of granite, such as no human enginery could heave, of gravel formed by the grinding up of smaller rocks, scent of the glacier. And where in some narrower whole force of the travelling ice has been applied to side of the valley, it has ploughed it out and excavat fearful manner. The materials thus collected are thro piled together, with no other order, than a general rect rection; and in order to reach and traverse the sea the way to the Jardin Vert, which travellers occasional is necessary to climb over this wall of desolation. M was prevented from ascending the Montanvert, which never to be forgotten by the traveller, who may chan it at midnight, by the full moon shedding its quiet the cold and desolate summits of the surrounding nee the wild and terrific waves and dreary ridges of the ice, while nothing is heard but the tinkling of the from a few droves, that pass the summer on this alm cessible elevation, and the solemn roaring of the Arve gushes from beneath, from the lower extremity of the

Mr Simond takes occasion of a visit made from Swi to Lyons to describe this latter city, of which he ap be himself a native; as he informs us that his father on the ramparts, the day before the surrender of Ly that a brother belonged to the devoted troop, that, un Count de Precy, cut its way through the besieging arr morning of the surrender. Returned to Geneva, a co ble portion of the volume is devoted by our author to count of this city;-an account remarkably judicio instructive in itself, but protracted perhaps beyond the due to a single city. One sentence in this part of th conveys, in expressive words, an image of what it is worth a voyage to Geneva to behold. The Rhon brighter blue than the heavens, and perfectly trans darts through the town with a swiftness, which the ey scarcely dwell upon.' If instead of the ordinary bridg the mills which disfigure this most enchanting spot, bridge as that of the Trinity at Florence were thrown the outlet of the lake of Geneva, it would certainly b most beautiful sight in Europe.

To illustrate the excellence of female education in Ge our author gives us the following striking anecdote. "I Candole, professor of botany, at Geneva, but whose repu

is European, made use, in a course of lectures of a very valuable collection of drawings of American plants, entrusted to him by a celebrated Spanish botanist, Mr Mosino, who having occasion for this collection sooner than was expected, sent for it back again. Mr de C. having communicated the circumstance to his audience, with the expression of his regrets, some ladies who attended the lectures offered to copy, with the aid of their friends, the whole collection in a week, and the task was actually performed. The drawings, eight hundred and sixty in number, and filling thirteen folio volumes, were executed by one hundred and fourteen female artists. One indeed of the ladies alone did forty of them. In most cases the principal parts only of each plant are colored, the rest only traced with accuracy; the execution in general very good, and in some instances quite masterly. There is not perhaps another town of twenty-three thousand souls, where such a number of female artists, the greatest part of them of course amateurs, could be found. Notwithstanding the wide dispersion of the drawings, there were not any lost, and one of them having been accidentally dropped in the street, and picked up by a girl ten years old, was returned to Mr de Candole, copied by the child, and is no disparagement to the collection. On another occasion several drawings were carried to a wrong house, but there too they found artists able and willing to do their part. This taste for the arts and for knowledge in general, is universal. I noticed a very good drawing at a watch maker's: that is my sister's, said the man. Old Spon [Histoire de la ville de Geneve] lay on the table: his wife was reading it.'

Mr Simond gives a very interesting account of the inundation in the Val de Bagne, in the year 1818, occasioned by the bursting out of a lake formed by the accumulation of the Dranse, behind a barrier of ice. A still more detailed account, however, of the same catastrophe, translated from one of the numbers of the Alpen Rosen, was published last year in a newspaper in Boston, and we forbear to repeat it.

6

The following anecdote is much to the credit and good sense of the present emperor of Austria. Joseph,' says Mr Simond, 'when in Switzerland shewed much ill humor and an old grudge of five hundred years, against the unfranchised vassals of his family. But the present emperor, on a similar occasion, behaved very differently. "Vraiment (he observed at the sight of the

in England, they begged of my friend to let them hear a few words in English, just to know the sound, to which they were strangers. If we are to judge of the respective merits of these opposite manners, by the impression they leave, I think the question is already decided by the English against themselves. Yet at the same time that they blame and deride their own proud reserve, and would depart from it if they well knew how, a few only venture. I really believe they are the best bred who thus allow themselves to be good humoured and vulgar.'

Mr Simond saw at Constance the hall, where the famous council sat, and repeats the mournful history of Huss. His reflections on the escape of the French regicides to Constance, are singularly impressive. Our guide,' says he, 'smiled again, when I asked him whether many of the French regicides had not taken shelter at Constance. Yes, he answered, twenty-four of them: The old fellows are seen strolling together in the sun : nobody minds them now. What, so soon, the men who could pass sentence of death on the king of France, and send him and soon after send daily hundreds of their fellow citizens to the guillotine! Those men of the convention, that made all Europe tremble, and whose troops laid this very town of Constance under contribution, are already so completely out-of date as to be deemed old fellows of no consequence! And a simple man can now smile in contempt at proceedings so serious twentyfive years ago! This assuredly is a great and happy change! Walking further, our guide said, "that fine house yonder," pointing to the other side of the Rhine, "belonged to queen Hortense," and he smiled at the name of queen Hortense. Another dream vanished, thought we, or fashion gone bye. "But," added he, "she was a good lady, very charitable to the poor," and saying this he did not smile. May it be then-we trust it is that there is, after all, nothing serious in the world, but those eternal principles of morality and religion to which men cling in sober moments, and to which they return after many criminal deviations; that there is no real greatness even in this world, but in a firm adherence to those principles; no durable admiration among men without esteem, and that even the lower part of mankind come at last to set the right value on the advantages this world affords, and distinguish between truth and falsehood.'

Mr Simond conducts us by a very interesting route, illustrating his progress by geological and historical remarks, by

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economical and political observations and anecdotes from the recent military history of the times, into the heart of Switzerland. His description of the catastrophe of Goldau is remarkably good. This calamitous event is well known to our readers, from the fine description of it by Mr Buckminster, contained in a letter written from the spot but three weeks after the occurrence of the fatal disaster, and since published in the volume of his sermons. 'The summer of 1806,' says Mr

er.

Simond, had been very rainy, and on the first and second of September it rained incessantly. New crevices were observed in the flank of the mountain, a sort of cracking noise was heard internally, stones started out of the ground, and detached fragments of rock rolled down the mountain. At two o'clock in the afternoon of the second of September, a large rock became loose, and in falling raised a cloud of black dust. Toward the lower part of the mountain, the ground seemed pressed down from above, and when a stick or spade was driven in, it moved of itself. A man, who had been digging in his garden, ran away from fright at these extraordinary appearances. Soon a fissure larger than all the others was observed; insensibly it increased; springs of water ceased all at once to flow; the pine trees of the forest absolutely reeled; birds flew away screaming. A few minutes before five o'clock, the symptoms of some mighty catastrophe became still strongThe whole surface of the mountain seemed to glide down, but so slowly as to afford time to the inhabitants to escape. An old man, who had often predicted some such disaster, was quietly smoking his pipe when told by a young man running by, that the mountain was in the act of falling. He rose and looked out, but came into his house again, saying he had time for another pipe. The young man continuing to fly, was thrown down several times, and escaped with difficulty. Looking back, he saw the house carried off all at once. inhabitant being alarmed took two of his children and ran away Another with them, calling to his wife to follow with the third. But she went in for another, who still remained-Marianne, aged five. Just then Francisca Ulrich, their servant, was crossing the room with this Marianne, whom she held by the hand, and saw her mistress. "At that instant," as Francisca afterwards said, "the house (which was of wood) appeared to be torn from its foundation, and spun round and round like a tetotum. I was sometimes on my head and sometimes on my feet, and

violently separated from the child." When the motion stopped, she found herself jammed in on all sides, with her head downwards, much bruised and in extreme pain. She supposed she was buried alive, at great depth. With much difficulty, she disengaged her right hand and wiped the blood from her eyes. Presently she heard the faint moans of Marianne, and called to her by her name. The child answered that she was on her back among stones and bushes, which held her fast, but that her hands were free, and that she saw the light and even something green. She asked whether people would not soon come and take them out. Francisca answered that it was the day of judgment, and that no one was left to help them, but that they would be released by death, and would be happy in heaven. They prayed together. At last Francisca's ear was struck by the sound of a bell, which she knew to be that of Steinenberg. Then seven o'clock struck in another village, and she began to hope there were still living beings, and endeavored to comfort the child. The poor little girl was at first clamorous for her supper; but her cries soon became fainter, and at last quite died away. Francisca, still with her head downward, and surrounded with damp earth, experienced a sense of cold in her feet almost insupportable. After prodigious efforts she succeeded in disengaging her legs, and thinks this saved her life. Many hours had passed in this situation, when she again heard the voice of Marianne, who had been asleep, and now renewed her lamentations. In the mean time, the unfortunate father, who with much difficulty had saved himself and two children, wandered about till day light, when he came among the ruins, to look for the rest of his family. He soon discovered his wife by a foot, which appeared above ground; she was dead, with a child in her arms. His cries, and the noise he made in digging, were heard by Marianne, who called out. She was extricated with a broken thigh, and saying that Francisca was not far off, a further search led to her release also, but in such a state that her life was despaired of. She was blind for some days, and remained subject to convulsive fits of terror. It appeared that the house, (or themselves at least,) had been carried down about one thousand five hundred feet from where it stood before.' Several other interesting anecdotes are related by Mr Simond of this catastrophe, but our limits will not permit us to quote them.