young brood of red grouse were hatched; and by the 24th, they were able to fly. In the first week of February, bean plants were from ten to twelve inches high, with all their perfection of foliage, similar to what they are in June. The German tamarisk was observed in full bloom, and in the beginning of the month, the blossoms of the erica herbacea began to open. In Sweden and Norway there was neither frost nor snow; and in Russia great inconvenience was felt from that want of regular intercourse between one province and another, which snow, frozen, contributes so much to facilitate. In Savoy, not only Mount St. Gothard and the Simplon were crossed without difficulty, but even Mount St. Bernard. In the beginning of February, too, several swallows were seen in the gardens of the Tuilleries at Paris.

Such was the season in Europe during the winter of 1818 and 1819. But of all climates the island of Teneriffe presents the most delightful; since it is suited to the wheat and vines of Europe; the breadtree of Otaheite; the coffee-tree of Arabia; the figs of India; plants common to Jamaica and to Lapland; the cinnamon of the Moluccas; the cocoa of Ame'rica; the date of Provence; the laurels of Italy; the olives of Greece; and trees, resembling the oaks of Thibet.

XXI.

Montesquieu used to observe, that "Germany was the country to travel in; Italy to sojourn in; England to think in; and France to live in."-Tempora mu

tantur! And Pompey being, one day, on a visit to Lucullus, at Tusculum, enquired of that general, how he could be so absurd, as to make his villa fit only for a summer residence. "What?" said Lucullus with a smile, " do you imagine, that I have less sense, than storks and cranes? shall they change their habitations with the season, and Lucullus remain in one residence all the year'?"

Since then the emoluments of Nature are not to be enjoyed, to the fullest advantage, all the year, I would in this aspire to imitate the conduct of Lucullus. January, therefore, I would spend in Portugal; February in the Madeiras; and March in Spain. April in Sicily; May in Lapland; June in Italy; July in Switzerland; and August in France. September in England; October among the variegated forests of America; November in Crete; and December in the islands of the Cape de Verd.

XXII.

We have now travelled the globe; from east to west; from south to north. Noticed every description of climate; alluded frequently to the natural productions of the various soils; traced men in various stages of society; and noticed many of their peculiar customs. What is the result? We find, that in islands, and in countries the most beautiful, as well

The great khans of Tartary, as well as the present emperors of China, were accustomed to change their residences, according to the

seasons.

1

as in those, the most savage and forlorn, great crimés disgrace the inhabitants. In some islands, where Nature is most luxuriant and profuse, we observe, not only no genius, but no humanity. The same may equally be applied, whether those islands are in the frigid, temperate, or the torrid zones. There are differences in their manners; and modifications in the display of their mental capacities: but for the causes of all these, we must look to other reasons than to those, arising from the difference of climate. For whence proceeds it, that, in Persia and Arabia, poetry is almost characteristic of the people; and yet in Egypt, nearly in the same parallel of latitude, though it is, as it were, the eldest of nations, not one single poet has ever been known in the country! Then as to times and seasons: Orpheus lived in the infancy, as it were, of the human mind; Euripides in the vigour of Grecian liberty: Virgil in the morning of Roman slavery: Boethius in the evening of learning; Dante in the darkness of violence and superstition; and Camoens in the dawn of maritime discovery. Genius depends, then, not on climates, nor on countries; on times, nor on seasons. It no where rises or falls with the barometer. It is the gift of Nature only; and its developments depend on an infinite variety of circumstances.

Arguing on the principles of Montesquieu, Raynal, Winkleman,1 Du Bos, and other plausible writers, it

1 Winkleman insists, that Englishmen are incapable of much excellence in painting; not only from natural incapacity, but from the unfavourable nature of their climate!

would be impossible to account for that distinct variation, which is observed in the dispositions, habits, and genius of those people, residing on the opposite banks of frontier rivers; on the transverse sides of high mountains; and particularly of the same people, at different periods of their history. Of this the ancient and the modern Greeks afford a curious exemplification. Both enjoyed the same soil, and the same climate; yet the former as much excelled the latter, as purple and white surpass yellow and brown.

An artist may yet enliven the forests of America, or the solitudes of Siberia: a Gessner may soothe the savannahs of Africa; a Raphael may delineate near the wall of China; a Palladio may adorn the harbour of St. Peter and St. Paul: and even a Newton may arise in Lapland.

BOOK VIII.

CHAPTER I.

Or all the passions, which derive additional force from scenery, none experiences a greater accession than Love; that noble feeling of the heart, which Plato calls" an interposition of the Gods in behalf of the young." A passion celebrated by all, yet truly felt by few. "Dost thou know, what the nightingale said to me?" says a Persian poet; "what sort of a man art thou, that canst be ignorant of love?" Rather would I enquire, "what sort of a man art thou, that canst be capable of love?" Since, though of all the passions it is the most productive of delight, it is the most unfrequent of them all. How many of us feel the passions of hatred and revenge, of envy and desire, every day! But how few of us are capable of feeling an ardent affection, or of conceiving an elevated passion! That was not love, which Mahomet felt for Irene; Titus for Berenice; Catullus for Lesbia; or Horace for Lydia': and though Anacreon is never weary of boasting his love, the gay, the

1 In Shakespeare how delicately is love delineated in Twelfth Night; and in Cymbeline. That of the beautiful, and I had almost said disgusting, Juliet has nothing to compare with it.