The great fête of the Grotto of Adelsberg, of which I wrote you, was to

take place on Monday afternoon. Mr. Philip, the painter, and myself took

a carriage to that place and arrived in good time, and saw this very

strange grotto with greater advantage and under more curious

circumstances, I suspect, than was ever done by an American before. I

had all the next day before me, as the coach from Triest did not arrive

till evening. My companion was taken somewhat ill and kept the house,

while I took my portfolio and walked through the fields of this retired

valley to a bold and high mountain range, more distant than I had

calculated on; climbed the rocks with much difficulty; enjoyed a

charming prospect from the summit; filled my portfolio with plants; got

back about five o’clock, regularly tired and hungry, and just had time

to eat my dinner and secure my specimens before the coach came from

Triest. We took our places just at dusk, Tuesday evening, and have been

on the road day and night, stopping just long enough to take our meals,

until this morning; when at early daylight, just as I opened my eyes

from such sleep as one might catch after three consecutive nights of

such confinement, the vale of the Wien and the beautiful city of Vienna

lay before me, the green fields reaching up to the very gates. It was a

lovely sight. I have never seen the like. It began raining very soon,

however, and has rained all day, so that I have seen little. Philip, who

understands German, has been confined to his room by illness. But as

soon as I got my breakfast and was fairly fixed in my lodgings, which we

found as difficult to get as if we were at New York at this season (I am

at the Gasthof zur Dreyfaltigkeit, a good and cheap house, and the head

waiter speaks French), I took a guide to direct me to the Joseph-Platz,

where the Imperial Library and Cabinet are, to find Endlicher.[101] I

found the man in his den, and the moment I put my letters into his hand

he recognized Bentham’s writing and addressed me by name, Bentham having

apprised him of my intended visit. Endlicher received me very cordially,

and I remained with him till two o’clock. He is extremely good-looking,

and younger even in appearance than I expected, although Bentham told me

he was about his own age; he looks about thirty-three. I had the

pleasure to present in person the copy of the “Flora” designed for him.

The usual dinner hour here is from twelve to three. The common people

dine at twelve, the gentry from two to four, the imperial family setting

a good example by dining between one and two. After dinner I went to the

police office to procure the necessary leave to remain here for a week

or so, answered all the questions which are put in such cases to the

traveler, such as where I stopped, how long I intended to stay, what my

business was, produced my letter of credit, in order to show that I was

not likely to run away with unpaid bills,--to ascertain this point is

said to be the chief object of all this inquiry. When you arrive at any

hotel and remain over night, you are presented with a blank formula

comprising still more particular inquiries, which you are required to

fill up, and it is sent to the police office. You give first your name,

then your country, age, religion, occupation, state whether you are

married or not! whether you are traveling alone or in company; where you

came from last; your probable stay; whether you have letters of credit

or not, with some equally particular inquiries! I went next to my

banker’s, found no letters! I drew some money, and obtained a ticket of

admission to a commercial reading-room, which is well supplied with

English and French newspapers. Here I stayed until sunset, reading up my

English news, in which I had got far behind, and which on the present

occasion I found very interesting. I gleaned occasionally a little news

from home, but vaguely. The information seemed in general satisfactory,

but one letter from home were worth it all!

I have this morning changed the plants I have been drying, and have

taken care of my companion Philip, who is quite sick with the fatigue of

his journey and so forth. I have endured it very well, but must get into

bed. Not having had my clothes off for three nights in succession, nor

enjoyed rational sleep, I wonder much that I am not more fatigued.

Endlicher asked me to go to the opera this evening, where there is some

especially fine music, as he says, but I declined, telling him that

under present circumstances I should sleep through the finest music in

the world. I suppose it would be perfectly impossible to make him

understand how one could have any scruples against this amusement.

Saturday, 25th, 1839.--I went early this morning to the Imperial

Cabinet; remained there until two, when the rooms are closed. After

dinner I explored about the city until sunset; saw many of the public

buildings, the gardens, etc. I understand the localities of the town

proper very well. The city itself is not large; the strong walls that

inclose it are still kept up, and immediately outside of this there is a

large open space, planted with trees and laid out into roads and walks.

Beyond this are the faubourgs or suburbs, larger many times than the

city itself; very pleasant, but rather inconvenient to reach. Most of

the public buildings, the shops, etc., are in the city itself. I went to

see the fine old Gothic Cathedral of St. Stephen’s. It is a very old and

exceedingly fine, large building, but the roof is very awkward. The

spire is the finest thing I ever saw in the way of Gothic architecture.

It is four hundred and sixty-five feet high, and is the very poetry of

steeples. I intend to climb to the top presently....

Monday morning, 27th May.--I find we are in a different climate from

Italy. It has been cold ever since my arrival here; the first day was

rainy, and yesterday it rained from morning to night, and was very cold

and unpleasant; so of course I kept my room nearly all day. I had also

to take care of Mr. Philip, whose indisposition has turned into

intermittent fever, such as he has been subject to at Rome. It is a most

distressing thing to be sick in a strange land, and I cannot be too

grateful for the uninterrupted good health I have enjoyed ever since I

left you.

I have deferred telling you anything about the Grotto of Adelsberg, on

account of the great difficulty I find in conveying any idea of it. It

is without doubt the most wonderful thing of its kind in the world.

Adelsberg itself is a little German village perched under a steep

conical hill which is crowned with the ruins of an old castle; it is at

one border of a circular plain, several miles in extent, dotted here and

there with little hamlets, and surrounded with mountains, so that it is

like a large basin, and seems wholly shut out from the rest of the

world. It is so still and quiet that it would do very well for the

valley of Rasselas, but the mountains do not form precipices except on

one side, where they are accessible at a few points only, and there with

much difficulty, as I had occasion to know. The streams that come down

from the mountains unite to form a little river, perhaps nearly twice

the size of the Fishkill Creek; and this, after running about the valley

seeking an outlet in vain, at length in despair, as it seems, dives into

the solid rock at the foot of hills near the village. The entrance for

visitors is a small hole above this, which opens into a long gallery,

perhaps two hundred yards in extent. From this you descend into a vast

hall, called the Dome, more than one hundred feet high, and three or

four hundred feet in length. As you descend you hear the roar of the

waters confined in their deep prison-house, and at the bottom you meet

the river which rushes swiftly to the distant extremity of this hall,

and there sinks into the dark depths. Instead of a stupid monument and

inscription by the late emperor, placed above this, it would have been

much better taste to have placed in the stream a piece of statuary

representing Charon and his boat, for never was seen so perfect a

beau-ideal of the fabled river Styx. This is the last you see of the

river Poik; but the Unz, which bursts forth a large stream from the

rocks at Planina, is believed to be the same. This river is crossed by a

bridge. Then we went on to another hall about three quarters of a mile

from the entrance; the ball-room, where a large gathering of peasants of

the surrounding country, in their national costume, were dancing waltzes

in the bowels of the earth!

* * * * *

Hiatus vastus.--I left this account of the Adelsberg Grotto, and my

journey through Illyria and Styria, for the first convenient

opportunity,--a time that never comes,--so now I must send it as it is.

The grotto is wonderful past all description, and our visit was very

opportune; the whole scene not soon to be forgotten.

29th May.--It rained all day yesterday, so Schönbrunn was out of the

question, and I spent the morning again at the Cabinet of Botany; and

after dinner Philip and myself, in spite of the rain, set out to visit

the imperial picture-gallery in the Upper Belvedere Palace, which is

finely situated in one of the suburbs. The gallery is very extensive and

excellent, especially in the Dutch school, and we had barely time to

finish our hasty reconnoissance before it closed for the night. I had a

fine view of the city from the windows of the upper story. We stopped at

a café on our way home, took some lemonade and ice-cream, while I read

“Galignani’s Messenger” for English news. This morning I went to the

gallery as usual, and after working for a little time, Mr.

Putterlich,[102] the sub-assistant, went with me to the famous

Mineralogical Cabinet, the finest in the world. A most splendid affair

it is. It occupies a suite of quite ordinary rooms, but is excellently

arranged and shows to great advantage. Here are all the fine gems,

diamonds, emeralds, topaz, and all sorts of precious stones, both

polished and natural. I saw also the bouquet of precious stones made for

Maria Theresa, a most brilliant affair. The collection of aerolites is

unique. I intend to visit it again on Saturday. I obtained some useful

information here as to the mode of constructing the shelves, etc., in a

mineralogical cabinet; their plan here is the best I have seen. If I

knew what I now do, I could have given a plan for the construction of

the cabinets at the Lyceum infinitely better than the present. Returning

to the Botanical Gallery I occupied myself in selecting specimens for

myself from Rugel’s New Holland collections. Endlicher offers me these

and other plants, as many as I like. He also offered to send to Hamburg

for me a copy of the “Iconographia Generum Plantarum,” the “Annals of

the Vienna Museum,” and some other of his works. After dinner, finding

nothing else to do for a few moments, I went into a bookseller’s,--the

publisher of Endlicher’s “Genera Plantarum,”--to look up some reports on

education, etc. I asked also for botanical works; and after offering me

several things which I did not want, they brought out, as a great

rarity, our own “Flora,” which I told them I did not want at all. At six

o’clock, Endlicher called upon me to take me to the Botanic Garden of

the university, under the care of Baron Jacquin, who is professor, at

the same time, of both botany and chemistry in the university, and

scarcely lectures on either. He introduced me to the old fellow, a

hard-featured chap, who managed to speak a little English and talked to

me of the year he spent at Sir Joseph Banks’ in bygone times. We went

through the garden, which is finely situated, covers much ground, and

has fine trees, but is wretchedly cared for; in fact it is almost left

to run wild, although well endowed.... I have some curious anecdotes to

give you about the censorship of the press at Vienna, but have not

energy enough left to write this evening.

Thursday evening.--Nothing can be printed and published here, without

first being examined and approved by a censor of the press. The

government appoints four or five persons in Vienna, who examine in

different departments, one for newspapers, one for works of science!

others for different branches of literature. Every author must send his

manuscript to the police-office, whence it is handed over to the proper

censor, who certifies that it contains nothing immoral, nothing against

the government, and that it is good literature, or science, or poetry,

as the case may be, and worthy of being published; it is then returned

to the author, with permission to print it. The author’s annoyance does

not end here. He is obliged to leave a copy of his manuscript with the

police, and a copy of the work as soon as printed, so that they may be

compared, and any alterations or additions detected. If he desires to

make any alterations in his manuscript after it has passed the

censorship, he must send it back for a second examination. Persons

holding responsible official situations are not exempt: if a censor

himself wishes to publish anything, his manuscript must be given to the

police that it may be examined by some other censor. All kinds of

works, books of dry science not excepted, are subject to the

censorship. To my great surprise, Endlicher, who gave me all this

information, informed me that all the manuscript of his “Genera

Plantarum” is sent to the police, who transmit it to Baron Jacquin, the

censor for natural history, etc., and who is well paid for the business,

but who knows just as much about it as if it were written in Arabic, and

who certifies to each portion that it contains nothing hurtful to the

people, nothing offensive to the emperor, to religion, etc., and more

than all, that it is good science! To avoid the annoyance of sending it

back repeatedly, as he has alterations to make, he is obliged to promise

the printer to indemnify him, in case any discrepancy is observed

between the manuscript and the printed work. Endlicher spoke of all this

in terms which there is no necessity for me to record just at present.

He gave me an anecdote respecting the publication of his earliest

botanical work of any consequence, a Flora of his native town, the

“Flora Posoniensis:” the manuscript being duly sent to Jacquin, that

worthy refused to give it his imprimatur, because, it was arranged

according to the natural system! which Jacquin did not like; and

Endlicher was obliged to apply personally to the ministers and take

great pains, when he obtained permission to print in spite of the

censor; he took his revenge by dedicating the work to Baron Jacquin

himself! This system sufficiently explains the low state of literature

in Austria, as compared with northern Germany. I could hardly believe

all I have heard, had I not obtained my information from such authentic

sources....

Friday evening, 31st May, 1839.--The remainder of the morning was

devoted to the botanical cabinet; and in the afternoon and early part

of the evening I called with Endlicher upon Mr. Fenzl,[103] the

aide-naturaliste in the botanical department, who is confined to his bed

by some affection of one of his legs. He is engaged in a monograph of

Alsineæ, which I think will be very faithfully done, and we looked over

several collections by his bedside. I made a bundle of all I wished to

examine, which are sent to my lodgings for the purpose, and which will

give me occupation for the evening. He introduced me to his frau, a

regular German lassie, and we managed to converse altogether for some

time in a curious mixture of French, German, and English.

ON THE DANUBE, on board the Dampschiff

(steamboat) Maria-Anna, bound for Linz, 5th June.

Schönbrunn, the Versailles of Austria, is much like Versailles itself on

a smaller scale, but much less magnificent. I visited the grounds with

Endlicher, and also visited the botanic garden attached, under the care

of M. Schott.[104] The garden is very finely arranged, but all that is

particularly worth seeing is the conservatories and the large collection

of exotics, many of them very old like those of Kew. It is richer than

Kew in Palms, Aroideæ, etc., but in other things it seems not quite

equal. As we passed by the palace, the emperor was pointed out to me,

through the open windows of his cabinet. I am told privately that he is

scarcely compos mentis, and that all government affairs are managed by a

regency of which Metternich and Archduke Charles are chief. We went next

to see Baron Hügel, and the extensive collection of living plants he

has collected during his travels. I think I have not told you the cause

of his long journeying. He was, it appears, the accepted lover of an

accomplished and beautiful lady of very good family here, and their

union was considered as a settled affair. But unfortunately for poor

Hügel, Prince Metternich looked upon the lady and determined to have

her. So he sent Hügel upon some humbugging political mission, to Paris I

believe, and during his absence he made his propositions to the father

and mother, who were not slow in discovering that Metternich, with all

his riches and power, malgré his sixty-odd years, was the fittest

bridegroom; and I am sorry to add that they persuaded the daughter to

the same opinion, though she could have had little liking to the old

fellow personally, and was said to be much attached to Hügel. The latter

at length found out why he was sent to Paris, and came back with all

speed, but he was too late. His intended became Princess Metternich, and

Hügel set out to cure his disappointment or forget his love by traveling

in foreign lands. Metternich, being glad to get rid of him, threw

facilities in his way, and being fond of plants he collected and sent

home an immense quantity for his garden. At the same time he made

extensive collections of dried specimens, etc., which all reached Vienna

safely. He spent nearly all his fortune in traveling, and would have

been in a quandary, but the government, that is to say, Metternich,

bought all his collections of dried plants, animals, etc., for the

Imperial Cabinet, giving for them an immense price, some thirty times

more than they are worth, and so Hügel is able to enlarge and embellish

his place, improve his garden, and build most beautiful greenhouses. He

has fitted up his house very tastefully, and filled it with all manner

of strange things, arms, idols, and so forth. His collection of living

plants is larger than that of Schönbrunn, though the trees are younger.

Several days after my arrival I called to pay my respects to our

minister here, Mr. Muhlenberg, and the secretary of legation, Mr. Clay.

Philip and myself also spent an evening at Mr. Clay’s, where we met Mr.

and Mrs. Muhlenberg, and their daughter, a young lady of about

seventeen; also Mrs. Clay, a pretty woman, and Mr. Schwartz (the

American consul here) and his wife, who both speak English indifferently

well. Muhlenberg seems quite sick of living here, and speaks of the

Austrians with anything but praise.

We went one evening to a public garden, of which there are many here, to

hear the most celebrated musician here, Mr. Strauss. A few kreutzers are

charged for admission, and the company are nearly all seated, at little

tables, eating a substantial supper, or sipping coffee or ices, as they

incline, while Strauss with his fine band played the finest music,

mostly pieces of his own composition. It was the best music I ever

heard.

Philip left me on Monday evening and went to Prague. On Tuesday I

arranged passport, left parcels to be sent to Hamburg, took leave; came

out to Nussdorf after dinner, from which the steamboat leaves, and after

seeing my luggage deposited safely on board, I climbed the Leopoldsberg,

a steep mountain between eight hundred and nine hundred feet high, and

enjoyed the beautiful and extensive view from its summit,--a fine view

of Vienna, of the Danube branching into many different streams, forming

pretty green islands, and the whole of the broad valley far into

Hungary. In a fine day, it is said the towers of Pressburg, forty miles

off, may be distinguished. The Danube, which is here as large as the

Niagara, broad and swift, washes the base of the mountains, and the view

up the river, though not so extensive, is more picturesque. I collected

a handful of plants, bid good-by to Vienna, and descended, slept on

shore, and was on board the boat in time to start with it at five

o’clock this morning.

This is the first time I have slept in a genuine German bed,--a

feather-bed beneath, and an eider-down bed the only cover. It is

inclosed in a sheet like a pillow-case, and under this you creep. In the

winter it might do very well, but at this time of the year it is very

oppressive. The upper sheet here I find, in all cases, is tied fast to

the coverlet, which is all of one piece, and just long enough to cover a

moderately sized man like myself from the chin to the toes. A taller

person must choose between his shoulders and his toes, for they cannot

both be covered.

Living is dear in Vienna. I stopped at a cheap hotel, being aware of

this, and lived as economically as I well could, but I find I have made

way with a very considerable sum. The only way to travel cheaply

anywhere on the Continent is not to be in a hurry, and to understand the

language.

Notabilia for Dr. T.--I have seen Corda[105] at Vienna. He is one of the

curators of the collection at Prague, and was at Vienna on a visit.

Learning that I was there, he called and left his card. I afterwards

saw him at his hotel. He is a little fellow about thirty, with a small

expressive countenance. He works chiefly at minute fungi, on which he is

publishing a large work. I saw a part of it in London. He showed me an

immense quantity of drawings, which he makes with great rapidity. He is

also publishing a work supplementary to Sternberg’s “Flora of the Former

World,” a work of which Corda did a good part. He gave me two copies of

a lithograph of Count Sternberg,--now dead, as you know,--done by

himself. I observe by his drawings that he has anticipated an

unpublished discovery of Valentine’s, which he showed to Lindley and

myself in London, about the holes in the tissue of Sphagnum opening

exteriorly. I looked at Corda’s microscope (one of Shiek [?] at Berlin),

but it is inferior to the English or Chevalier’s.

I made a second visit to Fenzl, as he lay in bed; had a long botanical

talk with him, and think him a most promising botanist.

Ungnadia (the character of which Endlicher has not yet published,--the

last plate in the “Atakta”) was named in memory of Baron Ungnade, once

an ambassador from Austria to Constantinople or Persia, I forget which,

and the first to introduce Æsculus Hippocastanum into Europe,--hence the

propriety of the name. Endlicher is soon to publish the description in

the “Annals of the Vienna Museum,” which work, with the “Iconographia

Generum Plantarum,” he has promised to send to Hamburg for me, along

with the parcels of plants given me. We have studied the new

Loganiaccous plant from Florida. It proves, as Brown guessed, near his

Logania § (or Gen.) Stomandra, but extremely distinct from that or any

other genus, by the character of the style which Decaisne first

noticed. Endlicher is to give a figure in “Iconographia Generum

Plantarum,” and the description has gone to the printer in one of

Endlicher’s articles in the “Annals of the Vienna Museum,”--Cœlostylis

Loganioides, Torr. & Gr. Can’t we get more of it? Has Leavenworth found

it?

I have been looking over the “Reliquiæ Hænkeanæ,” and examining what

specimens of the collection from North America they have in the Vienna

Herbarium. Endlicher goes this week to Carlsbad to recruit his health,

stopping a day at Prague. He has kindly taken a list of my desiderata of

the species published in that work, and I hope to get some bits of them.

I have copied so much from the work that we can get along even if I do

not see it again, but as I was about to purchase it, Endlicher suggested

that he should see if Presl himself has not a copy left for us.

Following this hint I have sent by Endlicher a copy of the “Flora” to

Presl,[106] in nomine auctorum.

There is a new genus of Presl in Loaseæ (Acrolasia) from Mexico, which

may be Nuttall’s. The most curious thing is a new genus of Datisceae

from Monterey (why have none of the other collectors found it?), called

Tricerastes; very interesting.

I find from all inquiries that it is very difficult to find Nees von

Esenbeck[107] at Breslau, especially in the summer. He is a queer stick

altogether, is not well satisfied with his situation at Breslau, and

spends the greater part of his time at a little place high up in the

Riesengebirge, studying Hepaticæ.

I have bought Grisebach’s new “Genera et Species Gentianearum,” and have

been studying it on my way in the steamboat. It seems very well done,

particularly his preliminary matter on structure, affinities,

development, geographical distribution, etc., which is very interesting.

It is very carelessly printed. Our well-known “Tuckerton,” in the

pine-barrens, figures under the form of “Juckerten”! Let this suffice at

present.

SALZBURG, June 10.

Arrived at Linz Friday noon, dined, looked a little about the town,

which is remarkable for nothing except its agreeable situation on the

Danube, and its unusual kind of fortification; and at half past one

started for Gmünden, about thirty-five miles by railroad, in a car drawn

by horses. This railroad, the oldest in Germany, is rather a primitive

affair; we were jolted more than on the ordinary roads, which I have

found everywhere excellent. The first part of the road was very

uninteresting. I was seated in the middle of the car, with five or six

inveterate German smokers around me, each equipped with a huge

meerschaum pipe with a wooden stem nearly as long as your arm, which he

replenished as often as it was exhausted, and all puffed away in concert

as if they were locomotive engines and our progress depended upon their

exertions. You are everywhere annoyed in the same way, but I have become

accustomed to it so that it does not trouble me as at first. At length a

fat military officer next me smoked himself to sleep; and I was amusing

myself with the ridiculous pendulum-like motions he was making, his pipe

still grasped by his mouth at one end and by his hand at the other, when

he knocked his head against the window and pitched his hat into the

road, to his great astonishment and our infinite amusement. We passed

through Wels, and afterwards Lambach, a pretty place and most

beautifully situated upon the Traun. In this part of the journey we had

a fine view of the Salzburg Alps, which rise to their greatest height

just where Austria proper and the provinces of Styria and Salzburg meet.

From Lambach to the end of the journey, the country appeared completely

American: finely wooded with fir and larch with here and there a clump

of beech. We reached Gmünden just at twilight, a neat village on the

very bank of the Gmündensee or Traunsee, for it is called by both names.

The situation, close down upon the water and in the bosom of green

undulating hills, is as lovely as can be conceived, and is in fine

contrast with the upper extremity of the little lake, where the dark and

lofty mountains rise abruptly from the very edge of the water, not

leaving room enough even for a footpath. Their summits were still

covered with patches of snow, but they are overtopped by the peaks of

the Dachstein and other portions of these Alps which are crowned with

perpetual snow. I found at the Goldenes Schiff neat rooms, and a most

comfortable bed, which I was prepared fully to enjoy, having first made

a supper on nice trout from the lake, with a few etceteras. At seven

o’clock the next morning I was on board the little steamboat,--commanded

by an Englishman, as most boats are in Austria,--which affords the only

means of communication with the country beyond. The morning was

pleasant, and I had a good opportunity of seeing the finest scenery I

ever beheld; indeed I do not expect ever to see it surpassed. As we left

the green slopes at Gmünden behind us, the mountains which inclose the

upper portion of the lake gradually disclosed themselves more

distinctly; halfway up, we were opposite the gigantic Traunstein, whose

naked and weather-beaten summit had been full in view almost ever since

we left Linz the day before. It is a huge mountain, appearing as if

split from top to bottom and turned with the cloven side toward the

lake, so that it presents a perpendicular wall of jagged rock nearly

three thousand feet high! leaving just room sufficient between it and

the water for one or two fishermen’s huts, which look the veriest

pygmies. The mountains beyond this on the same side are equally

picturesque, but not so high. They rise in sharp isolated peaks, leaving

the wildest glens between, down which streams fed by the snows of the

mountains in the background come leaping to the lake. On a promontory

which seems from the lower part of the lake to form its southern

extremity stands the little hamlet of Traunkirchen; the picturesque

little church was founded by the Jesuits, who once had a small

establishment here; a little nook is occupied with the wee bits of

cabins belonging to the peasantry employed in the salt-works or in

rowing the salt-barges down the lake; they are set down here and there,

as room can be found, and add much to the beauty of the view. As the

boat doubles this promontory, Gmünden and all the lower part of the lake

is lost sight of, and you seem to be on another smaller but wilder lake,

entirely shut in by the precipitous mountains; a few minutes more and we

are landed at Ebensee, the little salt-village at the head, where the

Traun enters, and you regret that the voyage is so short. I was strongly

inclined to go back again with the boat, and return again in the

afternoon; but knowing I had no time to lose, and that I might not

readily find another convenient opportunity of going on to Ischl, I was

obliged to bid farewell to Gmündensee. Loveliest, wildest of lakes, I

shall not soon forget thee.

I had not time at Ebensee to look at the works where the brine is

evaporated, which seem to be on a large scale. The brine is brought here

in aqueducts, some fifteen or twenty-four miles, since fuel is more

plenty here, and it is found more economical to bring the brine to the

fuel than the fuel to the brine. The stellwagen was ready, and I took my

seat. A ride of ten or eleven miles up the valley of the Traun, a narrow

defile bordered by lofty mountains, brought us before noon to Ischl. It

is a pretty village, lying in a green valley formed by the junction of

the little river Ischl with the Traun; it contains extensive salt-works

and is a favorite bathing-place, people of all degrees coming here in

the summer to pickle themselves in the salt water. Three immense ridges

of mountains come down almost into the village, leaving a triangular

space for the village, with just three ways of getting in or out, viz.,

by ascending the river as we came, or by either the Ischl or the Traun

as they enter the valley.

I took a hasty dinner, and left the hotel at one o’clock, determined to

enjoy the satisfaction of climbing a real mountain. The Zeimitz, the

highest in the neighborhood, is said to command the finest prospect, and

it looked as if I could ascend it in an hour or two with the greatest

ease, although the guide-book says that ten to twelve hours are

necessary for going and returning. I have accomplished the task; I

climbed the mountain, 5000 feet high, traveled over the snow from one to

the other of its four peaks at considerable distance from each other;

enjoyed the most magnificent prospect; filled my portfolio with alpine

plants, descended the steepest side, picking my difficult way down the

rocks and sliding down immense snowbanks, until I was past the alpine

portion; then making a turn to a subalpine pasture, where cows and goats

are driven to pass the summer, I struck an old path, and ran with all

speed to the gorge at the base, where the stream that I had traced from

its source as it trickled from a snowbank, and down a succession of

little cataracts, was now a foaming and rushing torrent. It was then

just twilight, and a quiet walk of an hour brought me back to the hotel

at nine o’clock, quite proud of my feat and delighted with the fine view

I had obtained. But I have paid well for it. In the morning I could

scarcely stir for the aches and pains in my bones, and even now the

extensor muscles of my legs are sore to the touch and bear woeful

testimony to the hard service they have been obliged to perform. “I

shall think about it,” as Mr. Davis says, before I ascend another

mountain.

And yet I feel myself well repaid for all my fatigue. To say nothing of

the prospect opening out wider and grander as I ascended, I had from the

summit a magnificent mountain panorama which it was well worth the labor

to see; the summits of more than one peak white and brilliant with

perpetual snow and ice. The most stupendous of all is the Thorstein or

Dachstein, which closes the view to the south, with its immense glaciers

of the most dazzling whiteness, from which numerous steep pinnacles rise

like spires, towering high above all surrounding objects, illuminated by

the rays of the setting sun long after all other objects are left in the

shade. The dark lake of Hallstadt was distinctly seen, appearing to

reach up to its very base. I could not distinguish the village which is

hidden under the cliffs at that end of the lake, where from November to

February the inhabitants do not see the sun, they are so shut in by high

mountains. Four other lakes were in full view, two of them lying almost

beneath my feet.

And then imagine my pleasure at collecting alpine plants for the first

time, some of them in full blossom under the very edge of a snowbank. I

filled my portfolio with Soldanella, Rhododendron, Primula Auricula,

Ranunculus Thora, and another with white flowers, etc., etc. I am sorry

to say that in my eagerness I have left my knife, last relic of the

Expedition, and so long my trusty companion, somewhere on the top of the

mountain. Sunday was at least a day of bodily rest, for I did not rise

until past ten o’clock, and hobbled out but once beyond the limits of my

hotel. I was obliged to leave, however, late in the evening, about half

past ten, when the eilwagen, which comes but twice a week, arrived from

Gratz on its way to Salzburg; and here I found myself at six o’clock

this morning; a rainy day, and a very dull town, with nothing but its

fortress and its exceedingly beautiful and romantic situation to make it

interesting. There are many objects of great interest in the

neighborhood, but this rainy day prevents any distant excursion; my

place is taken for Munich for to-morrow morning, and not even the

inducements of “the most beautiful region in all Germany,” as it is

called, not even the sublimities of the Berchtesgaden and the Königsee,

which are but fifteen miles off, shall detain me longer. I begin to look

with expectation toward the end of my journey, and have already in my

plans shortened it a little. I have looked about the old churches and

buildings of this town, and am waiting now for it to clear up that I

may climb the Mönchsberg, and enjoy the prospect that is said to be so

fine. At midday I had hopes of a pleasant afternoon, but it is now

raining harder than ever.

In this region, as in the retired parts of Styria, through which I

passed to Vienna, you are charmed with the kind-hearted simplicity of

the people. If you meet them in walking, they always give you some word

of greeting, and commonly take off their hats and bow to you; yet there

seems to be nothing servile or cringing in it. You get a porter to carry

your baggage, who, instead of asking for more when you have given him

already more than he expected to receive, takes off his hat, makes you a

low bow, and thanks you most heartily, though without any palaver. So

with the servants, who never ask anything, and I suppose would not if

you were to forget them altogether; I doubt if they would ever remind

you; you give them about a third part of what an English servant would

expect, and you have them all most heartily wishing you bon voyage or

glückliche reise, according to the language they speak. In some places

they say the chambermaid kisses your hand, but this has not happened to

me yet. The women, when not rendered wholly masculine in appearance by

performing the labor of men, which is very common, are almost

universally good-looking, and in such vigorous health. I do not admire

their head-dress, which is ordinarily a black silk thing tied closely

around the head and tied in rather fantastic bows behind. The women of

Linz and all this part of the Danube wear, when in full dress, a cap of

tinsel or gold lace, shaped exactly like the Roman helmet, which fits

close to the top of the head. But fashions never leave this world; when

you ladies throw aside some mode, it is picked up and perpetuated in

some out-of-the-way part of the world. Thus, for example, all the young

fraus of Ischl wear balloon sleeves, after the most approved fashion

some three or four years ago. I assure you it looked quite natural to

see them again, even upon the buxom damsels of the Salzkammergut

(there’s a name for you).

It is now half past seven; and it is still raining most obstinately, so

ascending the Mönchsberg is not to be thought of; and I must make up my

mind to leave Salzburg without this view. My trunk is sent to the office

of the brief-post-eilwagen, all ready for starting at six o’clock in the

morning, and to-morrow evening at eleven I hope (D. V.) to be in Munich,

seventy-eight miles. I owe Bentham a letter, and have not written him or

any one else since I left Paris. I will take this convenient opportunity

and write forthwith.

MUNICH, 12th June.

I arrived in this capital of Bavaria last evening at eleven o’clock,

after a tedious, though not uninteresting ride of seventeen hours. The

day proved a fine one, and after leaving Salzburg through the curious

tunnel that penetrates the Mönchsberg we came abruptly into the open

country; and as the mists gradually rose from the sides of the mountains

and we ascended some small hills, I obtained some most beautiful and

picturesque views of the surrounding mountains. The Stauffenberg, which

stood between us and Berchtesgaden, a magnificent mountain, was for a

long time the most prominent object; backed by the more distant central

portions of the Salzburg Alps, all white with snow. It was only as I

left this place that I could appreciate the beauty of its situation,

and I felt a momentary regret that I had not stayed a day longer and

visited Berchtesgaden. These fine mountains and those of the Tyrol (the

more western portion of the same chain) were in full view during the

whole journey, filling the southern horizon, while we journeyed through

a rather level country; for the whole of Bavaria south of the Danube is

a great plain, stretching from that river to these mountains that skirt

its southern border. It is an inclined plain, since Munich, though in a

perfectly flat region, is about sixteen hundred feet above the level of

the sea. We crossed the frontier in an hour after we started, where our

baggage was slightly and very civilly examined, and our passports viséd

by the Bavarian police. We passed two pretty lakes, but no place of

interest except Wasserburg, situated in a picturesque dell on the river

Inn. For companions I had a Dane, who spoke a little English

surprisingly well, and was very agreeable; a German, who spoke a little

French; and a Frenchman, who had come up the Danube from Constantinople,

and who tired us all with the continual clack of his very disagreeable

voice. I took up my abode at the Schwarzer Adler, a very comfortable and

quite cheap hotel; slept pretty well; rose early this morning to take a

look at the town, which within these last twenty years has become a

magnificent capital; saw many of the public buildings,--that is, their

exterior,--churches, and squares; went to the office of the police and

obtained the required permission de séjour; and then went to the Royal

Cabinet to find Martius, for whom I had three letters of introduction.

He is a small man, not so tall as I, quite thin, but rather

good-looking, apparently fifty years old, but his hair may be

prematurely gray. He seems to have his hands very full of business, but

he received me with cordiality; took me to the library and the cabinet

of natural history, which are in the same building, told me to amuse

myself till one (the universal dinner hour), and meet him at the Botanic

Garden at three, and afterwards spend the evening at his house. The

cabinets here are in an old, rather inconvenient building, once a

Jesuits’ college, which now contains them all, as well as the library,

the lecture-rooms of the university, etc., but in a year or so all will

be removed to very fine buildings the king is erecting for their

reception. Excepting the Brazilian collections, which are large and

good, there is nothing worth particular notice in the zoölogical and

mineralogical cabinets; they make no great show after that of Vienna.

The library is immense, this and the one at Paris being the two largest

in the world; the books fill a great number of rooms, none of them

magnificent but very convenient; the whole is soon to be transferred to

other quarters. I was introduced to one of the librarians, who was at

the moment showing the curiosities of the collection, very old and rich

manuscripts,--the earliest attempts at wood-engraving, etc.,--to a party

of English. When he had done with them I told him he must have been

bored quite sufficiently for once, and that I would not trouble him any

further just then, but that I wished to acquire some useful information

about the plan and arrangement of the library, rather than to see its

curiosities. So he fixed upon Friday morning, when he would be quite

disengaged, and would gladly afford me all the information I desired.

Shortly after dinner I went down to the Botanic Garden; found Martius,

who, having an unexpected engagement, consigned me to the head

gardener, and I was very kindly shown over the whole establishment,

which is much larger and better than I had supposed, and in excellent

condition.

Afterwards I strolled about the town for an hour or two, heard the fine

military band in the Hofgarten, and at half past six went to the house

of Martius; saw his wife, who looks much younger than he, and I suspect

he was not married until after his return from Brazil. She seems a very

intelligent and pleasant lady, understands English pretty well, but does

not speak it, while Martius speaks extremely well; the eldest daughter,

a pretty girl of thirteen, speaks French fluently, has taken lessons in

English, which she reads readily, but speaks slightly; there is another

daughter of about ten, another still younger, and a boy a little more

than a year old completes the list. Professor Zuccarini[108] was there,

and afterwards an entomologist, whose name I forget, dropped in; also a

young man from Rio Janeiro, a Dr. Hentz from Vienna, who inquired

especially after Dr. Buck; the director of the music in the royal chapel

here; and two ladies, one of whom sung exquisitely. The director and Dr.

Hentz both played the piano to perfection, and, to crown all, Martius

seized his fiddle, quite to my surprise, and played with great spirit.

Before they were done a little crowd had began to assemble before the

windows. So the evening passed off very pleasantly.

I like the sound of the German language much; it is manly, and certainly

not more rough than the English. From the lips of the women and the

little children I assure you it sounds very musical, and I often stop

in the street to listen to it, when I do not understand a word that is

spoken.

13th June, 1839.--I passed the whole morning, that is, until one

o’clock, at the Botanical Cabinet, looking at grass and such like. After

dinner Zuccarini called for me, took me to his house, showed me his

Japan plants, the work he is publishing on them, etc. I looked over and

named his American Cyperaceæ, and he made me most bountiful offers for

exchange. He gave me some of his publications and even offered me his

“Japan Flora” (Siebold’s), which is an expensive work, but it is very

desirable for us to have, though it will be rather difficult for me to

give him an equivalent. It is now sunset, eight o’clock; all the shops

in the town have been closed nearly an hour, the people all enjoying

themselves in the gardens roundabout. I am going to bed early, in hopes

to rise in time to go down to the Garden and hear Martius lecture at

seven o’clock. He lectures every morning at that hour, and Zuccarini

again every morning from eight to nine, and also from eleven to twelve.

The scientific people here have been arranging a little fête for

Saturday, the birthday of Linnæus. It is decided that there is to be a

botanical excursion, I believe, to the Tegernsee, some fifteen miles

off, and I suppose also a picnic dinner. I have not learned all the

particulars, but this I shall do in time, as I am to be one of the

party.

14th June, 1839.--I rose early this morning and went to hear Martius

lecture at the Garden at seven o’clock. He is a good lecturer, fluent

and clear. Called on Dr. Schultes;[109] then returned to breakfast;

afterwards spent the morning at the cabinet, with the exception of an

hour devoted to the library, which one of the chief officers very kindly

showed me through. They have about half a million books, excluding

duplicates, and about 16,000 manuscripts. The librarian took much pains

to explain to me the arrangement and classification of the library,

which is in excellent order, and to show me as many of the rarities as I

desired to see: very ancient Greek and Latin manuscripts of the Bible or

the Evangelists; a number of very old and richly illuminated German

manuscripts; the collection of printed books without date, of which they

had 6000 (these early printed books being many of them intended to pass

for manuscripts); a copy of Faust’s Bible again (the first book

printed),--they have two; Luther’s Bible, beautifully printed on vellum,

and illuminated,--in the frontispiece his original portrait, a

sturdy-looking old fellow, who looks as if he might have been as

fearless as indeed he was; the portrait of Melanchthon, by the same

artist, whose name I forget, is given on the next leaf. I saw also a

manuscript letter of Luther, and many other things, too tedious to

trouble you with now.

Dined with Martius and his very pleasant family; stayed until six

o’clock, looking over plants, etc.; took a little walk, now that it is a

little cooler, for the day has been exceedingly sultry, and am now going

to bed, as I have to rise at half past four and meet the pedestrian

portion of the Linnæan party at half past five. If it be as sultry a day

as this has been we shall have warm work of it.

15th June, 1839.--We had a truly German fête champêtre, and I have

learnt more of German life and manners in one day than I could otherwise

have obtained in a long time. I was at the place of rendezvous at the

time appointed, and met there the two professors and about thirty

students, with whom we set out on our excursion, and our number was soon

doubled by the accessions we received. Our course lay along the banks of

the Isar (what lad that has been at school has not heard of “Isar

rolling rapidly”), along which we ascended for about six miles,

botanizing on the way. It was about twelve o’clock when we reached the

place where the Linnæan celebrations are always held. Here we found

Madame Martius and the girls, who had arrived in a carriage, and the

lady and children of another professor. Three or four other professors

also joined the party: Professor Tirsch, the celebrated Grecian scholar;

Professor Neumann, of Oriental languages; a celebrated physician, and

some others. We filled an immense rustic dinner-table spread in an open

pavilion, ornamented in a simple manner with branches and flowers, and a

portrait of Linnæus. Professor Martius then read his address, which I

judged from its effects upon the audience to be humorous; then followed

the dinner, plain but good, consisting of three or four courses, beer

supplied ad libitum, and this was no trifle, as you would understand if

you could see how all these Bavarians swill their beer. It is light,

extremely light as compared with English. But you may judge how cheaply

the Germans contrive to live, and how cheaply and simply they get up an

affair which in England or at home would cost a round sum, when I inform

you that the whole charge for dinner was twenty-four kreutzers or one

Austrian zwanziger (sixteen cents!). This I suppose did not include the

wine, of which there was a small supply, provided, perhaps, by Martius

himself.

Three or four odes, written for the purpose, some in Latin, others in

German, were sung, with a heartiness and a nicety of execution entirely

German. Three or four toasts were drunk, some speeches made, and the

party left the table. The greater part, excluding the ladies, then went

to the Linnæan Oak, a young tree planted on the day of this fête five

years ago. Here all took their seats on the grass around it, and a

number of half-serious, half-humorous addresses or meditations were

made, the people all sitting at their ease; then a song for the purpose

was sung, and the celebration was over. Some part dispersed immediately,

but the greater part assembled around our dinner-table, and heard some

music from a paysanne, who accompanied her voice with an instrument like

a guitar. Martius and Zuccarini had arranged to stay over night in the

neighborhood to botanize to-morrow, and wished me to stay also, which I

declined to do, but returned in a carriage with Madame Martius and the

eldest daughter. We had a very agreeable ride and reached the city just

as it grew dark. We had all day most beautiful views of the Bavarian

Alps, which seemed close to us. The different professors spoke English

with me, Professor Neumann, indeed, extremely well; were very polite to

me, and I obtained much important information, and have put myself in

the way to get still more. The whole affair was extremely well arranged.

I have printed copies of a part of the odes, and a copy of the print of

Linnæus, a very good lithograph, which was brought to the place and sold

to the students for twenty-four kreutzers (sixteen cents) a copy. This

is not the birthday of Linnæus; the 24th of May is the proper one, but

it is not then pleasant in the country here.

18th June.--On Sunday I attended service in the Protestant church, a

large and fine building, which was well filled. A part of the royal

family are Protestants, but the king himself is a bigoted Catholic. The

interior of the church is made to resemble a Catholic chapel as much as

possible; the altar has a picture behind it, and a small crucifix stood

upon the reading-desk. There was a very short liturgy, and singing in

which all the congregation took part, as is always the case in Germany.

The sermon which followed may have been very orthodox for all I know,

for I could understand but a few words of it. I spent the remainder of

the day in my own room....

Tuesday evening.--This morning I went to the cabinet of botany, to the

library, and after dinner to Martius; looked over his Carices, etc. We

then walked to the Garden, and afterward to the establishment for

telescopes, etc., of the successors of Fraunhöfer, where I bought a very

pretty little achromatic glass and a simple lens; looked at his workshop

and collections, etc....

It is so long since I have seen your handwriting that I might forget it,

but I met with it to-day very unexpectedly, you would never guess where!

Even on labels of Carices in Martius’ herbarium. After I get to

Switzerland I shall count days until I see England again, from which

there are but two steps home, on board a ship, and off again.

ZURICH, June 22, 1839.

In the afternoon I called on Dr. Schultes, who offered me a pretty

little parcel of Egyptian plants. Made up my parcels and left them with

Martius, to be sent, with the things that he and Zuccarini are to add,

to Hamburg, against my arrival there. Spent the evening at Martius’

house, and took my leave of madame and Caroline. I gave Madame M. my

copy of “Childe Harold,” a very pretty one, which she seemed to value

considerably. Martius I saw again the next morning at the cabinet, and

took leave very affectionately; he kissing me tenderly, after the German

fashion. Ask Dr. Torrey to look in the list and see if Martius is not an

honorary member of the Lyceum, as I believe, but am not sure. If he is

he knows it not. The Lyceum has also been remiss in sending him the

“Annals,” which should not be, as he has been a liberal contributor. His

works give him much trouble since the death of the late king, who was

his patron and subscribed toward the expense; the present king does

nothing at all for Martius or for science anyway, so that poor Martius

is a little embarrassed. Meanwhile he is pressed down with his duties as

professor, director of the Botanic Garden, etc., for which he is most

miserably paid.

The Botanic Garden is better arranged than any other I have seen on the

Continent, except at Paris, and I have secured a copy of the plan. But I

must break off with Munich.--Arrived at Lindan, on Lake of Constance,

yesterday; a fine lake, but too large to show well; the shores only at

the eastern end mountainous; the rest ordinary, and in high cultivation,

dotted with thriving villages; took a steamboat after dinner for

Constance....

ON THE RIGI, 25th June.

I must resume the thread of my narrative where I left it, at my entrance

to Zurich. I did nothing that evening but look about the town, visit the

old church where Zwingli, the earliest Swiss reformer, preached. The

prettiest view is from the new stone bridge which is thrown across the

Limmat just where it emerges from the lake. The stream, like all those

that proceed from these lakes, is full, and clear almost as glass, of a

fine blue tint; it rushes with great rapidity, but is still and even.

The view extends up the lake to its middle, where a slight change in its

direction intercepts further view; beyond rise some low mountains; a

little farther a higher range overtops these, and these are again

overlooked by the Alps of Glarns, Schwyz, etc., with thin tall peaks and

brilliant glaciers. The shores of the lake are highly cultivated and

thickly covered with little manufacturing villages. This is a Protestant

canton. I attended church and heard a preacher who seemed to be very

earnest, but as his language was an unknown tongue, there was little

chance of my being edified, and I spent the remainder of the day at my

room. The new hotel here is extremely good. Early yesterday morning I

prepared myself for a pedestrian excursion over the finest mountain

regions of Switzerland, which will take me about ten days, if I do not

get tired of it and give it up. Not that I intend to walk all the way,

which would be a great loss of time, but to avail myself of steamboats,

etc., along lakes, and a diligence when I am on routes which they

traverse, knowing full well that there will remain many weary and

difficult miles that can only be passed by the pedestrian. So I have

packed up my trunk and sent it on to Geneva, at the opposite corner of

Switzerland. The garçon of the hotel purchased a knapsack for me....

Thus equipped, my knapsack on my back, the Guide to Switzerland in one

pocket, and Keller’s excellent map in the other, I set out on my

travels in search of the sublime. At nine o’clock yesterday morning I

left Zurich; took the steamboat down the lake as far as Horgen, some

eight or ten miles, where I took a little lunch, and crossed the bridge

into the little canton of Zug,--Catholic, as one soon finds out, by the

crosses and beggars which abound by the wayside. Here the lofty Mont

Pilate, with its sharp peaks, was in sight; it lies on the other side of

Lake Lucerne. Soon after I saw the Lake of Zug, and soon after one

o’clock I reached Zug, on the borders of the lake of the same name, the

capital of the canton, a retired and lifeless village. I entered the

best hotel well heated with my walk, which now amounted to about twelve

miles. I obtained a plain but very good dinner of soup, the everlasting

corned beef, fish, roast, and strawberries and cherries ad libitum;

chatted French with the voluble kellnerinn (the demoiselle of the inn);

paid my bill of two francs, and was again on my way. It was very warm,

so I walked quite leisurely down the shore of the lake; the scenery

growing every moment more picturesque, the Rigi rising at its foot on

one side, bold and abrupt, the Rossberg on the other. (A sad tale

belongs to this last, of which I had often read.) I reached Arth, the

little village at the foot of the lake and of these two mountains, at

half past four (seven miles); took more strawberries and milk, and at

five o’clock commenced the ascent of the Rigi by the shortest but most

difficult footpath. The landlord told me the ascent took four hours and

a half. This, indeed, I accomplished, but found it a hard task. But the

desire of witnessing the sunset from the top induced me to do my best. I

had plenty of offers to relieve me of my knapsack, and at length, as I

left the village, transferred it to the shoulders of a stout fellow,

for it began to grow weighty. The poor fellow I think earned the ten

batz he demanded (about thirty cents), though he did not seem to mind it

much. The first third of the ascent the path is formed of steps like a

staircase, and is very fatiguing. After we meet the road for mules or

horses, which ascends from Goldau, it is not so difficult. Both in the

ascent and from the summit, I had a full view of the vestiges of the

awful landslip of the Rossberg; the vacant space of the mountain

occupied by the portion that fell and the scarred surface of the path

are most distinctly in view, and at the bottom of the valley lies the

huge and unsightly and confused mass of rubbish which overwhelmed and

buried the three villages of Goldau, Bussingen, and Rothen. This

catastrophe took place in September, 1806. Several hundred houses and

other buildings were destroyed; cattle in great number, and four hundred

and fifty human beings perished....

But time is becoming precious, and I must tell you in a few words of the

view from the summit of the Rigi, though description is wholly out of

the question. The view from the Kulm, or peak, owes its great beauty and

extent, not so much to the height of the mountain, which is only 5676

feet, as to its isolation, giving a clear view in every direction. It is

also easy of access; ladies and persons who do not care to walk can ride

up on horses or mules, by either side of the mountain. So there are

great crowds here all the summer....

I was called in the morning at half past three to ascend the peak and

watch the effect of sunrise upon the Alps and valleys. The morning

proved quite favorable, though a little cloudy. The mountains, lakes,

and valleys were all distinct, but looked cold. At length a blast from

a wooden trumpet (a better instrument than you would think) announced

sunrise, and the sun appeared between two strips of cloud, lighting up

first the distant and high peaks and glaciers of the Bernese Alps, the

Jungfrau, the Finster-Aarhorn, the Titlis, highest of all,--the white

glaciers shining like burnished silver. Soon the serrated ridge of the

gloomy Pilatus is lighted up; the dark valleys become more distinct; the

lakes look brighter, and the broad valley toward the north stretches

before you like a map, far as the eye can reach, covered with hamlets

and villages, and diversified here and there with beautiful lakes....

Stanz, 25th June.... I intended to leave the Rigi by way of Wäggis on

Lake Lucerne; to take there the steamboat as it passed at two o’clock,

and go up the farther part of the lake, the Bay of Uri, and finding, if

possible, the mail-courier at Fluellen, to go with him to the summit of

the pass of St. Gotthard, return as far as Hospital, and cross by the

pass of the Furca and the Grimsel to Grindelwald, etc. If you had

Keller’s fine map before you, it would be easy to trace this route, and

to find out also where I now am. Without it you will not do it so

easily. So having plenty of time, I stayed on the Rigi until noon, and

then descended leisurely, having grown wise by experience, and knowing

that the descent of a steep mountain is much worse for the legs and feet

than the ascent. Besides, a little storm arose, and I took shelter under

an overhanging rock, and amused myself in watching its progress down the

lake, and in hearing the deep and prolonged echoes of the thunder as it

was reverberated from peak to peak among the Alps. It was a scene to be

remembered. And then the numerous ever-changing aspects of the

mountains and lake as it cleared up! Saw the steamboat at a distance,

and hastened to the foot of the mountain, when it soon became evident

enough that the boat did not intend to touch there; so we took a boat

and went out to meet it. But although we drew very near them as they

passed, they did not choose to take the slightest notice of us, and I

was obliged, in the middle of the lake, to consider what should be done

in such a predicament. I had no intention of awaiting the return of the

steamboat and going with her to Lucerne, thence to begin the route

to-morrow; and for a few moments I was a little bothered. But

fortunately a pedestrian like me is not at the mercy of steamboats and

stagecoaches; and the high satisfaction one feels at his comparative

independence is one of the great pleasures of this mode of locomotion,

and goes far to compensate for the fatigue. I reflected that I might not

find the courier at Fluellen, and in that case should have a prodigious

journey, and moreover that I had clearly saved the money I should have

paid. So, learning on hasty inquiry that a blind mountain path led from

the opposite shore into the canton of Unterwalden to Stanz, etc.,--from

whence I knew I could reach the Grimsel, and if I chose St. Gotthard,

and that it was the nearest way to the Grindelwald and all the finest

part of Switzerland,--I ordered the boat to take me to that shore, where

I was accordingly left to shift for myself as well as I could. But then

came on one of the ills that flesh is heir to, most especially in

traveling,--I wanted my dinner! I stopped at a cottage, the only one in

the vicinity, but found no one but a little girl, who stared at me as if

she had never seen a civilized being; saw no chance of getting anything

to eat, so I climbed the mountain, very steep, and almost without a

path; it evidently had not been crossed before, this season. From the

top I saw the bay and village of Buochs, and in the distance, Stanz,

which I reached at six o’clock; found an inn which within was more

comfortable than its exterior promised. I think I never enjoyed anything

more than the piece of cold roast veal and coarse bread, and the

plentiful dish of strawberries with excellent cream that followed. Now

that I had got out of the ordinary route of travelers, I determined to

visit the valley of Engelberg. I asked the landlord for a char-à-banc

(as there is a good enough road for this vehicle) or a horse, to go this

evening, but mine host seemed to have made up his mind that I should

stay with him all night, and insisted that there would not be time for

Engelberg. So not to disappoint him, I made up my mind to rest for the

night, and sallied out to look at the village....

MEYRINGEN, 26th June.

I have accomplished a journey to-day, such as I think few pedestrians

have ever surpassed, considering the difficulties of a great part of the

way,--from Stanz to Engelberg, thirteen miles, then over a tremendous

mountain, the Joch, 6890 feet high, among the snows and near the

glaciers of the Titlis and the Wendenstock, and then by a long path,

through the most sublime mountain gorge and valley of Engstlen, to

Meyringen. The distance from Engelberg is reckoned at nine hours (they

always reckon by hours here), which on ordinary routes would be thirty

miles. I do not know how far it really is. I accomplished it between

half past eleven A.M. and half past seven P.M., and am fatigued past all

conception, completely done over, and my feet apparently spoiled.

To-morrow, perhaps, I will tell you something about it.

GRINDELWALD, Thursday, half past five, 27th June.

I take the first leisure hour to resume my account. I find that I must

have walked about thirty-four miles yesterday, making due allowance for

the windings of the path. I commenced at five o’clock, reached Engelberg

at nine, where I rested till half past eleven, and reached Meyringen, as

I said before, at half past seven. The journey from Stanz is through a

narrow but fertile valley inclosed by high and picturesque mountains for

about seven miles, when the valley contracts, the mountains on each side

rise to a great height into sharp and bare peaks, leaving barely room

for the Aar to descend between. It forms, I may say, one continual

cataract from Engelberg to this point. Before this pass is reached I had

gone by some other mountains which were very remarkable; among them the

Brisenstock, a ridge of rock like the upturned edge of a hatchet, some

6,000 feet high, and throwing up from one extremity a column of rock

like a vast obelisk. The road, which is carried at considerable

elevation along one side of this narrow valley, is not difficult, and

exhibits the whole way the most sublime scenery. The Wallenstock rises

on one side to the height of above 8,000 feet; and those on the other

side are not less lofty. Presently the shining summit of the Titlis

rises before you, surrounded by others scarcely less elevated. The

Titlis is the highest of the Unterwalden Alps, 10,710 feet. You then

arrive at a place where the Aar forms a series of cataracts in the

bottom of the gorge, nearly a thousand feet below you; the opposite

mountain exhibits an almost perpendicular wall of rock, nearly 6,000

feet high, and a little cataract formed by the melting snow above falls

from the top to the bottom. Soon I entered the little valley of

Engelberg, the most beautiful and picturesque I have seen, probably the

finest in Switzerland; at least that of Meyringen and this of

Grindelwald, where I am now writing, are not to be compared with it. I

only wonder it is so little known. I think it not improbable that I am

the first American that has visited it. It is far out of the ordinary

routes, and though easily accessible with chars from Stanz, yet the

three passes that lead out of it are excessively difficult footpaths. It

is a green, sunshiny valley, having perhaps eighty acres of plain, but

very rich pastures rise up the mountain-sides to some distance; it is

entirely shut in by the high mountains that rise on every side; the

Titlis rising abruptly on the south within a few yards of the village,

and sending down its avalanches in the spring close to the houses. But

the glaciers are so situated as to send their summer avalanches in the

other direction, so that the hamlet is not in danger; the other

mountains toward the south have the glaciers on their summits, but the

peaks on the other sides present naked precipices. The Engelberg, from

which the hamlet is named (angel-mountain) is a lofty mountain shaped

like a slender cone, with the apex cut off obliquely. It rises almost

within the valley, and presents a very curious appearance. The large

convent stands just between the base of this mountain and the Titlis.

Attached to it is a very large and fine church for such an

out-of-the-world place. I stopped at the simple auberge of the Engel

(angel); mine host could only speak or understand German and Italian, so

that our communication took place mostly by signs and single words, I

giving him the German names as far as I could of what I wished. I got a

very comfortable lunch of cold roast meat; but I wanted some

strawberries, and could not think of the German name, and had

considerable difficulty. At length he seemed dubiously to comprehend

what I wanted; he went out, and returned in a few moments with a fine

dish of the article in question. Excellent cream is as common as need

be; so I had a fine feast. I found that I was the first visitor here

this season. I amused myself with looking over the travelers’ book

(which you always find) and reading the remarks of former visitors. An

Englishman the summer before had ascended the highest peak of the

Titlis. I afterwards saw that this could readily be done, as my route

led me close to the top of the main body of the mountain.

To get into the valley of the Aar it was necessary to cross the Joch, a

mountain connected with the Titlis, and almost as high. The pass between

the two mountains is almost 7,000 feet at the summit, is covered with

snow, and is in immediate proximity with the glaciers of the Titlis. The

ascent is exceedingly difficult; indeed, from all I can learn, it is

much more difficult than any of the passes at all frequented by

travelers. I took a guide to the summit and some distance beyond, as a

stranger could never have found the way. My guide was an old man of

sixty years. From a high ridge near the summit, which belonged rather to

the Titlis, I had a magnificent view of the mountains to the north and

the valley I had passed through, and on the other side, close to us, of

a vast glacier; the streams emerging from it formed a small river, which

we had some difficulty in crossing, and which emptied into a dark

alpine lake just below. Here I gathered a few alpine plants, as

souvenirs of the place. Another weary climb over the snow brought us to

the top of the Joch, and here, where shelter was impossible, we were

exposed to a shower, but our umbrellas protected us in part, and the

view repaid for a little wetting. Descending a little, my guide showed

me a lake almost surrounded with snow, fed by the glaciers; the outlet,

the source of one branch of the Aar, was the stream which flowed down

the valley I was to descend to Meyringen; the knapsack was again

transferred to my shoulders and I was left to myself. As I entered the

valley of Engstlen the scenery grew wonderfully fine. Tired as I was I

enjoyed the whole journey extremely, though it took me four hours and a

half of continual descent; yet I look back upon it with delight. The

main stream formed a succession of beautiful cascades; the mountains on

each side very high, and mostly perpendicular faces of rock, and down

these a great multitude of cascades of all sizes fell, some of them

springing 500 feet at a leap; others, falling from much greater height

over the rocks, looked like long skeins of yarn, if you will pardon the

simile, dangling in the air. It must be much like the valley of the

Lauterbrunnen, according to the description; but I think the latter

cannot excel it. I hope to know to-morrow. A shower drove me into a

miserable châlet, the highest one inhabited at this season, where I

found a young man, who dwelt there for the summer, with his herd of

goats, and his brother, a young lad of fifteen, who had come up from

Meyringen to bring him some food, etc., and was just about to return, I

drank about a quart of milk fresh from the goat, and found it excellent.

When it stopped raining the youngster and I started together; I

transferred my knapsack to his shoulders, and a franc and a half to his

pocket, to the great satisfaction of both parties. He proved a very

useful little fellow, though I could not understand much of what he

said; he showed me some waterfalls and curious things that I should

otherwise have missed. With the true spirit of his nation, ever ready to

improve an opportunity, he told me he had a brother who spoke French,

who would be my guide for the next day. It rained most of the way, but I

was compensated for the partial wetting by the views of the most

beautiful waterfalls, which fell into the valley in great profusion from

the high precipices on each side. I could sometimes see twenty at one

view. After a long and weary descent we came at last near the bottom,

where this valley, and two others almost at the same point, fell into

the main valley of the Aar, and I could look at the same moment up four

deep and wild mountain valleys. Then skirting along the side of the

mountain, we soon descended to Meyringen, deep in the main valley of the

Aar, with two fine cascades behind it, and another very fine one, the

cascade of the Reichenbach, on the opposite side of the valley. Glad

enough was I when we reached the door of the humble auberge, and great

was the havoc I made with the eatables which the kind landlady provided

in abundance and of excellent quality. I sat down on a sofa in my

chamber to read a little, but fell asleep instantly; slept until eleven,

then took my bed and slept until half past seven in the morning.

I can say, with Sancho Panza, “Blest be the man who first invented

sleep.” In the evening, what with my great fatigue and blistered feet, I

supposed I should be scarcely able to move the next day, and that

traveling on foot would be impossible. But I awoke perfectly restored,

my limbs supple and my feet much better than I had anticipated; my guide

made his appearance while I was at breakfast; said that it would take

three days to make the excursion over the Great Scheideck to

Grindelwald, then over the Lesser to the Wengern Alp, to Lauterbrunnen,

and back to Meyringen by Interlaken and the Lake of Brienz. I insisted

that it should be done in two, with the aid of a char from Brienz, at

the end of the second day. Leaving my knapsack here, and taking a few

things in our pockets, we set out at half past nine; stopped on our way

to see the falls of the Reichenbach, where the stream of the valley we

were climbing makes the descent of 2,000 feet in a succession of leaps;

the longest forms the celebrated falls,--very fine. Farther above

numerous waterfalls are seen dangling from the perpendicular sides of

the narrow valley; one, remarkably high and slender, is called the

Seilbach (rope-fall). Ascended through beautiful mountain pastures,

dotted with châlets; the peak of the Wetterhorn in full view directly

before us, a sharp pyramid, one side dark rock, the other pure white

snow. The body of the mountain was still hidden by the Wellhorn, the

first of the chain of high Bernese Alps we were approaching (9,500

feet); then the Engelhörner (angel’s-peaks) and high up between these,

we had a fine distant view of the most beautiful glacier in Switzerland,

the Rosenlaui, celebrated above all others for the purity of its

untarnished white surface, and the clear azure of its depths and

caverns. Stopped at a little inn, which is occupied only through the

summer; got an excellent little dinner at half past eleven, charges

moderate; visited another waterfall, and then walked half an hour out

of our way to the foot of the Rosenlaui glacier, which descends to only

4,200 feet above the level of the sea; found a party there, two

gentlemen and lady, the latter carried in a chair; admired the pure

white surface, entered a little way into one of the crevices, looked

down into the deep azure chasms; returning, viewed the awful gorge

through which the stream from the glaciers makes its way, at least 500

feet deep, and only four or five feet wide, the water rushing and

boiling and roaring in the bottom like mad. Threw down a big stone, and

heard it crashing against the sides and shattered to atoms. Continued up

the Scheideck, close along the broad and vast perpendicular side of the

Wetterhorn; finally reached the summit of the pass (6,040 feet), and

enjoyed the magnificent view of the mountains down the valley of the

Grindelwald. The Wetterhorn (peak of tempests) rises, one vast precipice

of alpine limestone, its base extending from Grindelwald on the one side

almost to Rosenlaui on the other, and so near us that it seemed easy for

a strong man to throw a stone against it, though it is really more than

a mile off; its summit is 11,450 feet above the sea; this precipice

consequently forms a wall about 6,000 feet in height. Next to this is

the Mettenberg (perhaps 10,000 feet); and next, the great Eiger (giant,

12,220 feet), presenting its long thin edge, like the blade of a hatchet

turned up into the air; while back of the Mettenberg appears the pointed

cone of the Schreckhorn (the peak of terror, 12,500 feet). The vast

space between these peaks is filled by an immense glacier, here and

there interrupted, which under various names extends from Rosenlaui and

Grindelwald almost to the Grimsel, and to Brieg in the Valais. The

increasing supply of ice and the refrigeration of such an immense

quantity forces branches down the valleys far below the level of

perpetual snow, particularly these at Grindelwald, the lowest known; the

base of the lowermost being little more than 3,000 feet above sea-level.

I descended rapidly, looked down upon the two glaciers just mentioned,

reached the little hamlet of Grindelwald in the bottom of the valley,

close at the feet of these vast mountains, and a little above the foot

of the lower glacier, which is so close that it seems almost possible to

throw a stone to it; but I believe it is a mile off; reached here at

five o’clock (twenty-one miles), having walked very deliberately. It is

now just at sunset; the day has been warm; but now it is very cold, and

I am shivering too much to hold my pen; besides, it is time for supper,

and I want another view of the mountains. Adieu....

Villeneuve, 4th July, 1839.... Being unexpectedly detained here for a

few hours, almost at the close of my Swiss pilgrimage, I resume my pen,

which I have had no time to use for some time past, and must bring up my

journal in a hurried way to the present. Since I broke off I have seen

more than half the wonders of Switzerland. I can only now tell you where

I have been from day to day; but I shall have much to give you viva voce

some of the evenings of the rapidly approaching autumn. Stayed at

Grindelwald Thursday night (a week ago); watched the clouds striking

against the Wetterhorn and the Eiger and rolling down its sides;

terribly cold. Friday, 28th, rose at four; started at five, in fine

walking trim, after paying an exorbitant bill for very indifferent fare;

was very confident that the guide paid nothing, and therefore suspected

a connivance between him and the aubergiste to put all on my

shoulders,--one of the evils of a guide; they are worse than useless on

all the usual routes, indeed anywhere, except in ascending very high

mountains and crossing glaciers; felt a little inclined to punish my

guide, and therefore set off at a swinging pace and took him up the

Little Scheideck much more rapidly than he ever went before. I buttoned

up my coat and pretended not to be making any effort at all, while the

poor fellow stripped off first his coat, then his waistcoat, the

perspiration running off his face; until finally he pronounced it

impossible to keep near me, and lagged far behind. At length I took pity

on him and walked slower, but we crossed the Scheideck and reached the

Wengern Alp, a journey of four hours and a half, in a little less than

three....

From the crest of the Little Scheideck (6,300 feet) I got my first near

view of the remainder of the high Bernese Alps,--the Mönch (12,660

feet), the Jungfrau (12,670 feet) (I have been giving you the height all

along in French feet, as they are put down in Keller; in English feet

the numbers will be considerably higher), with the two white peaks, the

Silberhörner (silver-peaks), which belong to it.

Still beyond, though not quite so lofty, were the Grosshorn, the

Breithorn, etc. The point where I stood commanded nearly the whole view,

from the Engelhörner, Wetterhorn, a glimpse of the Schreckhorn, the

Mettenberg, Eiger, Mönch, and Jungfrau, as I stood just in the

mid-distance; an unsurpassed view it is. As I descended the other side

to the Wengern Alp I lost those more to the east, but came still nearer

to the Jungfrau....

At the Jungfrau hotel, a mere châlet on the side of the Wengern Alp, we

were close under that magnificent mountain, separated only by a narrow

gorge, and elevated just enough to have the most perfect view from base

to summit. We had heard the day previous the crash and roar of falling

avalanches on the other side of the Wetterhorn, and I was very anxious

to see one; before long I saw two, one of them a pretty good one, come

tumbling and roaring down the Jungfrau. Soon a thick cloud came and

enveloped these mountains, so that I departed earlier than I should have

done; it threatened to rain; and we descended into the valley of

Lauterbrunnen, which is very deep and narrow, and had on the way a fine

view of the valley and the mountains and glaciers that close its upper

extremity. Saw the celebrated fall of the Staubbach, and was

disappointed in it....

Walked rapidly down the valley of Lauterbrunnen to the lake of Brienz,

turning aside so as not to pass through Interlaken, which is a little

British colony; took a boat to the opposite end of the lake (eight

miles); had a heavy shower and much wind; saw the falls of Giessbach

from the lake, seven very fine cascades one above the other. Landed at

Brienz; took a char up to Meyringen again, looking at the beautiful

waterfalls from each side of the valley, now very full from the rains.

Arrived at my own lodgings at five o’clock, having accomplished in the

twelve hours fifty miles, of which thirty-two were traveled on foot.

Saturday, 29th, rose in good condition, breakfasted, and parted with my

thoroughly Swiss landlady at five o’clock; went up the vale of Hassli,

one of the finest in Switzerland, for the Grimsel, perhaps the wildest

and grandest pass across the Alps. It is a footpath, or at best a

bridle-path. I set out alone, with my knapsack on my back. Ascended a

considerable distance when the clouds sunk lower and it began to rain,

though I had the satisfaction to see down the valley that the sun was

shining at Meyringen. Passed the last little village (Guttannen), a

lonely place; above, the scenery grew to the very height of gloomy

grandeur: immense blackened granitic mountains, clothed at the base with

black stunted firs, above all naked tremendous rocks and peaks; between,

just room enough for the river to tumble along, forming here and there a

cataract. The view was heightened much, I doubt not, by the clouds and

storm, so entirely in character with the scenery. I never before enjoyed

a lonely rainy walk so much.

At the height of about 4,500 feet, and in the midst of the very wildest

and most lonely scenery, reached the falls of the Aar at Handek, the

finest in Switzerland,--indeed the only sublime waterfall here; viewed

it first from below, then from the rude bridge thrown across just a few

feet above where it leaps into the awful gorge. The scenery and all is

in character, and for savage grandeur I have seen nothing to compare

with it. Stopped at the châlet near the only dwelling within some miles;

waited a little for the rain to subside, and finding that even here a

traveler’s first wants had been pretty well provided for, I made an

early but most excellent dinner upon bread, butter, cheese, and honey,

the last especially excellent. No signs of better weather; so started

on, passing a spot where falling avalanches every winter and spring had

swept over a vast space of rock and completely worn it smooth; was now

above trees, with here and there a bit of scanty vegetation, but almost

every step to the end was now on rock or snow, and I walked on to the

hospice near the summit in the midst of a snowstorm, one and a half

hours; knowing it could scarcely accumulate sufficiently to obstruct or

obscure entirely the path until I could reach the place of shelter, I

enjoyed it intensely, but had quite enough when, at one o’clock, I

reached the hospice (twenty miles), near the summit of the pass,

surrounded with unmelted snow, more than 6,000 English feet above the

sea. It is as comfortable a place as can be expected in such a

situation, now kept as a kind of inn during the summer, and in winter

left in charge of a single servant, with a store of provisions to last

him until spring. The winter before last it was crushed by an avalanche,

but the man and his dog escaped, and reached Meyringen in safety. It is

now repaired; the stone walls are extremely thick, the roof protected

against the winds, as is usual here, by laying huge stones upon it. Laid

aside part of my wet clothes, and lay down before the fire to dry the

remainder; fell asleep; on waking had just begun to write, but when I

had given the heading, in came three more travelers: two Germans, whom I

had met before at Grindelwald, and a young Englishman; all thoroughly

wet with the storm, which was now more violent. We all had to huddle

about the fire, so there was an end of writing.

Awoke Sunday morning and found myself in mid-winter; very cold, snowing

hard, and the wind howling frightfully around our humble but snug place

of refuge. The other travelers determined to prosecute their journey,

spite of the Sabbath or the storm, and to go by way of the glacier of

the Rhone, the other side of the summit of the pass and about four

miles distant. They sallied out with their guide and left me to myself,

which was one advantage. But in three hours they returned, giving an

alarming account of the difficulties and dangers of the way. When just

abandoning the attempt they heard a cry for help, and succeeded in

rescuing another party of three with their guide, who had lost their way

in the thick mist and storm and were wandering about in the drifts,

suffering extremely with the cold, and who, as well as their guide, had

given up all hope of reaching the hospice unless their cries should

perchance be heard and bring them aid. All returned to the hospice

together, and no further attempts to leave it were made that day. When

left alone I had the fire to myself, and was spending the time in as

profitable a manner as possible, thinking a little, too, of the

strangeness of passing the day in such an elevated position; so their

return, with an accession to their company, though very desirable for

them, was not so favorable to me. And then of all people in the world

the Germans are the noisiest talkers; Frenchmen are nothing to them; the

fire which dried their clothes and warmed their fingers loosened their

tongues, and they kept up a continual gabble for the greater part of the

day. Scarcely a winter passes that some persons are not lost in this

pass during such storms. A gloomy lake on the summit of the mountain,

into which the bodies are thrown for burial, receives the name of “The

Lake of the Dead” (Todten-See).

Monday morning, still enveloped in the clouds, but the storm apparently

over. Found it no use trying to make a visit to the Rhone glacier; the

clouds were so thick we could scarcely hope to find it, and the recent

snow so deep nothing could be seen. Was disappointed also by these same

clouds in getting a view of the high Bernese Alps, particularly

Finster-Aarhorn and the glaciers, from this side, but determined not to

wait here longer; so set off at half past ten in company with a native

of Valais, who was traveling towards home and served as guide; traveled

through deep snow, climbed up to the summit of the pass, more than a

thousand feet higher, where at first we were so completely enveloped in

the clouds that we seemed actually to be traveling through them and on

them; dug a specimen or two of Soldanella out of the snow to serve as

souvenirs. At length the wind arose and now and then sent a hole in the

clouds to give me some glimpses of the desolate yet grand scenery

through which we were passing. Soon I got a view of the valley of the

Rhone almost at its commencement, with the river flowing through like a

mere rivulet; looked down upon Oberwald, the highest village in Valais,

a collection of little châlets all huddled together as if to keep

themselves warm,--as indeed they have need; got out of winter and snow

and into the valley at the little village of Obergesteln, and walked, on

the same day, through a quick succession of most retired little Swiss

villages of the humblest sort, to Brieg, on the Simplon road, near the

mountain of that name, which I reached at nine o’clock in the evening,

making a journey of forty miles, a portion through the snow, in ten

hours and a half. I would like to tell you much about the upper Valais,

a region seldom visited by travelers, but have not time; people kind and

simple; got nothing to eat on the way except hard and dry brown bread,

that may have been baked ten days; passed the villages where avalanches

had fallen in former years and crushed many people; the scenery much

more picturesque than I expected, but was most interested in the people

and their little villages; women mowing, reaping, and doing every sort

of the hardest labor; all awfully afflicted with goitre, scarce a person

wholly free from it; actually saw one woman with a goitre not quite as

large as her own head certainly, but about the size of that of the child

she held in her arms, apparently a year old; saw one cretin. Stopped a

few moments at the principal auberge in the village of Viesch; found the

priest with two of his parishioners playing a game of cards together. A

stranger being a curiosity in that region, one person accosted me very

politely, and took me up the valley a little way to see the glacier and

mountains. Reached Brieg utterly worn out, but got a good supper and

bed; this being just where the famous Simplon road commences the ascent

of the mountains, there are many travelers and a good hotel, though

dear.

Rose Tuesday morning at four o’clock; my feet and legs very stiff and

sore; thought of going up the Simplon road into the mountains to see

some of the galleries and bridges and get fine views, but the morning

was cloudy and I did not like to lose the time; started off down the

valley, but got on slowly and very painfully; however, walked as far as

Lenk, I believe about twenty-four miles, and there hired a char, which

took me on to Siou, the capital of the canton, about twenty-two miles

further, where I slept.

Wednesday, rose at four, and feeling pretty stout, I started off at five

on foot, and though certainly in very far from the best condition for

walking, went on to Martigny to breakfast, which place I reached at half

past ten, twenty-four miles according to the guide-book, but the latter

part was very painful. From this place one may go to the Hospice of St.

Bernard in ten hours. I would have been glad to have seen so famous a

place, but as to scenery it is decidedly inferior to much I had already

seen. One may go to Chamouni in nine hours, getting the superb view of

Mont Blanc from the summit of Col de Balme on the way. Thinking it

impossible to walk farther, I hired a mule, and a person with him, and

went up to the top of Col de Balme (five hours), passing the vale and

glacier of Trient. Reached the summit at four o’clock; enjoyed a fine

view of Mont Blanc and its attendant peaks from top to bottom, or rather

at top and bottom, for there was a belt of cloud about the middle,--a

most superb and complete view, Mer de Glace and all.

Quite satisfied without going to Chamouni, so returned to Martigny at

eight P.M.; another good day’s work, particularly as I walked both up

and down the worst part of the road, being merciful to the beast. On my

descent obtained a splendid view of the Bernese Alps. Much aroused at

looking over the register at the hotel, where the travelers expressed

their opinions of the different hotels on the road, praising some, and

speaking of others in terms of great reprobation; good plan. I think if

the proprietor of the hotel at Sion (a very dirty hotel) could read all

that is written in his own book he would burn it.... Lay down and slept

till midnight.

Thursday, took diligence at one o’clock A.M. for Villeneuve; saw the

falls of the Sallanches by moonlight; arrived at Villeneuve at half past

seven, just after the morning steamboat had left for Geneva; am

confident we were delayed on purpose, to induce us to go on in the

diligence instead of the next boat. For myself I did not mind waiting

till one o’clock, that I might make myself look a little decent, though

I had not the means here of improving my appearance much; as to my

boots, and indeed all my habiliments, they were much in the condition of

those of the Gibeonites when they made their visit to Joshua. Wrote a

little, went out to take a look at the Castle of Chillon, which is

near,--the building itself not remarkable, but the situation fine....

Took the steamboat in the afternoon; passed Vevay, Lausanne, etc., etc.,

and after traversing the whole length of this much-admired, most

beautiful lake, arrived at Geneva, just at sunset; having accomplished

my pedestrian tour (long to be remembered) in ten days (excluding the

Sunday)....

GENEVA, 19th July.

My mornings, between eleven and four, have been constantly and fully

occupied at De Candolle’s. Earlier in the morning I have spent much time

with Mr. Duby,[110] a botanist and clergyman,--one of the government

pastors here, and it is said almost the only one who is a pious man. I

have yet to pack up a box of my gatherings and to send to the roulage to

be forwarded to New York. I have taken lodgings, for my short stay here,

with the Wolff family, very pious and excellent people, who are pretty

well known to many persons of the same class in New York. One of the

daughters is the wife of Dr. Buck,[111] and I believe your dear mother

is acquainted with her. After dinner I have sometimes made little

excursions in the neighborhood; once or twice I have been accompanied

by Madame Wolff and the two daughters. They are very fond of walking,

and often make long excursions on foot. The two daughters walk as fast

as I can, and in fact one of them nearly tired me down the other day,

when we were hurrying in order to watch the effect of the setting sun on

Mont Blanc. I have taken quite a fancy to this river, the Rhone. I made

my acquaintance with it when it was but a babbling brook; I have trudged

along with it for many a mile, until it grew to a headstrong stream, and

became so turbulent and muddy that it was obliged to jump into the lake

to wash itself clean, and when it leaves the lake it is as clear as

crystal,--emerald, I should say, for it is about that color. A few

months ago I saw the same river in its old age, just falling into the

ocean. Walked back along the shore of the lake; reached the house just

in time to join in the evening worship,--a sweet hymn was sung (in

French), one of the young ladies leading with the piano and all joining

with their voices, and hearts, too, I doubt not; and then the venerable

old man read a chapter, which I could understand very well, and closed

with a simple and fervent prayer. You cannot know yourself how pleasant

it is, after being jolted about in the rude world for months, to get

again with a pious family. The house is just without the town,

surrounded with a large garden and fine trees and shrubbery, and all

very pleasant. Some days after, we made another excursion to visit their

pastor. He was not at home, so I missed him, but saw his pretty garden.

On the two Sundays I have heard one of the pastors of the Evangelical

Society preach in the morning, and the clergyman of the English chapel

in the afternoon. I have also had the satisfaction of seeing Mr. Malan,

who, when he called here the other day, was so good as to hold a long

and edifying religions conversation with me. He is a very apostle in

appearance, and in conversation. Indeed, I have been thrown here into

the midst of religious society of a high tone and of great sweetness and

simplicity. I hope I have received some benefit from it. As I leave here

I shall lose all this and shall see nothing more like it until I get

home again....

TO GEORGE P. PUTNAM.

BÂLE, July 23d.

... I left on Saturday morning for Lausanne and Freiburg, where I heard

the big organ on Sunday; came on in the night to Berne, and yesterday to

this place over the Jura. I wished here to see Professor Meisner, but

found out this morning, some hours after the steamboat had left, that he

was absent on a journey. I was a great fool for not finding that out

last night, in which case I should now have been below Strasburg,--and

this evening at Mannheim. As it is, I can’t wait here till Thursday

morning for the next boat, and shall leave this evening for Schaffhausen

and Tübingen, and thence push on, the best way I can, for Dresden and

Leipsic. I do not lose a moment of time. Do not be surprised if I drop

in upon you about the 4th or 5th of September. I would like to sail for

home the latter part of that month. In early winter we will hope to give

you an entire volume of “Flora,” and see what you can do with it. I have

blocked out, in my mind, scientific labor enough for several years to

come, and several works some of which will be good in a publisher’s

acceptance of the term; others, I dare say, not. As Murray’s fame is

derived from Byron, so shall you be immortalized and known to all

posterity as the publisher of the celebrated Dr. Gray!!!

We have not much time to lose, and on my arrival at London I shall be

wonderfully busy. I hope you will have picked up a great quantity of

books for me by that time. My future credit and comfort will very much

depend upon my bringing home an immense quantity of books for my

money.... When I was in England I could scarcely hold up my head as a

Yankee should--what with our border wars and domestic quarrels. But now

I feel greatly relieved. The recent “Birmingham affair” and several

other things fortunately (?) give me “wherewith to answer them that are

of the contrary part.” Let them shut their mouths now! You know my

address at Berlin, or you may address poste restante if you will. I

think I shall be there till about the 25th August. I shall stop a few

days at Hamburg. I think I may say that I shall not go up to Rostock.

You will perhaps be receiving some letters for me, which, now you know

my movements, you will act according to discretion either in forwarding

to me or in retaining.

I have bought scarcely any books since I left Paris. I have had some

good ones given me.

Excuse this hurried epistle. I have precious little time, and I find I

am growing more and more slovenly every day. Adieu.

Most truly yours,

A. GRAY.

TO GEORGE BENTHAM.

... Arrived at Geneva by way of Villeneuve and the Lake. De Candolle and

Alphonse had returned only three days previous to my arrival. They

received me very cordially, and I went through the herbarium as far as

the “Prodromus” is prepared.

From Geneva I went to Lausanne and Freiburg; ... thence to Berne, where

I made no stay; thence to Bâle, to Schaffhausen, to Tübingen, where I

spent the morning with Mohl;[112] reached Stuttgart toward evening and

Heidelberg the next morning. Frankfort in the evening; took the eilwagen

the same night for Leipsic; saw Pöppig,[113] Schwägrichen,[114] etc.;

railroad to Dresden; saw Reichenbach[115] for a few moments, as he went

into the country the same day; visited the picture-gallery, which

deserves to be called the richest out of Italy; returned to Leipsic; to

Halle; passed a day or two with Schlechtendal;[116] saw the Carices in

the herbarium of Schkuhr;[117] Potsdam, Sans-Souci, the marble palace,

the beautiful statue of the late queen of Prussia by Rauch (the second

and best one); and thence to Berlin, where I remained nearly a month;

saw the botanists, etc.

TO WILLIAM J. HOOKER.

LONDON, September 13.

MY DEAR FRIEND,--The “penny postage system” not being yet in operation,

I embrace an opportunity that offers to send you a line in Pamphlin’s

parcels. I am again in London, you see; indeed I have been here about a

week. But it is only to-day that I have had intelligence of your return

to Scotland. I had some hopes that I should find you in London on my

arrival, or that you would return here from Chatham, and that I should

have the gratification of seeing you once more. I received your welcome

letter of August 14th, at Berlin, for which I thank you much. I wish my

friends at home were half as prompt correspondents. While on the

Continent I have received precious few letters.

I have been much interested at Berlin, and worked hard. The herbarium of

Willdenow is larger and in better condition than I supposed, and the

general herbarium is very interesting and rich. Klotzsch[118] is very

industrious, and has got the whole collection in much better order than

most of the herbaria on the Continent. I am under great obligations to

Dr. Klotzsch, who not only afforded me every facility at the Herbarium,

but most cheerfully aided me in every possible way, and during a

transient illness (for I was confined to my room for a week or so, and

to my bed for a few days) he procured for me the best medical advice,

and took a great deal of trouble on my account.

I lost some time by this, but fortunately I had nearly finished my work

at the Herbarium, and afterwards I had a few days to finish, and to

look at Kunth’s[119] herbarium, with which I was rather disappointed.

Kunth was extremely polite and attentive to me. He is at work upon the

third volume of his “Enumeratio,” but I fear it will not be very well

done. I saw Ehrenberg[120] frequently, and Link[121] once or twice, but

nearly all my time was spent at Schönberg, where the Botanic Garden and

Herbarium are situated, which is nearly a half hour’s ride from the

city. The garden is much the finest in Germany, and the government

annually expends very large sums upon it. The building exclusively

devoted to the herbarium is very commodious, though Klotzsch begins to

complain that he has not sufficient room. It is so far from town that

there are no loungers there, and one may study perfectly undisturbed. I

brought a few things for you from Klotzsch and Link, which Pamphlin is

to send to-morrow.

Having lost some time by illness I did not go to Rostock, a most

out-of-the-world place, although I suppose I shall hereafter regret that

I did not see Lamarck’s herbarium.

I spent several days at Hamburg, saw Lehmann, his herbarium, and the

botanic garden; and took steamboat for London. Since my return I have

been busily occupied in the city, completing some purchases for the

Michigan University, and shall be mostly thus employed during the

remainder of my stay....

19th September.--I saw Dr. Richardson the day before yesterday, who

informed me that the Erebus was still lying at Chatham, and (what I was

not aware of) that I could reach Chatham in three or four hours. So I

arranged at once to go down and see Joseph before he started, but the

next day I learned that the vessels had dropped down from that port.

I expect to sail in the Toronto from Portsmouth on the 1st October.... I

have yet very much to do. Yesterday I dined with Dr. Lindley and visited

the Garden. One wing of the conservatory is erected and nearly covered

with glass. It is entirely glass and iron, about 130 feet long, and will

be very fine.... Believe me, my very dear friend, most truly yours,

A. GRAY.

NEW YORK, 5th November, 1839.

MY DEAR FATHER,--Through the favors of a kind Providence, my journey is

safely brought to a close. I am happy to inform you that I reached New

York last evening in the ship Toronto, after a passage of thirty-five

days. I left London on the last of September, and Portsmouth on the 1st

ult. The steamship Great Western, which left on the 19th of last month,

reached New York two days before us! Our voyage was a rather pleasant

one, although we had nearly forty passengers. It was rather rough, but

no very hard gales. I was sea-sick but a single day, and then but

slightly. I have brought with me nearly the full amount of my purchases

of books for the Michigan library, a large collection. I am waiting to

hear from Detroit to know whether it will be necessary for me to go up

there this fall. I hope I shall not be obliged to make this journey

until spring. I shall not come up to see you until I hear from Michigan,

when I can take Sauquoit in my way if it be necessary to go to Michigan.

I am now busy in getting my boxes and parcels through the custom-house,

which is a tedious business. I hope I shall be allowed to remain here

during the winter, as I have a great deal to do here.

I find here a letter from my friend Dana, of the Exploring Expedition,

dated Valparaiso. He seems not very well satisfied with his situation. I

have not heard from any of you for a full year. Perhaps one of my

sisters will favor me with a letter now that I am so near. Love to all.