"notes by a student from Ratzeburg, a young "man of sound learning and indefatigable indus

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try, who is now I believe a professor of the ori"ental languages at Heidelberg." Few Few persons visit Göttingen without ascending the Brocken. At the close of one of their academic studies, equivalent to what in this country is called a term, it was agreed that the following party should visit the Hartz Mountains, &c. namely, Coleridge, the two Parrys of Bath, Charles and Edward, sons of the celebrated physician of that name, the son also of Professor Blumenbach, Dr. Carlyon, Mr. Chester, and Mr. Greenough. Coleridge and the party made the ascent of the Brocken, on the Hanoverian side of this mountain. During the toil of the ascent, Coleridge amused his companions with recapitulating some trifling verses, which he was wont to do some twenty years afterwards to amuse children of five and six years old, as Miss Mary Rowe, Tity Mouse Brim, Dr. Daniel Dove, of Doncaster, and his Horse Nobbs. It should, however, be observed, that these Dr. Carlyon* seemed to think worth notice, while the Christabel and Ancient Mariner were probably but little to his taste. His dress, a short jacket of coarse material, though convenient, was not quite classical in a party of philosophical erratics in quest of novelty. This tale of Dr. Daniel Dove, of Don

* Vide Early Years and Reflections, by Dr. Carlyon, p. 134, &c.

caster, has given a frame and pegs, on which some literary man has founded a story, and on which he has hung the contents of his scrap book. The invention is not Coleridge's; and the writer believes the story itself to be traditional. The following account of his ascent up the Brocken was written by himself, soon after his return from Germany:

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FRAGMENT OF A JOURNEY OVER THE

BROCKEN, &c. IN 1799.

Through roads no way rememberable, we came to Gieloldshausen, over a bridge, on "which was a mitred statue with a great cru"cifix in its arms. The village, long and ugly; "but the church, like most Catholic churches, "interesting; and this being Whitsun Eve, all "were crowding to it, with their mass-books and "rosaries, the little babies commonly with coral

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crosses hanging on the breast. Here we took "a guide, left the village, ascended a hill, and "now the woods rose up before us in a verdure "which surprised us like a sorcery. The spring "had burst forth with the suddenness of a Rus"sian summer. As we left Göttingen there were buds, and here and there a tree half green; "but here were woods in full foliage, distinguished from summer only by the exquisite "freshness of their tender green. We entered "the wood through a beautiful mossy path; the

"moon above us blending with the evening

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light, and every now and then a nightingale "would invite the others to sing, and some or "other commonly answered, and said, as we 66 suppose, It is yet somewhat too early!' for "the song was not continued. We came to a square piece of greenery, completely walled on all four sides by the beeches; again entered "the wood, and having travelled about a mile, "emerged from it into a grand plain-moun"tains in the distance, but ever by our road "the skirts of the green woods. A very rapid "river ran by our side; and now the nightingales were all singing, and the tender verdure grew paler in the moonlight, only the smooth parts of the river were still deeply purpled "with the reflections from the fiery light in the "west. So surrounded and so impressed, we "arrived at Prele, a dear little cluster of houses "in the middle of a semicircle of woody hills; "the area of the semicircle scarcely broader than "the breadth of the village.

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"We afterwards ascended another hill, from "the top of which a large plain opened before us "with villages. A little village, Neuhoff, lay at "the foot of it: we reached it, and then turned "up through a valley on the left hand. The "hills on both sides the valley were prettily "wooded, and a rapid lively river ran through it.

"So we went for about two miles, and almost "at the end of the valley, or rather of its first

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turning, we found the village of Lauterberg. "Just at the entrance of the village, two streams

come out from two deep and woody coombs, "close by each other, meet, and run into a "third deep woody coomb opposite; before you "a wild hill, which seems the end and barrier "of the valley; on the right hand, low hills, now green with corn, and now wooded; and "on the left a most majestic hill indeed-the "effect of whose simple outline painting could "not give, and how poor a thing are words! "We pass through this neat little town-the

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majestic hill on the left hand soaring over the "houses, and at every interspace you see the "whole of it-its beeches, its firs, its rocks, its "scattered cottages, and the one neat little pas"tor's house at the foot, embosomed in fruit"trees all in blossom, the noisy coomb-brook dashing close by it. We leave the valley, or rather, the first turning on the left, following "a stream; and so the vale winds on, the river "still at the foot of the woody hills, with every "now and then other smaller valleys on right "and left crossing our vale, and ever before you "the woody hills running like groves one into "another. We turned and turned, and entering "the fourth curve of the vale, we found all at "once that we had been ascending. The ver

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"dure vanished! All the beech trees were leafless, and so were the silver birches, whose "boughs always, winter and summer, hang so elegantly. But low down in the valley, and in "little companies on each bank of the river,

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a multitude of green conical fir trees, with "herds of cattle wandering about, almost every "one with a cylindrical bell around its neck, "of no inconsiderable size, and as they moved "-scattered over the narrow vale, and up

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among the trees on the hill-the noise was like "that of a great city in the stillness of a sab"bath morning, when the bells all at once are

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ringing for church. The whole was a melan

choly and romantic scene, that was quite new "to me. Again we turned, passed three smelting houses, which we visited ;-a scene of ter"rible beauty is a furnace of boiling metal, darting, every moment blue, green, and scarlet

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lightning, like serpents' tongues!—and now we "ascended a steep hill, on the top of which was

St. Andrias Berg, a town built wholly of wood.

"We descended again, to ascend far higher; "and now we came to a most beautiful road, "which winded on the breast of the hill, from "whence we looked down into a deep valley, "or huge basin, full of pines and firs; the "opposite hills full of pines and firs; and the "hill above us, on whose breast we were winding, likewise full of pines and firs. The

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