going into Italy, or in returning from it, thus gaining a direct conveyance between Geneva and Milan. Considered as a work of art, the Simplon road probably exceeds all the others, in the neatness and architectural finish of its parapets and bridges; and it is exceeded by none in the magnitude of the difficulties overcome by the French and Italian engineers employed in its construction. The great gallery near Gondo is 596 feet long, and is cut through solid granite. Its southern extremity, where a bridge crosses the waterfall of Frassinone, at the entrance of an impassable gorge, is almost unequalled in picturesque and imposing effect. The gallery has lateral openings to admit the light, opposite to one of which the following inscription is cut in the rock-ÆRE ITALO 1805. The part of the road which is on the Swiss side of the Simplon, was completed by French engineers; but the southern half, which is by far the most difficult, was executed by Italian artificers, under the Chevalier Fabbroni, at the expense of the Italian States. The valley through which this road passes, extending through the Canton of Valais to the Pays de Vaud, is enclosed by a rampart of the highest mountains in Europe, having the peaks of Piedmont on one side, and the Bernese Alps on the other, some of which rise more than 10,000 feet above it. It has been considered as the deepest valley in the known world. Aware of this circumstance, the traveller receives from the scenery around him, impressions of sublimity, such as belong only to the presence of natural objects, which are known to be unequalled in their kind. Beyond the immediate effect on the senses, there is a deep and commanding interest, a pervading solemnity, which call on us to pay homage, to what has never been outdone. But in this valley the beautiful also mingles with the sublime, and the solitudes which shelter in its infant growth, one of the most rapid and turbulent of rivers, have gathered round it the elements of fitness, which convey to the mind ideas of a recess and sanctuary of nature. " 'Tis lone, And wonderful and deep, and hath a sound And sense and sight of sweetness. Here the Rhone Hath spread himself a couch-the Alps have reared a throne." The pass of Mount Cenis, already mentioned, and that of Mount Genévre, made by Napoleon between Grenoble and Turin, are carriage roads, possessing features of the same general kind with those which have been described. But the Cornice, or Mediterranean road, is essentially different from the rest, being not so much a pass of the Alps, as it is a passage by which the Alps are avoided. It is true that the Maritime Alps here come down to the sea so abruptly, as to leave no room for a level passage between the mountains and the water. Nevertheless an excellent road is now constructed, which no where rises to a great height, and by which invalids travel to Nice and to Italy, at all seasons of the year. The Mediterranean way was known to the ancients, and it was by this pass that Julius Cæsar penetrated into Italy when about to engage in his contest with Pompey. This road presents, from many of its eminences, splendid views of the sea beneath, while, on the other hand, it is distinctly seen along the coast, from the steam boats, which ply between Marseilles and Genoa. It will be observed that the roads which have been made practicable for carriages, are principally large thoroughfares, by which intercourse is carried on between Italy and the adjacent states. But a vast number of mountain passes, in less frequented directions, are still travelled only by pedestrians and mules; or in some cases by a low, narrow carriage, called a char à banc. Of this kind are the various avenues to the vale of Chamouni, the fearful pass of Gemmi near the baths of Lenk, the defiles of the Grimsel and Gries which approach the sources of the Rhone, the various paths by which the Oberland is traversed, numerous tracks which lead up the sides of mountains, among which should not be forgotten the Wingernalp, beautifully described by Simond, from which the traveller in midsummer, witnesses in safety the hourly fall of avalanches from the opposite side of the Jungfran. The passes of the Great and Little St. Bernard are interesting from their proximity to Mont Blanc, lying on opposite sides of it; also from their scenery and historical associations. The former is well known for the Hospice, situated near its summit, inhabited by a benevolent order of monks, whose business is to rescue and relieve distressed travellers. It may seem singular that neither of these long and well known passages has yet been made the site of a carriage road. But the king of Sardinia has shown himself less fond of public improvements of this kind, than his more communicative neighbours. A controversy has been agitated with some zeal, in regard to the particular pass by which Hannibal crossed the Alps with his Carthaginian army. Different speculators, who have endeavoured to trace his track, by the histories of Livy and Polybius, have assigned the Monte Viso, the Genévre, and the Mont Cenis, as corresponding in their situation and character to the route he is said to have pursued, In a work entitled " A Dissertation on the Passage of Hannibal over the Alps, by a member of the University of Oxford," the author, after an elaborate investigation of the subject, decides on the Little St. Bernard, as the true route of the Carthaginian army. Hannibal, it seems, on his arrival from Spain, crossed the Rhone, probably somewhere near Avignon, and ascended that river above its confluence with the Isaure. He afterwards passed eastwardly towards the mountains, encountering the Allobroges and other warlike tribes on the way. It is to be regretted that the names of places are not marked with sufficient distinctness by Polybius, the historian, who is chiefly relied on in this matter. We ought not to quit the subject of the Alps, without pausing long enough to pay due homage to the modern exploit, which has been repeatedly performed, of ascending some of the high mountains, and particularly Mont Blanc, to the summit. This journey has now been achieved by about a score of individuals, of whom a great part are English, and whose names may be seen posted at some of the inns on the road to Chamouni. The enterprise is one of great danger and hardship, and since the small scientific harvest, which it affords, has been reaped to the gleanings, by De Saussure, the only reward, which the adventurer now obtains is the satisfaction of breathing "the cold, thin atmosphere," of the highest point in Europe, at the expense of inflamed eyes and frozen extremities, the result of successive nights passed upon icy rocks, or snows, in a highly rarified air. De Saussure's narrative is familiar to scientific readers. With the inhabitants of the Alpine country, with Savoyards, Swiss, and Tyrolese, the book-reading, as well as the song-singing, portions of the community, are already well acquainted. Their simple, hardy, and adventurous character, and frugal mode of life, have many charms for distant ears; and the inflexible spirit with which they have maintained their independence, is deserving of all praise. The work which stands at the head of this article, comprises a magnificent assemblage of engraved views of Alpine scenery, accompanied by a text agreeably written, and evincing historical knowledge and a talent for discriminating observation. It is, taken altogether, one of the most splendid works that has issued from the press, in illustration of the most romantic country in Europe. ART. XIII.-Beauties of the Country; or, Descriptions of Rural Customs, Objects, Scenery, and the Seasons. By THOMAS MILLER. Author of "A Day in the Woods." London: Van Voorst. 1837. THE most superficial reader could not fail of forming a just opinion regarding the promise which the author of "A Day in the Woods" gave in that charming and unpretending work. The tenderness, and the freshness of poetic feeling that flowed and gushed throughout that production, manifestly came from a copious fountain, whose streams had not yet disclosed that sweeping breadth and crystal purity which they are capable of exhibiting. The volume now before us is a fulfilment of much of the promise alluded to. There are here more various tokens of power, of sound taste, and anxious culture, than the former book evinced; and yet there seems to be more of nature in the performance, as if the author trusted more confidently to himself, and thought less of being fine than of being forcible. The title of the work points to a subject, that has been often treated upon a similar plan; and yet so abundant and pleasing are the topics which the Country furnishes, in the course of a twelvemonths' history, both for description and the disportings of the imagination, that no number of writers can ever exhaust the charming materials belonging to the theme, provided each has been a patient and earnest wanderer amongst its ever-changing scenery, and provided each be faithful to his own experience and individual suggestions. Now, Mr. Miller is one of the best informed and enthusiastic observers of the Country that we have ever met with. We presume that in pursuing his laborious trade of basket-making he has often, and at all seasons of the year, had occasion to traverse the provinces far and near. Accordingly he has become acquainted with not only everything that is beautiful in rural scenery, but everything that is engaging in rural life. He not only describes the most characteristic appearances for every month in the year, which fall within the limits of botany and natural history, without, however, their technicalities, but whatever is poetical in life. Rural sports, customs, and superstitions, are thus made subservient to the main design of the work. Many an English village has been ransacked for this purpose and while whatever that is most interesting to the imagination is brought before the reader, which such subjects can offer, a great deal of useful knowledge is communicated. The book is therefore made the vehicle of much sound morality and religious feeling, which the benevolent character of the author renders doubly attractive. Although much of the volume consists of extracts, both in verse and prose, from the best writers who have preceded him in his peculiar line, yet these are so skilfully disposed, and set in such a becoming framework of original matter, that it may be said, all that is really good, whether belonging to the author's stores, or to others, is here to be found; showing a deep and familiar acquaintance with the finest pastoral poets and choicest spirits who have luxuriated among rural scenes. After an introductory poem, which chaunts the Beauties of the Country, and a chapter descriptive of the pleasures and benefits of a life there spent, each month of the year, beginning with January, has an appropriate chapter. And to give the volume a more exquisite aspect, it is beautifully illustrated by engravings after the pencil of Mr. Edward Lambert. In reviewing a work like the present, little else is required, after a short account of its plan, than to cite a few passages, to show how the author has observed nature and rural life, and to what good purpose he has turned the things described, as matter for touching reflections. In January, take Snow for a theme. "The snow is also very beautiful when it has first fallen. Many of our poets have had recourse to the snow-flake for images of innocence and purity; nor do I know a fitter emblem than a falling flake, ere it receives the stain of earth. There are but few things with which we can compare snow. The Psalmist says, 'He giveth the snow like wool; he scattereth the hoar-frost like ashes. Wash me and I shall be whiter than snow.' It is usual to say, 'as pale as death.' Byron has written, her eyes were black as death.' Thomson thus beautifully describes the appearance of a heavy fall of snow :— 'All on a sudden now the cherish'd fields Put on their winter robe of purest white. "Tis brightness all, save where the new snow melts Bow their hoar heads; and here the languid Sun Is one wild dazzling waste, that buries wide "How beautiful appears the sky at this season in frosty weather! the full round moon lighting the whitened earth, glancing upon tree and turret, mountain and river, in which the glittering stars are mirrored. We gaze upon them and think of the bygone days when our forefathers ploughed the wide waste of waters without compass or chart, guided by the stars alone. The shepherd-boy gazes upward as he returns from foddering his cattle, and thinks of the daisies of summer scattered, like them, upon the green earth. Our attention is arrested by their beauty; we see their dazzling silver twinkling in the deep blue of midnight, and wonder what they are. Oh! they may be worlds peopled like ours, with valleys flowerbordered, and greenwoods waving under sunny skies. Or are they the abodes of blessed spirits-beings who have passed through this vale of tears, and are now placed in those starry dwellings, far from care and sorrow? 'Tis midnight! on the mountains brown And mix with their eternal ray y!' So sang Byron; and we think of those hours when care sat heavily upon the heart-when we wandered abroad in such a scene, amid the stillness of the hills, by the dreaming forest, and called death soft names in many a |