Bidding adieu to the Rhine, we approach Geneva and the Alps: first, however, celebrating the fall of General Marceau, in the early part of the French Revolution, the taking of Ehrenbreitstein, the proud, the patriot field' of Morat, — and the fate of Julia Alpinula, a young Aventian priestess, 'who died soon after a vain endeavour to save her father, condemned to death as a traitor by Aulus Cæcina.' In a note on the view of the Alpine snows, the prodigious height of these mountains is strikingly implied in the curious fact here stated. July 20. 1816. I this day observed for some time the distinct reflection of Mont Blanc and Mont Argentiere in the calm of lake Leman, which I was crossing in my boat; the distance of these mountains from their mirror is 60 miles.' - More bitter reflections on the world then ensue; and we are most blameably told that - At length, the mind shall be all free Returning to local scenery and circumstances, we are introduced to the self-torturing sophist, wild Rousseau,' whose peculiarities and fate are well described. truly says, When Harold But he was phrenzied with disease or woe, To that worst pitch of all which wears a reasoning show,' a lesson is here taught which the Childe himself would do well not entirely to neglect. A night of storm in these sublime regions is then impressively depicted; and the recurrence of morn, with breath all incense and with cheek all bloom,' again brings us to Rousseau, and to Heloise. note on this passage must be quoted, in part: A In July, 1816, I made a voyage round the Lake of Geneva ; and, as far as my own observations have led me in a not uninterested nor inattentive survey of all the scenes most celebrated by Rousseau in his "Heloise," I can safely say, that in this there is no exaggeration. It would be difficult to see Clarens (with the scenes around it, Vevay, Chillon, Bôveret, St. Gingo, Meillerie, Erian, and the entrances of the Rhone,) without being forcibly struck with its peculiar adaptation to the persons and events with which it has been peopled. But this is not all; the feeling with which all around Clarens and the opposite rocks of Meillerie is invested, is of a still higher and more comprehensive order than the mere sympathy with individual passion; it is a sense of the existence of love in its most extended and sublime capacity, and of our own participation of its good and of its glory it is the great principle of the universe, which is there more more condensed, but not less manifested; and of which, though knowing ourselves a part, we lose our individuality, and mingle in the beauty of the whole. 'If Rousseau had never written, nor lived, the same associations would not less have belonged to such scenes. He has added to the interest of his works by their adoption; he has shewn his sense of their beauty by the selection; but they have done that for him which no human being could do for them. "I had the fortune (good or evil as it might be) to sail from Meillerie (where we landed for some time) to St. Gingo during a lake storm, which added to the magnificence of all around, although occasionally accompanied by danger to the boat, which was small and overloaded. By a coincidence which I could not regret, it was over this very part of the lake that Rousseau has driven the boat of St. Preux and Madame Wolmar to Meillerie for shelter during a tempest. On gaining the shore at St. Gingo, we found that the wind had been sufficiently strong to blow down some fine old chesnut trees on the lower part of the mountains. On the height is a seat called the Château de Clarens. The hills are covered with vineyards, and interspersed with some small but beautiful woods; one of these was named the "Bosquet de Julie," and it is remarkable that, though long ago cut down by the brutal selfishness of the monks of St. Bernard, (to whom the land appertained,) that the ground might be inclosed into a vineyard for the miserable drones of an execrable superstition, the inhabitants of Clarens still point out the spot where its trees stood, calling it by the name which consecrated and survived them. • Rousseau has not been particularly fortunate in the preservation of the "local habitations" he has given to " airy nothings." The Prior of Great St. Bernard has cut down some of his woods for the sake of a few casks of wine, and Buonaparte has levelled part of the rocks of Meillerie in improving the road to the Simplon. The road is an excellent one, but I cannot quite agree with a remark which I heard made, that "La route vaut mieux que les souvenirs." The residences of Gibbon and Voltaire are next introduced, and the characters of these celebrated men are skilfully drawn: • Lausanne! and Ferney! ye have been the abodes A path to perpetuity of fame: They were gigantic minds, and their steep aim, Was, Titan-like, on daring doubts to pile Thoughts which should call down thunder, and the flame Of Heaven, again assail'd, if Heaven the while On man and man's research could deign do more than smile. The one was fire and fickleness, a child, Most mutable in wishes, but in mind, A wit as various, - Which stung his foes to wrath, which grew from fear, Which answers to all doubts so eloquently well.' Then, again, Harold himself re-enters; and, casting a forward glance on Italia, he reiterates the oft-told tale of misanthropy that he has not loved the world, nor the world him: proceeding ' in a theme Renewed with no kind auspices; to feel and closing with the second invocation to the noble author's infant daughter, to which we have before alluded, and the pathos of which will excite universal sympathy, regret, and wonder. The ungracious but necessary task remains, of pointing out some of those literary blemishes at which we have already hinted, and two or three of which have appeared in the preceding citations. Of prosaic composition, the whole of the x11th stanza may be taken as an instance; and, to place it fairly in proof, we transcribe it into prose-text, not altering a word or even a point. But soon he knew himself the most unfit of men to herd with man; with whom he held little in common; untaught to submit his thoughts to others, though his soul was quelled in youth by his own thoughts; still uncompelled, he would not yield dominion of his mind to spirits against whom his own rebelled; proud though in desolation; which could find a life within itself, to breathe without mankind.' If a person reads this passage without a previous idea that it is intended for poetry, will he have any such idea afterward? The xxxiid stanza, also, ends with this line of prose: 'Shewing no visible sign, for such things are untold!' Of Of lines which are deficient in grammatical accuracy or construction, or inelegant, we may quote the following: Nor feel the heart can never all grow old.' P. 8. • Where a blue sky, and glowing clime, extends,' (for extend.) P. 9. The day drags through though storms keep out the sun.' Even as a broken mirror, which the glass The same, and still the more, the more it breaks; a fever at the core Fatal to him who bears, to all who ever bore' P. 19. - (what?) P. 24. 'Twas not for fiction chose Rousseau this spot.' P. 57. ' as it is, 'I know not what is there, yet something like to this.' P. 63. Let, us, however, terminate this selection of imperfections; which we could not bear to make, were it not that we earnestly wish to induce the author to avoid them in future, and to guard the reader against any imitation or toleration of them on the plea of such an example. We presume from a stanza in this publication, and we understand from report, that the noble poet has proceeded to Italy, and that any farther resumption of his song will lead us to its beautiful and classic scenes. May those "happier climes" bring to him happier hours, if this can yet be. MONTHLY CATALOGUE, FOR NOVEMBER, 1816. POETRY. Art. 16. Monody on the Death of the Right Hon. R.B. Sheridan, written at the Request of a Friend, to be spoken at Drury-lane Theatre. 8vo. Is. Murray. The lines on the death of Mr. Sheridan, which were spoken at Drury-lane Theatre on the first night of its opening for this season, possessed a force and a beauty which were acknowleged by all who heard them, or who saw extracts from them in the news-papers; and it was consequently noticed with some surprize that the author of them had not been avowed. Among those to whom they have been ascribed, Lord Byron has perhaps had most votes; and the present publication of them by his Lordship's accustomed bookseller, bookseller, though without his name as their author, added strength to the assignment, to which we felt much inclined to accede. All doubt, however, is now removed; they have lately been advertized as the produce of his Lordship's pen; and, in our opinion, they not only do not disgrace it, but may in many respects be ranked among its happiest and loftiest efforts. As we did not hear them in the theatre, we are not aware whether this pamphlet contains any lines that were omitted in the delivery: but it has been stated that some which were written were not spoken. We think that all readers of the following passage would be much disposed to name as its author the noble poet above mentioned: A mighty Spirit is eclipsed—a Power - In whose acclaim the loftiest voices vied, The praised-the proud-who made his praise their pride Which shook the nations through his lips-and blazed The palliating allusion to those frailties as a man, which have been ascribed to Mr. Sheridan, is very energetically conceived and expressed, whatever be its efficacy in point of fact: Hard is his fate on whom the public gaze Is fixed for ever to detract or praise, *See Fox, Burke, and Pitt's eulogy on Mr. Sheridan's speech on the charges exhibited against Mr. Hastings in the House of Commons. Mr. Pitt entreated the House to adjourn, to give time for a calmer consideration of the question than could then occur after the immediate effect of that oration.' The |