midst of their followers. But the procession includes a singular mixture of scriptural characters along with these heathen bacchanals. Thus, Silenus riding on his ass is followed by Noah in his ark, and Pomona is succeeded by the spies from Canaan, bearing between them the bunch of grapes. A vine-press and a forge at work are also exhibited, drawn by five horses. On other days of the fête (for it lasts for several), the spectators are entertained with the native dances and songs of Switzerland, performed by the herdsmen and shepherdesses of the neighbouring Alps; and the concluding, and perhaps the most interesting, part of the festivities consists in bestowing upon a young maiden, the fairest in fame and form in the vicinity, a dowerand in the celebration of her marriage with a partner of her choice. As many as 700 persons took part in the last festival; and some of the ballet-masters of the French opera repaired hither from Paris, several weeks beforehand, to drill and instruct the rustics in dancing. The ground was kept by 100 young men in the picturesque ancient Swiss costume, which has been delineated by Holbein. The two last anniversaries were in 1819 and 1833, and multitudes of spectators flocked from all parts to witness them." About two miles beyond Vevay, we arrive at Clarens-a straggling village, with a few tolerable houses amidst others of an old and humble order, having, within a few feet, the lake on the one side and the green cultured hill on the other, crowned with a chateau of comparatively modern date. Clarens is no way remarkable in its physical or social features, but enjoys no small notoriety in the regions of sentiment, from being the place where Rousseau resided for some time, and where he has fixed the imaginary scenes of his "New Heloise." "Here the self-torturing sophist, wild Rousseau, The apostle of affliction-he who threw Enchantment over passion, and from woe Wrung overwhelming eloquence-first drew The breath which made him wretched; yet he knew How to make madness beautiful, and cast O'er erring deeds and thoughts a heavenly hue Of words, like sunbeams, dazzling as they pass'd The eyes, which o'er them shed tears feelingly and fast." Those who, like Byron, can sympathise with the feelings of a man who positively luxuriated in a world of ideal misery of his own creation, and rendered himself conspicuous more for the singularity than the soundness of his metaphysical speculations, will join in the impassioned sentiments uttered by the noble poet in his address to **Clarens, sweet Clarens ! birthplace of deep love!" But the every-day world looks more coolly on, and inquiring the character of the scenes depicted, will perhaps say with Scott, that Julie and St Preux were two tiresome pedants, in whose loves there was really nothing to interest any rational feelings. Associations of sentiment, infinitely more truthful and exhilarating, are roused after passing Clarens, when the grey walls of the old castle of Chillon come prominently into view, at a short distance beyond Montreux, a neat old-fashioned village on the face of the hill. Disregarding Montreux in the meanwhile, we passed on to Chillon, which we found to stand almost entirely within the border of the lake; the outworks, in which view of the Savoy mountains on the south, and the No one who has read the "Prisoner of Chillon" of "Chillon! thy prison is a holy place, And thy sad floor an altar; for, 'twas trod- Worn, as if thy cold pavement were a sod→→ The pillar thus connected with Bonnivard's im- "And then there was a little isle, A small green isle, it seemed no more, the reality "Lake Leman lies by Chillon's walls, A thousand feet in depth below." with any observations of my own on Montreux and its industrious cottage-farming community, and shall now consider the reader conducted back to Lausanne, whence our next excursion will be to the ancient city of Geneva. NEW YEAR'S EVE IN A PAUPER LUNATIC [From the Athenæum.] HAVING received, and most cheerfully accepted, an invitation to accompany a friend to an evening entertainment given, on the last day of the old year, to the pauper women in the County Lunatic Asylum at Hanwell, we started from town on Friday evening, just as the dull fog had thickened over Hyde Park for the night, and after a nine miles' drive in the dark, drew up at the lighted gates of the Middlesex mad-house, gave in our names, and walked into a bright, cheerful hall, leading by white stone passages to various parts of the house. Following one of these to the apartments of the resident physician, we found that the party had already met in a room below. We accordingly retraced our steps, and after threading several other passages, came to a door which opened into the gallery where the lunatics were assembled. The momentary impression made by the sudden change from the coolness and quiet of the empty stone passage to the heat, and hum, and bustle of a long narrow gallery, dressed out with fresh evergreens, lighted with numberless candles, and lined from end to end with three hundred and fifty restless mad women, was simply shocking; but this first impression speedily wore away, and was followed by the conviction, which every other guest must have felt before he left the room, that the generous humanity which had prompted the system of which this entertainment was only the result, had placed every one of these harmless lunatics in the possession of as much happiness as her mind was capable of enjoying. In the middle of the long vista of frilled muslin caps, evergreens, white walls, and mad faces, down which I looked on entering, was a piano, and a crowd of dancers figuring away at country dances as mirthfully and with as good a heart as if they had been sane. We walked slowly down the room to where the dancing was going on, watched by many eyes that you saw were mad the instant you caught them. A small proportion only of the women danced; the rest sat at the sides of the gallery on benches, laughing or talking to themselves, whispering to their neighbours, lost in sad reveries, or watching earnestly and distrustfully the scene before them; and here and there a face expressive of intense melancholy, as if the poor creature were pondering on some mental misery too heavy for her to bear, called you away from the listless expression of childish imbecility which characterised the bulk of the party. A few keepers were interspersed with the dancers, who helped to give spirit to the dancing; but it was really difficult at first to say who was keeper and who was not. Every one of them seemed to enter into the enjoyment of the dance with so much good will, with so plain an intention of being amused, and so much light-heartedness, that at a little distance, and with the exception of a slovenly method of moving their feet, you might have village wake or fair. There was no uniform or workhouse dress to mark them as the inmates of an asylum, but nearly as much variety in their dress as in that of an equal number of villagers. was the gateway, being the chief portion on dry land, The depth of the lake has also been strained beyond fancied they were so many country people dancing at a and immediately facing a high precipitous hill, partially covered with shrubs. A soldier of the canton on duty at the gate, and apparently the only male functionary, admitted us across the drawbridge, into the interior of the castle. The dimensions of the place surprised us. It consists of several open courts, environed by tall, rough-cast structures, of immense strength, and showing on all sides the character of a feudal fortress on a large scale. The castle was built in 1238, by Amadeus IV., Count of Savoy, as a bulwark for defence of his possessions, and what may be called a den whence he could conveniently make inroads on his neighbours. A victory gained by his son in a battle fought near its walls, in 1273, gave him the command of the Pays de Vaud; and hence this southern portion of Switzerland remained under the sway of the Counts of Savoy till wrested from them by the Bernese in the early part of the sixteenth century. For pretty nearly three hundred years, them, we have to look upon Chillon as having been the seat of a petty despot, who was governed by no law but his own capricious will. Conducted over the massive buildings by a loquacious female keeper, we walked from apartment to apartment, up and down flights of stairs, and from court-yard to court-yard, viewing the excessive strength of the fabric and its gloomy recesses with no ordinary feeling of curiosity. In the lower or underground floor of the western wing, we were shown a well-like gap in the stone floor, which, we were told, had been once covered by a trap-door, which sunk on being trodden upon, and precipitated the unwitting prisoner into a deep dungeon beneath. This was a second version of the traditional murders of the Schloss of Baden-Baden, and may either be believed or not. I confess to a small degree of scepticism on the point. Leaning over the gulf, I certainly saw there was a horrid dungeon below as dark as a pit, but at the same time I observed the relic of a stone step near the floor on which I stood, and therefore greatly doubt the legend of the trap in all its fearful details. Leaving this part of the castle, we proceeded to the main body of the place, which is a heavy building overlooking the lake, and whose back windows command a The actual depth is about three hundred feet, the We now took our leave of this deeply-interesting The crowd altogether reminded me very much of a crowd of children. Wilful, natural, saying what they thought, careless or unconscious of other people's opinions, earnest in trifles, sincere without concealment, inquisitive, eager observers of every passing thing, and in continual fidgetty motion, you might have imagined yourself in a school of foolish overgrown girls. There were exceptions, of course, where excessive pride or inordinate vanity was the insane indication. The Queen of the Netherlands, for instance, proud as Lucifer, looked down upon you as if you were only dirt; and her equal in purse-pride, who carried a bag of goldforeign money, she said, but the bank would know her pebbles were good foreign money, and would pass in the country she came from-was as conscious of her wealth as the sanest money-holder on the Stock Exchange. She stalked about in her poor straw bonnet and short sorry gown with a lofty stage pride, as if she had been the original goddess of plenty. Contrasted with her pride was the silly vanity of a feeble and somewhat delicate young person, who slipped in and out between the bystanders, and walked backwards and forwards incessantly, in a stealthy self-conscious way, wishing to attract attention, yet affecting to disregard it. She had been pretty once, was better dressed than the majority about her, and, instead of the common frilled cap, she wore her hair in bands, and had less of the kitchen-maid about her than the crowd that lined the walls. She was the wife of a professional man, gone mad, one would think, with excessive vanity. Whenever you looked at her she caught your eye, looked away suddenly with a complacent smile at having attracted notice, and walked on in her vain way, as if the eyes of all were waiting upon her. I thought I detected an expression of uneasiness at her being seen among so many common people. Many of them were very loquacious, and pleased at an opportunity of talking to strangers. A placid middle aged woman, of the Mrs Nickleby genus, with a weak flow of soft religious words, and a still weaker stream of namby-pamby, told me innocently that she had a sweet heavenly host of pretty little seraphs, three inches long, pretty little creatures, that she fed and nourished; they were up stairs now, she said, but she had been burrowing in the ground after them in the morning, which was the reason why she was not quite so well as usual. Her earnestness and minute description of particulars showed how completely she was living in a world of her own, where she saw the seraphs she described. She was fully impressed with the notion that she was sane, and that the rest of the people were mad. of sadness. When we were going away, she called out couple taken in this way, nay, even groups of three; you may have a whole family enclosed in a couple of miniatures. The small size of the heads does not diminish the likeness: you might have a set of shirt-studs ornamented with portraits of your friends.-Spectator, April 16. QUALITIES OF BAD PAPER. In order to increase the weight of printing paper, some I find a difficulty in expressing what I felt on leav-manufacturers are in the habit of mixing sulphate of lime, ing this singular scene. or gypsum, with the rag to a great extent. I have been Here were three hundred informed, by an authority upon which I place great reand fifty mad women, of whom perhaps no less than liance, that some paper contains more than one-fourth of three hundred were incurably mad, having temper its weight of gypsum; and I lately examined a sample, and dispositions requiring the most constant and rigid which had the appearance of good paper, that contained self-restraint to treat with proper forbearance, in some about 12 per cent. The mode of detecting this fraud is cases impatient of all restraint, listless spendthrifts of exceedingly simple; burn 100 grains, or any given weight their time, or lazy and indifferent to the common every- of the paper, in a platina or earthen crucible, and continue day necessities of life, without the means or disposition the heat until the residuum becomes white, which it will of earning a subsistence, and either without friends or readily do if the paper is mixed with gypsum. It is lost to them, or alienated from them by a malady worse certainly true that all paper contains a small quantity of than death, who were treated with a kindness and conincombustible matter, derived from accidental impurities, but it does not amount to more than about 1 per cent.; cern which they would not have met with, and perhaps the weight, then, will indicate the extent of the fraud. could scarcely have expected, from their own kinsmen Brande, the professor just quoted, also mentions a cirand friends. Instead of harshness, they find a charity cumstance of a Birmingham button-maker, who had a which "suffers long and is kind:" where imprison- large quantity of newly made buttons so much tarnished ment and violence were once thought necessary, liberty as to be unsaleable; and upon examining into the cause, with firmness, or with merely occasional seclusion, is it was found to be owing to there being left in the paper all that is required; and apart from the melancholy in which the buttons were wrapped up a considerable incidents which must necessarily follow a pauper lunatic quantity of chlorine, or oxymuriatic acid, which is used into an asylum, you find these forsaken people in the in the bleaching. There are very few goods that would comfortable enjoyment of as large a measure of happi- not be injured by the action of chlorine. A coloured ness as will ever be found consistent with their de- paper manufacturer would find it difficult to fix any mented state. It must, indeed, have been a gratifying vegetable colour upon paper so impregnated, and the loss reflection to the men who have planned and are carryto him might be very serious. Great caution is therefore ing out the scheme of benevolence which has already Magazine of Science. necessary in the purchasing of paper for such purpose.been followed by such results, that to their courageous perseverance and enlightened charity are these benefits to be attributed. Their services are not confined to Middlesex and Hanwell; they are trying a great experiment for the nation, in devotion to which a life would not be misspent ; and the issue of that experiment will be, that at no very distant day a law will be passed making all restraints in every mad-house in the kingdom as illegal as they have been already proved to be mischievous and unjust. DAGUERREOTYPE PORTRAITS AT THE ADELAIDE The music and songs played in the course of the evening were very well received by the patients, on some of whom they produced sadness, and on others unnatural gaiety. In the middle of one of the songs, to which all were listening very quietly, an earnest, voluble woman standing behind me, to whom all things seemed possible, whispered in my ear, with an air of familiar truth which was almost startling-" You know I've been in heaven, and the songs they sing there are better than that, I can tell you." It was taking her too literally, perhaps, to follow up such an assertion by any further inquiry; but her answer to the question, "What sort of music have they there?" was rather a singular one. She considered a moment, and then said, as if she had been merely recalling past impressions-"Why, common sense, to be sure." When the song was over, she walked away towards the end of the gallery, where a few patients sat who appeared slightly more irritable than the rest; and among these was a silent, feeble girl, having a look of dejected imbecility on her sharp coarse face, which seemed as if her spirits had been broken down by want. She was one of the numerous class of patients who had been confined in that cruel bondage of restraint-chairs, sleeves, strait-waistcoats, muffs, or leg-locks (how rare it is to call things by their right names), from which the judicious humanity of the physician and the magistrates had at length released her. Her wrists were deformed by the hard leather cases in which they had been confined; and so habituated had she been to wear them at night, that for some time after they were removed, she held up her hands to be bound whenever she went to bed. Now she was permitted to wander about as she pleased; and although, under the old system, she had been tied up to an iron bar, or a bench, or a heavy restraint-chair, as a dangerous maniac, she conducted herself this evening with propriety, listened to the piano with much apparent plea- It seemed sufficiently wonderful to have one's "portrait sure, or sat near some friend, to whom she seemed at- in little" limned by the sun in a few seconds; but now it tached, watching, with a various expression of shyness, is done instantaneously; a passing expression is transor sadness, or apathy, every stranger's face that she ferred to a plate, and the "Cynthia of the minute"-or saw in the room. She was not the only instance of the rather of the moment-is caught and clapped into a case happy effects of removing restraint. There were forty-in no time. This magical celerity in taking photographic seven persons present, all of whom had been previously is the result of some improvement in the process recently likenesses by the Daguerreotype at the Adelaide Gallery, confined in some way or other, who now behaved with made by M. Claudet, who has also greatly improved the as much decency as the harmless patients who were pictorial effect of the miniatures, by the introduction of always at large. backgrounds: and he adopts a method of fixing the image peculiar to himself. The momentary quickness with which the likeness is taken prevents the necessity for retaining a fixed look and posture for a certain time: this is not only more agreeable to the sitter, but gives a life-like ease and vivacity to the photographic portraits thus, the objections made to their stern and gloomy expression are obviated in a great degree; the most transient architecture, or a library, takes away from the metallic as in a mirror. The addition of a background of trees, effect of the plate, and gives to the miniature the appearance of an exquisitely finished mezzotint engraving seen through the wrong end of an opera-glass. This addition is made by simply placing a scene, painted in distemper in neutral tint, behind the sitter, and arranging the focus of the lens of the camera so that the upper part of the figure is shown: by diminishing the size of the head, the defects arising from an exaggeration of facial peculiarities are got rid of, and the salient points of the physiognomy are, as it were, concentrated: the fixing process, too, imparts a warm brownish tinge to the miniature, substituting the tone of a sepia drawing for the livid coldness of the metallic surface. The roof of the Adelaide Gallery is the scene of these operations, on which a chamber glazed with blue glass is erected, for use in cold and rainy weather: when it is fine, the sitter is placed in the open air under an awning, to screen the face from the glare of sunlight. Waiting your turn, and whiling away the time by trying to discern distant objects through the smoke, or looking at the steeple of St Martin's Church, that rises in bold relief before you, a courteous person invites your attention to a little square box that he holds, and placing it on a stand directly opposite to you, begs you to remain that veils one side of the cube-shaped box, and lets it steady for an instant. He lifts up the little dark curtain drop directly; you suppose there is something wrong a MUSTARD-WHITE AND BLACK. The seeds of these indigenous annuals which have of late years attained such celebrity as a condiment, have been cultivated throughout Europe for an unknown period. The French call the plant sénevé, and confine the term moutarde to prepared table-mustard. Mustard, moutarde, mosterd, &c., are said to be all contracted corruptions of mustum ardens (hot must), the sweet must of new wine being one of the old ingredients in mustard prepared for dietetic uses, a practice still adhered to by the French. In moistening mustard powder for the table, both the flavour and appearance are improved by mixing with it rich milk; but this has the disadvantage of not keeping good for more than a couple of days. Professor Brande states, that what is usually sold as Durham mustard, is a compound of a little mustard seed, Cayenne pepper, wheat flour, and turmeric. According to a late analysis, both the yellow and brown mustard seeds contain indiscriminately, 1st, a soft fixed oil of a dark-greenish colour; 2d, a yellow volatile oil, on which depends 4th, much mucilage; 5th, sulphur; 6th, nitrogen; and the pungency; 3d, an albuminous vegetable principle; lately, Henry and Garot have discovered a peculiar acid, is accounted for the reason of genuine mustard requiring which they have named sulpho-sinapic acid; and hence to be made a few hours previous to use, in order that these principles may react on each other, and acquire the pungency and flavour which characterise good mustard, sold under the name of mustard. Independent of its and serve to distinguish it from all those spurious articles valuable properties as a condiment, it has been used as a remedial agent in many diseases from the remotest period. (St Vitus's dance), was at last restored to perfect health dam, who, after taking a variety of medicines for chorea by the seeds of the white mustard (our common yellow mustard); and the same learned author states, that he found it an invaluable remedy in obstructions of the liver, indigestion, dropsy, and various other diseases. Its external use as a cataplasm to the feet, in determination of blood to the head, is so well known, as not to require any particular notice.---Burnett's Outlines of Botany. tribute to unassuming genius and worth as was paid by smile being reflected in the polished surface of the plate The great Boerhaave relates the case of a girl at Amster Before the dancing had ended, Dr Conolly, whose illness had prevented him from seeing his patients for some time previously, and who, for the same reason, was unable to join the party earlier, made his appearance in the gallery, and went through it, noticing nearly every person as he passed with some appropriate kindness. I have never witnessed before so affecting these pauper lunatics to their resident physician. With few exceptions, the women rose as soon as they saw him, and eagerly stepped out from their seats to shake hands with him, and ask him how he was, hoping that he was better, and wishing him a happy new year. Wherever he went, there was some proof of their respectful affection for him, if not in words at least in manner, or by voice or look, or by the cheerfulness caused by his merely coming among them; the sympathising courtesy with which they were received seemed to rejoice them no less than hearing he was better. "What a treat it is," I heard a hearty old woman whisper to her neighbour, when he was out of hearing, "to see the doctor about again!" and the same feeling was expressed in the faces of nearly all. It may well be conceived that so many marks of sincere regard in these helpless lunatics, joined with the ready tact and quiet forbearance which Dr Conolly showed with uncertain tempers, his cheerful familiarity with those who required encouragement, his courteous deference to mad vagaries, sympathy with whimsical complaints, gentleness and firmness where they were needed, and his friendly sincerity with all, were not seen without emotion; while, at the same time, it afforded the plainest proof of the wisdom and humanity of the present system of treatment at Hanwell, when carried out by such an instrument. At nine o'clock the evening hymn was sung by all who chose to join, and the party broke up, with no other interruption than the loud sobs of one poor soul, who left the room crying like a great baby for “her doll." When the signal was given to go to bed, the women left the room as obediently as children, shaking hands and wishing good-night with much simplicity. Among the last to go was a poor Irish girl, who interested me exceedingly. She was a fine hearty creature, with a full round Irish face, a brogue, and soft mild eyes, which, while she smiled to herself, seemed full of wilful gaiety, and then, on a sudden, became very sorrowful, as if her mind were filled with some painful recollection far removed from the place or circumstances about her. She was an uncertain patient, it seemed, and occasionally became refractory; but to-night she was only in unnaturally high spirits, dashed with these sudden fits TAKING CARE OF JUPITER. The first consideration with a knave is how to help himself, and the second, how to do it with an appearance of helping you. Dionysius the tyrant stripped the statue of Jupiter Olympius of a robe of massy gold, and substituted a cloak of wool, saying, "Gold is too cold in winter, and too heavy in summer. It behoves us to take care of Jupiter."—Lacon. BANKING GENEALOGY. Apropos of Sir J. Child, I have to remark, that he founded the firm which still retains his name at Temple Bar, and which, with the house of Willis, Percival, and Co., is considered to be about the oldest in London. Child's house is understood to possess documents which prove their existence as a bank as early as 1663, since which they have never moved out of the same premises. not at all the thing is done; whatever your look was at The books of Messrs Hoare, in Fleet Street, are said to that moment, it is transfixed on the plate; and you may go back to 1680; and those of Messrs Snow, in the go to the little laboratory where the process of "fixing" Strand, to 1685. Stone, Martins, and Stone, of Lombard is performed, and, as the moisture of the preparation is Street, claim to represent the house of Sir T. Gresham; evaporated from the surface, see what was the precise but this, I presume, must be more a matter of tradition expression on your face at the time. There is your image, than of documentary evidence, and is principally noticeas though a diminishing glass had perpetuated the reflec-able as suggesting views of ancient descent upon the part tion-only without colour. But what a hand! surely you of our commercial interests, which will bear a comparison have not got such a huge fist: no; you happened to thrust with the genealogy of many noble houses.-Banks and Bankers. it forward before the plane of the picture, and hence it has been taken under a different angle. You don't like whom you have offered your hand; and you hesitate, to present a portrait with such a fist to the fair one to though the likeness is so striking: M. Claudet perceives W. S. ORR, Paternoster Row. your embarrassment, and anticipating the objection, says, "Let us try again, if you please ;" and the operation is repeated-ay, and a third time, if any accidental failure renders it necessary. Should you prefer it, a friend may share the operation; and at the same moment both phizzes will be transferred to the plate: we saw a loving LONDON: Published, with permission of the proprietors, by Printed by Bradbury and Evans, Whitefriars. Complete sets of the Journal are always to be had from the publishers or their agents; also, any odd numbers to complete sets. Persons requiring their volumes bound along with titlepages and contents, have only to give them into the hands of any bookseller, with orders to that effect. DINBURGA CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OF "CHAMBERS'S INFORMATION FOR THE PEOPLE," "CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE," &c. NUMBER 540. THE COUNTRY BELLE AND LONDON .THE parsonage house of Farnley, with its tastefully arranged though not extensive grounds, was in one of the prettiest spots imaginable. Situated on a gentle acclivity, it overlooked a valley through which, like a silver thread in a serpentine path, flowed a certain river, which, as yet near its parent spring, seemed an emblem of infancy, alike unconscious of its growing strength and majesty, and of the storms that would fret and agitate its pure waters on a nearer approach to the ocean. Already, however, the merchant's barge, the ferry boat, or the pleasure yacht, floated on its calm surface; and the white sails of the last, gleaming between the varied blossoms of luxuriant fruit-trees, declared the river's course far beyond the point at which it might otherwise have been discernible. The horizon was bounded by a line of noble hills, while on the other side the spires of a market town, and several hamlets and villages, might, with a good eye, be traced with accuracy and distinctness. Adjoining to the parsonage was the village church, venerable both from its age and associations; in a word, the scene was thoroughly English: and Helen Morden, the vicar's daughter, might have been taken for the presiding deity of the place. It was one of those early summer days into which the freshness of spring had but just melted, when the odour of flowers, and the song of birds, and the brightness of sunshine, have yet the charm of novelty, in addition to their own sweet spell. Helen was seated on a rustic bench, shaded by the waving branches of a sycamore. A book was in her hand; but though a finger was between the leaves, it rested on her lap; her eyes were fixed on some distant object; but the mind was either conjuring, creating, a future, or looking back on the stores of memory. Ah! Helen, Helen, it was vain to think the fairy bird would entrance you now. A few months since, even so lately as when the Christmas log blazed upon the hearth, your bright intellect, unrusted by the breath of passion, might have roved delighted with the grand and gorgeous but unreal Spenser. But now you feel that his creations are not your fellow-mortals, but incarnations of abstract qualities-pure, great, beautiful, but marble cold. Still, the presence of love, the "unbidden guest," was as yet scarcely recognised by herself, though, in truth, he was there; and the fluttering of his wing it was that agitated her soul, that taught her imagination to wander in strange day-dreams, and that initiated her untried spirit in many mysteries of the human heart. And still her favourite volume remained in her hand un read. The reverie of Helen Morden was disturbed by the quick step of her cousin, who had been for a few weeks a visiter at Farnley. There is no accounting for taste in matters of beauty. Some people greatly preferred Clara's petite figure and sparkling black eyes, to the deep blue orbs and the rich brown hair of her cousin; while others wondered that any one could look at such a little gipsy when the fair and dignified Helen was Rear. There is no accounting for tastes; and fortunate it is that they so much vary. "Well, dear Clara, have you read all your letters? What news from London?" exclaimed Helen, as her cousin approached. "A great deal too much." "Too much! Why, I thought you measured your happiness by the number of letters you received from the gay metropolis; and you have declared breakfast the only endurable meal in the country, because then the post comes in." "Not from idle curiosity; but if I can be of any truthful, artless Helen, love was not unknown; nay, service to you, pray tell me." "I have been cheated-duped," rejoined the London lady. Then, after a pause, she continued-" I daresay, if the truth were told, you know perfectly well why my managing mamma sent me down here; for I know it was her doing that my uncle, your papa, invited me. To be sure, I have greatly enlarged my mind and added to my acquirements during the last month. I actually can distinguish a horse-chestnut from an apple tree, and I don't think I ever should mistake a goose for a turkey again. However, it was to forget instead of to learn that 1 was sent away; but you don't suppose, if I had really cared two pins about Captain Lennox, that I should have submitted so quietly-do you?" "As you have never made me your confidant, Clara, I really know very little about the affair; but I understood your mamma was apprehensive you had formed an attachment of which she could not approve." "And so enticed me out of the way till Henry Lennox's regiment had embarked for the West Indies, where, I daresay, he'll die of the yellow fever; but I shall not go into mourning if he does. Helen, you are such an inexperienced, prim, prudish ignoramus, that you will hardly understand what my plans were, if I explain them to you." Helen smiled, in acknowledgment of the compliment, but repeated the word "plans" in a tone of interrogation. This was encouragement enough for the "London coquette," who really wished to unburden her mind; and she proceeded, beating her pretty little foot upon the gravel, to the evident detriment of a delicate and very inappropriate silk slipper, and when she had seated herself beside Helen-twirling and furling her parasol with a gesture more indicative of ill temper than of very profound grief. deeply, lastingly, had the sentiment.taken root in her heart, and yet was it there, "Like the last pale leaf in the rose-bud curl'd." Never yet to the nearest and dearest had it found expression in words; there was profanation in the very thought; for he had not yet spoken his love in that prosaic but simple and satisfactory phrase, "Will you marry me?" And we must here digress to dwell for a moment on a somewhat delicate point. Frank Staunton was worthy of the prize he had won-the heart of Helen Morden. He was the soul of truth and honour, but perhaps he erred in judgment when he refrained from uttering that same prosaic sentence; he might guard his lips from its delivery, but they spoke words more searching-more passionate. Oh! not unwooed, not lightly, had sweet Helen Morden been won; for many long months had every look, every word, every gesture, proclaimed the truth, "I love you ;" and yet those words were unspoken ; for Helen was portionless, and Frank was as yet too poor to marry. His prospects, however, were good; for he had studied for the bar, and was rapidly coming into notice, when a serious illness, brought on, it was said, by over-exertion, had so injured his constitution, that studies and mental occupations were prohibited, and he was recommended a quiet sojourn in the neighbourhood of Farnley. Thrown frequently into the society of the vicar's daughter, what could he do but love her ? And he did love her as a high-minded man only can love; and when, with recovered health, he left the spot in which the poetry of his life was centred, the hope, the thought that she might be his, was the spur which henceforth urged him to exertion. Although his heart yearned for some sweet confession from her lips, his code of honour forbade him to seek it; and with an inconsistency, strange, yet frequent, he strove one moment to conjure to his memory every faint blush or kind word he could interpret in his favour, and the next to persuade himself that he had refrained from intimating his own feelings to her. In his defence, if a defence be needed, it must be owned he was not a vain man; and did not, like too many of his sex, fancy that every woman to whom he was tolerably civil must necessarily fall in love with him. If each had known how truly the other loved, how much of sorrow they might have been spared! Need we repeat, there could be no sympathy between the cousins? "I really did like Frederick Seymour; and, besides, there is only a puny child between himself and a baronetcy, and he is very rich already; and he is so handsome, and he drives such loves of horses; I could cry with vexation-that I could. He is going to be married to a demure little chit that nobody noticed. I have seen her sit out three quadrilles following-that I have; and all the while that he seemed desperately in love with me, and that I was trying to pique him by my flirtation with Henry Lennox, he was absolutely engaged to the odious little wretch, and concealing it only till he could obtain his uncle's consent to the marriage; for she is a nobody, and has not a farthing in the world. It is all arranged: the stupid old uncle is to give her away, and her future mother-pathy to a coquette; to be sure, there are different in-law has taken a vast fancy to her, and presented her already with some of the family jewels. If he had married for money or rank, I should not have cared, because nobody would have believed it a lovematch, and I should perhaps have had the credit of breaking his heart and driving him to desperation; but to think of my being cheated, duped, and buried here, while this fine scheme was hatching, is almost more than I can endure. But I'll be revenged. I'll marry some rich old man, and have a finer house and as stylish a carriage as Mrs Frederick Seymour." Clara Frampton was almost out of breath, but she kept on a sort of running, though very independent, accompaniment to the warblings of a neighbouring blackbird. Helen was dumb from astonishment; her cousin's discourse was scarcely more intelligible to her than an unknown language would have been; and yet, by instinct, rather than any effort of reasoning, she We will own to a prejudice. We have an anti shades which distinguish the character-many species of the genus-but we have a suspicion that they are all destitute of genuine feeling, and abominably selfish and conceited; in short, we look upon only one creature as more detestable, and that is a male flirt. Perhaps, however, one's ire might sink into contempt, if true coquettes were not mischievous as well as detestable; and it is to paint one phase of their sphere of action that this sketch is penned. A year passed away; again is the earth gemmed with flowers-again is it bright spring. But the scene is no longer the pretty garden of Farnley, but a ballroom in London. Helen is on a visit to her cousin, tempted, by the wishes of many friends, to pass a "season" in the gay metropolis. She is more beautiful than before, for her mind has expanded, and her feelings have grown more intense, and their language is revealed in her countenance. She has met Frank Staunton again, and her reason, as well as her heart, tells her she is beloved. "The world," too, has guessed shrewdly at their secret, though still it is unconfessed. A year had passed away, and Clara's "threat" or "promise" was unfulfilled. She was not yet married either to old or young, rich or poor; it is true, in that year she had had more flirtations than she could count, but still she was unmarried-unengaged. On the evening in question, which was passed at the house of rather a new acquaintance, she was decidedly out of temper. She was surprised at the notice her country cousin" received, and disappointed that none of her own especial admirers were present. Helen was dancing, and she actually unprovided with partner, when Frank Staunton arrived. He addressed himself to her, but she perceived where his eyes were wandering, and felt convinced that a bold stroke would be necessary to accomplish her scheme. It must be observed that, previously to Helen's arrival in town, Frank Staunton and Clara had become intimate, though, in fact, he had sought her society solely because her family was the only one in London where Helen was known and talked of with which he was acquainted. To sit out another dance was to Clara a sort of degradation or disgrace, which to think of was terrible, and yet the event seemed far from improbable. The truth was, there had been many disappointments; and though the party had not yet all assembled, the fair sex predominated. While Clara was pondering on such sad mismanagement, and looking almost ugly from ill temper, Sir Frederick and Lady Seymour arrived, the latter magnificently dressed; and notwithstanding Clara's former animadversions, this some-time "demure little chit " seemed now the queen of the room. They passed her with a bow; and, grown desperate lest they should see her for a moment neglected, she determined, at any risk, to keep Staunton by her side-at least until she could provide herself with another swain. The dance was just concluding, and she knew that a waltz would follow; if the band would but strike up at that moment, the game was in her hands; but the minutes that would intervene might be fatal, for she was well assured that Frank would seek her cousin the moment she was released. But when was a coquette ever at fault? "Mr Staunton, do hold my gloves while I fasten this bracelet. No, you can't manage it; it is a most tiresome clasp." Of course there was nothing the matter with the clasp ; but, at the price of breaking two perfect links, she kept Frank by her side until the waltz was played. "Oh! that beautiful waltz; and I know no one here that will ask me to join in it. I think I shall stand up with a chair if no one does." Could a gentleman resist so palpable a hint? Impossible; and of course the next minute they were among the giddy throng. Clara waltzed beautifully, and cared little how she had procured one of the best partners in the room. The vicar's daughter did not waltz, but she wondered that Frank Staunton had been so long in the room without speaking to her. warmly. Clara was getting out of her depth, but there was a plank near, so she alluded to Mr Railton's talents and amiable qualities, and felt comparatively safe when she marked that Frank Staunton's countenance fell, and that there was scarcely a rejoinder. The real coquette-the cold-hearted selfish woman, such as we have known and are endeavouring to describe, whose deity is SELF, and at whose altar at first the trifling comforts, and by degrees the most vital interests, of every other human being may be sacrificed without regret-can never be very particular in the delicate matter of truth, and therefore it was quite natural that Clara should assert her belief that Helen was attached to Mr Railton. "Both were embarrassed" when, later in the evening, Frank and Helen conversed; and his was a common error, in mistaking timidity for coldness. The buckler of dark leaves which adds to its beauty, and shelters the blue violet from many a storm, also hides it from the careless observer; and just such a flower, with the shield of modesty, was sweet Helen Morden: who but a cold coquette could have had the heart to injure her? Clara's scheme, aided in some measure by the circumstance of Helen's sudden recal to Farnley, partly succeeded. By some further manoeuvring and misrepresentation, she detached Frank Staunton from the hope and endeavour of winning her cousin, but she signally failed in attaching him to herself. Perhaps there is no period of life in which the rapid flight of time, and the strange revolutions it brings about, are so keenly felt, as well as observed, as in youth; or rather during the first years when, leaving early youth behind, we mix in the world as men and women. It seems probable, that, to those whose lives are greatly prolonged, it must seem perfectly natural for the younger and stronger to fall into the grave before them, or to witness and participate in the strange revolutions of fortune's wheel. But, on the minds of the young, proportionally narrower as their scope of observation must be, these things make a lasting impression, teaching them, if the seed fall on good ground, a wisdom deeper than the wisdom of books; and making, in fact, the difference between the boy and the man, the girl and the woman. We left Helen Morden a girl, overwhelmed by her first real grief, shedding the first bitter tears wrung from the heart's agony: we take up her story three years later, when the ordeal was passed-when she was a feeling, thinking, but still pure and high-minded woman. Helen's sudden return to Farnley was occasioned by the illness of her only parent, her father; and long and anxiously did she watch by his sick-bed. After a while he rallied, and even recovered sufficiently to resume for a few weeks his accustomed duties; but his constitution was impaired, and in less than a year Helen was an orphan. Mr Morden had no private fortune, and his living had not been a lucrative one; had he been spared a few years longer, his daughter might perhaps have inherited a competence; as it was, his savings only amounted to about three hundred pounds-a sum very acceptable as a resource in any future emergency, but of course quite A ball-room has been compared to a field of battle, inadequate as a permanent provision. There is a great and really there are many points of resemblance. deal of good feeling in the world (let a certain set of Fatal wounds are inflicted (by bright eyes), and de- silly people abuse human nature as they will), and cisive conquests are made. There are often sharp many were the kind friends who offered Helen assistencounters (of wit and argument), and sometimes a ance and protection in her affliction. She, however, running fire (of compliments); but the great point of had the good sense and the right pride to determine, resemblance consists in the fact, that the most impor- by her own exertions, to be independent. Only, theretant and occupied individuals in the melee are the fore, till she should have recovered a little from the least competent of all to give an account of the entire shock of her father's death, and could procure a situaaction, though they can describe very accurately their tion as governess, did she avail herself of a friend's inown evolutions. It is the looker-on, or the calm after-vitation. That friend was Mr Railton's sister, with judge, who can best determine where the wave of one whom she had lately become intimate, and whose home, event touched upon the curve of another. Thus, Helen for many reasons, she preferred to that of her relatives Morden's account of the evening would be briefly but in London. For nearly a twelvemonth did she remain clearly given somewhat in the following manner :- under that hospitable roof, and left it at last, much High hope and expectation of seeing and talking with against the wish of her hostess, to fulfil an engagement Frank Staunton; a slight pang of jealousy at his close she had made in a family residing within thirty miles attendance on her cousin, followed by a rapid course of reasoning, which made her half-ashamed of the unworthy feeling; an animated intellectual conversation with an agreeable, but extremely plain and even deformed, person; and then a sharp pang of regret, that, when Frank Staunton did approach and ask her hand for the dance, she was pre-engaged, and hurried from him by her partner; then a wild beating at her heart as she observed the changes of his expressive countenance while he again discoursed with Clara. And afterwards, when he once more approached her, the consciousness that both were embarrassed; when they separated, her hand so trembled, that she could not give it with her accustomed frankness and the waking hours, already extended, were yet to be, for her, prolonged; the morning sun was high in the heavens, and still poor Helen's aching temples throbbed upon a pillow wetted with her tears. Frank Staunton was nearly, if not quite, as wretched. With Clara on his arm, he had overheard a part of the conversation between Helen and Mr Railton, which the coquette had dexterously distorted to further her own plans. Perhaps he was absolutely less jealous than diffident of his own merit (true love is never over-confident); and when Clara told him (the truth) that Mr Railton greatly admired Helen, he could not, for a moment, wonder at his taste; but when she hinted that, in consideration of his great wealth, her cousin might be inclined to overlook his age and unfortunate appearance, he defended her quickly and of London. the sun. To the "coquette," three years passed in the terrible monotony of dissipation; for a course of what is called "gaiety" is about the most wearying occupation under To her own great surprise she was still unmarried; not that her flirtations had been "few or far between," for she had grown less exclusive than formerly; and even Captain Lennox, who, instead of dying of the yellow fever, had returned home with a yellow face, was now looked upon as an "eligible" person. He certainly had a sincere regard for her; and though the tear and wear of three London seasons, and as many visits to some racketing watering-place, had considerably dimmed her youthful beauty, he was certainly more attentive than ever. Latterly, too, Clara's manner had become subdued in his presence; though, whether such a coquette had really a heart to be touched, or that she was only anxious not to lose a last lingering "chance," is a problem not easily solved. With regard to poor Frank Staunton, Clara had found many opportunities in which, for her own pride's sake, to keep up the deception she had practised. The circumstance of Helen's visit to Mr Railton's sister she considered a most lucky event; and certainly, in the light in which she placed it, there was "confirmation strong" of all she had previously declared. Still, as time passed on, and more especially when he heard, many months after it occurred, that Helen Morden had commenced her duties as an instructress, he had some misgivings that he had judged her rashly. Fanned occasionally by the breath of hope, a love never extinguished seemed at intervals to illumine his heart; and though his profession, in which he was now actively employed, engrossed the chief energies of his mind, he had yet time to indulge in a little castlebuilding, and frame some plan for renewing his acquaintance with Helen Morden. Evil machinations have but a limited rule; and TRUTH was gradually asserting its enduring power, when an event, awful even to Clara Frampton, brought about the catastrophe. It appeared that Clara had been the subject of conversation at a party where Captain Lennox was present; her coquetry had given rise to expressions not altogether respectful, and he, indignant at the remarks which were made, warmly resented them. The party consisted chiefly of military men, among whom a certain code of honour is more than tolerated. The dispute became personal, and a challenge was the result. Alas! in this Christian land, when will men learn to fear God more than the hollow frivolous reasoning of their fellow-men? When will strong opinion be loud and visible enough to chase crime from companionship with honour, and point to the duellist as a murderer? Captain Lennox was mortally wounded, but lived long enough to send for Clara Frampton, avow his cherished love, and die in her arms. By this bitter and agonising trial, the better feelings of her nature at last were touched; the only man who had ever loved her, died defending her from insults she had brought on herself. It was when a burst of passionate tears had subsided into silent but deeper grief, that Clara Frampton hung over that narrow coffin, and prayed for power to amend her own faults. With repentance came the desire to atone, wherever it was possible; and the very day of the funeral, dressed in the mourning garb she did assume, she sent for Frank Staunton, and confessed the wicked deception she had practised. The generous know how to forgive, and he could not refuse his pardon to the penitent before him. She offered to repeat her confession to Helen; but whether he was willing at that moment to spare the wretched Clara any farther distress, or was actuated by more selfish feelings, we will not decide. All we know is, that, without an hour's delay, he mounted his horse, and rode in the direction of D. He soon discovered the manor-house where Helen was domiciled, and by a silver "open sesame," found means to convey a note to her seeking an interview. A visiter to "the governess" was a most unusual event; and, in the shape of a very handsome aristocratic-looking personage of the other sex, was looked upon as a marvel. The children stared, and the servants smiled, and Helen trembled and turned pale. Is there need to go on, or to hint even how now and for ever Helen was to his heart and soul the embodiment of the most beautiful "idea" of which the human mind is capable-TRUTH. They have been married for years, and the poetry of life is still theirs, made real and substantial by those worldly blessings they so well deserve. Mr Railton, too, must not be forgotten. Instead of a lover, he has proved himself something rarer a friend; and as he has now no near relations, it is thought Frank Staunton's children will inherit the bulk of his fortune. GLACIERS-ASCENT OF THE JUNGFRAU. THE icy coverings of the Alps have lately become the subject of new interest, in consequence of their appearing likely to afford some satisfactory information with regard to certain stony and earthy deposits on the surface of the earth, and particularly with regard to the existence of large boulders or detached masses of stone at great distances from the mountains, to which it is evident, from their material, that they have originally belonged. We do not here require to go into the particulars of what is now called the Glacier Theory of these deposits, for it has already been stated pretty fully in our columns. We only propose, on the present occasion, to direct attention to an able view of the constitution and whole phenomena of glaciers, which appears in the 151st number of the Edinburgh Review, and to an account of the recent ascent of the Jungfrau, presented in an equally recent number of the Edinburgh New Philosophical Journal. The first of these papers is by Professor Forbes of Edinburgh-a youthful cultivator of science, remarkable for a singular activity of intellect, united to an extraordinary solidity and extent of knowledge. The second is by M. Desor, a young German naturalist. The constitution of the ice-covering of an Alpine region, snowy and porous near the top, and more hard and condensed farther down-the constant movement. of each section of this covering, down through its own hollow in the sides of the mountainous territory (such section being in fact a glacier)—the fissures or crevasses into which the glacier is broken-the collection of broken rock which it brings along on its surface-and the grinding and polishing effect which it has on the rock below-all these matters are fully treated by Professor Forbes, who, however, throws great doubt on the various explanations which have as yet been given as to the cause and manner of the movement. Of its character as a fact there can be no doubt, after what has been observed. For instance, a hut, reared by an investigator named Hugi, in 1827, at the foot of a particular height, was found three years after several hundred feet down the slope; six years later, it had moved in all 2200 feet. In 1839, Professor Agassiz ascertained that this distance had in the interval been exactly doubled. It is also stated, that the ladder left at a particular spot by M. Saussure, in 1788, was found in fragments a few years ago several leagues below its original station. Mr Forbes there fore regards a glacier bearing stones on its surface as a kind of chronological chart. "It is an endless scroll, a stream of time, upon whose stainless ground is engraven the succession of events, whose dates far transcend the memory of living man. Assuming, roughly, the length of a glacier to be twenty miles (no uncommon case), and the velocity of its progression (assumed uniform) one-tenth of a mile, or 500 feet per annum, the block which is now being discharged from its inferior surface on the terminal moraine may have started from its rocky origin two centuries ago! The glacier history of 200 years is revealed in the interval, and a block ten times the volume of the greatest of the Egyptian monoliths, which has just commenced its march, will see out the course of six generations of men ere its pilgrimage, too, be accomplished, and it is laid low and motionless in the common grave of its predecessors." Far up amongst the icy solitudes, the leaves of the trees which grow upon the plain many miles off, are found here and there resting in little hollows on the surface, having been driven thither by the violent winds which prevail at some seasons in those regions. In similar little hollows, "living animals are often found-small black insects which inhabit the snow or ice-cold water, and there propagate their species." It will be found afterwards, that on the few patches of bare rock at the summits of these lofty mountains, many miles from every other specimen of living vegetation, a few lichens are found growing. One remarkable feature of the glacier world is beautifully described by Professor Forbes. The surface, it appears, is almost every where seamed with the channels of little rills, the result of the partial melting produced during the day in summer. "These rills combine and unite into larger streams, which assume sometimes the velocity and volume of a common mill-race. They run in icy channels excavated by themselves; and, unlike the water escaping from beneath the glacier, being of exquisite purity, they are both beautiful and refreshing. They seldom, however, pursue their uninterrupted course very far, but reaching some crerasse, or cavity in the glacier, mechanically formed during its motion, they are precipitated in bold cascades into its icy bowels, there, in all probability, to augment the flood which issues from its lower termination. Nothing is more striking than the contrast which day and night produce in the superficial drainage of the glacier. No sooner is the sun set, than the rapid chill of evening, reducing the temperature of the air to the freezing point, or lower-the nocturnal radiation at the same time violently cooling the surface-the glacier life seems to lie torpid; the sparkling rills shrink and come to nothing; their gushing murmurs and the roar of their waterfalls gradually subside; and by the time that the ruddy tints have quitted the higher hill-tops, a death-like silence reigns amidst these untenanted wilds." The Jungfrau is one of the loftiest and most conspicuous peaks of the Alps of Berne, and, till 1841, it had never been for certain ascended by any but a small party of guides. In the autumn of that year, Professor Agassiz, the eminent naturalist of Neufchatel, Professor Forbes, Professor Heath of Cambridge, and M. Desor, spent some weeks in exploring these wilds, when it suddenly occurred to them to make an attempt to ascend the Jungfrau. In this project they were encouraged by their guides, and the party was quickly reinforced by other two gentlemen, M. du Chatelier of Nantes, and M. Pury of Neufchatel, a student of theology. Their guides were of equal number, the principal being one of uncommon experience and sagacity, named Jacob Leuthold. Starting from the hospice of the Grimsel, they spent the first night at some chalets, or shepherd's lodges, at Moeril, at the head of the Valais, 6000 feet above the level of the sea. We must pass over the whole of this day's journey, excepting one extraordinary object. In descending some smooth fields of snow which stretch towards the Valais, they observed some small openings, which proved to be skylights in the roofs of a series of large chambers in the ice. In these they found an azure light of the most surprising transparency, beauty, and softness, being a reflection from the crystalline walls of the interior. It was their intention to start about three in the morning, but they were detained two hours for a ladder, which they had to send for to some distance. A ladder is necessary in such expeditions, to serve as a bridge across fissures or rents in the ice. The morning proved extremely favourable, but owing to anxiety about the ladder, some of them had enjoyed no sleep during the night. When all were prepared, the leading guide, Jacob, called them all around him, and harangued them in the following terms :-"We should have set out at three o'clock; it is now five: these two hours we must make up on the plain of the glacier. Let us, therefore, advance at a quickened pace; those who do not feel strong enough to follow me must remain behind, for we will wait for no one." A leading guide, it appears, becomes in such circumstances a man of some authority. All professed to be eager for the expedition. They ascended to the glacier of Aletsch. To continue, in the words of M. Desor "It is reckoned six leagues from the place where we mounted the glacier to the point where the ascent becomes steep; but we were so influenced by Jacob's exhortation, that we accomplished the distance in less than four hours. We arrived at half-past nine at the snow-fields, which commence with the ascent. It was here that we made our first halt, at a place which we called the Repose, because the passage we had made, and the immense heights which rose in stages in front of us, naturally invited us to take some refreshment. The Repose is one of the most beautiful situations on a glacier that can possibly be met with. We here find ourselves in front of an immense amphitheatre, in which five great confluent branches of the glacier of the Aletsch become confounded with each other. Two of the most considerable of these occupy the background. They descend, one from the sides of the Jungfrau-and it is this which many travellers name the Glacier of the Jungfrau-and the other from the summit of Mönch. To the west of the Repose, on our left, a vast hollow ran downwards between the Jungfrau and Kranzberg, and in this we distinguished a series of terraces rising one above another it was by this we were to ascend. We left at the Repose the greater part of our provisions, carrying with us only a little bread and wine, some meteorological instruments, and articles of different kinds; among others, a ladder, a hatchet to cut steps, and a cord to tie us together. It was ten o'clock when we set foot upon the first plateau of snow; an hour after mid-day, we hoped to be on the summit, if no accident occurred; some of us even thought that we should reach it in two hours. Contrary to our expectations, we at first found the snow not in a very favourable state; it was neither sufficiently compact, nor covered with a crust thick enough to bear us, so that we sunk very deep, in many places up to the knee. We soon came to the fissures, which are every where frequent where the declivities begin to become steep. We saw some of them here nearly one hundred feet wide, but they were not very continuous, so that we were able to go round them; or else they were masked, and in that case our guides had to use the greatest caution to guard us from danger. On this account we advanced much less quickly than we wished, and, in spite of all precautions, many of us sunk down, but without sustaining any injury. In this way we scaled many terraces; and always directing our course westward, we arrived at a vast expanse, commanded on all sides by mighty peaks, the highest of which was the Jungfrau. Jacob made us halt here a second time, no doubt for the purpose of reconnoitring the ground. With regard to ourselves, we saw nothing but insurmountable difficulties on all sides: on the right, vertical precipices; on the left, masses of ice, which threatened to crush us by their fall; and in front, the Great Fissure, to all appearance impassable, so widely did it yawn. It was now near mid-day; the heat was excessive; and the guides, in order to refresh themselves, placed handfuls of snow on the nape of their necks. Many of us did the same, in spite of the remonstrances of others, who, alarmed at such imprudence, forgot that, in these elevated regions, the material organism, as well as the moral nature, is much more independent of hurtful influences than in the plain. The reflection of the light from the snow was likewise most intense, and almost insupportable. We proceeded straight in the direction of the Great Fissure, which we reached after surmounting a fourth terrace. It is a gulf of unknown depth, opening upon the declivity of the last terrace but one, and penetrating somewhat obliquely into the snow; in no place is its breadth less than 10 feet, so that there is no means of crossing it without a ladder. Our ladder was 23 feet long; it was consequently more than sufficient to stretch across the Great Fissure. But immediately above the latter, the steepness of the terrace was fearfully great for the space of about 30 feet; and, moreover, the snow, which had hitherto been very incoherent and almost powdery, had suddenly become of extreme density-to such a degree that the guides were obliged to cut steps. Our courage was here put to the first proof. Jacob and Jaun were the first to mount. When they were half way up the terrace, they let down the rope to us; holding it by one of the ends, and the other being fixed to the ladder, it served us as a kind of stair. All of us, in this way, arrived at the summit of the terrace without mishap, but not without difficulties. There now remained only one eminence for us to surmount, in order to reach to Col du Rott-thal [a neck of the mountain about 800 feet below the peak]. The soft snow had again replaced the hard snow of the steep ascent, so that we walked with the greatest ease. But when we arrived at the centre of the last terrace, which we went along in a sloping direction, we encountered another fissure, which seemed as if it would stop our progress; it penetrated, like the Great Fissure, obliquely into the mass of the snow, so that one of its walls was thinner than the other, and ran beneath it --a circumstance which rendered the passage more difficult. As Agassiz, Jacob, Juan, and I, had gone a little in advance, while our companions were still engaged in climbing the first ascent, I proposed that we should wait for them, that we might at least get the rope. Jacob thought we could pass it well enough without this precaution. In fact, he found a place where the fissure was sufficiently narrow to allow him to stride over it; after having done so, he stretched out his hand and assisted us to do the same. While three of us were standing on the edge of the northern lip of the fissure, we witnessed a very extraordinary occurrence. We suddenly heard a dull crackling noise beneath us; at the same time the mass of snow on which we stood sunk about a foot. The guide, Juan, was at this moment on the other side; and upon hearing the noise, he saw, simultaneously, the space which supported us sink down. He was so alarmed, that he cried out to us- Um Gottes Willen, schnell zurück !' (In God's name, return quickly!) Jacob, on the contrary, far from allowing himself to be disconcerted, told him instantly to hold his tongue; and making a sign to us to follow him, he continued the ascent at a quickened pace, repeating, in his Haslian dialectEs ist nüt; Ganget numme corwärts! (This is nothing; always go forward.) Although we had great experience in glaciers, and were in some degree familiarised with all the dangers they present, I must, however, confess, that at this moment I felt my heart beat quicker than usual. Our other companions joined us a few minutes after; they crossed the fissure and the place that sunk without difficulty, having no suspicion of the adventure that had occurred to us. It was two o'clock when we arrived at the Col de Rott-thal." There now remained by far the most arduous part of this undertaking. The part of the mountain above this col, or resting-place, is about a thousand feet in height, and rises in a slope as steep as the roof of an old-fashioned house, being at an angle of about fortyfive degrees. This slope is enveloped in a thick case of hardened ice, clear and slippery on the surface. On commencing the ascent, our travellers found it necessary to have a hollow cut by the guides for every footstep they took. Of course, any one diverging in the least from this path, would have been precipitated to the bottom. To add to the difficulty, the cold increased, and the party were wrapped for a while in dense mist. They were upwards of an hour in gaining a point near the summit, which they then saw at the distance of about twenty feet, with nothing intervening but a steep-sided ridge, gradually rising towards the opposite extremity. To reach it seems to have been precisely an adventure like that of a slater moving along the top of a house-there being only this difference, that the top of the Jungfrau is covered with ice and snow, and its sides many hundreds of feet steep-down, without resting-place of any kind. 66 M. Agassiz thought it would be impossible to walk along such a place; but the fearless Jacob quickly showed how it could be done, by planting his feet on one side, and his pole on the other, leaning across the edge, till he got to the very peak. With some coaxing, like that of a bird with her young, he succeeded in inducing the rest to follow. Each, after passing to the peak, returned singly to the lower point. Agassiz," says M. Desor," remained upon the peak nearly five minutes, and when he rejoined us, I saw that he was greatly agitated; in fact, he confessed to me that he never experienced so much emotion. When I was on the summit, I could not prevent myself, any more than Agassiz, from giving way to great emotion at a spectacle of such overpowering grandeur. I remained only a few minutes; long enough, however, to remove any fear that the panorama of the Jungfrau will ever be effaced from my memory. After examining attentively the most prominent points of this unique picture, I hastened to rejoin Agassiz, for 1 feared lest an impression so powerful should deprive me of my usual confidence; I had need of grasping the hand of a friend; and I venture to say, that I never felt so happy in my life as when I had seated myself by his side on the snow. I believe that both of us would have wept had we dared; but a man's tears ought to be modest, and we were not alone; and such is the strength of the habits which society makes us contract, that, at the height of 12,000 feet, there was still a regard to etiquette ! It is not the vast field which the eyes embrace that constitutes the charm of these views from elevated mountains. The experience of the preceding year on the Col of the Stralileck, had taught us that distant views are, in general, very indistinct. Here, from the summit of the Jungfrau, the outlines of the distant mountains appeared to us still less accurately defined. But even had they been as distinct as the line of the Jura, seen from an eminence in the plain, I believe that they would not long have attracted our attention, so fascinated were we by the spectacle presented by our immediate neighbourhood. Before us lay extended the Swiss plain, and at our feet the anterior chains were piled up in stages; and they seemed, by their apparent uniformity, still farther to increase the size of the mighty peaks which rose almost to our level. At the same time, the valleys of the Oberland, which, at the moment of our arrival, were shrouded in thin mists, could be descried in many places, and we were thus allowed to contemplate the lower world, in some measure, through the openings. On the southern side, the view was intercepted by the clouds, which had been collected for some hours on the chain of Mont-Rosa. But this disappointment was more than compensated by a very extraordinary phenomenon. Thick mists had accumulated on our left, in the direction of south-west. They always rose from the bottom of the Rott-thal, and began to extend to the north upon the mountains which separate this valley from that of Lauterbrunnen. We were beginning to fear that they would envelope us a second time, when they suddenly stopped at some feet from us, no doubt from the effect of some current of air from the plain, which prevented their extending |