COOPER'S EXCURSIONS IN SWITZERLAND.

THE power of describing landscapes with force and truth appears to be a qualification so frequently possessed, and the number of descriptive travels already before the public are so numercus, that Mr. COOPER'S Excursions in Switzerland would have had little value or interest had they depended solely upon sketches of sce- nery, however grand or beautiful, or even upon mere incidents of the journey. Two circumstances, however, suffice to remove his book from the class of sketchy tours. In the first place, the writer has imparted to the account of his journey something of a narra- tive interest; secondly, he has himself a peculiar character, which gives a dash of freshness to what would otherwise be faded. An American, intimately familiar with all the beauties of the Old World, he looks at Switzerland with a more refined and instructed eye than that of most travellers ; whilst he is enabled to commit its landscapes to a comparison which scarcely any of them have the means of making, and thus to bring their beauties to a better test, and subject them to a more learned judgment. Besides, having in common with his countrymen—although, from his long European residence, in a less degree—the faculty of looking at common objects with foreign eyes, he has another quality which all of them do not possess. National, perhaps prejudiced to a high degree in favour of his country in the aggregate, he seems to entertain a supreme contempt for the units of which that aggre- gate is composed. The deeds which America has done, the insti- tutions which she has established, are to be received with a reve- rence as implicit as a Catholic pays to the dogmas of his church : but individual Americans are another matter—democracy is sa- cred, but democrats are fair game ; Mr. COOPER, like the old Whigs, and dandy politicians of all times, seeming to think, that if he defends popular rights, he may hit the people as hard as he pleases. In addition to these points of peculiarity, our author is a bit of a political philosopher, who whiles away the tedium of a dull road or a wet day by spinning theories, amusing if not instructive. From all which it follows, that the Excursions in Switzerland have more characteristics than a mere "tour in search of the pic- turesque,"—although, tq say the truth, they offer us but little novelty in images or ideas, and the best part of the cream of the journey has already appeared in the landscapes of the Headsman. The Excursions are written in the form of letters; and have the ease and familiarity of' epistolary correspondence, contrasting ad- vantageously with the forced and laboured style of some of this writer's more formal works. The route of the author was from

Paris to Dijon and Auxonne, and thence across the Jura to Neuf- chatel and Berne. From that stronghold of Swiss aristocracy, he proceeded thoroughly to explore the land of landscapes ; not con- tenting himself with the usual routes of travellers, but threading the more rarely-visited mountains and vallies on foot, till, having exhausted even Switzerland,—seen the sources of the Rhine and the Rhone, crossed into Germany, and sailed on most or all of the lakes,—he crossed the Simplon, and closed his journey, or at least his narrative, at Milan.

Although the book is written expressly to paint scenes, we shall not choose our extracts altogether from the descriptions; partly because mere description is soon wearisome, partly because the book by no means consists of descriptions only, and partly because the other passages are more characteristic rind readable. The fol- lowing, on Continental notions of American complexions, looks like a skit; but, as WILLIS tells a story of a similar kind in Italy, we suppose the fact is true, and is a kind of retribution for a people who will not worship in the same church with a man of colour.

Our salon at the inn was decorated with pictures emblematical of different countries. One was a belle of fair hair and rosy cheeks; another, a belle of raven locks and pencilled eyebrows ; a thild, a belle of brown ringlets and azure rubs. Les Etats Unis were particularized in the person of—to use the Southern vernacular—a " wench" as black as a coal.

If it were possible to take the sense of the people of Europe on the subject, I am persuaded it would he found that nine out ot ten believe the Americans are any thing but white. You may remember the account I have given you of our residence on the banks of the Seine, in a small country-house, that was once a sort of hunting lodge of Louis the Fifteenth'. One day, while in the grounds, overlooking the gardener, a servant ran to inform me that the carriage of " son Excellence," the American minister, had driven into the court. Ile was told to return, and to say I would join " son Excellence" in a few minutes. "Mon- sieur l'Ambassadeur," said honest Pierre, the gardener, " est on grand?" I told him he stood six feet four inches English in his stockings. Pierre had seen him one day on the boulevards at Paris. Curious to know how the minister could have been recognized, under such circumstances, I delayed paying my respects to " son Excellence," another minute, in order to inquire. Pierre had taken an interest in America, on account of our relations, and had learned, in the course of his gossiping, that the minister was " on grand," and meeting a strapping negro on the boulevards, he jumped to his conclusion. These things sound odd to us, and I can remember the time when I used to set them down U travellers' wonders, but, believe me, they are religiously true.

• FRENCHMAN'S DEFINITION OF " BEAU " AND " PITTORESQUE."

A solitary pedestrian was toiling his way up the mountain, and, leaving the rest of the party, I joined him, and got into disesurse. His "Boo soir, mon-

eieur," air, accent, and " tornure," though those of an artisan, were all decidedly French. " Monsieur comes from Paris?" after a little familiarity was esta- blished between us. " Oui." " Apparemment, monsieur est Anglaisl" " Non ; Americain." " Ah ! Anglo-American], n'est-ce pas, monsieur ?" glancing his eye back at the. group in the rear,_ most probably to see if they were black. "Des Etats Um.% mon anti." " C'est un beau pays, la has?" "Ma fois, comme ca ; cc n est pas a compares avec celui ci, pourtant." " Comment ! monsieur croit qui ceci est beau! anoi, je ne he crois pas beau ; ('est pittoresque, mais pas beau ; a mon idae un pays comme celui aupias de Dijon est beau ; la lea champs sont plats, et dignes d'atre cultiva." At present you have a Frenchman's distinction between the beau and the pittoresque. There was nothing to be said against it, and we changed the disrourse' I being obliged tacitly to admit that Neufchatel is picturesque but not beautiful.

SWISS ROADS.

In accompanying us along these mountain paths you are not to suppose we are toiling through vulgar roads, with bridges, and ditches, and ruts, and all the other attendants of a highway. So far from this, we ate often moving on the turf; or, if there is a beaten path, as is most commonly the case, it must be remembered that it winds prettily through pasture land and meadows, and not unfrequently among flowers, which are singularly delicate in these high regions. A broom with its handle stuck in the earth, is a sign that a field must not be crossed ; and a rail with one end laid on the ground and the other next the path placed in a crotch, is a hint not to diverge from the proper route. Even these admonishing marks occur only in particular places, to protect a meadow, shorn like velvet perhaps; at all other times the sole motive to keep the track being the certainty it is the shortest way. Fences there are none, or next to none; fur a few imperfect barriers are occasionally seen in the vallies.

One of the most interesting parts of the whole book, is the ac- count of the visit to the shrine of Einsiedeln, and of the heartfelt worship of the simple-minded peasant pilgrims, and the different pictures of their arrivals and appearance. The whole is too long for our columns, but we will take a part.

Pilgrims were arriving throughout the day, in parties varying from a dozen to a hundred. Their approach was always announced by the untiring repeti- tions of the prayers; the effect of which, in the distance, especially when male and female voices alternated, was poetical and plaintive. All drank at the fountain, and nearly all at its several spouts, in order to make sure of pressing their lips to the one which is supposed to have been consecrated by the lips of the Saviour. They then invariably entered the building, serious, earnest, and devout, and knelt before the shrine.

The church is large, and almost worthy of being ranked with the cathedials of Italy. It is a good deal ornamented, having many marble altars, painted ceilings, and much gilding. The shrine is of marble, and it stands quite near the great doors. Iron gratings in front and on parts of the two sides, permit views of the interior, where the bronzed images of the Mother and Child are so placed as to receive the rays of a single but strong lamp. Their habiliments resembled pure gold.

When I entered hundreds of pilgrims were kneeling on the pavement around the grates, keeping their eyes riveted, without an exception, on the dark, mys- terious faces within. Many maintained this position for hours, and all appeared to be absorbed in subdued devotion. The light of the church was growing dim with the decline of day, and I walked stealthily around the groups and through the vaulted aisles, with feelings of reverence, pity, admiration, and awe, so blended, that I find it difficult to describe them. I knew that the temple was God 'a, and that his Spirit was present ; I felt persuaded that much devout reliance on his mercy was blended with the superstition I witnessed ; and, while my reason showed how fearfully near idolatry these poor people had approached, the mystery of the incarnation never appeared so sublime, and, if I may so express it, so palpable, as at that moment. I believe few men are less under the influence of superstition, or a dread of any sort connected with spiri- tual agencies, than myself; and yet I found it necessary to draw largely on my Protestant insensibilittes in order to gaze at the bronzed countenance of Mary with indifference. Sympathy with the earnest and well-meaning crowd who

knelt before her, a belief which, while it rejected so mweli of the embellishment of their own faith, admitted so much of its substance, and a sense of common inability to penetrate the great secret of the system of the universe, disposed me to be charitable. It was impossible to witness the pain and labour with which these poor people had traversed plains and mountains to reach the shrine, the subdued and imploring air with which they approached the image, and the fixed attitudes of reverence and deprecation, mingled with a strange sentiment of affectionate reliance that all assumed, without feeling how insignificant shades in creed become, when devotion really occupies the soul. In short, I was in no humour to be critical, and felt strongly disposed to receive every thing as it was offered and as it wished to appear. Most of the pilgrims were Germans. A large portion were from the Black Forest ; though there were also a good many Alsacians and a few Italians in the different groups. Some of the men bad noble classical faces; and I can recall one or two who, bending on the stones with naked knees, heads inclined, and eyes steadily but humbly riveted on the bronzed image, were perfect models of manly submission to an omnipotent and incomprehensible power.

Mr. COOPER remarks, that as he became more accustomed to the scenery, he became more critical ; and that, as his first enthu- siasm subsided, be began to look at landscapes with a more dis-

criminating eye. As the Simplon was the last of the Alpine re- gions he saw, we may presume it was investigated with his ripest judgment ; and if severity constitute a critic, Alr.COOPER is one of the band. At the same time, it must be admitted he renders rea- sons for the faith that is in him— We soon reached the first of the celebrated galleries, which are also features of the route that, I think, are usually exaggerated. The mere effect of passing

through these artificial caverns, amid ft owning plecipices and foaming torrents, and along a road that, in reality, is as smooth and safe as a garden walk, is, beyond a doubt, both exciting and strange; but as mere public works these galleries are neither extraordinary nor unusual. The " Hole of Uri " is pre- cisely the same thing, and much moie ancient, though smaller. Were the rook entirely blown away, these passes would create much less wonder and conver- sation, while the labour and cost would evidently have been materially increased. But you can more easily appreciate the labour, if not the effect, in a picturesque sense, by learning the dimensions. The longest of these galleries is a little more than six hundred feet, the height is about twenty, and the breadth twelve. The rock is a compact granite with few veins. The single cutting on the Erie Canal, near Lockport, as a mere public work, materially surpasses all the cut- tings and blastings on all the Alpine passes put together, although there are now two other roads, but little, if any, inferior to this of the Simplon.* Notwithstanding all the mistakes u hide have arisen front indiscriminating descriptions, poetic feeling, or popular error, no passage of the Alps can pos- sibly be other than grand and, at certain seasons, dangerous. The magnificent nature among which the Simplon road is compelled to pass, coupled with its extent, form its principal peculiarities. There is, perhaps, no one insulated point on the whole route which, taken by itself, merely as gallery, bridge, or road, is not surpassed, even in its own way, by some similar object in some

other patt of Switzerland. Thus, no bridge is equal in boldness, thread like lightness, and giddy altitude, to that of the Reuss, near Ursern ; nor do I know that there is any greater cutting than at that point ; but there is so much of this labour, and skill, and hardihood, compressed into a single route in descending the Simplon, that while one is passing rapidly through such a scene, the mind,

without stopping to analyze the parts, is apt to carry away an impression of an entire and undivided whole. You are kept for hours among soon of the grandest objects of the sublimest scenery of Europe, if not of the world ; and few pause to detect the means that conspire to produce the impressions that all feel. • • I cannot pretend to give you a very accurate notion of distances, for the mo- ments flew swiftly, and my attention was too much attracted to the scenery to take heed of their passage. I should say, however, it was at a point less than two leagues front the village that we passed the portion of the road with which I was most struck, considering it merely as a work of art. At this spot, it

became necessary to descend from one level of the gorge to another that lay at some distance beneath. This object the engineers had been obliged to achieve within a very short space, and over a broken and steep surface of ragged rocks. It was done by short zig-zags, so admirably calculated both as to the inclina-

tion and the turns, as to enable old Caspar to wheel his four grays, on a gentle trot, through the whole descent, with as much accuracy as he or any one else could have wheeled a squadron of dragoons. The beauty, precision, strength, ingenuity, and judgment with which the road bad been constructed among these difficulties, drew exclamations of delight from us all.

• That of the St. Gothard, which has since been completed, makes a fourth, and that by Niece fin.