main a dead letter in the Law Books: as in in this free Country, (however that Freedom may be limited as to the checking of Masters binding Apprentices,) no Law on this point can be so worded, that the art, wickedness, and ingenuity of men will not contrive to defeat. A bad and absurd Law is made, viz. the Apprentice Act, which by the extension of Trade, is found detrimental to Trade; then, to do away the mischiefs of that Law, another absurd Law is made, viz. the Law to prevent Combination,so that mischief is heaped upon mischief, and absurdity upon absurdity. TRADE SHOULD BE AS FREE AS THE AIR WE BREATHE. This is an axiom the truth of which every day convinces us. and Another consideration arises naturally from reflecting on this subject, viz. the distinction between MONOPOLY and COMBINATION. In the first, the revenue is increased by more work being done, which is certainly beneficial to the Country, as it enables the monopolisers to live in greater splendour, thereby spending their money in those articles of consumption for themselves and connections which they could not do, if their business was not extended; - - whereas, Combination among workmen tends to cramp trade instead of extending it, and totally to stop all exertions in commerce, every time those who combine think proper to harrass their employers; and, in proportion as their demands are granted, so in proportion does it contribuc to dam up the natural course of business, which otherwise would flow without interruption.--In such alarming situations, then, what is to become of trade, if those who carry it on are hindered from preventing evils which otherwise must continually occur? LIFE OF A WARLIKE BISHOP OF We have lately, in the course of our reading, met with an epitome, in German, of the life and actions of the famous warlike Bishop of Munster, Christopher Bernard von Galen. It is probable that some of our readers may be able to give us further information on the subject of a hero, who, by this account, ought not to be classed among the undistinguished of his time and place. It should seem, that an exaggerated renown of his exploits has been as fatal to this enterprizing commander's fame, as silence itself could have been: haring removed him into the regions of fiction. C. B. von Galen, under the name of Beerndtje von Galen in the provinces of FriesLand, Overyssel, and Groningen, who is yet the dread of children, was the terror of the period in which he lived. Monarchs of great and independent states sought his friendship, because his enmity was destructive. A boundless ambition, nourished by the consciousness of his own power, and increased by the success which crowned his first attempts, is apparent in all his transactions. Although never to be forgotten in the history of Munster, he is not mentioned in the general history of Germany and the Low Countries: and yet this extraordinary man, who, with litle experience in war, placed himself at the head of great armies, conducted sieges, fought battles, and often supported an army of 20 to 30,000 men, which furnished him with the means of prolonging dreadfully destructive wars, without any expence to himself; who, when deserted by all, except himself, knew how to choose the proper moment for alliances and negociation, has hitherto found no impartial biographer worthy of him. The author of La Vie et les Ac tions memorables de Christofle Bernard de Galen, and almost all writers of the history of the Netherlands of that period, express themselves on every action as the most decided enemies of this Prince. The Vicar General of Munster, Johann von Alpen, in his Vita et Res gestæ Christophori Bernardi a Galen, 2 vols. is not free from the temptation of extreme partiality to his own country; moreover, he loses himself in the sea of general history. Fassman's "Dialogues of the Dead," which in the tenth part describe the character of this Prince; also, “ The History of the Lives of important Persous," are scarcely worth mentioning. anonymous author of the last mentioned work, who had the privilege of consulting the best biographers, united with the Theatrum Europaeum, might have produced something valuable if he had understood the art of using works of history to advantage; but, as he totally failed herein, so his biography is a mixture half false and half true. In no case is the relation complete; and neither improved by order, nor by representation. We learn little of the private life of the Prince, or of his early youth and are never told that he was once in the military service of Cologne: The author says, indeed, that Bernard von Galen was one of the greatest generals of his time, without ever having previously done any mili tary service; the fact is exaggerated, like many others; and the last, as appears from many passages, is false. He endeavours in a peculiar manner to vindicate his hero from the contradiction between the military and clerical orders. "These are," many may say, "fine qualifications for a general, but not for a chergyman; but we are to observe, that a spiritual Prince of the German Empire is no common clergyman, whose proper office is that of attendance on divine services The MR. DE CHATEAUBRIAND'S ACCOUNT OF HIS I have seen many mountains in Europe and in America, and it has always struck me that the description of those lofty natural monuments had ever been exaggerated beyond the truth: neither has what experience I have acquired in my late excursion effected any change in my opinion. I have visited the valley of Chamouni, which Mr. de Saussure has rendered famous: but I question its affording the same speciosa deserti to the poet as to the mineralist. Be that as it may, I shall candidly state the reflections that occurred to me during my journey thither; conscious that my private opinion is not of sufficient weight to offend any individual. At my departure from Geneva, the weather was rather cloudy, but it began to clear up when I reached Servoz. The summit of Mont-Blanc is not to be discovered from hence, but you have a distinct view of that part of its snowy brow which is called the Dome. Having overcome, at length, the height of the Monties, the valley of Chamoun presents itself. We proceeded below the glacier des Bossons, whose pyramids are descried between the branches of the fir and the larch trees. On account of its white colour, and of the tapered shape of its icicles, M. Bourrit has compared this glacier to a fleet under way; I would add, in a gulph surrounded with verdant forests. I stopped at the village of Chamouni, and the next day reached the Montanvert; which I ascended on the finest day in the whole year. Arrived at its summit, which in reality is only a platform of the Mont-Blanc, I dis covered what they most improperly call la Mer de Glace. Imagine a valley, the bottom of which is entirely covered by a river. From the mountains that form this valley are suspended over the river huge masses of rock, the needles of the Dru, the Bochard, and the Charmoz. At a distance, the valley and the river divide into two branches, one of which reaches a high mountain named the Giant's Neck; the other passes beside the rocks called les Torasses. At the opposite extremity of the valley is a slope, facing the valley of Chamouni. This nearly vertical declivity is occupied by that part of the Mer de Glace which is called the Gla cier des Bois. Suppose, then, that a severe winter has taken place; that the river which fills up the valley, its windings and declivities, has been frozen to its very bottom, that the summits of the neighbouring mountains are covered with ice and snow, wherever the levels of the granite rock have been sufficiently horizontal to retain the congealing streams; such is the Mer de Glace, and its true character. It is not, as may be conceived, a sea, it is a fro zen river, the Rhine if you choose; the Mer de Glace will be its stream, and the Glacier des Bois its fall at Laufen. When we had descended to the Mer de Glace, its surface, which appeared flat and smooth from the top of the Montanvert, presented an immense number of points and broken parts. These points of ice imitate the different figures of the lefty enclosure of rocks that overhang on all cid 3: they resemble a reliero in white marble of the surrounding mountains. Let us now speak of mountains in general. There are two aspects under which they may be seen; with clouds and without clouds. These are the two principal characters of the country among the Alps. With clouds, the scene is more lively; but then such a darkness, and frequently such a confusion prevails, that hardly can objects be distinguished. The clouds form a most variegated drapery around the rocks. I have observed above Servoz a kind of rocky needle standing upright, bare and wrinkled, clad obliquely by a cloud shaped like a toga; the whole might have been taken for the colossal statue of an old Roman. In another place might be seen the cultivated part of the inountain a long train of clouds intercepted the view towards the summit of this cultivated declivity, whilst above them arose black ramifications of rocks, not unlike the mouths of Chimeras, of Sphinxes, of heads of Anubis, of divers figures of monsters, and of Egyptian deities. When the clouds are driven by the wind, the mountains seem to run with rapidity behind that moveable curtain. They alternately hide and discover themselves: cometimes, at the opening of a cloud, a cluster of verdure suddenly appears, like an island suspended in the air; sometimes a rock slowly displays itself, little by little, peeping from behind the thick vapour like a phantom. The cheerless traveller hears only the humming wind amid the pine trees, the clashing torrents that run into the glaciers; at intervals the fall of an avalanche, and sometimes the whistle of the terrified marmote, that has discovered the hawk of the Alps soaring in the clouds. When the sky is cloudless, and the amphitheatre of mountains is displayed to the sight, one siagle incident is deserving of notice. The heads of the mountains, from the elcvated regions to which they rise, offer a sharpness of lines, a precision of plan, and of profile, of which objects in the plain are entirely destitute. These angular summits under the transparent dome of the firmament resemble most superb pieces of natural history; beautiful trees of coral or stalactites, supporting a globe of the purest crystal. The mountaincer fancies among these picturesque shivers the images of objects that are familiar to him; hence those rocks are called the Mulets, the Charmoz, or the Chamois; hence those appellations borrowed from religion, les sommets des Croix, le rocher du reposoir, le glacier des pélerins; simple denominations, which prove, that if man be continually engaged in meditating on his wants, yet he willingly introduces every where the remembrance of objects which conduce to his consolation. With regard to the trees on the mountains, I shall only mention the pine, the fir, and the larch tice; they being, as I might say, the sole decoration of the Alps. The shape of the pine tree reminds us of fine architecture; its branches have the air of the pyramid, and its trunk resembles the column. It exhibits also a striking analogy of form to the rocks among which it grows; not infrequently, while standing on the projec tions and prominences of the mountains, have I mistaken it for long shafts, and needles, disorderly shooting, or starting up. On the back part of the Col de Baime, at the descent of the Glacier of Trien, extends a forest of pine, fir, and larch trees, which is far superior to any thing of the kind elsewhere. Every tree in this family of giants has stood for several centuries. This Alpine tribe has a king, which the guides carefully point out to travellers: it is a fir tree fit for The mast of a first-rate man of war. The monarch alone is unblemished, while all his subjects are mutilated; some have lost their heads, others part of their arms; lightning has furrowed the tops of some, whilst the feet of others are scorched by the fires of the herdsmen. I took particular notice of two twins sprung from the same trunk, which raised their heads to the skies. They were equal in height, in shape, and in years; but one, was full of life, the other was withered. They brought to my recollection those pathetic lines of Virgil: Daucia, Laride Thymberque, simillima proles "Twin sons of Daucus, offspring resem"bling each other, Laris and Thymber! even your parents could not distinguish you from one another; you might subject even "them to pleasing mistakes! But Death has now inade a cruel difference between 46 v(O༥." We may add, that the pine announces the solitude and barrenness of the mountain. It is the companion of the poor Savoyard, whose destiny it partakes; like him, it grows and dies unknown, on inaccessible heights, where also posterity is perpetuated, equally unknown. From the larch tree the bees extract that hard and savoury honey which makes such a luscious mixture with the cream and raspberries of the Montanvert. Bucolic poets have sung the murmurs of the pine tree when gentle; but when they are loud they resemble the roaring sea: sometimes fancy hears the raging ocean rolling among the Alps. The odour of the pine tree is aromatic and agreeable; to me especially, it is peculiarly pleasant, since I enjoyed the smell of it at sea, at above twenty leagues distance, from the coast of Virginia. It always, therefore, awakens in my mind the idea of that new world, which balmy breezes announced to me from so far; of that azure sky, of those rich seas, where the fragrance of the forests. reached me on the morning gale; and as our recollections are all combined, it also recalls to my mind the regret and expectations which engrossed my attention, when leaning on the side of the ship, I was absorbed in recollect ing that native country, which I had forsaken, and thinking on that wilderness whereinto I was entering. But, at length, to state my own sentiments respecting mountains, I am not afraid to say, that as there can be no beautiful prospect without an horizon of mountains, no spot, when wanting both air and space, can afford an agreeable habitation, nor a prospect gratifying to the eye or to the mind. This must, unavoidably, always be the case amidst encireling mountains. These heavy masses never harmonize with human faculties, or with the weakness of human organs. An idea of sublimity is attached to mountainous landscapes. This idea, no doubt, is derived from the magnitude of the object. But if it should be proved that this maguitude, though really extant, is not sensible to the eye, what becomes of the sublime? The monuments of Nature resemble those produced by Art; to enjoy their beauties, we must occupy the true perspective station; for otherwise the design, the colours, the proportions, every thing vanishes. Within the ranges of mountains, as you are quite close to the object, and the field of vision is too much confined, the dimensions are, necessa rily, diminished in their size: this is so true, that we continually err with respect to height and distance. I appeal to travellers :-has Mont-Blanc appeared to them extremely high from the bottom of the valley of Chamouni? An immense lake in the Alps often appears -like a small pond; it might be thought that a few steps would arrive at the top of a hill, which, in fact, takes three hours in climbing up: a whole day hardly is long enough for getting out of a passage, the end of which appeared to be only at arm's length. The greatness and grandeur of mountains, then, which is so much vaunted, has nothing real, but the fatigue which it occasions. With regard to the view of the adjacent country, it hardly appears more extensive than ordinary prospects, Moreover, those mountains which lose their apparent height when the spectator stands too near them, are, nevertheless, so gigantic, that they overpower those objects by which they might be ornamented. Thus, on contrary principles, are diminished at once, in the defiles of the Alps, the whole and the parts. If Nature had made the trees on the mountains a hundred times more lofty than those in the plains; if the streams and the cascades poured torrents one hundred times more extensive, those huge trees, those spreading streams, might produce majestic effects on the widening flanks of ground; but it is not so the frame of the picture is increased beyond measure, while the rivers, the forests, the villages, and the flocks, retain their common proportions. There is no connection, then, between the whole and a part: between the stage and the scenery. The mountains, moreover, being vertical, become a standing scale by which, in spite of itself, the eye compares the objects which it includes; but which alternately proclaim their littleness when referred to this enormous instrument of mensuration. The loftiest pine trees, for instance, are hardly discernible in the cavity of the vales, where they appear clotted like flakes of soot. The streain of the heaviest rains is but hinted at in those dark and slender woods, by small yellow parallel streaks, and the largest torrents, the most elevated cataracts, look like mere insignificant drippings of water, or greyblue vapours. Such as have discovered diamonds, topazes, and emeralds, in the glaciers, were more lucky than myself; my imagination was never adequate to the perception of such treasures. The snow at the foot of the Glacier des Bois, mixed with granite dust, appeared to me like a heap of ashes; in several parts of it the Mer de Glace might be mistaken for a quarry of lime or gypsum; its chasms alone offer some faint prismatic tints; and when the beds of ice adhere to the rock, they look, at best, like thick bottle-glass. This white drapery of the Alps is, beside, subject to great inconvenience; by comparison it blackens every surrounding object; even the firmament, the azure colour of which it darkens. Nor imagine that the beautiful accidents of light deflecting from the snow makes amends for this disagreeable effect. The colour which tinges the distant mountains is null to the spectator standing at their feet. The splendour with which the setting sun adorns the summit of the Alps of Savoy is visible solely to the inhabitauts of Lausanne. In vain does the traveller in the valley of Chamouni expect to partake of this brilliant spectacle. Above his head he perceives, as through a funnel, a small portion of a harsh azure firmament, without dawn, withDut sunset. Gloomy spot! where the sun's VOL. I. [Lit. Pan. Feb. 1857.] glorious beans hardly dart at mid-day above a frozen barrier. In order to make myself more intelligible, may I be permitted to introduce a common place truth. A picture must have a canvas: in Nature, the sky is the canvas of prospects; if the sky be wanting in the back-ground of a landscape, the whole is confused, and void of effect. Now, mountains, when too close, intercept most of the prospect above. There is not air enough around their summits; they overshadow one another, and mutually deflect on each other the darkness which always maintains itself in some cavity of their rocks. Whether the country about the mountains has an unquestionable superiority, we may easily learn by consulting skilful painters. Observe, that artists always place their mountains at a distance, while they offer to the eye a prospect resting on woods or plains. There is but one accident which does not divest the mountains of their natural grandeur; this is the effect of moonlight. It is the property of this faint light, which is not disturbed by reflections, but maintains one uniform tone, to magnify objects by detaching certain masses, and annihilating that degra dation of colours, which connects the different parts of a painting. In this case, the more the outlines of the subjects are free and determined, the more their design appears bold and masterly; and the better does the white colour of the light decide the lines of the shadows. For this reason the grand Roman architecture like the contours of mountains, appears so beautiful by moonlight. The greatness, and consequently, the kind of sublimity which it creates, vanishes therefore in the interior of mountains; let us examine whether the graceful occurs in a more eminent degree. In the first place, some are enraptured with the valleys of Switzerland. Yet it must be observed that they appear so delightful only by comparison. True indeed, the eye, tired with wandering over barren flats, or promontories covered with a reddish lichen, rests at last with extacy on verdure and vegetation. But of what does this verdure consist? Of a few poor willows, or of some trifling crops of barley and of oats, that grow with great difficulty, and ripen very late; of some few wild stocks which bear bitter and harsh fruit. by chance a vine vegetates reluctantly, as it were, on a small spot, having a southern aspect, and carefully sheltered from the norta wind you are invited to aduire this wonderful fecundity. Do yon ascend the neighbouring rocks? The great feature of the mountains, diminish to nothing the miniature of the valley. The peasant's huts are hardly visible, and the cultivated divisions resemble the pat terns on a woollen draper's card. 2 N If 1075] Mr. Châteaubriand's Account of his Excursion to Mont-Blanc. Much is said about the flowers on the mountains, about the violets gathered on the borders of the glaciers, about the strawberries that blush among the snow, &c. These are all hardly visible miracles which produce no effect: colossal statues should not have such imperceptible ornaments. In short, I was very unfortunate, for in those famous chalets which the imagination of J. J. Rousseau has described with such fascination, I could only discover sorry huts filled with dung, and perfumed with the scent of cheese, and of milk, in a state of fermentation. The only inhabitants I saw there, were a few wretched mountaineers, who consider themselves as exiled, and long after the instant when they shall revisit the valley. Some few little mute birds which flutter from one heap of snow to another, or, now and then a pair of ravens or of hawks, hardly enliven these deserts of stones and snow, where the fall of rain is almost the only motion which salutes your eye. Happy when the interrupted feeble voice of the wood-pecker, the harbinger of storms, is heard through an ancient cluster of fir-trees! And yet, this melancholy indication of life renders you more sensible to the surrounding scene of death. The chamois, the wild goats, and the white rabbit, have been almost totally destroyed; the marmottes themselves are become very scarce, and the little Savoyard is threatened with the entire loss of his treasure. The wild beasts on the top of the Alps have been replaced by herds of cattle, which regret the plains no less than their owners. Re posing in the luxuriant herbage of the pays de Caur, they offered a spectacle, at least equally rich, and enjoyed the advantage besides of reminding the observer of the descriptions left by the poets of antiquity. I shall now conclude by describing the sensations which the mountains create. Well! in my opinion they are extremely painful. I cannot be happy on a spot where 1 only behold a scene of human labour, and where the utmost exertions of man are not repaid by the ungrateful soil. The mountaineer, who feels his own wretchedness, is more sincere and true than the traveller: he calls the plain the favoured land, and will not pretend that rocks bedewed with his sweat, without becoming more fertile, are the most superb and bountiful gifts of Providence. If he is extremely attached to his mountain, this must be ascribed to the wonderful connection which the Almighty has established between our exertions, and the objects from which they originate, and those parts on which we have bestowed them; to the remembrances of our earliest years, to the first emotions of our hearts, to the kindnesses, d even to the unkindnesses we have experienced under the parental roof, The [1076 mountaineer living in greater retirement than The mountains, it is said, are the resorts of reverie! I doubt it; I doubt whether we can be lost in thought when a walk is a fatigue; when the attention necessarily required to your steps wholly engrosses the mind. The amateur of solitude who would go chi mera hunting (laisseroit aux chimères, as Lafontaine says), while climbing the Montanvert, might most assuredly fall over some precipice or other, as did the astrologer of old, who pretending to scrutinize the regions above, was thereby prevented from minding his own fret. I am well aware that the poets have wished for woods and valleys, there to converse with the muscs. But let us listen to Virgil: Rura mihi et rigui placeant in vallibus amnes In the first place, he would like to rove through the country rura mihi; he would go in search of gay and agreeable valleys, vallibus amnes; he would like rivers, flumina amem (but not torrents), and forests where he night continue in a state of obscurity, sylvasque inglorius. Now, the forests he wishes for, would consist of stately oaks, elms, and beech-trees, and not of gloomy firs, for he would not have said: Et INGENTI ramorum protegat UMBRA. O ubi campi, Sistat! "Oh ye Gods! why am I not seated on the banks of the Sperchius! When shall I have it in my power to tread the rich valleys of Hemus! Oh, who will carry me to the lovely Taygeta!" He would have cared but little for the valley of Chamouni, the glacier of Tawnay, the little and great Torasse, the needle of the Dru, and the rock of la Téte Noire. After having stated what I think unfavourable in mountains, it is but just that I should conclude by saying something in their behalf, I have already observed that they enter, neces |