LETTER XLVIII.

Gottenburg, June, 1808.

ON the fifth of June, after having been honoured the day before with a most hospitable dinner from his excellency our good minister, and my kind friend Mr. Thornton, I set off from Stockholm at nine in the morning, accompanied by a gentleman lately arrived from St. Petersburgh.

We had previously purchased a small Swedish carriage that precisely held two persons, for which I paid fifty dollars; and having sent our forbode forward, we had no difficulty in getting horses. At two o'clock the following day, we arrived at Arboga; having passed through an extremely wild country. Were it not for the extensive woods which sometimes enveloped us for many miles, I should have declared that the stony deserts of Arabia could not be more stupendous and barren than parts of this province. I never saw, even in Finland, such immense tracks of granite; and in some places they stood so huge and scattered, as to seem, at a little distance, the ruins of vast fortresses, or towns and churches.

Arboga is of considerable extent; and is situated at the extremity of the lake Hejelmoren: it is clean and regularly built; and appears, like Sala, the residence of prosperity and comfort. A large castle stands near the bridge: it is surrounded by a wet ditch. On a part of the ancient walls is now erected a modern house, which may be a convenience to the possessor, but it is the most detestable blemish that could be devised to destroy the otherwise grand effect of this noble fortress. I visited the church, a building of extensive dimensions, but neither very old, nor very interesting. Nothing else in the town being worthy of notice, without further delay we set forward, and again entered avenues of trees most delightfully shading us from the now fervent heat of the sun, and the burning dust that usually attends his chariot wheels.

These woods consist of lofty and umbrageous trees; a beauty

which we seldom see in England, except in parks, as the passion for lopping turns all our British avenues into pollards rank and file. The Swedish roads, as they are more refreshing aloft, so they are pleasanter below, than even the famed ones of our country; for the peasantry are not only obliged to keep them in repair, but they do it with zeal and conscience.

Nothing particularly interesting in towns or villages attracted our attention, till we approached the mountains whose echoes announce the cataracts of Trolhæta. On arriving at the foot of one of these rocky heights, the road changes its quality, and becomes gradually worse and worse, until it is literally nothing more than a naked bed of granite, worn into a sort of track by the constant journeyings of travellers to the falls. Here the character nature assumes differs little from the romantic wilds of Derbyshire.

Trolhata lies about a Swedish mile out of the post road; and at some distance we could hear the roar of the waters, as well as see the misty foam that rose like white smoke midway up their rocky barriers. We found an excellent inn; and after taking a little refreshment, set forth to have a nearer view of these ce-lebrated productions of nature and art. We were attended by a very intelligent man, who was to be our guide to the scene. There are six falls at short distances from each other. They are produced by the waters of the Wener lake; and pouring from stupendous precipices into their rocky beds, produce effects of such sublimity that pen and pencil fail under the description. The torrents rush with resistless force from the heights, carrying along felled bodies of trees in their passage, and dashing from steep to steep of the huge masses of granite, roll downward foaming and bellowing into the abyss beneath; whence they rebound again in raging waves, and a snowy mist that covers the whole of the banks around with streaming water. The bold rocks on each side, finely varied with trees and shrubs, which partially cover the gray face of the stone, and the pretty cottages of the rustics bending over the flood, are to the highest degree picturesque. I have attempted a sketch of the scene, where you may descry the wooded tops of several little

islands, which, owing to the horrors of the cataracts that surround them, have never been trodden by the foot of man.

The works of art which have been invented to bring the boats down from the smooth water near the lake Wener, to these more dangerous passages, are beautiful in themselves, and highly honourable to the sovereigns who patronized the design, and to the genius that conceived it. These works were begun during the reign of Charles the Twelfth, and finished in 1800, under Gustavus IV.

The road from Trolhata to Gottenburg is continually varying its scenery; and certainly is, by far, the most beautiful in this part of the kingdom. Woods, mountainous defiles, and the rapid stream of the Gotha, are our alternate companions all the way. About nine miles distant from a place called Lahal, on the opposite banks of the river, on a high and com, manding rock, appear the ruins of the ancient fortress of Hohus. At its foot is a small town of that name. Its romantic situation, thus under the shelter of the castle, which stands like a proud giant braving the storms, and the black mountains of granite in its rear, stretching far, and lifting their heads to the clouds, form a scene of Gothic grandeur in ruins that might afford a subject, not only for the painter's pencil, but the poet's pen.

The city of Gottenburgh (or more properly Gothaburgh), lies in a hollow on the conflux of the rivers Gotha and Moldal. The heights which surround so command the town, that, in case of an enemy possessing himself of these advantageous positions, the present fortifications would be useless. One or two block houses have been constructed to endeavour at a sort of protection, as well as to annoy the enemy, were he to make himself master of the city. The inutility of the works which encircle Gottenburgh, having at length been discovered, they are now demolishing; to give place to a new plan, which, it is supposed, will remedy the old defects.

The aspect of the city is much like the towns in Holland: and that is not surprising, for Charles IX., who founded the place in 1607, planted a Dutch colony here; and, to increase its trade and prosperity, allowed them certain privileges from the

crown, which, I believe, are still continued to the citizens. A few years after its establishment, the town was burnt down by a king of Denmark: but Gustavus Adolphus, rebuilding it with greater advantages, put the original settlers within its new walls; and ever since it has been in a very flourishing condition.

The harbour is between chains of picturesque rocks, is about two furlongs wide, and is considered the most commodious in the kingdom. Indeed the mouth of the river presents a bay sufficiently extensive to contain the largest ships, and securely shelters them from the severest storms. At present a most happy sight for Sweden, and as proud a one for us English on the shore, gives additional magnificence to the haven. The British transports and ships of war, headed by the Victory! that best monument to the memory of the glorious hero who breathed out his soul beneath its decks, amid the thunders of war, and the shouts of victory, fulfilling, with the last pulse of his valiant heart, the order he had given, that every man should do his duty.

Not to be an idle spectator of the disembarking of our troops, did I come to Gottenburgh. You know the private, as 'well as you feel the public reasons, which cause me to enter on immediate service. I have made my arrangements to be ready at a moment's summons, to attend the British arms either to Norway or to Zealand; and, I trust that our brave leader will soon send home a good account of the enemy. My next letter will probably be either from an encampment amongst the Norwegian hills, or from on board a transport bound for the shores of Denmark. Here, or there, ever while above ground (and beneath it too, witness the mines!) I remain your faithful friend.

LETTER XLIX.

Gottenburgh, July, 1808.

TO me all the world seems asleep, or engaged in mysteries in which I am to be no partaker. It is not sufficient that I am perplexed by political suspenses, but private anxieties are to add to my disagreeables. Why are you all so silent? Perhaps you will say, that owing to the information of my last, you did not write, because you expected I would now be on the wing, and letters might not readily reach me! Being good enough to make your apology for a first transgression of the sort, I shall proceed to my other disappointments.

A suspense of nearly two months did not decide the destination of the British troops. Negotiations, and various other occurrences, all a riddle to us poor bystanders, suddenly unfurled the English canvass, and the whole fleet, with its brave freight, were again under way for Great Britain! Sir John Moore had left Gottenburgh for Stockholm on the fourteenth of June, and returned hither incognito on the first of July; he went immediately on board the Victory, and he and the whole fleet sailed for England on the fourth.

These events have struck a general consternation into all people. The mystery seems to threaten an unhappy disclosure; and where we before saw smiling faces, we now meet gloom and suspicion. My northern campaign being thus cropt in the bud, I shall hope for a more propitious commencement on the shores of Spain, which, I understand, is now the destination of the Victory and her squadron. I was on board a transport for some time, but being told they were going direct for the Spanish coast, I relanded; rather wishing to make England in my way, and to join the British troops when disembarked at their/ foreign destination.

Since their departure my chagrin has been a little dispersed by the arrival of their royal highnesses the duke and dutchess d'Angoulême. They came hither from Prussia, accompanied by the queen of France and their suite; and mean to remain