any others in Switzerland shut it in. From these heights numberless streams and torrents pour into the vale, with a never-ceasing murmur, which fills all its recesses. The famous Staubbach (stream of dust) falls from the Pletschberg, a perpendicular height of 800 feet, and wants nothing but a larger quantity of water to render it one of the finest cataracts in Europe. Although we saw it after many days violent rain, a comparatively small stream gushed over the brink of the precipice. After gradually expanding in a fall of about 200 feet, it glances against a projection in the rock, splits into thin silvery streams, and is presently dissipated by the winds into the finest vapour and foam. The cataract thus possesses little of the grace or the grandeur of a fine fall of water-it is a singular effect of foam-a long thin cloud of mist, which floats backwards and forwards like a pendulum, as the current of air drives it, till it is at last scattered over the meadows in thin spray. The rock from which it falls, though grand and precipitous, is bare and uniform, and wants the rich accompaniments of foliage and vegetation. In short, the Staubbach is over-rated,, on account of the immense height of the fall.-Lauterbrunn has several other cascades (the Mirrenbach, Schmadribach, &c.) with more picturesque charms-and the valley merits all its fame for the grandeur of its precipices, and the lovely contrast of its green glades and picturesque hamlets, with the stupendous crags and snows which overhang them. Towards these impending wintry regions we climbed our way on strong peasant's horses, in passing the Wengern Alp, one of the sublimest and least difficult of alpine excursions. The highest point of the passage of the Wengern Alp is about 6300 feet above the level of the sea-the ascent from Lauterbrunn, by a zig-zag path, is very rapid, and commands a noble view of the green valley beneath, with all its streams and silvery cascades-but these charms soon yield on reaching the summit, to the majestic beauty of the white, awful, and inaccessible Jungfrau, which rears her vast head nearly 7000 feet even above the summit of the Wengern Alp; and presides like a virgin queen over the vast demesnes of glittering snow, which stretch from the Breithorn to the Wetterhorn, above Grindelwald. The sides of the Wengern Alp, along which we rode, slope rapidly down to an enormous ravine, called the Trumletenthal, the bottom of which forms the base of the glaciers of the Jungfrau. A light filmy veil of transparent vapour floated over the mountain, which rather increased its beauty, and which the sun soon dissipated. We halted at a châlet an hour to enjoy this near view of the sublime spectacle. It is the finest near prospect of a stupendous alpine height that I ever beheld. We were no longer kept at an impenetrable distance-or excluded by that provoking barrier of impracticable lesser mountains, which so often mocks one's curiosity, and leaves one to speculate vaguely on the awful domes of ice and snow which they surround. We were now admitted to the presence-fairly in the holy of holies-and in immediate contact with fathomless chasms, inaccessible snows, bare granite needles, awful crags and fissures, and, above all, continual avalanches, which poured down from rock to rock with the roar of thunder. These summer avalanches are, of their kind, very striking and sublime, though not equal to the overwhelming avalanches of the spring. The effect to the eye is not always adequate to expectation, owing to the height and distance at which you see them; but their sublime crashes and roaring sounds announce their size and the violence of their fall. A mass of glacier or half-congealed snow is detached by the heat of the sun from the upper ledges and pinnacles of the mountain. This is announced by a sudden sort of crack-a noise like an explosion-you then hear a running rumbling sound like reverberating thunder: sometimes the eye does not immediately discover, amidst the waste of snow, the spot from whence the noise proceeds; but presently you perceive an impetuous cataract of pulverized ice and snow pouring down some gulley, or hewing out its own channel in the snows-thundering from ledge to ledge for several minutes till it finds a temporary restingplace on a rock or a glacier, or reaches the base of the mountain, where it goes to swell a pile of powdered ice and snow, heaped up either to be melted by the sun or warm rains, or, perhaps, if the season is severe, to freeze into a foundation for a new glacier. Three perfectly distinct kinds of avalanche fall in these alpine regions-1st. The winter avalanche, or Wind-Lauinen, (wind avalanches) are occasioned in the winter by high winds, which, after a heavy fall of snow, drift large flakes and clouds of snow from the summit of the mountains to their precipices, from whence they roll down to the vallies. The snow is in general soft, unfrozen, and incoherent, and these avalanches are not very formidable, and seldom occasion serious damage or disaster. Persons who happen to be overwhelmed by them are often dug out with no very great difficulty; and if the avalanche is not very considerable, they sometimes extricate themselves, their own breath and the warmth of their bodies partly thawing the snow, and aiding their exertions. 2d. It is the avalanche of the spring which is the great scourge and devastator of the inhabitants and villages of the Alps. They are caused by the accumulation of enormous masses of snow on the slopes and ledges of the mountains during the winter, which overhang and threaten the valleys below. In the months of April and May the sun occasions a sudden thaw, the masses are detached from the mountain, and hurled, by their own weight or by the slightest concussion in the air-by the human voice, or by the bells of mules-down the precipices and sides of the mountain, sweeping down whole forests, and carrying with them masses of rock, trees, and stones, to pour with a destructive impetuosity on the unfortunate villages and fields in the valley. The narrow passes in the valley of the Reuss, near the Devil's Bridge, are the constant scene of the fall of the avalanches of spring. As the snow accumulates every year nearly in the same spots, the guides and people of the country know where danger is to be expected. Companies of travellers separate and proceed one by one at little distances, advancing at a quick pace and without uttering a sound. The bells of the horses are taken off, and sometimes a pistol is discharged before reaching the dangerous spot. If a mass of snow is about to fall the agitation in the air brings it down. The snow of these avalanches is congealed into such hard and enormous masses, that those who have the misfortune to be overwhelmed by them are inevitably smothered or crushed to death. Sometimes they fall across the bed of a torrent, and form a solid bridge of ice and snow, which remains for months, and over which consider. able weights have sometimes been transported. The concussion in the air, occasioned by their fall, is sometimes so prodigious as to overturn cottages, and knock down men at a considerable distance from the spot where the avalanche has fallen. 3d. The third species of avalanche, that of the summer and autumn, is such as we saw falling from the Jungfrau-an object of admiration and interest, but seldom attended with danger. If the first distant view of the light and ethereal Alps waving along the elevated blue horizon, "so massive yet so shadowy, so ethereal as to belong rather to heaven than earth,"-if this is lovely and enchanting, the close observation of their awe-inspiring features-the beauty of their silent snows-the grace of their spiral pinnacles-the rugged severity of their glaciers and precipices, and the sullen roar of the avalanche, convey impressions to the mind, of which no description can give the faintest shadow. Who ever has seen them But instantly receives into his soul A sense, a feeling that he loses not, A something that informs him 'tis a moment Whence he may date henceforward and for ever? We mounted our horses and proceeded reluctantly down the gentle descent of the Wengern Alp towards the valley of Grindelwald-the enormous snows and heights of the Eiger mountains rising like a rampart on our right. These mountains are little inferior in height to the Jungfrau, but are far inferior in beauty of form-the Eigers forming a uniform ridge without variety for several leagues. Their greatest height is about 12,268 feet-while that of the Jungfrau is 12,872. Both are inaccessible from the extreme rapidity of their summits. The point of the Jungfrau (Jungfrau-horn-virgin-peak) appears to the eye pointed as a lancet. The green valley of Grindelwald now lay low beneath us at a distance of about four leagues, and the fatigue of our ascent well disposed us, as well as our horses and guides, to halt for half an hour at a little log-built châlet on the side of the declivity. The cowherds lighted a wood-fire (for in these elevations the air is extremely piercing), and provided us with excellent cream, cheese, and curds. The cows and goats were browsing about the steep pastures round the chalet, and a fine shaggy dog was stretched by the door. During the summer season, while the cattle are on the mountains, the cowherds follow their fate like the shepherds of Virgil: Sæpe diem noctemque, et totum ex ordine mensem The last words seem to intimate that a châlet was a luxury to which the Libyan flocks and herdsmen were strangers; and if we were to believe Rousseau's lovely description, it is a place more fitted for the abode of romantic lovers than for a night-stall for cows and goats. The passage is one of the most poetical, and the least true in all his writings. "Près des coteaux fleuris d'ou part la source de la Vevaise, il est un hameau solitaire qui sert quelquefois de repaire aux chasseurs, et ne devroit servir que d'asile aux amants. Autour de l'habitation principale sont épars assez loin quelques châlets qui de leurs toits de chaume peuvent couvrir l'amour et le plaisir, amis de la simplicité rustique."Nothing indeed can exceed the general beauty of their positions; stuck on the sides of mountain-pastures-on the edge of precipices and cataracts-embosomed in chesnut-groves, or sheltered by the tall black firs of the mountain. The building itself is a large low square mass composed of rude half-hewn timbers mortised together, the roof covered with timber or slate, with large pieces of rock and stone laid on the top to keep the roof fast. The interior is fitted up with shelves and dairy utensils-wooden-bowls, churns, ladles, &c. hang round with cleanliness and convenience. The milk, butter, laitage and cheese are worthy of the Alps-of a delicacy and richness which lowland pastures never equal. After making a hearty repast at the châlet on the Wengern Alp, we descended to Grindelwald, where we arrived towards evening, and saw the snows of the Eiger and the Wetterhorn, tinted and emblazoned by all the purple and roseate hues of a splendid setting sun. D. MR. EDITOR. There are very few appellatives which were originally used in a bad signification: and none, perhaps, at the epoch of their formation were considered as indecent. It is the nature of things and the perversity of the human imagination which convert the most innocent arrangements of letters and syllables into offence: and when a word is driven out of good company, with the etymology of which I am unacquainted, I am strongly tempted to exclaim with Bardolf, "By this day, I know not the phrase, but I will maintain the word with my sword to be a soldier-like word, and a word of exceeding good command." We know that some of the coarsest terms in our language were formerly used in good society, and that many ideas which we are now forced to insinuate by the most roundabout periphrases, were expressed by our ancestors in very plain English. Etymology teaches us that "Villain" meant originally a country fellow; and Knave, Harlot, and Varlet, were simply designations of serving-men. He was a gentle harlot and a kynde, A better fellow shulde a man nat fynde. CHAUCER. So likewise "Tyrant" and "Despot" originally implied no bad quality in the person that bore them, and indicated merely the sort of authority they exercised. But as serving-men were, in rerum natura, prone to indulge in little peccadilloes*, and despots and tyrants to amuse themselves with great ones, the influence of things determined the associations of ideas; and neither of the parties felt particularly flattered by hearing themselves addressed in terms which raked up by their very sound all the evil doings of their predecessors. Some words have suffered great varieties of fortune, and have figured with very various effect in conversation. "Marechal," for example, which was originally a master of the horse, has risen to be a commander-in-chief, and sunk again into a tipstaff and a blacksmith. So its * "Notum est," says Skinner," servos, tum apud Græcos tum Romanos, pro nebulonibus, sceleratis, et nequam hominibus, semper etiam proverbio tenus, habitos fuisse."-From which we may collect, that, in all ages, the upper classes have first degraded the lower, and then insulted them. twin-brother "Constable" has enjoyed high military command, and has subsided into a mere peace-officer. "Knight" also has "in its time played many parts." This word seems to have set out in life as a hired servant, or one knit and attached to another.*"In all places I shall be, my lady, your daughter's servant and knight in right and wrong."+ But having enlisted for a soldier, he rose rapidly to great consideration, which he sustained as long as he stuck to the sword. The moment, however, that he treads on a carpet, his character becomes very equivocal, and he is only to be known by the company he keeps. He seldom goes into the city without becoming the butt of ridicule, whether he deserves it or no. Some of his family, called Peg Nicholson's knights, were notoriously ill spoken of; but the worst of his name are, unquestionably, the knights of the post. In the present day, a careful observer will discover many words which are in a state of migration, and stand just upon the confines of good and evil, of honour and reproach. Dr. Johnson apologized, and defended himself from the imputation of backbiting, when he called a man, not then present, an "Attorney." Those of the craft prefer hearing themselves styled Solicitors: for what reason I could never discover, unless it be that the word has a more sonorous twang, or because solicitation is a courtly employment, and the high road to places and dignities. Methodist," which a few years ago was used as a reproach, has been adopted as an honorific distinction by those to whom it was applied; and the same is the case with "Radical." "Blasphemy" and "Sedition," as some people assert, are undergoing a similar process; insomuch that, to discover a man's meaning in employing such words, we must first know something of his political opinions." Saint," on the contrary, is now growing more and more exclusively applicable in a bad sense, and the imputation will be soon absolutely rejected as calumnious. "Laureate," likewise, may be cited as a word that is running down hill as fast as it can go; and I should not be surprised, if we should yet live to hear of a man's nose being pulled, as a "reproof valiant" for this "churlish" imputation. There are more Corinnas in the world than Petrarchs, and more Pyes and Cibbers than Drydens and Wartons; and the license of writing bad verses on an indifferent subject is hard to be resisted. But, whatever may be the cause, ruimus in pejus, and the post of laureate is not, even now-a-days, an euthanasia poetica, but rather a sort of poetical pillory, exposing a man to all sorts of pelters, from Byron to Cobbett. Not but that the present laureate, like Cicero, suffers more for his politics than his poetry; and might have written his O fortunatam natum hexameters, as safely as Pye sang of sonnets and thrushes §, had he kept clear of Wat Tyler, * Horne Tooke. + Historie of Prince Arthur. The same Dr. Johnson, on being asked the difference between an attorney and a solicitor, replied, much the same as between a crocodile and an alligator. § Pye's first Laureate Ode was said to have run much on singing-birds, which produced the following allusive quotation : "And when the pie was opened, the birds began to sing, |