66 evening, when there is nothing to prevent it sinking into the farthest recesses of the heart. For myself at least I can say, that I never walked with my face towards a fine setting sun, without feeling it to be, as our own most majestic poet has expressed it, a heavenly destiny." Nothing tends so powerfully to extinguish all bad passions as the contemplation of the still majesty of Nature. Perhaps time so spent might ere long fill up the void even of a desolate heart, and cause it to wonder why it should ever have been wretched. Peace has visited the cell where the hermit retired to die in sorrow. and the calmness of a fine summer I am informed that towards Schaffhausen they are so; but from Brissac to Basle, and somewhat farther up, they are of a clay colour, with a shade of green. Here, however, they begin to brighten; the clay colour is less visible, and the green is like that of a shallow sea. Such, however, is the opposition the waters meet with in this rapid, that the whole is one sheet of foam of the most snowy whiteness. When first I beheld this glorious pass, the rays of the sun had just fallen on the river, while the steep bank on the eastern side was dark and obscure. The river shone like liquid silver, and the waving tops of the birches and weeping willows constantly bending their long drooping branches into the stream, stooping as if to drink," gave a character of life and beauty to the scene, which passeth speech. Above that part of the river which has the appearance of a little lake, the mountains are lofty, and ranged like an immense amphitheatre, adorned with vineyards and cottages, and terminated by precipitous crags and old romantic pine-trees. But what relation do such speculations bear to Lauffenburg? I rose with the lark, and descended to the river side, having heard a good deal of a fall of the Rhine here. I was not disappointed with the scene, but there is no fall. The river for some hundred yards passes along a rocky bed, and is confined within one half of its natural channel; there is also a great declivity for nearly a quarter of a mile, so that it has here exactly the appearance of an American rapid. The rushing of the water is prodigious, and the surrounding scenery is quite in unison with the voice of the destroyer. Every thing seems rent, uprooted, and overthrown, and placed exactly in a situation the most different from that which nature must have originally intended it should occupy. If you glance your eye over a sheet of water, or a chain of rocks, you have not proceeded a few yards before you find the water and the rocks in opposition to each other, and turning, "with aspect malign," in a direction quite contrary to that which you at first expected them to take. The banks are steep, and shaggy, and romantic in the extreme; indeed, upon the whole, this little town of Lauffenburg possesses the most picturesque situation I have ever beheld. It has the merit, also, of originality—at least I never saw any other to which it bore the slightest resemblance. Immediately above the rapid, and at the head of the town, the river is very broad and spacious, like a little lake it appears, in fact, as if collecting its utmost strength to effect the passage through the rocks. The waters of the Rhine hitherto have not been clear. VOL. IV. 18th. I found the last-mentioned village so delightful, that I was almost rivetted to the spot, and wished that I had so arranged my plans as to allow me to pass a couple of months there. This, however, could not well be; so I left it this forenoon, and proceeded onwards by the left side of the Rhine. The greater part of my journey this day lay in Germany. The road proceeds for many miles close to the river, and a little elevated above it. The banks on either side are green and sloping-the river is smooth and rapid, and seems in some parts almost to overflow its banks. It would be difficult to fancy any thing more beautiful than many parts of my walk at this time. Passing through Albrugg and Waldshut, towards evening I arrived at Little Coblentz, below which is the junction of the Rhine, with its great branch the Aâr, which river has a long and continuous course through Switzerland, and is fed by streams from Neufchatel, the country to the north-east of the lake of Geneva, and from the cantons of Berne and Zurich. It is nearly as large as the other branch; but, running at an angle with the united waters, it loses its own name, and assumes that of the Rhine. My favourite river, therefore, though 4 R still magnificent, is now much diminished, but it is beautifully clear, of a fine bluish green colour, and the surrounding country is as delightful as ever. After passing the village of Coblentz, we lose sight of the Rhine, though, in the stillness of a fine autumnal evening, its sonorous flow was distinctly audible for some time after it became invisible to the eye. About nightfall I found myself in the town of Thungen; but not liking its appearance, I determined to proceed another league to Luchingen, -having previously ascertained that there were no walls, or other hostile barriers, around the last-mentioned city. There I arrived, accordingly, in good time, and regaled myself with an excellent bottle of hock. I was treated with great civility, though it is rather an ill-regulated place, and not to compare with Lauffenburgbut indeed what other spot deserves to be so? 19th.-On Wednesday I departed, before the mists of the morning had risen from the valley, and pursued my route to Schaffhausen. An old ruined castle was seen on the brow of a steep hill, with white clouds breaking around it in a very picturesque style. I crossed one or two small streams, with antique mossy bridges, but the majestic river was inaudible. During my walk this day, I recollected that I was within a few days' journey of the source of the Danube; and being suddenly inspired with the desire of beholding the parent of that famous river, I struck off to the leftward, and entered the Black Forest, with the intention of crossing the Suabian mountains next day. After walking, how ever, for several hours, without meeting a single being, and seeing nothing but bare hills before me, I began to think it might be as well to sleep beneath a human roof, particularly as I felt both fatigued and feverish; so turning to the right, I again directed my steps towards the Rhine, the course of which could easily be traced by the fine woods and cultivated fields on either side-and thus ingloriously terminated my excursion to the Danube. I arrived at Schaffhausen in the evening, having taken a near cut through a small forest in the neighbourhood, at the instigation of, and in company with, a Ger man peasant. We descended upon the town from an elevated ridge of land, from which I had a noble view of the old Rhine and the surrounding country. About a quarter of a mile from Schaffhausen, I passed close by a small mount surrounded by a stone wall, which altogether reminded me of the druidical temple I had erected near Basle. My attention was more particularly attracted to it by a group of children on the top, who seemed intently examining something on its surface. I accordingly ascended, and found, to my surprise, the verdant sod covered with blood. On inquiry, I found that this place was what the natives call the Rappen-stein, which is the place of public execution. The blood I saw was possibly still warm, as an unhappy malefactor had been executed that afternoon. Their heads are chopped off with a two-handed sword, and this, by a dextrous execu tioner, is accomplished by a single blow. During this day, I had not much enjoyment. The scenery, no doubt, was fine, but the weather was oppressively hot, the sky being without a cloud, and the greater part of my walk without a tree-and the refreshing flow of the river, which had so long delighted both eye and ear, with its mighty melody, was far distant. 19th.-Schaffhausen is a considerable town, but dirty and ill paved. Within a mile or two of this place, is the famous fall of the Rhine, by many thought the finest cataract in Europe. It is certainly a glorious sight. The river, owing to a rapid immediately above the fall, rushes with prodigious velocity-the body of water is very great, the breadth being nearly 200 feet, and it falls from the height of 80 feet. There are two or three high castellated rocks in the centre, finely wooded. These divide the fall, but the spray rising from below, conceals their bases entirely, and produces an appearance towards the lower part, of one continued mass of water. But the scenery is really so superb, and the weather so delightful, that all description is set at defiance; and I sit down more from a praiseworthy habit which I have got into of writing for a few minutes every evening, than from any hope, or even intention, of recording either my own feelings, or the general features of this heavenly country. Many times since I entered Switzerland, I have found, that those things which delight us most, are those concerning which not a single intelligible sentence could be written, even by those who command the copious and appropriate imagery suggested by poetic genius, far less by one who is so little versed" in the set phrase of peace." Besides, in the present case, my mind is so pervaded by a noble passage of "the grand infernal peer," that any attempt at original description would be alike vain and presumptuous. The quotation is longer than those with which I usually indulge myself, but after writing the first line, it would be almost as impossible to refrain from the remainder, as it would be to arrest the progress of the vast torrent which it so well describes. "The roar of waters! from the headlong height; Velino cleaves the wave worn precipice; That gird the gulph profound, in pitiless horror set, And mounts in spray the skies, and thence again Returns in an unceasing shower, which round, With his fierce footsteps, yield in chasms a fearful vent, Immediately below this fall, the circling waters of the river form a broad expanse, in which there is a little island. On this there is a house, one room of which is fitted up with an excellent camera obscura. This gives a beautiful picture of the foaming cataract, with its gray rocks and rich underwood, as well as of the vineyards which encompass it, and their white cottages. The continual descent of the enormous river, the waving of the adjoining woods, and the dark shadows of the clouds floating over the vineclad hills, produce the most complete deception I ever witnessed. Indeed, I could scarcely believe that it was only a reflection of nature, and not nature's self, and when the light was admitted, the whole appeared to vanish rather by the hand of enchantment than from natural causes. I would certainly advise any one visiting this neighbourhood, to make a point of seeing the camera, for I really think I derived as much pleasure from it as from the scene itself. The roaring voice of the river renders the delusion perfect. I saw this fall from many different points of view, each successively appearing finer than the other; and though I arrived at the foot of it about eleven in the forenoon, it was halfpast eight in the evening before I returned to the Auberge. One view from a pine wood opposite, is particularly fine, and it was at this time adorned by a bright and magnificent rainbow. About eight o'clock, when every thing was obscure except the foaming cataract, I was still seated by the river side, enjoying its tremendous melody. Suddenly a stream of fire shot up from the rock close by, and threw a flood of stars among the silvery waters. For a few seconds I was a good deal astonished at this apparent phenomenon, and the unceasing voice of the river deadening all other sounds, it was 66 some little time before I discovered that a smith's forge was built near the foot of the fall. It produced a singularly beautiful effect, as this stream of light sprung upward like a pyramid of fire," or gently bending across the water, rose and fell like a magnificent plume of gold; and sometimes, when it was about to expire, the bright flickering flames gave a meteoric appearance to the columns of spray similar to that so frequently observed in a ship's wake at sea. Salmon, and other migratory fish, advance no higher up the Rhine than the large pool below the fall. ON THE DECLINE OF A TASTE FOR METAPHYSICS. NOTHING is more remarkable in the literature of the day, than the substitution, which has been accomplished, of its lighter branches, for the more severe studies by which the preceding century was distinguished. This important revolution is more palpable in the departments of metaphysics and moral science, than in any other branch of learning. There is reason to believe, that notwithstanding the outward deference still paid to the presciptive celebrity of Locke, Berkeley, and Hume, these illustrious men are secretly rated in public opinion, far beneath even the popular favour ites of the day. Their works are not now perused with that intense admiration which they commanded half a century ago, and which the decided bias of literary taste, towards the toils and delights of abstract speculations, can alone explain. If an occasional effort be made to recal attention to this deserted region, where, in former times, no small share of the glory which belongs to our national literature was achieved, the attempt is in so feeble and faulty a style, as to disgust every ingenuous student of the old masters, and to convince him, that the depth of thought and comprehensiveness of views for which the philosophers of England stood unrivalled, have almost wholly abandoned those who now attempt a vain competition with the strength and originality of their genius. We are aware, that there exist illustrious exceptions to the absolute truth of these remarks; but we speak at present not so much with reference. to the merits of individuals as to the general state of public thought and feeling. If it be true that we have yet among us a metaphysician of great talents and accomplishments, it is no less certain, that even the lustre of his genius has been unable to win the public regard to that course of study in which he has himself embarked with enthusiastic and boundless devotion. Mr Stewart is almost a solitary example of high talent and fine accomplishment, wasted (as many even of his admirers may imagine) on the thorny and barren track of metaphysical speculation. He has been repeatedly admonished, through the organs of popular criticism, that the nature of his undertaking accords not with the taste or fashion of these times; and has had the unmerited mortification, we are afraid, to find, that the fruits of his profound and elevated toil have not been appreciated with that ardent fondness which is the best stimulus and the most grateful reward of high and liberal exertion. This is indeed a striking revolution in the literary taste of a country which has been distinguished above all others for depth of thought and gravity of philosophical speculation. It was in England that the national foundations of moral and metaphysical philosophy were first laid-the trammels of scholastic form and fruitless subtlety first vigorously burst-and the true objects and just boundaries of science first delineated, with a sagacity and precision to which the learned of all nations have offered their tribute of reverence and admiration. It was in England that the genius of Bacon was nursed, in whose immortal works may be traced the outlines of all that science and philosophy have since achieved, splendid as their triumphs have been in almost every country of Europe. It was under the same cloudy sky, that Locke, exploring by the chart which his wonderful precursor had left him, the yet untravelled region of metaphysics, constructed a firm and massive fabric, from the very fragments of which new systems have been reared, and new honours gained, for the secondary genius which has advanced in the magnificent track of his invention. For him the consenting admiration of every learned people conceded the high honour of having fixed an æra in the most abstruse, but yet the most interesting and sublime of the sciences-of having cleared the foundations, marked the laws, and defined the limits of human thoughtof having laid deep in the rational and experimental philosophy of the human mind, the basis of moral and political obligation-of having explored the remotest principles of abstract speculation-and of having given a rational and imperishable form to that science to which a powerful in stinct had attracted the elevated curiosity of every age, but of which it was given to him alone to fathom all the depths, and unfold the hitherto impenetrable mysteries. He alone carried the solidity of reason into the recesses of that branch of philosophy, which had in all former times been filled with the successive but perishable shadows of the imagination. The supremacy of Locke is universally confessed; but there were others also, to whose genius this department of knowledge is profoundly indebted. The subtle but amiable scepticism of Berkeley, who, in the high confidence of an original and comprehensive mind, meditated the destruction of popular infidelity, by expunging the material world from the catalogue of philosophical realities, gave an impulse, in spite of its startling extravagance, to the spirit of intellectual philosophy, such as a great and inventive genius can alone impart. His theory, derided by wits and stared at by the vulgar, in equal ignorance of its aim, was admired by philosophers for the depth, subtlety, and vigour of understanding which it displayed, and the bold and original cast of thought which this amiable and enlightened ecclesiastic pre-eminently discovered. Beattie, and Reid-names still among the most illustrious that occur in Scottish literature, and whose fortune it was to raise the philosophical fame of their country to a pitch of unrivalled eminence. The influence and renown of English philosophy were not limited to this Island. It is the privilege of this high department of intellectual exertion, that its honours are not confined to the narrow boundaries which policy, laws, and manners prescribe to the other triumphs of learning; but that, transcending the limits assigned to a literature purely local and popular, it unites in one illustrious school all that is lofty or profound in the genius of the civilized world. The light and airy, but liberal spirit of Voltaire, perceived the grandeur of a system which it wanted strength to have constructed; and with a noble surrender of national prejudice, this singular man descended to the humble toil of familiarising the philosophy of England to the nations of the continent. He made his universal language the instrument of expounding, in a popular form, the sublime system of Newton; with the armour of his wit he covered the name of Locke from the assaults of scholastic pedantry and envenomed dulness; he spread throughout Europe the philosophical reputation of England, and gave, even to the name of philosopher, a high degree of popular estimation, by the zeal with which he ever vindicated it for himself as the proudest of all his literary distinctions. The philosophical spirit which predominated in England, and which communicated its depth and precision to the various departments of literature, was soon caught by the literary It thus happened, that during the men of Scotland, and followed with last century the spirit of a rational their characteristic perseverance into and profound philosophy made greater very splendid results. It was then progress throughout Europe than it that the quiet, frigid, incredulous, but had done at any former period. The subtle and profound intellect of Hume same principles of a wary and induc-attracted to the study of metaphysics tive logic-the same precision of exby the blaze of reputation which en- periment and accuracy of observation circled the philosophy of England--the same stern rejection of mere attempted to push the principles of the pure and pious Locke to conclusions which would have struck their author with horror; and to construct upon the foundation laid by a most christian philosopher, a splendid and imposing fabric of philosophical scepticism. The road, to literary distinction, thus trodden by this eminent apostle of unbelief, was pursued, though with very different feelings, and far other views, by Campbell, hypothesis and gratuitous conjecture which had wrought so many wonders in physical science, were found no less efficient in accelerating the progress of intellectual philosophy. The effects of the magnificent system which the genius of Bacon had created, and of the fresh impulse which the progress of events had communicated to the human mind, were not limited to that profound and interesting science which treats of the |