Near the summits of these mountains, and in the highest region of vegetation, is found the gennipi, a plant of the camomile genus, and which, next to the sang du bouquetin, or wild goat (which, as an inhabitant of these places, though now a very rare one, is worthy of mention), is the most powerful sudorific, and of high estimation in the treatment of pleurisy.

We cannot too much admire the boldness and skill with which this extraordinary work has been achieved in such a country, and one knows not in what age. The marvellous histories believed concerning it by the credulous peasantry are scarcely to be wondered at. Suffice it to say, that its dimensions are a single arch of twenty-four feet in the span, fourteen wide, and seventy-two above the surface of the stream; but in this circumstance alone (considered without reference to the wild sublimity of the surrounding scenery), there is nothing extraordinary to English eyes, who may view the whole width of the Thames at London embraced by three arches of such stupendous dimensions.

Upon the plain of Mont Cenis are found large masses of the gypsum, or alabaster, from which the plaster of Paris is made. The more sheltered parts are bright with the flowers of the rhododendron ferrugineum, which I have in another part of my work described. Quantities of the beautiful little blue butterfly, called the argus, are seen here, and (though not so common) that fine fly, named l'Apollon des Alpes. Besides the great wild goat (le bouquetin), there are in these mountains the chamois, with the marmottes, which require bold and active chasseurs to be got at: they are shot by single ball. The whistling sort of cry of the marmotte resembles that of some birds of prey. It is the signal they give upon being alarmed. When fat, they are considered as rather delicate food. We saw one unfortunate little animal of this species in a tame state, belonging to a peasant boy, who had taught it to shoulder a stick like a firelock, and to twirl itself about in a manner difficult to describe, that he called dancing. He sung at the same time, to animate the poor creature's reluctant exertions, a little patois song, in which the words dansez a madama were frequently repeated. The tune haunted me for some time afterwards, and was really not inharmonious.

There is something awfully striking in the sudden devastation occasioned by the summer storms, too frequent in these climates. In the same garden where at noon you had been walking under the shade of pergolas (i. e. latticed frames of wood, the roofs of which were fretted with innumerable and rich clusters of grapes) surrounded by fig and peach trees full of fruit, you would often find in the evening the whole ground strewed with broken branches, their fruit quite crushed, and hardly a leaf left upon them.

We were induced, by the opinion of several persons to whom we related this indisposition, to believe that it was most probably brought on by the sudden transition from the intense heat of the shores of the Lago Maggiore to the equally intolerable cold of the Simplon. Mr. B. was not provided with that additional clothing which might have obviated the ill effects of the latter. The complaint, however, went off very quickly in the subsequent health-inspiring air of Switzerland.

Before Bonaparte formed his magnificent passage across the Simplon, one of the principal roads from Switzerland into Italy lay over this grand mountain. Our line of road did not permit us to visit it, which we much regretted. It was always highly interesting, from the histories, both ancient and modern, which belong to it. By this route it is supposed that Hannibal led his army over the Alps; not by softening the rocks with vinegar, but by refreshing his fatigued troops by a mixture of it with water. He is said also to have founded here a splendid temple, dedicated to Jupiter. It is certain that several remains of antiquity, medals, inscriptions, sacrificial instruments, &c. have been found here, and are preserved in the museum at Turin. That the modern Hannibal, with or without vinegar, led his army over the St. Bernard, we too well know. Of the baths of LoËsche, in the Upper Valais, we also heard much; but of these, as well as the Grand St. Bernard, I can only speak from the description of others. Notwithstanding the difficult roads which lead to the baths, they are much frequented, and are, we were told, justly celebrated for their salutary effects. It must be truly curious to see water too hot to bear the hand in, of the temperature of 43 degrees of Reaumur (boiling water being 80), springing from the earth in the midst of this icy country; a phenomenon, however, with which those travellers who have frequented still colder parts of the world are perfectly well acquainted. This water has the peculiar quality of restoring faded flowers to life and freshness, and of preserving them so for some time, when one would rather imagine that it would boil them. I do not here mean to offer a poetical allusion to female beauty, but merely to relate a literal fact. The mode of bathing is too singular not to mention, although I cannot say much of its delicacy. There are four square open divisions, in which twenty or thirty persons of both sexes (attired, as properly as may be, in flannel dresses) bathe all together. They sit very comfortably for half an hour, with a small desk before each, upon which they have their books, and little planks are seen floating on the water, full of holes, in which fragrant flowers and branches of verdure are inserted.

There are several of the same name in Switzerland; but this, I believe, is reckoned the most remarkable. In the neighbourhood of these mountains, one sees with pleasure the industry of man repaid by considerable fertility. The cottages are comfortable, and surrounded with orchards of various fruit-trees. The natural and ungrafted cherry, called mÉrise, is much cultivated in these parts. It is from this fruit that the famed kirschenwasser, or cherry-water, is made, and which is not only an agreeable cordial, but a valuable medicine among the peasantry, subsisting, as they do, so much upon a crude and milky diet, not easy of digestion. It was offered to Mr. B. during his illness, by a rustic host, with strong commendations.

The height of these glaciers, at their utmost point, is 9268 feet above the level of the sea. Voltaire might well say,

But there is another point of view in which the natural philosopher will contemplate these stupendous mountains with admiration and gratitude: I mean as being the immense and inexhaustible reservoirs of those springs and rivers which make so essential a part in the beautiful and beneficial economy of nature. In these particular regions will be found the sources of the Rhone, the Rhine, and the Tessin, with a multitude of other rivers; and some idea of the enormous quantity of water that they produce may be formed from the known fact, that the magnificent lake of Geneva (measuring above twenty-six square leagues) is raised ten feet and a half, by the mere melting of the snows during the summer. Strawberries of the finest flavour may be gathered almost at the very edge of the ice, and the adjoining woods are full of wild flowers.

It has been thought by some, that it is not so much from the poverty of the state as from a moral policy that the exploration of these dangerous productions has been purposely discouraged. This is the nobler reason of the two. Haller (the favourite poet of the Swiss) in his poem on the Alps, exclaims, "The shepherd of the Alps sees these treasures flow beneath his feet—what an example to mankind! he lets them flow on." And he feels a security in the rude simplicity of his country, that holds out nothing to tempt the invasion of avarice or ambition—

Among other interesting objects to be seen here are the cabinets of natural history of Monsieur de Saussure, so well known for his scientific and enterprising researches, and of Monsieur de Luc. Petrifactions of the oursis, or sea hedgehog, and of the corni d'ammon, are preserved in this collection, which were found in the Alps of Savoy, 7844 feet above the level of the sea.

It will not, I am sure, be unacceptable to the reader if I here transcribe part of the beautiful description to which I have alluded. Speaking (in Letter 23) of the exhilarating but soothing effect of the mountain air, he says—"Il semble qu'en s'elevant au-dessÛs du sejour des hommes, on y laisse tous les sentimens bas et terrestres; et qu'À mesure qu'on approche des regions ethereÉs, l'ame contracte quelque chose de leur inalterable puretÉ: on y est grave sans melancholie, paisible sans indolence, content d'Être et de penser. Les plaisirs y sont moins ardens, les passions plus modereÉs. Tous les desirs trop vifs, s'emoussent; ils perdent cette point aigue qui les rendent douloureux; il ne laissent au fond du coeur qu'une emotion legÈre et douce, et c'est ainsi qu'un heureux climat, fait servir À la felicitÉ de l'homme, les passions qui font ailleurs son tourment." Without being so unfortunate as to possess Rousseau's irritable temper and fiery passions, any person of sensibility must be forcibly struck by the truth of these remarks, in passing through the same scenes.

This lake in severe winters freezes sufficiently to bear the heaviest loads. There is a popular and vulgar idea in the country, that whoever falls into this lake can no more be recovered; but another quality attached to it (of rather superior probability) is, that its fish are of so excellent a nature, as to sell, in time of Lent, at two creutzers a pound dearer than those of any other. One cannot see without surprise, and even a degree of indignant concern, that the ancient chapel, containing the bones of the Bourguignons, slain by the Swiss (then the allies of Louis XI.) in 1476, should be no longer in existence. These remains of mortality were, when we beheld them, thrown upon the ground, totally unsheltered from the air, in a most careless and irreverent manner. Formerly (I have heard) the inhabitants of Morat used to celebrate the anniversary of this national triumph with feast and song. Voltaire, in his "MÉlange de Poesies," alludes to this triumph of liberty in some truly elevated lines.

This is the cleft fir of which the cottages here are constructed. They have galleries running round the outsides, protected by the projecting roofs. Sometimes thatch is used; but in the more mountainous parts of the country they are tiled (if I may be allowed the expression) with pieces of slit wood, which are kept firm by the weight of large stones lying upon them: the whole having a most picturesque appearance. The wide projection of these roofs not only secures their galleries from the snows, but affords convenient shelter for their fire-wood and various other articles. A granary is sometimes built over the dwelling-rooms at the top of these houses, which is rendered attainable by means of a sort of bridge (moveable, I rather think), upon which we ourselves witnessed the singular spectacle of a cart and horses conveying a load of grain to this exalted store-chamber. These wooden fabrics, although one would not suppose so, are warmer than those of brick or stone; but then, in case of fire, its ravage is dreadful, from the quantity of turpentine contained in the fir planks.

The Alps of Switzerland are certainly the highest points of Europe. But however elevated these mountains may be, and removed as they now are, a hundred leagues from the sea, there can be no doubt of their having once been covered by its waters. This is clearly demonstrated by the fossile maritime remains which are found in some of their highest parts, as well as by those of shells, fishes, and animals, now only existing in other quarters of the globe. What astonishing changes the surface of our earth has undergone in periods anterior to the Mosaic history, may be contemplated from the circumstance of the petrified trunk of the palm-tree, and the bones of elephants, being found in Siberia.

Although the limited time for our tour did not permit us to visit either the Lac de Thoun, or the village of Kussnacht, both of them consecrated in the eyes of the Swiss, by the chapels built there in memory of Guillaume Tell, travellers must not leave Switzerland without some mention of this renowned patriot. It was at the latter place that the tyrant Ghessler fell by his hand. There is (we were told) a tolerably painted representation of the occurrence on the walls of the chapel, and under it the following inscription in German verse, the French translation of which is this:

"Ici a etÉ tuÉ par Tell, l'orgueilleux Ghessler. Ici est le berceau de la noble libertÉ des Suisses, 1307. Combien durer t'elle? Encore long tems, pourvu que nous ressemblions À nos ancÊtres."

This is the rhododendron ferrugineum, which is not much cultivated in our gardens.

What a stupendous conception must the reader form to himself of this range of mountains, when I tell him, that the ascent and descent make together forty-two miles.

Near Soleure is the hermitage of St. FrÊne. No traveller, I am assured, should miss seeing this beautiful and romantic spot. That we unfortunately did so was owing only to our not having been previously aware of its existence.

I ought (in justice) to have recollected, when I exclaimed so much against them, that in forming these roads, convenience, not taste, was consulted. No one can be more grateful to the powers of convenience than myself; but it is difficult to reconcile a lover of the picturesque to so cruel a divorce between the utile et dolce.