Germany; he thinks of the life of man, his hopes, and his aspirations; and he is calm and at peace with himself. Then all at once starts up the morning sun in its freshness. Some there are in the garden would fain confound it with the evening sun, and close their eyes again but the larks betray all, and waken every sleeper from bower to bower.

Then again begin pleasure and morning in the pomp of radiance; and almost I could persuade myself to delineate the course of this day also, though it differs from his predecessor hardly by so much as the leaf of a rosebud. London Magazine.

ON THE PERCEPTIONS OF BEAUTY.

It is easy enough to understand how the sight of a picture or statue should affect us nearly in the same way as the sight of the original; nor is it much more difficult to conceive how the sight of a cottage should give us something of the same feeling as the appearance of a peasant's family; and the aspect of a town raise many of the same ideas as the appearance of a multitude of persons. We may begin, therefore, with an example a little more complicated. Take, for example, the case of a common English landscape-green meadows with fat cattle-canals or navigable rivers-well fenced, well cultivated fields-neat, clean, scattered cottages-humble antique church, with church-yard elms, and crossing hedge-rows-all seen under bright skies, and in good weather. There is much beauty, as every one will acknowledge, in such a scene. But in what does the beauty consist? Not certainly in the mere mixture of colours and forms; for colours more pleasing, and lines more graceful (according to any theory of grace that may be preferred), might be spread upon a board or painter's pallet, without engaging the eye to a second glance, or raising the least emotion in the mind; but in the picture of human happiness that is presented to

our imaginations and affections,-in the visible and unequivocal signs of comfort, and cheerful and peaceful enjoyment, and of that secure and successful industry that ensures its continuance,-and of the piety by which it is exalted,—and of the simplicity, by which it is contrasted with the guilt and the fever of a city life ;—in the images of health, and temperance, and plenty, which it exhibits to every eye,—and in the glimpses which it affords to warmer imaginations, of those primitive or fabulous times, when man was uncorrupted by luxury and ambition, and of those humble retreats in which we still delight to imagine that love and philosophy may find an unpolluted asylum. At all events, however, it is human feeling that excites our sympathy, and forms the object of our emotions. It is man, and man alone, that we see in the beauties of the earth which he inhabits or if a more sensitive and extended sympathy connect us with the lower families of animated nature, and make us rejoice with the lambs that bleat on the uplands, or the cattle that ruminate in the valley, or even with the living plants that drink the bright sun and balmy air beside them, it is still the idea of enjoyment-of feelings that animate the existence of sentient beings that calls forth all our emotions, and is the parent of all the beauty with which we proceed to invest the inanimate creation around us. Instead of this quiet and tame English landscape, let us now take a Welsh or a Highland scene, and see whether its beauties will admit of being explained on the same principle. Here we shall have lofty mountains, and rocky and lonely recesses-tufted woods hung over precipiceslakes intersected with castled promontories-ample solitudes of unploughed and untrodden valleys-nameless and gigantic ruins-and mountain echoes repeating the scream of the eagle, and the roar of the cataract. This too is beautiful; and to those who can interpret the language it speaks, far more beautiful than the prosperous scene with which we have contrasted it. Yet lonely as it is, it is to the recollection of man and human feelings that its beauty also is owing. The mere forms

and colours that compose its visible appearance are no more capable of exciting any emotion in the mind than the forms and colours of a Turkey carpet. It is sympathy with the present or the past, or the imaginary inhabitants of such a region, that alone gives it either interest or beauty; and the delight of those who behold it will always be found to be in exact proportion to the force of their imaginations, and the warmth of their social affections. The leading impressions here are those of romantic seclusion and primeval simplicity, lovers sequestered in these blissful solitudes," from towns and toils remote,"-and rustic poets and philosophers communing with nature, at a distance from the low pursuits and selfish malignity of ordinary mortals. Then there is the sublime impression of the mighty Power which piled the massive cliffs upon each other, and rent the mountains asunder, and scattered their giant fragments at their base; and all the images connected with the monuments of ancient magnificence and extinguished hostility,-the feuds, and the combats, and the triumphs of its wild and primitive inhabitants, contrasted with the stillness and desolation of the scenes where they lie interred;-and the romantic ideas attached to their ancient traditions, and the peculiarities of their present life, their wild and enthusiastic poetry, -their gloomy superstitions,-their attachment to their chiefs, the dangers, and the hardships, and enjoyments of their lonely huntings and fishings,-their pastoral shielings on the mountains in summer, and the tales and the sports that amuse the little groups that are frozen into their vast and trackless valleys in the winter. Add to all this, the traces of vast and obscure antiquity that are impressed on the language and the habits of the people, and on the cliffs, and caves, and gulfy torrents of the land; and the solemn and touching reflection, perpetually recurring, of the weakness and insignificance of perishable man, whose generations thus pass away into oblivion, with all their toils and ambition, while Nature holds on her unvarying course, and pours out her streams, and renews her forests, with undecaying

activity, regardless of the fate of her proud and perishable sovereign. We set all this down at random, from the vague and casual recollection of the impressions we have ourselves received from this sort of scenery; by no means as an exact transcript of the images and feelings which it must excite in all beholders, but merely as a specimen of the manner in which it operates on the heart and imagination, and of the nature of that connexion which is established between our natural sympathies and the visible peculiarities of our mountain landscape. The truth is, that there is an endless variety in the trains of thought to which this kind of scenery is calculated to give rise; and that it differs essentially in this respect from the scenery of a more cultivated region, where there is scarcely any very decided expression but that of comfort and tranquillity. To make amends, however, it must be admitted that this last expression is much more clear and obvious to beholders of every degree and description. There is scarcely any one who does not feel and understand the beauty of smiling fields and comfortable cottages; but the beauty of lakes and mountains is not so universally distinguishable. It requires some knowledge of our species, some habits of reflection, some play of fancy, some exercise of affection, to interpret the lofty characters in which Nature here speaks to the heart and the imagination; and reflects, from the broken aspects of the desert, the most powerful images of the feelings and the fortunes of man. Though it has been the fashion, therefore, for all recent travellers to affect a prodigious admiration for these picturesque regions, we cannot help suspecting that their beauty has been truly felt by a very small number; and were exceedingly delighted by the frank confession of two cockney tourists, who lately published an account of their expedition to the Scottish Highlands, in which they fairly state that they could discover no beauty in our naked mountains and dreary lakes; and were astonished how any intelligent person could voluntarily pass his time in the cold and laborious pastimes which they afforded, when he might have devoted it to "the gay

vivacity of plays, operas, and polite assemblies." They accordingly post back to London as fast as possible; and after yawning in a sort of disconsolate terror along the banks of Lochlomond, enlarge with much animation on the beauty and grandeur of Finsbury-square! Mr. Jeffrey.

LEWCHEW.

FROM MR. M'LEOD'S NARRATIVE.

On the 10th of September, the Alceste proceeded in a southerly direction, and passed along Sulphur Island, a volcano, situated in lat. 27° 56′ N. and long. 128° 11′ E. This island, on which they found it impossible to land, does not appear to exceed four miles in circumference it rises precipitously from the sea, except in one or two spots, to the height of about one thousand two hundred feet; and the sulphureous smell emitted was very strong, even at the distance of two or three miles.

Four days afterwards, they made the principal island of the Lewchew group (generally termed Lucayos or Lekeyos in charts), and on the 16th anchored in front of a town, with a number of vessels anchored under it in a harbour, the mouth of which was formed by two pier-heads.

The island of Lewchew is about sixty miles long, and twenty broad: it is the principal of a group of thirtysix islands, subject to the same monarch, and the seat of government.

The dress of these people is as remarkable for its simplicity as it is for its elegance. The hair, which is of a glossy black, (being anointed with an oleaginous substance, obtained from the leaf of a tree,) is turned up from before, from behind, and on both sides, to the crown of the head, and there tied close down; great care being taken that all should be perfectly smooth;