2471 miles, more than 1400 miles communicate with the grand navigable line between London and Liverpool, the length of this alone being 264 miles; and it is connected in its course with forty-five others, of which the united extent equals 1150 miles.

In speaking of the iron rail-ways, the author states, on the authority of a report dated August 17. 1817, of the proceedings of a society for the projection of a canal between Newcastle and Carlisle, that at that time, in the neighbourhood of Newcastle, and within a space of twenty-one miles in length and twelve in breadth, 225 miles of iron rail-way were constructed above ground, and an equal length under ground; making the almost incredible total of 450 miles in length, within a space of less than ninety miles of superficies.

Such is the present state of the English navigable canals : not a yard of which existed before the year 1755. Till that time, the idea of canals was ridiculed as superfluous and absurd, in a country like England; enjoying, as it was said, favorable lines of coast, and provided with numerous navigable rivers. It is well known that the Duke of Bridgewater, by opposing himself to the prevailing opinions and prejudices of the country, first demonstrated the practicability and importance of such works; and, to effect his purpose, on coming of age, he limited himself to a personal expenditure of 400l. per annum : applying the remainder of his revenue to the construction of the first canal, bearing his name, and which forms an imperishable monument of his genius and patriotism. This work, completed in 1759, proved the practicability and advantage of the system, and laid the foundation of all that has since been effected in it, so highly to the interest, the convenience, and the reputation of the country.

Of navigable canals in France, the number is very inconsiderable, there being only six of the first order, and about 20 of inferior dimensions. These six are the canal of Briare, completed in 1642; that of Languedoc, in 1680; that of Orleans, in 1692; that of Lorgn, finished in 1723; the Canal du Centre, in 1791; and that of St. Quentin, in 1810: the total length of which amounts only to 591,000 metres, or 378 English miles. The secondary canals have a total length of 250 miles, making thus together only 628 miles of navigable canals, in a territory containing 26,700 square French leagues; being quadruple the surface of England, and with a population nearly three times as great.

As it would be useless for us, within the compass of an article in our Review, to attempt a more minute detail of this instructive work, which contains above 600 quarto pages, we

shall

shall only farther endeavor to furnish our readers with a concise description of the volume of plates, illustrative of the matter contained in the text. The plates are thirteen in number, most of them on a large scale, and judiciously arranged for illustrating the parts to which they relate. The first is a map of England, exhibiting very neatly the nature of the surface, and consequently the difficulties with which our engineers have had to contend in the formation of the several canals; which are also accurately laid down, and distinguished from each other by different colours. In one compartment, the canals in the environs of London are shewn on a larger scale; and in another are exhibited the canals in the north and the south of Scotland. The second plate exhibits a profile of the London and Liverpool line of canalcommunication: displaying the elevation of the several points above the level of the Mersey at Runcorn, at low water; the several subterraneous passages, or tunnels; the points of entrance of the forty-five tributary canals connected with this general line; the number of locks, and other particulars. The third plate is a map of France, of the same size, and therefore on a smaller scale than that of England; with the several existing canals, and indications of others in progress and proposed. The fourth exhibits the plan and profile of the canal of Briare; the fifth gives the profile of the canal of Languedoc; and the sixth exhibits the profile of the line of communication between the Mediterranean and the North Sea, which communication actually exists, though the passage by it is impracticable, or nearly so. It is one of the great objects of the author to prove that, by certain canals which he proposes, this might be rendered one of the finest lines of interior navigation any where existing. Plate seven presents a similar profile of a projected inland-communication from east to west; and plate eight gives the general plan of another projected canal. The other five engravings are appropriated to an illustration of the various modes by which the passage from one level to another may be effected, of different locks, of the centering to tunnels, the construction of inclined planes, &c. &c. The greatest fault that we have noticed in these plates (and the same exists in the text) is the careless manner in which the names of Englishmen and English towns are spelt; and this is so very material that, though in some cases we have been enabled to guess at the person or place intended to be named, in others the words are so metamorphosed that it has only been by means of some collateral circumstance that we could form an idea of the author's meaning. This inaccuracy. is now so very usual and so very gross in French-books, that M m 2

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it really seems an extraordinary circumstance, referable to a doubtful origin; and it is scarcely less reprehensible whether it be ascribable solely to ignorance and carelessness, or whether it be derived from a wilful perversion, designed as a mark of contempt.

ART. XI. Wilhelm Meisters Wanderjahre, &c.; i. e. Wilhelm Meister's Peregrinations, or the Self-denyers, a Novel. By GOETHE. Vol. I. 12mo. pp. 550. Stuttgard. 1821. Imported by Treuttel and Co.

WIL

ILHELM MEISTER's Lehrjahre was reviewed so long ago as in our twenty-seventh volume, N.S., p. 543., and the present work is a continuation of the same story. The hero was then in his apprenticeship, and is now on his travels: but in the meanwhile he has married, and his son Felix, a lad of fourteen, accompanies him on his pedestrian excursions. His old friend Jarno, who first inspired him with a passion for Shakspeare, is still living, is become a mineralogist, and meets the hero in the first book: but most of the characters are new; and the interest attaches to adventures which do not require a distinct recollection of the former novel, being unconnected with its fable. Picturesque descriptions, sage reflections, and poignant situations occur in all GOETHE's productions; yet we think that a senile garrulity creeps on him, that his style is become more trailing, and that those gushes of feeling, which refresh the soul, are now 66 more rare than erst they shewed.”

The "Recognitions of Clemens" form one of the beautiful novels of antiquity; and though they introduce personages connected with the evangelical narratives too freely and too frequently for the feelings of modern piety, they have in early times contributed much to the popularity of the Christian religion. We shall quote, from the present novel, a scene, or delineation, which appears to us to have been suggested by those Recognitions, and designed in a similar manner to introduce as it were to our acquaintance persons resembling the leading characters in the sacred books. We translate the exordium, but shall occasionally skip some paragraphs, which only serve to connect with the rest of the narration a groupe called the Holy Family;' and we begin with the chapter superscribed the Flight to Egypt.'

In the shade of a mighty rock, on a gray spot, where the steep mountain-road winds round the corner of a promontory towards the valley in the bottom, Wilhelm Meister was sitting: the sun, which was still high, illuminating the summits of the firs in the chasmy deep below. He was writing something in his tablets,

when

when Felix, who had clambered up the rock, came up with a stone in his hand. "What do you call this stone, father?" said the boy. "I do not know," answered Wilhelm. "Is this gold that glitters in it ?" "No; and, now I recollect, I think they call it mica.". ." I shall keep the stone," said the son; and he put it in his pocket with others which he had been picking up.

While this was happening, a singular appearance on the steep road drew their attention. Two boys, beautiful as the day, in gay dresses, made up like loose shirts, came running and jumping down the path, and Wilhelm had leisure to observe them, till on seeing him they checked their speed, and for a moment stood still. The head of the eldest was covered by curly flaxen locks, which first caught the notice of the gazer, until it settled on his clear blue eyes, and glanced complacently over his pleasing figure. The second, more like a friend than a brother, was adorned with brown and straighter hair, which mantled over his shoulders, and seemed to vie in darkness with his eyes.

Wilhelm had scarcely time to contemplate these two beings, so unexpected in the wilderness, when the voice of a man from behind the screen of rock called out in an earnest but affectionate tone, "Why do you stop? do not loiter in our way." Wilhelm looked upwards; and if the sight of the children had surprized him, his astonishment now became greater. A strong, active, not very tall, youngish man, neatly clad, with brown skin and dark hair, stepped firmly and cautiously down the rock, leading after him an ass, which first presented its well-fed and well-caparisoned and well-eared countenance, and next revealed the fair burden which it bore. A pleasing woman, seated on a quilted saddle, and wrapt in a blue mantle, was holding in her arms a sucking child, which she pressed to her bosom, gazing on it with inexpressible tenderness. The guide, like the children, paused on seeing Wilhelm, and the beast checked his foot: but the descent was so steep that his master could not hold him in, and the procession soon disappeared behind another rock, lower down.

Nothing was more natural than that this vision should interrupt Wilhelm's contemplations. He arose full of curiosity, and looked down the zig-zag declivity, expecting to catch another glimpse; and he was about to follow and to greet the wanderers, when Felix came running up, and said, "Father, may not I go with these children to their house? They want to take me with them; and you may come too, the man said. They live at the bottom of the hill; let us go." "I will at least speak to them," replied Wilhelm. He overtook them on a spot where the road was less precipitous, and eagerly contemplated the groupe which had so strongly riveted his attention. He could now remark many other little circumstances. The young man had a plane and other carpenter's tools on his shoulder, and a slender iron level. The children, who looked like angels, had bunches of reeds in their hands, resembling palm branches; and they had small baskets of eatables, such as little errand-boys carry across the mountains. The mother, when he examined her more nearly, was perceived to

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wear under her blue mantle a pale red close dress, so that our friend was singularly reminded of a painting which he had seen of the "Flight into Egypt."

After mutual salutations, the young man addressed Wilhelm, who seemed lost in astonishment, and said, "Our children are become friends, will you come and see whether their elders also suit one another ?"" Wilhelm hesitated an instant, and then answered, "The spectacle of your family-progress excites confidence, and, I must add, curiosity: for at the first glance I seemed to feel doubtful whether you were real pilgrims, or spirits who had assumed the form to enliven this desolate scenery."-"Come to our dwelling," replied the carpenter. "Come along with us," repeated the children, taking Felix between them by the arms. "Come with us," said the woman, turning her eyes with a gentle expression of welcome to the stranger. Without more pause, Wilhelm said, "I am sorry that I cannot immediately attend you: but this night at least I must pass at the frontier-house, where my luggage and my papers are left unpacked, and in disorder. That I may convince you, however, of my willingness to avail myself of your friendly invitation, I will give you my Felix as a pledge that I will follow you to-morrow. How far off do you live?"-"We shall reach our home by sunset," replied the stranger; "and you have not above four miles to return to the frontier-house. Your son shall be sheltered to-night, and we shall expect you in the morning." The man and his beast proceeded; Wilhelm smiled significantly on seeing his Felix so readily received among the angels, from one of whom he obtained a bunch of reeds, and from the other a basket; and the procession was about to disappear behind a rock, when Wilhelm called out, " By what name am I to enquire for you?" Only ask for Saint-Joseph, was the answer, which resounded from the deep; and the whole groupe was now again concealed behind rocks and lengthening shadows. Presently, a choral hymn ascended echoing from below, in which the voice of Felix seemed distinguishable to Wilhelm.

He pursued his ascent, thus prolonging the sunset. The heavenly orb, of which he had more than once lost sight, shone on him again as he climbed higher, and it was still day when he reached his inn. Once more he cast a delighted glance over the expanse of mountain-scenery, and retired to his apartment to make memorandums, and take refreshments, before the hour of repose.'

Already had the wanderer, with the guide whom he engaged, descended the steep rocks, passed the middle of the mountain, crossed a forest, and was walking on a gentle slope of meadow, into a cultivated valley, buried between hills, when a large monastery, half in ruins, attracted his attention. "This is Saint-Joseph," said the guide: "what a pity that such a beautiful church should go to decay, and that the trees and the ivy should be growing round the pillars and the windows." "Several parts of the building," replied Wilhelm, "seem in tolerable preservation.”—“Yes,” said the other, " a kind of steward lives there, who collects the

rents