do not remember ever to have read any thing | -being often caught sobbing over the pathos much more absurd than this and that the of Richardson, or laughing at the humour of puerility and folly of the classical intrusions is even less offensive, than the heap of incongruous metaphors by which the meaning is obscured. Does the learned author really mean to contend, that the metaphors here add either force or beauty to the sentiment? or that Bacon or Milton ever wrote any thing like this upon such a topic? In his happier moments, and more vehement adjurations, Mr. C. is often beyond all question a great and commanding orator; and we have no doubt was, to those who had the happiness of hearing him, a much greater orator than the mere readers of his speeches have any means of conceiving:-But we really cannot help repeating our protest against a style of composition which could betray its great master, and that very frequently, into such passages as those we have just extracted. The mischief is not to the master-whose genius could efface all such stains, and whose splendid successes would sink his failures in oblivion-but to the pupils, and to the public, whose taste that very genius is thus instrumental in corrupting. If young lawyers are taught to consider this as the style which should be aimed at and encouraged, to render Judges benevolent,-by comparing them to "the sweet-souled Cimon," and the "gallant Epaminondas;" or to talk about their own "young and slender tapers," and "the clouds and the morning sun," with what precious stuff will the Courts and the country be infested! It is not difficult to imitate the defects of such a style and of all defects they are the most nauseous in imitation. Even in the hands of men of genius, the risk is, that the longer such a style is cultivated, the more extravagant it will grow, just as those who deal in other means of intoxication, are tempted to strengthen the mixture as they proceed. The learned and candid author before us, testifies this to have been the progress of Mr. C. himself-and it is still more strikingly illustrated by the history of his models and imitators. Mr. Burke had much less of this extravagance than Mr. GrattanMr. Grattan much less than Mr. Curran and Mr. Curran much less than Mr. Phillips. It is really of some importance that the climax should be closed, somewhere. There is a concluding chapter, in which Mr. C.'s skill in cross-examination, and his conversational brilliancy, are commemorated; as well as the general simplicity and affability Cervantes, with an unrestrained vehemence which reminds us of that of Voltaire. He spoke very slow, both in public and private, and was remarkably scrupulous in his choice of words: He slept very little, and, like Johnson, was always averse to retire at nightlingering long after he arose to depart-and, in his own house, often following one of his guests to his chamber, and renewing the conversation for an hour. He was habitually abstinent and temperate; and, from his youth up, in spite of all his vivacity, the victim of a constitutional melancholy. His wit is said to have been ready and brilliant, and altogether without gail. But the credit of this testimony is somewhat weakened by a little selection of his bons mots, with which we are furnished in a note. The greater part, we own, appear to us to be rather vulgar and ordinary; as, when a man of the name of Halfpenny was desired by the Judge to sit down, Mr. C. said, "I thank your Lordship for having at last nailed that rap to the counter;" or, when observing upon the singular pace of a Judge who was lame, he said, "Don't you see that one leg goes before. like a tipstaff, to make room for the other?" -or, when vindicating his countrymen from the charge of being naturally vicious, he said, "He had never yet heard of an Irishman being born drunk." The following, however, i good-"I can't tell you, Curran," observed an Irish nobleman, who had voted for the Union, "how frightful our old House of Commons appears to me." "Ah! my Lord," replied the other, "it is only natural for Murderers to be afraid of Ghosts;"-and this is at least grotesque. "Being asked what an Irish gentleman, just arrived in England, could mean by perpetually putting out his tongue! Answer-I suppose he's trying to catch the English accent." In his last illness, his physician observing in the morning that he seemed to cough with more difficulty, he answered, "that is rather surprising, as I have been practising all night." But these things are of little consequence. Mr. Curran was something much better than a sayer of smart sayings. He was a lover of his country and its fearless, its devoted, and indefatigable servant. To his energy and talents she was perhaps indebted for some mitigation of her sufferings in the days of her extremity-and to these, at all events, the public has been indebted, in a great degree, for the knowledge they now have of her wrongs; and of his manners, and his personal habits and for the feeling which that knowledge has peculiarities. He was not a profound lawyer, excited, of the necessity of granting them renor much of a general scholar, though reason-dress. It is in this character that he must ably well acquainted with all the branches of have most wished to be remembered, and in polite literature, and an eager reader of novels | which he has most deserved it. (November, 1822.) Besitzerland, or a Journal of a Tour and Residence in that Courtry in the Years 1817, 1818, and 1819. Followed by an Historical Sketch of the Manners and Customs of Ancient and Modern Helvetia, in which the Events of our own time are fully detailed; together with the Causes to which they may be referred. By L. SIMOND, Author of Journal of a Tour and Residence in Great Britain during the Years 1810 and 1811. In 2 vols. 8vo. London: 1822.* M. SIMOND is already well known in this accordingly, in all his moral and political obcountry as the author of one of the best ac- servations at least, a constant alternation of counts of it that has ever been given to the romantic philanthropy and bitter sarcasm-of world, either by native or foreigner-the fullest certainly, and the most unprejudicedand containing the most faithful descriptions both of the aspect of our country, and the peculiarities of our manners and character, that has yet come under our observation. There are some mistakes, and some rash judgments; but nothing can exceed the candour of the estimate, or the fairness and independence of spirit with which it is made; while the whole is pervaded by a vein of original thought, always sagacious, and not unfrequently profound. The main fault of that book, as a work of permanent interest and instruction, which it might otherwise have been, is the too great space which is alloted to the transient occurrences and discussions of the time to which it refers-most of which have already lost their interest, and not only read like old news and stale politics, but have extended their own atmosphere of repulsion to many admirable remarks and valuable suggestions, of which they happen to be the vehicles. The work before us is marked by the same excellences, and is nearly free from the faults to which we have just alluded. In spite of this, however-perhaps even in consequence of it-we suspect it will not generally be thought so entertaining; the scene being necessarily so much narrower, and the persons of the drama fewer and less diversified. The work, however, is full of admirable description and original remark:-nor do we know any book of travels, ancient or modern, which contains, in the same compass, so many graphic and animated delineations of external objects, or so many just and vigorous observations on the moral phenomena it records. The most remarkable thing about it, however -and it occurs equally in the author's former publication is the singular combination of enthusiasm and austerity that appears both in the descriptive, and the reasoning or ethical parts of the performance-the perpetual struggle that seems to exist between the feelings and fancy of the author, and the sterner intimations of his understanding. There is, * I reprint a part of this paper:-partly out of love the memory of the author, who was my connecion and particular friend: but chiefly for the sake of his remarks on our English manners, and my judgment on these remarks-which I would vensure to submit to the sensitive patriots of America, is a specimen of the temperance with which the patriots of other countries can deal with the censors of their national habits and pretensions to fine breeding. the most captivating views of apparent happiness and virtue, and the most relentless disclosures of actual guilt and misery-of the sweetest and most plausible illusions, and the most withering and chilling truths. He expatiates, for example, through many pages, on the heroic valour and devoted patriotism of the old Helvetic worthies, with the memorials of which the face of their country is covered-and then proceeds to dissect their character and manners with the most cruel particularity, and makes them out to have been most barbarous, venal, and unjust. In the same way, he bewitches his readers with seducing pictures of the peace, simplicity, in dependence, and honesty of the mountain villagers; and by and by takes occasion to tell us, that they are not only more stupid, but more corrupt than the inhabitants of cities. He eulogises the solid learning and domestic habits that prevail at Zurich and Geneva; and then makes it known to us that they are infested with faction and ennui. He draws a delightful picture of the white cottages and smiling pastures in which the cheerful peasants of the Engadine have their romantic habitations and then casts us down from our elevation without the least pity, by informing us, that the best of them are those who have returned from hawking stucco parrots, sixpenny looking-glasses, and coloured sweetmeats through all the towns of Europe. He is always strong for liberty, and indignant at oppression-but cannot settle very well in what liberty consists; and seems to suspect, at last, that political rights are oftener a source of disorder than of comfort; and that if person and property are tolerably secure, it is mere quixotism to look further. So strong a contrast of warm feelings and cold reasonings, such animating and such despairing views of the nature and destiny of mankind, are not often to be found in the same mind and still less frequently in the same book: And yet they amount but to an extreme case, or strong example, of the inconsistencies through which all men of generous tempers and vigorous understandings are perpetually passing, as the one or the other part of their constitution assumes the ascendant. There are many of our good feelings, we suspect, and some even of our good principles, that rest upon a sort of illusion; or cannot submi at least to be questioned by frigid reason, without being for the time a good deal dis countenanced and impaired and this we take to be very clearly the case with M. Simond. of destruction-a savage enemy, speaking an un His temperament is plainly enthusiastic, and known language, with whom no compromise coult his fancy powerful: But his reason is active be made." and exacting, and his love of truth paramount The first view of the country, though no to all other considerations. His natural sym- longer new to most readers, is given with a pathies are with all fine and all lofty qualities truth, and a freshness of feeling which we -but it is his honest conviction, that happi- are tempted to preserve in an extract. ness is most securely built of more vulgar materials and that there is even something ridiculous in investing our hur ble human nature with these magnificent attributes. At all events it is impossible to doubt of his sincerity in both parts of the representation; for there is not the least appearance of a love of paradox, or a desire to produce effect; and nothing can be so striking as the air of candour and impartiality that prevails through the whole work. If any traces of prejudice may still be detected, they have manifestly survived the most strenuous efforts to efface them. The strongest, we think, are against French character and English manners-with some, perhaps, against the French Revolution, and its late Imperial consummator. He is very prone to admire Nature-but not easily satisfied with Man; and, though most intolerant of intolerance, and most indulgent to those defects of which adventitious advantages make men most impatient, he is evidently of opinion that scarcely any thing is exactly as it should be in the present state of societyand that little more can be said for most existing habits and institutions, than that they have been, and might have been, still worse. He sets out for the most picturesque country of Europe, from that which is certainly the least so:-and gives the first indications of his sensitiveness on these topics, by a passing critique on the ancient châteaus of France, and their former inhabitants. We may as well introduce him to our readers with this passage as with any other. "Soon after passing the frontiers of the two countries, the view, heretofore bounded by near objects, woods and pastures, rocks and snows, opened all at once upon the Canton de Vaud, and upon half Switzerland! a vast extent of undulating country, tufted woods and fields, and silvery streams and lakes; villages and towns, with their antique tow. ers, and their church-steeples shining in the sun. "The lake of Neuchâtel, far below on the left, and those of Morat and of Vienne, like mirrors set in deep frames, contrasted by the tranquillity of their lucid surfaces, with the dark shades and broken grounds and ridges of the various landscape. Be yond this vast extent of country, its villages and towns, woods, lakes, and mountains; beyond all terrestrial objects-beyond the horizon itself, rose a long range of aërial forms, of the softest pale pink hue: These were the high Alps, the rampart of Italy-from Mont Blane in Savoy, to the glaciers Overland, and even further. Their angle of elevation seen from this distance is very small indeed. Faithfully represented in a drawing, the effect would be insignificant; but the aerial perspective amply restored the proportions lost in the mathematical perspective. "The human mind thirsts after immensity and immutability, and duration without bounds; but it needs some tangible object from which to take its flight, something present to lead to futurity, something bounded from whence to rise to the infinite. This vault of the heavens over our head, sinking all terrestrial objects into absolute nothingness, might seem best fitted to awaken this sense of expansion in the mind: But mere space is not a perceptible object to which we can readily apply a scale, while the Alps, seen at a glance between heaven and earth-met as it were on the confines of the regions of fancy and of sober reality, are there like written characters, traced by a divine hand, and suggesting thoughts such as human language never reached. "Coming down the Jura, a long descent brought ns to what appeared a plain, but which proved a varied country with hills and dales, divided into neat enclosures of hawthorn in full bloom, and large hedge-row trees, mostly walnut, oak, and ash. It had altogether very much the appearance of the most beautiful parts of England, although the enclosures were on a smaller scale, and the cottages less neat and ornamented. They differed entirely from France, where the dwellings are always col. lected in villages, the fields all open, and without trees. Numerous streams of the clearest water crossed the road, and watered very fine meadows. The houses, built of stone, low, broad, and massy, either thatched or covered with heavy wooden shingles, and shaded with magnificent walnut trees, might all have furnished studies to an artist." "A few comfortable residences, scattered about the country, have lately put us in mind how very rare they are in general: Instead of them, you meet, not unfrequently, some ten or twenty miserable hovels, crowded together round what was formerly the stronghold of the lord of the manor; a narrow, dark, prison-like building, with small grated windows, embattled walls, and turrets peeping over thatched roofs. The lonely cluster seems unconnected with the rest of the country, and may be said to represent the feudal system, as plants in a hortus siccus do the vegetable. Long before the Revolution, these châteaux had been mostly forsaken by their seigneurs, for the nearest country town; where Monsieur le Compte, or Monsieur le Marquis, decorated with the cross of St. Louis, made shift to live on his paltry seigniorial dues, and rents ill paid by a starving peasantry; spending his time in reminisThe following, however, is more character. cences of gallantry with the old dowagers of the istic of the author's vigorous and familiar, but place, who rouged and wore patches, dressed in somewhat quaint and abrupt, style of dehoops and high-heeled shoes, full four inches, and long pointed elbow-ruffles, balanced with lead. Not scription. " Vol. i. pp. 25-27. one individual of this good company knew any thing Leaving our equipages at Ballaigne, we proof what was passing in the world, or suspected that ceeded to the falls of the Orbe, through a hanging any change had taken place since the days of Louis wood Id oaks, and came, after a long deXIV. No book found its way there; no one read, where the Orbe breaks through a not even a newspaper. When the Revolution which, at some very remote burst upon this inferior nobility of the provinces, it n the mountain, and entirely appeared to them like Attila and the Huns to th All the earth, and all the people of the fifth century-the Scourge of Ger long since disappeared. coming nobody knew whence, for the mere purpo its way, with great voise and fury, among the larger fragments, and falls above the height of eighty feet, in the very best style. The blocks, many of them as large as a good-sized three-story house, are heaped up most strangely, jammed in by their angles-in equilibrium on a point, or forming perilous bridges, over which you may, with proper precaution, pick your way to the other side. The quarry from which the materials of the bridge came is just above your head, and the miners are still at work-air, water, frost, weight, and time! The strata of limestone are evidently breaking down; their deep rents are widening, and enormous masses, already loosened from the mountain, and suspended on their precarious bases, seem only waiting for the last effort of the great lever of nature to take the horrid leap, and bury under some hundred feet of new chaotic ruins, the trees, the verdant lawn-and yourself, who are looking on and foretelling the catastrophe! We left this scene at last reluctantly, and procceded towards the dent-de-vaulion, at the base of which we arrived in two hours, and in two hours more reached the summit, which is four thousand four hundred and seventy-six feet above the sea, and three thousand three hundred and forty-two feet above the lake of Geneva. Our path lay over smooth turf, sufficiently steep to make it difficult to climb. At the top we found a narrow ridge, not more than one hundred yards wide. The south view, a most magnificent one, was unfortunately too like that at our entrance into Switzerland to bear a second description; the other side of the ridge can scarcely be approached without terror, being almost perpendicular. Crawling, therefore, on our hands and knees, we ventured, in this modest attitude, to look out of the window at the hundred and fiftieth story (at least two thousand feet), and see what was doing in the street. Herds of cattle in the infiniment petit were grazing on the verdant lawn of a narrow vale; on the other side of which, a mountain, overgrown with dark pines, marked the boundary of France. Towards the west, we saw a piece of water, which appeared like a mere fish. pond. It was the lake of Joux, two leagues in length, and half a league in breadth. We were to look for our night's lodgings in the village on its banks."-Vol. 1. pp. 33-36. "Bienne struck us as more Swiss than any thing we had yet seen, or rather as if we were entering Switzerland for the first time; every thing looked and sounded so foreign: And yet to see the curiosity we excited the moment we landed and entered the streets, we might have supposed it was ourselves who looked rather outlandish. The women wore their hair plaited down to their heels, while the full petticoat did not descend near so far. Several groups of them, sitting at their doors, sung in parts, with an accuracy of ear and taste innate among the Germans. Gateways fortified with towers intersect the streets, which are composed of strangelooking houses built on arcades, like those of bridges, and variously painted, blue with yellow borders, red with white, or purple and grey; projecting iron balconies, highly worked and of a glossy black, with bright green window frames. The luxury of fountains and of running water is still greater here than at Neuchâtel; and you might be tempted to quench your thirst in the kennel, it runs so clear and pure. Morning and evening, goats, in immense droves, conducted to or from the mountain, traverse the streets, and stop of themselves, each at its own door. In the interior of the houses, most articles of furniture are quaintly shaped and ornamented; old-looking, but rubbed bright, and in good preservation; from the nut-cracker, curiously carved, to the double-necked cruet, pouring oil and vinegar out of the same bottle. The accommodations at the inn are homely, but not uncomfortable; substantially good, though not ele gant.-Vol. i. pp. 65, 66. We may add the followirg, which is in the same style. "It rained all day yesterday, and we remained shut up in our room at a German inn in Waldshut, enjoying a day's rest with our books, and observing men and manners in Germany, through the smal round panes of our casements. The projecting roofs of houses afford so much shelter on both sides of the streets, that the beau sex of Waldshut were out all day long in their Sunday clothes, as if it had been fine weather; their long yellow hair in a single plait hung down to their heels, along a back made very strait by the habit of carrying pails of milk and water on the head; their snow-white shiftsleeves, rolled up to the shoulder, exposed to view a sinewy, sun-burnt arm; the dark red stays were laced with black in front, and a petticoat scarcely longer than the Scotch kilt, hid nothing of the lower limb, nor of a perfectly neat stocking, well stretched by red garters full in sight. The aged among them, generally frightful, looked like withered little old men in disguise." Vol. i. Pp. 87, 88. Of all the Swiss cities, he seems to have been most struck with Berne; and the impression made by its majestic exterior, has little too partial, we think, even made him a to its aristocratic constitution. His description of its appearance is given with equal spirit and precision. "Tacse fine woods extend almost to the very gates of Berne, where you arrive under an avenue of limes, which, in this season, perfume the air. There are seats by the side of the road, for the convenience of foot-passengers, especially women going to market, with a shelf above, at the height of a person standing, for the purpose of receiving their baskets while they rest themselves on the bench: you meet also with fountains at regular distances. The whole country has the appearance of English pleasure-grounds. The town itself stands on the elevated banks of a rapid river, the Aar, to which the Rhine is indebted for one half of its waters. A sudden bend of the stream encloses, on all sides but one, the promontory on which the town is built; the magnificent slope is in some places covered with turf, supported in others by lofty terraces planted with trees, and commanding wonderful views over the surrounding rich country, and the high Alps beyond it. "It is not an easy matter to account for the first impression you receive upon entering Berne. You certainly feel that you have got to an ancient and a great city: Yet, before the eleventh century, it had not a name, and its present population does not ex ceed twelve thousand souls. It is a republic; ye. it looks kingly. Something of Roman majesty ap pears in its lofty terraces; in those massy arches on each side of the streets; in the abundance of water flowing night and day into gigantic basins. in the magnificent avenues of trees. The very silence, and absence of bustle, a certain stateliness and reserved demeanour in the inhabitants, by showing it to be not a money-making town, implies that its wealth springs from more solid and per manent sources than trade can afford, and that another spirit animates its inhabitants. In short, of alle first sight impressions and guesses about Berne, that of its being a Roman town would be nearer right than any other. Circumstances, in some respects similar, have produced like, results in the Alps, and on the plains of Latium, at the interval of twenty centuries. Luxury at Berne seems wholly directed to objects of public utility. By the side of those gigantic terraces, of those fine fountains, and noble shades, you see none but simple and solid dwellings, yet scarcely any beggarly ones; not an equipage to be seen, but many a country wagon, coming to market, with a capital team of horses, or oxen, well appointed every way. "Aristocratic pride is said to be excessive at Berne; and the antique simplicity of its magistrates, the plain and easy manners they uniformly pro serve in their intercourse with the people, are not by any means at variance with the assertion for that external simplicity and affability to inferiors is one of the characteristics of the aristocratic govern ment; all assumption of superiority being carefully avoided when real authority is not in question. Zurich suggests the idea of a municipal aristocracy; Berne of a warlike one there, we think we see citizens of a town transformed into nobility; here nobles who have made themselves citizens. Vol. i. pp. 213-217.* But we must now hasten from the Physical wonders of this country to some of the author's Moral observations; and we are tempted to give the first place to his unsparing but dispassionate remarks on the character of modern English travellers. At Geneva, he good just coming of age, who, observes, "English travellers swarm here, as everywhere else; but they do not mix with the society of the country more than they do elsewhere, and seem to like it even less. The people of Geneva, on the other hand, say, 'Their former friends, the English, are so changed they scarcely know them again. They used to be a plain downright race, in whom a certain degree of sauvagerie (oddity and shyness) only served to set off the advantages of a highly cultivated understanding, of a liberal mind, and generous temper, which characterised them in general. Their young men were often rather wild, but soon reformed, and became like their fathers. Instead of this, we now see (they say) a mixed assem. blage, of whom lamentably few possess any of those qualities we were wont to admire in their predecessors. Their former shyness and reserve is changed to disdain and rudeness. If you seek these modern English, they keep aloof, do not mix in conversation, and seem to laugh at you. Their conduct, still more strange and unaccountable in regard to each other, is indicative of contempt or suspicion, Studiously avoiding to exchange a word with their countrymen, one would suppose they expected to find a sharper in every individual of their own nation, not particularly introduced, or at best a person beneath them. Accordingly you cannot vex or displease them more than by inviting other English travellers to meet them, whom they may be compelled afterwards to acknowledge. If they do not find a crowd, they are tired. If you speak of the old English you formerly knew, that was before the Flood! If you talk of books, it is pedantry, and they yawn; of politics, they run wild about Bonaparte! Dancing is the only thing which is sure to please them. At the sound of the fiddle, the think. ing nation starts up at once. Their young people are adepts in the art; and take pains to become so, spending half their time with the dancing master You may know the houses where they live by the scraping of the fiddle, and shaking of the floor, which disturbs their neighbours. Few bring letters; and yet they complain they are neglected by the good company, and cheated by innkeepers. The latter, accustomed to the Milords Anglais of former times, or at least having heard of them, think they may charge accordingly; but only find des Anglais pour rire, who bargain at the door, before they venture to come in, for the leg of mutton and bottle of wine. on which they mean to dine!" "Placed as I am between the two parties, I hear young Englishmen repeat, what they have heard in France, that the Genevans are cold, selfish, and interested, and their women des précieuses ridicules, the very milliners and mantua-makers giving them selves airs of modesty and deep reading! that there is no opera, nor théâtre des variétés; in short, that Geneva is the dullest place in the world. Some say it is but a bad copy of England, a sham republic; and a scientific, no less than a political, counterfeit. Many travelling details, and particular de scriptions, are here omitted. In short, the friends of Geneva, among our modere At Schaffhausen, again, he observes, "There were other admirers here besides ourselves; some English, and more Germans, who furnished us with an opportunity of comparing the difference of national manners. The former, divided into groups, carefully avoiding any communication with each other still more than with the foreigners, never exchanged a word, and scarcely a look, with any but the legitimate interlocutors of their own set; women adhering more particularly to the rule-from native reserve and timidity, full as much as from pride or from extreme good breeding. Some of the ladies here might be Scotch; at least they wore the national colours, and we overheard them drawing comparisons between what we had under our eyes and Coralyn; giving justly enough, the preference to the Clyde; but, at any rate, they behaved à l'Anglaise. The German ladies, on the contrary, contrived to lier conversation in indifferent French. With genuine simplicity, wholly unconscious of forwardness, although it might undoubtedly have been so qualified in England, they begged of my friend to let them hear a few words in English, just to know the sound, to which they were strangers. If we are to judge of the respective merits of these opposite manners, by the impression they leave, I think the question is already decided by the English against themselves. Yet, at the same time that they blame and deride their own proud reserve, and would depart from it if they well knew how, but a few have the courage to venture: -and I really be lieve they are the best bred, who thus allow themselves to be good-humoured and vulgar." Vol. i. pp. 94, 95. We have not much to say in defence of our countrymen-but what may be said truly, ought not to be suppressed. That our travellers are now generally of a lower rank than formerly, and that not very many of them are fitted, either by their wealth or breeding, to uphold the character of the noble and honour. able persons who once almost monopolised the advantages of foreign travel, is of course |