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much ivy about it, and a clear boisterous little stream. The house superlatively comfortable; such empressement to receive you,--such readiness to fulfil every wish, as soon as expressed,-such good rooms, and so well furnished,-such good things to eat, and so well dressed. This is really the land of conveniences, and it is not to be wondered at that the English should complain of foreign inconveniences in travelling. All this politeness and zeal has, no doubt, a sordid motive you are caressed for your money; but the caresses of the world have not in general a much purer motive. The semblance of bienveillance should not be blamed hastily. Fair raiments do not always cover a fair skin. It may be as well to remain ignorant of the defects of the mind, as of those of the person; to suspect them is quite enough. The roads are far from magnificent; they are generally just wide enough for two carriages; without ditches, but well gravelled with pounded stones, and, though very dirty, not deep. A high artificial bank of stone and earth, with bushes growing on the top, too often intercepts all view beyond the next bend of the road, not a hundred yards of which is visible at one time. The horses are in general weak and tired, and unmer. cifully whipt, so much so, as to induce us often to interfere in their behalf, choosing rather to go slower than to witness such cruelty.

January 4-We slept last night at Exeter, and are arrived at Taunton; 64 miles in two days. We are in no haste. The approach to Exeter is very fine; you see from a hill the vast extent of country below, with an estuary at a distance, and hills in gentle swells lost in the horizon; it gives the idea of an ocean of cultivation. The cathedral is a venerable pile, built in the year 900, (my information comes from the old woman who shewed it). Outside it appeared to me less light and airy than Gothic architecture generally is, according to my recollections. Objects seen again, after an interval of many years, appear no longer the same, although unchanged in reality, and although we have not seen, in the mean time, any other objects of the same kind that could alter the scale of our ideas. Memory is not a book where things and events are recorded, but rather a field where seeds grow, come to maturity, and die. The silent operation of time on all that lives, perfecting and destroying in regular succession, seems to extend to the mechanical skill of our fingers. The artist draws better after laying down his pencil for some time, or plays better on an instrument; fencing, swimming, are improved likewise. We have, however, neither studied nor practised; the mind, as far as we know, has been inactive, as well as the hand. Should we know little before the in

terruption, we are apt indeed to forget that little; but, if the skill was sufficiently perfect, it increases during a certain period of inaction; becomes stationary when longer intermitted; and is lost at last by protracted disuse.

The inside of the church is too light, I mean too eclairé, and the painted windows are not good. Those at one end were painted 400 years ago, my old woman said, and the other end within her remembrance; the one too early, probably, to be good, and the other too late. But. when the service began, we forgot the church, and every thing else, in the beauty of the chant; -angels in heaven cannot sing better! The organ, sweet, powerful, and solemn, formed at single accompaniment, without foppish flourish. ing: the whole effect superior to my recollections of the plain chant. Music and poetry are certainly nearly allied; one is the mellow and vague distance, where all is blended into harmony, the other is the vigorous foreground, where every object is clearly defined and distinctly seen; the one awakens poetical enthusiasm in yourself; the other shews you what it has pro. duced in others.

The roads are full of soldiers, on foot and in carriages, travellingtowards Plymouth ;- Portugal and India supposed to be their destination. The villages along the road are in general not

beautiful,-the houses very poor indeed; the walls old and rough, but the windows generally whole and clean; no old hats or bundles of rags stuck in, as in America, where people build, but do not repair. Peeping in, as we pass along, the floors appear to be a pavement of round stones like the streets,-a few seats, in the form of short benches,-a table or two,-a spinning-. wheel, a few shelves,-and just now (Christmas,) ever-greens hanging about. The people appear healthy, and not in rags, but not remarkably stout; the women, I think, are more so in proportion than the men. We meet very few. beggars, and those old and infirm. Farm-houses. with their out buildings, look remarkably neat, and in great order; near them we see stacks of hay and straw, of prodigious size, covered with a slight thatching, and over that a sort of net of straw, to prevent the wind disturbing the thatch. Industry, method, and good order, are conspicuous everywhere. Most of the land is in meadow. Turnips are enormous; some as large as a man's head. The cattle do not look different

from ours. We meet, however, with more picturesque horses than in America, with big shaggy legs, and heavy heads.

January 5.-Arrived in the evening at Bristol, 48 miles in eight hours, stoppages included; the horses better. On approaching Bristol, you see,

from an elevation, a ridge on the left, covered with country-houses, groves of trees, and green fields. This ridge is intersected by a deep gap, near which a confused heap of roofs, towers, and steeples, and smoke, mark the town; dirty suburbs succeeded to this view; then a bridge over a mean and muddy stream; through crowded streets we arrived at The Bush. The next morning shewed us, opposite our windows, a large building of freestone, in excellent style, The Exchange. Taking a guide, I called upon those for whom we had letters, and have been obligingly received. English hospitality is not in high repute;-so far, we have no reason to complain of it. There is a look of comfort and neatness in the inside of houses, which is very striking; every thing is substantial and good, and uniformly so in all parts of the house; and, as to the table, Lucullus dines with Lucullus every day, and little addition appears necessary should a few friends come unexpectedly. The creditable and decent look of the servants is no less remarkable, and they are the mainspring of all the other comforts. I am perfectly aware that there are many people who have no servants, and hardly bread to eat, and whose habitual state is labour and poverty. Although I have had no opportunity, as yet, of becoming acquainted with the situation of that class of people, I have ne

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