a clear idea of the impressions he received at his entrance into a strange land. It is this kind of writing that we covet. Having a pledge in the character of the author that the facts are faithfully related, to our minds it is not only the most agreeable, but the most distinct method of conveying knowledge of this sort. It shows us at once the difference between ourselves and strangers, and under the same circumstances.

The antipathy to the English, which has been generated more by their manners than any national depravity, is frequently mentioned by our author in the course of his travels. In the French this could excite no surprise; the dislike is mutual, and the agency of the British government, in subverting the gigantic power of Napoleon, will sufficiently account for their aversion. But it appears to have extended to Italy, and must there be entirely owing to their overbearing manners. We extract the first instance witnessed by the author, only remarking, that he experienced similar treatment afterwards, and for the same reason. We include the latter paragraph, to show the high estimation in which the followers of Luther are held by the orthodox children of St. Peter's.

'When we returned to our hotel, and took our seats at the public table, we remarked a look and manner towards us amounting to rudeness and impertinence, We had noticed the same kind of deportment in the company at Rochefort. This, said I to myself, is the consequence of that horrible revolution which not only subverted the political institutions of the country, but entirely changed the manners of society. A new and vulgar race has sprung up, and instead of the ease, the courtesy, and finished elegance of the old regime, we have the coarseness and brutality of the sans culottes. I had entirely mistaken the cause of their incivility. From some gross observations on the mode of living in England, which were evidently pointed at us, it appeared that we were taken for Englishmen for as soon as they discovered, from our travelling companions, that we were Americans, there was a very striking change in their behaviour.

But

The next morning we procured a guide, who took us to some of the most remarkable places in the neighbourhood of Saintes. After having visited the ruins of the church of St. Seroine, he conducted us to the burying ground. The part which we first entered was open to the road, and only contained the graves of a few Protestants. The other, which was filled with Roman Catholics, was enclosed by a low and neat hedge. "There," said our guide, pointing to the latter, "lie the Christians, here lie the Protestants."

For a clergyman, our traveller has given a very tolerable portion of the kind of narrative that we like; but his classic taste makes heavy demands on his pen, and we are favoured throughout the whole book with descriptions of churches, ancient cu

riosities and mausoleums, pleasantly written, we allow, but which convey to us any other idea than one concerning the present state of the people. We say for a clergyman, because we believe that the previous study of this order of men both inclines them to such investigations, and disqualifies them from knowing much of human nature. We make the following extract because it gives, in a few words, an account of the great canal of Languedoc, a subject in which we are all much interested at this moment, only remarking, that the reluctance to mingle with the commonalty, displayed by the author, however natural to a gentleman and an invalid, was particularly unfortunate for a traveller and a republican. We use the latter expression, because we think Mr. Berrian very particularly under its influence when speaking of principalities and powers.

The next day we took passage for Carcassonne on the canal. It is a most irksome mode of travelling, and, to relieve the tædium, I frequently got out of the boat and walked. As it is very economical, the company of course is less select. To escape from such a beggarly set as chance threw in our way, was another reason for my preferring the land. There was no difficulty in keeping up with the boat, nor even in getting far ahead of it, for though we set out before daybreak, we did not arrive at Carcassonne, a distance of only twenty-four miles, till towards evening.

The canal of Languedoc is an object of great curiosity to strangers, and of immense importance to the country, both from the revenue which it yields, and the facilities it affords to commerce. It was planned and executed by M. Ricquet, in the reign of Louis the Fourteenth. This great undertaking was begun in 1666, and finished in 1680. It was first intended to supply it by the waters of the Garonne, but the elevation of some parts of the country, through which it was to pass, above the river, made this scheme impracticable. At Narouse, which is the highest point between the two seas, there is a basin 1200 feet long and 900 broad, which is always filled with water to the depth of seven feet. Another was made at St. Ferreol, 7200 feet long, 3000 broad, and 120 deep, two sides of which are formed by two mountains, and the third by a strong mole. This communicates with the former by means of an aqueduct, and that with the canal by sluices. These basins have a perennial supply from the springs in the mountains. The canal is 60 feet in breadth, six in depth, and 150 miles in length. When the gates are near each other, the space between them, both on the bottom and sides, is lined with solid cut stone; or, if they stand alone, they are defended each way, for perhaps a hundred feet, in the same manner. Graceful stone bridges are frequently thrown across the canal, and small intersecting streams in deep beds are carried under arches beneath. On the way from Narbonne to Beziers, a passage of seven hundred feet long is pierced for it through the solid rock. It is indeed a grand and magnificent work, connecting the Mediterranean

and the Atlantic seas, but perhaps it will be surpassed, both in magnitude and consequence, by the great canal of our own state.'

Our author appears to have sought every opportunity to attend public worship, from a very natural desire to compare the forms and appearance of other churches with his own; and from his character, we doubt not also for a more laudable purpose. He seems to have imbibed an unfavourable impression on his first visit to a protestant church in a catholic country. One of the most common errors among travellers is the drawing of hasty conclusions; and it is one of the reasons why we so strongly advocate a narrative that may give us all the colouring of the testimony. Mr. Berrian seems to have retracted, in some measure, his first judgment: at least, he owns that part of the congregation, who could be supposed to feel deeply, gave manifest evidence of their interest in one of the most solemn offices of our religion. We become in time so much attached to what we are conscious of practising from pure motives, that we are too apt to think the omission of the duty in others an incontestable proof of their want of those qualities which give birth to it in us. We forget that we are the creatures of habit; and that more than one half of what is done in the world, is done as a matter of course and without reflection. We remember once to have attended divine service in the neighbouring state of Massachusetts. On rising to prayer, (the reverend author will perceive they were dissenters,) the seats were raised also on hinges, which were placed for the purpose of removing those obstructions to graceful leaning and easy standing. It certainly was a novel arrangement, and it struck us as irreverent. On reflection, however, we saw it was only their fashion of stuffing the hassocks; or, in other words, that Calvinistic legs could weary as well as episcopal knees. But the worst was to come. When the divine was

about making the solemn invocation to conclude his petitions, the noise of the said seats returning to their horizontal positions, quickened not a little by the impatience of the weary, made a clapping, which rang through the heathenish arch over our heads like the confusion of Babel. Let our author for one moment imagine a Padre from the Queen of Cities to have been present at such a hearing, and then transported back to the Papal presence; what account of our worship would he render to his holiness? And yet these Massachusetts sectaries are well reputed in the world, and believe themselves just so much nearer than the congregation of Trinity to their common goal, as they are farther removed from the pollutions of the whore of Babylon. The truth is, that we are all frail; and it is happy for us that our common Father is as merciful as he is mighty.

On Christmas morning I went to the Protestant church, and in the first service was once more shocked by the levity of the people. But the behaviour of those who remained to receive the communion, produced a very different impression. These formed a large proportion of the congregation, five-sixths or seven-eighths of whom were women. Before the celebration, an old clergyman delivered a familiar address, with so much earnestness, with so much simplicity, and in tones so tender and feeling, his voice being choaked almost by the excess of his own emotions, that he touched the hearts of his hearers; and their grief not only showed itself in tears, but even broke in sobs. He then came down from the pulpit, and a young clergyman assisted him in administering the elements. The men advanced first, in small groupes, to the right of the altar, and, entering the chancel, stood before the table with heads humbly inclined. A few words, which I was too far off to hear, were addressed to each of them; and after they had received, they gave place to others, and passed out to the left. There was great decorum and reverence in the manner of the communicants; and almost all, in withdrawing from the table, seemed penetrated with the affecting solemnity, and returned to their seats in tears. This unexpected and edifying spectacle softened, in some degree, my harsh opinion of the Protestants of France. In Nismes they are very numerous, making up one-third of the population.

As we were leaving the church, our ears were assailed by the most importunate cries from a miserable wretch, who was exposing the stump of a sore arm, to excite the commiseration and charity of those who were passing. Such hideous sights are not uncommon in France; and sometimes we meet with beggars along the streets so shockingly deformed, that our pity is overpowered by disgust and horror.

In the afternoon I went to the cathedral. But the crowd was so great, and the church so difficult to fill, that I lost almost all the sermon, though the preacher's voice was loud and distinct. In order to hear him better, I had gone up into the gallery among the blind and superstitious populace. As soon as he had finished, the service was renewed, and I stood leaning over the balustrade, observing very attentively the ceremonies at the altar. Presently the host was elevated, and a man cried out behind me, "a genoux." I took no notice of it, and appeared not to understand him. A moment after he said to me, "It is very unbecoming not to bow the knee at the elevation of the host." I made some brief reply, which did not seem to sooth him. The crowd cast fierce looks at me. I recollected the persecution of Nismes, and retreated with precipitation.'

We must here be allowed to ask the reverend author, what degradation it would have been to have bent his knee in common with his fellow creatures around him? We know that the elevation of the host is supposed to involve the delicate question of transubstantiation: But is not the Deity ever present? We would inquire, farther, which is the more pardonable offence,—

to create harsh feelings at such a time and in such a place, or to bow the knee at the exhibition of a sacrament of our Saviour's appointing, and in God's own house? We congratulate our author on his escape, both from regard to his person, and that it was effected without the congregation at Nismes discovering that the offensive stranger was " Assistant minister of Trinity Church, New-York."

It is with reluctance that we disclose what we conceive to be errors in a writer whom we esteem so much as Mr. Berrian; but our magisterial functions are, from time immemorial, imperative. At Avignon he went to visit the fountain of Vaucluse, and says a few handsome things about the grave of Laura. We do not make the extract, in charity to the author; but we will ask, what charms could the name of Laura convey to the mind of the Rev. Mr. Berrian? It requires all the simplicity of character that belongs to innocence not to imagine the worst of this famous pair. But, leaving every thing doubtful out of the question, admit Laura to have been as pure as the virgin snow, who was Petrarch? the avowed lover of the wife of another man. It might have been bad taste in our reverend author not to have visited a spot of so much celebrity; but we are certain it is worse, having done so, to say any thing about it. We will proceed to make a few extracts from his book, which, without pronouncing them to be the best, we confidently believe will make a fair exhibition of his head and heart. The first may have some interest in our community, and will show how much further enthusiasm will carry a man than the ordinary feelings of our nature.

The desire of seeing a friend, an acquaintance, or even a countryman, in a strange land, is stronger than those can conceive who have never been far from home. It was from a motive of this kind that I made many inquiries of the ecclesiastics whom I met, after Mr. Barber, all of which were fruitless. The conversion of a Protestant clergyman in a distant country, it could hardly be expected would be much known at Rome, though it was an event of such rare occurrence as to have excited much notice at home. At length a layman, to whom I applied for information, took me to the college of the Jesuits, as a place where a Jesuit might most easily be found. I here inquired again for Mr. Barber. The porter, who was a member of the order, told me that no person of that name belonged to the institution. After a moment's pause, he suddenly said, as if recollecting himself, perhaps you mean Signori Barberini? It may be, I replied. On being conducted to this person's room, I found him whom I had sought, transformed in appearance as well as name. He received me with great cordiality and joy, but without any wonder or surprise. I spent a short time with him very pleasantly. He spoke with freedom of the rites and ceremonies of his VOL. II.

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