*■■'&, *-. ',*^ 1**,***:.-rig :* a^^c/^j6^ac^L^ CHANGE OF AIR, PHILOSOPHY OF TRAVELLING; AUTUMNAL EXCURSIONS FRANCE, SWITZERLAND, ITALY, GERMANY, BELGIUM; OBSERVATIONS AND REFLECTIONS ON THE MORAL, PHYSICAL, AND MEDICINAL INFLUENCE OF TRAVELLING-EXERCISE, CHANGE OF SCENE, FOREIGN SKIES, AND VOLUNTARY EXPATRIATION. TO WHICH IS PREFIXED, WEAR AND TEAR OF MODERN BABYLON. BY JAMES JOHNSON, M. D. PHYSICIAN EXTRAORDINARY TO THE KING. JVEW-YORK: SAMUEL WOOD AND SONS, 261, PEARL-STREET. 1831. wBH NATIONAL LIBRARY OF M£D!CiN£ -^ BFniESDA 14, MD. PRINTED AT THE OFFICE OF THE MEDICO-CHIRURGICAL REVIEW. preface:. As the title-page fully expresses the nature of this little volume, a few words only of Preface will be necessary. The Work consists of three Parts, united by the thread of the subject. The first contains some observations on that wear and tear of mind and body, which we particularly remark in civilized life, and especially in large cities; together with some suggestions as to the antidote or remedy. The second Part consists of reflec- tions and observations made during excursions through France, Switzerland, Italy, and Germany, in the years 1823 and 1829; partly for recreation—but principally for renovation of health. The third division contains some remarks and speculations on the moral, physical, and medicinal influence of foreign, and es- pecially of an Italian climate and residence, in sickness and in health. In each of these divisions, the author hopes that he has been able to combine utility with some portion of amusement, for those (and they are many) who, like himself, seek an oc- casional renovation of health, in a temporary relaxation from the toils and cares of avocation. Novelty in description is now quite out of the question—and from description he has generally abstained. Impressions and reflections will continue to be varied, till the mind: and features IV PREFACE. of human beings become similar to each other—and in this respect only, can novelty, or rather variety of sentiment be expected. The construction of this volume will shew that the author estimated its value at a very low rate, and consequently imposed but a very moderate tax on the public. He did not— indeed he could not, travel as an Antiquarian, Painter, Architect, Botanist, Geologist, or Politician. He roamed from place to place, as a philosophic observer. It is well known that many people migrate annually to Italy, in search of health—and there find a grave;—while a still larger class go thither in quest of pleasure or improvement, and bring back the seeds of disease. The observations of a medical traveller, not inexperienced in the investigation of climatorial influence on the human constitu- tion, mental and corporeal, may prove useful to those who wander or sojourn on the classic soil of Italy, for any of the above pur- poses ;—while the reflections which he has hazarded on the moral effects of foreign residence, or rather expatriation, may possibly interest a still wider circle of readers. The author is well aware of the many imperfections and verbal errors of this little volume, which, the nature of his avocations, after the bustle of travelling, gave him little time to rectify. But he throws himself on the mercy of the critic and of the reader, with a just confidence that they will make allowance for the circumstances under which the work was composed. , J. J. Suffolk Place, Pall Mall, 1st March, 1831. CONTENTS. PART THE FIRST. EDUCATION AND AVOCATION. Retrospection....... First and last View of London . . Wear and Tear of Modern Life Nature and Causes of this Wear and Tear...... Effects of Wear and Tear . Premature Old Age.... Causes of Premature Old Age Mental and Corporeal Labour Care-worn Countenance . . Etiolation, or Blanching . . Reciprocities of Mind and Body I Civilization........13 ib. ^Education.........14 2 Female Education......15 Abuse of Music ........ 15 3 Antidote to Wear and Tear . . 16 ib. Salutary Effects of Travelling Ex- 4 ercise.........20 5 Plan of a Tour for Restoration of 6 Health.........21 7 Moral Effects of Travelling Exer- 8 cise..........23 10 Physical Effects of Travelling . . 26 PART THE SECOND. CHANGE OF AIR, AN AUTUMNAL EXCURSION, &c. The Steamer........31 Employment of Steam in War . . 33 Calais..........35 Characteristics of La Belle France 35 Paris..........38 Comparison of Paris and London . 39 Fontainbleau.......40 Curious Effect of Travelling on the Mind..........41 JoiGNY..........42 Miserable appearance of the People 43 Jura Mountains—last View of France.........43 Pays de Vaud seen from the Jura . 44 Lake of Geneva and Savoy Moun- tains ..........45 Evening Sun on Mont Blanc . . 46 Geneva.........47 Harassing Passport System ... 48 Characteristics of the Swiss ... 50 Characteristics of Geneva ... 51 Lausanne—Vevay—Chillon . . 52 Reflections on Gibbon, Voltaire, Rousseau, and Byron .... 56 St. Maurice........57 Martigny—Inundation .... 58 Glaciers, reflections on the . . . 60 SION—GOITRE—cretinism. Valley of the Rhone.....61 Observations on Goitre and Cre- tinism .........62 Simplon—assent of......65 Village of the Simplon—Night at . 69 Descent of the Simplon .... 70 First View of Italy......71 Effects of the balmy Atmosphere of Italy..........ib- Reflections on the Route of the Simplon.........72 V) CONTENTS. Hospitality of the Italians, nolens Lunatic Asylum of Florence . 125 73 |-2(i Baveno — Thunder-storm — Lago /.) JOURNEY FROM FLORENCE TO Rd sin, Isola Bella—Ticino—Arona. . 76 77 127 Cathedral—sublime View from its UH 78 79 Effects of Morning Malaria and La Scala—Phrcbo-phobia, or dread 131 81 ib 82 San Lorenzo—Bolsena—Montefi- ib. S3 Pellagra of Lombard}', description of Malarious Physiognomy . . . . 84 I'W 87 Viterbo—Bells—Monks—Popula- S3 134 ib. 135 Lady Morgan in great request among the Austrians . . . . 136 89 ------Inquiry into the Nature of . 140 Pavia—its forlorn appearance by 144 Moonlight........ 90 I4H Characteristic Features of Country from Voghera to Bologna . . . 91 93 93 ROME. View from Assinelli's Tower . . Pinacoteca—reflections in the gal- TOWER OF THE CAPITOL. 94 South View; or, Rome in Ruins . 150 Madonna di St. Luca—Catholic 151 95 152 Apennines—a night on their summit Biondi's Gang of Banditti . . . 97 1*53 97 154 93 Arch of Septimius Severus . . . 154 Scenery of the Apennines. . . . Val d'Arno—first View of Florence qs 1<56 99 157 102 158 103 Temple of Antoninus and Faustina 159 Arno—Lung' Arno—Bridges—Cli- 161 104 107 162 Intellectual excitement of Florence ---------its objects, influence, end, 163 Irruption of the Barbarians over Arch of Constantine, with reflec- Museum of Natural History . . 103 110 1G4 Arch of Titus—Roman Triumphs 165 Wax-works—City of the Plague— 163 110 171 112 172 113 114 175 Gallery of the Gran Duca . . . Reflections on Public Baths . . . 176 Sources of Excitement in the 177 ib, Walls, Tombs, Aqueducts . . . 178 115 Pyramid of Caius Cestius . . 178 Bust of Tiberius...... ib. 116 181 ib Tombs of the Campagna . 183 Heads of Caligula and Caracalla 116 Northern View, or Modern R ome 185 117 Characteristics of Italy and its In- The Laocoon—the Moral . . . 118 1.87 Hall of Niobe—the Moral . . . ib. Museum of the Capitol . 189 119 Millennium Marmoreum . 190 119 Reflections on the Statues of Jupiter The Tribune. —Juno—Mars . • . 191 120 Apollo—Venus—Mercury, &c. . . 192 CONTENTS. Statues of Caesar—Agnppina and Germanicus—Nero—Sylla and Marius— Geta— Caracalla— Ar- cadius and Honorius—Constan- ti n e—Eliogabal us—Cicero—Cato —Seneca—Suicide among the Ancients and Moderns—Hanni- bal and Scipio—Antinous—the dying Gladiator—Diogenes and Alexander—Cleopatra—Hercu- les—Archimedes . . . .193-96 Millennium of the Poets .... 196 Homer—Horace— Virgil—Ovid— Perseus and Juvenal . . . .197 STREETS, HOUSES, AND INHABITANTS. Palaces of the Great and Hovels of the Poor.........200 Inequilibrium of Property, Reflec- tions on.........200 Progress of Knowledge—Power of the Press........201 Instrumental Music in Rome . . 202 Roman Cicerone, a great Bore . . 203 Pantheon......... 204 Jews' GLuarter.......206 Tiber Island—Reflections on . . 207 St. Peters—with reflections . . 209 ROUTE FROM ROME TO NAPLES. Albano..........213 La Riccia—Velletri—Brigandism . 215 Pontine Fens—Horace's Journey, a Satire.........216 Horrible Effects of Malaria . . .219 Terracina—Fondi—Itri . . . .221 Mola di Gaeta—Cicero's Tomb . 222 Campania Felix—Capua .... 224 NAPLES. Situation of the City, and Character of the People.......225 Philosophy of the Lazaroni . . . ib. Effects of first Impressions in Na- ples ..........226 Scenery round Naples.....227 Views from St. Elmo and Misenum 229 Streets Houses, Inhabitants . . 231 Free-trade of Intellect.....232 POMPEII. Sirocco and Tramontane .... 233 Drive over Herculaneum . . . . ib. Approach to Pompeii by the Street of Tombs........234 Diomede's Villa.......234 Interior Economy of Ancient Pom- peian Residence......235 Coup d'ceil of the unroofed City . 237 Nothing new under the Sun . . . 239 Ancient and Modern Inventions compared........240 Corruption and Depravity of man- ners ..........241 Thermae—Amphitheatre .... 242 Probable Destruction of Life at Pompeii.........244 Curious Instruments and Utensils found there.......ib. RETROGRESSION. Departure from Naples .... 245 Thunderstorm at Night in the Cam- pania ..........246 Passage of the Pontine Fens by Moonlight........247 Pleasures of a Roman Dogana and Midnight Water-spout.... 248 Romans that were......249 Romans that are......250 Moonlight Scenery in the Tuscan Mountains........252 An Italian Locanda.....252 Florence to Pisa—Lower Vald'Arno 253 Two Portraits.......ib, Pisa...........255 Leaning Tower—Campo Santo . 255 Climate, &c. of Pisa ..... 255 Pisafco Genoa by the New Road . 260 Gulf of Spezzia.......261 Torrent near Borghetto—narrow Escape.........261 Pass of the Bracco—terrific Scenery 262 Sestri—Bay of Rapallo .... 263 First View of Genoa from the Mountain of Routa.....264 GENOA. Remarkable Height of the Houses and Narrowness of the Streets . 265 Singular effects of this Construction ib. View from the Lighthouse . . . 266 Climate of Genoa for Invalids . . 267 Strada Nuova, or Street of Palaces ib. NEW ROAD FROM GENOA TO NICE. Savona—Statue of the Virgin . . 269 Specimen of the New Road near Noli..........ib. First Day's Journey to Finale . . 270 Extortions of the Hotel at Finale . ib. Vlll CONTENTS. Dreadful Snow-Storm on the Mountain of Finale.....271 Narrow Escape from Death by Cold 272 Notices of this Alpine Pass . . . 273 Second and Third Z)at/'s Journeys— Finale to Nice......273 Characteristics of the New Road from Genoa to Nice.....275 NICE. Site, Climate, Inhabitants, &c. . . 277 PHYSICAL INFLUENCE OF AN ITALIAN CLIMATE. Medical Geography.....292 Variability of an Italian Climate . 293 Comparison of Climates—Sir H. Davy's Opinion of England . . ib. Sirocco and Tramontane .... 294 Diary of an Invalid at Naples . ^95 Fatal Charms of an Italian Sky .^96 Climate of Italy in days of Yore . 298 Longevity of the ancient Romans . 298 Comparative Longevity in England and other Countries.....299 Safety of temporary Residence in Italy . . . . •.....300 MEDICINAL INFLUENCE. Pulmonary Consumption.... 302 Danger of mistaking the Disease . 303 Specimens of the Climate.... 304 Death in a foreign Clime .... 306 Diseases resembling Consumption . 306 Rheumatism........307 DISORDERS OF THE NERVOUS SYSTEM. Roman Sensibility......308 Sudden Death in Rome . . . . 309 DISORDERS OF THE DIGESTIVE ORGANS. Dyspepsia—Hypochondriasis . .311 Strange Effects of Malaria . . .312 NICE TO PARIS. Antibes—Starvation.....2SO Continental Cookery . . • • • 281 Cannes, Frejus, Cloacina's Wor- ship in Provence......282 Journey from Avignon to Lyons . 283 Delights of a Diligence .... 284 Lyons, Sketch of......235 TheSaone-Steamer—Coched'Eau 236 Horrors of a French Passage-boat 2H7 Chalons to Paris.......288 Bourbons the Cause of bad Roads . 289 England with all its Faults . . .289 MORAL INFLUENCE OF AN ITALIAN CLIMATE AND RESIDENCE. Propensity to imitation . . . .314 Sparta-poetic Precept.....314 CLEANLINESS AND DELICACY. Specimens of Italian Cleanliness and Delicacy.......315 INDUSTRY. Illustration of the Sparta-poetic Precept.........317 PATRIOTISM. British Selfishness......318 MORALITY—VIRTUE. Effects of "Plenary Indulgence" 319 Specimens of Morality from mod- ern Travellers.......320 RELIGION. The Catholic Religion.....322 Its Defects.........322 Neapolitan Cruelties after Pater Noster.........323 Intercession of Saints . . . j ■■, 323 Pompous Worship.....f , 324 Influence of Papal Ceremonies on the English........324 A Pontifical exhibition in the Cliui- rinal..........324 Finish of Fashionable Education . 326 PART THE THIRD. INFLUENCE—MORAL, PHYSICAL, AND MEDICINAL—OF AN ITALIAN CLIMATE AND ITALIAN RESIDENCE, IN SICKNESS AND IN HEALTH. CHANGE OF AIR, OR THE PHILOSOPHY OF TRAVELLING. RETROSPECTION. As the carriage moved slowly up Shooter's Hill, one fine autumnal morning, I turned round to take a parting look at Modern Babylon. My eye ranged along the interminable grove of masts that shewed her boundless commerce—the hundred spires that proclaimed her ardent piety—the dense canopy of smoKethat spread itself over her countless streets and squares, enveloping a million and a half of human beings in murky vapour. Imagination is always active, and memory is her prompter. Thirty years had rolled away since the same me- tropolis first burst on my view, in an opposite direction. Alas, how changed were my feelings, as well as my features, by that lapse of time! I can still distinctly remember the sensations that thrilled through my breast when London first expanded itself before me. Fortune, fame, pleasure, were prominent features in the mental per- spective, and sanguine hope repelled every doubt of success ! ----------------for life itself was new, And the heart promised what the fancy drew. But when I mingled with the chafing " tide of human existence " at Charing Cross, my heart sunk within me—I felt, as it were, annihi- lated—lost, like a drop of water in the ocean—suddenly hurled from 2 2 WEAR AND TEAR. the giddy heights of imagination, and overwhelmed in the tumultuous stream of living beings that flowed in all directions around me. I believe there are very few Mho do not experience this feeling of abasement on first mixing with the crowd in the streets of London. Such, at least, Mas the depressive effect on myself, that all my fond dreams of ambition fled—my moral courage failed—and I abandoned that metropolis which a youthful imagination had pictured as the scene of aggrandizement and happiness, to wander for twenty years, by sea and land, over the surface of this globe— Where Polar skies congeal th' eternal snow, Or Equinoctial suns for ever glow— From regions where Peruvian billows roar, To the bleak coast of savage Labrador. To those who have approached the mighty city, with more chast- ened hopes, but more matured judgment—with less sanguine expecta- tions, but with more steady courage—better qualified to plunge into the vortex of competition, by inflexible resolution to " conquer diffi- culties by daring to oppose them," the following observations, from one who has experienced the influence of baleful as well as bene- ficial skies—of civic as well as erratic life, may not be without some interest. * WEAR AND TEAR. There is a condition or state of body and mind, intermediate between that of sickness and health, but much nearer the former than the latter, to which I am unable to give a satisfactory name. It is daily and hourly felt by tens of thousands in this metropo- lis, and throughout the empire ; but I do not know that it has ever been described. It is not curable by physic, though I ap- prehend that it makes much work for the doctors ultimately, if not for the undertakers. It is that wear and tear of the living machine, mental and corporeal, which results from over-strenu- ous labour or exertion of the intellectual faculties, rather than of the corporeal powers, conducted in anxiety of mind and in bad air. It bears some analogy to the state of a ship, which, though still sea- wear and tear. 3 worthy, exhibits the effects of a tempestuous voyage, and indicates the propriety of re-caulking the seams and overhauling the rigging. It might be compared to the condition of the wheels of a carriage, when the tyres begin to moderate their close embrace of the wood- work and require turning. Lastly, it bears no very remote similitude to the strings of a harp, when they get relaxed by a long series of vibrations, and demand bracing up. This wear-and-tear complaint (if the designation be allowed) is almost peculiar to England, and is probably a descendant of the old " English malady," about which so much was written a century ago. And why should it predominate in London so much more than in Paris 1 The reason is obvious :—In London, business is almost the only pleasure—in Paris, pleasure is almost the only business. In fact, the same cause which produces the wear-and-tear malady, namely, hard work, or rather over-exertion, is that which makes our fields better cultivated, our houses better furnished, our villas more numerous, our cottons and our cutlery better manufactured, our machinery more effective, our merchants more rich, and our taxes more heavy than in France or Italy. If we compare the Boulevards, the cafes, the jardins, the promenades of Paris, with corresponding situations in and around the British Metropolis, we shall be forced to acknowledge that it is nearly " all work and no play" with John Bull during six days of the week, and vice versa with his Gallic neighbours. Does this " wear and tear" tell at last upon John's constitution, intellectual and corporeal 1 I do not speak of the mere labour of the body. The fatigue induced by the hardest day's toil may be dissipated by " tired Nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep ;" —but not so the fatigue of the mind ! Thought and care cannot be discontinued or cast off when we please, like exercise. The head may be laid on the pillow, but a chaos of ideas will infest the over-worked brain, and either prevent our slumbers, or render them a series of feverish, tumultuous, or distressing dreams, from which we rise more languid than when we lie down ! But it will be asked—can this apply to the immense mass of sea- soners or sojourners in Babylon, who have nothing to think of but pleasure or dissipation—those " nati consumere fruges," who remain as torpid as the owl while the light of Heaven is on the earth, and flutter in foul air while all other created beings are asleep ? Yes. 4 premature old age. They, too, experience the " wear and tear" of high civilization, fully as much as those whose intellectual and corporeal powers are worn down and expended in the most useful as well as the most hon- ourable avocations. It would be a very unequal distribution of jus- tice were it otherwise! PREMATURE OLD AGE. It cannot be necessary to minutely describe that wear and tear of the morale and the physique, which is too widely felt not to be readily recognized. The experienced eye detects it at a single glance in every street, in almost every habitation—in the senate and in the theatre—at the bar and at the altar—in the cabinet, the court: in short, in every spot where art, science, literature, or civilization can be found. One of the most striking features of this state is that which indeed would be, a priori, expected—premature age. Every one knows that a precocious developement of the intellectual facul- ties, generally winds up, in the end, with an early failure of the men- tal powers. Now modern education, male and female, has a constant tendency to do that artificially, which Nature, in a capricious mood, sometimes does voluntarily;—namely, to give birth to precocity of intelligence—with this difference, that the artificial precocity stamps its baneful mark on the physical organization as well as on the intel- lectual capacities of the individual, thus urged forward too quickly along the path of existence. The " march of intellect," then, is a forced march—and military men well know that forced marches will wear out the best troops that ever trode the field. The terrible com- petition and struggle for pre-eminence, introduced into all systems of male and female education, are not relaxed when scholastic discipline is at an end. Alas, no! A new and destructive element is then added—care ! The studies of youth are untinctured by anxiety, ex- cept that of emulation ; and they are sustained by that almost inex- haustible elasticity of mind which is inherent in the juvenile constitu- tion. But when the next act of the drama comes to be performed__ when the curtain is drawn up, and we step forward on the stage of life, the competition is not merely for honorary rewards, but, among a large majority of society, for actual subsistence ! This struggle, premature old age. 5 inductive of premature old age, is, of course, increased and rendered more baleful by the crowded state of all the learned professions— which redundancy of hands, or rather of heads, is itself produced, in a great degree, by the taste or mania for excessive education. Man naturally, and almost universally, aims at bettering his condition— that is, at rising a step above his present station. This impulse is, if possible, still more active with respect to his offspring. The con- sequence is a general and unquenchable thirst for knowledge and in- tellectual acquirements of all kinds, as the means of accomplishing the great object in view. This, in fact, is the march, or rather the race of intellect, in which the progression is with the head instead of the feet. And it is not in the higher pursuits of literature and science—of divinity, law, medicine, and politics only that this system obtains ; in every art, from the most refined to the most mechanical, one leading feature, one pervading object, is to work the brain in preference to the hand. That man was designed by his Creator to exercise both his intellectual and muscular powers, is as clear, from the organization of his body, as it is evident, from the structure of his teeth, that he was destined to live on animal and vegetable food. Nor does it appear that Nature is very squeamish about the relative pro- portions of intellectual and corporeal labour. We see people—almost whole nations, enjoy health and compararive happiness with scarcely any exercise of the thinking faculties—and we observe whole classes of society, as, for example, lawyers, run through the usual range, apparently, of human existence, with infinitely more work of the head than of the body. Yet there is a certain limit to this disproportion \ between mental and corporeal action, beyond which we cannot go without offering a violence to Nature, which is sooner or later resented. -----------------sunt certi denique fines duos ultra citraque nequeat consistere rectum. Compare, for instance, the coai-heaver on the banks of the Thames, straining daily, like an Atlas, under a load of " Northumbria's entrails," and passing through his stomach and veins some three or four gallons of porter, with the barrister, straining his brain during twelve hours in the day, from beginning to end of term, with scarcely any exercise of 6 premature old age. his muscles. Nothing can be more striking than the contrast between these two classes of operatives, as far as complexion is concerned;— but strip them of their habiliments—wash off the charcoal and hair- powder—and examine their constitutions:—You will find that the " wear and tear " of body and mind has forwarded each of them a step or two, in advance, on the path of human existence. It will be said, indeed, that many, instances of longevity are found in the most sedentary and literary professions, as well as in the most toilsome trades. No doubt of it. Chelsea and Greenwich present us with veteran soldiers and sailors of 80, 90, and 100 years. But is it to be inferred from these specimens, that a naval or military life includes no extra wear and tear of the constitution, except what is connected with battle 1 If the silent sea and tented plain could give up faithful records of the past, it would be found that both cruizing and campaigning wear down and wear out the powers of life, independently of gunpowder or steel; and that at a very rapid rate indeed ! It is well known that the soldier and sailor, especially the latter, appears to be 50 at the age of 40, and so on in proportion. The wear and tear of a sea life did not escape the penetrating observation of Homer, who distinctly says that— " Man must decay when man contends with storms." To present the Chelsea and Greenwich pensioner as proofs of the lon- gevity of a naval and military life, is to take the exception for the gene- ral rule :—it is like pointing to the Pyramids, for proof that Time had broken his scythe, while we shut our eyes to the mouldering ruins of Egypt, Greece, and Italy. And so it is with the tens of thousands who labour inordinately with the brain, whether in literature, law, science, or art—the octogenarians and the nonogenarians whom we meet with, are only the human pyramids that have withstood, somewhat longer than usual, the extra wear and tear of avocation. The actuary and the statistical enquirer may tell us that the dura- tion of human life is greater now than it was a century ago. This may be the case ; but it does not affect my.argument. It only proves the diminution of some of those physical agencies which curtailed the range of existence among our ancestors—and holds out the probabili- ty, that our successors may be able to check the influence of many of those moral ills which shorten, or, at all events, embitter life among us. CARE-WORN COUNTENANCE. 7 If three score years and ten be the number allotted to man, and we find that the average range of his existence is little more than half that number, there must surely be " something rotten in the constitution," (independent of the mere accidents to which civilization exposes us) to abridge so tremendously the short span of being to which man is doomed in this transitory scene ! But granting, for the sake of argu- ment, what I deny, in point of fact, that this wear and tear, this over- exertion, this super-excitement, made no appreciable difference in the ratio of mortality, so as to be tangible in the calculations of an actua- ry, will it be inferred from thence that health and happiness are not sufferers in the collision ? Are not whole tribes of maladies, mental and corporeal, thus engendered, which may not materially shorten life, but must render it a burthen rather than a blessing 1 Yes ! The dev- astation which is worked in this way far exceeds calculation or belief. We may safely come to the conclusion, then, that the wear and tear of avocation induces the semblance, if not the reality, of premature old age. CARE-WORN COUNTENANCE. Whether the seat of our feelings and our passions be in the head or in the heart, one thing is certain, that their expression is in the coun- tenance. To mask or conceal this expression is the boast of the vil- lain—the policy of the courtier—the pride of the philosopher—and the endeavour of every one. It may appear remarkable that it is much easier to veil the more fierce and turbulent passions of our nature, as anger, hatred, jealousy, revenge, &c. than the more feeble and passive emotions of the soul, as grief, anxiety, and the various forms of care. The reason, however, is obvious. Vivid excitement and tempestuous feeling cannot last long, without destroying the corporeal fabric. They are only momentary gusts of passion, from the effects of which the mind and the body are soon relieved. But the less obtrusive emotions resulting from the thousand forms of solicitude, sorrow, and vexation growing out of civilized life, sink deep into the soul, sap its energies, and stamp their melancholy seal on the countenance, in characters which can neither be prevented nor effaced by any exertion or inge- nuity of the mind! The tornado, and the cataract from the clouds, 8 etiolation, or blanching wear not such deep furrows in the mountain's rocky side, as the faint- ly murmuring rill, whose imperceptible but perpetual attrition effectu- ates more in the end, than the impetuous but transitory rush of the roaring torrent engendered by the storm, not fed by the spring. Gutta cavat lapidem non vi sed srepe cadendo. This care-worn countenance, in short, is a more obvious mark of the wear and tear of mind, in modern civilized life, than premature age:—for age is relative, and its anticipated advance can only be ap- preciated by a knowledge of its real amount, which can seldom be at- tained. ETIOLATION, OR BLANCHING. The inhabitants of a city may easily be distinguished from those of the country, by the pallor of their complexions. The care-worn countenance, last alluded to, is generally " sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought," but the etiolation or blanching which I am now to notice, takes place independently of much thinking or mental anxiety. It cannot, in fact, boast of such an intellectual origin as the other. It is the result of physical, rather than of moral causes—more especially of bad air, inexposure to the light of heaven, sedentary avocations, inactivity, late hours, &c. I have used the word etiolation, because I think it perfectly appropriate. When a gardener wishes to etiolate, that is, to blanch, soften, and render juicy a vegetable, as lettuce, celery, &c. he binds the leaves together, so that the light may have as little access as possible to their surfaces. In like manner, if we wish to etiolate men and women, we have only to congregate them in cities, where they are pretty securely kept out of the sun, and where they become as white, tender, and watery as the finest celery. For the more exquisite specimens of this human etiolation, we must survey the inhabitants of mines, dungeons, and other subterranean abodes— and for complete contrasts to these we have only to examine the complexions of stage-coachmen, shepherds, and the sailor " on the high and giddy mast." Modern Babylon furnishes us with all the intermediate shades of etiolation, from the " green and yellow ETIOLATION, OR BLANCHING. 9 melancholy" of the Bazar Maiden, who occupies somewhat less space in her daily avocations and exercise, than she will ultimately do in her quiet and everlasting abode, to the languishing, listless, lifele'ss Albinos of the boudoir, etiolated in hothouses, by the aid of " motley-routs and midnight madrigals," from which the light as well as the air of Heaven is carefully excluded ! Thus penury and wealth, obscurity and splendour, industry and idleness, the indulgence of pleasure and the endurance of pain, all meet at the same point, and, by the mysterious workings of an over-ruling Providence, come to the same level, in this respect, at last! That voluntary dissipation should suffer all the evils attendant on necessary and unavoidable avocation, no one can regret:—but that useful toil and meritorious exertion should participate, and more than participate in the miseries which follow in the train of the " gay licentious proud,"- is a melan- choly reflection. The longer we live in this world, however, and the more narrowly we watch the ways and the fate of man, the more we shall be convinced that vice does not triumph here below—that pleasure is invariably pursued by pain—that riches and penury incur nearly the same degree and kind of taxation—and that the human frame is as much enfeebled by idleness as it is exhausted by labour. But to return to etiolation. What does this blanching indicate ] In the upper classes of society, it indicates what the long nails on the fingers of a Chinese indicate—no avocation. In the middling and lower orders of life, it indicates unhealthy avocation—and among the thinking part of the community, it is one of the symbols or symptoms of wear and tear of constitution. But different people entertain different ideas respecting etiolation. The fond and fashion- able mother would as soon see green celery on her table as brown health on the cheek of her daughter. When, therefore, the ladies venture into the open carriage, they carefully provide themselves with parasols to aid the dense clouds of an English atmosphere in prevent- ing the slightest intrusion of the cheerful, but embrowning rays of Phcebus. In short, no mad dog can have a greater dread of water, than has a modern fine lady of the solar beams. So much does this Phoebophobia haunt her imagination, that the parasol is up, even when the skies are completely overcast, in order apparently, and I believe designedly, to prevent the attrition of the passing zephyr over her delicate features and complexion ! 3 10 RECIPROCITIES OF MIND AND BODY. I have alluded to the mark of gentility in the male sex of China— long nails on their fingers. I would strongly recommend the British fair to imitate the Chinese ladies, by compressing their feet into pretty little toys, for ornament rather than for use. As they never walk during the day, the crippling process will not be attended with any in- convenience—while it will prevent them from jumping (or to use a more fashionable term, gallopading) six hours every night, in an atmosphere somewhat similar to that of the black-hole in Calcutta, by which a prodigious weap.. and tear of their constitution will be saved. RECIPROCITIES OF MIND AND BODY. Does etiolation merely indicate the nature of avocation and dissipation in civilized life ? It indicates much more than these ; but the complete investigation of the subject cannot be undertaken in this place. This etiolation is but the external sign of a host of internal modifications, if not changes of vital powers and functions, that exert a greater influence over our health and happiness, than is generally known or imagined. Is it to be supposed that the pallid cheek, the lack-lustre eye, the care-worn countenance, the languid gait, the flaccid muscle, and the indisposition to exertion, are purely insulated phenomena, unconnected with deep-rooted deviations from sound health of body and mind?—No, verily ! Man is a curious and com- pound machine, animal and intellectual. He, in company with other living beings, has organs that are not under his command, and which digest his food, circulate his blood, and repair the wear and tear of the day, without his knowledge or consent. He has voluntary muscles, by which he transports himself from place to place—erects edifices— constructs manufactures—and becomes equally expert in cultivating the fields in peace, and covering them with the dead bodies of his fellow-creatures in war! But he has a sentient and intellectual system. His senses, like faithful videttes, convey to the mind in- telligence of every thing that passes in the world around him; and from these impressions the mind forms its ideas, its judgments, and its determinations. That man excels all other animals in his intel- lectual system, there can be little doubt; but it would not be difficult to shew that, for this superiority, he pays a heavy tax in health and happiness! RECIPROCITIES OF MIND AND BODY. 11 The animal and intellectual—in other words, the spiritual and material portions of our being may be distinct essences, and the former may survive the latter in " another and a better world ;"—but here below, they are linked in the strictest bonds of reciprocity, and are perpetually influenced, one by the other. Thus, let certain substances be applied to certain sensible parts of our material fabric— as antimony or Prussic acid to the nerves of the stomach. The muscles become enfeebled—and the mind, even of the proudest hero, falls prostrate with its suffering companion in the animal life ! Shaks- peare was too observant of human nature not to notice this ; and he repeatedly exemplifies it. An invisible, but a material agent, malaria, is made to annihilate the courage of Caesar. He had a fever when he was in Spain ; And when the fit was on him I did mark How he did shake------------ His coward lips did from their colour fly ; Ay, and that tongue of his that bade the Romans Mark him, and write his speeches in their books, Alas ! it cried—" Give me some drink Titinius," As a sick girl. Sea-sickness is another familiar illustration. Whoever has cross- ed the Channel, for the first time, in stormy weather, and felt the horrors of Neptune's seasoning, must remember its depressing influ- ence on every faculty of the soul! But does the mind fail to repay these acts of civility received from the body 1 No, indeed. More than half of our corporeal discomforts, and even diseases, are pro- duced by perturbation and tribulation of mind. Look at the great commercial world. It may be compared to a monstrous animal whose brain or sensorium is placed on Cornhill, but whose nerves or feelers extend to the four quarters of the globe. Every event, politi- cal or commercial, that occurs on any one point of the earth's surface, vibrates along these nerves, and is tremblingly felt by the sensory « on Change"—whence it radiates to every part of the capital and of the kingdom! What must be the consequence of such a state of things, when it is well known that even in the most quiet and domes- tic circles of life, a sudden gust of passion, a transient sense of fear an unexpected piece of intelligence-in short, any strong emotion of 12 reciprocities of mind and BODY. the mind, will cause the heart to palpitate, the muscles lo tremble, the digestive organs to suspend their functions, and the blood to rush in vague and irregular currents through the living machine 1 The de- tection of Antiochus's passion for Stratonica by the pulse, is a proof how early the influence of the mind on the heart was remarked. It is well known that Philip the Fifth, of Spain, died suddenly on learning the disastrous defeat of the army near Plaisance. Zimmerman states that, on opening his body, the heart was found burst. The minutest capillary tube through whicn the vital current flows, is under the influ- ence of mental perturbation. Shame will crimson the cheek :—Let the emotion be changed to fear, and the lily usurps the seat of the rose—the face is blanched and bloodless. Anger can rouse the vital organs into such preternatural activity as to overcome, for a time, habitual decripitude. Thus Muley Moloc, though lying on the bed of death, worn out by an incurable disease, and not expected to live an hour, started from his litter during the important crisis of a battle be- tween his troops and the Portuguese—rallied his army—led them to victory—and immediately expired ! These and a thousand instances that might be cited, may enable us to form some idea of the wide range of physical effects resulting from the almost unlimited " play of the passions" among so thinking, so reading, so commercial, and so po- litical a people as the English. It is by the brain, or organ of intellect, that man is distinguished and raised above all other animals. The nerves of sense, by which im- pressions are conveyed to this organ, are not so acute in the lord of the creation as in many of the inferior orders of animated beings. He is surpassed by the eagle in sight—by the hare in hearing—and by almost all other animals in taste. But when the human species began to congregate in cities, it was soon obvious that the exertion of the intellect must predominate over that of the body. As civilisation advanced, intellectual labour came more into demand, and the labour- ers multiplied in proportion. At the present period, as was before observed, the employment of a very large class of human beings, es- pecially in cities, consists almost entirely of mental exertion. To such an extent is intellectual labour now arrived, that a very large and influential class of society live entirely,'and support themselves hon- ourably, by " teaching the young ideas how to shoot"—while others, who have no actual occupation, rack their minds with inventions, reciprocities of mind and BODY. 13 schemes, and projects, that fade away as fast as they are engendered. It is well known that, the more a voluntary muscle is exercised, within a reasonable limit, the stronger and more capable of exertion it becomes. It is so with the intellectual faculties. The more these fac- ulties are brought into play, (ivithin a certain bound of moderation,) the more extensive becomes the sphere of their power. The senses of touch, smell, hearing, all acquire acuteness in proportion as they are exercised. But this extra developement and sensibility of the in- tellectual faculties cannot take place but at the expense of some cor- poreal function or structure. An attentive examination of every class of society from the prime minister down to the attorney's clerk, will convince us that, in proportion as the intellect is highly cultivated, im- proved, and strongly exerted, the body suffers—till a period at length arrives, when the corporeal deterioration begins to re-act on the mental powers, and then proud man finds that the elasticity, even of the im- mortal mind, may be impaired by pressure too long continued—and that, like springs of baser metal, it requires occasional relaxation. Civilized, and more especially civic life, by rendering the senses more acute, makes the passions more ungovernable. In congregated masses of society, every kind of food for the passions is not only superabundant in quantity, but of the most stimulating quality. Hence, in all the upper classes of society—in all indeed, who work with the head rather than with the hand—and also among those who have no work at all—we find an unnatural and insalutary degree of excitement kept up in the brain and nervous system by the " play of the passions." The extent of injury which our health sustains in this way is beyond all calculation ! Plato was not very far wrong when he asserted, that " all diseases of the body proceed from the mind or soul -."—"omnia corporis mala ab anima procedure." Unquestionably a very great proportion of them originate in this source. In this country, where man's relations with the world around him are multiplied beyond all example in any other country, in consequence of the intensity of in- terest attached to politics, religion, commerce, literature, and the arts —where the temporal concerns of an immense proportion of the popu- lation are in a state of perpetual vaccillation—where spiritual affairs excite great anxiety in the minds of many—and where speculative risks are daily run by all classes," from the disposers of empires in Leadenhall Street down to the potatoe-merchant in Covent Garden, 14 education. it is really astonishing to observe the deleterious influence of these mental perturbations on the functions of the corporeal fabric. The operation of physical causes, numerous as these are, dwindles into complete insignificance, compared with that of anxiety, tribulation, discontent—and I may add ennui of mind. EDUCATION. Before concluding the subject of Wear and Tear of civilized life, and adverting to one or two of the principal means of repair, I shall take the liberty of making a few brief remarks on modern education, and its influence on mind and body. I shall not be ranked among the " Laudatores temporis acli," when I avow my conviction that the mode as well as the amount of modern education, as far as male youth is concerned, are as much superior to those of former times, as our car- riages, machinery, and ships excel those of our ancestors. The only objection is, that youth is forced, by competition, to an exertion injuri- ous to health, and consequently to the ultimate and complete develope- ment of the intellectual powers. The march of intellect compels a competition in universities, colleges, public schools, and private seminaries of education, just as much as among individuals. Let us take, for example, the London University. The rigid, and I will say, the fair, honourable, and impartial system of examination into the acquisition of knowledge, as well as the adjudication of honours, leaves mediocrity of talent no chance of distinction, however assiduous may be the application. Emulation is so stimulated (encouragement is not a sufficiently strong term) that none but the higher order of spirits, in our age, can hope to bear off the prizes of merit—and then only when assisted by unremitted labour. Can this system be objected to ?—Cer- tainly not. It is the necessary consequence of the unrestrained thirst after knowledge—the unshackled liberty of the press and of the peo- ple—the exuberance of population—and the universal consciousness that " knowledge is power." Still this tremendous competition and exertion of the intellect, at a period of life when Nature points to and demands exuberance of corporeal exercise, must have a deleterious in- fluence on mind and body—and this injury, though acquired at first by external circumstances, will, in time, be propagated from parent to pro- FEMALE EDUCATION. 15 geny hereditarily. There appears to be no remedy for the evil at pre- sent, except that of employing the holidays of youth in bodily exercise as much as possible in the open air in the country. Parents ought to look to this before the health of their offspring is undermined. FEMALE EDUCATION. Modern refinement appears to be doing more injury through the medium of female than of male education. In the latter, the study of ancient literature and modern science, must tend, if not carried to ex- cess, to elevate the mind and strengthen the intellectual faculties. But surely this cannot be expected from a system which constantly aims at the cultivation and indulgence of certain senses—as, for in- stance, those concerned in music and painting. From ample obser- vation, I am satisfied that the degree of attention bestowed on these acquirements, or accomplishments, is incompatible with an adequate study of the more useful, not to say dignified branches of education, and a proper amount of bodily exercise. I am, indeed, prepared to maintain, and I do not hesitate to assert, that the present system of fe- male education is a system of sensuality, in the broadest—I had nearly said the worst signification of the word ! Few are acquainted, or capable of becoming acquainted with the baneful consequences of this system ; but many are doomed to feel them. The poisoned ar- row, in this case, leaves no wound ; but the venom meanders slowly through the veins, and effects its destructive work unseen and un- known ! What but evil can be expected from a system of education which enervates the mind and enfeebles the body—which polishes the external senses, and leaves the intellect a prey to rust and moth— which excites the imagination and obtunds the judgment—which, to speak out plainly, fosters mere animal feeling and discourages MORAL SENSE ! I speak of the abuse and not the use of music. If the " concord of sweet sounds " were made a rational and moderate recreation and rel- axation from abstruser and severer studies, it would be all well. But music is now esteemed the prime accomplishment, and to make any figure in this, the young female must spend four or five hours of the day, and as many of the night, in thrumming the piano and straining 16 ANTIDOTE TO WEAR AND TEAR. her lungs. But this is not all. The musical mania engenders the desire, and indeed creates the necessity, for a constant round of con- certs, operas, and festivals, by which the health of the body is en- feebled—the energies of the soul paralyzed—and the moral principle itself undermined ! But as this piece of philosophy is not so likely to gain the female ear as -------------------------the note That pants or trembles through the eunuch's throat, I shall take leave of the subject altogether, and proceed to matters of a very different complexion. THE ANTIDOTE TO WEAR AND TEAR. Having thus glanced at some of the more prominent features of the Wear and Tear of civilized, and especially of civic life, it is natural to enquire if there be any remedy or antidote. There is an ancient maxim which says—" contraria contrariis medentur "—that is—evils or disorders are cured by their opposites. Thus the lassitude of exer- cise is removed by rest—the feelings of ennui are dissipated by em- ployment—the effects of intemperance are overcome by abstemious- ness—and, by a parity of reasoning, we should expect that the wear and tear of the London season, resulting from dissipation in the high- er ranks, and avocation, mental anxiety, and a thousand moral and physical ills in all ranks, might be repaired, in some degree at least by pure air, rural relaxation, and bodily exercise. What reasoning would predicate, experience confirms. Let any one, who has a month to spare in the Autumn, take his daily seat on the further extremity of the chain-pier at Brighton, and examine the features of the numerous faces which present themselves on the platform there. He must note the individual countenances. He will perceive these individuals, at first pale and sickly—gradually improve in their looks—and at length Modern Babylon. From a " week at Margate " to a "tour among disappear—the chasms perpetually filled up by importations from the Alps," or " travels in Italy," what an infinite variety of ways and means for the recovery of health or the pursuit of pleasure, are laid un- antidote to wear and tear. V7 der contribution by the wealthy, the idle, the laborious, or the luxuri- ous inhabitants of this great metropolis !! The valleys of Wales, the lakes of Cumberland, the lochs and mountains of Scotland, the green hills of Erin—all furnish their quota of health and recreation for the " Everlasting City " of the British Isles ! And no people on the face of this earth more dearly earn, or more richly deserve this au- tumnal treat—or retreat, than the London citizens. Their proud aristocratic neighbours of Westminister are entitled to these indul- gences by prescriptive right—and probably eye, with some degree of jealousy, the power which industry gives the inferior orders of society to participate in the luxury. Be that as it may, it is fortunate that the fury of politics, the pursuit of pleasure, the riot of dissipation, the madness of ambition, the thirst of gold, the struggles of competition, the cares of commerce—nay even the confinement of the counter, find one annual interval of rel- axation beyond the smoke, and dust, and din of the metropolis. It is probably of little importance to what point of the compass the tourist steers his course. Health and recreation are not confined to North, South, East or West; but may be found in every intermediate radia- tion from the scene of exhaustion. Why the writer of this volume should direct his steps to the Alps or to the Apennines, for change of air or for health, the reader has no right to inquire;—but why he should tax the public with a book on this occasion, is a very legiti- mate query—much more easily asked than answered. It must be confessed that between the Thames and the Tiber—between Ben Nevis and Mont Blanc, there is not a hill or a dale—a palace' or a ruin—a city or a village—a cliff or a cataract—a river or a forest—a a manner, custom, or character—scarcely an animal, mineral, or vegetable, that has not been minutely described over and over again. There remains, therefore, but one source of variety, leaving origin- ality out of the question. The objects of survey, animate and in- animate, continue the same, or nearly so—the impressions made on the mind by these objects, and the reflexions growing out of these impressions, are as various, and often as opposite, as the characters of the observers, or the features of their faces. Let us advert to one or two illustrations. How many hundred thousand people must have crossed London Bridge and ascended Fish-street Hill, eying the 4 18 antidote to wear and tear. Monument as they passed, without hitting on such a pithy sentiment or reflexion as that with which it inspired Pope 1 "Where yon tall column towering to the skies, Lifts its proud head, and like a bully lies." What a crowd of complex ideas is called forth by these two lines ! The dreadful fire of London—the shocking insinuation resulting from political prejudice—the melancholy reflexion that a public monument should record a scandalous falsehood—the contempt and detestation of Bully, &c. all flash on the mind in an instant, and furnish food for a long train of contemplation. Even the same or very similar objects strike the same class of people—for instance poets, in a very different manner. Thus the summits of the highest mountains in the old and the new world—the Alps and the Andes, excited very dissimilar trains of thought in two cotemporary poets of first rate genius. Btron— ----------------Above me are the Alps, The palaces of Nature, whose vast walls Have pinnacled in clouds their snowy scalps, And throned Eternity in icy halls Of cold sublimity, where forms and falls The Avalanche—the thunderbolt of snow ! All that expands the spirit, yet appals, Gather around these summits, as to shew How Earth may pierce to Heaven, yet leave mean man below. Campbell— ---------------------------Afar, Where Andes, gtjant of the Western Star, With meteor standard, to the winds unfurl'd, Looks from his throne of clouds o'er half the world. This variety of impression from same or similar objects, is not peculiar to poets, but is found among writers of every class. Camper wrote a very amusing and interesting essay on the " shape of a shoe"— Cowper on the pleasures of a sofa—and every one knows how much Sterne made of a short trip to Paris. But without aiming at either ANTIDOTE TO WEAR AND TEAR. 19 / poetry or sentimentality, I may be permitted to state, that the main object of the following tour was health—and that the observations and reflexions which grew out of the impressions received on the road, were noted as mere amusement. I do not recommend this plan as an example to be followed by all others. After the wear and tear of metropolitan drudgery, it would probably be wiser to make such a journey (whether North or South) as a passive rather than an active spectator—thus letting the mind rest, while the body is whirled through the fresh air, and the senses are regaled with a constant suc- cession of new scenes. But there are many whose organization and temperament will not permit them to be inactive under any circum- stances :—and this, I fear, is my unfortunate case ! If that which has furnished amusement to myself, should not prove amusing to others, (technically speaking, should the book be damned,) the detri- ment will not be very great to society at large—and I can assure the compassionate reader as well as the conscientious critic, that the disappointment will not deprive the writer of a single night's rest. He may be permitted to add, in conclusion, that he has passed off nothing as his own which he has drawn from books. Any descrip- tions which he may have ventured on, are copied from Nature—nor are the reflections arising from scenes or circumstances the echo of other men's thoughts. He is not without a hope that this unostenta- tious little volume may prove useful, even where it fails in amusement, to many who, like the author, seek health or relaxation in a temporary abstraction from the wear and tear of metropolitan drudgery. As a preliminary to the Tour which forms the subject of the remain- der of this volume, I think I shall be forgiven in haying before the reader a few observations on the salutary effects of travelling, from a medical work lately published. The extract is rather long, but it is so very germain to the object in view, that I shall make no apolo- gy for the insertion of it in this place. 20 salutary effects of travelling exercise. SALUTARY EFFECTS OF TRAVELLING EXERCISE. "Viresque acquirit cundo." " Since the Continent has been open to the English, there has been no lack of this species of exercise; but there are different kinds of travelling now, as there was different kinds of travellers in the days of Sterne. It is one thing to travel for health, and quite another thing to travel for the sake of studying architecture, viewing pictures, ran- sacking libraries, collecting antiquities, exploring geological forma- tions, or collecting rare and beautiful specimens of plants. It is en- tirely with the first kind of travelling that I have to do—namely, that mode which conduces most to the restoration of health, leaving every other consideration entirely out of the question, with the excep- tion of amusement, which I.consider as essentially connected with the subject of health. Six individuals, three in health (domestics) and three valetudina- rians (one a lady), travelled, in the months of August, September and October, 1823, about 2500 miles, through France, Switzerland, Germany, and Belgium, for the sole purpose of health and such amusement as was considered most contributive to the attainment of that object. The experiment was tried, whether a constant change of scene and air, combined with almost uninterrupted exercise, active and passive, during the day—principally in the open air, might not ensure a greater stock of health, than slow journies and long sojourns on the road. The result will be seen presently. But in order to give the reader some idea of what may be done in a three months' tour of this kind, I shall enumerate the daily journeys, omitting the excursions from and around those places at which we halted for the night, or for a few days. Our longest sojourn was that of a week, and that only thrice—at Paris, Geneva, and Brussels. In a majority of places, we only stopped a night and part of a day, or one or two days, according to local interest. But I may remark that, as far as I was concerned, more exercise was taken during the days of sojourn at each place, than durino- the days occupied in travelling from one point to another. The consequence was, that a quarter of a year was spent in one uninterrupted system of SALUTARY EFFECTS OF TRAVELLING EXERCISE. 21 exercise, change of air, and change of scene, together with the men- tal excitement and amusement produced by the perpetual presentation of new objects—many of them the most interesting on the face of this globe. The following were the regular journeys, and the points of nightly repose :—1, Sittingbourn—2, Dover—3, Calais—4, Boulogne—5, Abbeville—6, Rouen—7, Along the banks of the Seine to Mantes— 8, Paris, with various excursions and perambulations—9, Fontain- bleau—10, Auxerre—11, Yitteaux—12, Dijon, with excursions—13, Champagnole, in the Jura Mountains—14, Geneva, with various excursions—15, Salenche—16, Chamouni, with various excursions to the Mer de Glace, Jardin, Buet, &c.—17, Across the Col de Balme to Martigny, with excursions up the Yallais—18, By the Yalley of Entrement, &c. to the Great St. Bernard, with excursions—19, Back to Martigny—20, Ivian, on the Lake of Geneva, with excursions —21, Geneva—22, Lausanne, with excursions—23, La Sarna—24, Neuf-Chatel—25, Berne, with excursions and perambulations—26, Thoun—27, Yalley of Lauterbrunen, with various circuits—28, Grindenwalde, with excursions to the Glaciers, &c.—29, Over the Grand Scheidec to Meyrengen, with excursions to waterfalls, &c.— 30, By Brienz, Lake of Brienz, Interlaken, and lake of Thoun, with various excursions, to the Giesbach and other waterfalls, back to Thoun—31, Berne—32, Zoffengen—33, Lucerne, with various ex- cursions—34, Zoug and Zourich—35, Chaufhausen and Falls of the Rhine—36, Neustad, in the Black Forest—37, By the Yalle d'Enfer to Offenburgh—38, Carlshrue, with excursions—39, Heidelburg— 40, Darmstadd—41, Frankfort on the Maine, with excursions—42, Mayence, with excursions—43, Coblentz, Bingen, Bonn, &c.—44, Cologne—45, Aix la Chapelle, with excursions—46, Liege—47, Brussels, with a week's excursions—48, Ghent and Courtray—49, Dunkirk—50, Calais—51, Dover—52, London. Thus, there were 52 regular journeys during the tour, and 32 days spent in excursions and perambulations. And as there never was so much exercise or fatigue during the journeys as during the days of sojourn and excursions, it follows that the whole of this tour might be made with great ease, and the utmost advantage to health, in two months. As far as natural scenery is concerned, it would, perhaps, be difficult to select a track, which could offer such a succession of 22 SALUTARY EFFECTS OF TRAVELLING EXERCISE. the most beautiful and sublime views, and such a variety of interest- ing objects, as the line which the above route presents.* It would be better, however, to dedicate three months to the tour, if time and other circumstances permitted, than to make it in two months ; though, if only two months could be spared, I would recommend the same line of travel where health was the object. Perhaps it would be better to reverse the order of the route, and to commence with the Rhine, by which plan the majesty of the scenery would be gradually and progressively increasing, till the traveller reached the summit of the Great St. Bernard, the Simplon, or Mont Blanc. The foregoing circuit was made, as far as the writer is concerned, entirely in the open air ; that is to say, in an open carriage—in char- a-bancs—on mules—and on foot. The exercise was always a com- bination, or quick succession of the active and passive kinds, as advantage was often taken of hills and mountains, on the regular journeys, to get down and walk—while a great part of each excursion was pedestrian, with the char-a-banc or mule at hand, when fatigue was experienced. This plan possesses many advantages for the invalid, over the purely active or purely passive modes of travelling. The constant alternation of the two secures the benefits of both, without the inconvenience of either. As the season for travelling in Switzerland is the hottest of the year, and as, in the valleys, the temperature is excessive, so, great danger would be incurred by the invalid's attempting pedestrian exercise in the middle of the day. But by travelling passively in the hot valleys, and walking whenever the temperature is moderate or the ground elevated, he derives all the advantage which exercise of both kinds can possibly confer, without any risk to his health. The journeys on this tour varied from 20 to 50 or 60 miles in the day, and were generally concluded by sunset—often much before that period.| The usual routine of meals was, some coffee at sunrise, and then exercise, either in perambulations, excursions, or on the first * The tour which follows the one now in question (1829), is probably over a still more interesting tract, as far, at least, as intellectual excitement is concerned. t The same applies to the tour which follows. MORAL EFFECTS OF TRAVELLING. 23 stage of the day's journey. At noon, a dejeune a la fourchette, and then immediately to exercise or to travel; concluding the journey and the exercise of the day by dinner at the 8 o'clock table d'hote, where a company, of all nations, varying from 10 to 50 or 60 people, were sure to assemble, with appetites of tigers rather than of men. By ten, or half-past ten, all were in bed, and there was seldom a waking interval from that time till six in the morning, the punctual hour of rising. In this circuit we experienced great and sometimes very abrupt vicissitudes of temperature, as well as other atmospheric changes; but, as will be presently seen, without any bad consequences.—Before I give any exposition of the moral and physical effects of this kind of exercise, I may be permitted to premise, that I made it one of my principal studies during the whole course of the tour, not only to in- vestigate its physiological effects on my own person and those of the party (six in number), but to make constant enquiries among the numerous and often intelligent travellers with whom I journeyed or sojourned on the road. Many of these were invalids—many affected with actual diseases—a considerable portion had had dyspeptic com- plaints previously, and all were capable of describing the influence of travelling exercise on their mental and corporeal functions. What I am going to say on this subject, therefore, is the result of direct personal experience and observation, in Europe, and in almost every quarter of the globe, unbiassed by any preconceived opinions derived from books or men. I am not without hope that my observations will be of some service to the physician as well as to the invalid, by putting them in possession of facts, which cannot be ascertained under any other conditions than those under which they were investigated in the present instance, or under similar circumstances. Moral Effects. If abstraction from the cares and anxieties of life, from the perplexities of business, and, in short, from the operation of those conflicting passions which harass the mind and wear the body, be possible under any circumstances, it is likely to be so on such a journey as this, for which previous arrangements are made, and where a constant succession of new and interesting objects is presented to the eye and understanding, that powerfully arrests the attention and absorbs other feelings, leaving little time for reflection on the past, or 24 SALUTARY EFFECTS OF TRAVELLING EXERCISE. gloomy anticipations of the future. To this may be added, thejiope of returning health, increased, as it generally will be, by the daily acquisition of that invaluable blessing, as we proceed. One of the first perceptible consequences of this state of things is a greater degree of serenity or evenness of temper, than was previously possessed. There is something in the daily intercourse with strangers, on the road, and at the table-d'h6te, which checks irritability ol temper. We are not long enough in each other's society to get into argumentation, or those collisions of sentiment which a more familiar acquaintance produces, and too often raises into altercations, and even irascibility, where the mind and body are previously irritable. These short periods of intercourse are the honeymoons of society, where only good humour and politeness prevail. We change our company before we are intimate enough to contradict each other, and thus excite warm blood. Besides, the conversation generally turns on scenes and subjects with which we are pleased and interested on the road—while political and religious discussions are studiously avoided by all travellers, as if by a tacit but universal compact. One of the best remedies, then, for irritability of temper, is a tour of this kind. A few hundred pounds would be well expended, annually, by many of our rich countrymen, in applying this pleasant remedy to the mind, when soured and unhinged by the struggles after wealth, rank, or power! I have already portrayed the influence of bad health, and especially of disordered states of the digestive organs, in producing depression of spirits, or mental despondency, far worse to bear than corporeal pain. For the removal of this kind of melancholy, there is no other moral or physical remedy of half so much efficacy as a tour conducted on the plan which I have pointed out. It strikes directly at the root of the evil, (as I shall presently shew, when speaking of the physical effects of travelling,) by removing the causes on which this sombre and irritable state of mind depends. It is true that, in some cases of confirmed hypochondriacism, no earthly amusement, no change of scene, no mental impressions or excitement, no exercise of the body, can cheer the gloom that spreads itself over every object presented to the eye or the imagination! With them, change of place is only variety of woe—caelum non animum mutant. Yet, from two or three instances which have come within my knowledge, of the most in- SALUTARY EFFECTS OF TRAVELLING EXERCISE. 25 veterate, and apparently indomitable hypochondriacism being mitigated by travelling, (though the mode of conducting the journey was far from good,) I have little doubt that many cases of this kind, which ultimately end in insanity, or at least in monomania, might be greatly ameliorated, if not completely cured, by a system of exercise con- ducted on the foregoing plan, and urged into operation by powerful persuasion, or even by force, if necessary. The change for the better, in such cases, is not perceptible at the beginning of the tour; but when the functions of the body have once begun to feel the salutary influence of the journey, the mind soon participates, and the gloom is gradually, though slowly dispelled. Where the mental despondency is clearly dependent on disorder of the digestive organs, and has not yet induced any permanent disease of the brain, an almost certain cure will be found in a journey of this kind, for both classes of complaints. It is hardly necessary to observe that beneficial effects, to a greater or less extent, will be experienced in other sombre and triste conditions of the soul, resulting from moral causes, as sorrow, grief, disappointment, crosses in love, &c. by a tour conducted in such a manner as strongly to exercise the body, and cheerfully excite the mind. In a former part of the work has been shewii the powerful influence of moral causes in deranging the functions of the body through the medium of the intellectual functions. The same functions may be made the medium of a. salutary influence. In the greater number of nervous and hypochondriacal complaints, the attention of the individual is kept so steadily fixed on his own morbid feelings as to require strong and unusual impressions to divert it from that point. The monotony of domestic scenes and circumstances is quite inadequate to this object; and arguments not only fail, but absolutely increase the malady, by exciting irritation in the mind of the sufferer, Avho thinks his counsellors are either unfeeling or incredulous towards his com- plaints. In such cases, the majestic scenery of Switzerland, the romantic and beautiful views in Italy and the Rhingau, or the keen mountain air of the Highlands of Scotland or Wales, combined with the novelty, variety, and succession of manners and customs of the countries through which he passes, abstract the attention of the dyspeptic and hypochondriacal traveller (if any thing can) from the hourly habit of dwelling on, if not exaggerating, his own real or 5 26 SALUTARY EFFECTS OF TRAVELLING. imaginary sensations, and thus help to break the chain of morbid association by which he is bound to the never-ending detail of his own sufferings. This is a paramount object in the treatment of these melancholy complaints ; and I am convinced that a journey of this kind, in which mental excitement and bodily exercise are skilfully combined, would not only render many a miserable life comparatively happy, but prevent many a hypochondriac and dyspeptic from lifting his hand against his own existence. It would unquestionably preserve many an individual from mental derangement. This principle was well understood long before medicine was estab- lished as a science. At the extremities of Egypt were two temples dedicated to Saturn, and to these the melancholies or hypochondriacs of ancient days were sent in great numbers. There the priests work- ed on the body as well as the mind by the pretended influence of supernatural, and the real influence of medicinal agents. The con- sequence was, that miracles, or at least miraculous cures were daily performed. The Romans sent their invalids to Egypt for change of scene ; and Hippocrates has distinctly recommended those afflicted with chronic diseases, to change the air and soil—' In morbis longis solum mutare.' It would be going out of my province to speak of the benefits of travelling in any other moral point of view than that which is connected with the restoration of health : I shall, therefore, proceed to a consideration of the effects of this combination of mental and corporeal exercise on our bodily functions. Physical Effects.—The first beneficial influence of travelling is perceptible in the state of our corporeal feelings. If they were pre- viously in a state of morbid acuteness, as they generally are in ill health, they are rendered less sensible. The eye, which was before annoyed by a strong light, soon becomes capable of bearing it without inconvenience ; and so of hearing, and the other senses. In short, morbid sensibility of the nervous system generally is obtunded, or reduced. This is brought about by more regular and free exposure to all atmospheric impressions and changes than before, and that under a condition of body, from exercise, which renders these impres- sions quite harmless. Of this we see the most striking examples in those who travel among the Alps. Delicate females and sensitive invalids, who, at home, were highly susceptible of every change of PHYSICAL EFFECTS OF TRAVELLING. 27 temperature and other states of the atmosphere, will undergo extreme vicissitudes among the mountains, with little inconvenience. I will offer an example or two in illustration. In the month of August, 1823, the heat was excessive at Geneva and all the way along the defiles of the mountains, till we got to Chamouni, where we were, at once, among ice and snow, with a fall of 40 or more degrees of the thermometer, experienced in the course of a few hours, between mid- day at Salenche, and evening at the foot of the Glaciers in Chamouni. There were upwards of fifty travellers here, many of whom were females and invalids ; yet none suffered inconvenience from this rapid atmospheric transition. This was still more remarkable in the jour- ney from Martigny to the great St. Bernard. On our way up, through the deep valleys, we had the thermometer at 92° of reflected heat for three hours. I never felt it much hotter in the East Indies. At nine o'clock that night, while wandering about the Hospice of the St. Ber- nard, the thermometer fell to six degrees below the freezing point, and we were half frozen in the cheerless apartments of the monastery. There were upwards of forty travellers there—some of them in very delicate health; and yet not a single cold was caught, nor any dimi- nution of the usual symptoms of a good appetite for breakfast next morning. This was like a change from Calcutta to Melville Island in one short day ! So much for the ability to bear heat and cold by journey- ing among the Alps. Let us see how hygrometrical and barometrical changes are borne. A very large concourse of travellers started at day-break from the village of Chamouni to ascend the Montanvert and Mer de Glace. The morning was beautiful; but, before we got two- thirds up the Montanvert, a tremendous storm of wind and rain came on us, without a quarter of an hour's notice, and we were drenched to the skin in a very few minutes. Some of the party certainly turned tail; and one Hypochondriac nearly threw me over a precipice, while rushing past me in his precipitate retreat to the village. The majority, however, persevered, and reached the Chalet, dripping wet, with the thermometer below the freezing point. There was no possibility of warming or drying ourselves here; and, therefore, many of us pro- ceeded on to the Mer de Glace, and then wandered on the ice till our clothes were dried by the natural heat of our bodies. The next morn- ing's muster for the passage over the Col de Balme shewed no dam- 28 SALUTARY EFFECTS OF TRAVELLING. age from the Montanvert expedition. Even the Hypochondriac above- mentioned regained his courage over a bottle of Champagne in the evening at the comfortable ' Union,' and mounted his mule next morn- ing to cross the Col de Balme. This day's journey shewed, in a most striking manner, the acquisition of strength which travelling confers on the invalid. The ascent to the summit of this mountain pass is extremely fatiguing; but the labour is compensated by one of the sublimest views from its highest ridge, which the eye of man ever be- held. The valley of Chamouni lies behind, with Mont Blanc and sur- rounding mountains apparently within a stone's throw, the cold of the Glaciers producing a most bracing effect on the whole frame. In front, the Yalley of the Rhone, flanked on each side by snow-clad Alps, which, at first sight, are taken for ranges of white clouds, pre- sents one of the most magnificent views in Switzerland, or in the world. The sublime and the beautiful are here protended before the eye, in every direction, and in endless variety, so that the traveller lingers on this elevated mountain pass, lost in amazement at the en- chanting scenery by which he is surrounded on every point of the compass. The descent on the Martigny side, was the hardest day's labour I ever endured in my life—yet there were three or four invalids with us, whose lives were scarcely worth a year's purchase when they left England, and who went through this laborious, and somewhat hazardous descent, sliding, tumbling and rolling over rocks and through mud, without the slightest ultimate injury. When we got to the goat- herds' sheds in the valley below, the heat was tropical, and we all threw ourselves on the ground and slept soundly for two hours— rising refreshed to pursue our journey. Now these and many other facts which I could adduce, offer incon- testible proof how much the morbid susceptibility to transitions from heat to cold—from drought to drenchings—is reduced by travelling. The vicissitudes and exertions which I have described would lay up half the effeminate invalids of London, and kill, or almost frighten to death, many of those who cannot expose thernselves to a breath of cold or damp air, without coughs or rheumatisms, in this country. The next effect of travelling which I shall notice, is its influence on the organs of digestion. This is so decided and obvious, that I shall not dwell on the subject. The appetite is not only increased ; but the powers of digestion and assimilation are greatly augmented. A PHYSICAL EFFECTS OF TRAVELLING. 29 man may eat and drink things while travelling, which would make him quite ill in ordinary life. These unequivocally good effects of travelling on the digestive organs, account satisfactorily for the various other beneficial influences on the constitution at large. Hence dyspepsia, and the thousand wretched sensations and nervous affections thereon dependent, vanish before persevering exercise in travelling, and new life is imparted to the whole system, mental and corporeal. In short, I am quite posi- tive that the most inveterate dyspepsia (where no organic disease has taken place) would be completely removed, with all its multiform sym- pathetic torments, by a journey of two or three thousand miles through Switzerland, Germany, or any other country, conducted on the prin- ciple of combining active with passive exercise in the open air, in such proportions as would suit the individual constitution and the previous habits of life. There is but one other effect of travelling to which I shall allude, before I close this section ; but I think it is a very important one—if not the most important of all. It is the influence which constant change of air exerts on the blood itself. Every one knows the bene- fits which are derived from change of air, in many diseases, when that change is only from one part to another, a few miles separated. Nay, it is proved, beyond all possibility of doubt, that the change from what is considered a good, to what is thought a bad air, is often attended with marked good effects. Hence it is very reasonable to conclude, that the mere change of one kind of air for another has an exhilarating or salutary effect on the animal economy. It is true, that we have no instruments to ascertain in what consists this difference of one air from another, since the composition of the atmosphere appears to be nearly the same on all points of earth and ocean. But we know, from observation, that there are great differences in air, as far as its effects on the human frame are concerned. Hence it would appear that the individual, confined to one particular air, be it ever so pure, languishes at length, and is bettered by a change. The idea is supported by analogy. The stomach, if confined to one species of food, however wholesome, will, in time, languish and fail to derive that nutriment from it, which it would do, if the species of food were occasionally changed. The ruddy complexion then of travellers, and of those who are constantly moving from place to place, as stage-coachmen, for 30 SALUTARY EFFECTS OF TRAVELLING. example, does not, I think, solely depend on the mere action of the open air on the face, but also on the influence which change of air exerts on the blood itself in the lungs. I conceive, then, that what Boerhaave says of exercise, may be safely applied to change of air. ' Eo magis et densum, et purpureum sanguinem esse, quo validius homo se exercuerit motu, musculorum.' It is to this constant change of air, as well as to the constant exercise of the muscles, that I attrib- ute the superiority of the plan of travelling which I have proposed, over that which is usually adopted—where health is the entire ob- ject. On this account, I would recommend some of my fair country- women, (who have leisure as well as means,) to improve the languid states of their circulation, and the delicacy, or, more correctly speak- ing, the pallor of their complexions, by a system of exercise in the open air, that may give colour to their cheeks, firmness to their mus- cles, tone to their nerves, and energy to their minds."* * Dr. Johnson on Indigestion. ( 31 ) CHANGE OF AIR, AN AUTUMNAL EXCURSION, SfC. SfC SfC. THE STEAMER. On many a former occasion, the receding cliffs of old England have called forth— " The voice of sorrow from the bursting heart." When the vessel's prow turned to foreign and unhealthy climes— when the dangers of the sea and the violence of the enemy," were absorbed in the wretchedness of parting from all that human nature holds dear—when the stern mandates of war compelled the youth of Britain to spend the prime of life in traversing the ocean or campaign- ing on hostile shores—then the separation from friends and native home excited feelings which, in periods of peace, cannot be recognized or appreciated. But it is a wise ordination of Nature that time and the frequent repetition of impressions the most dolorous, render the sensations thereby excited less and less vivid, till at length they are scarcely perceptible. We may remember these impressions and sensa- tions, but we cannot recal them—that is, we cannot renew them. There is, perhaps, nearly as much pleasure in the mellowed recollection of these triste emotions, after a lapse of years, as there was pain on their first occurrence. The remembrance of storms weathered, dangers escaped, battles survived, misfortunes overcome, excites a pleasing, though somewhat melancholy musing in the mind, which those who have not experienced human vicissitudes can never know. With the assurance of this fact, JEneas cheered his terrified and desponding 32 THE STEAMER. countrymen and shipmates, in the dreadful hurricane off the coast of Carthage:— --------Forsan et hacc olim meminisse juvabit. There was nothing, however, in the present voyage, if it deserves that name, to call forth melancholy reflections. No passion perturbed the mind—no cloud overcast the sky—scarcely a ripple was seen on the surface of the ocean. Dover Castle and the neighbouring batteries arrested not the attention ; but Shakspeare's Cliff can never be dis- sociated from one of the sublimest passages which the poet ever penned. Never was description more exaggerated than in this in- stance ! A cliff by no means perpendicular, and not more than 150 or 200 feet high, is painted as one of the most frightful precipices that eye ever ventured to look over. ------------------the murmuring surge That on th' unnumbered idle pebbles chafes, Can scarce be heard so high ! Many a time have I sat on the edge of this cliff, and distinguished the smallest pebbles on the beach, though the bard diminishes the crows and choughs " that wing the midway air" to the size of beetles ! The only three places which I have ever seen to come at all near the poets' representation of Dover Cliffs were the Eastern side of the Rock of Gibraltar, the spectator being placed near O'Hara's Tower—Ladder Hill in St. Helena, looking down from the Battery into the Sea—and the Cliffs overhanging the Mediterranean, or several parts of the new road between Genoa and Nice, especially near Monacho. These precipices are at least six times the height of Dover Cliffs and 'tis really " fearful and dizzy" to cast one's eye over the horrid boundaries ! I have said there was scarcely a ripple on the surface of the ocean, and yet the vessel was cleaving the tide at the rate of eight miles an hour ! He who has broiled for a fortnight or three weeks on the Equator— " When not a breath disturbed the deep serene, And not a cloud o'ercast the solemn seene," can hardly fail to bless the man who first invented steam—who com- WAR-STEAM. 33 pelled into strange and unnatural union two conflicting elements, fire and water, from which he conjured, with magic wand, a third element, more powerful than either or both its parents ! Of the wonders which steam has worked in the useful arts of peace it is unnecessary to speak. Of the revolutions which it may effect in the destructive art of war, yon solitary tower on the heights of Boulogne, with all its tu- multous recollections, and certain late harangues in the Chamber of Deputies, are calculated to awaken some feverish anticipations. A martial deputy has hinted to an admiring audience, that steam will effect that which the elements have hitherto prevented—the subjuga- tion of England. And how ? By bringing the physical strength and moral courage of Frenchmen into immediate contact with the (inferior, of course) physical power and personal courage of Britons! The delicacy of such a conclusion need not be animadverted on ; but the validity of it should be tried by sober history rather than by a heated imagination. Putting aside the various collisions that have taken place between the two nations, from the sands of Egypt to the plains of Waterloo, " On stormy floods or carnage-covered fields," let us only glance at the naval side of the question. The first conflict, in the revolutionary war, was between the Nymphe and Cleopatra —two frigates equal in metal, while the French ship had one-third more men than the English. The action was fought " yard-arm and yard-arm"—then changed to boarding—and the terrific contest and carnage terminated on the decks of the Frenchman, where the English hauled down the tri-coloured flag:—but then there was no steam to bring the Gaul and the Briton into closer contact! From single ships up to large fleets it was still the same—the invariable tactics of the French were, to fight at " long balls"—that of the English at "close quarters." Napoleon's choicest fleet was moored within cable's length of the shore in Aboukir Bay. Nelson anchored a great many of his ships between the Frenchmen and the shore. The battle was fought " yard-arm and yard-arm"—the French fleet was captured or burnt—but the steam was wanting to bring the " physical strength and moral courage" of Frenchmen to bear on Englishmen ! History seems to have yielded no wisdom to the martial Deputy. It would be vain to tell, him that a million of men in arms—and those 6 34 WAR-STEAM. men Biutons, on their own shores, fighting for their hearths and altars, would not be easily subdued by the largest army which his master Napoleon ever brought into the field. Steam only is wanting to waft an army across the Channel, and victory is certain ! Now the aspirations after steam, must imply the superiority of the English fleet at the moment of invasion ; for of what use would steam be, if the invaders had possession of the sea, and could choose their own time and place of landing? But, while the English licet is superior, steam cannot effect the purpose of the Deputy. Boulogne Harbour, the only place where troops could possibly embark in flat-bottomed vessels, can contain no ships of war, and if a flotilla, impelled by steam, attempted to cross the Channel, it would be inevitably destroy- ed. It could only make the attempt in a storm, when the English ships were blown into the Downs ; or during a calm, when their sails were useless. The former is impossible—the latter would be dis- comfited by steam itself—for English engines will never be wanting to tow a sufficient number of frigates or line-of-battle-ships into the track of the flotilla—and then their destination would be speedily de- cided. Those who reached the British shore would land with their arms reversed, and their hopes of conquest vanished into air— thin air. Allowing, therefore, that Gallic muscle and nerve are constructed of better materials than the same parts in Britain, steam will never afford them a field for their superiority. Machinery will be opposed to machinery ; and, for various reasons, the British is likely to be best. Never will it be possible to construct men of war with the addition of steam machinery and paddles. A few broadsides would soon render steam not only useless, but dangerous. Steam may prove useful in towing ships of war—but never can mix with cannon and gunpowder. It is to be hoped, however, that two nations of equal moral courage and physical force will only contend in future, for the mastery in arts, science, and literature—leaving war and all its disastrous consequences to barbarians, who have little inter- nal happiness to lose and all their martial renown to acquire. The proud laurel will not grow on either side of the Channel, except beneath the shadow of the mournful cypress or funereal yew—and that at the ex- pense of the peaceful olive ! May the latter be cultivated ex- clusively by France and England during the remainder of the present century! LA BELLE FRANCE. 35 CALAIS. Is this the once celebrated fortress, where long sieges were sus- tained and powerful armies repulsed ? Yes ! Let any one walk round its ramparts, and he will acknowledge they exhibit a complete picture of desolation and decay ! The moats are choaked up with mud and weeds—the walls are rapidly crumbling down into the fosse —the outworks are scarcely cognizable arrjpng the grass with which they are overgrown! Fuit Ilium ! The interior of the town pre- sents a very different aspect. English intercourse, or rather English money, has paved its streets, and even placed some flags along their sides—lighted its lamps—spread carpets on its floors—silver forks on its tables—nay, constructed water-closets in its gardens, the greatest wonder of all! Lastly, the English have introduced into this, and many other towns of France, a certain noun of multitude, without a name in the French language—comfort ; for which they are amply re-paid in a certain article which they have generously presented to their mother country—ingratitude ! LA BELLE FRANCE. Of all the countries which these eyes have yet beheld— ------------A gadibus usque Auroram et gangem---- La Belle France is the most uninteresting. The flowers—nay even the flatness of Holland—with all its smooth canals and shaded dykes (those monuments of industry)—its fertile fields—its neat and cleanly towns—its painted houses, varnished furniture, and broad- based, thick-headed inhabitants, excite a variety of emotions, and those generally of a pleasant kind, in the mind of the traveller—but France, from the Pyrenees to the Rhine, from the Jura to the At- lantic, from Antibes to Calais, presents very few spots indeed, com- pared with her vast extent of surface, on which the eye can rest, with 36 CHARACTERISTICS OF FRANCE. either pleasure or admiration.* Her mountains are destitute of sub- limity—her vallies of beauty. Her roads are still, in most places, and at the best, but narrow, rude, and rugged chaussecs, bordered, on each side, with mud in Winter, and sand in Summer ; less calculated to " speed the soft intercourse" among her inhabitants, than to demolish the springs of carriages, and to dislocate the joints of travellers—de- signed, apparently, to check very effectually the " march of intellect," by causing a concussion of the brain at every step! Her fields, though fertile, are fenceless, and slovenly cultivated, presenting a bald and frigid aspect. Her vineyards, even in the Bordelais, along the smiling borders of the Garonne, resemble plantations of turnips when compared with these on the romantic banks of the Rhine, the sloping glades of Italy, or the upland scenes of Madeira. Her gentlemen's country-seats are in Paris ; and their chateaus are—in ruins— "With nettles skirted and with moss o'ergrown." \ Her horses are rough, ugly, pot-bellied, ill-tempered, sour-counten- anced, hard-working animals—the harness never cleaned or greased from the moment of its first construction till its final dissolution by winds and rains—her stage-waggons, y,cleped " Diligences," are loco-motive prisons or pontons, in which the travelleris pressed, pound- ed, and, what is worse than all, poisoned with mephitic gases and nox- ious exhalations evolved from above, beloiv, and around."j" Her pro- ' Even John Bell, from novelty and non-acquaintance with other countries, has launched out in extravagant praises of " fair and fertile France." His description of the scenery between Paris and Lyons is a caricature that will be very gratifying to Frenchmen—but it is a false picture. Excepting the banks of the Saone, be- tween Macon and Lyons, the country is any thing but interesting. The spirited authoress of" Rome in the 19th Century," has drawn a more accurate picture, when she tells us that—"France is the most unpicturesque country in Europe. It is every where bounded by beauty, (the Alps, the Pyrenees, the Jura Mountains, &c.) but the country these grand boundaries inclose is remarkably devoid of beauty and interest. It is a dull picture set in a magnificent frame"—Vol. 1. p. 36. f It is very seldom that we meet with a foreigner, and especially a Frenchman, who has not a " smoky chimney." What with garlic dishes, rancid oils, everlastino cigars, and total inattention to mouth-washing, our Continental fellow-voyageun are any thing but agreeable companions in a closed up diligence during the night! LA BELLE FRANCE. 37 vincial villages, towns, and even cities, are emblems of dulness :— long, narrow streets, with solitary lamps suspended at mournful dis- tances in the middle, as if to point out the kennel that runs in the centre below, fraught with every kind of filth—houses as if they had been shaken in a bag, and then jumbled together without regard to order, architecture, or any kind of regularity—tawdry painted exteriors, and cheerless, gloomy interiors—floors without carpets, and hearths without grates—windows admitting as much air as light—fires without heat; easily kindled, rapidly consumed, and dearly paid for !—bell- ropes without bells, and servants without attendance—tables covered with a profusion of " dishes tortured from their native taste," and ter- rible to think of, much more to swallow !—vegetables drowned in oil or butter for the third or fourth course, and, after the Englishman has made a wretched dinner, like a cannibal—wine like vinegar in the land ofgrapes!!—lastly, the bill, (for I speak of hotels) a never-failing dessert, and often as griping as the wine, is modestly and conscien- tiously charged double, or nearly so, to the unfortunate Anglois, who has not eaten a tithe of what his voracious Gallic messmates have consumed and pocketed ! On the inhabitants of France it is not my intention to make many remarks. When I acknowledge that the men are brave and the women beautiful, I apprehend they will give me ample latitude to say any thing else that I may choose respecting them. If I were to qualify the bravery of the male sex with a dash of the bravado—the beauty of the females with a tincture of incontinence—and both with a tolerable destitution of religious feeling, it would be no great deviation from truth—and no great insult to either. But, in fact, I have no reason to rail against the French. They are not only civilized, but a civil and polite people by nature, or, at all events, by habit and education ; and, considering the political animosity generated and fostered, not only by a long and sanguinary war, but also by a humiliating peace between the two nations, it is exceedingly creditable to the French to see the urbanity and politeness with which they treat their rough and uncom- promising British neighbours. After making all due allowance for the influence of English gold, which is showered down on every province of France, there is still an amenity in their manners which is very far be- yond the confines of this metallic meridian, and which does great honor to the domestic character of the French people. In respect to intelli- 38 PARIS. gence, I am of opinion, notwithstanding the hardy asseverations to the contrary, that, taking rank for rank, there is more scientific information diffused among the French than among the English. And why not ? Education is of more easy access there than here—to which may be added the fact that, the French have much less employment on band than their British neighbours, and far more time for the acquisition of literature and science. It would be unreasonable, and I think unjust, to assert that they have less desire to learn, or less capacity for knowl- edge than their neighbours. Be this as it may, with all their intelligence, ingenuity, and vivacity, the French are a century behind the English in almost every art or science which conduces to the comforts, the conveniences—nay, the necessaries of life. As to the religious and moral character of our Gallic brethren, I do not feel inclined to speak. It has been somewhat keenly remarked by an acute modern traveller that—" It is the want of genuine piety that is at the bottom of all the faults in the French character. Any re- ligion is better than none ; and shuddering as I did at the total absence of all such feelings in France, I looked back with less emotions of disgust to the absurd superstitions of Italy—to her bones of martyred saints, and the votive offerings that surround her altars."—Sketches of Italy. That either or both these countries should be selected by so many thousand English families for the education of their children during a residence of years in succession, is one of the " Signs of the Times." It is a culture which will bring forth blessed fruit for all parties in due time ! But more of this hereafter. PARIS. One would suppose, from the height of the houses and the narrow- ness of the streets, that the value of ground, for building, was enor- mous in France, and especially near Paris. Yet, for five or six miles around the French metropolis, till you come close to the barriers, there is scarcely a house to be seen ! You are as much in the coun- try when you pass the barrier of St. Dennis as if you were one hun- PARIS. 39 dred miles from Paris ! In no one point of view is the contrast be- tween the British and Gallic capitals so striking as in this. The sociability of the French, and dissociability of the English are read in the geographical faces of the two countries, without examining the moral habits of the people themselves. The French are all con- gregated into hamlets, towns, and cities—a detached house or cottage being quite a rarity to be seen. The English, on the contrary, delight and pride themselves on separation. Hence the whole surface of the country is studded with villas and insulated dwellings of every descrip- tion. The English concentrate in towns and cities chiefly for the sake of business, and sigh for the country whenever that business is trans- acted. Even the metropolis affords an illustration of this proposition —except during the season, when the idlers concentrate annually from all parts of the kingdom to dissipate the health and wealth they had acquired or accumulated in the country. Paris is rapidly improving in appearance since the termination of the war, and the commencement of intercourse with the English. Several portions of the larger streets are imitating London by the acquisition of flag-stones for trottoirs, and gutters at the sides instead of the mid- dle. Nothing, however, but a most destructive fire and a Gallic Nash can rescue Paris from the humiliation of presenting a striking contrast to London in the breadth and cleanliness of the streets—the comfort and security of pedestrians. The misery inflicted on the immense class of peripatetics in Paris, by the sharp stones of the pave, continu- ally reminds one of the tortures experienced by Peter Pindar's Pilgrim, while hobbling along the road, " Damning the souls and bodies of the peas," with which his shoes were filled as a penance for his sins ! But the Fire-insurance Companies are the Goths and Yandals that will keep the streets of Paris in darkness for ages yet to come. There is now no chance of the good old times of Nero, who warmed, widened, and il- luminated the streets of Rome, while fiddling to the moving multitude from his palace on the Palatine Hill! Considering that Paris is the general rendezvous of idlers, not only from all parts of France, but from all parts of Europe—and seeing with what ingenuity the inhabitants have contrived to render that live- 40 FONTAINBLEAU. ly metropolis the most attractive emporium of pleasure in the world, and, at the same time, the cheapest; it cannot be wondered at that so many thousands of our countrymen and women, over whom indul- gence of the senses bears greater sway than any feelings of patriotism, should make Paris their abode. Whether this step be conducive to the welfare of their families brought up under the influence of Conti- nental habits and example, I shall enquire farther on. In the mean time, it is to be hoped that a tax will be imposed on all expatriations not dependent on ill-health, official duties, or narrow circumstances. In walking from East to West, both in London and Paris, the march of intellect, of architecture, of elegance, and of convenience, is plainly perceptible. The contrast between Little East Cheap and Regent Street, is not more striking than between the Cite and Rue Rivoli. While following the stream of the Seine, narrow, dirty, and gloomy streets often Open out suddenly into lines of splendid palaces, still, however, mixed, backed and flanked with the miserable lanes and abodes of poverty. The Bourse, the rival of Neptune's Temple at Pcestum, is surrounded with filthy lanes and alleys. Paris may well be proud of this building. It is probably the most noble modern edi- fice now existing. The construction of this splendid fabric has pro- duced a curious and very disagreeable effect. The moment it is en- tered, a noise resembling that of the distant roaring of the sea in a storm is heard, even when there are but few people moving about and conversing on the floor. This noise is really distressing to the unac- customed ear, and is heard fully as loud on the basement as in the galleries above. FONTAINBLEAU. Already have we (for I speak of a party) broken through the mal- habits imposed by the tyrant custom of Modern Babylon. Instead of repairing to bed at one o'elock in the morning, and spending eight or ten hours in fitful dreams and feverish excitement, without any real re- freshment, we now dine, or rather sup, at 8 o'clock, when the journey is concluded—go to repose at 10—and sleep without interruption till 6 in the morning, when we are able to spring from our couches with renovated strength and spirits. This systematic mode of living is prob- FONTAINBLEAU. 41 ably one of the principal causes of the salubrity of travelling. Among the many curious effects resulting from this species of exercise, I shall remark two which are deserving of notice. Travelling produces a considerable diminution of weight in most people who combine the ac- tive with the passive species of exercise—apparently by promoting ab- sorption of fat. A little pampered dog that made one of the party, lost flesh, or rather fat daily, while allowed to run up the hills when the car- riages were proceeding slowly. Our paunchy aldermen ought to trav- el through Switzerland, eating little and walking much, by which they would certainly return, in due time, to human shape. The other effect of travelling is very curious, and has not been no- ticed, as far as I am acquainted, by any writer. It is this—that the exercise of body taken on the road, or while wandering about seeing objects of curiosity, is not favourable to intellectual operations. It is probable that a high range of health, indeed, is incompatible with the most vigorous exertion of the mind, and that this last both requires and induces a standard of health somewhat below par. It would not be difficult to shew that the majority of those who have left behind them imperishable monuments of their intellectual powers and exertions, were people of weak bodily health. Virgil, Horace, Voltaire, Pope, and a thousand others might be quoted in illustration. Be this as it may, it is certain that travelling exercise, while it so much improves all the bodily functions, unhinges and unfits the mind, pro tempore, for the vigorous exercise of its higher faculties. I much doubt whether the immortal effusions of Byron were penned immediately after the im- pressions were made on his mind by the Rhine, the Alps, the lakes of Helvetia, the ruins of Italy and of Greece, with all their classical and historical associations. But the first excitement being over, the memo- ry of scenes and circumstances, together with the reflections and rec- ollections attendant thereon, furnish an ardent mind with rich materi- als and trains of thought that may, by gifted individuals, be converted into language, and thus conveyed to thousands. Pure description is, perhaps, the humblest species of mental ex- ercise. It is little more than the notation or record of impressions re- ceived through the medium of the senses—as those resulting from a rugged road, a steep mountain, or a rapid river. It requires but see- ing, hearing, feeling, tasting, and smelling, with moderate knowledge, attention, and some command of language, to be able to convey to 7 42 joiony. others descriptions of what we ourselves have seen or felt, as far at least as these can be conveyed in words. It indicates a more active state of the intellect, when we come to reflect on the impressions con- veyed by the senses. Thus, in some minds, the sight of a rapid stream or a foaming cataract, would lead to a contemplation of that mysteri- ous law by which every particle of matter on the surface of the globe is urged towards its centre—and by which, of course, a fluid is com- pelled to move onwards to the common destination, when the solid body on which it rests deviates from the horizontal line. This, again, would induce reflections on the wonderful operation of the same law (gravitation) by which the waters that fall from the clouds are col- lected from millions of divergent points, to re-unite in one common central mass, the lake or the ocean, whence they are to ascend once more into the clouds, and run the same perpetual round to the end of time. Such descriptions and reflections are, no doubt, compatible with the bustle and distraction of travelling ; but when we come to the high- er intellectual operations—descriptions of human nature itself, with all its passions, and the consequences of those passions—such as we see in Lord Byron's works, then there is reason to believe that the said operations required and had the advantage of leisure, repose, or even solitude, with a certain degree of tranquility of mind, before they were executed. That this was the case, may be inferred from his own words. When alluding to the Lake of Geneva, he says, "There is too much of man here, to look through With a fit mind the might which I behold;— But soon in me shall loneliness renew Thoughts hid, but not less cherished than of old!" JOIGNY. We were now in the very heart of the wine country__the head- quarters of Bacchus—where generous Burgundy was flowing in every direction, being the height of the vintage. Yet the towns and villages presented the very image of desolation, poverty, and despair! Before retiring to rest, I wandered over this ancient town; and so squalid a THE JURA MOUNTAINS--PAYS DE VAUD. 43 picture of want and decay I never beheld on this side of the Alps. It seemed as if the conscription of Napoleon was still in full operation— as if all effective strength—every thing that could carry a musket, serve for a mark to be shot at, or furnish any materiel of war, had been swept away, and nothing left but old men and women, dirty children, the sick and the lame, to cultivate the fields ! The houses appeared to be mouldering into dust, and the people to be half-starved. Doubt- less the dreadfully depressed^ state of the wine trade in France, for many years past, has led to this superlative degree of misery and poverty among the inhabitants of those provinces where the grape is the staple commodity. It has been stated, on good authority, that, in many of the vine-countries, the wine was not worth more than the cask in which it was contained. If we may judge by the wretched appear- ance of the people and of the towns in Burgundy, and more especially by Joigny and the neighbouring villages, we might conclude that the wine was not worth more than the hoops of the cask! I wish the En- glish farmers, a race of beings that have been characterized for grum- bling and discontent ever since the days of Yirgil— "O Fortunatos nimium si sua bona n6rint," could be dropped down in the heart of France, Spain, or Italy, for one week, to stare, and starve, and growl, and gripe, on the sour wine and sandy bread of their continental neighbours ! Surely they would hail the chalky cliffs of their native Isle with pleasure, and enjoy the roast beef and brown stout of Old England with a better relish than they had ever done before. " Rem carendo, non fruendo, cognoscimus." THE JURA MOUNTAINS—PAYS DE VAUD. To traverse " the long rough road" between Paris and Poligny, is bad enough—to describe it would be worse—but the penalty of read- ing such descriptions would be worst of all! Yet Reichard and Mrs. Starke inflict this last punishment on thousands of their countrymen and women annually ! Such descriptions are, after all, the only things on the dull and dreary track, which are calculated to amuse the travel- ler. It is really wonderful how these and other writers have been 44 PAYS DE VAUD FROM THE JURA. able to invest the country with beauties which have no existence but in their own imaginations. It was a great violation of the unity of French monotony and of the Genius of Geography, to annex the Jura JMountains to France. They appear the natural boundary between that country and Switzerland, and partake much more of the geological features of the latter than of the former territory. This chain of mountains presents many beau- tiful prospects—but none more joyful to the traveller than that which is seen from the heights above Poligny—because it is a tun-well to France ! lie who has pilgrimaged from Calais to this place, will feel the invigorating influence of the mountain air, as soon as he begins to ascend from the stupid, though fertile and vine-clad plains of Bur- gundy and Franche Compte. Should the route of the Rhine be pro- hibited, I had rather go round by the Cape of Good Hope to Switzer- land, than traverse France another time ! It is really refreshing to see even a goitre or a short petticoat (some approach to Swiss cos- tume) after the clattering sabot, the bas bleu, the coarse jacket, the mahogany complexion, the horrible caps, and the downright ugly fea- tures which so generally meet the eye among the French peasantry. The great military road winds up and along precipices—through magnificent forests of beech and pine—the rivulets are heard foaming over ledges of rock—while innumerable alpine shrubs and flowers un- fold their varying tints and hues to Summer suns and Winter snows. From Champagnole to Les Russes, the scenery is very interesting— and, in several places, is even fine. The descent to Morez and the ascent to Les Russes present some extremely romantic spots—espe- cially a valley on the right hand soon after leaving Morez, where Ras- selas might have been placed, and the picture, as far as geographical scenery is concerned, drawn from Nature itself. But the attractive points of the Jura are those from whence the traveller catches the first view of the Lake of Geneva, the Pays de Yaud, and surrounding Alps. 'Twas at this instant—while there glow'd This last intensest gleam of lighti— Suddenly through the opening road The valley burst upon my sight! That glorious valley, with its lake, And Alps on Alps in clusters swelling, PAYS DE VAUD FROM THE JURA. 45 Mighty and pure, and fit to make The ramparts of a Godhead's dwelling!—Moore. The Savoy, or opposite side of the lake attracts most attention. The immense chain of Alps, with the monarch of mountains (Mont Blanc) at their head, presents three very different, and tolerably de- fined zones or regions. The first is the snowy region, undulated like white fleecy clouds, on an autumnal evening, and so much resembling them, that it is only by waiting some time, that the distinction can be ascertained. In this region Mont Blanc still preserves his superiority —and from the Jura this superiority is more striking than from any other point that I have seen in Switzerland. It is curious that the higher the spectator is placed, the higher this monarch of the Alps appears. Thus, from the Yalley of Chamouni, at the foot of Mont Blanc, the height of that mountain seems by no means remarkable ; though the vastness of the immense pile is peculiarly so. But from the Jura, the altitude of the mountain is something incredible. The next band or region is of a dark blue colour, interspersed with many white points or perpendicular lines, and the naked eye cannot distinguish the parts of which this region is composed. A good tele- scope plainly shews that it is the region of wood, rock, glacier and torrent. The woods, which are chiefly pine, together with the naked rocks and the haze which hangs about the woods, give this region the dark blue tint. The torrents, the glaciers, and the white cliffs reflect the rays of the evening sun, and account for the bright points and per- pendicular lines in the landscape. The lowest range or zone is that of cultivation—or, more properly speaking, of fertility—for every spot of the middle region, on which the hand of industry can bear, is cultivated in some way or other. The Savoy side of the lake is neither so fertile nor so well managed as the Pays de Yaud; but still the telescope, and even the naked eye ranges over vineyards, corn fields, gardens, plantations—in short, over every kind of agriculture, down to the waters' edge—presenting a succession of habitations, from the simple chalet perched on the edge of a precipice, or hanging, as it were, over the edge of a cliff, down to the beautiful villa reposing on the banks of the Leman, andre- flected from the surface of the glassy lake. The eye at length comes down to the lake itself, stretching, like an 46 PAYS DE VAUD FROM THE JURA. immense mirror, from Geneva on the right to Vevay and Chillon on the extreme left. These last two reflect the beams of the setting sun, and are clearly seen from the gorge of the Jura with the naked eye. The lake itself, forty-seven miles in length, sweeps round in a crescent, bearing on its smooth bosom a great variety of vessels, gliding quietly along, loaded with the local commerce of the surround- ing shores. Among these the steamer daily ploughs its rapid course, and without that long train of smoke which has given such a shock to the sensibility, or rather sentimentality of northern tourists round the borders of Loch Lomond. Wood is used instead of coal, and the traveller has an excellent opportunity of thus viewing the magnifi- cent scenery of Lake Leman in one day, with no fatigue and very little expense. Lastly, the Pays de Yaud, one of the best cultivated and fertile slopes in Switzerland, lies directly beneath us, stretching from the Jura to the waters' side—varying in breadth from six to eight miles— covered with vineyards, corn fields, orchards and gardens—and inter- spersed with towns, villages, and villas. The new road down the Jura from Vattry to Rolle, is cut in such graceful windings, rather than in acute zig-zags, that the horses go at full gallop along the greater part of it—the traveller retaining a full view of the fairy scene the whole way to the verge of the lake. From thence to Geneva, a distance of about 14 miles, the drive is beautiful. The view of the Jura on one side, and the Savoy mountains on the other—the pellucid waters of the lake breaking, with gentle murmur, on the golden sands along the very edge of the road—the beams of the setting sun gilding the snowy summits of the high Alps, and playing on glaciers, cliffs, " And glittering streams high gleaning from afar"— harmonizing with the freshness of the air, the serenity of the scene, the neatness of the cottages, the honest and cheerful countenances of the inhabitants, form a combination of magnificence and tranquility that defies the power of description, either in prose or verse. It was on this very spot, and at this time of evening, that Moore was excited to the following effusion :— No, never shall I lose the trace Of what I've felt in this bright place; GENEVA. And should my spirit's hope grow weak, Should I, Oh God! e'er doubt thy power, This mighty scene again I'll seek, At this same calm and glowing hour, And here, at the sublimest shrine That Nature ever reared to thee, Rekindle all that hope divine, And feel my immortality! The sun-beams hovered round the hoary head of Mont Blanc for full half an hour after their parent source had sunk behind the Jura. The " refulgent lamp of night" then rose in splendour, and poured her column of silver light over the rippling wave direct upon us, while we galloped along the winding shores to the gates of Geneva. Although the physical character and costume of the Swiss people do not exhibit such a striking contrast with the character and costume of the French, as the geographical features of Switzerland with those of France—yet the contrast is great, even in the Pays de Yaud, where the two people touch. The complexions change to a healthier tint, owing, no doubt, to air, exercise, and cleanliness. The Swiss are ten times more industrious than the French, and had they half the fertility of soil, they would be ten times richer than their prouder neighbours. As it is, with all their rocks, and snows, and glaciers, and lakes, and forests, they are infinitely more comfortable as to food, drink, clothing, and most of the necessaries of life—and all this from industry, which invariably brings in its train health, wealth, and happiness. That this industry is much connected with, or dependent on religious and political institutions, there can be no doubt. Prot- estantism seems to lead as naturally to property, through the me- dium of industry, as popery leads to poverty, through the medium of idleness ! The two sides of the Lake of Geneva exhibit this con- trast, though on a small scale. GENEVA. The gates of this ancient and far-famed city recalled my attention to one of the many vexations and taxations to which all are subject on the Continent, but which the traveller feels more severely than 48 VEXATIONS OF THE PASSPORT SYSTEM. any other class, for obvious locomotive reasons :—I mean the pass- port system. Europe is still, in this respect, what it was in the days of Roman dominion—one vast and dreary prison ! According to all just and good laws, a man is considered innocent till he is proved to be guilty. Not so under the passport system. There he is always suspected of being guilty, after repeated proofs of innocence ! An Englishman undergoes all necessary scrutiny on landing at Calais, and his passport is found to be " quite correct." But a drive along a road where it would be difficult to beg, borrow, or steal—a passage over a crazy wooden plank, or under a tottering gateway, renders him as great an object of political suspicion, as if he had crossed direct in a balloon from the Cabinet of St. James's—and again he undergoes gendarmerie purification—generally at the expense of a franc for his freedom to the next fortified town. This system is vexatious enough in the " Great Nation ;" but it is still more taxatious in the fifty little nations through which the traveller passes in rapid succession. A drawbridge and a portcullis are not the only things that cast suspi- cion of political conspiracy on the unfortunate traveller. A night-cap, or the name of his meal, is a formal proces-verbal against him. He may dine in a town or village on the Continent, and drink his bottle of wine—mount his mule or his carriage, and proceed without molesta- tion. But if he sup, put on his night-cap, and go to bed—he is a suspected subject—and the master of the hotel is bound to have him purified in the morning by a visit from a whiskered knight of the hal- bert, who bows, begs, or perhaps blusters, till the traveller gets rid of his accursed presence by a piece of money ! The more petty, paltry, and subjugated the principality or state through which you pass, the more rigorous the examination of your passport and baggage, lest you should be plotting against its independence (/.') or infringing on its commerce! The Prince of Monaco, for example, (one of Napo- leon's imperial brood, I believe,) whose town and territory Gulliver would have extinguished with the same ease, and by the same means, as he did the fire in Lilliput, orders a half-starved sergeant, with a cigar in his mouth, into your room, while breakfasting or dining at Mentone, to demand 75 cents for liberty to pass through his empire ! But all this time we are standing at the gates of Geneva, with as much doubt and anxiety as candidates for admission into the portals GENEVA. 49 of Paradise, although our courier had long- preceded us with all kinds of documents, to prove that we were peaceable and not political travellers—subjects of a friendly state—free-born as the sons of Helvetia—and, what is more than all, believing as firmly as Calvin himself, that—the Pope is Antichrist ! Whether a senatus con- sultus of watchmakers and musical snuff-box manufacturers had been summoned to deliberate on the safety or " danger of the republic" in case we were admitted after 10 o'clock, I cannot tell—but there was quite time enough for such a procedure before the bolts were drawn, and we were permitted to enter within the well-guarded walls ! Now it would be exquisitely ridiculous and laughable, if it were not so " frivolous and vexatious," to see every little town or city, that can boast of a mud wall or a weather-worn gate, aping, in the midst of profound peace, all the military parade and precaution of Gibraltar, Ceuta, Yaletta, or Bergen-op-Zoom, with, an enemy entrenched on their glacis ! Yet this perpetual annoyance, fliese senseless formalities, this constant infringement on personal liberty, are the boast of European police, though a disgrace to liberal policy—rendering, as I said before, the whole Continent one dreary prison, divided into as many cells as there are states, with surly turnkeys at every barrier, to arrest the progress and pick the pocket of the traveller. For the necessity or utility of this harassing passport system, especially in the interior of kingdoms or states, no one ever could assign me a satisfactory reason. It supports a set of harpies, and keeps travellers in constant fear of losing their credentials—that's all ! Geneva, though not the capital of Switzerland, nor even of the Pays de Yaud, is decidedly the Athens of this " land of mountain and of flood." It is a little Edinburgh in head, and Birmingham in hand. The Genevans are as zealous in the pursuits of literature and science, as they are ingenious in the construction of watches, gold chains, and musical snuff-boxes. Still industry is the prominent moral character, even of the Helvetian Athens. There can be little doubt that this character has been stamped on the people here, and perhaps in many other places, more by physical than by moral causes. A keen air, a scanty soil, a superabundance of snow, rock, ice, river and lake, are circumstances that must conduce to industrious and economical habits. The sharp mountain breeze excites feelings not only of cold but of hunger—two powerful stimuli to labour, which, 8 50 GENEVA. alone, can furnish raiment and food. The paucity of soil and profusion of useless elements in Switzerland, lead to a careful cultiva- tion of every inch of earth that is capable of yielding materials for food, clothing, arts or commerce. Economy, too, is a very necessary ingredient in the character of those who— " Force a churlish soil for scanty bread." In spite of all that has been written about the pastoral manners, the simplicity and the hospitality of the Swiss, it is no more than truth to state, that among those classes with which the traveller comes in contact, there is a degree of Jewishness and selfishness, not much surpassed by what is met with in most other parts of Europe. He is not so much cheated, abused, and wrangled with as in Italy—but he is not seldom over-reached^ by a people, who have made wonderful advances, of late years, in the arts, as well as the sciences of civilized life ! Over the magnificent military routes of the Jura and Simplon, French and Italian morals have rushed, like two mighty torrents, into the valleys of Switzerland—and, like torrents, are rapidly finding their level between the two countries. What shape or form this precious amalgamation, this tertium quid, may ultimately assume, it is not for me to predict. Geneva itself is singularly well situated for health, cleanliness, and many of the mechanical arts, independently of the romantic and beautiful scenery surrounding it. A small island having split a magnificent river into two streams, immediately as it issues from one of the finest lakes in Europe, the town is thrown across this island and occupies the four opposite banks. Four level bridges maintain an easy communication between all parts of the town ; and, as the houses project on piles over the river, the stream runs with a rapid course, not only through, but under a considerable portion of the streets and houses. Advantage is taken of this peculiarity of situation to abridge labour and save expense. It is not less curious than delightful to see the blue and " arrowy Rhone" leap joyous through the streets of Geneva, ever ready and willing to lend its powerful aid to industry. It grinds their corn, washes their clothes, spins their cotton, cards their wool, turns their lathes—and, in short, is to the inhabitants a gigantic steam-engine, of inexhaustible power, voluntarily GENEVA. 51 and gratuitously supplied by a thousand glaciers and ten thousand mountain streams.* Society is very cheap in Geneva. In England, although the press is free, there is a tremendous tax on the tongue, which is the true cause of John Bull's taciturnity, even when he quits his native land. In London, for example, a lady or a gentleman can no more open their mouths in company, without previously undergoing a heavy con- tribution to a host of trades-people, than a country member can make a speech in Parliament, without first getting it by heart. In Geneva, and many other places on the Continent, words are merely wind, and cost little more than the exertion of utterance. In English society it is much more expensive to swallow bad air in a crowded drawing- room, than turtle-soup and champagne in the Albion Tavern. In Geneva, a pair of pattens and an umbrella serve for carriage and horses—while the housemaid who has assisted to dress her mistress, performs the office of footman, in conducting her to the Soire'e. There, conversation is enlivened and sweetened by music, tea, and bon-bons—the gentlemen, in groups, discussing foreign or domestic politics—while the stranger, from nine till twelve o'clock, has the supreme felicity to- Hear the pretty ladies talk Tittle tattle, tittle tattle, Like their pattens, as they walk, Prittle prattle, prittle prattle. About midnight, the female footman, with her lantern, is announced in a whisper to each fair visitor ; and, at this dread hour, the clattering patten, the murmuring Rhone, and the hollow-toned watchman, often * The amiable and highly-gifted authoress of " Sketches in Italy," has allowed herself sometimes to embellish a little. Thus, she compares the noise of the Rhone passing through Geneva to that of thunder, and its velocity to that of lightning. The fretting of the stream against the wooden pillars of the bridges and the numerous piles on which the houses are erected, causes a wild and not unpleasing murmur, especially during the stillness of night, which is as unlike to that of thunder, as its velocity is to that of the electric flash. The Rhone may run here about six or seven miles an hour. 52 LAUSANNE--VEVAY—CHILLON. combine to break the slumbers of the weary tourist at the Ecu, or Balance, by an unwelcome serenade— " Resounding long in listening Fancy's car." Englishmen, who travel with their families, should avoid Geneva, where their wives and daughters are liable to be seduced and them- selves ruined. This species of seduction has not hitherto received a name; but I shall venture to call it bijouterie. lam sorry to say- that, although the British is reputed a moral nation and the French a dissolute one, the ladies of the former are endeavouring, by every means in their power, to introduce this same bijouterie into their native land; while, to our shame be it spoken, the French have stationed certain moral censors, called douaniers, in every avenue through the Jura Mountains to prevent its passing into France. LAUSANNE—VEVAY—CHILLON. The drive from Geneva to Lausanne, and thence to Chillon and the entrance of the Yallais, presents some of the finest scenery on the surface of the globe. It has been described, in glowing colours, by Rousseau, Byron, Gibbon, Moore, and a hundred others—but by none more faithfully than by Mr. Burford, who has laid Englishmen under great obligations, by presenting to their astonished eyes, in Leicester-square and the Strand, some of the sublimest and most beautiful views in the world, divested of all the inconvenience of cloud, fog, or rain—of all the toil and expense of travelling by land and water—yet with all these elements in their proper places, com- bining to form a most accurate representation of Nature. The Panorama taken from Lausanne was one of the best which this ingenious artist ever exhibited. The journey round this side of the lake has the advantage of being on classic ground, and the train of recollections associated with the lives and writings of Voltaire, Necker, Rousseau, Gibbon, and Byron, add not a little to the interest of the scenes, as they pass in PAYS DE VAUD. 53 succession before the mental and bodily eye.* It is hardly to be wondered at, that the enthusiastic Rousseau should express unbound- ed rapture at this scene, making the hero of his romance, on returning from a voyage round the world, exclaim at the sight of the Pays de Vaud—" Ce paysage unique, le plus beau dont l'ceilhumain fut jamais frappe, ce sejour charmant auquel je n'avais rien trouve d'egal, dans le tour du monde." Again, the enthusiast says—" Je dirois volon- tiers a ceux qui ont du gout et qui sont sensibles—allez a Vevai— visitez les pays, examinez les sites, prononcez vous sur le lac, et dites si la Nature n'a pas fait, ce beau pays pour une Julie, pour un Claire, et pour un St. Preux." Lord Byron, who long resided here, expressly declares that, in the descriptions of Roussea, " there is no exaggeration." One of the latest travellers—Mr. Roscoe—author of the Landscape Annual—a performance of great merit—has sketched the enchanting shore, from Lausanne to Chillon, with much truth and brevity. " The climate is salubrious and delightful, and the romantic scenery of the Pays de Yaud has not its equal in the world. Nothing can surpass the glowing magnificence of a Summer's evening in this fairy region. When the sun descends beyond Mount Jura, the Alpine summits reflect, for a long time, the bright ruddy splendour, and the quiet lake, unruffled by a breeze, assumes the appearance of liquid gold. In the distance rises the vast chain of Alps, with their seas of ice and boundless regions of snow, contrasted with the near and more * The route to the Simplon by the Lausanne side of the lake is infinitely more interesting than that by the Savoy or great military road. Mrs. Starke, the travel- ler's oracle, has deprived many people of some of the best views in Switzerland, by not laying down or describing this route. The Savoy Mountains are bold and ma- jestic, and they cannot be seen at all if the traveller goes along that side of the lake. The Lausanne side, on the contrary, is beautiful—studded with cottages—and covered with vineyards, gardens, and orchards. This side looks tame from the Savoy side. From Vevay to Chillon, the road runs along the very edge of the laker and the scenery, on a fine day, is absolutely enchanting. As we drove along,. towards the end of September, the tops of the Savoy Mountains were seen covered with snow—the elite rising two or three thousand feet-almost perpendicular—the sky without a cloud—the lake smooth as glass, and reflecting, as in a mirror, the surrounding mountains. 54 SOURCE OF HAPPINESS. pleasing objects of glowing vineyards and golden corn-fields, and in- terspersed with the wooded brow, the verdant and tranquil valley, with villas, hamlets, and sparkling streams." I am induced to take the following extract from Gibbon for reasons which will be found of some importance hereafter. " Je perdrois de vue cette position unique sur la terre, ce lac, ces mon tagnes, ces riants coteaux ; ce tableau charmant; qui paroit toujours nouveau aux yeux memes accoutumes des leur enfance. Sur tous les pays de 1'Europe, j'avois choisi pour ma retraite le Pays de V aud, et jamais je ne me suis repente un seul instant de ce choix." I have marked a passage in Italics ; for, notwithstanding the authority of Gibbon, I venture to dispute its truth. The sentiment of Gibbon is a very general one—is not founded on an accurate knowledge of the laws which govern the moral and physical constitu- tion of man—has led to great disappointment—and deserves a short inquiry. Nothing is more common—nothing, perhaps, more natural than to exclaim, on seeing a beautiful or romantic prospect, " here I should like to fix my residence for life." Here, for instance at Lausanne, Yevay, or Clarens, we have the authority of Gibbon, that the charming landscape appears always new, even to eyes accustom- ed to the scenery from infancy. Nothing is more erroneous. Wherever the scenery is so magnificent or beautiful as to make a strong impression, the excitement thence resulting is incompatible with durability. This excitement not only wears itself out, but pro- duces, first, satiety, and in the end disgust. A romantic landscape, an azure sky, or a brilliant sun, like sparkling champagne, is delight- ful for a short time ;—but let the repetition of the scene and of the wine go on, and the excitement will cure itself, and induce the in- dividual soon to wish for variety even of the most opposite kind. This is the case with those who go to Italy or to tropical climates. They are delighted, for a while, with the brilliancy of the skies and the verdure of the vegetable world. But the excitement exhausts; and sooner or later they long for the changeable skies of their native land. In opposition to Gibbon, I maintain that the Swiss are almost entirely insensible to the sublime scenery around them—and would gladly change their romantic cliffs for the dull but fertile flats of Holland. What said Madame de Stael, to a person who was expatiating on the beauties of the Lake of Geneva? " Give me the Rue de Bac : I SOURCE OF HAPPINESS. 55 would prefer living in Paris, in a fourth story, with a hundred louis a year." It is very true that the Swiss, when they sojourn in foreign lands, compare the scenery, with that of their native valleys, and long for a return homo. But this is quite independent of any extraordinary pleasure enjoyed before they quitted their mountains. Why is it that hardly any country sends forth such shoals of adventurers to other climes as Scotland and Switzerland"? As for Gibbon, let us look at his daily avocations, as detailed by himself, and say whether the romantic scenery of Lausanne had any thing to do with the happiness of his retreat there. " By many," he observes, "conversation is esteemed as a theatre or a school; but after the morning has been occupied with the labours of the library, I wish to unbend rather than to exercise my mind—and, in the interval between tea supper, I am far from disdaining the inno- cent amusement of a game at cards." Thus, then, it was his occupation, in the construction of his immor- tal work, and the pleasures of society, that rendered the Pays de Yaud so delightful ! With the same pursuits, and the same society, he would have been happy any where—even in Bentinck-street. But look at the philosopher, when he had finished his " Decline and Fall" —and when his daily pursuits and avocations were at an end. After enumerating (in a letter to Mrs. Porter) the comforts, the beauties and the advantages of his literary retreat at Lausanne, he touchingly adds—"but I feel, and, with the decline of years, I shall more pain- fully feel, that I am alone in Paradise." Let no one expect that the scenery of Switzerland or of Italy can confer any thing like lasting pleasure, without a regular avocation or pursuit. On the contrary, the stronger the impression made by these or any other countries at first—and the more sensibly their beauties are felt—the sooner will the excitement and gratification be over— and the more irksome will be the satiety which must inevitably ensue. When we get beyond the Alps I shall take up this interesting subject again, and hope to shew, that"— " Happiness, our being's end and aim," may be found much nearer home than the world imagine—and that health and longevity, are more conspicuous beneath the gloomy skies 56 MODERN PHILOSOPHERS. of old England, than in the apparently more favoured climate of Italy, which, though beautiful to the eye and pleasant to the feelings, is de- structive to health. But I must bid a long adieu to the Lake of Geneva and its romantic shores, the northern and southern of which present as remarkable a contrast in physical features as in moral events. The Savoy shore holds fast its allegiance to St. Peter—the opposite side has been the abode of— Mortals who sought and found, by dangerous roads, A path to perpetuity of fame— gigantic minds, who levelled the artillery of their wit, satire, and ridi- cule, not only against the head, but the body of the chruch ! Voltaire, Gibbon, Rousseau, Byron ! The first appears to have been the most fortunate, maintaining, when an octogenarian, his original character of " gay, grave, sage, or wild," supported by vanity, till the tide of Time had worn away almost the whole of the material fabric, leaving to the mind its Proteian powers and propensities ap- parently unimpared. Our countryman of Lausanne was not so hap- py. He who employed the meridian of his intellectual faculties in— " Sapping a sacred creed with solemn sneer," was unable, according to his own confession, in the " decline and fall" of life, to people the Paradise that surrounded him, even with imagi- nary beings ! Rousseau, the visionary, the vicious enthusiast—the victim of morbid sensibilities and sensualities—the architect of a hell in his own breast, while portraying the imaginary happiness of savages—he who practised every kind of vice, and advocated every kind of virtue —had one palliative excuse for his various outrages against religion, morality, and decency—that was madness ! Byron's talents and fate are too well known. We may form some idea of the good he might have done, by the mischief which he has done ! What he says of Voltaire and Gibbon is peculiarly applicable to himself— ■--------------Their steep aim Was, Titan-like, on daring doubts to pile ST. MAURICE. 57 Thoughts which should call down thunder, and the flame Of Heaven, again assailed, if Heaven the while, On man and man's research could deign do more than smile. ST. MAURICE. From Chillon to St. Maurice, the traveller posts rapidly over an alluvial delta, a miniature representation of that of the Nile or Canges, but of the same nature, however small the scale. The triangular plain, with the river flowing through its centre, gradually narrows, till its apex ends in the ancient Roman Bridge, of a single arch, thrown from one precipice to the other, over the rapid and turbid Rhone. These precipices are the bases of two pointed and craggy mountains, six or seven thousand feet high, called the Dent de Morcles and Dent du Midi, united, without doubt, at some remote period, when the present Vallais, was an immense sheet of water, and the Rhone, like the Rhine, leaped over a stupendous barrier at this place, precipitating itself into its sister Lake of Geneva below. The breaking away of this gigantic natural flood-gate, and the tremendous rush of waters consequent on such an event, might have furnished Lord Byron with materials for a fine poetical picture. Something of the kind must have been floating in his mind, when he likened these opposing cliffs to two lovers, suddenly and for ever separated. " Now where the swift Rhone cleaves his way between Heights which appear as lovers ivlw have farted In haste., whose mining depths so intervene That they can meet no more, though broken-hearted." From the moment we cross this venerable arch, 200 feet in span, and boasting of Julius Caesar as its founder, we enter the wild scenery of Switzerland, and become enclosed between stupendous ranges of rocks, in a narrow valley, through which the Rhone rushes along, while hundreds of mountain torrents tumble headlong from the sur- rounding precipices, to mingle with the master stream below. On the right hand, two or three miles before we enter Martigny, the river Salenche dashes, in a sheet of snowy gauze, over a perpendicular cliff, 200 feet in height, while a portion of it rises again in misty va- 9 58 MARTINGY. pour, and envelopes the admiring traveller, arrested by the magnificent scene, in a halo of descending dew.* The sequestered hamlet of Lavev, on the left of the road from St. Maurice to Martigny, has become the scene of a tale not more melan- choly than true, connected with the dreadful inundation of the Dranse; and which my old fellow traveller (Mr. Roscoe) has related with great pathos in the Landscape Annual for 1830. A maiden maniac is still seen daily mounting a neighbouring cliff, to hail the return of a betrothed lover. He did return—but as a lifeless corse, borne along by the torrent of the Rhone, swollen and accelerated by the fatal in- undation of an auxiliary river ! MARTIGNY. When I first visited this spot, (six years ago,) it bore melancholy marks of the inundation of 1818, above alluded to. That event was one of those stupendous operations of Nature which are often seen, on a large scale among the Alps. A glacier (Getroz) slipped from its perch on the side of Mont Pleurer, and falling with a tremendous crash into the narrow gorge or outlet of a valley (Torembec) blocked up the stream that issued thence, over a frightful ledge of rocks, into the Yal- lee de Bagnes lower down. The consequence was, that the valley was gradually converted into a lake, bounded on all sides by snow- clad cliffs and glaciers. Strange to say, the sudden diminution, or al- most annihilation of the River Dranse, thus cut off from its source, did not awaken the torpid inhabitants of the subjacent valleys, through * No one can pass the town of St. Maurice, without being horrified at the idea of six thousand Christian soldiers being massacred there, by order of his Pagan Ma- jesty Maximian, the amiable colleague of Diocletian, as stated on the authority of Madame Starke, and all other travellers' oracles, though contrary to Euscbius. It may allay the horror and indignation of our minds, to be informed by one of the greatest historians which the world ever produced, that—" the story was first pub- lished about the middle of the fifth century (Maximian bore sway in the early part of the fourth) by Eucherius, Bishop of Lyons, who received it from certain persons, who received it from Isaac, Bishop of Geneva, who is said to have received it from Theodore, Bishop of Octodurum."—Gibbon. '•r INUNDATION OF THE DRANSE. 59 which it ran, to a sense of their danger, till the waters had accumula- ted in the valley of Torembec to some hundred feet in depth ! Every effort, indeed, was then made to cut galleries through the icy barrier, or fallen glacier, and thus let off the prodigious reservoir of water, snow, and fragments of ice that impended over the numerous villages of the Vallee de Bagnes—but with very partial success. Signals were then established—sentinels posted—and alarum fires kept light- ed in the night, to warn the inhabitants should the flood-gate give way. " At length, late one afternoon, a thundering explosion was heard ! Reverberating through the surrounding hills, it bore the fearful tidings to an immense distance, scattering dismay and terror amongst the trembling inhabitants. The dyke had burst; and the gigantic lakes of imprisoned water rushed from their confinement with headlong fury, forming a prodigious torrent a hundred feet deep, and sweeping along at the rate of twenty miles an hour. A huge forest which lay across its track was not proof against the strength of the waters—large trees were rooted up as though they had been osier wands, and were borne away like floating branches on its tide." * In this manner the stupendous mass of waters, combined with all the ruins which it had gathered in its progress—forests, rocks, houses, cattle, and immense blocks of ice—rushed, an overwhelming deluge, and with a noise louder than the heaviest peals of thunder, down to- wards the ill-fated Martigny ! The scene of destruction was awful beyond the power of conception ! Half the town was immediately swept away; and the other half was covered with ruins. The ter- rific inundation proceeded in its destructive course till it mingled with the Rhone, and was ultimately lost in the peaceful but affrighted Lake of Geneva ! The Inn (La Tour) where these memoranda were written, has a black line, (some seven or eight feet above the ground) marked on its walls, shewing the height of the inundation. The destined bridegroom of the unhappy maniac, alluded to in the preceding section, was lost (with many others) in this dreadful catastrophe, having come, the day before his intended marriage to Martigny, from his native village of * Roscoe. 60 martigny. Lavey—probably to purchase paraphernalia for that ceremony which was to consign himself to a watery tomb, and his more unfortunate bride to the ten thousand horrors of reminiscent insanity. Tragic and terrific as was the above scene, it was probably but a miniature representation of what happened, in some remote and un- recorded period, near the same place. When the stupendous barrier of rock at St. Maurice was first rent asunder, by the violence of subterranean fires, or the pressure of superincumbent fluids, and the congregated waters of the Rhone rushed through the yawning abyss, the phenomenon must have been one of the most awful and sublime spectacles ever presented to human eye. Perhaps no living being witnessed this tremendous crash, except the ibex browsing on the neighbouring mountains, or the eagle, startled from its eyrie on the inaccessible cliffs of the Dent de Morcles. In the geological history of the earth's present surface, there must have been a period, however early, when the now hoary heads of Mont Blanc and Monte Rosa, first became blanched with descending snows, and their shoulders spangled with glittering icicles. The daily and annual revolutions of the sun dissolved a portion of these, which trickled in currents along the most indented fissures of the declivities, and still form the channels of mountain torrents. The crusts of snow and ice increased every year in thickness, while the descending streams accumulated in the valleys and formed lakes. After a time, the agglomerated snows and icicles began to fall in avalanches into the hollows of the mountains' sides, and thus to form what are now termed " Mers de Glace" or " Glaciers," the current underneath still preserving its wonted channel, and forming a receptacle for the drippings that fell through the various fissures. The annual descent of snow and ice from the higher peaks of cliffs and mountains, caused the glaciers themselves to move slowly downwards towards the valleys, where they fell in masses into the current below, and were dissolved by the Summer's heat. This slow and almost imperceptible motion of the Glaciers did not escape the notice of Byron, who characterizes them as solid rivers, moving along majestically by the law of gravitation. Mean- time the accumulated waters in the valleys rose till they found some outlet, and then descended by circuitous routes to the ocean, in the form of rivers. Thus, for instance, the Vallais became one vast lake, till the waters found an issue over the stony barrier at St. SION. 61 Maurice, and when this barrier gave way, the lake rushed with tremendous velocity into the valley, now the Lake of Geneva! A contemplation of the formation of glaciers, lakes, and rivers, in this romantic country, is extremely interesting, and should occupy a portion of the traveller's time and attention while wandering among the Alps. SION. CRETINISM. We are now in the centre of the Vallais—the head-quarters of goitre and cretinism. There are few.portions of the earth's surface, in these temperate climes, better calculated for the deterioration, if not the destruction of life, than the valley of the Rhone. It is bounded on each side by steep mountains, four or five thousand feet in height —and the intermediate ground contains all the elements that are found to operate against human health. The valley consists, in some places, of a rich, flat, alluvial earth, covered with corn, fruit trees, and gardens—in others, it presents swamps and meadows—then, again, jungle and woods—vineyards—pine forests, &c. while brawl- ing brooks intersect it in all directions, and often inundate it, in their precipitous course from the mountains to the Rhone, which runs through its centre. Were this valley beneath a tropical sun, it would be the seat of pestilence and death. As it is, the air must necessarily be bad ; for the high ridges of mountains, which rise like walls on the north and south sides, prevent a free ventilation, while, in Summer, a powerful sun beats down into the valley, rendering it a complete focus of heat, and extricating from vegetation and humidity a prodigious quantity of malaria. In Winter, the high southern ridge shuts out the rays of a feeble sun, except for a few hours in the middle of the day— so that the atmosphere is not sufficiently agitated at any season of the year. To this must be added, the badness of the waters which, along the banks of the upper Rhone, are superlatively disgusting. As the Vallais is the land of cretinism, so is Sion the capital of that humiliating picture of humanity ! There are but few travellers who take the trouble to examine Sion philosophically, and make themselves acquainted with the state of its wretched inhabitants. I explored this town with great attention, traversing its streets in every direction; and I can safely aver that, in no part of the world, not even 62 cretinism. excepting the Jews' quarter in Rome, or the polluted back lanes of Itri and Fondi, in the kingdom of Naples, have I seen such intense filth! With the exception of two or three streets, the others present nothing on their surface but a nameless mass of vegeto-animal cor- ruption, which, in all well-regulated towns, is consigned to pits, or carried away by scavengers. The alleys are narrow ; and the houses are constructed as if they were designed for the dungeons of malefactors, rather than the abodes of men at liberty. Goitre, on such a scale as we see it in the Vallais, is bad enough ; but cretinism is a cure for the pride of man, and may here be studied by the philosopher and the physician on a large scale, and in its most frightful colours. This dreadful deformity of body and mind is not confined to the Alps. It is seen among the Pyrenees—the valleys of the Tyrol—and the mountains of China and Tartary. Nearly 200 years have elapsed since it was noticed by Plater, in the spot where I am now viewing it; but Saussure was the first who accurately described this terrible degeneracy of the human species. From com- mon bronchocele, and a state of body and mind bordering on health, down to a complete destitution of intelligence and sensibility—in short, to an existence purely vegetative, cretins present an infinite variety of intermediate grades, filling up these wide extremes. In general, but not invariably, goitre is an attendant on cretinism. The stature is seldom more than from four fo five feet, often much less— the head is deformed in shape, and too large in proportion to the body —the skin is yellow, cadaverous, or of a mahogany colour, wrinkled, sometimes of an unearthly pallor, with unsightly eruptions—the flesh is soft and flabby—the tongue is large, and often hanging out of the mouth—the eyelids thick—the eyes red, prominent, watery and frequently squinting—the countenance void of all expression, except that of idiotism or lasciviousness—the nose flat—the mouth large, gaping, slavering—the lower jaw elongated—the belly pendulous— the limbs crooked, short, and so distorted as to prevent any thino- but a waddling progression—the external senses often imperfect, and the cretin deaf and dumb—the tout ensemble of this hideous abortion of Nature presenting the traits of premature old age! Such is the disgusting physical exterior of the apparently wretched, but perhaps comparatively happy, cretin ! If we look to the moral man (if man he can be called) the picture is CAUSES OF CRETINISM. 63 still more humiliating. The intellectual functions being, as it were, nul, certain of the lower animal functions are in a state of increased activity. The cretins are voracious and addicted to low propensities which cannot be named. To eat and to sleep form their chief pleasures. Hence we see them, between meals, basking in non- chalance on the sunny sides of the houses, insensible to every stimulus that agitates their more intelligent fellow-creatures—frequently insensible to every call of Nature itself! But I shall pass on from this melancholy example of the effects of climate, or at all events of physical agencies, on the moral and cor- poreal constitution of man, to the causes which are supposed to produce them. This is not an uninteresting inquiry, and it is in- timately connected with a principal object of this volume, as will be seen in the sequel. In the first place, it is remarked that cretinism is bounded to certain altitudes above the level of the sea. The Vallais itself, and the ravines or gorges of the mountains by which it is enclosed, are the chief seats of this deformity. All, or almost all, those who inhabit the higher ranges of the mountains overlooking the valleys are exempt from the malady. This single fact proves that cretinism is owing to a physical rather than a moral cause, or series of causes. There can be no material difference in the moral habits of peasants residing at the base and on the brow of the same mountain. If the former be more subject to goitre and cretinism than the latter, it must be owing to something in the air they breathe, the water they drink, or the emanations from the soil on which they reside. Saussure, Ferrus, Georget, and all those who have personal knowledge of the subject, acknowledge that, at a certain height (five or six hundred toises) among the Alps, goitre and cretinism disappear. In the year 1813, M. Rambuteau, then Prefect of the department of the Simplon, addressed a Memoir to the Minister of the Interior of France, on this subject, in which, after describing very accurately the medical topog- raphy of the Vallais, with its malarious exhalations, stagnant atmos- phere, and alternate exposure to the rays of a burning sun, and piercing icy winds, as the causes of cretinism, goes on to add, " the use of waters, which, in descending from the mountains by long and circuitous routes, become impregnated with calcareous salts." " A ces causes il croit devoir ajouter l'usage des eaux, qui, en descendant des mon- 64 CAUSES OF CRETINISM. taijnes et parcourant de longues distances, se chargent de seln calcaires."* As moral auxiliaries, the Prefect enumerates " the indolence of the inhabitants, their want of education, the dirtiness of the houses, the badness of the provisions—their drunkenness and debauchery." M. Rambuteau mentions some curious particulars respecting this dreadful deterioration of human nature. He affirms that those Yalaisans who intermarry with the Savoyards from the Italian side of the Alps, give birth to more cretins than those who form matrimonial connexions with the inhabitants of their native valley. The females of the latter place, who marry men born on the higher regions of the Alps, and who are accustomed to live in the open air, with much bodily exercise, hardly ever bring forth cretinous children. The same intelligent observer remarks that—" Wherever cretinism is seen, goitre is also prevalent—but the latter is found in places where the former does not exist." Hence he is led to the conclusion, that " the nature of the two maladies is the same, (le principe des deux maladies est le meme) but the cause is more active where cretinism and goitre both prevail—more feeble where goitre only obtains." In short, we find in the Vallais, and in the lower gorges or ravines that open on its sides, both cretinism and bron- chocele in the most intense degrees—as we ascend the neighbouring mountains, cretinism disappears and goitre only is observed—and when we get to a certain altitude both maladies vanish, and the Alpine peasant or shepherd once more assumes the " image of his Creator !" It is said and believed by travellers, that cretinism is decreasing in the Vallais. The diminution is, I fear, more apparent than real. The " march of intellect" and the intercourse with strangers have * Dr. Bally, a native of a goitrous district in Switzerland, states the following very important fact. "Bronchocele appears to me to be produced by certain waters which issue from the hollows of rocks—trickle along the cliffs of mountains —or spring from the bowels of the earth. That this is the case, I may instance some fountains in my own country, (Departement du Leman, au Hameau de Thuet) the use of whose waters will, in eight or ten days, produce or augment goitrous swellings. Such of the inhabitants of the above village as avoid those waters are free from goitre and cretinism."* * Diet, des Sciences Medicales, T. VII. THE SIMPLON. 65 taught the parents and friends of these wretched creatures to doubt that the cretin is the favourite of Heaven, as is thought of idiots in Turkey. They, therefore conceal, rather than expose, their offspring so afflicted. I saw them driving them in from the back streets of Sion on my approach. It is probable, however, that there is a diminution in the number of cretins in the Vallais. Many of the auxiliary causes are on the decline. The people are becoming more sober, more industrious, more cleanly. Those who can afford the expense also, send their children up into the mountains to check the tendency to cretinism. Enough has been said, and a great deal more will be shewn hereaf- ter, to prove the influence of climate and locality on the corporeal and intellectual constitution of man. And I hope to convince John Bull, in the course of our wanderings together, on this little tour, that all the moral and physical evils of the world are not included in fogs and taxes, against which he so bitterly complains in his own country. THE SIMPLON. The traveller is not sorry to leave the Vallais, where he feels its Boeotian atmosphere, even in his transitory passage between its cloud- capt boundaries. We slept one night at Tourtemagne, which is a very small hamlet, in a comparatively open space ; but the atmosphere in the night was singularly oppressive, not from heat so much as im- pregnation with the exhalations from the soil. The sight of a pass from this "valley of the shadow of death" into the plains of Latium is most exhilarating—more especially when that pass is the Simplon. An accurate survey of this " seventh wonder" of the world did not disappoint me, though I had strong presentiments that it would do so, from woful experience. Travellers have so exaggerated every thing in their descriptions, and landscape-painters have so cordially co-oper- ated with them, that it is difficult to recognize the reality when we see it, and mortifying to think that, even in tangible things like these—in such plain matters of fact—pleasure is all in anticipation ! Present to grasp yet future still to find. 10 66 THE SIMPLON. In respect to the Simplon, the most professed scene-painting travel- lers, not always excepting our good and useful friend Mrs. Starke, have rather magnified unimportant views, and fallen short in their de- scriptions, if not in their perceptions, of magnificent scenes ; thus, the tourist who goes over this celebrated mountain pass, with book in hand, is sometimes agreeably—sometimes disagreeably surprised. No one can be blamed for inability to convey adequate ideas of scenes that are, in truth, indescribable; but there can be no necessity, unless on the stage or in Paternoster-row, for exaggerating the beauty or sublimity of mediocrity or insignificance. I feel considerable qualms, doubts, and fears, in venturing to give even a very concise sketch of what has been so often described by those who have infinitely greater command of language and fertility of imagination than myself. More than once have I run my pen through some hasty notes of fresh im- pressions, committed to paper at the dreary Hotel de la Poste, in the village of the Simplon, where 1 slept one night; and on the bal- cony of the inn at Domo D'Ossolo, where I halted the next day. The reader can turn over this sketch unread ; but perhaps the traveller, while crossing the Simplon, may amuse himself by comparing it with the original, or with some of the copies that happen to be " com- pagnons du voyage." Crossing from Gliss to Brigg,the Simplon comes full in view through a gorge or narrow opening between two steep and piny mountains, the Gliss-horn and Klena Mountains. It is clothed with wood two-thirds up—then presents crags with straggling trees—and last of all, the snow-capt summit. The road first leads up the left hand mountain, (by Gantherhal,) through a dense wood of pines, winding rather labori- ously for nearly two hours—but still tending towards the gorge or nar- row valley that separates it from the opposite mountain, and through which valley the Saltine, a rapid torrent, is distinctly heard in its foaming and precipitous course towards the Rhone. At every turn of this long zig-zag ascent, the valley of the Rhone lengthens out, and the river is seen more clearly meandering through its plain. Bri