tion to the reasons already given, stated the indecorum and irregularity of his appearing without his credentials. In his reply to this it was said, that in the proposed audience the emperor merely wished to see the ambassador, and had no intention of entering upon business. Lord Amherst having persisted in expressing the inadmissibility of the proposition, and in transmitting through the Koong-yay a hub e request to his imperial majesty that he would be graciously pleased to wait till tomorrow, Chang and another mandarin finally proposed that His Excellency should go over to the Koong-yay's apartments, from whence a reference might be made to the emperor. Lord Amherst, having alleged bodily illness as one of the reasons for declining the audience, readily saw that if he went to the Koong-yay, this plen, which to the Chinese-though now scarcely admitted-was in general the most forcible, would cease to avail him, positively declined compliance. This produced a visit from the Koong-yay, who, too much interested and agitated to heed ceremony, stood by Lord Amherst, and used every argument to induce him to obey the emperor's commands. Among other topics he used that of being received with our own ceremony, using the Chinese words, ne mun tih lee'-your own ceremony. All proving ineffectual, with some roughness, but under pretext of friendly violence, he laid hands upon Lord Amherst, to take him from the room; another mandarin followed his example. His lordship, with great firmness and dignity of manner, shook them off, declaring that nothing but the extremest violence should induce him to quit that room for any other place but the residence assigned to him; adding that he was so overcome by fatigue and bodily illness as absolutely to require repose. Lord Amherst further pointed out the gross insult he had already received, in having been exposed to the intrusion and indecent curiosity of crowds, who appeared to view him rather as a wild beast than the representative of a powerful sovereign. At all events, he entreated the Koong-yay to submit his request to his imperial majesty, who, he felt confident, would, in consideration of his illness and fatigue, dispense with his im mediate appearance. The Koong-yay then pressed Lord Amherst to come to his apartments, alleging that they were cooler, more convenient, and more private. This Lord Amherst declined, saying that he was totally unfit for any place but his own residence. The Koong-yay, having failed in his attempt to persuade him, left the room for the purpose of taking the emperor's pleasure upon the subject.

During his absence, an elderly man, whose dress and ornaments bespoke him a prince, was particularly inquisitive in his inspection of our persons and inquiries. His chief object seemed to be to communicate with Sir George Staunton, as the person who had been with the former embassy; but Sir George very prudently avoided any intercourse with him. It is not easy to describe the feelings of annoy ance produced by the conduct of the Chinese, both public and individual: of the former I shall speak hereafter; of the latter I can only say that nothing could be more disagreeable and indecorous.

A message arrived soon after the Koong-yay's quitting the room, to say that the emperor dispensed with the ambassador's attendance; that he had further been pleased to direct his physician to afford to His Excellency every medical assistance that his illness might require. The Koong-yay himself soon followed, and His Excellency proceeded to the carriage. The Koong-yay not disdaining to clear away the crowd. the whip was used by him to all persons indiscriminately; buttons were no protection; and however indecorous, according to our notions, the employment might be for a man of his rank, it could not have been in better hands.

Lord Amherst was generally condemned for refusing the proffered audience. The emperor, in disgust, ordered them instantly to set out for Canton, which was accordingly done. This embassy made scarcely any addition to our knowledge of China.

CAPTAIN BASIL HALL,

The embassy of Lord Amherst to China was, as we have related, comparatively a failure; but the return-voyage was rich both in dis covery and in romantic interest. The voyage was made, not along the Coast of China, but by Corea and the Loo-choo Islands, and accounts of it were published in 1818 by MR. MACLEOD, surgeon of

the 'Alceste,' and by CAPTAIN BASIL HALL of the 'Lyra.' The work of the latter was entitled An Account of a Voyage of Discovery to the West Coast of Corea and the Great Loo-choo island.' In the course of this voyage it was found that a great part of what had been laid down on the maps as part of Corea, consisted of an immense archipelago of small islands. The number of these was beyond calculation; and during a sail of upwards of one hundred miles, the sea continued closely studded with them. From one loity point a hundred and twenty appeared on sight, some with waving woods and green verdant valleys. Loo-choo, however, was the most important, and by far the most interesting of the parts touched upon by the expedi tion. There the strange spectacle was presented of a people ignorant equally of the use of firearms and the use of money, living in a state of primitive seclusion and happiness such as resembles the dreams of poetry rather than the realities of modern life.

Captain Basil Hall distinguished himself by the composition of other books of travels, written with delightful ease, spirit, and picturesqueness. The first of these consists of Extracts from a Journal written on the Coasts of Chili, Peru, and Mexico,' being the result of his observations in those countries in 1821 and 1822. South America had, previous to this, been seldom visited, and its countries were also greater objects of curiosity and interest from their political condition, on the point of emancipation from Spain. The next work of Captain Hall was Travels in North America,' in 1827 and 1828, written in a more ambitious strain than his former publications, and containing some excellent descriptions and remarks, mixed up with political disquisitions. This was followed by Fragments of Voyages and Travels,' addressed chiefly to young persons, in three small volumes; which were so favourably received, that a second, and afterwards a third series, each in three volumes, were given to the public.

A further collection of these observations on foreign society, scenery, and manners, was published by Captain Hall in 1842, also in three volumes, under the title of 'Patchwork.' This popular author died at Haslar Hospital in 1844, aged 56. He was the second son of Sir James Hall of Dunglass, Bart., President of the Royal Society, and author of some works on Architecture, &c.

HENRY DAVID INGLIS.

One of the most cheerful and unaffected of tourists and travellers, with a strong love of nature and a poetical imagination, was Mr. HENRY DAVID INGLIS, who died in March, 1835, at the early age of forty. Mr. Inglis was the son of a Scottish advocate. He was brought up to commercial pursuits: but his passion for literature, and for surveying the grand and beautiful in art and nature, overpowered his business habits, and led him at once to travel and to write. Diffident of success, he assumed the nom de plume of Derwent Conway, and under this disguise he published The Tales of Ardennes;' 'Solitary Walks through Many Lands;' 'Travels in Norway, Sweden,

and Denmark, 1829;' and Switzerland, the South of France, and the Pyrenees in 1830, 1831.' The last two works were included in 'Constable's Miscellany,' and were deservedly popular. Mr. Inglis was then engaged as editor of a newspaper at Chesterfield; but tiring of this, he again repaired to the continent, and visited the Tyrol and Spain. His travels in both countries were published; and one of the volumes- Spain in 1830'-is the best of all his works. He next produced a novel descriptive of Spanish life, entitled 'The New Gil Blas'; but it was unsuccessful. After conducting a newspaper for some time in Jersey, Mr. Inglis published an account of the Channel Islands, marked by the easy grace and picturesque charm that pervade all his writings. He next made a tour through Ireland, and wrote his valuable work entitled Ireland in 1834.' His last work was Travels in the Footsteps of Don Quixote,' published in parts in the 'New Monthly Magazine.'

LOUIS SIMOND.

LOUIS SIMOND, a French author, who, by familiarity with our lan guage and country, wrote in English as well as in his native tongue, published in 1822 a work in two volumes- Switzerland; or a Journal of a Tour and Residence in that Country in the years 1817, 1818 and 1819. M. Simond had previously written a similar work on Great Britain, during the years 1810 and 1811, which was well received and favourably reviewed by Southey, Jeffrey, and other critics. Simond resided twenty years in America. We subjoin his account of a

Swiss Mountain and Avalanche.

M.

After nearly five hours' toil, we reached a chalet on the top of the mountain (the Wingernalp). This summer habitation of the shepherds was still unoccupied; for the snow having been unusually deep last winter, and the grass, till lately covered, being still very short, the cows have not ventured so high. Here we resolved upon a halt, and having implements for striking fire. a few dry sticks gave us a cheerful blaze in the open air. A pail of cream, or at least of very rich milk, was brought up by the shepherds, with a kettle to make coffee and afterwards boil the milk; very large wooden spoons or ladles answered the purpose of cups. The stock of provisions we had brought was spread upon the very low roof of the chalet, being the best station for our repas champetre, as it afforded dry seats sloping conveniently towards the prospect. We had then before us the Jungfrau, the two Eigers, and some of the highest summits in the Alps, shooting up from an uninterrupted level of glaciers of more than two hundred square miles and although placed ourselves four thousand five hundred feet above the lake of Thun, and that lake one thousand seven hundred and eighty feet above the sea, the mighty rampart rose still six thousand feet above our head. Between us and the Jungfran the desert valley of Trumlatentbal formed a deep trench. into which avalanches fell, with scarcely a quarter of an hour's interval between them, followed by a thundering noise continued along the whole range; not, however, a reverberation of sound, for echo is mute under the universal windingsheet of snow, but a prolongation of sound. in consequence of the successive rents or fissures forming themselves when some large section of the glacier slides down one step.

We sometimes saw a blue line suddenly drawn across a field of pure white; then another above it, and another, all parallel, and attended each time with a loud crash like cannon, producing together the effect of long-protracted peals of thunder. At other times some portion of the vast field of snow, or rather snowy ice, gliding gently away, exposed to view a new surface of purer white than the first, and the cast-off

drapery gathering in long folds, either fell at once down the precipice, or disappeared behind some intervening ridge, which the sumeness of colour rendered invisible, and was again seen soon atter in another direction, shooting out of some narrow channel a cataract of white dust, which, observed through a telescope, was, however, found to be composed of broken fragment of ice or compact snow, many of them sufficient to overwhelm a village, if there had been any in the valley where they fell. Seated on the chalet's roof, the ladies forgot they were cold, wet, bruised, and hungry, and the cup of smo ing café au lait stood still in their hand while waiting in breathless suspense for the next avalanche, wondering equally at the deathaike silence intervening between each, and the thundering crash which followed I must own, that while we shat our cars, the mere sight might dwindle down to the effect of a fall of snow from the roof of a house; but when the potent sound was heard along the whole range of many miles, when the time of awful suspense between the fall and the crash was measured, the imagination, taking flight outstripped all bounds at once, and went beyond the mighty reality itself. It would be difficult to say where the creative powers of imagination stop, even the coldest; for our common feelingsour grossest sensations-are infinitely indebted to them; and man, without his fancy, would not have the energy of the dallest animal. Yet we feel more pleasure and more pride in the consciousness of another treasure of the breast, which tames the flight of this same imagination, and brings it back to sober reality and plain truth. When we first approach the Alps, their bulk, their stability, and duration, compared to our own inconsiderable size, fragility, and shortness of days, strike our imagination with terror: while reason, unappalled, measuring these masses, calculating their elevation, analysing their substance, finds in them only a little inert matter, scarcely forming a wrinkle on the face of our earth, that earth an inferior planet in the solar systein, and that system on only among myriads, placed at distances whose very incommensurability is in a manner measured. What, again, are those giants of the Alps, and their duration-those revolving worlds-that spacethe universe-compared to the intellectual faculty capable of bringing the whole fabric into the compaзs of a single thought, where it is all curiously and accurately delineated! How superior, again, the exercise of that faculty, when, rising from effects to causes, and judging by analogy of things as yet unknown by those we know, we are taught to look into futurity for a better state of existence, and in the hope itself find new reason to hope!

We were shewn an inaccessible shelf of rock on the west side of the Jungfrau, upon which a lämmergeier-the vulture of lambs-once alighted with an infant it had carried away from the village of Murren, situated above the Staubbach: some red scraps, remnants of the child's clothes, were for years observed, says the tradition, on the fatal spot.

The following are sketches of character by Simond:

Rousseau (1712-1778).

Both

Rousseau, from his garret, governed an empire-that of the mind: the founder of a new religion in politics, and to his enthusiastic followers a prophet-he said and they believed! The disciples of Voltaire might be more numerons, but they were bound to him by far weaker ties. Those of Rousseau made the French Revolution and perished for it; while Voltaire, miscalculating its chances, perished by it. perhans deserved their fate; but the former certainly acted the nobler nart, and went to battle with the best weapons too-for in the deadly encounter of all the passions. of the most opposite principles and irreconcilable prejudices, cold-hearted wit is of little avail. Heroes and martyrs do not care for epigrams: and he must have enthusiasm who pretends to lead the enthusiastic or to cope with them. Une intime nersuasion, Roussean has somewhere said. m'a toujours tenu lieu d'eloquence! And well it might; for the first requisite to command belief is to believe yourself. Nor is it easy to impose on mankind in this respect. There is no eloquence, no ascendency over the mind of others, without this intimate persuasion. in yourself. Ronsseau's might only be a sort of poetical persuasion lasting but as long as the occasion; yet it was thus powerful, only because it was true, though but for a quarter of an honr perhaps, in the heart of this inspired writer.

Mr. Mson of the friend of Rousseau to whom he left his manuscripts, and especially his Confessions,' to be published after his death, had the goodness to

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shew them to me. I observed a fair copy written by himself in a small hand like priut, very neat and correct; not a blot or an erasure to be seen. The most curious of these papers, however, were several sketch-books, or memoranda, half filled, where the same hand is no longer discernible; but the same genius, and the same wayward temper and perverse clect, in every fugitive thought winch is there put down. Rousseau's composition, like Montesquicu's, was laborious and slow; ins ideas flowed rapidly, but were not readily brought into proper order; they did not appear to have come in consequence of a previous plan; but the pan itself, formed afterwards, came in aid of the ideas, and served as a sort of frame for them, muste..d of being a system to which they were subservient. Very possible some of the funda mental opinions he defended so earnestly, aud for which his disciples would wiu.ngly have suffered martyrdom, were originally adopted because a b. gut thought, caught as it flew, was entered in his commonplace-book.

These loose notes of Rousseau afford a curious insight into his taste in composition. You find him perpetually retrenching epithets-reducing his thoughts to their simplest expression-giving words a peculiar en rgy by the new appication of their original meaning-going back to the naiveté of old language; and, in the artificial process of simplicity, carefully effacing the trace of each laborious footstep as he advanced; each idea, each image, coming out at last, as if cast entire at a single throw, original, energetic, and clear. Although Mr. M-- had promised to Rousseau that he would publish his Confess.ons' as they were, yet he took upon himself to suppress a passage explaining certain circumstances of his abjurations at Auneci, affording a curious but frightfully disgusting picture of monkish manners at the time. It is a pity that Mr. M-- did not break his word in regard to some few more pass ges of that most admirable and most vile of all the productions of genius.

Madame de Stael (1766-1817).

I had seen Madame de Staël a child; and I saw her again on her death-bed. The intermediate years were spent in another hemisphere, as far as possible from the scenes in which she lived. Mixing again. not many months since, with a world in which I am a stranger, and feel that I must remain so. I inst saw this celebrated woman. and heard. as it were, her last words, as I had read her works before, uninfinenced by any local bias. Perhaps the impressions of a man thus dropped from another world into this, may be deemed something like those of posterity.

Madame de Staël lived for conversation: she was not happy out of a large circle, and a French circle, where she could be heard in her own language to the best advantage. Her extravagant admiration of the society of Paris was neither more nor It was the best mirror she could get-and less than genuine admiration of herself.

that was all. Ambitions of all sorts of notoriety, she would have given the world to have been born noble and a beauty. Yet there was in this excessive vanity so much honesty and frankness. it was so entirely void of affectation and trick, she made so fair and so irresistible an appeal to your own sense of her worth, that what would have been laughable in any one else was almost respectable in her. That ambition of cloquence. so conspicuous in her writings, was much less observable in her conversation; there was more abandon in what she said than in what she wrote, while sneaking, the spontaneous inspiration was no labour, but all pleasure. Conscions of extraordinary powers, she gave herself up to the present enjoyment of the good things and the deep things. flowing in a full stream from her own well-stored mind and luxuriant fancy. The inspiration was pleasure, the pleasure was inspiration; and without precisely intending it, she was, every evening of her life, in a circle of company, the very Corinne she had depicted.