LETTER LVI.

I HAVE purpoſely put off, hitherto, one important but diſaſtrous ſubject, to the laſt moment; although I have now for the ſpace of ſome years, in my different traverſings of the continent, been placed, as it were, in the very eye and ear of it. You feel that I mean the dreadful public, and yet more fatal private, wars of this and many other countries on this unhappy ſide of the Engliſh Channel.

What, my loved friend, is the matter with them all!

Does it proceed from the ſacred flame of liberty? which exalts the human, almoſt to the divine nature; or are the nations filled with [2]clamours ‘for that which no man felt the want of, and with care for freedom, which has never been in danger?’ Springs it from a due ſenſe of that proud principle within us, which points at the right which every honeſt indivi⯑dual has to rank with the loftieſt of the ſpecies, when meaſured by the ſtandard of nature? or from that factious and diſcontented ſpirit, which prompts the worſt of mankind to trouble the repoſe, and plunder the poſſeſſions of the beſt? Comes it from true patriotiſm, or from that party rage, which "robs it of its good name?" It proceeds from all theſe. But with reſpect to Equality, on the literal idea, as the mob are encouraged for reaſons they cannot penetrate, to conceive it, was there ever ſuch a day-dream? To make the abſurdity more egre⯑gious, yet more palateable, it is called natural equality! Prepoſterous as falſe! What, dear friend, in nature is equal? Survey her productions: from the firſt to the laſt, from the moſt gigantic to the moſt minute, as well in animals as man, what is there which ſhe has not created UNEQUAL, even by expreſs order of the Creator? And by that very inequality intending to promote the wiſdom, force and felicity of the whole? Amongſt the fiſhes of the ſea, and the fowls of the air, and the beaſts of the field, the grand [3]line of ſubordination drawn by nature goes on. Would you give to the linnet the wing of the eagle, or to the turnſpit the ſpeed of the grey⯑hound? To what end? Would not nature, by that exchange, be violated in her general laws, and would the beings themſelves be the better for it? Am I told, that all theſe creatures were put under the ſubjection of man, and that he, as the lord of all below, can have naturally no ſuperior but the God that gave him life. The argument reſts then, it ſeems, on the natural equality of human creatures. Fallacious again. For of all the beings in the ſcale of the uni⯑verſe, man, (if we except his origin, concern⯑ing the equality of which he has no more right to be proud, than the worm that devours his carcaſe), is the moſt ſubject to the laws of natural in-equality. The point which places him at the top of the creation is certainly his ſoul; for his body, whether a maſterpiece of beauty, or a maſs of deformity, is alike cor⯑ruptible, and rather an object of humiliation than triumph. But, were you diſpoſed to ſelect, from the diverſified works of nature, any ſpecimen of her wonderful variety and irregu⯑larity, could you fix on any thing ſo proper to diſplay that irregularity, that variety, as the human mind? So far from there being herein an univerſal equality, there is nothing ſo une⯑qual [4]amongſt all the performances of Creation. The ſtrength of the lion is not more remote from the feebleneſs of the gnat, nor the ſwift⯑neſs of the rein-deer from the tardineſs of the ſnail, than the diſtance between the power and weakneſs, velocity and ſlowneſs of men's ſouls and underſtandings. Nature, by uncontroula⯑ble laws, has eſtabliſhed, that to one man ſhould be given an head to plan, govern, and command; to another, hands to toil and obey. Innumerable are the gradations, from thoſe who guide the helm of the ſtate, to thoſe who regulate the ſteerage of a ſimple ſkiff, from the nobleſt architect to the moſt ordinary ar⯑tificer. The harmonies of civil ſociety are carried on by the joint aſſiſtance of all theſe in their proper places; take them out of which, and tranſpoſe them, put the one into the ſta⯑tion of another; and, in ſhort, jumble them together, on the plea of natural equality, ac⯑cording to the new ſyſtem, and what reſults from all this? What becomes of civil ſociety, and of the world? Doth not ſuch a farce upon the decent ſubordinations and arrange⯑ments of nature, fill it with diſcords, diſorders, and death? Look into the page of ancient annals, and into the more ſanguinary hiſtory of modern times—what do they exhibit but a tiſſue of abſurdity, horror, and blood?

[5]Can it be ſuppoſed, that were theſe at length to ſubſide, by the eſtabliſhment of Republi⯑caniſm on the ruins of Monarchy, that the happineſs of mankind, which ought to be the aim and end of all governments, would be the effect? Let the toiling hand govern, and the projecting head obey. Would not confuſion be indeed confounded? Or ſhall all men have an equal ſhare in the direction of human affairs? Shall there be no governors, no governed? Shall families, ſocieties, ſtates, and empires be without an head? Shall all be common right, and common fellowſhip? The comet, my friend, were it "to ruſh lawleſs through the void," would not trail ſo much miſchief in its courſe, as ſuch a number of licentious orbits out of their proper ſpheres. The wolves and tygers of the foreſts acknow⯑ledge, it is true, no ſuperior, and they ſome⯑times troop, in grim aſſociation and fell bandittl, to lay waſte the countries through which they paſs; they are, it muſt be owned, notable re⯑publicans, and are unanimous to deſtroy what⯑ever they meet with; but they deſtory each other alſo; and are bad examples of the ſuc⯑ceſs of an univerſal republic, inſtituted on the levelling principle. The wolves and tygers of human kind, if ſuffered to roam through the wilderneſs of life, without any check on paſ⯑ſions [6]more fierce and fatal than any beſtial appetite—or, if controuled only by thoſe laws which are inſtituted by what are called patriots, only becauſe they avowedly differ from and oppoſe any order in a creation that is ſuſtained by order only—would ſoon make the univerſe more intolerable to its inhabitants, than any abuſe which power has yet introduced into the government of the world; and the moſt diſ⯑loyal being would again call out, like the frogs in the fable, for a king, and rather than any longer be left to the anarchy of being delivered over to themſelves, would pray for one tyrant (ſuppoſing no honeſt prince would then accept of them) in exchange for an univerſe of deſ⯑pots.

But farther, how egregiouſly abſurd, my friend, is this new doctrine! Are not all large bodies of men compelled to have gover⯑nors and chiefs? And do not theſe imply com⯑mand and obedience? and do not theſe argue in their very name and nature, authority and ſubjection? What are the Admirals, Generals, Colonels, Captains, and Subalterns of the preſent French armies, but heads? What are the ſoldiers and ſailors they govern or direct, but ſubordi⯑nate members? In what conſiſts the difference betwixt theſe and former commanders, whether [7]miniſterial or military? Alas, nothing but "the whiſtlings of a name." Call it Ariſtocracy, and the gentleſt government becomes tyranny: give it the name of Democracy; and there is no ſlavery too hard to be endured. Nay, the very men who are ſuch ſticklers for equality, who have even fought and bled for it, continue to this very hour to make the proudeſt diſtinctions amongſt men, even in a ſtate of mutual captivity. The firſt thing that ſtruck me in my viſit to Weyzel, a celebrated town, as you know, of Weſtphalia, was the ſeeing a number of Republican French officers, (priſoners) walking on the parade attended by their ſervants. Two of theſe latter, were receiving the orders of their maſters, with their heads uncovered, and their bodies bent in a very unrepublican manner. What! in a ſtate of common calamity, are theſe nice diſtinctions to be made, thought I? are brother priſoners to keep up this lofty difference? Are thoſe who have levelled the earth, ſo ſoon unmindful of their leading maxim? "All men are equal!" One of the ſuperiors (I thought there were to be no ſuperiors) grew angry, chid his domeſtic, and ſent him from his preſence. Could the old conſtitution—could deſpotiſm do more! I ſaw the obedient ſlave with the moſt ſervile [8]ſhrug of his country, and of his condition, go ſlinking away. So much for confraternity.

My friend, a ſkilful uſe of words, ſubſti⯑tuting one for another, as time and circum⯑ſtance may require, will apparently change the nature of things: but real liberty and ſlavery are the ſame beautiful and bitter potions, deno⯑minate them what you will, and the tyrant is not leſs an oppreſſor, for altering his name to that of a friend to freedom: indeed, ſome of the worſt enemies that freedom ever had in all ages and countries, have aſſumed this ſacred character.

Point out to me the Deſpot, that has not called himſelf a lover of his people, and of his country. Under this ſpecious maſk I have, within a few years, been an eye-witneſs to no leſs than two formidable inſurrections in this little Republic, on the verge of which, I am now writing. I am far from being ſure, that I ſhall not be ſpectator of a ^* third: though one would have thought either of the two former might have written on the hearts of the people, the WISDOM OF CONTENT, in characters of blood. That which raged in 1787, is ſo well and faith⯑fully written, by an Engliſh author, who calls [9]his work an hiſtory of the late Dutch Revolu⯑tion, that I ſhall not only refer, but recommend you to a peruſal of it. A few of the miſerable particulars, I ſhall give you on the authority of perſonal knowledge. But not till I again re⯑ſume the pen to aſſure you, amidſt the ſtorm of contending nations—"the wrecks of matter," and the almoſt "cruſh of worlds," I am, affectionately, yours.

LETTER LVII. TO THE SAME.

WE talk much, and with much reaſon, of the wild exceſſes of our Engliſh mobs, my dear friend. Their ſanguinary diſpoſition has been compared to that of our Engliſh bull-dogs, which are ſaid to be in⯑ſatiate of blood, when they have once drawn it from the objects of their attack. Our Britiſh inſurrections are, no doubt, marked like others, by ſome of the prominent features of rebellion in all countries, devaſtation, flames, and un⯑timely death. But I did not know, how great an enemy man could be to man; nor had I a clear idea to what an extent human beings could go in the deſtruction of one another, [10]although I am not unread in the bloody ſtory of my own country, till I began to glean the more dreadful annals of others. The ſix years that have elapſed ſince I beheld in Holland the demon of civil fury aſſociated with party mad⯑neſs, far from having abated the memory of their dire effects, are felt, methinks, with a ſtronger horror, from having obſerved ſimilar outrages in other quarters of the agitated globe. Unhappy Holland! while one party were at⯑tempting to deſtroy thee and themſelves by fire and ſword, rapine and ſlaughter, the other were wreaking vengeance againſt thy beſt, faireſt, and moſt innocent poſſeſſions—upon thy wives and children.

While one ſide, I ſay, my friend, were thus outraging all order, decency, and compaſſion, the other manifeſted no leſs fury. The party of the Stadtholder, and that of the patriots were alike infected with the poiſon of the times. It reached the boſoms even of the gentler ſex: as an inſtance of which, pardon me, if I make your nature recoil, even as mine did on the day my flowing eyes bore teſtimony to it. A party of patriots had taken, and killed, in the town of Bois-le-duc, one of the Princes adherents, who had been active in the cauſe of the Stadtholder. His defeat was, [11]therefore, a kind of triumph; a groupe of people ſoon gathered round the body, yet ſtrug⯑gling betwixt life and death. Amongſt the reſt, were two women who had been fetching water from the public fountains. One of theſe no ſooner underſtood the cauſe of the mob's collecting, than ſhe poured out about two thirds of the water from her pail, which ſhe placed under the wounds of the murdered citizen, whoſe blood was thus mingled with the water, when pledging the ſurrounding populace, ſhe exclaimed, as ſhe drank with more than ſavage fury, "May rivers of this flow through the ſtreets till our enemies are vanquiſhed!" And to ſuch a pitch of enthuſiaſm was this carried, that, as one more example, I muſt inform you, another patriot quarrelled with the beautiful rainbow, and ſhot at it, becauſe the orange mingled in its hues: this was nearly as mad and irreverent as the dreſſing up the figure of the Virgin Mary with a red bonnet, and writing under the croſs of our Saviour, the man Jeſus, the ci-devant Redeemer of the world.

All comments of the moraliſt, my friend, are loſt, and all effuſions of the peaceful lover of mankind abſorbed on occaſions like theſe: for breaches of this ſort in nations, like old and incurable wounds, though they are often [12]ſkinned over, conceal an unſubdued venom, which gathers ſtrength and virulence, and then again break out. Private families, we know, may, after "ſome imminent and deadly breach," reunite from policy, or principle, or from ſome reliques of affection: but even this is a patched up accommodation; and after a violent open rupture, whether in empires, or the little domeſtic common-wealths that form them, the whole hiſtory of mankind furniſh few examples where the parties have ſincerely for⯑given one another. Many months after the Prince's party had been reinſtated in its privi⯑leges, and the patriot faction, not only yielded to authority, but appeared to have forgot its animoſity, I had but too many illuſtrations of the foregone remark. On the breaking out of the rebellion in other countries, I again heard the voice of ſedition, and the more than murmurs of diſaffection in various parts of theſe diſ⯑united ſtates. Sacred be the love of rational liberty. But the fever of freedom is a wild⯑fire that is more deſolating than any other con⯑tagion: that of Conſtantinople is not ſo ſud⯑denly imbibed, nor does it travel with unim⯑paired venom ſo far or ſo faſt. It is a peſt that ſeizes diſtant nations, and ſtrikes with the rapidity and the force of lightning. Even when Holland ſeemed to have got the better of [23]this political plague, its poiſons were under⯑mining her conſtitution, and like thoſe fires which are burning in the bowels of the earth, unſeen, are inwardly conſuming its entrails, and making their way to the ſurface. I was in Holland when ſhe was preciſely in this ſitua⯑tion, prepared for her ſecond ſhock, and wait⯑ing only for the ſignal of her expatriated fire-brands (the baniſhed Dutch patriots then forming a part of the French army) to give the exploſion. Breda was taken, Gorcum was inundated, and the cannonade of Williamſtadt, thundered to the very ſea, and prepared the patriots of the provinces for the reception of their exiled friends.

In my way to Helveotſluice, in order to em⯑bark for England, every countenance I looked into carried the marks of fear, loyalty, ambi⯑tion, or revolt. Notwithſtanding the cautious jealouſy natural to power, and all the vigilance of the magiſtrates, little knots of people were to be obſerved gathered together, in corners of the ſtreet, and in bye-places, where it was thought the eye of authority would not pene⯑trate. My wandering ſteps, which ſo often led me into unfrequented places, and thereby, as you have ſeen, make me tread upon many a ſecret, led me to the haunts of theſe Dutch [14]male-contents. They were always to be ſeen in that earneſt and ear-approaching whiſper, which ſo often betrays its treaſons; the fore⯑finger extended, the button caught at, and held faſt, or ſhook moſt rebelliouſly; the mouth of the ſpeaker contracted, ſo as to ſend forth only the unbetraying voice of conſpiracy, and that of the hearer, on the contrary, opened to its width, to ſwallow the treaſon, while the eyes of the party communicating, like a pair of ſentinels, ordered to defend the door of the lips, ſeemed to keep double watch, leſt, as Shakſpeare ſays,

Artizans, burgomaſters, prieſts, and peaſants, were thus inſidiouſly, or fearfully, gathered to⯑gether, either to expreſs their apprehenſion, their hope, or their deſpair, were to be de⯑tected in theſe communities; and had not the whole country been threatened with a very ſerious calamity, it would not have been un⯑amuſing to a Gleaner, who delights ‘"To catch the living manners as they riſe."’

It is not unentertaining to ſee the little ſhifts which perſons, engaged in ſecret converſations of any kind, make to prevent being diſcover⯑ed: the immediate change they make on the [15]firſt view of an intruder—the ſudden altera⯑tion from an aweful to a careleſs air as the ſaid intruder approaches; the tones varied from almoſt in diſtinct whiſpers, and porten⯑tous meetings, to louder accents; now walking on, now ſtopping a little, as if engaged in ordinary converſation, the ſubject of which, while you have an eye on them, is changed as often as their poſitions. I took notice, while I pauſed at Helveotſluice, that as their friends on the other ſide of the water, that is to ſay, the enemies of their country, were more rapid in their advances, while their very fires were in ſight, and the patriots, on the Helveot ſide, were almoſt opening their arms to receive them, theſe ſecret meetings were leſs viſible. It is a criſis at which the mind of a conſpiracy is made up, the component parts of which, perfectly underſtanding their plans, lie in wait to put them in execution, aſſuming, in the mean time, the maſk of well-diſſembled loy⯑alty: for, ſtrange as it may ſeem, vice, when ſwelled to its height, and juſt about to ſhew it⯑ſelf, borrows the ſemblance of its oppoſite vir⯑tue, in the robes of which it is then moſt aſſidu⯑ous to cover itſelf. Thus, drunkenneſs affects temperance, incontinence chaſtity, avarice ge⯑neroſity, detraction candour, impiety religion, and faction, which would hurl a ſovereign [16]from his throne, in that moment is the loudeſt to ſing forth the praiſes of royalty.

But treachery, my dear friend, is never ſo perilous, never ſo fatal, as when it thus hides itſelf, and would ſeem the thing it is not. From a foe, whom I obſerve taking aim at me, I may eſcape by accident, by courage, or by addreſs, but from the ſtroke of an aſſaſſin, whom, though I once knew him to be my ene⯑my, my believing heart at length conſiders as a penitent friend, I am ſo far from being guarded, that to uſe the words of one of our old poets, ‘"I lay my ſleeping life within his arms."’

Thus it was with the ſeveral inhabitants of Holland. They had done ſpeaking and were now prepared to act, and the moment of that action was waited for with the ſullen malig⯑nity and gloomy paſtime which characters a cold and determined nature, ſuch as many of the natives of Holland poſſeſs. They waited for their long-wiſhed revenge in ſilence, but it was a ſilence that reſembled the fearful ſtillneſs of the ſky, when the thunder is gathering force: but the ſilence of a Hollander, when once his part is taken, is more to be appre⯑hended than the thunder itſelf, of which I [17]gleaned an inſtance that is in reſerve for you. Perhaps I have raiſed your curioſity, and therefore you ſhall have this dire example of Dutch revenge here.

Two brothers, on ſome very ſlight occaſion, quarrelled, and, from being inmates, ſeparated houſes, neighbourhood, and at length broke connexion: their alienation was neither ſoft⯑ened, nor embittered by correſpondence. After about eleven years paſt in this manner, one of the brothers married a beautiful woman. The ſingle brother, who had been watching his op⯑portunity of vengeance, made his appearance very unexpectedly on the wedding-day, and deſiring an interview with the married man in a ſeparate apartment, was no ſooner perceived than welcomed; the latter taking it for granted he came to be reconciled, and had choſen this diſtinguiſhed day to render it more acceptable. The bachelor thus addreſſed the bridegroom. ‘Brother, we have not met ſince our diſagree⯑ment divided us, this day eleven years: I come now to remind you of the circum⯑ſtance.—Thus,’—ſtriking a poniard into the heart of the bridegroom, who had juſt power to gain the apartment of his bride, who was then dancing with one of her huſband's friends. Scarcely could he exclaim that he [18]was murdered, ere he ſunk down and expired at her feet; and while the company and ſer⯑vants were employed about their friend and maſter, the aſſaſſin coolly mounted his horſe, and made his eſcape.

Alas! my friend, it is with the patriotiſm that embraces all my fellow-creatures, and their happineſs, that I apprize you, that our preſent ſheaf muſt be deeply ſpotted with their blood! the mingled blood of beauty and deformity, innocence and guilt. The ſcenery, which is yet in ſtore, was partly painted amidſt the tranquillity of returning peace, and partly amidſt the horrors of returning war.

Often have I been within ſight, not ſeldom within hearing, of two of the fierceſt oppoſi⯑tions that ever deſolated the works of man and God. You will not be ſurpriſed to learn, that the impreſſion which ſuch ſcenes has made upon an eye and ear-witneſs, ſhould have filled his mind with materials that lie freſh in his memory, and bleed in his heart. How many towns, villages, and all that they inherit, have I ſeen blooming on the one day with beauty, wealth, content, and happy countenances, de⯑ſpoiled, deformed, impoveriſhed, and deluged in tears and in blood, upon another. The pictures of theſe, taken both in the one poſi⯑tion, and in the other, muſt be given. They [19]ſhall be delineated with ſimple hiſtorical truth, for neither romance nor fable, in their wildeſt, warmeſt colourings, could, can, or has ever reached them.

Poſſibly the Gleaner is the firſt traveller who hath yet deſcribed the happineſs of nations at peace, and the miſery of ſuch nations at war, in a reſidence immediately before, and after, the violations of public tranquillity. He has viewed as well the havock of battle in its moſt intenſe rage, as the cold horrors that ſucceeded conqueſt. He has luxuriated in countries, when the horn of plenty filled them with fertility and fragrance, and deplored, even as if his property were mingled in the common wreck, the withering effects of victory, after the enemy had torn up all the works of nature, and of man, the moſt fair, and the moſt cheriſhed. He has been amongſt the laſt to quit, and the firſt to reviſit, a threatened country and evacuated town, and has obſerved the labours of a life! a century! annihilated in a ſingle day! the deſolations of every work of art, and the more affecting ruins of human beings! Before he ſet out on this laſt tour, of which he has here drawn the faint outline, he had ſeen public miſery, and felt its effects: his reading had furniſhed him [20]with recorded horrors in the bloody hiſtory of his own country: but all this was but the ſhadow of the diſaſter, which the excurſion alluded to, has brought cloſer under his eye, and yet cloſer to his heart.

Deſcending by degrees, in a ſtep that re⯑ceded in proportion as the enemy advanced, I found myſelf almoſt imperceptibly once more in Holland, whoſe armies, ſtill freezing upon the banks of the Maiſe and Lower Rhine, muſt, perhaps, again have recourſe to the aſſiſtance of her great water-dog, to whom ſhe has more than once owed the ſalvation of her Republic; and indeed this ſturdy guardian ought to do infinite good, ſince he cannot be let looſe upon the enemies of the ſtate without abundant miſchief—an inundation of the country being, next to captivity and its conſequences, the greateſt evil. Would you believe, after all which has happened ſince my former glean⯑ing of the United States, after all the faithful traditions of horror, bloodſhed, pillage, and blaſphemy, which have been placed before them, that I find again here the ſelf ſame ſpirit of diſaffection grown more gigantic, and with increaſe of ferocity proportioned to augmen⯑tation of force? For the diſaffection of more arbitrary States, of France herſelf, for inſtance, [21]I can more eaſily allow and account, but one would have thought that a Republic,—attached as is that of Holland to all thoſe things which the French people now moſt hold in ſcorn, perſon, property, life, and religion; and with the bleeding teſtimonies of rapine, devaſta⯑tion and death before their eyes,—one would have thought, I ſay, that in ſuch a country, amongſt ſuch a people, who have much to loſe and nothing to gain, the fury of party, by which they have ſo often unmercifully ſuffered, and are ſuffering at this moment in every limb and artery of the Republic, might have been moderated, if not deſtroyed. Surely the deſpe⯑ration of liberty, like that of love, baffles all reaſoning, and mocks at all ſober laws. Even the richeſt merchants of the United Provinces, men who muſt, on the very principles of equality, at leaſt, divide the labours and gains of life, with thoſe who ſubſiſt only by an oppoſite ſet of principles, which levels idleneſs and induſtry—even ſuch men pant for the complete triumph of the common enemy, and are ready to ſacrifice, not only their fortunes, but their families—to what? to falſe ideas of freedom, and to revenge. What could they acquire? the gratification of an ancient grudge. What muſt they loſe? Every thing elſe. But ſo cold and ſo dark is their feeling on this ſub⯑ject, [22]they would conſider it as a cheap ^* pur⯑chaſe.

But the ſpreading flame is not confined to Holland! The Gleaner has traced its progreſs through the provincial, petty towns of Auſtria, where a ſlender paſſage of the Rhine ſeparates the inhabitants from their utterly ruined neigh⯑bours, friends, and countrymen on the other ſide; he has ſeen and heard the look and tone of determined Revolution: and, if he has at one moment obſerved one man retreating with fear, he has, in the next, noticed more than one remaining fixed to his houſehold, in hope of the deſtroyer. In numberleſs places, be⯑lieve me, a protecting army is an object of ſilent, yet obvious, hate, and one which menaces cap⯑tivity is welcome. Along the banks of the Maiſe, as of the Rhine, even though their waves may be almoſt ſaid, from the alchemy of commerce, to flow with gold, the very worſhip⯑pers of that precious miſchief would gladly tinge its billows with blood! In Weſtphalia, in Pruſſia, he has followed, in every direction, the like power. You cannot get into a public-houſe, boat, or carriage, but the water and the [13]land re-echoes with the ill-diſſembled voice or loyalty, or the avowed and bolder tones of faction.

In ſhort, the fever is more univerſal than any other that has yet raged in the world. It ſeizes on all ages, ſexes, and countries; and though millions have already died of it, the fury rather increaſes than abates. I have ſeen old fellows in their grand climacteric (to whom an eaſy chair and a warm peaceful hearth, one would think, might compriſe all the liberty ſighed for), I have ſeen ſuch receive with ex⯑ultation every account of a fortreſs deſtroyed, a village burned, or a city deſolated, even though adjoining their own. Like the malig⯑nant Zanga, but unſupported by Zanga's motives of revenge; they

In a word, in a circuit of many hundred leagues, I have ſeen a ſpirit of revolt to the ruling power, (whether emperor, ſtadtholder, or king) that riſes amongſt the ruins, and ſtirs up inſurrection amidſt the very aſhes of thrones and dominions! Adieu!

LETTER LVIII. TO THE SAME.

YOU told me, I remember, in one of your late favours, that I had mingled in my ſheaves many a bloody wreath. Alas, it is but the bluſhing ſignal of thoſe events which are doomed to outrage the feelings of every gentle heart. In the character of an hiſtorical Gleaner I ſhall, ere long, be called upon to afflict the reader, and my friend, yet more: the moſt terrifying truths are to be told; truths, over which I have wept and ſhuddered; but, over which, I nevertheleſs hope (ſhould the peruſer of theſe pages ſhed a tear, and ſhudder alſo) he will find a balm ſufficient to the wound. Amidſt the pangs of general philanthropy, every Briton-born reader, at leaſt, will feel at his heart the beatitude of his particular happineſs, in being a member of that iſland, which, al⯑though (by comparative extent) it meaſures but as a ſpeck in the map of the world, is the natal reſidence of the fortunate, and the almoſt ſole ſanctuary of the unhappy proportions of the globe.

[25]But, however, my countrymen, and my friends, are to be felicitated on this circum⯑ſtance, I ſorrow to diſtreſs them by delineating the ſad reverſe, and, therefore, will ‘"Spare the telling, ſince it be a pain,"’ as long as poſſible.

The hurry and agitation of public affairs have led me to ſome anticipations; the croud⯑ing incidents of the moment; the now gather⯑ing, now diſperſing ſtorms of war, have made me break in upon my reſerves prematurely; and that to the neglect of many a more pacific and ſmiling ſcene. To theſe I ſhall return with a ſatisfaction that, I flatter myſelf, you will ſhare, as it will, for a while, ſuſpend every more turbulent ſubject, and empower me to conduct you gradually along, till you almoſt forget we are approach⯑ing ſcenes of devaſtation. By ſuch means, too, I ſhall rather break the blow upon your feelings than take them by ſurprize: nay, more, as our paths to the ſeats of war lie through ſome of the moſt charming parts of Weſtphalian Pruſſia, I ſhall even ſtrew thoſe paths with flowers.

I am now again addreſſing you from Nime⯑guen, the laſt conſiderable town of the Dutch [26]territory, where, after having employed the reſt of this letter, in a few Gleanings properly belonging to Holland, and the Provinces, we will journey onward, ‘"Sedate to think, and watching each event."’ and, with our accuſtomed privileges, ‘"Try what the open, what the covert yields."’

You have in recollection, I truſt, my Glean⯑ings of the Dutch theatre, when the ghoſt of Hamlet ſtalked upon the ſtage of Holland, during the Hague fair. On a re-viſitation of that celebrated town ſome days ago, I found that a troop of German actors had been per⯑mitted to take poſſeſſion of the playhouſe, ſituated in the Caſuàry-ſtreet, which the French comedians (convicted of Jacobiniſm, as I in⯑formed you), had evacuated. The firſt piece, at the repreſentation of which I attended, was called, I think, The Robber; in which, amongſt ſeveral very fine-wrought, and as fine acted, ſcenes, was one turning upon an event ſo prepoſterous, that I muſt relate it to you. The hero of the performance is a young man, who, in the firſt inſtance, robs his own father, and, eloping from his paternal houſe, carries his plunder to a deſperate banditti, who have their haunts in a deep foreſt, and with ſuch aſſociates he ſhares the plunder and the crimes. Notwith⯑ſtanding [27]his companions have had ſtrength enough over the virtues of his youth to extin⯑guiſh his ſenſe of duty to an aged and almoſt helpleſs parent (and one of the tendereſt that ever bore the name), and even to make him forego the endearing ſociety of a lady to whom he was powerfully attached, they had not force of ſeduction ſufficient to eradicate, entirely, the vital principle of nature and conſcience, which, at various periods, broke forth in ſighs of re⯑morſe, and bluſhes of ſhame. The "cunning of the ſcene" affords many diſplays of theſe, and in the lucid returns of his heavily-ſmitten heart, he reſcues that very parent, and that very much-loved, though deſerted, miſtreſs, from the barbarity and machinations of an elder brother: This brother is, alſo, by his means, (and by the moſt equitable laws of human life, as well as of the drama) brought to juſt puniſhment; and, by arrangements no leſs proper, the father is reſtored to the freedom and honours which his eldeſt ſon had raviſhed from him, and the young lady is preſerved from violation. By ſuch means, the parties, long divided by the vices, are brought together by the virtues of this heroic robber. Forgive⯑neſs of the father, and of the miſtreſs, are matters of courſe, and the reconciliatory ſcenes, which exhibit theſe, are as naturally ſuſtained [28]as the incidents by which they are brought about, are artfully contrived. Every thing is in the faireſt way of being ſettled to the ſatisfaction of the characters and of the au⯑dience. I never witneſſed the denouement of a tragedy more comfortably arranged for the feelings. But the author was of a different opinion, for in the moment that you are about to congratulate this good ending of as bad a beginning, the poet ſtarts a difficulty, which I conceive neither nature or reaſon ſuggeſted to him. The almoſt converted robber, even while ſupported on the one hand by the love of a father, and on the other, by that of an adored miſtreſs, finds out, that having ſworn to live and die with his foreſt companions, he cannot violate his oath; and that, even if he could, his delicacy would not ſuffer him to carry pollution into the arms of an innocent woman.

Now, if you approve of this ſtroke of delicacy, I could wiſh to ſtop at it; but, as a faithful Gleaner, I muſt proceed to inform you, that our delicate hero by no means contents himſelf with this declaration; but while his hand is joined by a parent to that of a miſtreſs, who covers it with tears of joy, and kiſſes of love, he literally ‘"Threws it like a noiſome weed away."’ [29]obſerving that, although he feels it impoſſible to marry the lady himſelf, he cannot endure the thought of her living for another. This new misfortune ſinks the father to the ground, upon which he is left to die on one ſide of the ſtage, while the lady ſtands ſtatue-ſtruck with grief on the other. Neither of theſe objects go to the heart of our hero. On the contrary, he intimates that there is no way left to pacify his fears on this curious point of delicacy, but the death of this beloved miſtreſs. Hereupon the poet makes her obligingly take the hint by throwing herſelf into an attitude to receive the blow from the hand of her lover; who, how⯑ever, rather heſitates about it, upon which the lady preſents her beautiful boſom (all heroines you know muſt be beautiful) to any of the robbers; none of whom can be found to

when men, who live by pillage and murder, are thus tender-hearted, I am juſtified in apply⯑ing the quotation; though, I ſhould conſider myſelf as having a ſufficient ſanction on the determined laws of the drama, to enrol amongſt their unities, thoſe of heroiſm and perſonal beauty.

[30]The Ruffians, however, all unſheath their ſwords, and might, perhaps, have been wrought upon to cut in twain the ſilken bonds of humanity, that held them a moment uplifted, had not the hero come forth in all the might of his delicacy, in the ſhape of a rant, (loud and vehement as ever pierc'd "the ears of the groundlings)," to aſſert his ſole and excluſive claim to the aſſaſſination. Saying which, and a great deal more, he takes the woman of his heart, gently in his arms, then buries his dagger gently in her breaſt, then ſupports her gently as ſhe ſinks on the earth, where, gently placing her on the ſide oppoſite that of his dead father, on whoſe body by the bye, dying or dead, he never beſtows a glance, and then gently embracing his robber-friends, he ſtalks off to kill himſelf at a more convenient ſeaſon: and thus concludes this gentle piece of buſineſs: of which if any thing could add to the abſurdity, it would be the circumſtance of having juſt before found himſelf wholly incapable of ſtab⯑bing his worthleſs brother, becauſe, though ſtained with the fouleſt offences againſt his dear father and dearer miſtreſs, he was, forſooth, a good for nothing—brother! If this is not refining upon refinement, and out-ſentimentizing ſentimentality, the deuce is in it! Few of my readers but muſt allow this was carrying the [31] point of delicacy a little too far: and, for my part, if this is the German method of ſettling the point, I remain a ſteady admirer of the coarſe Engliſh faſhion of ſtabbing any body, and, in⯑deed, almoſt every body, rather than the woman of one's heart.

But the truth is, this is not the German mode any more than it is ours, as I have ſhewn, and ſhall ſtill ſhew, in various inſtances. It is the act and deed ſolely of the author of this drama, who has therein not only put his heroine to death for his own amuſement, but has com⯑mitted an aſſaſſination upon a much greater character, even nature herſelf, and this is one example (out of an hundred) that has made me wiſh, gentlemen, who have the life and death of their characters, as dramatick writers, in their hands, would be a little leſs laviſh of human, at leaſt of poetical blood, without ſhewing cauſe in the courts of reaſon, nature, and conſcience. Not that I mean to attach this ſtrain upon dramatic or natural laws, to the productions of the German poets in general. They very frequently write, and act, with the moſt accurate knowledge of the human heart, and ſeldom fail to find their way to it, when their purpoſe is to intereſt its affections.

[32]I was, indeed, ſoon recompenſed for the above related outrage of probability, by the performance which I ſaw at the ſame theatre, a few nights after, when all was ‘"Nature to advantage dreſs'd."’ It was, properly ſpeaking, a gala play, being repreſented in honour of the Prince Stadtholder's birth-day, one of the few very occaſional events which bring a ſufficient number of people to fill the Hague theatre; for, although it is not larger than Colman's in the Haymarket, there is rarely audience enough to pay for the few pounds of candle beſtowed to illumine the gloom, and, doubtleſs, this is one reaſon why there is not more light thrown upon the audience of the Hague. On this great occaſion, however, there were about half as many lamps ſtuck over the Stadtholder's box as would have been placed on the board of his Britannick Majeſty's corn-cutter on the 4th of June; and even the under tier of ſconces, that uſually ſtand unoccupied, were filled with wax! In a word, I beheld the aſtoniſhing circumſtance of a Dutch theatre crowded; and, inſtead of "the beggarly account of empty boxes, I found myſelf amongſt the flower and faſhion of the Hague.

After being waited for by the actors and the audience the decent time, that is, juſt long [33]enough to wind up expectation to the proper pitch, without ſtraining its ſprings, his Serene Highneſs and his Royal-blooded partner made their appearance, the firſt in a modeſt ſuit of ſlightly-ornamented blue broad cloth, the laſt according to the etiquette made and provided, in theſe caſes, glittering in white ſilver tiſſue. Brunſwick's eldeſt hope was ſhining at their ſide, and his Ducheſs attended the graceful and lovely Princeſs Hereditary in the ſtage-box, de⯑corated, for that night only, to receive them.

But, alas! all this was but the gay diſguiſe of a concealed anxiety; or rather, it was but the trapping and incumbrance of a comfortleſs ſituation, too mighty for diſguiſes. Three days and nights previous to this theatrical exhi⯑bition of themſelves, had the Prince, Princeſs, and train been made the illuſtrious victims of this anniverſary martyrdom: and every mo⯑ment that was not devoted to the bendings, bowings, and other pliabilities of the court, was ſeized upon by the camp, for it was the time when above a thouſand ſoldiers were pre⯑paring to replace the devaſtations of the laſt campaign in Flanders. The Stadtholder is indefatigable in his military duties; and theſe, happening to fall at the period when he was to receive the compliments of the nobility and [34]gentry, on gaining the forty-ſixth year of his age, you will not wonder to hear that he brought to the play-houſe a weary head, and, perhaps, an aching heart; the more eſpecially as it was ſaid an heavy piece of public news had been received from the frontiers, which it was neceſſary to huſh up in his own mind, and in that of his auguſt partner in diſtreſs, leſt it ſhould check the ardour of the troops about to take their departure. There is, you know, a criſis in ſplendid, as well as other miſery, at which the oppreſſed ſpirits and faculties take refuge in ſleep. It appeared to be exactly this criſis, when the party above-mentioned gained the theatre; for ſcarce had the natal ſalutations been received and acknowledged, than a deep ſleep fell upon both their Highneſſes, and upon the Prince of Brunſwick. Never did I ſee three illuſtrious perſonages ſo oddly diſpoſed of. They ſunk ſubdued into a comfortable nap, as if it had been a preconcerted thing to refreſh them⯑ſelves at the theatre with a doze of this ſort; and which, to ſay the truth, they ſtood ſadly in need of. It ſeems they had been exhauſting themſelves in public affairs and ceremonies, from five in the morning to midnight of the preceding day. But that the anodyne was very powerful, may be gathered from their enjoying it, almoſt unbroken, through the three long acts [35]of a German opera, ſpun to the length of as many German miles. Once, indeed, his Serene Highneſs opened half an eye, and caſt it, in a dizzy way, firſt at the ſleeping princeſs, then at the ſnoring duke, as if to explore the cauſe that rouſed him; but, perceiving it was only the craſh of inſtruments, in a general chorus by way of finale to the ſecond act, he again bid adieu to unwelcome recollections, in the oblivious arms of that power which is very juſtly called the kind "reſtorer of nature." I could not help a reflection on the different allot⯑ments of human kind, as I ſaw the moſt illuſ⯑trious of the audience the only parts of it which were unable to enjoy either the harmony, or the pleaſantry of the entertainment, and alto⯑gether inſenſible to the ſurrounding ſplendours. We rave about, and we are bleeding at every pore, and fermenting in every vein, for Equality, my dear friend; we are hearing perpetually of the neceſſity of bringing the poor on a level with the rich, nobles with peaſants, and kings with beggars—ah, God of them all, with how little reaſon! with how little recollection of the hiſtory of human conditions! The worſt and the moſt unhappy is probably that which winds up the climax! and ſo on of the ſeries: ſince it is moſt likely the houſeleſs beggar, who eats his morſel of alms under a hedge of thorns, when [36]the rude hand of winter had torn off every ſhel⯑tering leaf, in remembrance of the day that brought into the world the brat which he buckles to his back, has a more exquiſite reliſh of that morſel, and is more ſoothed by the gra⯑tulations of his weather-beaten companions, than the Prince and Princeſs of the Republic of Holland, ſleeping amidſt the felicitations of a theatre, or, in truth, any prince, or princeſs in theſe times. Equality! alas, were all men reduced to a level like this, how ſoon would thoſe who, till then perhaps, without being con⯑ſcious of it, had experienced the bleſſings of an humble ſtate, wiſh again for the refuge and diſtinction of poverty. Whoſoever has looked on the fatigues, weight, and peril of the ele⯑vations amongſt mankind, muſt know this, and it is ſtrange there ſhould be found any one ſo unreaſonable as to envy the exalted this gild⯑ing of their care and miſery. As to the emi⯑nent examples in queſtion, happy to ſee them enjoy this temporary reſpite, I was ſorry when the fall of the curtain awakened and diſmiſſed them to new fatigues.

Whatever might be their fate for the reſt of that night, to new fatigues the Stadtholder, at leaſt, was deſtined the ſucceeding morning. The troops which had coſt him ſo much trouble [37]to make ready, were to march at eight o'clock. Without uſing literary privileges, which allow authors to blot out the ſun, or command him to ſend forth his moſt effulgent beam (having, you know, a charter from Parnaſſus to do as we pleaſe with the elements) I aſſure you, in the proſe ſimplicity of truth, that, really

Nay more, thoſe clouds, very ſoon after the Stadtholder reached the parade, broke on his unſheltered head, for the indiſpenſible cere⯑monies of a field-day were to be exchanged, and his Royal Highneſs (princes not counting amongſt their prerogatives the liberty of con⯑trolling the ſkies to their purpoſe) got a duck⯑ing more ſevere than that I have recorded in a former letter. One would again be led to think that "there was more in theſe matters than philoſophy can find out:" for really had the clouds been in combination againſt him, they could not have ſpouted down a more inauſpi⯑cious torrent. It was not, however, of ſuffi⯑cient vehemence to damp his martial attention: neither had it the force to chill public curio⯑ſity: conſequently it was ſet at defiance by powers ſtronger than either curioſity, or martial ardour. Never, on any public occaſion, did [38]I ſee ſuch a collection of human beings. Every paſſion of the heart, and every feeling of nature, were here met together. In the form either of patriots, princes, men, wives, miſtreſſes, children, officers, or ſoldiers, you might have obſerved hate, allegiance, love, hope, and deſpair. You might have remarked alſo a few ſmiles of heroiſm, amidſt many bitter tears of apprehenſion. The diſaſters of the laſt cam⯑paign were had in bleeding remembrance, and there were thoſe amongſt the diſaffected inha⯑bitants, who exclaimed, ‘See what a brave ſhew of fellows are waiting orders to march to the ſhambles!’ ^*

Inſidious whiſperings of this kind had been in circulation for ſome time, and ſeveral de⯑ſertions had taken place in conſequence; up⯑wards of twenty on the night immediately pre⯑ceding their march. Nor was this the worſt: a diſpiriting kind of alarm pervaded the ſoldiery, [39]who performed their military preparations with reluctant delay. I had noticed many of them ſtanding, the day before their departure, by the ſide of their baggage waggons, as if they were taking a ſurvey of their hearſes, filling them with their beds, &c. as if they preſaged they would prove their beds of death. Others were following theſe vehicles with all their marching apparatus, not with eyes that anti⯑cipated victory, but with downcaſt looks, and ſolemn ſteps, to dirge-like meaſure, as if they were moving after the coffin of a comrade; and the beat of the drum that acts ſo wonderfully upon the ſpirits in certain moments, now ſeemed to ſound in their ears the dead march.

Examples of every kind are known to be contagious; in no inſtance, perhaps, more than in their influence upon our hopes and fears: courage and cowardice are communi⯑cated in a moment: they are even transferred with electric rapidity from one man to another; the boſom of the brave, catching an unwonted apprehenſion, and the breaſt of the daſtard, glowing with even an unnatural ardour, as the poiſonous breath of diſaffection, or the ex⯑hilarating powers of loyalty, are diffuſed amongſt them. It is a lamentable thing when private houſes or public empires are ſet againſt them⯑ſelves. [40]States are only large families, united by the ſame laws, and bound by the ſame in⯑tereſt. The connexions of the neareſt ties in private life are ſcarce more cloſe, nor ought they to be more ſacred. As the welfare of man and wife, ſo the proſperity of nations, my friend,

Unfortunately for the well being of theſe United States (which, by the bye, is, and has long been, a miſnomer) the two parties that are diſmem⯑bering it are in perpetual counter-action. While the one is diligently labouring to knit the provinces together, the other, perhaps more induſtrious, for miſchief is a very active power, works day and night, though working often under-ground, to render that honeſt dili⯑gence ineffectual: and vigilant malignity will always be more or leſs ſucceſsful.

On this important morning, however, the Stadtholder rallied the half-ſeduced energies of his ſoldiers; he ſaluted them firſt generally, then particularly; he complimented, and with great juſtice, their martial appearance, cheered [41]them with a prince's ſmile, diſtributed amongſt them a prince's bounty, beſtowed, with well⯑timed addreſs, a prince's eulogy on their known valour, &c. &c.

He manifeſted, by fifty little attentions, that he conſidered them as the faithful defenders of the Republic, and, in ſhort, put in motion every wheel of a good general, a good-natured prince, and a good man. His deportment had a viſible effect on the troops, into whoſe countenances there came, as if by reflection, a ſudden and promiſing brightneſs: the morning itſelf began to look more cheerfully, and the officers with their men duly equipped, from the orange branches in their hats, to the neat knapſack at their backs, took their march through the ſtreets leading to Schedam—their firſt day's march—accompanied to the outer gate of the town by tens of thouſands of ſpectators.

If ſome few of thoſe thouſands heaved a ſin⯑cere ſigh of loyalty for the return of the troops, victorious and uninjured, how many, ſecretly, or, to ſay the truth, openly, deſired and hoped, they might be vanquiſhed and cut to pieces! How ſtrange does this ſeem, how unnatural does it ſound?

With reſpect to the Hollanders, the liberty to ſay and do what they like, in defiance of all inhibited things, and, as uſual, with the more eager audacity, becauſe forbidden, is ^* their's; and as to their being taxed, do they conſider that they live in a country made by induſtry in deſpight of nature, who intended it to be only one of her enormous bogs, while the anceſtors of this grumbling but hard-working hive, ſet "doggedly to it," as Dr. Johnſon ſays, to make it into productive land, and a more pro⯑ductive water? a pile of ſtupendous art, from one end to the other, and not to be kept in repair without extraordinary taxation? Do they grudge this? Would they let the edifice run to ruins, and be buried amongſt them? Would they heap up their money bags to ſink them with themſelves more profoundly in the returning bog? Will the French, or their native patriots, mend either their country or [43]their commerce? Let them try! Ingenious, laborious, abſurd, wiſe, fooliſh, prepoſterous people!

Here then let us bid a long, and probably a laſt, adieu, to the United Provinces, on which we have beſtowed more liberal obſervation than they have been wont to receive, but not more than they have deſerved, as the moſt curious and aſtoniſhing efforts of a patient, powerful, and vigilant people: A like fare⯑well to Guelderland, for whoſe proſperity I ſhall have a warm wiſh were it only for the ſake of the opportunity it gives of loſing one's way, and finding the Man of the Foreſt. Bleſſed be every leaf of every tree which comes under the axe of that man! And bleſſed be you, my friend! aye, and ye, my readers! Weſtphalia in⯑vites; but I cannot quit one country, and take you into another, without ſeparating them and their inhabitants by a little pauſe in our corre⯑ſpondence.

LETTER LIX. TO THE SAME.

I HAVE in a former gleaning noted the wonderful progreſſive relief from low to high land, and from wet to dry, from ſtagnant canals to running ſtreams, as you proceed in your journey from the United Provinces to the Upper Countries. This is leſs ſenſibly felt after a few days or weeks ramble in Guelder⯑land; but could the traveller be ſuddenly tranſ⯑ported from the Province of what is properly called Holland, to thoſe blooming edges of Weſt⯑phalia, to which I am now conducting you, he would imagine, that one was the purgatory of ſinful, and the other the paradiſe of happy ſouls: The fabled waters of the Styx and of Elyſium, are not more ſtrongly contraſted. The very air, as well as the water, takes a purer breath. Not that in point of vegetable or rural gran⯑deur, Weſtphalian Pruſſia is to be compared to ſeveral parts of Dutch Guelderland; but in point of unambitious and ever-ſmiling ſcenery, I have never ſeen any thing ſuperior. The houſes and the land, and, indeed, the inhabi⯑tants of Holland, reſemble nothing but them⯑ſelves. [45]The charming Duchy of Cleves, and "all that it inherits," reſembles the moſt beautiful unaſſuming parts of England. You have ſcarce reached the firſt Pruſſian town, which is mid⯑way betwixt Nimeguen and Cleves, the name of which is Cuylenberg, ere your native country preſſes on your heart: you ſeem to be carried, by ſome magician into the midſt of its alluring ſcenery; its whited cottages, comfortable farms, and cultured grounds, are all within your view. You are ſtruck at almoſt every ſtep with the ſimilitude. It is the agreeable and beautiful, but not the ſublime of nature. There is nothing of hill or vale, water or wood, to aſto⯑niſh the traveller; but there are numbers of objects always freſh and always charming, and a proſpect of great abundance. I am ſpeak⯑ing here of the Duchy of Cleves in a circum⯑ference of its beſt poſſeſſions, a coup d'oeil of more than fifty miles; for, on a clear day, your eye can travel to this extent, if it takes ſight from any of the delightful little emi⯑nences near the town of Cleves: particularly from a mount in the wood which gives you the command of half a dozen noble avenues, each a mile in length, at the end of which your view is bounded by the prettieſt towns in the Circle of Weſtphalia, and Province of Guel⯑derland. The eye reſts ſatisfied and refreſhed; [46]it wiſhes not to penetrate beyond theſe beau⯑tiful limits. The Cleves wood is, in itſelf, full of charms, artificial and natural; but by the former I only mean the ſtately, and ſome⯑what formal, rows of trees, which ſhade and canopy the almoſt numberleſs paths that are cut through it. Yet, admitting this to be an objection to the lover of nature in all her graceful wildneſs, there are to be found in this wood an infinity of bye-walks, where nature is permitted to enjoy her utmoſt romance, and to ſport her "virgin fancies," and which, perhaps, derive additional charms from the contraſt with the more diſciplined vegetation. This fine wood is fenced round with the old Engliſh-looking park-paling, thatched, as it were, with grey moſs, as with us, and, as with us, the chaffinch, green⯑finch, goldfinch, and "all the other finches of the grove," as the Critic ſays, are ſeen peck⯑ing at it on a fine ſpring morning to build the outworks of their neſts. I have haunted this wood at all times and ſeaſons, and truſt, there⯑fore, you will be pleaſed with both a ſummer, and winter account of it. There appears to be ſomething remarkable in the foliage of Weſtphalia, to be obſerved in the moſt dreary months. With us, even in our moſt extended foreſts, the trees and buſhes are almoſt ſtripped of their withered foliage. In Great-Britain [47]and in Holland, autumn ſcarce leaves a trace behind her when the "ſurly winter," as our poet of nature beautifully calls him "with his ruffian train," has uſurped her empire. It is far otherwiſe in Weſtphalia: The underwood, not only of the enduring oaks, but of all other ſorts of more tender ſhrub wood, ſcarcely ſuſtain the loſs of a leaf; a general ruſſet, ſuch as we ſee in the Engliſh groves, when they put on their November robes, covers whole acres till the end of March, when it is moſt likely nature is arrayed in her ſpring dreſs in Great Britain. Reſpecting the trees of foreſt growth, they are here, as in the general roads of France, and in the avenues that lead to our antique manſions of England, planted in the ſtraight line, but their regularity as to height and extent gives them one appearance, at the preſent moment, ſingular and agreeable. Three or four days of rain, with the intervals of a dry ſouthern air, have given them ſuch an univerſal bluſh, that (though nothing like a leaf is to be ſeen in alleys of ſeveral thouſand trees, cut into different roads at right angles, and is ſimply the effect of a ſwell amongſt the buds) you have the promiſe, that the very next ſunny day will invert Shakſpeare's much-criticiſed expreſſion, making the green ONE red, by making the red ONE green; for on cropping one of theſe bloom⯑ing [45]twigs, and preſſing the buds with your finger, you perceive them burſting into infant vegetation.

Eight and forty hours of genial weather ſo changes theſe glowing branches, that the eye regales in a proſpect of that tender verdure, which, in vegetable, as in human, life, gives the freſhneſs and complexional delicacy which belongs only to the moſt early youth of nature; ſo ſweet to behold, and, alas! ſo ſoon deſtroyed: Neither the broad foliage of a more advanced Spring, nor the rich expanſion and colouring of confirmed Summer, offer any thing ſo pure. There are, you know, the ſame changes, pro⯑ductive of the ſame effects, in the progreſs of life, in the ſeveral ſtages of its Spring, Summer, and Autumn.

Suffer me now to carry you about Cleves Land. Imagine that you are ſeated on one of the ruſtic benches, in a retired part of its deli⯑cious wood, while I recount to you the glean⯑ings of ſeveral tours in its neighbourhood.

The town of Cleves in itſelf has nothing to recommend it, but the exceſſive beauty of its ſituation. It is a large, ſtraggling, ill-paved place, with many good houſes and more bad. [49]It is, however, the capital of the Duchy, and under the domination of his Pruſſian majeſty. Though ſo near to Holland, and with ſuch an example of neatneſs before their eyes, the inha⯑bitants of Cleves by no means deign to follow it. On the contrary, they are in their houſes, ſtreets, and not unfrequently in their perſons, the moſt diſguſting contraſts:—but of theſe diſagreeable matters hereafter.

As I reached the environs of the town, the firſt day my affections were very ſingularly intereſted: Indeed, I know not when they have been more powerfully called forth, where the objects of their ſympathy were taken not from the human ſpecies, but from the animal world. About a mile from the Weſtern-gate, I per⯑ceived a man and boy buſied in doing ſomething to the moſt beautiful ox I ever beheld: as I came nearer I found they were adorning it with a great variety of fanciful ornaments'; a large collar of yew branches, tied with ribbon, and wreathed with other evergreens, were thrown over its neck: painted papers, on which were drawn herds, flocks, and ſhepherds, and folded into large beau knots, were fixed, I am afraid, pinned with large corkers to its ſkin, in various parts of the body: bunches of the ſame were tied to the tail, braided into the mane, [50]and the brows were hung with a garland of holly, of which there was a twiſt faſtened by red filleting even to the horns, on the tips of which were ſtuck little May-buſhes in bloom.

My attention was preſently called off from this, by the bleat of a ſheep and its lamb: thoſe creatures were bound to an hedge in a corner of the ſame encloſure. They were dreſſed nearly in the taſte of the ox, with this variation in the lamb, a collar of ſeveral early ſpring flowers of the field, and ſome twigs of hawthorn, in bud, and which, betwixt ſport and earneſt, it was trying to get into its mouth. On aſking the cauſe of all this finery, I was told it was upon account of its being a jour-de-fête, and alſo the day before that of the greateſt beef, mutton, and lamb market, in the whole year!

And pray, friend, ſaid I, where is the neceſ⯑ſity of dreſſing the animals in that manner?

'Tis our cuſtom, Sir, replies the man driv⯑ing the ox towards the town, and the boy with the ſheep and lamb, now unbound, following his example.

I had not time for more interrogatories, being wholly taken up with the anticks of the [51]lamb, which frolicking ſometimes with its mother, and ſometimes with the boy, and ſome⯑times even with its own ſhadow, brought ſo cloſe, under my eye, and ſo near indeed to my very heart, the fine lines of Mr. Pope, that I repeated them over and over. Every image of his deſcription had its immediate illuſtration in the objects before me:

We gained Cleves as I pronounced, for the tenth time, that impreſſive verſe which gives the moral of the former ſtanza— ‘"O blindneſs to the future! kindly given."’

The animals were led, or rather driven, through the principal ſtreets, literally for a ſhew, it being the practice of Weſtphalia for the butchers to exhibit their meat alive the day preceding the ſlaughter. I pretend to queſtion neither the uſe nor the neceſſity of all this; nor by any means to ſtretch pity or feeling be⯑yond their bound. I only obſerve to you, that my affections followed theſe creatures in their funeral proceſſion through the town of Cleves, and could not leave them till on turning a nar⯑row lane, I ſaw, with a kind of emotion you [52]will eaſily gueſs, the door of the place deſtined for their deſtruction; it being a practice in this country to ſlaughter their meat, and a very filthy one it is, ^* in the open ſtreet; the pave⯑ments and kennels of which are ſtained and running with blood.

I will carry you no farther into this little adventure than juſt to note, that being the next day obliged to paſs the end of the ſtreet, where I took leave of my poor dumb com⯑panions, I obſerved not only ſeveral parts of them hang upon hooks at the butcher's ſhop, but ſeveral of the ornaments. Even the flowers that were wreathed about the face of the lamb were now crouded into its mouth, and ſpotted with its harmleſs blood. Poor little fellow, ſaid I, thou wert yeſterday the merrieſt of the friſking tribe! Would I never had met thee!

If, in the courſe of the week, it was my lot to eat any part of theſe animals, at the tables where I then viſited, as it is moſt probable was the caſe, conſider poor human nature, and forgive me! I am not prepoſterous enough to adviſe a being, who is made up of appetites to abſtain from the gratification of ſuch as are neceſſary to exiſtence, but while we yield to the ſtern laws of our mortality, let us not, you, I am ſure, [53]will not, ſpurn all ſort of feeling, like the man, who, on ſeeing ſome lambs at ſport in a meadow, exclaimed,—"Ah, ye dear, innocent, beautiful creatures, would to heaven I had a joint of ye to-day for dinner, with nice ſpinnage and butter!"

A very different ſentiment ſprung up in my mind as I ſurveyed the amputated limbs of theſe my late aſſociates. You remember what the heart-melting Otway ſays on the ſubject:

Never can this affecting paſſage be more touchingly illuſtrated than in the caſe of my lamb of Weſtphalia.

The ſheep of this very beautiful country, however, are not ſo well-looking, nor ſo good, in point of food, as might be expected from the rich abundance of their paſturage, and the purity of their air. They are longer in the viſage, body, and legs than ours: Their fleeces are more ragged and dirty. How different in colour and countenance, from the fair flocks [54]gleaned in our firſt ſheaf, that climb the moun⯑tains, and friſk along the valleys of our Cam⯑bria! A ſheep in Wales is really an intereſting being; you ſee its mild face peep unexpectedly from the fiſſure of a rock, in the midſt of an enormous pile of ruinous ſtones; or you have a full length view as it repoſes at the mouth of a fine natural cave; or you obſerve it looking down upon you from a ſtupendous ridge of rocks, on the extreme verge of which it ſeems to hang, till you feel ſomething like an appre⯑henſion it ſhould tumble into the vale below and be deſtroyed: but, even while your ſympathy is thus engaged in its welfare, the wanton crea⯑ture, wild as the wind that bleaches it, and romantic as the ſpots on which it feeds, will bound from the dizzy precipice where it ſtood, to an height yet more fearful, and projecting its neck beyond where you imagine it poſſible for it to keep the due equilibrium, will crop the herbage that vegetates amongſt the ſtony ruins, or the flower that makes its flinty bed in the rocks, and will continue to climb and deſcend places, the perpendicular of which makes your eyes ake, and your head giddy; but the Cam⯑brian ſheep takes its paſtime amongſt theſe apparent dangers, with ſo much eaſe and gaiety, you are ſoon convinced it is rather an object of your envy than compaſſion.

[55]Now in Weſtphalia, and in moſt other parts of Pruſſia and Germany, theſe animals, after they have outlived the frolicks of lambhood, have leſs of this playfulneſs, and, indeed, be⯑come very ſoon a ſet of ſerious, ruminating, ragged, and ſolemn creatures.

The dog that guards them, however, is gene⯑rally a very pleaſant fellow. He is taught to dance, and has many other laughable humours and accompliſhments, but in his buſineſs is indefatigable. Wholly unlike the curs of Eng⯑land, where the apathy of the maſter ſeems con⯑tagious, and where, even when following their flock, both appear to be walking in their ſleep; the ſhepherd dogs of this country are like ſo many perpetual motions; if the ſhepherd wiſhes to have them driven from one part of paſturage to another, to divide, to congregate, or to conduct them to their fold, his dog begins his office, which is performed in the following manner. He runs round them in a circle, or rather three parts of a circle, leaving the fourth part open for their paſſage, and he barks all the time. If any ſtraggler loiters by the way, he enlarges his round, till it includes the wan⯑derer, who is brought up with the reſt. He does his work in two equal ſpaces of ground, running from right to left, and from left to [56]right. It is truly a curious operation, and not a little fatiguing, ſince it ſometimes continues an hour together, without a moment's reſpite from barking and running. But, like many others, it is, for the moſt part, labour in vain. The ſheep are ſo much in the habit of hearing this eternal yelper, that ſo far from attending to his cries, I queſtion whether they hear his voice, like thoſe perſons who live within the ſound of bells. At any rate, they pay no re⯑gard to it; for, while he is in full cry, the ſheep ſtep as leiſurely as if he was ſix feet under ground; even the ox I have mentioned in a former part of this letter, and my poor lamb, round whom he galloped in the ſame way, heeded him not. The firſt turned him as it were, into contempt, and the laſt into ridicule, looking at him without fear, while his mouth was wide open, and, full of antic, joining him in his race. So that I begin to think our Engliſh ſhepherd's cur does the buſineſs more effectually.

While I am upon the ſubject of the canine race, of which you know I am a profeſſed friend and admirer, let me not forget to inform you of an excellent cuſtom prevalent in Hol⯑land, and in Weſtphalia, reſpecting thoſe animals in the dog-days, namely, the law [57]which enacts their being ſhut up during the ſultry ſeaſon. The appearance of a dog of any kind in the ſtreets at ſuch times is puniſhed with juſt ſeverity. Now, as canine madneſs, perhaps the moſt lamentable diſtemper incident to human kind, is very rarely heard of in the various parts of the Continent that are the objects of theſe Gleanings, we muſt impute it principally to the caution here deſcribed. "Go, and do likewiſe," is an admonition worthy the adoption of the people of England, who ſuffer deplorable inſtances of diſtraction and death, ariſing from the want of ſome regu⯑lation on this ſubject.

Far, far from the friend of my heart be every malady of the body, and of the mind!

LETTER LX. TO THE SAME.

CLEVES may be enrolled amongſt the watering places, but as thoſe waters contain nothing to diſtinguiſh them from a thouſand others, whoſe baſis is ſteel, with a certain mix⯑ture of ſalts and ſulphur, I know you will eaſily⯑diſpenſe [58]with a deſcription of them. Neither will I take up your time by a detail of the dinner or tea parties in the very wood I have now placed you. Theſe ſort of accounts re⯑ſemble the pictures which were cenſured for being, though vaſtly pretty, all alike. Water drinking, or dipping, places have, in them⯑ſelves, but one character, and a deſcription of any, will, like Mr. Garrick's prologues, ſerve as well for one place as another. If you turn to any book of travels, through any part of modern Europe, for mineral or ſalt water, (to ſave trouble look in the index) and take that which comes firſt to hand—no matter for the country—you will have a deſcription in point, for what has been ſaid and done on theſe occa⯑ſions, ſince water-diving and drinking came into faſhion; the ſame talkings, walkings, in⯑trigues, divorces, matches made, and matches broken, covert whiſpers, and open ſcandals, and all the old ſtory of little and great con⯑ſpiracies, ſince the paſſions firſt came into public. There is not left a remark, generally ſpeaking, on theſe ſubjects, worth a ſingle wheat-ear. So we will paſs them by without gleaning, juſt noting one or two particular habits of pleaſure that obtain in the neighbour⯑hood of the Cleves Wood.

[59]It is the practice for the Clevelanders to crowd on a fine Sunday to ſome very good tea-drinking houſes, ſituate in the park, to ſee tum⯑bling boys and girls, and dancing dogs, and learned pigs, and poultry. The ſpectators place themſelves in extenſive alcoves, open at both ends: they almoſt all are to be ſeen in the hotteſt weather, drinking the hotteſt tea, with a dozen, and often two dozen, red-hot tea-urns under their very noſes. By way of auxiliary to this heat, the men all ſmoke, and take alternately a ſup of tea, a ſlice of bread, or cake, and a whiff of tobacco. The married women ſnuff in proportion; the ſpinſters, born and educated amidſt fire and ſmoke, diſperſe the clouds with which their lovers and parents thus en⯑velope them: ſighs of tenderneſs, and whiffs of the beſt Virginia are puffed forth and mingle in the ſame breath, and the young lady melts in the midſt of them. I do aſſure you a kitchen fire in the dog-days is "dew-dropping cool⯑neſs" to the being encloſed in this long green oven; and, what with the ſcalding water, on the one hand, and of the burning fires on the other, a ſtranger finds himſelf almoſt ſuffocated. The firſt time that I myſelf was ſtuck betwixt this Scylla and Charibdis, I feelingly ſaw the force of cuſtom, which reconciled the moſt delicate young women (for, in point of form [60]and feature, Weſtphalia has many ſuch to boaſt) to this hideous practice. They ſeem as collected during this double attack as Generaliſſimos of an army in the heat of action. After ſtaying till I was almoſt boiled on one ſide, and ſmoke-dried on the other, I fought my eſcape in the wood, the moſt beautiful paths of which, as well public as private, where nature breathed the ſweeteſt air, diſplayed the moſt enchanting pictures, and ſung the ſongs of gratitude and joy among her branches, were comparatively deſerted. I am ſorry to ſay that all the con⯑certs, ſocieties, clubs, and other ſocial meetings, are deformed by thoſe inſufferable fumigations, with which every houſe, ſhop, and even every garden, is infeſted.

It is thought to be ſalutary. Had it been confined to Holland, I might have poſſibly come into this notion, as a corrector of bad air; but when I found it laid all Germany in ſmoke and aſhes, and thereby ſpread over coun⯑tries "where every breeze is health," I ſet it down as a vile cuſtom that ſeeks to hide its filthineſs in a weak apology.

I cannot but reckon it lefs excuſeable than the ſtoves amongſt women—a practice not leſs univerſal, but which the dampneſs of the [61]air, in the Provinces of Holland, may render neceſſary. It is attended alſo by worſe con⯑ſequences; for there is nothing ſo rare amongſt the Dutch, Pruſſians, or Germans, as a good ſet of teeth: and as boys accuſtom themſelves to the uſe of a pipe almoſt as ſoon as they can fill, hold, and light it, their teeth are diſcoloured at a time of life when the youth of other coun⯑tries are alike pure in mind and perſon. This defect is the more obvious in the German young men, becauſe the females of the ſame age are remarkable for exhibiting rows of that pearly whiteneſs, which, in Europe, at leaſt, has been uſually thought ſuch a conſtituent in perſonal beauty. The ladies, however, of Pruſſia and Germany, being in the habit of ſeeing a couple of black ranges in the mouths of their lovers and huſbands, and to receive a whiff of ſmoke in their faces almoſt every time they aſſociate, or are ſpoken to by the oppoſite ſex (for imme⯑diately before and after, and ſometimes at meals they ſmoke) do not ſeem to feel the contraſt.

I particularly remember to have been preſent at this very town of Cleves, when, amongſt other company, were two young people, who had been given out as paſſionately fond of one another. The lady was playing at her forte piano, her lover, holding a pipe in one of the [62]filthieſt mouths I ever ſaw, and accompanying her in a very pretty German air. This air ſhewed the lady's fine rows of ivory to advan⯑tage, while it expoſed her Coridon's ebony no leſs to view, and, at the end of the ſong, a ſly and quiet Gleaner, like myſelf, could perceive that the company were ſo well pleaſed with the performers, and the performers with themſelves, that, not contented with the general acclama⯑tion of the friends, they ſealed the private ap⯑plauſe they beſtowed upon one another with ſo cloſe an approach of faces, that, though their conſcious ſatisfaction was not expreſſed and ſealed in a kiſs heard (or hardly ſeen) it cer⯑tainly was in a kiſs felt. No one who had been a ſpectator of this ſcene, would have agreed with the father of the fair-faced Deſdemona, in calling the love ſhe manifeſted for the moor unnatural. She had, like the pretty Cleve⯑lander, looked away the ſable hue of Othello, and, ſince ſhe could not find his mind in his viſage, diſcovered his viſage in his mind. Poetry, and, eſpecially, the poetry of Shak⯑ſpeare, which can do every thing, can, of courſe, do this; but nothing, except that cuſtom, which the ſame immortal bard in⯑forms us

[63]or what is yet even ſtronger than cuſtom, all-commanding love, could make a junction of the whiteſt and blackeſt, faireſt and fouleſt teeth, a matter of delight!

Before I take you from this fair wood into the town of Cleves, I muſt prepare you for a few other cuſtoms which you will meet with there, and in other parts of the Duchy; and, indeed, in moſt places of Germany.

Expect, in the firſt place, to find the inha⯑bitants here, as in Holland, too civil by half: The courteſy of hat-pulling prevails in Weſt⯑phalia to a degree really painful. It is a ſettled point for all natives to make bows to ſtrangers of almoſt every deſcription, ſo that a traveller has little more to do in the conſiderable towns than to cover and uncover his head. Indeed, the hats themſelves ſufficiently ſhew the preva⯑lence of the cuſtom, being all of them ſqueezed into a long roll, as compact as a polonie, on the take-off ſide, with the continual gripe of civility. In one of my firſt excurſions into this country, I took part of a carriage with a young man juſt come from the Independent States of America, and glowing with all the unreſtrained ſpirit of his country. His objec⯑tions went to almoſt every thing he heard or [64]ſaw in monarchies: they began with the head and deſcended to the feet; for he neither endured the uncovering of the one, nor the flexibility of the other. I honour'd this ardour of his principles, but wiſhed to make them relax a little to the cuſtoms of a country. I began with the affair of the hat, which he ſwore ſhould be inveterately fixed on his head in his paſſage through Holland; adding, that he looked upon obeiſance to every body, without diſtinc⯑tion, as a ſervility below the dignity of man's nature. Let me adviſe you my friend, and my readers, to be courteous; and to give into this ſomewhat fatiguing practiſe. It will repay itſelf by many little urbanities you will wiſh for and find: the Germans and Weſtpha⯑lians are an obliging race; and their exceſs of hat civility is better than the contrary extreme. But civility abroad is by no means confined to making you a paſſing-bow: and if it were, it is a ſlight tax upon a traveller to endure and return it.

I recollect being much pleaſed in Holland with a union of two things that rarely meet in any country. During my Hague gleaning, I was at the Playhouſe, when the beauty of two ladies, both on travel, excited the attention of the audience more than the performance. But [65]the obſcurity and gloom of the Hague theatre not clearly aſcertaining that beauty, a great number of the ſpectators were anxious to ſee more of the truth, and accordingly had arranged themſelves after the play, in two mighty rows, as if by common conſent, to ſee the fair ſtrangers paſs from their box to their carriage. In itſelf, this ſet and determined ſtare was certainly one of the rudeneſſes of curioſity; but in order to ſmoothe away its rough edges, the paſſing meteors no ſooner appeared within the lines, than, as if by common conſent alſo, every hat was taken off, and every head bowed re⯑ſpectfully to greet them. Even if the curioſity, which beauty very naturally excites, did not carry, in ſome degree, its excuſe along with it, it would have been impoſſible for that beauty to have been offended. In the preſent inſtance it produced, juſt as it ſhould do, a bluſh of courteſy and conſciouſneſs as it paſſed along, not reſenting, though not inviting, the homage which it drew.

Who is there, my friend, that ever has paſt b [...] a ſingle winter in London, but muſt have often ſeen the heroes of the box-lobby forming themſelves into a phalanx, hats on heads, and opera glaſſes at eyes, to ſtare out of counte⯑nance, and out of the houſe, perhaps amidſt in⯑decent [66]obſervations, both beauty and innocence. Let us not quarrel then with civilities that ſoften away our diſguſt; nor even with public curioſity when it is tempered with public reſpect.

Be prepared, alſo, for the kiſſing ceremony which you will find begin in Pruſſian Weſt⯑phalia, and extend over every part of the Ger⯑man territories. Neither treat it with ridicule or diſreſpect; for although it is the cuſtom for both ſexes to embrace, and to preſent both ſides of the face for ſalutation, after paſſing only an hour together, and though but next door neighbours, it means no more than our ex⯑changing the cuſtomary civilities of the moment en paſſant, in our own country: it ſignifies, in ſhort, about as much as the mode of profeſſing ourſelves the obedient very humble ſervan [...] [...] thoſe indifferent people we meet with in [...] ſtreet, or addreſs by letter of buſineſs [...] ceremony.

I muſt repeat that theſe national habits ought always to be complied with. An obſtinat [...] refuſal in a young countryman of mine [...] accept of a ſalute was intended by him [...] expreſs a ſcorn of the cuſtom itſelf, particularly in ſuffering his cheek to come into momentary [67]contact with that of a man; but, by the gen⯑tleman who offered the ſalute, it was conſtrued into his having a bad breath, and a fear to diſcover it.

Now as an imputation of this kind would be more wounding to the ſelf-love of our petit⯑maitres and maitreſſes, than, perhaps, an expul⯑ſion from kiſſing all the days of their lives; I adviſe them to give and lend their cheeks for the kiſs of cuſtom without any farther heſitation.

I feel it my duty likewiſe to prepare you for a little impoſition in the hotels and private lodgings before you enter them, as well as for the counterbalancing agrémens.

I muſt lay it down as a firſt general principle, that a Pruſſian and German landlord, if he poſſibly can, will over-reach you; not ſo much, I believe, from diſhoneſty, as from an almoſt innate idea of conſidering the word Engliſhman ſinonimous with the word riches. An Italian, French, and every other traveller, even a Dutchman, whom, generally ſpeaking, they know is well able to pay up to any price de⯑manded, may always get accommodated at half price, in compariſon of the Britiſh wanderer— that ſelf-devoted victim of vanity and folly. Of this I will give you an inſtance, not pro⯑duced [68]in reſentment, for it was rather a ſub⯑ject of pleaſantry, but in order to put you, your friends, and every one into whoſe hands theſe Gleanings may fall, on guard.

On my firſt tour to Cleves I wiſhed to make a ſtop of a few months, and not readily ſuiting myſelf in an Hotel, I ſought private apartments. A tradeſman, of whom I had bought ſome trifling articles, and who ſpoke very good French, offered to attend me to the houſe of a man who, he ſaid, had rooms to lett; and added, that he would have the honour to be my interpreter.

We went accordingly, and I deſired my In⯑terpreter to aſk the price of the Rooms, when, by way of anſwer, came forth another queſtion.

Maſter of the Houſe. The gentleman, I ſup⯑poſe, is French.

Interpreter. No.

Maſter of the Houſe. Dutch?

Interpreter. No; Engliſh.

This information, conſiſting only of two monoſyllables, had the effect of a volume on the man's mind. He intended, however, to be cautious and manage the intelligence; but his features betrayed him.

[69]He doubled upon me every article, as I ſhall preſently ſhew. I cauſed him to be informed, that, on the receipt of my next letters from England, I ſhould be able to decide whether I remained in the town, or proceeded farther up the country; obſerving, that if I became his inmate, it would be impoſſible to do without a ſlip of carpeting, or ſome covering by the bed ſide.

That may be had, quoth the landlord; and ſo we parted.

The expected letters arrived, and finding it convenient to purſue my route as far as Emeric, on the other ſide of the Rhine, I gave him notice two days earlier than my promiſe, that, as I ſhould be abſent a month or ſix weeks, I would not hazard the letting his apartments to a more ſtationary tenant ſhould any ſuch offer. Now, that this notice might be formal, it was tranſlated and delivered by my interpreter. Here, I ſuppoſed, we had done with one another; but the next morning, when every thing was ready for my departure, the maſter of the inn, where I had ſlept, preſented me with a reply to my billet; written with a majeſty of ſtyle that would have better ſuited the Grand Frederic (who, by the way, would have given a much[70]more courteous anſwer) than the little great man who was the author, or rather dictator, for he underſtood even leſs of the French than I of the German, and was at the expence of a notary—Voilà le decret deſpotique de mon Maitre d'Hotel.—But as all great events, in which great perſonages are concerned, are uſhered in with due decorum, I ſhall allot a ſeparate gleaning to it.

LETTER LXI. TO THE SAME.

As a Pruſſian curioſity, you will accept a literal tranſlation of it, courteous reader, if peradventure thou art not ſufficiently in prac⯑tice with the French language, to feel the might and majeſty of the ſentiments. You, I know, my dear friend, can reliſh them in all their original bombaſt.

TRANSLATION. ‘Perhaps, Sir, you imagine you may act here as you do in England, where every one does juſt as he pleaſes. No. We live under the government of a king—Such a King! who ſupports the rights of his meaneſt ſubjects. And whoſoever dares to ſuppoſe he may play the game he does in Great Britain, within the territory of his Pruſſian majeſty, will find himſelf miſtaken. It was not at my invita⯑tion you came to my houſe; it was an act of [72]your own free will; and you have hired my chambers. You deſired I would cover the boards with a carpet; a carpet I have bought, and the boards are covered. My bed, too, has been taken down in one place and put up in another to pleaſe you, and I am thereby diſarranged. For all this, I expect to have my damages made good, and as you do not chooſe to occupy the lodgings, I deſire to know, whether you chooſe to pay for them! I ſpeak of the three months for which they are let to you? If yes, well; if no, I ſhall ſeek my right from the laws of the land, whereof I have the honour to be a member!’

Boooo!—There's for you! Was ever the Pope's bull fulminated with more ven⯑geance!

"Myn Heer, ſaid my landlord, had better poſtpone his journey, till this little, ugly affair is ſettled; for there is no anſwering to the lengths this hot-headed man may go; and to be ſtopped on the road by the officers of juſtice would be diſagreeable. Officers of juſtice! officers of nonſenſe! ſaid I. I ſent for my interpreter, who, though a native of the place, did not, by good luck, take the part of his townſman. On the contrary, he accompanied me, ſwearing all [73]the way in High Dutch never to have made any mention of three months, nor any contract whatſoever. He increaſed his pace in propor⯑tion as he increaſed his oaths, and theſe running affidavits preſently brought us to the ſcene of action. The landlord was in the very chamber in diſpute, which we found, ſure enough, ſuf⯑ficiently deranged. Had a ſcore of ſwine herded in them, they could not have been in a more filthy ſituation. Neither curtains, nor mat, nor carpet, nor any furniture, but that of which I had at firſt complained. The fury of the interpreter was equal to the diſmay of the Pruſſian dictator. Our viſit to the latter was ſo unexpected, and our detection of him ſo unequivocal, that he could not reply to the denunciations of my linguiſt, who, purſuing his advantages, laid about him like a Draw⯑canſir. The hoſt, at laſt, felt himſelf galled, and ventured the retort uncourteous: this pro⯑duced a rejoinder, that again a replication, which ran through the whole vocabulary of angry eloquence; in the heat of which I left the combatants, and with great coolneſs de⯑parted for Emeric; but on paſſing Cleves ſome months after, I fell in company with the very gentleman who occupied theſe memorable apartments, for the uſe of which, his board incluſive, he paid, to a ſtiver, per month, what had [74]been demanded of me per week! but then, he was a Pruſſian and I—an Engliſhman!

I cannot write this latter name, without an almoſt equal mixture of pride and indignation, pleaſure and regret. I grieve that it is rendered leſs reſpectable abroad than at home, and that, by the purſe-proud vanity, or diſſipated pageantry of individuals, the character of an whole nation ſuffers. More than once, in the courſe of theſe Gleanings, have I been forced upon this unwelcome ſubject; and I muſt now take it up again, becauſe I can no other way, my loved friend, account to you, or to the public, for a multitude of impoſitions which lie in reſerve, which are abſolutely in waiting, for my countrymen, the moment they have croſſed the Channel, and which, like coſtly and troubleſome companions, faſten themſelves to his purſe-ſtrings, till they "leave not a rack behind." For all which, I am ſorry to ſay, Engliſhmen have nobody to blame but themſelves.

In the firſt place they take over with them Engliſh ideas of expence into other countries.

Secondly, They take over, alſo, a large cargo of national pride, wiſhing to ſpread the general [75]received notion of Engliſh wealth being greater than that of other countries.

Thirdly, They are in a habit of prodigality at home which is too inveterate in waſte, to make economical retrenchments abroad: and, even if they ſet out on a ſaving principle, they ſoon glide into the extravagant paſſion.

Now, from a co-operation of all theſe, it is really wonderful to conſider how wide the miſ⯑chief is diſfuſed. A Swiſs officer and Pruſſian gentleman counciled me to let a friend of theirs make my bargains and purchaſes, as we were to travel ſome time in company, and make ſtops at the ſame places. I yielded to this good advice, but counteracted its effect by being his aſſociate. It was found out, by ſome means or another, that I was an Engliſhman, and that was more than enough. The perſons—whether Dutch, Pruſſians, or Germans—mean not to over-reach you. They intend only to aſk up to the character our countrymen have eſtabliſhed for riches. They even deſign ſometimes an extortion as a compliment, be⯑cauſe it pre-ſuppoſes the pre-eminent wealth of our nation. They argue, too, that while you come ſo many hundred, or thouſand leagues from home, it is not poſſible you ſhould [76]want money, ſince, if you did, you would natu⯑rally ſtay at home.

Thus a fooliſh ambition of keeping up a falſe reputation begins on the other ſide of the water, and travels with you to the end both of water and land. Taking London as the center, it has gone in as many directions as there are great poſt roads, even to the once cheap parts of the Britiſh empire, Yorkſhire, Scotland, and Wales. In every inch of theſe, you feel the heavy hand of an Engliſh traveller's profuſion forced into your pocket. Thoſe neceſſaries of life, which thirty years back might be com⯑fortably procured for the third of their preſent purchaſe at an Engliſh market, ſoon mounted to the half, then they roſe to three parts; and now, unleſs you enter into engagements very adviſedly, the difference of Engliſh expendi⯑ture will ſcarcely warrant the charge of taking ſo long a journey. Shall I be anſwered, that the difference in theſe gradations ariſes from the dif⯑ference of the times, refinements, luxuries, &c.? Certainly theſe increaſe the evil: but, even at this day, as I ſtated to you in a former letter, the great articles of life are to be had at more than an half in half average with the Engliſh market. It will aſſuredly be granted, that fiſh, [77]fleſh, fowl, eggs, butter, and houſe-rent, are the chief of thoſe articles, and all theſe are to be had as I have before deſcribed. The fair in⯑ference is, that where taxation or refinement have levied one impoſt, national pride and habitual folly have levied twenty. The natives themſelves, both in the above countries, and in thoſe more remote, have candour enough to acknowledge this; but now, the habit of charge is as ſtrong as the profuſion by which it was at firſt created; and the ſimplicity and oeco⯑nomy of a place once deſtroyed, like a wounded character, never recovers itſelf. On the con⯑trary, extortion and extravagance erect a ſort of temple to Folly on their ruins; and an impoſition taught to others by ourſelves, becomes the cuſtom of a country, till, in the end, foreigners think they have a preſumptive right to cheat you. The ſame ſpirit that induces us to ſpoil the places nearer home, enables us to ruin our reſidences and accommodations abroad. Our profuſion traverſes the whole continent of Europe; the Alps and Pyrennees ſink before it, and wherever, as in Weſtphalia, from the natural abundance of a country, or the want of traffic, or diſtance from a public mart, the neceſſaries of life are ſtill to be got at half price, they would, I am convinced, [78]have remained at a third leſs than at preſent, had it not been for Engliſh profuſion, Engliſh pride, and Engliſh prejudice.

Under theſe comfortleſs proſpects of being impoſed upon by our own countrymen's folly, even when out of England—for I inſiſt on it, they are the aggreſſors—I do not think I can render to my countrymen at this diſtance from them—or to you, my friend, whom I ſuppoſe to be ſo near, a greater ſervice—than to note the actual rates of living, and the comparative dearneſs or cheapneſs of the ſeveral countries in which I have reſided. This is certainly another very humble office, but a no leſs uſeful one, and either on account of its humility or utility, has been ſtrangely miſrepreſented or overlooked.

Once more making England a centrical point of travelling, the expenditure will be found to aſcend in a ſeries as you paſs along, i. e. the farther removed from the center, the leſs you ſpend—ſuppoſing a leſs influence from examples of Engliſh extravagance.

The difference of charge, even to perfect ſtrangers,—and making allowances for a pre⯑determination, almoſt every where, to over⯑reach [79]you to the verge of the laws of the land,—is almoſt incredible. What Engliſh travelling at home comes to, I need not ſtate, either in lodgings, at inns, or on the road. Houſeing you ſafe on this ſide of the water, you immediately would perceive the difference, were you diſpoſed to begin your eſtimate; for, although you may be chagrined at the ne⯑ceſſity of keeping your purſe in the hand, in your tour through Holland, were you to ſepa⯑rate one charge from another, you would, even admitting ſome extortion, find the balance in favour of Dutch impoſition. No, my friend, thrown, without the arms of language, ac⯑quaintance, or experience of cuſtoms, on the mercy of the Hollanders, you would laſt longer, that is, you would be leſs ſpeedily devoured by the Dutch than by your own countrymen, under like circumſtances. But though your devo⯑ration would be more ſlow, it would not be leſs ſure; i. e. were you not to buy, and dearly buy, knowledge as you go on, and had you no honeſt and diligent way-faring traveller to glean the paths before you.

Leaving you, however, as juſt obſerved, un⯑defended amongſt the Hollanders, you would not ſo ſoon be ſwallowed up as by the Engliſh. The difference of charges is re⯑markable [80]in going only from one province to another, and when you have left the Dutch boundaries and gained the Pruſſian dominions, you perceive the cheating of one country ſo much more endurable than that of another, that in this inſtance, at leaſt, whatever may be your political principles, you would prefer the deſpotic States to the Republics—and exclaim with poor Lear,

I believe I have uſed this quotation in ſome former letter, but it becomes appoſite again, and you will excuſe repetition. How well it applies at preſent, you ſhall immediately judge. At the beſt inn of Cleves, my charge, for twelve days, was little more than a guinea ſterling; and for which I was accommodated with a very good bed-room, the uſe of the general ſitting-room and an excellent table, adorned with the beſt company, as well reſi⯑dents as travellers. At one of the largeſt inns of the Hague, it coſt me preciſely that ſum, a guinea, for one day's worſe living, worſe lodg⯑ing, and worſe attendance. Having mentioned to you the name of the more reaſonable Hague landlord, I truſt your faith in my account will [81]lead you to chooſe the good and to avoid the bad; and therefore it becomes unneceſſary to ſpecify the perſon by whom I was thus over⯑charged. But juſtice requires I ſhould tell you and the world, that the name of the Cleves landlord is Nyſa.

To prevent the trouble of enquiry, and the vexation of being reduced to conteſts at a place of public accommodation, I will take this opportunity to ſet down the ſixed prices of all the moſt reputable table d'hotes (public eating-houſes and hotels) in the provinces of Holland and in Pruſſian Weſtphalia.

[82]In Holland, the train of waiters, ſhoe-boys, &c. are at the heels of your bill, and interrupt (though not with equal boldneſs of authority) your way to the horſe or carriage. In Weſt⯑phalia, theſe ſupernumeraries are all paid by their maſter, and included in their wages. The above ſtatement then will ſerve you through both countries from Helveotſluice or the Hague, to the fartheſt end of the Pruſſian States: and the variations are unimportant in your route to Berlin on the one hand, and to Vienna on the other.

It ſhould be noted, that the money of Hol⯑land is nominally double that of Pruſſia. I ſay nominally, becauſe in the exchange it makes little to a traveller's advantage; but in pur⯑chaſe of the articles of life, it is half in half. Indeed the coin (more eſpecially the ſilver) is of ſo baſe materials, that the circulation is almoſt wholly confined to Pruſſia. It is refuſed currency even on the frontiers of Hol⯑land. The Cleves money will not paſs even at Nimeguen, where there is a conſtant reci⯑procal communication.

It will be proper to mention to you the names and valuation of the Cleves and Pruſſian [83]coins; ^* that you may be prepared, and compare them with thoſe of Holland. They ſhall be [84]given in the ſupplementary pages of this cloſing ſheaf, where a number of pickings-up ſhall be thrown into one or two general letters, pro⯑perly ſpeaking, a letter of ſcraps on different ſubjects, gathered in different countries; valuable, perhaps, when made into a collection, but too minute to ſtand alone. I have many of theſe lieing in ſlips of paper, on the backs or edges of letters, in my drawer of memorandas, which I fill as I empty my pockets after a walk, a ride, a viſit, &c. &c. and I ſhall ſet apart a ſtay-at-home-day, to arrange and tranſmit them. Meantime, we are, juſt now, too much in the heat of buſineſs, in Gleaning the things of the firſt neceſſity (alas! poor dear human nature, of what eating and drinking, and other frail materials, art thou compounded) to amuſe our⯑ſelves with affairs leſs ſolid. If a traveller wiſhes to become reſidentiary for a few weeks or months in any of the pleaſant German towns, and brings with him his family, the beſt way is to make an agreement with a traiteur (a [85]cook) and live with him, if, as is often the caſe, he happens to have a good houſe. This, beſides the accommodation of having your repaſt comfortable and warm, is cheaper by nearly half, as it includes the price of a room. I know a gentleman, who ſays he is well ſerved with breakfaſts and dinners, (ſuppers are rarely taken abroad) and two good chambers, for twenty-one florins (about one guinea at par) per month, in a very popular part of Pruſſian Weſtphalia. But even if you take private lodgings, and are only ſupplied from a traiteur's with eatables, you gain importantly on Eng⯑land—as thus, Dinners, (which imply a ſuf⯑ficiency for ſuppers, as you always are entitled to keep what is ſent you) are twelve Holland ſtivers a-head—about a ſhilling Engliſh. It is called one portion; it conſiſts of four covered diſhes, which, with bread, cheeſe, butter, and ſallads (that are always found by yourſelf) con⯑tain enough for two meals; as two portions do for four.

I was preſent at a bargain of this kind being made at Cleves, with one of the many publick cooks of that place: he was on the edge of becoming a victim to his ignorance in theſe matters, when an honeſt Pruſſian who was preſent, with a friendly preſence of mind, [86]obſerved to the cook—"Certainement Mon⯑ſieur eſt un peu Catholique; il ne mange pas de viande tous les jours. I took the hint, and told the man that when I wanted a double portion, he ſhould know it in time to make the neceſſary addition. This reduced the monthly charge, which had previouſly been made, to about one pound fifteen ſhillings.

Let me not fail to apprize you, moreover, that the buying your wine of a merchant, and of an hotel-keeper, or cook, is, on an average, difference of more than half in half in Holland, Pruſſia, and Germany.

At the inns of Holland, you will pay for table-wine, one florin ten ſtivers (half a crown); at thoſe of Pruſſia and Germany, from ſixteen ſtivers to one florin; and at the merchants of the firſt country, for the ſame wine, eight ſtivers, and in the two other countries, ſo low as ſix ſtivers, or ſeven at moſt: and let it not be forgotten that the eight penny wine is pre⯑ciſely the ſame, as to quality, for which (with duties on foreign ſpirits) you pay in England from five to ſeven ſhillings a bottle.

There are certain articles ſo incredibly cheap, even in theſe times of general ſcarcity every [87]where, that I want almoſt confidence in my own conviction, or in my truſt of your candour, to make juſt report of them. In various pro⯑vincial towns, both in the neighbourhood of the Upper and Lower Rhine, the beſt butter is ſold, in the month of May, at two-pence per pound, a very fine young fowl, at four and five pence, a duck the ſame, butcher's meat at two-pence, and two-pence halfpenny, a full grown hare at eight, nine, or ten-pence, ſometimes at ſtill leſs, a gooſe, or turkey, at ten-pence, when at the deareſt, and the fineſt Weſtphalia ham from three-pence to four-pence per pound. Houſe-rent is in proportion. I leave you, therefore, to judge, how comfort⯑able a family, pinched for neceſſaries, and, perhaps, ſtruggling betwixt the extremes of pride and poverty in England, may live in the German territories. And yet I ſtill cannot help giving Wales the preference for two reaſons—firſt, becauſe it is nearly as cheap, and in a part of my own country, and does not take money out of the Britiſh dominions; and ſecondly, becauſe it contains more general beauty than any thing to be met with without taking a long journey, which, with a family, is in itſelf the expenditure of more than could be expected from a twelve-month's ſavings. As the retreat of an unconnected perſon, or of a [88]family, reſolved to eſtabliſh in a new country, and, as Dr. Young ſays, fixing would be fixed, it would be really a ſaving, without abridge⯑ment of comforts, and even luxuries, of thirty or forty per cent. Eggs are frequently fifteen for two-pence, and ſeldom leſs than ten; and firing is proportionably cheap. Bread, however, is nearly the ſame price as in England; I mean ſuch as is made from the white flour; but they grow an inferior kind, conſiderably darker when baked than our farm-houſe loaves, which is eaten with a farm-houſe appetite, not only by the peaſantry, but moſt other people. By way of qualifying its bitter and ſour taſte, the better ſorts of folks place their butter betwixt a ſlice of the black and a ſlice of the white bread, and when they wiſh to luxuriate, as on a dainty, or to diſtinguiſh their hoſpitality to a friend, a two penny loaf of the entire white is brought forth, and cut into as many morſels as there are perſons to be regaled.

It will ſeem incredible to an Engliſh reader, whatever be his ſituation, to be told that a German bill of fare conſiſts of little more than what is appointed for a meagre day, rigidly maintained; inſomuch that the Weſtphalians, Pruſſians, and Germans, in general, may be duly and truly ſaid to keep Lent all the year. [89]I am authoriſed by truth to aſſure you, from long experience of their table, that the yearly expenditure of a large family, in any of the above-named countries, would ſcarce exceed, if it could reach, that of an Engliſh farmer's houſehold, conſiſting of an equal number of people, for a ſingle month. An enormous diſh of potatoes, cabbages, carrots, beans, and other vegetables, forms the baſis of their dinner, which, with all ranks, is taken at twelve o'clock. It is a very great luxury when half a pound of pork, bacon, or butcher's meat is ſtuck in the midſt of this medley, as the grand center of attraction; and yet this precious morſel is rather for ornament than uſe, rather to be admired and gazed on, like other for⯑bidden fruit, than eaten. A variety of trifles from the garden forms the deſert, which is rather taſted than enjoyed, if there happens to be any thing more recherché, more valuable, than a nut or an apple; and a ſmall plate-full even of theſe become ſo "familiar to the eye," that they pall upon the ſenſe before you are pre⯑ſented with a freſh ſupply. I proteſt to you that I was ſo accuſtomed to look on a fruit plate and its contents for ſuch a length of time, at a table in Weſtphalia, that I knew every ſpeck and freckle about them, as well as the faces of the family. Indeed I had opportu⯑nities [90]to ſee them ſo conſtantly, and cloſely, that each apple and pear became a memento mori to the family.—In the beginning of the week, they came freſh from the tree, with their beſt look and blooming complexions. A very few of them, alas, were cut off in this the prime of their lives. The reſt were brought on the ſecond day, not much altered in their ſhapes or air. On the third, there was a viſible alte⯑ration—nevertheleſs, the young folks of the family, for there were many children,

but, alas, ſigh'd and look'd, look'd and ſigh'd, ſigh'd and long'd in vain. It was written in the father's face—ye may not eat: while the indulgent matron cut one into as many quarters as ſhe had ſons and daughters, and the next day the father, being in a frolicſome humour, threw an apple and a pear after dinner amongſt them, on the floor, where they were as much fought for as Joſeph's coat, and produced as much ſhame to the vanquiſhed, and triumph to the conquerors, as if they were heroes and kings, battling it away for thrones and domi⯑nions, perhaps, on the true eſtimate, as little worthy of conteſt. Towards the end of the week, my old friends in the fruit-plate [91]began to drop off one by one; and though it is amongſt my habits never to eat of thoſe things which the maſter of the houſe diſcovers to me by his manner he conſiders as a rarity; in com⯑paſſion to theſe poor things, I took off their duſty coats, and thereby prevented a more lingering death.

Some weeks after, I dined at the ſame gen⯑tleman's houſe, and though, to be ſure, a man would not chooſe to ſwear to an apple, I could all but make oath, that I obſerved, amongſt the re-enforcements of the well remembered fruit-plate, one pippen which was ſo palpable by his marks, that I recogniſed him as an old acquaintance the moment he came in my view —now be it known to you, this was by no means in the ſeaſon of the year, when apples are laid up like honey in the hive for winter pro⯑viſion, but when they would in England have come freſh from the tree, at every meal. It is ſtrict economy that urges this extreme for⯑bearance in almoſt every thing that regards, in ſhort, that either ſmells or taſtes like a luxury. And it is impoſed by a very ſtern neceſſity, for Germany and poverty are almoſt ſynonimous terms, and though, in particular inſtances, ſuch a thing as wealth is to be found, [92]the general run of people in all conditions, are reduced to obſerve a moſt ſcrupulous frugality in all things; their income being uſually ſuch as to inhibit the leaſt article of profuſion.

Nor is this oeconomy confined to the appetites, it extends to the ornaments of life; I had almoſt ſaid to its vanities, but it may be done in effect to promote theſe. You ſhall decide on this, after I have informed you it is the univerſal practiſe to undreſs after a viſit. A lady, or gentleman, no ſooner returns home, than they lay aſide their coſtly robes, and get into their ſlippers, nightgowns, yea and night⯑caps alſo. And appear extremely ſurpriſed to learn it is a general cuſtom in England to keep on their out of door dreſſes, as they are called in Germany, when they are amongſt family friends; nor could I eaſily reconcile them to my following the cuſtom of my country in this particular, till I had aſſured them, changing my dreſs frequently gave me cold. They call this ſtripping practice putting themſelves at their eaſe: but it is, in truth, purely done for oeconomy.

Frugality is an early part of education in theſe countries, inſomuch, that it is common to [93]obſerve a well-bred young lady, in ſome of the beſt families, waſh up the tea-things, im⯑mediately after they are done with, and in the midſt of the company, who have been uſing them. At firſt, I ſuppoſed this was a menial office, impoſed by a croſs papa, or over⯑managing mamma; but when I became a re⯑ſidentiary gleaner, I ſaw it ſo much the faſhion of every family, that I inform you of it as a general rule, not only in Germany, but in Holland alſo.

The natives of theſe places not only eat ſparingly, as having little to eat, but they eat ſeldom—and drink as often as they can. The cuſtom of ſlight breakfaſts, vegetable, or rather hodge-podge dinners, and yet ſlighter, frequently no ſuppers, has its beginning in Holland, travels to Weſtphalia, like a ſlender current, narrowing as it goes, with reſpect to quantum, and is at its perfection of oeconomy in the empire. The only thing in which they yield to profuſion, (at their own expence) is in the article of tea and coffee: this they take almoſt every hour, but without ſugar. The women ſnuff, and the men ſmoke over it. But they uſually drink it out of cups that ſcarce hold ſo much as an acorn; and though, from the quantity taken, this cuſtom gives perpetual [94]trouble, they ſtill prefer theſe diminutive machines, which would ſcarce ſerve a fairy to ſip dew drops. To think of a wide Dutch mouth ſcrewed up to the dimenſions of ſuch a ſprite!

It is, I find, very true, that the Engliſh are every where looked on to be exceedingly car⯑nivorous; and it is true alſo, that an Engliſh⯑man will devour more ſolid fleſh in a day, and pour down his throat more inflammatory liquid, than a Pruſſian, German, or Dutch⯑man, in three days. An Engliſh traveller, however, ſoon aſſimilates to the general temper⯑ance of the country, the conſequence of which is, that inſtead of waſting an whole afternoon in an hot room, amidſt the fumes of the table; or ſleeping to relieve an overloaded ſtomach, he feels alert, either for buſineſs, or pleaſure, and ſeems to wonder at this change of himſelf.

I have juſt mentioned to you the early dinners on this part of the Continent, but for⯑got to note to you, that the reaſon aſſigned for it, is exactly the reverſe of what is given out for a four or five o'clock repaſt in Great Britain. We eat at mid-day, ſays the foreigner, that we may have a long afternoon: We eat in the evening, ſays the Engliſhman, that we may [95]have a long morning. The cuſtoms of a coun⯑try ought certainly to give and receive allowances, but I have found this difference in the hours productive of great difficulties, be⯑tween ſome of my countrymen and foreigners; the firſt inſiſting that as twelve o'clock was too late for breakfaſt and too ſoon for dinner, it could be conſidered only as the hour proper for a luncheon; and the other declaring, that ſitting down to table at ſuch an unſeaſonable time was inſupportable: for my own part, I am bleſt with ſo ſocial an appetite, that it ſeems made for a ready compliance with the cuſtoms of all countries. Is it the faſhion of the family to eat at noon? I ſit down and forget that I had not been uſed to think about dinner till nearer night. Does my meal make its appear⯑ance with the candles? Be it ſo, I eat heartily, if I am well; and, if I am ſick, I play with my knife and fork, to keep thoſe who are better company. Now this verſatility in my diſpoſi⯑tion leads me into many pleaſures and content⯑ments, which leſs accommodating tempers can never hope to enjoy. It is peculiarly eſtimable in travelling: for can it be reaſonably expected, that without being well paid for it, people will come into the cuſtoms of a ſtranger, and forego their own? Will you tell them, it is polite to go to dinner when they are going to ſupper! Or [96]as an individual are you to derange a family, who, in turn, could tell you, that the politeneſs of their country ſettles theſe matters on very different principles. Who is to adjuſt this knotty point? You fall out with your dinner, and with each other. How eaſily would a little candour and courteſy place it juſt where it ſhould be!—O, good humour! thou leaſt dif⯑ficult, yet brighteſt of the ſocial virtues—thou creator and ſupporter of every other—where is the land, the habit, the manners, which are not reconciled to the heart, by thy aſſuaſive and ſmiling power? Inſpired by thee, I feel myſelf diſpoſed to be happy, and I am ſo; to impart it to all with whom I mix in this now jarring world, and I ſucceed:—And did the fond parent know thy value, as I know it, he would pray that his darling child was rather filled with thee, than favoured by beauty, genius, or fortune; for what are theſe but the miſerable children of conceit, pride, and folly, unpro⯑tected and uninſpired by thee!

From what has been ſaid on the very neceſ⯑ſary, though very much neglected, ſubject of eating and drinking, it will, I truſt, appear manifeſt, that if a traveller will be content to buy a little experience, which is no where to be had without paying for, and if he will [97]not be too much in a hurry to make his arrangements, and, while they are adjuſting, indulge his heart in a few effuſions of that good-humour I have been addreſſing, he may be very comfortable to himſelf, and no leſs acceptable to others; but if he will be ſtubborn, and inflexibly attached to his own opinions, manners, and cuſtoms, and not come into thoſe of other people in other countries, he has nothing to do but to live by himſelf, according to his fancy, and—pay accordingly.

But I forget, that all this time while I have been diſcuſſing the ſubjects of the table, I have ſeated you in the Cleves Wood, and left you in a worſe ſituation even than the Germans, without any dinner at all. Riſe then, my friend, and, that you may no longer want an opportunity, I put an end to my letter, with the uſual aſſurances of being affectionately your's.

LETTER LXII. TO THE SAME.

TAKING it for granted that you will feel yourſelf refreſhed before you ſit down to the peruſal of another letter, and that all [98]thoſe who may become its readers will bring along with them good ſpirits and goodnature, I will invite your attention to ſome further Gleanings on the circle of Weſtphalia.

You are not now to learn that Pruſſia is a Catholic country, where, however, Proteſtantiſm, (in the Preſbyterian form) is largely inter⯑ſperſed. The churches are every where the objects that firſt catch the eyes of travellers, for which reaſon I ſuppoſe it is that you meet ſo many ſteeples and towers, monuments and eſcutcheons, in almoſt every book of modern travels.

Catholic churches in particular, as being more ornamental, have been ſo often deſcribed by publiſhing travellers, that they are, perhaps, the only objects in the wide field of foreign obſervation, which have been meaſured with an accuracy that leaves nothing for the gleaner. Open the books of theſe authors at whatever page you may, and it is odds but you ſee half a dozen ſpires, followed by a long hiſtory of their founders, deſtroyers, rebuilders, re⯑deſtroyers, revolutions, &c. Two churches and a caſtle to a leaf is moderate reckoning, and it is well if you get off without a morſel of choice biography, on the quarrels and rogueries, virtues, [99]and vices of the prince, biſhops, beggarly prieſts, or deſpotic lords of the caſtle; for the Cacoethes De-ſcribendi (if I may be allowed to ſport with the Latinity) is as ſtrong in ſome wandering biographers, as in juvenile poets, when firſt they fancy themſelves in love, and preſent you with that picture of their idols, which imagination has drawn for them. For myſelf, and I ſuppoſe others may feel like me on the occaſion, I never, without trembling, obſerve a travelled author ſet in for a long ſtory of churches, chapels, chateaus, and picture galleries, with a determination to give their "moving accidents" by flood and fire, during the wear and tear, and traditionary lying of half a ſcore centuries. And what, after all, are you preſented with, but a meagre account, into which the mind and memory of the reader vainly look for ſomething whereon to reſt—ſomething more worthy the human faculties, than annals of the intriguing abbots, miſchievous prieſts, and grinding ſeigniors, buried under their ruins. I venerate antiquity, but muſt have ſomething that comes cloſer to the ſoul, the underſtanding, or the affections, than this collection of literary brickwork, and travelling ſtone maſonry. Peace to the aſhes of the mouldering univerſe! Unleſs ſurviving virtues, or immortal actions, lie amongſt the [100]ruins, and, like the phoenix, only want an honeſt, helping hand to clear away the earthy ob⯑ſtructions, to ſpring above them, I would not reſcue an altar, or the canonized bones of a Saint from oblivion. Unembalmed by ſuch virtues, and ſuch actions, the duſt of a monarch, and the duſt of the earth that covers him, is, to me, exactly the ſame thing; and as to the relicks of a worthleſs being, to what good end could they be brought from the tomb, but as a maukin to ſhew the villains of the preſent gene⯑ration, that to ſuch complexion muſt they come at laſt.—In that light only, have I ſome⯑times, as in the inſtance of a John of Leyden, burſt the ſearments of the grave, and gleaned the coffin of a ſcoundrel.

Reſpecting church matters, therefore, I ſhall certainly not ſwell the liſt of hiſtorians; but, after I have made one general obſervation, ſhall content myſelf with the relation of a ſingle circumſtance.

It is really a moſt heart-affecting ſatisfaction in a circuit of ſome hundreds of leagues, ſuch as I have taken, over different Catholic coun⯑tries, to ſee the decent impreſſion that is made on the peaſantry (which is ever the moſt nu⯑merous body of a ſtate by religion. Of the [101]higher ranks, who loſe their principles and their education too often in the pride of philo⯑ſophy, I ſhall here ſay nothing; but the in⯑fluence of the Catholic faith on the ſubordinate ranks is, almoſt without an exception, a ſober and ſincere attention to the duties it enjoins. The earneſt, yet tempered zeal, with which the common labourer leaves his buſineſs or his pleaſure, to commune with his Maker, is amongſt the comfortable ſights that every tra⯑veller muſt ſurely have noticed, and noticing muſt have enjoyed. In the plebeian part of the community, at leaſt, it muſt be genuine. The infidel philoſophy of the great is, happily, above their reach: the hypocritical mummery or profounder chicane of the yet perhaps more infidel prieſthood (I ſpeak of the Catholic churchmen), is ſtill more happily above the underſtanding of the peaſant. He can have no views from intereſt, from the world's ap⯑plauſe, or from the world's diſapprobation. His religion, after education has ſettled it in his mind, becomes one of the ſtrongeſt habits— it ſoon ripens into his moſt powerful princi⯑ples. It is preſently a voluntary offering, and one of perfect free will, to his God. He accepts its pains and penalties, and never reſiſts their infliction. He is told by his confeſſor of a ſin, and he ſuffers for it willingly. Neither does [102]he perform its duties ſo mechanically as may be ſuppoſed—He goes to the church at all times and ſeaſons: the gates of the temple are always open, but he is not forced to enter at the ſtated ſtroke of the pendulum or chime of the bell. If his ſoul feels not the impulſe; if it prefers the ſacred moment when the hour of public worſhip is paſt, he can withdraw him⯑ſelf from the gaze of the world, and converſe, as it were, with his Creator face to face: and in the Catholic churches, which I have gleaned even with a ſuſpicious vigilance, this is very frequently done, and always with reve⯑rence. Strangers, drawn by curioſity only, may paſs in groupes from all quarters of the earth, and dreſſed in all the different habits of their country, without ſeducing the kneeling Catholic peaſant from his duty: his poſture is unaltered, his prayer unbroken. He rarely lends an ear to converſation, which is too often irreverently loud, and not often an eye to their perſons.

From this exterior decency, it is fair to infer an internal piety. It is, to be ſure, a world replete with ſubtle ſtratagem, and falſe ap⯑pearances, but if ever there can be ſuppoſed to be a principle "unmixed with baſer matter," this ſurely is the moſt free from alloy. And if [103]one could ſelect from the maſs of enormities, which the preſent governors of France have committed, and ſingle out an act more foul, more cruel than the reſt, I ſhould not heſitate to pronounce their attempt to convert the ſimple heart to EQUALITY of Atheiſm.

The Augean ſtable of the Catholic church, ſo far as it was connected with politics, no doubt wanted cleanſing, and poſſibly ſome of its moſt aſpiring heads well deſerved Le Glaive de la Loi, the ſword of juſtice, but to my feelings (and it has ariſen out of my obſervation) better, far better, had the convent and the cloiſter been polluted by the whole chicane of the prieſthood, than that ſo many hundreds of thouſands of blameleſs beings ſhould not only want in future the comfort of a refuge in miſery, and of a guide in happineſs, but ſhould be taught that the benefits and bleſſings of the paſt, derived from this ſacred ſource, were the trick of a deſigning race, and that, for the time to come, the laws of reaſon and nature, that is infidelity and licentiouſneſs, are to ſuper⯑ſede thoſe of a Saviour and Redeemer of the world. Then, by way of proving their proſe⯑lytiſm and faith in the new creed, they are, inſtead of bowing the knee to the croſs, they are to turn from it in mockery, like the re⯑vilers [104]of old, or to level it with the duſt! Glo⯑rious revolution, and more glorious revolu⯑tioniſts! To lay the foundations of a republic in human blood, and erect a temple to in⯑fidelity on the ruins of religion! In the an⯑cient fabric were there defects? Why not repair them? Muſt it fall that a worſe may be raiſed?—but I forget myſelf—a ſcourge was wanted in the land, and ye were perhaps the proper inſtruments to deal deſtructions: for who can puniſh iniquity like the wicked?

But I promiſed you to cloſe with the rela⯑tion of a circumſtance, which I owe to the Catholic church. Half an hour's walking by the ſide of the Cleves wood brings you to a little village chapel, whoſe bell was ringing out for evening veſpers juſt as I paid it my firſt viſit. Only a few of the congregation were then gather'd together. I had therefore time to make an unobtruſive Gleaning. Amongſt the uſual decorations of pictures, paintings, flowers, and crucifixes, I could not but take notice of the virgin in a chintz-pattern linen gown over a full dreſs hoop of immenſe circumference; ornamented with three diſtinct rows of ſilver croſſes, the middle row abun⯑dantly the largeſt: the crown upon her head was formed of broken beads, and pieces of [105]looking-glaſs: the child Jeſus held an apple in his hand partly eaten, to expreſs what Eve had fraudulently accepted and ſhared with the devil.

I might have yielded up my gravity at the burleſque manner in which this part of ſacred ſtory was caricatured, had not the ridicule, it was ſo well calculated to excite, been checked by my obſerving an old man and woman, two young men, and two female children, kneel⯑ing with every mark of devotion round the figures. They are of one houſe ſaid a perſon who ſtood near me, and, in the ſequel, I found that that houſe had to boaſt an holy family. The very moment that I looked upon them, the ſpirit of mockery died within me; and a much better ſpirit came upon me in its ſtead. I had no longer eyes to criticiſe the figures, nor an heart to break a jeſt on their abſurdity: As repreſentatives of the bleſſed virgin and Redeemer of the world, they fill'd me with awe, and I caught ſo much of unaffected holi⯑neſs from theſe humble ſuppliants, as to hold ſacred the coarſeſt imitations and ſymbols of things divine.

It happened to be the jour de pâcque, on the evening of which feſtival there prevails in [106]Weſtphalia a cuſtom, that I felt was worth gleaning for you and for the public. You ſhall have it here. The Pruſſian peaſants com⯑memorate the ſolemn event of our Saviour's reſurrection in a ſingular manner. In each village of the circle are to be ſeen three or four large bonfires, which the inhabitants have been preparing at their intervals of daily labour during the preceding week. The fires are lighted about nine at night; about ten, when they are in full blaze, the populace, and indeed people of all diſtinctions, go out of the Cleves gates to view them. I was lucky enough at the moment to be on a viſit to a gentleman, who, at a ſmall diſtance from the weſtern Port, had a ſummer houſe that commanded the country to the extent of twenty leagues. Every quarter or half league has a village, and the whole twenty leagues were illuminated. It was in itſelf an intereſt⯑ing novelty, but when the occaſion was contem⯑plated and combined with it, the heart glow'd like the horizon. In the midſt of the ſcenery roſe the moon. She was at full, but at the moment of riſing ſeem'd another bonfire be⯑ginning to kindle and aſcend. She ſoon, however, aſſerted her ſuperiority, and when ſhe had gain'd her proper ſtation in the hemiſ⯑phere, I could not help repeating to myſelf a [107]few words, applicable to both.—"Hide your diminiſh'd heads", ye feeble works of men's hands: but thou Cynthia art of God. No wonder then at thy luſtre! but, even as I pronounced this, I corrected my raſhneſs, my injuſtice—and ſo are ye, ye feeble fires,—added I,—of God alſo; and every humble ſpark ſhall aſcend to heaven!

LETTER LXIII. TO THE SAME.

I HAVE already, more than once, in the courſe of this correſpondence, attempted to check the heady current of national preju⯑dice, which appropriates all that is eſtimable in human nature to itſelf, and leaves to the reſt of the world only its vices, vanities, and in⯑ſignificancies. I have given many examples of urbanity, that have been the growth of ſoils leſs celebrated than that of Britain, or than what once was France. I have ſhewn it flou⯑riſhing even in the unwholeſome clime of Holland. Let me now offer you an inſtance of its blooming power in Weſtphalia. In truth it is a flower appropriate to no particular country, but will proſper wherever it is duly [108]cultivated. Its natural ſoil is the human heart, in which it ſprings up, and thrives, very ſoon after that heart begins to beat, and would continue till there is no longer motion, were not paſſions and prejudices for ever at work to check its growth or kill it in the hud.

In one of the moſt profound receſſes of this beautiful country, at the diſtance of at leaſt forty leagues from a court, thirty from a city, and at leaſt ten miles from a market town. I once found urbanity that would have given luſtre to them all. I found her in a cottage of clay, at the foot of a Pruſſian foreſt, under covert of which I was ſhaded from obſerva⯑tion. It was on one of the moſt lovely even⯑ings a wanderer like myſelf could have de⯑fir'd, and according to my emigrant diſpo⯑ſition, I had enjoyed it from the upriſe even to the down-going of the ſun. The ſun indeed of that diſtinguiſh'd day was making a "golden ſet" juſt as I reach'd the precincts of the wood, where I had not repos'd many minutes, ere I heard the ſound of a flute, ac⯑companied by a voice whoſe natural ſweetneſs excelled it in melody. The notes were indeed aſſiſted by many harmonizing circumſtances. You who are a lover of nature, know what a [109]variety of ſoothing ſounds pervade the air at eventide in the ſummer.—The pure breath of the zephir, the diſtant rivulet, that ſeems, by its indolent lapſe, and ſubdued murmur, to partake of human ſenſations,—the drowſy hum of the beetle, which the poet has im⯑mortaliz'd, and the general ſighing of the leaves, with, perhaps, the horn of the herd⯑boy, and the lowing of his cattle obedient to his ſummons—and above all, thoſe founds which imagination herſelf creates—all theſe contribute to form that twilight enchantment, which a tender heart, and a benevolent diſ⯑poſition ſo much delights in; and which, men of the world conſider as the day-dreams of madmen.

Had I time to ſpare from my cottagers, it would be amuſing to run at ſome length the parallel betwixt a lover of nature and a man of the world, and to examine the eſtimate that each makes of the objects aſſembled in the laſt paſſage. To attempt this in abridge⯑ment—

1ſt. The man of the world, would never be tempted to leave the "chearful haunts of men" without what is called a jolly party: five out of the ſix of which probably wiſh⯑ing [110]themſelves as many different ways before half the day is over, and, at laſt, going yawn⯑ing home thoroughly tired with if not hating one another: for I have ſo often obſerv'd a party of pleaſure to be ſo painful a plot upon the members that compoſe it, that were I to com⯑pile a new Dictionary, in which definitions were honeſtly to be given, I ſhould under the words party of pleaſure, inform the reader that it is meant to ſignify, the aſſociation of a ſet of perſons met together with taſtes and tempers frequently diſcordant, and intereſts in oppoſition, yet determined to congregate, for the purpoſe of teaſing one another under the maſk of ſocial good⯑fellowſhip; which maſk generally drops, or is torn off in the courſe of a few hours to the diſcovery of the whole conſpiracy.—Such is the mere man of the world's party of pleaſure: yes, and woman's of the world alſo!

2nd. A man of the world has no concep⯑tion of the breath or ſounds of,—or in the air, in the way that a lover of nature feels and en⯑joys them. A man of the world indeed ob⯑ſerves that it is curſed hot, and throws up the ſaſhes, or curſed cold, and pulls down the blinds,—the inflammatory bottles, ten times more burning than the ſun-beams, are ſtill on the table,—yet, at the faſhionable hour he [111]goes forth—where?—To the public walks.— For what purpoſe?—To ſee the public.—But goes he not into the beautiful woods?—Yes, into the public parts of them, where he has a chance to ſee the world he loves ſo well.— And is he never led by his fancy or his feel⯑ings into the ſequeſter'd parts where nature modeſtly and humbly diſplays her genius and graces? No, my friend, ladies and gentlemen of the world uſually avoid theſe bye-road beauties, unleſs carried thither by ſome paſſion that ſhuns the day.—And as to clay-built cottages, woodland inhabitants, ruſtic ſongs, and lazy waterfalls, they are paſs'd by as fit only for country Corydons, or ſhepherdeſſes bemus'd. Far different is the attractive ſcenery of a world's man and woman—the broad and beaten track amidſt the cruſh and clatter of coaches, which are ſo wedg'd together that they move as if in funeral proceſſion,—walks ſo cramm'd that you can⯑not paſs without difficulty,—a cluſter of gla⯑ring lamps ſtuck upon trees, to the bluſh of the moon beam,—the ſun himſelf ſhut out to make way for a parcel of artificial lights, brought into an unwholeſome room crouded with company and card tables,—a kind of elegant peſt-houſe where people infect one another by common conſent, and are ſuffo⯑cated [112]on principles of politeneſs.—Theſe are the appreciated ſcenes of men and women of the world!—And I ought not to ſail obſerving, that, amongſt theſe well-bred broil'd and roaſted, who ſit with the perſeverance of an hatching hen, as if nail'd to the ſides of the card table,—there are always a certain number of ſentimental miſſes, who affect to have ſouls ſuperior to ſuch waſte of time, and build up a ſort of reputation on never touching a card, but when politeneſs, or a dowager mamma, inſiſts on her making up the ſet.—Theſe dam⯑ſels fidget, or glide about the rooms, and ogle their fair images in the pier glaſſes, till pick'd up by ſtray batchelors, or cut out married men, or ſong-tranſcribing young ſtriplings, who get into prattling parties, or file off into corners ſer a touch of the pathe⯑ticks, or conſtruct the horn work of a future fiege in a whiſper'd tête a tête. Moſt of theſe light troops aſſure you of their deteſtation of the town, but yet run their pretty faces into one or other of its hot-houſes every night, and go through a ſummer campaign amidſt more fire and ſmoke, than would melt down the conſtitution of the whole body of alder⯑men. Mean time there is another ſet diſpers'd here and there inſidiouſly laying a mine to blow up reputations, and while the game of [113]the other parties goes on, theſe engineers prepare a very notable maſked battery, and play off their artillery, as if only in a mock action, at your wife or daughter, till they almoſt ſurrender at diſcretion before your face. The play amongſt the card veterans, becomes too intenſe for obſerving on any ſtratagems but their own: the card paſſions are all at work, breaking the unlucky chairs of ſome, biting the lips, gnaſhing the teeth, ſlap⯑ping the foreheads, or ſtamping the feet of others, and while the honours are loſt by one, and the odd trick gained by another, the miſtreſs of the houſe ſlaves in hoſpitality, and ſtruggles through the elegant mob, with more toil and difficulty, than a landlady at an election dinner!

"But ſomewhat too much of this." Let us fly from theſe artificial beings, to the children of nature and the heart. Suffer me to re⯑conduct you to the ſimple, yet ever-blooming paths, from which theſe world-warped tribes have too long led us aſtray.

Allow me to place you once more within ſight of the flute and voice I mentioned to you before, and liſten to the magic that enſued. The wood notes, wild as they were, charmed [114]me. I roſe and advanced. A few paces brought me within ſight of a cottage door, which was wide open. The ſong and muſic proceeded, mingled with dancing, of which I could rather hear the happy ſtep, than perceive the enlivening figure. But I was preſently obſerved, and actually as fair a maid, accom⯑panied by as blooming a youth as Arcadia ever fancied, tripped forward without quitting hands to invite me into their dwelling. You are here prepared for

All theſe, and more were to be ſeen, but the inſides of cottages in all countries have been ſo many thouſand times furniſhed and un⯑furniſhed, either by real tour-makers, or thoſe who, like the Virtuoſo in the comedy, only travel in books, then publiſh their travels through other people's books, (all which, you know, may be very commodiouſly done at home, without ſtirring out of their elbow-chairs) and, moreover, book-cottages are all ſo much alike for neatneſs, accommodation, arrangement, and furniture, that I could rather wiſh you would upon this, as upon a former occaſion, make choice of the deſcription you like beſt, out of the whole collection of voyages and travels [115]that may be in your library, and aſſure your⯑ſelf, that whatever comes neareſt to a ſim⯑plicity, which does not exclude convenience, will give you a juſt idea of my Weſtphalian cot.

As the firſt day of the Carme was ſolemnizing while I was at the village chapel, ſo that on which I entered this woodland habitation was the laſt of that feſtival; and this peaſant family were then celebrating it. Religion, therefore, no leſs than hoſpitality, and both under guid⯑ance of ſincerity, invited me to aſſiſt at the felicity. Every ſimple delicacy of fruit and flower, was in an inſtant placed before me. Their diſcourſe was ſo provincial, that pro⯑bably a German citizen of Cleves, might have found a difficulty to decypher it. But the language of bounty, like that of love is univerſal: ‘"All heads can reach it, and all hearts conceive."’ It is the volume of nature; one of its faireſt pages was ſpread open. Had I run I could have read it; and, believe me, my generous friend, it exhibited inſtruction well worth the obſervance of thoſe who live in prouder dwell⯑ings. I found here no broad, coarſe ridicule at my ignorance; none at my intruſion. I was a ſtranger within the gate, but I received the [116]welcome of a friend. I diſcovered no wiſh to know from whence I came, or whither I was going, ſave a ſhort expreſſed aſſurance, that when I, myſelf, found it proper for me to depart, I might be ſure of being put into the right way. A very old man and woman, a labourer, who was the muſician, the youth and maiden whom I have before mentioned, and three more couple of lads and laſſes, formed the aſſembly. Soon after my entrance, every body ſound ſomething to do for me expreſ⯑ſive of good-will. The aged man gave up his ruſh arm chair, and inſiſted on my occupying it; the matron, his wife, contributed a cuſhion from a wicker one that ſtood oppoſite; the eldeſt daughter, ſtill in a dancing ſtep, (the carriage of the lighteſt articles diſputed by her attendant youth, in his dancing meaſures alſo) brought to the table and ſpread on it a cloth, white even as her apparent innocency. Another preſented me with a bowl of new milk, ano⯑ther with fruits, another came bounding in with flowers, moiſtened by the evening dew⯑drop. Bread, butter, and ſlices of ham, were added to the banquet, and when I had nothing left to be done for me, my entertainers did not ſtand, like many, even Britiſh ruſtics, ſo taken by ſurprize, to ſtare me out of appetite, and with wide opened mouths, as if they could [117]themſelves ſwallow all that they had ſet before me; but wiſhing me good appetite reſumed their feſtivities. Never was the banquet of a monarch more harmonious—ſeldom ſo diſin⯑tereſtedly; but all at once I miſſed the muſician, and one of the dancers ſupplied his place, the old man nodded time with his head, then beat it with his ſtick, and the matron accompanied with her foot. Time flew inſen⯑ſibly—the ſun was in an other hemiſphere—the moon ſet—the ſtars became clouded, and the combining influence of theſe ſeveral circum⯑ſtances forced on me the conſideration, then firſt remembered, that I was a benighted gleaner, ſeveral leagues from the town, whence I had wandered by innumerable croſs paths, juſt as fancy had carried me. The good people read my embarraſſment, and chaſed it away by freſh dances, ſongs, and muſic; in the midſt of which, up roſe the veteran, and with an air of gallantry giving his hand to the aged dame, who had literally been his partner for eight and fifty years, hobbled an alamande, with much more agility than could have been expected. He then run into a dance, which they call Schleifern, conſiſting ſimply in two perſons of either ſex, taking hold of each other's dreſs behind, and moving in a circle to ſlow muſic: a way-loſt man, in a ſtormy night [118]upon an heath, would have forgot his condition while this dance was performing, had he re⯑flected on the occaſion of it, which was a genuine effuſion of hoſpitality to man, and gratitude to God. The young folks became almoſt wild with pleaſure, and ſtruck into many artleſs gaities, till they encircled the old ones in a kind of ſpontaneous dance which gradually contracted the circle, ſo that in the end they had the aged couple cloſed within their arms. Every one preſent formed a part of the love-knot, and had ſhare of the embrace. It was one of the prettieſt impromptu's of gaity and affection I ever beheld; and I repeat, that a traveller who had unknown leagues at midnight to meaſure back without a guide, muſt have forgot his fears. When the frolic was over, the good veteran led his ancient dame back to her chair, with the ſame courteſy and natural grace he had conducted her from it, and as ſhe ſat down, there was a tranſitory glow in her cheeks, which exerciſe and felicity had called into them. It was a momentary renovation of her youthful days, in which ſhe muſt have been extremely handſome; for time that had robbed her of the colourings, had committed leſs violent ravage on the propor⯑tions of her beauty. Her huſband looked at her with affection, and then at the company [119]with ſome little elevation of ſelf-love, at the feats he had performed.

Before theſe animating trifles (of great figure in domeſtic happineſs) had time to grow cold, the original muſician, whom I told you was the labourer, returned introducing an old ſoldier, who ſaluted me, at firſt ſight, in excellent French, which almoſt in the next inſtant, he tranſlated into very interpretable, though un⯑grammatical Engliſh. He loſt no time in tell⯑ing me, that the cottager had fetched him from an houſe where he had been paſſing part of the Carme, above a league's diſtance, for no other reaſon than to conduct me back to the place from whence I came; promiſing me at the ſame time, ſaid the ſoldier, a ſuitable reward for my trouble, but that I ſhall not accept of, ſeeing I have the honour, Sir, to be your countryman.

Conſider, my friend, awhile, the unbought, nay, unſollicited hoſpitality of this groupe of poor peaſants—take a retroſpect of their be⯑haviour—finiſh the picture by ſuppoſing you ſee the old man and his wife, thanking me for the pleaſure they had in entertaining me: fail not to paint on the canvaſs the old ſoldier, offering himſelf to me as a voluntary guide, [120]in caſe I ſhould perſiſt in refuſing the bed, which both the aged and the young would have yielded to me; then, on ſetting out, under favour of the riſing moon, let your imagina⯑tion give form and figure to the whole groupe of youths and maidens, attending me part of the way, ſtill dancing, while the honeſt minſtrel labourer compleated the midnight ſerenade! And the whole was performed with ſo much ſport, glee, and goodwill, to the ſounds of which a thouſand woodland echoes reſponded, that the verieſt miſanthrope would have been converted into a lover of mankind. I do pro⯑teſt to you, I never felt my pulſes vibrate with more enthuſiaſm. It was with difficulty I forced upon the muſical labourer, a ſmall pre⯑ſent, or rather payment, for fetching the ſoldier; and when all but the laſt left me, a ſentiment of regret ſtruck my boſom, and grew more and more comfortleſs, as the ſound of their retreat⯑ing footſteps and voices diminiſhed on my ear, and when even on ſtanding a moment to liſten— a pauſe to which my grateful heart impelled me—they could be heard no more, the ſenſa⯑tion ſwelled almoſt into tears.

The ſoldier ſeemed to feel a ſort of ſympa⯑thy, and amuſed the way with the adventures of his life. They did not, however, begin to in⯑tereſt [121]me ſo ſoon as they might have done, had they been related at any other ſeaſon. He told me, however, that he had lived ſo many years out of his native country, that he had almoſt forgot his mother tongue, as you may perceive, Sir, ſaid he, by my bad Engliſh. He added, that he had ſerved his late Pruſſian Majeſty, the grand Frederick, almoſt ſeven and thirty years, and had the honour to have been ſhot in almoſt every battle, and part of the human body; but was ſtill as heart-whole, and care-free, as any man in the circle of Weſtphalia. The Grand Frederick, Sir, continued he, has ſettled upon me a little penſion, and given me a ſnug apart⯑ment in the Chateau of Cleves, where, ſhould your honour deign to come, I have always a glaſs of good Rheniſh, to offer an Engliſhman, aye, and any other honeſt man; and where, if your honour pleaſes, we will drink the kings of England and Pruſſia, (for they now happen to be good friends, you know) in a bumper, be⯑fore we get into bed! Thus ended my little jubilee, to the infinite content of my heart; and, I truſt of your's: At leaſt, I can wiſh you no greater good than that each of your future days may be crowned like this; and that your after ſlumbers may be as ſweet!

LETTER LXIV. TO THE SAME.

THE weekly viſitation of the begging friars, and Sunday aſſemblies, are amongſt the things which ſhould be recommended to the notice of thoſe who go into Weſtphalia, being both really curious in their kind.

In regard to the firſt, it is an invariable rule for one or other of the mendicant brothers to make the tour of the town in, or near which, his convent is ſituated. Sanctioned by the cuſtom of his country, he gains admittance into every houſe, whether public or private, and is "happy to catch you juſt at dinner-time." He moves round the table with his little box, into which every one puts, or appears to put, ſomething, but evidently more as a thing of courſe than charity. He neither ſpeaks, nor is ſpoken to: he glides almoſt unheard, and unſeen, behind your chair, and having finiſhed his collections, which are probably ſcanty enough, he bows off as he bowed on.

[123]The ſecond circumſtance, viz. the Sunday evening card route, is full as ſingular, but by no means ſo ſilent. It is compoſed of thirty and forty (frequently more) of the moſt re⯑ſpectable perſons of the town, who, after the devotions of the ſabbath, which they perform with great exactneſs, almoſt, indeed, to rigour, aſſemble at the beſt inn, and paſs the evening partly over a pack of cards, and partly over a good ſupper. The laſt time I was at the city of Cleves, where I have now in fancy ſet you down, I was an eye-witneſs to this ſupplement to the Sunday duties, there being, at that time, no leſs than ſeven tables, well furniſhed with preparations for the nocturnal aſſociation. Tra⯑vellers of any decent appearance are always welcome. There is never any thing like a debauch, and the company ſeparate about twelve. The ſingularity of all this conſiſts only in its oppoſition to our modes of doing the ſame thing in Great Britain; and we may truly ſay the matter is more elegantly conducted in London. Would it not be thought very odd for the nobility and gentry of both ſexes, and of the firſt character, to meet at a tavern in that great city, where, the moment a lady made her appearance, a ſtove full of hot coals was placed under her petticoats, and, on the en⯑trance [124]of each man of faſhion, an immenſe pipe with a ſpitting box?

How often, in the traverſe of different coun⯑tries, has a traveller occaſion to exclaim, with the poet, ‘"I ſee full plainly cuſtom forms us all!"’ And, in truth, it requires the ſtrongeſt power of our habits to reconcile us to ſome things that will riſe up in our way as we journey along.

Amongſt other preparations, with which my zeal has armed you, let me not omit to beſeech that you will make up your mind to the dirty doings of Weſtphalian Pruſſia, and, indeed, in certain caſes, of the whole Germanic empire. I have, in a former letter, invited your obſer⯑vation to a comparative view of the countries of Holland and Pruſſia, in reſpect of the gra⯑dual relief which the eye receives from the fa⯑tiguing uniformity of the one to the riſing diverſities of the other; but this is not the only matter that awaits your attention, O ye readers of this hiſtory, and ye ſojourners in this land. Would ye ſee placed before you one of the moſt ſtriking contraſts in the world, behold it in the general neatneſs of the Hollander, and almoſt univerſal filth of the Pruſſian and German.

[125]It is impoſſible for an Engliſhman, whoſe eyes are, by no means, unaccuſtomed to the decencies of life, in his own country, to with⯑hold the tribute of his admiration on the pecu⯑liar niceties of the towns, within and without, from his firſt landing in Holland to his taking leave of its Seven Provinces. The door⯑ways, the paſſages, the windows, the inner apartments, the kitchen, the very lumber⯑rooms (where, by the bye, every ſtick, board, and other unoccupied thing, is laid in a pictu⯑reſque manner, as if by the hand of ſymmetry) the warehouſes, where induſtry is for ever at hard, and very often at dirty work; the very out-houſes, which frequently connect with the general ſitting-room, and in which, perhaps, twenty cows are ſtalled on the one ſide, and as many horſes ſtabled on the other, and in which all ſorts of domeſtic fowls, nay, where not ſeldom the very pigs are nouriſhed; each and all of theſe places are kept in ſuch order, diſ⯑poſed in ſuch arrangement, and with ſuch uniform cleanlineſs, that, whether it proceeds from the neceſſity of the climate, in regard to the influence which its humidity otherwiſe might have upon the health, or whether from a principle, or only an habit of neatneſs, it is certainly a charming cuſtom, ‘"More honour'd in the obſervance than the breach."’ [106]But the offenſive reverſe is forced upon you, almoſt immediately on your quitting the con⯑fines of the Stadtholder. The diſguſting con⯑traſt will ſtrike you in almoſt every particular, ſo that if you pleaſe to re-peruſe the liſt of the items above ſtated, taking their oppoſite, that is, reading dirty for clean, as you go on, you will have before you a picture of Dutch nicety and Pruſſian naſtineſs.

And the remark is to be extended to perſons as well as things. Notwithſtanding the inceſ⯑ſant toil, which an unremitting attention to neatneſs in a flat, foggy country, muſt occaſion, there is, in the midſt of their labours, an air of propreté. The common ſervants, even in their drudgery, are always to be ſeen with clean ſtockings, which are always ſhewn to the middle of the leg, ſlippers, which, notwithſtanding the violent motion of the mop and pail, hang on the foot as if by magic, and head dreſſes which are oftener ſeen without hat or bonnet, be the weather what it may. Whereas, in the neighbouring countries, the houſes are more mal propre than the ſtables of Holland, and the Sunday apparel of the common people (females more eſpecially) is worſe got up, and worſe put on, than the Saturday night working⯑dreſſes of the Dutch peaſantry.

[127]In your peruſal of this and every other ſimilar account, I muſt once again warn you that I confine myſelf principally to the inns, hotels, and other public places, to which a traveller muſt, of neceſſity, firſt repair, or to thoſe private lodgings, which, if he makes any ſtop, are uſually his ſecond movement. But it may be received as a general rule, that if all theſe places are in one country neat, inviting and regular, and in another utterly different, it is fair and candid to draw this inference, that dirt is the general characteriſtic of the one country, and cleanlineſs, of the other. Certain it is I have ſeen regularity, elegance, and delicacy, in the circle of Weſtphalia; and I have alſo witneſſed the reverſe of theſe in Holland: but theſe can be conſidered only as exceptions to the general rule.

No human being is more aware than yourſelf, my dear friend, that there are certain decencies in civil ſociety, which are always very charming, and in certain caſes, not a little embarraſſing; but without the adroit performance of which human nature, in ſome of its higheſt luxuries, no leſs than in ſeveral of its loweſt neceſſities, is but a very dirty piece of buſineſs. Amongſt theſe decencies is one, concerning which an Engliſh traveller not yet aſſimilated to the man⯑ners [128]of other countries, and retaining, and ever wiſhing to retain a reſpect for the decorums of his own, is at a loſs how to write; particularly when thoſe writings will, probably, come under the eyes of his delicate countrywomen. Yet, a little adventure on this tickliſh ſubject met me on the way, ſo extremely characteriſtic of the manners of, at leaſt, one half of the civilized globe, and ſo extremely un-character⯑iſtic of one comfortable corner of the earth, where the perſonal delicacies, if not the Graces, have taken up their abode, that I cannot in fair deſcription help going over this trembling ground to give you its Gleanings. Now Yorick would have made no difficulty on this occaſion. He could, you know, reconcile his readers to whatever matter he thought proper to ſet before them; but as I, by no means, poſſeſs the magic of that illuſtrious traveller, I do not feel my⯑ſelf entitled to the indulgences which ſuch magic claims, and ſhall, therefore, not preſume to take the ſame liberties.

In a certain fair diſtrict then, within and but juſt within the circle of Weſtphalia, there ſtands a pleaſant and very conſiderable town, ſituated on the banks of the Lower Rhine, y'clept Emerick. Its extreme beauty excited in me a firſt ſight wiſh to make a ſtop of [129]ſome weeks; and being arrived juſt at that period of life, when the comfort of a good night's reſt in a good bed is conſidered as one of the neceſſaries of life, in however tumultuary a manner one paſſes the day, I preferred private to public lodgings: and, accordingly, after due refreſhment, went out in ſearch of them. My broken German dialect ſtood me in good ſtead on this occaſion. I ſoon ſaw a lodging bill, and knocked at the door, but the maſter and miſtreſs of it being from home, I had to blunder out my meaning to four domeſtics, who I fancy babbled a jargon leſs intelligible than my own; though no country could appropriate it, it was a mixture of all, but the proportions of the compound went more to Dutch, Cleves⯑land, and German, than to any other language. In this patois they gave me to underſtand as well as they could, that the heads of the houſe being abſent, nothing could be done till their return on the morrow. I was, by convention with a party of acquaintance, to ſleep that night at the diſtance of two leagues, and left the houſe without any favourable prepoſſeſſions, reſolving to take a future opportunity to look for other lodgings. But judge of my ſurprize when the lord of this unpromiſing habitation made his appearance in my chamber, before I had riſen, the next morning, to aſſure me he [130]was in deſpair at my diſappointment in not ſee⯑ing his apartments, which he proteſted to God were the moſt pleaſant, moſt airy, and moſt beautiful of any in the Weſtphalian circle, and he verily believed in the German territory. Then enſued the following queſtion and anſwer converſation, which I will endeavour to render intelligible without a ſays I, or ſays he, to the irkſome repetition of which I have as mortal an objection as Marmontel himſelf: Would I could as happily prove it expletive! Are theſe apartments well furniſhed?—Delightfully in every part of them.—Then I wiſh my little temporary menage to be ſometimes at home: is this poſſible?—Every earthly convenience, Sir.—Perhaps, then, I might now and then dine en famille?—Nothing ſo eaſy.—You have, no doubt, a proper table?—I only wiſh you would do me the honour to come and judge for yourſelf: I honour the Engliſh, and live very much in the Engliſh faſhion: ROST BIF on the table every Sunday.—It were needleſs then to aſk if you can give me a good bed?—The beſt and ſofteſt in the circle—that's all.—Indeed, then they need not be better.—No, truly, and I have had ſuch lodgers to lie upon them; No leſs than the flower of the nobility of all nations—Le Comte de A—, la Comteſſe de B—, Madame la Ducheſſe de C—, the duke [131]of D—, the earl of E—, biſhop F—, baroneſs G—, and a ſtring of the firſt titles, all the way to Z.

As the man ran through theſe illuſtrious inſ⯑tials, in alphabetical order, I beg'd to know if he was indulging himſelf in a laugh upon that ſtale trick of travellers, the aſſuming falſe titles while they were making the grand tour,—and, if ſo, the ſatire was well enough directed againſt ſuch a pettifogging ambition, which, however, was pretty well puniſh'd al⯑ready, as theſe fictitious grandenrs are gene⯑rally charg'd in every bill upon the road.— Laugh! no, I never was more ſerious as to the whole alphabet of great folks having at different times occupied my apartments, although they did not happen to come into them in the exact Dictionary form, and order aforeſaid: And as to a travelling title, while a lady or gentleman pays up to the price of nobility, there is no queſtion but ſhe, or he, are right noble, and honourable.

Although I now perceived there was a ſpice of the wag in mine hoſt, I began to think there might be ſome part of his houſe, which did not at firſt ſtrike the view, and which might ſpurn all ſort of connexion with [132]the miſerable ſhop at the door of which I had entered: In ſhort, I now fear'd that inſtead of finding the manſion too bad, I ſhould find it for a quiet, obſerving, and unobſerv'd Gleaner too good. With that kind of alteration of air and tone therefore, which an honeſt and well-temper'd man glides into, when he ſup⯑poſes he has undervalued any thing by an overhaſty judgment, I informed the maſter, that I was apprehenſive his rooms would be too ſpacious and ſplendid for my purpoſe,— that I was by no means any one of the ſuperb perſonages of his alphabet, but ſimply an Engliſhman in purſuit of health, and the pure air and water which ſo greatly contribute to them; but for which I could not afford to pay too dear a price.

By no means too dear, you will have them, ſir, in a manner for nothing—and as for air and water, I ſay nothing—vous verrez— I wont ſay any thing—not a ſyllable—perdie, yous verrez—you will ſee.—I do not ſuppoſe there is ſuch air in the heavens, nor ſuch water under them—vous verrez—that's all.

Then you may expect me at Emerick the next morning.—I kept my word. Mine hoſt was ſtanding in expectation at his door; and [133]ſcarce gave me time to ſpeak, before he ran with me through the ſhop before commemo⯑rated, and which after all was the only way of entrance. Then he took me into a poor, white-waſh'd, brick bottom'd, rough pav'd back room, with one window, opening to the Rhine, but ſo loaded with iron bars without, and ſo guarded by a net work of ruſty wire, that you could only get a peep at the river au traverſe. Then recommenc'd the Dialogue, there's an apartment for you ſir,—there's a ſalle ſuperbe à manger, ou pour voir le monde,— yes, there's a noble dining-room, or to receive company.

Not allowing me a moment's time to reply, he daſh'd with me into a ſort of kitchen at the back of this ſuperbe Salle, and throwing open a door at one end of it, bade me take care of my head, which was a very neceſſary cau⯑tion, the doorway making it convenient to ſave that head from being broke by doubling the reſt of the body. He mounted a ladder, and taking my hand, hawl'd me after him. Up we both went as abſolute a perpendicular, of near forty ſtairs, as ever led to the main⯑maſt head of a firſt rate man of war. I do aſſure you, the ſtrong wing of a pigeon would have required a little breathing as it aſcended. [134]My landlord allow'd of none, but kept ex⯑claiming—now, now we ſhall come to a char⯑mante Kamer,—a charming chamber.—At the end of our clambering we reach'd a room that had neither bed, chair, or glaſs; I was about to expreſs my ſurprize at this, when, anxious to ſhew me all his lions, my hurry ſcurry guide hurried me to a very little apartment indeed, the door of which he was proceeding to open with his accuſtomed rapidity, when a voice from within exclaimed in a tranquilliz'd tone.— Arrête un petit moment s'il vous plait Mon⯑fieur. Stop a moment, ſir, if you pleaſe: To which courteous requeſt, the landlord, recog⯑nizing the voice, and bowing towards the door, replied, Ne vous derangez pas Mademoi⯑felle: Pray Miſs dont diſturb yourſelf,—and while the young lady ſettles this little aſſair, we may look about us ſir, quoth he,—there you ſee good ſir is the Rhine again, and you have it alſo, as you ſhall preſently ſee in the room adjoining. What do you think of my water now ſir? And as for air, can any thing be better contrived?—do but obſerve the delecta⯑ble ſituation of this ſame—ah ſa—continued he, addreſſing the late occupier of the very little apartment, who now made her appear⯑ance,—ah ſa—now you ſhall judge of the agrémens of my lodgings,—be ſo good to ſtep [135]in ſir,—there's neatneſs,—marble pavement— ſides of beſt Dutch tileing,—and obſerve ſtill the delicious Rhine rolling under you.

Here he pointed to another outlet, where, I muſt confeſs, I ſhould never have thought of looking for a proſpect;—But the maſter of the manſion abſolutely piqued himſelf upon it.— There ſir, what do you think of that!—In your very bed chamber—almoſt within reach of your bed, Monſieur,—there's comfort,— there's recommendation!—Aſſurement bien commode, ſaid the young lady, joining in the converſation with all the eaſe in the world.— Indeed ſhe had left the door open on her coming out, purely with a deſign to aſſiſt the great character her friend and relation, as I afterwards underſtood he was, had given it.—The man concluded his eulogy by again intreating to know what I thought of it? Hereupon, I obſerved to him, that though I could not ſay they ſettle theſe matters better in Weſtphalia than in England, yet they do ſettle them in the former place much more at their eaſe.

The lady had juſt left the room, ſo that my anſwer was addreſſed only to my officious groom of the chamber, who was extremely ſurpriſed, [136]when I told him that the little adventure of the little lady in the little apartment could never gain credit, were I to relate it in my country; nay, could never have happened in any decent part of the kingdom of England, except by an accident, which would have covered even a girl of ten years old with con⯑fuſion, and made a female of maturer age aſhamed to lift her eye to the diſcoverer, if he happened to be a man, for ſome days after: I added, that the ſenſe of decency was ſo nice in my country, that very ſerious illneſſes had ſometimes been incurred from the dread of ſome ſuch expoſure. Ma foi, cela eſt bien biſarre: i'faith that's whimſical enough, ſaid the man.—He then ſhewed off the reſt of his houſe in the ſame inflated ſtyle of panegyric. And pray where are the ſuperb beds? They may be had ſir in a month, and I might have the beautiful ſalle below, and the charming chamber above, and the delicious apartment thereunto belonging, for ſo very trifling a ſum as ſeven hundred florins a year, and my diet for ſeven hundred more. The enormity of the demand, being no leſs a ſum than would pur⯑chaſe the fee-ſimple of the whole houſe, ſhop, and little apartment into the bargain, brought our diſcourſe to a ſhort concluſion. I could not but feel it as an inſult levell'd at his [137]opinion of Engliſh folly, and left his houſe with telling him, I was ſorry we had taken up ſo much of each other's time to ſo little pur⯑poſe. He ſeemed to think ſo too, and drop⯑ping his vivacity and his courteſy at once, ſuffer'd me to depart even without a bow. My friend, I beg pardon; and your's my good Reader: I dare ſay you are nice, but I preſume alſo, you are wiſe;—the delicacies of your country,—the graceful decency of its manners and cuſtoms, deſerve to be appreciated; but, inaſmuch as they are brought into compariſon and contraſt with the diſguſting freedoms of other nations, they will be yet more valued, and appear more amiable.

In truth, people of both ſexes, on this ſide the water, have ſcarce and idea of thoſe decen⯑cies, which by habit, if not by principle, diſ⯑cover themſelves even in the loweſt domeſticks of Great Britain. Throughout Holland, Pruſſia, and the Empire, even more than in France, the men and women diſplay almoſt oſtentatiouſly thoſe objects which we conceal with the greateſt care. As if proud of the natural defects that are conſidered as humilia⯑ting with us, you will ſee them carrying to and fro, in open day, and as a ſort of page⯑antry of diſplay, all the arcana of the bed⯑chamber; [138]whether you are in ſickneſs or in health it is the ſame thing, and I have re⯑marked that the ſervants who preſide over theſe ſhews (in England they would be myſteries, and diſpoſed of as if by magic)—the ſervants, I ſay, generally chooſe to exhibit their machines at breakfaſt, by paſſing from one room to another, not ſo much as ſuppoſing it poſſible your delicacy can be diſtreſſed about the matter. Our ſenſe of propriety on this occa⯑ſion paſſes for manvaiſe honte. May it never be exchanged for either confident impudence, or habitual groſsneſs, which, though leſs cul⯑pable, is not leſs offenſive. In a word, may that ſhamefacedneſs, which the holy writers have uſed to ſignify one of the moſt lovely virtues in oppoſition to the boldeſt vice, ever continue to be reckoned amongſt the prejudices of Britiſh education! A prayer in which I am ſure your own modeſt nature, and chaſtened manners, will heartily join your affectionate friend.

LETTER LXV. TO THE SAME.

IN our firſt ſheaf I collected for you a Gleaning of the village ſuperſtitions of Wales. I will now offer you thoſe of Germany, eſpe⯑cially in the country of Juliers, Le Mark, &c. bordering on Weſtphalia. The country people of thoſe places have the moſt ſolemn faith in ſorceries and witches, who though in their proper ſhape are only a pack of very old women, can aſſume any form, either beſtial or human; but are, it ſeems, moſt fond of appear⯑ing in the character of cats. Some of this witchery is carried to ſuch exceſs, that many people in the country of Juliers will on no conſideration intermarry with a perſon, who may be ſuppoſed of having a ſorcerer's blood in his veins; nay, the moſt advantageous matches have been refuſed, and the attractions of love itſelf been reſiſted, rather than a daughter ſhould go to the arms of a man who has ever had a witch in his family, and the geneological tree was never more cautiouſly examined, and traced by a birth-proud noble to eſcape the diſgrace of pollution, than it is to avoid an alliance with a ſorcerer or ſorcereſs. If there [140]can be found in the hiſtory of twenty genera⯑tions, only twigs ſufficient to make up one hereditary beſom, or broomſtic, on which the witch by deſcent might horſe two of her ſingers; not only the ſhuddering parent, but the tremb⯑ling lover, would conſider it as ſtrong a bar to his marriage, as if his miſtreſs had been taken in inceſt.

They believe alſo in loup-garou's, or men⯑wolves; a gentleman of the firſt character here for learning and integrity, but who, unhappily for his country, is now no more, (Mr. Bauman, of the Privy Council of Cleves, and firſt paſtor of the reformed church,) related to me the ſtory of a man at Cologne who aſſumed the character of a loup-garou, and who lived by the pillage of whatever in that character he could lay his hands on for many years, inſo⯑much that he had amaſſed great wealth, as well in money as valuable moveables; but he was at laſt aſſaulted and taken, by a country man who ſwore he defied the devil and all his works, and who had been long marked with a general op⯑probrium for this daring diſbelief of evil ſpirits. This man was encountered by the loup-garou, on the day he was known to have ſold a quan⯑tity of corn at the Cologne market, and to have received the money; but ſo far was he from [141]tamely yielding up his honeſt profits to either man or beaſt, that inſtead of flying with terror before the wolf-man, or dropping his money⯑bag; he held the ſaid bag at the extent of his arm, which was a powerful one, and felled the thief to the earth, with that very gold and ſilver which he would have purloined. When he ſomewhat recovered the blow, our heroic farmer threw him like a ſtunned calf over his horſe, even in his wolves cloathing, and de⯑livered him over to the magiſtrate, who, after the due courſe of law, ordered him to be hanged in his loup-garou dreſs, in the public market-place of Cologne. One would have thought this diſaſter would have opened the eyes of ſuperſtition; but, alas, eyes hath ſhe, and ſeeth not! Neither are her votaries to be driven from the ſteadfaſt faith that was in them by the detection of a ſingle impoſtor. On the contrary the Colognians believe, at leaſt they have a tradition at this day, that the real loup⯑garou, being angry with the man that was hanged, got into him, and in order to be revenged, put it into the head of the farmer, that he might be taken up as a thief, and come to an untimely end; but that the inſtant the halter was round the pretender's neck, the ſpirit of the real wolf-man ſlipped out of him again, and enjoyed his triumph, to think how [142]cleverly he had brought his enemy to the gal⯑lows. Thus the very circumſtances that ought to weaken ſuperſution give it ſtrength.

Their credulity embraces alſo feveral other imaginary beings, particularly of the fairy tribe. Theſe, however, differ from our's in ſome of their manners and cuſtoms. They are of the ſame ſpecies, but inhabitants of a dif⯑ferent country, you know. The moſt popular of the fairies of Germany are ſuppoſed to be little men and women, who inhabit the iron and copper mines, and are, in general, very gracious and obliging. For inſtance, they will come in the night time into houſes, and when a maid ſervant happens to be on good terms with them, that is when ſhe believes in their power with all her might, they will clean her plates and diſhes after an entertainment; put her rooms in order, and even give her an idea of it in her ſleep, ſo that as a fairy was never known in this country to fib, though with us they are ſomewhat given to lying, ſhe indulges herſelf with a nap extraordinary; and is ſure to find all her work done to her hands when ſhe comes down. They come alſo into ſhops, warehouſes, &c. with the ſame induſtrious and good natured intention. The taylor riſes and finds the half finiſhed ſuit ready to take home; [143]the cobler his ſhoes, &c. Nevertheleſs, when ill-treated, theſe powerful little ſpirits are cruelly vindictive, and will hide, mangle, and deſtroy every thing before them: inſtead of aſſiſting the artiſan, they will pull his work to pieces, inſtead of befriending the poor maid ſer⯑vant, they will trepan her with fair promiſes, that thus cajoled, they may tempt her to lie in bed that ſhe may get a good ſcolding. In fine, thoſe perſons who take any delight in knowing our neighbours are on the whole upon a level with ourſelves, may pleaſe themſelves with the thought, that if foreigners have all the virtues, they have likewiſe all the weakneſſes of human nature.

I ſhould not forget under the article ſuper⯑ſition to mention that in the pretty country of [...] [...]uthward of Weſtphalia, they have an Idea that cats are to be reconciled to a new reſidence only by coercive meaſures. In pur⯑ſuance of which notion, a widow woman, at whoſe houſe I lodged, impriſoned a poor cat three nights and days in a dark room, to the entire deſtruction of my reſt, and almoſt to the cat's inſanity, in order to make her in love with her new houſe. Now in England, you know, where cats are not a whit more remarkable for an amiable diſpoſition, we ſhould have [144]ſtroked the poor animal till ſhe purred appro⯑bation: we ſhould have permitted her to feed and ſleep the firſt night by our fire-ſide, and ſo hoſpitably treated her, that at the breakfaſt table next morning, ſhe would have found her⯑ſelf one of the family.

Not that I would have you ſuppoſe I am an advocate for the feline race, except on general principles of juſtice and mercy. A dog is often an example to his maſter, and a proper object of his love, honour, imitation, and good faith. But a cat I take to be (with very rare exceptions indeed) both a traitor and a ſyco⯑phant. She is won to you only by fawnings, and if you puniſh her on ever ſo juſt a cauſe, ſhe either ſtrikes immediately, or owes you a grudge, the unexecuted malice of which ſhe can hold till an opportunity of vengeance occurs. Even when you imagine you have gained her affections, ſhe will deſert you, like a faithleſs lover, and elope from your arms.

Perhaps, you may not think this the proper moment to introduce an anecdote of one of theſe inſidious creatures. You may ſuſpect me of imitating the Grimalkin diſpoſition by ſit⯑ting down in malice. Were I about to become an accuſer it might be ſo: but what I have now [145]to mention exhibits no charge, though it will report an unlucky event.

In this very town of Cleves, which with its environs will detain us ſome time longer, I was reſiding with a Pruſſian family, during the time of the fair; which I ſhall paſs over, having nothing remarkable to diſtinguiſh it from other annual meetings, where people aſſemble to ſtare at, cheat each other, and divert themſelves, and to ſpend the year's ſavings in buying thoſe bargains which would have been probably better bought at home. One day after dinner, as the deſert was juſt brought on the table, the travelling German muſicians, who commonly ply the houſes at theſe times, preſented them⯑ſelves and were ſuffered to play, and juſt as they were making their bows for the money they received for their harmony, a bird-catcher who had rendered himſelf famous for educat⯑ing and calling forth the talents of the feathered race, made his appearance, and was well received by our party, which was numerous and benevolent. The muſicians, who had heard of this bird-catcher's ſame, begged per⯑miſſion to ſtay; and the maſter of the houſe who had a great ſhare of good-nature, indulged their curioſity: a curioſity, indeed, which every body participated; for all that we have [146]heard or ſeen of learned pigs, aſſes, dogs, and horſes was ſaid to be extinguiſhed in the won⯑derful wiſdom, which blazed in the genius of this birdcatcher's canary. The canary was produced, and the owner harangued him in the following manner, placing him upon his fore⯑finger. Bijou (jewel) you are now in the preſence of perſons of great ſagacity and honour: take heed you do not deceive the ex⯑pectations they have conceived of you from the world's report: you have got laurels: beware their withering. In a word, deport yourſelf like the bijou (the jewel) of canary birds, as you certainly are.

All this time the bird ſeemed to liſten, and, indeed, placed himſelf in the true attitude of attention, by ſloping his head to the ear of the man, and then diſtinctly nodding twice when his maſter left off ſpeaking; and if ever nods were intelligible and promiſſory, theſe were two of them.

That's good, ſays the maſter, pulling off his hat to the bird. Now, then, let us ſee if you are a canary of honour. Give us a tune:—The canary ſung. Pſhaw, that's too harſh: 'tis the note of a raven with a hoarſeneſs upon [147]him: ſomething pathetic. The canary whiſtled as if its little throat was changed to a lute. Faſter, ſays the man.—Slower—very well— but what a plague is this foot about, and this little head.—No wonder you are out, Mr. Bijou, when you forget your time. That's a jewel.—Bravo, bravo, my little man.

All that he was ordered or reminded of did he do to admiration. His head and foot beat time—humoured the variations both of tone and movement; and, "the ſound was a juſt echo to the ſenſe," according to the ſtricteſt laws of poetical, and (as it ought to be) of muſical compoſition—Bravo! bravo! re-echoed from all parts of the dining-room.—The muſicians ſwore the canary was a greater maſter of muſic than any of their band. And do you not ſhew your ſenſe of this civility, Sir, cries the birdcatcher, with an angry air. The canary bowed moſt reſpectfully, to the great delight of the company. His next achieve⯑ment was going through martial exerciſe with a ſtraw gun, after which, my poor bijou, ſays his owner, thou haſt had hard work, and muſt be a little weary: a few performances more, and thou ſhalt repoſe. Shew the ladies how to make a curtſey.

[148]The bird here croſſed his taper legs, and ſunk and roſe with an eaſe and grace that would have put half our ſubſcription aſſembly belles to the bluſh—That's my fine bird—and now a bow, head and foot correſponding. Here the ſtriplings for ten miles round London might have bluſhed alſo. Let us finiſh with an horn⯑pipe, my brave little fellow—that's it—keep it up, keep it up.

The activity, glee, ſpirit, and accuracy with which this laſt order was obeyed, wound up the applauſe, (in which all the muſicians joined, as well with their inſtruments as their clap⯑pings) to the higheſt pitch of admiration. Bijou, himſelf, ſeemed to feel the ſacred thirſt of fame, and ſhook his little plumes, and carolled an Io paean that ſounded like the con⯑ſcious notes of victory.

Thou haſt done all my biddings bravely, ſaid the maſter, careſſing his feathered ſervant; now then, take a nap, while I take thy place. Hereupon the canary went into a counterfeit ſlumber, ſo like the effect of the poppied god, firſt ſhutting one eye, then the other, then nod⯑ding, then dropping ſo much on one ſide, that the hands of ſeveral of the company were ſtretched out to ſave him from falling, and juſt [149]as thoſe hands approached his feathers, ſuddenly recovering and dropping as much on the other; at length the ſleep ſeemed to fix him in a ſteady poſture; whereupon the man took him from his finger, and laid him flat upon the table, where the man aſſured us he would re⯑main in a good ſound ſleep, while he himſelf had the honour to do his beſt to fill up the interval. Accordingly, after drinking a glaſs of wine, (in the progreſs of taking off which he was interrupted by the canary bird ſpringing ſuddenly up to aſſert his right to a ſhare, really putting his little bill into the glaſs, and then laying himſelf down to ſleep again) the owner called him a ſaucy fellow, and began to ſhew off his own independent powers of entertaining. The forte of theſe lay chiefly in balancing with a tobacco pipe, while he ſmoked with another, and ſeveral of the poſitions were ſo difficult to be preſerved, yet maintained with ſuch dex⯑terity, that the general attention was fixed upon him. But while he was thus exhibiting, an huge black car, who had been no doubt on the watch, from ſome unobſerved corner ſprung upon the table, ſeized the poor canary in its mouth, and ruſhed out of the window in deſpite of oppoſition. Though the dining room was emptied in an inſtant, it was a vain purſuit; the life of the bird was gone, and its [150]mangled body was brought in by the unfor⯑tunate owner in ſuch diſmay, accompanied by ſuch looks and language, as muſt have awaked pity in a miſanthrope. He ſpread him half⯑length over the table, and mourned his canary⯑bird with the moſt undiſſembled ſorrow. Well may I grieve for thee, poor little thing; well may I grieve: more than four years haſt thou fed from my hand, drank from my lip, and flept in my boſom. I owe to thee my ſupport, my health, my ſtrength, and my happineſs; without thee what will become of me. Thou it was who enſured my welcome in the beſt company. It was thy genius only made me welcome. But thy death is a juſt puniſhment for my vanity: had I relied only on thy happy powers, all had been well, and thou hadſt been perch'd on my finger, or lulled in my breaſt at this moment! but truſting to my own talents, and glorifying my⯑ſelf in them, a judgment has fallen upon me, and thou art dead and mangled on this table. Accurſed be the hour I entered this houſe! and more accurſed the deteſtable monſter that killed thee! Accurſed be myſelf, for I contri⯑buted. I ought not to have taken away my eyes when thine were cloſed in frolic. O, bijou, my deareſt only bijou, would I were dead alſo!

[151]As near as the ſpirit of his diſordered mind can be transfuſed, ſuch was the language and ſentiment of the forlorn birdcatcher; whoſe deſpairing motion and frantic air no words can paint. He took from his pocket a little green bag of faded velvet, and taking out of it ſome wool and cotton, that were the wrap⯑ping of whiſtles, bird calls, and other inſtru⯑ments of his trade, (all of which he threw on the table, "as in ſcorn,") and making a couch, placed the mutilated limbs and ravaged fea⯑thers of his canary upon it, and renewed his lamentations.

Theſe were now much ſoftened, as is ever the caſe, when the rage of grief yields to its tenderneſs: when it is too much overpowered by the effect to advert to the cauſe. It is need⯑leſs to obſerve to you, that every one of the company ſympathiſed with him. But none more than the band of muſicians, who, being engaged in a profeſſion that naturally keeps the ſenſibilities more or leſs in exerciſe, felt the diſtreſs of the poor bird-man with peculiar force. It was really a banquet to ſee theſe people gathering themſelves into a knot, and after whiſpering, wiping their eyes, and blow⯑ing their noſes, depute one from amongſt them to be the medium of conveying into the pocket [152]of the bird-man, the very contribution they had juſt before received for their own efforts. The poor fellow perceiving them, took from the pocket the little parcel they had rolled up, and brought out with it, by an unlucky accident, another little bag, at the ſight of which he was extremely agitated; for it con⯑tained the canary ſeed, the food of the "dear loſt companion of his art." There is no giving language to the effect of this trifling circum⯑ſtance upon the poor fellow; he threw down the contribution money that he brought from his pocket along with it, not with an ungrateful but with a deſperate hand. He opened the bag, which was faſtened with red tape, and tak⯑ing out ſome of the ſeed put it to the very bill of the lifeleſs bird, exclaiming—No, poor bijou, no—thou can'ſt not peck any more out of this hand, that has been thy feeding place ſo many years—thou can'ſt remember how happy we both were when I bought this bag full for thee. Had it been filled with gold thou had'ſt deſerved it. It ſhall be filled,—and with gold, ſaid the maſter of the houſe, if I could afford it.

The good man roſe from his ſeat, which had long been uneaſy to him, and gently taking the bag, put into it ſome ſilver; ſaying, as he [153]handed it to his neareſt neighbour, who will refuſe to follow my example; it is not a ſub⯑ſcription for mere charity, it is a tribute to one of the rareſt things in the whole world; namely, to real feeling, in this ſophiſtical, pretending, parading age. If ever the paſſion of love and gratitude was in the heart of man, it is in the heart of that unhappy fellow, and whether the object that calls out ſuch feelings be bird, beaſt, fiſh, or man, it is alike, virtue and— ought to be rewarded—ſaid his next neighbour, putting into the bag his quota. It is ſuper⯑fluous to tell you that after the ſeed had been taken wholly away, and put very delicately out of the poor man's ſight, every body moſt chearfully contributed to make up a purſe, to repair (as much as money could), the bird⯑man's loſs. The laſt perſon applied to, was a very beautiful German young lady, who as ſhe placed her bounty into the bag, cloſed it im⯑mediately after, and bluſhed. As there are all ſorts of bluſhes, (at leaſt one to every action of our lives, that is worth any characteriſtic feeling, ſuppoſing the actor can feel at all) Suſpicion would have thought this young lady, who was ſo anxious to conceal her gift, gave little or nothing; but candour who reaſons in a different manner, would ſuppoſe what was really the caſe—that it was a bluſh not of [154]avarice and deception, but of benevolence graced by modeſty. Curioſity, however, caught the bag, opened it, and turned out its contents, amongſt which was a golden ducat, that by its date and brightneſs had been hoarded. Ah ha, ſaid curioſity, who does this belong to, I wonder? Guilt and innocence, avarice and benignity, are alike honeſt in one point; ſince they all in the moment of attack, by ſome means or another, diſcover what they wiſh to conceal. There was not in the then large company a ſingle perſon, who could not have exclaimed to this young lady, with aſſurance of the truth—Thou art the woman! There was no denying the fact; it was written on every feature of her enchanting face. She ſtruggled, however, with the accuſation almoſt to tears, but they were ſuch tears, as would have given luſtre to the fineſt eyes in the world, for they gave luſtre to her's, and would have added effulgence to a ray of the ſun.

Well then, if no body elſe will own this neglected ducat, cried the maſter of the houſe, who was uncle to the lady abovementioned, I will: whereupon he took it from the heap, and exchanged it for two others, which enriched the collection.

While the buſineſs of the heart was thus carrying on, the poor birdman, who was the [155]occaſion and object of it, was at firſt divided by contrary emotions of pain and pleaſure: his eye ſometimes directed to the maſſacred canary, and ſometimes to the company: at length generoſity proved the ſtronger emotion, and grief ebbed away. He had loſt a bird, but he had gained the goodwill of many human beings. That bird, it is true, was his pride and ſupport, but this was not the criſis any longer to bewail its fate. He accepted the contribution-purſe, by one means or another filled like the ſack of Benjamin, even to the brim, and bowed but ſpoke not; then folding up the corpſe of the canary in its wool and cotton ſhroud, departed with one of thoſe looks, that the moment it is ſeen is felt and underſtood, but for which, being too powerful for deſcription, no language has yet been pro⯑vided. On going out he beckoned the muſicians to follow. They did ſo, ſtriking a few chords that would have graced the funeral of Juliet. My very ſoul purſued the ſounds, and ſo did my feet. I haſted to the outer door, and ſaw the bird-man contending about re⯑turning the money, which the founders of the benevolence (for ſuch were the muſicians) had ſubſcribed.

[156]I have nothing to add to this Gleaning, but a piece of information that belongs to it; the very next morning I was a witneſs to two traits of the heart of the maſter of the manſion where theſe tranſactions had paſt. A nobler minded man lived not—Alas, he is no more. On my coming down to breakfaſt the day after, I ſaw the footman departing with the cat who killed the bird; not, ſaid the gentleman, to put her to death for an act that was natural to her; but to put her where I know ſhe will be out of my fight, for I never could look at her again with⯑out being reminded of the moſt uncomfortable part of yeſterday's adventure: poor bijou! I have not a doubt but all we have done atones but ſcantily for the loſs of ſuch a friend. Juſt as he ſaid this, the niece, whoſe perſon and mind I have already gleaned for you, came into the breakfaſt room: And now, ſaid the old gentleman, to finiſh this buſineſs. Look ye, Henrietta, I gave you this new ducat to lay out at the fair in any manner you liked beſt: and though I think the way in which you diſpoſed of it the very beſt you could have choſen (nay no more bluſhing) I think it never ought to go out of our family; for do you know that I have taken it into my old ſuperſtitious head that the bleſſing of the Giver of all good will ſtay with us while ſuch a ducat remains amongſt us. I [157]therefore bought it back cheaply with two others. Age is ſuperſtitious, you know, my dear. Indulge me then love, and take care of it while I live, after which it ſhall be your's— and in the meantime, that you may not loſe your fairing, in this little purſe are ten others, that, though not ſo diſtinguiſhed by what, to my old heart, is more precious than the gold of Ophir, may ſerve well enough the common purpoſes of life.

Much of this was ſpoken with tender diffi⯑culty, and the gift was received with more: but ſhe loved the hand which in the firſt in⯑ſtance had enabled her to be generous too well not to reward it. Was not this, indeed, an illuſtration of the virtue of the man of Roſs, who ‘"Did good, yet bluſh'd to find it fame."’ To apologize to you for this ſtory, as I have ſaid on former occaſions, would be to inſult you and myſelf. I rather expect your thanks.

LETTER LXVI. TO THE SAME.

AND you tell me I am not diſappointed. I have your thanks. Under ſuch encourage⯑ments, I reſume the pen with alacrity. It is inconſiſtent with the plan of this correſpondence to ſet down a formal liſt of roads or routes, or to preſent a meagre catalogue of cities, towns, and villages. When you are at a centrical place, as Cleves, for inſtance, you can ſcarce take an unpleaſant courſe in ſuch a Duchy, and if you are diſpoſed to make the tour of Weſt⯑phalia, on a plan of pleaſure, or health, it is nearly immaterial whether from this its capital, you verge towards the South, or to the Weſt, the Eaſt, or the North; ſo abundant are the beauties on every ſide. But, previous to a more extenſive excurſion, there are in reſerve for the deliberate traveller a great variety of rural beauties, which lie entirely out of the ordinary track, and which are, therefore, generally paſt, not only unſeen, but unheard of. To ſome of theſe I ſhall direct you, becauſe they deſerve your attention, and will, probably, never otherwiſe have it. A ſtranger no ſooner gains [159]Cleves, than he ſets off for Duſſeldorf, Maeſ⯑tricht, Aix la Chapelle, or Spa; and all the ſweet ſide ſcenery, and enchanting villages be⯑hind are left neglected, becauſe they do not happen to lie in the broad high road of a large town: and to drive from one large town to another ſeems to be one of the grand reſolutions of modern travel. For this reaſon I preſume it is, that a real lover of the ſtill ſmall voice of nature may reſide in an out-of-the-WAY village, in any part of the Dutch, Pruſſian, or German dominions, and never ſo much as hear it men⯑tioned, even amongſt the traditions of the place, that an Engliſh traveller had ſojourned therein for a ſingle day. Hence (to ſpeak only of the hundreds of deliciouſly-ſequeſtered ſpots, that are ſituated in the neighbourhood of Arnheim, and of Nimeguen, one way, and of Cleves and Emeric another) you may as well look for the Emperor of Morocco as for an elegant fo⯑reigner, or any reſident foreigner at all, except here and there a ſtraggling family, whom ne⯑ceſſity hath driven into retreat. But whether obſerved or not by the duſt-loving eyes of vanity and faſhion, nature goes ſilently and bloomingly on. I would recommend you, my friend, and all other of her genuine admirers, to ſeek her in the agreeable country of Kuyh, in the little principality of Boxmeer, and in [160]the enchanting bounds of Pruſſian Guelderland. All of theſe, indeed, poſſeſs beauties, that to be won, muſt be woo'd; for they are ſeveral leagues out of the common, or, if you pleaſe, of the faſhionable track: but then they are in the direct road to nature, and their paths are peace.

I performed the whole tour of Pruſſian Guel⯑derland on foot, and I know not the period of my life that has been ſo truely paſtoral. I ſtopped at every town and village, and verily think I ſhould have been welcome at every houſe. You are convinced of the general fer⯑tility of the ſoil by the abundant fleeces of the ſheep, and of the ſalubrity of the air by the florid countenances of the people. Though the country muſt, in a general view, be called level, it is furniſhed with great variety. Long, meandring green lanes, pleaſant interſperſed thickets (principally of fir and oak) Arcadian⯑looking cottages, all in the beſt repair; vene⯑rable caſtles, an infinity of towers, ſteeples, ſpires, convents, and ancient abbeys; meadow⯑grounds, often compacted into little verdant encloſures, often expanded into ſpacious fields; the whole fertilized by delicious ſtreams, fed by their parent flood: the Maiſe, which, were it near my natal banks, would become a rival [161]to the Thames—all theſe attracting objects diverſify the view. It muſt be owned that a league of uniformly dreary heath ground fre⯑quently intervenes; but even this is relieved by herds, flocks, and ſhepherds; and, by the power of contraſt, the ſterility becomes a not unintereſting object in a traveller's picture.

For the inhabitants, I ſcruple not to propoſe them, in addition to my former obſervations, amongſt the models of imitation for the good people of England, in point of pleaſantry, and uſeful courteſy. I ſhould be worſe than un⯑generous, I ſhould be ungrateful, were I to refuſe them their merits on this head. In the courſe of one day's Gleaning, as if deſtiny had planned it on purpoſe to ſhew me ſome ſpeci⯑mens of real urbanity, amongſt a ſet of perſons who had certainly never ſtudied it as an art of politeneſs, but cultivated it as a gift of nature, I was bleſt with the happy faculty of loſing my way frequently. As I paſſed along from a little village called Geyſteren, to another named Venrai, a ſhepherd, perceiving me long before I ſaw him, came running to aſſure me that I was out of all tracks, and then enquiring my deſtination, attended me on my way, till it was too direct for any one, but a man who deviates by deſign, to miſs. His ſheep-dog quarrelled [162]with my little ſpaniel, and the ſhepherd, de⯑ſirous to teach him ſome of his own good manners, held him by the collar, and ha⯑rangued him on the ſubject of rudeneſs to ſtrangers; during which eloquence he growled yet more, as croſs creatures generally do when forced to hear good advice. By that happy knack of getting into a wrong road with which I am gifted, I was obliged to aſk for the right juſt at ſun-ſetting. I ſaw a peaſant at his door. Pray, friend, is this the way to Venrai?—"This is the firſt houſe that belongs to quite a dif⯑ferent town, ſir. You are a mile further to the left than you ought to be." Off ſet my peaſant without ſaying another word, and did not ſtop till we had gained the firſt houſe of the hamlet I had enquired for. "You muſt now go right out, ſir," ſaid the guide, and, before I had time to thank or reward him, he was out of ſight.

Earlier in the day I had enquired of an ancient woman, on her way to the church, the road to a little village called Wel, on the banks of the Maiſe. She informed me, but ſuſpecting I might not underſtand her, ſhe ſtood, unaſked, till I had taken the right path. The good woman then went away ſatisfied that ſhe had done me a ſervice. By a ſort of characteriſtic fatality, I made the ſecond turning the reverſe [163]of my information. "To the right about, ſir," quoth the old woman, who eſpied me from another place, where ſhe had made a ſtand. You, my friend, who know my methods, will not wonder to hear that I followed the impulſe which led me to run acroſs the fields, purely to take hold of her hand, and give her the thanks of my heart. By an impulſe no leſs genuine, and, perhaps, more generous, ſhe went back to my ground with me, and would not leave me till ſhe had made, as one would have thought, another miſtake impoſſible.

Yet I contrived it. The bewitching ſtory of Marmontel's ſhepherdeſs of the Alps, which I read to relieve a long walk over a heath, con⯑ducted me, juſt at the termination of the ſaid heath, and of the ſaid ſtory, into a farmer's yard. Being Sabbath-day, the farmer was regaling himſelf with folded arms, and a ſhort pipe in his mouth. Suppoſing I had buſineſs with him, he conducted me into his houſe, which was ſurely kept by the goddeſs of Pro⯑preté (neatneſs) if ſuch a divinity there be. I explained, and apologiſed. He ſmiled, and thanked me.—"But you muſt be weary, ſir; repoſe, and refreſh." In an inſtant, as if by magic, the table was ſpread, and ſo white a cloth; bread, butter, and milk ſo good, and [164]a welcome ſo cordial, that I muſt beg of you, if ever you make the tour of Pruſſian Guelder⯑land, to attempt wandering, by happy negli⯑gence, or, if that fails you, by well-timed con⯑trivance, into a farmer's yard; no matser where, as this man is but a ſpecimen of his countrymen.

Nor were theſe examples of urbanity all: at noon of the ſame day, I was reſcued from the moſt imminent danger, by a good natured fellow, who informed me I was making the beſt of my way into a quagmire. Nor is this courteſy confined to the peaſantry. It extends to all claſſes. At no ungleanable diſtance from my proper path, I was attracted by a magni⯑ficent caſtle, and, relying on the courteous, general character of the country, I entered its venerable and awe-inſpiring gate. The family were at Liege. The domeſtic chaplain only remained at home. He was ſaying grace, and croſſing himſelf, juſt as I entered his apart⯑ment.—Pardon the ill-tim'd viſit of a curious Engliſh ſtranger—was my opening ſpeech. "Well-tim'd, I hope it will prove, as I am ſure it is welcome," was his reply, riſing from his ſeat, and placing me in it. I had already, in my kind of running way, taken refreſhments at half a dozen cottages; an apple at one, a [165]cake at another, a cordial at a third, and ſo on; but the good chaplain "ſo gaily preſs'd and ſmil'd," as he ſet a clean cover, napkin, ſilver fork, and ſpoon, before me, I could not but accept the invitation. After our repaſt, learning the object of my viſit, he made with me the tour of the chateau, which, had it been inſpected by a critic in paintings, pictures, and an amateur of Gothic architecture, would have been the journey of a day. In our way back to his room, we paſſed into a very noble garden, with the fruits and flowers of which he loaded my pockets and hands; and when, after a parting glaſs of wine, I left the apartment in which I had firſt ſeen him—"Remember, ſir, this has been parſon's fare; the next viſit you make, the owners of the caſtle, whom I ſo faintly repreſent, and who are to be here to-night, will do you more honour." The name of this fine caſtle is Wel, on the Weſt ſide of a very pictureſque little Pruſſian village, upon the banks, and almoſt upon the brims of the Rhine, that majeſtic river, which, you know, common geography tells you, nd truly tells, riſes from two ſprings in the Alps, and runs North to the lake of Conſtance, then Weſt to Baſil, afterwards North between Swabia and Alſace, then paſſing through the Palatinate, [166]the Electorate, and the Duchy of Cleves, at laſt enters the Netherlands, five miles below Cleves, where it becomes broad and rapid. The direct courſe of this noble river is above 500 miles; it is generally one quarter, and, in ſome places, half a mile broad, and from one and a half to ſeven fathoms in depth. It is navigable to Bafil in Switzerland, which is four hundred miles, by long boats with round bottoms, which commonly go at the rate of four miles an hour, and, in theſe, paſſengers are conveyed at the eaſy rate of one ſtiver (one penny) for five miles: but the navigation of the Rhine, like that of the Danube, is inter⯑rupted by nine cataracts, the principal of which is at Shaffhauſan, in Switzerland, where the whole river falls from an height of 75 feet. But what is there in the whole of this deſcrip⯑tion, my friend, that fills the imagination, or warms the heart, like the philanthropy of the chaplain of the caſtle? The ſimple ſtream of good will, that flowed from his bounty to me, indicated a ſoul, whoſe "genial current" had it not been checked by more obſtructions than the cataracts of the Danube, or the Rhine, would have fertilized and enriched more than thoſe mighty waters. I have purſued the courſe of both theſe rivers, for many a beautiful league. [167]I have gazed, with all the fondneſs of a real lover of nature, and, with ſomething of a poet's eye, on their numerous objects. I have painted, with an ardent pencil, ſome of their landſcapes; I have often wondered and ad⯑mired, but never yet did I ſee, or feel, on their boſoms, or on their banks, unleſs proceeding from ſimilar ſources—the ſources of philan⯑thropy—any thing ſo touching as the little ſcenery of an hour, in and about the Chateau of Wel, ſo true it is that ‘"An honeſt man's the nobleſt work of God."’ But, alas, fortune, according to her caprices, is either the laviſh fountain that feeds the ſtream of human benevolence, or the ſtupendous and immoveable cataract, that contracts its courſe, and circumſcribes its power. Of our Pruſſian prieſt, I have only further to ſay, that every look, word, and action, proved ‘"Large was his bounty, and his ſoul ſincere;’ And I have not a doubt that ‘"Heav'n has as large a recompenſe beſtow'd,’ in the teſtimony of his own conſcience.

Friends he ought to have in abundance, but he has gained one more, while there is the breath of life in the Gleaner. Nay, I am willing [168]to extend the date of my gratitude towards him beyond the grave; for if any thing that hath been done in this ſublunary ſphere is worthy to be remembered in another, it is ſurely the fair deeds, and authors of a generoſity, that is free from being polluted by the droſſy ma⯑terials of the preſent world. If ſo, what a claim has the unbought, and unſullied act of this blameleſs prieſt on the memory of your friend, when his powers of recollection ſhall be immortal. Since the day on which I re⯑ceived the bounty I have not ſeen the bene⯑factor, but I often pleaſe myſelf by reflecting that my ſenſe of his goodneſs will be amongſt the ſacred pleaſures that I may reaſonably hope ſhall not "quit me when I die."

We muſt not take leave of the Rhine till I have mentioned the amuſement in re⯑ſerve for you, on the borders of that Imperial river. The continual commerce and paſſage of people over the different ferrys of that, as well as its neighbour, the Maiſe, is very di⯑verting; and, though you ſometimes ſeem in a country where, if one of the villages was emptied of its inhabitants, they would ſcarcely fill a boat, you will perceive multitudes almoſt every half hour during the Summer, pouring in ſhoals to the ſtrand. I was much [166]entertained in a ramble I made to the pretty village of Elton, which is in the neighbour⯑hood of Cleves, and one of the moſt diſtin⯑guiſhed beauties of the Duchy, part ſtanding upon an almoſt Cambrian-looking mountain, and part in a delightful valley. It is ſituate on the other ſide of the Lower Rhine, on paſſing which, I found myſelf in the Pont⯑Volant (Flying-bridge-boat) with, at leaſt, an hundred people, the greater part of whom were ſinging hymns, pſalms, and Ave-Mary's, in chorus. Never did I behold ſuch a collection of ſorrowful countenances, nor hear ſuch a concert of ſolemn cries: and I ſhould have been juſtified in ſuppoſing the whole party to be mad, had I not been told they were only penitential. They were Pruſſian peaſants come from their pilgrimage to Kaveler, a village, (where I may uſe the word millions, in ſpeaking of the numbers) which yearly receives the homage of the German people, of all ranks and ſexes. It is the Mecca of this quarter of the globe. The groupe in queſtion were juſt come from a confeſſion of their ſins, and were filled with compunction, or with conſcious abſolution; and as the firſt or laſt of theſe operated, they were ſunk to the duſt with ſhame, or treading in air with joy. On their landing, they formed themſelves into two [170]bands, ſinging in proceſſion, and with their hats off. I gleaned them all the way from Elton in the vale to Elton on the Hill, and never beheld ſo moving a curioſity. Never⯑theleſs, a ſmall circumſtance happened, that, for a moment, diſconcerted the gravity of their progreſs. In aſcending the ſteep, one of the penitents made a falſe ſtep, and came down in ſo unlucky a way, that Religion her⯑ſelf muſt have ſmiled, as, indeed, ſhe did, in the perſons of thoſe her ſterneſt, and perhaps trueſt votaries: for there is a certain ſpark of waggery in human nature that can no more help the force of ridicule, on the ſight of a ludicrous object, than hunger can reſiſt ap⯑peaſing appetite, when the means are in its power. And this fall was ludicrous enough, being, indeed, an expoſure of what has, by proſcription, and by habit, been long con⯑ſidered as the moſt ridiculous part of human nature: at leaſt the one that has been moſt ſub⯑ject and obnoxious to ridicule. The poor penitent, indeed, would, I believe, have laught herſelf, but that ſhe looked on her fall as a judgement, and ſo contented herſelf with doubling her Ave-Marias, and continuing the proceſſion with more zeal than ever.

I will not trouble you with the long liſt of religious miracles believed to be wrought by [171]the Virgin in favour of the good Catholics that reſort to Kaveler. However great theſe may be, the preſent race of French certainly have no faith in them; but on the contrary, when the armies of the Republic took poſſeſſion of this place, the plunder was not only carried to the holy altars, but to the ſacred figure itſelf. The ſhrine was ſtripped of all its long collected treaſures, and, as ſcarce any votary goes empty handed, theſe were immenſe: beſides which, a rigorous contribution was levied on the inha⯑bitants; an exorbitant ſupply of ſtockings, boots, ſhoes, blankets, muſkets, &c. for the army was inſiſted on; the image of the Virgin was ſacrilegiouſly polluted, and that of the Saviour of the world very narrowly eſcaped the mock ceremony of the guillotine, the modern Iſraelites, however, repeated their unhallowed practice, which I think I have before men⯑tioned ſomewhere, of placing the red cap of licentiouſneſs on its head, and writing on its ſide (as reſolving to refuſe even the Son of God his title) Voila, notre Ci-devant Seigneur.— Behold he who was formerly our Lord. His ſacred head was ranſomed at no ſmall coſt. When this place was retaken by the Auſtrians, the viſits of congratulation and condolence drew together an almoſt incalculable multitude of ſupplicants, from every quarter of the Ger⯑man [172]Empire. Perhaps, the devotion on that occaſion muſt go into ſome exceſſes; but I leave you to judge whether the extreme of penitence or of plunder, is the evil moſt to be palliated.

The day ſucceeding this I ſtrolled ſome leagues farther into the country, and being overtaken by one of thoſe paſſing ſhowers, which in ſpring time collect, drop, and diſperſe almoſt in the ſame inſtant, I took ſhelter in a road-ſide hut, in which I caught the labourers juſt ſitting themſelves down to dinner. There were thirteen perſons, including the maid ſer⯑vant, who having ſet the food on the table, took her chair amongſt them. Their repaſt conſiſted of nothing but one very large diſh of potatoes, for which they returned God, both before and after eating, as much, poſſibly more thanks than he receives from many of his creatures, on whom he beſtows the richeſt delicacies of his creation. It was truly a picture, and a very beautiful one, drawn by the faithful hand of nature, of ſocial happineſs and religious decency, (for which the peaſantry of Germany are remarkable) amidſt the heavy duties and toils of life. I have only given you a ſingle ſpecimen of a univerſal and invariable practice.

[173]With reſpect to government, all kings and high authorities will have, at leaſt, an equal number of enemies and friends. Of the former, the preſent Pruſſian monarch has his ſhare; and yet, as far, at leaſt, as the interior regulation of his kingdom is concerned, there ſeems very little juſt cauſe of complaint. Where a ſtanding army is enormous and per⯑petual, there muſt be proportionate levies on ſome part of the people, to ſupport that diviſion of the citizens that take up arms in protection of the reſt. Yet, I know not the part of the earth, where more liberty of ſpeech or action is indulged than in the Pruſſian territories. Political ſubjects are, indeed, forbidden, but this, as uſual, only gives edge to the deſire of doing what is inhibited: accordingly the monarch is cut up and carved at every public table in Pruſſia, with as much freedom of abuſe as even a modern patriot could well long for. The eaſe with which the little folks ap⯑pear to live, notwithſtanding the exaction of royal rights, might be envied by the great folks of any nation. Their houſes, and cottages are actually overſtocked, crouded with furniture; and although there is little or no ſotting in the common public houſes, each ordinary beer-houſe, I am convinced, contains double the quantity of pots, glaſſes, china, &c. which [174]would be neceſſary to equip an Engliſh kitchen. In ſhort, the only miſery-ſtruck houſes to be ſeen in Pruſſia, or generally ſpeaking in the German empire, are thoſe of the nobility and gentry in declining circumſtances. In their abodes, indeed, your generous heart would in vain ſeek for the comforts and accommodations of the peaſantry. Diſmantled caſtles, chateaus in decay without, and nearly empty within, tawdry beds, time or moth-eaten tapeſtry, ruſty armories, broken pillars, and every ſign of high birth in low circumſtances, are exhibited to your aching ſight. Yet the labour and dif⯑ficulty with which the proprietors of theſe fragments endeavour to conceal theſe diſtreſſes is wonderful. To ſuch as have feeling hearts it is even pitiable. They keep up the family carriage, the family train of domeſtics, and the family liveries, which are overloaded with ornament, and almoſt ſtarve themſelves to feed their vanity. Hence on a going out day, the magnificence of which is the oeconomy, the almoſt famine of a month, a paſſing ſpectator would miſtake gaiety for happineſs, and gran⯑deur as only a ſuperfluity of wealth. But never could it more truly be ſaid, that "all which glitters is not gold." All this inconvenience and indigence ariſes from the cruel neceſſity they are under to preſerve the ways of men of [175]family without the means. A Pruſſian gentle⯑man may not, conſiſtently with anceſtral dignity, enter into any ſort of profitable commerce to eke out a ſlender patrimony: for trade though it might enrich the pocket is thought very much to impoveriſh the blood; on which account theſe martyrs to family honours go half naked and more than half un⯑fed. And while the proprietors of a few miſerable and mortgage-eaten acres are ſtarving upon their inherited pittance, and are right honourably in want of the neceſſaries of life, the plebeians, who are not forbid to make their blood ſtill poorer in order to preſerve its purity, may carry on all the gainful arts without any other loſs than the chance of being ſtarved upon principles of good-breeding.

The little Signiory of Boxmeer, about ſeven leagues from Cleves, and five from Nimeguen, has claim to much of your attention. It is ſingularly ſituated: it is only a ſhort mile diſtant from a part of Holland. You have but to ferry acroſs the Maiſe, and you are in Pruſſia. On the other ſide of a ſmall hamlet, you are in the dominions of the Emperor. To the right and left about a league you are in two other diſtinct Signiories, and in itſelf it is a principal⯑ity ſo abſolute, that life and death is in the [176]power of the reigning Prince, (who is of the illuſtrious houſe of Hollenzollen) and whoſe diſpoſition makes his deſpotic power a mere ſhadow of authority; for he is the parent of the people, and they enjoy all the privileges of an happy Republic. Yet even in this little well governed ſtate, there are patriots who have been once viſited and plundered by the French; yet who are ſtill wiſhing the return of thoſe ravages. How unaccountable!

The Boxmeer farmers cultivate a moſt beau⯑ful ſeed they call ſparcette, which yields two crops in the ſeaſon, and the after one is gene⯑rally the beſt. The verdure is more exquiſite than any thing I have ever ſeen: it reſembles in figure our wheat when very young, but ſurpaſſes it abundantly in colour. The cows prefer it to graſs, and return for it moſt excellent butter.

There are two Carmelite Convents in Box⯑meer, one of which is for women. This latter I gleaned: (the other has nothing glean-worthy.) At the gate of the Convent for the men, I met a gentleman with whom I had been formerly acquainted: he appeared very penſive, and begged I would defer my viſit to the Convent till the next day, and take my coffee at his [177]houſe. I attended him. On our way to his villa, he told me that the object of his viſit at the Convent was to converſe with the ſuperior on the ſubject of his niece, who was to enter upon her noviciate the next day. You remember Fanchette, perhaps, Sir, the handſome girl whom on your former viſit to this village, you uſed to call the Boxmeer Bloſſom. Her ſiſter if you recollect had buried herſelf alive; for you know my opinion on the ſubject—ſome little time before you left us—and to-morrow ſhe finiſhes her career, by taking the veil, So that I ſhall loſe both my domeſtic comforts for ever without any hope of ſeeing them again; and you know how dear their company was to me, eſpecially ſince my ſon continues a profli⯑gate, and has deſerted me—I was both affected and ſurpriſed at this intelligence; for the Boxmeer Bloſſom was freſh in my remem⯑brance, and I recollect the regret with which I ſaw her ſiſter purſue the fancy ſhe had taken on encloſing herſelf. This latter, indeed, was ſomewhat of a penſive caſt, and had if I may ſo ſay, a bias to ſecluſion, with the ſuppoſed incite⯑ment of a tender diſappointment: but the former was gay by nature, even to excentricity, and was addreſſed by the man of her heart, with the ſanction of her uncle, who was both able and willing to unite fortune with love.

[178]On entering the uncle's houſe, we were told by a ſervant that Fanchette was gone on a cir⯑cuit to her neighbours to pay them her eternal adieus, but left word that ſhe ſhould return to make her uncle's coffee. She performed her promiſe with ſo much exactneſs that as the words uncle's coffee were pronounced, ſhe was almoſt in the act of pouring it out. Her air had loſt none of its pleaſantry, her features none of their beauty: ſhe was ſtill the Bloſſom of Boxmeer.

I will relieve you again from the irkſome iteration of ſays I, ſays he, and ſays ſhe, by giving you our chat in dialogue.

I began to fear, Fanchette, that you would have been ſeduced from my coffee table on this, alas, laſt evening, by ſome of your young companions.

O fie! how could you think ſo! though every body aſked me, and on refuſal, would have accompanied me here, but there was ſo much weeping and wailing about nothing that I really begged of them to ſtay at home.

Nothing do you call it, my Bloſſom, to know one of their friends is going out of the world to-morrow morning.

Ah ha, Sir, ſo you are come back. Why, really by all your regrets, one would think I was already at the point of death, and going to be buried.—It is as vain, l'ſuppoſe, to tell you as I have told others, that I am going to be happier than I have yet ever been.

But is it not both death and burial?

I aſk the ſame queſtion?

And I make juſt the ſame anſwer that I have already done to hundreds; but as you are reſolved to have it ſo, my death let it be. I hope, however, Sir, you will do me the honour to aſſiſt at my funeral? I will preſent you with a ticket of admiſſion to the ceremony. And in the mean time, as I have a great deal to do, as you muſt conſider all my worldly affairs are to be ſettled to night, we muſt make haſte and get the coffee over.

What is yet omitted then? I ſhall be ſorry to loſe your company.

That's very obliging, but you know that when I am to be buried in a few hours it takes ſome little time to prepare one's ſelf.

Soon after this ſhe made her exit, but in a few minutes came back to beg I would indulge [180]her with a moment's converſation in the garden. —I remember you perfectly, ſaid ſhe, and feel uncomfortable that you ſhould imagine I treat lightly the act I am about to do: but, beſides that, from my very inmoſt ſoul, I look upon as a feſtival, what my friends call a funeral, I love my uncle moſt dearly, though he continues to oppoſe my happineſs in the only point wherein it conſiſts, and as I cannot reſiſt his tears, though I can his arguments, I have no other way but an apparent unconcern. Comfort him, therefore, as the laſt favour I intreat of you; perſuade him to reconcile himſelf to my felicity—and God preſerve you.

She hereupon gave me her hand, and waving it ſo as to forbid reply, went ſmiling out of the garden and ſought her chamber.

The next morning ſhe roſe the ſecond in the houſe. As I am uſually the firſt of every family, go where I will, from a long-indulged habit of "enjoying the cool, the fragrant hour," we had another [ſhort téte-à-tête, in which ſhe informed me ſhe had juſt come from taking an everlaſting leave of a featherbed, ſheets, and ſhift, which were to be exchanged for very oppoſite pieces of furniture. The ceremony of throwing away her dreſs cap, and [181]all its plumery, as a ſign of her renouncing the vanities of the world, was ſtill to be performed, as had previouſly been ſettled.

Her deportment was more aweful than on the former day, but her attempered air, and ſober ſtep, took nothing from her perſonal attractions.

I ſoon loſt ſight of her, on a promiſe to attend her in her laſt moments. She ſaid the neceſſity, as well as the time of aſſumed viva⯑city was now paſt, but that ſhe felt a wiſh I ſhould gratify my curioſity, and again recom⯑mended her good uncle to my care, obſerving, that, though he was too fond of the world, he was one of the worthieſt perſons in it. She then departed for the convent, which, indeed, almoſt joined to her uncle's houſe, and I found that the ceremony would begin in two hours.

You will perceive that I had an intereſt in becoming witneſs to a ſcene like this; and I feel, while I write, that you are not without a wiſh to receive a faithful Gleaning of it. De⯑pend upon it then in my next. In the inter⯑val, and always, your wiſhes are mine.

LETTER LXVII. TO THE SAME.

JUST as I was entering into reflec⯑tions on the ſubject of my laſt, and had brought myſelf to believe, that every individual ought to be the architect of his, or her own happi⯑neſs, ſeeing the ideas about it were as different as mens minds, features and underſtandings, the bereaved uncle came down ſtairs in deep mourning. The idea of an interment had ſettled itſelf in his ſoul, and he indulged it. I could perceive he had been weeping, and that it was not only the "cuſtomary ſuit of ſolemn black" which he had put on. He took me by the hand, after more than an hour's pauſe; during which, he either rocked himſelf up and down in his chair,—cover'd his face with his hand,—or ſighed heavily.

It is amongſt the ſolemn maxims of my life, never to reaſon with a man in this kind of ſituation. One may as well talk of ſobriety to an intoxicated perſon, as of patience and reſignation, or the folly of grieving, to a mind overborne by ſorrow. The Convent-bell arous'd him, and ſtill holding my hand, (his [183]own trembling as he ſpoke)—Hark! the poor Fanchette's funeral-bell tolls!—we muſt be going! I obeyed in ſilence. A great multi⯑tude were waiting in the antichamber of the convent: but by favor, and by intereſt, (both which have their effect, even in the temples devoted to thoſe who have renounced the world,) we were immediately admitted into the gal⯑lery, and obtained ſeats that commanded the chapel, wherein the ceremony was to be per⯑formed. Indeed our places were directly in front of the very part where the ſiſters were to take their ſtation.

Only two of the Novices were in the Chapel, and thoſe were ſtrewing the floor with freſh⯑gathered flowers, and ever-greens; and at that end of the apartment where the chief objects of the day were to be diſplayed, was a large piece of green carpeting. Soon after theſe preliminary preparations, which have all their effect on the mind, as tending to inflate curioſity, the ceremonies of the entrance, (which were not a little impoſing likewiſe,) began. Firſt came in the ſuperior of the convent, then the nuns, according to their order, and then the two ſiſters, who were conducted by two ſiſters, to a little altar in the centre of the room, ſeparated from the gal⯑lery, [184]only by a ſlight and open partition. Iſabel, ſo was the elder ſiſter named, was placed on the right, and Fanchette on the left. We had a complete view of both. Each had a lighted taper in her hand, and their head⯑dreſſes were diſtinguiſhed by the blue hood, and the white. There was enough of family ſimilitude left in their features to diſcover their relationſhip: It had been much ſtronger, but the reſemblance was, in great meaſure, dimi⯑niſhed by their oppoſite ſituations in life. Iſabel had now been twelve months in a man⯑ner out of the world, and in the practiſe of all the auſterities of the Carmelite order; and, though theſe are not ſo rigid as ſome others, the regulations they preſcribe are more than ſufficient to take out of the cheek that bloom, which human ſociety, nature, and the heart, ſo liberally beſtow upon youth: beſides which, Iſabel had ſomething of a conſtitutional pale, correſponding to the penſive colour of her mind,—if I may ſo expreſs myſelf. Fan⯑chette, on the contrary, although ſhe had yielded to a ſentiment that determined her to devote herſelf, had too recently taken her leave of the world, and of the gay and freſhning air it breathes—(in the country at leaſt,)—and was, moreover, by diſpoſition, ſo impaſſion'd, that the contraſt betwixt her and Iſabel was the [185]more ſtriking. The eyes of both were extremely dark, but although thoſe of Iſabel were (from the extinguiſhed complexion of her cheeks,) more deep, and perhaps more intereſting, than Fanchette's, they were of a more ſubdued and dying luſtre: Fanchette's, were "as the radiance of the riſen day", and her ſiſter's, as the parting beam of a ſun, prema⯑turely clouded, even at noon.

On their reaching the altar, the ſuperior of the men's convent addreſſed the two ſiſters, in an exhortation replete with unaffected elo⯑quence, and to which they gave the moſt fix'd attention. This done, Iſabel, who was to take the veil, aroſe, and between two of the ſiſters, came forward to make her profeſſion; which, though in Latin, was delivered with the moſt admirable articulation, and claſſical propriety, kneeling before the Prieſt. Then followed the prayers appointed for the occa⯑ſion.

The Prieſt having laid the proper dreſſes of the order on a table before him, aſſorted them. Meantime, the ſuperior took off the white, or noviciate veil, and enrobed Iſabel in black, but over this under veſtment was placed the white cloth cloak, and the neck and head dreſs [186]of black linen. A broad belt and the beads were then ſettled. The Prieſt dipp'd a bruſh in holy water, with which he ſprinkled the Devo⯑tee: and during this ceremony, the moſt ſolemn airs were played on the organ, in which the profeſſed join'd, apparently with her whole ſoul. She was reconducted to her ſeat, where ſhe remained at her devotions, while her ſiſter underwent the ceremonies of the Noviciate. Theſe differ little from the other, except that ſhe was inveſted with the white head cloth inſtead of the black.

But, previous to the aſſumption of theſe, ſhe delivered a box to the Prieſt, from which were taken the richeſt ornaments ſhe had made uſe of while in the world. The holy Father threw them on the floor with an air of diſdain, and with yet greater indignation Fanchette trampled them under her feet, as objects unworthy her future attention. In a former part of the ceremonials, while her ſiſter was putting on the eternal veil, I obſerved that the before animated countenance of Fanchette became ſuddenly pallid, but while ſhe was renouncing theſe her worldly ornaments, the blood ſallied into her charming face, as if to give in a more powerful evidence of her entire diſavowal of all the pomps and vanities of [187]life. And now ſucceeded ſeveral grand, and truly ſpirit-ſtirring choruſſes, of Prieſts, Nuns, and of the congregation. High maſs was next performed in the body of the convent below. This pageant, with all its prieſtly ornaments, tingling of bells, and the ſeducing apparatus of incenſe and of ſacrifice, are ſo well known, and have been ſo well deſcribed by various authors, that I ſhall paſs on to more new and intereſting objects. Amongſt theſe your heart will diſtinguiſh the two ſincere and ſorrow-ſtruck lovers of theſe beau⯑teous victims. Both were preſent; the one in the vain hope of prevailing on Fanchette, even while at the altar, to change her cruel reſolution; the other to attempt this alſo, or at worſt to enjoy the afflicting luxury of ſeeing this Iſabel tear herſelf from his hope for ever; not, as I was informed, without a faint idea of the poſſibility that the ſudden ſight of him whom ſhe had once fondly loved, might change her vow, in theſe the laſt moments of her power, to conſecrate it to love inſtead of reli⯑gion. Theſe young men were both of reſpecta⯑ble connexions, of decent fortunes, and of blameleſs characters: the name of Iſabel's lover was Bernard, and that of Fanchette, Lacrew.

[188]They had both placed themſelves ſo as per⯑fectly to ſee; but only one of them to be ſeen by the beloved object. Lacrew relied upon an open attack, and, therefore, kept conſtantly in view of the fair citadel; Bernard conceived more hope from an ambuſcade, and, therefore, by way of maſked battery, entrenched himſelf behind a pillar on one ſide of the gallery, from whence he could make a ſortie at the moment he judged moſt favourable. His motive for thus attempting to carry the place by ſurpriſe was ſtrong; he had been extremely ill, and Iſabel, to whom a report had been made of it, had reaſon to ſuppoſe herſelf the cauſe, particularly as his ſickneſs increaſed from the day, that, (in reply to his ſtrongeſt urgency, to ſpare his life while yet in her power,) ſhe had refuſed, but, confeſſed to a confidential friend, that, though ſhe felt more emotion at the account of his diſtreſs than ſhe ought to do, ſhe could not ſuffer him to work her from her pious purpoſe. But the perſon who carried this account to him, conveyed it, in the uſual way of ſecrets, to another confidential friend, who depoſited it, in ſolemn truſt alſo, to a third, who, with the like ſacred injunction, communicated it to Bernard himſelf; and although this report, at the time that it indicated ſome remains of [189]feeling for him, denoted her reſolution to ſeclude herſelf for ever from his ſight, by an act, which, as before obſerved, would put it beyond her power to make him happy, he conceived from it, (what cannot lovers ima⯑gine?) that, ſince ſhe was thus arous'd to ſome ſenſibility of his ſufferings, only at a deſcription of them, how would it be called forth at the unexpected ſight of a once beloved and now agonized object, whom ſhe had every reaſon to ſuppoſe in his ſick chamber, at the diſtance of thirty leagues? he reſided at the fartheſt part of the country of Juliers, and ſhe had every reaſon to imagine he was unable to leave his room. And ſo indeed, except to accompliſh an atchievement of deſperation, he was.

But thoſe who have ever felt the influence of the faireſt hope, in the moment almoſt of ſuch deſperation, will not wonder that the poor Bernard, in oppoſition to the advice of his medical, and other friends, and even of his own weakneſs at other times, now found him⯑ſelf ſtrong enough to leave an apartment, wherein he had, in a manner, been bed-ridden ſeveral weeks, and to throw himſelf not only into the open air, but into an open poſt-wag⯑gon, as they here call the public-ſtage, and [190]which, (being without windows, and unde⯑fended from wind or weather, and very abſurd⯑ly conſtructed,) is a diſeaſe in itſelf. He gain'd the village of the convent, it ſeems, late in the evening that preceded the mornîng, "big with the fate" of his heart: yet, that heart prompted him to take a moonlight view of the outſide of the convent, which contained his treaſure. He appear'd not to have ſuffer'd from theſe exertions, or, at leaſt, the ſuffrance and agitation within abſorb'd every external diſ⯑aſter for the moment; ſo true is the remark of our great maſter of human nature, that,

and this unhappy lover might juſtly exclaim with old Lear in the ſtorm,

Lacrew, who lived in the village, and was almoſt a next door neighbour, had leſs occaſion for ſtratagem; and having had almoſt daily denials from his miſtreſs, was more reconciled even to the loſs of her; not without a mental reſource, however, that he firmly believed a [191]woman of her diſpoſition, would ſoon ſicken of a monaſtic life, and that long before her year of trial had paſt, ſhe would return to the world, and of courſe to him; for ſhe profeſſed to love him better than any thing in that world: yet ſhe fancied ſomething yet dearer to her out of it.

Her lover, indeed, expected, as he after⯑wards acknowledged to me and the uncle, that ſhe would, even during the ceremonies of ini⯑tiation, find ſomething in them too formidable for the gaiety of her character, eſpecially if he placed himſelf full in her view. In this, how⯑ever, he was miſtaken. His miſtreſs had him almoſt the whole time under her eye, but ſeldom looked towards him, and when ſhe did, ſhe withdrew herſelf with an haſte and reſolution, that confounded and chagrined her admirer.

The ſiſters having gone through the accus⯑tomed ceremonies, roſe from their kneel⯑ing attitude, and retiring ſome paces back, each threw herſelf with a determined earneſt⯑neſs, but not in the mockery of tragic vio⯑lence, at full length upon the carpet, and on their faces, and, had this falling ſcene been in rehearſal actually on the ſtage, by the moſt expert tumblers, and poſture maſters and [192]miſtreſſes of the Theatre for ſix weeks, it could not have been more adroitly perform'd. Thus humbled to the ground, they imprinted on it an audible kiſs to expreſs their lowlineſs of ſpirit; and to ſignify they had renounced the lofty follies of the world, to whoſe pomps and vanities they were henceforth dead: the better to carry on which idea, two of the nuns, the one in her noviciate, the other in her veil'd ſtate, toll'd the paſſing-bell, even while the bodies of the ſiſters, thus ſymbolically buried alive, were cover'd with a pall, as if the breath of life was really gone from them.

It was at this intereſting and awful moment, that the lover of Iſabel broke from his con⯑cealment, and ſhewed to the aſtoniſhed ſpec⯑tators a countenance, in which was painted every paſſion of the heart in deſpair: but he did not ſpeak.

The burial-ſervice was chanted to the notes of the organ, which, aſſiſted by the vocal powers of the prieſts, nuns, &c. might be truly ſaid to enter the ſpirit and elevate the ſoul. It was impoſſible for an Engliſh auditor, whom the Gods have made ſomewhat poetical, not to apply to the occaſion the beautiful deſcription [193]of Pope; and for an inſtant, not to adopt the doctrine it inculcates:

The whole congregation were indeed extre [...]ly affected at this part of the ceremony. I was touch'd even to tears. As the veil'd Iſabel roſe, her eye ſettled for an inſtant on Bernard, who had preſſed forward by this time through the croud, and ſtood with his face directly parallel to his miſtreſs, who might be almoſt ſaid to riſe from the dead. Conſidering cir⯑cumſtances, he muſt to her appear in nearly the ſame ſituation, and the ſenſation might have been ſomething like what we may ſuppoſe affected William, when Margaret's ghoſt ſtood at his feet.

And now it was Iſabel diſcovered that human nature was not yet extinct in her, and that all the imagination of Pope was converted into truths which ſhook her frame, and ago⯑nized her heart.

Theſe queſtions, and this anſwer, certainly ſucceeded each other in her boſom in the lan⯑guage of nature, though not expreſſed in numbers.

It was plain to ſee— ‘"She had not yet forgot herſelf to ſtone".’ Bernard was quick-ſighted enough, in the midſt of his grief, to perceive this, and attempted to turn it to his advantage. Abe⯑lard himſelf, could not with more addreſs have "oppoſed himſelf to heaven", or more dexterouſly aſſiſted "rebel nature to hold out half her heart". Though from what followed, you will ſee Bernard had not, like the above-mentioned lover, the power, ‘"To teach her 'twas no ſin to love".’ it was manifeſt, nevertheleſs, ‘"Back through the paths of pleaſing ſeaſe ſhe run".’ and it is no leſs certain, for the inſtant, that ‘"Not on the croſs her eyes were fix'd"’ but on him.

Yet though thus aſſailed by the unexpected view of, as ſhe thought, an expiring lover, [195]and at a time when every principle, and every feeling of her ſoul had ſurmounted trials, which required every aſſiſtance from ſurround⯑ing objects, rather than to find amongſt them, wherewithal to diſtreſs her, (in, perhaps, the only vulnerable part—her pity for the miſery, of which ſhe might well ſuppoſe herſelf the occaſion,)—although, I ſay, theſe ſtrong events, might, for a ſhort time, ‘"Blot out each bright idea of the ſkies".’ far from indulging in the oblivious draughts of paſſion, or reiterating the looſe imagery of Eloiſa, or avowing with her that

The tranſitory terror, tenderneſs, alarm, or ſorrow, which ſhe felt at the ſight of poor Bernard, at ſuch a time, in ſuch a place, might well claim abſolution, if not aſſent, from the power who had juſt received her vows.

She did not long, however, ſuffer the once dear object of her love, to "diſpute her heart", which, aſſuredly, a life paſt in chaſtity and inno⯑cence, long before ſhe dedicated it to her God, had rendered more acceptable than that whoſe [196]ſuppoſed effuſions, the poet has ſo enchant⯑ingly poured forth.

After ſhe had gazed about half a minute, in which ſhort ſpace more was painted in the face, that at any former period of my life I had ſeen, though the work of hours, ſhe clos'd her fine and humid eyes with a fortitude, which might have induced the angels to ſanction the momentary and human ſympathy, which had bathed them with tears, but ſhe was unable to repreſs one gentle ſigh, the weight of which was felt by my whole heart as it iſſued from her very lovely lips. Whether it was the ſigh tender, or penitential, the ſigh of regret for the ſufferings of her lover, or of ſelf-reproach for having allowed it to eſcape,—it was the moſt graceful, moſt penetrating I have ever known. It will heave for ever in my memory, and Iſabel's face was, (on her riſing from the ground) ſo near me, that I ſtood within the very breath of it. Had I not frequently ſeen that the gayeſt minds and manners take, with occaſion, a more firm and ſolemn caſt, than thoſe from whoſe general gravity one expects the moſt fix'd and unmoved conduct, I ſhould have been ſurpriſed at the unaltered mein of Fanchette, who, though more airy, more [...]ely an inhabitant of the world, and who ‘[197] "warm in youth, had bid that world farewell."’ (her approved lover ſtill before her, exhibiting himſelf in the moſt pity-moving attitudes,) Fanchette relaxed nothing of her attention to the buſineſs or duty of the day. On the contrary, her look to Iſabel denoted all the admonitory council, which the moral echoes, or, as the Poet calls them, more than echoes ‘"talk'd along the walls."’ Eloiſa could never have heard, or fancy that ſhe heard, the hollow ſound from the ſhrine, more diſtinctly than I thought I perceived the ſenſe of that ſound in the charming features of this lovely girl:

How applicable to the occaſion! Nor was it long ere Iſabel, as if theſe verſes had actually been recited, illuſtrated thoſe which follow them, in the celebrated epiſtle of the lovers of Paraclete,

[198]Not ſo the lovers:—Bernard, after a long ſtruggle with his heart, exclaimed, in ſad and broken accents—Ah God!—Ah God! and ran out of the convent; nor was it long ere his example was followed by Lacrew.

The ceremonies, thus interrupted, were ſoon reſumed. The ſiſter-votaries were re-conducted to their chairs, where both joined in the prayers moſt devoutly.

And now the holy wafers were given, and the ſolemnities of the Catholic church in the ſacrament began. Theſe ended, the ſiſters roſe, kiſſed the robes of the prieſt, bowed themſelves before the Crucifix, embraced each other; then the ſuperior, the nuns, noviciates, and penſioners, all of whom were received with ſmiles, that ſeraphs ſeemed to have aſſiſted, while a dozen handſome girls, reſidents for a convent education, ſtrewed flowers over them, as they advanced to the laſt ceremony, namely, that of crowning, emblematic of that crown of glory, with which we are aſſured the good are to be diſtinguiſhed in the world to come.

By way of ſupplementary matter, it is to be noted, that the ceremony was performed on the birth-day of the veiled ſiſter, a circumſtance [199]that gave it additional ſolemnity. The reſt of this aweful day was paſt, agreeable to cuſtom, in all manner of innocent feſtivity; by way of teſtifying that ſo far from feeling any regret for having renounced the world, the ſenſations were in uniſon with the ceremonies; and, in⯑deed (had it not been for the affair of the heart in the caſes of the two luckleſs lovers) I ſhould believe that cuſtom and example had their uſual effect, in conjunction with zeal and imagination, to make a monaſtic life preferable to every other, in the eſtimate of the inhabi⯑tants of the convent. What confirms me the rather in this is, that the year following, being at the ſelf-ſame monaſtery, I beheld the ſelf⯑ſame Fanchette, after her twelve probationary months' reſidence, volunteer the ſame ſort of ceremony, and with the ſame apparent ſatis⯑faction, and, though ſhe had loſt ſome of thoſe complexional roſes, which ſeem to bloom beſt in the world, ſhe had gained more of thoſe lillies, which never fail to grow in the cheeks of a nun, either from ſecluſion, or ſeverity, or a mixture of both. There was an air of pecu⯑liar content in Fanchette, at this confirmation of the choice ſhe had made in the beginning of the former year; nor was there leſs ſatis⯑faction in the countenance of Iſabel: in ſhort, the moſt ſcrutinizing eye might have aſſured [200]the heart, theſe two ſiſters, in changing their plan of life, had only varied, not diminiſhed, their happineſs.

On bidding them (as probably it will prove) an everlaſting adieu, at this ſecond viſit to their convent, I borrowed once more an applicable paſſage from our great poet, and I cannot but believe every line found its echo in the minds of the beautiful devotees. Nor do I think, ſince the epiſtle of Eloiſa was written, there can have happened ſuch an exact illuſtration of its beſt, and moſt intereſting ſentiments; ſince, in the ſiſter nuns, were demonſtrated all the ſpirit, the ſoftneſs, and the beauty of Abelard's miſtreſs, without any of her cupidity, ſenſu⯑ality, and libertiniſm; and the exquiſite apo⯑ſtrophe which follows was the work only of fancy in Eloiſa, but of feeling in Iſabel and Fanchette.

Since my firſt idea of poetical excellence, my ſenſes and my heart have atteſted the beauty of this paſſage, and, indeed, of the whole poem; but never has it been ſo impreſſive as ſince the above-deſcribed incidents.

Amidſt the whole, however, of the faſcina⯑tion, I could not but notice a ſmall ſpice of worldly vanity, in certain parts of the cere⯑mony, ſuch as one of the poor lowly brothers being appointed to place the embroidered robes of the High Prieſt over the backs of the chairs, to give them a more graceful flow, as the wearer ſat down. I obſerved, alſo, methought, ſomething of earthly pageantry lurking in the caution with which the female veil, whether white or black, was fixed before, and folded behind; as well as in the attention to graceful poſture, with which the profeſſed threw her⯑ſelf on the carpet; for, though, as I before ſaid, it did not partake of the nature of a the⯑atrical exhibition, it had the air of having been a little ſtudied, becauſe it was impoſſible [202]not to ſee that ſome care had been taken that the veſtal garment might preſerve an intereſting negligence: but when we conſider that the ſame kind of regard to attitude and poſition was betrayed by the dying Pompey, we may certainly allow it to two fine young women, who gave up, for ever, the conqueſts of their charms, at a period of life, when victory moſt ſolicited them. And, after all, their attentions to external finery were but the aſhes of human vanity—a few remaining ſparks, that juſt ſhewed themſelves, and were then extinguiſhed for ever.

The coſt of the feſtival is always defrayed by the nun, or novice, and the friends, rela⯑tions, and a few choſen prieſts from the neigh⯑bouring convent, compoſed the gueſts. To this eating and drinking ſcene, a little maſ⯑querade, in which all the nuns are allowed to aſſume borrowed characters, enſues. This done, the gueſts retire, ſuch I mean as are not of the convent. The religious withdraw to their cells, and the next morning re-com⯑mence thoſe duties, which know no receſs throughout the revolving year, till a ſimilar occaſion produces a ſimilar jubilee.

[203]It was a ſad and ſorrowful day for the uncle of theſe ſiſters; he endured not to remain in an houſe ſtripped of its chief ornaments and aſſociates, and which had the further déſagré⯑ment of ſtanding, as before noted, in full view of the convent, which he conſidered as at once the priſon and the tomb of his relations. In a few weeks, therefore, he removed to another part of the country, where he ſtill bears about ‘"A diſcontented and repining ſpirit."’

But ſuch an effect might naturally enough ariſe from ſuch a cauſe. Far, very far from both be the boſom of my friend!

LETTER LXVII. TO THE SAME.

ADJOINING the little ſigniories of Boxmeer, is the pleaſant country of Cuych ^*, a ſmall, but productive territory, once in the poſſeſſion of Spain, but now a part of what is [204]called the Generality, a country ſubject to the Prince of Orange, and an object worth gleaning. It may be about the ſize of Hertfordſhire, and is, like that, replete with unpretending graces. You would feel its reſemblance to England, even more cloſely than the other parts of Weſt⯑phalia—the ſame pleaſant pathways, mean⯑dring through cornfields—the ſame ſoft paſtu⯑rage—modeſt riſings—humble and flowery hedge-rows—the woods and copſes filled with the ſame kind of birds—the river Meuſe no leſs fertiliſing than the Thames, nor leſs beautiful— the ſame ſort of whited cottages, moſs and houſeleek growing over the thatch.

If a footpath and river-bank traveller is diſpoſed, occaſionally, to ſurvey this country, he will find a thouſand beautiful ſcenes, which crouds had never yet to boaſt.

It is extremely pleaſant to trace, as one journeys on, theſe ſimilitudes and diſſimilitudes of one's native land; here recogniſing, in cer⯑tain objects, our old acquaintance; there pay⯑ing, in others, our firſt ſalutation to entire [205]ſtrangers; and whether theſe happen to be of the vegetable or animal world, a tree, a flower, a wood, a meadow, a ſtream, a river, a flock, an herd, a cottage, or its inhabitants, the gene⯑rous heart extends to greet whatever has de⯑lighted him at home, or entertained him abroad.

In turning over a little corner in my tra⯑velling writing-caſe, I find a ſmall bundle of papers, ſuperſcribed materials for a ſcrap letter, which is to conſiſt of various minute Gleanings, too inſignificant to ſtand alone, but which, col⯑lected and tied together, may be of ſome value. After the long ears of corn have been gathered, you have ſeen the patient Gleaners return from the field, with a few hands-full, not of ſtem or ſubſtance to be bound with the reſt of the ſheaves, and yet too good to be loſt.

To theſe minutiae, therefore, I ſhall con⯑ſecrate the remainder of the preſent letter, de⯑ſiring you will indulge them with the favour by which you have diſtinguiſhed the reſt.

In Holland, Weſtphalia, Germany, and their dependencies, it is cuſtomary for the common tradeſmen and ſervants to drop their ſabots, ſlippers, or ſhoes, at the threſhold of [206]the apartment, where their employers, maſters, or miſtreſſes, are ſitting, and pad along, with a trembling ſort of circumſpection, as if in fear of leaving a plebeian mark of their footſteps behind them. And at every word you ſpeak, their hats, whether in the houſe, or the open air, are ſo painfully doffed, and pinched by their veneration, or their cuſtom, that I have a thouſand times ſmilingly put their hats on their heads, and requeſted they would conſider a good rub of their ſhoes at the door-way was a ſufficient paſſport to any room wherein they might be introduced to me: but the habit or civility is inveterate, and I verily believe they would pay the ſame homage to the empty apartments, had they occaſion to enter them, in abſence of their ſuppoſed ſuperiours. I re⯑peat that I am no advocate for indiſcriminate familiarities, nor for Republican rudeneſſes, but I love the poor, at leaſt as well as the rich, and I feel myſelf, as an individual of a majeſtic ſpecies, humbled in their degradation. I would have them ſubordinate, becauſe I think ſociety demands its claſſes, but I cannot endure they ſhould be ſervile: and, after all, it is often affected, for ſometimes I have, at a ſecond or third Gleaning of theſe bowing, bare-headed and footed gentlemen and ladies, found, heard, of ſeen them as ſaucy, proud and vain-glorious, [207]as if they knew how to deſcend from their heights only to promote their intereſts, in the hope of over-reaching you in a miſerable ſous or ſtiver.

In each of the above countries you will be obliged, as before obſerved, to have one man to dreſs the hair on your head, my good reader, and another, (if peradventure thou art of the bearded ſex), to ſcrape it from thy face. But the laſt mentioned perſonage, whom they call ſurgeon, is every where ſo inſufferably vain, formal, and mal adroit, that a penny barber in England does his buſineſs ten times better, and twenty times more expeditiouſly. The Conti⯑nental ſhaver, whether Dutch, Weſtphalian, or German, is one quarter of an hour bringing his inſtruments of ſurgery out of his pocket and arranging them; another in the apparatus of wipeing, whetting, ſetting, and proving upon his hand, before he puts the razor on your chin; another in the operation, and at leaſt the fourth quarter in putting his ſurgical matters up again, and all this you muſt go through patiently or worſe will follow; every reſiſtance coſts you a drop of blood, remonſtrance is not even liſtened to, and a requeſt of haſte is a ſlice from your chin, or a gaſh in your throat. I have had more reaſon to bewail a nervous [203]complaint that ſhakes my hand, ſince I came into theſe countries than ever. I certainly mangle myſelf deliciouſly whenever I attempt to atchieve this daily labour myſelf; but I yield to the pedantry of theſe executioners, only becauſe I conſider being murdered by the hand of another is better than ſhedding my own blood; as it is leſs heinous, you know, to ſuffer aſſaſſination than to commit ſuicide.

Seriouſly, it is a moſt provoking and clumſy operation abroad, and I have as often wiſhed myſelf beardleſs, as I might once have wiſhed the contrary. And as to any conſideration that the head or face, theſe ſurgeon-barbers have in hand, is human, a butcher, who might chuſe to ſhave the chops of a bullock, before he ſlaughtered it, would be more gentle. Your barber-ſurgeon pinches you by the noſe with as little remorſe as a farrier draws the nippers round the noſtrils of an horſe! he ſqueezes your head as if he was binding up your brains, after a contuſion; and holds back your neck, as if he was going to cut your throat, which, indeed, he generally does, in proof of his great powers of pharmacy. In a word, bleſſed are thoſe ladies who happen to have no beards, and happy thoſe ladies or gentlemen, who when they travel can operate upon themſelves!

[209]In almoſt every great road town upon the German Continent you will find an Engliſh ſhop, where you may be ſupplied with Engliſh manufacture. There is a very excellent one at the Hague, kept by Mr. M'Queen, which may almoſt be termed an univerſal warehouſe of Britiſh commodities. It is true you pay ſome⯑what high for theſe, but you are to conſider firſt their ſuperior excellence; ſecondly, the hazard, loſs, and expence of their tranſporta⯑tion; and, thirdly, it ſhould be noted, that as the Dutch and German cuſtomers buy almoſt every thing for life; that is, make an expenſive article laſt as long as they laſt themſelves, and pay bills about once in ten years, (when they condeſcend to pay at all; for no tradeſman dare ſend in his bill undemanded) if articles were not highly rated, an Engliſh trader abroad muſt ſtarve.

It is obſervable, that the inns abroad kept by Engliſhmen, or people who ſpeak our lan⯑guage, are dearer than thoſe kept by natives, about fifty per cent. and it is remarkable, alſo, that the Engliſh landlords over-reach their countrymen more than a ſtranger. See you avoid them. There are at leaſt ſix Scotch⯑men, and three Iriſhmen, to one trader Engliſh born, diſperſed over foreign lands: the firſt [210]thrive, the ſecond live, the third barely exiſt. Can you account for this? The truth of the remark reaches from one end of the Continent to the other, with ſcarce an exception. I think I have found out the reaſon, but it might ſeem invidious, and a prejudice to mention it.

There ſubſiſts in ſome parts of Holland a curious circumſtance reſpecting divorces—an huſband who is deſirous to obtain repoſſeſſion of either an eloped, parted, or wandering wife, is to ſend a written ſummons to her, inviting her company to bed and board; if ſhe refuſes, he is to go in a boat on the river Meuſe, to any diſtance he pleaſes, then he is to call the ſaid wife three ſeveral times, and if he receives no anſwer, or if ſhe does not appear, he is to come back, as freſh and fair a batchelor as before he purchaſed the wedding ring; and is at liberty to chooſe another mate, whoſe hand he may accept after the publication of the banns and marriage ceremony. The truth of this almoſt incredible ſtory, is too general to be diſputed by any body but thoſe who cannot believe what they have never ſeen. And yet there are numbers of my dear countrymen who will ſuppoſe it a Gleaning of the author's imagination. To which I ſhall only reply, that in the ſmall town of the Brielle in Holland, [211]here are not leſs than half a dozen couples who have been thus re-married.

But as a celebrated traveller (Lady W. Montague) juſtly obſerves, we travellers are in very hard circumſtances. If we ſay nothing but what has been ſaid before us, we are dull, and we have obſerved nothing: If we tell any thing new we are laughed at as fabulous and romantic, not allowing for change of company, or of cuſtoms that happen every twenty years in every country; or remain fixed for ever, though, perhaps, not before noticed. The ceremonies attending viſitings, and burial con⯑dolences, deſerve mention. In Pruſſian Weſt⯑phalia, a letter is ſent by the ſurvivor inform⯑ing the friends of the deceaſed that ſuch a rela⯑tion has departed this life; but it is the etiquette not to reply. Your ſympathy is taken for granted; and thus, the affair is not only conveniently ſhortened, but a great deal of trouble is ſaved to both parties.

With reſpect to viſits, it is the eſtabliſhed punctilio for new comers to make the firſt ad⯑vances to reſidents, exactly inverting the etiquette of England; and the reaſon aſſigned for this practice is, that new ſettlers may have the privilege of declining company ſhould [212]they not wiſh for ſociety, or of extending or narrowing it ſhould they deſire acquaintance; your viſit being always returned immediately, and if you do not viſit in the courſe of the firſt month, it is preſumed you prefer ſolitude.

Perhaps this may be an improvement on the plan of England, where every one has free liberty to gratify curioſity, often at the expence of real courteſy, for numbers go once for a well-bred ſtare, drink their diſh of tea, and ſhew they have had enough of you, by never cultivating you unleſs you happen exactly to ſuit their taſte, which is often the reſult of their ſingularity, or caprice. Whereas, in theſe countries, you have leiſure for previous enquiry; you can ſelect your acquaintance, and if it is not of the beſt kind the place affords, it muſt be your own fault.

Another inconvenience attending your not being fortified with the language of the country, whether Dutch or German, is the impoſition you are liable to, eſpecially on leaving a town or houſe, where you may have had any running accounts. The people you have dealt with pre⯑tend to underſtand you fully when you make your bargain; but when you come to collect your bills, they proteſt that you have miſtaken them; and this errour is always to their ad⯑vantage. [213]For inſtance, you agree with a ſurgeon-barber at ſo much per month to ſhave you, and with a ſhoe-boy to clean your boots, &c. You reaſonably conclude the price ſettled between you includes every thing: but at the end of the month you are charged ſo much for putting ſoap on the face, and ſo much for taking it off; ſo much for rubbing away the duſt from your ſhoes, and ſo much again for blacking them. Let it be clearly ſtated, there⯑fore, that, in your country, ſhaving and ſhoe cleaning mean what they expreſs.

The price of timber in Weſtphalia, and the countries that environ it, is amongſt the things calculated to ſurpriſe an Engliſh traveller. A noble fir of between thirty and forty years growth, is thought rather dear at ſix florins, about ten ſhillings Engliſh: and an oak of more than half a century, is rated at about twelve, or at the moſt fifteen ſhillings. Inferior wood in proportion. The birch tree is here found in abundance, and contributes much to the beauty of the country, drooping with an air of poetical melancholy, almoſt with as much elegant ſadneſs as the weeping willow. The natives of Weſtphalia tell you, that the juice is good to drink, the foliage good to ſee, and the branches good to burn: they ſeem no leſs ſenſible than ourſelves, alſo, that the twigs [214]have other virtues chiefly adapted for the uſe of nurſeries and ſchools.

Simple curioſity is alike in all countries. You remember the account I ſent you in my firſt ſheaf of the aſtoniſhment of an whole family of Cambrian ruſtics, at the ſight of a ſhining ſteel watch-chain. I found a com⯑panion for this picture of wonderment in the ſurpriſe of ſome Weſtphalia cottagers, who ſurveyed a common bamboo ſtick with as much attention and awe, as if it was a wand of enchantment; and feeling the knots with a trembling hand, as if there was magic in every joint.

You will be pleaſed to hear the univerſal re⯑putation which is enjoyed by the manufactures of your country. I think I ſlightly glanced at this ſubject before. Whatever is Engliſh be⯑comes every where abroad an object of admi⯑ration. I have witneſſed this in various inſtances, but in none more than in the rhapſody which the ſight of three pair of Eng⯑liſh ſhoes produced in an honeſt cobler of a little town in Pruſſia.

Theſe articles, neat as imported from Lon⯑don, lay upon my table juſt unpacked, as this [215]child of nature entered my room to receive orders for a trifling repair in my boots. He incontinently caught up one of the ſhoes, and for ſome minutes was too much abſorbed in wonder to ſpeak. He turned the ſhoe about in ſilent admiration; felt the ſole, which his look denoted was of the beſt leather poſſible— examined the ſtitching, the form, the ele⯑gance, the ſolidity, the ſimplicity, the light⯑neſs, the ſtraps, the quarters, ſitted it to his hand; as he did which he ſhewed ſigns of the moſt perfect approbation—then by way of compariſon, held it down to his own ſhoe, and as he did ſo, gave teſtimony of the moſt ineſſable contempt, even for his own perform⯑ance, which was, perhaps, the higheſt compli⯑ment that could be paid to the performance of another. His features, and action, had actually all the force of Hamlet's parallel of the old Fortinbras his father, and the uſurper: ‘"Look but on this picture and on this, &c.!"’ His phiſiognomy teſtified that his work was no more to compare to the Britiſh Criſpin's ‘"Than he to Hercules!"’ It was long before he could attend indeed to any thing reſpecting himſelf, and after his rhapſody ſubſided a little, he ſeemed to under⯑take [216]even the cobbling art of taking up a few looſe ſtitches in an Engliſh boot with reluct⯑ance.

Nor does our country triumph in this handy⯑craft fame without the beſt-founded preten⯑ſions, ſince in every article of workmanſhip we caſt them at a diſtance that rather gives the ſenſation of deſpair than energy. Doors, win⯑dows, their ornaments, their neceſſaries, their comforts, their finiſhing, their application, their fitneſs, their buildings, their elegance, all yield the palm to the ſuperior arts of the Britiſh artificer. And if there is a general rule without an exception, I am, from very long and diligent ſcrutiny, inclined to think it lies in the unrivalled excellence of our manu⯑factures in the comforts and conveniences of life.

You have heard numberleſs anecdotes of the late Pruſſian monarch. A ſtronger idea of his inſatiable military ambition cannot be well given, than in his exclaiming to one of his officers while ſurveying the proſpect from his chateau at Cleves; "very fine, to be ſure, noble woods, pretty gardens, fair towns, well-filled rivers, and all that, but I can never think it a good proſpect while any part of the objects it includes is the property of another ſovereign!"

[217]I will juſt note to you, that amongſt the pictures of this chateau, is a very fine one of Jeſus and the virgin, and on the reverſe, a full length portrait of the painter himſelf, ſuſpended in the middle of the room to ſhew at once the genius and the vanity of the man!

Of the German Theatre I have little to obſerve, farther than that it excels in paſſion. You muſt have often noted the defect of the Engliſh actors, (I ſpeak generally) when not immediately in diſcourſe or action in the ſcene. They ſeem to think that their character comes to a pauſe at the end of every ſpeech, and they wait for the cue words to reſume it: theſe are no ſooner given, than they kindle in a moment. They wait the match and go off like a cracker. Then all is dead and inert, till the other perſonages have ſettled the buſi⯑neſs in hand, whether an affair of love, hate, hope, or deſpair; nor does the paſſive character they are ſpeaking to, ever interrupt the pro⯑greſs of theſe paſſions, or ſhew any ſenſibility thereof, except by ſtepping a pace back, or a pace forward; by a ſtamp of the foot, a thump of the breaſt, or a ſmack of the forehead.—But on the Theatre Allemande all is life, vigour, and ardency: yet rarely overſtepping the modeſty of nature; and the bye play is ſo ſkill⯑fully [218]managed, that where the poet himſelf ſleeps, the vigilance of the actor guarantees his nap, without any diminution of his poeti⯑cal fame.

I am aware that this is the caſe, ſometimes, in the Britiſh theatre, but it is more rare; and commonly ſpeaking, Homer himſelf could not there nod, had Homer been a dramatiſt, without ſome of the performers ſlumbering with him, and cauſing the audience to ſlumber alſo.

High however, as they eſtimate the manu⯑factures of Great Britain, the untravelled Pruſſians and Germans appear to have but a very confined idea of its extent: for, in the firſt place, many of them imagine, that it is rather neceſſity, than choice; rather policy, than curioſity, which takes ſuch numbers out of England. They believe the population is too great for the place; that our little country being overſtocked, the ſuperflux wander about the earth in ſearch of more room. Almoſt every perſon tells you he knows an Engliſhman!— that is to ſay, in the courſe of his life, every man has met with one of the Britiſh wan⯑derers, or, ſome ſolitary family reſident abroad. The Germans immediately preſume [219]this perſon, or family, muſt be known alſo to you. If you anſwer in the negative, they won⯑der, which certainly implies a contracted idea of Great Britain as a territory, however they may think of it as a nation.

The Germans bring up their children with great tenderneſs, but in a manner to prevent the effects of effeminacy, or the ordinary ail⯑ments proceeding therefrom; I have ſeen the ſons and daughters of gentlemen run through the dews of the morning without ſhoes, ſtock⯑ings, or any under garments, but ſhirts and ſhifts: chacing each other round the court yards, gardens, &c. in this almoſt natural ſtate, after a night of inceſſant rain. About noon, when there ſeems the leſs real neceſſity to wrap up, they begin to put on, juſt in the proportion as other children throw off, but they all look as healthy as if they were educated in the way of England. The mothers of Great Britain will ſhudder at this relation, yet, could the cuſtom be reconciled with decency, which ſurely were eaſy, it might deſerve adoption. Colds and coughs, which are not only bad diſ⯑orders in themſelves, but the parents of worſe in England, are rarely heard of along the continent of Germany: And after you have turned your back on Holland, the gout begins to [220]loſe his excruciating power, till, in advancing further north, he is, in a meaſure, ſubdued; at leaſt, a victim bound hand and foot by this tyrant, who hourly brings ſo many of my compatriots to the rack, is rarely ſeen. Muſt we not impute this general exemption from one of the ſharpeſt pangs to which our frailty is heir, to early expoſure of the body and limbs to all the ſkiey influences?

I think I have not yet mentioned the mode of ſerving at table in Holland, and Pruſſia. Vegetables are eaten firſt, no perſon offers to begin till all are helped; meat comes next, this is cut into very thin ſlices in a plate, and paſſing round the table, every one receives, or declines. If a ſecond, third, fourth, or fifth ſort of meat is on the board, there are as many plates-full ſent round it,—the ſervant watches your glaſs, filling it when empty: the bread is cut into exceeding thin ſlices, and no healths are drank except at parting.

An elegant Engliſh family ſettled in Holland, has lately given a Dutch drum or route, of which the lady of the houſe has favoured me with a deſcription: As it is well told, and a curioſity in itſelf, I will here preſent you with a Gleaning; and in her own words.

[221]"Dear Mr. Gleaner,

"At your deſire, I am ſitting down to give you a deſcription of what is called in this country, a contre viſite. That I might accom⯑modate to the cuſtoms of the place, I invited the aſſiſtance of a good natured Dutch neigh⯑bour, who helped me through all the ceremo⯑nials: And being no leſs a perſonage than the Burgomaſter's wife, ſhe was wholly competent to the buſineſs. I ſhall write in way of general direction, as to what is to be done, &c. &c.

"Two of the largeſt rooms in the houſe are always appropriated to the occaſion: the better if they communicate, as is indeed uſual abroad, but that is not material. Card tables are to be ſet in the four corners of each room; the middle being kept perfectly clear,—the place of honor is always determined to be on the right hand ſide of the pier glaſs. From each ſide of this glaſs you are to place two rows of chairs, with a ſquare box called a ſtove, at the foot of each chair; and, if in winter, you are to take care theſe ſtoves are well ſupplied with burning turf, or rather with the live aſhes of turf; and, if in ſummer, the fire is to be omitted, as a Dutch woman is too much in the habit of canting up her legs on theſe abominable little footſtools to ſit [222]comfortably without them, and in the cold weather, ſhe could neither uſe her hands, or arms, without ſmoke-drying her feet.—By the gentlemen's ſeats you place ſpitting boxes; and, as if theſe would not hold enough, a dozen or two of ſpitting pots are to be ſet on the ſide tables, or to grace the corner of the card equipage: ſeveral ſlates and pencils are alſo to be provided. All the plate you can muſter is to be crouded on the grand ſideboard, and at leaſt an hundred tobacco pipes, with taſteful devices wrapp'd about them, not for⯑getting half a dozen pound boxes of tobacco, with a ſuitable ſervice of ſtoppers.

"Theſe preparations being ſettled, you are ready to receive the company, who begin to appear at your Dutch drum about five in the afternoon! The reigning burgomaſter's wife enters firſt. You are to receive her at the door, after a good run to meet her, (by way of teſtifying your joy) with a dead ſtop, and you are to take care that your curtſey is at leaſt as profound as hers; the better if a little deeper. And if you would adopt the faſhion of this country, you ſhould revive one of your boarding ſchool ſinkings at the commencement of a minuet, or one of your ſchool reverences to your governeſs on leaving the room. You are [223]to take her by the hand, you are to ſay you are extremely honoured by the viſit, and then kiſs her three times! Then lead her to the right hand ſide of the glaſs,—order a burning, red⯑hot ſtove to be put under her petticoats,—(the genteeler if you condeſcend to place it your⯑ſelf,)—and then receive the reſt of the com⯑pany, ſtoveing them and kiſſing in the ſame manner; more carefully however placing them according to their rank in the town or vil⯑lage, than if they were ſo many Britiſh peer⯑eſſes to be ſettled by the High Steward, at the trial of a ſiſter peereſs for high Treaſon. When all the chairs are filled, you may order refreſhments.

"In the firſt place, tea is to be preſented three times round the room. This over, the card tables are to be arranged, the ſtoves refreſhed, the pipes lighted, and the ſpitting boxes begin to work. You are to preſent four kings to the burgomaſter's wife, and the three you mean to play at her table. To the next lady, in her rank, you preſent the queens: But make a memorandum, that, when once ſeated, nobody ſtirs from her table till the party breaks up at ten o'clock, ſo that you are fixed as a ſtatue for almoſt five hours. The refreſhments are to be handed about every quarter of an hour, but [224]to vary, as to the collations. One quarter gives coffee, another wine, another liquors, another orgeat, and at every time the company eat and drink with unabated appetite; and thoſe who offer the moſt good things of this world, are made the moſt honorable mention of, in the annals of contre viſitiſm. The ceremonies of taking leave are like thoſe of entrance.

"It is to be obſerved, that when you give one of their viſits it is not from your own invitation: the reigning burgomaſter ſends you word, if convenient, he will come to you ſuch a day. If you accept the challenge, you are to ſend off your cards, in which you invite the town to meet him; who very obligingly obey the ſummons, whether they ever ſaw you before or no; or whether they ſhall ever ſee you again.

"All the ſmoking party keep their own room, but leave ſuch a ſtrong ſenſe of their orgies behind them, that it is neceſſary your houſe, (if your noſe is not a native of Holland,) ſhould perform a quarantine of a month before it can be purified.

"A contre-viſite ſeldom includes ſupper, but when a ſupper is to be given in Holland, it [225]always comprehends cards and tea, with the immenſe et cetera of about eight times coffee, as many cakes, wines, jellies, &c. &c. &c. and ſuppoſing theſe to begin at half paſt five, and ſupper to be on table at half paſt ten, though the intermediate hours are fully employ⯑ed in eating and drinking, it does not in the leaſt prevent the ſupper being devoured, as King Richard voraciouſly ſays, "marrow, bones and all", for though in general life, at home, the Dutch eat but little of ſolid food, they pay it off abroad with moſt incontinent rapacity. In⯑deed, they ſeem, like certain wild beaſts in training for the grand gorging day, when they are to be turned out upon criminals, to reſerve themſelves for theſe great public occaſions: and a Dutch ſupper, at the end of five hours ſtuf⯑fing, might very well furniſh out one of our Lord Mayor's feaſts, and ſatisfy all the man⯑ſion-houſe monſters on any one of the impor⯑tant days, ‘"Big with the fate of Turkeys, and of Geeſe!"’ By way of ſpecimen, I ſhall conclud [...] [...] a Dutch Bill of fare, of which I made a N. B. in my pocket-book, immediately on getting home from the laſt cramming-bout to which I had the honour of being invited. I ſhall only pre⯑miſe [226]that we were only 14 perſons at table. Mem.—It was a ſupper.

N. B. Nothing left but the large bones and plates.

To which pleaſant, but faithful deſcription, I ſhall only aſk with the Poet,

[227]There are diſperſed over the provinces of Holland, of Pruſſia, and of Germany, various towns, bourgs, and villages, which amongſt other privileges poſſeſs that of affording pro⯑tection to fugitives for debt: and there are ſome which offer an aſvlum even for crimes. Of theſe Vianne, Cleves, and Neuweid, may be mentioned amongſt others. They are either free towns, or independent ſe gneuries. The former have uſually taken their riſe from the exigence of the ſtate, which has often made the Prince a borrower of t [...]e people. The Emperors frequently wanting ſupplies of money to carry on their wars, or for other occaſions, have hir'd large ſums of great trading towns, and paid the debt in certain extra grants, privileges, and immunities, making them independent of the governors of the provinces or diſtricts where thoſe towns ſtood, or in their neighbourhood. Accordingly ſuch places remain free; exerciſing all kinds of ſovereign power, with the right of enacting laws, con⯑ſtituting authorities, courts of juſtice, and coining, as well as of offering a ſanctuary to ſtrangers, debtors, &c. &c.—I am ſorry to in⯑forth you, that this latter privilege is not ſeldom made a revenue of the town, or the ſeigneur, or a perquiſite of office. But it muſt [228]be owned the fee is not large,—a guinea or two for inſtance per perſon, which makes your perſon ſacred beyond limitation, provided nevertheleſs you conform peaceably to the laws of the land where you eſtabliſh your reſidence, which it is certainly not only decent but eaſy to do, as they are no way rigorous in them⯑ſelves, and the protected places are for the moſt part ſituated in a fine country.

Vianne, for inſtance, is built on the banks of a fine river, on the confine of the beautiful province of Utrecht, nearly half way betwixt Rotterdam and Nimeguen. It remains poſ⯑ſeſſed of all rights of Seignieurſhip independent of Holland. It is ſuppoſed to be the Fanum Dianae, of which Ptolemy makes mention.

The towns and villages of the Dutchy of Cleves already live in my deſcription, and I truſt in the reader's memory. And ſhould mis⯑fortune find it neceſſary to take refuge in either of theſe he will paſs his days or years of exile amidſt the beauty and health of nature.

With reſpect ot Neuwied, independent of giving

[229]it has claims on our attention, being one of the moſt agreeable towns and placed in one of the moſt charming countries of Europe. The ac⯑count of it is ſufficiently popular, but the beſt Gleaning of it is by the author of the journey, or rather voyage of the Rhine, a work I have already commended.

"It is in this town, ſays he, that the writer of theſe pages—a victim of French deſpotiſm, has found refuge, honour, and happineſs; after having been deſpoiled of 1,400,000 livres, and driven from a country that was dear to him. It is in this free and ſacred land he at length is permitted to reſide in peace with his reſcued family. And here, alſo, it is, that he announces a virtuous Prince, and a gentle race, to philo⯑ſophers, men of letters and of humanity—to peaceable citizens, and to ingenious artiſts—to honeſt labourers, and to the worthy of all deſcriptions, who like him may be expelled from the ſcenes of rapine and deſolation."

The gratitude of this author for the protec⯑tion he received, has not ſeduced him into effuſions of praiſe, which exceed the truth. The ſweet ſejour of Neuweid merits all he has ſaid of it. It is ſituated on the borders of the [230]Rhine, betwixt Bonne and Coblentz. The country is agreeable, the inhabitants ſociable, and the air wholeſome. Vines and orchards ſurround it. Hills and vallies ſmile on every ſide. The water is particularly excellent, the corn good and abundant. Butcher's meat in all its variety, and a no leſs plenty of vegetables, fruit, fiſh, fowl, and game. Lodgings are rea⯑ſonable, and elegant. The prime of every commodity from the famous fairs of Bonne, Coblentz, Mayence, and Franckſort, as well as from Holland, are to be had at Neuwerd, as they can come by water to your very door. And to crown the whole the reigning prince is a man of politeneſs, urbanity, genius, peace, and benevolence. He is deſcended from one of the moſt honourable and ancient houſe [...], and what is better, he is in every ſenſe of the term an HONEST MAN! Of the prince, of his family, and of his palace of Mount-Repoſe, (two leagues from Neuweid) a thouſand fine things have been ſaid by the ingenious writer above⯑mentioned, but after what I have juſt termed him, would not all theſe go to an anti-climax: ‘"An honeſt man's the nobleſt work of God."’ Amongſt the objectionable things which an Engliſh traveller will find in Pruſſia, Weſt⯑phalia, [231]and through all the Catholic countries, is the frequency of holy-days, feaſts, faſts, and fairs.

I would have every creature adore his Crea⯑tor, according to the cuſtoms of his country, and reſort to the places of worſhip as often as his piety inclines. But I cannot fail to regret that the church ſhould exact an obſervance of mere ceremonies which trench on the duties of ſocial life, being convinced that a per⯑formance of theſe is a part of religion. It is the reſult of reiterated obſervation that enables me to aſſure you nearly the half of a ſervant's and labourer's time is taken up in the churches, and very frequently made the pretext for a neglect of neceſſary buſineſs, and, indeed, promotes idleneſs. I have always noted that the moſt church going people in this country are the worſt domeſtics, the moſt ſupine, and the moſt ſuperſtitious. How it happens I know not, but religion in this country ſeldom works the blood into enthuſiaſm: the being righteous overmuch in Germany more commonly pro⯑duces a moody torpid ſtupidity. Methodiſts and other fanatic ſectaries are rare. Theſe bodies amongſt us produce, you know, ebulli⯑tions of zeal that ferment to diſtraction. It is [232]in England a raging madneſs; in the German dominions a gloomy melancholy; and with reſpect to ſociety, the latter is a the evil moſt to be lamented. The firſt is a violent fit, and paſſes ſoon away, and though the returns of the paroxiſm are quick, the intervals admit of ſome activity in ſecular affairs. But the Ger⯑man malady after ſending a man from his honeſt employments, his maſter and his family, two or three days in the week without counting Sunday, continues him in a kind of religious apathy all the reſt of the year. On the holy⯑days it is with great difficulty a cook will dreſs dinner, or a chambermaid toſs up the beds. If you want bread it muſt be made and baked the day before: to put an hand in the oven would be ſacrilege, and to fetch a pail of water an offence laid up amongſt others for next confeſſion. The conſequence of all this is, that after they have run in and out of the church till they are weary, you will ſee them in lazy circles ſtand about the ſtreets with folded arms and gapeing mouths, or ſleeping in their houſes, kitchens, &c. At intervals, however, they wake to the recollection of the Saint in whoſe honour the fete is inſtituted, and renew their aſpirations. It is common to hear them break forth in the midſt of any or⯑dinary [233]occupation, even during the few days their religion ſuffers them to work, into an hymn or ſpiritual ſong. I once paſt ſome months in an houſe where a peaſant ſervant to his other buſineſſes, added that of a barber; and under whoſe razor, (being in a ſmall country place), I came almoſt every day. He had been uſed on my firſt employing him only to reap the chins of the ruſtics, and any thing that could cut ſtubble would anſwer that purpoſe; for, beſides that it is the general practice for the gentry of Germany of ſhave only once a-week, a German chin after it has been ſhaved would turn the edge of a Dutch razor. When the man, therefore, came upon a face that called for daily ſcraping, and found it had been uſed to gentle uſage, he looked upon it as ſo arduous an undertaking, that he called in all the might of his religion to ſtrengthen his arm, and incontinently retired into a little chapel adjoining the houſe, both before and after the operation; firſt for going through his job with judgment, and then in thankſgiving, for having performed it without cutting my throat. On theſe occaſions he always ſung two ſtaves of the ſame pſalm, and with ſo much violence of lungs that one would think he imagined heaven would be deaf to his [234]prayers. Indeed I often thought ſo too, for, not withſtanding his bawling, if my chin and throat came off with no more than half a dozen flaſhes, the blood guſhing at each, I reckoned it a morning of eſcape. But this fellow would ſometime burſt forth into a muſical howl at mealtime, with the meat in his mouth; and yet, having a few acres of ground now and then to reap and mow, alſo, if too much ſun, or rain, or from, or ſnow, thinned his crops, be would be as full of growl againſt the good God of ſeaſons, as if the were—a French Republican!

Fairs, or what they call Kermiſſes, are very proper ſupplements to their faſts and holy⯑days: not that thoſe are more numerous than in England, but becauſe it is the cuſtom for the ſervants to viſit every kermis, at whatever diſtance, where ſhe or they have a friend, or relation: and as each kermis laſts a week, and as it is thought very hard if the permiſſion is not given for at leaſt a couple of days at each, you may gueſs in what a ſituation families are leſt betwixt one practice and another. If by accident you call on a friend, and ſtay dinner, the cook is gone to the kermis, or to the church, or elſe it is a faſt-day, and ſhe can do [235]nothing, but drink coffee eight or ten times, and go to the kirk.

Yet a kermis, particularly a village one, is worth ſeeing. It is an annual aſſociation of all the ſcattered parts of a man's family and friends. I attended one in Weſtphalia, on a principle of that general curioſity which carries me every where. But having no village con⯑nexions while at Cleyes, I wandered about a little place in the neighbourhood during ker⯑mis time. The firſt joyful groupe which I ſaw gathered together arreſted my ſtep. I ſtood leaning on the gate of a large farm yard, at the farther end of which I obſerved a number of perſons ſitting round a table, and others danc⯑ing, and almoſt every body ſinging. The firſt glympſe of a ſtranger brings an invitation, eſpecially on public occaſions. This urbanity is almoſt univerſal in Weſtphalia. I followed a courteous introducer who led me to the maſter and miſtreſs of the houſe. Their teſti⯑monies of welcome came ſo faſt upon me, that had I eat and drank of half the different good things which were ſet before me, I muſt have been killed with kindneſs on the ſpot. I ſoon underſtood that I was at the houſe of a farmer, whoſe happy family from great grandfather to [236]grand-child, were amongſt the gueſts: and all theſe different characters on the ſtage of human life, were dancing on a graſs plat behind the great barn, and all ſuch as were or had been married, arrayed in their bridal dreſſes. One of the brothers' wives introduced a ſackling of two months to the great-grand⯑father, who was enjoying health, in the ſight of four and thirty relations, and in the Syth year of his age! It was a benquet for a good natured ſpectator to ſee the joy with which the old man danced the little creature on his knee, then preſented him to the other parts of his family, according to ſeniority, that the young⯑ling might have a kermiſs-kiſs from all his kindred. But the pretty mother! How I wiſh that you had ſeen the mother during this tranſaction:—not on account of her prettineſs, but becauſe the fineſt bluſhes that ever circu⯑lated from the heart into the countenance, and the ſofteſt tears that maternal fondneſs ever brought into the face of a lovely young woman, would then have been enjoyed by my friend! and it was her firſt child! and it had been a match of love; and the babe, according to its parents, wiſh was a ſon, and according to family wiſhes alſo, it bore the name of its great-grand⯑ſire, and was thought, by affection (who [237]takes likeneſſes you know in a moment) to inherit the hue of the eyes and ſome of the features. The attitude, half bending over it, in its circuit, as it paſſed from the arms of one relation to thoſe of another, was a ſubject for painting, and might have been highly finiſhed; but the extacy in which, at the end of the cere⯑mony, ſhe received, and the kiſſes with which ſhe covered it, were beyond the reach of human pencil, and required all the powers of nature who works in colours "dipt in heaven." After this every body drank health, and many more happy family fétes to the old man; who, in return, pledged a bumper of Rheniſh to the company; one of the ſons aſſured me that the veteran's maladies were ſlight, and always cured by a viſit to one or other of his family. His medical ſon preſcribed this affectionate remedy: thus when his own home became a little ſolitary, the good old man went to another: and as all the family live within a ſhort diſtance from the ancient manſion of this their fore⯑father, there is a cure within reach for every diſorder: he gets rid of a cold at the houſe of one child, of a fever at that of another, of a touch of the rhumatiſm at a third's, and at a fourth's of an head-ach. Upon getting a little more into the private hiſtory of the houſe, [238](from a gueſt who was my next hand neigh⯑bour, and juſt animated enough with wine to become a benevolent hiſtorian) I found that the grand children were worthy of the ſire; for that all the brothers, of which there were nine, had entered into a ſocial domeſtic compact, the particular articles of which had been com⯑mitted to writing; that in the courſe of affairs, they were mutually to ſerve each other, either with a ſum of money, or any other aſſiſtance, ſuited to the nature and neceſſity of the caſe. And as if Providence intended to try the virtue and ſincerity of each, all the brothers in turn wanted and found a friend in the good offices of each other.—Ah, my friend, we have not got all the ſimplicity, happineſs, and virtue to our⯑ſelves: and God forbid we ever ſhould have. How bleſſed to ſhare them, as they are ſhared, with all the human race!

I have gleaned various inſtances of their being diſperſed over theſe diviſions of the globe. I have ſhewn to you the natural affec⯑tions blooming in Holland, Cambria, and Weſtphalia. Permit me now to preſent to you one more example, of which I was an eye witneſs in the firſt mentioned country.

[239]In a trip from the Hague to Rotterdam, and from thence to Haarlem, I was juſt in time for the after-dinner boat to get a place in the cabin, and to ſee an aged mother and her daughter give and receive the farewel looks, expreſſions, and embraces, to and from ſome friends and relatives. Never did I ſee the feelings of the heart ſhine with more lucid brightneſs while each was in view of the other; nor deſcend in more tender tears when they could behold each other no longer. As the boat moved on, the groupe on ſhore followed as long as they could at the edges of the canal, and the party in the cabin thruſt their heads out of the door to catch the kind looks and ſayings, till the horſe being hooked to the ſchuyt, they could no longer keep pace with us. The ſucceeding moments were paſſed in deep ſighs on the part of the mother, and tears on that of the daughter, neither of whom took any more notice of me, nor of any other perſon in the cabin, than of the cuſhions they ſat on. A perſon in the corner told me theſe people would, perhaps, never ſee each other again for ſome years, as the mother and daughter were going to ſettle in North Holland.

I was prepared to hear him ſay North America at leaſt: but to people untravelled, a [240]ſeparation of fifty miles is an immeaſurable diſtance. And the ſympathy of divided affec⯑tion extends the ſpace to infinity! The ſilence was long, and I honoured them for it; had there been a cranny in their hearts for the en⯑trance of common place curioſity, or for con⯑verſation with a ſtranger, I ſhould have deemed it a robbery of what was due to their abſent friends. I perceived the daughter to ſtrain her longing eyes towards the only opening at which there might be a poſſibility of catching a parting glympſe of her relations, and I diſcovered at the ſame time, that I intercepted her ſight— would to heaven that ſtranger did not ſit be⯑twixt me and my friends, was the ſentiment written in every line of her face: but as ſhe continued to look, I gave her all the chances ſhe could expect by moving my poſition. No ſooner had I done ſo than ſhe exclaimed—I ſee poor Catherine's cloak, and the ſkirt of Sally's gown, through the window! The glow of that friendſhip which is ſo deliciouſly animating in the days of our youth, fluſhed her cheeks; but it was ſweetly blended alſo with the gratitude, which, at that period of our lives, gives ſuch a colouring and grace to the complexion; after this ſhe farther won my regard by ſuch a pen⯑ſive caſt of the head, and direction of the eyes, [241]as plainly indicated her heart was returning to the Hague, with her friends, and ſhe took little or no notice of any thing, or any body elſe, during the reſt of the voyage.

I have ſlightly mentioned to you ſomewhere the love of ornament amongſt the Dutch, as inconſiſtent with the weight, not to ſay heavi⯑neſs, of their appearance. I think this over⯑finery is to be diſcovered principally in their liveries, which are often gaudy and rich, ſome⯑times elegant. It is exhibited alſo in their fur⯑niture, barges, chimneys, china, and mills. It even ſhews itſelf in certain indeſcribable places, yet, generally ſpeaking, all theſe things are ſo out of keeping with their own figures and faſhions—ſuch, for inſtance, as their deep brown or blue ſuits of Dutch homeſpun or Pruſſian, their unyielding features, immenſe breeches, prepoſterous petticoats, ſtupendous hip-pads, and meaſured pace—that they ſeem as little of a piece as if the ſaid homeſpun jerkins, &c. were to be trimmed with gold and ſilver foils and fringes.

As to the waterfaring men (freſh or ſalt) they are be-buttoned from top to toe, each button, not excepting thoſe of the waiſtband, a third [242]part larger than an Engliſh crown-piece, and always of ſolid ſilver. One whimſical fellow, who was maſter of a fiſhing-ſmack, uſed to ex⯑hibit himſelf with a ſuit of coarſe blue bays, or ſerge, the coat buttons of which were Zea⯑land ſix-dollars (a piece of ſilver the ſize of our crown) the waiſtcoat was buttoned with florins, the trowzers with ſchellings (larger than our ſhilling) the waiſtband and flaps with pieces of thirty ſtivers (half-a-crown), his check ſhirt with dublikys (ſilver two-pences), and his ſhoes were faſtened by twenty-eight ſtiver pieces, cut into claſps, and a gilder for the button of his hat; which hat was, in itſelf, a curioſity, being folded into three corners, in the way that grocers make up their penny⯑worths, into long bags of white-brown paper, which, you know, are, ‘"Small by degrees, and subimſically leſs."’

Indeed even the higher claſs of Hollanders are too full of button, wearing four where an Engliſhman would content himſelf with one, and placing them ſo cloſe that it is quite a labour to faſten and looſe them.

I have praiſed the Dutch neatneſs; it is worthy of praiſe; but occaſionally carried to [243]exceſs. It now and then goes into caricature. You have always the fear of the pail and ſcrub⯑bing bruſhes before your eyes. On the grand cleaning day, which here is Friday, the maid ſervants are to be ſeen puddling below, ankle⯑deep, and ſpouting above at the windows as if they were playing off an engine to extinguiſh a conflagration; although the great end pro⯑poſed, is only to waſh away the duſt that may have gathered on the ſaſhes, in the courſe of the week. An Engliſh traveller who comes from the comfort of a dry room, or whoſe ſtate of health would ſuffer from damps, muſt reconcile to this déſagrement as well as he can; as he will, from an intention of civility, be ſhewn into an apartment juſt waſhed, he had better double his defenſe, by an additional pair of ſocks, or ſtockings; for the Dutch landlord would deem it rude to take his gueſt into a room that has not been laid under water ſince the laſt company went out of it, and were you to argue againſt the thing, he would ſet you down as a dirty traveller, who did not know how to behave yourſelf in a clean country.

Through every part of Holland, the natives are great obſervers of ſymmetry. Is a bruſh, [244]for example, part of the furniture of a room, it will be found hanging up, equidiſtant with another of the ſame ſize, ſhape, and faſhion, to anſwer it.

This matter is alſo ſpoken to in former Gleanings.

But with reſpect to the modes of dreſſing, it is out of my memory whether I have before mentioned a great and general reſemblance betwixt the Welch and German peaſantry. At leaſt eighty out of every hundred of the latter are habited in the dark blue, or deep brown of the former, and have a number of cuſtoms in common, which is the leſs to be wondered at, when we conſider the mixture of the two nations, when the Saxons, ſometimes by treachery, ſometimes by invitation, and ſome⯑times by invaſion, became maſters or partners of Cambria. But ſo many ages having paſſed away ſince the Saxon heptarchy, and even ſince the expulſion of the Germans, whether friends or enemies, from the principality of Wales, it was curious enough for a traveller, who had juſt been gleaning that country, to find ſuch a [245]general reſemblance in the dreſs, air, habits, and even features of a people ſo remote, and with which, modernly ſpeaking, they had not, nor ever could have, the ſlighteſt intercourſe.

‘They who came over out of Germany into Wales (ſays Caradoc) to aid the Britons againſt their enemies, the Picts and Scots, were partly Saxons, Angles, and Juthes; from the firſt of which came the people of Eſſex, Suſſex, Middleſex, and the Weſt Saxons; from the Angles, the Eaſt Angles and the Mercians, and they that inhabited the North ſide of the Humber; from the Juthes, the Kentiſh men, and they who ſettled in the Iſle of Wight.’

Thus the Engliſh nation and its appendages, like the Engliſh language, appears to be a compound of every other country, and, par⯑ticularly, of Germany. From ſettlements, marriages, deſcents, &c. it is reaſonable that there ſhould be preſerved ſome family cuſtoms and family features. A likeneſs of counte⯑nance may be traeed, indeed, through all claſſes of the Empires of Germany and Great Britain: and the former being certainly (taken as an whole) a brave, ingenious, and generous [246]nation, I was pleaſed to trace the ſimilitude, and admit the original alliance. Time has worn out the reſentments; but whatever brings to memory a bond of connexion, and of amity, though formed between individuals or countries three thouſand years ago, has a charm for the heart. Had I but the hem of a garment in my poſſeſſion, that had been worn by the greateſt foe of my family on the day of re⯑conciliation, or at the moment that he came to my anceſtor (whom he had injured) to avow, and to repent of, the wrong, and to promiſe future loving-kindneſs,—that fragment of the dreſs ſhould have a place in my wardrobe, and be held as a memorial.

With regard to the ancient Germans, were we to take a comparative view of them, and of the ancient Britons, we ſhould find a ſimi⯑litude in the features of their minds as well as manners, eſpecially in the grand articles of war and religion. The heroes, ſages, and prieſts of one country, had their counter⯑parts in the other; had Cambria her Druids, Bards, and Chiefs, that devoted themſelves to wounds and death, for the ſake of God and their country, conformably to the ſacrifice, the chivalry, and worſhip of the times, the Ger⯑manic [247]nations had holy, brave, and wiſe men who correſponded to theſe characters, and afford additional evidence of their having bor⯑rowed manners, maxims, and ſuperſtitions, from one another.

In order to throw luſtre on the parallel, I will pick a little hiſtorical Gleaning of what I remember. We venerate the traditionary independence which animated the ancient Welch. The ancient Germans cultured the ſame ſpirit. The Roman hiſtorian reports them to reſpect only thoſe duties, which they impoſed on themſelves. The nobleſt youths bluſhed not to be numbered among the faithful companions of ſome renowned chiefs, to whom they devoted their arms and ſervice. A noble emulation prevailed amongſt the companions to obtain the firſt place in the eſteem of their chief; amongſt the chiefs to acquire the greateſt number of valiant companions. The glory of ſuch diſtinguiſhed heroes diffuſed itſelf beyond the narrow limits of their own tribe. In the hour of danger it was ſhameful for the chief to be ſurpaſſed in valour by his companions; ſhameful for the companions not to equal the valour of their chief. To ſurvive his fall in battle was indelible infamy. To protect his [248]perſon, and to adorn his glory with the trophies of their own exploits, were the moſt ſacred of their duties. The chiefs combated for the victory, the companions for the chief. The nobleſt warriours, whenever their native country was ſunk in the lazineſs of peace, maintained their numerous bands in ſome diſtant ſcene of action, to exerciſe their reſtleſs ſpirit, and to acquire renown by voluntary dangers. Gifts, worthy of ſoldiers, the war⯑like ſteed, the bloody and ever victorious lance, were the rewards which the companions claimed from the liberality of their chief. The rude plenty of his hoſpitable board was the only pay that he could beſtow, or they would accept. War, and the free-will offerings of his friends ſupplied this munificence.

But, to uſe the language of Biſhop Hurd on another occaſion, and apply them to this, leſt you ſhould think my love of antiquity has operated like enchantment, in regard to the ancient German chiefs and companions, I muſt deſire you to conſider the courage and conduct of the modern ones, who have ſo long, and ſo nobly, and almoſt without a day's receſs, re⯑pelled the hordes of France, when almoſt her whole population has been forced into the field. [249]Can we diſcover, in times paſt, a braver, a more faithful, or a more perſevering body of men, than thoſe ſubjects of Auſtria, who are, at this very moment, under command of Beau⯑lieu, Clairfait, and Cobourg? Each of whom might certainly hold a place in the temple of Victory as diſtinguiſhed as any general that Rome had to boaſt. Nor could the boldeſt of the race of Cadwallader be diſhonoured by an alliance with the ſublime progenitors of theſe illuſtrious deſcendents.

It is painful to obſerve that the religious zeal of the old Germans was as wild, ſavage, and fatal, as that of the ancient Britons, and that the fanatic miniſters of the one anſwered to the Druids of the other. Both were alike able to perſuade, that, "by ſome ridiculous arts of divination, they could diſcover the will of the ſuperior beings; and both taught that human ſacrifices were the moſt precious and acceptable offerings to their altars. The Ger⯑manic, like the Druidical temples, were in dark and ancient groves, conſecrated by the reverence of ſucceeding generations. ‘Their ſecret gloom, the imagined reſidence of an inviſible power (ſays Gibbon) by preſenting no diſtinct object of fear, or worſhip, im⯑preſſed [250]the mind with a ſtill deeper ſenſe of religious horror.’ I am ſorry to diſcover a yet ſtricter ſimilitude between the Prieſts of Ger⯑many, and the Druids of Wales: the former no leſs than the latter, we are informed, had been taught by experience the uſe of every artifice that could preſerve and fortify impreſ⯑ſions ſo well ſuited to their own intereſt; and it has been finely remarked, that the ſame igno⯑rance which renders barbarians incapable of conceiving, and of embracing, the uſeful reſtraints of law, expoſes then aked and unarm'd to the blind terrors of ſuperſtition. The Ger⯑man prieſts, improving this favourable temper of their countrymen, even in temporal con⯑cerns, which the magiſtrate could not venture to exerciſe; and the defects of civil policy, were, ſometimes, ſupplied by the interpoſition of eccleſiaſtical authority.

We find, too, that ancient Germany, like ancient Briton, had her bards, whoſe genius, character, and office, were extremely alike in one country and in the other. It is not eaſily to be conceived, ſays one of Rome's beſt hiſto⯑rians, how this ſingular order of men, (ſpeak⯑ing of the German bards) contrived to kindle the enthuſiaſm of arms and glory in the breaſts [251]of their audience. It was in the hour of battle, or in the feaſt of victory, that they celebrated the glory of heroes of ancient days, the anceſtors of thoſe warlike chieftains who liſtened with tranſport to the animated ſtrains. The view of arms, of victory, and of danger, heightened the effect of the military ſong, and the paſſions which it tended to excite, the de⯑ſire of fame, and the contempt of death, were the habitual ſentiments of a German mind.

We may eaſily ſuppoſe, that with the help of a glowing imagination, which was not wanting, the audience imputed to the bards of Germany all the power which poeſy herſelf has, in ſome of her nobleſt flights, attributed to the bards of Wales.—

Nor have the Princes of Germany degenerated from their anceſtry, none of whom have higher claims on the love of the people, or the eulogy of the modern bards, than the amiable and youthful monarch, who now fills the imperial throne. Of his warlike atchievements, during the preſent campaign, the trump of fame has [252]ſufficiently informed you, but there is a trait of his heart in private and domeſtic life, which I receive from the moſt unqueſtionable autho⯑rity, and which will endear him to you more than a thouſand victories.

Joſeph the ſecond, who was an oeconomiſt, left to (Leopold who did not live long enough, after he became Emperor, to diſſipate them) an unincumber'd diadem and immenſe treaſures. Theſe all concenter'd in the preſent Emperor, to whom was bequeathed the diſpoſal of them ſo unconditionally, that the dowager empreſs his mother was, in a manner, rather a dependent on his bounty, than poſſeſs'd of powers in herſelf to claim as widow, wife, and mother. No ſooner did the youth find himſelf thus danger⯑ouſly placed, than he reſolved to put it out of his own power to act unbecoming the ſon of an Empreſs and Queen. Convening, therefore, his court and council, he appropriated an early day for his coronation, or rather nomination to the emperorſhip,—the regular ceremony being performed long after at Frankfort,—and he intreated the honour that the Queen Dowager would aſſiſt at it. The aſſembly was brilliant, the young monarch roſe in the midſt of it, and holding in his hand a ſcroll, thus addreſſed [253]himſelf to his miniſters, in the preſence of thouſands of his ſubjects.—"I perceive a paſſage of great importance is omitted in the will of my royal father. No ſuitable, independent pro⯑viſion has been made for my beloved and im⯑perial mother. The long tried virtues of that noble lady, the tender confidence and domeſtic love, in which ſhe lived with my father, con⯑vinces me, that it never could have been in⯑tended, that ſo good a wife, ſo kind a parent, and ſo excellent a woman, could be left in a ſtate of dependence on her ſon. Much more likely is it that the ſon ſhould have been be⯑queathed to the commands, indulgence, and management of his mother. Or if it was in⯑tended that the ſon ſhould receive the whole revenues of the empire, it could only be in confidence that he would act as her agent, and ſee that her private, her natural, and proper rights were paid into her coffers with the leaſt care and inconvenience to herſelf.

"In the latter caſe, I hope I ſhould be found, throughout my reign, a faithful ſteward of my dear parent and of the people; and, ſuppoſing, for a moment, this caſe a poſſible one, I cannot be inſenſible to the exalted affection and eſteem the late Emperor and King muſt have for me, [254]that he could, after his death, confide the fortunes of ſuch a wife to the truſt of his ſon. But human nature is ſo frail, and the truſt is ſo aweful, that I tremble while I poſſeſs it; and cannot, indeed, be eaſy, till I have diſburthened myſelf of the weight it impoſes. To this end, my loving friends, miniſters and ſubjects, I have herein bound myſelf, (ſhewing the ſcroll) by an inſtrument of the laſt ſolemnity, to be⯑come reſponſible in a yearly ſum ſuited to her rank although inferior to her deſervings. And I have, as nearly as may be, made this diſpo⯑ſition from my private funds, and from ſources the leaſt likely to infringe on, or to affect, the treaſures of the ſtate, which I hold in truſt alſo,—for the honour of my empire, and the proſperity of Auſtria; yet I conſider myſelf as called upon by my ſubjects to explain, account for, and juſtify every expenditure, before I make an arrangement in favor of any part of my own family: But I feel at the ſame time, that it is an act of duty and juſtice on my part, which will be crowned by the ſanction of all any people.

"Here then, madam, continued the royal youth, dropping on his knee as he deſcended from his throne, and preſenting the ſcroll—here [255]is the deed by which I relieve myſelf from an inſupportable burthen,—the idea of your majeſty's becoming the victim of a ſon's weak⯑neſs, indiſcretion, or ingratitude: and you will find that I have, by the ſame act, taken the liberty to appoint you the guardian of my youth, in all that can properly be called (if any thing can) my private fortunes. I retain in my hand the public treaſures, becauſe the weight of them would, from the multiplicity of demands, be attended with fatigue to you; but I ſhall not fail, from time to time, as exigences may ariſe, to derive benefit, in their application, from your known wiſdom, goodneſs of heart and judgement, and your love of the empire."

With regard to the public, one might very reaſonably expect from ſuch an outſet, what has happened in the progreſs of the reign of this monarch;—we were prepared for his having almoſt emptied the coffers of his pri⯑vate property, and almoſt ſtript his palace of his furniture, many of its neceſſaries, and all its luxuries before he invited the aſſiſtance of his people to carry on this unparalleled war, for their ſake, for his own, and for that of human kind! It is a literal fact that he ſent all his gold and ſilver ſervices of plate to the mint; [256]now he contents himſelf with common porce⯑lain. Should the invaſion of the rights of men continue, he will, probably, be reduced to earthen ware, and to ſhew that his ſpirit in the field is equal to his generous ſacrifices at home, he left a beloved wife, in the moſt affecting criſis of a woman's life, to be the firſt in dan⯑ger as in honour. He is now only in the twen⯑ty-fourth year of his age,—ſurely nothing but a Carmagnol could wiſh to ſhorten the life of ſuch a monarch, or of ſuch a man! but the name of King includes tyranny it ſeems; and every head "that wears a crown," accord⯑ing to the new ſyſtem, deſerves to loſe it! The rule does not admit of an exception. Notwithſtanding which, I ſhall hazard the treaſon to wiſh that the preſent Emperor of Germany, the preſent King of Great-Britain, and of every other Prince like unto them, may ſurvive, not only the malicious plots of their enemies, whether ſecret, or avowed, but the enemies themſelves! and, I truſt, I ſhould have firmneſs and loyalty enough to breathe this wiſh! this prayer! though it ſhould bring me to the edge of that inſtrument, which, for a ſimilar offence, has immolated ſuch hecatombs of victims.

[257]Yet there are, amongſt the ſubjects even of this beloved Sovereign, many thouſands of perſons who would aid and abet theſe extirpa⯑tions of royalty, in planting a dagger in his heart!—The Brabançons, the people of Liege, and many large bodies of the higher, as well as lower parts of the empire, conceal their treaſon in applauſe, and their diſcontent in flattery, but lie in wait for an occaſion, like the folded ſerpent in the graſs, to ſting the boſom that nouriſhes, and arreſt the arm which defends them. This is ſo true, that in Germany, as in other parts of the world, the foe within our gates, and even our familiar friends, who can ſmile upon their maſter and be villains, are more to be dreaded than the external enemy. Againſt the open violence of the latter we can guard, and force may be oppoſed to force; but, from the inſidious machinations of the firſt, the hour of confidence may be that of treachery, and the moment of apparent endear⯑ment may mingle poiſons, wounds, and death with embraces.

Amidſt ſo much unnatural conduct in dif⯑ferent parts of the world, it is as refreſhing as rare to meet with an inſtance of loyalty, in any part of it. Such was the ſplendid and ſpirited [258]offer of the little town or rather village of Broek in North Holland, whoſe beauties and ſingularities I gave in a former Gleaning. The inhabitants of this place ſent word to the Stadt⯑holder and the States General, that if either the armies, or the treaſuries of the provinces, wanted aſſiſtance, the patriot gift of twenty or thirty tons of ſilver, and five or ten of gold, ſhould not be wanting!—but, alas!—on the per contra ſide of this ſolitary fact, what a long liſt of murmurs, rebellions, maſſacres, and of treaſons, might not be ſet down, even in the ſpan of earth and water that appertains to the Dutch!—to go no farther. And though the laſt revolution threw them fifty years behind hand in wealth, and credit, and an hundred in felicity, and coſt them thirty-two millions of florins beſides, they are, burſting ripe for another revolution!—adieu.

LETTER LXIX. TO THE SAME.

WE have now given a general Glean⯑ing of Weſtphalia, as well as of Holland and Guelderland, ‘"Tried what the open, what the coverts yield."’ From Cleves, Wezel, Emeric, or any of the port towns, right to left, you may bend your way to Spa, Chaud Fontaine, Aix la Chapelle, or any other place which faſhion, the arts of men, and the ſtreams of nature have made popular; but of which the deſcription, the virtues, &c. are as familiar as the ſprings of Iſlington. From hence, alſo, your path lies eaſy and direct by water or by land, to all the other parts of Germany, including its depend⯑ent circles. From this town of Cologne, the world is all before you. To this ancient and imperial place you may come even from Rot⯑terdam, (by boats of buſineſs or of pleaſure,) along two of the nobleſt rivers in Europe, the Meuſe and the Rhine; the delicious courſe of [260]which I ſhould certainly deſcribe more par⯑ticularly, and indeed have Gleaning materials to this end, but that, ſince I collected them, a work has fallen into my hands which I recom⯑mend to yours, becauſe it is written with ele⯑gance and truth; and becauſe it may now be peruſed with pleaſure by all my readers, as I am informed a good tranſlation of it has juſt made its appearance in England. It has for title, in the original "voyage ſur le Rhin, depuis Mayence juſqu'à Duſſeldorf,"—a voy⯑age or journey by the banks of the Rhine, from Mayence to Duſſeldorf.

But although this ample track of land and water lies, as I ſaid, before you, it is not now either an eaſy or an eligible path; for "ſtorms and deſolations reſt upon it." At the time I paid it my earlieſt viſit, you could not take a direction, amidſt a thouſand routes, that did not preſent even more, than the ingenious work juſt mentioned has ſpoken to, of every agrément a traveller can deſire, but no [...]—in ſhort, my loved friend, the charm is diſſolved,—I have ſtrayed with you amongſt fragrance and fer⯑tility, and purſued the devious walk till we have literally ‘"wander'd into a ſea of blood'!’ [261]Forgive me. I own it was a ſtratagem, but done in kindneſs. I wiſhed, as long as poſſible, to make you forget and to keep you from theſe confines of "ſin and death", to which we were approaching: ‘"Veil'd in a ſhower of ſhadowing roſes". ^*’ You have, hitherto, ſcarcely perceived that all along I have been conducting you to the very ſcenes of action, where even at this moment, "the battle bleeds in every vein".

I need not inform you dear friend, who have ever a clue to my wanderings, that ſoon after your receipt of my laſt, I in a manner eſcaped to England, and during my very ſhort ſtay there, ſent you an ^‡ hiſtory of my ſenſations; but no ſooner, as you know, had I refreſhed my ſpirit at the ſight of ſo much peace and plenty, gratified my heart by the tranſient view of ſome who were dear to me at home, and heard of ſome important ſucceſſes abroad, I followed once more the bent of my "truant diſpoſition", [262]and reviſited the ſcenes from which I had been driven: It was as you recollect in the midſt of a month that would ſoon have ripened all the fruits of the earth, and made "the heart of the huſbandman ſing for joy", had not his hopes been deſtroyed, torn up by the roots and trampled under the foot of the mercileſs enemy. I repaſſed all my ancient paths, and to a certain diſtance found ſome traces of the lovely ſcenery I had left, and which I have already Gleaned for you. I advanced a little, and ſoon came to the extreme edge of peace. Words, were they written by Shakſpeare's pen, could not duly deſcribe the change which had taken place in the ſpace of an hundred yards farther, mea⯑ſuring from the ſpot from whence peace, plenty, and nature, ſeemed to have taken flight, as if, like other terrified emigrants, they had ſought protection in our Queen of Iſles.

A ſmall arm of the Rhine ſeparated me from a territory that had, ſome few weeks before, been the ſcene of an action, which, though ſhort, had been bloody. I paſſed over,—and the reſt of the river for many a league, bluſhed to fancy like the Rubicon. The earth for ſeveral miles gave note of what had been doing in abſence of the Gleaner. An harveſt, alas, [263]of the ſword inſtead of the ſcythe had been made, and whole ranks of human creatures, as well as the graſs and the corn, had been mown down,—an iron harveſt!—Flocks and herds had been ſo effectually driven away, or deſtroyed, that although it was celebrated as a country for the choiceſt cattle, and I had ſo often ſeen them cover the banks, neither the lowe of an ^* heifer, [264]nor the bleat of a lamb was to be heard. A few ſad birds, in melancholy notes chanted a funeral dirge over their ruined bowers and thickets, moſt of which had been "hewn down and caſt into the fire." In one of theſe groves, being at a walking diſtance from the neigh⯑bouring [265]town where I made one of my glean⯑ing pauſes, I had in a former viſit been at ſome pains to form a ſeat of freſh ſods, to diſcipline the foliage on either ſide, and canopy the branches above, chiefly becauſe it was in the neighbourhood of two or three nightingales, who ſang their ſorrows to each other, and be⯑cauſe a ſtockdove had built in the back ground. And it had the farther agrément of a brook, that after an hundred fantaſtic mazes, amongſt the meadows and fields adjacent, took its courſe along the underwood, through which I could ſee it ſtream as I ſat, and I could beſides hear it diſpute and ſtruggle with the impediments it found in its way. Of theſe it complained ſo gently, as very well to aſſociate with the notes of my dove and nightingales. Although I had thrown the arching of my alcove, as far for⯑ward, cave like, as I could, with a deſign to exclude too obtruſive a viſit of the ſun, and of the world, I could obſerve at the openings of the oak branches part of a fine field of ſpring⯑ing corn, and catch a glimpſe of ſome ſteeples on the one hand, and ſeveral farm-houſes and cottages on the other: So that the tout-enſemble, you will conceive, afforded to a man of poeſy and peace all that his heart could deſire. In this retreat I had paſſed many a ſunſetting, and [266]not ſeldom a ſun-riſing hour. I returned to lament the change. All that ſide of the grove which ſcreened and furniſhed branches for my alcove, was cut away by a ſanguine banditti, who came, ſword in band, into theſe environs. The hand of wantonneſs had hacked off with the fabre whole nurſeries of firs and poplars. Moſt of the houſes had been burnt down, and the wretched inhabitants plundered of all their little ſtores. Some were dead of wounds, ſome of grief, the reſt wandered about the world in ſearch of the very few, who, with the diſpo⯑ſition, had the power of benevolence.

The fields which I left ſo full of vernal pro⯑miſe were deſpoiled; not an handful of grain remained for a Gleaner, who was now literally leſt to pick his ſcanty ſubſiſtence amidſt thorns and briars; and though the ſteeples of ſome churches were yet to be ſeen, they could be viewed only as the monuments of that dread⯑ful ſacrilege which had been committed within. I entered one of theſe, and found it had, in real and dreadful truth, been turned into a den of thieves. The altars were broken down, and the fragments ſtained with the blood of its mi⯑niſters; the ruthleſs ſoldiery had converted the moſt holy places into the moſt obſcene; inde⯑cent [267]alluſions and impious mottos were pen⯑cilled on the windows, doors, and even on the ſainted reliques; and the images of the Re⯑deemer were demoliſhed, with every mark of mockery and ſcorn ^*. Several tombs were torn [268]open, and the "canoniſed bones," which had been depoſited for centuries, were hung round the pulpit, and the ruins of the altar-piece!

The habitations were in the ſame diſmantled ſtate; all the valuables that were portable had been carried off in waggons, tumbled into the heap of promiſcuous plunder, and nothing remained but the wreck of the fixtures, and the miſerable proprietors who had eſcaped the pil⯑lagers, mourning, or famiſhing over them. One ſweetly-ruſtic abode, that I had, the preceding year, diſtinguiſhed as the deareſt reſidence of a numerous, humble, yet not indigent family; the proofs of whoſe induſtry and content I had ſeen ſhine in every plate, glaſs, table, chair, and cup-board, and where I had been accuſ⯑tomed to ſee a groupe of healthy and happy faces, was become a general ruin. The father was marked down, by ſome of his baſe townſ⯑men, as an avowed lover of his country, and had; on a late exigence, join'd ſome of his neighbours to make head againſt a party of [269]foragers, who would have driven off the herds and flocks. This was ſo ſoul a crime in the eyes of the French, that they cut off the head of the tree, and mangled ſeveral of the branches. The very boards and bricks of the rooms were torn up. I ran over the houſe with horror. I paſſed through three of the apartments, with⯑out meeting one conſolatory object. I began to fear every veſtige of humanity had been de⯑ſtroyed by theſe its ſworn exterminators, when, coming to the broken ſtair-caſe, I heard a voice which had often welcomed me. I aſcended, and ſaw the wretched remnants of this once-joyful family crouded into the only chamber that re⯑mained habitable—two half-grown boys, an old woman, and the young daughter who had ſpoken to me. On comparing their preſent with their paſt ſtate, the latter opened on my mind new ideas of human viciſſitude. I inſtantly called to my remembrance that the laſt time I had ſeen theſe very perſons, the two firſt ob⯑jects were ſporting on the green before their door, in all the glee of body and of ſoul. The old woman and her huſband were ſitting on a bench, environed with honey-ſuckles that twiſted, ſelf-bent, into a natural canopy, and the daughter was "leaning, half-raiſed," on the flowery ground, at the feet of her parents, [270]and laughing at the anticks of her two bro⯑thers.

Why ſhould I paint to you the dire reverſe! Alas! the reverſe goes almoſt out of the reach even of imagination. It is not eaſy to ſuppoſe the ravagers could, in ſo ſhort a ſpace of time, change every happy circumſtance to its bittereſt oppoſite; that they could turn, for inſtance, plenty into famine, health to diſeaſe, and a contented mind to an agonized, broken ſpirit! Yet all this had been done by the ſons of liberty, who too truly put their threat in execution, of carrying miſery and death into every place they viſited.

As to my poor nightingales and ſtockdove, though they had more cauſe than ever to lament that terror, which, in conventional language, is the order of the day, had ſent them to mourn prematurely in other lands:

for the little thicket, which had been their leafy ſanctuary was burnt up by theſe glorious free-booters—becauſe, forſooth, the proprietor was wicked enough to attempt ſaving himſelf [271]and family by flight, when he heard that a party of patriots were likely to invade his village, and the guilty wretch was another traitor, who had unfortunately diſtinguiſhed himſelf, on a former occaſion, as a lover of his country. Nothing, in ſhort, remained of the various in⯑nocent and intereſting objects my heart had ap⯑preciated, but a fragment of the brook, part of which had been deſtroyed in the fury of ex⯑tirpating the thicket; and from the broken gaps the water had worked its way into an op⯑poſite current to the left, where, in forming a junction of ſounds, it ſeemed to lament the general ruin. But, God knows, the ſurrounding calamities required no aids from fancy. On the contrary, in this poor ſuffering little town, and its environs, there actually happened ſuch horrors as Fancy, when moſt diſpoſed to excite terror, her ſtrongeſt attribute, never formed. Dreadful beyond imagination was a fact which theſe inhuman republicans perpetrated on the ſucking infant of the hapleſs fugitive laſt men⯑tioned. He had information that the enemy would be at Kreutznach in a few hours, and being told that he would certainly be amongſt the proſcribed, on account of the active part he had taken, when a party of peaſants bravely defended their all againſt a former horde, he [272]followed the impulſe of a panic-ſtruck mo⯑ment, and filled his two carts, the one with his family, the other with his moveable effects, in order to ſend them away to a brother farmer's, where they could find a promiſed protection. He followed his little houſehold with an aching, yet comforted heart, but hearing the ſound of the enemy's guns in the road they were to take, and ſuppoſing the route had been changed, he returned to his cottage, and had hope that the plunderers would purſue another plan. Alas, this was a flattering ex⯑pectation. The patriots had heard that a de⯑tachment of Pruſſians were ſtill in Kreutznach, but learning ſoon after, from a ſcout, that they had marched out of the village the pre⯑ceding evening, the patriots ſilently made their way into the heart of the town before it was ſuſpected they were in the neighbourhood; for it was late in the night, or rather early in the morning, and the peaceful, harmleſs inhabi⯑tants were in their beds. You will better judge of the confuſion than I can deſcribe it. The peaſant ſacrificed the dead to ſave the living, and taking his wife in one hand, and his children, linked arm in arm, in the other, the ſuckling lying on its mother's breaſt, he left his dwelling with a hope of ſtill gaining the [273]aſylum. A patriot countryman and neighbour, however, with whom he had often diſputed on the ſubject of his principles, noticed his de⯑parture, and conducted the ſanguine enemy int the path he had taken. They lingered about till the dawn, which, alas, broke too ſoon for the fugitives; who, on hearing the voice of their menacing purſuers, had plunged into a wood to the left; but the crying of their own child betrayed them. The barbarians ruſhed into the wood, where, ſpreading themſelves, they overtook the female part of the wanderers; whom the poor peaſant had quitted for the moment, to explore a track that he conceived might lead them to a ſmall hamlet on the left; and which, conſiſting only of a few ſcattered huts that ſtood on the ſkirts of the foreſt, might ſtill preſerve his family. Meantime, they were ſeated, as he thought, in ſo ſecure a receſs, that the "dogs of war," though in full cry, could not harm them during his abſence. He was miſtaken. The blood-hounds diſco⯑vered their haunt, and, ſeizing the trembling mother, they tore the babe from her breaſt and ſtriking off its head, threw the bloody gift into her lap, as a preſent to her husband, dread⯑fully ſwearing, at the ſame time, that if ſhe did not perſuade him to return, and ſolicit [274]pardon for his paſt offenſes againſt the French Re⯑public, that her own head, and that of every other child, ſhould anſwer it! They left her for other miſchief. Cruel as it is, my friend, you are impatient for the ſequel of this bloody adventure, which I received, nearly as I relate it, from the mouth of the deſolate wife.

On the return of her huſband, gueſs, if you can, his ſenſations—the bleeding head of his youngeſt infant, the lifeleſs trunk of its little body, the agonized mother, the no leſs ſhock⯑ing proſpect of the remainder of them, all before him! Let your beating heart have reſt, however, as to the remainder of this poor family. After the Carmagnols had paſt ſome hours in the ravage of Kreutznach, and, in raiſing ſuch exactions as left famine to finiſh what the ſword had begun, the approach of the Pruſſians compelled the enemy to evacuate the town, and the peaſants returned—they re⯑turned indeed to an heap of ruins: where ‘"Once the garden ſmil'd,"’ and where I had ſo lately ſeen, with delighted eyes, all that the ſweeteſt poetry has ever fan⯑cied or deſcribed,

I generally walk with a ſmall edition of the author of theſe verſes, an author who was one of the earlieſt friends of my youth, and whom my youthful muſe ſincerely lamented, in my pocket. His exquiſite poems, and the Seaſons of Thomſon are amongſt the deareſt of my travelling equipage. On my word of honour, I feel a gratitude, a reſpect, an affection, nay, a paſſion of the heart for every leaſ; for with how many charming ideas have they filled it, when my own thoughts were comfortleſs and ſad? and, during the ſummer months, though I know almoſt every paſſage by rote, I have one or the other of theſe Glories of our ingenious iſle, in my hand, and ‘"In all my wand'rings round this world of care,"’ they appear to be partakers of my pilgrimage. I thus ſeem to be in the company of two of my moſt illuſtrious countrymen, and when I pe⯑ruſe their pages, I ſeem but to repeat their converſation.

But never did I think I ſhould be a dweller upon earth, when almoſt every beauty and [276]innocence of nature that each has ſo ſweetly ſung, ſhould be cut down for ſo many leagues together, and left by the cruel ſpoilers to clot and wither in human gore! Still leſs did I ſuppoſe I ſhould ſo often have occaſion to apply or to contraſt ſo many of their paſſages. Had the author of the "Deſerted Village" lived in theſe times, and gleaned, like me, the places which the enemy of mankind have over-run, all the diſtreſs of that poem, which bewailed, in ſome meaſure, an imaginary, or, at leaſt, a partial evil, would quit its objects, to lament others, a thouſand fold more to be deplored. To ſee ‘"The rural virtues leave the land,"’ as an effect of that luxury, which ‘"Indignant ſpurns the cottage from the green."’ And while

And ſtill further to obſerve

is a melancholy ſight, and worthy to be [277]mourned by the muſe of Goldſmith. But, while the poor exiles took with them many of their deareſt conſolations,

And while the fond mother could

their paſſage to ‘"New found worlds, beyond the weſtern main,"’ and all their deſtiny is bliſs, compared with the execrable deeds which have been heaped on the head of the inhabitants of the countries, that border on, or rather comprehend, the theatre of the preſent war.

And, in fine, when I left one deſolated place, in the hope of gaining more repoſe, and ſee⯑ing leſs ſorrow in another, it was, generally ſpeaking, but going from bad to worſe! An irregular and ſtill diſappointed tour which included moſt of the towns and villages in the neighbourhood of the Saar, the Sambre, the Mozelle, the Zorn, the Meuſe, and the Lower Rhine, (in thoſe branches which ſtretch along the frontiers, in different directions;) com⯑prehending, [278]one way, an excurſion from Coblentz to the Duchy of Deux Ponts—from Louvain to Givet another, from Binche to Bouchain a third, and ſo on, (till I returned, like an hunted hare, to the place from whence I ſet out) preſented me with nothing but ‘"A bitter change, ſeverer for ſevere! ^*"’

I have followed the victorious in their burn⯑ing purſuit of the flying enemy, even when my way has been ſometimes impeded by the bleeding bodies, and mangled limbs of the vanquiſhed! Unable from wounded feelings to proceed, I have returned to the ſpots where the action began, and there ſeen the horror, deſola⯑tion, and famine by which even conqueſt has been gained. Even on the day when ſuch con⯑queſt has filled the diſmantled, and half depo⯑pulated ſtreets of the reſcued town with the ſhout of victors—when ſolemn Te Deums have been appointed to be ſung in all places of public worſhip, I have beheld that maſs of pri⯑vate miſery which is frequently no leſs the companion of victory than the attendant of defeat — the ſhrick of the widow, the orphan, and the childleſs parent were ſtill nearly the ſame.

[279]Had my poor friend Goldſmith ſurvived to witneſs them, how much more reaſon would he have had to exclaim, while on one day he heard or ſaw in ſeveral villages, not inferior to his Auburn:

What additions I ſay, my dear friend, would have been given to his reaſons of complaint, were he to have been an auditor and ſpectator of theſe objects on one day, and, on perhaps, the very next, to find the ſwain ruined or murdered, the milk-maid violated, the head driven into the enemy's camp, the children deprived of a father, and the whole country deſtroyed! Had the ſubject of his pen been only the ſanguinary annals of a few hours depredation, in the village of Dudelange ^*, a ſmall place in the diſaſtrous [280]province of Luxembourg, where decrepid old men, ſick perſons, women labouring with child, babes at the breaſt, or in the cradle, became the indiſcriminate victims of theſe monſters, had he ſeen the lives of thoſe miſerable beings taken away, by abſolutely innova [...]ns [...] cruelty, and atteſted the wanton iniquity of tearing up the young and tender crops which their induſtry had ſown, he would indeed have had reaſon to exclaim

But it is far beyond the reach even of ^* Gold⯑ſmith's poetry to offer an adequate deſcription of [281]atrocities, of plunder, ſword and fire, which throw into ſhadow the utmoſt barbarity of the Goths and Vandals.

[282]And the evil is ſtill growing, ſtill extending its horrors. Though I have at length turned from them, the memory of the paſt is never to be eraſed; the preſent is full of apprehenſion; and the miſeries of the future cannot be calcu⯑lated. Remote as is now this peaceful place from the immediate ſcenes of action, it ſhields me not from a thouſand dreadful ſights of the wounded and the deſolate. Two waggons loaded with the former this morning paſs'd my window, and an equal number are expected to⯑morrow. If you aſk me why I threw myſelf ſo much in the way of ſcenes like theſe, ſo foreign, ſo repugnant to every feeling of my ſoul? why I remained in their view ſo long? I can only anſwer that, in the firſt inſtance, I went to reviſit places and people which had once given me pleaſure, and I deſired to ſhare their pain, in a reverſe of fortune; ſecondly, when once involved, it was not eaſy to diſen⯑tangle my ſteps; and laſtly, I loſt myſelf in the bloody mazes!

LETTER LXX. TO THE SAME.

HOW often, in ſurveying theſe hor⯑rible wrecks of human affairs, have I reiterated that apoſtrophe, which you did me the honour ſo much to approve on the firſt publication of a work, whoſe chief deſign was to paint the miſeries of war in general, and of civil war in particular. You will accept one paſſage, which came to my mind many times in the courſe of theſe military Gleanings amongſt ſurrounding ſcenes of death, of ruin and of havock.

"^* Ah earth thou common parent—thou whoſe nouriſhing boſom furniſhes to all the children of content that will cultivate thy kindneſs; how art thou made the object of ſanguinary ambition! Into what ridiculous portions of ideal property art thou cut out, quarrelled and contended for! How often does the bounteous ſun that ſhines upon thy ſurface to expand the grain and to cheriſh thy various productions, leave thy verdant mantle dipt in gore?

[284]"O peace, thou image of divinity itſelf— deſcend upon that earth from whence the miſtakes of altercating relations have ſo long affrighted thee. Subdue gentle power the fierce ſoul of rebellion. I call upon thee in the names of nature, reaſon, humanity and juſtice.—I call upon thee in the name of nature's God!"

But leſt, my loved friend, you ſhould deem this in ſome meaſure the rhapſody of a poetical mind, ſtrongly moved by the ſad ſcenery that environs it at this moment, when I am in the midſt of the horrors that have been produced by conflagration, famine, ſorrow, deſolation, deſpair, and all the evils of war, ſuffer me to call in the ſupport of one, who, though he was writing in a well ſecured city, in times of pro⯑found peace and public proſperity, at leaſt when the rumours of war could reach him, but by a medium long after the miſchief apprehended, and who, tho' he reaſoned as a politician and philoſopher, felt as a man. "War," ſays he, "is the laſt of all remedies, cuncta prius t [...]n [...]da: all lawful expedients muſt be uſed to avoid it. 'Tis wonderful with what coolneſs and indiffer⯑ence the greater part of mankind ſee war com⯑menced. Thoſe that hear of it at a diſtance, or read of it in books, but have never preſented [285]its evils to their minds (much more thoſe, let me add, that write as I do now on the polluted ſpots where thoſe evils have juſt happened) conſider it as little more than a ſplendid game, a proclamation, an army, a battle, and a triumph. Some, indeed, they allow muſt periſh, perhaps, ſome of their deareſt friends, in the moſt ſucceſsful field, but then they died upon the bed of honour, reſign their lives amidſt the joys of conqueſt, and filled with glory, ſmile in death.

"But war has means of deſtruction more for⯑midable than the cannon and the ſword. Of the thouſands and tens of thouſands that have periſhed in the late conteſts a very ſmall part ever felt the ſtroke of the enemy; the reſt languiſhed in tents and towns, or places of refuge amidſt damps and putrefaction: pale, torpid, ſpiritleſs, and helpleſs; gaſping and groaning; unpitied amongſt men, made obdurate by the con⯑tinuance of hopeleſs miſery, and many of which muſt, at laſt, die without notice and without remembrance. Of that number are multitudes now lingering or agonizing in the hoſpitals which I have viſited with a very akeing heart. If he that ſhared the danger enjoyed the profit, and after bleeding in the battle grew rich by [286]the victory, he might ſhew even his gains with⯑out envy; but at the concluſion of a ten years war how are we recompenſed for the death of multitudes, and the expence of millions, but by contemplating the ſudden glories of paymaſters and agents, contractors, and commiſſaries, whoſe equipages ſhine like meteors, and whoſe palaces riſe like exhalations."

All this is unqueſtionably true of war in general, and no leſs certainly founded in fact is the exception which has been made; that as there are diſeaſes in animal nature which nothing but amputation can remove, ſo there is, by the depravation of human paſſions, ſome⯑times a gangrene in human ſocieties for which fire and ſword are the neceſſary remedies. That the force collected againſt France is of this fort, I think there are few, even of thoſe who wiſhed a reform, and ſilently approved the primary meaſures taken towards it, but muſt acknowledge; at the ſame time that they muſt applaud the caution that withheld the Britiſh empire from joining in the dreadful operations while there was yet room for gentler methods. Never, perhaps, in the annals of hiſtory was there a criſis at which Bolingbroke's remark could be ſo appoſite, as that at which we have [287]now arrived; "If ever ſays he, a teſt for the trial of ſpirits can be neceſſary, it is now: if ever thoſe of real liberty and clamorous faction ought to be diſtinguiſhed from each other, it is now; if ever it is incumbent on nations to know what truth is, and to follow it, it is now. If we do not take advantage of the ſtanding water of faction, the tide will ſoon turn one way or the other, and carry all before it." "A people, ſays his lordſhip, who will main⯑tain their liberties, far from jogging on ſilently and tamely like the aſs between two burthens, muſt preſerve ſome of the fierceneſs of the lion and even make their roar to be heard like his, whenever they are injured, or ſo much as threatened;" but to ſhew that he does not in this obſervation mean to recommend that diſ⯑loyal ſeditious ſpirit which creates a perpetual ſcene of tumult and diſorder, and expoſes the ſtate to dangerous and often fatal convulſions, he confeſſes that a ſpirit of faction may deſtroy a free conſtitution, though founded on

But that a ſpirit of real liberty never can, and leſt we ſhould imagine that ſuch a ſpirit is inconſiſtent with the loyalty we owe our [288]ſovereign, or chief ruler, by what ever name his ſupremacy is diſtinguiſhed, he remarks, "that in every kind of government ſome powers muſt be lodged in particular men, for the good order and preſervation of the whole com⯑munity. Nothing can be more clear than that the lines which circumſcribe the powers, are the bounds of ſeparation between the preroga⯑tives of the Prince, or other magiſtrate, and the privileges of the people. We hence infer that every ſtep which the prince or magiſtrate makes beyond theſe bounds is an encroach⯑ment on liberty, and every attempt towards making ſuch a ſtep is a danger on liberty; but if it is righteous to draw the ſword againſt tyrants who endanger this liberty, it is not leſs ſo to unſheath it againſt traitors who cover the crimes of rebellion and regicide under the maſk of patriotiſm."

Notwithſtanding which we muſt deeply re⯑gret the dire neceſſity of man thus preying upon man, and ſhudder to reflect there are really thoſe amongſt us meriting the cenſure which an excellent writer has paſt on them—Wretches who without virtue, labour, or hazard, while in⯑commodious encampments, and unwholſome ſtations, where courage is uſeleſs, and enterprize [289]is impracticable, are ſilently diſpeopling fleets and ſluggiſhly melting away armies, are growing rich as their country is impoveriſhed; who rejoice when obſtinacy or ambition adds another year to ſlaughter and devaſtation; who laugh from their deſks at bravery and ſcience, while they are adding figure to figure, and cypher to cypher, hoping for a new contract for a new armament, and computing the profits of a ſiege or a tempeſt.

The fighting fanatics are not much more praiſe worthy, either as to their precepts or practice; nor the blind mob who follow their doctrine, and who talk of liberty becauſe it is a better name for idleneſs. I never hear this clamour for freedom without calling to mind thoſe lines of Milton, which ſo juſtly characteriſe the preſent innovators and their adherents. See how they apply:

LETTER LXXI. TO THE SAME.

LIBERTY, ſays my Lord Bolinbroke, is a tender plant which will not flouriſh unleſs the genius of the ſoil be proper for it. Not⯑withſtanding it has been watered with human blood, and manured by human bodies, great muſt be the reform of the preſent ſyſtem, ere I can be perſuaded, my friend, that France is that genial ſoil. The ſtate of and the late tranſactions in that miſerable country, cannot be thought of, without leſſening the ^* dignity of the human ſpecies; for comparing what once was that kingdom, with what it is, one cannot help aſſociating with the godlike attributes of man, a capacity of exhibiting and triumphing in qualities ^† ſo Satanic that the arch foe of mankind might bluſh to avow them as parts of his nature.

Yet a day is to come when the hiſtorian muſt detail the particulars of the French Revolution. [291]The fugitive accounts of the temporary, or diurnal writers,—thoſe "brief chroniclers of the times", muſt be collected by ſome great and impartial pen for the information of poſ⯑terity. What a ſoul-affrighting maſs of mate⯑rials. If to his literary endowments, the biographer of theſe horrible facts ſhould poſ⯑ſeſs the milder and more compaſſionate feelings of the heart, what agonizing martyrs muſt thoſe feelings be to the truth! How muſt his page be ſtained with the blood of innocents! In every leaf the crimes of an age committed in a day are to be recorded! Where ſhall be found the man whoſe ſoul, whatever be his talents, is firm enough to detail them. And after all, he can ſcarce hope Poſterity ſhould give him credit. The cloſer he advances to the truth, the leſs is the probability of his being believed. We are at the preſent day ſo accuſ⯑tomed, ſo familiariſed to the hiſtory of hor⯑rors,—to the maſſacre of infants in the firſt, and children in the ſecond ſtate of human be⯑ings, then onward to the aſſaſſination of bed-rid age, and to the violation of all places which uſed once to be moſtholy,—mothers, off-ſpring, and ſwaddled babes,—ſanctuaries, churches, and ſacred altars,—that the tales, which, in [292]the beginning of their atrocities, literally

make now a weaker impreſſion even on the breaſt where pity has a throne.

I heard one of the moſt tender-herted of men declare, that the ſight of mangled human bodies in the field of battle was diſregarded after a month's cuſtom; and we know, that the appearance of an open grave, or of a deceaſed perſon carried to it, are almoſt imperceptible, at leaſt unheeded, objects in a populous city, where funerals are amongſt the ordinary occur⯑rences of the day; whereas, in a ſmall village, a coffin, and a tomb, retain their power of intereſting and of affecting the mind, even of the gay and diſſolute.

Thus it is in the ſtory of France, polluted as it is with abominations: but when more than a century of interval from theſe ſhall arrive, (and ſuch a period muſt come) the moſt candid reader will impute ſome part of the narrative to prejudice, to paſſion, or to fancy.

[293]Indeed, HOW can the hiſtorian himſelf expect or wiſh ſucceeding generations ſhould ſuppoſe there had ever entered into the heads, or hearts of their anceſtors, thoſe innovations in cruelty, as I have before called them,—thoſe original ſins in the old age of a wicked world, that, even now, we could not believe but that we know them to be facts.

It will, nevertheleſs, be the melancholy, though faithful, office of the biographer of the French Republic, to ſtate, that, whatever is moſt repugnant to reaſon and nature,—moſt offenſive to the laws of man and of God, were the means to bring about the beſt end in the French nation,—a nation long celebrated for its manly gentleneſs and poliſhed urbanity, and which was ſo univerſally allowed to merit the character given of it by one of its beſt poets,

He muſt reverſe this picture, and ſhew this very people embrueing themſelves in the life⯑blood of the ſex they idolized,—extending their ferocity towards it beyond the practices of the common murderer. He muſt inſtruct children yet unborn, that their parents were capable of [294]violating that ^* religion, the very hem of whoſe garment had been ſacred. For proof of which tremendous aſſertion, he muſt enumerate thoſe plundered churches, demoliſhed altars, and ſainted images, which for ſo many ages were deem'd hallowed, even by the moſt repro⯑bate of tyrants, and moſt abandoned of the people. To which enormities muſt be added, the pillage of coffins, and turning out of them the very bones of their forefathers, to convert the materials, with which filial piety had guarded them, into the inſtruments of a bloody war upon each other. To theſe muſt ſucceed the ſhuddering annals of priſons forced, and their contents, amounting to thouſands and tens of thouſands of human beings, murdered with more than Druidical barbarity, for refuſing to become apoſtates to their King, their Country, and their God.

In fine, the tiſſue which ſuch an hiſtorian muſt weave for his readers, would conſiſt of all [295]that is vile and incredible,—of ſlaughters, continued many days and nights without re⯑miſſion of a moment; till one ^* of the magiſ⯑trates avowed, that though the number of butchers amounted to an ^† hundred, daily contracted for, in the ſingle city of Paris, they declared themſelves ſo fatigued, that in pity to themſelves, though with acknow⯑ledged regret, they were obliged to give their exhauſted arms a little reſt; after which, they returned to their bloody buſineſs with reno⯑vated [296]vigour, till one of the moſt populous capitals in the world was inundated with the blood of its beſt and braveſt inhabitants.

He who ſhall "theſe unhappy deeds relate", muſt deſcribe monſters whoſe appetite for mur⯑der every hour "increaſed by what it fed on", and which,

Wretches, who exhauſted all the modes of cruelty that a wanton and wicked imagination could ſuggeſt:—of victims ſtuck on ſpits, which pierced through the ſcull and entered the brain,—or hewn limb from limb, were toſſed into the air, or dragged along the earth, yet quivering with life, or pounded to atoms, and then hurl'd into the water, or the flames:— Of holy men, like poor Joſeph de Villette, torn from their retreats where they had ‘"paſs'd a life of piety and praiſe"’ as ignorant of the revolutions as of the vices of the world, and of the world itſelf: of ſhame⯑leſs women, mad with the infection of enthu⯑ſiaſm, who forgetting their ſex, forgetting their nature, ſeated themſelves upon the dead bodies of their victims, and with more than ſavage [297]ferocity throwing the mangled members in horrid paſtime from murdereſs to murdereſs, or compreſſing the blood from the yet palpi⯑tating heart—drink it in execration of the murdered!—or devoting their own off-ſpring to death, with a mockery of Roman barbarity, for deeds that the worſt of the Roman matrons would have deemed worthy of a triumph, even in times of pagan obſcurity; or turning the coſtly furniture of the royal palaces, and the ſacred offerings of gold and ſilver of their altars, with the altars themſelves, into a feu de joie,—(a bonfire,)—ſing and dance around the flames;—of mothers initiating their own chil⯑dren in the myſteries of blood,—the blood of babes!—and, more mercileſs than Herod, of men, who not contented with the maſſacre of five little ones—in the ſight of her who bore them, who hack'd off the maternal arms, even while holding to her boſom, and kiſſing the bleeding head of the ^* ſuckling at her [298]breaſt! and, for ſome time after, refuſing the compaſſion, implor'd upon her knees, of diſpatching the parent:—of devoting a noble ^* lady and her blooming daughters to the conſuming fire, but firſt anointing their naked bodies with oil that they might ſuffer a more excruciating death, ^†—but the tender-hearted [299]reader muſt not be left to ſuppoſe the tyrants were guilty of the mercy of a rapid deſtruction, like that of quick lime; no!—he is to be told that theſe innocent ſacrifices were to be con⯑ſumed [300] à petit feu, by a ſlow fire, and laſcivious ſongs, and impious hymns, were to chorus the piercing groans of the victims. Lives there, in the round of a very cruel world,—roams there a ſavage along the famiſhing ſands of Africa; lies there in the dungeons a criminal, expect⯑ing and deſerving death, ſo loſt to the innocence that attended him in his cradled hours, as to ſuppoſe any act of an helliſh nature could be added to the horror of this unqueſtionable fact? And yet the hiſtorian is to be told, that ſix unhappy prieſts who were next to be thruſt into the flames, were conſtrained to eat of the fleſh of theſe martyr'd women, as it dropped blacken'd and peace-meal from their bones! Alas! the climax is not yet wound up!—a blameleſs man in his extremeſt age, was the firſt ſacrificed of the ſix Eccleſiaſtics abovemen⯑tioned, no ſooner was he roaſted by theſe ſurely more than demoniacs, than the five others were commanded to inform the French Repub⯑lic whether the body of a Parſon or of a Count⯑eſs was the moſt to their taſte!

Well might the baniſhed brothers of the inſulted, dethroned, impriſoned, and ſince beheaded Louis the ſixteenth, in their pathetic and juſtificatory addreſs to commiſeratg [301]Europe, exclaim ‘who is there that would not be affected to ſee that once flouriſhing king⯑dom, to which nature has been laviſh in the means of making it ſuch,—ſo rich in popu⯑lation, ſo fruitful in its productions, and which once abounded in money; ſo opulent from its reſources and commerce, from the induſtry of its inhabitants, and the advantages of its colonies,—that kingdom provided with ſo many uſeful inſtitutions, and whoſe happy abodes have been ſo univerſally courted,— preſenting at this moment nothing but the appearance of a barbarous country; given up to rapine; ſtained with bloody ruins; and deſerted by its principal inhabitants; an unorganized empire, torn with inteſtine diſ⯑traction, ſtripp'd of all its riches, threatened with every ſpecies of ſearcity, enervated from four years of internal diſorder; and on the brink of diſſolution, from peſtilence and famine, from battle and murder, and from ſudden death!’—Mad wickedneſs my friend has ſwept all away! Was there ever ſeen, ever recorded, ſuch inquiſitorial examinations, ſo many oppreſſive ſhackles, ſo many violations of the moſt ſacred places, ſo many maſſacres of citizens?—No—France is itſelf alone!

LETTER LXXII. TO THE SAME.

THOUGH the enormities committed by theſe would-be-Republicans upon the ſpecies in general, abſorb any acts of cruelty exer⯑ciſed on individuals, it is, I feel, impoſſible to paſs over the fate of Madame de Lamballe, one of their moſt illuſtrious victims, without a particular mark of my attention,—the rather as ſhe was even before the miſerable revolu⯑tion one of thoſe ſacrifices which the rib⯑bald pamphleteers of France mangled without any juſt cauſe.

Beſides a perſonal acquaintance with her myſelf, from which I am able to aſſure you of her claim to your reſpect, on the baſis of many very generous actions; I am, alſo, in friendſhip with many who were in the habits of intimacy with her both before and ſince her unfortunate viſit to the court of France: and although I cannot ſay with the Thane of Caw⯑dor, that,

[303]I can very truly aſſert that by many of the wiſe and good in her own country, and in England, during her reſidence there, her graceful manners, her general charity, in France, and in many other virtues which are held in reverence by the common conſent of mankind, will make her death bewailed and her memory reſpected. Of the private failings which ſome have been ſo ſedulous to impute to her, ſince her alliance with her royal and unhappy friend, I cannot pretend to ſpeak; but it may at leaſt be as fair to ſet all this down to the ſcore of envy, malice, or uncharitableneſs, as to that of truth. She has often been denied the virtues, of which ſhe was known to be in poſſeſſion by all thoſe who knew herſelf; and it is reaſona⯑ble to ſuſpect ſuch vices may have been attri⯑buted, (by thoſe who knew her not,) the dark ſhadows of which never paſſed her fancy or her mind. To be the favourite lady of a Court and of a Queen, of whoſe favor ſo many cour⯑tiers were jealous; to be pre-eminent for beau⯑ty, grace and talents, are in themſelves frequent objects of malice and ill-report, and not leſs productive of hatred and envy, than of love and admiration; nor leſs dangerous to the poſ⯑ſeſſor, than to be the favourite miniſter of a king,—a title to whoſe kindneſs, though made [304]out by high and meritorious qualities, with re⯑ſpect to the ſovereign who diſtinguiſhes and rewards them, muſt always become the ſubject of ſecret malignancy, or open detraction, with reſpect to that part of the public, whoſe vanity ſuggeſts to them, at leaſt an equal ſhare of the ſame qualities, and who therefore make pre⯑tenſions to at leaſt equal recompenſe; and being diſappointed, become ſlanderers of courſe; and ſlanderers not only of the ſaid favourites, but of the ſaid kings and queens: for it is a rule in defamation not only to abuſe thoſe whoſe merit is better rewarded, than the de⯑famer's, but to involve the perſons reward⯑ing it in the like cenſure. And I have often wondered that you, my friend, who have ſo many attractions, and ſo many friends ready to ac⯑knowledge it, ſhould have had ſo few enemies, covert or avowed, to diſpute your claims. I muſt confeſs I am amongſt the number of thoſe who regard perſons whom "every body is ſaid to ſpeak well of," as ſuſpicious characters; and I have, on nearer approaches, generally found them over-rated, eſpecially for the vir⯑tues moſt laviſhly bepraiſed: And by the ſame principle I always believe, and have as fre⯑quently found thoſe people, who have a con⯑trary report from this very officious Mr. [305]Everybody, who paints his angels and mon⯑ſters larger than the life have few vices but what have been given to them, and that the particular vice moſt inſiſted on, is the very one from which the party accuſed is moſt ex⯑empt. Perhaps the truth of a character is between that partial one given by a friend, that inveterate one imputed by a foe, and that in⯑ſipid neutral one furniſhed by an indifferent perſon, that has no intereſt to abuſe, nor any paſſion or affection to praiſe you. It floats on my memory that I am repeating an obſervation ſent you in a former Letter; if ſo, accept this renewal of the remark, as an evidence of its being a truiſm. But then where, you will ſay, ſhall we look for, where find ſuch a diſpaſſion⯑ate reporter, neither influenced by fondneſs, enmity nor languor? And if we could find him, would his portraits be agreeable?—even if they were ſtrong likeneſſes, they would be without the eſſentials to render them touching. We had better I believe yield up the pencil, and ourſelves, to friends and enemies,—if the latter give the ſhades too dark, the former can throw in lights to relieve them,—and if the deadly colouring of the one is too violent and too ſombrous, the lovely tinting of the other, and even the flattering touches, which fondneſs [306]works into the features, will ſoften away what⯑ever appears too harſh and too heavy.

Applying this too the unhappy lady, who drew forth the remark, I am perſuaded ſhe deſerves what has been ſaid of her virtues, by her friends, as much as ſhe could do what has been aſſerted of her by her enemies; while both muſt ſurely join in lamenting her fate; the particulars of which, blended with ſome account of her character, are as follow.

Her maiden name was Maria Tereſa Louiſa of Savoy Carignan; ſhe married Louis Alex⯑ander Joſeph Staniſlaus, of Bourbon, Prince of Lamballe, Preſident of the Council, and a Prince of the Blood. The Princeſs, who had formed her attachment to the Queen of France in the day of royal proſperity, reſolved not to forſake her in the day of diſtreſs. A ſeries of invitations from ſome of the firſt families in England, who laid a regular ſiege for her com⯑pany, yet at laſt obtained it almoſt by ſtorm, took her from her friend for a ſhort time. Her reception in London, in the beſt circles, and at court, reàched her affections, and won her gratitude, and pointed out a ſafe protection from the tempeſt that began to roll over the [307]houſe of Bourbon: but none of theſe had power to hold her from taking her ſhare of peril and diſtreſs at Paris; to which city ſhe returned, where a ſlight ſummer friendſhip would have trembled to approach. She found the unhappy Antoinette, as ſhe expected to find her, ſur⯑rounded by many inſults, many dangers, and hourly in expectation of more. And that ſuch previous knowledge of her auguſt friend's ſitu⯑ation was the ſuperior magnet that drew her from the admiration of St. James's, cannot be doubted; ſince to be partaker of ſuch dangers and inſults, ſhe quitted ſuch ad⯑miration. In a word, ſhe returned to Paris, while every body elſe of character, or of no character, were flying from it by ſtratagem, and by every means poſſible. The friendſhip of courts has been a fruitful, and a favourite theme of poets, who echo the aſperſions of ignorance from one to another. Let that of the Princeſs de Lamballe for the Queen of France ſtand on record as a proof that ſuch cenſures, even if they were admitted to be generally true, have their happy and honourable exceptions. And ſurely no vicious feeling could have, at ſuch a moment, drawn the one Princeſs to the other; ſince there is in guilt that ſort of daſtardy which induces us to leave and eſcape from its [308]accomplice in the ſearching hour of calamity, rather than haſten to receive our ſhare; and, were any wanting, I ſhould add this circum⯑ſtance as a weighty one, in evidence of the purity of the principles which united Madame de Lamballe to the Queen.

But even in her priſon-houſe ſhe not only performed the gentle offices of a friend to the Queen;—the general duties of a friend to the indigent were not forgotten. Poverty and ſorrow were never ſent empty or weeping from this amiable Princeſs: and her benevolence was, even more than her beauty, the ſubject of admiration: the people of Paris, in a more eſpecial manner, were the objects of it; and it was by the hands of that very people, in that very city, this illuſtrious viſitor was to die; in a manner that would have been thought by juſtice itſelf, too cruel, too ſhocking, for the vileſt criminal that ever diſgraced human life, or the laws that protect it.

On the third of that September (1792) which will ever be enrolled in the hiſtory of the world, amongſt the days that have moſt diſgraced and ſtained it, this unfortunate and exalted woman, who had long been impriſoned in the Hotel de [309]la Force, was diſturbed by the ruffians of the Republic while ſhe was yet on her bed of ſtraw, to leave that dreadful place for another. On her telling them ſhe had no fault to find with her preſent place of confinement, they rudely anſwered ſhe muſt be transferred to the priſon of the Abbey, and that ſhe muſt go without delay; adding that her life depended on her obedience. She then begged of the leader of theſe ruffians, who was one of the national guard, to ſtep aſide with his myrmidons, while ſhe dreſſed, and that ſhe would attend him. In a few minutes ſhe recalled the officer, who conducted her through the dungeon to the light, the leaſt rays of which that dreadful place excluded. They reached the priſon⯑doors, the other ſide of which they had ſcarce gained, when the unhappy Princeſs found reaſon for preferring the darkneſs of her ſub⯑terraneous cell to long-loſt day light, which preſented her with nothing but an

whoſe faces, hands, and garments were embrued in blood. The murderers were purſuing their deſolations under her eyes. In ſhort, it was in the middle of that tremendous day on which[310]aſſaſſination was the moſt rapacious. Some of the fierceſt of theſe executioners pauſed from blood to interrogate her, to abuſe and menace. ‘Alas (replied the Princeſs) I have nothing to ſay: whether I die a few days ſooner or later, Sirs, is a matter of indifference to me, ſince I perceive that I am devoted; and I am prepared for death.’ She was then hur⯑ried to the tribunal, where the preſident, being told ſhe refuſed to anſwer queſtions, exclaimed, "A way with her to the Abbey." This was a ſignal for all that was to follow, and her exe⯑cutioners did not ſuffer it to eſcape. Scarce had ſhe paſſed the firſt ſtreet ere they ſtruck their auguſt victim ſeveral times on the back part of the head, with a ſabre, which was covered with blood—the blood of ſo many kings and heroes. Two wretches then took her arms, and obliged her to walk over the dead bodies. She fainted at almoſt every ſtep. In this ſituation they ſtripped her, inſulted her, forced her to ſtoop down, embrace, and kiſs the carcaſſes of the murdered citizens. Shock⯑ing to ſay, they then mangled her beautiful boſom, and, refuſing to ſhew her the indul⯑gence of a ſpeedy releaſe, ſtabbed her firſt in every part they knew not to be vital. Unable to bear up any longer, ſhe ſunk on the earth, [311]when the wanton villainy of the rabble pro⯑ceeded to the worſt and baſeſt extremities. After which, being aſked whether ſhe would yet ſave herſelf by curſing the French Queen and family, ſhe ſtruggled even with death to exclaim with energy, ‘No, never!—bleſs them now and ever!’ After which, turning to her perſecutors, ſhe ſaid, "Behold I am ready" Then, dropping on her knees, ſhe cried, ‘O God all puiſſant preſerve my friends, and receive my ſoul.’ It was in this pious mo⯑ment the butchers cut off her head, from which hung thoſe moſt beautiful treſſes, to receive the blood. It was then ſtuck upon a pike, and carried by one of the wretches, while another followed with her lovely hands, and generous heart, a third bearing her bowels folded round his brutal arms, in a wreath of triumph, while a fourth faſtened her other members to a hurdle, and drew them after him. It was in this manner they paraded the ſtreets of Paris, pauſing at every place, which contained thoſe who were known moſt to love and honour this unhappy Princeſs. They firſt ſtopped under the windows of the Duke of Penthievre, whom they compelled to ſurvey the mutilated limbs of his daughter-in-law; and then proceeding to the temple, they forced the royal priſoners [312]to gaze upon their friend and favourite, de⯑filed with blood, and diſhonoured in the duſt, and when the Queen fainted at the fight, the heartleſs monſters mocked at her anguiſh, and aggravated it by every inſult, which the ſacred reliques of her friend could receive. As the horrible proceſſion returned, they obliged the paſſengers, whether on foot or in carriages, to kiſs the head of the Princeſs, and one of the abandoned creatures, with a loud voice ex⯑claimed, that he had feaſted like an emperor, having dined on the heart of a beautiful Princeſs.

But all theſe terrors were alas in the infancy of their crimes, or, to uſe the language of patriotiſm, in the dawn of that indiviſible and immaculate Republic, which has ſince reached the ſummit of its virtues, in the extirpation of the King, Queen, Princeſſes, and nobles of the land.

In the melancholy annals of the world, there certainly have been periods of time ſufficiently on the memory to leave an afflicting impreſ⯑ſion. That of the Goths and Vandals, when they came to take vengeance on the Roman empire, or roving from their foreſt homes, [313]when they ſallied, like trooping wolves, in queſt of plunder, or of new ſettlements, was a dreadful aera. The cruelty of Maximin, when by a ſingle act of authority, the whole maſs of wealth, we are told, was at once confiſ⯑cated for the uſe of the Imperial treaſury, and the ſoldiers, hardened as they were in acts of violence, bluſhed as the ſacrilegious plunder was diſtributed amongſt them—this was ano⯑ther criſis, when, according to the hiſtorians, a general cry of indignation was heard, im⯑ploring vengeance on the common enemy of humankind. Ancient tradition but too well authenticated, multiplies the examples by hun⯑dreds, and were we to carry the ſurvey to mo⯑dern times, they would extend to thouſands: amongſt the latter muſt ever be enumerated the diſaffection and diſmemberment of the bloom⯑ing States of America! But neither theſe, nor any other in the crimſon regiſters of tre⯑mendous occurrences, equal the enormities which have been long practiſed by the French UPON EACH OTHER: and taking hiſtory ^* from [314]the beginning of the world to the preſent hour, the aggregate of offences, perpetrated againſt God and man would juſtify our pronouncing that the moſt calamitous condition of the human race is to be dated from the aera of the French Republic, during the abſolute monarchy of the ty⯑rant Robeſpierre!

When we reflect that theſe are the times before us, that we live in them, that freſh re⯑ports, and experience of freſh horrors, reach our eyes, ears and hearts every day,—that the now ^* ſworn enemy of the affrighted globe, is every hour either multiplying miſchieſs abroad, or at home, and that he does all that in him lies to deal deſtruction through the land; threatening to involve all nations, to overturn all governments, laws, liberties, and religions, [315]and in fine, that the growing evil ſcarce gives more aſſurance of tranquillity to you that are remote, than to thoſe who are nearer even than I am now to the immediate ſcenes of action, what hope have we but in Him whom the moraliſt beautifully deſcribes, as ‘holding the reins of the whole creation in his hand, and who moderates them in ſuch a manner, that it is impoſſible for one to break loſe upon another without his knowledge and per⯑miſſion’.

Thrice happy he, who, in a general diſaſter like that which now deſolates ſo large a por⯑tion of the globe, and from the ſpreading miſery of which no ſecurity can be derived from riches, honours, poverty or innocence, happy is he who can ſay with the man who exempli⯑fied at his death the precepts of his life.—‘In ſuch caſes, I know but one way of fortifying the ſoul; and that is, by ſecuring to ourſelves the friendſhip and protection of that Being, who diſpoſes of events and governs futurity. He ſees at one view the whole thread of my exiſtence, not only that part of it which I have already paſt, but that which runs forward into all the depths of eternity. When I lay me down to ſleep I recommend myſelf to his [316]care: when I awake I give myſelf up to his devotion. Amidſt all the evils that threaten me I will look up to him for help, and queſtion not but that he will either avert them or turn them to my advantage. Though I know nei⯑ther the time nor the manner of the death I am to die, I am not at all ſollicitous about it, becauſe I am ſure that He knows them both, and that He will not fail to comfort and ſup⯑port me under them.’

May ſentiments like theſe ſoothe every miſ⯑fortune that my friends, my readers, and my countrymen may be called upon to bear!— And may peace reviſit the world!—a peace founded on real liberty, but not upon frantic licentiouſneſs.

Such has all along been the private prayer, ſuch ſhall now be the public wiſh of your ever affectionate friend and ſervant,

THE GLEANER.

P. S.—How far the Divine Power, in the wiſdom of his ſublime and inexplicable diſ⯑penſations, may ſuffer theſe inſtruments of vengeance to proceed, it is not for mortals to determine: In the mean time one cannot but notice the apparent connexion betwixt the [317]late events and certain prophetic parts of the ſacred writings. ^*.

[318]Voluminous have been the reflections made in the riſe and progreſs of theſe horrible, theſe unparalleled events. The moſt obvious, yet the moſt perplexing to all reaſoning and all order, is the conſideration that ſuch events happened under the eyes of thoſe who created to themſelves new laws, new authorities, and a new Conſtitution:—That, at the time when theſe maſſacres began, the ſelf-erected Repub⯑lican governors were in the full origin of their power; and that, to have put an end to ſuch diſorders, in the firſt inſtance, it would have been a very trifling exertion of ſuch power to have prevented, if not, the bloody effuſions of the tenth of Auguſt, at leaſt thoſe of the [319]ſecond, third, fourth, and fifth of September, in the tremendous year of one thouſand ſeven hundred and ninety two; for, in each of the places where the lives of the citizens were taken away, the executioners,—or if they better like the term—the patriots—butchers— did not, I am inſtructed from the beſt authori⯑ties, exceed more than between thirty and forty, and theſe

mercenary robbers, condemn'd highwaymen, hir'd aſſaſſins, fellows eſcaped from the gallies, girls of the town, and fiſh women. Such were the original active diſturbers of the public peace, who might have been brought to order with a ſlight effort of any one of the protectors of the new-rais'd republic: And to the bluſh of all thoſe who aſſumed a ſhare in the infant commonwealth, glorious in its deſign, but villainouſly mangled in its cradle, it is to be re⯑membered, as an eternal monument of their diſgrace, that there exiſted at that criſis, even on thoſe bloody days, an Executive Power, a miniſter of juſtice, a miniſter of the interior, a mayor, a municipality, a department, a legiſlative aſſembly, a national guard, a com⯑mander [320]in chief of that guard—in ſhort, the forty-eight ſections. There does not ſeem the ſhadow of an excuſe to be made, either as men or magiſtrates for any one of them. If the carnage had been perpetrated in an hour, they might have ſaid, we wanted time, for we could not under an hour have put our authori⯑ties in force. But that carnage continued three days, and three nights ſucceſſively! Had the aſſaſſins been compoſed of an army formi⯑dable by their numbers, the legiſlative bodies might have ſaid, we wanted ſtrength to repel ſuch a force of inſurgents; but thoſe aſſaſſins conſiſted of an handful of men and women: and during the whole time of their aſſaſſina⯑tions, the forty-eight ſections were aſſembled and conſtantly ſitting. The National Aſſembly had power to ſave two of their own members, M. M. Jancourt and Jonneau; why did they not extend their generoſity or their juſtice to the reſt? Theſe their friends were reſcued amidſt the outrages of the populace who had proſcribed them.

With reſpect to Revolutions in general it may be a curious ſpeculation to trace their merits and their progreſs.

[321]A reform in governments may be abſolutely neceſſary, and a revolution has ſometimes ſet out well, ^* as unqueſtionably did that of France, [322]under the ſanctions of reaſon, honour, public good, and the cauſe of religion. But, nine [323]times out of ten, it degenerates into a mere perſonal quarrel, in which public good, and [324]every other generous motive is, forgotten, to make way for the gratification of private am⯑bition, avarice, and hatred. The original cauſe in the abſorbing ferment of party is ſpeedily ſwallowed up: what was principle becomes paſſion. Or what at the commencement was a brave and daring conteſt betwixt the governors, for prerogative and the governed for privilege, —a determined aſſertion of real or ſuppoſed rights on the one hand, and of natural claims on the other at length ſettles into a mere party madneſs. And the inſanity is contagious. Every body catches it. Men, women, and children rave about it. The time of reaſon⯑ing is paſt, conſequently the time of entering its cauſes. It is then the buſineſs of the indi⯑vidual whatever be his party to follow where that leads, to defeat or victory, to life or death. In the feveriſh paroxiſm of indignation, each perſon eaſily perſuades himſelf his quarrel is juſt; every angry man imagines he has a good [325]reaſon to be ſo; and the more we are wan⯑dering from the right, the more violently and inveterately we inſiſt that the objects of our diſpleaſure and enmity are in the wrong: and in public as well as private contention the tranſition from generous ſtrife to illiberal rancour is almoſt immediate, the ſlighteſt wound ſoon turns into a gangrene. Each perſon be⯑comes odious to one party and honoured by the other, as he gives proof of ſteadineſs to his own cauſe. The maſſacre is called patriotiſm on the one hand, and loyalty on the other, and very frequently the object firſt in contention, like the ſquabble betwixt the two dogs and the ſhadow, is not worth having: but, meantime, it is fought for as fiercely as if it was the one thing neceſſary to our comfort in this world, and our ſalvation in the next. In the end, the point is given up, and when accounts are cool enough to be reduced to rules of arithmetic, it uſually turns out, that, in point of damages, each party has ſuffered in blood and money from thouſands up to millions, and on the credit ſide we have nothing to ſhew for them but units and cyphers.

On fair calculation, therefore, my friend, whatever advantage may be derived to poſterity, [326]little is to be gained by the preſent generation: Since, after every ten years war, (I mean a civil war of courſe) ſo much havock has been done to property in general, and the paſſions of hatred have ſo rankled in the heart, privately ſpeaking, againſt friends, neighbours, and fa⯑milies (even in the miſerable ſeptennial ſquabble about elections, this is manifeſt) that I queſtion much whether there is a being on the face of the earth, (except the ſtock-jobbers, foreſtallers, agents, and other vultures in ſociety, who thrive in time of public calamity,) can expect to be the better for it. The ravages uſually drain the beſt blood, fortunes, and feelings of the country, for, at leaſt, half a century: and ſuppoſing there is then a regeneration, with ſome few benefits that were not before en⯑joyed, we ſhall probably have loſt many that were better before the reform began. Beſides the melancholy conſideration that our poſterity will look upon the party and perſonal love and hate, that has deſcended to them, as part of their inheritance, our im⯑mediate offspring will have been educated in all the prejudices of our own particular party, and the next age will loſe little or nothing of hereditary attachment to one ſide, and ill-will [327]to another, while remoter generations will trace the hiſtory of their forefathers, and make what the politics or faſhion of the day ſet down as rights and wrongs, the cauſe of new murmurs, new exactions, new rebellions, new patriotiſms, and, in fine, the ſparks that will be found in ſtirring up the embers and aſhes of the old world, ſhall ſerve as a match to burn down the new. And, knowing, my friend, what we know of the diſcontented, repining, ſpirit of man, (knowing that even if God him⯑ſelf does not diſpenſe his ſunſhine and his ſhowers, exactly in proportion to our fancied good, we rebel) have we not the experience of ſeveral thouſand years that theſe fires will be kindled up in human ſociety till the coming of that conflagration which

Far, however, am I from wiſhing to "check the genial current of the ſoul" that aſpires to liberty. 'Tis the true ſtate of nature, the genuine ſpirit of life, the health, beauty and ſupport of ſociety. We cannot even extend our ideas beyond the ſphere of this world, and raiſe them to another without ſuppoſing that perfect freedom is the baſis of immortal felicity. [328]A deſpotic heaven is a contradiction in terms; indeed the generous ſtruggles of human beings for liberty, when wanton cruelty no longer debaſes her cauſe, are but aſſertions of the divine part of our nature. Thoſe jarring atoms which ſhake a nation and which are, perhaps, inſeparable from revolutions, give way to wiſe, wholeſome, and humane arrange⯑ments; and when order is called out of that political chaos, though humanity muſt ever ſhudder at the dire effect of thoſe convulſions which have preceded ſuch arrangements, as tyrants ſeldom long ſurvive their victims, we muſt venerate the "end while we never ceaſe to deplore ſome of the means by which it has been brought about."

In fine, applying theſe general obſervations to the particular inſtance before us of the French people:

[329]a ſacred truth, and which, not only in the ^* work from whence theſe lines are copied, but in every other work of his hand, and movement of his heart, has and will ever influence the thoughts, converſation, or compoſition, how⯑ever imperfect in other reſpects, of one who is equally a foe to tyranny and cruelty, whether in monarchs or multitudes, and a friend to liberty. Farewell.