He hath quite new apprehensions of himself, his own character, and state. Before, he thought himself his own master, looked upon every religious law as a hard and tyrannical restraint; but now, he sees that he belongs to God: he now remembers his Creator, confesses his obligations, and mourns for his transgressions. A converted sinner often admires and stands astonished at his own former conduct. He wonders at the boldness of a poor guilty helpless rebel, perhaps cursing and blaspheming, perhaps rioting in sensuality and lust. He wonders that the power of God did not arrest him in his course, and by some signal stroke, make him a standing monument of righteous indignation. He trembles to think of his former state, and it excites in him a deep and lively acknowledgment of the riches of divine grace. How great a sense of this does the apostle Paul often express in his own case; "who was before a blasphemer, and a persecutor, and injurious.-This is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am chief."*

The above is often connected with, and increased by his views of the world and of worldly men. The charm is now broke, the false colours are now taken off from the world and all its enjoyments. How ardently did he love them once? how eagerly did he prosecute them? and how rich did he esteem them? He envied every one who possessed them, and thought that none such could fail of being completely happy. But now, he can never separate the idea of riches from temptation, and often considers the dreadful change of state in those who are carried about in pomp and grandeur on earth; who are clothed in purple and fine linen, and fare sumptuously every day; but are, in a little time, tormented in hell fire. For

1 Tim. i. 13-15. VOL. VIII.-Ch. Adv.

merly, he valued persons by their station, by their wealth, by their spirit and genius, or other natural qualifications. But now, a Christian in a cottage appears more honourable, and more amiable, than a blasphemer in a palace. Now, his heart is joined to every servant of Christ, though despised in the world, though emaciated by sickness, though deformed with old age; nay though loathsome and sordid through penury and want. He sees the beauty of these excellent ones of the earth, under all their present disadvantages, and in them is all his delight. With regard to persons of an opposite character, the penitent often recollects, with a bleeding heart, his fondness for, and attachment to sinful companions; and his kindness to them is converted into a yearning tenderness and compassion for their miserable state. ·

Further, the regenerate person has new apprehensions of eternity. Formerly, the shadows and vanities of time so engrossed his thoughts, so filled and occupied his sight, that eternity was seldom at all, and never fully in view. But now, it is frequently and strongly upon his mind. Now it, as it were, joins itself with, and points out its own relation to every subject, and its concern in every pursuit. Now, it is present as the object of faith, to correct the false representations of sense, and to oppose the unjust claim of earthly and momentary gratifications. Formerly, things unseen were counted in a manner precarious and fabulous, of small moment in any determination: but now, there is such a discovery of the great realities of another world, as weighs down all created things, and makes them feel as a feather in the balance.

.

Let us here stand still, and pause a little. Let me beseech every reader to ponder this reflection, which I cannot pass. Oh! what concern have we all in an everlasting endless eternity! O subject

20

NOTES OF A TRAVELLER.

(Continued from page 241.)

Thursday, July 17.-This morning, as I went to my breakfast, I passed the kitchen, and had the pleasure of seeing, in all his glory, the most important personage in France-I mean the cook; his red cap and white apron were exactly in the style in which I had often seen him represented in pictures. He was jabbering and gesticulating, in a peculiar manner, over a table of mutton chops, calves' heads, livers, kidneys, sweet-breads, and a multitude of other viands. Some boys were passing strings of fat pork through the lean part of some kind of meat; and others were engaged in divers operations upon eggs. I understand that one of the underlings of Monsieur the cook, does little or nothing else, during his whole life, but beat the white of eggs into froth. The bread and butter here is excellent; and my tea is, I think, better flavoured than it was in England. This I did not expect, as coffee is the beverage in which the French are said to excel.

My English friend took a place for his nephew and myself in the

Diligence for Rouen, the capital of Normandy, and soon after breakfast we all set off together. The Diligence is a name applied to all the ordinary stage-coaches in France: and of all the machines in the shape of a four-wheeled carriage it is the most extraordinary. The body is a long, heavy, awkward kind of box, divided into three compartments. The front room, which is the most genteel because it is the most expensive, is called the coupé, the middle the intérieur, and the back room the rotonde. The horses which dragged this machine along were sometimes nine, and never less than five in number; they were fastened to it with old ropes and thongs of rusty leather. We had in all seventeen or eighteen passengers, not reckoning dogs, which are very important characters in this country. As the day was very pleasant, I took my seat on the top, with a man called the conductor, whose duties are the same as those of the guard in England. The postilion, in a laced jacket, high boots, and a glazed hat, cracked his whip in a remarkable manner, so as to produce a kind of horrid musick-and away we went.

Thus I commenced my travels in France.

After leaving Dieppe we ascended a hill, from the top of which, behind us, we had a good view of the town and harbour; and before us there was spread out an immense plain, through which the road passed between long rows of a dwarf kind of apple trees, from which a harsh kind of cider is manufactured: no hedge or fence was any where to be seen. As might have been, and no doubt was anticipated, the first incident which occurred, was the breaking of some part of our harness. From habit the horses stood still, the postilion dismounted, and the conductor descended from our elevated position by a kind of rope ladder. Matters were soon adjusted for another fracture, and away we rolled again, at the rate of four or five miles an hour. For a while, I was a good deal amused with the novelty of the scene around me-with the Norinan women, in their high caps, riding in panniers on asses-the number of peasants returning from market, in long, heavy kind of carts, like great hen-coops-shepherds with dogs tending their flocks-and boys and girls sitting by the road side with a pig, or a sheep, or a jackass in a string, to prevent any encroachment upon the neighbouring pastures, while they cropped the grass along the edge of the road. Here and there a fine chateau was seen through an avenue of trimmed trees, of various shapes; and still more widely scattered some miserable towns were visible. Some large houses by the road side seemed entirely deserted; and many, roofless and in-ruins, afforded a wretched shelter to miserable looking inhabitants. The general aspect of the country appeared fertile. I noticed a kind of plant cultivated in abundance, and which, I was told by the conductor, was the Colezu, from which the common people make their oil, used for light. When

ever the Diligence stopped at a posthouse to change horses, we were beset with beggars in abundance, and of every variety-some were maimed, some idiotick, and some paralytick-indeed, every kind of human infirmity and distortion, made its appeal for relief and compassion. The spectacle was often disgusting, and always exceedingly annoying. The only business of these beggars seemed to be, to wait the arrival of the Diligence. In England I had seen a good deal of mendicity, but here it is much more excessive. I cannot tell how many times our ropes or harness broke, between Dieppe and Rouen; for after a while we became, like the horses and the postilion, quite used to it. I was going to say that we scarcely ever looked at the driver, but we found him repairing some accident-knotting his whip, mending his saddle or bridle, or knocking some part of our unwieldy machine with a stone picked up in the road.

We approached Rouen through a long and grand avenue of trees, from the branches of which ropes were extended across the road, at regular intervals, suspending in the middle large lamps. The river Seine now came into view, and as we rumbled over the paved road along its banks, between heaps of bales and long tiers of barrels, I was astonished at the vastness of the commerce, which must be carried on at this place. The postilion now cracked his whip with great fury, and we rattled through narrow, dirty streets, turning many short corners with inconceivable nicety, and at last stopped in the court-yard of the Hotel de France.

After dining with quite an English party at the table d'hote, I set off with my travelling companion, the young collegian, to explore the town. The houses and the streets seemed all dirty, inconvenient, and old fashioned; and such" a compound of villanous smells" saturated the air, that we were literally

taken by the nose, at almost every step. It has with justice been remarked, that although the French are delighted with perfumes, yet they pass without notice the most detestable odours. Who would think that a people who have fifty different sorts of fragrant snuffs, and who are devoted to essences and scents, could inhabit the streets of Rouen.

We directed our way to the famous old cathedral, built, it is said, by William the Conqueror. There was a very good view of the front of this noble pile from an open space before it, but occupied by a noisy tribe of market women, chattering and giggling at a most discordant rate. The front of the cathedral, I think, exceeds, in the richness of its tracery, even that of York Minster itself. There seems to have been two towers to the building, but one is now in ruins. Some say this was destroyed by lightning, and others that it was never finished. As we stood admiring, we were beset with a host of beggars, old and young; and for protection we hastened into the church, where they are not suffered to enter. The transition from the noise of the street to the silence and dampness of the cathedral was peculiar-it seemed like entering a tomb. Along the walls, and between the columns that support the roof, there are a number of small chapels, dedicated to different saints. In some of them were lonely devotees, kneeling before a crucifix; and in others, the slow and measured movements of the priests, before three or four dim tapers, called to my mind the mysterious spells of the alchemist and astrologer. Every thing about this fine structure is dirty, neglected, or in ruins. In the middle aisle there is an immense heap of old, ragged, rush-bottom chairs, fifty or sixty feet square. These look more like the rubbish of an auction store, than the furniture of a church. Any one who wishes to sit down,

must pay two sous for one of the chairs, to a woman who stands for this purpose near the heap. On the walls there are some tolerable pictures, and in the windows some richly coloured glass.

From the cathedral we went to the Abbey of St. Ouen, remarkable for its beautiful spire; but, after knocking loud and long at one of its portals, we were obliged to leave it without gaining admittance. On the opposite bank of the Seine there is a little town called St. Sever; this is connected with the city by a fine stone bridge, something like the Waterloo bridge at London. The promenade along the quay is quite interesting; the bustle of business, the fine range of stone ware-houses, give some indication of the commercial importance and great opulence of the city of Rouen. We now ascended the high hill of St. Catharine on the outside of the town, and enjoyed a very fine prospect of all the neighbouring scenery-the quiet, rural, and fertile valleys on one side, were strikingly contrasted with the hum of commerce, and the vast ranges of wood, and stone, and mortar of the city. The double towers of the old cathedral, and the graceful spire of St. Ouen, appeared far above surrounding objects, in majestick and beautiful proportions. Among other distinguished personages, Rouen is celebrated as the birth place of the romantick and unfortunate Joan of Arc. Southey's dull poem, founded on the incidents in the life of this wonderful heroine, was fresh in my recollection. We passed a statue to her memory,during our wanderings. Besides the things which I have noticed, I visited many other places worthy of observation. Some travellers say that it is worth while to visit France were it only to see Rouen-This is not my opinion.

The chamber in which I write is in true French style. My table is a slab of marble, the floor is paved