be kept in work-we know the story. The favour to Buonaparte is the more singular, because, allowing for his extraordinary energy, I doubt if he had a single great quality. It is clear he was no statesman; force alone was sufficient for all he did. Men here of the best authority pronounce him a man of uncommon energy in action, but of no talent for retreat. The question is of more curiosity than moment. If otherwise, it might be easy to know what credit to give to these criticisms.

22d. At last we have got our passports, and ordered a carriage for to-morrow. We shall go by Dieppe. Neither my fellow traveller nor myself in the best health or spirits: I have a great kindness for him, though no human beings can be more different. I don't think diversity is incompatible with friendship or affection; but strong contrariety, I fear, is. How different are they from the volatility of France, as well as from the loud, ardent, indiscreet vehemence of our poor people. Certainly it is not mere interest that forms the weight to the clock, though the utter want of any regulating power makes it a sad timepiece. But I consider it now as merely a "conclamatum est," and the insurrection act little other than a monumental inscription.

London. Tuesday.-(A new venue).-After a day spent at Dieppe, we sailed; and, after forty hours, landed at Brighton. I don't like the state of my health; if it was merely maladie under sailing orders for the undiscovered country, I should not quarrel with the passport. There is nothing gloomy in my religious impressions,

though I trust they are not shallow: I ought to have been better-I know also that others have been as blamable; and I have rather a cheerful reliance upon mercy than an abject fear of justice. Or were it otherwise, I have a much greater fear of suffering than of death.

I had almost made up my mind to bestow a citizen to France, and I am mortified at finding any drag upon the intention-yet a drag there is. I have no doubt that the revolution has thrown that country a century back, yet she has qualities that might have hoped a better destiny. It has been suggested to me, that a winter in Paris might answer better.

I just now return from a long conversation with the truly royal personage (the D. of Sussex) who saves you the postage of this. A few days must, I think, take me across.-I think of meeting some persons at Cheltenham. As to waters, I suspect they are seldom of use. I am quite decided against them, till Charon pledges me on the Styx. Yours, very truly,

J. P. CURRAN.

MRS. BRUNTON TO HER MOTHER.

Nov. 21, 1809.

FROM Carlisle we took a different route to the lakes from that which I formerly went with you. We drove, through a country as flat as the floor, to a little village called Wigton; and from thence to Keswick by a tremendous road; but leading at last through the vale of Bassenthwaite, one of the sweetest of all prairies riantes. 3 A

VOL. VI.

The day which we spent at Keswick was the finest possible-not a breath of wind, and scarcely a cloud on the sky. We sailed and wandered about till it was quite dark. Great was my desire to take up our rest there for a fortnight; for in "The Grange," the sweet little hamlet at the mouth of Borodale, there were a parlour and bedchamber to be let furnished.-Dread Lowdore is the most picturesque waterfall I ever saw; but no more to be compared with Moness in magnificence than a little coquette, tricked out in gause and gumflowers, with the simple majesty of Milton's Eve.

We went, as formerly, by Ambleside to Kendal. The lakes are truly lovely, though not quite so unparalleled as when I last saw them; for I have since seen Loch Lomond; nor do I think they can once be compared in sublimity with the approach to Loch Katrine.

Did you ever see Kirkby Lonsdale ? It is the most rural, pretty, interesting place imaginable. It is a true English village-English in its neatness-English in the handsomeness of its houses (Scotch handsome houses are seldom built in villages) and English, above all, in its churchyard-smooth as velvet-green as emeraldsclean, even to the exclusion of a fallen leaf from one of the tall trees that surround it. From this churchyard, situate on a high bank overhanging the river Lone, you command a fine view of Lonsdale, rising here and there into gentle swellsgay with woods and villas. The river is not very English; but it is a rapid, lively, transparent stream not creeping sluggishly through rich meadows, but dancing gaily to the sun, or dash

ing against tiny rocks into Lilliputian waves.

****

Nous voila at Harrowgate; and I believe there is no place in Britain to which you would not sooner accompany us. One hundred and forty people dine with us daily-all dressed as fine as Punch's wife in the puppet-show. Do but imagine the noise of so many tongues-the bouncing, banging, and driving of eighty waiting men-the smell of meat sufficient for a hundred and forty cormorants-and all this in the dog-days!! * * *

Harrowgate itself is a straggling village, built on an ugly, sandy common, surrounded with stunted black Scotch firs-the only thing in shape of tree or shrub that never can be an ornament to any possible place. From a hill above Harrowgate, there is a view of prodigious extent, over the richest and largest plain which I have ever seen.-York, which is twenty-two miles distant, seems nearer than the middle of the landscape. Mrs. I., who is an Englishwoman, was in ecstasies. For my part, I must confess, that I think a little rising ground, or even a mountain, no bad feature in a landscape. A scene without a hill seems to me to be about as interesting as a face without a nose!

MRS. BRUNTON TO MRS. IZETT.

April 10, 1810. It is even so! You are sixty miles distant from Edinburgh, and I have lost what probably no time will restore to me; that "medicine of life," which it is promised that they shall find who have received a title to yet higher rewards.

Since you left me I have a hundred times determined to write. I need not assure you that forgetfulness has had no share in my silence. Levity itself would not forget a friend (if levity could have a friend) in one month-" one little month!" I am reminded of you by all my business and all my pleasures; for which of all my pleasures did not you heighten-and in what branch of duty did not you stimulate me? But all that is over! and I can only repent that I did not better use what might have been so eminently useful.

I thank you heartily for your account of your rambles at Kinnaird-would that I were the companion of them! In return, you shall learn my methodical routine. I write part of every forenoon, and walk for an hour or two before dinner. I lounge over the fire with a book, or I sew and chat all the evening.

Your friend Laura proceeds with a slow but regular pace; a short step every day-no more ! She has advanced sixty paces, alias pages, since you left her. She is at present very comfortably situate, if the foolish thing had the sense to think so; she is on a visit to Norwood, there she is to remain for a few days; and a very snug old fashioned place it is! Though it should never be laid open to the public at large, you shall see the interior of it one day or other.

Last Thursday I paid a visit to a very different habitation-our chateau at St. Leonard's; though nothing has as yet the least tinge of green, it did not look very ill. It is as gay as ten thousand purple crocuses, and twice as many yellow ones can make it. I shall soon grow impatient to take possession, and, if we can manage it, I