that ever covered the ground, to wit-the vine. Let not people be deceived by what they read of clustering and festooned vines of Italy and the far South. There is no uglier crop than the German vines. Long straight rows, of a pale bluish green, with innumerable bare, barkless poles sticking up amongst them to support the tendrils, constitute the outward show of the vine crop. Beans, when out of blossom, rival this crop in beauty, but beans, when in blossom, are, for appearance, and for the delightful odour, a thousand times superior. As to our English hops, to which the vine is sometimes compared, he must have a very different taste from mine who thinks the puny German vine can vie for one moment with our towering and graceful hop.

And then the Moselle-to those who love very high banks covered from bottom to top with very fine and flourishing vines-much finer than one sees on the Rhine-it is indeed most agreeable. Then the strange and (to any one in a hurry) the preposterous windings of the river-and, to tell the honest truth, the extreme beauty of the "castled crags" in the neighbourhood of Traarbarch, might seduce one into admiration, to say nothing of the pleasant inn at Zeltingen, and the grave, good-natured host, with his kind motherly dame, his comely daughters, and his excellent wine, and the placid lake-like character of the river near his abode.

All these, I grant, are well enough, and after the second bottle of wine, even of that country, might dispose a charitable person to very remarkable benevolence; but the Moselle is, after all, monotonous, and the hundred villages by its banks are absolutely hideous. Let these be especially noted and contrasted with England. Their situation is charming-a very little distance from the river, on a sloping ground, with the hill rising up abruptly behind them. But these villages are nothing better than a parcel of horrid looking houses, huddled together as closely as possible, with no attempt at comfort, much less neatness or ornament. Of a garden they never seem to dream. dirty gravel, strewed with fragments of wood and old hoops, and bits of straw, the dirty remains of the last vintage, and nothing is there to indicate that the inhabitants have any pleasure in their homes beyond a mere shelter, under cover of which they may sleep and smoke.

The beach is of

Take, as one instance, the little town of Alf, where one stops to drive inland to the baths of Bertrich-the situation is most delightful, and the drive of six miles to Bertrich is enough to set one wild with admiration; but a meaner, nastier, more huddled up, and contemptible place than Alf, no Englishman ever set his foot in. Compare with this one of the villages on the Wye, and then be proud, as an Englishman well may, without a fault in being so.

But, notwithstanding all that is met with, absolutely offensive to an English taste, in Continental touring, it is true, that for the most part our English folk seem to enjoy it more than travelling about at home. This appearance may arise partly from affectation, and partly from a certain self-complacency, which in English nature developes itself more freely abroad than at home. But there is in it something real, and the reason is worth looking into. Perhaps it is that the Englishman, not being easily excited, requires something more than mere change of scene, however favourable the change may be, to rouse him into perception-that is, to a vividly and thoroughly-felt perception-of the novelties that surround him. He requires an aggregation of changes-change of language, of costume, of manners, of modes of life—in order to separate his thoughts completely from their ordinary associations, and to make him feel the full tide of novelty pouring in upon his mind. All this he has in Continental travel, whereas at home, though he may indeed see what is more inte resting, yet the eyes of his mind not being opened-his powers of observation not being called into action, by the necessity of the case, such as having to eat fish at the end of dinner, instead of at the beginning, or the like-he does not arrive at a distinct consciousness of the interesting and beautiful things which have come within the sphere of his observation.

But he must be dull indeed, or very deficient in a feeling which is more universal in England than elsewhere, if Continental travel do not impress him with a sense of the absence of that domesticity to which the English heart so fondly turns. Let it be granted that our Continental neighbours have the advantage of us, perhaps in cheerfulness, and certainly in a greater variety of information, or at all events in a greater facility of talking about what they have seen, or heard, or read. But they seem made for being in public, and among strangers. We are more given to narrow, but at the same time to concentrate, both our attentions and our affections. We are a people made for home. We are not, except in a political sense, carers for the many. We regard the crowd with absolute indifference. The few, associated with our homes, are all to us. We wish to have a property, even in love and affection :—

""Tis sweet to hear the watch-dog's honest bark, Bay deep-mouth'd welcome as we draw near home; 'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark Our coming, and look brighter when we come."

Yes; this is the dearest of all things which are dear to an English bosom. Let us quote another poet, English to the very core, in feeling, diction, character, habits-every thing:

"Domestic happiness, thou only bliss

Of Paradise, that has survived the fall;
Though few now taste thee unimpair'd and pure,
Or tasting, long enjoy thee! too infirm,

Or too incautious to preserve thy sweets
Unmix'd with drops of bitter, which neglect
Or temper sheds into thy crystal cup:
Thou art the nurse of virtue: in thine arms
She smiles, appearing, as in truth she is,
Heaven born, and destined to the skies again!
Thou art not known where pleasure is adored;
That reeling goddess with the zoneless waist
And wand'ring eyes, still leaning on the arm
Of novelty, her fickle, frail support;

For thou art meek and constant, hating change,
And finding in the calm of truth-tried love
Joys that her stormy raptures never yield."

Of all this, Continental life-such at least as the traveller sees it, however closely he may investigate-suggests almost nothing; and much as there is to observe and to enjoy, and to meditate upon, the healthy English mind will store it all up for use when in the bosom of that home which is the attribute of his own country-the land of domesticity, where a man's house is his castle, and his hearth is sacred.

INTELLIGIBLENESS.

AMONGST rare capabilities few are more so than that of being generally intelligible. It is not enough that one uses the language which is generally understood, and with due attention both to grammar and to idiom. This you may do, and yet classes of men are so various, and so differently educated, or habituated, that the same forms of explanation, and in the same language, will produce very different impres