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lower part of the glacier. The deeper parts are more penter presses his cornice plane on the wood, or as a perfectly congealed, and bands of ice show where a par- potter moulds with a stick his clay, pressed laterally tial thaw has been succeeded by a frost. On exposed too, with a perpendicular fall of 1500 feet beneath? summits, where the action of the sun is greater, the Nothing that I am acquainted with, save a glacier, which snow does not lie so long in a powdery state, the surface at this day presses and moulds and scores the rocky becoming completely frozen. This is the case with the flanks of its bed, extending to a depth often certainly of highest part of Mont Blanc and the Jungfrau.

hundreds of feet beneath. A torrent, however impetuous, We now approach the most interesting part of our --a river, however gigantic,-a flood, however terrific,subject_erratic blocks or boulder stones. Speaking at could never do this." present of Switzerland only, these are found in such posi- The glacier of Allalein is remarkable. It crosses the tions, and composed of such materials, as to give room valley with its moraine, damming up the river and for the conjecture, that, in times of which we can but forming a lake. The moraine supplies blocks containing dream, the glaciers were not, as now, confined to Alpine Smaragdite, which are found on all the plains of Switdistricts, but that the valley of the Rhone, the lakes of zerland, and which have no native locality in the Alps Geneva and Neufchâtel, were once vast glaciers, fed by but this. They are brought down by the glacier from the same snows as now feed the smaller ice streams,

Ý feed the smaller ice streams, the inaccessible heights of the Saasgrat, and are usually which so worthily raise our wonder, and bearing with much rounded by attrition, notwithstanding their exthem in their resistless course tokens of their distant cessive hardness. The river passes under the glacier origin. The Jura chain lies nearly parallel to the Alps, which has poured itself against the opposing side of the and upon the slope of its mountains, considerably above valley ; the rock is soft, and the glacier has left vertical the lake of Neufchâtel, and just facing the valley of the markings upon it, which were uncovered by its melting. Rhone, lie "extensive deposits of angular blocks of the The head of the valley of Fée is bounded by a vast kind of granite which especially characterizes the eastern glacier, while the village, which is inhabited all the part of the range of Mont Blanc, which is also the year, lies in a beautiful green hollow, amidst meadows nearest point where the rock in question occurs in a and trees, which seem to touch the regions of ice. A natural state.” This kind of granite is common in many | few years ago, the glacier descended so as to threaten parts of the Alps, but it is certain that no rock ap- | the destruction of the higher châlets and trees, and proaching to it in the slightest degree is to be found completely to obstruct the passages to an alp or pasture either in the Jura, or nearer than the part of the Alps between two branches of the glacier which then closed above mentioned, which is about sixty or seventy miles | round it. About 1834, the glacier began to retreat, and distant in a straight line. A great belt of these blocks was, when Mr. Forbes saw it, at a very considerable disoccupies a line extending for miles, at an average height | tance from the chalets, which it had almost touched. In of 800 feet above the level of the lake of Neufchâtel, and the whole of the lower part of the valley the rock is above and below that line they diminish in number, scooped out by horizontal grooves, perfectly continuous although not entirely wanting. Many are concealed for some yards or fathoms, like elaborate chiselling. In among the woods; many have been broken up and re

ny have been broken up and re- the Val de Bagnes Mr. Forbes observed the difference moved for building and other purposes. The most between the effects of friction by ice and water. "The notable of these masses, called the Pierre a Bot (load. sides of one of the ravines through which the stream stone), lies in a belt of wood, within two miles of Neuf- struggles is distinctly marked on its bold limestone surchâtel. It is 50 feet long. 20 wide, and 40 high. It | face by the long grooves which show the action of glaciers. cannot be regarded without emotion when we recollect Though the descent is very steep, and the wall of rock that it has been brought by some powerful agent, now almost vertical, these chiselled and polished grooves are

only guessed at, from those lofty peaks which are visible worn in a nearly horizontal, slightly declining direction, || by their perpetual snows. Upon the side of the Nile and are continuous for many yards or fathoms. Over

are hundreds and thousands of these travelled blocks, these, on the very same surface, are the marks of wear. il some small and rounded, others angular, without any | resulting from the action of floods, probably charged i appearance of having been brought thither with violence. with great masses of debris. The water marks are

That a glacier extending from the present ice field of rough and confused, quite in contrast with the smooth Mont Blanc to the side of the Jura chain was the agent prolongation of the others. They also slope downwards of the above transportation, is made probable by the at an angle similar to that of the river bed, whilst. as marks of glacier wear and polish which are visible in the has been said, the others are nearly horizontal." narrow gorge through which the Rhone passes at St. So many accounts have been written by travellers of Maurice, especially on the rocks which occupy the the difficulties and enjoyments experienced in visiting bottom between the above place and Bex ; these marks the glaciers of Chamounie, that it is unnecessary to say extend to a great height on the eastern side of the valley, anything of the Mer de Glace and its icy tributaries : where the polished surfaces of rock are as smooth as a we will conclude our remarks with Mr. Forbes's account schoolboy's slate, and display an artificial section of all of his perilous passage of the Col d' Erin. the interior veins. Beyond the defile of Maurice are the “ Our object was now to descend upon the glacier of "blocks of Mouthey." as they are called, from the village Zmutt, from which we were separated by a precipice immediately below them. They compose a belt of which was blended with the glacier under a snowy sheet. boulders, poised, as it were, on a mountain side, 500 feet besides which the glacier appeared dangerously creabove the alluvial flat through which the Rhone winds. | vassed. Praloug (the guide) proposed to attempt deIt extends for miles along the mountain side; there are scending the cliff, by which he recollected to have hundreds of blocks of granite, some sixty feet square, passed when he last crossed, and to have successfully fantastically balanced on the angles of one another, while reached the glacier below. We began cautiously to among and around them are the gnarled stems of ancient descend, for it was an absolute precipice: Praloug first. chestnut trees which have barely room to grow. The I following, leaving the other guides to wait about the greater blocks are often piled on the smaller, leaving middle, until we could see whether or not a passage deep recesses between.

could be effected. The precipice was several hundred The valley of the Sallenche likewise shows marks of | feet high. Some bad turns were passed, and I began to glacier action: the vertical precipices are “scored by hope that no insurmountable difficulty would appear. horizontal strices, or grooves, or fluting, evidently the when Praloug announced that the snow this year had Tault of superficial wear. But what could have worn melted so much more completely than on the them in this position? Could a current of water, of occasion, as to cut off all communication with the glacier, 1500 feet deep, have borne boulders on its surface which for there was a height of at least thirty vertical feet of should leave these plain horizontal markings? What rocky wall, which we could by no means circumvent. could have been moved with a steady pressure as a car- | Thus, all was to do over again, and the cliff was re-as

er

cended. We looked right and left for a more feasible , habitants to go away. An old man, who had often spot, but descried none. Having regained the snows predicted some such disaster, was quietly smoking his above, we cautiously skirted the precipice, until we pipe, when told, by a young man running by, that the should find a place favourable to the attempt. At length mountain was in the act of falling; he rose and looked the rocks became mostly masked under steep snow out, but came into his house again, saying he had time to slopes, and down one of them, Praloug, with no common fill another pipe. The young man, continuing to fly, was courage, proposed to venture, and put himself at once thrown down several times, and escaped with difficulty; in the place of danger. We were now separated by looking back, he saw the house carried off all at once. perhaps but 200 feet from the glacier beneath. The Another inhabitant, being alarmed, took two of his slope was chiefly of soft deep snow, lying at a high children and ran away with them, calling to his wife to angle. There was no difficulty in securing our footing follow with the third; but she went in for another, wb) in it, but the danger was of producing an avalanche by still remained (Marianne, aged five) ; just then, Fra our weight. This, it may be thought, was a small mat- cisca Ulrich, their servant, was crossing the room with ter, if we were to alight on the glacier below; but such this Marianne, whom she held by the hand, and say a surface of snow upon rock rarely connects with a gla- her mistress; at that instant, as Francisca afterwand cier without a break, and we all know very well that the said, “the house appeared to be torn from its founds formidable 'Bergschrund' crevasse, which I had seen tion, (it was of wood,) and spun round and round likes from a distance with my telescope, was open to receive teetotum: I was sometimes on my head, and sometimes the avalanche and its charge, if it should take place on my feet, in total darkness, and violently separated We had no ladder, but a pretty long rope. Praloug was from the child.” When the motion stopped, she found tied to it. We all held fast on the rope, having planted herself jammed in on all sides, with her head dones ourselves as well as we could on the slope of snow, wards, much bruised, and in extreme pain. She sun and let him down by degrees, to ascertain the nature posed she was buried alive at a great depth ; with much and breadth of the crevasse, of which the upper edge difficulty she disengaged her right hand, and wiped the usually overhangs like the roof a cave, dropping icicles. blood from her eyes. Presently, she heard the faint Were that covering to fail, he might be plunged, and moans of Marianne, and called her by her name; the drag us, into a chasm beneath. He, however, effected child answered that she was on her back, among stones the passage with a coolness which I have never seen sur- and bushes, which held her fast, but that her hands passed, and shouted the intelligence that the chasm had were free, and that she saw the light, and then somebeen choked by previous avalanches, and that we might thing green; she asked whether people would not corne pass without danger. He then (having loosened himself soon to take them ont. from the rope) proceeded to explore the footing on the Francisca answered that it was the day of judgment, glacier, leaving me and the other two guides to extricate and that no one was left to help them, but that they ourselves. I descended first by the rope, then Biona, would be released by death, and be happy in Hearen and lastly Fairray, who, being unsupported, did not at They prayed together; at last Francisca's ear was struck all like the slide, the termination of which it was im- by the sound of a bell, which she knew to be that o possible to see from above. We then followed Praloug, Stenenberg; then seven o'clock struck in another viland proceeded with great caution to sound our way down lage, and she began to hope there were still living the upper glacier of Zmutt, which is here sufficiently beings, and endeavoured to comfort the child; the poor steep to be deeply fissured, and which is covered with little girl was at first clamorous for her supper, but her perpetual snow, now soft with the heat of the morning cries soon became fainter, and at last quite died awar. sun. It was a dangerous passage, and required many | Francisca, still with her head downwards, and sur. wide circuits. But at length we reached, in a slanting rounded with damp earth, experienced a sense of cold direction, the second terrace or precipice of rock which in her feet almost insupportable ; after prodigious separates the upper and lower glacier of Zmutt, and efforts, she succeeded in disengaging her legs, and think which terminates in the promontory of Stockni. When this saved her life. Many hours had passed in this we were fairly on the debris, we stopped to repose, and situation, when she again heard the voice of Marianne, to congratulate ourselves on the success of this difficult who had been asleep, and now renewed her lamentspassage."

tions. In the meantime the unfortunate father, who

with much difficulty had saved himself and two chil FALL OF THE ROSSBERG.1

dren, wandered about till daylight, when he came among

the ruins to look for the rest of his family; he soon I SHALL here give some of the most authentic and discovered his wife. by a foot which appeared abore interesting circumstances of the fall of the Rossberg, ground ; she was dead, with a child in her arms. His taken from the narrative published at the time by Dr. cries and the noise he made in digging, were heard by Zay, of Art, an eye-witness :

Marianne, who called out. She was extricated with a The summer of 1806 had been very rainy; and on broken thigh, and saying that Francisca was not far ofi, the first and second of September it rained incessantly. a further search led to her release also, but in such a New crevices were observed in the flank of the moun-state, that her life was despaired of. She was blind for tain; a sort of cracking noise was heard internally ; some days, and remained subject to

some days, and remained subject to convulsive fits of stones started out of the ground; detached fragments terror. It appeared that the house, or themselves at of rocks rolled down the mountain. At two o'clock in least, had been carried down about one thousand fire the afternoon, on the second of September, a large rock | hundred feet from where it stood before. became loose, and in falling raised a cloud of black dust. In another place a child two years old was found Toward the lower part of the mountain, the ground unhurt, lying on his straw mattress upon the mud, with seemed pressed down from above; and when a stick or

own from above; and when a stick or out any vestige of the house from which he had been a spade was driven in, it moved of itself. A man, who | separated. Such a mass of earth and stones rushed at had been digging in his garden, ran away from fright at once into the lake of Sowertey, although five miles dis these extraordinary appearances ; soon a fissure, larger tant, that one end of it was filled up, and a prodigious than all the others, was observed ; insensibly, it in

wave passing completely over the island of Schwanal, creased ; springs of water ceased all at once to flow, the seventy feet above the usual level of the water, over 1 pine-trees of the forest absolutely reeled; birds flew whelmed the opposite shore, and as it returned swept away screaming. A few minutes before five o'clock, the away into the lake many houses with their inhabitants, symptoms of some mighty catastrophe became still | The chapel of Olten, built of wood, was found halt stronger; the whole surface of the mountain seemed to league from the place it had previously occupied, and glide down, but so slowly as to afford time to the in many large blocks of stone completely changed thel 11) From Simond's Switzerland.

| position."

Biographical Sketches of Eminent Painters.

| for him, in his pictures; but, whatever may have | been his deficiency in that respect, his delicate and

varied colouring, his warm and brilliant skies, his CLAUDE GELEE DE LA LORRAINE. excellent taste, and correct representation of the THE name of Claude is ever associated in the

beauties of nature, have caused his works to be mind with the idea of beautiful landscape scenery,

sought for with avidity, as gems of the highest glowing skies, brilliant sunset, and soft moonlight.

d soft moonlight' value. His native place was Chamagne, in La Lorraine,

The writer of this sketch possesses a characwhich was formerly a sovereign Duchy, but was teristic engraving from a valuable picture by afterwards annexed to France.

Claude, in the Muséo of Madrid, where there are Claude was born in 1600, and in the early part several excellent paintings of this much admired of his life, during which he served an apprentice

artist. ship to the trade of a pastry-cook, he did not give

|

it represents a i

It represents a noble sea-port, and on the mole any promise of that surprising genius which after- or pier are a great number of figures, among wards delighted the world.

which Santa Paula Romana is conspicuous. She Claude de la Lorraine was but little indebted to

is descending the steps, and is leaning on a vouth,

is descending the steps, and is lean any master, excepting to Agostino Tassi, an emi- |

Cemi whilst others are waiting to receive her gifts of nent Italian painter, and a disciple of Paul Bril,

charity. who, though a Fleming, had studied at Rome.

On the right of the spectator is seen a beautiful Agostino Tassi taught Claude some of the rules of palace adorned with statues, and gardens, termiperspective, and the method of preparing his

nated by a castle for the defence of the entrance to colours,

the harbour. It required great labour at first to make him

In the centre is the sea, which extends to the comprehend the rudiments of the art, but when he verge of the

| verge of the horizon, and is covered with vessels, began to understand them, his mind seemed at

| barques, and boats, filled with people. On the left, once to expand, his imagination became lively, and

the principal object is part of a vast temple, or he pursued his studies with ardour and perseve

public edifice, and there are also mansions of elerance.

gant construction, and redoubts for the protection He devoted himself to the examination of the

of the merchandize deposited in the warehouses. beauties and varieties of nature with unwearied

These buildings extend as far as the pharos at the assiduity, and for that object he frequently re

entrance of the port. mained in the open fields from sun-rise until even

The effect of this picture is charming; the hour ing closed in. He made a practice of sketching

is shortly after sun-rise; the sky is clear, the rays whatever he considered beautiful or striking, and

of the sun are reflected on the surface of the water, be marked in his drawings every curious tinge of

and the rise and fall of the rippling waves could light, on all kinds of objects, with a corresponding

not be more beautifully imitated. colour. By these means he perfected his land

The composition of this interesting picture, in scapes, and gave them an appearance of reality,

which the figures are by Claude himself, is delightwhich no artist in that style ever equalled. He

| tul; every object is represented in its true characpainted with great care, and spared no pains to

ter, and all parts harmonize with each other. render his pictures as true to nature as possible.

Claude was fond of painting subjects of this nature, Claude de la Lorraine was remarkable for the

and there are some beautiful pictures of a similar exactness with which he painted in fresco; the

description, executed by him, to be seen in the distinct species of every tree being easily perceived

National Gallery in London. in his large compositions. One of his works in

ml Claude de la Lorraine died at Rome, in 1682, that manner of painting, was on the four walls of aged eighty-two. a magnificent saloon at Rome, in the mansion of a nobleman named Mutius. The saloon was very

Poetry. lofty.

[In Original Poetry, the Name, real or assumed, of the Author, is an ancient palace, and an extensive grove of trees;

printed in Small Capitals under the title; in Selections, it is

printed in Italics at the end.) the form, stems, bark, branches and foliage, were beautifully delineated, and the perspective was

DORA. admirable. The second side of the saloon, which With farmer Allan at the farm abode seemed to be a continuation of the same scene, dis William and Dora, William was his son, played a vast plain, interspersed with mountains And she his niece. He often look'd at them, and waterfalls, and a variety of trees and plants.

And often thought, “ I'll make them man and wife.” Travellers and animals gave additional life to this

Now Dora felt her uncle's will in all,

And yearn'd towards William ; but the youth, because picture, which appeared to be connected with the

He had been always with her in the house, third side, on which the lengthened prospect dis Thought not of Dora. covered a sea-port at the foot of some high hills,

Then there came a day with a view of the ocean, and vessels tossed on the

When Allan call’d his son, and said, “ My son, agitated waves. On the fourth wall were caverns

I married late, but I would wish to see

My grandchild on my knees before I die ; among barren rocks, ruins, and fragments of an

And I have set my heart upon a match : tique statues. This composition, though divided

Now therefore look to Dora; she is well into so many parts, formed one connected prospect, To look to; thrifty too beyond her age. and it has been said that no power of language She is my brother's daughter: he and I could sufficiently express the beauty, truth, and

Ilad once hard words, and parted, and he died variety of it.

In foreign lands; but for his sake I bred

His daughter Dora : take her for your wife; Claude did not excel in drawing figures, and

For I have wish'd this marriage, night and day, usually engaged some eminent artist to paint them! For many years.” But William answer'd short:

“I cannot marry Dora; br my life,
I will not marry Dora.” Then the old man
Was wroth, and doubled up his hands, and said:
“ You will not, boy! you dare to answer thus!
But in my time a father's word was law,
And so it shall be now for me. Look to't;
Consider, William : take a month to think,
And let me have an answer to my wish;
Or, by the Lord that made me, you shall pack,
And never more darken ny doors again."
But Willian answer'd madly; bit his lips,
And broke away. The more he look'd at her,
The less he liked her; and his ways were harsh;
But Dora bore them meckly. Then before
The month was out, he left his father's house,
And hired himself to work within the fields;
And half in love, half spite, he woo'd and wed
A labourer's daughter, Mary Morrison.
Then, when the bells were ringing, Allan callid
His vicce, and said: “ Vy girl, I love you well;
But if you speak with him that was my son,
Or change a word with her he calls his wife.
My home is none of yours. My will ia law."
And Dora promised, being meek. She thought,
" It cannot be: my uncle's mind will change!”
And days went on, and there was born a boy
To William ; then distresses came on him;
And day by day he pass'd his father's gate,
IIcart-broken, and his father help'd him not.
But Dora stored what little she could save,
And sent it then by stealth, nor did they know
Who sent it; till at last a fever seized
On William, and in harvest time he died.
Then Dora went to Mary : Mary sat
And look'd with tears upon her boy, and thonght
Hard things of Dora. Dora came and said:
“ I have obeyed my uncle until now,
And I have sinn'd, for it was all through me
This evil came on William at the first.
But, Mary, for the sake of him that's gone,
And for your sake, the woman that he chose,
And for this orphan, I am come to you.
You know there las not been for these five years
So full a harvest: let me take the boy,
And I will set him in ny uncle's eye
Among the wheat ; that when his heart is glad
Of the full harvest, he may see the boy,
And bless lum for the sake of him that's gone."
Aud Dpra took the child, and went her way
Across the wheat, and sat upon a mound
That was unsown, where many poppies grew,
Far off the firmer came into the field
And spied her not; for none of all his men
Dare tell him Dora waited with the child;
And Dora would have risen and gone to him,
But her heart fail'd her; and the reapers reap'd,
And the sun fell, and all the land was dark.
But when the morrow came, she rose and took
The child once more, and sat upon the mound,
And made a little wreath of all the flowers ·
That grew about, and tied it round his hat,
To make him pleasing in her uncle's eye.
Then when the farmer pass'd into the field
He spied her, and he left his men at work,
And came and said: “Where were you yesterday!
Whose child is that? What are you doing here?"
So Dora cast her eyes upon the ground,
And answered softly, " This is William's child.”
" And did I not,” said Allan, “ did I not
Forbid vou, Dora?” Dora said again,
“Do with' me as you will, but take the child,
And bless him for the sake of hin that's gone!"
And Allan said, “ I see it is a trick
Got up betwixt you and the woman there.
I must be taught my duty, and by you !
You knew my word was law, and yet you dared
To slight it. Well—for I will take the boy ;
But go you hence, and never see me more.”
So saving, he took the boy, that cried aloud,
And struggled hard.---The wreath of flowers fell
At Dora's feet. She bow'd upon her hands,
And the boy's cry came to her from the field,
More and more distant. She bow'd down her head,
Remembering the day when first she came,

And all the things that had been. She bow'd down
And wept in secret ; and the reapers reap'd,
And the sun fell, and all the land was dark.
Then Dora went to Mary's house, and stood
Upon the threshold. Mary saw the boy
Ilas not with Dora. She broke out in praise
To God, that help'd her in her widowhood.
Ind Dora said, “My uncle took the boy ;
But, Mary, let me live and work with you;
He says that he will never see me more."
Then answer'd Mary, “This shall never be,
That thou shouldst take my trouble on thyself.
And, now I think, he shall not have the box,
For lie will teach him hardness, and to slight
His mother; therefore thou and I will go,
Ind I will have my boy, and bring him bome;
And I will beg of him to take thee back;
But if he will not take thee back again,
Then thou and I will live within one house,
And work for William's child, until he grows
Of age to lielp us."

So the women kiss'd
Each other, and set out, and reach'd the farm.
The door was off the latch; they peep'd and saw
The boy set up betwixt his grandsire's knees,
Who thrust him in the hollows of his arm,
And clapt him on the hands and on the cheeks,
Like one that loved him; and the lad stretch'd out,
And babbled for the golden sea!, that hung
From Allan's watch, and sparkled by the fire.
Then they came in: but when the boy beheld
His mother, he cried out to come to her;
And Allan set him down, and Mary said:
“ O father-if you let me call you so
I never came a-begging for myself,
Or William, or this child; but now I come
For Dora : take her back; she loves you well.
O Sir, when William died, he died at peace
With all men; for I ask'd him, and he said,
He could not ever rue his marrying me,
I had been a patient wife: but, Sir, he said
That he was wrong to cross his father thus.
. God bless him!' he said, and may he never know
The troubles I have gone through!' Then he turu'd
His face and pass'd--unhappy that I am!
But now, Sir, let me have my boy, for you
Will make him hard, and he will learn to slight
His father's memory; and take Dora back,
And let all this be as it was before."
So Mary said, and Dora hid her face
By Mary. There was silence in the room ;
And all at once the old man burst in sobs :-
“I have been to blame- to blame. I have kill'd my son.
I have kill'd him--but I loved him-my dear son.
May God forgive me!--I have been to blame.
Kiss me, my children.

Then they clung about
The old man's neck, and kiss'd him many times,
And all the man was broken with remorse;
And all his love came back a hundred-fold ;
And for three hours he sobb’d o'er William's child,
Thinking of William.

So those four abode
Within one house together; and as years
Went forward, Mary took another mate;
But Dora lived unniarriod till her death,

Tennyson.

NB.-A Stamped Edition of this periodical can be forwarded, free of postage, on application to the Publisher, for the couve nience of parties residing at a distance, price 28. 6d. per quarter.

CONTENTS.

Pase
Frank Fairlegh; Chap. III. 193 | Biographical Sketches of
Orford Castle.........

195 Eminent Painters :Gun Cotton .................. 199 Claude ...................... The Streets of London.. 2011

POETRY: Glaciers

203 Fall of the Rossberg .........

206

Dora, (with Illustration) 207

chers

...

.

PRINTED by RICRARD CLAY, of Park Terrace, Highbury, in the Parish of

St. Mary, Islington, at his Printing Office, Nos. 7 and 8 Bread Street Hill in the Parish of St. Nicholas Olave, in the City of London, and publisert by THOMAS BOWOLEN SHARPE, of No. 15. Skinner Street, in the Paris St. Sepulchre, in the City of London.-Saturday, Jaruary 23, 1847.

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