places, when the volcano vomits fire from its entrails, and covers the earth with darkness. A philosophical reflection may here be made, which excites our pity for the sad state of human affairs. What is it, in fact, but the famous revolutions of Empires, combined with the convulsions of nature, that changes the face of the earth and the ocean? A happy circumstance would it at least be, if men would not employ themselves in rendering each other miserable, during the short time that they are allowed to dwell together. Vesuvius has not once opened its abyss to swallow up cities, without its fury surprising mankind in the midst of blood and tears. What are the first signs of civilization and improved humanity, which have been found, during our days, under the lava of the volcano? Instruments of punishment and skeletons in chains !* Times alter, and human destinies are liable to the same inconstancy. "Life," says a Greek song, is like the wheels of a chariot." Trochos armatos gar oia Pliny lost his life from a wish to contemplate, at a distance, the volcano, in the centre of which I was now tranquilly seated. I saw the abyss smoking round me. I reflected that a few fathoms below me was a gulph of fire. I reflected that the volcano might at once disgorge its entrails, and launch me into the air with all the rocky fragments by which I was surrounded. What Providence conducted me hither? By what chance did the tempests of the American ocean cast me on the plains of Lavinia? “ Lavinaque venit littora." I cannot refrain from returning to the agitations of this * At Pompeia. 1 life, in which St. Augustine says that things are full of misery, and hope devoid of happiness. Rem plenam miseria, spem beatitudinis inanem. Born on the rocks of America, the first sound, which struck my ear on entering the world, was that of the sea, and on how many shores have I seen the same waves break, that find me here again! Who would have told me, a few years ago, that I should hear these wanderers moaning at the tombs of Scipio and Virgil, after they had rolled at my feet on the costs of England, or the strand of Canada? My name is in the hut of the savage of Florida, and in the hermit's book at Vesuvius. When shall I lay down, at the gate of my fathers, the pilgrim's staff and mantle ? "O patria! O Divum domus Ilium! How do I envy the lot of those, who never quitted their native land, and have no adventures to record! 49 A VISIT TO MONT BLANC. I HAVE seen many mountains in Europe and A. merica, and it has always appeared to me that in describing these monuments of nature, writers have gone beyond the truth. My last experience in this respect has not produced any change in my opinion. I have visited the valley of Chamouni, rendered famous by the labours of M. de Saussure; but I do not know whether the poet would there find the "speciosa deserti" which the mineralogist discovered. Be that as it may, I will simply describe the reflections, which I made during my journey. My opinion, however, is of so little consequence that it cannot offend any one. I left Geneva in dull cloudy weather, and reached Servoz at the moment that the sky was becoming clear. The crest of Mont Blanc, as it is termed, is not discoverable from this part of the country, but there is a distinct view of the snow-clad ridge called the dome. The Montées are here passed, and the traveller enters the valley of Chamouni. He proceeds under the glacier of the Bossons, the pyramids of which are seen through the firs and larches. M. Bourrit has compared this glacier, from its whiteness, and the great extent of its chrystals, to a fleet under sail. I would add in the midst of a gulph encircled with verdant forests. G I stopped at the village of Chamouni, and on the following day went to Montanvert, which I ascended in the finest weather. On reaching its summit, which is only a stage towards the top of Mont Blanc, I discovered what is improperly termed the Sea of Ice. Let the Reader figure to himself a valley, the whole of which is occupied by a river. The mountains, near this valley, overhang the river in rocky masses, forming the natural spires of Dru, Bochard, and Charmoz. Further on, the valley and river divide themselves into two branches, of which the one waters the foot of a high mountain, called the Col du Geant or Giant's hill, and the other flows past the rocks called Iorasses. On the opposite side is a declivity, which commands a prospect of the valley of Chamouni. This declivity, which is nearly vertical, is almost entirely occupied by the portion of the sea or lake of ice, which is called the glacier des bois. Suppose then that a severe winter has occurred. The river, which fills the valley, through all its inflexions and declivities, has been frozen to the very bottom of its bed. The summits of the neighbouring mountains are loaded with ice and snow wherever the granite has been of a form sufficiently horizontal to retain the congealed waters. Such is the lake of ice, and such its situation. It is manifest that it is not a sea, and not a lake, but a river; just as if one saw the Rhine completely frozen. When we have descended to the lake of ice, the surface, which appeared to be smooth and entire while surveyed from the heights of Montanvert, displays a number of points and cavities. The peaks of ice resemble the craggy forms of the lofty cliffs, which on all sides overhang them. They are like a relief in white marble to the neighbouring mountains. Let us now speak of mountains in general. There are two modes of seeing them, with and without clouds. These form the principal character of the Alps. When clouded, the scene is more animated, but it is obscure, and often so confused that one can hardly distinguish its features. The clouds clothe the rocks in a thousand ways. I have seen a bald crag at Servoz, across which a cloud obliquely passed like the ancient toga, and I could have fancied I beheld a colossal statue of a Roman. In another quarter the cultivated parts of the mountain appeared; but a barrier of vapour obstructed the view from my station, and below it black continuations of the rocks peeped through, imitating the Chimera, the Sphinx, the heads of the Anubis, and various forms of monsters and gods, worshipped by the Egyp tians. When the clouds are dispersed by the wind, the mountains appear to be rapidly flying behind this light curtain, alternately hiding and discovering themselves. At one time, a spot of verdure suddenly displayed itself through the opening of a cloud, like an island suspended in the Heavens; at another a rock slowly disrobed itself, and gradually pierced through the dense vapour like a phantom. On such an occasion, the melancholy traveller hears only the rustling of the wind among the pines, and the roaring of the torrents which fall into the glaciers, mingled at intervals with the loud fall of an avalanche,* and sometimes the whistle of the affrighted marmot, which has seen the hawk of the Alps sailing in the air. When the sky is without clouds, and the amphitheatre of the mountains entirely displayed to view, one circumstance is particularly deserving of notice. The summits of the mountains, as they tower into the lofty regions, present to the eye a purity of delineation, a neatness of plan * The sudden descent of an enormous mass of snow from the mountain into the valley. |