The first is a singular and paradisaically luxuriant country, differing completely from the forms and appearances of that which surround us. The second, in its treeless sandy plain, looks the picture of blank stationariness and of the Inquisition: burning heat broods over the whole scene like an 'auto da fè.' The third appeared to me like an old acquaintance; and with a full heart I looked long at the immoveable and unchangeable fatherlandish friend,--the majestic Mont Blanc. _August 8th._ Canning is dead. A man in the plenitude of his intellectual power, who had but a few weeks ago arrived at the goal of his active life, who had risen to be the ruler of England, and, in that quality, unquestionably the most influential man in Europe; endowed with a spirit of fire that would have guided the reins he held with a mighty hand, and a soul capable of embracing the good of his species from a station more elevated than any to which human ambition could raise him. One shock has overthrown this proud structure of many years. And this high-spirited man was doomed to end his days by a sudden and tragic death, amid fearful sufferings, the victim of a relentless Destiny, who steps on with iron foot, treading down all that comes in her way, heedless whether it be the young seedling, the swelling blossom, the lordly tree, or the withering plant, that she crushes. What will be the consequences of his death? Years must elapse before that will be seen; perhaps it will hasten on a conclusion which seems to threaten us on many sides, and to which only a large-minded, liberal, and enlightened statesman, like Canning, were capable of giving unity and a favourable direction. It is not impossible that the party which now so indecently and unfeelingly triumphs at his untimely death, may be the first to be placed in real and imminent peril by that very event; for not in vain has Lord Chesterfield said, with a far-seeing prophetic eye, "Je prevois que dans cent ans d'ici les métiers de gentilhomme et de moine ne seront plus de la moitié aussi lucratifs qu'ils le sont aujourd'hui." But what do I care about politics? Could I but always preserve the due equipoise in myself, I should be content. Meantime Canning's death is now, of course, the talk of the town, and the details of his sufferings are truly afflicting. The Saints, who hated him for his liberal opinions, try to set it abroad that during his physical torments he was converted--what _they_ call converted. One of his friends, on the other hand, who was by his bed-side for a considerable time, knew not how sufficiently to eulogize his stoical courage, and the serenity with which he bore his cruel fate;--occupied to the last moment with plans for the weal of England and of humanity, and anxiously desiring to impress them once more on the heart of the King.