CHAPTER IV.

ALPINE VALLEYS.

THE valley of Andermatt is four thousand four hundred feet above the level of the sea, and no trees except the pine will grow there, nor will any corn, wheat, or any vegetable. The people are therefore obliged to go many weary miles for their bread. Thus their life is entirely pastoral, and their support comes altogether from their herds and dairies, except the small sums they receive from travellers over the pass, and for the hire of horses for the conveyance of goods. The produce of their pastures is deservedly famous; and nowhere is the cheese richer, the butter yellower, or the grass brighter or more luxuriant. But their short and beautiful summer is succeeded by a nine months' winter. His stern face looks forth over the landscape, and quietly, fatally, inexorably, as the head of Medusa, stiffens the face of nature with the lineaments of death. Then the icy-helmeted cliffs receive a drapery of snow, and shake down into the mountain-gorges many an avalanche. Then the life-blood of summer freezes in her veins, and winter stands like a conqueror over her prostrate form. Only the pines lament her departure. They moan

in melancholy cadence, like the solemn dirge of ocean, as he sadly strives to smooth from his brow the wrinkles of a thousand ages. And all the power of angry winter cannot overwhelm or silence these dark, stern mourners. They bear themselves bravely. They yield not to the avalanche. They tremble not at its thunder. They regard not the winds, as with their thousand voices they hover about them, now in exultation, now in anger, now in tones of soft persuasion, now with the accents of despair. At every blast, they cling more firmly to the mountains that brought them forth, and on whose breasts they were nurtured. They welcome, as to a sure retreat, the mountain goat, when driven by the tempest from his native crags. Only at the approach of man they bow themselves, and their wounds give forth the fragrant odor of forgiveness. But mindful of the future even in death, they scatter with lavish hand their abundant cones, that in the lapse of years other green harps may attune their trembling chords, and plaintively temper the wrath of the storm. Then go they forth to their destined work. The gloomy weeds of mourning are changed for the cheerful garb of labor, and erect, in all the dignity of a beneficent life, they bear to remote lands the blessings of commerce and enlightenment. Such is the lesson of the pine.

The forests of evergreens which overhang the mountain-valleys of Switzerland are not only an extremely grand feature in the scenery, but are of the greatest importance to the well-being of the

inhabitants. They are the basis of the whole pastoral system. Their foliage attracts the showers and dew, and their roots retain them, under the thick covering of their fallen leaves, till they can be gradually and equally distributed over the land. Thus the land is fertilized by the rain, which, were there no forests, would, if it came at all, flood the country with sudden freshets, and pass away as quickly as it came, leaving only desolation behind it. Thus many tracts, which now support hundreds of people and multitudes of cattle and goats, would, in the absence of the pine and the fir, be only rocky and barren wildernesses, such as Palestine and Greece have become at the present day from similar causes. But this is not all the benefit

of these sylvan deities. from avalanches and branches supply the people with fuel, and their seeds with food; their thick foliage shelters the cattle and goats; in the long, dark months of winter, their soft and delicately veined wood is carved by the peasantry into many a useful implement or ingenious toy. Thus hands otherwise idle find employment, and no little money is obtained from their labors. These toys are sold in thousands to travellers in the summer; and the pine is thus carried to the ends of the earth, in the shape of cottages, chamois, paper-folders, and numberless other peculiar products of Switzerland. It is in the form of timber, however, that these trees are the most productive of money, and the more

They protect the villages storms; their cones and

so that forests are very scarce in Europe. Hence at their maturity as many of these monarchs of the woods as can be spared without injury to the country are cut down, and floated in large rafts to Holland, where they are used principally as masts and spars. The forests of Switzerland are public property, and belong to the cantons where they are situated. They are superintended by officers appointed for that purpose, and the income derived from them forms a part of the public revenue. Of late years, the industrial interests of the country have caused a great demand for wood, and its consumption has so largely increased that the people have become alarmed at the probable results, the more so, since it has been found that the inhabitants are poorer in those tracts where, from various causes, the woods have diminished. Hence they are now guarded with great care, and the various cantons have taken stringent measures to protect them from further diminution.

Humboldt says that the pine among the Alps grows at a greater height than any other tree or shrub. Only an occasional low-growing alder is found at a higher elevation. The red pine thrives luxuriantly more than six thousand feet above the sea-level, while the white pine ceases to appear a thousand feet lower. Next above the pines are seen the bright and ruddy Alpine roses, fringing the snow and the glacier; above these come the mountain grasses.

In Andermatt, and in Hospenthal, which lies two

miles beyond it, the mountain life of Switzerland appears to great advantage. Situated, as they are, on one of the most frequented passes, their inhabitants derive many a benefit, both to body and mind, from the travel over it, which keeps them always in communication both with Italy and their own country. They are thus superior in all respects to the people of more remote and poorer valleys. These latter are destitute of almost every comfort, and their forlorn condition excites the sympathy of all travellers. It is distressing to see how few they possess of what we regard as the necessaries of life, and how little has ever been done for the development of the feeble spark of intellect that is in them. Yet they do not appear unhappy or discontented. They are for the most part simple-minded, and, knowing no other sources of pleasure than those they see around them, they rest satisfied with what they have. All the high Swiss villages are modelled after the same plan. Hospenthal, Zermatt, Obergesteln, are all composed of low, black houses, crowded irregularly together, with narrow and extremely muddy lanes meandering among them. Thus whenever a fire breaks out, as it often does, the whole village is generally consumed. Thus it has lately happened to Chamouny, Thusis, and many others. Yet in most localities this compression is not only desirable, but on many accounts necessary. Nearly all the arable land, every foot of which is valuable, is thus reserved for cultivation or pasturage, and every inch of land is used in Switzerland