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'Lord Grenville I have always found friendly and amiable in his behaviour, very unassuming, and though not affable, from wanting a turn for conversation, yet conversing with frankness and simplicity where he has reason to place confidence. Not much discussion of political subjects occurred, as you may suppose, but there seemed to be no studied reserve; and on the bullion question we had one night a long conversation, in which all parties fortunately were agreed. It seems that Lord Lauderdale has just published a pamphlet, in which he recommends the lowering the standard of our coinage to a level with the depreciated currency, otherwise the present rents cannot be maintained, thus perpetuating upon the monied proprietor and annuitant that loss, which he has hitherto borne more patiently under the idea that it is temporary and soon to be redressed.

Lord Grenville sent me in his carriage to Maidenhead. When I came there no chaise was to be had, and I was obliged to come on outside a coach. It was the first day after an interval of four that the coach had travelled; and such was the state of the roads, that with great difficulty and much peril we reached Benson that night, twelve miles short of Oxford. Once we were upset-completely—all the outside passengers, seven in number, tossed over the hedge, happily into a deep bed of snow, and not the slightest injury done to any one. But as the dusk came on our journey was most hazardous; the people on horseback whom we met answered the anxious inquiries of the coachman by advising him not to proceed; but the day was near its close, and it seemed too late to return. We were then, six miles from Benson, obliged to leave the road, and drive over ploughed fields for at least five miles, often full gallop, for fear of being benighted. The coachman declared he knew nothing of the way, and was guided only by a coach before us. Once, owing to some accident in the harness, we were obliged to stop, lost sight of our leader, and the man

WINTER TRAVELLING IN 1814.

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exclaimed-'We are lost!' Upon our talking of walking, he strongly dissuaded it, and I believe with good reason; for it is impossible, without experience, to conceive the change in the whole aspect of the country, especially after daylight-the cold in the meantime intense, and the snow so deep, that we could not have advanced two miles on foot from mere fatigue. This, I believe, is the immediate cause of fatal accidents in snow. Persons are soon exhausted who attempt to walk: they lie down, and never rise again. Under all these circumstances we at length reached Benson, about 6 p. m., chiefly in consequence of having fetched up our way by a gallop till we got in sight of the leading coach, and that over ground which might or might not be passable for a coach-no one knew.

We came on next morning to Oxford—a procession of six coaches—having traversed the fields again about four miles, and passed a flock of wild geese feeding, which took no notice of us, so severe was the weather. So ends my winter campaign, and I feel happy in the consciousness that nothing need draw me from home till the weather is more favourable. I am much afraid the extreme severity of this winter has affected the comforts of the poor, and shortened the lives of many. The cheapness of bread is an alleviation; but the want of fuel is almost irremediable.

Yours, &c.

P. S.-If you have observed the thermometer I should like to know the lowest degree, with the date specified. It was at 10o in Oxford on the 14th. The barometer is at this moment within a trifle of 28 inches, the lowest state of depression ever known in England.

It will be for the amusement of my readers if I here hazard an historical displacement, and insert what I have since discovered the identical note which led to the visit above described. The con

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clusion of it is happily prophetic of the circumstances under which Mr. Copleston left Dropmore.

My dear Sir,

Dropmore, Dec. 3, 1814.

We earnestly hope you will do us the pleasure of returning this year to your Christmas quarters here. The longer we can detain you without the aid of a deep snow, the happier you will make us; and when you talk of going, I must then hope for the aid of Jupiter niveus. Ever most truly yours,

GRENVILLE.

As most persons of education and leisure visit the Continent at some period of their lives, I should scarcely pause to mention the fact that Mr. Copleston did so this year, were it not with the design of introducing some specimens of his letters written while abroad. I do so with the full consciousness that, as mere sources of information, these letters must be entirely superseded by the notices of more recent tourists; but all will agree that it is interesting to mark what impressions have been made upon a superior mind by objects with which we ourselves may be perfectly familiar. There is, moreover, a charm in the very ease of a familiar letter, written under such circumstances; while a graceful touch, or a vigorous thought, thrown in here and there pleases us the more, because we see it to be unstudied, and because it seems to indicate a latent reserve of unexerted power.

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THE GREAT ST. BERNARD.

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Mr. Copleston spent some days in Paris, and then, being joined by Mr. Ward, of New College, proceeded to Switzerland and Northern Italy.

At Martigny we found our carriage and luggage all waiting for us; but another project detained us two days. It was only a day's journey to the top of the Great St. Bernard, one of the chief passes of the Alps, and famous for its convent on the highest point of the road, where all passengers are entertained and lodged according to their quality, without regard to country, sex, or religion. An institution so singular, so celebrated, so strangely situated, presented too strong an attraction to be resisted. We therefore hired mules, and set out on a pilgrimage, not intending to pass into Italy that way, but to stay one night, and return the next day to Martigny. The whole of this expedition struck me as the most romantic occurrence of my life, the most unlike reality, and the most like a dream of any thing I ever remember. The weather was delightful, as, indeed, it has been ever since. Our road lay up the side of the Drance, a roaring mountain stream, which descends from the Alps, and, by the junction of several other streams, becomes a large river before it joins the Rhone at Martigny. It was almost a continual ascent of eight hours, besides halting time. The first part rocky and woody, but the last two hours up a bare mountain, with hardly any herbage, nothing like a bush, and in general only rock and snow, with a thundering torrent never far off. In many places the track was like a winding staircase. It is astonishing with what steadiness the mules climb up the steepest parts, stopping only now and then, of their own accord, to take breath. We did not, however, continue mounted. The climate grew sensibly colder and colder, so that the exercise of walking was agreeable. About sunset we arrived, and were first taken to the kitchen fire to warm

ourselves; after that we were ushered into the refectory, where two or three of the monks received us with great cordiality and politeness. They offered us refreshment immediately; but, as it was near supper time, we declined it. At seven the prior came in, with a few more, about nine in all, and although it was meagre day, we had an excellent supper of various dishes, with very good fruit and wine. Three Piedmontese gentlemen were also there, and in the course of conversation I found they were of the family of the founder, and on that account were treated with great respect. They were crossing the Alps into Switzerland. This entertainment was just what you would wish to see at a religious house; nothing like jollity, but mild, cheerful, unconstrained conversation, chiefly on politics. They, as well as the Piedmontese, spoke most handsomely of the English, and since that, I find the impression in Italy to be strongly and universally in our favour. It is not so in Switzerland. Soon after eight we rose from table, and, as it seemed expected, we retired to our bedrooms. It was dismally cold, a very hard frost, against which double windows were an inadequate protection. You know, perhaps, that it is the highest inhabited spot in the old world. Early in the morning we went out to view the site of the Temple of Jupiter, which stood near the site of the convent, and was perhaps a similar institution.'

'After breakfasting with the brothers, and dropping our alms into the trunk at the church, we set out on our return, walking, or rather running, for it was extremely cold. A full hour before we caught sight of a bush or a tree. The convent is not rich-far from it, but it is supported by donations from all the States near, who have a common interest in maintaining so admirable a charity. Buonaparte was a great and constant patron. Before the battle of Marengo, he marched 80,000 men by this way into Italy. The prior told me they lodged 2000 soldiers every night for

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