trait to distinguish them from others. He had a particular aversion to ascend any mountain; and had made it a rule, throughout his whole tour, never to digress from the valleys. It is true, he lost some of the finest views in the land:-but of this he was sceptical, esteeming all scenes, when regarded from below, much finer than they could possibly be on a nearer approach. Mountains he would have nothing to do with but to look at from a distance, convinced that in them, as with many a showy belle, specks and deformities would only grow visible on a closer contact. His passion for virtù was great; and his eyes sparkled as he drew forth from his bosom a small Carlo Dolce, which he had bought a few days before of a connoisseur dealer in Lausanne. The picture had cost high; it had been offered us not long before; but its originality had appeared doubtful. The pedestrian, however, free from every doubt, gazed on it with indescribable satisfaction, convinced that he had met with a treasure: it was the constant companion of his journey, and no doubt the Carlo Dolce was often drawn forth amidst the glaciers and precipices, to refresh the spirits and banquet the eyes of the wearied traveller.

The valley of Grindelwald is near three thousand two hundred feet above the level of the sea, exceeding, though not much, that of Chamouni, which is three thousand. Its neighbourhood affords some of the best chamois-hunting in the country; behind the Wetterhorn they are sometimes seen, even after the destruction committed on them, in bands of twenty or thirty. There are no bears existing here now, though they are to be sometimes found on spots of much inferior height. During our stay near Thoun, a large bear came down from his mountain abode, by no means lofty, to a village in the Simmenthal, a few miles from our residence. He walked leisurely amidst the pastures, drew close to the village, and allowed a child, that knew not its danger, to stretch its hand towards his shaggy side, without being in the least savage, when he was shot by some peasants from a chalet, who had seen his approach; and his carcase was brought to Thoun for sale, and eagerly bought up at a high price. Eagles are often shot on the mountains that form the barriers of Grindelwald; and this monarch of the air is seen of the largest size in his domain of the Wetterhorn. They have been known sometimes to attack a man, but at advantage, when he has been passing along a steep declivity: the eagle then does not strike with his beak, but rushes against him with all the force of his wings and body, in order to prostrate him on the ground, and thus gain an easier prey. A curious instance of the ferocity of the eagle occurred lately at a solitary chalet on a pasture mountain: a peasant boy, of eight years of age, was engaged in looking after some cattle, and he was the sole tenant of the cottage, as the Swiss train their children very early to this occupation. He perceived two young eagles at no great distance on the ledge of a low rock; tempted by the prize, he drew silently close behind the rock, and suddenly grasping them in his arms, took possession of both birds in spite of the most determined resistance. He was yet struggling with his prey, when, hearing a great noise, he saw, to his no little terror, the two old birds flying rapidly toward him. He ran with all his speed to the chalet, and closed the door just in time to shut out his pursuers. The boy afterward spoke

of the fright he suffered during the whole day in his lonely chalet, lest the old eagles should force an entrance; as, being powerful birds, they would soon in their fury have ended the poor boy's life. They kept up the most frightful cries, and strove with all their might to break down the barriers of the frail chalet, loosely built of single logs, and find some avenue by which to rescue their offspring. But the young peasant kept his prey, well aware of its value-a louis d'or being given by the government of Berne for every eagle killed. As night approached he saw his pursuers, tired with their useless efforts, leave the chalet, and watched their flight to the lofty, though not distant precipice and as soon as the darkness had set in, he again grasped the two eaglets in his arms, and ran as fast as his legs could carry him down the mountain to the nearest village, often looking back, lest the parent birds should have descried him, and fancying he heard their cries at every interval: he arrived in safety, however, at the hamlet, not a little proud of his prize.

The glaciers of Grindelwald are extremely beautiful, though inferior in size to those of Chamouni: verdure grows at their very edge; the waving and fantastic forms of the billows of ice, and the caverns beneath them, in several places arrest the admiration of the visitor. The finest of the latter, where arch within arch appeared of an azure hue, over the water that slept calmly beneath, was entirely destroyed by a party of Germans, who amused themselves by demolishing the frail and elegant structure: every remonstrance to induce them, barbarians as they were, to spare the noble cavern, was unavailing.

Much has been said in praise of the morals of the natives of Switzerland. A late eminent traveller has well observed, speaking of this valley, "In point of fact, we find that the same causes which have narrowed the field of their intellectual faculties, have not by any means secured the purity of their morals." The same illusion that has represented as beauty the excessive personal plainness of the female sex has also been drawn over the general licentiousness of the land, and it has been lauded as moral, religious, and sincere! Why is truth so often and so deeply outraged? It is well known, that every subject in the great canton of Berne, and in the canton de Vaud, is permitted to obtain four divorces, on the score of "incompatibilité des mœurs ;" and that it is so common for married couples to avail themselves of this law, that the quondam husband and wife, of respectable condition, not unfrequently meet at parties, united, however, to different mates; and a journey to another canton has been many a time preconcerted, to enable the bride to urge the plea of abandonment, and thus break a yoke that had become tiresome, or gratify a penchant for other bonds. The purity of life of the peasantry need not admit of discussion the least moral people of the East are the Druses and the Arabs that live apart, on the rugged heights of Lebanon; and in the most secluded valleys and on the loftiest mountain sides it will also be found here that solitude excites, and does not calm, the passions. But will not the manners of a capital affect in some measure the whole canton? can the gross licence prevailing within the walls of Berne be prevented from spreading, when the excellent laws do not restrain it? As to religion, there is doubtless much that is sincere and unaffected

in the pastoral and solitary parishes, both as regards minister and people: but its existence, as well as influence, is very partial. Where is the consistency of the sumptuary laws at Geneva, which enforce, though feebly now, plainness and simplicity of dress, and the absence of costly ornaments, as being improper, while at the same time the theatre is open on the Sunday evening, and this portion of time is generally passed in all the other towns at the card-table? In a Catholic country these things are overlooked, and may be palliated, from long habit, and the belief of their innocence; but in a Protestant land of high profession, as well as former fame (though now rather faded) for piety, it certainly excites some surprise. There is not a mechanic who hesitates to follow his work, or a merchant his affairs, on the day set apart as sacred.

But the great defect in the Swiss character, and which obscures their other virtues, is their mercenary craving, to gratify which the meanest tricks are had recourse to: this cannot be spoken of but with regret and indignation. In truth, it pervades almost the whole land. The stranger must be cautious in trusting professions of regard or terms of intimacy; let an occasion offer, of which advantage may be taken, and a little money gained, and the Swiss grasps it with an eagerness which shows, that he deems gold more powerful than friendship or honour, or even than the bonds of relationship.

LOVERS' PRESENTS.

"Rich gifts wax poor when givers prove unkind."

Hamlet.

TAKE back thy gifts, thou noble dame,
Gifts that might courtly homage claim:
This ring is circled by diamonds bright,
This chain is flashing with ruby light,
This emerald wreath once bound thy curls,
And thy waist was clasp'd by this zone of pearls;
Lady, such gifts were unwish'd by me,

And I loved them but as bestow'd by thee.

Pledges so splendid I could not impart,
My poor return was a faithful heart;
But now that our gifts we each resign,
Lady, how sad an exchange is mine!
Thy glittering gems are still gay and bright,
And may charm a high-born lover's sight,
But the humblest maid will spurn a token
Like the heart thy treachery has broken!

M. A.

COUNTRY READING SOCIETIES.

"C'est chez eux toujours que les fades Auteurs
S'en vont se consoler du mépris des Lecteurs.

Là tous les livres sont bons, pourvu qu'ils soient nouveaux."

BOILEAU.

THE immense number of publications which issues yearly from the press is a subject of very general astonishment, and among them some may, doubtless, be found valuable for the new information and new ideas they communicate, or for that beautiful gloss and freshness which genius throws upon all it touches, conveying to even a thricetold tale a charm which novelty itself does not possess in the hands of mediocrity. Still, many unfledged writers continue, as in the days of Livy, to delude themselves with the belief that their pen confers improvement and grace on any subject, however old and hacknied, and is as effectual in reviving threadbare literature, as Smith's fluid in restoring old clothes, or Rowland's kalydor in freshening old faces. So much is published that is false, trifling or absurd, so much that is not worth telling at all, or that has been told twenty times before, so much that is dry and uninteresting in itself, or wearisome and disgusting by the method and style in which it is treated, that it was long an impenetrable mystery to me where purchasers could be found for this mass of printed matter. Coinciding perfectly with the opinion that

"Ein Thor findt allemal noch einen grössern Thoren
Der seinen Werth zu schätsen weiss"-

or that "
one fool always finds a greater to admire him," I still could
not satisfy myself how the requisite number of reading simpletons could
be found to call for second and third editions of very dull and costly
books, and thus spur on their fortunate authors to fresh efforts of ge-
nius. Volumes after volumes appear, composed as it would seem ex-
pressly on a system which must prevent their being read: too dry for
the frivolous, too shallow for the learned, without elegance of language
to propitiate the critical, or novelty of detail to please the curious
reader, they frighten the indolent by their size and number, the scholar
by the name of their authors, and every body by their price. Fre-
quently have I stood with a catalogue of modern publications in my
hand, my finger resting on the name of some dull and expensive
quarto, in rapt and deep meditation as to how

"With less learning than makes felons scape
Less human genius than God gives an ape,"

the author had contrived to raise his work to the honours of a second edition, and where those extraordinary individuals were to be found, that strange species of reader, the very Ornithoringos paradoxus of literature, to whose purses and patronage those honours were attributable. I might have continued musing even to madness on this perplexing question, gaining a fresh wrinkle of amazement every time I passed through Paternoster-row, or looked at the mass of advertisements which swell the reviews into undue and inconvenient thickness, had not a bright idea suddenly occurred to me, before which all that had been obscure and mysterious speedily vanished. Book-societies furnish a key to the enigma; these constitute the safeguard of the pub

lisher, the encouragement of the author, at once an Egyptian oven to hatch a number of literary chicks which might otherwise have perished in the shell, and a capacious maw, like Gourmand's, in the fairy tale, to devour them when they are hatched. Book-societies are, as it were, an Assurance-office against loss from the self-kindled flames of one's own genius, a Foundling Hospital to adopt and cherish all stray children of the brain, a Refuge for the destitute offspring of the Muses, which receives with equal benevolence the puny, drivelling duodecimo, and the unwieldy, idiotic quarto, opens its gates to folly, deformity, and delirium, and provides alike for all an ample and comfortable subsistence. This reading Briareus is constantly stretching out its hundred hands with a paper-knife in each ready to dissect the food for which they crave; and more attentive to quantity than quality, they eagerly grasp at books of every size and description. Indeed, it is surprising that some timid statesman has not called the attention of Parliament to this vast and powerful machine, and expatiated on the danger which might result to the country, should so widely-spread and restless an association ever find itself without that constant supply of mental food necessary to keep it quiet. If ever like Prig, Prim, and Pricker, in the "Perils of Man," the Book-societies should in vain cry out work, masters, work," to what might not empty hands and starving brains in their idleness and desperation have recourse? For be it remembered, that in such a fearful extremity the stores of past ages would be of no assissance to a famishing Book-society, not at least in their original shape, novelty, real or supposed, being the only food it is capable of digesting; and like rice to a Hindoo, without this, starvation must ensue even in the midst of plenty. Leaving, however, these distant and vague apprehensions to some nervous politician who delights in "a quaver of consternation," let me merely suggest for his comfort those apparently interminable labours of our patriotic literati to which I have before alluded, and assure him, that when " fancy flags, and sense is at a stand," they will not cease their exertions; their's in its highest state is the magic art of transformation and disguise attributed to French cookery; under their management the most trivial subject will start up in a thousand unexpected forms, meriting the praise bestowed upon veal in the "Almanach des Gourmands," "Plein d'une aimable condescendance il se prête à tant de métamorphoses, que l'on peut l'appeler le caméleón de la cuisine."

Advantageous as Book-societies may be to authors and publishers, and useful as they may prove in our metropolis, and in cathedral or large commercial towns, where the members are prepared to derive advantage from new books by having read old ones, I cannot but consider them most baneful institutions amidst the simple and uneducated inhabitants of remote country villages, whither, I grieve to say, they are rapidly spreading. Although "a little learning is a dangerous thing," I am not prepared to assert that "ignorance is bliss;" but that a sudden influx of heterogeneous knowledge, unpreceded by preparatory cultivation, may have a most fatal effect on the happiness and improvement of the recipients is too clearly proved to me by my own experi

The lovely and peace-breathing village of S, situated at a distance from the high road and from any town of size or importance, surrounded by scenery beautiful indeed, but fortunately not so pre