AMERICAN AND EUROPEAN SCENERY COMPARED.

"Though gay companions o'er the bowlDispel awhile the sense of ill;Though pleasure fires the madd'ning soul,The heart—the heart is lonely still."

No—although I fear I am about to speak without experience now—it is my opinion, that neither the resources of the philosopher, nor the consolations of religion, nor conscious worth, unaccompanied by native fortitude and energy of mind, are of much avail against real grief. Why they should not be, is no business of mine to inquire; nor would it be becoming me to question the designs of Providence. But this much I may affirm without fear of offence,—Human life is prudently chequered with good and evil; and the most likely way to enjoy it, is to make the best of the one while the other is away.

The powerful influence of wine on society is estimated by Dr. Johnson, in theRambler: "In the bottle," says he, "discontent seeks for comfort, cowardice for courage, and bashfulness for confidence." Nothing is more true than this; although it sometimes happens that the first is looked for in vain, the second proves false, and the latter exceeds its bounds. The union of sensual and intellectual enjoyment, however, is requisite to complete the happiness of "the double animal"—the perfect man; and as all mankind are not philosophers, much less abstract ones, after-dinner conversation would generally be flat without the genial influence of good wine. Indeed, the wit of the wittiest man, and the most agreeable companion I ever sat down with, appeared to rise in brilliancy with every glass he drank; and when, to use an expression of his own, he felt himself "vinously inclined,"—that is to say, when he had what Cicero calls the "furor vinolentus" upon him, there were no bounds to his humorous sallies.

Upon old men wine is generally well bestowed.

"——Give me a bowl of wine;I have not that alacrity of spiritNor cheer of mind that I was wont to have,"

exclaims the bold King Richard; and I once heard a fine old sportsman, and very worthy man, declare, after a bottle of good port, that he would not exchange the present—his eightieth year—for the gayest he had ever spent.

Luckily for the credit of the human race—although Cleopatra hunted anddrankwith Antony—there has been, in all ages of the world, a sense of shame attached to the vice of drunkenness in women, having any pretensions to character, as something contrary to their more refined nature. By the ancient Roman laws it was punishable even by death; and we find that even the abandoned women who celebrated the Bacchanalia were ashamed to do so, except under the disguise of masks.

To the credit of the present age, drunkenness in women is not a common failing; but when they once yield to the vice, they have less moderation in the indulgence of it than men have. That such was the case in other ages and countries, may be gleaned from a passage in a comic play-writer, contemporary with Plato, which has been thus accurately rendered:

"Remark how wisely ancient art provides,The broad-brimmed cup, with flat expanded sides;A cup contrived forman'sdiscreeter use,And sober potions of the generous juice.Butwoman'smore ambitious, thirsty soulSoon long'd to revel in the plenteous bowl;Deep and capacious as the swelling holdOf some stout bark, she shaped the hollow mould;Then, turning out a vessel like a tun,Simpering, exclaimed—Observe, I drink but one."

To return to the effect of wine on the ruder sex. Next to a smoky house and a scolding wife, it is the greatest trial of the temper to which that of man is exposed. In fact, it is a test by which it may be proved; and the advice of Horace is excellent,not to choose a friend till we have put him to this test. Addison is likewise happy in his remark on this point. "Wine," says he, "is not to be drunk by all who can swallow;" and truer words were never written. It has an extraordinary effect upon low and uncultivated minds; as was exemplified in late times, when war prices and abundance of money placed it within the reach of the English commonalty. Rows and broils, with marked insolence towards superiors, were the concomitant results. Neither is the observation of Pliny a whit less just. He says truth is vulgarly andproperlyattributed to wine; and I am decidedly of his opinion. In fact, our English term, "disguised in liquor," is improperly used; inasmuch as a blackguard when drunk is in his nature a blackguard when sober. The tongue, says the Bible, is at all times an unruly member; but when under the influence of wine, it is still more apt to run riot. Then, again, drunken men are given to "err in vision and stumble in judgment," and to put constructions upon words which they were not intended to convey. When we sacrifice to Bacchus, we are not favored by Mercury; and the well-known adage of "wine in, wit out," is but an abbreviation of the equally well proved axiom, that wine raises the imagination, but depresses the judgment.

Neither is the highly bred gentleman, if much addicted to intoxication, quite safe to be admitted into close friendship, inasmuch as he renders himself, by the practice, unworthy of confidence. Wine so unlocks the cabinet of the heart, that it is easily looked into when we are off our guard.

From an article in the "Home Book of the Picturesque," just published by G. P. Putnam.

BY J. FENIMORE COOPER.

The great distinction between American and European scenery, as a whole, is to be found in the greater want of finish in the former than in the latter, and to the greater superfluity of works of art in the old world than in the new. Nature has certainly made some differences, though there are large portions of continental Europe that, without their artificial accessories, might well pass for districts in our own region; and which forcibly remind the traveller of his native home. As a whole, it must be admitted that Europe offers to the senses sublimer views and certainly grander, than are to be found within our own borders, unless we resort to the Rocky Mountains, and the ranges in California and New Mexico.

In musing on these subjects, the mind of the untravelled American naturally turns first towards England. He has pictured to himself landscapes and scenery on which are impressed the teeming history of the past. We shall endeavour to point out the leading distinctions between the scenery of England and that of America, therefore, as the course that will probably be most acceptable to the reader.

The prevalent characteristic of the English landscape is its air of snugness and comfort. In these respects it differs entirely from its neighbor, France. The English, no doubt, have a great deal of poverty and squalid misery among them. But it is kept surprisingly out of the ordinary view. Most of it, indeed, is to be found in the towns, and even in them it is concealed in out of the way places and streets seldom entered by the stranger.

There are places in America, more especially in the vicinities of the large towns, that have a strong resemblance to the more crowded portions of England, though the hedge is usually wanting and the stone wall is more in favor among ourselves than it appears ever to have been among our ancestors. The great abundance of wood, in this country, too, gives us the rail and the board for our fences, objects which the lovers of the picturesque would gladly see supplanted by the brier and the thorn. All that part of Staten Island, which lies nearest to the quarantine ground, has a marked resemblance to what we should term suburban English landscape.The neighborhoods of most of the old towns in the northern States, have more or less of the same character; it being natural that the descendants of Englishmen should have preserved as many of the usages of their forefathers as were practicable. We know of no portion of this country that bears any marked resemblance to the prevalent characteristics of an ordinary French landscape. In France there are two great distinctive features that seem to divide the materials of the views between them. One is that of a bald nakedness of formalgrandes routes, systematically lined with trees, a total absence of farm-houses, fences, hedges, and walls, little or no forest, except in particular places, scarcely any pieces of detached woods, and a husbandry that is remarkable for its stiffness and formality. The fields of a French acclivity, when the grain is ripe, or ripening, have a strong resemblance to an ordinary Manchester pattern-card, in which the different cloths, varying in color, are placed under the eye at one glance. The effect of this is not pleasing. The lines being straight and the fields exhibiting none of the freedom of nature. Stiffness and formality, indeed, impair the beauty of nine-tenths of the French landscapes; though as a whole the country is considered fine, and is certainly very productive. The other distinctive feature to which we allude is of a directly contrary character, being remarkable for the affluence of its objects. It often occurs in that country that the traveller finds himself on a height that commands a view of great extent, which is literally covered withbourgsor small towns and villages. This occurs particularly in Normandy, in the vicinity of Paris and as one approaches the Loire. In such places it is no unusual thing for the eye to embrace, as it might be in a single view, some forty or fifty cold, grave-looking, chiselledbourgsand villages, almost invariably erected in stone. The effect is not unpleasant, for the subdued color of the buildings has a tendency to soften the landscape and to render the whole solemn and imposing. We can recall many of these scenes that have left indelible impressions on the mind, and which, if not positively beautiful in a rural sense, are very remarkable. That from the heights of Montmorenci, near Paris, is one of them; and there is another, from the hill of St. Catharine, near Rouen, that is quite as extraordinary.

The greater natural freedom that exists in an ordinary American landscape, and the abundance of detached fragments of wood, often render the views of this country strikingly beautiful when they are of sufficient extent to conceal the want of finish in the details, which require time and long-continued labor to accomplish. In this particular we conceive that the older portions of the United States offer to the eye a general outline of view that may well claim to be even of a higher cast, than most of the scenery of the old world.

There is one great charm, however, that it must be confessed is nearly wanting among us. We allude to the coast. Our own is, with scarcely an exception, low, monotonous and tame. It wants Alpine rocks, bold promontories, visible heights inland, and all those other glorious accessories of the sort that render the coast of the Mediterranean the wonder of the world. It is usual for the American to dilate on the size of his bays and rivers, but objects like these require corresponding elevation in the land. Admirable as is the bay of New-York for the purposes of commerce, it holds but a very subordinate place as a landscape among the other havens of the world. The comparison with Naples that has so often been made, is singularly unjust, there not being two bays of any extent to be found, that are really less alike than these. It was never our good fortune to see Constantinople or Rio de Janeiro, the two noblest and most remarkable scenes of this kind, as we have understood, known to the traveller. But we much question if either will endure the test of rigid and severe examination better than the celebrated Gulf of Napoli. The color of the water, alone, is a peculiar beauty of all the Mediterranean bays: it is the blue of the deep sea, carried home to the very rocks of the coast. In this respect, the shores of America, also, have less claim to beauty than those of Europe, generally. The waters are green, the certain sign of their being shallow. Similar tints prevail in the narrow seas between Holland and England. The name of Holland recalls a land, however, that is even lower than any portion of our own with which we are acquainted. There are large districts in Holland that are actually below the level of the high tides of the sea. This country is a proof how much time, civilization, and persevering industry, may add even to the interest of a landscape. While the tameness of the American coast has so little to relieve it or to give it character, in Holland it becomes the source of wonder and admiration. The sight of vast meadows, villages, farm-houses, churches, and other works of art, actually lying below the level of the adjacent canals, and the neighboring seas, wakes in the mind a species of reverence for human industry. This feeling becomes blended with the views, and it is scarcely possible to gaze upon a Dutch landscape without seeing, at the same time, ample pages from the history of the country and the character of its people. On this side of the ocean, there are no such peculiarities. Time, numbers, and labor, are yet wanting to supply the defects of nature, and we must be content, for a while, with the less teeming pictures drawn in our youth and comparative simplicity.

On the American coast the prevailing character is less marked at the northward andeastward than at the southward. At some future day, the Everglades of Florida may have a certain resemblance to Holland. They are the lowest land, we believe, in any part of this country.

Taking into the account the climate and its productions, the adjacent mountains, the most picturesque outlines of the lakes, and the works of art which embellish the whole, we think that most lovers of natural scenery would prefer that around the lakes of Como and Maggiore to that of any other place familiarly known to the traveller. Como is ordinarily conceived to carry off the palm in Europe, and it is not probable that the great mountains of the East or any part of the Andes, can assemble as many objects of grandeur, sweetness, magnificence and art, as are to be found in this region. Of course, our own country has nothing of the sort to compare with it. The Rocky Mountains, and the other great ranges in the recent accession of territory, must possess many noble views, especially as one proceeds south; but the accessories are necessarily wanting, for a union of art and nature can alone render scenery perfect.

In the way of the wild, the terrific, and the grand, nature is sufficient of herself: but Niagara is scarcely more imposing than she is now rendered lovely by the works of man. It is true that the celebrated cataract has a marked sweetness of expression, if we may use such a term, that singularly softens its magnificence, and now that men are becoming more familiar with its mysteries, and penetrating into its very mists, by means of a small steamboat, the admirer of nature discovers a character different from that which first strikes the senses.

We regard it as hypercritical to speak of the want of Alpine scenery around Niagara. On what scale must the mountains be moulded to bear a just comparison, in this view of the matter, with the grandeur of the cataract! The Alps, the Andes, and the Himmalaya, would scarcely suffice to furnish materials necessary to produce the contrast, on any measurement now known to the world. In fact the accessories, except as they are blended with the Falls themselves, as in the wonderful gorge through which the river rushes, in an almost fathomless torrent, as if frightened at its own terrific leap; the Whirlpool, and all that properly belongs to the stream, from the commencement of the Rapids, or, to be more exact, from the placid, lake-like scenery above these Rapids, down to the point where the waters of this mighty strait are poured into the bosom of the Ontario, strike us as being in singular harmony with the views of the Cataract itself.

The Americans may well boast of their waterfalls, and of their lakes, notwithstanding the admitted superiority of upper Italy and Switzerland in connection with the highest classes of the latter. They form objects of interest over a vast surface of territory, and greatly relieve the monotony of the inland views. We do not now allude to the five great lakes, which resemble seas and offer very much the same assemblage of objects to the eye; but to those of greatly inferior extent, that are sparkling over so much of the surface of the northern states. The east, and New-York in particular, abound in them, though farther west the lover of the picturesque must be content to receive the prairie in their stead. It would be a great mistake, however, to attempt to compare any of these lakes with the finest of the old world; though many of them are very lovely and all contribute to embellish the scenery. Lake George itself could not occupy more than a fourth or fifth position in a justly graduated scale of the lakes of Christendom; though certainly very charming to the eye, and of singular variety in its aspects. In one particular, indeed, this lake has scarcely an equal. We allude to its islands, which are said to equal the number of the days in the year. Points, promontories, and headlands are scarcely ever substitutes for islands, which add inexpressibly to the effect of all water-views.

It has been a question among the admirers of natural scenery, whether the presence or absence of detached farm-houses, of trees, hedges, walls and fences, most contribute to the effect of any inland view. As these are three great points of distinction between the continent of Europe and our own country, we shall pause a moment to examine the subject a little more in detail. When the towns and villages are sufficiently numerous to catch the attention of the eye, and there are occasional fragments of forest in sight, one does not so much miss the absence of that appearance of comfort and animated beauty that the other style of embellishment so eminently possesses. A great deal, however, depends, as respects these particulars, on the nature of the architecture and the color of the buildings and fences. It is only in very particular places and under very dull lights, that the contrast between white and green is agreeable. A fence that looks as if it were covered with clothes hung out to dry, does very little towards aiding the picturesque. And he who endeavors to improve his taste in these particulars, will not fail to discover in time that a range of country which gives up its objects, chiselled and distinct, but sober, and sometimes sombre, will eventually take stronger hold of his fancy than one that is glittering with the fruits of the paint and the whitewash brushes. We are never dissatisfied with the natural tints of stone, for the mind readily submits to the ordering of nature; and though one color may be preferred to another, each and all are acceptable in their proper places. Thus, a marble structure is expected to be white, and as such, if the building be of suitable dimensions and proportions, escapes our criticism, on account ofits richness and uses. The same may be said of other hues, when not artificial; but we think that most admirers of nature, as they come to cultivate their tastes, settle down into a preference for the gray and subdued over all the brighter tints that art can produce. In this particular, then, we give the preference to the effects of European scenery, over that of this country, where wood is so much used for the purposes of building, and where the fashion has long been to color it with white. A better taste, however, or what we esteem as such, is beginning to prevail, and houses in towns and villages are now not unfrequently, even painted in subdued colors. We regard the effect as an improvement, though to our taste no hue, in its artificial objects, so embellishes a landscape as the solemn color of the more sober, and less meretricious looking stones.

We believe that a structure of white, with green blinds, is almost peculiar to this country. In the most propitious situations, and under the happiest circumstances, the colors are unquestionably unsuited to architecture, which, like statuary, should have but one tint. If, however, it be deemed essential to the flaunting tastes of the mistress of some mansion, to cause the hues of the edifice in which she resides to be as gay as hertoilette, we earnestly protest against the bright green that is occasionally introduced for such purposes. There is a graver tint, of the same color, that entirely changes the expression of a dwelling. Place two of these houses in close proximity, and scarcely an intellectual being would pass them, without saying that the owner of the one was much superior to the owner of the other in all that marks the civilized man. Put a third structure in the immediate vicinity of these two, that should have but one color on its surface, including its blinds, and we think that nine persons in ten, except the very vulgar and uninstructed, would at once jump to the conclusion that the owner of this habitation was in tastes and refinement superior to both his neighbors. A great improvement, however, in rural as well as in town architecture, is now in the course of introduction throughout all the northern states. More attention is paid to the picturesque than was formerly the case, and the effects are becoming as numerous as they are pleasing. We should particularize New Haven, as one of those towns that has been thus embellished of late years, and there are other places of nearly equal size that might be mentioned as having the same claims to an improved taste. But to return to the great distinctive features between an ordinary American landscape and a similar scene in Europe. Of the artificial accessories it is scarcely necessary to say any more. One does not expect to meet with a ruined castle or abbey, or even fortress, in America; nor, on the other hand, does the traveller look for the forests of America, or that abundance of wood which gives to nearly every farm a sufficiency for all the common wants of life, on the plains and heights of the old world. Wood there certainly is, and possibly enough to meet the ordinary wants of the different countries, but it is generally in the hands of the governments or the great proprietors, and takes the aspect of forests of greater or less size that are well cared for, cleared and trimmed like the grounds of a park.

Germany has, we think, in some respects a strong resemblance to the views of America. It is not so much wanting in detached copses and smaller plantations of trees as the countries farther south and east of it, while it has less of the naked aspect in general that is so remarkable in France. Detached buildings occur more frequently in Germany than in France especially, and we might add also in Spain. The reader will remember that it is a prevalent usage throughout Europe, with the exception of the British Islands, Holland, and here and there a province in other countries, for the rural population to dwell in villages. This practice gives to the German landscape, in particular, a species of resemblance to what is ordinarily termed park scenery, though it is necessarily wanting in much of that expression which characterizes the embellishments that properly belong to the latter. With us this resemblance is often even stronger, in consequence of the careless graces of nature and the great affluence of detached woods. The distinguishing feature existing in the farm-house, fences and outbuildings. Of a cloudy day, a distant view in America often bears this likeness to the park, in a very marked degree, for then the graces of the scene are visible to the eye, while the defects of the details are too remote to be detected.

The mountain scenery of the United States, though wanting in grandeur, and in that wild sublimity which ordinarily belongs to a granite formation, is not without attractions that are singularly its own. The great abundance of forest, the arable qualities of the soil, and the peculiar blending of what may be termed the agricultural and the savage, unite to produce landscapes of extraordinary beauty and gracefulness. Vast regions of country possessing this character are to be found in almost all the old states, for after quitting the coast for a greater or less distance, varying from one to two hundred miles, the ranges of the Alleghanies interpose between the monotonous districts of the Atlantic shores and the great plains of the west. We are of opinion that as civilization advances, and the husbandman has brought his lands to the highest state of cultivation, there will be a line of mountain scenery extending from Maine to Georgia, in a north and south direction, and possessing a general width of from one to two hundred miles, from east to west, that will scarcely have a parallel in any other quarter of the world, in those sylvan upland landscapes,which, while they are wanting in the sublimity of the Alpine regions, share so largely in the striking and effective.

It is usual for the American to boast of his rivers, not only for their size and usefulness, but for their beauties. A thousand streams, that in older regions would have been rendered memorable, ages since, by the poet, the painter, art in every form, and the events of a teeming history, flow within the limits of the United States still unsung, and nearly unknown. As yet, something is ordinarily wanting, in the way of finish, along the banks of these inferior water-courses. But occasionally, in places where art has, as it might be, accidentally assisted nature, they come into the landscape with the most pleasing influence on its charms. In this respect, the peculiarity of the country is rather in a want of uniformity than in any want of material. To us, it would seem that all the northern states of America, at least, are far better watered than common, and that consequently they possess more of this species of beauty. As for the great streams, the largest, perhaps, have the least claims to high character in this respect in both the old and the new world. The Rhine is an exception, however, for it would be difficult to find another river of equal length and with the same flow of water, that possesses the same diversity of character or one so peculiar. At its source it descends from the high glaciers of the Alps a number of howling brooks, which forcing their way through the upper valleys, unite below in a straggling, rapid, but shallow stream, that finds its way into the lake of Constance, out of which it issues a compact, rapid river, imposing by its volume of water, rather than by its breadth, or any other advantage. Its cataracts, so celebrated in the old world, can scarcely claim to be the equal of the Cohoes, or many others of the secondary falls of this country, though the Rhine has always an abundance of water, which the Mohawk has not. On quitting Switzerland, this remarkable stream assumes many aspects, and decorates, beyond a doubt, as much landscape scenery as falls to the share of any other stream in the known world. We do not think it, however, in its best parts, equal to the Hudson in its whole length, though the characters of these two rivers are so very different as scarcely to admit of a fair comparison. Perhaps the most remarkable feature of the Rhine is its termination, for after embellishing and serving the purposes of such an extent of country in the very heart of Europe, it disappears, as it might be, in a number of straggling, uninteresting, turbid waters, among the marshes of Holland. This is a very different exit from that which characterizes the majestic flow of the Hudson into the Atlantic.

England has no great rivers to boast of, though she has a few of singular claims to notice, on account of the great flow of the tides and the vast amount of commerce that they bear on the bosom. The Thames, so renowned in history, is as uninteresting as possible, until it passes above the bridges of London, where it becomes an ordinary pretty sylvan stream.

The Seine, another river, familiar in name, at least, to every reader, has much higher claims than its neighbor of the British Islands, in the way of natural beauty. This stream, from Rouen to the Channel, is not without some very fine scenery, as well as possessing a very variant and interesting character, with both natural and artificial accessories, to say nothing of the historical, that draw largely on the attention.

Italy has many rivers that are celebrated in song or story, but not one, we think, that should rank high, on the ground of landscape beauty. Most of her streams are so dependent on the melting of the snows in the Apennines and Alps, as to be either howling torrents, or meagre, straggling pools. The Arno, the Po, the Adige, the Tiber, and all the other rivers of that peninsula, are obnoxious to these objections. Even the Tiber, which is navigable as high as Rome, for vessels of a light draft, is either a tranquil thread, or one of those noisy, turbid streams that overflow their banks and often appear at a loss to know in which direction to pour their waters.

The day is not distant, when America must possess a vast extent of territory of a character directly the reverse of that we have described in our mountain scenery, but which, nevertheless, will not be without a certain magnificence from its extent, productions and fertility. We allude to the great plains of the West; those which lie between the bases of the Alleghanies and the semi-sterile steppes that are known in this part of the world as the great prairies. Lombardy, teeming as she is, with population, vines, and all the productions of a fertile soil, in the possession of millions, sinks into insignificance before the vast plains that are destined to be her rivals in this quarter of the world. Perhaps New-York alone could furnish nearly as much of this character of country as is to be found in Upper Italy; for, stretching from the shores of Ontario towards the southern ranges of uplands, and as far east as Utica, is spread to the eye a vast extent of the most fertile plain, slightly relieved in places with a rolling surface of very respectable claims to natural beauty. We question if greater fertility is to be found in any part of the world, than is met with in the region last mentioned, though drainage and the other works of an advanced state of husbandry, are still much wanting to bring forth both its fertility and its beauties.

New-York, indeed, in the way of scenery, has very high claims to variety, gracefulness, and even grandeur, among the mountains of the counties bordering on Champlain. By grandeur, however, let there be no mistake, by receiving the term in any other than alimited sense. Any well delineated view of a high-class Swiss scene, must at once convince even the most provincial mind among us that nothing of the sort is to be found in America, east of the Rocky mountains. Nevertheless, the Adirondack has claims to a wild grandeur, which, if it do not approach magnificence, is of a character to impress a region with the seal of a very noble nature. The lovers of the picturesque sustain a great loss by means of the numerous lines of railroads that have recently come into existence. This is true of both Europe and America. In the course of time, it will be found that every where a country presents its best face towards its thoroughfares. Every thing that depends on art, naturally takes this aspect, for men are as likely to put on their best appearance along a wayside in the country as on the streets of a town. All that has been done, therefore, in past ages, in these particulars, is being deranged and in some instances deformed by the necessity of preserving levels, and avoiding the more valuable portions of a country, in order to diminish expense. Thus villages and towns are no longer entered by their finest passages, producing the best effects; but the traveller is apt to find his view limited by ranges of sheds, out-houses, and other deformities of that nature. Here and there, some work of art, compelled by necessity, furnishes a relief to this deformity. But on the whole, the recent system of railroads has as yet done very little towards adding much to the picturesque for the benefit of the traveller. Here and there is to be found an exception, however, to this rule; portions of the Erie railroad, and the whole of the Hudson River, as well as that along the Rhine, necessarily possessing the advantage of sharing in the sublimity and grace through which they pass. Time will, of course, remedy the defects of the whole arrangement; and a new front will be presented, as it may be, to the traveller throughout the civilized world. Whether human ingenuity will yet succeed in inventing substitutes for the smoke and other unpleasant appliances of a railroad train, remains to be seen; but we think few will be disposed to differ from us, when we say that in our view of the matter this great improvement of modern intercourse has done very little towards the embellishment of a country in the way of landscapes. The graceful winding curvatures of the old highways, the acclivities and declivities, the copses, meadows and woods, the half-hidden church, nestling among the leaves of its elms and pines, the neat and secluded hamlet, the farm-house, with all its comforts and sober arrangements, so disposed as to greet the eye of the passenger, will long be hopelessly looked for by him who flies through those scenes, which, like a picture placed in a false light, no longer reflects the genius and skill of the artist.

The old world enjoys an advantage as regards the picturesque and pleasing, in connection with its towns, that is wholly unknown, unless it may be in the way of exception, among ourselves. The necessity, in the middle ages, of building for defence, and the want of artillery before the invention of gunpowder, contributed to the construction of military works for the protection of the towns in Europe, that still remain, owing to their durable materials, often producing some of the finest effects that the imagination could invent to embellish a picture. Nothing of the sort, of course, is to be met with here, for we have no castles, have never felt the necessity of fortified towns, and had no existence at the period when works of this nature came within the ordinary appliances of society. On the contrary, the utilitarian spirit of the day labors to erase every inequality from the surface of the American town, substituting convenience for appearance. It is probable there is no one who, in the end, would not give a preference to these new improvements for a permanent residence; but it is not to be denied that so far as the landscape is concerned, the customs of the middle ages constructed much the most picturesque and striking collections of human habitations. Indeed, it is scarcely possible for the mind to conceive of objects of this nature, that are thrown together with finer effects, than are to be met with among the mountainous regions, in particular, of Europe. We illustrate one or two that are to be met with in the Apennines, and the Alps, and even in Germany, as proofs of what we say. The eye, of itself, will teach the reader, that Richmond and Boston, and Washington and Baltimore, and half-a-dozen other American towns that do possess more or less of an unequal surface, must yield the palm to those gloriously beautiful objects of the old world. When it is remembered, too, how much time has multiplied these last, it can be seen that there are large districts in the mountain regions of the other hemisphere, that enjoy this superiority over us, if superiority it can be called, to possess the picturesque, at the expense of the convenient. The imagination can scarcely equal the pictures of this nature that often meet the eye in the southern countries of Europe. Villages, with the chiselled outlines of castles, gray, sombre, but distinct, are often seen, perched on the summits of rocky heights, or adhering, as it might be, to their sides, in situations that are frequently even appalling, and which invariably lend a character of peculiar beauty to the view. There are parts of Europe in which the traveller encounters these objects in great numbers, and if an American, they never fail to attract his attention, as the wigwam and the bark canoe, and the prairie with lines of bisons, would catch the eye of a wayfarer from the old world. To these humbler mountain pictures, must be added many a castle and strong-hold, of royal or semi-royal origin, that are met with on thesummits of abrupt and rocky eminences farther north. Germany has many of these strong-holds, which are kept up to the present day, and which are found to be useful as places of security, as they are certainly peculiar and interesting in the landscape.

It has often been said by scientific writers, that this country affords many signs of an origin more recent than the surface of Europe. The proofs cited are the greater depths of the ravines wrought by the action of the waters following the courses of the torrents, and the greater and general aspect of antiquity that is impressed on natural objects in the other hemisphere. This theory, however, has met with a distinguished opponent in our own time. Without entering at all into the merits of this controversy, we shall admit that to the ordinary eye America generally is impressed with an air of freshness, youthfulness, and in many instances, to use a coarse but expressive term, rawness, that are seldom, if ever, met with in Europe. It might perhaps be easy to account for this by the labors of man, alone, though we think that natural objects contribute their full share towards deepening the picture. We know of no mountain summits on this side of the Atlantic that wear the hoary hues of hundreds that are seen on the other side of the water; and nearly everywhere in this country that the eye rests on a mountain-top, it encounters a rounded outline of no very decided tints, unless, indeed, it may actually encounter verdure. To our eye, this character of youthfulness is very strongly perceptible throughout those portions of the republic with which we are personally acquainted, and we say this without reference to the recent settlements, which necessarily partake of this character, but to the oldest and most finished of our own landscapes. The banks of the Hudson, for instance, have not the impress of time as strongly marked on their heights and headlands, and bays, and even mountains, as the banks of the Rhine; and we have often even fancied that this distinguishing feature between the old and new worlds is to be traced on nearly every object of nature or art. Doubtless the latter has been the principal agent in producing these effects; but it is undeniable that they form a leading point of distinction in the general character of the scenery of the two continents. As for England, it has a shorn and shaven aspect that reminds one of the husbandman in his Sunday's attire; for we have seen that island in February, when, owing to the great quantity of its grain and the prevalent humidity of the atmosphere, it really appeared to us to possess more verdure than it did in the subsequent July and August.

There is one feature in European scenery, generally, more prevalent, however, in Catholic than in other countries, to which we must allude before we close. The bourg, or town, with its gray castellated outlines, and possibly with walls of the middle ages, is, almost invariably, clustered around the high, pointed roofs and solemn towers of the church. With us, how different is the effect! Half a dozen ill-shaped, and yet pretending cupolas, and other ambitious objects, half the time in painted wood, just peer above the village, while the most aspiring roof is almost invariably that of the tavern. It may be easy enough to account for this difference, and to offer a sufficient apology for its existence. But to the observant lover of the picturesque the effect is not only unpleasant but often repulsive. No one of ordinary liberality would wish to interfere with freedom of conscience in order to obtain fine landscapes; but this is one of the hundred instances in which the thoughtful man finds reason to regret that the church, as it exists among us, is not really more Catholic.

To conclude, we concede to Europe much the noblest scenery, in its Alps, Pyrenees, and Apennines; in its objects of art, as a matter of course; in all those effects which depend on time and association, in its monuments, and in this impress of the past which may be said to be reflected in its countenance; while we claim for America the freshness of a most promising youth, and a species of natural radiance that carries the mind with reverence to the source of all that is glorious around us.

From the United Service Magazine

The ride from Gibraltar to San Roque is familiar to all the inhabitants of the rock, and notwithstanding that the soil, the natives, and their costume vary much from similar objects in England, and that the plants and scenery are totally of a foreign character, yet from the number of English people on the road, one finds it difficult to believe one's-self in Spain until on the other side of San Roque.

This last small town is prettily situated on a hill, about five miles from Gibraltar. On passing the drawbridge which crosses the ditch at the Landport point, we got on the isthmus which traverses the inundation, situated at the North Front of this isolated fortress, and which is the only avenue of access or egress. The approach to this is also guarded by two strong outposts. The last of these, called the old North Front, furnishes sentries which guard the intermediate posts between it and the Spanish lines. On arriving at the end of the isthmus, we crossed a place which is called the Neutral ground, and reached a small village garrisoned by a wing of a Spanish regiment, who are there stationed to intercept smugglers. On leaving the village there is no regular road, but those wishing to proceed to Spain have to ride or walk by the shore for a distance of about two miles, until they reach a plain, which is crossed by a road leading to a small village called Campo. This place is often resorted to by the gentry ofGibraltar, who find it much cooler during summer than their residences in the streets of the town. After passing this village, which had certainly little of interest about it, we rode by a circuitous road, generally hedged on each side by plants of the cactus and aloes, and but little wooded, till we reached San Roque.

Here we saw in miniature what may be called a specimen of a Spanish town; the windows at the lower story of the houses barred with cages of iron calledregas, which completely obstruct all entrance by that mode, rendering them in fact like jails. The streets paved with large stones, quite dry, and disposed so irregularly as to make them the most disagreeable to ride in that I ever witnessed. Then there was the small alameda, with its walks, and trees quite neat and regular; where the beauties of the rural town paced with their mantillas and fans: on the other side was a barrack, which contained a Spanish regiment, who were drilling and exercising when we arrived. These were swarthy-looking fellows, mostly young and undersized.

As we rode away from the town we descended by a rugged stony road, which was very rough, and in some places nearly precipitous. Our party consisted of four officers besides myself, two mules containing our clothes and provisions, and a guide and servant on horseback. We got packed up in panniers all the loose beer and cold meat, tea, coffee, sugar, biscuit, sausages, hams, and other edibles which we should require for a week's consumption, and did not find that we had at all exceeded our computation, for with the exception of eggs, fowls, milk, butter, chocolate, and indifferent wine, we could get nothing in the way of eating and drinking at the different villages we stopped at. Our cavalcade was consequently delayed very much by being obliged to keep with the mules. We went along this very rough and rugged stony track, which could scarcely be called a road, for about two miles; we then crossed some hills. The country for about three miles from San Roque was quite open.

Here it was that we arrived at a mountain pass, which was very thickly planted on each side with brushwood, shrubs, and fern. So thick and impervious was the cover for those who might choose to lie in ambush, that a band of many men, at least amounting to sixty, might have rested concealed quite close to the path which we rode on. I am not disposed to be credulous relative to stories which travellers tell on the subject of hairbreadth escapes and adventures; but, certainly in this country, more than any in Europe, there is presented a more continuous series of scenes which one's fancy might suppose calculated to be the resort of outlawed marauders or wandering bandits. I had heard numerous accounts of parties having been waylaid, and of the danger consequent upon travelling in Spain, and the disposition of the country people is so prone to exaggerate, that every day adds a fresh instance to the catalogue of incidents which those who listen to them hear recorded.

The nature of the scenery which we were passing through was such as to recall to our mind the spirited groups of Salvator Rosa's coloring, or the sketches so graphically described by Cervantes or Le Sage.

We had not ridden further than a few yards when two men rushed from the cover with their firelocks to their shoulders, and called out "Alto, alto." Their action, their dress, the tone which they used made me conclude that they were bandits, and I rode up to one of our party, the only one who was armed (who carried a pair of pistols in his saddlebags), and asked him to lend me one of them. He had not time to answer before one of the men approached me with his firelock to his shoulder, and said, in Spanish, "I can hit a sombrero at two hundred yards distance." Another of our party advised me to answer him civilly, for, he said, "I see four men from different quarters who have their firelocks levelled at you." On this I demanded of him if he wanted money, or wished for something to drink. He seemed more indignant at this supposition, and informed us that he and his party were carbineros or revenue officers, who were stationed there to intercept any smugglers who might be proceeding into Spain. He said that he would be obliged in any case to detain our mules, and that from what I had said he should be obliged to keep us prisoners until he heard from the Governor at Algeciras. Then the rest of his party all made their appearance, each of them armed with firelock and pistols, and having with them the mules belonging to one of the parties of officers who had been going to Ronda. After a deal of altercation, we rode back with them and decided upon the plan of sending two of our party to Algeciras to the Governor, to ask him relative to the state of the case. It was vexatious being delayed, but there was no help for it.

When the two officers started we were about twelve miles from Algeciras. We then rode through a wild country much wooded with shrubs, groves of oleanders, orange groves, hedges of grapes, and other exotics, which are so rare and so much prized at home, and, crossing two rivers, we reached the sea beach at some distance from Algeciras. The mode of crossing the river was by large movable boats which had pullies attached to their frames on deck, and ropes which were fastened to the beams on shore at one end, and at the other to some leathern thongs which the men fastened to their shoulders, and towing them on board, soon passed the boat over from one bank to the other. When we were on the beach, the leader of the party of carbineros fired his piece at a gull which passed and woundedhim, but the bird, who was hit in the wing, rested on the water.

We did not ride far before our two friends returned, and heartily welcome they were. They produced a paper signed by the Governor, a Spanish General at Algeciras, which ordered our instant liberation; they said that he was very indignant when he heard of our capture. The leader of the party of carbineros on this was satisfied, and gave up the pistols which he had captured from the officer who carried them, and bid us farewell. We then had to ride to San Roque, and on our way back, had much amusement in talking over our adventure. I was certainly very glad that we had offered no resistance to these people; but had we left our mules in their charge it would have been most inconvenient, and in fact I think scarcely safe. The party which preceded us had reason to be very thankful, for by our means they obtained safe carriage for their mules, which they would not have seen for some days, had it not been for our having come up with them. So we were obliged to take up our quarters for that night at the inn at San Roque, which was a nice clean place, and kept by an Englishman and his wife. It is altogether much more like an English house in its accommodation than a Spanish one, which, it is needless to add, is speaking much in its praise. In the evening at dinner the principal topic of conversation was this adventure of ours, and we heard some accounts of the modes of travelling in Spain, and the direful amount of smuggling which exists between its confines and Gibraltar, from an old inhabitant of the rock. He told us a story of his having been stopped, and having his horse taken from him, and being obliged to walk a number of miles. He never saw the horse again, and never heard a word of the robbers who stopped him, and yet he said that it happened at about six miles distance from San Roque.

The next morning the weather was certainly beautiful, and numerous parties came in from Gibraltar, to breakfast at San Roque, previous to their long ride to Gaucin, a distance of thirty miles. The merriment that prevailed, the novelty of the expected scenes, the beauty of the wild romantic country they were about to enter, the good spirits and freedom of manners of all, made every party seem exhilarated and happy. Some were dressed in the style of the Spanish Majos, and armed with pistols and daggers. The generality wore light jackets, sashes, and trousers: also the sombrero was very much in use. The Spanish masta, that most useful appendage to a traveller's equipment, was over most of the saddles. We were all enabled to rest confident in the assurance of not being molested or waylaid upon the road, as, being the regular day for visitors to proceed to Ronda, the authorities had posted soldiers in different parts of the road. We came up with and passed many groups of Spaniards. The men were dressed with short jackets, sometimes laced, and having a vast number of small buttons, large red sash, leggings with rows of buttons all the way down on each side, and boltinas or leathern hose worn open. They all wore the sombrero, and most of them were armed with firelocks, slung from their shoulders. The colored mantas, as usual, were strapped on the saddles, in order to render the riding easy, to serve as a cloak in the event of rain, and to answer for bed-clothes on their arrival at the Fonda, where they were going to sleep. The ladies of the Spanish parties were mounted either on mules or barricos seated on cushions, which were strapped on pads, placed on the animals with two cross sticks on the shoulder and two on its crupper. The ladies all wore mantillas, and with the exception of the number of petticoats which they invariably wear, their dress did not vary much from that of English country people. We passed through a broken hilly country until we reached the cork-wood—that forest which stretches for about ten miles from east to west, a most picturesque spot, composed principally of cork-trees and some orange groves. At about ten miles from San Roque we arrived at the Bocea de Leones, that most dangerous pass, where the country was wild and the scenery romantic. There were stationed here some Spanish cavalry who guarded the pass. They were all fine able-bodied men, mounted on strong black horses; they wore blue double-breasted coats, buff belts, jack-boots, and large cocked hats. Past the cork-wood the country was broken and hilly, thickly planted with shrubs and evergreens; reeds and brushwood were also numerous. After this we got into a valley which was well cultivated, and the plantations lay thickly studded with oleanders and wild roses, and we saw frequently a white plant resembling the myrtle. The grounds had a gay and fresh appearance. When we were passing one of the fields where the laborers were at work we saw the curious manner in which the lower order of Spaniards eat—their mess ofgaypachowas in a large bowl, which was placed in the centre of a circle formed by about sixty men, and each supplied with a spoon; they then dipped the spoon into this capacious bowl, one after another, in regular routine, until the food was finished.

We crossed about twelve different streams in going through this valley, and soon after passing the last, we came to an orange grove, through which the ride was agreeable. The delicious fruit was in abundance, loading the trees on each side of the way, when we arrived at the foot of the hill on which Gaucin is situated, and had an ascent of nearly three miles, which was winding and rugged before we reached the road leading into the town. The difficulty of the road, the nearly impassable ascent of the cliffs, the circuitous track of the route, made it a matter of surprise tous that a town such as this we were approaching should have been built on a site where the supply of almost any articles of merchandise was so inconvenient. Groups of hundreds of children lined the passes calling out to us incessantly, "Oh tio om cherito." We entered the town and were long before we could accommodate ourselves with a night's lodging, which however at last we managed to procure at the private house of a man who called himself a captain in the Spanish army. It was very uncomfortable, although perhaps the best that could be had in the town, and they charged exorbitantly. The town is most picturesquely situated upon a lofty height. After our long ride, which was over such a rough and broken country, we did not feel much disposed to saunter about, but as the evening was far advanced we stayed within doors. We procured merely the means of cooking, and milk, eggs, and fowl; but the people made themselves very agreeable, and we had great amusement and laughter. We set off early the next morning and commenced by descending the lofty mound upon which the town is built, by as tortuous and harassing a path as that by which we approached it. However, after we had proceeded about two miles a vista of as romantic and pleasing a kind as any I had ever seen in any other country opened before me. In the continuous range of hills which lined the road, the vineyards covered both the sides and tops for several miles around, and the valleys in the distance were thickly planted with chestnut woods: further on, the vast range of the ronda sierra lined the horizon.

The outline of these mountains was bold and their scenery grand. Their sides and summits were studded throughout with towns, embosomed in the vast woods of chestnuts. They loomed beautiful and picturesque in the different intervals, and it wanted only water to render it an Elysium upon earth. After keeping this in view for several miles, and through a narrow and precipitous track, we came to a line of mountain scenery where the hills were altogether barren, except where, far down their sides, the corn fields were planted, where the road was much worse. We saw another town which went by the name of Gaucin also, and had a large redoubt to defend it, on its right flank; then the route circled round the mountains towards Attogate. We could not take our horses out of a foot pace, and very often I dismounted to lead mine down the craggy rocks. No horses but those shod in the Spanish fashion could manage to get through these descents. Towards the entrance of Attogate it was rather more uneven and dangerous, and I heard that one of the horsemen of the party that preceded us had been thrown. We passed through the miserable village, which was as wretched as any thing that I had ever seen even in Ireland, and went on still by a mountain path, and round by lofty hills, for about three miles. We then got sight of a very spacious plain, like an immense amphitheatre; to the west and to the east were the ranges of the Ronda hills, and to the north, as we approached, was a precipitous cliff of about two thousand feet in height, upon the summit of which was situated the town of Ronda. This seemed at the distance like a large perpendicular mass of earth. From the first place where we viewed it until our entrance to the town, the road or path was even more rugged than that which we traversed during most part of the day.

We entered the old town and passed the remains of many Moorish ruins, through a stony street, with houses built like most of the Spanish ones, and came to a large bridge which crossed a ravine through which the river flows. This bridge is at a height of about one thousand feet from the level of the river. We then passed through the plaza and came to the street where we found a lodging. As the bull fights were not to commence until four P.M., the next day, we had a little leisure to look about us. In the streets all the crowded shops showed that an unusual influx of strangers had come to visit the place. We saw some splendid houses; one I particularly remarked, which belonged to the Marquis de Salvittierra; its lofty gateway of stone covered with devices and figures in alto-relievo, reminded me, with the motto inscribed over the summit of its arch, of the entrance to an Eastern palace. My companion, who was taking a sketch of it, after he had finished his labor was standing with me admiring this arch, which had evidently been the work of the Saracen invaders, when we saw two ladies in mantillas, both daughters of the late Marquis, who were walking towards its entrance. We told them in Spanish that we were foreigners—Englishmen, who had come to Ronda to visit it during the time of the fair, and in place of being annoyed at our seeming forwardness in thus addressing them, they invited us into the house. We went through corridors, futios, and up the staircase, which was ornamented with some tolerable paintings, and entered into one of the salas, or large rooms. When we arrived the two graceful girls, one of whom was about twenty and the other about sixteen, stood with their arms folded before them, and their head slightly bowing. They had each large fans in their hands. Their dress was stylish; their slippers beautiful and small; their black lace mantillas waving round their hair; their dress completely of black, made their figures seem elegant and their countenances interesting. Their eyes had the deep languor of the southern aspect, more than the playful loveliness which frequently is seen with those of their age. Their features were regular, and their teeth, which they showed in smiling to us when we entered, were of dazzling whiteness. I recollected the Spanish words used in salutation, viz.: "A los fies di usted mi senorita," and on hearing it in the foreign accent it wasgreat amusement to them, as they repeated it from one to the other. We conversed on various subjects relative to the town, the scenery, the approaching feasts, the bull fights, and after a little time took our leave, charmed with their agreeable and pleasing conversation. All the halls, corridors, and chambers of this palace were adorned with pictures, but the rooms were furnished rather scantily, as seems the Spanish custom.

In the evening we went to the Alameda, where we saw numerous groups of Spanish beauties promenading. Certainly no female figures which I have ever met with look better than the Spanish women. Their walk has been often noticed by different writers, and yet I have never read any description that does it justice. It is not the least like the affected wriggling gait of the French women or the frigid stride of the English, but a light, graceful step combining elegance and ease. They all seem to walk in the same way, and as it forms a great part of their daily occupation, it is no wonder that they should excel in it. Their language of the fans is another peculiarity of the country. I was shown it by a lady; it is a series of signs by which a lady lets the man who looks at her know what her wishes are, either of disdain, reproof, or encouragement, and is well known and recognized. I should recommend every gentleman who wishes to stay in the country to learn it.

We met our two charming friends, the Spanish Marquis's daughters, and walked with them on the Alameda until it was dark. The grounds are prettily laid out, and the view from the western height which overlooks the precipitous descent which I spoke of, viewed from a distance, is truly superb. There the winding stream and the country which bounds it embrace the foot of the perpendicular declivity.

The next day we heard nothing but preparations for the grand show, which was to take place in a circus exactly opposite the lodging we had got into. The Spanish cavalry, dressed in yellow coats and large jack-boots, lined the streets and played their band in front of our windows. All orders and classes, young and old, dressed in their gayest costume, were seen going about the town. The persons who lived in our house, who were a Spanish officer and his family, all got tickets of admission which we paid for. The box or partition which we hired, we took in common with the officers of another regiment, who had also ridden over from Gibraltar to witness the bull fights.

The arena when we entered was surrounded by a concourse of about 1,500 people, many of whom were ladies, but the majority of the meaner orders. The amphitheatre or plaza, as it is called by the Spaniards, was about the same size as that at Milan. The architecture had, however, no resemblance to that of the Italian city. The diameter was about 200 feet. Various writers have noticed the interest which the Spaniards take in these sights; and the multitude which surrounded the amphitheatre, seated either in the boxes or standing in the tiers, which were level with the arena of combat, all seemed eagerly expectant of the arrival of the different actors in the scene.

About a quarter past four in the afternoon, a trumpet sounded, and on the opening of the side doors, five picadors entered, followed at a few paces by three mules abreast, drawing a pole like a swingle tree, with a chain attached to it. They were mounted each on a sorry, miserable hack-horse. They were dressed in yellow jackets, covered with beads of silver and all sorts of ornaments; broad white sombreros, decked all round with ribbons, yellow chamois leather trowsers, stuffed out with cork and cotton, and coated inside the leather with iron plates. After the mules with their car, came the three matadors, in order. Their dress was perfectly superb; it was a close fitting majos dress, ornamented with silver lacing and beading. The names of these matadors were Montes, Espesa, and Ximenes. The first wore a beautiful rose-colored tunic, and his hair tied behind with ribbons, and crimson-colored leggings, &c. The dress of the second was of the same form, only varying in color, being all pink. The dress of the third was also the same in cut, but of a black color. These three, as well as the chulos, wore silk stockings. The chulos followed next in succession, and were dressed similar to the matadors, but not so grandly. They, as well as the matadors, all carried a large cloth, of silk texture, which was either red, blue, or yellow. The chulos were about five in number. They all advanced across the arena to where the Alcalde was seated, whilst the trumpets sounded, and as soon as these ceased to blow, the mules with their car left the arena by the same door as that by which they arrived, and the remainder of the procession dispersed to the different parts of the circus. After a lapse of two or three minutes, the centre door opened, and a furious black bull rushed in the most impetuous manner into the circus, and charged the different picadors. The first was not hurt, but the second and third picador had their horses ripped open. This was really a most revolting sight, for even after these cruel inflictions upon the poor horses, and when their entrails were hanging out, the picadors who rode them goaded them still onwards. The attendants in the circus joined in this act of cruelty. I do not think that Byron was far wrong in saying of these sights—

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