and benweeds, instead of venturing by water in sieves, like
those of England. But the English are under the influence of a maritime
genius.

When we had got as far up the Thames as Gravesend, the wind and tide came
against us, so that the vessel was obliged to anchor, and I availed
myself of the circumstance, to induce the family to disembark and go to
London by LAND; and I esteem it a fortunate circumstance that we did so,
the day, for the season, being uncommonly fine. After we had taken some
refreshment, I procured places in a stage-coach for my mother and sister,
and, with the Doctor, mounted myself on the outside. My father's
old-fashioned notions boggled a little at first to this arrangement,
which he thought somewhat derogatory to his ministerial dignity; but his
scruples were in the end overruled.

The country in this season is, of course, seen to disadvantage, but still
it exhibits beauty enough to convince us what England must be when in
leaf. The old gentleman's admiration of the increasing signs of what he
called civilisation, as we approached London, became quite eloquent; but
the first view of the city from Blackheath (which, by the bye, is a fine
common, surrounded with villas and handsome houses) overpowered his
faculties, and I shall never forget the impression it made on myself.
The sun was declined towards the horizon; vast masses of dark low-hung
clouds were mingled with the smoky canopy, and the dome of St. Paul's,
like the enormous idol of some terrible deity, throned amidst the smoke
of sacrifices and magnificence, darkness, and mystery, presented
altogether an object of vast sublimity. I felt touched with reverence,
as if I was indeed approaching the city of THE HUMAN POWERS.

The distant view of Edinburgh is picturesque and romantic, but it affects
a lower class of our associations. It is, compared to that of London,
what the poem of the _Seasons_ is with respect to _Paradise Lost_--the
castellated descriptions of Walter Scott to the _Darkness_ of Byron--the
_Sabbath_ of Grahame to the _Robbers_ of Schiller. In the approach to
Edinburgh, leisure and cheerfulness are on the road; large spaces of
rural and pastoral nature are spread openly around, and mountains, and
seas, and headlands, and vessels passing beyond them, going like those
that die, we know not whither, while the sun is bright on their sails,
and hope with them; but, in coming to this Babylon, there is an eager
haste and a h