rel with England, because, during a few weeks' visit, he cannot live on the same sum which supports him at home? All this, however, explains the absurd accounts circulated respecting England. What knowledge of it can the traveller acquire, who lodges in the garret of some nondescript alley, freezes in winter because coals are expensive, dines in a cook-shop of artisans, and is jostled into the half-price pit of a minor theatre? I never will look into a work on England, unless I know the author to have had the means of understanding it. I have often heard it repeated, the English live on beef-steaks and porter; or, they do not drink wine in England. One of my countrymen declares, in his View, that the Irish students, who frequent the university of Glasgow, bring with them sundry sacks of potatoes, and return to their own country when the stock is exhausted.

One feature I find in the English character, which is sometimes to be faintly traced in Germany, but which is quite unknown in other parts of Europe. This single quality of bashfulness, or mauvaise honte, has excited more ill-will, more prejudice, and more misconception, in the breasts of strangers, than all that they have ever said or done as a nation. This is commonly called pride abroad, but it is quite a misnomer: it is the offspring of feelings which have no relation to arrogance, and are more closely allied to humility. An Englishman is always afraid of intruding; that is the word; it is quite an Anglicism. Some strangers would do well in importing a little of it for home-consumption. If the Englishman comes into the room of an inn, where you are sitting with your party, he does not think of walking up to your table, but usually retires to a corner: superficial observers say, he is too proud to join us, he thinks himself above us: not so; gladly would he be admitted into our circle, but

he always anticipates a repulse, he dreads to be considered an impertinent; he whispers to himself, these people would think me a bore. He is afraid, too, very often, that you may suspect his civilities to be interested; he often wishes to oblige you, but is restrained by an idea that you may think he has a motive. All this arises from an early tincture of strong moral principles, and from the habit of thinking about every thing, leaving little to chance, reasoning even on things unreasonable.

I might describe many objects to you which have been already discussed by others, but I rather omit the points on which I agree with them, and only insist on their blunders: such blunders, indeed, as must always be committed by travellers ignorant of a language, with a scanty purse, no acquaintance, and a coarse exterior. One of these I heard once declaiming against English music on inquiring into his experience, I discovered that he had passed a fortnight in London in the month of September, had been once to the Lyceum, and there had sat through a one-act opera: this was the total amount of his knowledge: but the music was different from all the other music in the world, it was absolutely strange; could the English have ears? I prefer the national airs of this country to all the operas that ever were composed; and I think it shows no great taste on our side of the water, that they are so little known or disseminated. You know, however, that our great Haydn declared his name would live longer in its attachment to the symphonies of the Scotch airs, than by any work of his own fancy. Certainly, there are more music-shops, more teachers of music, and better concerts, in England, than any where else. Scarcely a night elapses in London without some musical entertainment of the most brilliant order, and the remotest provincial town has its little

musical festivals, when it is sure to be visited, not by the scrubs of harmony, but by some of the best artists in Europe.

If you are not satisfied with the plain meal I have set before you, go to Reimer's, and purchase the Journey of my good friend Herr Doctor Spiker, Librarian to our honoured King. Do not search in the Conversations Lexicon. One of the learned adjoints insinuates that England has produced no good artists; he is as much at home in Old England as I should be in the New. I had scrawled a few murmurs against certain Cerberuses, who made me pull out my purse at St. Paul's, at Westminster Abbey, at the Parliament, at the Museums of Edinburgh and Glasgow; not to speak of sundry other provocatives of spleen, such as prize-fighters, the cockpit, sporting characters, and rotten boroughs. But the day before I left London, I was present at the sale (by Quaker ladies) of work made by the female prisoners at Newgate; and at a meeting of the subscribers for the relief of sufferers from the inundations in Hanover. When I returned to my lodgings, I scratched it all out.

I travelled from Hamburgh to Göttingen with a young Italian physician who had spent two years in England, and believed he should never be happy out of it. I laughed at his enthusiasm: I could be happy in Siberia : where cannot a man be happy as long as he acts well his part in the station drawn by his lot? Rather I feel the wish of our young Prince of Prussia, who said to his father, Let us make an Oxford at home; and thus I conclude, Let us make an England in Germany,-let us make an England all over the world.

MY VAGABOND DAYS.

[Concluded from No. VII. p. 167.]

THIS was my first nocturnal violation of the law, and the novelty of the expedition, the character of my associates, and the dismal story of the place to which we were proceeding, filled me with a degree of romantic horror which was quite delightful. Why, thought I, as we passed stealthily by the muffled cart, like mutes in a funeral, should I not be able to live in the woods with this brave band and a few more devils incarnate, till I rival the repu. tation of those great men of the Alps and the Apennines in Spain, and the Pyrenees in Italy? Why should I not be the terror of the country, and set the laws at defiance, and take my uncle prisoner, and let him know that I can be a brave man, however he may doubt the likelihood of my being a learned one? I was resolved to take it seriously into consideration; but, in the mean time, the cart halted, and we had arrived within a field of Dead-Man'sCorner.

Dead-Man's Corner was the termination of a large wood, which came sloping and narrowing down till it formed one of the sides of a small clover field, into which the hares were poured at feeding time, as through a spout. To this spot we bore our netting in great silence, running it along at the foot of the hanging, as it is called, and making it fast to the opposite gates of the field, so as to cut off all retreat. This being accomplished cleverly, the Lieutenant set forward upon a circuit, to turn his terriers in at the farther hedge, having directed us to take our station at short intervals, and knock the game on the head before it had time to expostulate.

I should doubt very much whether I was the only one

of our party (having, as we had, to stand our ground singly) whose blood tingled at the fancied approach of the keeper, or who feared to turn his head lest he should encounter the glaring eyes of poor Mark's ghost peeping over his shoulder. For several minutes the silence was awful, and I almost feared that the Tinker had turned traitor, and was gone to tell the enemy where we might be found. -Who knows, thought I, but he may have sold us at so much a head? Who knows but we may sleep in the Round House to night, and be whipped through the village to-morrow; who knows-but my reverie was cut short by a light tittuping sound at no great distance. It stopped, and I heard a similar approach in another direction. Presently the sounds increased, and I heard them everywhere—The hares were coming upon us in myriads, and my heart beat so high, and I became so nervous, that I question whether I could have been more alarmed by the charge of a troop of lions.-At last the terriers which had been taught to run mute, having scientifically brought all the stragglers, made a dash at the main body, and on they came. The rush was so great, that the net, in many places, was borne down, and the cries were like a concert of hurdy-gurdies. Every man had his hands full of work, and sprang about as nimbly as the terriers, who knew their business too well to be slow in stopping the alarm. I myself scrambled about as though I had been mad, tumbled over dogs, hares, and men, and was bruised from head to foot, and frightened out of my wits. I thought we had done enough for one night, and so thought the Smasher, who evidently spoke under the influence of great terror, but the Tinker and the rest were not satisfied." Zounds," said he, "there is a flock of sheep penned in the field. You will not go without some of them, Squire ?"

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