"It is to be hoped so," exclaimed Madame Carli; "and what became of the English lady?" -" Oh, the whole party escaped without injury, and next CHAPTER IV. THE VALAIS. "tie up your throat carefully; we may have to walk presently; and you, nurse, make the baby comfortable, and give him to me." The nurse obeyed, and the mother, looking anxiously at her year I saw them pass again into Italy, so little child, inquired, with suppressed earnestness, had they been daunted by the perils they had "William, is there any danger?"-" Yes, a escaped." little, love, just enough to impart an air of romance to our adventure."-" Hark!" exclaimed the wife, "what's that?"-" My God," cried the nurse, "the mountain has fallen on us." Just at that instant a loud shout was heard from the men outside, followed by a suppressed struggle and a groan, and then the most complete silence. All motion was at the same time arrested in the carriage, and on applying the lamp to the windows, it was perceived that they were embedded in thick snow. "What is to be done?" exclaimed the Englishman, addressing himself to our friend from Aosta. "Can your experience suggest any means of extricating ourselves from this position? If we force our way out, do you think it possible we could reach some place of shelter?"-" No," answered he, "that is impossible. All we can do is to remain where we are; they will dig us out in the morning." - "And the drivers," observed the Englishman, a sudden thought flashing across his mind, "what is to become of them? they will die of cold.""They are dead already," answered the Aostan; "the first stroke of the avalanche extinguished life in them-what you heard was their death-groan.""Impossible," cried our countryman; "I must force my way out, and endeavor to drag them hither." The confined space into which they had to breathe would have rendered it necessary to let down the windows, at the risk of admitting a quantity of snow; but all egress was impracticable. They were entombed, as it were, in the avalanche, which, fortunately for them, was soft and spongy, permitting air to pass through its pores; yet the heat soon became almost insufferable, and once during the night the lady fainted. Travelling carriages in the Alps are always well supplied with provisions and restoratives, wine, brandy, &c., and as our countryman never once lost his presence of mind, everything practicable was done for wife, and nurse, and child. What their language and feelings were may possibly be imagined. All our friend from Aosta could say was, that it was very terrible, which he uttered in a tone more significant than his words. Well, morning came at last, as they knew by consulting their watches; but it brought no light with it, and for some time no sound. At length a confused rumbling was heard through the snow, which died away, and came again by fits, till at length it became evident that it was the voices of men. After a protracted interval, a gleam of daylight entered the carriage, the snow was cleared partially away, and the wel I remember to have elsewhere remarked that there exists some resemblance between the valleys of the Rhone and the Nile. In both, a large and impetuous river flows through a narrow slip of cultivated land, flanked by a chain of lofty mountains on either side. But it is the resemblance which a miniature may be supposed to have to a picture of colossal dimensions. Yet the Rhone,. when in full flood, is a noble river, and the Alps that frown over it are loftier, and infinitely more picturesque, than the Libyan and Arabian ranges, scorched almost to a cinder by the burning sun. I make no pretensions here to describe Switzerland. The reader will find in a thousand books the names of the towns, the heights of the mountains, and the length of the valleys. What I desire to revive are the feelings and sensations with which I passed on towards Italy, full of regrets and hopes, of sad memories and glorious anticipations. I have never seen an exposition of the philosophy of Alpine travelling, chiefly, perhaps, because the impressions made depend more upon the mind that feels them than on the objects themselves. Almost every person can repeat, with Jessica, "I am never merry when I hear sweet music," because the hushed delight produced by a concord of sweet sounds has no analogy with mirth. It is much the same with the grand harmonies of nature. stranger visiting the Alps, for the first time, seldom experiences bursts of merriment, and there are many whom the sight of these gigantic mountains plunges into sadness and melancholy. For myself, I am generally, in such scenes, filled to overflowing with involuntary delight, inconsistent with any access of melancholy, fear or sorrow. It is true, the painful reflection sometimes presents itself, that while those majestic objects are eternal, I who observe them am a transitory being, traversing a narrow slip of sunshine between the cradle and the grave. Life, in fact, is but a luminous point, resting upon the confluence of two dark oceans-eternity past, and eternity to come--and encompassed by the immensity of unfathomable space. In this black darkness, in this dreary void, life has but one thing to cling to, the idea of God, without which we should drift away into immeasurable despair. But, like a cloud on the summer heaven, this thought soon vanishes, and my mind, returning to its habitual condition, is filled with sunshine. For this reason, travelling is a sort of mechanical happiness to me, especially amid Alps A come face of a rustic was beheld peering down or deserts, or along the skirts of the ocean. Phil upon them. Their deliverance was now speedy, and they were conveyed half dead to a chalet, together with the bodies of the driver and postilions. "Such accidents," said our friend, " are rare." osophically we know that the greatest projections on the earth's surface are almost nothing compared with its own magnitude. Yet, from the diminutiveness of our own bodies, they seem great, and fill our minds with prodigious ideas of the force and sublimity of nature. What a chorus of glorious influences bursts upon our soul amid the Alps, with their glaciers, cataracts, caverns, forests, abysses, everlasting snows and storms, and thunders and avalanches! In beautiful weather, such as that in which I ascended the Valais, the mountains, with the bright blue sky hanging lovingly over them, remind one of a fairy scene in an opera. The grandeur perplexes you; you hurry along, and scarcely think it real, as object after object rushes past you, and is engulphed, as it were, in the memory of the past. Onward you go, beholding new, mountains, new peaks, new chasms; and the all-pervading light clips them round and renders them nearly transparent. All the world over the dawn of morning is beautiful, round, and addressed myself to the new-comer, whom, from some peculiarity in his look and manner, I immediately suspected to be a Jesuit. - He seemed pleased by my civility, and we commenced a conversation which lasted, with few interruptions, through the whole day. Even Madame Carli was forgotten, for so eloquent, so full of knowledge, so gentle, persuasive, and fascinating was my new friend, that I may say with truth I have seldom seen his equal. Wishing to ascertain whether my suspicion was well or ill founded, I expressed the most profound respect for the Society of Jesus. I said I had studied their institutions and history with peculiar interest, spoke of their missions and their labors, especially in South America and China, and repeated more than once how much pleasure it would give me to become when the earth looks like a bride arrayed in orient acquainted with a member of the order. He pearls, and the sun spreads far and wide his can- bowed, and replied in a half-whisper, that he was sumption; and while admitting his wit, and the exceeding the middle height, with a serene, placid grace and beauty of his style, laughed at the gross- countenance, rendered so entirely by discipline, for ness of his blunders, both in history and philoso- in the depths of his dark gray eyes you could read phy. Fortunately for our tempers, the argument the evidence of fiery and tempestuous passions was interrupted by an invitation to dinner, which we all very cheerfully obeyed, disputation and sightseeing being both great promoters of appetite. opy of crimson clouds which his glory converts gradually into gold. But amid the Valaisan Alps the loveliness of morning sets language at defiance. Imagine endless spheres of snow, crowning piny mountains, and enveloped with a rosy flush by the magic of the young light. This glowing investiture, like the breast of the dove, every moment displays new colors, glancing off in fugitive coruscations which dazzle and intoxicate the senses. A luminous border hangs upon cliff and crag, and a whisper, soft as the breath of love, showers down upon you from the pine forests as you move. A feeling, half religion, half sense, fills your breast, and your eyes become humid with gratitude as you look upwards and around you. The reading of your childhood comes over you-you remember the earliest page in the history of man-" and God saw all that he had made, and behold it was very good''-and good, you murmur to yourself, it is. If there be poetry in the soul, it comes out at such moments; and, by the process which I faintly and imperfectly describe, travelling sometimes mellows the character and improves our relish of life. come. * I was interrupted in my conversation with Madame Carli, who seemed to possess a genuine admiration for mountain scenery, by the entrance of an ecclesiastic, which brought out one of the most unamiable features in the French character. Instead of contracting, as it were, to make way for him, everybody appeared to expand to double his usual size, in order to show him he was unwelMy sympathy was roused in a moment; and, pressing rather unceremoniously against my female friend, I invited the stranger to take the best seat next the door. He bowed profoundly, and thanked me, after which, supposing his conversation would not be agreeable, he folded his arms, leaned back, and made up his mind to take refuge in absolute silence. I observed an impudent grin on the face of all my companions, with the exception of Madame Carli, whose feminine feelings preserved her from this indecency. To make up, as far as possible, for the inhospitality of my fellow-travellers, I immediately turned a little himself a Jesuit, and principal at the college at Brigg, where he invited me to stay a few weeks. He would then, he said, explain to me the condition of the order throughout Europe, as well as that wonderful system of education, which, taken all together, is probably the most effective ever invented. Unfortunately, the fear of arriving too late in Egypt to ascend the Nile that winter prevented my accepting his invitation, which, I am sure, he gave with all his heart. We discussed the relative position of the two churches, the history of Protestantism, the probable fortunes of Rome, and the character of public opinion throughout Christendom. The habit of being all things to all men enters so strongly into the policy of the order, that I can lay little stress on his political professions. He appeared to sympathize with the democratic spirit of the age, and said that through convulsions and anarchy we must inevitably terminate with the adoption of the republic. One difficulty he could not overcome the inaptitude of Catholicism with republican principles. He supposed, however, that the external forms of religion would be modified by civilization, and that which we term the Church must, in order to be useful, be organized in conformity with the ruling principle of society, whatever it may be. A professor of rhetoric from Anjou, who gloried in the philosophy of Louis Philippe's dynasty, having listened for some time with patience to our discussions, at length broke in upon us with an attack on Christianity itself, which he conducted after the most approved tactics of Voltaire. If the Jesuit expressed any surprise, it was at our having been interrupted no sooner, for, aware of the odious influence of Philippism, he scarcely expected to find a spark of religion in any person promoted or patronized by the government. He did not choose, however, to combat the antiquated sophisms of Voltaire, and, observing that monsieur had a right to enjoy his own opinion, sat meekly listening to the objections urged against the very foundations of our faith. I was not quite so patient, but carrying the war into the enemy's quarter, accused Voltaire of ignorance, levity, and preInstead of dinner, I should rather, perhaps, have called the meal we were about to eat a second breakfast, as we took it considerably before noon. At a much earlier hour we had stopped, and descended from the diligence to gaze at one of those grand natural objects which constitute the charm of Switzerland. The fall of the Sallemche, vulgarly called the Pissevache, which disappoints at first sight, is magnificent when approached. It was rather too early in the morning, for the sunshine, which already gilded the summits of the rocks above, had not yet touched the trembling and foaming waters, or called into existence those innumerable rainbows which other travellers have seen spanning the infernal surge which precipitates itself down in prodigious masses, seeming as if it would cleave the very rocks upon which it eternally dashes. On the right hand, at the very summit of the cataract, a part of the rock forming the channel of the stream appears to project beyond the other parts of the river's bed, and round this the water curves, and foams, and looks exactly like the mane of a snow-white colossal horse, tossing and waving in the tempest. Though wet by the fine spray which fell about us like rain, we regretted leaving this extraordinary spot. The fertile portion of the canton consists of a narrow valley, flanked on both sides by lofty mountains, many of which were now blanched by a weight of virgin snow of the most dazzling whiteness. At the feet of these, often, in small semicircular sweeps, are found spots of verdure, of a very peculiar form and beauty. Imagine two towering rocky moun within. There is something cruel and ferocious in a gray eye, which yet is sometimes so tempered and softened by passion, that it becomes the most fascinating in nature. Mythology attributes gray eyes to Achilles, to indicate the union of intellect with the most destructive propensities. Tiberius the worst of Roman emperors, had gray eyes, which from that day to this have obtained little favor with poets or romance writers. We hear of dark, humid, lustrous eyes, of bright or soft blue eyes; but of the gray eye no epithet is suitable but that of fierce or fiery. To talk of a soft gray eye would be a contradiction which would instinctively produce laughter, yet it has often happened that men and women with gray eyes have fascinated all around them. The reason may be this, that the imperious energy of the character suggests the necèssity of exercising an antidote, and the mixture of softness and fierceness, of all-absorbing love and violent antipathies, operates like a spell. The Jeuit, of whom I have been speaking, was at least ad example of this. His short and slightly curled up per lip indicated a large amount of scorn, which he sought to disguise by a winning voice and gentle manners; but from the height of his intellect he evidently looked down upon his opponents, and now and then put forth a degree of strength that startled them. His face was pale, with a few streaks of red in the cheeks, such as you sometimes see in farmers, who have been a good deal exposed to the weather. He wore a long black cassock, reaching from his neck to the feet, a common hat, and a little white band of linen about the neck. We understood each other thoroughly, and between his Catholicism and my Protestantism there was so little difference that it required the name to tains, barren as death, and strikingly-savage in distinguish one from the other. We rose above their aspect, divided in front from each other by a sectarianism, and met on the common level of Chrisbed of soft green turf, dotted with tufted trees, tianity. Such a man, however, would be a danEntwine their mingling blooms; then part us not! And whisper, 'All that hath been, comes again." single or in groups, and rising from the road with a gentle slope until it touches the curtain of naked rocks which unite the two mountains behind. But I know of no expression which can paint the loveliness of one of those scenes which we passed a little before sunset on Wednesday evening. The greensward, rising gradually, as I have said, from the level of the great valley, appeared to swell into every form of beauty which an undulating surface, infinitely varied in aspect, could assume. Here were small glades, through which the delighted eye wandered into the dim distance; there thick groves of umbrageous trees; here a patch of smooth-shaven lawn; by the side of this a dusky hollow, terminating in a shelving semicircle of green turf. In short, I know of no voluptuous feature in a landscape, excepting sparkling streams, which this valley did not exhibit. : CHAPTER V.-THE JESUIT. Let me describe my friend of the Society of Jesus. He was a man of about thirty-five, slightly gerous proselyte-maker, for he would first show all the points in which the two beliefs agree, and then gradually attack as errors, condemned by both, the points on which they differ, in favor, of course, of his own church. As we went along, I inquired into the mental and physical condition of the Valaisans, on which he exhibited extensive information, though himself a native of Alsace. Our conversation then turned upon the summit of the Alps, where he had often wandered, and which he described admirably. The name of Pervenche, used accidentally in our conversation, led to the mention of Jean Jacques Rousseau, and that again to Madame de Warrens, and that to love. I felt not a little anxious to learn the opinion of a Jesuit on this passion, but observing that Madame Carli and the rest of our companions were stening too attentively to our conversation, he said he would speak of it another time when I did him the honor to visit his college. That visit was never paid, neither did the promised discussion ever take place; but, instead, he related to me a story which did honor to his frankness, for it represented a Jesuit in love. What will be the opinion of the reader when he hears the anecdotes, it is, of course, beyond my power to conjecture, neither shall I at present state my own; but when I have related faithfully all the incidents of the narrative, the event will speak for itself. It was towards the close of the day, and not many leagues from Brigg, when, observing an extraordinary appearance in the valley and mountain on our right, I inquired of the Jesuit the cause of the phenomenon. Across the small plain from the foot of the rocks to the river extended a broad, irregular chasm some fifteen or twenty feet deep. On its edge stood the ruins of several cottages, and above, in the face of the mountains, was a tremendous gap like the mouth of an immense sluice; large trees tosh up by the roots, rocks of enormous size rolled down and jammed together among the ruins of the forest, appeared to indicate the passage of some risistless flood, but all was now dry; and from the rature of the ground, it was clear that no river or ven brook or streamlet could ever have flowed in From Fraser's Magazine. HOPE AND MEMORY. Two spirit-voices sighed upon the air- that channel. The Jesuit viewed the scene with a look expressive of sorrow and painful recollections, which suggested to me the idea that he had witnessed some tragedy on that spot. "I will tell you," said he, "as we go along, the history of the destruction of this little plain, which, as you perceive, is of very recent date. I happened to be here when it took place, and was blessed with more than one opportunity of affording aid or consolation to the sufferers. Similar occurrences are not rare in the region of the Upper Alps, but probably nothing so terrible has been known in the valley within the memory of man. Look yonder among the trees. At every advance of the diligence we discover the ruins of fresh cottages; indeed, a whole hamlet once stood where you now behold only loose stones and piles of rubbish. Look at yon cross; how it nods over the chasm like the light of religion gleaming over eternity. Close to it stood the little village church, and graves of the dead. All are now buried beneath the sands of the Rhone." He then commenced his relation in these words :- My voice is but an echo, ling ring on Like gentle parasites that round thy lot Then warbled that clear voice, "An endless sigh One flits before, yet turning to thee oft And warms them there until each flower receives I commune with her till her voice, her tone, [TRUTH AND OPINION.] "MORE than half a century ago a journalist properly observed, that the question is not whether all truths are fit to be told, but whether all opinions are fit to be published; whether it is expedient that every individual should propagate and defend what he looks upon as truth. Every real truth is fit to be told; but every opinion that is engendered in the fermentation of a superficial head, with an irregular fancy, may not be fit to be told, however plausible it may be rendered by a tinsel clothing of metaphysical sophistry."-Monthly Review, vol. 64, p. 499. [ENGLISH ECCENTRICITY.] We are thy friends, companions, through the day; HORACE WALPOLE says, the most remarkable thing he had observed abroad was, "that there are no people so obviously mad as the English. The French, the Italians, have great follies, great faults; "Oh, love us! love my sister best; her strain Was caught from heaven, and bears her there again. but then they are so national that they cease to be Her lot, her place, are with the blessed; still Still towards their source her visions mount and striking. In England tempers vary so excessively that almost every one's faults are peculiar to himself. I take this diversity to proceed partly from our climate, partly from our government; the first is changeable, and makes us queer, the latter permits our queernesses to operate as they please." -Letters, vol. 1, p. 43. From Fraser's Magazine. THE MODERN ORATOR.* MESSRS. Aylott and Jones have established a strong claim upon the gratitude of all to whom the cause of English literature is dear. They have come forward in a very spirited manner to save from oblivion some of the brightest flowers in the whole garland of English eloquence. In The Modern Orator, compiled under their auspices, we have, collected within a moderate compass, not specimens only, but the very cream of all that Chatham, Sheridan, Burke, Erskine and Fox, ever addressed to either house of Parliament. The so they cannot fail of giving a bias to the tastes, and strengthening the reflective powers, of the young and the ardent of many generations. Chatham, Sheridan, Erskine, Burke, Fox-what a galaxy of illustrious names! Whig though they be, (with the exception, at least, of Burke, and he was a whig at the outset,) it is impossible not to feel, when we come into their presence, that we are indeed standing upon holy ground. But why should our spirited publishers stop there? Has not England produced another Pitt, attaining, even in his youth, to higher eminence than his father succeeded in making at mature age? Are Canning's silver tones forgotten? Has Wilber speeches of each statesman, moreover, are pre- force quite passed from men's memories? or Husfaced by a short sketch of his life; while explan- kisson, or Scott, or Murray, or Thurloe? And atory notes enable the reader fully to apprehend might not passages of surpassing power and interboth the general drift of the several orations that Perhaps this hint of ours may not be thrown away. The firm which has dared to put forth these two volumes, cannot fail of meeting with such encouragement as shall lead to more. And then, without doubt, the same judgment and skill which have been brought to bear upon the present selection, will find scope and room enough to disport themselves on another. The first of the great men with whom The Modern Orator deals, was born in St. James' parish, Westminster, on the 15th of November, 1708. His grandfather, when governor of Madras, had purchased for 20,4001., a diamond, which was long considered the largest in the world; and subsequently sold it to the Regent Orleans, on account of the King of France, for 135,000l. Thus enriched, he became the proprietor of a handsome estate near Lostwithiel, in Cornwall, which he bequeathed, together with a considerable portion in money, to his son Robert. Of this Robert, by Harriet Villiers, sister to the Earl of Grandison, William Pitt, afterwards Earl of Chatham, was the second son. est be culled from the speeches of still earlier come before him, and the particular points which, statesmen-such as Hyde, Falkland, Hampden, in the progress of his argument, the speaker has Cecil? contrived either to achieve or to miss. It is impossible to overestimate the value or importance of such a publication. While it brings within the reach of thousands, knowledge, from which, with out some help of the sort, they must have been entirely shut out, it supplies the more fortunate few with a manual, easily referred to, and just sufficiently extensive to recall to their recollection whatever, in this department of literature, an educated man would be loath to forget. No doubt there are fuller biographies extant of all the great men referred to here. And the intrinsic worth of these must remain to the end of time precisely what it was when each first came under the scalpel of the critic. But experience has long ago shown that biographies continue to be popular in an inverse ratio to their bulk; because you cannot forever keep alive the literary appetite that gulps down a couple of quartos, or half a dozen bulky octavos, at the outset. Look at Tomlin's Life of Pitt, Lord Holland's Memoirs of Charles James Fox, and Moore's Life of Sheridan. (Who that has not passed his grand climacteric ever thinks of referring to these, except for a purpose?) And even Prior's Life of Burke, though comparatively a recent publication, lives but in the memory of a passing generation, and will soon take its place on the top-shelves, among the books" which no gentleman's library ought to be without." Messrs. Aylott and Jones have, therefore, done good service, both to the memory of the glorious dead and to the taste and political education of the living. They have embalmed, so to speak, the rich imagery, the terse argument, the glorious declamation of the former, in a shrine which, being accessible to all, has a good chance of commanding the devotion of true worshippers to the end of time; while before the living age they bring models of imitation, which, as they may be studied without fatigue, and remembered in their just proportions, * The Modern Orator. Being a Selection from the Speeches of the Earl of Chatham, Sheridan, Edmund Burke, Lord Erskine, and Charles James Fox, with Introductions and Explanatory Notes. In 2 vols. 8 vo. London: Aylott and Jones, Paternoster Row. CCLXXXIX. LIVING AGE. VOL. XXIII. 26 William Pitt was sent at an early age to Eton, where he greatly distinguished himself, and became a favorite both with the masters and his schoolfellows. Among the latter, he seems to have associated chiefly with George, afterwards Lord Lyttelton; Henry Fox, afterwards Lord Holland; and Henry Fielding. He entered Trinity College, Oxford, as a gentleman commoner; but never took a degree. An attack of gout in early life induced him to quit the university, and to seek in travel through France and Italy the health which had been seriously impaired. After his return, he obtained a commission in the Blues, and in February, 1735, took his seat in the House of Commons as member from Old Sarum. He at once, and without any apparent effort, made his presence felt in the great council of the nation. A strikingly handsome figure, a dignified and graceful manner, a voice full, rich, clear, and singularly flexible, supplied all that is wanting to complete the exterior graces of an orator; and |