The Flowers of modern travels; being elegant, entertaining and instructive extracts, / selected from the works of the most celebrated travellers; such as Lord Lyttleton, Sir W. Hamilton, Baron de Tott, Dr. Johnson, Dr. Moore, Dr. Troil, Addison, Brydone, Cox, Wraxall, Savary, Topham, Sherlock, Douglas, Swinburne, Lady M.W. Montague, &c. &c. ; Intended chiefly for young people of both sexes. ; By the Rev. John Adams, A.M. ; [Two lines of quotations; four lines of poetry] ; Vol I [-II].

THE FLOWERS OF MODERN TRAVELS.

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 ad|vantageous situation; for it has neither rocks nor fortifications near it, and yet is, perhaps, the most im|pregnable town in Europe. It 〈◊〉〈◊〉 at least four miles from any part of the Terra Firma; nor are the shallows

that h•••• about it ever frozen hard enough to bring over an army from the land-side; the constant flux and re|flux 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 en|trance 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 for|tified the little islands, that lie at the entrance, to the best advantage, which might otherwise very easily com|mand all the passes that lead to the city from the A|driatic. 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

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 men|tion their opportunities for the Levant, and each side of the Adriatic. But notwithstanding these conve|niences, 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 be|low their quality to engage in traffic. Their merch|ants, 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 expe|dients, 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 mer|chant, told me, they will speedily find out some meth|od 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

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 con|venience 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 conversa|tion.

There are many noble palaces in Venice. Their furniture is not commonly very rich, if we except the

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 Ve|ronese, 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 ta|pestry, 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 com|monwealth, 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 bene|factors to the republic, they are generally put up after their deaths. Among the many eulogiums that are giv|en to the Doge, Pisauro, who had been 〈◊〉〈◊〉 in England, his epitaph says, "In Angli•• 〈◊〉〈◊〉 Regis obitum mirâ calliditate celatum, mirasagacitale rima|tus, priscan benevolentiam firmavit;" that is, "In En|gland,

having with wonderful sagacity discovered the death of king James, which was kept secret with won|derful 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 trans|cribed by many voyage-writers. When I was at Ve|nice, they were putting out very curious stamps of the several edifices, which are most famous for their beau|ty 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 pre|parations. 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 fit|ted 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.

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 bul|wark against all the forces and invasions of the Otto|man empire.

The republic, however, will still maintain itself, if policy can prevail upon force; for it is certain the Ve|netian 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 hon|our to put in practice. The preservation of the repub|lic 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

keep alive a continual faction in the common people, to connive at the viciousness and debauchery of con|vents, to breed dissensions among the nobles of the Ter|ra 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 gene|rally as numerous as our house of commons, if we on|ly reckon the sitting members, and yet carries its reso|lutions 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 a|gainst 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 Veneti|ans, who are naturally grave, love to give into the fol|lies and entertainments of such seasons, when disguised in a false personage. They are, indeed, under a necessity

of finding out diversions that may agree with the na|ture 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 abun|dance 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 his|tory of a carnival would make a collection of very di|verting novels.

Operas are another great entertainment of this sea|son: the Italian poets, besides the celebrated smooth|ness 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 po|ets; but among the Italians there are not only senten|ces, but a multitude of particular words, that never en|ter into common discourse. They have such a differ|ent 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 rea|son 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

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 con|versation, are forced to raise their language with meta|phors 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 ex|pression, extremely difficult to such as are not masters in the tongue, especially when they write on low sub|jects; 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

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 high|er. 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, be|cause it explains the following verses of Claudian, which show that the Venetians are not the inventors of this trick.

" Vel qui more avium sese jaculantur in auras, " Corporaque aedificant, celeri crescentia nexu, " Quorum compositam puer augmentatus in arcem " Emicat, & vinctus plantae, vel cruribus haerens, " Pendula librato figit vestigia saltu.

CLAUD.

" Men, pil'd on men, with active leaps arise, " And build the breathing fabric to the skies; " A sprightly youth above the topmost row " Points the tall pyramid, and crowns the show.

ADDISON.

ACCOUNT OF A DREADFUL INUNDATION OF THE SEA AT INGERAM, ON THE COAST OF COROMANDEL, IN THE EAST INDIES. [In a Letter From Mr. William Parson, to Alexander Dalrymple, Esq.]

Ingeram, June 7, 1787.

My dear Frind,

YOU wish to have a just and circumstantial account of the late calamity we have sustained. It is no won|der the accounts you have seen should be incoherent and imperfect; for while the misfortune was recent, our minds were distracted with a thousand fears and apprehensions for the consequences: indeed, people less alarmed and less gloomy than ourselves might have admitted the apprehension of pestilence and famine; the former, from the air being tainted from some thou|sands of putrid carcases both of men and cattle; and the latter from the country around us being destroyed, as well as our stock of provisions and the fruit of the earth.

From the 17th of May, it blew hard from the N. E. but as bad weather is unusual at such a season, we did not apprehend that it would become more serióus; but on the 19th at night it encreased to a hard gale; and on the 20th, in the morning, it blew a perfect hurricane, insomuch that our houses were presently untiled, our

doors and windows beat in, and the railing and part of the wall of our inclosures blown down. A little be|fore eleven it came with violence from the sea, and I presently perceived a multitude of the inhabitants crowding toward my house, crying out that the sea was coming in upon us. I cast my eyes in that direction, and saw it approaching with great rapidity, bearing much the same appearance as the bar in Bengal river. As my house was situated very low I did not hesitate to abandon it, directing my steps towards the old Fac|tory, in order to avail myself of the Terrace; for in that dreadful moment I could not so far reflect upon causes or effects, as to account for the phaenomenon, or to set bounds to its increase. I had indeed heard of a tradition among the natives, that about a century ago the sea ran as high as the tallest Palmira trees, which I have ever disregarded as fabulous, till the present un|usual appearance called it more forcibly to my mind. In my way to the old Factory, I stopped at the door of Mr. Boures' house, to apprise the rest of the gentlemen of their danger, and the measures I had concerted for my safety. They accordingly joined me; but before we attained the place of our destination, we were nearly intercepted by the torrent of w••••••••. As the house is built on a high spot, and pretty well elevated from the ground, the water ran above a foot on the first floor, so we had no occasion to have recourse to the Terrace.

Between one and two o'clock the water began to sub|side a little, and continued gradually decreasing till the body of it had retired; leaving all the low places, tanks, and wells, full of salt water. I think the sea must have risen fifteen feet above its natural level. About the time of the water subsiding, the wind favoured it by coming round to the southward, from which point it blew the hardest. As the Factory-house was in a very ruinous state, and shook exceedingly at every gust, we were very anxious to get back to Mr. Boures' house. I attempted it twice, but found I had neither power nor strength to combat the force of the wind, getting back with the greatest difficulty to my former station. About five o'clock during a short lull, we happily ef|fected our remove. It blew very hard the greatest part of the night; at midnight it veered to the westward, and was so cold, that I thought we should have perished as we reclined in our chairs.

The gale broke up towards the morning. I shall not attempt to describe to you the scene that presented it|self to our view, when day-light appeared: it was drea|ry and horrid beyond description. The trees were all blighted by the salt water, and the face of the country covered with salt 〈◊〉〈◊〉; yet it had more the appearance of having suffered by a blast of wind, or by the erup|tion of volcanos, than by an inundation of water, such an effect had it in destroying the herbage and foilage of

every description. Our houses were found full of the inhabitants who had taken refuge therein, stripped of doors and windows, and quite open to the weather at top; the go-downs* 1.1 mostly carried away and several substantial tiled houses so complately leveled, as scarce|ly to afford a mark of their ever existing; but our suf|ferings were light, when compared with those of Co|ringa, and the rest of the villages nearer the sea. At Coringa, out of four thousand inhabitants, it is said not more than twenty were saved, and those mostly on Mrs. Corsar's Terrace, and on the beams of Captain Web|ster's house. Mr. Gideon Firth; Mr. George Day, and the Portuguese Padré were, I believe, the only Europe|ans that were drowned. At first the sea rose gradual|ly, and as it came in with the tide the people were not much alarmed; but when they found it still en|crease so as to render their situation dangerous, they mounted on the top of their Cadjan-houses, till the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 impelled by a strong Easterly wind rushed in upon them most furiously, when all the houses at the same awful moment gave way, and nearly four thousand souls were launched into eternity. This tremendous scene was visible from Mrs. Corsar's Terrace, over which the sea sometimes broke, and they were frequent|ly in great danger from the drifting of vessels and oth|er

heavy bodies, which must inevitably have brought down the house, had they come to contact. At the Dutch village of Jaggernaickporan, I hear the distress was very great, and that about a thousand lives were lost; many of the villages in the low country between Coringa and Jaggernaickporan were totally destroyed, and the inundation carried its dreadful effects as far to the northward as Apparah; but I do not hear that ma|ny lives were lost at that place. The inundation pene|trated inland about ten coss from the sea in a direct line; but did little more damage to the westward of us than de|stroying the vegetation. It would be very difficult to ascertain with any precision, the number of lives lost in this dreadful visitation; the most intelligent people I have conferred with on the subject, state the loss at from ten to twenty thousand souls. This is rather an indefinite computation; but I think, if the medium be taken, it will then rather exceed than fall short of the real loss. They compute that a lack of cattle were drowned, and from the vast numbers I saw dead at Nellapilla, I can easily credit their assertion. For two or three days after the calimity, such was the languor of the inhabi|tants, not a Cooley or workman was to be procured at any price; it required our utmost exertion to get the dead bodies and the dead cattle buried with all possible speed, to prevent the air being impregnated with putrid effluvia. This, to be sure, was a task we could not ful|ly

execute, except just in the villages. However, no bad effects have ensued, which I impute to the contin|ual land winds that have blown strongly for some time past. These have the property of drying up the juices of dead bodies and preventing putrefaction, which must necessarily have been the consequence in a damp air. It is extraordinary, that the vast track of low ground on the south-side Guadavery, from Gotendy to Bundar|malanka, suffered very little from the inundation, and scarcely a person perished. This country lies so ex|ceedingly low, as to be flooded in many places by the common spring-tides, and a great deal of it is in con|sequence covered with salt jungle. It is probable they owe their safety to those small islands at the mouth of the Guadavery, as well as Point Guadavery itself which must have both contributed to break the force of the sea.

When we had recovered from our consternation on the 21st, we began to consider how we should be able to exist in such a field of desolation, as our wells were filled with salt water, our provisions destroyed, and we found by digging in different places that no sweet wa|ter was to be procured; when it was discovered that Providence had so far interfered in our favour, as to bring down the freshes at a very early and unusual sea|son. From what accounts we could hastily gather, we were appehensive that the stores of rice were either

much damaged or totally destroyed, as the rice go|downs and go marks are generally secured aginst an accident less formidablé than this. However, the event has happily falsified our surmises, and proved our in|formation fallacious, for rice has hitherto been plenti|ful and not dear. The generous supplies that have been sent us from the Presidency, will, I trust, secure us from serious want. Our markets have not yet been attended by a person with an article for sale; but this is not to be wondered at, as our supplies were general|ly furnished by the villages at no great distance inland; and these countries have been drenched sufficiently in salt water to destroy their produce. The fisher-men, a most useful body of people, inhabiting chiefly by the sea-side, have been, almost totally extirpated; and we are thereby deprived of a very material part of our subsistance. Time alone can restore us to the com|forts we have lost, and we have reason to be thank|ful that things have not turned out so bad as we ap|prehended. I have tired myself in attempting this nar|ration, and I fear I have almost tired you in the peru|sal of it. A great deal more might be said upon the subject in a flowery garb; if it yields a moment's a|musement to my friend, my end is fully answered. The greatest part of this intelligence you have already had in detail, but it is your desire I should bring it to one point of view. It is hastily written, and very in|accurate;

but you will remember I was in a good deal of pain at the time of writing it, from an inflam|mation in my legs, so had not sufficient ease or leisure to correct or transcribe it.

Your's affectionately, WILLIAM PARSON.

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

I AM very sensible, that it requires a longer resi|dence 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 un|common relish for humour, and yet more attached to the real enjoyments of a life, than to those which de|pend on ostentation, and proceed from vanity.

The common people of Venice display some quali|ties 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 ro|bust,

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 counte|nances, resembling those transmitted to ••s by the pen|cils 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 par|ticulars, 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

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 mois|ture 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 ac|quainted 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 cus|tom may appear in the eyes of a stranger at first sight, it will generally ••e found that there is some rea•• advan|tage in it, which compensates all the apparent incon|veniencies. 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 ev|ery

circumstance, they often see reason to approve what they had formerly condemned. Custom and fashion have the greatest influence on our taste of beau|ty, 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 differ|ent 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 drama|tic poetry, the prejudices which each particular nation acquires in favour of its own, are difficult to be remov|ed. People seldom obtain such a perfect knowledge of a foreign language and foreign manners, as to un|derstand 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 remain|ed long in France, and acquired a more perfect know|ledge 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. 〈◊〉〈◊〉

French language being more studied and better under|stood 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 ev|ery 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 ex|cellence 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 lit|erary journals, all stop at the former, declaim on the barbarous taste of the English nation, insist on the gro|tesque absurdity of the poet's imagination, and illus|trate 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,

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 Ven|ice, though founded on a prejudice much more excus|able than the conduct of the critics abovementioned, has brought home to my conviction the rashness of those who form opinions, without the knowledge re|quisite to direct their judgment.

I had got, I don't know how, the most contemptu|ous 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 a|muse, 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. Impres|sed 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 a|musement.

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 in|firmity.

While we inwardly indulged sentiments of self-ap|probation, on account of the refinement and superi|ority 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 Har|lequin, which greatly interested him, and to which he listened with every mark of eagerness. This unfortu|nate 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 un|luckily stumbled on a word of six or seven syllables which completely obstructed the progress of his narra|tion. 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

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 waist|coat, 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 accompa|nied 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 per|fectly devoid of taste who could condescend to laugh at an Italian comedy?

DR. MOORE.

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 forewarn|ed 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 be|hold, said those anticipators, a magnificent town; or more frequently, to make the deeper impression, they gave it in detail;—You will behold, said they, magni|ficent palaces, churches, towers and steeples, all stand|ing in the middle of the sea. Well, this unquestiona|bly 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 ren|der it, in a much stronger degree, less agreeable to in|habit.

For you will please to recollect, that, instead of walking or riding in the fields, and enjoying the fra|grance of herbs, and the melody of birds; when you wish to take the air here, you must submit to be pad|dled about from morning to night, in a narrow boat, a|long 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 pecu|liarities, 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 wa|ter, have the appearance of one great lake, yet they are called Laguna, or lakes, because formerly, as it is ima|gined, 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 pos|sibly 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 li|quid

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 for|tifications. On the approach of an enemy's fleet, the Venetians have only to pull up their stakes, and the e|nemy can advance no farther. They are equally be|yond the insult of a land army, even in the midst of winter; for the flux and reflux of the sea, and the mild|ness 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 isl|ands, 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 up|on 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 ca|nals,

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 sin|gle arches thrown over the canals; most of them pal|try 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 up|on 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.

DR. MOORE.

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 ne|glected 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 ca|pable 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 roman|tic

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 coun|try 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 ele|gance, 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 mon|arch might envy. But, to let you see how vulgar minds value such improvement, I must tell you an an|swer 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 gen|tleman 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.

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 cas|tle did not remain, but glad to think, that, by our in|corporating union with the Welsh, this and many o|thers, which have been erected to s••••ure the neighbour|ing 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 be|held, 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 el|igible 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,

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 Bri|tain; and though I have not been in Scotland, I can|not believe I shall find any place there superior, or e|qual, 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 giv|ing 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 pleas|ing variety, and take off nothing from the prospect.

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 fa|mous cascade; but it did not quite answer my expec|tations, 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 retire|ment. I agree it does not; but, all the wealth being

hid under ground, the eye sees nothing there but peace and tranquilty.

The next morning we ascended the mountain of Ber|win, 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 Merion|ethshire 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 a|bout 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;

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 ve|ry 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 remark|able 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 a|long the sides of the hills; at each end are high moun|tains, which seemed placed there to guard this charm|ing 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

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, at|tended 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 alto|gether strongly excite the idea of Burnet, of their be|ing 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, correspond|ing with that of the mountains, formed a majestic and

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 con|ical hill, the foot of which is washed by the sea, and which has every feature that can give a romantic ap|pearance.

Next morning being fair, we ventured to climb up to the top of the mountain, not indeed so high as Snow|don, 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 beau|ty; 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.

But the moutains of Snowdon, covered with dark|ness 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.

LORD LYTTLETON.

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 de|molished. The people here show the remains of a chamber, where King Edward II. was born, and re|ceived 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

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, op|posite 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 charm|ing. 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

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 peo|ple, 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 moun|tain, the passage over which must have been very fright|ful, 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 af|ter 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; in|stead

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 ve|ry strong; they are, in some places, fourteen or fifteen feet thick, in none less than twelve. The whole to|gether 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 peo|ple of the place taking stones from the foundation, for their own use, whenever they pleased; the conse|quence of which was, that the greatest part of the tow|erfell 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 dil|appidation for the future. We were told his grandfa|ther would have lived in this castle, could he have per|chased 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,

me a great deal of pleasure: But now the floors, ciel|ings, 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, thir|ty 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 stone|work 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 win|dow are the arms of Edward the First.

From Conway castle, we travelled half a day's jour|ney through a very romantic country, to Rudland, or rather Land castle, the remains of which are less per|fect than Carnarvon or Conway; nor was it ever e|qual 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

castle, and hath forbid all depredations, which the peo|ple 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 Con|way.

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, oth|ers 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 cer|tain lady, with whom I have the honour to be inti|mately 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 enclo|ses 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, be|ing

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, ex|cept that the roof doth not appear to have been arched.

The towers are all in a ruinous state. I think it a pi|ty 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 bar|ren 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 extend|ed 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 pros|pect I ever beheld.

Indeed the country, for five or six miles, is of anoth|er temper, exceedingly fertile, and very romantic.

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."

LORD LYTTLETON.

SECT. LX. A TRAVELLING ANECDOTE AT MACHYN|LLETH 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 oc|curred to us at the inn of Machynlleth.

A gentleman of the neighbourhood politely introdu|ced 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 ask|ed him, if there was a good house at our next stage? He answered there were many, Mr. Lloyd's Mr. Pow|ell's, Mr. Edwards's, &c. I still enquired which was the best. He replied, they were all very good. But to

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 invita|tion 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 continual|ly rattling about us formed a romantic picture of the romantic road between Aigues Belles and mount Ce|nis. 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 tre|mendrous precipice, on the right hand, within sight of

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 rug|ged declivity, as steep as the road.

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

Cader Idris, from the quickness of its ascent, and the nearness of its summit, appears much higher than it re|ally 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 turn|ed upwards on our left, to see a water-fall behind a

small housè of a widow Vaugham. This cataract is bro|ken into two broad parts; the upper descends about thir|ty-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 sur|rounds 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 cas|cade, down a steep declivity, and through large dis|jointed fragments towards the river.

We quitted the valley two miles farther, and ascend|ed a barren and dismal mountain. The road continu|ed 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 riv|ers Mothvaye and Cayne. He found the road exceed|ingly 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 vari|ed 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

down by a ridge in the rock, each part being also beau|tifully 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 imme|diately surrounds them both, is noble beyond descrip|tion, producing a fine contrast to the naked hills in their neighbourhood.

TOUR THROUGH WALES. A. D. 1774.

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

HAVING crossed St. George's Channel from Liv|erpool, the most prosperous sea-port town on the west|ern coast of England, the first land we made was Houth Heath, a point of land about eight miles east of Dub|lin, 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

entrance into the harbour, being at least eight miles from Dublin city, is extremely beautiful and pictur|esque, diversified with hills and promontories on either hand, exhibiting a very spacious amphitheatre, bound|ed by a high shore, and said to be exceeded in grandeur by none, except the bay of Naples, to whose superior|ity of view, Mount Vesuvius does not a little contri|bute. 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 dis|tant 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 great|er

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 en|creased 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 cir|cumference. 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 plant|ed; 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 col|umn 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

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, e|rected 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 im|provements 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 supe|rior 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

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 gui|neas. 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 Parlia|ment-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 build|ing of the Exchange, which does honour to the mer|chants who conducted it, the expence being mostly de|frayed 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 pres|ent 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, up|on

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 lit|tle studied, all that seems to have been attended to was neatness and convenience within; but they are gene|rally destitute of every monumental decoration. In the cathedrals only, can be seen whatever of the monu|mental 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 com|mon 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 cof|fee 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 accom|modations, being novel in Dublin.

It is very extraordinary, that in this large and popu|lous

city, there should be such an almost total want of strangers and travellers. This defect obliges every bo|dy, who is acquainted with the place, to get into pri|vate 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 hos|pitably received here; Indeed, hospitality holds its re|sidence here; for it is customary for almost every gen|tleman, who dines with your friend, to ask you for a day; nay, they will sometimes invite the whole com|pany 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 dis|appointed. The bottle is circulated freely but not to the excess we have heard it was, and I of course dread|ed 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

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 un|seasonable, 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 af|ter 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 dis|play an open frankness and social vivacity of spirit.

If you prefer the men of this country for their hos|pitality, and the women for their beauty, you are like|ly 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 mis|erable kind of dwellings, far the greater part of the in|habitants

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 appear|ance of content.

The indigence of the middling class of people is vi|sible 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

riding, but by no means equal to the English roads for a carriage; and though the inns are very far from mak|ing the appearance of those in England, yet the English traveller will universally, almost, meet with civil us|age, 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. In|deed, their oats for the most part are tolerably good, ex|cepting two or three countries in the East of Leinster, and one or two in Ulster. Almost all the straw pro|duced in the country is put upon their houses and cab|ins. 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 cab|ins, of such shocking materials and construction, that in hundreds of them you may see the smoak ascend|ing through almost every inch of their defenceless cov|ering, for scarce one in twenty of them has any win|dow or chimney; and through those chasms, of course, the rain must make its way to drip upon the half-na|ked, shivering, and almost half-starved inhabitants within. Notwithstanding their ill appearance, a travel|ler is frequently presented with boards at the side of the

cabin door, with "dry lodgings and tobacco;" some|times 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 prefa|ced. Into the inland towns especially, you are gene|rally 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 abi|lities 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 farm|houses in Ireland are constructed in this miserable man|ner.

TOUR THROUGH IRELAND.

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-breed|ing to the solidity, energy, and greatness of mind which characterise his country, is the perfection of human na|ture." 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 splen|dour of their principles, kindle the most noble passions in our minds; and, when we come to be men, the na|ture 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 com|prehended but in the dominions of Britain.

I do justice here to my country; and my soul feels happy, that I am able to give her, with truth, a superi|ority 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 humani|ty; 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.

" They were my friends, faithful and just to me; " But Brutus says they are perfidious; " And Brutus is an honourable man. " I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke; " But here I am to speak what I do know."

I found them all animated with a desire to please, and always ready to do me every service in their pow|er. I owe them a thousand obligations. I had faults; they corrected them. I wanted knowledge; they in|formed 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 with|out 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 la|bouring with all his might for the destruction of the British fleet, that every Englishman has in exerting all

his powers to annihilate the navy of France. If a blast of my breath could send all the ships she has to the bot|tom 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 neces|sarily 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 judg|ment will be just. Do you think it the duty of a liber|al-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 Aus|trians and the Spaniards. There they profess friend|ship. They are of the same religion, frequently inter|marry, 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;

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 lit|tora 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 charac|ter; 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.

SHERLOCK.

SECT. LXIII. CHARACTER OF THE FRENCH LADIES, COM|PARED 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 personifi|ed. Her eyes, her lips, her words, her gestures, are all prepossessing. Her language is the language of amia|bleness; 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.

Her eyes sparkle with spirit; the most delightful sal|lies flash from her fancy; in telling a story, she is inim|itable; 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-hu|moured 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 in|teresting 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 on|ly 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 wo|men 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 ar|ticle

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 Eng|land; or whether deep sensibility deserves to be pre|ferred 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, com|pounded 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, just|ly 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.

SHERLOCK.

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 as|cent 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 magnifi|cence are equally blended.

The prospect from this happy spot I cannot describe, though I studied it every day with an enthusiastic plea|sure. 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 Lan|guedoc, 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

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 num|ber of strangers who visit it from motives of health di|minishes annually. Some trade is still carried on from thence by a small river called the Les, which emp|ties itself into the sea at the distance of a league; but the Mediterranean has been retiring these three centu|ries 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 gar|den, 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 re|gularity as our orchards in England. I cannot but envy the inhabitants this genial climate and these fer|tile plains, and am ready to accuse Nature of partiali|ty in the infinite difference which she has placed be|tween the peasants of Languedoc and of Sweden. In vain will you tell me that the A••••r Patrioe, the attach|ment 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 princi|ple;

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; a|bove other less favoured latitudes and regions.

I passed three days at Nismes in the survey of those magnificent and beautiful remains of Roman great|ness which yet subsist there. They have been describ|ed a thousand times, and it is not my intention to fa|tigue you with a repetition of them. The Amphithea|tre, and the "maison quarrée," are known throughout every kingdom of Europe. The first of these impres|ses the beholder with the deepest veneration; the lat|ter excites the most elegant and refined delight. In|dignation 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 circumfer|ance of the amphitheatre, the solidity and strength of

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 a|ny 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 su|perb temple is now converted into a chapel dedicated to the Virgin, ornamented with gilding and other ho|ly finery, suitable to such an alteration.

WRAXALL.

SECT. LXV. OF THE FERTILITY OF THE COUNTRY BE|TWEEN BOURDEAUX AND AGEN.

WHEN I left Bourdeaux I took the road to Agen, along the southern bank of the Garonne. The coun|try through which I passed from Langon, where I cros|sed the Garonne, to the gates of that city, is fertile be|yond 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.

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 beau|tiful and picturesque. Milton, in his divine flights of imagination, could employ our first parents in no more delightful occupation, even in Paradise.

—" Or they led the vine " To wed her elm; she round about him throws " Her marriageable arms; and with her brings " Her dower, th' adopted clusters, to adorn " His barren leaves.

In the midst of this charming country, in a plain, close to the Garonne, stands the city of Agen. Be|hind it, to the north, rises a very high hill, called "Le Bocher de la belle Vue." I went up to the sum|mit, 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 retir|ed thither from motives of devotion and austerity. The prospect is beautiful. Beneath lies the city of A|gen, and through the meadows which surround it rolls the Garonne.

One of the monks showed me the apartments of the

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 inter|esting. 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, de|scends 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 re|semblance. Near the piece is this inscription.

" Quid non conatur Amor! " Coelos in Terris adumbrare " Carmeli Filiae tentarunt, " Anno salutis 1773."

Here one cannot help being struck with the justice of a remark, which has often been made on the inti|mate alliance between love and devotion, when carri|ed to an excess. The same enthusiasm, the same melt|ing language, the same overpowering delights, are com|mon 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 con|cur 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 hea|venly spouse, and dedicated to the embraces of a su|perior and invisible being, Enthusiasm has ample room to exert her powers, and raise her votary above the poor gratifications of earth.

" To sounds of heavenly harps she dies away, " And melts in visions of eternal day."

WRAXALL.

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 Ger|many you may go through the Tyrol. Carriages can pass only by the first and last of these routes. In cros|sing Mount Cenis they must be taken to pieces; but the whole road through the Tyrol is not merely practi|cable, 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,

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 Cham|bery, which, though the capital of Savoy, affords no|thing worth seeing. The situation indeed is fine, in a wide delightful valley, where there is the greatest va|riety 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 buil|dings miserable. The remainder of the ducal palace is a castle; over the gate-way are the governor's lodg|ings, 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 Gene|va, you will find it nineteen posts, or ninety-five miles three furlongs from Lyon to that place, the time twen|ty one or twenty-two hours. From Geneva to Cham|bery it is seven posts, or forty-six miles and a half; and the time thirteen or fourteen hours. This there|fore 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,

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 dur|ing four or five months Mount Jura is impracticable.

From Geneva, your best way is to hire horses to con|vey 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 Cham|bery 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 situa|ted 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 in|cessantly. 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 Sa|voyards

have very little land to cultivate, and look ex|tremely unhealthy. Aiguebelle lies in a bottom close|ly surrounded by mountains. It is but a poor strag|gling 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, ex|cept 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 bar|ren 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

two hundred and twenty houses in this village, and a|bout 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 oth|er times there is nothing but the inconvenience of tak|ing the carriage in pieces, to send it over the moun|tain on mules; but the people are so adroit in this op|eration, 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 fel|lows

are very strong and nimble, never missing a step, but treading firm in the roughest ways with the agili|ty of goats. They relieve each other at proper inter|vals. 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 pen|ny. 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 cover|ed chairs. The ascent is not bad, and is easily perform|ed 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 gal|loped over, not only with perfect safety, but with plea|sure. There is a beautiful lake on this plain, with ex|cellent 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,

yet there are lofty pikes which rise at least three thou|sand 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 de|scend 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 moun|tain 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 ma|ny 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 necessa|ry,

and thus bring you to the bottom in ten or twelve minutes very safe; or if the sledge now and then over|turns, 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 com|modities.

You will quit this place if you had not time to reach Suze the evening before, by nine or ten in the morn|ing, 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 for|tress 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;

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.

TOUR THROUGH ITALY.

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 (ex|cept at the opera of Paris) are the ears so cruelly tor|tured. The eyes are charmed and tormented alternate|ly by the most superb and most detestable pictures and statues. No citizens; and excessive luxury amongst in|dividuals; 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 burn|ing

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 a|wake 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?" Be|cause they have ungoverned imaginations, and no phy|losophy; and because good taste has not yet penetrated into their country. And why has not good taste enter|ed Italy? Because Italy has neither a London nor a Pa|ris, and because she never had a Lewis the Fourteenth.

Travellers are often mistaken in judging of the Itali|an, 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 coun|try, and when he has read nothing; but examine the Neapolitan on all the subjects with which he is acquain|ed, and you will see whether he wants natural capa|city. 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.

SHERLOCK.

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 ruin|ing 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, individu|als 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. Nei|ther 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,

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 fa|mous 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* 1.2 and hor|ses here than in any other country I have seen; but there are too a great many garrons and curs.

SHERLOCK.

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 coun|try, 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 rea|sons 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 be|ing 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 liveli|er, brighter, and quicker.

The force of the imagination depends a great deal on the influence of the animal spirits; its brightness

on the refinement of those spirits: and its quickness on the celerity of their movement. Now, in point of co|piousness of spirits, the English, I believe, have the ad|vantage 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 dres|sed. 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 socie|ty of the most amiable women in the world, in which he passes so much of his time; and you will see rea|sons enough why his spirits should be quicker in their motion, and more refined than ours.

I need not mention how opposite our manner of liv|ing is; the quantities of blood-food we eat, the quanti|ty

of bad wine we drink, the grossness of our atmos|phere, 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 su|periority 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 be|ing wittier and more amiable than the English. When a Frenchman has knowledge, and is grown a little steady, his company is delightful; when an English|man has fancy and good manners, his society is en|chanting. I always thought that those two nations, blended together, would produce perfection in every thing.

SHERLOCK.

SECT. LXX. OF EDINBURGH. A. D. 1774.

THE situation of Edinburgh is probably as extraor|dinary 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,

not only in many places render it impassable for car|riages, 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 im|mense 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 mid|dle 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 con|fusion 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

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 com|mon 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 disadvan|tage. In general, however, the highest and lowest ten|ements 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 deem|ed the most elegible, and many a man in such a situa|tion would not be sorry to descend a little lower. The

style of building here has given rise to different ideas. Some years ago, a Scotch gentleman, who went to Lon|don 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 guil|ty 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, expect|ing

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 strong|er than ever. But so great was the fear it occasioned a|mongst 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 beauti|ful. Great part of this plan as yet remains to be exe|cuted, though they proceed as fast as their supplies of money will allow them: The rent of the houses in ge|neral 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 ad|vantage 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 lit|tle dark confined tenement on a sixth story, to the con|venience of a whole house. One old lady fancies 〈◊〉〈◊〉 should be lost if she was to get into such an habitation,

another, that she should be blown away in going over the new bridge; and a third lives in the old style, be|cause 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 anci|ent architecture, or any thing that better merits the ob|servation 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 indiffer|ent about, and which indeed London would not admit of, from the number of weighty carriages that continu|ally 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

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 un|cleanly customs. A gentleman, who lately published his travels through Spain, says, "that Madrid, some years ago, might have vied with Edinburgh in filthi|ness." It may probably be some pleasure to this au|thor, and to those who read him, to learn that his re|marks are now very erroneous.

But if a stranger may be allowed to complain, it would be, that in these wynds, which are very numer|ous, 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 o|pen 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-dress|ed maccaroni sent home for the evening; and to con|clude this period in Dr. Johson's own simple words, "Many a full-flowing periwig moistened into flacidi|ty."

Such particulars, however, as these, scarce merit ob|servation. They are circumstances resulting from the

peculiar inconveniency of the buildings, and not from the natural disposition of the Scotch, who love cleanli|ness, 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 num|ber of men whose resolutions are too strong for con|viction. 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 pe|culiar 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 me|tropolis 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.

TOPHAM'S LETTERS FROM EDINBURGH.

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 stock|ings, 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 occasi|ons, than wit on any other) there is nothing like see|ing men and manners; perhaps we may be able to re|pose 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 pour|ing 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,

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 can|not 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 rela|ted, and serves to confirm the wretchedness of accom|modation 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 him|self obliged to conceal himse•••• in one of these dark a|bodes, 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, oc|casioned by constant violent perspirations, in which be

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 sha|dow) 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 con|cerned 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 di|rectly 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 con|sumption

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 toler|able entertainment. But it really has not; and I am the more surprised at it, as, in their manner of living, and ma|ny customs, I think the inhabitants much resemble the French. But in this particular, what a difference be|tween 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

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* 1.3 in some suitable part of the town, to obviate the inconvenience of the want of these necessaries.

TOPHAM.

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 hos|pitality to strangers; and I am sure I can with great truth add my humble suffrage to this general observa|tion. 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

are happy to explain, to inform you of what is really curious in their country. They give you a general in|vitation 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 return|ed 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 in|habitants 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 breed|ing; 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 re|sult 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 orna|menting

their minds; and I believe as few nations ex|cel them in beauty, as in advantages derived from dis|position 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 superi|or knowledge of the world, as from their more exten|sive 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 kind|ness; 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 ut|most 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 acquaint|ed

that they are mere words of custom, and ceremony, and uttered without any intention of good-will or sin|cerity; 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. Ex|pressions 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 deliv|ered by female eloquence. A staunch philosopher would derive this credulity from the orig••nal perverse|ness of human nature; and in the same manner as Ad|am 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

flattery of the fair sex, and sure to give it credit, not|withstanding we are conscious of its untruth and insin|cerity.

The Scotch language has one beauty, in which it greatly excels the English, and in which also it con|forms 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, "man|ny, 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 buc|kle, knife, book, and a house. I need not tell you how emphatical this makes their tongue, and what an im|provement 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 re|move 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

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 pos|sible. The literary productions of this country being well known, it is unnecessary for me to make any ob|servations on their style. I shall only say, that they appear to me, from their conversation, to write En|glish 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 an|cient languages. Amenity is a favourite word of a celebrated historian, who is truly the boast of his coun|try; 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 tem|poris, sed monumentum ad aeternitatem."

TOPHAM.

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 re|semblance,

which there is betwixt these two nations. That air of mirth and vivacity, that quick and penetrating look, that spirit of gaiety which distinguish|es 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 epidemic|al 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 un|sociable 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

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 fa|miliarity. They think a frank and unrestrained beha|viour 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 pis|tol. 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 re|ally 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 sup|pers, which resemble the petit soupers of France. Of these they are very fond; and it is a mark of their

friendship to be admitted to be of the party. It is in these meetings that the pleasures of society and conver|sation reign, when the restraints of ceremony are ban|ished, 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 wo|man 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 some|times 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 ex|cel. 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

would not understand, when they are sung by a young person, whose inclinations and affections are frequent|ly expressed in the terms made use of, and which the heart claims as its own. The eye, the whole counte|nance, 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 re|hearsed the martial and heroic deeds of their ancestors, as incentives to their own courage; but in these pip|ing 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 de|tail of his own deeds.

It is observed of a Welch hero, "that he was a de|vout man, a great warrior, and an excellent piper;

and that he could play with great 〈◊〉〈◊〉, the songs of all his actions." This is still better—With such authori|ty, 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 ab|surd 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.

TOPHAM.

SECT. LXXIV. ON THE CIVILITY OF THE COMMON PEOPLE IN SCOTLAND.

I FIND the vulgar inhabitants of this country as va|rying in their disposition from those of the southern parts of Great Britain, as the AEthiopians from the na|tives of Mexico, and as unlike, as if they were Anti|podes. Though Scotland and England together are very minute in comparison with any of the countries on the European Continent, yet you cannot conceive a

greater dissimilarity of manners; and so wide is the dif|ference, that you would think the distance between them, was from heaven to earth. I speak of the com|mon people only; for the polished and polite are near|ly the same in many respects.

Instead of that stubborn rudeness, and uncouth mind, that shyness and barbarism, which is even culti|vated 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 inhabi|tants of almost any nation, is that peculiar desire to o|blige and instruct, a philanthropy which they discov|er, 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 be|ing, it is here you meet with souls, generous, contented,

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 observa|tions 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 lit|tle 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 ori|ginal simplicity. One day a storm drove me to seek shel|ter 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 moth|er 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

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 de|manded 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 warm|ed 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 a|mused 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

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 ex|tremely 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 hu|man person, except a few of their own Clan, who in|habited the other side of the hill."

When I had told him my story, and intreated par|don 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 hospital|ity 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 ta|ble some dried fish, cheese, and oat-cake, of which they all eat with an appetite that discovered their pov|erty, and that brought to my remembrance the saying

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, o|ver-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,

Under a canopy of costly state.

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 counte|nance, wished that the stormy weather had continu|ed, 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 an|tiquity of his family, and the ancestors of his Laird, whom he had followed in the rebellion, and under

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 astonish|ed to find so many virtues in a family in the High|lands, where the inhabitants are thought by us to be in a state of barbarism. But such, I assure you, they all are,

Extrema per illos, Justitia excedens terris vestigia fecit.

Even in Edinburgh, the same spirit runs through the common people, who are infinitely more civil, human|ized, 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 mira|cle, and though far from being temperate, is so healthy, that you hear of fewer disorders than amongst any o|ther people; and I declare, in every part that

I have been, I never saw either an exceedingly deform|ed 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.

TOPHAM.

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, pub|lic gardens, and walks, card parties, and a hundred o|ther 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 dis|covered 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 diver|sions. A sober sedate elegance pervades them all,

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 diver|sion, and was now reversing it, and making his diver|sion 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 compan|ion; 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 educa|tion of the young ladies, is here highly to be com|mended, and admirably calculated to make them good wives. Besides needle-work, and those trifling arts, which are the principal part of their instruction in En|gland,

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 tambour|frame.

The ladies also who undertake this arduous task of instruction, are persons much better qualified in gene|ral 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 ac|complishments which are necessary to command a fa|mily, but have the deportment and behaviour of expe|rienced women of fashion.

No ladies in Scotland ever murder the precious mo|ments in what is called "work," which is neither en|tertainment nor profit, merely because they must have the appearance of doing something, whilst they see ev|ery 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 sacri|fice to reading and literature, gain instruction from so|ciety and conversation.

I have often thought it a principal defect in the ed|ucation

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 learn|ing of greater importance and pleasure. Since they have minds equally capable of instruction with the o|ther 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 in|deed 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 circum|stances cannot afford the expence of paying a ser|vant, 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

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 Scarbo|rough; and other public places of sea-bathing resort. For vivacity and agility in dancing, none excel the Scotch ladies. Their execution in reels and coun|try-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. Ma|ny 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 fur|ther 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

of their own. They talk very grammatically, are pe|culiarly 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 melan|choly.—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 intoxica|ting 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 ima|gination, an appetite artificial, and against nature.

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 danger|ous; 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 diver|sions, 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 ei|ther grace or agility.

TOPHAM.

SECT. LXXVI. OF THE HAGUE AND ROTTERDAM.

NOTHING can be more agreeable than travelling in Holland. The whole country appears a large gar|den; 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 par|ticular 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.

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 situ|ated 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 shock|ed with those loathsome cripples so common in Lon|don, nor teazed with the importunity of idle persons that chuse to be nasty and lazy. The common ser|vants 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.

LADY M. W. MONTAGUE.

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

the spaciousness of the streets, and elegance of the hous|es, 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 ro|mantic a sight, as to see from the environs, the chim|nies, masts of ships, and the tops of trees, so promis|cuously huddled together, that it would acquire a de|gree of divination to tell whether it is a town, a fleet, or a forest.

The grandest, as well as most agreeable street in Rot|terdam, 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 clum|sy. Wherever there is any attempt at ornament, it is the worst that can be conceived. One sees no Gre|cian architecture, except Doric entablatures, stuck up|on 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 or|der. 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 thick|ness. These houses are almost all window, and the window shutters and frames being painted green, the

glass has all a green cast, which is helped by the re|flection from the trees that over-shadow their houses, which, were it not for this circumstance, would be in|tolerably 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 al|most to the door. The Bomb Quay is so broad, that there are distinct walks for carriages and foot passen|gers, 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 ex|tends 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 hous|es are of free-stone, and very lofty; the canal is spa|cious, 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

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 estab|lished religion, which is Calvinism, and twelve clergy|men 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 o|ther 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 blazon|ed, 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 quad|rangle 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 guil|der an hour, to take us to Delfts-Hagen, a little village

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. Chil|dren'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 ale|house, and walked up stairs into a room full of peas|ants and tobacco. There were four girls jumping a|bout which they called dancing, and thirty or forty men sitting round with their pipes and tabacco, admi|ring the activity of the nymphs, and rolling out such clouds of smoke, that we were soon obliged to with|draw 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 treck|schuyte, and walked through the town to the Hague|gate, 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, unre|paired and unfurnished; famous only for the peace

made there, so advantageous to the Dutch, by the con|federate 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 com|fortable 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 for|eign ambassadors, the seat of government, and, with|out 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 bor|ders 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.

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, consist|ing of several shady walks; on one side, a row of mag|nificent 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. Casuari|street is adjoining, in which is the French Play-house, a neat little theatre. We were at the Comedy on Fri|day evening. The actors were tolerably good.

I must not omit mentioning the Prince Graft, which is half a mile in length, proportionably broad, and per|fectly 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.

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 situat|ed at the corner of the Outer Court, where the horse|guards parade.

In the first room you see a small, but most excellent collection of Chinese swords, knives, and other instru|ments 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 es|cape 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 admira|ble, and well worthy of a stranger's attention.

The palace of the stadtholder is situated in the center of the town, surrounded by a moat. Its external ap|pearance 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; espe|cially 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 Ten|iers. 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.

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 vul|gar 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 deem|ed a crime to mal-treat or kill them.

TOUR THROUGH HOLLAND.

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.

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 la|ment 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 ci|ty 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 Broad|street, which runs from the Hague-gate to the Utrecht|gate. 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

which are in the United Provinces,* 1.4 and is the most ancient, being founded in 1575, by the States as a re|ward to the inhabitants for defending themselves a|gainst 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 re|putation 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 col|lection of antique marbles, given by Gerard Papen|brochius, a burgo-master of Amsterdam. I cannot o|mit

mentioning the statues of Hercules, of Bacchus leaning on a fawn, attended by a tyger, of an Abun|dantia 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 asbes|tos 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 un|consumed.

Among the beasts was an ermine, about the size and shape of a weasel. This little animal is so fearful of

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 crea|ture. 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, re|curvo,"—if I may express myself in the technical terms of Ornithology.

There was an immense beast, called the Hippopota|mus, as large as an elephant, its colour black, with a row of grinders in the interior part of its mouth, be|sides a good number in front.

TOUR THROUGH HOLLAND.

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 wind|mill, ornamented with eight magnificent gates of free|stone, 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 mea|sure, 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,

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 inconsid|erable fishing village on the edge of a morass, which is now covered with buildings, erected upon piles of tim|ber, driven into the earth, at immense labour and ex|pence. For the foundation only of one tower, 6000 trees were rammed into the ground. Notwithstand|ing these precautions, the magistrates are so apprehen|sive of the foundations, that very few coaches are li|censed. 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 mi|nisters, equal in authority and revenue. They are al|lowed 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 par|allel 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 build|ing 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, bear|ing 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

and its environs. The piles cost 100,000l. The whole expence was computed at two millions. Ver|sailles 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 esteem|ed. 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 enter|tainment, where you see the portraits of all the con|siderable 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.

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 ter|restrial and celestial globes. The sides, the roof, and the pillars, are all of marble; but there always is some|thing wanting;—there is not light enough to ad|mire with accuracy the wonderful magnificence of this apartment.

From the Stadt-house you cross the Dam to the Ex|change, which is not to be compared with that of Rot|terdam in beauty, nor to our Royal Exchange in size. The building is of brick, and at full change, if appear|ances 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 compensa|tion. Those, therefore, who from their poverty can|not, or from their avarice, will not pay the fine, are o|bliged to serve. Here penury and parsimony were

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 dif|ferent 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 dis|putes 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 appli|ed to the maintenance of the poor, and to the support of the different hospitals.

Every rope dancer, puppet-player, as well as all oth|ers who pretend to entertain the public, are obliged to contribute one third of their profits towards the main|tenance of the poor.

On Friday we looked into the Rasp house, which is a prison for criminals, as well as for children who

are profligate or disobedient. The former are confin|ed 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 con|verse with them through the rails, which can only har|den 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 imme|diately filled up. The relations bow, and return to their avocations. The organ in this church is inferi|or 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 or|namented. From thence we proceeded to the Admi|ralty

and Dock-yard, which are situated at the extrem|ity of the quay. The Admiralty forms three sides of a square, in the middle of which is the yard for build|ing 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 with|out distinction are lodged and entertained for three nights and no longer.

It is computed that twenty thousand souls are main|tained in the different hospitals, which are either en|dowed 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

Synagogue; which is a large spacious building filled with a numerous congregation. The women sit togeth|er in a gallery, with lattices before them. The men sit below on benches with tawlises* 1.5 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 Amster|dam, which would be well worthy of imitation in London. You never meet a watchman alone; two al|ways 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 ei|ther 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 dif|ferent 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 a|larm 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!

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 Lon|don 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 mo|ney, lest the weight of it should sink him.

I must not omit mentioning the neatness of the peo|ple; but in this they have no merit: for the neat|ness of their houses and cleanliness of their towns pro|ceed 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 ap|pearances is called natural; but indeed most national customs are the effects of unobserved causes and ne|cessities. In this country the mind is perpetually struck with wonder and admiration. If mathemati|cians are to be credited, on the measure of the two ele|ments, they found the sea even in a calm, above half

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 ele|gant picture of this country in his admirable poem of the Traveller.

" While the pent ocean rising o'er the pile, " Sees an amphibeous world beneath him smile; " The slow canal, the yellow blossom'd vale, " The willow turfed bank, the gliding sail, " The crowded mart, the cultivated plain, " A new creation rescued from his reign."

It is wonderful, that in a country without a stone or pebble, there should be stone edifices the most mag|nificent. 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.

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 com|merce. The bigotted maxims of Philip II, the intro|duction of the inquisition, and the erecting of four|teen new bishopricks in the Low Countries, the unre|lenting rigour of the Cardinal Granville, and the suc|ceeding 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. Perse|vering valour, joined to the political assistance of oth|er 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 con|spired to render Amsterdam the seat of universal com|merce.

Till the beginning of the sixteenth century, Venice by its shipping, and Florence by its manufactories, pos|sessed 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. Lis|bon then became the staple of the trade to the East-In|dies,

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 a|gainst 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 Ger|many, 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 par|ticular branch of trade, by which it is improved to the utmost: as for instance, Delft, for the Dutch porce|lain, 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

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 circumstan|ces have conspired to make this little republic the en|vy and admiration of the world.

TOUR THROUGH HOLLAND.

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 ap|pear at each temple, and a large piece like a broad rib|bon is under the cap on the back part of the head.

A singular custom is likewise retained in this coun|try of having a door in every house, which is never o|pened but when a corpse is carried out, which must be

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 memen|to 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 man|ners of the people, the only useful knowledge to be ac|quired 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 per|sons to esteem than to love."

TOUR THROUGH HOLLAND.

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 wa|ter; so that ships of great burden may unload upon the quays, or enter the town by eight canals, which com|municate 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 circumfer|ence, 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 a|greeable walk. The streets are well paved, very spa|cious 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 sub|jection. It stands on the banks of the Scheld, and

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 war|like stores, with barracks for three thousand men. This fortress has been of such repute for strength and regu|larity, that it has been a model for subsequent engi|neers; notwithstanding which the French in 1746 took it in seven days.

The trade of Antwerp is now confined to very nar|row 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 riv|er 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 an|nals of their city can be relied on, amounted to one hundred and thirty-three millions of gold, without in|cluding the bank.

As an instance of the amazing opulence of the mer|chants, 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

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 be|ginning 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 re|fuge in Amsterdam.

The established religion is the Catholic; the lan|guage 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 proces|sion 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, pre|cious relicks, the Host, and an infinity of such kind of

trumpery, amidst the chorus of voices, serpents,* 1.6 and trumpets.

The whole road from Antwerp to Brussels is delight|ful. Brussels is the capital of Brabant and of all the Austrian Netherlands. It is the residence of the Gov|ernor-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 po|lish, not to be etched in the steel. The nicest touch

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 gover|nor 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, espe|cially of Rubens's, which with many valuable curio|sities perished in the flames.

The staircase of the present palace is very magnifi|cent. 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 tri|fling enough, among which were two boxes, contain|ing all the common trades in miniature.

TOUR THROUGH HOLLAND.

SECT. LXXXII. OF BARCELONA IN SPAIN.

THIS city is a sweet spot. The air equals in pu|rity, 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 remark|ably 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 north|ward, 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 culti|vation, studded with villages, country houses, and gar|dens.

The form of Barcelona is almost circular, the Ro|man 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 har|bour. The immense loads of sand hurried down into

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 prevent|ing 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 a|go 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 rea|son 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 Mad|rid. He governed Catalonia many years, more like an independant sovereign, than like a subject invested with a delegated authority. Great are the obligations Bar|celona has to him. He cleansed and beautified its streets, built useful edifices, and forwarded its trade and manufactures, without much extraordinary ex|pence to the province; for he had more resources, and

made money go father than most other governors can do, or indeed wish to do.

The citadel has six strong bastions, calculated to o|verawe the inhabitants, at least as much as to defend them from a foreign enemy. The lowness of its situ|ation 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 mana|gers of the exhibition were greatly at a loss; till this man, who was a poor, starving officer, presented him|self, though utterly ignorant both of bull-fighting and horsemanship. By dint of resolution, and the particu|lar 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 al|most throughout extremely mountainous. The nature

of the country appears to have great influence on that of the inhabitants, who are a hardy, active, and indus|trious 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 fa|tigues. There are few lame or distorted persons, or beg|gars, to be met with among them. Their mocos or mule|boys 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 e|normous 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 re|stored; and this is at present one of the most flourish|ing 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

by the police, and the vigilance of the thief-takers, sup|ply the place of defensive weapons, robberies and mur|ders 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 shoul|ders, or run about upon errands, than be the head do|mestic 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, en|title 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 lan|guage.

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 lia|ble to frequent burstings and mildews, they have turn|ed their attention more to the vine, which they plant

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 a|nother down from the brow of the rock by ropes, rath|er than suffer a good patch of soil to remain useless. Their vintages are commonly very plentiful. This au|tumn, 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 Barce|lona, 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 a|lone 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 thou|sand bushels of flour, or more, at a stated price, and in case the other bakers should refuse to work, they are

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 exagge|ration in this reckoning.

The great export commerce consists in wine, bran|dies, Salt, and oil, which are mostly taken in by for|eign 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 moun|tains, but they are ill wrought, and turn to poor ac|count. 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 ar|rived

at any great elegance of design or liveliness of co|lour.

The imports are, besides corn, about eighty thou|sand 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 arti|cles 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 ex|cellent, 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 pro|per 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

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 be|nefit of the sanctuary. The proceedings of the inquisition are grown very mild. If any person leads a scanda|lous life, or allows his tongue unwarrantable liberties, he is summoned by the holy office and privately ad|monished; in case of non-amendment, he is commit|ted to prison. Once a year you must answer to that tribunal for the orthodoxy of your family, even of eve|ry servant, or they must quit the country. But the fo|reign Protestant houses are passed over unnoticed. A|void 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 ap|points a familiar to attend him all the time he stays a|shore, 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 un|doubted 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,

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.

SWINBURNE.

SECT. LXXXIII. OF THE FLOCKS ON THE PYRENEAN MOUNTAINS.

ON the 10th of July, 1787, we left Bagnere de Lu|chon, and crossed the mountains to Vielle, the first town on the Spanish side. The Pyrenees are so great an ob|ject of examination, in whatever light they are consid|ered, 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 occa|sion be particular in describing the husbandry practis|ed in them, and at present stop no longer than to men|tion the pasturage of Catalonian sheep in them. By a little detour out of our direct road, and by passing Hos|pital, 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

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 considera|ble 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 fol|lowed the river Pique, which upon the maps is some|times 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 bot|tom 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 preci|pices. 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 pyra|midical

rock of micaceous schistus, which is constant|ly 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, how|ever, 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 En|gland 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 plan|tain, were eaten, as may be supposed, close. I looked for trefoils, but found scarcely any. It was very ap|parent, 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 gene|ral very dry. Now a great range of dry land, let the plants be what they may, will in every country suit

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 Pica|da. 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 halfpen|ny 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

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 tra|verses the declivities. In doing this the sheep are ex|posed to great danger in places that are stony; for some

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 cau|tiously 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 fore|heads. 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 moun|tains could pass it; but our mules trod securely amidst rolling stones on the edges of precipices of a tremen|dous depth; but sure-footed as they are, they are not

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. Wal|ker. These mountains are chiefly rocks of micace|ous 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 Bo|soste is at the foot of the mountains, where is the Spa|nish 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 interest|ing. 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 ver|dant 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;

but cheap eggs and bread, and some trout for fifteen sous. (Seven pence halfpenny English.)

We followed from hence the Garonne, which is al|ready 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 fal|lows. 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 ma|ny 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 for|ty miles English, and has in it thirty-two villages. These villages, or rather little towns, have a very pretty ap|pearance, 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 pov|erty and wretchedness; not one window of glass to be seen in a whole town; scarcely any chimnies, both

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 colo|nel, 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

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 po|lice of their woods is better than on the French side. When woods are cut they are preserved. Their moun|tain pastures not used by themselves, they let to the owners of large flocks, who bring them from the low|er part of Catalonia. These flocks rise to four thou|sand sheep, the rent, in general, being from five to se|ven sous a head for the summer food. Every inhabi|tant 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

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 travel|lers 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 occupi|ed, 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

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 bran|dy, but poisoned with aniseed. Then a bottle of ex|cellent rich white wine was produced, resembling good mountain, and all was well. But when we came to exa|mine 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 co|lour 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.

YOUNG.

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 atten|tion, 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. Allow|ing some few exceptions, I think I may safely pro|nounce the outward artchitecture of them all to be bar|barous, and their manner of ornamenting the inside as bad as that of the worst ages. Most of them were e|rected or retouched during the term of years that elaps|ed 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 pub|lic 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

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 to|tal 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 va|rious 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 se|pulchral monuments of any consequence.

The royal palace is all of white stone. Each of the

fronts being four hundred and seventy feet in length, by one hundred high, this pile towers over all the coun|try, 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 manu|factory. This is the more unpardonable, as they had at no great distance, in the Alcazar of Toledo, as ele|gant 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 se|cret 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 apart|ments.

I know no place in Europe fitted up with so much true royal magnificence. The richest marbles are em|ployed 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,

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 por|ticoes and temples. At least, there is no presumption in asserting, that the bowels of the earth in Spain con|tain 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 beauti|ful green, those of Tortosa a variety of brown marbles. Leon and Malaga send alabaster; Toledo, Talavera, Badajoz, and Murviedro, abound in marbles of differ|ent 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 oth|er 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 ar|tist has placed allegorical figures of its different pro|vinces distinguished by their productions, and attend|ed by several of their inhabitants in the provincial ha|bit. These form a most uncommon picture, and a cu|rious set of Costumi. The walls are incrustated with beautiful marble, and all around hung with large plates

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 in|cumbent 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 admira|tion; some boys playing, full of grace, and a charming variety of attitudes.

Rubens—Christ and St. John Baptist, lovely chil|dren. 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

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 a|live.

Spagnolet—Isaac feeling Jacob's hands; very capi|tal.

In the shallow vale between the Retiro and the town, which has not the least suburb of any kind be|longing 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, confi|ned; 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

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 e|ven 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, shud|der at the very recollection of its former filth.

Some of the natives regret the old stinks and nasti|ness; as they pretend that the air of Madrid is so sub|tle 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.

SWINBURNE.

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 ac|count 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 descrip|tion 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 sus|picious 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 repre|sentation of a prince that does not admit him to a fa|miliar 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 uni|form. By seeing none but inferiors about them, they 〈◊〉〈◊〉 a great indifference in their manner, and seldom

betray in their countenance any of those strong emo|tions that mark the various feelings of men obliged to bustle through the world. Their passions lack the re|lish 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 fa|mily, 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 be|come 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

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 no|ted 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 rath|er than miss an opportunity of firing upon that favour|ite game.

Besides a most numerous retinue of persons belong|ing 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 fa|mily. 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 Ilde|fonso. In order to be entitled to this reimbursement, the farmers scatter just as much seed-corn over their

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 com|paring 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 occurren|ces, 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 hav|ing time or opportunity to harbour bad thoughts; and truly I believe he goes out so constantly himself, in or|der

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 el|derly persons, and such as are of his own age, especial|ly 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 re|mote provinces. He has finished the palace at Ma|drid, and added considerably to those of the Prado and Aranjuez; built new towns at Aranjuez, and Escuri|al, and St. Ildefonso; and planted a great deal at A|ranjuez. The Marquis of Grimaldi has the merit of having suggested and conducted most of these improve|ments, 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 gen|teelly 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 a|broad, and converse with strangers. When she walks

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 domes|tic 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 clas|sical 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 con|finement, 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

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 match|es 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 chil|dren 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 mu|sic 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 na|tion.

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 constel|lation 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,

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.

SWINBURNE.

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 mo|tives and situations, have frequently since appeared to

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 extraordi|nary.

The mistakes I have found myself guilty of in seve|ral little remarks made, in the first part of my journey, have rendered me very cautious of deciding upon mat|ters, 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 explain|ed to me.

Accordingly I omitted no opportunity of drawing information from the natives of all ranks; from stran|gers long established in Spain, and from those who, hav|ing resided but a few years there, were more likely to be sensible of the singularities of the national dispo|sition. I cannot say my endeavours have been crown|ed with much success.

Were I to draw the picture of the Spaniards from the manifold sketches traced by their countrymen, eve|ry 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 con|tradictory accounts, enforced by the most positive asse|verations, have been repeatedly given me of the same places. I have often found the virtue one province

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 cha|racteristic. The English, French, and other foreign|ers, 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 a|gainst every thing that clashes with their native cus|toms, 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 Span|iards, 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 insuffici|ency, 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 sul|len sedate race, better adapted to the occupations of husbandmen, less eager to change place, and of a much

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 in|dustrious 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 Ca|talonians, rather inclining to the former. The Biscay|ners are acute and diligent, fiery and impatient of controul; more resembling a colony of republicans, than a province of an absolute monarchy. The Ga|licians are a plodding, pains-taking race of mortals, that roam over Spain in search of an hardly-earned sub|sistance.

The listless indolence equally dear to the unciviliz|ed 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 bet|ter than their present state of vegetation. They feel

little or no concern for the welfare or glory of a coun|try, 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, be|cause he perceives no advantage accrue from industry. As his food and raiment are purchased at a small ex|pence, he spends no more time in labour, than is ab|solutely necessary for procuring the scanty provision his abstemiousness requires. I have heard a peasant refuse to run an arrand because he had that morn|ing 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 essenti|ally 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 agita|tion 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 acti|vity 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

it rather as an Utopian idea, than as a revolution like|ly 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 ad|vance.

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. When|ever they can riot in the plenty of another man's ta|ble, 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, pimen|to, 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 light|ed

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 mel|ancholy 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 re|markable noisy and riotous. They talk louder, and argue with more vehemence than even the French or Italians, and gesticulate with equal, if not superior ea|gerness. In Catalonia the young men are expert at ball; and every village has its pelota, or ground for play|ing at fives; but in the South of Spain I never percei|ved 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 dir|ty in their persons, and overrun with vermin.

As their constitution may be said to be made up of

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 foreign|ers, 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 luke|warm 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, al|though 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 sus|pect, that the people here trouble themselves with very few serious thoughts on the subject; and that, provi|ded they can bring themselves to believe that their favourite Saint looks upon them with an eye of affec|tion, 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

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 chan|ges 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 malefac|tors to the sea-ports, and banished forever from the realm, without the least resistance to the royal man|date being made, or even threatened. Their ve|ry 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 educa|tion

is too much neglected, their minds too little en|lightened by study or communication with other na|tions, to rub off the general rust, with which the Spa|nish genius has, for above an age, been as it were in|crustated. The public schools and universities are in a despicable state of ignorance and irregularity. Some feeble hope of future reformation is indulged by pa|triots; 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 Au|gustan 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 Cer|vantes and La Vega, who survived the rest of the geni|uses 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 phaenome|non.

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

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 ser|vants.

SWINBURNE.

SECT. LXXXVII. OF THE SPANISH LADIES.

THE Spanish women are in general little and thin. Few are strikingly beautiful, but almost all have spark|ling black eyes, full of expression. It is not the fash|ion 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 suc|cours of Education, the wit remains obscured by the rudest ignorance, and the most ridiculous prejedices. Their tempers having never been fashioned by polite in|tercourse, nor softened by necessary contradiction, are extremely pettish and violent. They are co••tinually

about something or other, and put out of hu|mour 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 gal|lant, seems their only plaything. I believe no coun|try exhibits more bare faced amour, and such an ap|pearance 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 ap|proach the company that may occasionally drop in. It would throw them into the greatest confusion were

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.

SWINBURNE.

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 de|priving 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 con|fessional,

and poured out her soul at his feet. Her in|nocence 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.

SWINBURNE.

SECT. LXXXIX. OF THE BATHS AT BAGNERES.

BAGNERES derives its name from the mineral baths which were known and frequented by the anci|ent 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 con|dition 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 en|joys 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 vigo|rous, who repair to Bagneres for the sake of amuse|ment, may climb delightful hills, and wander among

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, bro|ken 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 moun|tains, 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 un|melted through the summer by the protection of their shade.

That side of the mountains which faces the noon|tide 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 sup|ply of fuel, and the purposes of husbandry.

The medicinal waters at Bagneres have alone rescu|ed

this valley from the obscurity which involves so many neighbouring beautiful districts. A great num|ber 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 pa|tient applies with great confidence to his parti|cular disorder, under the directions of the physicians of the place. The summit of this mountain is indent|ed with a large hollow, similar to the crater of a volca|no, 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 explo|sions, and to cast forth torrents of lava, still retains the power in its weaker state, of imp••rting virtue in vari|ous 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 quick|silver in Farrenheit's thermometer to 123 degrees, while

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 eight|teen 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 sur|rounding hills cheer the prospect; but in so hot a season, and in this latitude, an avenue would be a grea|ter 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 eve|ry person may drink his fill for the value of three far|things English. The vogue is so great, that two gui|neas 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 con|stitues 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

efficacy. The degree of heat of Salut is ••8½. When evaporated by a slow equal fire, the surface of its wa|ter is covered with a pellicle formed by small insipid chrystals, which towards the completion of the evapo|ration acquire considerable acritude. These waters contain no particles of iron, but small parallelopiped pyrites are frequently found in them, of a bright gol|den colour, and about an inch long.

SECT. XC. JOURNEY INTO THE HEART OF THE PYRENEAN MOUNTAINS.

I RETURNED yesterday to Bagneres from a jour|ney on horseback, through the most romantic and cu|rious 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 fine|ly cultivated. Numberless streams pour across the

road, and hurry to blend their waters with those of the Adour, which is here confined to a narrow bed. Be|yond it eastward, the mountains are covered with beau|tiful verdure. At their foot stands Asté, a village be|longing 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 varie|gated 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 subter|raneous 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, ap|pertaining to its community.

At a small distance above the town, 〈◊◊〉〈◊◊〉 con|ducted

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 ser|vants, 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,

through a forest of silver and spruce firs. We occasion|ally 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. Abund|ance 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 sur|prised 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 Bare|ges. Rude and barren mountains shade it on both sides, and the 〈◊〉〈◊〉 a foaming torrent, fills the inter|mediate 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 block|ed 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

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 win|dows, 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. Some|times a large volume of water busts out of its side, the overplus of a lake on the summit, and sweeps off all be|fore 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, is|sue 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

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 dan|gerous 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 bold|est 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 possi|ble 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 fre|quently 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 unexperi|enced travellers in our company. On one hand a per|pendicular

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 distress|ing; but our horses were so unconcerned and sure|footed, 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 preci|pices, 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 inhabi|tants 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.

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 mag|nificent amphitheatre. On the top waved thick for|ests of firs, through which several streams forcing their way, dashed down the lofty precipice, but almost va|nished away in mist before they could reach the bot|tom. 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 moun|tains, 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 pub|lic house. We found him a modest conversable man, worthy of a richer settlement.

After dinner we travelled towards the head of the

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 ul|tra, pressed us earnestly to alight, as no horse had ev|er 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 deceiv|ed 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 amphi|theatre. 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

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 wa|ters at its foot.

The whole western corner of the area below is fill|ed with a bed of snow, which being struck by few rays of the sun at any season, receives a sufficient vol|ume of fresh snow every winter to balance the loss occasioned by the warmth of the atmosphere in sum|mer. 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 bold|ly 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 glitter|ed 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 strong|ly affected.

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 sel|dom 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.

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 be|hind 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 pur|ple.

The mountains abound with game, the rivers with fish. Here are no lords of manorial rights, and there|fore game is the property of every member of the com|munity that can catch it. Except some tracts of wood reserved for the use of the navy, all the forests are held in common.

SWINBURNE.

SECT. XCI. OF PORTUGAL IN GENERAL; THE PRO|DUCE OF THE COUNTRY, AND THE CUS|TOMS 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 in|habitants. 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

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 in|deed 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 odorif|erous 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 in|different 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 good|ness to those made in Spain.

The modern Portuguese retain nothing of that ad|venturous enterprizing spirit that rendered their fore|fathers 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 degenera|cy is evidently owing to the weakness of their mo|narchy,

which renders them inactive; and that inac|tivity has proved the source of pride, and other un|manly 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 su|perstitious, 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 a|bove 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 in|terest of their own country is now so much encoura|ged by their court and ministry.

The Portuguese are neither so tall nor so well made as the Spaniards, whose habits and customs they imi|tate; only the quality affect to be more gaily and rich|ly 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 shrivel|led as with old age, before they are turned of thirty. Their eyes, however, which are generally black and

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 observa|ble 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 im|mense amphitheatre, which has all the charms that can be produced by a variety of the most sumptuous edifices, reflecting uncommon beauties upon each oth|er 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 ap|pearance at once delightful and superb, and it is deserv|edly

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 ru|ins, and reduced that city to a scene of the most terri|ble 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 Custom|house, St. Dominic's church, St. Nicholas's, and ma|ny others, were either thrown down or consumed, to|gether with a great number of private houses. But happily some whole streets escaped the general calam|ity, 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, ele|gant, 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,

that they have the happiness of living to a very great age, without being oppressed with infirmities, and con|tinually attacked by fresh disorders, as is usual in oth|er 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 inha|bitants of half the shops in the city are coopers. The merchants assemble daily in the chief street, to trans|act business, and are protected from the sun by sail|cloths hung across from the opposite houses. About thirty English families reside here, who are chiefly con|cerned in the wine trade.

TOUR THROUGH PORTUGAL.

SECT. XCII. OF NORWAY, AND BERGEN ITS CAPITAL.

THE climate of Norway is much more various than in most other European countries. In the sum|mer-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 ex|tremity 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 en|larging 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 contin|uance; which, as the sun never appears above the ho|rizon, 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 boun|tiful Creator has granted the inhabitants all possible as|sistance; for besides the moon-shine, which by reflection from the mountains is exceedingly bright in valleys, the people receive considerable relief from the Auror••

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 gen|erally 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 consider|able 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 oth|er 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 inhabi|tants of this cold climate a greater variety of preserva|tives 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 sup|ply them with down and feathers. The mountains

themselves serve them for fences against the north and east winds, and their caverns afford them shel|ter.

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 seve|ral 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 on|ly to be found in the chief towns, where they are esta|blished 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 compari|son

of the wastes and desarts, which obliges the inha|bitants 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 bo|dies 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 be|longing 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

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 a|mazing 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 fi|delity 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 depri|ved 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 num|ber of hardy flowers. In Norway, as well as in Den|mark, 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, cramber|ries,

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 men|tion the home consumption for houses built entirely of beams of wood, ships, bridges, and an infinite num|ber of founderies, which require an•• immense quantity of charcoal, in the fusion of metals, besides the de|mands for fuel and other domestic uses; to which must be added, that in many places the woods are felled on|ly 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 oth|er on the sea shore. It is a large trading town, full

of merchants, and was formerly an archbishopric; but has not been acknowledged such since the refor|mation. 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 mer|chants who live in it are allowed to marry without removing. The principal branch of trade carri|ed on at Bergen, are herrings, cod, and stock-fish, for which there is a great vent in Muscovy, Sweden, Po|land, Denmark, Germany, Holland, and other parts of Europe.

BISHOP OF BERGEN.

SECT. XCIII. OF THE PERSONS, DRESS, EMPLOYMENTS, AND CUSTOMS OF THE INHABI|TANTS 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 re|markable for their civility and willingness to serve ev|ery 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 civi|lities. The peasant, however, never gives the up|per end of the table to the greatest guest that ever

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 un|threshed sheaf of corn, which draws thither the sparrows and other small birds.

The inhabitants of the trading towns live, with res|pect 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 in|to 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

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 con|struction 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 trav|el, 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

long, and pointed before. They are covered under|neath 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 leath|ern 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 jing|ling 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,

felling and floating timber, burning charcoal, and ex|tricating 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.

BISHOP OF BERGEN.

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 chop|ped even to make them lie close, and then laid one up|on 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 dis|tance from each other, with their fields and grounds

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 farm|houses 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 in|ward 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 〈◊〉〈◊〉

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.

BISHOP OF BERGEN.

SECT. XCV. OF THE ANIMALS OF NORWAY.

AMONG the animals we shall begin with the hor|ses, 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 oblig|ed 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 strik|ing

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, win|ter 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 ap|proaches 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 own|er 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 poi|sonous 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

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 con|quer; and if he finds a carcase six times as big as him|self, 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 to|gether, 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 there|fore well worth the huntsman's while to kill him with|out 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 Da|nish weasel. Its valuable skin is of a beautiful white,

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 strip|ed. 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 in|stead 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.

BISHOP OF BERGEN.

SECT. XCVI. OF LAPLAND.

WE took a journey from the town of Varanger in|to 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, moun|tains, and valleys, without meeting any living creature, till about four o'clock in the afternoon, when we per|ceived 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 ap|proached too near us. Upon which we cocked and primed our pieces, and prepared our flints. But whe|ther the bears were frightened at the fire which struck from our flints, or smelt our powder, they soon fled a|way so 〈◊◊〉〈◊◊〉 they were presently out of sight.

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 be|ing 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 encumber|ed 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 bot|tle, some rein-deer's flesh dressed without salting, and some dried fish, which we gave to our guides, and sup|ped 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 coun|try.

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 ex|change with us. We bid him, by our interpreters, bring out his skins; and if he had any clothes made of

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.

TRAVELS THROUGH LAPLAND.

SECT. XCVII. THE MANNER OF TRAVELLING IN SLED|GES 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 Va|ranger,

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 dan|ger 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 unhar|ness our cattle, one of them bringing out a little juni|per can filled with brandy, of which he gave each of us

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 frigh|tened 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 some|what 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; there|fore

the huntsmen, when far outin the country, and pinch|ed for want of food, eat them, and find that they satis|fy 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 in|tirely; a singular instance of the benevolence of the great Creator, in providing for the wants of each crea|ture, according to its destined manner of living.

When we got out of our sledges, our host conduct|ed 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 Va|ranger, 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

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 Va|ranger; but our guide had been often in the country and understood them.

TRAVELS THROUGH LAPLAND.

SECT. XCVIII. THE CEREMONIES OF A LAPLAND FUNERAL.

OUR landlord asked us whether we would accom|pany 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

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 de|ceased 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 pro|cession, 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 succeed|ed 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 fre|quently

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 cor|ner; 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 af|ter another, drew her seat near us, and shewed us a bonnet of her own embroidering, very curiously per|formed with tinsel thread. The wives of the Musco|vite Laplanders make clothes for themselves, their hus|bands, 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, especi|ally the gingerbread; but having drank two or three glasses of brandy, withdrew to her place of confine|ment, for fear of her husband's return. Had he found her among us it would have raised his jealousy.

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 but|ter which we eat with bread; and as our guide would not taste any thing that was salt, he got him some dri|ed 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 cover|ed with turf, but they were handsomer than any we had yet seen, being both within and without adorned with fish bones, curiously inlaid.

TRAVELS THROUGH LAPLAND.

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 ho|rizon towards noon; but the long twilights, the white|ness 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-Tor|nea, 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

bands, each of which carried our rods of fir, each thir|ty 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 ex|treme, 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 threaten|ed us with still more dismal accidents. While the ex|tremities 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 con|trast 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 e|nough. 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

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 quad|rant to the top of the mountain, so scrupulously care|ful were we that nothing should be wanting to the per|fection 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 under|taking will scarce appear possible. Yet there are two ways of performing it; one by walking, or rather sli|ding 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 your|self 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

warm ourselves. The cold was so extreme, that the heat of the fire could reach only to a very small dis|tance. As the snow just by it melted, it was immedi|ately 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 notwithstand|ing, drawn by animals, whose fury in the plain we had already tried, and who, though sinking to their bel|lies 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 sea|son.

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 thermo|meters, which at Paris, in the great frost of 1709, it

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 con|verted 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 crack|ing 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

excessive, that on the 7th of April, at five in the morn|ing, 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 instru|ment. 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.

MAUPERTUIS.

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 sea|son. These fires have not here as in the more south|erly climates, any constant situation. Though a lu|minous

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 me|ridian; 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 tow|ards 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 hori|zon. 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 fig|ures these meteors assume, and the various motions with which they are agitated. Their motion is most com|monly like that of a pair of colours waved in the air, and the different tints of their light gives them the ap|pearance of so many vast streamers of changeable 〈◊〉〈◊〉.

Sometimes they line a part of the sky with scar|let.

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 admira|tion. 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 misfor|tune. After all, when people gaze at these phaenome|na 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 observa|tions, 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,

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, win|ter 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.

MAUPERTUIS.

SECT. CI. OF ST. ANDREWS IN SCOTLAND.

I HAD desired to visit the Hebrides, or Western Isl|ands 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 with|in their view, it had all their lives solicited their no|tice. Here, by climbing with some difficulty over

shattered crags, we made the first experiment of unfre|quented 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 perma|nent 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 af|fords a southern stranger a new kind of pleasure to travel so commodiously without the interruption of toll|gates.

At an hour somewhat late, we came to St. Andrews,

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 immortali|ty as can be conferred by modern latinity, and perhaps a fairer than the instability of vernacular languages ad|mits.

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 sur|veyed the ruins of ancient magnificence, of which e|ven 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 want|ed 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,

even to an artist, a sufficient specimen. It was demo|lished, 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 arch|bishop 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 em|ployed 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 ve|hement as it was, raised an epidemical ••nthusiasm, compounded of sullen scrupulousness and warlike fe|rocity, 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 transmit|ted 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 con|straint.

The city of St. Andrews, when it had lost its archiepiscopal

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 aliena|ted college is yet standing, a fabric not inelegant of ex|ternal structure; but I was always, by some civil ex|cuse, 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 osten|tatiously displayed. Where there is yet shame, there may in time be virtue.

The dissolution of St. Leonard's College was doubt|less 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

merchants or its nobles are raising palaces, suffers its universities to moulder into dust.

Of the two colleges yet standing, one is by the insti|tution 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 ele|gant and luminous.

The doctor, by whom it was shown, hoped to irri|tate 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 man|ners of young men neither to the levity and dissolute|ness of a capital city, nor to the gross luxury of a town of commerce, places naturally unpropitious to learn|ing. 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 ob|struction 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 ex|pence of an academical education be very reasonably objected. A student of the highest class may keep his

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, an|swering to our vice-chancellor, and to the rector magni|ficus 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 in|habited by an old woman, who claimed the right of a|bode 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

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 trou|blesome 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 ma|ny things that give him pain. The kindness of the professors did not contribute to abate the uneasy re|membrance of an university declining, a college alien|ated, and a church profaned and hastening to the ground.

St. Andrews indeed has formerly suffered more at|rocious ravages and more extensive destruction; but re|cent 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. E|vents long past are barely known; they are not con|sidered. 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 ineffectu|al wishes.

DR. JOHNSON.

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 com|munication 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 gar|rison, 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 En|glish 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 capa|cious edifice, but stands upon a rock so high and steep, that I think it was once not accessible, but by the

help of ladders or a bridge. Opposite to it, on anoth|er hill, was a fort built by Cromwell, now totally de|molished; for no faction of Scotland loved the name of Cromwell, or had any desire to continue his memo|ry.

Yet what the Romans did to other nations, was in a great degree done by Cromwell to the Scots. He civi|lized them by conquest, and introduced by useful vio|lence 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 suf|ficient 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 seven|teenth,

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 pub|lication of May's Supplement, the English had very little to oppose.

Yet men thus ingenious and inquisitive were con|tent 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 acquaint|ed with English manners, the culture of their lands was unskilful, and their domestic life uninformed.

Since they have known that their condition was ca|pable of improvement, their progress in useful know|ledge 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 In|verness, 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 mean|ly built, where on Sunday we saw a very decent con|gregation.

We were now to bid farewell to the luxury of tra|velling, 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 our|selves as to lead them, merely that we might have one day longer the indulgence of a carriage. At Inver|ness 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 fa|tigue, 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 rea|dy-handed.

Civility seems part of the national cha|rcter of the Highlanders. Every chieftain is a monarch, and politeness, the natural product of royal gov|ernment, 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 Inver|ness 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 sur|face by a gentle agitation. Beyond them were rocks sometimes covered with verdure, and sometimes tower|ing

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 ex|hibit 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 just|ly supposed, because most men exaggerate to others, if not to themselves. But Boethius lived at no great dis|tance. 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 plea|sant, 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 o|pen

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 de|lightful, 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, be|cause 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

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 En|glish lane is almost always dirty. It has been made with great labour, but has this advantage, that it can|not, without equal labour, be broken up.

Within our sight there were goats feeding or play|ing. 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 Alex|ander interrogated, gave to those beasts which live far|thest from men.

Dr. JOHNSON.

SECT. CIII. DESCRIPTION OF A HIGHLAND COTTAGE.

NEAR the way, by the water side we espied a cot|tage. 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 vio|lence, 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 admit|ted but at the entrance, and through a hole in the

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 apart|ments; and its inhabitants possessed such property as a pastoral poet might exalt into riches.

When we entered we found an an old woman boil|ing 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 consid|ered as expensive food, and told us, that in spring when the goats gave milk, the children could live with|out 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-gar|den, and a small spot of ground on which stood four shucks, containing each twelve sheaves of barley. She

has all this from the labour of their own hands, and for what is necessary to be bought, her kids and her chic|kens 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 High|land cottage.

Soon afterwards we came to the General's Hut, so cal|led 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.

Dr. JOHNSON.

SECT. CIV. OF THE CLIMATE, SOIL, PRODUCE, AND ANIMALS OF THE HEBRIDES, PAR|TICULARLY OF SKY.

AS the island of Sky lies in the fifty-seventh degree, the air cannot be supposed to have much warmth.

The long continuance of the sun above the horizon, does indeed sometimes produce great heat in the northern lati|tudes; 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 ven|tilation, but by the same blasts is kept warm in winter. Their weather is not pleasing. Half the year is delu|ged with rain. From the autumnal to the vernal equi|nox, 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 au|tumn 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 whol|ly on the surplusage of the summer. In the year seven|ty-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

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 bet|ter product. There are many bogs or mosses of great|er 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 moul|der 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 man|ual labour, with an instrument called a crooked spade, of a forth and weight which to me appeared very

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 opera|tions, 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 e|qual 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 af|ter 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

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 improvi|dence 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 es|cape 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 want|ing, 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 He|brides. 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

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 subterrane|ous 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 es|sayed. 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 valua|ble 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 crav|ing on the morrow, has left little room for excur|sive 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

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 pro|duct of personal labour, to which the landlord contri|butes nothing. However, as any man may be said to give what he gives the power of gaining he has cer|tainly 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 fat|ted in English pastures.

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 re|marked.

In the penury of these malignant regions, noth|ing 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 en|quired.

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.

Their flesh has no rankness, nor is it inferior in flavour to our common venison. The roebuck I nei|ther saw nor tasted. These are not countries for a re|gular chase. The deer are not driven with horns and hounds. A sportsman, with his gun in his hand, watch|es 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 wea|sel is so frequent, that he is heard in houses ratling be|hind chests or beds, as rats in England. They proba|bly 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.

Dr. JOHNSON.

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 barren|ness 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 pla|ces; 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 harden|ed 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 co|operate by placidness of content, or consciousness of superiority.

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 continu|ance of manual labour, and are therefore considered as habitually idle.

Having never been supplied with these accommoda|dations, which life, extensively diversified with trades affords, they supply their wants by very insufficient shifts, and endure many inconveniencies which a lit|tle 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 perpet|ual health, nor exposes them to any particular diseas|es. 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

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 cred|it than examine. To be told that any man has attain|ed a hundred years, gives hope and comfort to him who stands trembling on the brink of his own climacte|ric.

Length of life is distributed impartially to very dif|ferent 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 nine|ty-fourth year, presided at her table with the full ex|ercise 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 dis|tinguished 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 for|merly lived in a castle, now lives in a house; some|times sufficiently neat, but seldom very spacious or

splendid. The tacksmen and the ministers have com|monly houses. Wherever there is a house, the stran|ger 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 cleanli|ness it were ingratitude to reproach them; the ser|vants 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.—Some|times, 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, form|ed 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 gentle|men, which have walls cemented with mortar, glass windows, and boarded floors. Of these all have chim|neys, and some chimneys have grates.

The house and the furniture are not always nicely 〈◊〉〈◊〉. We were driven once, by missing a passage, to

the hut of a gentleman, where after a very liberal supper, when I was conducted to my chamber, I found an ele|gant 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, what|ever 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 con|straint; he will rather feed upon roots and ber|ries.

The only fuel of the islands is peat. Their wood is

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 offen|sive smell. It is like wood charked for the smith. The common method of making peat fires, is by heap|ing 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 ve|getable substance, is not unlikely to be true, whether known or not to those who relate it.

Dr. JOHNSON.

SECT. CVI. OF THE HEBRIDIAN TABLES.

IT need not, I suppose, be mentioned, that in coun|tries so little frequented as the Islands, there are no hou|ses where travellers are entertained for money. He that wanders about these wilds, either procures recommen|dations 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 cot|tage, he can expect little more than shelter; for the cot|tagers have little more for themselves. But if his good fortune brings him to the residence of a gentle|man, 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 do|mestic fowls.

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 emula|tion 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 pla|ces 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 col|our 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 lea|ven are used among them, their bread of every kind is unfermented. They make only cakes, and never mould a loaf.

A man of the Hebrides, for of the women's diet I can give no account, as soon as he appears in the mor|ning, swallows a glass of whisky. Yet they are not a drunken race: at least I never was present at much in|temperance. 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 break|fast, a meal in which the Scots, whether of the low|lands or mountains, must be confessed to excel us. The tea and coffee are accompained not only with but|ter, but with honey, conserves, and marmalades. If an epicure could remove by a wish, in quest of sensu|al 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.

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 un|constrained. 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 of|ten such as become grateful to other nations only by degrees; though I have read a French author, who, in

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 ta|ble, 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 con|quest, and the subsequent laws. We came thither too late to see what we expected, a people of peculiar ap|pearance, and a system of antiquated life. The clans retain little now of their original character; their fero|city

〈◊◊〉〈◊◊〉 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 in|dustrious. 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.

DR. JOHNSON.

FINIS

Notes

• * 1.1

  Stairs at the backs of the houses to descend, in order to take water.
• * 1.2

  Not to speak of a great many promising puppies.
• * 1.3

  There are now two elegant hotels in the New Town, and a tavern on the new bridge. There are also several coffee-houses and apartments in the Old Town in the English taste.
• * 1.4

  The five Universities are,	A. D.
  1. Leyden in Holland,	1575
  2. Utrecht,	1636
  3. Fran••ker in Friesland,	1584
  4. Groninghen,	1614
  5. Harderwick in Guelderland,	1648
• * 1.5

  The Taulis i•••• kind of veil, generally thrown over the shoulders, sometimes over the face.
• * 1.6

  Le Serpent is a wind instrument which is used in all Ro|man Catholic churches, where the voices are accompanied with music.