nent a feature in the view from Geneva and the country around it. It appears from that quarter to be situated in the centre of the valley leading towards Chamounix, and from the extreme purity of the atmosphere, on a clear day, one would suppose it to be within an hour's walk of the town, but from the time we took to approach its base, it cannot be less distant than twelve or fourteen miles from Geneva. Proceeding leisurely along this delightful region, we arrived towards the afternoon at Cluse, a small town of Savoy, distant about eight leagues from the last mentioned city. After crossing the Pont de l'Arve in the immediate neighbourhood, we entered a pass or narrow valley through which the river flows. This, I really think, is one of the finest things I have seen in Switzerland. Glencoe must hide its diminished head. On either side the rocks rise to a prodigious height,-perhaps to 1500 or 2000 feet, and between these there is room solely for the river and the road along its banks. In some places they appear almost to overhang the stream, and present a most threatening aspect, while here and there, among projecting scars, some fine old pine-trees are seen spreading their branches, and casting their long dark shadows across the lurid cliffs. Several of these majestic precipices are perforated by dismal looking caves, which at first sight have almost the appearance of the work of human hands, but where they are, no human foot was ever placed.

High mountains closed the vale;
Bare rocky mountains, to all living things
Inhospitable; on whose sides no herb
Rooted, no insect fed, no bird awoke

Their echoes, save the cagle strong of wing;
A lonely plunderer that afar
Sought in the vales his prey.

The best time and station, in my opinion, for perceiving the perfect sublimity of this glorious valley, is a little before sun-set, and from the road a short time after passing the bridge at Cluse. A person who has not seen it under these circumstances, has not, properly speaking, seen it at all. From that point of view, all the overhanging mountains seem to mingle with each other, and still to preserve distinctly their own majestic forms; and when the sun is conceived sinking from the heavens, and painting their high summits with ten thousand glorious hues, there is something in the whole scene inexpressibly beautiful, wild, and sublime. I think it is observed by Gilpin, that towards evening the very shape of mountains is altered to the eye. This is a fine remark. The shades of twilight, and the purple of a setting sun, soften whatever is harsh in a prospect, hide all disagreeable irregularities, and may without affectation of the cant of taste, be said to harmonise the whole. According as light or shade falls upon an object, its general situation, size, and distance, seem to vary,-and since at evening light and shade undergo a greater variety than during the day, so must the face of nature at that season. So many circumstances has Providence contrived to make this earth a pleasant dwelling! As the clouds in an evening sky are never two nights exactly similar, the appearance of no scene in nature can ever be two nights exactly the same; and were the mind as accustomed to reflect and to contemplate, as immediately to perceive and enjoy the lovely varieties thus afforded, what a source of happiness would it possess! In the course of a store-house of most fairy images, few years, the memory would be a which the fancy might endlessly com

bine, and the heart silently and unseen enjoy. From Cluse to St Martin our walk was quite magnificent, and far transcends all human praise. We reached the latter village about eight at night.

During this day's walk, N. who upon the whole shews more pluck than most of his countrymen, suffered much from fatigue and tender feet. For some time we had scarcely advanced more than a couple of miles per hour. About sunset, a fair Savoyard, d'un certain âge, passed by on horseback, after the manner usual in Switzerland. After much argument, we induced N. to request a seat behind this lady; so having hailed her, we descanted at some length on the disabled state of the unfortunate foreigner, and finally persuaded her to take him with her as far as St Martin. She owned the soft impeachment, and he being accordingly mounted, "with difficulty and labour hard," the two departed on their way rejoicing. We had not proceeded far, however, after the accomplishment of this humane, though arduous duty, when our eyes were attracted by an unusual spectacle. Either the saddle-girths had given way, or N. with his cherry-stick had tickled the fancy of the Alpine courser, be that as it may, "the twain" were lying in the dust in a most deplorable condition, the "unoffending creature" peacefully grazing by the road-side, while the fair Savoyard was leaning over the exhausted Columbian, exclaiming with clasped hands, and tearful eyes, "O, pauvre Anglois! O, pauvre enfant !" Neither of them could give a very intelligible account of the manner in which the accident had taken place, and fortunately neither of them was a bit the worse of it. After a little supplementary exertion on our part, they were both rehoisted upon the

unconscious beast, and reached their destination in safety, as happy as "before the fall."

I look upon it as the duty of every tourist to give unto Cæsar what is Cæsar's;" in other words, to record faithfully, not only what may have been his own impressions of admiration and of joy, as derived from beautiful or magnificent features in the external aspect of nature, but also to relate, for the benefit of his successors in fatigue and hunger, a little concerning the interior economy of each of the public-houses in which he may have rested from his labours. Be it known then, that the auberge at St Martin (there is only one) is, though unassuming, in every respect excellent, the food of good quality, and prettily cooked, the wines well flavoured, and-she is certainly the prettiest I have seen in Switzerland.V.S. The preceding information is the more necessary in the present instance, because the merits of this excellent establishment not being so generally known as those of Hofwyl, most travellers on their way to Chamounix, cross the Arve near this place, and leaving the main road for a short distance, take up their abode at Sallenche, where the accommodation cannot be better, with the inconvenience of retracing their steps to the high way in the morning. I was very happy at St Martin.

We renewed our journey to Chamounix about eight in the morning, N. being mounted on a mule, with an intelligent Savoyard as a conductor; his name is Jean Riand. The valley of the Arve continued during our whole route as fine as ever. After passing St Martin, it opens considerably, so as to leave room for several pretty cottages and some pasture land between the river and the mountains. Though equally beautiful and majes

tic, yet from this circumstance it is less singularly striking and sublime, than the entrance of the valley at Cluse, where it is so very narrow. I certainly think the scene from the latter village onwards, one of the finest I have ever beheld in any country. Near the village of Chede we left the main road, "if main it may be called, which main is not," and ascended by the side of a small moun tain stream, to have a view of a fine cascade which it forms at the head of the little valley by which it descends to join the Arve. This fall is great in height, though the quantity of water is small. It flows from the Lake of Chede, and descends through a dark cleft in the rocks, which at top are well wooded. After a descent of forty or fifty feet, it is divided by a jutting precipice, which is not only perpendicular, but hangs over several degrees; the fall is then uninterrupted till it reaches a stone basin of great depth, but the height is such, that the water descends almost in the form of vapour, and the two streams appear to be, except under the precipice which divides them, again united into

one.

One of the most striking features of the scenery in this neighbourhood, is the magnificently castellated rock called the Auguille de Varens, which raises its craggy points considerably beyond the height of 7000 feet. Near its base, a large tract of broken ground reminds one of the fall of the Montagne d'Anterne, which gave way in the month of July 1751. Such unfortunate catastrophies are surely not unusual in Switzerland, as I have within these last few weeks had several instances pointed out to me of a similar occurrence. The "desolation and the dreariness" were not nearly so striking among the ruins of this mountain, as in the bouleversemens of the Rossberg, in the valley of Goldau near Schwytz. This latter

place presents a most singular appearance, consisting now of nothing but an enormous inclined mass of debris, that is, huge stones, rocks, and ravines, heaped up and mingled together in a most wild and disorderly manner. It is indeed a desolate place, and nearly destitute of wood, though once bearing on its shoulders many a goodly pine. Some few of these have now extricated themselves, and are contriving to grow with some effect exactly at right angles to their former inclination. This awful dilapidation took place with a most fatal rapidity, every thing being overturned, buried, and destroyed, in the short space of five minutes. "Ceux qui voulent prendre connaissance des resultats terrible de la dernière chute de Montagne, dans la vallée de Goldau, ne sauraient être plus avantageusement placés pour cela qu'à Art, qui n'est qu'à 20 minutes de la limite occidentale de ces bouleversemens. Mais la dernière et la plus terrible de toutes ces catastrophes, c'est celle qui eut lieu en 1806, le 2 Septembre, à 5 h. du soir. Il était tombé pendant l'hiver une énorme quantité de néige, et les mois de juillet et d'août avaient été extraordinairement pluvieux; le 1 et le 2 de Septembre, il avait plusans interruption, et en abondance. Déjà dans la matinée les personnes qui demeuraient dans le voisinage du Gnyhenspitz entendirent du bruit et un eraquement dans la montagne; on aperçut aussi ailleurs en divers endroits d'autres phénomènes singulieres. Enfin à 5 h. du soir les couches de brèche qui s'étendaient entre le Spitzbrzel et la Steinbergerfloue se détachèrent de la montagne et se precipitèrent avec le fracas du tonnerre dans la vallée de Goldau et de Bousinghen, d'ou leurs debris remontèrent le long de la base du Righi. La largeur de ces couches était de 1000 p., leur hauteur de 100 p., et leur lon

The valley of Chamounix is indeed worthy of the glory which it has acquired. Much has been said of the beauty of this famous place, and every person who has seen it, whether he is fond of looking at the beauties of nature or not, speaks of it in terms of the highest admiration and delight. Before coming here I had heard so much about it, that to prevent myself from being disappointed, I always endeavoured to believe that the accounts of travellers were exaggerated. Besides, while wandering through the lonely vallies in the neighbourhood of Schwytz and Altorf, my wishes were so completely gratified by the sublimity of the scenes before me, which were indeed fully equal to my most sanguine expectations, that I prided myself on having seen vallies almost without a name, which I then supposed must be far superior to what the world applauded as the most magnificent work of creation. I reasoned from the circumstance of my having often observed, that those things which have acquired a name "imperdurable among the sons of men," are frequently much inferior to others comparatively unknown and undescribed. But in this instance I have certainly been egregiously mistaken; and may that still spirit which reigns in this vale of solitude, and binds together the icy wreaths which encircle its gigantic summits, forgive me for so lame and impotent a conclusion,

"The Spirit who bideth by himself In the land of mist and snow.”

The whim of fashion has for once chosen a subject worthy of the admiration and reverence of all living beings. It is in fact a sublime region, and presents such a variety of views, that the mind would never be tired of contemplating it morning or evening. The great superiority, indeed, of real scenes over representations of them, consists in their holding out to the eye a variety of prospect, part of which only can be seized by the artist. This observation must occur to every one who has wandered along the valley of Chamounix with very peculiar force, for the surrounding rocks and mountains are so situated, that every step one takes, a new scene presents itself,-just so much of the former one remains as to satisfy us that it is the same, and so much is added or taken away, that at first we are apt to believe for a time that we have been transported into another region of the world. One lordly mountain indeed remains immutably the same,

Whose head in wintry grandeur towers
And whitens with eternal sleet,
While summer in a vale of flowers
Lies sleeping rosy at his feet.

And well may it be called the "Sovereign Blanc." It is a singular circumstance in the history of this valley, that it remained entirely unknown to the rest of Europe as late as the year 1741, when it was visited by the celebrated Pocock in company with an English gentleman of the name of Windham. Since that period, the excellent work of Bourrit, and more lately that of Saussure, have contributed to render it one of the most favourite resorts of travellers from all parts of the world.