indelicate debauchery as this.

The account given me of their manner of living in the family way, as soon as they come out of the convent, and before they have fixed upon a lover, to fill up their time more agreeably, is as follows:—They rise late, and loiter away the remains of the morning among their attendants, or wear it out at church in a long [...]ead-roll of habitual unmeaning prayers. They dine sparingly, sleep and then dress to saunter for a couple of hours on the Prado. They are never without some sort of sugar-plum, or high spiced comfit in their mouths.

As soon as it is dark, they run to the house of some elderly female relation, where they all huddle together over a pan of coals, and would not for the world ap­proach the company that may occasionally drop in. It would throw them into the greatest confusion were [Page 214] they to be requested to join in the conversation. The hour of assembly passed, they hurry home to their maids, and with their help, set about dressing their own suppers by way of amusement.

SECT. LXXXVIII. ANECDOTE OF A FRIAR.

A VERY furious example of passion and cruelty happened while I was in Spain. A Carmelite friar fell desperately in love with a young woman to whom he was confessor. He tried every art of seduction his desires could suggest to him: but to his unspeakable vexation, found her virtue or indifference proof against all his machinations. His despair was heightened to a pitch of madness, upon hearing that she was soon to be married to a person of her own rank in life. The furies of jealousy seized his soul, and worked him up to the most barbarous of all determinations, that of de­priving his rival of the prize, by putting an end to her existence. He chose Easter-week for the perpetration of his crime. The unsuspecting girl came to the con­fessional, [Page 215] and poured out her soul at his feet. Her in­nocence served only to inflame his rage the more, and to confirm him in his bloody purpose. He gave her absolution and the sacrament with his own hands, as his love deterred him from murdering her before he tho't she was purified from all stain of sin, and her soul fit to take its flight to the tribunal of its Creator; but his jealousy and revenge urged him to pursue her down the church, and plunge his dagger in her heart, as she turned round to make a genuflection to the altar. He was immediately seized, and soon condemned to die; but lest his ignominious execution should reflect dishonor on a religious order, which boasts of having an aunt of the king of France among its members, his sentence was changed into perpetual labour among the galley-slaves of Porto Rico.

SECT. LXXXIX. OF THE BATHS AT BAGNERES.

BAGNERES derives its name from the mineral baths which were known and frequented by the anci­ent Romans, as many inscriptions and monuments still existing on the spot, satisfactorily demonstrate.

The peasants of the neighbourhood are a lively race, and often assemble in a shady walk near the gates to dance. One of the queens of Navarre remitted all fines upon alienation of property at Bagneres, on con­dition that a small sum should be levied upon each person admitted to his freedom, and spent in bonfires and other merry expences at Midsummer.

The situation of this place is happily calculated for all exercises that tend to the recovery of health. It is built on a flat and very dry soil. Every part of it en­joys an easy communication with the fields, the banks of the river, or the high-roads, where the weaker sort of visitants may breathe the fresh air, and regain strength by moderate exertions; while the more vigo­rous, who repair to Bagneres for the sake of amuse­ment, may climb delightful hills, and wander among [Page 217] shady groves, through a variety of landscapes. The plains and eminences are traversed by innumerable paths accessible to horsemen as well as foot-passengers. The high grounds are not like those in the Alps, bro­ken and precipitous, but easily sloped, and clothed with soft and pleasant verdure. The timber that crowns their summits is of the noblest size. In the heart of cultivation, and near the foot of the moun­tains, the Spanish chesnut predominates, intermingled with cherry, walnut, and other fruit trees, round which the vine entwines its tendrils. Higher up the extent of pasture becomes more considerable. The middle regions of the mountains are darkened with woods of beech overhung by forests of silver fir, and above all, black pinnacles of rocks shoot up to a frightful height, with here and there a wreath of snow preserved un­melted through the summer by the protection of their shade.

That side of the mountains which faces the noon­tide sun is richly covered with wood; but the opp [...]site slope is seldom so beautiful, for it produces fewer trees, and those of a stinted growth. The greatest part of these forests is the common property of the neighbouring villages, and as high as carriage can be easily contrived, is cut after a regular but careless manner, for the sup­ply of fuel, and the purposes of husbandry.

The medicinal waters at Bagneres have alone rescu­ed [Page 218] this valley from the obscurity which involves so many neighbouring beautiful districts. A great num­ber of boiling, lukewarm, and cold streams issue out of the sides of the mountain that covers the town on the western aspect. All of them possess, or are supposed to possess, very strong healing qualities, which each pa­tient applies with great confidence to his parti­cular disorder, under the directions of the physicians of the place. The summit of this mountain is indent­ed with a large hollow, similar to the crater of a volca­no, and I have no doubt but fire has been emitted from this cup at some period beyond the reach of history. The fire which was then sufficient to produce explo­sions, and to cast forth torrents of lava, still retains the power in its weaker state, of imp [...]rting virtue in vari­ous degrees to the mineral springs that flow from the mountain where its focus is established.

The number of wells and baths amount to thirty. Some are covered in for the use of patients, who can afford to pay for their cures. Others are open pools where the poorer class gargle their ulcerous throats, or lave their sores, gratis. The heat of some spouts is at first almost insupportable, but gradually grows less painful. I have seen people expose their deceased limbs to the boiling stream for more than a quarter of an hour at a time. The hottest spring raises the quick­silver in Farrenheit's thermometer to 123 degrees, while [Page 219] the coolest causes it to ascend no higher than 86. Out of the thirty different sources two are exactly equal in heat to that of the human body, ten below, and eight­teen above it. Their medicinal qualities differ no less essentially than their degrees of heat; for the waters of the Queen's bath are strongly purgative, those of Salut and Le Pré▪diuretic and cooling.

The bath of Salut is situated about a mile from the town, among the mountains. A pleasant winding road leads to it, through beautiful fields planted with clumps of chesnut trees. The houses and groves on the sur­rounding hills cheer the prospect; but in so hot a season, and in this latitude, an avenue would be a grea­ter improvement and relief to the patients.

The spring is copious, and equal to the demands of the crowds that flock round it on hollidays, when eve­ry person may drink his fill for the value of three far­things English. The vogue is so great, that two gui­neas have been taken in one morning, at this low price.

From the drinking place the waters are conveyed into two marble troughs, which are in constant use during the whole season. Seniority of residence con­stitues the right of bathing, and therefore many late comers, who foresee but a distant prospect of being accommodated with an hour of Salut, take up with the other baths of inferior reputation, but perhaps equal [Page 220] efficacy. The degree of heat of Salut is [...]8½. When evaporated by a slow equal fire, the surface of its wa­ter is covered with a pellicle formed by small insipid chrystals, which towards the completion of the evapo­ration acquire considerable acritude. These waters contain no particles of iron, but small parallelopiped pyrites are frequently found in them, of a bright gol­den colour, and about an inch long.

SECT. XC. JOURNEY INTO THE HEART OF THE PYRENEAN MOUNTAINS.

I RETURNED yesterday to Bagneres from a jour­ney on horseback, through the most romantic and cu­rious part of the Pyrennees, and hasten to impart my observations, while each idea is still impressed with force on "the tablet of my memory."

I set out on the sixth of August with some friends, and travelled up the valley. The low grounds are fine­ly cultivated. Numberless streams pour across the [Page 221] road, and hurry to blend their waters with those of the Adour, which is here confined to a narrow bed. Be­yond it eastward, the mountains are covered with beau­tiful verdure. At their foot stands Asté, a village be­longing to the family of Crammont.

A peasant who resides here, earns a livelihood by supplying the apothecaries with medicinal plants, which he gathers on the adjacent mountains, particularly that of Lieris, justly celebrated for the immense and varie­gated show of flowers, that cover its elevated pastures, before sheep and cattle are let in to graze.

The convent of capuchins, at Medous, opposite to Asté, is placed so closely under a mountain, that in winter it enjoys but two hours sun shine in the whole day. Its garden is remarkable for a large volume of water, that issues out of the rocks. Trouts are often seen swimming down the stream, but if disturbed, they retire into the bowels of the mountain, to some subter­raneous lake.

The populousness of this vale is scarce credible. In the extent of three miles I reckoned near five hundred houses or barns. The burgh of Campan gives name to the upper district, and is famous for the excellency of its butter. It acknowledges no lord but the king, and has considerable woods and cultivated lands, ap­pertaining to its community.

At a small distance above the town, [...] con­ducted [Page 222] to a celebrated grotto, in the side of a bare mountain. The entrance is narrow and sloping, but at the depth of ten feet, the floor of the cavern lies nearly on a level. The vault seldom exceeds nine feet in height. Its length is an hundred and four yards. The path is wet and rugged. The walls and roof are incrustated with chrystalisations; but all that were curious for size, shape, or beauty of colour, had been broken off and carried away by pr [...]ceeding travellers. At the end of the grotto we found a marble slab, fixed up by order of the countess of Brionne, to commemorate that after infinite labour, she, with her family and ser­vants, whose names are all consigned to immortality on this subterraneous monument, penetrated thus far into the bowels of the earth, in the year 1766.

Above Campan the valley grew more confined. The hills on the right hand were studded with trees and barns, and covered with lively verdure; those on the left, were rocky, barren, and savage. At the chapel of St. Mary, two branches of the Adour flow from different glens and join their waters. We rode up the more western stream to Grip, where all level ground terminates. Noble groves of fir overhang the river, which dashes successively down three romantic falls. Having taken some refreshment we proceeded up the mountain by a winding, steep, and rugged path, [Page 223] through a forest of silver and spruce firs. We occasion­ally caught views of the river foaming among the rocks and trees, and in one spot darting over a vast precipice in a full, magnificent sheet.

Upon leaving the woods we crossed a large naked plain, at the foot of the Pi [...] du midi, the highest mountain on the Pyrenees. The Adour issues out of a pyramidical hill, a few miles farther up, and winds in a small stream through the rushy pastures. Abund­ance of flowers animate the face of this otherwise dull scene of nature. We were now arrived in the highest point of land we had to surmount, when we were sur­prised by a very heavy fall of snow, that whitened all the surrounding eminences, but soon melted into rain and wetted us thoroughly

When the storm abated, and the atmosphere grew clear, a horrible view opened down the valley of Bare­ges. Rude and barren mountains shade it on both sides, and the [...] a foaming torrent, fills the inter­mediate hollow. We descended by the edge of the blackest and most desolute places in nature, where not a tree was to be seen: but the heights were seamed with yawning crevices, and the passages block­ed up with quarries of stone, tumbled from the cliffs by the irresistable force of the waters.

In this frightful chasm stands the village of Bareges, consisting of a single street built along the south side of [Page 224] the torrent. The situation is so dangerous and horrid; that the inhabitants dare not abide here in winter. They remove all their furniture, even doors and win­dows, to such houses as are supposed most out of the way of mischief. A few invalid soldiers alone remain, to preserve the springs from being buried under the earth that slides down from the mountains. Some­times a large volume of water busts out of its side, the overplus of a lake on the summit, and sweeps off all be­fore it. Every year some houses are washed away by the floods, or crushed under the weight of snow. The avelanches, or heaps of snow that are detached from the mountains, are often so prodigious as to fill up the whole bottom of the glen; and the river has been known to roll for several weeks through an arch of its own forming under this immeasurable mass.

The mineral waters, for which Bareges is famed, is­sue out of the hill in the center of the village, and are distributed into three baths. They are very fetid, but clear in the glass. Their degrees of heat rise from 89 to 112¾ They are greasy to the touch, tinge silver black, and are esteemed sovereign in the cure of ulcers, wounds, and scrophulous humours. The baths belong to the king, and are entirely under the direction of his surgeons.

The poor have the use of a large bath covered with boards, and are fed by a tax of six livres imposed upon [Page 225] all new comers. With this fund a comfortable dinner is provided for them, and distributed in presence of the governor, a worthy veteran, who solicited this command from a motive of gratitude, having been cured of a dan­gerous wound by bathing it with these waters.

No company resorts hither merely for amusement. Disorders only, and those severe and inveterate ones, can induce people to inhabit these wild regions. There is an assembly-room and regular bath, when it is, I know not whether a melancholy or a ludicrous sight, to behold several couples dancing together, some with a leg bound up, others with an arm in a sling, and all with a feeble body and a sickly aspect.

In these mountainous scenes nature exhibits her bold­est features. Here every object is extended upon a vast scale, and the whole assemblage impresses the spectator with awe as well as admiration. I wish it were possi­ble for me to communicate, by means of words or of paintings, the rapturous sensations excited in my mind by the sight of those sublime works of the Creator.

As we advanced on our journey we found ourselves immured in a narrow valley, with the Ga [...]e roaring below us, between walls of immense, [...] and fre­quently hidden from our view by thick [...] of lime and oak trees. The path was wide enough for our mountain horses, but very alarming to some unexperi­enced travellers in our company. On one hand a per­pendicular [Page 226] rock, without any parapet, laid open the deep gloomy bed of the river almost under our feet, and a shivery mountain pressed so close upon us on the other, as to leave no room for a retreat. The turns in the road, where torrents have heaped stones, and choaked the pass with rubbish, are particularly distress­ing; but our horses were so unconcerned and sure­footed, that they soon inspired their riders with equal indifference fot the surrounding perils.

The whole valley is occupied by the river and the road, with vast piles of mountains rising on each side, and almost closing together. Now and then level spots occur at the angles of the river. We crossed a bridge romantically clothed with ivy, which hid the tremendous chasm from our eyes. Huge rocks rear up their perpendicular points, and torrents rush over them on all sides. The mountain-ash, and service-tree, blushing with clustered berries, bend over the preci­pices, and soften the harshness of the wild prospect. After this the valley rather swells out, and more room is allowed for the indefatigable industry of the inhabi­tants to exert itself; but great part of the level, and all the lower regions of the mountains, are overgrown with wood, interspersed with a charming variety of flowering shrubs. Many of the favourite denizons of our English gardens flourish [...]here in all their native luxuriancy.

[Page 227] This dale terminates at Gecres, a rambling village on the side of the mountain. The road is afterwards cut through the rock, and leads to a situation that gave us an idea of confusion and desolation, the effects of some violent earthquake. The mountain is split and torn to pieces. Its sides and foot are strewed with innumerable huge blocks of stone, detached from the impending ridge that forms its bare summit. The passage through this rocky labyrinth opened to a mag­nificent amphitheatre. On the top waved thick for­ests of firs, through which several streams forcing their way, dashed down the lofty precipice, but almost va­nished away in mist before they could reach the bot­tom. The field below was beautifully overspread with purple monkshood.

Our morning's expedition ended at Gabarnie, where we found good accommodations prepared for us by a messenger we had dispatched the preceding day. This is a village consisting of a church and thirty houses, in the midst of bare hills, shaded by very high moun­tains, and traversed in several directions, by foaming torrents. The curate partook of our dinner, after we had removed the table to the door of the inn▪ for he durst neither eat nor drink within the walls of a pub­lic house. We found him a modest conversable man, worthy of a richer settlement.

After dinner we travelled towards the head of the [Page 228] Gave, the object of our journey. We had long had in view the snow-capped-cliffs from which its waters issue, but were surprised to find them still so distant from us. We spent an hour and a half in riding across a bare tract of pasture, closed in with immense forests of evergreens on the French side along the Spanish frontier, which lies on the right hand confined by bare rocky mountains. This plain is called the Prade. The river follows a serpentine course through it. In winter it is generally covered with snow forty feet deep.

Our guide having now brought us to his ne plus ul­tra, pressed us earnestly to alight, as no horse had ev­er advanced beyond this pass. But as we were not contented with so distant a view, we rejected his timid advice, and clambering over several rocky eminences, plunged into the river, which by its limpidity deceiv­ed our eye, both as to the debth of water, and the size of the rocks at the bottom. It required our utmost exertions to extricate out houses, and bear them safe through to the opposite bank. This difficulty being overcome, all others appeared contemptable, and we soon reached the center of a most stupendous amphi­theatre. Three sides of it are formed by a range of perpendicular rocks: the fourth is shaded with wood. Above the upright wall, which is of a horrible height, rise several stages of broken masses, each covered with [Page 229] a layer of everlasting snow. The mountain eastward ends in sharp pinnacles, and runs off to the west in one immense bank of snow. From these concealed heaps the Gave derives its excellence. Thirteen streams rush down the mighty precipice, and unite their wa­ters at its foot.

The whole western corner of the area below is fill­ed with a bed of snow, which being struck by few rays of the sun at any season, receives a sufficient vol­ume of fresh snow every winter to balance the loss occasioned by the warmth of the atmosphere in sum­mer. Two of the torrents fell upon this extensive frozen surface. They have worn a huge chasm, and extending from it, a vaulted passage five hundred yards in length, through which their waters roll. We bold­ly rode over this extraordinary bridge, and alighting at the foot of the rocks, walked down the passage. The snow lies above it near twenty feet thick. The roof is about six feet above the ground, and finely turned in an arch, which appears as if it had been cut and chisseled by the hand of man. In some places there are columns and collateral galleries. The whole glitter­ed like a diamond, and was beautifully pervaded by the light. The only inconvenience we felt, arose from the dripping occasioned by the extreme heat of the day by which even this great body of snow was strong­ly affected.

[Page 230] As we emerged with the river from this singular grotto, we unharboured three chamoy goats, that had taken refuge in the mouth of the cave, against the burning rays of noon. They darted across the plain, and ascended the steepest parts of the rocks, where we soon lost sight of them. These animals are called Ysards in this country. They are rather smaller than the fallow deer, of a muddy reddish yellow colour, with snubbed nose, and short black horns. In shape they resemble a deer, walking with their heads upright, and skipping away with admirable swiftness. But they do not bound; they run when at full stretch. No beast of the forest is of more difficult access. They sel­dom quit the highest and most inaccessible parts of the mountains. During the wintry storms they have been seen fixed on the brow of a precipice, with their faces towards the wind, probably to prevent the rain and snow from lodging under their hair.

Notwithstanding their suspicious, wild nature, and their extreme velocity, the hardy mountaineers find means to destroy them. They lie out whole days and nights watching their opportunity, and making good use of it when it offers; for they are excellent marksmen. They have frequently as much difficulty in reaching the dead prey, as in approaching it while living. The flesh of the Ysard is much esteemed. Its skin makes soft and useful gloves.

[Page 231] The setting of the sun roused us from the ecstacy in which the contemplation of these awful scenes had enwrapped every sense, and warned us to retire before the want of light should render those passages doubly dangerous, which we had found very difficult even in the glare of day. The sun sunk be­hind the snowy cliffs in admirable beauty, tinging the mountains with a rich variety of fiery hues, which died away into the most tender tints of pur­ple.

The mountains abound with game, the rivers with fish. Here are no lords of manorial rights, and there­fore game is the property of every member of the com­munity that can catch it. Except some tracts of wood reserved for the use of the navy, all the forests are held in common.

SECT. XCI. OF PORTUGAL IN GENERAL; THE PRO­DUCE OF THE COUNTRY, AND THE CUS­TOMS AND MANNERS OF THE PEOPLE.

THE kingdom of Portugal is situated to the west of Spain, from which it is separated on the north and the east by the river Minho, and some small rivers and hills: on the south and west it is washed by the sea. Its whole extent from north to south is three hundred miles, and its breadth from east to west, where broadest, is about one hundred and twenty. It is in the same climate with Spain, and as well as that country, is very mountainous; but the soil is in general worse, and never produces corn enough for the support of its in­habitants. As to wheat, it has always produced less of that valuable grain, than what the people require. In the southern parts pasture is always scarce, and the cattle small and lean, though the flesh is generally well tasted. But to make amends for this want of corn and pasture, here are made vast quantities of wine, which is indeed the best commodity of this kingdom. Oil is also made here in great abundance, but it is far [Page 233] inferior to that of Spain and Italy. Lemons and oranges likewise grow here; and are exported in great quantities, though the acidity of the latter is not near so pleasant, as those that come from Seville; nor in­deed are their raisins, figs, almonds, and chesnuts either so large, or so well tasted as those of Spain. However, their sweet oranges, which they have introduced from China, and are thence called China oranges, are the best of the kind in Europe. Herbs and flowers of all sorts are here commonly very good, and abundance of perfumed waters are distilled from those of the odorif­erous kind, which are here in great request, they being used in almost every thing that is eat, drank or worn.

The wollen manufactures of this country are so in­different and coarse, that they are only worn by the meaner sort; and though their silks are in some places much better, they are far inferior in beauty and good­ness to those made in Spain.

The modern Portuguese retain nothing of that ad­venturous enterprizing spirit that rendered their fore­fathers so illustrious three hundred years ago. They have, ever since the house of Braganza mounted the throne, degenerated in all their virtues; though some noble exceptions are still remaining among them, and no people are so little obliged as the Portuguese are to the reports of historians and travellers. The degenera­cy is evidently owing to the weakness of their mo­narchy, [Page 234] which renders them inactive; and that inac­tivity has proved the source of pride, and other un­manly vices. Treachery has been laid to their charge, as well as ingratitude, and above all, an intemperate passion for revenge. They are, if possible, more su­perstitious, and, both in high and common life, affect more state than the Spaniards themselves. Among the lower people, thieving is commonly practised; and all ranks are accused of being unfair in their dealings, especially with strangers. It is hard, however, to say what alteration may be made in the character of the Portuguese, by the expulsion of the Jesuits, and the diminution of the papal influence among them, but a­bove all, by that spirit of independency, with regard to commercial affairs, upon Great Britian, which, not much to the honour of their gratitude, though to the in­terest of their own country is now so much encoura­ged by their court and ministry.

The Portuguese are neither so tall nor so well made as the Spaniards, whose habits and customs they imi­tate; only the quality affect to be more gaily and rich­ly dressed.

The women are mostly beautiful when young, though their complexion is inclinable to the olive; but the indiscreet use of paint renders their skins shrivel­led as with old age, before they are turned of thirty. Their eyes, however, which are generally black and [Page 235] sparkling, retain their lustre after their other charms are withered. The quick decay of beauty is in some measure recompenced by the vivacity of their wit, in which they are said to excel the women of all other nations. They are extremely charitable and generous, and remarkable for their modesty.

Spectacles are commonly worn here as well as in Spain, as a mark of age and gravity; for it is observa­ble of these two nations, that old age, with a grave and solemn behaviour, procure such respect, that the young affect to imitate the solemnity of the old.

Lisbon, the capital of Portugal, is built upon seven hills, and is thought to contain 200,000 inhabitants. Some of the hills rise up above the rest: and some again are so interwoven and contrasted, that they form an agreeable diversity of hills and vales; so that, from the opposite sides of the Tagus, it looks like an im­mense amphitheatre, which has all the charms that can be produced by a variety of the most sumptuous edifices, reflecting uncommon beauties upon each oth­er by the happiness of their situation. Nor do the fine prospects of the country give less pleasure when they are viewed from the eminences in the city; for what can be a finer sight than a beautiful country, and such a river as the Tagus, covered with forests of ships from all nations? Its situation certainly, renders its ap­pearance at once delightful and superb, and it is deserv­edly [Page 236] accounted the greatest port in Europe, next to London and Amsterdam.

The city, before the great earthquake, afforded still a nobler prospect when viewed from the river, than it does at present, on account of the gradual ascent of the buildings. But this dreadful earthquake, which began on the first of November, 1775, at about ten in the morning, laid the finest buildings of Lisbon in ru­ins, and reduced that city to a scene of the most terri­ble desolation. To complete the publick distress, a fire soon after broke out and spread among the ruins; and by these disasters the King's Palace, the Custom­house, St. Dominic's church, St. Nicholas's, and ma­ny others, were either thrown down or consumed, to­gether with a great number of private houses. But happily some whole streets escaped the general calam­ity, and were left standing entire.

All that part of the city which was demolished by the earthquake, is now planned out in the most regular and commodious form. Some large squares and many streets are already built. The streets form right angles, and are broad and spacious. The houses are lofty, ele­gant, and uniform; and being built of white stone, make a beautiful appearance.

The air here is so soft, and the sky so clear, that it is quite delicious; which joined to the excellence of the water, makes the inhabitants so extremely healthy, [Page 237] that they have the happiness of living to a very great age, without being oppressed with infirmities, and con­tinually attacked by fresh disorders, as is usual in oth­er climates. The climate is so temperate, that they have roses and many other sorts of flowers, even in the winter.

The second city in this kingdom is Oporto, which is computed to contain 30,000 inhabitants. The chief article of commerce in this city is wine; and the inha­bitants of half the shops in the city are coopers. The merchants assemble daily in the chief street, to trans­act business, and are protected from the sun by sail­cloths hung across from the opposite houses. About thirty English families reside here, who are chiefly con­cerned in the wine trade.

SECT. XCII. OF NORWAY, AND BERGEN ITS CAPITAL.

THE climate of Norway is much more various than in most other European countries. In the sum­mer-nights, the horizon when unclouded, is so clear and luminous, that at midnight one may read, write, and do all kinds of work as in the day; and in the ex­tremity of this country, towards the islands of Finmark, the sun is continually in view in the midst of summer, and is observed to circulate day and night round the north pole, contracting its orbit, and then gradually en­larging it, till at length it leaves the horizon. On the other hand, in the depth of winter, the sun is invisible for some weeks; all the light perceived at noon being a faint glimmering of about an hour and a half's contin­uance; which, as the sun never appears above the ho­rizon, chiefly proceeds from the reflection of the rays on the highest mountains, whose summits are seen more clearly than any other objects. But the wise and boun­tiful Creator has granted the inhabitants all possible as­sistance; for besides the moon-shine, which by reflection from the mountains is exceedingly bright in valleys, the people receive considerable relief from the Auror [...] [Page 239] Borealis, or nothern lights, which often afford them all the light necessary to their ordinary labours.

On the east side of Norway, the cold of winter gen­erally sets in about the middle of October, and lasts till the middle of April. The waters are congealed to a thick ice, and the mountains and valleys covered with snow. However, this is of such importance to the welfare of the country, that in a mild winter, the peasants who live among the mountains are consider­able sufferers; for without this severe frost and snow, they can neither convey the timber they have felled, to the rivers, nor carry their corn, butter, furs and oth­er commodities, in their sledges, to the market towns; and after the sale of them carry back the necessaries they are supplied with. For the largest rivers, with their roaring cataracts are arrested in their course by the frost, and the very spittle is no sooner out of the mouth than it is congealed, and rolls along the ground like hail. But the wise Creator has given the inhabi­tants of this cold climate a greater variety of preserva­tives against the weather than most other countries afford. Extensive forests supply them with plenty of timber for building, and for fuel. The wool of the sheep, and the furs and skins of wild beasts, furnish them with warm lining for their cloaths, and covering for their beds. Innumerable flights of wild fowl sup­ply them with down and feathers. The mountains [Page 240] themselves serve them for fences against the north and east winds, and their caverns afford them shel­ter.

In the summer months, the weather is not only warm but very hot. These violent heats, which are, however, of short duration, may be partly derived from the valleys being inclosed within high mountains, where the reverberation of the rays of the sun on all sides heat the hair; and as there is almost no night, neither the atmosphere nor the mountains have time to cool. Indeed there cannot be a more decisive proof of the summer's heat in Norway, than that seve­ral vegetables, (and particularly barley) grow up and ripen within six weeks or two months.

The air is pure and salubrious, especially in the middle of the country about the mountains where the inhabitants know little of sickness. Physicians are on­ly to be found in the chief towns, where they are esta­blished with a public salary, but have generally very little employment.

Norway contains a vast number of mountains, some of which extend themselves in a long chain fro [...] north to south, while others are scattered about and surrounded by a level country.

The inhabitants of a mountainous country may be said to labour under more inconveniences than others. Thus the arable ground is here but little in compari­son [Page 241] of the wastes and desarts, which obliges the inha­bitants to procure half their subsistence from the sea. The villages are small, and the houses scattered among the valleys. But in some places the peasant's houses stand so high, and on the edge of steep precipices, that ladders are fixed to climb up to them; so that when a cleryman is sent for, who is unpractised in the road, he risks his life in ascending them, especially in winter, when the ways are slippery. In such places the bo­dies of the dead must be let down with ropes, or be brought on people's backs before they are laid in a coffin; and, at some distance from Bergen, the mail must likewise in winter be drawn over the steepest mountains.

Another evil resulting from the mountains, is the shelter they afford in their caverns and clefts to the wild beasts, which render it difficult to extirpate them. It is not easy to describe the havock made by the lynxes, foxes, bears, and especially wolves, among the cattle, goats, hares, and other useful animals.

Another evil is, that the cows, sheep, and goats be­longing to the peasants, often fall down the precipices and are destroyed. Sometimes they make a false step into a projection, called a mountain-hammer, where they can neither ascend nor descend. On this occasion a peasant chearfully ventures his life for a sheep or a goat; and descending from the top of a mountain by a [Page 242] rope of some hundred fathoms in length, he slings his body on a cross stick, till he can set his foot on the place where his goat is, when he fastens it to the rope to be drawn up along with himself. But the most a­mazing circumstance is, that he runs this risk with the help of only a single person, who holds the end of the rope, or fastens it to a stone if there be one at hand. There are instances of the assistant himself having been dragged down, and sacrificing his life from fi­delity to his friend, on which both have perished. On these melancholy accidents, when man or beast falls some hundred [...]athorns down the precipices, it is observed, that the air presses with such force against their bodies thus falling, that they are not only depri­ved of life long before they reach the ground, but their bellies burst and their entrails gush out, which is plainly the case when they fall into deep water.

The country produces wheat, rye, barley, white, grey and green pease; vetches, used as provender for horses; hops, flax, and hemp; many kinds of roots and greens for the kitchen, with a considerable num­ber of hardy flowers. In Norway, as well as in Den­mark, are several kinds of cherries, of which the peasants sell great quantities dried. There are also many sorts of wholesome and well-tasted berries, as red and white currants, sunberries, raspberries, red and white gooseberries, barberries, bilberries, cramber­ries, [Page 243] strawberries, blackberries, and many other kinds. Several sorts of plums attain to a tolerable ripeness, which can very seldom be said of peaches, apricots, or grapes. However, apples and pears of several kinds are found all over the country; but the greatest part of these are summer-fruits, which ripen early; for the winter-fruit seldom comes to perfection, unless the summer proves hotter, and the winter sets in later than usual.

But though, with respect to fruit-trees, Norway must be acknowledged inferior to most countries in Europe, yet this deficiency is liberally compensated in the blessings of inexhaustible forests; so that in most provinces immense sums are received from foreigners for masts, beams, planks, boards, &c. not to men­tion the home consumption for houses built entirely of beams of wood, ships, bridges, and an infinite num­ber of founderies, which require an [...] immense quantity of charcoal, in the fusion of metals, besides the de­mands for fuel and other domestic uses; to which must be added, that in many places the woods are felled on­ly to clear the ground and be burnt, the ashes serving for manure.

Bergen, the capital of Norway, has one of the finest ports in Europe, and is divided into the upper and lower town, the one built on the rocks, and the oth­er on the sea shore. It is a large trading town, full [Page 244] of merchants, and was formerly an archbishopric; but has not been acknowledged such since the refor­mation. The Archbishop's palace was given to the Hans Towns, for their ancient merchants to live in, and the greatest part of the houses were turned into warehouses, which still bear the name of cloisters, and the merchants are called monks, though they do not wear a cowl, nor observe the rules of any order. The king has, however, obliged them so far to keep up the form of a religious house, that none of the mer­chants who live in it are allowed to marry without removing. The principal branch of trade carri­ed on at Bergen, are herrings, cod, and stock-fish, for which there is a great vent in Muscovy, Sweden, Po­land, Denmark, Germany, Holland, and other parts of Europe.

SECT. XCIII. OF THE PERSONS, DRESS, EMPLOYMENTS, AND CUSTOMS OF THE INHABI­TANTS OF NORWAY.

THE Norwegians are generally tall, well made, and lively; yet those on the coast are neither so tall nor so robust as those who inhabit the mountains; but are remarkable for being fatter, and having rounder faces. The people in general are brisk and ingenious; which appears from the peasants not employing any hatters, shoemakers, taylors, tanners, weavers, carpenters, smiths, or joiners; for all these trades are exercised in every farmhouse; and they think a boy can never be a useful member of society, nor a good man, without making himself master of all these arts. They are re­markable for their civility and willingness to serve ev­ery one, and a traveller is seldom suffered to pay for his lodging; for they think it their duty to treat the stranger as well as it is in their power, and look upon it as an honour done them, if he accepts of their civi­lities. The peasant, however, never gives the up­per end of the table to the greatest guest that ever [Page 246] comes under his roof; for he thinks that place belongs only to himself.

They keep open house for three weeks at Christmas, during which their tables are spread and loaded with the best provisions they can afford. At Christmas-eve their hospitality extends to the very birds; and, for their use, they hang on a pole at the barn-door, an un­threshed sheaf of corn, which draws thither the sparrows and other small birds.

The inhabitants of the trading towns live, with res­pect to provisions, much in the same manner as the Danes; but the peasants keep close to the manners of their fore-fathers. Thin oat-cakes are their common bread; but upon particular occasions, as weddings or entertainments, they have rye-bread. If grain be scarce, which generally happens after a severe winter, the peasants have recourse to a disagreeable method of preserving life, by boiling and drying the bark of fir-trees, mixing it with a little oatmeal, and making it in­to a kind of bread. Even in times of plenty they eat a little of it, that they may think it less disagreeable in a time of scarcity.

The lakes and rivers furnish the people with plenty of fresh water fish, and the mountains with game. For their winter stock they kill cows, sheep, and goats; part of which they pickle and smoak, and some of it they cut in thin slices, sprinkle it with salt, then dry it [Page 247] in the wind, and eat it like hung beef. They are fond of brandy, and of smoaking and chewing tobacco.

The Norwegians who live in towns, have nothing remarkable in their dress; but the peasants do not trouble themselves about fashions. Those called strile-farmers have their breeches and stockings of one piece. They have a wide loose jacket, made of coarse wollen cloth, as are also their waistcoats: and those who would appear fine, have the seams covered with cloth of a different colour. The peasants of one parish are remarkable for wearing black cloths edged with red; another for wearing all black. The dress of another parish is white edged with black. Others wear black and yellow. And thus the inhabitants of almost every parish vary in the colour of their cloaths. They wear a flapped hat, or a little brown, grey, or black cap, made quite round, and the seams ornamented with black ribbons. They have shoes of a peculiar con­struction without heels, consisting of two pieces; the upper leather fits close to the foot, to which the sole is joined by a great many plaits and folds. When they trav­el, and in the winter, they wear a sort of half boots that reach up to the calf of the leg, and are laced on one side; and when they go on the rocks in the snow, they put on snow shoes. But as these are troublesome when they have a great way to travel, they put on skaits about as broad as the foot, but six or eight feet [Page 248] long, and pointed before. They are covered under­neath with seal-skin, to that the smooth grain of the hair turns backward to the heel. With these snow skaits they slide about on the snow as well as they can upon the ice, and faster than any horse.

The peasant never wears a neck cloth, or any thing of that kind, except when he is dressed; for his neck and breast are always open, and he lets the snow beat into his bosom. On the contrary, he covers his veins, binding a woollen fillet round his wrists. About their body they wear a broad leathern belt, ornamented with convex brass plates; to this hangs a brass chain, which holds their large knife, gimblet, and other tackle.

The women at church, and in genteel assemblies, dress themselves in jackets laced close, and have leath­ern girdles, with silver ornaments about them. They also wear a silver chain three or four times round the neck, with a gilt medal hanging at the end of it. Their handerchiefs and caps are almost covered with small silver, brass, and tin-plates, buttons, and large rings, such as they wear on their fingers, to which they hang again a percel of small ones, which make a jing­ling noise when they move. A maiden-bride has her hair plaited and hung as full as possible with such kind of trinkets, as also her clothes. For this purpose they get all the ornaments they can.

The peasants are generally busied in cutting wood, [Page 249] felling and floating timber, burning charcoal, and ex­tricating tar. Great numbers are employed in the mines, and at the furnaces and stamping mills; and also in navigation and fishing, besides hunting and shooting; for every body is at liberty to pursue the game, especially in the mountains, where every peasant may make use of what arms he pleases.

SECT. XCIV. OF THE HOUSES OF THE NORWEGIANS.

THEIR houses are, in general, built of fir and pine-trees, the whole trunks of which are only chop­ped even to make them lie close, and then laid one up­on another, and fastened with mortices at the corners. These trunks are left round as they grew, both on the inside and outside of the houses, and are frequently boarded over and painted, especially in the trading towns, which gives them a genteel appearance.

In the country villages the houses are built at a dis­tance from each other, with their fields and grounds [Page 250] about them. The store-house for the provisions is generally at a distance from the dwelling-house, for fear of fire, and placed high upon poles, to keep the provisions dry and preserve them from mice and all kinds of vermin. The kitchen stands also separate, as do the barns, hay-loft, cow-houses, stables, and the like. A farm has likewise commonly a mill belonging to it, situated by some rivulet, besides a smith's forge; for every farmer, as hath been observed, is his own smith. Up the country, where timber for building is but of little value, there is many a farm-house as large as a nobleman's seat. It is frequently two stories high, and has a raised balcony in the front. The additional building resemble a little village. The common farm­houses have, however, only the ground-floor, and no other window but a square hole in the wall, which is left open in summer; but in winter, or in wet weather, is filled up with a wooden frame, covered with the in­ward membrane of some animal. This is very strong, and as transparent as a bladder. This hole, which is as high as it can be placed, also answers the purpose of a chimney, by serving to let out the smoke.

Under the light hole generally stands a long thick table, with benches of the same wood, and at the upper end is the high seat which belongs to the master only. In towns these houses are covered with tiles; but in the country, the people lay over the boards the [...] [Page 251] bark of birch-trees, which will not decay in many years. They cover this again three or four inches thick with turf, on which good grass always grows.

SECT. XCV. OF THE ANIMALS OF NORWAY.

AMONG the animals we shall begin with the hor­ses, which are better for riding than drawing. Their walk is easy, they are full of spirit, and are very sure footed. When they mount or descend a steep cliff, on stones like steps, they first tread gently with one foot, to try if the stone they touch be fast; and in this they must be left to themselves, or the best rider will run the risk of his neck. But when they are to go down a very steep and slippery place, they, in a surprising manner draw their hind legs together under them, and slide down. They shew a great deal of courage in fighting with the wolves and bears, which they are often oblig­ed to do; for when the horse perceives any of them near him, and has a mare or gelding with him, he places them behind him, attacks his antagonist by strik­ing [Page 252] at him with his fore-legs, and usually comes off conqueror.

The Norway cows are generally of a yallow colour, as are also the horses. They are small, but their flesh is fine grained, juicy, and well tasted.

The sheep here are small, and resemble those of Denmark. The goats, in many places, run wild, win­ter and summer, in the fields, till they are ten or twelve years old; and when the peasant, who owns them, is to catch them, he must either do it by some snare or shoot them. They are so bold, that if a wolf ap­proaches them, they stay to receive him, and if they have dogs with them, they will resist a whole herd. They frequently attack the snakes, and when they are bit by them, not only kill their antagonists, but eat them: after which they are never known to die of the bite, though they are ill for several days. The own­er warms their own milk, and washes the sore with it.

Near Rostad, is a flat and naked field on which no vegetable will grow. The soil is almost white, with grey stripes, and has somewhat of so peculiarly poi­sonous nature, that though all other animals may safely pass over it, a goat or a kid no sooner sets its foot upon it, than it drops down, stretches out its leg, its, tongue hangs out of its mouth, and it expires if it has not instant help.

There are a few hogs in Norway, and not many [Page 253] of the common deer; but the hares, which in the cold season change from brown or grey to a snow white are very cheap in winter.

The hurtful beasts are the bears and wolves, the lynx, vast numbers of white, red and black foxes, and the glutton, a creature which few other countries know any otherwise than by report. This animal receives its name from its voracious appetite. In size and shape [...]e has some resemblance to a long-bodied dog, with thick legs, sharp claws and teeth. His colour is black, variegated with brown and yallowish streaks. He has the boldness to attack every beast he can possibly con­quer; and if he finds a carcase six times as big as him­self, he does not leave off eating as long as there is a mouthful left. When thus gorged, he presses and squeezes himself between two trees that stand near to­gether, and thus empties himself of what he has not time to digest. As his skin shines like damask, and is covered with soft hair, it is very precious. It is there­fore well worth the huntsman's while to kill him with­out wounding his skin, which is done by shooting him with a bow and blunt arrows.

The marten is also hunted on account of its skin, as are likewise the squirrel and the ermine, both of which are therefore shot with blunt arrows. I am in doubt whether the ermine be different in kind from the Da­nish weasel. Its valuable skin is of a beautiful white, [Page 254] and it has a black spot on the tail. The ermines run after [...] like cats, and drag away what they catch, particularly eggs, which are their nicest delicacy.

As to the reptiles, there are neither land-snakes nor toads beyond the temperate zone; and even those snakes on the extremities of the temperate climate, are less poisonous than in more southern countries. Lizards are here of various colours, as brown, green, and strip­ed. Those that are green are found in the fields, and the others in the cracks and holes of rocks.

Among the fowls are most of those seen in the west of Europe, and some that seem peculiar to this country; of which last, the most remarkable is the farncolin, an excellent land bird, which serves the Norwegians in­stead of the pheasant, its flesh being white, firm, and of a delicious taste.

In short, there are here such incredible numbers of sea and land fowls near the rocks on the sea-shore, that they sometimes obscure the sight of the heavens for many miles out at sea; so that one would imagine all the fowls of the universe were gathered together in one flock.

SECT. XCVI. OF LAPLAND.

WE took a journey from the town of Varanger in­to the country of Lapland, to try whether any trade could be carried on with the peasants there. Setting out early in the morning, we took with us some cloth and tobacco to trade with, and salt beef and pork for our provisions. We engaged three of the inhabitants of Varanger to attend us, both to shew us the way, and to help to carry our goods and provisions to the next village. We followed them through woods, moun­tains, and valleys, without meeting any living creature, till about four o'clock in the afternoon, when we per­ceived two white bears of a prodigious size approach, as we thought, to devour us; but our guides observing the terror we were in, bid us not be afraid, but only to have our arms ready for defence, in case they ap­proached too near us. Upon which we cocked and primed our pieces, and prepared our flints. But whe­ther the bears were frightened at the fire which struck from our flints, or smelt our powder, they soon fled a­way so [...] they were presently out of sight.

[Page 256] As we were descending a mountain about an hour before night, we perceived at the foot of it a dozen houses at a considerable distance from each other, and a little beyond them a heard of beasts like stags, which our guides told us were rein-deer. On our arrival at the village, our guides conducted us to a hut, when be­ing very weary, we were glad to rest ourselves; for we had made a long journey in a very bad way, with our luggage on our backs, which tired and encumber­ed us.

We presented our host with a piece of roll tobacco, and he received it with extraordinary joy, assuring us, he had not had so valuable a present in nine months before; and in return he brought out his brandy bot­tle, some rein-deer's flesh dressed without salting, and some dried fish, which we gave to our guides, and sup­ped ourselves upon the provisions we had brought with us. Having made a hearty meal we went to sleep upon bear's skins, after the fashion of the coun­try.

In the morning we asked our host if he had nothing to barter with us for cloth and tobacco. To which he answered, that he had some skins of wolves, foxes, and white squrrils, and that his neighbours had some of the same commodities, which they would gladly ex­change with us. We bid him, by our interpreters, bring out his skins; and if he had any clothes made of [Page 257] rein-deer skins, we told him we would deal with him for four suits, which we wanted to keep us warm. Accordingly he brought forth his merchandize, which we bought, and paid him part in tobacco, and part in cloth. We also trucked with his neighbours as long as they had any thing worth buying.

SECT. XCVII. THE MANNER OF TRAVELLING IN SLED­GES DRAWN BY REIN-DEER.

BEING desirous of continuing our journey, we begged our host to lend us some rein-deer to carry us farther up the country, to which he readily consented; and taking down a horn that hung up in his cottage, went out and blew it. Upon which fourteen or fifteen of those animals came running towards the hut, six of which he immediately yoked to six sledges. In one of them we put our merchandize and provisions; another we assigned to one of our guides who understood the language of the Muscovite Laplanders, and that of [...]he Kilops, dismissing the two other inhabitants of Va­ranger, [Page 258] after having first paid them in tobacco for their trouble. We then put on our Lapland clothes, and each of us lying down in his sledge, was covered with a bear's skin. At the back of the sledge were two girths made of rein-deer's skin leather, in which we thrust our arms up to the shoulders to keep ourselves steady; and we had each a stick with a strong ferrel, in order to support the sledge, if it should be in dan­ger of overturning against the stumps of trees, or stones lying in the way.

We were no sooner ready to set out, than our host muttered some words in the ear of the rein-deer; and when I afterwards enquired of the guide what he ment by it, he gravely replied with the utmost simplicity, that it was to tell them whither they should carry us. Custom, however, had made this muttering so familiar to them, that when our host had gone to all the six, they set off with amazing swiftness, and continued their pace over hills and dales without keeping any beaten path, till seven o'clock in the evening; when they brought us to a lage village situated between two mountains, on the borders of a great lake. Stopping at the fourth house in the place, and beating the ground with their feet, the master of the house came with some of his servants to take us out of the sledges, and unhar­ness our cattle, one of them bringing out a little juni­per can filled with brandy, of which he gave each of us [Page 259] a brimmer out of a larger vessel that was also made of juniper wood. This it seems was to revive our spirits, our guide having informed him, that we were frigh­tened at our being drawn so swiftly by these animals, having never been used to that way of travelling.

The rein-deer is of the colour of the stag, and is not much bigger. The horns of this animal are some­what higher than those of the stag, but more crooked, hairy, and not so well furnished with branches. Of the milk of the females they make good butter and cheese. These animals, indeed, constitute the greatest, and almost the only riches of the Finlaplanders. In Finmark, thare are vast numbers of them both wild and tame, and many a man there has from six or eight hundred to a thousand of these useful creatures which never come under cover. They follow him wherever he is pleased to ramble, and, when they are put to a sledge, transport his goods from one place to another. They provide for themselves, and live chiefly on moss, and on the buds and leaves of trees. They support themselves on very little nourishment, and are neat, clean, and entertaining creatures.

It is remarkable, that when the rein-deer sheds his horns, and others rise in their stead, they appear at first covered with a skin; and till they are of a finger's length, are so soft, that they may be cut with a knife like a sausage, and are delicate eating even raw; there­fore [Page 260] the huntsmen, when far outin the country, and pinch­ed for want of food, eat them, and find that they satis­fy both their hunger and thirst. When the horn grows bigger, there breeds within the skin a worm which eats away the root.

The rein-deer has over his eye-lids a kind of skin, through which he peeps, when otherwise, in the hard shows, he would be obliged to shut his eyes in­tirely; a singular instance of the benevolence of the great Creator, in providing for the wants of each crea­ture, according to its destined manner of living.

When we got out of our sledges, our host conduct­ed us into his hut, which, like the rest of the cottages in the place, was very small, low, and covered with the bark of trees, the light entering in at a hole at the top. The people here were clothed much like those of Va­ranger, their apparel being of the same materials and make, but longer. The women were also dressed in rein-deer skins, with the hair outwards.

We gave our host a piece of our roll tobacco, about two inches long, with which he was highly pleased, and in the most hearty manner returned us his thanks. We also gave a piece, not quite so long, to each of the inhabitants of the place to make them our friends, and the better to secure ourselves against their attempts; for they seemed more uncivilized than those we last dealt with. We again supped on the provisions we had [Page 261] brought with us, and our guide ate some of our host's [...]alt fish and fresh rein-deer venison. The inhabitants talked a language very different from that used at Va­ranger; but our guide had been often in the country and understood them.

SECT. XCVIII. THE CEREMONIES OF A LAPLAND FUNERAL.

OUR landlord asked us whether we would accom­pany him to the funeral of one of his neighbours who had been dead about four hours. We were glad of this opportunity of seeing their funeral ceremony, and therefore went with him to the house of the deceased; when we saw the corpse taken from the bear's skins on which it lay, and removed into a wooden coffin, by six of his most intimate friends, the body being first wrapped in linen, and the face and hands only left bare. In one hand they put a purse with money in it, to pay the fee of the porter of the gate of [...], and in the other a certificate signed by a priest, directed to [Page 262] St. Peter, to certify that he was a good Christian, and ought to be admitted into heaven. At the head of the coffin was placed a picture of St. Nicholas, who was one of the seven deacons mentioned in the Acts of the Apostles, a Saint greatly reverenced in all parts of Muscovy, where he is supposed to be a particular friend of the dead. On which account his picture is always fixed near a corpse, instead of a crucifix. He is represented in a pilgrim's habit, with a long robe, a broad girdle about his waist, and a staff in his hand.

They also put into the coffin a rundlet of brandy, some dried fish and rein-deer venison to support the de­ceased on his journey. They then lighted some fir-tree roots, piled up at a convenient distance from the coffin, wept, howled, and made a variety of strange gestures, assuming a thousand different attitudes to shew the extravagance of their sorrow.

When this noise and these gesticulations were over, they marched round the corpse several times in pro­cession, asking the deceased why he died? Whether he was angry with his wife? Whether he stood in need of meat, drink, or clothes? Whether he had not succeed­ed when fishing, or had lost his game when hunting? They then resumed their howling, and stampted with all the signs of distraction.

One of the priests who assisted at the solemnity fre­quently [Page 263] sprinkled holy water upon the corpse, as did all the mourners.

Being now almost deafened with noise, and wearied with looking on these barbarous rites, we left our landlord behind us, and returned to his cottage, where we found his wife at home. She had made a sally from the place in which her husband had confined her on our arrival, and no sooner saw us, than supposing he was in our company, would have retired to her cor­ner; but our interpreter letting her know that the goodman was at the funeral, and would not return for some time, she staid and viewed us all round, one af­ter another, drew her seat near us, and shewed us a bonnet of her own embroidering, very curiously per­formed with tinsel thread. The wives of the Musco­vite Laplanders make clothes for themselves, their hus­bands, and their children, and at the edges they are all embroidered with that thread. She was handsome, well shaped, and appeared to be good-humoured, and well pleased with us.

While our host was busied about the funeral, we pulled out some of our provisions, and gave our landlady some of every sort to taste. She liked them all, especi­ally the gingerbread; but having drank two or three glasses of brandy, withdrew to her place of confine­ment, for fear of her husband's return. Had he found her among us it would have raised his jealousy.

[Page 264] When he came home, he obliged us to take a cup or two more, to smoke a pipe, and to sup with him; for he brought such provisions as he thought would be most grateful to our palates, particularly salt but­ter which we eat with bread; and as our guide would not taste any thing that was salt, he got him some dri­ed fish, and some bear's flesh, which he broiled on the coals.

All the cottages in this village were, like those we had observed in other places, built of wood and cover­ed with turf, but they were handsomer than any we had yet seen, being both within and without adorned with fish bones, curiously inlaid.

SECT. XCIX. ON THE INTENSE COLD EXPERIENCED BY SOME GENTLEMEN, SENT BY THE KING OF FRANCE, TO DETERMINE THE FIGURE OF THE EARTH AT THE POLAR CIRCLE.

IN order to ascertain the distance between the two signals we had erected last summer, we were under the necessity of being upon the ice of a river in Lapland, at the distance of above three leagues in a country where the cold was growing every day more intense. On the twenty-first of December this work was begun. In this season the sun but just shewed itself above the ho­rizon towards noon; but the long twilights, the white­ness of the snow, and the meteors continually blazing in the sky, furnished us light enough to work four or five hours every day.

We lodged at the house of the Curate of Oswer-Tor­nea, and at eleven in the forenoon began our survey, attended by so great an equipage, that the Laplanders, drawn by the novelty of the sight, came down from the neighbouring mountains. We separated into two [Page 254] bands, each of which carried our rods of fir, each thir­ty feet long. I shall say nothing of the fatigues and dangers of this operation. Judge what it must be to walk in snow two feet deep, with heavy poles in our hands which we were obliged to be continually laying on the snow, and lifting again,—in a cold so ex­treme, that whenever we would taste a little brandy, the only thing that could be kept liquid, our tongues and lips froze to the cup, and came away bloody;—in a cold that congealed the fingers of some of us, and threaten­ed us with still more dismal accidents. While the ex­tremities of our bodies were thus freezing, the rest, through excessive toil, was bathed in sweat. Brandy did not quench our thirst; we must have recourse to deep wells dug through the ice, which were shut almost as soon as opened, and from which the water could scarcely be conveyed unfrozen to our lips. Thus were we forced to run the hazard of the dangerous con­trast which ice-water might produce in our heated bodies.

Our work however advanced apace; for six days labour brought it to within about five hundred toises, where we had not been able to plant our stakes soon e­nough. Three of the Gentlemen therefore undertook this office, while the Abb [...] Outhier and I went upon a pretty extraordinary adventure.

We had last summer omitted an observation of small [Page 255] moment. This was taking the height of an object that we made use of in measuring the top of Avasaxa: and to perform this, I undertook to go with a quad­rant to the top of the mountain, so scrupulously care­ful were we that nothing should be wanting to the per­fection of the work. Imagine a very high mountain, full of rocks, that lie hid in a prodigious quantity of snow, as well as their cavities, wherein you may sink into a crust of snow as into an abyss, and the under­taking will scarce appear possible. Yet there are two ways of performing it; one by walking, or rather sli­ding along upon two strait boards, eight feet in length, which the Finlanders and Laplanders use to keep them from [...]inking into the snow. But this way of walking requires long practice. The other is by trusting your­self to a rein-deer used to such journeys.

This first part of our journey was performed in a moment; for our [...]light over the plain beaten road from the curate's house to the foot of the mountain can be compared only to that of birds. And though the mountain, where there was no track, greatly abated the speed of our rein-deer, they got at length to the top of it, where we immediately made the observation for which we came. In the mean while our rein-deer had dug deep holes in the snow, where they browzed on the moss that covers the rocks; and the Laplanders had lighted a great fire, and we presently joined them to [Page 256] warm ourselves. The cold was so extreme, that the heat of the fire could reach only to a very small dis­tance. As the snow just by it melted, it was immedi­ately froze again, forming a hearth of ice all round.

Our journey up hill had been painful; but now our concern was lest our return should be too rapid. We were to proceed down the steep in conveyances, which though partly sunk in the snow, slid on notwithstand­ing, drawn by animals, whose fury in the plain we had already tried, and who, though sinking to their bel­lies in the snow, would endeavour to free themselves by the swiftness of their flight. We very soon found ourselves at the bottom of the hill. The next day we finished our survey, and made all possible haste back to Tornea, to secure ourselves in the best manner we were able from the increasing severity of the sea­son.

The town of Tornea, at our arrival on the 30th of December, had really a most frightful aspect. Its little houses were buried to the tops in snow, which, had there been any day-light, must have effectually shut it out. But the snow continually falling, or ready to fall for the most part hid the sun the few moments he might have appeared at mid-day.

In the month of January the cold was increased to that extremity, that Mr. Reaumur's mercurial thermo­meters, which at Paris, in the great frost of 1709, it [Page 257] was thought strange to see fall to 14 degrees below the freezing point, were now got down to 37. The spirit of wine in the others was frozen. If we opened the door of a warm room, the external air instantly con­verted all the vapour in it into snow, whirling it round in while vortexes. If we went abroad, we felt as if the air was tearing our breasts in pieces; and the crack­ing of the wood, of which the houses are built, as if it split by the violence of the frost, continually alarmed us with an increase of cold. The solitude of the streets was as great as if the people had been all dead. In this country you may often see people who have lost an arm or a leg by the frost. The cold, which is always very great, sometimes increases by such violent and sudden fits, as are almost infallibly fatal to those who are so unhappy as to be exposed to it; and sometimes there rise sudden tempests of snow, which are still more dangerous.

The winds seem to blow from all quarters at once, and drive about the snow with such fury, that all the roads are in a moment rendered invisible. Dreadful is the situation of a person surprised in the fields by such a storm. His knowledge of the country, and even the mark he may have taken by the trees, cannot avail him. He is blinded by the snow; and if he attempts to find his way home, is generally lost.

In short, during the whole winter the cold was so [Page 258] excessive, that on the 7th of April, at five in the morn­ing, the thermometer was fallen to twenty divisions below the point of freezing, though every afternoon it rose two or three divisions above it; a difference in the height not much less than that which the greatest heat and cold felt at Paris usually produce in that instru­ment. Thus, in the space of twenty-four hours, we had all the variety felt in the temparate zones in the compass of a whole year.

SECT. C. OF THE BEAUTY OF THE NORTHERN LIGHTS IN LAPLAND.

THOUGH in this climate the earth is horrible, the heavens present most beautiful prospects. The short days are no sooner closed, than fires of a thousand colours and figures sight up the sky, as if designed to compensate for the absence of the sun in this sea­son. These fires have not here as in the more south­erly climates, any constant situation. Though a lu­minous [Page 259] arch is often seen fixed towards the north, they seem more frequently to possess the whole extent of the hemisphere. Sometimes they begin in the form of a great scarf of bright light, with its extremities upon the horizon, which with a motion resembling that of a fishing-net, glides swiftly up the sky, preserving in this motion a direction nearly perpendicular to the me­ridian; and most commonly after those preludes, all the lights unite at the zenith, and form the top of a kind of crown. Ar [...]s, like those seen in France tow­ards the north, are here frequently situated towards the south, and often towards both the north and south, at once. Their summits approach each other, and the distance of their extremities widens towards the hori­zon. I have seen some of the opposite arcs, whose summits almost join at the zenith; and both the one and the other have frequently several concentric arcs beyond it. Their tops are all placed in the direction of the meridian, though with a little declination to the west, which I did not find to be constant, and which is sometimes sensible.

It would be endless to mention all the different fig­ures these meteors assume, and the various motions with which they are agitated. Their motion is most com­monly like that of a pair of colours waved in the air, and the different tints of their light gives them the ap­pearance of so many vast streamers of changeable [...]. [Page 260] Sometimes they line a part of the sky with scar­let.

On the 18th of December, I saw a phaenomenon of this kind, that in the midst of all the wonders to which I was now every day accustomed, raised my admira­tion. To the south a great space of the sky appeared tinged with so lively a red, that the whole constellation of Orion looked as if it had been dipped in blood. This light, which was at first fixed, soon moved, and changing into other colours, violet and blue, settled into a dome, whose top stood a little to the south-west of the zenith. The moon shone bright, but did not in the least efface it.

In this country, where there are lights of so many different colours, I never saw but two that were red; and such are taken for presages of some great misfor­tune. After all, when people gaze at these phaenome­na with an unphilosophic eye, it is not surprising if they discover in them armies engaged, fiery chariots, and a thousand other prodigies.

During the winter we repeated many of our observa­tions, and calculations, and found the most evident proofs of the earth's being flatted at the poles. Mean time the sun came nearer, or rather no more quitted us. It was now May, when it was curious enough to see that great luminary enlighten for so long a time a whole horizon of ice, and to see summer in the heavens, [Page 261] while winter still kept possession of the earth. We were in the morning of that long day of several months; yet the sun, with all his power, wrought no change either upon the ice or snow.

On the 6th of May it began to rain, and some water appeared on the ice of the river. At noon a little snow melted, but in the evening winter resumed his rights. At length, on the 10th, the earth which had been so long hid, began to appear; some high points that were exposed to the sun showed themselves, as the tops of the mountains did after the deluge, and all the fowls of the country returned. At the beginning of June, win­ter yielding up the earth and sea, we prepared for our departure back to Stockholm, and on the 9th, some of us set out by land, and others by sea.

SECT. CI. OF ST. ANDREWS IN SCOTLAND.

I HAD desired to visit the Hebrides, or Western Isl­ands of Scotland so long, that I scarcely remember how the wish was originally excited; and was in the Autumn of the year 1773 induced to undertake the journey, by finding in Mr. Boswell a companion, whose accuteness would help my enquiry, and whose gaiety of conversation and civility of manners are sufficient to counteract the inconveniences of travel, in countries less hospitable than we have passed.

On the 18th of August we left Edinburgh, a city too well known to admit description, and directed our course northward, along the eastern coast of Scotland, accompanied the first day by another gentleman, who could stay with us only long enough to show us how much we lost at separation.

As we crossed the Frith of Fourth, our curiosity was attracted by Inch Keith, a small island, which neither of my companions had ever visited, though, lying with­in their view, it had all their lives solicited their no­tice. Here, by climbing with some difficulty over [Page 263] shattered crags, we made the first experiment of unfre­quented coasts. Inch Kieth is nothing more than a rock covered with a thin layer of earth, not wholly bare of grass, and very fertile of thistles. A small herd of cows graze annually upon it in the summer. It seems never to have afforded to man or beast a perma­nent habitation.

We left this little island with our thoughts employed a while on the different appearance that it would have made if it had been placed at the same distance from London, with the same facility of appoach; with what emulation of price a few rocky acres would have been purchased, and with what expensive industry they would have been cultivated and adorned.

When we landed, we found our chaise ready, and passed throug Kinghorn, Kirkaldy, and Cowpar, places not unlike the small trading market-towns in those parts of England where commerce and manufactures have not yet produced opulence.

Though we were yet in the most populous part of Scotland, and at so small a distance from the capital, we met few passengers.

The roads are neither rough nor dirty; [...] it af­fords a southern stranger a new kind of pleasure to travel so commodiously without the interruption of toll­gates.

At an hour somewhat late, we came to St. Andrews, [Page 264] a city once archiepiscopal; where that university still subsists in which philosophy was formerly taught by Buchanan, whose name has as fair a claim to immortali­ty as can be conferred by modern latinity, and perhaps a fairer than the instability of vernacular languages ad­mits.

We found, that by the interposition of some invisible friend, lodgings had been provided for us at the house of one of the professors, whose easy civility quickly made us forget that we were strangers; and in the whole time of our stay we were gratified by every mode of kindness, and entertained with all the elegance of lettered hospitality.

In the morning we arose to perambulate a city, which only history shows to have once flourished, and sur­veyed the ruins of ancient magnificence, of which e­ven the ruins cannot long be visible, unless some care be taken to preserve them; and where is the pleasure of preserving such mournful memorials? They have been, till very lately, so much neglected, that every man carried away the stones who fancied that he want­ed them.

The [...], of which the foundation may be still traced, and a small part of the wall is standing, appears to have been a spacious and majestic building, and not unsuitable to the primacy of the kingdom. Of the architecture, the poor remains can hardly exhibit, [Page 277] even to an artist, a sufficient specimen. It was demo­lished, it is well known, in the tumult and violence of Knox's reformation.

Not far from the Cathedral, on the margin of the water, stands a fragment of the castle, in which the arch­bishop anciently resided. It was never very large, and was built with more attention to security than pleasure. Cardinal Beatou [...] is said to have had workmen em­ployed in improving its fortifications, at the time when he was murdered by the ruffians of reformation, in the manner of which Knox has given what he himself calls a merry narrative.

The change of religion in Scotland, eager and ve­hement as it was, raised an epidemical [...]nthusiasm, compounded of sullen scrupulousness and warlike fe­rocity, which, in a people whom idleness resigned to their own thoughts, and who conversing only with each other, suffered no dilution of their zeal from the gradual influx of new opinions, was long transmit­ted in its full strength from the old to the young, but by trade and intercourse with England, is now visibly abating, and giving way too fast to that laxity of practice and indifference of opinion, [...] which men, not sufficiently instructed to find the middle point, too easily shelter themselves from rigour and con­straint.

The city of St. Andrews, when it had lost its archiepiscopal [Page 278] pre-eminence, gradually decayed. One of its streets is now lost; and in those that remain, there is the silence and solitude of inactive indigence and gloomy depopulation.

The university, within a few years, consisted of three colleges, but is now reduced to two; the college of St. Leonard being lately dissolved by the sale of its buildings and the appropriation of its revenues to the professors of the two others. The chapel of the aliena­ted college is yet standing, a fabric not inelegant of ex­ternal structure; but I was always, by some civil ex­cuse, hindered from entering it. A decent attempt, as I was since told, has been made to convert it into a kind of green house, by planting its area with shrubs. This new method of gardening is unsuccessful: the plants do not hitherto prosper. To what use it will next be put, I have no pleasure in conjecturing. It is something that its present state is at least not osten­tatiously displayed. Where there is yet shame, there may in time be virtue.

The dissolution of St. Leonard's College was doubt­less necessary▪ but of that necessity there is reason to complain. [...] is surely not without just reproach, that a nation, of which the commerce is hourly extending and the wealth increasing, denies any participation of its prosperity to its literary societies; and while its [Page 279] merchants or its nobles are raising palaces, suffers its universities to moulder into dust.

Of the two colleges yet standing, one is by the insti­tution of its founder appropriated to divinity. It is said to be capable of containing fifty students; but more than one must occupy a chamber. The library, which is of late erection, is not very spacious, but ele­gant and luminous.

The doctor, by whom it was shown, hoped to irri­tate or subdue my English vanity, by telling me, that we had no such repository of books in England.

St. Andrews seems to be a place eminently adapted to study and education, being situated in a populous, yet a cheap country, and exposing the minds and man­ners of young men neither to the levity and dissolute­ness of a capital city, nor to the gross luxury of a town of commerce, places naturally unpropitious to learn­ing. In one the desire of knowledge easily gives way to the love of pleasure, and in the other, is in danger of yielding to the love of money.

The students however are represented as at this time not exceeding a hundred. Perhaps it may be some ob­struction to their increase, that there is no Episcopal chapel in the place. I saw no reason for imputing their paucity to the present professors; nor can the ex­pence of an academical education be very reasonably objected. A student of the highest class may keep his [Page 280] annual session, or as the English call it, his term, which lasts seven months, for about fifteen pounds, and one of lower rank for less than ten; in which board, lodging, and instruction are all included.

The chief magistrate resident in the university, an­swering to our vice-chancellor, and to the rector magni­ficus on the continent, had commonly the title of Lord Rector; but being addressed only as Mr. Rector in an inauguratory speech by the present chancellor, he has fallen from his former dignity of style. Lordship was very liberally annexed by our ancestors to any station or character of dignity. They said, the Lord General and Lord Ambassador; so we still say, my Lord, to the judge upon the circuit, and yet retain in our Liturgy the Lords of the Council.

In walking among the ruins of religious buildings, we came to two vaults, over which had formerly stood the house of the sub-prior. One of the vaults was in­habited by an old woman, who claimed the right of a­bode there, and the widow of a man whose ancestors had possessed the same gloomy mansion for no less than four generations. The right, however it begun, was considered as established by legal prescription, and the old woman lives undisturbed. She thinks however that she has a claim to something more than sufferance; for as her husband's name was Bruce, she is allied to royality, and told Mr. Boswell, that when there were [Page 281] persons of quality in the place, she was distingushed by some notice; that indeed she is now neglected, but she spins a thread, has the company of her cat, and is trou­blesome to nobody.

Having now seen whatever this ancient city offered to our curiosity, we left it with good wishes, having reason to be highly pleased with the attention that was paid us. But whoever surveys the world must see ma­ny things that give him pain. The kindness of the professors did not contribute to abate the uneasy re­membrance of an university declining, a college alien­ated, and a church profaned and hastening to the ground.

St. Andrews indeed has formerly suffered more at­rocious ravages and more extensive destruction; but re­cent evils affect with greater force. We were reconciled to the sight of archiepiscopal ruins. The distance of a calamity from the present time seems to preclude the mind from contract or sympathy. E­vents long past are barely known; they are not con­sidered. We read with as little emotion the violence of Knox and his followers, as the irruptions of Alaric and the Goths. Had the university been destroyed two centuries ago, we should not have regretted it; but to see it pining in decay and struggling for life, fills the mind with mournful images and ineffectu­al wishes.

SECT. CII. OF INVERNESS.

INVERNES may properly be called the capital of the Highlands. Hither the inhabitants of the inland parts come to be supplied with what they cannot make for themselves. Hither the young nymphs of, the mountains and valleys are sent for education, and as far as my observation has reached are not sent in vain.

Inverness was the last place which had a regular com­munication by high roads with the southern counties. All the ways beyond it have, I believe, been made by the soldiers in this century. At Inverness therefore Cromwell, when he subdued Scotland, stationed a gar­rison, as at the boundary of the Highlands. The soldiers seem to have incorporated afterwards with the inhabitants, and to have peopled the place with an En­glish race; for the language of this town has been long considered as particularly elegant.

Here is a castle, called the castle of Macbeth, the walls of which are yet standing. It was no very capa­cious edifice, but stands upon a rock so high and steep, that I think it was once not accessible, but by the [Page 283] help of ladders or a bridge. Opposite to it, on anoth­er hill, was a fort built by Cromwell, now totally de­molished; for no faction of Scotland loved the name of Cromwell, or had any desire to continue his memo­ry.

Yet what the Romans did to other nations, was in a great degree done by Cromwell to the Scots. He civi­lized them by conquest, and introduced by useful vio­lence the arts of peace. I was told at Aberdeen, that the people learned from Cromwell's soldiers to make shoes and to plant kail.

How they lived without kail, it is not easy to guess. They cultivated hardly any other plant for common tables, and when they had not kail, they probably had nothing. The numbers that go barefoot are still suf­ficient to show that shoes may be spared. They are not yet considered as necessaries of life; for tall boys, not otherwise meanly dressed, run without them in the streets and in the islands. The sons of gentlemen pass several of the first years with naked feet.

I know not whether it be not peculiar to the Scots to have attained the liberal, without the manual arts; to have excelled in ornamental knowledge, and to have wanted not only the elegancies, but the conveniencies of common life. Literature soon after its revival found its way to Scotland, and from the middle of the sixteenth century, almost to the middle of the seven­teenth, [Page 284] the politer studies were very dilligently pursued. The Latin poetry of Delici [...] Poetorum Scotorum would have done honour to any nation; at least till the pub­lication of May's Supplement, the English had very little to oppose.

Yet men thus ingenious and inquisitive were con­tent to live in total ignorance of the trade by which human wants are supplied, and to supply them by the grossest means. Till the Union made them acquaint­ed with English manners, the culture of their lands was unskilful, and their domestic life uninformed.

Since they have known that their condition was ca­pable of improvement, their progress in useful know­ledge has been rapid and uniform. What remains to be done they will quickly do, and then wonder, like me, why that which was so necessary and so easy was so long delayed. But they must be forever content to owe to the English that elegance and culture, which, if they had been vigilant and active, perhaps the English might have owed to them.

Here the appearance of life began to alter. I had seen a few women with plaids at Aberdeen; but at In­verness, the Highland manners are common. There is I think a kirk, in which only the erse language is used. There is likewise an English chapel, but mean­ly built, where on Sunday we saw a very decent con­gregation.

[Page 285] We were now to bid farewell to the luxury of tra­velling, and to enter a country upon which perhaps no wheel has ever rolled. We could indeed have used our post-chaise one day longer, along the military road to fort Augustus, but we could have hired no horses beyond Inverness, and we were not so sparing of our­selves as to lead them, merely that we might have one day longer the indulgence of a carriage. At Inver­ness therefore we procured three horses for ourselves and a servant and one more for our baggage, which was no very heavy load. We found in the course of our journey the convenience of having disencumbered ourselves, by laying aside whatever we could spare; for it is not to be imagined without experience, how in climbing crags, and treading bogs, and winding through narrow and obstructed passages, a little bulk will hinder, and a little weight will burden; or how often a man that has pleased himself at home with his own resolution, will, in the hour of darkness and fa­tigue, be content to leave behind him every thing but himself.

We took two Highlanders to turn beside us, partly to show us the way, and partly to take back from the sea-side the horses, of which they were the owners. One of them was a man of great liveliness and activity, of whom his companion said, that he would tire any horse in Inverness. Both of them were civil and rea­dy-handed. [Page 286] Civility seems part of the national cha­rcter of the Highlanders. Every chieftain is a monarch, and politeness, the natural product of royal gov­ernment, is diffused from the laird through the whole clan. But they are not commonly dextrous. Their narrowness of life confines them to a few operations, and they are accustomed to endure little wants more than to remove them.

We mounted our steeds on the thirteenth of August, and directed our guides to conduct us to Fort Augustus. It is built at the head of Lough Ness, of which Inver­ness stands at the outlet. The way between them has been cut by the soldiers, and the greater part of it runs along a rock, levelled with great labour and exactness near the water-side.

Most of this day's journey was very pleasant. The day, though bright, was not hot; and the appearance of the country, if I had not seen the Peak, would have been wholly new. We went upon a surface so hard and level, that we had little care to hold the bridle, and were therefore at full leisure for contemplation. On the left were high and steep rocks shaded with birch, the hardy native of the North, and covered with fern or heath. On the right the limped waters of Lough Ness were beating their bank, and waving their sur­face by a gentle agitation. Beyond them were rocks sometimes covered with verdure, and sometimes tower­ing [Page 287] in horrid nakedness. Now and then we espied a little corn-field, which served to impress more strongly the general barrenness.

Lough Ness is about twenty-four miles long, and from one to two miles abroad. It is remarkable that Boethius, in his description of Scotland, gives it twelve miles of breadth. When historians or geographers ex­hibit false accounts of places far distant, they may be forgiven, because they can tell but what they are told; and that their accounts exceed the truth may be just­ly supposed, because most men exaggerate to others, if not to themselves. But Boethius lived at no great dis­tance. If he never saw the lake he must have been very incurious, and if he had seen it, his veracity yielded to very slight temptations.

Lough Ness, though not twelve miles abroad, is a very remarkable diffussion of water without islands. It fills a large hollow between two ridges of high rocks, being supplyed partly by the torrents which fall into it on either side, and partly, as is supposed, by springs at the bottom. Its water is remarkably clear and plea­sant, and is imagined by the natives to be medicinal. We were told, that it is in some places one hundred and forty fathoms deep, a profundity scarcely credible, and which probably those that relate it have never sounded. Its fish are salmon, trout, and pike.

It was said at Fort Augustus, that Lough Ness is o­pen [Page 288] in the hardest winters, thoug a lake not far from it is covered with ice. In discussing these exceptions from the course of nature, the first question is whether the fact be justly stated. That which is strange is de­lightful, and a pleasing error is not willingly detected. Accuracy of narration is not very common, and there are few so rigidly philosophical as not to represent as perpetual what is only frequent, or as constant, what is really casual. If it be true that Lough Ness never freezes, it is either sheltered by its high banks from the cold blasts and exposed only to those winds which have more power to agitate than congeal: or it is kept in perpetual motion by the rush of streams from the rocks that inclose it. Its profundity, though it should be such as is represented, can have little part in this exemption; for though deep wells are not frozen, be­cause their waters are excluded from the external air, yet where a wide surface is exposed to the full influence of a freezing atmosphere, I know not why the depth should keep it open. Natural philosophy is now one of the favourite studies of the Scotch nation, and Lough Ness well deserves to be diligently examined.

The road on which we travelled, and which was itself a source of entertainment, is made along the rock, in the direction of the lough, sometimes by breaking off protuberances, and sometimes by cutting the great mass of stone to a considerable depth. The fragments [Page 289] are piled in a loose wall on either side, with apertures left at very short spaces, to give a passage to the wintry currents. Part of it is bordered with low trees, from which our guides gathered nuts, and would have had the appearance of an English lane, except that an En­glish lane is almost always dirty. It has been made with great labour, but has this advantage, that it can­not, without equal labour, be broken up.

Within our sight there were goats feeding or play­ing. The mountains have red deer, but they came not within view; and if what is said of their vigilance and subtlety be true, they have some claim to that palm of wisdom, which the eastern philosopher, whom Alex­ander interrogated, gave to those beasts which live far­thest from men.

SECT. CIII. DESCRIPTION OF A HIGHLAND COTTAGE.

NEAR the way, by the water side we espied a cot­tage. This was the first Highland Hut that I had seen; and as our business was with life and manners, we were willing to visit it. To enter a habitation without leave, seems to be considered here as rudeness or intrusion. The old laws of hospitality still give this licence to a stranger.

A hut is constructed with loose stones, ranged for the most part with some tendency to circularity. It must be placed where the wind cannot act upon it with vio­lence, because it has no cement; and where the water will run easily away, because it has no floor but the naked ground. The wall, which is commonly about six feet high, declines from the perpendicular a little in ward. Such rafters as can be procured are then raised for a roof, and covered with heath, which makes a strong and warm thatch, kept from flying off by ropes of twisted heath, of which the ends, reaching from the centre of the thatch to the top of the wall, are held firm by the weight of a large stone. No light is admit­ted but at the entrance, and through a hole in the [Page 291] thatch, which gives vent to the smoke. This hole is not directly over the fire, lest the rain should extinguish it; and the smoke therefore naturally fills the place before it escapes. Such is the general structure of the houses in which one of the natives of this opulent and powerful island has been hitherto content to live. Huts however are not more uniform than palaces; and this which we were inspecting was very far from one of the meanest, for it was divided into several apart­ments; and its inhabitants possessed such property as a pastoral poet might exalt into riches.

When we entered we found an an old woman boil­ing goat's-flesh in a kettle. She spoke little English, but we had interpreters at hand; and she was willing enough to display her whole system of oeconomy. She has five children, of which none are yet gone from her. The eldest, a boy of thirteen, and her husband, who is eighty years old, were at work in the wood. Her two next sons were gone to Inverness to buy meal, by which oatmeal is always meant. Meal she consid­ered as expensive food, and told us, that in spring when the goats gave milk, the children could live with­out it. She is mistress of sixty goats, and I saw many kids in an enclosure at the end of her house. She had also some poultry. By the lake we saw a potatoe-gar­den, and a small spot of ground on which stood four shucks, containing each twelve sheaves of barley. She [Page 292] has all this from the labour of their own hands, and for what is necessary to be bought, her kids and her chic­kens are sent to market.

With the true pastoral hospitality, she asked us to sit down and drink whisky. She is religious, and though the kirk is four miles off, probably eight English miles, she goes thither every Sunday. We gave her a shilling and she begged snuff; for snuff is the luxury of a High­land cottage.

Soon afterwards we came to the General's Hut, so cal­led because it was the temporary abode of Wade, while he superintended the works upon the road. It is now a house of entertainment for passengers, and we found it not ill stocked with provisions.

SECT. CIV. OF THE CLIMATE, SOIL, PRODUCE, AND ANIMALS OF THE HEBRIDES, PAR­TICULARLY OF SKY.

AS the island of Sky lies in the fifty-seventh degree, the air cannot be supposed to have much warmth. [Page 293] The long continuance of the sun above the horizon, does indeed sometimes produce great heat in the northern lati­tudes; but this can only happen in sheltered places, where the atmosphere is to a certain degree stagnant, and the same mass of air continues to receive for many hours the rays of the sun, and the vapours of the earth. Sky lies open on the west and north to a vast extent of ocean, and is cooled in the summer by perpetual ven­tilation, but by the same blasts is kept warm in winter. Their weather is not pleasing. Half the year is delu­ged with rain. From the autumnal to the vernal equi­nox, a dry day is hardly known, except when the showers are suspended by a tempest. Under such skies can be expected no great exuberance of vegetation. Their winter overtakes their summer, and their harvest lies upon the ground drenched with rain. The au­tumn struggles hard to produce some of our early fruits. I gathered gooseberries in September; but they were small, and the husk was thick.

Their winter is seldom such as puts a full stop to the growth of plants, or reduces the cattle to live whol­ly on the surplusage of the summer. In the year seven­ty-one they had a severe season, remembered by the name of the Black spring, from which the island has not yet recovered. The snow lay long upon the ground, a calamity hardly known before. Part of their [Page 294] cattle died for w [...]nt, and part were unseasonably sold to buy sustenance for the owners.

The soil, as in other countries, has its diversities. In some parts there is only a thin layer of earth spread upon a rock, which bears nothing but short brown heath, and perhaps is not generally capable of any bet­ter product. There are many bogs or mosses of great­er or less extent, where the soil cannot be supposed to want depth, though it is too wet for the plough. But we did not observe in these any aquatic plants. The vallies and the mountains are alike darkened with heath. Some grass however, grows here and there, and some happier spots of earth are capable of tillage.

Their agriculture is laborious, and perhaps rather feeble than unskilful. Their chief manure is sea-weed, which, when they lay it to rot upon the field, gives them a better crop than those of the Highlands. They heap sea shells upon the dunghill, which in time moul­der into a fertilizing substance. When they find a vein of earth where they cannot use it, they dig it up, and add it to the mould of a more commodious place. Their corn grounds often lie in such intricacies among the craggs, that there is no room for the action of a team and plough. The soil is then turned up by man­ual labour, with an instrument called a crooked spade, of a forth and weight which to me appeared very [Page 295] incommodious, and would perhaps be soon improved in a country where workmen could be [...] found and easily paid. It has a narrow blade of iron fixed to a long and heavy piece of wood, which must have, about a foot and a half above the iron, a knee or [...] with the angle downwards. When the farmer encounters a stone, which is the great [...] of his opera­tions, he drives this blade under it, and bringing the knee or angle to the ground, his in the long handle a very forcible lever.

According to the different modes of tillage, farms are distinguished into long land and short land. Long land is that which affords room for a plough, and short land is turned up by the spade.

The grain which they commit to the furrows thus tediously formed, is either oats or barley. They do not sow barley, without very copious manure, and then they expect from it, ten for one, an increase e­qual to that of better countries; but the culture is so operose, that they content themselves commonly with oats; and who can relate without compassion, that af­ter all their diligence, they are to expect only a triple increase? It is in vain to hope for plenty, when a third part of the harvest must be reserved for seed.

When their grain is arrived at the state, which they must consider as ripeness, they do not cut, but pull the barley. To the oats they apply the sickle. Wheel [Page 296] carriages they have none, but make a frame of timber, which is drawn by one horse, with the two points behind pressing on the ground. On this they sometimes drag home their sheaves, but often convey them home in a kind of open panier, or frame of sticks upon the horse's back.

Of that which is obtained with so much difficulty, nothing surely ought to be wasted; yet their method of clearing their oats from the husk is by parching them in the straw. Thus with the genuine improvi­dence of savages, they destroy that fodder for want of which their cattle may perish. From this practice they have but two petty conveniences. They dry the grain so that it is easily reduced to meal, and they es­cape the theft of the thresher. The taste contracted from the fire by the oats, as by every other scorched substance, use must long ago have made grateful. The oats that are parched must be dried in a kiln.

Of their gardens I can judge only from their tables. I did not observe that the common greens were want­ing, and suppose, that by choosing an advantageous position, they can raise all the more hardy esculent plants. Of vegetable fragrance or beauty they are not yet studious. Few vows are made to Flora in the He­brides. They gather a little hay, but the grass is [...]own late; and is so often almost dry and again very wet, before it is housed, that it becomes a collection of [Page 297] withered stalks without taste or fragrance. It must be eaten by cattle that have nothing else, but by most English farmers would be thrown away.

In the islands I have not heard that any subterrane­ous treasures have been discovered, though where there are mountains there are commonly minerals. One of the rocks in Col has a black vein, imagined to consist of the ore of lead: but it was never yet opened or es­sayed. In Sky a black mass was accidentally picked up and brought into the house of the owner of the land, who found himself strongly inclined to think it a coal, but unhappily it did not burn in the chimney. Common ores would be here of no great value; for what requires to be separated by fire, must, if it were found, be carried away in its mineral state, here being no fuel for the smelting-house, or forge. Perhaps by diligent search in this world of stone, some valua­ble species of marble might be discovered. But neither philosophical curiosity, nor commercial industry, have yet fixed their abode here, where the importunity of immediate want supplied but for the day, and crav­ing on the morrow, has left little room for excur­sive knowledge, or the pleasing fancies of distant profit.

They have lately found a manufacture considerably lucrative. Their rocks abound with kelp, a sea-plant, of which the ashes are melted into grass. They burn [Page 298] kelp in great quantities, and then send it away in ships which come regularly to purchase them. This new source of riches has raised the rents of many maritime farms; but the tenants pay, like all other tenants, the additional rent with great unwillingness; because they consider the profits of the kelp as the mere pro­duct of personal labour, to which the landlord contri­butes nothing. However, as any man may be said to give what he gives the power of gaining he has cer­tainly as much right to profit from the price of kelp, as of any thing else found or raised upon his ground.

This new trade has excited a long and eager litigation between Macdonald and Macleod, for a ledge of rocks which, till the value of kelp was known, neither of them desired the reputation of possessing.

The cattle of Sky are not so small as is commonly believed. Since they have sent their beeves in great numbers to southern marts, they have probably taken more care of their breed. At stated times the annual growth of cattle is driven to a fair, by a general drover, and with the money which he returns to the farmer, the rents are paid.

The price regularly expected, is from two to three pounds a head. There was once one sold for five pounds. They go from the Islands very lean, and are not offered to the butcher till they have been long fat­ted in English pastures.

[Page 299] Of their black cattle, some are without horns, called by the Scotch humble cows, as we call a bee an bumble bee, that wants a sting. Whether this difference be specific, or accidental, though we enquired with great diligence, we could not be informed.

Their horses are, like their cows, of a moderate size. I had no difficulty to mount myself commodiously by the favour of the gentleman.

The goat is the general inhabitant of the earth, complying with every difference of climate and soil. The goats of the Hebrides are like others; nor did I hear any thing of their sheep to be particularly re­marked.

In the penury of these malignant regions, noth­ing is left that can be converted to food. The gòats and the sheep are milked like the cows. A single meal of a goat is a quart, and of a sheep a pint. Such at least was the account which I could extract from those of whom I am not sure that they ever had en­quired.

The milk of goats is much thinner than that of cows, and that of sheep is much thicker. Sheep's milk is never eaten before it is boiled. As it is thick, it must be very liberal of curd, and the people of St. Kilda form it into small cheeses.

The stags of the mountains are less than those of our parks or forests, perhaps not bigger than our fallow-deer. [Page 300] Their flesh has no rankness, nor is it inferior in flavour to our common venison. The roebuck I nei­ther saw nor tasted. These are not countries for a re­gular chase. The deer are not driven with horns and hounds. A sportsman, with his gun in his hand, watch­es the animal, and when he has wounded him, traces him by the blood.

They have a race of brinded grey hounds, larger and stronger than those with which we course hares, and those are the only dogs used by them for the chase.

There are in Sky neither rats nor mice, but the wea­sel is so frequent, that he is heard in houses ratling be­hind chests or beds, as rats in England. They proba­bly owe to his predominance that they have no other vermin; for since the grea [...]rat took possession of this part of the world, scarce a ship can touch at any port, but some of his race are left behind.

SECT. CV. OF THE INHABITANTS AND HOUSES OF THE HEBRIDES

THE inhabitants of Sky, and of the other islands which I have seen, are commonly of the middle stature, with fewer among them very tall or very short, than are seen in England, or perhaps as their numbers are small, the chances of any deviation from the common measure are necessarily few. The tallest men that I saw are among those of higher rank. In regions of barren­ness and scarcity, the human race is hindered in its growth by the same causes as other animals.

The ladies have as much beauty here as in other pla­ces; but bloom and softness are not to be expected among the lower classes, whose faces are expossed to the rudeness of the climate, and whose features are sometimes contracted by want, and sometimes harden­ed by the blasts. Supreme beauty is seldom found in cottages or work-shops, even where no real hardships are suffered. To expand the human face to its full perfection, it seems necessary that the mind should co­operate by placidness of content, or consciousness of superiority.

[Page 302] Their strength is proportionate to their size, but they are accustomed to run upon rough ground, and therefore can with great agility skip over the bog, or clamber the mountain. For a campaign in the wastes of America, soldiers, better qualified could not have been found. Having little work to do, they are not willing, nor perhaps able, to endure a long continu­ance of manual labour, and are therefore considered as habitually idle.

Having never been supplied with these accommoda­dations, which life, extensively diversified with trades affords, they supply their wants by very insufficient shifts, and endure many inconveniencies which a lit­tle attention would easily relieve. I have seen a horse carrying home the harvest on a crate. Under his tail was a stick for a crupper, held at the two ends by twists of straw. Hemp will grow in their islands, and therefore ropes may be had. If they wanted hemp, they might make better cordage of rushes, or perhaps of nettles, than of straw.

Their method of life neither secures them perpet­ual health, nor exposes them to any particular diseas­es. There are physicians in the islands, who, I believe, all practise chirurgery, and all compound their own medicines.

It is generally supposed, that life is longer in places where there are few opportunities of luxury; but I [Page 303] found no instance here of extraordinary longevity. A cottager grows old over his oaten cakes, like a citizen at a turtle-feast. He is indeed seldom incommoded by corpulence. Poverty preservs him from sinking under the burden of himself, but he escapes no other injury of time. Instances of long life are often related, which those who hear them are more willing to cred­it than examine. To be told that any man has attain­ed a hundred years, gives hope and comfort to him who stands trembling on the brink of his own climacte­ric.

Length of life is distributed impartially to very dif­ferent modes of life in very different climates; and the mountains have no greater examples of age and health, than the lowlands, where I was introduced to two ladies of high quality; one of whom, in her nine­ty-fourth year, presided at her table with the full ex­ercise of all her powers; and the other has attained her eighty-fourth, without any diminution of her vivacity, and with little reason to accuse time of depredations on her beauty.

The habitations of men in the Hebrides may be dis­tinguished into huts and houses. By a house, I mean a building with one story over another, by a hut, a dwelling with only one floor. The Laird, who for­merly lived in a castle, now lives in a house; some­times sufficiently neat, but seldom very spacious or [Page 304] splendid. The tacksmen and the ministers have com­monly houses. Wherever there is a house, the stran­ger finds a welcome.

Of the houses little can be said. They are small, and by the necessity of accumulating stores, where there are so few opportunities of purchase, the rooms are very heterogeneously filled. With want of cleanli­ness it were ingratitude to reproach them; the ser­vants having been bred upon the naked earth, think every floor clean; and the quick succession of guests, perhaps not always over-elegant, does not allow much time for adjusting their apartments.

Huts are of many gradations; from murky dens, to commodious dwellings.

The wall of a common hut is always built with mortar, by a skilful adaptation of loose stones.—Some­times, perhaps, a double wall of stones is raised, and the intermediate space filled with earth. The air is thus completely excluded. Some walls, are, I think, form­ed of turfs, held together by a wattle, or texture of twigs. Of the meanest huts, the first room is lighted by the entrance, and the second by the smoke-hole. The fire is usually made in the middle. But there are huts or dwellings, of only one story, inhabited by gentle­men, which have walls cemented with mortar, glass windows, and boarded floors. Of these all have chim­neys, and some chimneys have grates.

The house and the furniture are not always nicely [...]. We were driven once, by missing a passage, to [Page 305] the hut of a gentleman, where after a very liberal supper, when I was conducted to my chamber, I found an ele­gant bed of Indian cotton, spread with fine sheets. The accommodation was flattering; I undressed myself, and felt my feet in the mire. The bed stood upon the bare earth, which a long course of rain had softened to a puddle.

The petty tenants, and labouring peasants, live in miserable cabins, which afford them little more than shelter from the storms. The Boor of Norway is said to make all his own utensils. In the Hebrides, what­ever might be their ingenuity, the want of wood leaves them no materials. They are probably content with such accommodations as stones of different forms and sizes can afford them.

Their food is not better than their lodging. They seldom taste the flesh of land animals; for here are no markets. What each man cats is from his own flock. The great effect of money is to break property into small parts. In towns, he that has a shilling may have a piece of meat; but where there is no commerce, [...] man can eat mutton but by killing a sheep.

Fish in fair weather they need not want; but, I believe, man never live, long on fish, but by con­straint; he will rather feed upon roots and ber­ries.

The only fuel of the islands is peat. Their wood is [Page 306] all consumed, and coal they have not yet found. Peat is dug out of the marshes, from the depth of one foot to that of six. That is accounted the best which is nearer the surface. It appears to be a mass of black earth held together by vegetable fibres. I know not whether the earth be bituminous, or whether the fibres be not the only combustible part; which, by heating the interposed earth red-hot, make a burning mass. The heat is not very strong nor lasting. The ashes are yellowish, and in a large quantity. When they dig peat, they cut it into square pieces, and pile it up to dry beside the house. In some places it has an offen­sive smell. It is like wood charked for the smith. The common method of making peat fires, is by heap­ing it on the earth; but it burns well in grates, and in the best houses is so used.

The common opinion is, that peat grows again where it has been cut; which, as it seems to be chiefly a ve­getable substance, is not unlikely to be true, whether known or not to those who relate it.

SECT. CVI. OF THE HEBRIDIAN TABLES.

IT need not, I suppose, be mentioned, that in coun­tries so little frequented as the Islands, there are no hou­ses where travellers are entertained for money. He that wanders about these wilds, either procures recommen­dations to those, whose habitations lie near his way, or, when night and weariness come upon him, takes the chance of general hospitality. If he finds only a cot­tage, he can expect little more than shelter; for the cot­tagers have little more for themselves. But if his good fortune brings him to the residence of a gentle­man, he will be glad of a storm to prolong his stay. There is, however, one inn by the sea-side at Sconsor, in Sky, where the post-office is kept.

At the tables where a stranger is received, neither plenty nor delicacy is wanting. A tract of land so thinly inhabited, must have much wild fowl; and I scarcely remember to have seen a dinner without them. The moor-game is every where to be had. That the sea abounds with fish, need not be told; for it supplies a great part of Europe. The Isle of Sky, has stags and roebucks, but no hares. They sell very numerous droves of oxen yearly to England, and therefore cannot be supposed to want beef at home. Sheep and goats are in great numbers, and they have the common do­mestic fowls.

[Page 308] But as here is nothing to be bought, every family must kill its own meat, and roast part of it somewhat sooner than Apicius would prescribe. Every kind of flesh is undoubtedly excelled by the variety and emula­tion of English markets; but that which is not best may be yet free from bad; and he that shall complain of his fare in the Hebrides, has improved his delicacy more than his manhood.

Their fowls are not like those plumped for sale by the poulterers of London, but they are as good as other pla­ces commonly afford, except that the geese, by feeding in the sea, have universally a fishy rankness.

These geese seem to be of a middle race, between the wild and domestic kinds. They are so tame as to own a home, and so wild as sometimes to fly quite away.

Their native bread is made of oats, or barley. Of oatmeal they spread very thin cakes, coarse and hard, to which unaccustomed palates are not easily reconciled. The barley cakes are thicker and softer. I began to eat them with unwillingness. The blackness of their col­our raises some dislike, but the taste is not disagreeable. In most houses there is wheat-flour, with which we were sure to be treated, if we staid long enough to have it kneaded and baked. As neither yeast nor lea­ven are used among them, their bread of every kind is unfermented. They make only cakes, and never mould a loaf.

[Page 309] A man of the Hebrides, for of the women's diet I can give no account, as soon as he appears in the mor­ning, swallows a glass of whisky. Yet they are not a drunken race: at least I never was present at much in­temperance. But no man is so abstemious as to refuse the morning dram, which they call a skalk.

The word whisky signifies water, and is applied by way of eminence to strong water, or distilled liquor. The spirit drunk in the North is drawn from barley. I never tasted it, except once for experiment at the inn in Inverary, when I thought it preferable to any English malt brandy. It was strong, but not pungent, and was free from the empyreumatic taste or smell. What was the process I had no opportunity of enquiring, nor do I wish to improve the art of making poison pleasant.

Not long after the dram may be expected the break­fast, a meal in which the Scots, whether of the low­lands or mountains, must be confessed to excel us. The tea and coffee are accompained not only with but­ter, but with honey, conserves, and marmalades. If an epicure could remove by a wish, in quest of sensu­al gratifications, wherever he had supped, he would breakfast in Scotland.

In the islands however, they do what I found it not very easy to endure. They polute the tea-table by plates piled with large slices of Cheshire-cheese which mingles its less grateful odours with the fragrance of the tea.

[Page 310] Where many questions are to be asked, some will be omitted. I forgot to enquire how they were supplied with so much exotic luxury. Perhaps the French may bring them wine for wool, and the Dutch give them tea and coffee at the fishing season, in exchange for fresh provision. Their trade is un­constrained. They pay no customs, for there is no officer to demand them. Whatever therefore is made dear only by impost, is obtained here at an easy rate.

A dinner in the Western Islands, differs very little from a dinner in England, except that in the place of tarts, there are always set different preparations of milk. This part of their diet will admit some improvement. Though they have milk, and eggs, and sugar, few of them know how to compound them in a custard. Their gardens afford them no great variety, but they have always some vegetables on the table. Potatoes at least are never wanting, which, though they have not known them long, are now one of the principal parts of their food. They are not of the mealy, but the viscous kind.

Their more elaborate cookery, or made dishes, an Englishman at the first taste is not likely to approve; but the culinary compositions of every country are of­ten such as become grateful to other nations only by degrees; though I have read a French author, who, in [Page 311] the elation of his heart, says, that French cookery plea [...] all foreigners, but foreign cookery never satis [...] a Frenchman.

Their suppers are, like their dinners, various and plentiful. The table is always covered with elegant linen. Their plates for common use are often of that kind of manufacture which is called cream-coloured, or queen's-ware. They use silver on all occasions where it is common in England, nor did I ever find the spoon of horn but in one house.

The knives are not often either very bright or very sharp. They are indeed instruments, of which the Highlanders have not been long acquainted with the general use. They were not regularly laid on the ta­ble, before the prohibition of arms and the change of dress. Thirty years ago the Highlander wore his knife as a companion to his dirk or dagger, and when the company sat down to meat, the men who had knives, cut the flesh into small pieces for the women, who with their fingers conveyed it to their mouths.

There was perhaps never any change of national manners so quick, so great, and so general, as that which has operated in the Highlands, by the last con­quest, and the subsequent laws. We came thither too late to see what we expected, a people of peculiar ap­pearance, and a system of antiquated life. The clans retain little now of their original character; their fero­city [Page 312] [...] is softened, their military ardour is [...] their dignity of independence is depressed, [...] contempt of government subdued, and their rev­ [...]ce for their chiefs abated. Of what they had before the late conquest of their country, there remain only their language and their poverty. Their language is [...] on every side.—Schools are erected, in which English only is taught, and there were lately some who thought it reasonable to refuse them a version of the [...] scriptures, that they might have no monument of [...] mother-tongue.

That their poverty is gradually abated, cannot be [...]tioned among the unpleasing consequences of sub­ [...]tion. They are now acquainted with money, and [...] possibility of gain will by degrees make them in­dustrious. Such is the effect of the late regulations, that a longer journey than to the Highlands must be [...] by him, whose curiosity pants for savage virtues [...] barbarous grandeur.