MR EDITOR,

You ask me to send you some sketches of my late tour in France, Switzerland, Italy, &c. But I'm afraid I shall be able to offer you little that will be of general interest; for I must confess to you, that my plan of observation-if it could be called a planwas entirely a selfish one. Before setting out, I had determined to remain so totally unfettered, that I would not even prepare myself for the journey, by renewing or completing my very imperfect reading acquaintance with the chief parts that I was about to visit. I was going, in sober certainty, to view the real scenes, the ideal images of which had been the objects of my love-until within these few years my hopeless love ever since I had known what it was that I really wished or wanted; and I was determined to come to the contemplation of them free from all other bias on my mind than would be given to it by the delightful but somewhat misty and indistinct associations, which had come to it, as it were of themselves, in my very earliest youth; and had, ever since, been congregating and engendering together, till at length they had formed a sort of colony there a little kingdom of their own, of which Fancy was the sole and undisputed sovereign, and in the midst of which I could at all times take refuge from the dull and dreary realities of common life. I determined, too, that this ideal kingdom should never be overturned but by Nature herself. In fact, that I would not go among these scenes for the purpose of forming a judgment of them for myself, but would leave them to build up for me a fabric of their own, in the place of the ideal one that I know they would destroy. I felt it to be something worse than idle to go peeping and prying about, with a pencil and a notebook in my hand, among the mountains of William Tell ;-to be sketching trees and cottages, or scribbling nothings, in the ideal presence of Manfred, or the real one of Mont Blanc; -to be ascertaining the exact distance from Verai across the lake to the rocks of Meillerie, in order to calculate whether St Preux really could see from thence the dwelling of Julie;

to be inquiring the number of the inhabitants, and the price of the necessaries of life, at Clarens-the scene of that immortal kiss, the echoes of which may even now, to an ear properly attuned, be heard mingling with the breezes that whisper among the branches of its chesnut groves, or come fanning the brow-the burning brow-of him who gazes, for the first time, on that cradle and home and heaven of love.

I repeat, my determination was not only not to prepare myself for visiting such scenes as these, but when I found myself in the midst of them, not even to examine or record my feelings about them: but to remain in what Wordsworth calls " a wise passiveness."-To spread open, as it were, my mind and heart and senses to the powers and influences that would every where surround me; and leave them to work their own effects: believing, that if I was worthy to receive the benefit of such influences, they would come to me of themselves, and remain with me; and that if I was not, no seekings or solicitations could entice them.

I therefore wrote nothing about them at the time—I mean, for myself. I did not even endeavour to remember any thing. I read the poetry of them -as I read written poetry-not for the purpose of criticising it, and getting particular passages by heart, in order to talk about and quote from it, but to feel and enjoy it;—not that I might seem wiser and better in consequence, but that I might be so.

I shall not determine whether this was the best plan I could have adopted, with reference to my own purposes; but certainly it was, of all others, the least fitted to enable me to give information or amusement to any but those very few dear friends, in whose estimation, when one is absent, every little word and thought that is conveyed to them, acquires a new and adventitious value, by becoming a hint, on which the imagination may build conjectures and surmises quite as good as any real information that might occupy their place. For, to such friends as I am speaking of, the absent person will always be the centre to which all those of their thoughts which can be made to have any refer

ence to him, must alone point. In books they may read descriptions of foreign scenery and manners, for mere amusement, or for the purpose of extending their knowledge, and enriching their fancy and imagination; but when they read such in his letters, it is only that they may endeavour to realize to themselves, and sympathize with, what they will know to be his feelings in contemplating what he describes. They will desire to learn the character of the scenery through which he is passing on such or such a day, that they may be the better able, in fancy, to accompany him. They will wish to be made acquainted with the habits and manners of the people with whom he is sojourning, that they may the more distinctly, in imagination, view him among them. In short, all the direct and personal interest that may, at other times, have been felt in such descriptions, will now be merged and lost, for the moment, in the relative interest they have acquired by their connexion with him.

If you think your readers are likely to be amused by unconnected extracts, such as accompany this, from private letters, I may perhaps be able to send you a few more of the same kind. I may also add a few desultory recollections, just in the order, or rather disorder, in which they are pretty sure to occur to me.

The following are sketches of scenery very little known and talked of in this country: by far the most frequented passage into Italy being that by the Simplon.

66

You know that Rousseau passed nearly all the innocent and happy part of his life with his dear Maman,' Madame de Warens, at Chambery, the capital of Savoy; and, surely, nowhere else is there a place so exquisitely adapted to feed and nurse and cherish the peculiar propensities of his romantic nature. The road to Chambery from France lies through a country that surpasses, in mingled grandeur and beauty, all that I had previously conceived of natural scenery, though the beauty greatly predominates. The road is between two ranges of mountains, and by the side of a small river the whole way.-This river is the most poetical little stream you can imagine. Sometimes rippling and smiling along through flowers and weeds, to the sound of its own music VOL. IV.

at others, leaping and dashing through broken rocks, and lashing itself into torrents of white foam-at the next turn of the road, perhaps, thundering down a precipice in the form of a cataract, or its course only to be discovered by its sound, or by the thin white mists that rise from its low and concealed bed—and, perhaps five minutes after, you discover it again, basking along in the sunshine, as if nothing could disturb its tranquillity, and as if the greatest obstacle it had ever met with in its course had been a few pebbles to curl round, or a water-lily to sport with.-The road is a sort of causeway, always following the course of this river. Immediately adjoining to the road and the banks of the river, the bed of the valley extends for a very small space on each side, covered with the most luxuriant cultivation, and then immediately from this bed the mountains ascend on each side, almost perpendicularly, to (literally) above the clouds.-You will easily conceive that the effect of all this is exquisite--for the mountains themselves, up to nearly their summits, are not only covered with the most beautiful cultivation, but studded with cottages and villages at all heights and in all directions; and the whole surmounted by magnificent forests of pine-trees, in many parts shooting their strait arrowy trunks from out the eternal snow. The character of the houses, too, is so exactly in keeping with the scenery in which they occur, that the effect of the whole is perfectly enchanting. They are scarcely ever built in the valley, but on the sides of the mountains; out of which they appear to grow, as if they were a part of the mountain itself. They are always perfectly white; and to every small village of eight or ten cottages (for they are all cottages), there is a little church; and these villages and churches are met with at every mile-so that there is an unceasing variety the whole way. These cottages generally stand in the midst of little patches of garden or orchard ground, or meadows of the most exquisite green, in which flocks and cattle are feeding.-Add to all this a romantic-looking castle, with towers, turrets, &c. occurring every now and then on the summit of a projecting rock-beautiful waterfalls gushing from out clusters of firs, or clumps of underwood-the unceasing 4 E

sound of the river mingling at times with the matin or vesper bell, or the still more melodious bells of the herd -the scent from a thousand wildflowers-the balmlike air-and the deep-blue sky over all,-and you have a scene that no imagination or fiction, even of ancient fable, can surpass, for pure, delicious, tranquil beauty.

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

in Savoy, and is situated about the centre of it. I should think that, in respect to situation, this must be the most romantic capital in the world. It is so completely surrounded on all sides by an amphitheatre of mountains, that the sun does not reach it for more than two hours after it has risen. I never witnessed a more interesting sight than occurred the morning we left this town. We started about an hour after the sun had risen. It was just then glittering on the snow tops of the neighbouring mountains, and gilding the skirts of the white mists that were curling round them. As we proceeded up the mountain,—still keeping the town in view,-the sun got over the surrounding summits, and came gradually slanting down their sides; at first reaching the pine-trees -then the roofs of the white cottages that were situated highest-then glancing on the spire of some village church

then reaching, one by one, the little country-houses towards the foot of the mountains-and, at last, spreading over the town itself. All this time the sun was concealed from our view; till, at length, a turn of the road brought it in sight suddenly and at once.

"It was here that Rousseau's mind imbibed and cherished that deep and pure love for the beauties of external nature, which, notwithstanding all the pollutions that it gathered in great cities, never quitted it but in death. It was perhaps some unconscious association with this very scene which made him at the moment that he felt his last breath ebbing from him, desire that his face might be turned to the sun, and the window of his chamber opened, that he might feel its warmth and see its glories for the last time-and he died gazing on it !

"These were the scenes of all the happy part of Rousseau's real life. I have not left myself room to tell, and I'm afraid I have not left you patience to hear, of the scenes in which he passed his imaginary life, in the person of his own St Preux; though they are still more deeply interesting than the foregoing, from their connexion with the most enchanting work that ever proceeded from the pen of manthe Nouvelle Héloise."

(To be continued.)

any

THERE is no country of Europe which exhibits both the beauties of nature, and the character of man, in a more striking or interesting aspect than the TYROL. The events of the preceding years have given an interest of a higher kind to its mountains and vallies, than belongs to the theatre of other warfare. Bold as the spirit of resistance was which everywhere arose to resist the progress of French dominion; and valiantly as the people of every country have struggled to preserve their independence, or recover the national glory which their late misfortunes had sullied; there is yet no country which has evinced so heroic a spirit; there is no people who have displayed so memorable a devotion as the inhabitants of the Tyrol. The Spaniards had a great country and strong fortresses, and the powerful assistance of England, to support them: the Russians rested on the resource of a mighty empire, and developed the military power which had so long made Europe tremble, in defending themselves against the French invasion the Prussians rose against a weakened and dispirited enemy, and shared in the exultation of unequalled triumphs, when they joined the victorious Russians in the pursuit of their enemy. It was in the Tyrol only that the people rested on their own courage and patriotism alone. It was there, that at the first signal of war, its whole population flew to arms. They stopt not to calculate the chances of success in the contest in which they were to engage. They weighed not the weakness of their own resources, and the small number on which they could depend, when compared with the appalling multitudes by whom they were to be assailed. They heard only the voice of their sovereign calling them to arms, and listened to the dictates of their own hearts in the answer which they made to him.

Nor was it any blind confidence in success, or any presumptuous contempt for the French armies, which induced the Tyrolese, in 1809, to rise unanimously against the French dominion. The enemies whom they were about to encounter, were the same troops with whom they had maintained many severe contests in the former wars.

The power whom they fearlessly attacked was the power before whom they had seen all the monarchies of Europe successively bow; and beneath the weight of whose arms, even the gigantic might of Russia had been constrained to bend. When the peasantry of Tyrol flew to arms, they knew well the perilous and desperate service on which they were entering. Every man took leave of his family, and his friends, as of those whom he would probably never meet again. They prepared themselves, after the pious manner of their country, for what they deemed a holy warfare, by the most solemn rites of their religion." The priest in every parish assembled those who were to join the army, and animated them by his exhortations, and blessed those who might die in defence of their country. Every family assembled together, and prayed, that the youths who were to leave it might support their good name in the hour of danger, and die rather than dishonour their native land. In many instances even the sacrament was administered, as for the last time in life, and accompanied with the solemnities which the Catholic Church enjoins for the welfare of a departing soul. It was with such holy rites, and by such exercises of family-devotion, that those brave men prepared themselves for the fearful warfare on which they were entering; and it was the spirit which they thus inhaled that supported them when they were left to their own resources, and enabled them, even amidst all the depression arising from the desertion of their allies, and famine among themselves, to present an undaunted front to the hostility of combined Europe.

It was a singular and extraordinary circumstance, with what unanimity, and how simultaneously the insurrection began over every part of the country. The tidings of the Austrians having crossed the Inn, and of a corps approaching the Tyrol, had no sooner reached the frontier, than it was conveyed, with almost magical celerity, to the remotest valleys. Everywhere the inhabitants, without any concert among themselves, took up arms, and marched at the same moment towards the chief towns of the districts

in which they were placed. The Austrian authorities, charged with organizing the insurrection in their course up the valleys, met the different corps of peasantry descending with the fowling pieces, and other rustic arms, which they had in their possession. These small bodies, proceeding down their valleys, received continual accessions of strength as they advanced; and, like the mountain streams, whose course they followed, rolled onwards their united force towards the plain.

There is reason to believe, that the chiefs of the conspiracy were well acquainted, for some time previous, with the war which was in contemplation between Austria and France. But their knowledge could not be generally communicated, both from the risk of entrusting so important a secret to many persons, and from the extraordinary obstacles to the circulation of information which the nature of the country presented. The knowledge of each valley was in a great measure confined to its own little society; bare rocks, and snowy mountains, forming insuperable barriers to all intercourse with the neighbouring people. The simultaneous insurrection of the Tyrolese, therefore, must be imputed to that burst of generous feeling which animated all ranks at that eventful crisis, and to that noble confidence in each other, which led the inhabitants of every valley to take up arms, in the sure belief that all their countrymen had done the same.

When the peasants from the valleys which connect with the Inn Thal assembled round Inspruck, they exhibited a motley and extraordinary appearance. The young and the old, the rich and the poor, were all crowded together without order, or military equipment of any kind, and dressed in the picturesque and striking manner which is peculiar to those mountaineers. Most of the peasants had a fowling-piece, or rifle ; but in every other species of equipment they were miserably deficient. Cannon, or stores, or horsemen, they had none, and even their swords were hardly such as are suited to modern warfare. Many aged warriors bore the halbards which their forefathers had used in the days when armour was worn by the cavalry, and with which the Swiss had resisted the chivalry of Charles the Bold on the field of Morat. The spears which

others carried were the same which had been used in the bloody wars between the Swiss and the Tyrolese, above three hundred years ago, and which had been preserved with religious care by the descendants of the persons who there distinguished themselves. Many did not possess even such arms as these; but joined their comrades with no other weapons than a scythe, a pruning-hook, or a rusty bayonet. But, though variously equip ped, and for the most part but halfarmed, al were animated by the same spirit, and all felt not only the strongest determination in their own mind, but the surest reliance on the fidelity and courage of their associates.

The poetical description which Mr Scott has given of the gathering of the Clan Alpin in Balquhilder, by the order of Roderick Dhu, was here realized on a far greater scale, and in the prosecution of a nobler purpose. From the gray sire whose trembling hand,

Could hardly buckle on his brand;
To the raw boy whose shaft and bow
Were yet scarce terror to the crow;
Each valley, each sequestered glen,
Mustered his little horde of men,
That met as torrents from the height,
In Highland dale their streams unite;
Still gathering as they pour along,
A voice more loud, a tide more strong."-

The peasantry who assembled round Inspruck amounted to above 20,000; and having formed such hasty arrangements as the exigency of the moment would permit, they commenced an attack on the town. It is difficult sufficiently to admire the courage of these brave men in this their first encounter with the French troops. They had to cross a narrow bridge of great length, in front of a battery of cannon, supported on either side by files of infantry, securely posted behind walls, or within the houses.-The storming of the celebrated bridge of Lodi, of which so much has been said, was not so perilous an enter prize as this was; and the French grenadiers who there rushed upon the Austrian battery, did not require the

same individual determination which was here evinced by these undisciplined mountaineers. Their first essay in arms, was an achievement at which the courage of most veteran soldiers would have failed.

The leaders of the charge were instantly destroyed by the murderous