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have left some things in Ireland unsettled that I must arrange, however I may dispose of myself hereafter. England can't arrest me long; I have never found any good in watering places. My malady, a constitutional dejection, can hope for no remedy in water or in wine. In general, the benefit of those places is attributed to the attendant temperance, but a person little given to excess any where has not much to add in that way; and as to evening parties, in a crowd of strangers, I never liked them, nor was fit for them I have therefore given my evenings to the theatres-I prefer them to English, notwithstanding the difficulty of a foreign language. I prefer the style of their stage to ours: ours always appeared to me flat and dull, with never more than one or two of tolerable merit; on the contrary, here you never find any very bad. A comic nation is perpetually sending young aspirants to Paris, where of course there can be no dearth. In England you must put up with what you can get. No doubt, it is hard to find any exact principles of acting; 'tis in a great degree arbitrary and accidental-still nature will assert certain boundaries. In France there may be bombast and tinsel, and the eternal monotony of amour in their plays is liable to objections, lying much deeper than the mere criticism of the stage; it goes vitally to the morals and manners of the people-it goes to make the woman a bad sort of man, and the man a bad sort of woman-it goes to take away the solid basis of every virtue of either sex it leaves the man little to wish, to the woman little to bestow; it annihilates the fine

spirit of attachment. What can he feel for confidences given on a principle of good breeding? To fascinate, there must be no doubt of its being exclusive. When I am writing my bad verses, I would spurn the muse, if I suspected her of whispering the same idea to twenty other poetasters. On the same principle, if you have only the sixtyfourth of a ticket in the lottery of regard, the prize is in fact a blank. How can you join in triumph with sixty-three other fortunate adventurers? Still these exhibitions amuse; the acting is flippant and graceful, and the music sometimes excellent. The English, who have no national music, affect to despise French. It is somewhat, perhaps, tinselish; but I own it frequently catches my fancy, and even my heart. * * * * *

I am not sorry for having come hither when I did-perhaps you see society better when cut into piecemeal, as in anatomy every thing is laid bare to the student-perhaps it is seen to great disadvantage. The best lesson that man can learn is toleration, and travelling ought to be the best school. There are many points in which this people must be allowed praise lively, cheerful-a constitutional philosophy, disposing them to be always satisfied. I wish, as to government, they could be brought to an anchor, -whether this is to happen, who can tell? Nothing can be more divided than the general sentiment: the higher military men have got safe into harbour, and wish perhaps for quiet-all under them most discontented-long arrears due. They can't employ them abroad, for want of money and when the devil is raised, and can't

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 а "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

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