66 act of mad atrocity, which inflicted lawless revenge on the most venal and unprincipled writer in Europe, and another similar, attempt prevented, were blazoned forth as the evidence of a wide and ramified conspiracy of all the middling and the learned orders against all Government. Military police was established; the ordinary laws suspended; a prevotal tribunal erected at Mayence, which has not tried a single culprit; search-warrants executed by dragoons; escrutoires ransacked; domestic security violated; professors, and men of genius, imprisoned and banished; journals suppressed; and Germany thrown into agitation and ferment, and taught to believe, that every student was a Sandt, and every professor, or author, a conspirator against legitimate rule. A new Congress was assembled; all the little freedom of the press annihilated; and a sort of round-robin signed by Princes, for suppressing every nascent sound of freedom, and keeping the universities and the people in awe, by increased military establishments. One by one, the professors, and others confined on accusation, have been discharged from prison, without trial and without process. The black association" charged on the patriots has been proved to exist only in the imagination of monarchs and ministers. Not a trace of the much-noised conspiracy has been detected. A temporary, perhaps a delusive calm, has succeeded" ignes suppositos cineri doloso." The period of concession, on the part of the monarchs, may be retarded; but, sooner or later, it must arrive. In some of the States, a steady perseverance has already led to the attainment of certain consti tutional objects. The Grand Duke of Hesse has voluntarily presented his subjects with a constitution, which they so freely canvassed, and so warmly opposed, that they have wrested from him another of a more liberal character. The Grand Duke of Baden has been compelled to establish a representative constitution, in many respects formed in imitation of our own, and which succeeds well in its practical operation. In Bavaria, a constitution is in force, which, if not essentially popular, is considerably removed from monarchical severity. In Electoral Hesse, antiquated abuses are petrified into the system of government; and the death of the old, superannuated Elector will, probably, be the signal for many changes. Prussia, the most enlightened and distinguished State of Germany, is enthralled by the most active and vigilant despotism, which exists in the nation;-an overgrown and haughty military establishment, and a complicated and widely ramified system of civil administration, keep nearly half of the subjects of the country in the pay of the Crown; an enormous pension-list supplies a large portion of persons, not employed, with what is called warten-gelt (waiting-money), till an appointment can be provided for them;-to supply these immense expenses, the taxes are necessarily exorbitant, and the popular classes generally discontented. The Rhenish Provinces of Prussia, formerly part of the French empire, and before of the Ecclesiastical Electorates, are oppressed by the most tyrannical exactions, and are in a temper, which the slightest circumstance might kindle into revolt. The ordinary laws have been repeatedly suspended, and violated by the arbitrary measures of the government. The privileges of the king's new university, at Bonn, have been invaded, and some of the most independent and distinguished professors driven away. Arndt has been arrested, the Welchers have been persecuted, and Schlegel has more than once threatened to retire in disgust. Goerres, one of the most distinguished political writers of Germany, has been obliged to take refuge at Strasburg. Prussia is, in all respects, the state which influences, in the greatest degree, the rest of Germany; and the fate of Prussia may probably decide that of the rest of the nation. How long the freedom of the Germans may be retarded, depends much on the people, much on the princes. This, at least, is certain-that the nation not only can never retrograde to what it has been, but that it can never remain stationary where it is. Its present state is provisional, not permanent; progressive, not stagnant. The staid and moderate character of the people, and the virtual liberality of some of the princes, will, perhaps, render the change more slow, silent, and gradual, than in other countries; but that a people so learned, so universally educated and enlightened, so generous in sentiment, and so determined in character, should long remain subject to narrow-minded despotisms, military police, an enslaved press, and arbitrary laws, is a paradox which, we think, cannot be of long duration. THOUGHTS ON THINKING. "THERE is no employment," says Montaigne, " more weak, or more strong, than that of entertaining a man's own thoughts." But how many men are there in the world that do think? To possess perception and sensation merely, cannot be called the exercise of thought; and the crude, undigested ideas, which generally seem to be flitting through people's minds, can scarcely deserve the same high appellation. It is certainly a very difficult task to form any judgment of what is passing through the minds of other people: it can only be done to a certain degree, and then we must rest principally on conjecture; but I think I know pretty well what sort of thoughts used to pass through old Montaigne's mind, and what kind of speculations usually fill my own; so that here, at least, I have a double means of forming a judgment. Thinking is a very difficult thing; that is to say, thinking to any purpose. The mind is naturally an idler, and will not turn to work without compulsion and strong coercion. "Medi 66 tation is a powerful, and full study, to such as can effectually employ themselves. But we do not willingly speculate on difficult points, We must be either driven or cheated to the labour. Thus books, which allure us by their information or amusement, afford at the same time an exercise of the intellect. The principal use of reading to me," says the same frank philosopher, from whom I have just quoted," is, that by various objects it rouses my reason and employs my judgment." How correct this is! For my own part, I seldom do think, that is to say, I never exercise my judgment, but when I am reading or writing. At other times, in disengaged leisure-hours, when I am resting on a sofa or taking a walk, not a single idea enters my mind, which is of the slightest value. It may, perhaps, be different with other people, but such is the case with me. I have frequently walked from the City to Oxford-street, and I have then-endeavoured to recollect any idea that had entered my mind during the walk, but, in general, it was impossible to find one worth preserving. My thoughts, on such occasions, are of the vainest and most useless kind:-castle-building a dinner-the polish of my boot-a sonnet a smile, or a song, are often floating on the top of one's mind; and one plays with them so pleasantly, that deeper thoughts are disagreeable. Godwin, in one of his books, draws a parallel between, I believe, the thoughts of a scholar and of a man of the world, as they perambulate the streets of London; but I very much question whether there would be much to choose between them. A scholar's meditations are generally left with his book, on the shelf; and it is as well they should be, if he undertakes to thread the mazes of Cheapside. This levity of thought very frequently does not desert men, on occasions where all the passions and stronger feelings of our nature are called forth. Montaigne shall again be my example. He is speaking of his feelings, when he contemplated his own approaching dissolution:-" Finding myself in this condition, I considered by how many light causes and objects imagination nourished in me the regret of life, and of what atoms the weight and difficulty of this dislodging was composed my soul, and to how many idle and frivolous thoughts we give way in so great an affair. A dog, a horse, a book, a glass, and what not, were considered in my loss." It is strange how the mind can dwell on frivolities and follies in situations like this; but it was, perhaps, mercifully intended, to dull the edge of anguish. It is the habit of the mind, powerful in pain and death: in “One would not, sure, be frightful when one's dead, And, Betty, give this cheek a little red.". The actual pain and misery, which grief and misfortunes inflict are, after all, probably overrated. The spirit naturally turns from gloomy and disagreeable meditations to those, which produce feel VOL. I. NO. III. ings of cheerfulness and contentment. It is only when the sweet of grief is mixed with the bitter, that the mind retains for a long period the recollections of misfortunes. But it is amongst the proudest prerogatives of Time, that he vanquishes grief itself. "Darkness and light divide the course of time; and oblivion shares with memory, a great part even of our living beings. We slightly remember our felicities, and the smartest strokes of affliction have but short smart upon us. Sense endureth no extremi ties, and sorrows destroy us, or themselves. To weep into stones are fables." Is not the masterly pen of Sir Thomas Browne visible in these words? I could never think on melancholy themes long together; sometimes, in depression or in ill-humour, I have doggedly set myself to chew the cud of bitter fancies; but even in spite of the most obstinate determination, my thoughts have run into pleasanter channels. It is curious, at such times, to observe, by what ingenious associations the mind cheats itself into better temper; and how it will snatch at any opportunity of getting rid of reflections, which are painful. I have more than once blamed myself for the facility, with which I have cast off grief. But if, on the one hand, the mind abhors the continual contemplation of evil, yet there are some feelings, which will cross it, even in its most cheerful moods, blasting, with the recollection or anticipation of evil, every sentiment of present happiness. "There are thoughts thou canst not banish, There are shades that will not vanish," which haunt us like the spectre in Macbeth, when we are at the feast, invisible to every eye but our own- "Some fatal remembrance, some vision that throws 66 and which comes uncalled and unlooked-for, and over which we have no more controul, than the maniac over his disjointed phantasies. This sentiment is well described by the author of Kenilworth. You have lived in the world twice as long as I have," says says Tressilian to mine host of the black bear; you must know there are thoughts, which will haunt us in spite of ourselves; and to which it is in vain to say, begone, and let. me be merry." and There are few people whose fears, or whose crimes, have not occasionally raised these ghosts of the soul. In some instances, perhaps, such sensations are the effects of constitutional infirmity, of weak and tremulous nerves. In Johnson, there was a feeling of this kind, which embittered his whole existence; and death was a blessing to him, because it relieved him from the dread of dying. The very mention of it shook his nerves “from their propriety," and his terror made him ferocious with those who spoke of it in his presence. It is easy to despise this pusillanimity; but there are, perhaps, very few persons, who have not felt a chill round the heart, when, in the breathless stillness of night, the strong conviction and feeling of mortality have flashed across their minds. I have felt the sensation powerfully, and it requires a determined resolution to shake off the feeling. It is only in moments like these, that we can judge of the extent of Johnson's sufferings. As to the periods and times when the mind employs itself most actively in thinking, perlraps, much is not to be said. People have but seldom occasion for thought, and they never perplex themselves with it, but when it is absolutely necessary. There are few quibus vivere est cogitare. Aristotle says, thinking is the business of the gods; from which, both their happiness and ours proceed. I know very few people, however, who enjoy this beatitude, or who would wish to do so. A tithe of men think for the rest, who indulge in a sort of vegetable existence, without adding a single new idea to the stores, which have been heir-looms in the human mind for ages. A man generally goes through life, as a horse does along a road, which he is accustomed to travel; he knows round which corners to turn, and arrives in safety at his journey's end. Perhaps an equal degree of thought is called into action in both cases; and what need is there of it to one "Who, with a body fill'd, and vacant mind, Gets him to rest, cramm'd with distressful bread?" 66 Some situations are naturally favourable to thought. Montaigne could not think unless he was in motion. My thoughts sleep if I sit still; my fancy does not go by itself as when my legs move it." But I question whether this is a general feeling; for my own part, I can think the best while I lie awake in bed, and if a good thought ever strikes me, it is sure to be on a sleepless night. In darkness and silence, I can handle my thoughts, sift and examine them to the bottom; and many a fallacy, which had escaped me in open day-light, has been detected and foresworn in the night. One does not, however, get to sleep very easily after these cogitations. The pleasantest thing in the world to me is, to find my thoughts wandering, after I have lain in bed an hour or two, and just to be able to perceive the incongruity of my ideas, for then I know sleep is not far distant. It is a grievous thing for a man to lie awake all night, when "I suoi pensieri in lui dormir non ponno," and to think of every subject, which used to give him pleasure, while his mind turns with an equal loathing from all. Like the body, the mind, at times, becomes perfectly sick. I have some |