I have seen much of the place, with its environs, and shall think my time not entirely lost, if, in communicating a little of what I have seen and heard, I am able to minister something to the gratification of your curiosity.

I would like, in the first place, to give you some idea of the city of Montpelier; as it appears to me a very odd place, quite different from every town I have yet seen in France, or any where else. As its name indicates, it occupies a hill of considerable height; or rather it is built on three sides of a hill, which rises in the midst of a plain, like a sugar-loaf The very top of the hill, and one side of it, being the site of a publick square, and of a reservoir, which supplies the town with an abundance of fresh water. The ancient city is surrounded with a high and strong wall; but a considerable town has grown up on the outside of this wall. The streets, with the exception of two or three, are very narrow and very crooked; paved with round stones, without any foot-ways. There are no yards, either front or back of the houses. Every thing looks old and gloomy, and the style of building, though substantial, is very plain, and in many of the houses very ugly. The interior of the houses, of the middle class, differs in arrangement from any thing I have seen. enter a passage on the ground floor, at the extremity of which you find a spiral staircase, usually of stone, with narrow steps, and without light, except what it receives at the bottom. By this you mount up, going round and round, as on the threads of a screw, and hold a rope in your hand, which hangs down loose from the top; and which is really necessary, to enable you to preserve your balance, as you ascend and descend. At each story, you find doors opening into the chambers, on all sides. It would seem as if the inhabitants, in constructing their houses, want

You

ed nothing so much as room. Rows of houses are crowded on one another, so as hardly to allow a street between them, of sufficient width for a comfortable passage; and chambers are packed on chambers, without space for a comfortable stair-case to pass from one to another: as if the Almighty Artificer of the great globe of the earth, had constructed it of too limited dimensions, to allow its multiplied inhabitants to dwell together in comfort. But alas! it is man, himself, who, by his mischievous propensities, has marred his own enjoyment. His cities must be surrounded with walls, for safety from the attacks of his fellow man; and of course, the space within the protecting bulwark, must be husbanded, with an economy that puts comfort at defiance. Without the walls of this city there are considerable suburbs. A very handsome street, wide and planted with trees, passes nearly round the whole of Montpelier.

The publick walk, or square, that occupies the crown of the hill, on the three sides of which the city stands, is by far the greatest curiosity of the kind I have ever seenthe construction of which might have cost an expenditure, little short of what would be sufficient to build a small town. The top of the hill is reduced to a perfect level, making a surface of eight or ten acres, laid out in walks, and planted with trees. ed with trees. On the edge next the valley, farthest from the city, stands a stone temple, which covers a reservoir of water, for the supply of the city. This reservoir is replenished continually from an aqueduct of stone, which is carried high up in the air, over the valley, a distance of more than a quarter of a mile-commencing from the side of an opposite hill. Ranges of stone pillars, which, at the deepest place of the valley, cannot be less than from sixty to an hundred feet high, support this immense aqueduct, in

its course to the reservoir, where it makes its discharge. Standing on the verge of the hill top, and looking down, you see another publick walk, a great depth below you, about midway between the top and bottom of the hill. The sides of the hill have been dug down perpendicular, and a stone wall built up, to support the earth; and by levelling the earth so dug down, a terrace walk, more than twenty rods wide, perfectly level and planted with trees, has been made to surround the end of the hill, next to the valley; and it reaches along its sides, until it connects with the street outside of the walls of the city. The tops of the trees in this lower walk, are all nicely trimmed to one height; and this height corresponds with the level of the hill top, so that the spectator above, suffers no interruption of his view from the forest below; but looks over the level surface of the tree tops, to the beautiful prospects, which on every hand stretch as far as his eye can carry its vision, from the elevated station which he occupies. A most beautiful prospect indeed, is here to be enjoyed. On a clear day, the spectator who stands on the Peyron, (so they call the promenade on the hill top of Montpelier,) can look over the whole breadth of France; just discerning in the blue horizon on the north, the range of the Alps which separates France from Italy; and the nearly equidistant range of the Pyrenees, which divide it from Spain, on the south. On the east, he has a full view of the Mediterranean, a few miles distant; over which he can usually discern a few scattered sails, appearing like white specks, here and there, on the blue surface of the waters. It is my uniform practice, to spend an hour before breakfast on this delightful spot, where the sublime elevation, the never cloying beauty of the prospect, united with the general serenity and balminess of the morning air in the month of May, seem

to promise the happiest effects on the animal system; at least so far as the animal system can be operated upon by such causes. Being also usually alone, at so early an hour, the best opportunity is enjoyed for meditation and morning devotion-were my dull spirit only sufficiently excited, to seek its Maker and Redeemer, in this paradise of man's making, where art and taste have done so much. Here it has occurred to me, what a powerful auxiliary the wandering invalid might derive, towards the restoration of his health, from the full exercise of that faith which is "the evidence of things not seen, and the substance of things hoped for." The peace, the hope, the joy, thence resulting, and mingling with highly agreeable emotions-the elevation of animal spirits, produced by exhibitions, such as those referred to above-would certainly, at least double their effect, in giving health to the emaciated body. I do verily believe, if I had more faith, and could derive more refreshment from the exercises of devotion, that I should stand a much fairer chance for restoration-as I should certainly find an increased pleasure, in all those objects in which rational pleasure is found.

[The remainder of this interesting letter, we are obliged to defer till our next number.]

FOR THE CHRISTIAN ADVOCATE.

No. IV.

TRANSATLANTICK RECOLLECTIONS.

"Forsan et hæc olim meminisse juvabit."

It was in the close of autumn, when in my journeying through Scotland I arrived at its famed and interesting capital. Edinburgh has been so often described, and is so very familiar to the "mind's eye" of most of your readers, that I shall wave any minute delineation of it, and content myself with simply re

cording a few of my recollections of it, which are at present most vivid. Every one who has ever visited Edinburgh, will distinctly recollect the noble eminence overhanging the old city, called, "Arthur's Seat;" because from its summit, there is not only a view of the old and new towns, but of Leith, together with its picturesque harbour. Just beneath this celebrated eminence, as we descend to the palace of Holyrood House, are the ruins of a Catholic chapel, which was dilapidated by the followers of John Knox; and its consecrated Well affords to this day a refreshing draught to the weary traveller at least it did so to me. On my way to the city, I visited the celebrated habitation of the ancient sovereigns of Scotland, rendered peculiarly romantic, by being the residence of the lovely but unfortunate Mary. After passing through a 'spacious court yard, and along the gallery of paintings, we reached the council chamber; and passing through this, we were ushered into the chamber of Queen Mary, which is still kept in the identical manner in which she left it not only her bed decorated with the same curtains and covered with the same clothes which she used, but her dressing-box, and work-box, and some of her work, lying on the tables.

Immediately beyond this chamber is the little supper-room, in which Rizzio was discovered with the queen, when her jealous and infuriated husband dragged him out, and passing with him through her chamber, slew him at the remotest part of the council hall. Many are the recollections associated with those rooms and that hall, where Scotland's kings and nobles lived in princely pomp. Yet one anecdote of John Knox, concerning a meeting which he had with Mary in this room, riveted my feelings more closely to it, and brings it more clearly to my memory this VOL. IV. Ch. Adv.

day, than all the tales of kingly pageantry which I heard. The pure, heart-searching doctrines, which were preached by the Scotch apostle, were then, as they are now, offensive to the carnal heart; and hence he was commanded by the voluptuous court of Mary to desist. Knox, who knew no master, and obeyed no mandate, that was in opposition to his God and his Bible, paid no more attention to the command of the palace, than " Arthur's Seat" did, to the unhallowed noise of their licentious revelry, which was borne to it on every midnight breeze. Hearing immediately from the enemies of the cross, who were then, as I fear they are at present, the favourites and friends of the palace, that her orders were disobeyed; the haughty Mary summoned the Scottish reformer into her presence. When Knox arrived, he was ushered into this very room; in which were also the queen and her attendant lords. On being questioned concerning his contumacy, he answered plainly, that he preached nothing but the truth, and that he dared not preach less. "But (answered one of the lords,) our commands must be obeyed, on pain of death-silence or the gallows, is the alternative." The spirit of Knox was roused by the dastardly insinuation, that any human punishment could make him desert the banner of his Saviour: and with that fearful,indescribable courage, which disdains the pomp of language or of action, he firmly replied-"My lords, you are mistaken if you think you can intimidate me to do by threats, what conscience and my God tell me I never shall do: for be it known unto you, that it is a matter of no importance to me, when I have finished my work, whether my bones shall bleach in the winds of heaven, or rot in the bosom of the earth." Knox having retired, one of the lords said to the queen, "We may let him alone, for we cannot punish that man." Well thereD

Could I infuse into my writing some part of those feelings which pervaded me, as I walked through the grass-market of Edinburgh, from which so many of the Scottish martyrs ascended to their thrones in glory, I would give an interest to these lines which seldom belongs to a narration of facts. In meditating, as I past lingeringly through this market, on the blood of the saints by which it was once drenched, and the blaze of the martyrs by which it was illuminated, I felt as if in the company of those mentioned in the Revelation, who were arrayed in white robes," who "came out of great tribulation,” having "washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb"-I felt somewhat, like Jacob when he said, "How dreadful is this place! this is none other but the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.”

From this let us pass to the little resting place of the philosopher Hume; but alas! his was "philosophy falsely so called!" It is true the contrast is great, to go from the place from whence martyrs took their flight to glory, to the tomb of the infidel; but I love strong and striking contrasts, especially when looking back upon the despised and the caressed of their several days; and when, viewing them at this distance, through a medium obscured neither by prejudice or passion, we can see the distinguished pre-emi

nence which the men of God have gained, over the polished, and captivating, and philosophic infidel : For I do verily believe there is not a man of reflection, at present, whether he be vicious or virtuous, who would not rather say with Balaam "Let me die the death of the righteous and let my last end be like his," than to enjoy all the learning and the bad pre-eminence of a Hume, and then go into eternity, unjustified and unsanctified

-for "Wo unto the wicked, it shall be ill with him." The tomb of the materialist is a plain circular marble mausoleum, inscribed simply, but I think elegantly, with the words, DAVID HUME. I was told that a little before my visit to Edinburgh, one of the students wrote upon it the following impromptu

"Beneath this circular idea,
Vulgarly called tomb,
Impressions and ideas rest

Which constituted Hume."

On visiting the supreme courts, I was astonished to see, in the square of the old parliament-house, an equestrian statue of Charles the Second-as if he deserved a statue from the Scotch, or that it was very consistent for them to give it. Taking it all in all, it might be said with truth-"Nihil tam dispar sibi."

The lawyers make a singular appearance; all dressed in monstrous wigs, and large black gowns; and had it not been that I saw Jeffries, and Scott, and Cranston, and others like them, in similar habiliments-men whose talents and fame would give grace, to any monstrous, or deforming, or gothic vesture-I should undoubtedly have come away with the impression, that those civilized civilians, were not a little barbarous in their costume. In one of those courts, I beheld at the same time, perhaps the brightest assemblage of talents that any space of the same dimensions, in the world, could display.

On the bench, sat some of the most celebrated law lords which Scotland could produce: immediately beneath them sat Sir Walter Scott, and the venerable author of the "Man of Feeling"-reminding me of the last leaf of autumn, or rather of a leaf which had withstood the frosts and the storms of winter, and was surrounded by the foliage of another spring. Among the gentlemen of the bar, was the distinguished editor of the Edinburgh Review; together with a crowd of others, renowned for their legal research, their black-letter profundity, or their forensic eloquence.

The college, though I mention it last, was the first object of my curiosity. It is a noble building. Though unfinished, it promises to be worthy of the metropolis of such a learned and philosophick people. It was here that I first saw and heard, the celebrated successor of the celebrated Dugald Stewart. And truly Dr. Brown was every thing, and more than every thing, that even my awakened curiosity expected to find him. In appearance, a gentleman-in manner, an orator. With the profundity of the author of "Cause and Effect," and the imagination of the author of the "Paradise of Coquettes," he made an impression upon my mind, in the first lecture which I heard him deliver, far beyond any thing which my exorbitant expectations required. He has since paid the debt of nature, and I am told is succeeded by Mr. Wilson, the author of the "Isle of Palms" and the "Lights and Shadows of Scottish Life," &c. There was another professor there, at that time, who stood very high as a philosopher, while he was strongly suspected of being an infidel. Poor man, with all his talents and acquirements, he was the ob ject of my pity; for he was an old white-headed man, just trembling on the brink of the grave, who had once been a minister of the everlasting gospel; but who despised

himself so much on account of it, and detested the vocation so much, that it was reported he could not bear, with any patience, to hear of it. Oh! if such be the purchase of metaphysical philosophy, who would wish to buy it at its price! An immortal soul in exchange for philosophy, is too much! When I looked upon this great natural philosopher, surrounded by his numerous class, into whose minds he was pouring the bright flood of learning, thought, in the midst of my admiration, of what the poet says,-.

"As wise as Socrates, might justly stand The definition of a modern fool."

On the first Sabbath morning of my residence in Edinburgh, I went to hear the lecture of the author of the "Life of Knox"-as he was much more celebrated for his peculiar tact of lecturing, than for his style of preaching. It is a practice in the Presbyterian churches of Scotland, to lecture on the Sabbath morning, and to preach in the afternoon. As Dr. M'Crie had become so justly and universally celebrated, and as Edinburgh is a church going place, I was desirous to reach the church early, lest I should not find room but in this I was greatly deceived, as his little church was but moderately filled. This was not occasioned either by his deficiency of piety or talents, or by a lack of labour; but solely, I presume, from the unpopularity of that branch of Presbyterianism to which he adhered-He belonged to the sect then known by the name Antiburgher. Though he was not an orator, either in language or in manner, yet there was a marrow and fatness in what he said, combined with a naivete, which made him, to me at least, a most interesting instructor. I was told by a friend of his, that immediately after the publication of the Life of Knox, the University conferred on him the diploma of D. D., which he very respectfully declined, as an