book I have met with. You will think that it must have flowed not only

from my pen but from my most inmost soul.

"It is incalculable," says the author, "what an influence the objects which surround our childhood exercise over the whole formation of our character in after life. In the dark forests of the land of my birth, in my continual solitary wanderings where nature wears so romantic an aspect, arose my early love for my own meditations, and, when I was afterwards thrown among numbers of my own age at school, rendered it impossible to my disposition of mind, to form any intimate companionships, except those which I first began to discover _in myself_.

"In the day my great pleasure was lonely wandering in the country:--in the evening, the reading of romantic fictions, which I connected in my mind with the scenes I was so familiar with; and whether I sat in winter in the chimney corner poring over my book, or in summer lay stretched in luxurious indolence under a tree, my hours were equally filled with all those misty and voluptuous dreams which were perhaps the essence of poetry, but which _I was not gifted with the genius to embody_. Such a temper is not made for intercourse with men. One while I pursued an object with restless activity,--another I lived in perfectly supine meditation. Nothing came up to my wishes or my imaginings, and my whole being was at last profoundly imbued with that bitter, melancholy philosophy, which taught me, like Faust, that knowledge is but useless stuff, that hope is but a cheat; and laid a curse upon me, like that which hangs on him who, amid all the joys of youth and the allurements of pleasure, feels the presence of a spirit of darkness ever around him.

"The experience of longer and bitterer years makes me doubt whether this earth can ever bring forth a living form which can realize the visions of him who has dwelt too long absorbed in the creations of his own fancy."

In another place, he says of a man who was much praised:

"He was one of the macadamized Perfections of society. His greatest fault was his complete levelness and equality; you longed for a hill to climb;--for a stone, even if it lay in your way. Love can attach itself only to something prominent, were it even a thing that others might hate. One can hardly feel what is extreme for mediocrity."

'C'est vraiment une consolation!'

Further: "Our senses may be enthralled by beauty; but absence effaces the impression, and reason may vanquish it."

"Our vanity may make us passionately adore rank and distinction, but the empire of vanity is founded on sand."

"Who can love Genius, and not perceive that the feelings it excites are a part of our own being and of our immortality?"

_July 18th._

Would you believe, dearest Julia, that although annoyed in various ways, and almost ill, I have found these days of solitude, in which I have been occupied only with you, my books, and my thoughts, much more satisfactorily,--how shall I express it?--much more fully employed, than that comfortless existence which is called society and the world. Play forms an ingredient, for that is a mere killing of time without any result, but has at least the advantage, that we are not conscious of the time we are wasting during its lapse, as we are in most so-called amusements. How few men can rightly enter into such a state of mind! and how fortunate may I esteem myself that you can! You are only too indulgent towards me, and that makes me place less confidence in your judgments.

Now for a secret:--When I send you any extracts from books, you are never to swear whose they are; for, thanks to my boasted organ of composition (you see I am still busied with Mr. Deville,) exact transcribing is almost an impossibility with me. A borrowed material always becomes something different, if not something better, under my hands. But as I am so excitable and mobile, I must often appear inconsistent, and my letters must contain many contradictions. Nevertheless, I hope a genuinely humane spirit always appears in them, and, here and there, a knightly one; for every man must pay his tribute to the circumstances with which birth and existence have surrounded him.

Ah, if we did but live together in the old knightly days! Many a time has the enchanting picture of the castle of our fathers,--such as they inhabited it, in the wild Spessart, frowning from rocks surrounded by old oaks and firs,--stood like a dim recollection before my fancy. Along the hollow way in the valley, I see the lord of the castle with his horsemen riding to meet the morning sun, (for as a true knight he is an early riser.) You, good Julia, lean forward from the balcony, and wave your handkerchief till not a steel breastplate glitters in the sunbeam, and nothing living is in sight, save a timid roe that darts out of the thicket, or a high-antlered stag that looks proudly down from some crested crag on the country beneath.

Another time we are seated, after some successful feud, at our goblets. You pour out the wine, which I quaff like a brave and true knight, while the good chaplain reads the wonders of a legend. Now the warder's horn is heard on the turret, and a banner is seen winding up to the castle gate. It is your former lover returned from the Holy Land--'Gare à toi.'[63]

_July 19th._

A cheerful ray of sun enticed me forth, but I soon exchanged the clear air of heaven for subterranean gloom. I went into the famous Tunnel, the wonderful passage under the Thames. You have read in the papers that the water broke in some weeks ago, and filled the part that was completed, five hundred and forty feet in length. Any event, lucky or unlucky, is sure to give birth to a caricature in a few days. There is one representing the Tunnel catastrophe, in which a fat man on all-fours, and looking like a large toad, is trying to save himself, and screaming 'Fire!' with a mouth extended from ear to ear. With the aid of the diving-bell the hole has been so stopped, that it is asserted there is no fear of a recurrence of the accident. The water has been pumped out by a steam-engine of great power, so that one can descend with perfect safety. It is a gigantic work, practicable nowhere but here, where people don't know what to do with their money.

From hence I went to Astley's theatre, the Franconi's of London, and superior to its rival. A horse called Pegasus, with wings attached to his shoulders, performs wonderful feats; and the drunken Russian courier, who rides six or eight horses at once, cannot be surpassed for dexterity and daring. The dramatic part of the exhibition consisted of a most ludicrous parody of the Freischütz. Instead of the casting of the bullets, we had Pierrot and Pantaloon making a cake, to which Weber's music formed a strangely ludicrous accompaniment. The spirits which appear are all kitchen spirits, and Satan himself a 'chef de cuisine.' As the closing horror, the ghost of a pair of bellows blows out all the lights, except one great taper, which continually takes fire again. A giant fist seizes poor Pierrot; and a cook almost as tall as the theatre, in red and black devilish costume, covers both with an 'extinguisher' as big as a house.

These absurdities raise a laugh for a moment, it is true; but they cannot make a melancholy spirit cheerful, and you know I have so many causes for gloom which I cannot forget * * *

* * * * *

Some evil constellation must now reign over us; for certainly there are lucky and unlucky tides in man's life, and to know when they set in would be a great assistance to the steersman. The star which you tell me burns so brightly over your residence must have a hostile influence. One star, however, shines benignly upon me, and that is your love. With that, would my life be extinguished.

Change of scene seems to become more and more necessary to me, especially as there is little here to amuse or interest. After rain, sunshine:--forward then,--and do you rouse me by your letters. Let them be cheering and invigorating by their own cheerfulness, for that is more important to me than all the intelligence, bad or good, they can contain. Nothing is so terrible to my imagination as to think of you, at a distance, distressed or out of spirits. It is so great an art to suffer triumphantly--like a martyr; and it is practicable when one suffers innocently, or for love of another. You, my dearest Julia, have known few other sufferings than these. Of myself I cannot speak so proudly.

_July 23rd._

This morning I visited Bedlam. Nowhere are madmen--confined ones, that is--better lodged. There is a pleasure-ground before the door of the palace, and nothing can be cleaner and more conveniently fitted up than the interior. As I entered the women's gallery, conducted by a very pretty young girl, who officiated as keeper, one of the patients, a woman of about thirty, looked at me for a long time very attentively,--then suddenly coming up to me she said, "You are a foreigner: I know you, Prince! Why did you not put on your uniform to come to see me? that would have become you better. Ah, how handsome Charles used to look in his!"

You may imagine my painful astonishment. "Poor thing!" said my guide, "she was seduced by some foreign prince, and every foreigner she sees she fancies is one. Sometimes she cries the whole day long, and will let nobody go near her: after that she is quite sensible again for weeks. She was very pretty once, but fretting has spoiled all her beauty."

I was greatly struck by a young man, evidently of respectable station and education, who was possessed by one fixed idea,--that he was a Stuart, and had therefore a lawful claim to the throne. I conversed with him for half an hour without being able to get him upon this subject. He always broke off cautiously, nay cunningly, and talked in a very interesting manner of other things, particularly of America, where he had travelled for a considerable time; nor did he exhibit the slightest trace of insanity. Speaking of Walter Scott's novels, I several times mentioned the Pretender, which I thought would excite him to speak; and at length said in a confidential tone, "I know you are a Stuart yourself." This seemed to alarm him; and laying his finger on his lips, he whispered, "We must not speak of that _here_; the triumph of justice can be brought about by time alone, but the light will soon shine forth." "I am going into Wales," replied I, (he is a native of the Principality,) "will you give me your father's address, that I may carry him your greetings?" "With the greatest pleasure," said he; "give me your pocket-book, and I will write it." I gave it him, and he wrote his real name, ---- ----; then pointing to it with a smile, he added, "That's the name under which my father passes there.--Adieu!" and with a gracious motion of the hand he left me.

What a dreadful spectacle! One single inveterate idea converts the most agreeable man into an incurable lunatic, costs him his freedom, and condemns him to the society of vulgar madness for life. What is unhappy man in conflict with physical evil,--and where, then, is the freedom of his will?

There was a foreign patient, whose conceits were more ridiculous,--if those of madness can ever be so;--a German pedant and writer of tours, who joined me in looking about the house, of which he was a constant inmate. He was incessantly taking notes. He addressed each of the patients at great length, and carefully committed their answers to paper, though they were often any thing but complimentary to him. Scarcely had he observed my conversation with the young man I have mentioned, when he came up to me, and besought me pressingly to let him see what that gentleman had written in my pocket-book. I told him. "Oh excellent--singular," said he, "perhaps a real Stuart! I must inquire into it immediately,--a secret of state perhaps,--who knows? Very remarkable. _Ich empfehle mich unterthänigst._" So saying, he strutted away, with an awkward, silly air, yet perfectly satisfied with himself.

On my way home I met a number of funerals, which indeed in a gulf like London, where Death must be ever at work, is no wonder; and yet I must always regard it as a bad omen, even though the superstition that deems it so belong rather to Bedlam than to a reasonable head.--With me it has some foundation.

When I was very young I was once driving in a curricle through the town of J---- where I then resided. A long funeral procession met me: I was forced to stop; and as my horses were shy and restive, I had some difficulty in holding them in, and at length became infected with their impatience. I broke through the train, and inconsiderately exclaimed, "The D--l take all this absurd funeral pomp; I can't be detained by it any longer." I drove on; and had scarcely gone fifty paces further, when a little boy darted out of a shop door, and ran with such rapidity between the horses and the carriage that it was impossible to check them till the wheel had passed over the whole length of the poor child's body, and he lay lifeless on the pavement. You may imagine my mortal terror. I sprang out, raised the little fellow; and a number of people were already gathered around us, when the mother rushed forward, rent my heart with her cries, and excited the people to take vengeance on me. I was obliged to harangue the crowd to allay the rising storm; and after relating the manner of the accident, giving my name, and leaving money with the mother, I succeeded, not without some difficulty, in regaining my carriage and escaping from the tumult. I was near the gate, to which you descend by a tolerably steep hill. I was so absorbed by the thought of the accident which had just occurred, that I did not attend to the reins,--one slipped out of my hand. The horses, already hurried and alarmed by the confusion, set off, and came in contact with a wagon, with such force that one of them was killed on the spot, and my curricle smashed to pieces. I was thrown out with great violence, and for a moment rendered senseless by the shock. On recovering, I found myself lying with my face pressed so close to the ground that I was almost stiffled. I felt, however, the plunging of a furious animal above me, and heard the thunder of blows which seemed to strike my head, and yet gave me but little pain. In the midst of all, I clearly distinguished the cries of several persons around, and the exclamation, "He is a dead man--shoot the horse instantly!" At these words I received a blow on the temple which entirely deprived me of sense.

When I opened my eyes again, I was lying on a mattrass in the middle of a miserable room: an old woman was washing the blood from my head and face, and a surgeon, busied with his instruments, was preparing to trepan me. "Oh, let the poor gentleman die in peace!" cried the woman compassionately: and as I thought I felt distinctly that, spite of my external wounds, I had received no internal injury, I happily found strength to resist the operation; though the young man, who was an hospital pupil, was extremely eager to prove his skill--which, he encouragingly added, he had not yet had an opportunity of trying--upon my skull. I exerted all my remaining strength, ordered a carriage, asked for water and a looking-glass, in which, however, I could scarcely recognize myself, the greater part of the skin of my face being left in the high road. It was not till nature had replaced it by a new one, that my groom,--who was sitting by me at the time of the accident, and was thrown into a field by the road-side and but little hurt,--told me what strange circumstances had attended the accident. The pole of the curricle had splintered like a lance against the wagon: the light vehicle fell forwards, and I with it. The stump of the pole had stuck into the earth, and had fastened down my head. Upon me laid the horse entangled in the traces, making the most furious efforts to get free, and continually kicking with his hind feet against the broken pole, which thus became my sole preserver, by receiving the blows which would otherwise have dashed my head into a hundred pieces. This lasted almost a quarter of an hour before they could disengage the horse.

From that day I never liked meeting funerals.

As postscript to these reminiscences of my past life, I must add one comical incident. The boy I ran over recovered completely, and six weeks after his accident and mine, his mother brought him to me with rosy cheeks and dressed in his Sunday clothes. As I kissed him and gave his mother a parting present, the poor woman exclaimed with tears of joy, "Oh, Sir, I wish my boy could be run over so every day of the week!"

_July 28th._

It was a long time since I had visited the City, and I accordingly devoted yesterday to it. As I am, in my quality of Teutonic knight, a beerbrewer, I turned my 'cab' to Barclay's brewery, which the vastness of its dimensions renders almost romantic, and which is one of the most curious sights in London.

From twelve to fifteen thousand barrels, that is about twenty thousand quarts[64] of beer, are brewed here daily. Every thing is done by machinery, which is all set in motion by a single steam-engine. The beer is boiled in four vats, each of which holds three hundred barrels. The hops are first put into the vat or cauldron dry, and kept stirring by a machine, that they may not burn. During this process the sweet-wort flows in upon them. There is a curious apparatus for cooling the beer in hot weather;--it is made to pass through a number of pipes like those of an organ, through which a stream of cold water is then let to flow, and so on, alternately. At last the beer flows into a barrel as high as a house, of which there are ninety-nine under gigantic sheds. You can't conceive the strange effect of seeing a vessel holding six hundred thousand quarts tapped for you to drink a glass of porter, which, 'par parenthèse,' is excellent, and cold as ice. These barrels are covered with a little hill of fresh sand, and preserve the beer fresh and good for a twelvemonth. It is drawn off into smaller casks, and sent out to the consumer. The drawing off is effected with great rapidity by means of leathern pipes, as the smaller casks are arranged in readiness under the floor on which the great ones stand.

A hundred and fifty horses, like elephants, one of which can draw a hundred hundred-weight, are daily employed in carrying out the beer.

A single enormous chimney devours the smoke of the whole establishment; and from the roof of the principal building you have a very fine panoramic view of London.

I next proceeded to the West-India docks and warehouses,--an immeasurable work; one of those at the sight of which the most cold-blooded spectator must feel astonishment, and a sort of awe at the greatness and the might of England. What a capital lies here in buildings, wares, and vessels! The admirably excavated basin, which it took me half an hour to walk round, is thirty-six feet deep, and surrounded by sheds and warehouses, some of which are five or six stories high: some of them are built entirely of iron, the foundations only being of stone. This mode of building has however been found to be dangerous, from the contraction and expansion of the metal. In these boundless depositories there was sugar enough to sweeten the whole adjoining basin, and rum enough to make half England drunk. Two thousand artisans and overseers are commonly employed daily, and the value of the goods here collected is estimated at twenty millions sterling; exclusive of the stores, which are kept in great quantities in a storehouse, so that the breaking or spoiling of any of the tools delays the work only a few minutes. The number of well-contrived tools and machines is wonderful. I looked on with great pleasure while blocks of mahogany and other foreign woods, many larger than the largest oak, were lifted up like feathers, and deposited on drays or wagons as carefully as if they had been the most brittle ware. Everything is on a colossal scale. On each side of the basin lie rows of ships, most of them newly painted. There are two basins, one for import and the other for export. I was obliged to leave this interesting place sooner than I wished, as the entrance-gate and all the warehouses are closed at four o'clock. The gatekeeper does not take the slightest trouble to ascertain whether there is any one in the yard, so that it appeared to me one would have to bivouac there for the night if one missed the hour. The man very coolly assured me that if the King were there he would not wait a minute; I made my escape therefore as quickly as I could.

On my way home I passed a booth where a man was calling out that here were the famous German dwarf and his three dwarf children; the living skeleton; and, to conclude, the fattest girl that ever was seen. I paid my shilling, and went in. After waiting a quarter of an hour, till five other spectators arrived, the curtain was drawn up, and the most impertinent 'charlatanérie' exhibited that ever I witnessed. The living skeleton was a very ordinary sized man, not much thinner than I. As an excuse for our disappointment, we were assured that when he arrived from France he was a skeleton, but that since he had eaten good English beef-steaks, it had been found impossible to check his tendency to corpulence.

The fattest woman in the world was a perfect pendant to the skeleton. She was not fatter than the Queen of Virginia Water.

Last came the so-called dwarfs--which were neither more nor less than the little children of the 'Impressario,' stuck into a sort of bird-cage, their faces shaded, and only their hands and feet left free. With the former the little wretches made a horrible noise with great bells.--Here closed the exhibition:--an English hoax, which no Frenchman could have executed more burlesquely nor with more effrontery.

_July 29th._

Since I became Mr. Deville's pupil I cannot help measuring the skulls of all my acquaintances with my eye, before I open myself to them; and to-day, like the man in Kotzebue's comedy, I examined an English servant I was hiring, 'in optima forma.' Let us hope the result will not be similar,--for the line drawn through the ear gave good promise. And here it struck me that the common proverb (and how much popular truth do such often contain!) is perfectly in accordance with Deville's principle--"He has it behind the ear, beware of him!" (_Er hat es hinter den Ohren, hütet euch vor ihm!_)

Joking apart, I am perfectly convinced that, as with magnetism, so with craniology, people throw away the good with the bad[65] when they treat it as a mere chimera. It may admit of many modifications: but I have so fully proved the justice of the leading principles upon my own skull, that I should not think people at all ridiculous for paying some attention to it in educating their children--nor even for using it to aid their own self-knowledge. I, at least, have gained a more clear idea of myself by this means than I had before.

As I had been writing all day, I took advantage of the mild and clear moonlight for my ride.

The night was quite Italian, and the roads lighted to a great distance with lamps, within the region of which I remained, and rode for several hours in the town and suburbs. The view from Westminster-bridge was most striking. The numerous lights on board the vessels danced like Will-o'-the-Whisps, on the surface of the Thames; and the many bridges spanned the noble stream as with arches of light. Westminster Abbey alone was without any artificial illumination. Only the loving moon, the betrothed of ruins and Gothic temples, caressed with her pale beams the stone pinnacles and ornaments, sought every deep nook with eager fondness, and silvered the long glittering windows; while the roof and towers of the lofty building reared themselves, still and cold, in black colourless majesty, above the lights and the tumult of the city, into the deep blue firmament.

The streets remain busy till midnight: nay, I even saw a boy of eight years old at the utmost, perfectly alone in a little child's carriage drawn by a large dog, driving along full trot, and without the slightest fear, among the latest carriages and stage-coaches. Such a thing can be seen only in England, where children are independent at eight, and hanged at twelve.

But good morning dear Julia; it is time to go to bed.

_August 1st._

The heat is still very oppressive--the earth is like an ash-heap; and if the macadamized streets were not kept watered by a continual succession of large water-carts, the dust would be insufferable. But this makes driving and riding pleasant still; and though the fashionable time is over, shopping is very amusing: one is greatly tempted to buy more than one wants; and as I have very little money just now, I am obliged to call in fancy to my aid to procure me all I covet for you and for myself.

I sent you some time ago a description of a very original man, Sir L---- M----. I was invited to his house to-day, to a most luxurious dinner, fixed so long beforehand that a diplomatic guest had been summoned across the seas, from Baden, by courier, a month ago. He arrived punctually on the very morning, and seemed to have brought a "British and foreign" appetite with him. He had not forgotten to load himself with continental delicacies, to which, as well as to the numerous excellent wines, the most exemplary justice was done. One had need have a strong head to withstand such things, but the air really makes a great deal of food and strong drink more necessary than with us. A man who could at first hardly drink a glass of English claret, (that is, mixed with brandy,) after a time finds a whole bottle of port agree very well with his health, and with the English fogs. But if our palates were especially consulted at this repast, there was no want of salt in the conversation. An officer who had served in the Birman war told us many interesting details of that people.

Another man related an Irish bull, which appeared to me the best I had heard--inasmuch as the blunder was no less than a man's cutting off his own head. The fact is, however, as he asserted, authentic, and occurred as follows:--

The peasants of Ulster use an enormous scythe, with the end of the handle sharpened to a point, that they may stick it into the ground. When they go home from work, they carry these formidable weapons over their shoulders, in such a manner that the edge of the scythe lies round their neck. Two peasants were sauntering home by the side of a river, when they spied a large salmon with his head hidden under the roots of an old tree, and his tail lying out into the stream. "Look, Paddy," said one, "at the stupid salmon! he thinks because he can't see us that we can't see him: if I had but my pike I would let him know the difference." "Och!" said the other, creeping down the bank, "sure the scythe-handle will do for that--here goes!" And so saying, he struck at the salmon; and hit him truly enough,--only, unfortunately, with the same stroke he took off his own head, which fell plump into the water before the eyes of his astonished comrade. For a long time he could not understand how it was that Paddy's head fell off so suddenly, and still maintains that there was something not quite as it should be in the business.

I closed the day with the English Opera. At the end of the first act a mine falls in and buries the principal persons of the piece alive. In the last scene of the second act they reappear in the bowels of the earth, nearly starved indeed, having lain there three days, and utterly exhausted. This, however, proves no impediment to the prima donna singing a long Polonaise air, to which there is a chorus with trumpets, "Ah, we are lost, all hope is gone!" but, oh miracle! the rocks fall asunder again, and open a wide entrance to the light of day. All distress, and with it the distressing nonsense of the piece, was at an end.

_August 2nd._

Yesterday's debauch called my attention to an organ which Mr. Deville did not include in his list--the organ of 'gourmandise,' which immediately confines on that of murder, and is in fact, like that, a species of destructiveness. I find I possess it in a considerable degree, and I only wish all the bumps and knobs on my skull gave as innocent and agreeable results. It indicates not the mere vulgar desire for eating and drinking, but enables its possessor to estimate the delicate fragrance of wine, or the inventive genius of a cook. It is inimical to human happiness only when found in conjunction with a sentimental stomach,--which happily does not appear to be the case with me.

To-day I saw an exhibition of an entire gallery of pictures embroidered with the needle, and the work of one person: their excellence is really surprising. The name of the artist, the most patient of women, is Miss Linwood. At a little distance the copies are very like the originals, and the enormous prices she gets for them shows that their merit is recognized. I heard that one such piece of tapestry, after Carlo Dolce, sold for three thousand guineas. There was a portrait of Napoleon during the Consulate, which must have been very like him at that time, and was regarded by some Frenchmen present with great admiration.

I next went to see the solar microscope, the magnifying power of which is a million. What it shows is really enough to drive a man of lively imagination mad. Nothing can be more horrible,--no more frightful devilish figures could possibly be invented,--than the hideous, disgusting water animalculæ (invisible to the naked eye, or even to glasses of inferior power,) which we daily swallow. They looked like damned souls darting about their filthy pools with the rapidity of lightning, while every motion and gesture seemed to bespeak deadly hate, horrid torture, warfare, and death.

I was seized with a sight-seeing fit, and wished to efface the shocking impressions of that infernal world by something more agreeable. I visited three panoramas,--Rio Janeiro, Madrid, and Geneva.

The first is a singular and paradisaically luxuriant country, differing completely from the forms and appearances of that which surround us. The second, in its treeless sandy plain, looks the picture of blank stationariness and of the Inquisition: burning heat broods over the whole scene like an 'auto da fè.' The third appeared to me like an old acquaintance; and with a full heart I looked long at the immoveable and unchangeable fatherlandish friend,--the majestic Mont Blanc.

_August 8th._

Canning is dead. A man in the plenitude of his intellectual power, who had but a few weeks ago arrived at the goal of his active life, who had risen to be the ruler of England, and, in that quality, unquestionably the most influential man in Europe; endowed with a spirit of fire that would have guided the reins he held with a mighty hand, and a soul capable of embracing the good of his species from a station more elevated than any to which human ambition could raise him.

One shock has overthrown this proud structure of many years. And this high-spirited man was doomed to end his days by a sudden and tragic death, amid fearful sufferings, the victim of a relentless Destiny, who steps on with iron foot, treading down all that comes in her way, heedless whether it be the young seedling, the swelling blossom, the lordly tree, or the withering plant, that she crushes.

What will be the consequences of his death? Years must elapse before that will be seen; perhaps it will hasten on a conclusion which seems to threaten us on many sides, and to which only a large-minded, liberal, and enlightened statesman, like Canning, were capable of giving unity and a favourable direction. It is not impossible that the party which now so indecently and unfeelingly triumphs at his untimely death, may be the first to be placed in real and imminent peril by that very event; for not in vain has Lord Chesterfield said, with a far-seeing prophetic eye, "Je prevois que dans cent ans d'ici les métiers de gentilhomme et de moine ne seront plus de la moitié aussi lucratifs qu'ils le sont aujourd'hui."

But what do I care about politics? Could I but always preserve the due equipoise in myself, I should be content. Meantime Canning's death is now, of course, the talk of the town, and the details of his sufferings are truly afflicting. The Saints, who hated him for his liberal opinions, try to set it abroad that during his physical torments he was converted--what _they_ call converted. One of his friends, on the other hand, who was by his bed-side for a considerable time, knew not how sufficiently to eulogize his stoical courage, and the serenity with which he bore his cruel fate;--occupied to the last moment with plans for the weal of England and of humanity, and anxiously desiring to impress them once more on the heart of the King.

As the grave and the gay, the tragic and the frivolous, shake hands here below, a very curious novel divides attention with this great calamity. It is remarkable for its rather 'baroque,' but often witty and faithful delineations of continental manners. I give you the description of the beginning of a ball at Ems, as a sample of the observations of Englishmen on our manners and customs.

"The company at the Archduke's fête was _most select_: that is to say, it consisted of every single person who was then at the baths: those who had been presented to His Highness having the privilege of introducing any number of their friends: and those who had no friend to introduce them, purchased tickets at an enormous price from Cracowsky--the wily Polish intendant. The entertainment was most imperial; no expense and no exertion were spared to make the hired lodging-house look like an hereditary palace; and for a week previous to the great evening, the whole of the neighbouring town of Wisbaden,[66] the little capital of the duchy, has been put under contribution. What a harvest for Cracowsky!--What a commission from the _restaurateur_ for supplying the refreshments!--What a per-centage on hired mirrors and dingy hangings!

"The Archduke, covered with orders, received every one with the greatest condescension, and made to each of his guests a most flattering speech. His suite, in new uniforms, simultaneously bowed directly the flattering speech was finished.

"'Madame von Furstenburg, I feel the greatest pleasure in seeing you. My greatest pleasure is to be surrounded by my friends. Madame von Furstenburg, I trust that your amiable and delightful family are quite well." [The party passed on.]--'Cravatischeff!' continued His Highness, inclining his head round to one of his aid-de-camps; 'Cravatischeff! a very fine woman is Madame von Furstenburg. There are few women whom I more admire than Madame von Furstenburg.'"

"'Prince Salvinski, I feel the greatest pleasure in seeing you. My greatest pleasure is to be surrounded by my friends. Poland honours no one more than Prince Salvinski.'--'Cravatischeff! a remarkable bore is Prince Salvinski. There are few men of whom I have a greater terror than Prince Salvinski.'"

"'Baron von Konigstein, I feel the greatest pleasure in seeing you. My greatest pleasure is to be surrounded by my friends. Baron von Konigstein, I have not yet forgot the story of the fair Venetian.'--'Cravatischeff! an uncommonly pleasant fellow is Baron von Konigstein. There are few men whose company I more enjoy than Baron von Konigstein's.'"

"'Count von Altenburgh, I feel the greatest pleasure in seeing you. My greatest pleasure is to be surrounded by my friends. You will not forget to give me your opinion of my Austrian troop.'--'Cravatischeff! a very good billiard-player is Count von Altenburgh. There are few men whose play I'd sooner bet upon than Count von Altenburgh's.'"

"'Lady Madeleine Trevor, I feel the greatest pleasure in seeing you. My greatest pleasure is to be surrounded by my friends.--Miss Fane, your servant--Mr. Sherborne--Mr. St. George--Mr. Grey.'--'Cravatischeff! a most splendid woman is Lady Madeleine Trevor. There is no woman whom I more admire than Lady Madeleine Trevor;--and, Cravatischeff! Miss Fane, too! a remarkably fine girl is Miss Fane.'"

Stinging enough, is it not, Julia? I have met with few descriptions that have amused me more: and my translation,--extremely good, is it not? There are few translations that please me more than my own.

In a serious style, too, the Author is not amiss.[67]

More practically does the celebrated Smollett write to a friend: "I am old enough to have seen and convinced myself that we are all the playthings of Destiny, and that it often depends on a trifle not more important than the toss-up of a halfpenny, whether a man should raise himself to riches and honours, or pine away in misery and want till he dies.

_August 15th._

I daily inspect the workmen in St. James's Park, formerly only a sort of meadow for cows, and now converted into beautiful gardens, according to a plan of Mr. Nash's. The water is also much better distributed. I acquire a great deal of technical information here, and admire the judicious division and series of the work, the ingenious modes of transport, the moveable iron railways, &c.

It is characteristic, that while the laws which protect private property are so strict that a man who climbs over a wall into a garden runs the risk of being hanged, or otherwise grievously punished; that if it occurs in the night the proprietor may shoot him dead;--with the public, wherever they have the shadow of a claim, it is necessary to go to work as gingerly as you would with a raw egg. This park is the property of the Crown, but has been open to the public from remote ages; and Government does not dare to close it, even temporarily, notwithstanding the improvements which the King is now carrying on, (at the nation's cost, it is true.) A board is put up on which is inscribed literally as follows:--"The public are most respectfully requested, during the operations which are designed for the increase of their own gratification, not to injure the carts and tools of the workmen, and to avoid as much as possible the part where the men are at work." Very little attention, however, is paid to this respectful and reasonable petition, and the carts and barrows which lie empty when the men leave work are often used by the boys to wheel each other about, and to play all sorts of tricks with. The girls seesaw on the long planks, and many little wretches amuse themselves with throwing stones in the water just at the very spot where ladies are standing, who are of course so splashed as to be obliged to hasten home. This brutal love of mischief is quite peculiar to the English people, and forms the sole apology for the grudging inhumanity with which the opulent classes shut up their charming pleasure-grounds. It is worth inquiring, however, whether the moroseness of the rich was not the cause, instead of the effect, of the mischievous temper of the poor. It is difficult for people on the Continent to imagine to what a pitch it goes.

The anxiety with which the rich English shut up their property from the profaning eyes of the stranger is sometimes truly amusing, but may chance to be painful. I was riding one day in the neighbourhood of London,--and attracted by the sight of a fine house and grounds, I asked the porter who stood at the lodge, whether he would allow me to look at the gardens? He had many scruples, but at last he opened the gate, taking charge of my horse during the time. I might have walked about for a quarter of an hour, and was just looking at the neatly-kept pleasure-ground, when a somewhat fat personage in his shirt appeared at a window of the house; he seemed to be running about in great distress, but at last threw open the window with great vehemence, and whilst I heard the violent ringing of a large bell, cried out to me with half-suppressed rage, "Qui êtes-vous, Monsieur? que cherchez-vous ici?" I thought it too ridiculous to shout back the answer from such a distance, and soon found it unnecessary; for a number of servants, alarmed by the ringing of the bell, flocked together from all directions, one of whom now repeated to me the question 'ex officio.' In a few words I let the proprietor know by him that I was a foreigner who had been attracted by fondness for gardening; that I had not climbed over the wall, as he seemed to believe, but had entered through the usual entrance, where my horse was still waiting; that I was heartily sorry for having caused him such a shock in his illness, and only wished that it might have no serious consequences, at the same time assuring him of my best respects, and that I would immediately leave the forbidden garden. I soon reached my horse, and rode off laughing, for this was the gay side of the affair. About a fortnight after, I passed by chance near the same house: I approached the lodge again, and rang the bell; another man appeared; and in a mischievous fit I inquired after the health of his master, and whether I could be permitted to see the garden? "God forbid!" was the answer, "on no account!" I now heard from the servant, to my sincere grief, that the poor fellow, his predecessor, had been dismissed with his wife and children, though he had been in the service of the family for many years, merely for having let a stranger enter without permission. Nevertheless this severe gentleman is one of the patent liberals of England. What would an illiberal one have done?

The walks and rides in the neighbourhood are now very inviting again, for autumn has set in early. The scorched grass has resumed its coat of bright green, and the trees hold their foliage longer and fresher than with us, though they begin to change their colour earlier. Winter comes late, often not at all, to throw its broad white mantle over them. The mowing of the grass, and cleaning and sweeping of the gardens and grounds never cease; indeed, as autumn and winter are 'the seasons' in the country, that is just the time when most care is bestowed upon them.

London is deserted by the fashionables; and that with such affectation, that many who are obliged to remain on business positively conceal themselves. The streets in the west end of the town are like those of a deserted city. * * *

* * * * *

They are still infested with beggars, and with that most affecting sort of beggars who ply their melancholy trade in the night. Not only English women, but foreigners here contract this shocking custom. I was really made almost desperate by a withered French woman, of whom I could not get rid, even by the usual shilling:--"Encore un moment," exclaimed she; "je ne demande rien, c'est seulement pour parler Français, pour avoir une conversation raisonnable, dont ces Anglais ne sont pas capables."

In the present solitude one has at least as much time to oneself as one likes; one can work, and read the legion of newspapers at one's leisure. The absurdities which daily appear in them on foreign affairs are almost incredible. To-day I found the following article: "The admiration of the Emperor Alexander for Napoleon was for a long time boundless. It is well known that at the theatre at Erfuth, when Talma uttered the words

'L'amitié d'un grand homme est un bienfait des Dieux,'

Alexander leaned over to Napoleon and said, 'Ces paroles ont été écrites pour moi.'--The following anecdote is probably less known. _We can vouch for the truth of it._ Alexander one day expressed to Duroc the intense desire he had to possess a pair of breeches of his great ally the Emperor Napoleon. Duroc sounded his master on this very extraordinary subject. Napoleon laughed heartily. 'Oh,' cried he, 'donnez lui tout ce qu'il veut, pourvu qu'il me reste une paire pour changer.' _This is authentic._ We are also assured that Alexander, who was very superstitious, never wore any other breeches than Napoleon's in the field, during the campaigns of 1812-13."

The day ended very pleasantly for me with the arrival of my friend L----, for whom I now leave you, and close this letter (which is far enough from being amusing or instructive in proportion to its dreadful length,) with the old assurance, which to you I know will want no charm of novelty, that, far or near, you are ever next to my heart.

Your faithful L----.