the ranks of the citizens. The first offices of the army are often filled by generals, who have risen from the ranks; and the helm of state, in the dangers of the storm, was often confided to a plebeian pilot. Thus the absurd barriers of rank are every day broken down. The vigorous seeds of a mixed and middling class are every day taking root in the soil-a class of important, independent, reasoning Germans, endowed with no arbitrary privileges, no prescriptive rights, no interests hostile to the national welfare. The nation of barons is daily imbibing more of the spirit of "the nation of shopkeepers."

The degree of celerity, which may mark the progress of the Germans towards constitutional freedom, is indeed doubtful, and the prospect, at present, appears somewhat overcast;-all the usual delays and artifices of despotic power have been resorted to, in order to delude or divert the public feeling. At Paris, the popular claims were lost, in the din of premature triumph. At Vienna, partition and exchange of territory were the sole orders of the day. The Diet at Frankfort, and the Act of Confederation, were then appealed to; but when it was found that this august assembly was occupied with interminable preliminaries and abstract definitions, and that their first practical achievements restored certain tolls which oppressed commerce, the people perceived they had little to expect from that quarter. They then saw through the delusive farce of the patch-work Confederation. They saw that, while they were united in interest and spirit, they were still, in fact, divided in political government; and that no course remained but, with firmness and unanimity, to make their demands to their separate sovereigns. These claims have been made with a persevering and a powerful voice. Hitherto they have, with a few exceptions, been met only by renewed promises, temporary delays, pitiful evasions, the cant of liberal professions, and plausible projects. Plans and sketches of constitutions exist in the port-folios of ministers;-in some States, they have been offered to the public; but they have generally been ill-suited to the present condition of the people, or under the influence of the prince in their practical execution. Disappointment and disgust have, in consequence, taken hold of the people, almost from one end of the nation to the other. These have produced irritation and indignant remonstrances-re-actions have ensued-changes of ministers and measures-new projects and fresh experiments. In the ferment thus excited, a few ardent writers and high-spirited youths have been goaded into expressions and acts, which only injure the cause they advocate. These have been gladly retorted by the governments on the people, and made the pretext of the harshest measures. According to the common tactics of despotism, the ultraloyalist part of the nation have been appealed to, and the timid

alarmed. A single 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 constitutional objects. The Grand Duke of Hesse has voluntarily presented his subjects with a con+ stitution, 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 a 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, can not 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, can not 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

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 in 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:

“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

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 extremities, and sorrow 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
Its black shade alike o'er our joys and our wos;"

and which comes uncalled and unlooked-for, and over which we have no more control, 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 Tressilian to mine host of the black bear; "and 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."

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