MAGAZINE: A REPOSITORY OF ORIGINAL PAPERS, & SELECTIONS FROM ENGLISH MAGAZINES. Published every Saturday Morning, at Robinson's Circulating Library, No. 94, Baltimore-street. VOL. I.] BALTIMORE, SATURDAY, JULY 18, 1818. [No. 1. EXTRACTS FROM THE CORRESPONDENCE OF A TRAVELLER VISITING ITALY. From the Edinburgh Magazine. [These letters were not written with the intention of being published, which is one of their recommendations. They contain the natural expression of the feelings and observations of a well informed traveller on a most interesting route, and appeared to the friend to whom they were addressed to contain both information and entertainment, which would be acceptable to others.] Geneva, 29th September, 1817. IWRITE to you from Les Balances, the best inn of this deservedly celebrated place. I arrived here yesterday at half past five in the afternoon, on the ninth day of my journey, having left Paris on the 20th, at eight A. M. I had to wait two hours in the street that morning in consequence of the stupidity of a Sicilian, who had not got his passport, and the laziness of Pasta and his wife, (who sang at the Opera House in London lately,) and in consequence of the toilet business of some of the ladies, my fellow travellers. We were to have started at six. My journey hither has been, upon the whole, pleasant enough. Domenico Cervelli (the voiturier) is very complaisant and attentive; a big, very robust, and formidable looking, good natured Roman, between forty and fifty. I have been extremely fortunate in procuring the services of an Italian MAG. VOL. I. 1 domestick of a mature age, (about fifty,) who has been in service with a number of very respectable people, and who has a most excellent character for sobriety, honesty, good-nature, attention, and economy. He has been in England, Spain, Portugal, and the West-Indies, and has travelled through France, Italy, Germany, and Switzerland, several times, with his different masters. The Vetturino is hard enough work for me, although certainly preferable, in most respects, to the Diligence. I rise every morning at four, at the latest, because we go on but slowly, and it is necessary to set off very early every day, in order to accomplish the set distance before night-fall, as the vetturino does not travel during the night. I have been thrice roused at three in the morning, the other times at four. We generally reached our Auberge for the night about seven or eight in the evening; however, I do not feel knocked up at all, and hope to stand out to the end. I shall not at present enter into particulars about my journey from Paris to Morez, fourteen and a half leagues from Geneva, but shall endeavour to give you some faint idea of what I saw yesterday; a day on which I received impressions never to be effaced. We left Morez at four o'clock in the morning, and passed through it on foot, the moon shining brightly upon the dark wooded rocks and hills that surround this town. We continued to walk on about two miles to save the horses during a steep ascent; the moon disappearing gradually behind the hills, while from the east" stepped forth the morning," truly the pododánt vaos nùs. The equal diffusion of a fine crimson colour on the clear sky of the mountainous horizon, foretold a delightful day, and it was so,-warm, pure, and bright. We passed the custom-house at Les Rousses, without being searched, our passports only were demanded beautiful scenery all the way-our road wound along the sides of the mountain, and overhung beautiful valleys, from the sides of which shot up tall fir-trees, their tops level with our mountain path; the road in many places narrow, and bordering on the most giddy precipices;-the bottoms of the valleys seen at a most profound depth, with a few small houses scattered here and there. About ten o'clock, Vincenzo (my servant) came to the door of the vetturino, and desired me to alight, and come with him. I did so, and he led me to the summit of a little hill which rose by the side of the road, between the barrier hills, through which we were passing; we were in the department of Lain. Pointing towards what I conceived (without a glass) to be an immense assemblage of dark clouds, with white edges, on the distant horizon, he uttered the electrical words, "Voilà Mont Blanc !" On looking through my glass, I beheld a scene that produced a thrilling impression which I cannot describe. The sudden view of this stupendous mountain, and his gigantick Alpine brethren, with the beautiful dark blue lake of Geneva reposing at their feet, amidst a richly cultivat ed valley, produced a strange and overpowering emotion of mingled awe, wonder, and pleasure. The eternal snows that crown this lofty region of silence, and solitude, and majesty, appeared at first view to be white clouds; but they were motionless masses shining in pure whiteness under a cloudless morning sun. The higher and more These enormous distant summits were enveloped in a thin vapour. masses of rock stretched to the right and to the left, until the eye lost the extremities of the line behind the mountains of Savoy, and of the cantons of Vaud and Freyberg. No sound disturbed me in the contemplation of this magnificent picture, excepting the faint tinkling of distant bells carried by some cattle feeding on the hills of l'Aix. The sight has wrought deeply upon me. It is most truly "the monarch of mountains," as Byron emphatically terms it. What a magnificent theatre for the appalling action of thunder and lightning, and all the cloudy majesty of storms! The day was clear and beautiful; and from the heights of Mount Jura I drank some drops of heightened, though indescribable, feeling. There was a scene before me such as no pencil could paint, no language describe-it was a glimpse of the land of magick and lofty wonders! About 12 o'clock we reached Gex, after a long and fatiguing alternation of ascents and descents, dangerous enough for heavy carriages and unruly horses, as our horses are on account of their entireness. They are hot-blooded, and restive, but small and slender compared with the English carriage horses. Our passports were examined here. I am now (half past 12) sitting at the vine-encompassed window of our Auberge, at Gex, from which I have a view of Mont Blanc, presenting his elevated and impassive snows, to the sultry beams of the noonday sun. The still blue waters of the lake of Geneva are sleeping quietly in its fertile valley, so richly variegated with vines, and trees, and hedges, and green spots of meadow ground, and brown shorn fields, of which the harvest has been gathered. On the left, part of the lake is concealed by a gently sloping hill, on which are cultivated fields, and a few houses half hidden by trees. On the right, the extremity of the visible, and seems to stretch almost to the feet of the hills of Savoy. A thin bluish vapour has overspread some of the Alpine summits that were visible in the morning. I am sitting in a vine arbour in the garden, with my back to the lake Leman; behind the Auberge rises that range of hills called Mont Jura, from which we descended into the valley; to the right rises the village church, with its short white steeple; the bell is at this moment ringing for prayers; the people here ought to be devout-Mont Blanc would inspire devotion to an atheist. Milan, 7th October. I am now in the land of wonders and far-famed beauty, Italy! We arrived here yesterday about seven o'clock in the afternoon, and shall remain till to-morrow morning. We have had hard work of it in passing the Alps by the Simplon, the weather was so exceedingly bad; heavy and constant rain and thick mist clothing the mountain from top to bottom. On leaving Glyss (near Brieg, at the end of the Vallais) we took guides, and three additional horses to each voiture. Cervelli was very unwilling to set out, on account of the dan gers arising from continued rain and impenetrable mist; but the love of money got the better of his fears, and he resolved at last to venture rather than pay expenses at Glyss. Off we set before day break, (about half-past two in the morning,) and began to ascend the celebrated road by the Simplon, one of the most lasting and stupendous monuments of Bonaparte's enterprising spirit. I can give you no idea of the wildness and horrible sublimity of the scenery. After sunrise the mist began to clear away partially, although the rain continued, and we had occasional glimpses of the high and barren mountains, and deep and solitary valleys among which we passed. The road winds along the side of the Simplon, (in Italian Sempione,) a very high mountain, on the top of which are six glaciers. The road borders on the most hideous precipices, and you hear below you, at an immense depth, the rushing of a stream, that passes through the middle of the valley. This stream is seldom visible, on account of the frequent mists that overspread these "regions of thick ribbed ice." About 10 o'clock in the morning we reached the village of the Simplon, the highest point of the road, and rested there for an hour or two at one of the houses of refuge, built for the accommodation of travellers. We had some poor fare by way of breakfast, and warmed our benumbed limbs by the side of a wood fire that blazed on the hearth. The air extremely chill. Set off again and began to descend on the other side, having left the three additional horses and our guide before we reached the barrier near the village of Simplon. We passed innumerable bridges, and several long excavations, or tunnels, cut through the solid rock, These dark hideous passages are among the most extraordinary works of this singular road. One of them is about 300 feet in length, and cut through the eternal ice of a glacier! But it is needless to attempt a description of the route, to know what it is, you must see it. You would imagine it the result of the labours of Aladdin's genie, not of human beings. It was completed in three years, at an immense expense, and by the daily and nightly efforts of a vast number of workmen. We reached Domo d'Ossola when it was quite dark, so could see nothing of the place. We left it at 3 o'clock next morning, and arrived at Gravelona, beside the Lago Maggiore, about 10 o'clock in the forenoon. Mist and rain hindered us from seeing the beauties of the scenery at this place. Weather excessively cold. Rested two hours, and set off for Sesto Calende, where we were to sleep. The mist cleared away a little, and allowed us (in passing along the side of Lago Maggiore) to see the beautiful Borromean Islands in the lake. One of them is covered with beautiful Italian buildings, and rich trees and shrubs, and is the occasional residence of the family to whom these islands belong, and from whom they take their name. Near Arona there is an immense colossal statue of the famous Charles Borromeo, upon the submit of a hill on the left side of the road going to Sesto Calende. This statue is of bronze, and is 66 feet in height, exclusive of the pedestal, which is 46 feet; it rises most majestically out of the trees that cover the hill, and is seen a great way off. It is reckoned a fine work of art. There is a very stair-case inside, by which you ascend to the head. An Italian au thor says that a man (not very big) may sit down conveniently in the nose of this colossus. We reached Sesto Calende about 8, crossing the Tesino on a raft. Evening dreadfully bad; piercingly cold, and dense mist, and heavy rains. The sides of the road from Gravelona to the ferry, embellished with the most beautiful plantations of vines; the vines supported by rude wooden frames, and the huge thick clusters of ripe purple and white grapes hanging down from the top, ready for the hand of any one who entered into these luxuriant labyrinths. One of my fellow travellers ventured to alight and pull some of the grapes, but was seized in the act by a most singular figure of an Argus, who rushed out of a thicket of vines from the opposite side of the road, and presented an old musket to the thief's head,— the matter was accommodated after a horrible squabble in good Italian, bad Italian, and indifferent French. This guardian had half of an old sabre sticking out from his rump in the most grotesque manner imaginable, and was altogether a perfect caricature of armed humanity. We started at six from Sesto Calende and reached Milan about seven. The road was not particularly interesting, and the weather execrable; a number of houses by the way were adorned with paintings of Madonnas and scriptural subjects in fresco upon the plastered walls; some of the paintings very good, but all injured by time and weather. OBSERVATIONS ON THE POLAR ICE.-By Captain SCORESBY. From the Edinburgh Magazine for April, 1818. S erroneous ideas are in circulaAS tion, in regard to the North Polar ice, the following short statement may prove useful. 1. The North and South Poles appear to be surrounded with fixed ice. 2. The ice extends much farther |