CHAPTER III.. First Journey in Europe.

FIRST JOURNEY IN EUROPE.

1838-1839.

It has been deemed expedient to give a somewhat fuller narrative of Dr. Gray’s first visit to Europe than of his subsequent ones. It was then that he formed many personal acquaintances which ripened into lifelong friendships, and received his first impressions of scenes in nature and art which were to become very familiar. His letters home took the form of a very detailed journal, and it is in extracts from this journal, supplemented by letters to other friends, that this narrative consists.

JOURNAL.

ADELPHI HOTEL, LIVERPOOL, 12 M., December 1, 1838.

We came up the Channel with a gentle breeze, and anchored at half-past nine. At ten minutes past ten I set my feet on the soil (or rather the stone) of Old England. We were very fortunate in our ship, having made our voyage in twenty-one days; while the England (in which, you may remember, I once had intended to sail), which left New York on the first of November, came to anchor just ten minutes before us (thirty days). The Garrick, which sailed on the twenty-fifth of October, arrived here only on Saturday. I must close this letter early in the morning....

Evening.--This short English day has been occupied in good part in getting my luggage from the ship and through the custom house. I sallied out a little past nine in the morning; went first of all to a tailor and ordered a coat (which is to be finished and delivered this evening); then dispatched my letters for home by the United States; found our own ship just going into dock (what docks they are! but as we have always plenty of water we do not so much need them in New York); arranged my luggage, and then proceeded all hands to the custom house (a large new building, rather imposing in appearance), where I was detained until past three o’clock. I had fifteen pounds of books to pay duty upon (fifteen shillings), and nothing to complain of as to the manner of the examination.... After dinner, visited the market, which on Saturday evening is full and busy. It is about twice the size of all the New York markets put together, and a sight well worth seeing. I examined everything scrutinizingly, but will not trouble you with my observations....

Sunday evening, December 2.--Went this morning to the chapel of the school for the blind. The chanting and singing was very fine, and the sight an interesting one. But to me the solemnity of the church service is by no means increased by being chanted; heard a tolerable sermon. In the evening heard Dr. Raffles. His chapel is a gloomy structure externally, but very neat and comfortable within. Dr. R. preached the first of a series of discourses “On the most remarkable events in the early history of the Israelites,” commencing with the bondage in Egypt, which was the subject this evening; a very good sermon, delivered in an impressive (but rather pompous) manner. I am very anxious to get to Glasgow. I have been living in society, for the last three weeks, by no means to my taste, and most of them are still here. It is not very pleasant to spend a Sabbath alone at a hotel; but I suppose I must needs become accustomed to it.

I was not fully aware, until yesterday, how much cause we had for thankfulness at our safe arrival. The gales which we encountered off the Irish coast have caused a great number of shipwrecks, and it is feared that many lives are lost. The England escaped most narrowly.

Feather’s Inn, Chester, Monday evening.--I have, my dear friend, the singular pleasure of writing and addressing to you another leaf of my journal from a city which was founded, according to the directory which lies before me, “in the year, 917 B.C., at which time Jehosaphat and Ahab governed Israel and Judah,”--the only walled and fortified city in England of which the walls are yet in a state of preservation. The city was rebuilt by Julius Cæsar, and was an important Roman station; and there yet remain many vestiges of Roman occupancy; a hypocaust is still to be seen under the hotel in which I am now staying,--so it is said, for I have not yet seen it, having arrived here after dark. But I expect to be very much interested in this queer old town, for which I owe thanks to Dr. Torrey, since it was his recommendation that induced me to come here. I have scampered about the streets this evening, bought some lithographic views, studied the directory, and am prepared for a busy day between Chester and Eaton Hall, should I live till to-morrow. But it is time I should tell you briefly how I got here. This morning soon after breakfast I walked out to the Botanic Garden, delivered a note of introduction to Shepherd, who received me rather politely, inquired after Dr. Torrey, and showed me through the greenhouses. The establishment is not where it was when Dr. T. was here, but was removed further out of town, two or three years ago. The garden occupies eleven acres; the site is well chosen; but being newly planted there is of course little to see. The hothouses are very well, but not extensive; the collections not particularly interesting, except for some old plants that have belonged to the establishment many years.

I took my cloak and umbrella (necessary articles these!), and at 3 P.M. crossed the Mersey in a small uncomfortable black steamboat, about as much inferior to our Hoboken or Brooklyn ferry-boats as a Barnegat wood-schooner is to a packet-ship; and at Birkenhead took an outside seat for Chester (ten miles), though it rained often and blew hard and cold; had a good view of the country until about five miles from Chester, when it grew dark; saw little villages, farm-houses and cottages, cows, etc., all of which is much more interesting to me than the smoky town of Liverpool. I have seen several little things that are new to me. Let us see what I can recollect at the moment. Hedges of holly--those I am pleased with, particularly when sheared and clipped. The prettiest fence is a stone wall over-topped with a close hedge of holly. Ivy in profusion covering great walls, trees, etc., etc.,--we have nothing to compare with it; a flock of rooks,--very like crows, but larger; an English stagecoach,--more of that anon; a coach and four with postilions,--fine. But I must stop here.

P. S.--Liverpool again, Tuesday evening.--I have accomplished a good day’s work to-day. Rose early, made the circuit of the city of Chester on the walls before breakfast, explored all about the town; visited the cathedral, walked to Eaton Hall, four miles and back again; and then, finding there was no coach in the morning until nine o’clock, took an evening coach, and returned here ten P.M., much gratified, but a little fatigued; so good-night. A. G.

GLASGOW (WOODSIDE CRESCENT), December 12, 1838.

I do not just now feel like a traveler. I have been for almost a week, if not at home, yet the next thing to it, in the truly hospitable mansion of our good friends here, where I was received with that cordial kindness which you, having experienced before me, can well understand. Indeed I owe it chiefly to you, who I assure you are not forgotten here. Ecce signum. Both Sir William and Lady Hooker call me, oftener than anything else, by the name of Dr. Torrey. I answer to the name promptly, and am much flattered to be your representative.

I have just stuck fast here, busy among the plants from morning till night. I have been out of the house but twice (except to church on Sunday): once a walk into town with Mr. Hooker, Senior (kind and amiable old man, who insists upon taking me about, and showing me whatever he showed you), and once with Sir William to the Botanic Garden. I am anxious to improve every moment here, where there is so much to be done and such ample means. Arnott has written, inviting me to spend some time with him, which I hope to do, visiting him from Edinburgh, there being now no coach to Stirling or Kinross, from Glasgow direct.... Sir William has given me many interesting plants; we have settled many points of interest. He had our new Nuttallia all figured for the Supplement to “Flora Borealis Americana” as a new genus, and we have recently found it among plants from the Snake country, which, with Douglas’s and other Californian plants, he is publishing as a supplement to “Beechey’s Voyage.” I begged him to adopt the name Nuttallia. He offered at once to publish it as of Torrey and Gray, but I would not consent to this, and I am sure you would agree with me. He has in different ways a great share of Nuttall’s so far,--Pickeringia for instance (which is a shrubby Baptisia), Kentrophyta, etc. I shall be kept here ten days longer, I think; no one else abroad is so rich in North American botany or takes so much interest in it. I am requested to study all his Sandwich Island plants (including my own parcel here), and make an article for the “Annals of Natural History” while here. I think I will, if on looking over the parcels I think I can do the subject justice. Can’t Knieskern safely make the excursion to Sante Fé in the coming spring? If he can, and will work hard, he will make $1000 clear of expenses! All the collectors make money. Hooker is very anxious about it. I hope to find the fifty copies of “Flora” at Wiley & Putnam’s on reaching London. I hope you have seen the partner at New York on the subject, and that the “Flora” will be advertised fully in London before I reach there. But I must close. Don’t fail to write very often. Sir William and Lady Hooker and all the family, old, young, and middle-aged, all send their most affectionate regards. I sit over against your portrait at dinner. It is very like you....

TO JOHN TORREY.

KINROSS, Wednesday evening, January 2, 1839.

My journal will inform you of all my movements and doings, and also of the arrival of your welcome letter by the Liverpool, while I remained at Sir William’s. I am much distressed at the thought of your anticipated engagements with Princeton, and wish very much that you could have felt yourself warranted in delaying until after the expected meeting of the regents of the Michigan university, which was to take place on the 10th of December. While there is the slightest hope remaining I do not like to relinquish the thought that we may hereafter work together and live near each other. The fear that this may not be the case has of late rendered me much more anxious to obtain books and specimens, in order that I may get on by myself in case I shall be compelled to work alone. I need not attempt to tell you how much I have enjoyed my visit to Hooker. He is truly one of Nature’s noblemen. We worked very hard for twenty days, and I would have been glad to have stayed as much longer; for as yet I have looked into few books. All the collections of Carex placed in Boott’s hands have been returned to Hooker, and I assisted him in arranging them and selecting for his herbarium; in the course of which I have obtained specimens of nearly all the Northern and Oregonian ones, including one or two which have come in recently, of which I have, when there were duplicates, specimens also for you. The return numbers of those sent you were in many cases strangely misplaced, and Boott has often been sadly confounded. He has studied the genus very critically, hypercritically I may say; for he makes new species where we should think there were too many already. We went over Hooker’s Grasses in the same way, and I have obtained numerous specimens and much useful information which we shall presently require. On Christmas day Joseph Hooker selected from a large Van Dieman’s Land collection a suite of specimens as far as they have been studied (to Calycifloræ), in which there is in almost every instance a specimen for each of us....

In looking over the recent collections from the Snake country, and Douglas’s Californian, I recognized a great portion of Nuttall’s, but by no means all. There was a single specimen of Kentrophyta in excellent fruit; another of Astrophia, with neither flower or fruit, collected long ago by Scouler and mixed in with a species of Hosackia, to which genus I am not sure that it is not nearly allied. Nuttall has made too many Hosackias! The copy of “Flora,” with my notes, has gone round to London, so that I cannot now communicate many curious things noted in the second part. But how did we overlook the Hosackia crassifolia twice over! I am glad you have the fruit of Chapmannia. I am a little afraid of Stylosanthes, of which there is a sort of monograph by Vogel in the current volume of the “Linnæa;” but no plurifoliate ones appear. Hooker has a curious new genus of Chenopodiaceæ, from the Rocky Mountains, figured for the “Icones,” which he wishes to call Grayia! I am quite content with a Pig-weed; and this is a very queer one.

At Glasgow, although my stay was prolonged to twenty days, I was unable in that time to accomplish all I wished with Hooker; and you may be sure we lost no time, and that I could spare very little to visit those objects of interest passing by. I did not omit, however, as you may well suppose, to visit the High Church (the old Cathedral), where I spent an interesting hour, having contrived to go there alone that I might enjoy myself in my own way. From this I visited the new cemetery, which occupies the summit of a hill adjacent to and overlooking the Cathedral. On the very summit, raised on a tall column, is a colossal figure of old John Knox in the attitude of preaching, but ever and anon he seems to cast a scowling look down upon the Cathedral, as if he were inclined to make another attempt to demolish its walls. And well he might, for if what I hear be true, I fancy he would find the preaching now heard within its walls almost as destitute of savor as when the shrine of the Virgin Mary occupied its place in the chapel which bears her name. The Cathedral is now undergoing some repairs; the seats, etc., for the church which occupied the nave are taken away, so that the fine nave presents nearly the original appearance. But the crypt, said to be the finest in the kingdom, is now closed and the key in the possession of an architect at Edinburgh, so that I could not obtain admittance. It was in this place, perchance you may recollect, that the first meeting of Rob Roy with Osbaldistone took place. My Scotch reminiscences have been greatly revived to-day. To-day I have for the first time seen and tasted--only tasted--the two Scotch national dishes, viz., singed sheep’s head and a haggis!

I had arranged to leave Glasgow on the morning after Christmas, when Sir William insisted on my staying at least over Wednesday to sit for my portrait! I contrived, however, to sit on Tuesday (Christmas day), when I was done in about four hours, in the same style as Sir William’s other botanical portraits, and with so much success that it was unanimously proclaimed to be a most striking likeness; in fact the most successful of all the artist’s attempts are said to be this and that of Dr. Torrey, by whose side, it seems, I am destined to be suspended!--a compliment with which I may well feel highly gratified. I believe it is a capital likeness.

I dined out only once at Glasgow, at the house of Mr. Davidson, a very rich don who has made all his money in business here.

Late in the day I went into town to secure a place in the early coach for Stirling and also a bed for the night, as well as to select some little Christmas presents for the Misses Hooker. In the evening Sir William had several friends to dinner, and soon after the breaking up of the evening party I took my leave of these kind friends with no small regret; my contemplated visit of ten days has been prolonged to just twice that number. And now, as we have fairly bid adieu to the old year, I must also bid good-by to you for the present, wishing you, not as the mere compliment of the season, but with all my heart and soul,--a happy New Year. The last New Year I well remember; several of its predecessors also I have had the pleasure of spending with you. I pray God we may be preserved and have a happy meeting before another new year comes.

JOURNAL.

KINROSS, Wednesday Evening, January 2, 1839.

I left Glasgow at seven o’clock A.M. on the morning of the 26th December, on the top of a stage-coach bound for Stirling, so famous in song and story,--distant about thirty miles from Glasgow. I arrived about half past ten, in the midst of a heavy rain.

On leaving Stirling for Perth, I took an inside place, as the storm still continued, but it shortly cleared up, and I rode on the outside nearly the whole journey. The only place worth noticing, or rather which I have time to notice, through which we passed was Dumblane, which is just one of those dirty Scotch villages which defy description. If “Jessie the flower of Dumblane” lived in one of these comfortless and wretched hovels I’ll warrant her charms are much overpraised in the song. Here I saw for the first time a genuine ruin; that of the large and once important Cathedral, founded in 1142. During the short-lived establishment of Episcopacy in Scotland I think that the good Leighton was for a time rector of Dumblane. Just beyond Dumblane we passed the field of Sheriff-muir, and beyond this, at the little village of Ardoch, I passed, without being aware at the time, the finest and most entire Roman camp in Britain; we passed some fine country-seats on the road; had a long way the distant Grampian Hills, on which “my father fed his flocks,” in full view; and somewhat late in a fine moonlight evening, I arrived at Perth. As the stage which passed Arlary left Perth at nine o’clock in the morning, and I could not afford to spend a day here, I of course saw little of this famous town.... A pleasant ride brought me to Arlary at eleven o’clock A.M., and Arnott was by the roadside awaiting my arrival. I was sorry to learn that he is not a general favorite among his brother botanists; but although most of them possess greater advantages, he has but one superior in Great Britain, and in most departments very few equals. He received me with great kindness, and I have spent a few days with him very pleasantly indeed. He is a hearty, good fellow, and improves vastly on acquaintance. I was exceedingly pleased with Mrs. Arnott, who is exceedingly amiable and lively. On Sunday it stormed terribly, so that we were unable to leave the house. On Tuesday I dined with Mr. and Mrs. Arnott, Mr. Wemyss, the clergyman of the parish, another clergyman, etc., at Mr. Barclay’s, Arnott’s father-in-law, about six miles from Arlary. About one o’clock to-day, taking leave of Mrs. A. I rode with Arnott to Kinross, and leaving Arnott to write some letters at the hotel in the mean time, I took a boat to Loch Leven Castle,--the prison of the lovely and ill-fated Mary Queen of Scots....

On returning to the hotel I found that Arnott had picked up the dominie of his parish, and had our dinner in readiness. The expected coach arrived soon after, but was crowded. I am consequently obliged to wait for the mail which passes about two o’clock in the morning, and by which, if I am so fortunate as to obtain a seat, I may expect to reach Edinburgh before daybreak.

WATERLOO HOTEL, EDINBURGH, Thursday evening, January. 3, 1839.

This is my first day in Auld Reekie; and my first business, on sitting down by my quiet and comfortable fireside, shall be to give you a brief account of this day’s work. After taking a reasonable modicum of tea I spent the whole of last evening at Kinross in writing, until two o’clock, at which hour the mail-coach punctually made its appearance; and there was fortunately room inside. We drew up at the post office at Edinburgh at half past six in the morning (raining as usual). I took possession of a very comfortable, even elegant room, very different from the six feet by nine bedrooms of most hotels. This is the finest hotel I have yet seen; the Adelphi at Liverpool is not to be mentioned in comparison. I threw myself on the bed and slept for an hour or two. On waking I drew up the curtains of my windows, and had all at once a magnificent view of this picturesque city, which startled me. From descriptions and a few prints I have somewhere seen I find I had formed a very correct view of this city, as far as it went. It is the finest town I have seen or expect soon to see. It owes much of its beauty to its peculiar site, and to the manner in which the old town acts as a foil to the new. Immediately after breakfast I sallied forth, walked down the street, uncertain which of my letters of introduction I should first attempt to deliver; decided for Greville; so I crossed the North Bridge, which is thrown not over a river but over a part of the town, into the old town, crossed High Street, passed the huge block of buildings occupied by the university, plain and heavy without, but the spacious court within very imposing; and a few minutes’ walk brought me to Dr. Greville’s residence, which looks in front upon a large public square, and on the other the green fields extend up almost to the house,--a complete rus in urbe. Dr. Greville received me very kindly, and seemed well pleased to receive Dr. Torrey’s letter; made many affectionate inquiries, and urged me to stay with him while I remained in town. I was predetermined to decline all invitations of this kind in Edinburgh, but found I could give no reasons for doing so that would not seem strange. Dr. Greville said he well knew I should be obliged to stay either with him or Dr. Graham, who would never let me off; so, as I thought Dr. Greville would prove the most useful and edifying acquaintance, I accepted his invitation and promised to send my luggage sometime to-morrow. We set out to call on Professor Graham; walked over into the New Town, the squares, rows, terraces, and crescents all very fine; called at Professor G.’s, who was as usual out; left Dr. Torrey’s letter and my own card. Left to myself again, after promising to meet Dr. Greville at dinner at the house of a friend of his, I directed my steps to the Castle, which, crowning a high cliff much like that of Stirling, nearly or quite perpendicular except on one side, is visible from almost every part of the city.... Walked far away to Inverleith Terrace to leave my letters for Mr. Nicoll; returned, dressed for dinner, passed an agreeable humdrum evening at a small family party; returned to the hotel, read two American newspapers (little news), found a good fire in my room, and sat down to make these desultory notes. As to all the rest of what I have seen I may have more to say another day. Good-night!

ST. GEORGE’S SQUARE, 12 M., January 4, 1839.

Before I retire to rest I must hastily and very briefly record my doings to-day, just by way of keeping in good habits; as I am engaged to breakfast at an early hour with Dr. Graham I must soon go to bed. Rose at half past nine (recollect I had not slept the previous night),--a snowstorm. Sight-seeing being out of the question, went to the university, just in time to hear the latter part of Dr. Hope’s lecture (Light Carburetted Hydrogen and Safety Lamp); fine-studied and rather formal manner,--did not wear his gown or ruffles at the wrist! Experiments few but rather neat. In cutting off flame with wire gauze he varied the experiment in a way I had not previously seen, viz., by throwing a jet of ether upon the gauze, which burnt below but did not kindle above,--a very pretty effect. He looks to be not above sixty-five, although he must be ten years over that age. Next heard Professor Forbes, a handsome man of very elegant appearance; a most elegant and lucid lecturer; delivered my note of introduction from Professor Silliman; received me very kindly, but I was obliged to leave at once to hear a lecture from Professor Wilson, the famous Christopher North, one of the most extraordinary men living, very eccentric, a gifted genius, and a man of the most wonderful versatility of powers. The subject to-day was the Association of Ideas. The lecture was rather striking, original in manner, with a few flights of that peculiar eloquence which you would expect from Christopher North. Next heard Dr. Monro (Anatomy); very prosy; the class behaved shockingly, even for medical students! Lastly I heard Professor Jameson a stiff, ungainly, forbidding-looking man, who gave us the most desperately dull, doleful lecture I ever heard. It was just like a copious table of contents to a book,--just about as interesting as reading a table of contents for an hour would be; I may add just as instructive! Dined in a quiet way with Dr. Pardie, a young physician to whom I brought a letter from James Hogg; his wife is a cousin of James; went from the table to the college to hear a botanical lecture from Professor Graham; returned to tea and spent the evening. I found I had quite unexpectedly met with profitable acquaintance, as Dr. and Mrs. Pardie were active and ardent Christians, of the Baptist persuasion, and people of a very delightful spirit. They were well acquainted with Mr. Cheever of Salem, who spent some time in Edinburgh previous to his journey to Palestine. I passed a very pleasant evening, and promised to call on them again before leaving town. Returned in the midst of a violent snowstorm to Dr. Greville’s, where I am now domesticated, having sent up my baggage from the hotel.

Saturday evening.--Rose this morning at half past seven; and at half past eight, according to engagement, went over to the other side of the town with Dr. Greville, to breakfast with Dr. Graham, and then visit the Botanical Garden (deep snow). We looked about the garden, or rather the greenhouses, until afternoon; much gratified with the splendid collections; but the Sabbath draws nigh, and I cannot go on to tell you more about it now. Called on Mr. Nicoll on my return; made a provisional engagement to meet him at breakfast on Monday and examine his sections of woods. Ran about the streets; left a note at the house of Arnott’s brother, to make arrangements (as we have done) for visiting Parliament House, etc., on Monday; returned to Greville’s, dressed for dinner, and looked over books, etc., until Professor Graham and Dr. Balfour, secretary of the Botanical Society, arrived; dined; passed a pleasant evening; after family worship had a little conversation with Dr. Greville, retired to my room, and now, as I am at the bottom of the page and my watch says ten minutes to twelve,--to bed. Adieu.

Monday evening.--Two days have passed since I have taken up my pen to communicate to you my little diary. I still remain domesticated at Dr. Greville’s, where I am received with the greatest kindness, and am as happy as I can be away from home. I like Dr. G. and family much, there is so much true Christian feeling and simplicity. Dr. G. seems much to regret that he was unable to meet Dr. Torrey in Edinburgh. Yesterday was the first Sabbath of the new year, and I heard two sermons adapted to the season; one in the morning, in an Episcopal chapel (the one to which this family belong) from Mr. Drummond, the text being the latter clause of Hebrews viii. 13; a most excellent, faithful, and godly sermon. In the afternoon I occupied a seat Dr. Greville was so kind as to secure for me in the Old Greyfriars (Scotch) Church, which is so crowded that without this precaution you can hardly expect to get into the church when Dr. Guthrie preaches. He is the most striking preacher I ever heard. I could not help comparing him with Whitfield. The text was the first clause of Eccles. ii. 11. I dare not attempt to give you any idea of the discourse. I wish you could have heard it. In this church-yard the remains of the early martyrs of Scotland repose, not far from the Grassmarket, where they were mostly offered up. I stood upon the very spot to-day where they suffered. We had a terrible wind all last night, which, with the rain, carried off nearly all the snow. The morning was so stormy that I could not fulfill my conditional engagement to breakfast with Mr. Nicoll and look at his curiosities. So I repaired to the university at ten; heard Sir Charles Bell, the professor of surgery,--a decent lecturer, but not remarkable. At eleven I heard the celebrated Dr. Chalmers, the professor of divinity. The old man has a heavy, strongly-marked Scotch countenance, which, however, brightens very much when he is engaged in his discourse. His manner is rather inelegant and his dialect broad Scotch and peculiar. But the matter is so rich that he carries all before him. Every word is full of thought, and he occasionally rose to a very powerful eloquence. He is much beloved, and is considered by all parties, perhaps, as the strong man of Scotland. The subject of his lecture this morning was the advantage (and the abuse) of Scripture criticism. It was a treat to hear him. He paid a high compliment, in the course of his remarks, to our Moses Stuart.

The weather growing by this time more tolerable, I walked about town,--visited the Parliament House, the Library of the Writers to the Signet; passed through the Grassmarket, returned here, looked at plants with Dr. Greville; dined; received a parcel from Sir William Hooker containing a few plants I had accidentally left (a few he had given me). A very kind letter informed me that he would be in London about the same time with me (which I had in part expected, and about which hangs a tale I must write soon), and also a fine parcel of letters of introduction for me, both to persons on the way to London, and also on the Continent,--to Delessert, De Candolle, Martins, Endlicher, Humboldt, etc. Truly he is a kind man; he has laid me under lasting obligations. He asks me to say to Dr. Torrey that his Grace of Bedford is anxious to receive also the Hudsonia ericoides from New Jersey, and he will be greatly obliged if he will send a box of it to Woburn early in the spring. Attended this evening a meeting of the Royal Society, Dr. Abercrombie (author of “Intellectual Powers,” etc.) in the chair. Dr. A. is at the head of the profession here; is greatly esteemed, and is a most exemplary Christian. An interesting paper was read by Professor Forbes, of whom I have spoken before; a man whom from his very youthful appearance you could never have imagined as the successful candidate to the professor’s chair against Dr. Brewster. But Dr. Brewster is no favorite in Edinburgh. Other distinguished men were there. I was introduced to Professor Christison, had some pleasant conversation; promised, if practicable, to hear him lecture to-morrow at nine A.M., and look at his museum of materia medica. We had tea after the adjournment, according to the usual custom here, which is a very pleasant one. I only count upon two days more in Edinburgh, and have yet much to do. I am anxious to reach London, where I hope there are letters for me. Good-night. May God bless you all, and keep you.

MELROSE, January 10, 1839, Thursday evening.

On the 8th inst., Tuesday, I went immediately after breakfast to the university and heard Professor Christison’s lecture, Materia Medica. He is an excellent lecturer. I spent a half hour with him, in looking over his cabinet of preparations, which contains a large number of fruits, etc., preserved in strong brine instead of spirits. I acquired some useful information concerning the best way to close the jars, for which he has some very neat plans. Then I heard Professor Forbes again; elegant as usual, but he did not succeed very well in his experiments. The next hour I had a rich treat. I heard another lecture from Professor Wilson, on the Association of Ideas, which on this occasion he noticed in a more practical view than before. He recited, in his glowing manner, several passages from Virgil, and a long one from Milton, and gave a long and most eloquent analytic commentary upon each, far exceeding anything of the kind I ever heard before. After visiting the library of the university--a most magnificent room--I set out for Holyrood House.... I bought one or two poor prints, a cast of the seal-ring of Mary, plucked a bit of holly from a bush standing by the place by the altar before which Mary was married to Bothwell, and reluctantly took my leave. There was yet some time remaining, so I set out to climb Arthur’s Seat, which rises abruptly behind Salisbury Crags to the height of eight or nine hundred feet. I attained my wish, and had a beautiful view, from the summit, of the city beneath my feet, and the wide country around. I descended more rapidly than I went up, though at some risk to my neck. Returned to Dr. Greville’s, where I dined and spent all the evening.

I had engaged yesterday to breakfast with Dr. Graham. I therefore set off early for that purpose; afterward accompanied him to the Garden, examined the grounds, etc., passed some time in the splendid palm-house. I spent some portion of the morning also with Mr. Nicoll, examining with the microscope his beautiful collection of recent and fossil wood in thin slices; learned how to prepare them. Then arranged my affairs to leave Edinburgh in the morning. In the evening Dr. Greville and myself dined with Mr. Wilson (gentleman naturalist), the brother of the gifted Professor Wilson; himself almost equally gifted, but with a more healthy tone of mind. He interested us so much that our stay was prolonged until nearly the “wee short hour ayont the twal,” when we parted, after a pressing invitation to visit him at his country residence in case I ever visited Scotland at a more pleasant season. Taking leave of my kind friends the Grevilles, I was early this morning on my way to Melrose. I have been received with the utmost kindness, not only by this agreeable and most excellent family, but among all the acquaintance I have made in Edinburgh. I had purchased for you a collection of hymns, etc., edited by Dr. Greville and his pastor, Mr. Drummond, with which I was very much pleased, and doubt not you would like them much. But Dr. Greville saw it, and afterwards insisted on sending a much handsomer copy to Dr. Torrey, which was accordingly placed in my hands for him. Melrose is about thirty-six miles from Edinburgh, on one of the routes to Newcastle. We came upon the Tweed among a rugged range of hills, at first a very small stream; followed it along the sinuous valley for a long way, until it became a pretty considerable river, for Great Britain; at length the valley grew wider, softer, and in the proper season, doubtless very beautiful. A smaller stream joined it at some distance before us, and as its opening vale came into view, the driver--I beg his pardon, coachman--pointed with his whip to the opposite side and said, “Abbotsford; “ and true enough the turrets of this quaint castellated house were distinguishable, in the midst of a grove mostly of Scott’s own planting, near the banks of the Yarrow. We soon after crossed the Tweed, at the place where the White Lady frightened the sacristan in “The Monastery; “ the scene of which, you know, was laid at Melrose and in the neighborhood. The fine old ruin of Melrose Abbey now came into view, half surrounded by a dirty little Scotch village. Here I abandoned the coach until to-morrow, secured a gig, and was soon on my way to Abbotsford.... I walked back from Abbotsford, noticing more particularly the beauty of the valley, and the fine Eildon Hills which rise behind Melrose, from whose summit, it is said, a very beautiful prospect may be obtained. I then spent the remainder of the afternoon about Melrose Abbey, the most beautiful ruin I have ever seen or expect to see; more beautiful than I had imagined, and just in that state of dilapidation in which it appears to the greatest advantage as a ruin, for were it entire it would be indeed magnificent. I feel now as if I should never care to see another ruin of the kind; and therefore I shall not visit Dryburgh Abbey (where Scott is buried), as I had intended; although I suppose we shall pass by nearly in sight of it to-morrow. I wish I could bring you some sketch or print that would give you some idea of Melrose, but I fear this is impossible. The exquisite carvings in stone, especially, cannot be appreciated until they are seen. It is said (I forget the lines) that Melrose should be seen by moonlight, and this I can well imagine; but this evening there is neither moonlight nor starlight....

DURHAM, Saturday evening, January 12, 1839.

Soon leaving the Tweed we crossed a range of hills, and came down into the fertile Teviotdale, so famous in border story. Again leaving this valley, we wound our way up the Jedwater, a tributary of the Teviot, rising high up in the Cheviot Hills, just on the line between England and Scotland. We passed Jedburgh, a Scotch village of considerable size and importance, dirty and comfortless of course. Here is an old abbey, which I should have been loth to pass by had I not seen Melrose; thence we ascended the Jed for many a weary mile, until we reached its source high among the Cheviot Hills. Our course was literally “over the mountain and over the moor,” for after a tedious ascent we crossed the boundary line at an elevation of fifteen hundred feet above the level of the sea. We were by this time thoroughly drenched with mist and rain; the wind forbidding the use of our umbrellas. We immediately commenced our descent, and just at dusk stopped for a hasty dinner at Otterbourne, so famous in the history of the border warfare as the place of the memorable Chevy Chase. It was too dark to see the cross erected to mark the spot where Percy fell. Pass we over the ride from this to Newcastle, as we saw nothing, though we passed near some places of interest,--Chillingham, the residence of the Earl of Tankerville, for example,--and arrived at Newcastle about nine o’clock in the evening. In the morning I delivered notes of introduction from Hooker and Greville to George Wailes, Esq., one of the active members of the Newcastle Natural History Society; visited their fine building and really splendid museum, especially rich in fossil remains and also in the British birds; made arrangements for correspondence and exchange with the Michigan State Survey; was introduced to a botanist or two; visited the castle built by Robert, brother of William the Conqueror, if I recollect aright, which has stood firmly for many a year, and may stand for centuries more, or as long as the world standeth.... Arrived at Durham at eight in the evening. I called almost immediately upon Professor Johnston and delivered Doctor Torrey’s letter and parcel, when we recognized each other as fellow-passengers in the coach from Newcastle, he being a Scotch gentleman,--looking very like my friend Couthouy of the exploring expedition,--whom I was far from imagining would prove to be the professor in the Durham University; took my tea and spent the greater part of the evening with him. He told me he was just about to send a parcel to Doctor Torrey by a friend going next week to America. I must embrace this opportunity to send my letters, now forming a somewhat bulky parcel....

Spent Monday with Professor Johnston in his laboratory, witnessing the progress of some analyses of resins, etc., in which he is now much engaged; also went through the old castle, now used for the university; dined with Professor Johnston at four clock; returned to the hotel.... Took my tea with him, and he accompanied me at half past nine to the coach office whence I took coach for Leeds. I have little to say about Durham University, promising as it is in some respects, because they have adopted the monkish system of Oxford and Cambridge to the fullest extent; the professors and tutors except Johnston are all clergymen; the curriculum includes nothing but classics, a little mathematics, and less logic; their professor of natural philosophy never lectures; they give their professor of chemistry, mineralogy, and geology just fifty pounds a year (nothing for his experiments), and require no one to attend his lectures.

But now I must record some painful news, just learned to-day, which has shocked me exceedingly, but which you will have heard of long ere this reaches you; viz., the loss of the noble ship Pennsylvania, the death of Captain Smith, the first and second mate, and some of the passengers, I hardly yet know how many. I had grown much attached to this ship, and thought highly of its officers, who had been kind to me....

LONDON, January 17, 1839, Thursday evening.

This is dated at this modern Babylon, where I arrived about nine o’clock last evening. I stopped at the White Boar, Coventry Street, Piccadilly; had a quiet night’s sleep; rose early this morning, and had breakfasted and was on my way to Dr. Boott’s (24 Gower Street) before ten o’clock. I found Doctor B. at home; was kindly received and was introduced to his wife, mother, children, and a brother from Boston who is now with him; spent an hour or two with him; heard that Hooker was in town. Though not a public day went to the British Museum; inquired for Brown (Mr. Brown, for he does not like to be called Dr.), and was so fortunate as to find not only the man himself I was so anxious to set my eyes on, but also Hooker, Joseph Hooker, Bennett, and Dr. Richardson. Passed an hour or two. Brown invited Hooker and me to breakfast with him on Saturday morning; went out with Hooker; first to the Linnæan Society; introduced to David Don, a stout Scotchman, and looked through the rooms of the society. Don offered to give me every possible facility in my pursuits, but of course I said nothing to him about Pursh’s herbarium at Lambert’s, of which he was formerly curator; for since he married Lambert’s housekeeper, or cook, I forget which, Lambert will not allow him to come into the house. From here Hooker took me,--stopping by the way at Philip’s, one of the most eminent painters, whose gallery we saw,--to the house of Lambert himself, the queerest old mortal I ever set eyes on. But Carey’s description of the man was so accurate that I should have known him anywhere. I was of course invited to breakfast with him any morning at nine; he showed us his Cacti stuffed with plaster of paris, among others a very curious one called muff-cactus, which really looks just like a lady’s muff and is not much smaller. Lambert’s specimens are the only ones known, and he gave for them something like a hundred guineas,--the old goose! A woman has the care of his collections in place of Don. She stuffs the cacti and seems quite as enthusiastic as old Lambert himself. We went next to the Horticultural Society’s rooms in Regent Street in hopes to find Mr. Bentham; but instead we met Lindley, who received us very politely; he asked me to send him my address the moment I was settled in lodgings.... Here I parted from Hooker for the present, declining an invitation to join him at the dinner of the Royal Society’s Club, for which I was afterwards almost sorry, as I should have met there Hallam, the historian, and some other distinguished men, as also Brown, whose peculiar dry wit is said to have abounded greatly. Hooker seems as anxious to serve me and aid me here in London as at his own home. He is the most noble man I ever knew. Thence I took a cab and drove into the City, through Temple Bar, down Fleet Street; drove round St. Paul’s, to the office of Baring Brothers & Company, who are to be my bankers and to whom my letters here may now be addressed; thence to the office of Wiley & Putnam in Paternoster Row; did not see Mr. Wiley, but learned that the copies of our “Flora” had not arrived, which I am very sorry for, and don’t know how to account for it; called at C. Rich’s, but found no letters, which was a sad disappointment indeed; thence back here to dinner. At eight o’clock went to Somerset House to attend a meeting of the Royal Society, where again I met Hooker and Dr. Richardson. Brown was also present, for the first time in eight years. Royle was in the chair, at which the botanists present sneered much, as they evidently think him too small a man to fill the seat occupied by Newton, etc. I don’t know how he happened to be one of the vice-presidents. I was introduced to him after the meeting, as also to many others. J. E. Gray, who was very polite, gave me and Joseph Hooker tickets for Faraday’s lecture of to-morrow evening, invited me to dine with him to-morrow, etc. I was glad to make the acquaintance of Mr. Criff (or Clift) the curator of the Hunterian Museum, the man who exposed Sir Everard Home, who invited us to come and see that museum. While we were conversing, a gentleman, whom Hooker did not at the time recognize, addressed us, and after some conversation with me asked me if I would like to be introduced to Sir Astley Cooper, and see his museum. I answered of course that it would be a great gratification, when he introduced himself as Bransby Cooper, the nephew of Sir Astley,--of whom I have heard formerly not a little,--gave me his address, and Joseph Hooker and myself are to call on him on Monday next. I was introduced also to Dr. Roget, but saw not so much of him as I could wish; so you see I have met more distinguished men in one day than I might elsewhere meet with perhaps in a whole life. But I must break off; I am engaged to breakfast in the morning with Hooker, to meet also Dr. Richardson....

WHITE BEAR, PICCADILLY, 18th January, 1839, Friday evening.

I am not yet in private lodgings, but hope to be so to-morrow. You must not expect me to mention half the things I see in a day here in this busy metropolis, where as yet everything I have seen has been viewed in the most desultory manner. I breakfasted with Hooker and Richardson, who left me for a half hour at the Adelaide Gallery, where I saw very many things to interest me, which we will not stop to talk of now, as I hope to be there again; among other things, a live Gymnotus or Electrical Eel, which gives powerful shocks, they say, for I did not choose to feel it myself. Thence we visited the Museum of the Zoölogical Society, for which Dr. Richardson not only procured us free admittance, but procured for us an order to visit the Zoölogical Gardens; made calls with Hooker, whom Joseph and I left with the Chancellor of the Exchequer in Downing Street, while we passed by Westminster Hall and Abbey down to Bentham’s, who has a beautiful residence as retired as the country. Found Bentham an exceedingly pleasant and amiable man; spent an hour or two, till Hooker came in; accepted an invitation to dine with him to-morrow; went into the City; introduced to Richard Taylor, at his printing-office; were all invited to breakfast on Tuesday morning next; went to Longman’s famous bookstore and warehouse; one of the young Longmans politely showed us over the building, showed us room after room filled with solid literature,--a most surprising quantity; went by St. Paul’s again, saw the Bank, etc.; took an omnibus again to West End; passed by the London University, etc. Joe Hooker and I went to dine with J. E. Gray, who has taken it into his head to show us no little attention; he has lately married a rich wife, a widow, much older than himself; I was quite pleased with her. Went to the Botanical Society,--poor concern; and then to hear Faraday give the first lecture of the season at the Royal Institution, Mr. Gray having kindly offered us tickets. I was unexpectedly introduced to Faraday just before the lecture; pleasant man, with a very quick and lively expression of countenance. The lecture was on Electrical Eels, etc.; most elegant lecturer he is; brilliant and rapid experimenter. I hope to hear him again.

Saturday evening, January 19.--I am now in lodgings, No. 36 Northumberland Street, near Northumberland House, Charing Cross, in the room just vacated by Dr. Richardson; sixteen shillings a week, and a shilling for my breakfast when I choose to take it here. It is half past eleven. I have just come in; no fire, but fortunately my occupation for to-day is soon told. Hooker, Joe, and I breakfasted with Brown at his house, and stayed with him until four o’clock in the afternoon! I have a good deal to say about him, but not here. He is a curious man in other things besides botany. He has a few choice paintings, and a few exquisite engravings he has picked up on the Continent. I coveted them for you. They are just what we should be delighted to have. I dressed for dinner, then drove with my luggage to my present lodgings, and then took up Hooker and Joe for Bentham’s to dinner at half past six, where we met Lindley and Mr. Brydges; the dinner was just the beau ideal of taste and simple elegance. In the drawing-room coffee was served up, and in a half hour Assam tea. I am greatly pleased with Bentham, and delighted with Mrs. B. But more of this anon. We are to breakfast with him on Monday, and then make up a party to Kew and the Horticultural Gardens. The house he lives in, a pleasant place, plain but tastefully furnished and arranged, was the one where Jeremy Bentham lived....

Tuesday evening, January 22.--I have to account for myself for two days past, but fortunately this can be done in general terms in few words. Were I to enter very fully into particulars I should fill several sheets. Yesterday Sir William Hooker, Joseph, and I breakfasted according to appointment with Bentham, and set out, although the day was rainy, for a visit to the Horticultural Gardens at Chiswick. We went in an omnibus, and I noticed on the way Apsley House (Duke of Wellington), and the monument to his Grace in Hyde Park, near his house (what is the good of honors, indeed, if one cannot see them?), Holland House, which I saw from some distance, etc. We found Lindley at the Gardens, and looked through the grounds. They have very few hothouses as yet, but have just dug the foundation of a very splendid one, which is, however, to form one wing merely of the general plan. We went to Kew, about two miles farther, and looked through those fine old grounds and gardens. The hothouses and the collections in them were much larger and more interesting than I had anticipated. They are particularly rich in New Holland and Cape plants. There is a new conservatory for large plants, a fine one certainly, which cost six thousand pounds, and the roof was taken from the greenhouse at Buckingham Palace, and therefore cost nothing. It seems an extravagant job, and Mr. Bentham feels sure a much better one of the same size could be built for four thousand pounds. While here we paid a visit to Francis Bauer, now eighty-five years old, and much broken down, but still hard at work, and making as beautiful drawings as ever (beyond comparison excellent), and as delicate microscopical examinations. He has lately been working at fossil Infusoria, and showed me figures of Bailey’s plate in “Silliman’s Journal” which he had copied. He was greatly pleased when I offered to send him specimens of the things themselves. He showed me the original red snow from arctic America, and also his splendid drawings. Returned to town, and dined with Bentham.

This morning we breakfasted with Richard Taylor in the City; and went afterwards to the College of Surgeons, by appointment Hooker had made, to see Professor Owen, and the fine museum of the college under his charge (John Hunter’s originally); a magnificent collection it is, in the finest possible order; and the arrangement and plan of the rooms is far, very far better and prettier than any I have seen. I shall make some memoranda about it. We there met Mr. Darwin, the naturalist who accompanied Captain King in the Beagle. I was glad to form the acquaintance of such a profound scientific scholar as Professor Owen,--the best comparative anatomist living, still young, and one of the most mild, gentle, childlike men I ever saw. He gave us a great deal of most interesting information, and showed us personally throughout the whole museum. I am every day under deeper obligations to Sir William Hooker, to whom I owe the gratification of forming so many acquaintances under such favorable circumstances. Hooker stays over night often at his brother-in-law’s, Sir Francis Palgrave, the great antiquarian and Saxon scholar, Keeper of the Records, of whom I have read so much in the “British Review.” His eldest daughter, Maria, is spending the winter there. On Hooker’s return on Monday he was so kind as to bring me an invitation from Lady Palgrave to dine with them on Saturday, which will be the last I shall see of Hooker, as he is to set out on Monday for home. In the afternoon we spent an interesting hour in looking through the vast halls of the British Museum, particularly through the sculpture, the Elgin marbles, Egyptian antiquities, etc. These last are much more grand than I had supposed. Indeed, I was struck with wonder. I hope sometime to spend a day or two in looking through these rich collections. Called on Lyell the geologist.

We dined with Dr. Roget, the secretary of the Royal Society, where we met Sir Francis Staunton, a great Oriental scholar and traveler, Professor Royle, Dr. Boott, and two others whose names I forget. But best of all Dr. Boott brought me a letter from Dr. Torrey, dated December 25 (Christmas), and I soon contrived to get into a quiet corner to read it; right glad I was to hear from home once more; I will answer it to-morrow. We left very early, as Hooker was to go to Hampstead, where Sir Francis Palgrave resides. Joe and I walked with him, till he should find a stage; but as none overtook us and the night was fine we walked the whole way, three or four miles, and having left Sir William safe and sound, and seen Sir Francis Palgrave for a moment, the remainder of the family having retired to rest, Joe and I walked back again to town. I confess I am a little tired, and am quite willing to go to bed. A Dieu.

Wednesday, January 23, 1839.--Breakfasted and dined with Mr. Bentham, and studied plants with him all day and a good portion of the evening, excepting an hour or so in the morning when we walked out, and Bentham took me through the splendid house of the Athenæum Club, and we also visited the National Gallery, and saw fine paintings in great numbers from almost every artist ancient or modern. It is very near my lodgings, and I intend to visit it again. Here are some of West’s original pictures, and likewise the paintings or sketches of Hogarth from which his well-known engravings were taken. They are much more expressive than the prints. E. would enjoy many of them very much, and especially some of Wilkie’s of the same kind.

I am to take my breakfast in my lodgings to-morrow morning, which I have as yet done but once. I sent yesterday my letter of introduction to William Christy, who lives out of town, and received to-day a most polite invitation to dine with him to-morrow, and meet Hooker and Joe.

Thursday.--Breakfast at home. Call with Joe Hooker on Bransby Cooper, and then on Sir Astley Cooper; pleasantly received, saw some very curious preparations; spent the morning with Bentham, and dined at Mr. Christy’s, Clapham Road, where I spent an agreeable evening. Returning, wrote a letter to Dr. Torrey to go by mail to-morrow to Bristol for the Great Western.

Friday evening.--I breakfasted at my lodgings this morning, and afterwards walked out with Sir William and Joe Hooker to Regent’s Park; went to the Coliseum to see the Panorama of London, and well worth seeing it is. It will save me a visit to the top of the dome of St. Paul’s, I think, for the Panorama is said to be more perfect than nature. I will say no more about it, as Dr. Torrey has seen it. The illusion is perfect, were it not for some unseemly cracks in the sky! We called on Dr. Boott; then went into the City. Our object was to visit the museum at the India House (where the poet Lamb spent so great a portion of his life). I made the acquaintance, of Dr. Horsfield, the curator, who also collected the best part of the museum in Java and India. He is an American, if you can so call a man who has not been in the country since the year 1800. I was much interested with the library, which contains a vast quantity of Indian idols, sculptures, and antiquities, as well as fine Chinese curiosities. It is immensely rich, also, in Indian, Persian, and Arabic manuscripts; the finest in the world in such things. Some of the Persian (Arabic) manuscripts are most beautifully illustrated, or illuminated, and the writing is neater than you can conceive. Here is preserved also an original petition of the India Company to Oliver Cromwell, with the answer in his own rough and strong handwriting. ... We dined at Lambert’s, where we found Robert Brown, Mr. Ward, who had been looking for me, and immediately asked me to name a day to see his plants in the Wardian cases, and an evening erelong to examine some thirty or forty first-rate microscopes which he has in his house; also Dr. Bostock, Mr. Benson, a legal gentleman, a great scholar and author; and last, not least, yet certainly almost the last person I should have expected to see, Lady Charlotte Bury (formerly Lady Charlotte Campbell), whom you will remember as the author of that book on the secret history of the court of George IV. and his Queen, of which we read together, that summer, the deeply interesting review by Brougham. Lady Bury is now supposed to be sixty years old, and was for a long time considered as the handsomest woman in Great Britain; she still looks well, though too embonpoint, and dresses like a young lady, with short sleeves. She is of a high family, a sister of the present Duke of Argyll, and is certainly talented; she is said to be quite poor. Her daughters are married into families of rank, except one (Miss Bury) who was with her mother at Lambert’s, whom Sir William Hooker thought remarkably handsome, but I did not. As I have not a high respect for Lady Bury’s character I did not throw myself into her circle, and saw almost nothing of her the whole evening. We came away early.

Saturday evening.--I paid a visit, this morning, in company with Joe Hooker, to the Zoölogical Gardens in Regent’s Park, where we saw all kinds of four-footed beasts, and fowl, and creeping things. There are four giraffes, but none quite so large as those we saw in New York. There were a very fine orangoutang, very gentle and amiable, a curious spider-monkey, and other curious animals in great plenty. The finest residences I have seen in London are those which look upon Regent’s Park. Returning, we called upon Lambert, Saturday being a kind of public day with him, and there met that Nestor of botanists, Mr. Menzies, whom I found a most pleasant and kind-hearted old man; he invited me very earnestly to come down and see him, which I will try to do some day. Meanwhile I expect to meet him on Tuesday at Mr. Ward’s.

We just had time to go down into the City to call on Mr. Putnam (publisher) and to learn that copies of the “Flora” had arrived, but were not yet cleared from the custom-house; then took the Hampstead coach to dine at Sir Francis Palgrave’s. Excepting Hooker and Joe, I almost forget who the guests were. I was not interested in any of them particularly. Sir Francis was very agreeable; his conversational powers are almost equal to his erudition. His lady, who looks very much like Lady Hooker, is, like all that family, learned and accomplished. I was glad also to meet Hooker’s eldest daughter.

The boys interested me much; I think I never saw more intelligent lads. Sir Francis asked me to call at the Chapter-House, Westminster Abbey, his office as Keeper of the Records, and he would show me the Domesday Book. How a sight of it would electrify Dr. Barrett! He asked me at dinner the meaning of the term locofoco as applied to a party in the United States. I gave him the story of the meeting in Tammany Hall which gave rise to the designation, which afforded much amusement.

Sunday evening, January 27.--I was better prepared than last Sabbath, for I took pains to call yesterday at the office of the Religious Tract Society, and found where Baptist Noel preached. It is St. John’s Chapel, at considerable distance from here. Nevertheless I attended there to-day, and have reason to be glad that I did so, for I heard a most excellent sermon in the morning, from Psalm ciii. 10-12. Mr. Noel is a most simple, winning preacher, and his sermon was the most thoroughly evangelical and earnest I ever heard from an Episcopal pulpit. I wish I could give you some idea of it. I took notes for your benefit as well as I could, and have written them out, but they will give you a very imperfect idea of it. The church, a large one, with double galleries around three sides, was crowded. This afternoon his assistant, Mr. Garwood, preached, and there was room enough, but we had a good sermon. This Mr. Garwood, you may have seen by the papers, has lately been persecuted a little by his bishop, for acting as secretary to the London City Mission. Both he and Mr. Noel are doing much good in raising the standard of piety and active benevolence in the church they belong to. I hope by next Sunday to inquire out Dr. Reed’s church. I have not been out this evening, but have employed myself in copying out my poor notes on the morning sermon, which I trust soon to forward to you.

Monday evening, January 28, 1839.--I spent the morning with Bentham, by appointment, with whom I breakfasted and looked at Leguminosæ until two P.M.; then joined Joe Hooker (took leave of Sir William this morning, who has returned to Glasgow, via Woburn); made calls, among others on Dr. Rostock, who received me very politely; we then dined together at a chop-house; called on Dr. Boott, spent an hour or two in his very pleasant family; then attended a meeting of the Royal Geographical Society, in which all that interested me was a paper by Professor Robinson of New York, on some interesting matters of ancient geography connected with his travels in Asia Minor. The paper was sent to the Geographical Society by a learned German geographer; it excited much interest....

London, January 24, 1839.--I have so far been seeing men and things chiefly, but have had one or two botanical sittings with Bentham, who is a thoroughly kind and good fellow. He immediately had all the remaining parcels of Douglas’s Californian and Oregon plants sent down to his house, and has supplied me as well as he could; and a valuable parcel I shall have of them....

I have seen considerable of Brown, and like him much better than I thought, although he is certainly peculiar. The day we breakfasted with him we remained until four P.M., and he offered to show anything I wished at the British Museum. He showed us all Bauer’s drawings in his possession (I have since seen Francis Bauer). He has much more general information than I supposed; is full of gossip, and has a great deal of dry wit.

He is growing old fast, and I suspect works very little now, and I fear there is not very much more work now to be expected of him. He knows everything!...

I spent a good part of yesterday with Bentham, and was to have met Hooker at the Geological Society in the evening; but botany prevailed and I stayed with Bentham, and was a little sorry afterwards, as I should have seen at the society Whewell! Daubeny! Chantry the sculptor, etc.--I have bought a colored copy of Wallich’s “Plantæ Asiatiecæ Rariores,” 3 vols. fol., very fine, for £15; the publishing price was £36,--the present price by Henry Bohn, who has bought up not only this but almost every other expensive British work on natural history, is £26. It is not yet come round from Edinburgh. I will soon send it to you.... I have seen the “Atakta Botanica” of Endlicher, where there is a plate of Ungnadia (not Ungnodia, as spelled in “Companion to the Botanical Magazine”), but no letter-press as yet....

January 30, Wednesday evening.... Yesterday morning Joe Hooker and myself breakfasted together, and then paid a visit to Westminster Abbey, which we examined in every part, from Poets’ Corner to Henry VII.’s Chapel....

As we left the Abbey (where, by the way, we were most thoroughly chilled with our long stay), we went into the Chapter House adjoining, a very antique building crammed with old records and musty manuscripts, and Sir Francis Palgrave kindly showed us the famous Domesday Book, which is in a perfect state of preservation; all the writing perfectly distinct, and so plainly executed that we could read it, here and there, with moderate facility. He showed us a copy of a treaty made with France by Cardinal Wolsey, of which the immense seal appended was cut in gold, and of the most elaborate workmanship. We saw also the original papal bull sent to Henry VIII., constituting him “Defender of the Faith”! We went from this to Westminster Hall; saw the large room, which is very fine; looked into the Court of Exchequer, and saw the Lord Chancellor and other judges in their full-bottom wigs, most funny to behold, I assure you; and the barristers with their queer horse-hair wigs, frizzled on the top of their heads, but tied up into nice and regular curls behind, which fall upon their shoulders. The case of the Canadian prisoners was then under consideration. We then rode in an omnibus to the City and visited St. Paul’s Church, which, grand as it is, does not show to advantage after Westminster Abbey. The monumental statuary is very fine; some of it I would mention, but the extreme lateness of the hour obliges me discreetly to break off and finish my account of the day hereafter. Bon soir, or rather Bon jour!

Thursday evening.... To commence where I broke off with Tuesday. We went to dine, by appointment, with Mr. Ward, the plant-case man, at three P.M., which hour was appointed for the purpose of showing us the plant-cases, etc., by daylight. Ward is one of the most obliging men I ever knew. I was perhaps a little disappointed in his plants, but this is the very worst season of the year, particularly in London, and his house, which is in the heart of the city, near London Docks, is very badly situated as to light. But I have learned something from him, and feel confident that I shall be able to manage our plant-cases much better hereafter. Menzies was there, and a truly kind-hearted old man he is. I was to have returned in time to spend the evening at Bentham’s, but owing to the stormy weather I did not reach my lodgings till it was too late. On Friday (a snowy day) I was out rather late; went to Bentham’s, where I spent the whole morning, dined with him and Mrs. Bentham, three in all!--they have no children, and live in the most cosy and quiet way you could imagine--and spent the whole evening with him in labeling plants which he selected for me from his duplicates. To-day, Joseph Hooker having concluded to postpone till this evening his departure for Glasgow, and having written accordingly to Ward to meet us, we visited the famous greenhouses and conservatories of Loddiges. Miss Maria Hooker was with us, having come out from Hampstead for the purpose. It is rather a long ride to Hackney, but we were well repaid. The collection of Orchideæ is immense and very beautiful, but a very small portion is now in flower. The palm-house, ample and magnificent as it is, rather disappointed me; it seemed not so much larger than that of the Edinburgh garden, and the plants are not in such nice order. Loddiges was very kind to me. Ward selected a few pretty plants for Miss Hooker. I forgot for the moment that there was such a world of waters between us, and was on the point of selecting some for you know whom; I am not sure that I did not bring some after all.

Loddiges took us to his house and showed his collection of humming-birds, which is the finest in the world. He had nearly 200 species, and usually several specimens of a kind, very beautifully mounted and arranged. You can’t imagine how beautiful they are! They are his great pets, and I do not wonder. I returned through the City, stopped a few moments at the British Museum, dined with Joe Hooker at his hotel near me, and shortly after saw him start for Glasgow. I sent by him a copy of “Outre Mer” to Lady Hooker. At nine P.M. I went to the meeting of the Royal Society, heard a paper read of the Hon. Fox Talbot’s on the power of objects not only to sit for, but to draw their own portraits, which has just been making a great noise in France. It is done by the influence of the light of the sun upon paper prepared by nitrate or chloride of silver. Talbot seems to have found out all about it long ago, but the French have published first. I will write the doctor more particularly about it, and send the “Athenæum” containing the account when it appears.

I have neglected to say that I received two days ago a very kind note from Lindley inviting me to come down to his place, dine with him on Sunday next, stay all night, spend Monday at his herbarium, and meet a few botanical friends at dinner, and return next morning. I declined of course the invitation as far as it related to Sunday, but accepted it for Monday, and offered to get down to Turnham Green in time to breakfast with him. This morning I received another note from him, pointing out the way in which I may reach his house in time. I have also a letter from Francis Bauer, inclosing some European Infusoria, in return for a few of Bailey’s I gave him. I will send a portion to Professor Bailey.

Friday evening, February 1.--I spent the earliest part of the morning in my own room; then went to Lambert’s, and commenced the examination of Pursh’s plants. After dining in a simple way by myself, I went to Bentham’s, by appointment, to spend the evening in looking out duplicate plants. I found him and Mrs. B. sitting cosily together in the study. We had a cup of tea and some chat, and then fell to work until half past eleven, when I came away walking as usual by Westminster Abbey, of which I often get very good nocturnal views.

Saturday evening, February 2.... Brown has been very kind to me, in his peculiar way. I have seen him but twice since Hooker and I breakfasted with him, but I hope soon to be at work at the British Museum and to see more of him. He is very fond of gossip at his own fireside, and amused us extremely with his dry wit, but in company he is silent and reserved. I have found out also that it does not do to ask him directly any question about plants. He is, as old Menzies told us, the driest pump imaginable. But although he will not bear direct squeezing, yet by coaxing and very careful management any one he has confidence in may get a good deal out of him. He tells me that Petalanthera, Nutt., is a published genus, and promises to give me all the information about it I desire. I asked him some question about the manner in which the vessels of ferns uncoil. He at once remarked, “They unroll like a ribbon”! Quekett has been examining them, so has a botanist in India; all are much interested in them. I placed Bailey’s specimens afterwards in his hands and also some of the Infusoria, which he expressed himself much pleased with when I saw him at Lambert’s. By the way, the Infusoria were sent by Bailey himself. I delivered also the parcel for Lindley, and gave the rest I had mostly to Dr. Roget, Mr. Lyell, and Francis Bauer, who were all very glad to get them. I have saved a few for Mr. Ward’s microscopical party which he is to give on Wednesday of week after next.... I shall also order, for Sullivant, Hooker’s “Icones Plantarum,” which will be continued, as Hooker furnishes all the matter for nothing and gives the plates, finding paper and everything. Although there is not so much detail as I could wish, yet it is becoming a very valuable collection for a student of natural orders....

Monday evening.--I have seen the original Taxus nucifera, of Thunberg, both leaves and fruit. Arnott should have paid more attention to it. It is very like Torreya! and doubtless a congener,--and so Brown insinuates. I will see more about it soon. A new edition of Lindley’s “Introduction to Botany” is preparing! Sullivant wants, I suppose, a microscope of single lenses--a good working instrument--and an achromatic. This last I think I shall procure for him in London, where they produce more perfect instruments than the French. Can you send Bentham the Lindernias? He wishes much to examine them; send good corollas.

Arnott seems to think much more of Nees von Esenbeck than anybody else. It is generally thought he is in his dotage, and a sad, very sad splitter of straws....

I had some thoughts of going to Paris via Leyden, to see if I can coax anything out of Blume, but he seems to have behaved rather strangely to all the English botanists I have yet met with. You ask whom I liked best in Scotland: Hooker is all in all!

A new Antarctic expedition is planned; indeed is settled upon nearly, to be commanded by James Ross. But a part of the administration throw difficulties in the way. If it goes Joseph Hooker is to be the naturalist.... By the way, Corda’s “Memoir on Impregnation of Plants” turns out to be mere humbug, and it seems there is little dependence to be placed upon him....

Tell Bailey I am every day getting information that will be valuable to him, in the microscopical way. I have a new correspondent for him, Mr. Edwin J. Quekett, 50 Wellclose Square, London, an excellent microscopist. I will write soon what he wants, and he will send through me some microscopical objects.

P. S.--I have just had the offer of a chance to examine Walter’s herbarium as much as I like!--to take it into my possession for a week if I like! and that after I had nearly given up all hopes of it.

February 5, eleven o’clock, evening.... I think I mentioned in those letters how yesterday was spent, viz., that I rose early, took stagecoach for Turnham Green, near Chiswick, where Lindley resides, breakfasted and spent the day. Lindley was certainly very civil. Mrs. Lindley is a quiet lady of plain manners and apparently very domestic habits. Miss Drake, whose name appears as the artist in all of Lindley’s plates almost, was present, and is, I judge, a member of his family, and perhaps a relative of Mrs. Lindley. I saw Lindley’s splendid “Sertum Orchidaceum,” and a much more luxurious work, the “Orchidaceæ of Mexico and Guatemala,” by Bateman, a very large-paper work à l’Audubon. We looked over some families together in a desultory way, and I took up the Lupines and compared ours carefully with Lindley’s, which were named by Agardh. At dinner met Dr. Quekett and Mr. Miers, a traveler in Brazil. On reaching my room I found a note from Bell, the zoölogist (to whom I brought a letter from John Carey, but left at his house, not being able to see him), inviting me dine as his guest at the Linnæan Club, before the meeting of the Linnæan Society. Fortunately, as I do not like club-dinners, I had previously accepted Bentham’s invitation to dine quietly with him and Mrs. B. on that day, so I sent a note of declinature. I have already told you of my failure, by my own carelessness, of seeing the opening of Parliament, which I regret, as I should like to see the peers in official costume, and the peeresses in full dress.

It did not break my heart, but I returned to Bentham’s and looked over plants until the hour approached to take my place in the park to see the queen, and--what is finer--her superb horses, with what success I have already said; thence to the Horticultural Society, where I received the welcome letters. After dispatching my parcel of letters I took a cab for Bentham’s, as it was raining finely, where we dined in his quiet, elegant way. I don’t think Dr. Torrey saw enough of him, at least in his own house, to appreciate him fully....

You may well infer from my being so much with him that he is my favorite....

Wednesday evening.--After breakfast to-day I went to Lambert’s, thinking to finish nearly the examination of Pursh’s plants, but I found Lambert on the point of going out, though the morning was unpleasant. So I was obliged to retrace my steps; and as a dernier ressort I went to the British Museum, and commenced my examination of the Banksian Herbarium. Brown was there most of the time, but did very little except to read the newspaper and crack his jokes. I broke off at four o’clock; went down to the City, called on Mr. Putnam, took a parcel of late American newspapers away with me, dined, went up to Dr. Boott’s, where I spent the evening so pleasantly that eleven o’clock arrived before I thought of it. It is now twelve. On my return here I found my parcel had arrived from Edinburgh, the beautiful copy of Wallich’s work, a very complete and pretty set of British Algæ from Dr. Greville, and some letters of introduction for the Continent which he has obligingly favored me with. I must write a letter of thanks to-morrow....

Went to Ward’s to see the tunnel.... We had tea, Miss and Mrs. Ward regaled us with music,--and both play extremely well; then Ward and I looked over plants until nearly half past ten, when we had supper, a very substantial one, and I took my leave, arriving at my lodgings a little after twelve....

Sunday evening, February 10.... This morning I attended one of the larger Methodist chapels, where I heard an excellent sermon from 1 Pet. v. 7: “Casting all your care upon him; for he careth for you.” A portion of the Episcopal service was read at the beginning from the desk; but afterwards the clergyman ascended to the pulpit, when the singing and prayers were in the ordinary manner. In the afternoon I went to hear my old favorite Baptist Noel, who was to preach a kind of charity sermon for the infant-schools of St. Clement’s, Danes. I felt satisfied that we should have a close and fervent sermon, and truly I was not disappointed.... He preaches ex tempore, but has the most perfect facility of language; the words drop from his mouth without any apparent effort, but he never repeats, and all seems equally important; so unless I could write as fast as he speaks I could give you no proper idea of his discourse. His manner is so exceedingly placid that you wonder how he fixes the attention of his auditors so perfectly. There are many other clergymen who have the same ardent piety, and the number I hope is increasing; so that one cannot help expecting great things from this communion, if it once gets free from the contaminating influence of the political power. These men all preach continually to crowded houses, which is another good sign, and proves that the people are ready to hear sound doctrine. I hoped to have heard another of the same stamp this evening, and went all the way to St. Sepulere’s, where Mr. Dale preaches in the evening, but he was out of town....

February 5, evening.--It is not long since I closed a parcel of letters for you, and dispatched them by mail to Liverpool, for the steamship Liverpool, by which I hope they will reach you early. I have since attended a meeting of the Linnæan Society, Mr. Forster in the chair. Lambert never comes now for fear of meeting Don, and also because he is a little piqued, perhaps at not being made president. Brown seldom comes, as he would have to take the chair in Lambert’s absence, and he fears he might annoy Lambert, for Brown is extremely tender of other persons’ feelings. I was most interested in the nominations to fill up the five vacancies of the foreign associates. They were Carus, Milne-Edwards, Dutrochet, Endlicher, and Torrey. The nomination was signed by Bentham, Brown, Boott, Forster, Owen, etc. I knew nothing of it till just before the meeting, and I may be allowed to say that I felt extremely gratified at such a very handsome compliment paid to my best friend.

Lindley has given me to-day a copy of Griffith’s most admirable paper in the last part of the “Transactions Linnæan Society,” on the ovula of Santalum, Loranthuns, Viscum, etc., an anatomical paper of the very highest order,--about forty pages, with eleven fine plates. I am going to buy all the other papers on Botany in the Linnæean Transactions which I think valuable. They can be had of Coxhead, who buys sets and pulls them to pieces to sell separately. Let me not forget to tell you that, after having made diligent inquiry of Brown, Bentham, etc., I had nearly given up all hopes of finding Walter’s herbarium. I spoke to Lindley yesterday, and he said he knew the son of old Fraser, who would be most apt to know something about it, and would give me his address, by which I could find him if in town. But to-day, just after the adjournment of the Horticultural Society, and while I was glancing over your kind letters, Lindley came to say that he had found Walter’s herbarium for me! He introduced me to Mr. Fraser, to whom it belongs, though not immediately in his possession, who offered to send it up for my examination to the Horticultural Society’s rooms, or anywhere I chose. I hope to get at it, with Bentham, about Friday. I shall be anxious to let you know the result....

I am most clearly of the opinion that any person who will make extensive collections of North American plants, both Northern and Southern, and include also a good collection from Santa Fé, the Platte country, etc., have his sets named according to our work, and who would devote four or five years to the business, could, if he were really industrious and prudent, realize $1000 per annum (clear). He should continue my grass-book for one thing, giving loose sets only for the present price, and while from time to time he sells off collections as he can, should retain some fifty sets in all the most interesting genera or small families, get all the species, and publish them in monographic sets. Knieskern could make, with the aid we would gladly furnish, at least ten times as much money, as long as he lives, as he ever will at physic, besides being engaged in a much pleasanter way. I know how all this should be managed now. Now for Dr. Clapp. Tell him that Brown informs me that he does not think jewel lenses can be depended upon as possessing any advantage over glass. He has an excellent sapphire one, but that is a mere chance, and no other has been made anything like it. They are now almost never made, and appear to be going wholly out of use. His other matters I will take in hand, but he must not expect $20 to procure a doublet 1/40th inch focus, two micrometer glasses, and a case of dissecting instruments. I have some engagements before me with microscopical people, and when I get from them all the information I can, I will set about these affairs more understandingly....

Saturday evening, February 9.--I have been engaged nearly the whole day upon the herbarium you so much wished to examine, viz., that of Walter. I have not yet finished it, and find the examination very tedious, as the specimens are very often not labeled, except with the genus in his “Flora,” so that I have first to make out his own species, and then what they are of succeeding authors.

The specimens are mostly mere bits, pasted down in a huge folio volume. I suspect this was done by Fraser, and the labels have sometimes been exchanged, so that it requires no little patience. Some of the things I most wished to see are not in the collection, and there are several in the collection which are not mentioned in the “Flora.” You would laugh to see what some of the things are that have puzzled us: thus, for instance, his “Cucubalus polypetalus” is Saponaria officinalis! His “Dianthus Carolinianus” is Frasera! in fruit. I will soon send you my notes on the collection, or a copy of them. Bentham looked over the Leguminosæ, Labiatæ, etc., with me. I have had two sittings at Pursh, but have not yet finished; I hope another day will do it, but am not certain. I shall still require about three days more at the British Museum, two at the Linnæan Society, and one at Lindley’s. An evening or two at Bentham’s will suffice to certify his Labiatæ, Scrophularinæ, etc. I must also have a day with Brown, if I can get it at his own house. I hope very nearly to finish this next week, if life and health are continued....

February 12, 1839.--I am fearful even another day will not see the end of Lambert’s collection, and I suspect a week is none too little for the British Museum. Lady Charlotte Bury came into Lambert’s and had a long chat with him; such a pair of originals! She is to dine with Lambert on Sunday, but stipulated early, as she always made it a point to read prayers to her servants on Sunday evening!

February 13, Wednesday evening, or rather one o’clock, Thursday.--Rose and breakfasted at eight, which is become my regular practice; started for Lambert’s at ten, where I worked incessantly till five P.M.; returned to my room; dressed; went to the City, where I dined, and about eight o’clock arrived at Ward’s, whose microscopical party this evening was given chiefly on my account. Some eight or more splendid microscopes were in active use when I arrived; and the greater portion of the chief microscopic people were there. I was introduced to Stokes, Solly, Powel, Bowerbank.... Also Mr. Quekett, whom I knew before, and several amateurs, such as Boott, Bennett, Bentham, Don, were present. It was a feast to me, you may be sure, and I acquired some useful knowledge, and saw some strange things: the infusoria in flint; queer fossil woods, which are all the rage here, and are extremely curious; fibrocellular tissue, the most beautiful thing you can imagine. One of the best of the microscopists, Mr. Bowerbank, gave me one or two curious microscopical objects, which he had mounted for himself, and made an appointment with me and another friend to meet him on Monday evening next, to examine his microscopes and curious objects more quietly and at large than could be done in a crowd, and to prepare some specimens for me. Mr. Reade, a gentleman who was invited, but was prevented from attending, was so kind as to send me a copy of his paper on the Infusoria and Scales of Fishes found in Flint, with proof impressions which are far superior to those in the “Annals of Natural History.” ...

Tuesday evening, February 19.--Three days have passed since I have written a line for you. This suspension was occasioned by my late hours last night. After spending the morning at the Horticultural Society, then going into the City, where I dined, then going far out on the Mile-End Road to deliver a letter intrusted to me by Mr. Scatcherd, then returning as far as the Bank, I went again, partly by omnibus and partly on my legs, almost as far in the northern outskirts of the town, to spend an evening with Mr. Bowerbank, one of the best microscopists in London, who owns the best microscope. I found so much to see that I did not get away until past twelve, and then I had a walk before me almost the whole length of London,--from New North Road to Charing Cross. I had an opportunity of seeing, what was especially promised me, the camera lucida applied to the microscope; an invaluable invention for an awkward person like me, as I am convinced I could with a very little practice turn out very fair outline sketches of objects I might be examining. I acquired much information on various subjects; saw some most curious and unique specimens of vegetable structure, and particularly of fossil fruits, of which Mr. Bowerbank possesses an invaluable collection; capsules, which we broke open, and examined not only the seed, with its testa, raphe, and funiculus, but even the pulp which surrounded it. I looked at many of his specimens of recent and fossil wood, at his unrivaled cabinet of British fossils, and when our party broke up, there was still so much left that we made an appointment for another evening.... Mr. Bentham, Mr. Brydges, and I went to the Linnæan Society; the president, the Bishop of Norwich, was in the chair,--an amiable old gentleman. Boott, Yarrell, Ward, Royle, Forster, et multis aliis, were present. Mr. Forster invited Dr. Boott and me to fix a day to visit him at his residence, some miles in the country, and dine with him. He is greatly esteemed, and is said to be one of the most kind-hearted and benevolent of men. I am now engaged, I believe, for every day and evening of this week, and half of next, and am busy enough, I assure you....

Friday evening, February 22.--I ought hardly to use the date of Friday evening, as it is close upon one o’clock of Saturday morning. But I must not neglect my journal, and shall therefore give you a few hasty lines ere I prepare for rest. I passed yesterday morning at the British Museum, that is, until near three o’clock. I then hurried to my lodgings, snatched a hasty dinner by the way, and went to the House of Commons, Mr. Bentham having, through Dr. Romily, the speaker’s clerk, procured me an order of admittance within the body of the house, where I had the finest opportunity for hearing and seeing. There was nothing very important brought before the house, yet on different subjects nearly all the leading officers of the administration took the floor, Mr. Rice, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, Lord John Russell, who is evidently a man of most ready talent and tact, Lord Palmerston, Lord Morpeth, the new member of the cabinet, etc. I was exceedingly amused by the manner in which Lord John Russell worsted a Colonel Sibthorpe, an opposition member, who moved certain resolutions relative to Lord Durham’s expenses, couched in an offensive manner, and made a still more objectionable speech. Lord J. Russell, in very placid manner, set him out in such a ridiculous light, that the gallant colonel first lost his temper completely, and then lost his point, being obliged to withdraw his own resolutions. I heard also, for a moment, Sir Robert Peel, Dr. Lushington, Mr. Hume, and others too tedious to enumerate. As to general decorum, or the manner in which members often treat each other in debate, I don’t think we have much to learn....

I spent this morning at the British Museum; dined with Mr. Putnam at a chop-house, and went to spend the evening at Mr. Quekett’s. I found, instead of having the evening alone as I expected and wished, that he had invited several friends, most of whom I knew. Still, after tea the microscopes were produced, and I had the opportunity of examining very many curious things.

If they don’t get out of my head in the mean time I will try to mention some of them to Dr. Torrey when I go on with my letter to him. As eating is a very important matter here, we had a magnificent supper at half past ten, and it was near twelve when I left, with a walk of four miles before me....

Saturday evening.--This has been a busy and somewhat interesting day with me. I rose early, went down to Bentham’s to breakfast, stayed until eleven o’clock, and then went up to Brown’s house to spend the morning, according to previous appointment. We talked profound botanical matters, and Brown not only amused and interested me, but gave me much valuable information. He talks of visiting America, possibly next summer, and I have promised to plan him a route. I left him about four o’clock, returned to my lodgings, dressed hastily, took a Kensington omnibus, and reached old Mr. Menzies’ little place at five. Mr. Ward, who was to meet us, was not there. We left at half past ten, and walked all the way back, about four miles. So here I am safe again. I read over the doctor’s short letter again. I am trying to imagine how Herbert looks now. He has probably changed very much since I parted from him. I have a very especial love for that little fellow. I must find time to write to the girls, yet fear I shall scarcely be able until I have left London. Tell them I think of them daily even if I cannot write them. As to M’s French letter, it is not due until I get to France; but that will, I trust, be soon. Adieu. Good-night.

Sunday, February 24. I was fortunate this morning in being able to hear a man I had heard spoken of, and of whom I had formed a high opinion: the Rev. Thomas Dale, Vicar of St. Bride’s, who also preaches in the evening at St. Sepulcre’s. He preached from the first part of Luke vii. 47: “Her sins, which are many, are forgiven; for she loved much.” The discourse was truly evangelical and impressive. He is the best preacher I have heard in England next to Mr. Noel, and is more eloquent and striking in manner than he, but has not the gentle pathos and sweetness of Noel....

Tuesday evening, February 26.... Met Mr. Putnam at half past four. We had arranged beforehand that he should attempt to procure some orders for admittance to the House of Lords, and that we should go down together. I found he had been successful, having sent his clerk with notes to some half dozen peers in order to make sure, and he thus obtained more orders than he wanted. For me I found he had addressed a note in my name to the Bishop of London, who very promptly sent me an order of admittance.

We set out accordingly. The room which is occupied by the House of Lords temporarily, until the New Houses of Parliament are built, is inferior in size and accommodation to that of the Commons; indeed there is nothing about it at all remarkable. There was no business of very absorbing interest before the House this evening, and it adjourned as early as eight. Still I had the good fortune to hear nearly all those speak that I particularly cared for except Wellington (who is sick) and Earl Durham. I heard a long speech from Brougham and a very good one, except that he took occasion to trumpet his own good works. There was some fine sparring between an Irish lord I do not remember, Lord Roden, Lord Westmeath, and Lord Normanby, the late viceroy of Ireland, a young man apparently, and a man of talent, Melbourne, and Minto; the lord chancellor, Denman the chief justice, Sir James Scarlett, old Lord Holland, etc., also spoke. The word “lengthy,” which was not long since called an Americanism, seems to be pretty well naturalized, as Brougham used it several times, and Scarlett more than once. Lord Palmerston the other evening used the word “ disculpate” instead of “exculpate,” which I fancy is rather modern English....

Friday evening, 12 o’clock, March 1.--I have just returned from a most pleasant evening and day, as I may say, spent at Mr. Forster’s beautiful residence on the border of Epping Forest, Essex (Woodford), about ten miles from here. He is an old man, a banker, one of the oldest vice-presidents of the Linnæan Society, one of the most kind-hearted men, exceedingly beloved. He lives in an elegant but very unostentatious way, in a most beautiful part of the country, the very perfection of English scenery. He is said to be extremely benevolent, and to do a world of good....

Saturday evening.--Immediately after breakfast this morning I went down to Bentham, whom I had not seen for a week; spent two or three hours there, returned again to my lodgings, went to the City, took an early dinner with Mr. Putnam, and then we went together in an omnibus to Hackney; saw Loddiges’ extensive collections of fine plants again, lovely Orchideæ. The Camellias, of which he has a large house filled with magnificent trees, were not yet in bloom.

... We walked across this eastern part of the city down to the Tower, entered the gates and walked over the grounds. It was too late to get entrance to the armory or any of the interesting places, as the light was beginning to fail. I went back to Mr. Ward’s, at Well-close Square, according to promise, to name some plants for him, but Dr. Valentine, a most ingenious vegetable anatomist and microscopist, being in town (had previously met him at Lindley’s), Mr. Ward had foregone his own advantage and invited Valentine and Quekett to meet me with their microscopes, so that the evening was very instructive to me, which I had not anticipated. Mr. Ward seems to have taken a fancy to me, for I can hardly imagine that he takes so much pains to oblige every one, absorbed as he is also in medical practice. He presented me with a beautiful botanical digger of fine polished steel, with a leathern sheath, which I suspect he has had made on purpose for me; though I don’t know why he should have thought of it. Mrs. Ward was inquiring about the Abbotts and their works, one of which she had, which makes her wish for more. I am often asked about Mr. Abbott, whose works seem much more generally known here than those of any other American religious author. I must find some for Mrs. Ward.

Sunday evening, March 3.--I went this morning to hear, perhaps for the last time, Baptist Noel. The sermon was from the last three verses of the same psalm (Ps. ciii.) from which he has preached on the former occasions when I have heard him in his own church; and truly a good sermon it was. I have told you that the chapel is a large one. Yet it is so well filled that I have always had some difficulty in getting a seat, and to-day I actually stood near the pulpit during the whole service and sermon. But it is worth while submitting to some inconvenience. In the afternoon I walked up to Tottenham Court Road, and looked up the chapel built by Whitfield, the scene of his useful labors in London. If you read, as I think you did, Philip’s “Life of Whitfield,” you must take some interest in this place. I found the chapel a large but outlandish building, with an inscription over one of the entrances, stating that the building was erected by George Whitfield. Within is a tablet to the memory of Mrs. Whitfield, who is buried here, and a monumental inscription to Whitfield himself (which I regret I did not copy), mentioning the date of his death at Newburyport, near Boston. The preacher this afternoon (for I believe there is more than one who officiates here) was the Rev. Mr. Wight, who gave an impressive, practical sermon from the concluding clause of the last verse of Romans viii.: “The love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” It was, I think, rather above his audience, which I am sorry to say was exceedingly small. Indeed I hope it is generally better filled, but I should not have expected so great a falling off in the attendance of plain unfashionable people in the afternoon. These Whitfieldians are, one would think, farther separated from the Established Church than Wesleyans (which was certainly not the case in Whitfield’s time, who refused to take any steps to establish a sect apart from the Church of England); for in the Wesleyan chapel I attended the liturgy was read, but here we had none of it. Only last summer I read a biography of Whitfield with much attention; and it was very interesting to worship in this chapel of his. It recalls more interesting associations than Westminster Abbey or any vast and splendid cathedral. But I must bid you good-night, purposing to rise early and have an hour or so before the pressing business of the day is commenced to write another sheet to you and our good Dr. Torrey, to whom I have so much to say, if I could ever find time for it.

Friday.--I have been to-day at the British Museum, studying from the specimens of Plukenet, Catesby, Miller, etc., etc., the authority for old Linnæan species in Ilex, Prinos, Eupatorium, etc. It is slow and tedious work, and I shall not have time to do so much of it as I could wish. Brown told me to-day about Petalanthera. It is Cevallis, Lagasca, Hortus Matritensis, and very probably his species, even C. sinuata. It came from New Spain. You will see Lindley is all astray about the genus, and no one knows its affinities even, but Brown. Lagasca himself refers it to Boragineæ. It is true Loaseæ. I was this evening at Bentham’s, and found he had a specimen of C. sinuata from Hooker, collected by Brydges in Mexico, I think. I have asked Brown to give us some notes on the subject, a generic character, etc., that we may publish a little from his own pen. I am to spend a day with him next week, and I will try to get something out of him. He hinted to me some days ago that he knew something about Cyrilla, but I could not get it out of him. I’ll try again. He tells me he has a character to distinguish true Rhexia, which has escaped Don, De Candolle, etc. We must find it out. Bentham has given me his “Scrophulariæ Indicæ,” and the three last parts of his “Labiatæ;” I have bought the rest (£1 2s. 6d.), and last evening we looked over his North American specimens, and the notes in his copy. He gave me also, the other day, the only published part of the “Plantæ Hugelianæ” and a few other pamphlets. He is a liberal soul.

I have got so far behind in my botanical news that I despair of bringing up arrears, and must leave very much to tell you in propria persona, if we meet again. I fancy I have not very much new to learn on the Continent about microscopes and modes of working. I have seen much of all the best people here, last not least Valentine, who lives in the country, from whom I have derived much useful knowledge. He works to some account, which can’t be said of most here, who, though they have the best instruments in the world, don’t turn them to any important account. As to Sullivant, tell him to have great patience. I can get him a capital simple microscope by Ross for six guineas, but I want to get as useful a one for him cheaper, so I shall wait till I have been on the Continent, I think. My plan is to purchase at Paris for him, where the low powers are good as can be, and supply a lens or two here....

Chapmannia (!) exists in Bartram’s old collection here, which you saw at British Museum, and some other very lately published things.

I bought a copy of “Flora” for Bennett the other day, thinking it worth while to offer him something, as I was taking up much of his time. To-day he gave me a copy of the published part of the “Plantæ Javanicæ Rariores,” (£2 10s., plain, is the publishing price), an invaluable work, containing very many notes and observations on various genera, etc., both by Brown and himself, which it is quite necessary we should see. The notes I have made for the last few days are not now before me, so that I cannot now give you any remarks. There is no one thing of very considerable importance, but much small matter. By the way, let me say that Bennett thinks that Brown thinks Romanzovia to be hydrophyllaceous! Bentham would give something to know this, but I shall keep it to myself. I have made out the remainder of Pursh’s doubtful Arenarias and Stellarias front the Banks herbarium. The parcel of Solidagos, etc., sent to care of Mr. Putnam, I am glad to say, came to hand. It did not arrive until last week, however....

Monday evening, twelve o’clock.... As I sit down to tell you what I have been about to-day, my thoughts cross the wide wave that separates us, and brings me back to 30 MacDougal Street, and to the time when, returning from town, I used to present myself before you, give an account of my proceedings, tell you perhaps some news about that ill-fated expedition of which you were so sick of hearing; how it would certainly sail in a month, or something just as likely. When thinking of this long separation, I console myself with the idea that it is better than if I had gone there. In that case I should now have been your antipodes. Now there are only some four or five hours of shadow between us. And, sluggard as you call me at home, I am up in the morning two or three hours before you. Tell that to the girls for a wonder! I left my room this morning at eleven, walked to Portland Place, called on the American minister, who being unwell I was furnished by the secretary of legation with what I desired, namely, a passport. This I left, as the manner is, at the office of the French embassy, that his majesty Louis Philippe may have fitting notice of the honor that is to be done him, for the king of the French is, it seems, rather particular abut such matters, and it is a pity not to oblige him, especially as you can’t help yourself. This being done I went on to the Linnæan Society, and by working at the full stretch of my powers contrived to get through the Linnæan herbarium (skipping a few genera now and then) about six o’clock. Returned home pretty well fatigued, took some tea and toast, called upon Bentham, whom I found writing letters of introduction for me. I have them now before me. They are addressed to Seringe at Lyons; Requien, Avignon; Lady Bentham (B.’s mother) at Montpellier, with request to make me acquainted with Dunal and Delile; Moretti at Pavia; Visiani at Padua; Tomasini at Triest; Unger at Gratz; Endlicher at Vienna; Martius and Schultes at Munich; Reichenbach at Dresden; Pöppig at Leipsic. These, with what I have already from Hooker, Arnott, Greville, Boott, etc., with a few that I expect at Paris, leave me little to wish for in this respect. About ten o’clock went to Mrs. Stevenson’s party. It was not a very large one, and in no way especially remarkable. I found there of course the Bootts (three sizes, viz., Mrs. Boott the grandmother, Mrs. Boott the mother, and Miss Boott the daughter) and so of course I was upon good footing. Our minister lives in neat but by no means splendid style, quite enough so for a republican; and Mrs. S. is very lady-like and prepossessing in appearance. Mr. Stevenson did not make his appearance. Of course, I did not stay long.

TO JOHN TORREY.

Poor Hunneman died yesterday, after a short illness. I have spent much time evenings with Mr. Valentine, whom I like extremely. Excepting only Brown, he is the best microscopical observer in Great Britain. He cares little, however, for proper systematic botany, for which I am sorry. He has shown me some curious things.

I have learned from Brown the character he observed in our species of Rhexia, that is, the true genus Rhexia: the unilocularity of the anthers....

Tuesday evening, March 12.--After a hard day’s work I finished on Monday evening with the Linnæan herbarium, which I found more interesting than I expected and more satisfactory, as it is in really good state, carefully taken care of, etc. I had some very good notes to make. I assure you I feel much gratified to have studied this collection, which, with the Gronovian, enables us to start fair as to Linnæan species. Do you know that Acer saccharinum, Linn., is A. eriocarpum (spec. Kalm)! Look at Linnæus “Species Plantarum” (which you have not, unfortunately, though it is the most necessary of books; you will receive it at the same time as this letter or nearly) and you will find that the description is all drawn from Eriocarpum.

I took what time I could to-day for the Gronovian plants and a few of Plukenet’s, etc., but was unable to finish; will go to-morrow, for I shall work to the last moment.

I have been tempted to buy a collection of Hartweg’s very fine Mexican plants, which being collected far in the interior of north Mexico are very North American, and quite necessary, I think, for us. They will reach you with the other parcels. Be careful about the little labels with the numbers stuck on. Bentham will publish them presently....

Professor Royle, as the agent of India people, I believe, offers me seeds from Himalaya Mountains, received, and still to be received, from the government collectors, in exchange for those of useful and interesting North American plants, which they are desirous of introducing into India. But as I can’t attend to it until another season, he kindly offers to send to you a portion of the seeds just received, and to ask you to distribute them in such way as will be most useful, and ask those you give them to (say Downing, Hogg, Dr. Wray, Dr. Boykin, etc., and some one in the valley of the Mississippi or Arkansas) to collect seeds of trees, etc. (you can suggest what would be most desirable), and send them to London, whence they will be sent in the mails overland to India. As I fear I shall not see Royle again I shall write him a note, telling him, as I promised, how to send to you.

I saw Dr. Sims’ herbarium, at King’s College. I want to look at it to certify a few early “Botanical Magazine” plants.

Brown came to the museum this morning with a copy of a curious late paper of Schleiden (which I had seen before) on the Development of the Embryo, with a parcel of his own notes on the same subject made in 1810, 1812, 1815, etc., which did not altogether correspond. Brown thinks much of Schleiden as an observer. He read me many of his old notes, and the subject took him to speak of his discoveries with regard to the embryos of Pinus. To explain to me as he went on he drew the diagram on the inclosed slip of paper, and pointed out to me how to observe in our species of Pinus. This will refresh my memory as to all he told me, so pray keep it safely. There is much very curious matter now afloat about the process of impregnation and the early development of embryo, which I am accumulating, as much as I can, for future use. Pray tell Dr. Perrine that the gardeners and botanists here insist by acclamation almost that there is no such thing as acclimation in the vegetable kingdom.

What a pickle the Linnæan Ascyrum is in! I wish I had room to tell you.

TO MRS. TORREY.

Tuesday morning, two o’clock A.M., March 14, 1839.

I have just finished packing up, being about to start for Boulogne in steamboat at nine o’clock this morning, and I must now hastily close my letters. This, or rather yesterday, has been a busy day with me. I started in the morning to have a look at a few more things of Pursh’s at Lambert’s, but he kept me longer than I liked. He found somewhere a small parcel of plants collected by Eschscholz in Kotzebne’s voyage, who sent them to Lambert. Lambert gave me all the North American ones, few to be sure, but interesting. From Lambert’s I returned by way of the Horticultural Society, to bid good-by to Lindley and Bentham, but the latter insists upon coming up in the morning to my lodgings to see me off. I have made a fortunate acquisition for him. He told me he saw, a few days ago, at an auction some copies of Richard’s fine work on the Coniferæ, but an engagement at the time prevented him from staying to buy a copy of the work for himself, which he imagined would be sold cheap. Mr. Putnam found out who bought up these copies, and obtained one at nearly the price at which they were sold. I shall have the pleasure of presenting it to Bentham this morning when he calls. I went to the British Museum, worked hard until four o’clock; but was not able quite to finish, so I left my copy of Gronovius, in which I was making notes, with Mr. Bennett to keep for me until my return in the autumn, and took leave of Brown and Bennett. Went to Dr. Boott’s; saw Mrs. and Miss Boott, who insisted upon giving me a note of introduction to a friend of theirs in Florence; went to the City, dined with Putnam, down to Well-close Square, took my tea, and bid good-by to Ward and family, and Mr. Quekett....

TO THE MISSES TORREY.

PARIS, March 18, 1839, Monday evening.

I am now at the Hotel de l’Empereur Joseph II., Rue Tournon, près du Palais du Luxembourg. Here I have been established for about half an hour, and my first business shall be to fill this sheet for you. I suppose I must begin at the beginning and tell you how I came here. Voilà. I left London at nine o’clock in the morning of the 14th inst. (Thursday), stopping on my way to the steamboat which was to take me to Boulogne, to leave a parcel of letters at Mr. Putnam’s office, to be forwarded to dear friends at home. It was a nasty, rainy morning; and our boat was, as indeed I expected, not very comfortable. The cabin was well enough, but much too small for the accommodation of some fifty or sixty persons, and there was no covering to the deck, nor any deck-cabin, except two dirty little places for the poorer passengers, who were not allowed the use of ours; so we had our choice the whole day between the soaking in the rain upon the deck and the close atmosphere of the crowded cabin. Of course I was vibrating between the two dilemmas the whole day, but took as much pains as I could to keep dry. The only thing I saw worthy of notice as we went down the Thames was Greenwich Hospital, of which I will perhaps send a print. I should add also chalk cliffs, for I never before saw rocks and hills of chalk. In the afternoon, as we had fairly got into the Channel, a thick fog came on. The captain lost his way and seemed in fear that he should run the boat upon the Sands, so he dropped anchor about five in the afternoon. We were to have arrived at Boulogne at nine that evening. But as I saw there was no great chance of our moving for some time, I set about making amends for my loss of sleep the previous night. I took possession of two thirds of a hard sofa, and, wrapped in my cloak, was soon in a comfortable doze. I awoke late in the evening; and such a sight as there was before me! It seems that there were no accommodations for sleeping on board, or next to none, and the passengers, men, women, and children, were indiscriminately but thickly strewn over the sofas, chairs, and even over the whole floor, with portmanteaus, great-coats, and whatever they could find for pillows, attempting to secure such rest as they could,--some sixty persons or more crowded into a space not larger than the cabin of one of our ferry-boats....

But I was too drowsy to mind it much, and soon fell asleep again, but awoke in the morning with swollen eyes and complaining bones. The boat was moving again, and it was raining as hard as ever. The distant coast of France soon came in view, and at half past ten we were landed at Boulogne. We were escorted to the custom-house; what baggage we had brought in our hands was closely examined by the officers, an ill-looking, vagabond set; our passports were taken from us and provisional ones given, which permitted us to go on to Paris, and for which we each had to pay two francs; we were then allowed to go to a hotel and get our breakfast, a privilege which most of us were not slow to avail ourselves of. I made a hearty meal of cold roast beef, café au lait, excellent bread, and delicious butter. The two last I have found ever since I have been in France. I gave my keys to the commissionaire of the hotel to get my luggage through the custom-house, and, my place being taken in the diligence for Paris at two o’clock, having nothing else to do, I went to the custom-house to see the examination of the luggage. Lazy custom-house officers and gendarmes were lounging about, while heavy carts loaded with baggage were drawn up from the boat by women!--and this while it was raining hard, and the poor creatures were without hats or bonnets, and had only a handkerchief or a bit of cloth tied over their heads. So much for this self-styled most refined and polite nation! I noticed the poor things when their task was done and they were waiting to convey the trunks, etc., from the custom-house to the various hotels. Some were chatting in groups, apparently quite content with their lot; a few were sleeping, and many, with the characteristic industry of their sex, produced their knitting-work from their pockets and were busily employed at a more appropriate and feminine employment. I was amused at the strictness with which three exceedingly unpleasant-looking fellows searched all our baggage, that of the ladies not less than that of the men. Little parcels were opened, dirty linen was overhauled and most minutely inspected; the whole scene would have made a fit subject for the pencil of Hogarth. My traveling-bag was examined from top to bottom, and I began to fear that my trunk, which I had packed with care, would be sadly deranged, but they contented themselves with cutting open a packet of seeds I was taking from the Horticultural Society to De Candolle, and with seizing as a great prize my rather formidable parcel of letters of introduction. This was near causing me to be detained until the next diligence; but the commissionaire succeeded in getting them sent up to the inspector in another part of the town, upon whom we called, when after due explanation had been made, and one or two of the letters read, they were formally delivered back to me.

I can tell you what a French diligence is like. It is just like one of the railroad cars (about three apartments) of the Harlem railroad, for example, mounted on coach wheels; the horses are small, lean, shaggy, and ugly; some seven of these beasts are fastened, three abreast and one for a leader, with ropes to the said diligence; but how such beasts contrive to draw such a cumbrous vehicle, loaded with seventeen persons and their baggage, besides a driver and conductor, I don’t well understand, although the beasts are changed every five or six miles; but somehow we got over the ground pretty fast, and came to Paris, over one hundred and forty miles, in a little less than thirty hours, although it rained all the first day and part of the second, and the roads were extremely muddy.

We arrived just before nightfall at Montreuil, a fine old fortified French town situated on the summit of a hill and overlooking a broad valley, which in summer must be quite beautiful; here we dined, and were charged four francs each for dinner, besides sous to the garçon. I slept pretty well in the night, during which we passed Abbéville, where there is said to be a fine church. We breakfasted at the queer old town of Beauvais, where there is a fine cathedral, of which I had a pretty good view. My breakfast (déjeuner à la fourchette, which is the next thing to a dinner) cost three and a half francs, for on this route you meet with very English charges. I wished to say something about the country, but have not room. Suffice it to say that we passed through the town of St. Denis late in the afternoon, where I did not even get a glimpse of the very ancient cathedral, and arrived at Paris just before nightfall. After dinner, in company with a fellow-passenger, a young Englishman, I gratified a long-felt curiosity by strolling through the Palais Royal and some of the principal streets of Paris. On Sunday I attended church in the morning (after a vain attempt to find the American Chapel) at the Rev. Mr. Sayer’s English Episcopal Chapel, where I heard a good sermon; and in the evening at the Methodist Chapel, where the Rev. Mr. Toase preached a truly excellent discourse from Jeremiah viii. 13. All the shops were open just as on any other day, and the gardens and parks were all crowded. This morning I went down to the Jardin des Plantes, stopping by the way to see the ancient church of Notre-Dame, where I heard a portion of the Catholic service chanted.... At last, after looking at many other buildings and objects of curiosity, about which I will tell you more presently, I reached the garden, found Decaisne, who could speak no English, and I almost no French; so he took me to Adrien de Jussieu, who makes out to speak very tolerable English, and to understand me pretty well. I left soon to call on Mr. Webb, who is an Englishman, for whom I had a letter from Hooker; thence after looking in vain for “appartements garnis “ in Rue de l’Odéon, Place de l’Odéon, etc., I secured my lodgings here, where I shall be obliged to hear nothing but French, and where I hope I may catch some of the language, and after dining at the ordinary at the Hôtel de Lille, where English is spoken, I transferred myself to my present quarters. But my sheet is full. I will give you another very soon. Till then, mes chères petites sœurs, adieu.

Wednesday evening, March 20.--I must continue my letter to you on a large sheet of thin French paper, else I shall have a larger bill of postage to pay than will be altogether convenient when I send to Havre. I did not write last evening; I had no fire in my room, and after running about all day over streets paved with little square blocks of stone, which it is very fatiguing to walk over, I came home fairly tired, and went to bed soon after nine o’clock. Except calling on M. Delessert, for whom I had a letter and a small parcel from Hooker, and whom I did not find at home, I spent the whole day in looking about the town, seeing sights, etc. My first call was at the Louvre, a large and splendid palace, where I spent an hour or two in the vast gallery of paintings, which fill a very large salon and a long gallery, I suppose five hundred or six hundred feet long, connecting the Louvre with the palace of the Tuileries....

To-day I have been wholly occupied at the Jardin des Plantes. Fortunately for me Jussieu speaks a little English, so I can get on with him pretty well. But you would have been amused at the attempts which M. Decaisne and M. Gaudichaud and myself made to understand each other. Still more amused would you have been to see how I managed to make a bargain with a bookseller for a few books I wished to purchase. I feel the want of French sadly, and have no time for study.

Thursday evening.--I have been again occupied the whole day at the Jardin des Plantes, and went at six o’clock to dine with Mr. Webb to meet M. Gay. Webb had taken care to ask an English student also, who speaks French much better than he does English, who sat between Gay and myself and interpreted when it became necessary. But Gay speaks a little of what will pass for English, mixed here and there with French, so that I got on very well indeed.

Gaudichaud was also there, a very interesting man if one could talk with him. We were kept rather late, so that it is now past twelve, so I must bid you good-night.

Monday evening.... At three o’clock I went to the Institute. I found that the room was already crowded. I inquired for Jussieu and Brongniart, the only members I could think of that I knew, but they were not there and therefore I could not get in. After some time Jussieu came in. But it was then too late, so I lost the object for which I had given up half the day. Jussieu, however, took me into the library, which is worth seeing. I employed the remaining hour or so in purchasing some prints of remarkable buildings, etc., in Paris, and I was also tempted to buy a few engravings from some of the great masters. After dinner I went to Mr. Webb’s, where I looked at plants for a few hours. He gave me also some autographs of celebrated botanists, and a few old botanical books....

Friday evening, March 29.... The Garden of Plants was nearly on my way home; so I stopped there, worked for an hour (till five o’clock), went home (home, indeed!), took my dinner, found myself most thoroughly tired as well as hungry, having had no breakfast but a small roll of bread I obtained near the cemetery; had a fire kindled in my room, and commenced writing to you. Just now the little daughter of the concierge, a little girl of six or seven, who often waits upon me, has brought me a cup of coffee, which I have enjoyed greatly, and now feel much restored. French children are all pretty and graceful, and I am making the little girl’s acquaintance as fast as I can; for it is difficult for me to understand her (it seems odd to hear such a little thing speak French), and in answer to some of my attempts to speak French to her, she answers, “Je n’entends pas anglais, monsieur.”

What great lies the French newspapers tell! Yesterday morning the paper I was reading at my breakfast stated that one of the gardeners who had charge of the bears at the Jardin des Plantes descended into the inclosure for some purpose, and was seized by the bears, killed immediately, and almost eaten up before help was obtained. So when I arrived at the garden I of course spoke to Decaisne about it, who was greatly surprised, for it seems the story was entirely a fabrication.

I see I have at length filled this large sheet, so I must say adieu for the present, but hope to-morrow evening to begin another. Ever I remain,

Your attached, A. G....

TO MRS. TORREY.

Wednesday evening.... There is little danger of my being spoiled in Paris by being overpolished. In London one must take care to be always comme il faut. There I took pains to keep myself rather spruce, which I have continued here from the mere force of habit!!! But gentlemen in Paris dress anyhow; they don’t pay half the attention to the matter it receives in England; with the ladies it is perhaps different, but here I scarcely ever see ladies except in the streets or shops and restaurants! At the houses of botanists I have only seen Mme. Gay, a very plain and good-natured Swiss lady. As to parlez-vous-ing, it is not such an easy matter, I assure you. You would laugh most heartily to see me in the botanic gallery of the Jardin des Plantes, endeavoring to carry on a conversation with Gaudichaud or Decaisne; the former of whom can scarcely read English, and the latter can speak only a dozen words. I get out, with no little difficulty, a few sentences of such French as has not been heard since the days of King Pepin, I am sure; and when that fails me I write in English, which Decaisne can read, and make him write in French in return, or else for short sentences speak very slowly and distinctly. From my ignorance of the language I am obliged to take great pains when I wish to purchase anything from the shops; for it is customary to put on an additional price to English customers. Fortunately my complexion and the style of my countenance are so far French that before I speak I am generally taken for a native, and I sometimes manage to make purchases without saying a word beyond a monosyllable. So I have to be very careful to avoid being cheated; but I am every day acquiring more knowledge and experience.

I have been seized with a mania for collecting prints on a small scale, and shall send home some very good ones,--to adorn my parlor and study at Michigan, of course! There are astonishing quantities to be found here. I am endeavoring to get all the portraits of botanists I can, and from this I have been led to pick up ancient ones, which show the early state of the art or old-fashioned costumes, etc., and also a few choice engravings from the old masters; but most of these I can obtain better in Italy or Germany. Tell Dr. Torrey not to be alarmed, for I shall not spend much money upon them.

As a general thing Paris is not very beautiful. But there are some magnificent sights, I assure you. At odds and ends of time I have already seen most of the ordinary sights which attract the attention of travelers, but must leave all account of them for the journal from Paris, which so far is addressed to the girls, though I fear it will scarcely interest them or any one else....

Decaisne has given me separate copies of his papers. He is now publishing a most splendid (botanically speaking) memoir upon the order Lardizabaleæ, in which I see he has found out some things which have been known to Brown only, for a long time. He will give us copies, I dare say. He is one of the best botanists here. I like Gaudichaud also very much....

I have just finished the examination of Michaux’s herbarium, which has proved worth looking over. I shall write the doctor more particularly, indeed have already begun a letter for him. Mr. Webb showed me last evening a letter from Hooker, which contains a good deal of botanical intelligence for himself and me. The British Antarctic expedition, he says, is to sail positively in August, and Joseph is to go. I wonder if they will be two years or so in getting off!...

TO THE MISSES TORREY.

PARIS, April 1, 1889, Monday evening.

MY DEAR GIRLS,--It is rather late, and I have no fire in my room, to which I have just now returned, but it is nearly comfortable without one, and so we will have a few words together before I sleep. My last and long sheet was closed, I think, on Friday evening. On Saturday my morning was spent as usual at the Jardin des Plantes; returning from whence I looked along the shops and so on to the Pont du Louvre, which I crossed; passed through the Palais Royal at the most busy season, when it is all lighted up splendidly, and dined at the Restaurant Colbert at half past seven. I am patiently exploring (I should say eating) my way through the mazes of French cookery, and am trying to select from the complicated bill of fare the more peculiar and national dishes, some of which are excellent, others so-so, or very poor....

To-day I have been again at the Garden, working as hard as possible, since I have so little time remaining. I dined at half past six at one of the famous restaurants, just to see how it was managed, and returning spent the early part of the evening with Mr. Webb, who lives near me.

On my way from the Garden, I stopped at another church. I believe the only remaining one of large size and much interest which I had not already seen.... It is called St. Severin, and is very old, having been built in the year 1210.

This is the first of April, and a fine spring day it has been, though the season is little more advanced than at New York. In two weeks I must be again upon the wing, and shall soon meet the summer. I want to see the south of France and sunny Italy. Adieu.

Tuesday evening, April 2.--I intended to have had time this evening to write several letters, but Decaisne has been with me, and did not leave until almost twelve, we had so much to talk about. I have been all the morning at the Garden; have worked very hard, indeed, and have nearly finished there. To-morrow is like to be a broken day, as I have made an engagement to see Dr. Montagne and his microscope at twelve o’clock, which will take an hour or two out of the very best part of the day. I will try to turn the fragments of the day to some account. But now good-night.

“To each, to all, a fair good-night, And pleasing dreams, and slumbers light.”

Monday evening, April 8.... Saturday was a little more diversified. I went at eight o’clock in the morning to Professor Richard’s, who lives near me, examined some plants of Michaux, then took my breakfast, went to the Garden for three or four hours, but returned at two o’clock to see the Chamber of Peers in session, M. Gay having provided me with a ticket of admittance, which procured me a very good seat. The members all wear a kind of court dress, the military peers swords, and those who have them display the insignia of the order of the Legion of Honor, and so forth. Several new peers were admitted, but before they were introduced, a number of peers made some remarks which could not have been very flattering to them, the creation of a new batch just at this time having given much dissatisfaction to the old ones. Among others, I heard a little speech from the famous Marshal Soult. Lord Brougham, who is now in Paris, was present. I recognized him across the room by his homely face, which he is in the habit of twitching and contorting incessantly, as if it pained him. He seemed to listen with much attention.

In the evening I paid a visit to Mr. Spach, looked over plants and so forth until ten o’clock, returned shivering with cold, for the weather here is like March in New York. I am now sitting by a large fire, and yet I am shivering.

Tuesday evening, April 9.--In the morning went to hear Mirbel lecture at the Sorbonne; he speaks so distinctly that I understood him tolerably well in general. The lecture-room is old and incommodious, rather better, to be sure, than the accommodation for the students of the university in the olden time, when they used to sit upon straw spread in the streets, but certainly not very fine. I went afterward to the Ecole de Médecine; heard the professor of anatomy for a few minutes; came away, saw two or three books that I wanted in a stall belonging to a shop, priced them; found the price much higher than I intended to give, so I named the price I would give; was amused with the perseverance of the very genteel madame, who reduced her price down to within seven francs of my offer, and then labored hard to make me take them. I advanced one franc, but utterly refused to give a sou more. “Vous n’êtes pas raisonnable,” says madame. “Je suis très raisonnable,” I replied, “mais votre prix n’est pas raisonnable.” So I left the shop, madame very coolly replacing the books on the shelf, with one eye turned toward me to see if I would relent. I had got some distance down the street when the boy came running after me, to say that I might have the books, “mais ils sont très bon marché.” So much for the way you are obliged to make bargains here. Went to the Garden, returned to dine here, paid a little visit to Mr. Webb, and must write the remainder of the evening.

Thursday evening, April 11.--My approaching departure makes it a very busy time for me. Let me recollect what I did yesterday. I went first to Baron Delessert’s; studied in his magnificent library until about one o’clock; then visited my banker, who is near, drew some money; then to a bookseller to arrange some matters about our “Flora” (which I failed to do); went to the Bibliothèque du Roi, where they have miles of books and acres of manuscripts, but as it was not a public day, I did not see half that I wished. I have made arrangements, however, for a future day. I went next to the post office, and took a place in the malle-post (which is very much quicker than the diligence) for Lyons, to go on Monday; so that the time of my departure is pretty well fixed. I next went to learn the time of the departure of the carriages for Sèvres and Versailles, which places I intend to visit to-morrow. Then I met Chevalier, the optician, by appointment, to consult about microscopes for an hour or two.... Called on M. Gay, with whom I found M. Boissier, a Swiss botanist whom I had often seen at the Garden, and also August St. Hilaire, who returned but a few days since from Montpellier.

On reaching my room at half past ten, I found a note from Mr. Webb, saying that M. Spach had a message for me from Mirbel, and asking me to call if I had time; went immediately, but was too late; Webb had gone to bed. Returned, arranged accounts, etc., and went to bed myself.

To-day I have been, if possible, still more busy; at least I have accomplished more, though I made a bad beginning. The concierge promised to call me at eight, but I awoke myself at nine. Consequently it was past ten before I made my first call, which was upon Mr. Webb, to know when I was to see Mirbel. I called next upon Dr. Montagne to get a letter to the chief curator of the Bibliothèque du Roi, which should afford me the opportunity of seeing this, the largest library in the world, on a private day, namely, Monday, the only public day while I stay being Friday, when I have something else to do. Eh bien. I went next to the Louvre, and saw the other and best half of that most magnificent gallery, my passport giving me a ready admittance.... Suffice it to say I saw very much to admire--some things that I greatly admired--very much I did not allow myself time enough to become interested in, as well as many works of the old fellows that one likes to say he has seen.... Again in a cabriolet to the Ecole de Médecine; looked through the museum, which was to-day open to the public; saw for a moment the examination of a batch of candidates for a vacant professorship by concours; also the examination of students in the same way; then I visited the Musée Dupuytren,--a surgical museum of great extent; then went to the Ile St. Louis (opposite the Garden) to call on M. de St. Hilaire; not at home, so I saved a little time. Next to the Garden; looked on my way at the animals, the hyenas, lions, giraffe, monkeys, etc., besides a few large snakes; then called at Mirbel’s rooms, who took a great deal of trouble to show me most curious things in vegetable anatomy, but of this I will write to your good papa, who will care much more for it than you. After this I saw Decaisne for a few minutes at the botanical gallery; took one of the young lads with me; saw the mineralogical cabinet and that of fossils, which occupy a new and most beautifully arranged gallery. Here I saw many of the famous things I have heard so much of. In the vestibule to this gallery they are preparing a pedestal for a fine and large statue of Cuvier. I went next to Jussieu’s house, talked with him for a few minutes, and bid him good-by. On my way home stopped at Ballière’s, the bookseller, to transact some business; home; dined at half past seven; went to Webb’s, where I like to go of an evening, as I get a good cup of tea (no common thing in Paris), which, after such a day’s work, was very grateful, I assure you; remained until half past nine; returned here, took up my pen, and voici the result; and if I do not write plainly and neatly, it is no great wonder, and I trust you will excuse it, for I have other writing to do also this evening. Besides, I must rise at seven, as I expect another very busy day. On my return this evening, I found a polite note from Delessert accompanying a magnificent present, no less than a copy of three volumes of the “Icones Selectæ.” An invitation for Saturday evening from M. and Mme. Delessert came with it. I am already engaged to dinner, at half past six, for the same day.

JOURNAL.

Saturday morning, half past seven.--[After an account of a visit to Versailles, he goes on:] Now bidding adieu to all this most interesting ground, I took up my march, on foot and alone, for St. Germain, distant about four miles. From the heights of Louveciennes I obtained the first view of the Seine and the lovely and broad valley through which it winds. Here I passed the remains of an elevated and striking aqueduct which conveyed water to a royal château which formerly stood in the neighborhood, and also, I believe, to the village of Marly, through which I passed a little farther on. Then descending rapidly, I reached again the banks of the Seine, the terrace of St. Germain being directly before me. It was now three o’clock. The steep hill was to be ascended by a winding road, and being somewhat leg-weary, I stopped a passing countryman’s cart; the lad who was driving readily gave me a seat by his side, and thus I rode into St. Germain. The lad was quite intelligent, and answered all my questions (when he understood me) very readily. He set me down close by the château. I gave him ten sous for his trouble, and we parted on good terms with each other. The château of St. Germain, which was a chief royal residence before Versailles was built, is more interesting to us as the place where the Stuarts kept their petty court so many years. It is now converted into a military penitentiary, and I was not anxious to examine the interior, as I am informed scarce any of the original apartments or furniture remain. The exterior is striking, quite of the old style, built of the same red bricks as the central portion of Versailles. What is most worth seeing here is the terrace, a beautiful park, extending for almost two miles along the brow of the high ridge, with the most beautiful view from it of the valley beneath and before you, the hills that bound your view, and the numerous villages scattered here and there. A finer situation cannot be imagined. The Seine, after passing Paris, makes a bold, double turn. The view extends quite to Paris (fifteen miles) though the city is nearly concealed from view, yet you see the grand Arc de l’Etoile distinctly. In the summer it must be surpassingly beautiful. At four o’clock I descended the steep declivity to the commencement of the railroad, took a little refreshment; at twenty minutes past four we started in cars propelled by steam, and in an hour I was in Paris and taking my dinner at the Restaurant Colbert. A pretty good day’s work!

Saturday, went to dine at Mr. Webb’s; a little party,--a bachelors’ party, for Webb is single,--consisting of Dr. Montagne, M. Berthelot, M. and Mme. Ramon de la Sagra, M. Spach and his wife, and a young Spaniard whose name I do not recollect. Webb is quite a polyglot; he speaks French, Spanish, Portuguese, Italian, Modern Greek, and I know not what besides his mother tongue. At half past nine I left, took a cabriolet for Delessert’s, where I had been invited to an evening party; found there several botanists and persons I knew. Delessert received me cordially, introduced me to Madame D., who I was rejoiced to find spoke English very well. The suite of rooms thrown open was very splendid, and communicating with the last was a pretty greenhouse, filled with vigorous plants, all in fine bloom; the whole, carpeted and lighted, presented a most inviting appearance. The brothers Delessert are said to be very rich, and I suppose can well afford such an expensive establishment. The party broke up at eleven. Besides tea, which is quite English, though the French are getting more into the custom of using it we had ices, etc., but nothing else. The whole affair was conducted without any parade and in quiet good taste....

Notabilia varia.--Ellimia, Nutt., was described a little before us by two authors under two different names: First by Cambessides in Jacquemont’s Travels, under the name of Oligomeris; second by Webb and Berthollet, “Histoire Naturelle des Iles Canaries,” under the name of Resedella; Webb has Jacquemont’s plant from the Himalaya and his own growing together; they are absolutely the same. I am to examine them soon, but have scarce a doubt they are even the same species as ours. Webb has promised me a specimen. It is also the Reseda glauca of Delile ex Egypto. It is curious that the plant should at the same time be described from almost every part of the world, and not less so that the three names hit upon should have all meant the same thing, namely, a reduced reseda.

I have just spent the evening with Gay. He is publishing Carices in “Annales des Sciences Naturelles:” has hit upon some of Boott’s notions; but not all. He is a laboriously minute observer, and will do pretty well, but like Boott inclines to make too many species. He insists upon describing the small form of C. Hitchcockiana from Dr. Sartwell and Kentucky as a distinct species, in which he may be right. He wished to name it after me, but I declined the honor, and have transferred it to Dr. Sartwell, the discoverer, whose name it is to bear....

Delessert received me very kindly when I called on him. I must call again soon, and consult especially his rich library. He showed me a list he had just ordered from New York; among which of course was our “Flora.” I should have offered him a copy, but now it is scarcely worth while.... I shall not see De Candolle here. Delessert does not expect him until May. I shall leave the books and parcels for him with Delessert, and make De Candolle take back to Geneva with him all my parcels that I do not wish to take with me to the south.

April 2, evening, or rather April 3, as it is past midnight.--I have worked to-day as hard as I could jump from ten to half past five o’clock at the herbarium général of the Museum de Paris, and have finished. Apart from Michaux’s plants, of which they have nearly a set distributed, they are wretchedly poor in North American species; almost none of Lamarck and Poiret. I except the plants given by LeConte, Torrey, etc., which are arranged but not incorporated. The present Gallery of Botany is exceedingly fine and spacious, and well planned. I have gone carefully through all Michaux’s herbarium (from your limited time you have made some bad slips in the Carices of Michaux, which Gay, I am sorry to say, has found out), noting all dubious matters to be settled by examination of Richard’s set. I have gone through De la Pylaie’s herbarium completely and carefully; I have examined the herbarium given by Humboldt,--not complete but said to be as large as Kunth’s own set or more so, and labeled by Kunth; I have looked at everything here which I thought could interest us, but some I found not, such as Cercocarpus; I have examined some other separate sets of the same kind. I am now ready to glance through Jussieu’s herbarium, which is said to contain many Lamarck and Poiret; to spend a little time in Richard’s, a few hours more for Desfontaines at Webb’s, and perhaps Berlandier’s plants, though these are distributed through Webb’s immense collection; this I can do, however, in evenings. Then a morning or two at Delessert’s, which will be more occupied with examination of books than plants, will, I believe, finish. Webb has promised to give me some plants of Labilliardière, whose herbarium he bought, as he did Mercier’s, in which he got many of Nuttall’s plants. He has also a collection of Lady Dalhousie’s from North America, all Drummond’s, etc., etc.; so he is pretty rich in North American plants, but they are not all arranged yet. Webb has most generously presented me with a complete copy of L’Héritier’s Works (in sheets) except the “Cornus,” which I have this day bought of the Jew Meilhac, and for which I was obliged to give six francs. I shall have the whole bound in two large folio volumes: “Cornus” and “Sertum Anglicum” in one, “Stirpes Novæ” and “Geraniologia” in the other. I think thus far that the few copies of the “Flora” I have given away have turned to good account. I meant to go to Jussieu to-morrow, but Webb has made an appointment with me to see Dr. Montagne (muscologist, etc.) and his microscope, which is one of the latest and best of Chevalier, and will enable me to decide if I may venture upon one for Sullivant.

On Saturday Decaisne told me, almost by accident, that he was to do the Asclepiadeæ for De Candolle’s “Prodromus,” at the same time showing me a paper of his on the family that I was unacquainted with, much to his surprise, but he at once gave me a copy. You must know, that although I knew nothing scarcely of this family when I left you, and now know little as to general structure, yet I pride myself a little on my researches in extricating the synonymy of the species in London, in Herbarium Linnæus, Hort. Clift., Herbarium Gronovius, Banks, Walter and Pursh, and here of Michaux. Accordingly on Monday (yesterday) Decaisne and myself had a regular examination of all the species we could find here, and I furnished him with all my notes upon the synonymy, and left with him those I had with me from your herbarium, to be returned to London in September next. Decaisne has been with me also all this evening.

I find that very many of the pamphlets we have sent from time to time have miscarried, particularly the copies of my “Ceratophyllaceæ,” sent by Castilneaux, and, what is mortifying, Guillemin and Jussieu received copies, but Brongniart and Decaisne none. I have just sent my only remaining copy here (for you sent me none) to Brongniart, with an explanation.

There is a second species of Podophyllum from Cashmere or Himalaya, P. Emodi, also collected by Jacquemont, from whose specimens Decaisne has given me a piece. What is most curious, it is sixandrous, and therefore comes into Berberideæ except in wanting the dehiscence of the anthers by valves (which Decaisne tells me is also the case in Nandina), and so Robert Brown’s views are confirmed. I should not wonder if the sly old chap had seen a specimen from Wallich when he appended the note to the “Congo Voyage” on Berberideæ.

Thursday evening, April 4.--Yesterday saw Dr. Montagne, the muscologist, and examined his microscope thoroughly, which is one of the latest and best of Charles Chevalier’s. To-day I spent the morning at Jussieu’s, looking up Lamarckian species, etc., in A. L. de Jussieu’s herbarium; was very successful in Hypericum, but have no time now to give you details. In the afternoon Webb, by appointment, met me at the Garden, and we went to see Mirbel,--a man well worth seeing, I assure you. Webb acted as interpreter, when it was necessary, for Mirbel speaks with such distinctness that knowing what he was about I could understand him pretty well.

I like Mirbel excessively. Considering I was a perfect stranger, of whom he knew nothing, I think he took great pains to show me what I wanted to see. Sullivant’s microscope will be of the same kind as his, only better, so that he will have the means of being a second Mirbel. Examined his microscope, which is a good one, but I think not equal to the best English; got some good hints, etc.; am to call again. He is very communicative, and you missed much in not seeing so extraordinary a man. He showed me a series of drawings and engravings on which he has been long engaged, for a mémoire on the structure of roots,--splendid drawings; and he explained to me what I before could not form a clear idea about, how the curious emboîtement or thickening of the walls of cells takes place by the development of new cells within the old. He showed me what I at once recognized as the so-called gridiron-tissue which I had seen in England, and I noticed that he explained it in the same way as Brown. He promised me copies for self and friends of the late paper of his on Embryologia in the “Comptes Rendus,” just now read before the Institute (which will also be published with a part of the plates in the “Annales des Sciences Naturelles” and finally completely in “Archives du Muséum “), in which he says he has completely upset the new-fangled notions of Schleiden, Unger, etc. (adopted by Endlicher); and, what is remarkable, his investigations on the subject were made before he knew of their views, and the publication is only a little hastened on account of theirs. This evening I have been with Webb, looking up Desfontaines and Poiret plants, also some of Spach. Did I tell you I have seen a good deal of Spach of late? He does not agree well with the other botanists of the Garden; but there are some good points about him, and he is mending every day. I pushed him rather hard upon some of his bad ways, particularly that of his changing specific names, which he bore very well. Webb says he is now falling into an opposite extreme as to species, and will hardly admit anything to be distinct; but Webb himself rather inclines to multiply species, I believe. I am to meet Spach at his place in the Garden to-morrow morning. He is married, lately, to Miss Legendre, a relative of Mirbel’s, who made his drawings in Marchantia, etc.,--indeed the best botanical artiste in Paris. What a fine library Jussieu has! And what a capital advantage it is to have a great botanist for one’s father! I particularly envy Jussieu his collection of botanical pamphlets, which fill a large cabinet, all arranged in families, etc., the largest collection of the kind in the world, Jussieu thinks. He gave me to-day a little print of his father taken in the year his “Genera Plantarum” was published. He told me, what I did not know before, that Bernard de Jussieu superintended the publication of Aublet’s “Plantes de la Guiane.” I could buy that work rather cheap, but think I must refrain. I bought to-day Schreber’s edition of the “Genera Plantarum,” two francs, two vols. in one, bound, for myself (you have it, I believe), and a second copy of “Linnæi Species Plantarum,” ed. 3 (which is the 2d Holm., as you know, reprinted paginatim at Vienna). I gave five francs, and shall put it down for Sullivant, who should have it, unless indeed you desire to keep it yourself. I have bought (ten francs) the first four vols. of “Mémoires de l’Institut,” 4to, bound, for library of Michigan. Ventenat’s mémoire of Tilia is contained in one, also other botanical papers, and some good old chemical ones, etc. Webb is to put up for me a small parcel of Labilliardière’s New Holland plants.

I have bought L’Héritier’s “Cornus,” so now I have the whole complete, and must get it all bound.

P. S.--I have just discovered that the copy of L’Héritier’s is imperfect. I feel confident that Webb knows it not, and I of course cannot tell him. I shall have all bound up in one thick volume.

Monday evening, April 8.--I finished early this morning, at Richard’s, the examination of those species upon which Michaux’s herbarium is not satisfactory. Richard boasts of his set as the authentic one (which is true), but it is not as complete nor as good as the other, which is partly owing to Richard having divided with Kunth when he could. Michaux must have made a capital collection, since it has moreover supplied the general herbarium with a pretty extensive set, and Desfontaines and Jussieu with many; others I meet in the Ventenat herbarium (Delessert). They say De Candolle has some of Michaux’s plants, and who besides I know not....

But I have something better than all this to tell you. I have discovered a new genus in Michaux’s herbarium--at the end, among plantæ ignotæ. It is from that great unknown region, the high mountains of North Carolina. We have the fruit, with the persistent calyx and style, but no flowers, and a guess that I made about its affinities has been amply borne out on examination by Decaisne and myself. It is allied to Galax, but “un très-distinct genus,” having axillary one-flowered scapes (the flower large) and a style like that of a Pyrola, long and declined. Indeed I hope it will settle the riddle about the family of Galax, and prove Richard to be right when he says Ordo Ericarcum. I claim the right of a discoverer to affix the name. So I say, as this is a good North American genus and comes from near Kentucky, it shall be christened Shortia, to which we will stand as godfathers. So Shortia galacifolia, Torr. and Gr., it shall be. I beg you to inform Dr. Short, and to say that we will lay upon him no greater penalty than this necessary thing,--that he make a pilgrimage to the mountains of Carolina this coming summer and procure the flowers. Please lay an injunction upon Nuttall, that he publish no other Shortia, and I will do the same to Hooker in a letter that I am now writing. Indeed I think I will tell him some of its chief peculiarities, and then give him leave to publish the extract in the “Annals of Natural History” if he thinks it worth while.

I attended a meeting of the Institute this afternoon. An election of a correspondent took place, which ran very close between Charles Buonaparte and Agassiz, but the latter carried it!

I must not forget to tell you about the Loganiaceous plant from Florida, for so Decaisne, to whom I gave leave to sacrifice a flower for drawing, has determined it to be; so Brown’s hint is confirmed. There is something rather queer about the style, which, as Brown’s “Prodromus” is not before me, I cannot say is also the case in any of the subgenera or genera he has indicated.

Euploca, Decaisne says, is certainly apocyneous. Nuttall, I believe, places it in Boragineæ.

April 9.--I heard Mirbel lecture to-day, commencing his course at the Sorbonne. He is a very good and clear lecturer, of the colloquial sort, and illustrates very well by rapid sketches on the blackboard. I believe you did not see him. In the contour of his features and in expression he is a good deal like Dr. Peters, except that his countenance is more attenuated, his features small and very little prominent, and his complexion light. At the Ecole de Médecine I was not fortunate enough to hit the chemical professor. I heard a portion of a lecture in the anatomical theatre, but soon came away.

I have had another fine lesson from Mirbel. He showed me all the drawings of the paper, of which I send three copies. I quit to-day.

LYONS, Wednesday evening, April 17, 1839.

At six o’clock precisely the malle-postes for every part of France began to leave, one after the other: that for Lyons came up; our baggage all in, our seats selected and arranged for us, in ten seconds we were in our places, and before the word adieu was fairly beyond my lips we were off at full speed. We took the route by Burgundy, passed Sens in the night, breakfasted at six next morning at Auxerre, and during the day should have passed through Autun, but I believe we did not; passed Châlons-sur-Saône at dusk, and arrived at Lyons at six precisely the next morning,--a rather fatiguing ride, but I saved much time over the diligence, which would have been even more fatiguing. The mail-coach takes four passengers only, three inside and one with the conducteur; it is drawn by seven horses guided by a postillion, in boots almost as high as himself, and the horses are changed every five miles or thereabouts. The time it took to change the horses I believe never exceeded a minute. I timed them once or twice by the watch, and we were moving again before the expiration of the minute. The country through which we passed was more fertile and in better cultivation than what I saw of Normandy; it was beautiful but monotonous, except the latter part, which grew quite picturesque as we approached the Rhone and the rivers that fall into it....

Lyons is finely situated just above the confluence of the Saône and the Rhone, occupying the space between the two rivers and also the other bank of the former. It has two beautiful and very steep hills, between which the Saône winds, which add much to its appearance....

April 25.--I broke off here some time ago, and left a space which I intended to fill up the first spare moment, by telling you what I saw at Lyons; what kind of a town it is; how I might possibly have seen Mont Blanc from it had it not been a rainy day; how I called on Seringe, saw the little botanical garden, took notice of many little contrivances, particularly the way he keeps the aquatic plants wet; how he went with me to the Académie of Lyons, the branch of the University of Paris.... I could also describe the manufacture of velvet, which I also saw, but for all these things time does not permit; a good opportunity of sending to New York occurring to-morrow morning. So I must leave the hiatus....

I was called this morning at a quarter before four; went down to the steamboat, which was to start promptly at five, but which did not until half an hour later,--a narrow comfortless vessel, with no awning or protection for the decks, in which point, and in the lack of all comfortable arrangements, it is just like every other steamboat I have seen since I left New York, those between Liverpool and Glasgow alone excepted. The Rhone, even at Lyons and far below, merits pretty well the epithets applied to it, where it “leaves the bosom of its nursing lake,”--“the blue rushing of the arrowy Rhone,” for it is rapid the whole course. At Lyons it has a blue tint like that of the ocean, though not so deep. Well, we were off at length, and aided by the current we made very satisfactory progress. The distance by post between Lyons and Avignon is one hundred and sixty-seven miles, but including all the turnings of the river it must be much more; however, at six o’clock and a quarter the spires and battlements of Avignon, lighted by the setting sun, were in sight, and a beautiful sight they were as we drew near. The wall of the city, built by Pope Innocent VI. in the twelfth century, is still perfect, and very pretty, the architecture being what I should have thought. Moorish (judging from pictures merely); the numerous spires of this very ecclesiastical town rising above it; the huge rocky elevation next the river,--the site of the ancient fortress, and of old temples, churches, etc.,--and not least the ruined bridge of very ancient date, that still throws its beautiful arches half across the river, the lovely Italian landscape around, so fresh and green, the distant mountains encircling the whole, made it altogether as delightful a scene as one could wish to behold. But you must know that I am now in the region of the olive and myrtle, and have in the short space of three days concentrated, as it were, the pleasure we experience in watching the gradual approach of summer. The season is said to be later than usual at Paris; it is like April in New York,--a few warm days, but the evenings all chilly and most of the days raw and unpleasant, The horse-chestnut trees of the Tuileries were just bursting their buds; but every hour since, and particularly to-day, I have noticed little by little the advance. Here nearly all the trees have assumed their foliage,--that pure and delicate vernal foliage which we always so much admire, but which you enjoy very much to come upon in the way I have done, instead of waiting week after week, with every now and then a snowstorm, just to keep winter in remembrance. But I must not forget that I have seen snow also to-day. The summit of Mont Ventoux, which we have had in full sight since twelve o’clock, is covered with snow, its brilliant whiteness contrasting finely with the craggy brown mountains of lesser elevation, as with the green fields and tender foliage of the valleys. There is nothing very grand in the scenery of the Rhone from Lyons to this place. The upper portion is very much like the Hudson between New York and the Highlands, but I think scarcely as fine, if you make due allowance for the effect of the old villages, etc. (not half so comfortable as ours surely, but much better adapted to improve the beauty of the landscape), with now and then a gray ruin, which is a vast improvement. But from Tournon quite to Avignon, the scenery quite surpasses the Hudson, and exhibits such variety, moreover, that you are charmed continually: now bold and magnificent even; again, picturesque, particularly where the basaltic rocks, for it is wholly a volcanic country, form parapets like the Palisades, but much more curious and diversified, the more friable material being worn away in places, leaving columns and salient portions in all fantastic shapes. And again, especially in the lower portion, we see the hills widely separated, leaving most beautiful broad valleys between, with high mountains for a distant background. At St. Esprit we passed under the curious old bridge built in the eleventh century, which is still in as perfect a state apparently as if finished but yesterday. It is three thousand feet long, and is said to be the longest bridge in Europe; it consists of twenty-six arches, and each abutment has also a little arch above it. We passed other very pretty or striking views of which I should like vastly to have good prints, but I do not know whether any person has of late been illustrating the Rhone. But I must come to a close, not to fatigue you longer. I arrived at the most excellent Hôtel du Palais Royal (recommended by Bentham) just in time for the table d’hôte at seven o’clock, and after dinner sallied out, with a guide to conduct me to see Requien, to whom Bentham had given me a letter. I found him a prompt man, and in almost ten words we settled my plan for to-morrow, which is to start in a cabriolet for Vaucluse at five o’clock in the morning, arrive at eight, spend two hours, breakfast, and return here by one o’clock; spend the afternoon and evening in seeing the most interesting objects in town, looking at his collections, his pictures, etc., etc. What would you give to see Vaucluse? I have many doubts whether it will equal my expectations, which are raised by the description; according to the account it must be very curious and strange, apart from the associations of the place, which here pass for little with me, as I feel no interest at all in Petrarch or Laura, whoever she may have been.

AVIGNON, Friday evening, April 19, half past eight o’clock.

I think you will scarcely call me an idle lad. It was about midnight when I went to bed last night; I was called this morning at half past four; a few minutes past five I was on my way in a cabriolet for Vaucluse, with a very lazy horse, so that it was nine o’clock when I arrived. I visited the famous fountain, admired the rocks, etc.; collected a few plants as a souvenir; took my breakfast, a very substantial one, consisting in part of delicate trout from the stream which issues from the fountain; left at eleven, arrived at Avignon again at half past two; saw the Requien museum of antiquities, which is rich, the paintings, the little botanic garden; saw also Requien’s library and collection of plants, etc; made arrangements for correspondence; climbed the rocky hill which overlooks the town and river; enjoyed the view; visited the cathedral (a small affair) which stands upon it; saw the old papal palace, now converted into a prison; returned to the Hôtel Palais Royal, and a most excellent hotel it is, which I hope you will patronize the first time you come to Avignon; dined at seven, having first secured a place in the diligence for Nîmes at ten o’clock this evening, where I hope to arrive by daylight and be ready to go on the same day to Montpellier, where I prefer to pass the Sabbath. Now I think this is doing pretty well....

MONTPELLIER, Saturday evening, April 20, 1839.

At twelve o’clock I left Nîmes; rode through a highly fertile and level country, mostly occupied with vineyards, getting now and then a distant view of the mountains of Cevennes on the right, and soon of the Pic San Loup, by which I knew we were not very far from Montpellier. At this last place we arrived at five o’clock precisely, and here I am quartered at the most comfortable hotel imaginable, the Hôtel du Midi. All my stopping-places being indicated to me by Bentham, I have no difficulty in choosing where to stop. Here you are not put into a little seven by nine chamber up five pairs of stairs, as is the inevitable lot of a single man traveling in the United States, but I have a room like a large parlor, airy, the two windows looking into a pretty shady garden, a sofa, cushioned chairs, and every convenience you can think of. The town itself has nothing pleasant except its situation, but there are in it two delightful spots, which I sought at once, after having taken my dinner,--the Esplanade, very near me, an elevated plateau planted with trees, from which you have an extensive view of the country around. From this I had my first view of the Mediterranean, distant, I suppose, about eight miles! At the opposite side of the town is the Place du Peyrou, one of the finest squares in the world, on a fine elevation, descending by bold terraces into the country around, the green fields coming up on one side close to the parapet. The view is beautiful and very extensive, the Mediterranean on one side, the Pic San Loup and the mountains of Cevennes on the other, while toward the south, it is said, the Pyrenees may be seen in very clear weather. From this point I discovered the Botanic Garden, the oldest in Europe and in many respects still the finest. So I descended, sought out Delile the director, who it seems expected me, and expressed his delight in a most exaggerated and truly French manner. I stayed with him until nine o’clock; returned here, commenced this, but being fatigued soon gave it up and went to bed.

Monday morning, April 22.--Nearly all of the foregoing has been written this morning; but I cannot stay longer, as I should be stirring. There are many Protestants in Montpellier, it is said, but I fancy that they are chiefly not very pious, and as I should not understand the language well enough to be benefited, I thought it better to spend the Sabbath by myself. This was my first Sabbath on land in which I have not attended divine worship conducted in the English language.

Tuesday morning, April 23.--As early as possible in the morning yesterday I called on Lady Bentham, the mother of my good friend who has taken so much pains to aid me and her daughter, Madame Duchesnil; they live quite retired, and are occupied in directing the education of the son of Madame Duchesnil, a fine lad of about thirteen.... The ladies received me with great cordiality. I prolonged my call to an hour, and accepted an invitation to take tea with them this evening.... I went to the Garden, called upon M. Dunal, the best botanist here, who, having lived single to the age of I should say fifty years, has found out that it is not good to be alone, and has just taken a wife. I did not stay very long, as I found when I called that he was not in his study, but I suppose in his drawing-room, and I could not be so cruel as to keep him from the company of his beloved.

I called next upon Delile, but as he was not in, I spent a long time in looking over the Garden, noticing all the little details and arrangements that it would be useful for me to know. On his return we spent the remainder of the afternoon in looking over his plants collected in America. I dined with him at six o’clock, and spent nearly all the evening.... They have not water enough, however, to supply the Botanic Garden sufficiently, which has a very barren soil, and in this dry climate, where it seldom rains from this time till October, it suffers greatly. The first view of this garden is very striking, but upon a more careful observation I see less to admire. Still I learn some thing from every garden I visit.

Previously to calling on Lady Bentham I had accepted an invitation to dine this evening with Captain Gordon, a retired officer of the British army residing here, a friend of the Bentham family, who, hearing from Lady Bentham and Delile that I was soon expected here, called par hasard at the Hôtel du Midi, to request that they would send him word when I arrived. On finding me he insisted on my dining with him this evening. I have this moment, while I was writing, received a note from Lady Bentham, asking me to call on her this morning, saying she has a collection of plants made by herself for her son George at some interesting locality among the mountains, a set of which she is to have ready for me, knowing, as she says, that George would surely offer them to me. Although I had arranged my time a little differently, of course I shall call immediately after breakfast. Lady B., who is now very aged, is evidently a very superior woman; she is a very good botanist also, therefore, as I do not know the plants of the south of Europe very well, I am a little afraid of her.

Marseilles, April 25, Thursday evening.--I broke off my narrative on Tuesday morning, two days ago. I must continue my brief account, and then close my letters to send from this port. After breakfast, Captain Gordon called on me, and we went together to Lady Bentham. We found his dinner hour so late that we were obliged to give up the expectation of returning to take tea with the ladies here. Delile joined us, and soon after I went with him to see the museum of painting and sculpture, which, by a curious circumstance, is the richest in France, except that of Paris. There are not a few of originals of great masters; two or three Raphaels; as many of Salvator Rosa, Rubens, Poussin, Carlo Dolci, etc., many of which I know from engravings. We went next to the Medical School, which occupies the former palace of the archbishop, who was ousted at the time of the revolution. This is one of the oldest medical schools, and for a long time very celebrated. It is declining now; they have no professor of very great talent at present, except Lallemand. I was shown the gallery of portraits of the professors from the commencement almost, a prodigious number, and some of the old fellows very queer to look at. I saw also the library, the collection of manuscripts, classical, theological, a few Persian, Arabic, etc., which fell into their hands some years ago.

Thence we went to the Garden, looked at plants, but did not get on very much, Delile being fonder of telling long stories, complaining all the while how much he is pressed by his avocations, than of working hard. I then arranged my baggage, took a place in the diligence for Marseilles, called again on Lady Bentham, to take leave; dined with Captain Gordon, returned, and went to bed.

Rose on Wednesday (yesterday) morning at half past four; took diligence at five, arrived at Nîmes at half past ten; had time to take another survey of the Amphitheatre, the Maison Carrée, and so forth; took breakfast at half past eleven; off again at twelve, passed in sight of Beaucaire and Tarascon; crossed the Rhone, here a large river, near its mouth at Arles, a curious old town which has nothing modern about it, and thus was again in Provence. The court of Constantine the Great was for several years at Arles, which was celebrated for its refinement, and the women and children are said to be still handsome and graceful. Certainly nearly all I saw, young or old, were comely, and many handsome. They are all brunettes, and not a little sunburnt; but their black hair, large dark eyes, and long eyelashes appear to advantage. We were soon on the road again, traveled over an immense plain, bordered on the north by a long ridge of mountains, composed of naked jagged rocks,--a picturesque range, in fine contrast to the fertile plain from which it abruptly rises. They are, I believe, the mountains of the Durance. At length the plain became as barren as the mountains; night came on, and rather late in the evening we reached Aix, took our supper.... I slept pretty well, and when I awoke we were in sight of the town and bay of Marseilles, the latter superb as seen from the elevated place of our view; but the town did not present such an imposing view as I had been taught to expect....

Genoa, April 27, 1839. Saturday evening.--I have just finished my afternoon and evening stroll through this, to me, the first Italian city: the birthplace of Columbus, the city of the Dorias, the rival and even the conqueror of that other proud republic of the Middle Ages, Venice, in remembrance of which, huge pieces of the chains which were employed to bar the harbors of the latter city are suspended from the gates of Genoa. We arrived in the bay before twelve o’clock to-day, and during our gradual approach to the town enjoyed the view to the full; both the distant view and the near are very fine,--equal, I may say, to what I expected, which is saying a great deal. As seen from the bay it certainly deserves the name its citizens long ago gave it,--Genoa the Superb. You have the whole completely before you in one view, the buildings rising one behind the other, the fortifications that overtop the whole, with the vast mountain amphitheatre for a background.... You are not much disturbed with the rattling of carriage wheels here. With the exception of one street, and this a new one (Strada Nuova) at least as to its present dimensions, they are barely wide enough for a wheelbarrow, and mostly too steep for a carriage, even if they were wider. The houses are very high; six, seven, or eight stories being very common, indeed usual, so that the streets are mere chinks or crevices. I found the same advantage from this in Avignon and the other towns of the south of France, that is, the perfect protection afforded these warm days from the heat of the sun. You are sure of shade; and the air is so dry that none of the inconvenience and unhealthiness results which would surely be the case in other countries. I am at the Hôtel des Etrangers, not far from the quay, and my room, five or six stories high, looks down upon the harbor and bay. It is nine o’clock in the evening. The light is burning quietly in the light-house, a tall and very slender column at the entrance of the harbor, forming a beacon which is visible far and wide. I don’t know as I may say that

“The scene is more beautiful far to my eye Than if day in her pride had arrayed it;”

but it is much softer. The evening gun has just been fired off from one of the batteries next the sea, the signal, I suppose, for closing the harbor, and the echo sent back by the hills on either side was prolonged and repeated fainter and fainter for nearly a minute....

The coast at Marseilles and that I saw yesterday may be described in a few words: bare, jagged, sterile, rocky mountains; scarcely high enough to be picturesque, perfectly destitute of verdure, barely supporting here and there a few stunted olive-trees. We passed Toulon and had a distant view. We sailed between the mainland and the islands of Hyères, so remarkable for their fine climate and healthfulness, but they did not look very inviting to me.

When I rose this morning the scenery had become bolder and more interesting. We were where the Alps first come down to the sea, and we have since sailed along a coast so closely skirted by the Maritime Alps, the chain which passing into Italy forms the Apeninnes, that there is scarcely room to construct a road between. The loftier peaks, the whole day, were covered with snow, in fine contrast with the gray and sterile cliffs below and the dark blue sea which seems to lave their base, for the Mediterranean has the deep azure tint of mid-ocean quite up to the shore. There are many pretty villages also, which either seem hung on the mountain’s side or to rise out of the water. In one place I counted twelve in a single view, by no means a wide one. We passed Savona, the town where the pope lived while Napoleon was master of Italy. Here the hills are more fertile, and vines, olives, and oranges are cultivated wherever room or soil enough to plant them can be found....

IN THE HARBOR OF LEGHORN, Monday evening, five o’clock.

I must tell you of the pretty view I had Saturday night. My room, I think I mentioned, looked directly into the bay, and also gave me a fine view of the western part of the town, the mountains of that side of the bay, and peeping over them, the sharp crests of the Maritime Alps, still white with snow, and looking rather like bright clouds than a portion of terra firma.

While I was sleeping soundly, about two o’clock in the morning the moon shone into the window directly into my face, and thinking it a pity I should lose so fine a sight, she awoke me. She was near her full; she hung in the middle of the bay at just the proper angle that the flood of golden light she was pouring upon the tranquil sea was reflected directly to my eyes. The city, too, looked beautiful indeed, and the mountains, and even the Alps, were all visible. I enjoyed it for a long time, and went to bed again regretting that I had no one to share the scene with me.

There is or was a British chapel here, belonging to the British embassy, but I could find nothing of it, and so spent the Sabbath by myself, which was as well perhaps. At seven in the evening our boat left, and I was obliged to continue my voyage. I wrapped myself in my cloak and slept soundly and quietly, and when we reached the harbor of Leghorn at five o’clock awoke refreshed, vigorous, and in the finest spirits. I obtained a light breakfast on board; at seven o’clock was ashore; in five minutes more was in a cabriolet and on the road to Pisa, distant from here fourteen Tuscan miles, which make, I should judge, about ten English ones. My bargain was that I should be driven to Pisa in two hours at farthest, have two hours and a half there, and be returned again safe and sound before two o’clock. This was easily accomplished; the journey being made in less than two hours, I had the more time there, quite as much, indeed, as I wished. It is a great comfort to be able to leave a place the moment you have done with it, and so avoid being sated with it. I had a letter and a little parcel from Mirbel to deliver to old Savi, the professor of botany in the university; so I was dropped at the door of the university, once so famous, but now far from formidable. I found Savi, gave my letter, was introduced to his two sons, the one professor of natural history, the other assistant professor of botany, who showed me through the museum, which was interesting, the botanic garden, which was not much; I then set out to see the four chief lions, the Duomo or cathedral, the Baptistery, the Campanile or famous leaning tower, and the Campo Santo, which all stand near each other and are soon dispatched. In fact they are the separate parts of a cathedral, the Campanile being, as the name denotes, the bell-tower, and the Campo Santo the burial-place....

The vine in Tuscany is not kept close to the ground as in France, but is trained in arbors and festoons along the borders of wheat-fields, and when their leaves appear must add very much to the beauty of the country. One here could sit under the shade of his vine, which would be out of the question in France. But the boat is leaving the harbor. On the right we can dimly discern the northern extremity of Corsica. Elba we shall pass in the night, and sometime in the course of the morning be landed in Civita Vecchia. I have made the acquaintance of an English clergyman of warm piety, who is in ill health, who has been obliged to reside for several years in Nice in the winter, and at Interlaken in Switzerland in the summer, at both of which places he preaches regularly. He has traveled in Greece, Turkey, and Asia Minor, and passed much time with our missionaries there, of whom he speaks in the warmest terms. His name is Hartley. We shall go on in company to Rome.

ROME, 1st May, 1839, Wednesday evening.

And I am indeed in Rome. This is enough to repay one for long and tedious journeys and even for transient separation from friends, and when I leave this place I feel as though my face was set homeward. I feel it is something to be in Rome....

I distinctly recollect the time when, a very small boy, in the course of a long ride with a relative, the story of Romulus and Remus was first related to me, and how it struck my wondering fancy. And I recollect most perfectly my first lesson in Virgil, and how, commencing with “Arma virumque cano,” I slowly worked my way into the mysteries of Latin prosody and the story of the Æneid. Little did I think in those days that I should ever stand within the “walls of lofty Rome;”

“Should tread the Appian Or climb the Palatine, and stand within those very walls Where Virgil read aloud his tale divine.”

My enthusiasm has risen by degrees, for I arrived here this morning, after a delay at that most wretched of all places, Civita Vecchia, where an Austrian soldier, stationed there, told us he was sent as to a kind of earthly purgatory to do penance for his sins; after being subjected to those numberless petty exactions by which the purse of the pope is replenished from the pockets of us poor Protestants, after tedious delays on the road, and a most uncomfortable ride for the whole night, which altogether is enough to put one in a bad humor with everything,--after all this you may be sure I found myself in such a prosaic care-for-nothing mood that it was a long time before I could feel the interest which the Eternal City is calculated to inspire. A fog in the morning prevented us from a good view on our approach; the streets of the modern town through which we passed were mostly devoid of interest, and we saw nothing but the dome of St. Peter’s and the Castle of St. Angelo. However, we got established at the Hôtel d’Allemagne, and took breakfast. Mr. Hartley, being worn out by the journey, took to his room for the day, and I was left to myself. Though perfectly ignorant of localities here, I was determined not to be deprived of the satisfaction of discovering the most interesting places for myself. My guide-book (Madame Starke) describes objects somewhat particularly, but gives no information as to where they are to be found. I hate the chatter of a cicerone, and felt confident that I should stumble upon something worth seeing. So I climbed the hill just before me by a magnificent flight of marble steps, where the Egyptian obelisk stands which the inscription says was found in the Circus of Sallust. I saw an imposing building at the end of a long avenue, on the summit of a rise which I afterwards learned was the Esquiline Hill. On reaching it and examining the interior I found by the guide-book that it was the Basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore. These basilicas, retaining the name of ancient structures, are a larger kind of churches, which were mostly established upon the foundations of ancient temples, or they were these temples themselves turned into churches....

As I emerged from the Coliseum I stood between the Palatine and the Cælian Hills, the Arch of Constantine just before me, the Arch of Titus in view on the right hand, and just beyond the Roman Forum, all crowded with ruins; the very soil is mouldering brickwork and fragments of columns. Here I spent the greater part of the morning, silent and undisturbed, finding out by the description the ruins as they presented themselves....

* * * * *

The journal is so long that most of the Italian, more especially the Roman, journey must be omitted. Dr. Gray, as is shown, was a busy sightseer, enjoying the historical and romantic associations with his natural enthusiasm. Here began his great love of painting, of sculpture, and of architecture; he carried the details of churches and cathedrals in his memory remarkably, recognizing quickly a print or photograph of something he had seen perhaps thirty years before; he had the memory for form which helped him so much in his science. He was a good critic of painting and enjoyed extremely his favorite pictures, liking to wander off alone to enjoy them. Titian on the whole ranked highest in his estimation. He enjoyed much of the old church music, though his preference in music was for simple songs, hymns especially, and the old tunes to which words had long been wedded. There are many quotations from Byron and Rogers in the original journal. For Byron, with his brilliant descriptions and versification, he always kept much feeling; and his great love of natural scenery had full play.

TO MRS. TORREY.

LEGHORN, May 8.

Whenever I have an hour to spare I know of no pleasanter mode of occupying it than by writing to you, for to you my thoughts, whenever they are at rest, spontaneously revert. I have yet an hour before the vetturino starts for Florence, and I may as well commence another sheet, the first of a series which I may be unable to send you for several weeks, as I here leave the Mediterranean, loveliest of seas, and except I find an American ship on the Adriatic, which is not very probable, I must keep them all until I reach Hamburg. I have just closed a formidable packet of journal, to be sent from here in the ship Sarah and Arsilia, which is to sail for New York next week....

I am very well satisfied with my visit to Rome. In the brief space of time I spent there I saw everything I wished except the pope himself, and I believe I had a glimpse of him; one statue of Michael Angelo’s, which I only learned about when it was too late; the Catacombs, where the early Christians used to conceal themselves, which are some miles off; the monument of Cecilia Metella, which is not handsome, but is immortalized by three or four singularly sweet stanzas in “Childe Harold;” and the Basilica of St. Paul, which is some distance out of the city, and was nearly destroyed by fire about ten years ago. This is a very small list compared with what I have seen, so I am quite content. I wish you could see Rome; there is so much that you would enjoy in the highest degree, and it is laying up a fund to be enjoyed afterwards as long as you live.

It is now just sunset, and the air is remarkably balmy,--a mild sea-breeze, just enough to fan you. And let me tell you, however, as to Italian skies and sunsets that they are not a bit superior to our own. You may enjoy from your own parlor windows finer sunsets every clear day in summer than I have yet seen in Italy; though they certainly are very near ours. It is only to those who are accustomed to British clouds and fogs that they are remarkable.

The peripatetic grinders of music upon hand-organs so common in all our towns are usually Italians, and I supposed that street music here was of much the same kind. This is a mistake. I have not seen such a thing in Italy or the south of France. You have universally the harp, commonly two players in concert, and very frequently a violin also for accompaniment, and the music is always creditable. At Avignon, the very land of troubadours, we were serenaded at dinner with a concert of harps, guitars, etc., but when they called for the coppers we found, shame to this degenerate age, that the troubadours were all women, and of the most unromantic appearance possible. The patois of all this part of France and of Piedmont, however, is the same as the language in which the trouvères are written, and one who understands the patois as now spoken can read the former without difficulty.

The Italian language, is very soft and musical, far more pleasant to the ear than the deep nasal tones of the French.

JOURNAL.

FLORENCE, May 9, Thursday evening.

Finding little more that I could do to-day, I then called at the residence of Mr. Sloane, a descendant of Sir Hans Sloane of famous memory, who resides in the Bontrouline palace, and not finding him at home left a note of introduction written by two ladies, Mrs. Boott and Miss Boott, and also a letter intrusted to my care by Mirbel. I called also at the Botanic Garden, but Mr. Targioni-Tozzetti was not at home, and the garden was of no great consequence. While at dinner Mr. Sloane called to welcome me to Florence, and to take me out of the city to the Campagna,--lawns and beautiful pleasure-grounds and groves skirting the Arno for a mile or two, which are thrown open to the public, forming the favorite drive or promenade. Almost the whole city was there, and I never saw a more pleasant place. The roads were thronged with carriages, from the barouche of the grand duke to the peasant’s cart, all on terms of perfect equality. The grand duke passed us twice. He mingles much with the people, is accessible to all, and is greatly beloved. The government, though despotic, is paternal, the people are not burdened with taxes, and are contented and industrious. The difference between Tuscany and the Papal States is manifest enough. But I must hasten with my narrative. Early the next morning, Friday, I called on Mr. Sloane, looked at his garden, where he has many fine things. We then crossed the Arno to the other side of the town, called on Professor Amici, who removed here from Modena a few years since, and has charge of the grand duke’s observatory. He was very obliging, showed me his microscopes, which he thinks unrivaled, but I don’t, and then the observatory, where I saw all the instruments, peeped through his telescope, and from the top of the tower had a most beautiful panoramic view of Florence and the surrounding country. We then passed through the museum of natural history, which is in the same building, and is prettily arranged; saw the famous flowers and fruits done in wax, but not the figures which represent the Plague, which were in the anatomical museum adjoining, and which I did not care to see. In the collection were some recent models made under Amici’s superintendence to illustrate his discoveries, etc. They were wonderfully fine, and would be useful in a class-room. Amici is a good observer with the microscope, but his anatomical or physiological notions are in some cases very wide of the mark, and quite surprised me.

On leaving, Mr. Sloane and myself separated, he going to fulfill some engagement, and I to the Palazzo Pitti, as it is still called from the founder, though it early passed into the hands of the Medici family, who finished it, and now it is the ducal residence. I must tell you, by the way, that I should have seen a remarkable person in Florence, had she not been sick. Sloane is very intimate with her and wished me to see her; she is the ex-queen of Naples, the widow of Murat and the sister of Napoleon....

On returning to the hotel, however, I learned that I could not get a place with the courier next day, that the diligence which left at mid-day did not arrive at Bologna until Sunday afternoon, so I engaged a cabriolet, to start with me after dinner, arranged my affairs, called on Mr. Sloane to bid him an unexpected adieu, dined at the table d’hôte at five, and at dark I was climbing the outskirts of the Apennines.

I would have liked to call upon our sculptor Greenough to see how the statue of Washington is coming on, but had not time.

At sunrise I was on the mountain-summits, among the clouds, which a strong wind for a moment blew aside, and gave me some magnificent views. We journeyed for some hours in this elevated region, but at length crossed the Tuscan frontier and were once more in the country of his Holiness. Just as we commenced our descent, which is very abrupt, a dense fog enveloped us and it began to rain; in consequence of this I lost the view which you often have of the Adriatic and the Mediterranean at the same time, as well as the plains of the Po on the north. This was the first rain I encountered, excepting a few drops at Rome, since I left Lyons; so you may judge of the dryness of the climate in the south of France and Italy. It is very different, however, near the mountains. At length, after a long and rapid descent, we arrived at the foot of the mountain, and stopped at a comfortable inn to take our dinner and breakfast at once, it being about two o’clock. Several carriages were there before us, and just before I left another arrived, bringing with it a most genuine Yankee, who amused me excessively. It seems that he came out in the Great Western, a few weeks ago, had seen what he thought worth seeing in London and Paris, had been even to Naples, and was now on his way from Rome to Switzerland, and expected to reach London to return by steamship in--I forget how many days! But the feat upon which he prided himself above all was that he had ascended Vesuvius and come back again in--I don’t remember precisely how many minutes, but in an inconceivably short space of time, and very much quicker than had ever been done before! to the great wonderment of the guides, as he said, and as I do not doubt. This was his chef d’œuvre, and I assure you he felt quite proud of it. I laughed most heartily at the absurdity of the thing, until I reflected how rapidly I had been doing the sights myself, and felt I might justly come in for a share of the ridicule. In this day’s journey I think I outdid the Yankee, for, arriving at Bologna about five o’clock, I immediately made arrangements for going on to Ferrara the same night, and this accomplished, I had but two or three hours to spend at Bologna, a city famous for its university and its sausages; the former decayed almost to nothing, the latter still in great demand, diffusing their abominable garlic odor from every table. I visited all the large churches, took some coffee, and before nine o’clock was on my way through the vast plain watered by the Po, which, like most large rivers, branches near its mouth into several streams. The lad who drove me did not know the road very well, and lost his way several times, so that instead of arriving before daybreak it was six o’clock in the morning when we entered Ferrara. Indeed he came near losing his horse as well as the road, for while I was sleeping soundly in the carriage I was roused by a prodigious clatter, and jumping out as quick as I could, found that he had driven into a heap of rough stones deposited to mend the road; the horse had slipped and was lying flat upon his back in the bottom of the ditch. With much ado we liberated him from the carriage and lifted him out of the ditch, repaired the injury to the harness as well as we could with bits of rope, and were again on our way. I have wondered since how I could ride thus through the night, with only a boy with me, through a country which some years ago would not have been deemed safe. But I felt not the slightest alarm, and slept as soundly as possible.

Ferrara is famous for possessing the tomb and chair of Ariosto, but except this is as uninteresting as you can imagine. It was Sunday, and I spent the day within doors as well as I could.

By making a very early ride I succeeded in reaching Padua at ten o’clock this morning; visited the university so famed of old, the churches, the splendid Caffè Pedrocchi, the Botanic Garden,--the most ancient in Italy, of which Alpinius, the elder and the younger, and Pontedera were the directors. It is under the care of Visiani, to whom I brought a letter from Bentham, and who politely showed me all I wished to see. The university is a queer old place indeed, and the lecture-rooms the most dark, gloomy, and incommodious places you can conceive; everything is as old as the fifteenth century. I wish I could describe the anatomical theatre, which is the most curious specimen of antiquity I have seen. The Museum of Natural History is so-so. There is still a goodly number of students, but nothing to what there was in the olden time. The Duomo is a small affair, but the church of St. Antonio is like a mosque, the most Saracenic building I ever saw,--with its seven or eight balloon-shaped domes of various sizes, and three or four tall and slender minarets. I am sorry I can’t get a decent print of it. The interior is noble, and very rich in tombs and shrines and sculptures. Here are tombs of many of the old professors. The church of St. Augustine is in the same style, and not much inferior.... There is very much that I wish to write, but I have not the time nor the strength to write longer, and must sleep. To understand the full luxury of a bed you should sleep without one, as I have done very often of late. Good-night.

VENICE, on board steamboat for Triest, lying at anchor, Wednesday evening, May 15, 1839.

For nearly two days I have been “a looker-on in Venice,” a strange place, as unlike any other city of Europe as can be, unless Constantinople resemble it in some respects. It is more like some place you visit in dreams, some creation of fancy, than a real, earthly city, if it can be called earthly which scarcely stands upon earth.

We left Padua at five o’clock in the morning, yesterday, by the diligence, passing along the banks of a canal, bordered with numerous villas; all of them had been fine, some very magnificent, but they are now decaying. The clouds prevented me from obtaining a view of the Rhætian Alps, which bound the view on the north, but I hope to make up for this to-morrow, which will give me some amends for our detention here; for you must know that the steamboat was to have left at nine o’clock this evening, and I expected to have been in Triest this morning; but the day has been stormy, and the water is a little rough, so, forsooth, the boat is to remain until morning; but as it is to start early, I have remained on board, where I have a comfortable place to sleep, and a quiet hour to write.

Oh, I wish you could see Venice!--and the dear girls--whenever I see anything particularly queer, I think of them at once, and wish for them to enjoy it with me. And here everything is strange, canals for streets, gondolas for coaches; not a horse to be seen in the city, except the celebrated bronze gilt steeds of St. Mark; palaces of barbaric magnificence, splendid churches; people of all nations and tongues, Christians, Turks, and Jews. Surely there is nothing like it. The view from Fusina, on the mainland, which was the first I obtained, was charming....

You will wonder at the comparison, but the distant view of Venice reminded me strongly of New York, as you approach from Amboy. The gondola that brought us stopped in the Grand Canal near the Rialto, or rather the bridge of the Rialto, for the name properly belongs to the island; and in crossing this bridge during the day, I found some of the little shops still occupied by money-changers, and I saw more than one hard Jewish countenance that might sit for the picture of Shylock. This part of the town is unpleasant, although the canals are lined with what were once stately palaces, which now look as if about to sink again into the water. While on my way to a hotel, I came abruptly upon a view that seemed like enchantment: the Piazza of St. Mark, a large quadrangle, three sides inclosed by a magnificent range like the Palais Royal; on the fourth, the church of St. Mark, and adjoining it the Palace of the Doges, scarcely less magnificent, and in an equally Oriental style. In front is the Campanile, taller than that of Florence, but not handsome. As you turn out of the quadrangle in full front of the palace, you see the two granite columns, one of them surmounted with the winged lion; and you stand on the mole, with the most superb view of sea and city, shipping, churches and palaces, before and around you. I never expect again to see anything like it. I have walked over this ground again; and one is never wearied with the sight.... The street musicians here are very good. A party stops at the door of the café: a man with a violin, his wife and son each with a guitar, and they perform several airs exceedingly well, the woman sometimes accompanying with her voice. She enters the café with the little wooden cup in her hand, and is well satisfied with a kreutzer (about half a cent) from those who choose to give, and a sweet “grazia” in the softest Italian expresses her thanks. There is one café here frequented almost exclusively by Turks, who sit smoking their large pipes with such an air of ridiculous gravity. Their turbans or the red caps they often wear, their flowing robes and their nether garments, which are something between pantaloons and petticoats, are very queer....

I spare you a detailed account of my movements to-day and yesterday, of the fine churches, enough to furnish cathedrals to half a dozen cities, of the arsenal, its ship-yard, the antique lions, the public garden, the Armenian convent, the gondolas and my rides therein. I have enjoyed it greatly, and have laid up a stock for future enjoyment, for I shall read hereafter of Venice with greater interest. One who travels as rapidly as I do, if he would enjoy the full benefit of his journey, should know almost everything before he leaves home. The true way for those who have time and means sufficient is to study the history of each place on the spot with all its monuments and relics around them. So more might be learned in one month than in a year at home. If I had what I am not likely to have,--a family of children to bring up, money sufficient for the purpose, and no other duties to prevent, I think I would educate them in this peripatetic way. But now to bed.

Thursday evening, May 16.... We are to start at nine o’clock. The rain is over, but it is still cloudy. I have been for some days in Austrian dominions, but I wish to be in Austria itself. It cleared up a little just at sunset, and gave, me from the deck of the vessel, a most beautiful view of the town and harbor, with hundreds of gondolas gliding swiftly through the water in every direction....

TRIEST, Saturday evening, May 18, 1839.

As misfortunes never come single, I found this morning that our places were not secured in the mail-coach for Monday. The fellow who was to arrange the business found, after getting our passports in order, that there was only one place left, and supposing that we were certainly to go together, did not secure that. It was immediately arranged between us that I was to have the place, but on arriving at the office I had the mortification to find it already taken. For an hour or so we made various plans, negotiated with a vetturino, but were stopped by the information we received, that they would be five days on the road to Gratz, from where to Vienna it would require at least two days more by the same kind of conveyance, or twenty-seven hours in the mail-coach if we could get a place in it. We found that the quickest way left for us was to take places for Tuesday by the mail, and go on Monday by a private conveyance to Adelsberg, as we had intended, where we shall have a day longer than we desire; and these places we were fortunate enough to secure. So I cannot expect to reach Vienna before Friday morning of next week! I had hoped to reach that place by the twentieth.

It rained hard all the morning, so that botanizing was out of the question. So I put my collection of yesterday in press; visited Biasoletto, and after dinner met Tommasini, who has given me a very pretty collection of plants of the country....

VIENNA, 24th May, Friday evening.

The great fête of the Grotto of Adelsberg, of which I wrote you, was to take place on Monday afternoon. Mr. Philip, the painter, and myself took a carriage to that place and arrived in good time, and saw this very strange grotto with greater advantage and under more curious circumstances, I suspect, than was ever done by an American before. I had all the next day before me, as the coach from Triest did not arrive till evening. My companion was taken somewhat ill and kept the house, while I took my portfolio and walked through the fields of this retired valley to a bold and high mountain range, more distant than I had calculated on; climbed the rocks with much difficulty; enjoyed a charming prospect from the summit; filled my portfolio with plants; got back about five o’clock, regularly tired and hungry, and just had time to eat my dinner and secure my specimens before the coach came from Triest. We took our places just at dusk, Tuesday evening, and have been on the road day and night, stopping just long enough to take our meals, until this morning; when at early daylight, just as I opened my eyes from such sleep as one might catch after three consecutive nights of such confinement, the vale of the Wien and the beautiful city of Vienna lay before me, the green fields reaching up to the very gates. It was a lovely sight. I have never seen the like. It began raining very soon, however, and has rained all day, so that I have seen little. Philip, who understands German, has been confined to his room by illness. But as soon as I got my breakfast and was fairly fixed in my lodgings, which we found as difficult to get as if we were at New York at this season (I am at the Gasthof zur Dreyfaltigkeit, a good and cheap house, and the head waiter speaks French), I took a guide to direct me to the Joseph-Platz, where the Imperial Library and Cabinet are, to find Endlicher. I found the man in his den, and the moment I put my letters into his hand he recognized Bentham’s writing and addressed me by name, Bentham having apprised him of my intended visit. Endlicher received me very cordially, and I remained with him till two o’clock. He is extremely good-looking, and younger even in appearance than I expected, although Bentham told me he was about his own age; he looks about thirty-three. I had the pleasure to present in person the copy of the “Flora” designed for him.

The usual dinner hour here is from twelve to three. The common people dine at twelve, the gentry from two to four, the imperial family setting a good example by dining between one and two. After dinner I went to the police office to procure the necessary leave to remain here for a week or so, answered all the questions which are put in such cases to the traveler, such as where I stopped, how long I intended to stay, what my business was, produced my letter of credit, in order to show that I was not likely to run away with unpaid bills,--to ascertain this point is said to be the chief object of all this inquiry. When you arrive at any hotel and remain over night, you are presented with a blank formula comprising still more particular inquiries, which you are required to fill up, and it is sent to the police office. You give first your name, then your country, age, religion, occupation, state whether you are married or not! whether you are traveling alone or in company; where you came from last; your probable stay; whether you have letters of credit or not, with some equally particular inquiries! I went next to my banker’s, found no letters! I drew some money, and obtained a ticket of admission to a commercial reading-room, which is well supplied with English and French newspapers. Here I stayed until sunset, reading up my English news, in which I had got far behind, and which on the present occasion I found very interesting. I gleaned occasionally a little news from home, but vaguely. The information seemed in general satisfactory, but one letter from home were worth it all!

I have this morning changed the plants I have been drying, and have taken care of my companion Philip, who is quite sick with the fatigue of his journey and so forth. I have endured it very well, but must get into bed. Not having had my clothes off for three nights in succession, nor enjoyed rational sleep, I wonder much that I am not more fatigued. Endlicher asked me to go to the opera this evening, where there is some especially fine music, as he says, but I declined, telling him that under present circumstances I should sleep through the finest music in the world. I suppose it would be perfectly impossible to make him understand how one could have any scruples against this amusement.

Saturday, 25th, 1839.--I went early this morning to the Imperial Cabinet; remained there until two, when the rooms are closed. After dinner I explored about the city until sunset; saw many of the public buildings, the gardens, etc. I understand the localities of the town proper very well. The city itself is not large; the strong walls that inclose it are still kept up, and immediately outside of this there is a large open space, planted with trees and laid out into roads and walks. Beyond this are the faubourgs or suburbs, larger many times than the city itself; very pleasant, but rather inconvenient to reach. Most of the public buildings, the shops, etc., are in the city itself. I went to see the fine old Gothic Cathedral of St. Stephen’s. It is a very old and exceedingly fine, large building, but the roof is very awkward. The spire is the finest thing I ever saw in the way of Gothic architecture. It is four hundred and sixty-five feet high, and is the very poetry of steeples. I intend to climb to the top presently....

Monday morning, 27th May.--I find we are in a different climate from Italy. It has been cold ever since my arrival here; the first day was rainy, and yesterday it rained from morning to night, and was very cold and unpleasant; so of course I kept my room nearly all day. I had also to take care of Mr. Philip, whose indisposition has turned into intermittent fever, such as he has been subject to at Rome. It is a most distressing thing to be sick in a strange land, and I cannot be too grateful for the uninterrupted good health I have enjoyed ever since I left you.

I have deferred telling you anything about the Grotto of Adelsberg, on account of the great difficulty I find in conveying any idea of it. It is without doubt the most wonderful thing of its kind in the world.

Adelsberg itself is a little German village perched under a steep conical hill which is crowned with the ruins of an old castle; it is at one border of a circular plain, several miles in extent, dotted here and there with little hamlets, and surrounded with mountains, so that it is like a large basin, and seems wholly shut out from the rest of the world. It is so still and quiet that it would do very well for the valley of Rasselas, but the mountains do not form precipices except on one side, where they are accessible at a few points only, and there with much difficulty, as I had occasion to know. The streams that come down from the mountains unite to form a little river, perhaps nearly twice the size of the Fishkill Creek; and this, after running about the valley seeking an outlet in vain, at length in despair, as it seems, dives into the solid rock at the foot of hills near the village. The entrance for visitors is a small hole above this, which opens into a long gallery, perhaps two hundred yards in extent. From this you descend into a vast hall, called the Dome, more than one hundred feet high, and three or four hundred feet in length. As you descend you hear the roar of the waters confined in their deep prison-house, and at the bottom you meet the river which rushes swiftly to the distant extremity of this hall, and there sinks into the dark depths. Instead of a stupid monument and inscription by the late emperor, placed above this, it would have been much better taste to have placed in the stream a piece of statuary representing Charon and his boat, for never was seen so perfect a beau-ideal of the fabled river Styx. This is the last you see of the river Poik; but the Unz, which bursts forth a large stream from the rocks at Planina, is believed to be the same. This river is crossed by a bridge. Then we went on to another hall about three quarters of a mile from the entrance; the ball-room, where a large gathering of peasants of the surrounding country, in their national costume, were dancing waltzes in the bowels of the earth!

* * * * *

Hiatus vastus.--I left this account of the Adelsberg Grotto, and my journey through Illyria and Styria, for the first convenient opportunity,--a time that never comes,--so now I must send it as it is. The grotto is wonderful past all description, and our visit was very opportune; the whole scene not soon to be forgotten.

29th May.--It rained all day yesterday, so Schönbrunn was out of the question, and I spent the morning again at the Cabinet of Botany; and after dinner Philip and myself, in spite of the rain, set out to visit the imperial picture-gallery in the Upper Belvedere Palace, which is finely situated in one of the suburbs. The gallery is very extensive and excellent, especially in the Dutch school, and we had barely time to finish our hasty reconnoissance before it closed for the night. I had a fine view of the city from the windows of the upper story. We stopped at a café on our way home, took some lemonade and ice-cream, while I read “Galignani’s Messenger” for English news. This morning I went to the gallery as usual, and after working for a little time, Mr. Putterlich, the sub-assistant, went with me to the famous Mineralogical Cabinet, the finest in the world. A most splendid affair it is. It occupies a suite of quite ordinary rooms, but is excellently arranged and shows to great advantage. Here are all the fine gems, diamonds, emeralds, topaz, and all sorts of precious stones, both polished and natural. I saw also the bouquet of precious stones made for Maria Theresa, a most brilliant affair. The collection of aerolites is unique. I intend to visit it again on Saturday. I obtained some useful information here as to the mode of constructing the shelves, etc., in a mineralogical cabinet; their plan here is the best I have seen. If I knew what I now do, I could have given a plan for the construction of the cabinets at the Lyceum infinitely better than the present. Returning to the Botanical Gallery I occupied myself in selecting specimens for myself from Rugel’s New Holland collections. Endlicher offers me these and other plants, as many as I like. He also offered to send to Hamburg for me a copy of the “Iconographia Generum Plantarum,” the “Annals of the Vienna Museum,” and some other of his works. After dinner, finding nothing else to do for a few moments, I went into a bookseller’s,--the publisher of Endlicher’s “Genera Plantarum,”--to look up some reports on education, etc. I asked also for botanical works; and after offering me several things which I did not want, they brought out, as a great rarity, our own “Flora,” which I told them I did not want at all. At six o’clock, Endlicher called upon me to take me to the Botanic Garden of the university, under the care of Baron Jacquin, who is professor, at the same time, of both botany and chemistry in the university, and scarcely lectures on either. He introduced me to the old fellow, a hard-featured chap, who managed to speak a little English and talked to me of the year he spent at Sir Joseph Banks’ in bygone times. We went through the garden, which is finely situated, covers much ground, and has fine trees, but is wretchedly cared for; in fact it is almost left to run wild, although well endowed.... I have some curious anecdotes to give you about the censorship of the press at Vienna, but have not energy enough left to write this evening.

Thursday evening.--Nothing can be printed and published here, without first being examined and approved by a censor of the press. The government appoints four or five persons in Vienna, who examine in different departments, one for newspapers, one for works of science! others for different branches of literature. Every author must send his manuscript to the police-office, whence it is handed over to the proper censor, who certifies that it contains nothing immoral, nothing against the government, and that it is good literature, or science, or poetry, as the case may be, and worthy of being published; it is then returned to the author, with permission to print it. The author’s annoyance does not end here. He is obliged to leave a copy of his manuscript with the police, and a copy of the work as soon as printed, so that they may be compared, and any alterations or additions detected. If he desires to make any alterations in his manuscript after it has passed the censorship, he must send it back for a second examination. Persons holding responsible official situations are not exempt: if a censor himself wishes to publish anything, his manuscript must be given to the police that it may be examined by some other censor. All kinds of works, books of dry science not excepted, are subject to the censorship. To my great surprise, Endlicher, who gave me all this information, informed me that all the manuscript of his “Genera Plantarum” is sent to the police, who transmit it to Baron Jacquin, the censor for natural history, etc., and who is well paid for the business, but who knows just as much about it as if it were written in Arabic, and who certifies to each portion that it contains nothing hurtful to the people, nothing offensive to the emperor, to religion, etc., and more than all, that it is good science! To avoid the annoyance of sending it back repeatedly, as he has alterations to make, he is obliged to promise the printer to indemnify him, in case any discrepancy is observed between the manuscript and the printed work. Endlicher spoke of all this in terms which there is no necessity for me to record just at present. He gave me an anecdote respecting the publication of his earliest botanical work of any consequence, a Flora of his native town, the “Flora Posoniensis:” the manuscript being duly sent to Jacquin, that worthy refused to give it his imprimatur, because, it was arranged according to the natural system! which Jacquin did not like; and Endlicher was obliged to apply personally to the ministers and take great pains, when he obtained permission to print in spite of the censor; he took his revenge by dedicating the work to Baron Jacquin himself! This system sufficiently explains the low state of literature in Austria, as compared with northern Germany. I could hardly believe all I have heard, had I not obtained my information from such authentic sources....

Friday evening, 31st May, 1839.--The remainder of the morning was devoted to the botanical cabinet; and in the afternoon and early part of the evening I called with Endlicher upon Mr. Fenzl, the aide-naturaliste in the botanical department, who is confined to his bed by some affection of one of his legs. He is engaged in a monograph of Alsineæ, which I think will be very faithfully done, and we looked over several collections by his bedside. I made a bundle of all I wished to examine, which are sent to my lodgings for the purpose, and which will give me occupation for the evening. He introduced me to his frau, a regular German lassie, and we managed to converse altogether for some time in a curious mixture of French, German, and English.

ON THE DANUBE, on board the Dampschiff (steamboat) Maria-Anna, bound for Linz, 5th June.

Schönbrunn, the Versailles of Austria, is much like Versailles itself on a smaller scale, but much less magnificent. I visited the grounds with Endlicher, and also visited the botanic garden attached, under the care of M. Schott. The garden is very finely arranged, but all that is particularly worth seeing is the conservatories and the large collection of exotics, many of them very old like those of Kew. It is richer than Kew in Palms, Aroideæ, etc., but in other things it seems not quite equal. As we passed by the palace, the emperor was pointed out to me, through the open windows of his cabinet. I am told privately that he is scarcely compos mentis, and that all government affairs are managed by a regency of which Metternich and Archduke Charles are chief. We went next to see Baron Hügel, and the extensive collection of living plants he has collected during his travels. I think I have not told you the cause of his long journeying. He was, it appears, the accepted lover of an accomplished and beautiful lady of very good family here, and their union was considered as a settled affair. But unfortunately for poor Hügel, Prince Metternich looked upon the lady and determined to have her. So he sent Hügel upon some humbugging political mission, to Paris I believe, and during his absence he made his propositions to the father and mother, who were not slow in discovering that Metternich, with all his riches and power, malgré his sixty-odd years, was the fittest bridegroom; and I am sorry to add that they persuaded the daughter to the same opinion, though she could have had little liking to the old fellow personally, and was said to be much attached to Hügel. The latter at length found out why he was sent to Paris, and came back with all speed, but he was too late. His intended became Princess Metternich, and Hügel set out to cure his disappointment or forget his love by traveling in foreign lands. Metternich, being glad to get rid of him, threw facilities in his way, and being fond of plants he collected and sent home an immense quantity for his garden. At the same time he made extensive collections of dried specimens, etc., which all reached Vienna safely. He spent nearly all his fortune in traveling, and would have been in a quandary, but the government, that is to say, Metternich, bought all his collections of dried plants, animals, etc., for the Imperial Cabinet, giving for them an immense price, some thirty times more than they are worth, and so Hügel is able to enlarge and embellish his place, improve his garden, and build most beautiful greenhouses. He has fitted up his house very tastefully, and filled it with all manner of strange things, arms, idols, and so forth. His collection of living plants is larger than that of Schönbrunn, though the trees are younger.

Several days after my arrival I called to pay my respects to our minister here, Mr. Muhlenberg, and the secretary of legation, Mr. Clay. Philip and myself also spent an evening at Mr. Clay’s, where we met Mr. and Mrs. Muhlenberg, and their daughter, a young lady of about seventeen; also Mrs. Clay, a pretty woman, and Mr. Schwartz (the American consul here) and his wife, who both speak English indifferently well. Muhlenberg seems quite sick of living here, and speaks of the Austrians with anything but praise.

We went one evening to a public garden, of which there are many here, to hear the most celebrated musician here, Mr. Strauss. A few kreutzers are charged for admission, and the company are nearly all seated, at little tables, eating a substantial supper, or sipping coffee or ices, as they incline, while Strauss with his fine band played the finest music, mostly pieces of his own composition. It was the best music I ever heard.

Philip left me on Monday evening and went to Prague. On Tuesday I arranged passport, left parcels to be sent to Hamburg, took leave; came out to Nussdorf after dinner, from which the steamboat leaves, and after seeing my luggage deposited safely on board, I climbed the Leopoldsberg, a steep mountain between eight hundred and nine hundred feet high, and enjoyed the beautiful and extensive view from its summit,--a fine view of Vienna, of the Danube branching into many different streams, forming pretty green islands, and the whole of the broad valley far into Hungary. In a fine day, it is said the towers of Pressburg, forty miles off, may be distinguished. The Danube, which is here as large as the Niagara, broad and swift, washes the base of the mountains, and the view up the river, though not so extensive, is more picturesque. I collected a handful of plants, bid good-by to Vienna, and descended, slept on shore, and was on board the boat in time to start with it at five o’clock this morning.

This is the first time I have slept in a genuine German bed,--a feather-bed beneath, and an eider-down bed the only cover. It is inclosed in a sheet like a pillow-case, and under this you creep. In the winter it might do very well, but at this time of the year it is very oppressive. The upper sheet here I find, in all cases, is tied fast to the coverlet, which is all of one piece, and just long enough to cover a moderately sized man like myself from the chin to the toes. A taller person must choose between his shoulders and his toes, for they cannot both be covered.

Living is dear in Vienna. I stopped at a cheap hotel, being aware of this, and lived as economically as I well could, but I find I have made way with a very considerable sum. The only way to travel cheaply anywhere on the Continent is not to be in a hurry, and to understand the language.

Notabilia for Dr. T.--I have seen Corda at Vienna. He is one of the curators of the collection at Prague, and was at Vienna on a visit. Learning that I was there, he called and left his card. I afterwards saw him at his hotel. He is a little fellow about thirty, with a small expressive countenance. He works chiefly at minute fungi, on which he is publishing a large work. I saw a part of it in London. He showed me an immense quantity of drawings, which he makes with great rapidity. He is also publishing a work supplementary to Sternberg’s “Flora of the Former World,” a work of which Corda did a good part. He gave me two copies of a lithograph of Count Sternberg,--now dead, as you know,--done by himself. I observe by his drawings that he has anticipated an unpublished discovery of Valentine’s, which he showed to Lindley and myself in London, about the holes in the tissue of Sphagnum opening exteriorly. I looked at Corda’s microscope (one of Shiek [?] at Berlin), but it is inferior to the English or Chevalier’s.

I made a second visit to Fenzl, as he lay in bed; had a long botanical talk with him, and think him a most promising botanist.

Ungnadia (the character of which Endlicher has not yet published,--the last plate in the “Atakta”) was named in memory of Baron Ungnade, once an ambassador from Austria to Constantinople or Persia, I forget which, and the first to introduce Æsculus Hippocastanum into Europe,--hence the propriety of the name. Endlicher is soon to publish the description in the “Annals of the Vienna Museum,” which work, with the “Iconographia Generum Plantarum,” he has promised to send to Hamburg for me, along with the parcels of plants given me. We have studied the new Loganiaccous plant from Florida. It proves, as Brown guessed, near his Logania § (or Gen.) Stomandra, but extremely distinct from that or any other genus, by the character of the style which Decaisne first noticed. Endlicher is to give a figure in “Iconographia Generum Plantarum,” and the description has gone to the printer in one of Endlicher’s articles in the “Annals of the Vienna Museum,”--Cœlostylis Loganioides, Torr. & Gr. Can’t we get more of it? Has Leavenworth found it?

I have been looking over the “Reliquiæ Hænkeanæ,” and examining what specimens of the collection from North America they have in the Vienna Herbarium. Endlicher goes this week to Carlsbad to recruit his health, stopping a day at Prague. He has kindly taken a list of my desiderata of the species published in that work, and I hope to get some bits of them. I have copied so much from the work that we can get along even if I do not see it again, but as I was about to purchase it, Endlicher suggested that he should see if Presl himself has not a copy left for us. Following this hint I have sent by Endlicher a copy of the “Flora” to Presl, in nomine auctorum.

There is a new genus of Presl in Loaseæ (Acrolasia) from Mexico, which may be Nuttall’s. The most curious thing is a new genus of Datisceae from Monterey (why have none of the other collectors found it?), called Tricerastes; very interesting.

I find from all inquiries that it is very difficult to find Nees von Esenbeck at Breslau, especially in the summer. He is a queer stick altogether, is not well satisfied with his situation at Breslau, and spends the greater part of his time at a little place high up in the Riesengebirge, studying Hepaticæ.

I have bought Grisebach’s new “Genera et Species Gentianearum,” and have been studying it on my way in the steamboat. It seems very well done, particularly his preliminary matter on structure, affinities, development, geographical distribution, etc., which is very interesting. It is very carelessly printed. Our well-known “Tuckerton,” in the pine-barrens, figures under the form of “Juckerten”! Let this suffice at present.

SALZBURG, June 10.

Arrived at Linz Friday noon, dined, looked a little about the town, which is remarkable for nothing except its agreeable situation on the Danube, and its unusual kind of fortification; and at half past one started for Gmünden, about thirty-five miles by railroad, in a car drawn by horses. This railroad, the oldest in Germany, is rather a primitive affair; we were jolted more than on the ordinary roads, which I have found everywhere excellent. The first part of the road was very uninteresting. I was seated in the middle of the car, with five or six inveterate German smokers around me, each equipped with a huge meerschaum pipe with a wooden stem nearly as long as your arm, which he replenished as often as it was exhausted, and all puffed away in concert as if they were locomotive engines and our progress depended upon their exertions. You are everywhere annoyed in the same way, but I have become accustomed to it so that it does not trouble me as at first. At length a fat military officer next me smoked himself to sleep; and I was amusing myself with the ridiculous pendulum-like motions he was making, his pipe still grasped by his mouth at one end and by his hand at the other, when he knocked his head against the window and pitched his hat into the road, to his great astonishment and our infinite amusement. We passed through Wels, and afterwards Lambach, a pretty place and most beautifully situated upon the Traun. In this part of the journey we had a fine view of the Salzburg Alps, which rise to their greatest height just where Austria proper and the provinces of Styria and Salzburg meet. From Lambach to the end of the journey, the country appeared completely American: finely wooded with fir and larch with here and there a clump of beech. We reached Gmünden just at twilight, a neat village on the very bank of the Gmündensee or Traunsee, for it is called by both names. The situation, close down upon the water and in the bosom of green undulating hills, is as lovely as can be conceived, and is in fine contrast with the upper extremity of the little lake, where the dark and lofty mountains rise abruptly from the very edge of the water, not leaving room enough even for a footpath. Their summits were still covered with patches of snow, but they are overtopped by the peaks of the Dachstein and other portions of these Alps which are crowned with perpetual snow. I found at the Goldenes Schiff neat rooms, and a most comfortable bed, which I was prepared fully to enjoy, having first made a supper on nice trout from the lake, with a few etceteras. At seven o’clock the next morning I was on board the little steamboat,--commanded by an Englishman, as most boats are in Austria,--which affords the only means of communication with the country beyond. The morning was pleasant, and I had a good opportunity of seeing the finest scenery I ever beheld; indeed I do not expect ever to see it surpassed. As we left the green slopes at Gmünden behind us, the mountains which inclose the upper portion of the lake gradually disclosed themselves more distinctly; halfway up, we were opposite the gigantic Traunstein, whose naked and weather-beaten summit had been full in view almost ever since we left Linz the day before. It is a huge mountain, appearing as if split from top to bottom and turned with the cloven side toward the lake, so that it presents a perpendicular wall of jagged rock nearly three thousand feet high! leaving just room sufficient between it and the water for one or two fishermen’s huts, which look the veriest pygmies. The mountains beyond this on the same side are equally picturesque, but not so high. They rise in sharp isolated peaks, leaving the wildest glens between, down which streams fed by the snows of the mountains in the background come leaping to the lake. On a promontory which seems from the lower part of the lake to form its southern extremity stands the little hamlet of Traunkirchen; the picturesque little church was founded by the Jesuits, who once had a small establishment here; a little nook is occupied with the wee bits of cabins belonging to the peasantry employed in the salt-works or in rowing the salt-barges down the lake; they are set down here and there, as room can be found, and add much to the beauty of the view. As the boat doubles this promontory, Gmünden and all the lower part of the lake is lost sight of, and you seem to be on another smaller but wilder lake, entirely shut in by the precipitous mountains; a few minutes more and we are landed at Ebensee, the little salt-village at the head, where the Traun enters, and you regret that the voyage is so short. I was strongly inclined to go back again with the boat, and return again in the afternoon; but knowing I had no time to lose, and that I might not readily find another convenient opportunity of going on to Ischl, I was obliged to bid farewell to Gmündensee. Loveliest, wildest of lakes, I shall not soon forget thee.

I had not time at Ebensee to look at the works where the brine is evaporated, which seem to be on a large scale. The brine is brought here in aqueducts, some fifteen or twenty-four miles, since fuel is more plenty here, and it is found more economical to bring the brine to the fuel than the fuel to the brine. The stellwagen was ready, and I took my seat. A ride of ten or eleven miles up the valley of the Traun, a narrow defile bordered by lofty mountains, brought us before noon to Ischl. It is a pretty village, lying in a green valley formed by the junction of the little river Ischl with the Traun; it contains extensive salt-works and is a favorite bathing-place, people of all degrees coming here in the summer to pickle themselves in the salt water. Three immense ridges of mountains come down almost into the village, leaving a triangular space for the village, with just three ways of getting in or out, viz., by ascending the river as we came, or by either the Ischl or the Traun as they enter the valley.

I took a hasty dinner, and left the hotel at one o’clock, determined to enjoy the satisfaction of climbing a real mountain. The Zeimitz, the highest in the neighborhood, is said to command the finest prospect, and it looked as if I could ascend it in an hour or two with the greatest ease, although the guide-book says that ten to twelve hours are necessary for going and returning. I have accomplished the task; I climbed the mountain, 5000 feet high, traveled over the snow from one to the other of its four peaks at considerable distance from each other; enjoyed the most magnificent prospect; filled my portfolio with alpine plants, descended the steepest side, picking my difficult way down the rocks and sliding down immense snowbanks, until I was past the alpine portion; then making a turn to a subalpine pasture, where cows and goats are driven to pass the summer, I struck an old path, and ran with all speed to the gorge at the base, where the stream that I had traced from its source as it trickled from a snowbank, and down a succession of little cataracts, was now a foaming and rushing torrent. It was then just twilight, and a quiet walk of an hour brought me back to the hotel at nine o’clock, quite proud of my feat and delighted with the fine view I had obtained. But I have paid well for it. In the morning I could scarcely stir for the aches and pains in my bones, and even now the extensor muscles of my legs are sore to the touch and bear woeful testimony to the hard service they have been obliged to perform. “I shall think about it,” as Mr. Davis says, before I ascend another mountain.

And yet I feel myself well repaid for all my fatigue. To say nothing of the prospect opening out wider and grander as I ascended, I had from the summit a magnificent mountain panorama which it was well worth the labor to see; the summits of more than one peak white and brilliant with perpetual snow and ice. The most stupendous of all is the Thorstein or Dachstein, which closes the view to the south, with its immense glaciers of the most dazzling whiteness, from which numerous steep pinnacles rise like spires, towering high above all surrounding objects, illuminated by the rays of the setting sun long after all other objects are left in the shade. The dark lake of Hallstadt was distinctly seen, appearing to reach up to its very base. I could not distinguish the village which is hidden under the cliffs at that end of the lake, where from November to February the inhabitants do not see the sun, they are so shut in by high mountains. Four other lakes were in full view, two of them lying almost beneath my feet.

And then imagine my pleasure at collecting alpine plants for the first time, some of them in full blossom under the very edge of a snowbank. I filled my portfolio with Soldanella, Rhododendron, Primula Auricula, Ranunculus Thora, and another with white flowers, etc., etc. I am sorry to say that in my eagerness I have left my knife, last relic of the Expedition, and so long my trusty companion, somewhere on the top of the mountain. Sunday was at least a day of bodily rest, for I did not rise until past ten o’clock, and hobbled out but once beyond the limits of my hotel. I was obliged to leave, however, late in the evening, about half past ten, when the eilwagen, which comes but twice a week, arrived from Gratz on its way to Salzburg; and here I found myself at six o’clock this morning; a rainy day, and a very dull town, with nothing but its fortress and its exceedingly beautiful and romantic situation to make it interesting. There are many objects of great interest in the neighborhood, but this rainy day prevents any distant excursion; my place is taken for Munich for to-morrow morning, and not even the inducements of “the most beautiful region in all Germany,” as it is called, not even the sublimities of the Berchtesgaden and the Königsee, which are but fifteen miles off, shall detain me longer. I begin to look with expectation toward the end of my journey, and have already in my plans shortened it a little. I have looked about the old churches and buildings of this town, and am waiting now for it to clear up that I may climb the Mönchsberg, and enjoy the prospect that is said to be so fine. At midday I had hopes of a pleasant afternoon, but it is now raining harder than ever.

In this region, as in the retired parts of Styria, through which I passed to Vienna, you are charmed with the kind-hearted simplicity of the people. If you meet them in walking, they always give you some word of greeting, and commonly take off their hats and bow to you; yet there seems to be nothing servile or cringing in it. You get a porter to carry your baggage, who, instead of asking for more when you have given him already more than he expected to receive, takes off his hat, makes you a low bow, and thanks you most heartily, though without any palaver. So with the servants, who never ask anything, and I suppose would not if you were to forget them altogether; I doubt if they would ever remind you; you give them about a third part of what an English servant would expect, and you have them all most heartily wishing you bon voyage or glückliche reise, according to the language they speak. In some places they say the chambermaid kisses your hand, but this has not happened to me yet. The women, when not rendered wholly masculine in appearance by performing the labor of men, which is very common, are almost universally good-looking, and in such vigorous health. I do not admire their head-dress, which is ordinarily a black silk thing tied closely around the head and tied in rather fantastic bows behind. The women of Linz and all this part of the Danube wear, when in full dress, a cap of tinsel or gold lace, shaped exactly like the Roman helmet, which fits close to the top of the head. But fashions never leave this world; when you ladies throw aside some mode, it is picked up and perpetuated in some out-of-the-way part of the world. Thus, for example, all the young fraus of Ischl wear balloon sleeves, after the most approved fashion some three or four years ago. I assure you it looked quite natural to see them again, even upon the buxom damsels of the Salzkammergut (there’s a name for you).

It is now half past seven; and it is still raining most obstinately, so ascending the Mönchsberg is not to be thought of; and I must make up my mind to leave Salzburg without this view. My trunk is sent to the office of the brief-post-eilwagen, all ready for starting at six o’clock in the morning, and to-morrow evening at eleven I hope (D. V.) to be in Munich, seventy-eight miles. I owe Bentham a letter, and have not written him or any one else since I left Paris. I will take this convenient opportunity and write forthwith.

MUNICH, 12th June.

I arrived in this capital of Bavaria last evening at eleven o’clock, after a tedious, though not uninteresting ride of seventeen hours. The day proved a fine one, and after leaving Salzburg through the curious tunnel that penetrates the Mönchsberg we came abruptly into the open country; and as the mists gradually rose from the sides of the mountains and we ascended some small hills, I obtained some most beautiful and picturesque views of the surrounding mountains. The Stauffenberg, which stood between us and Berchtesgaden, a magnificent mountain, was for a long time the most prominent object; backed by the more distant central portions of the Salzburg Alps, all white with snow. It was only as I left this place that I could appreciate the beauty of its situation, and I felt a momentary regret that I had not stayed a day longer and visited Berchtesgaden. These fine mountains and those of the Tyrol (the more western portion of the same chain) were in full view during the whole journey, filling the southern horizon, while we journeyed through a rather level country; for the whole of Bavaria south of the Danube is a great plain, stretching from that river to these mountains that skirt its southern border. It is an inclined plain, since Munich, though in a perfectly flat region, is about sixteen hundred feet above the level of the sea. We crossed the frontier in an hour after we started, where our baggage was slightly and very civilly examined, and our passports viséd by the Bavarian police. We passed two pretty lakes, but no place of interest except Wasserburg, situated in a picturesque dell on the river Inn. For companions I had a Dane, who spoke a little English surprisingly well, and was very agreeable; a German, who spoke a little French; and a Frenchman, who had come up the Danube from Constantinople, and who tired us all with the continual clack of his very disagreeable voice. I took up my abode at the Schwarzer Adler, a very comfortable and quite cheap hotel; slept pretty well; rose early this morning to take a look at the town, which within these last twenty years has become a magnificent capital; saw many of the public buildings,--that is, their exterior,--churches, and squares; went to the office of the police and obtained the required permission de séjour; and then went to the Royal Cabinet to find Martius, for whom I had three letters of introduction. He is a small man, not so tall as I, quite thin, but rather good-looking, apparently fifty years old, but his hair may be prematurely gray. He seems to have his hands very full of business, but he received me with cordiality; took me to the library and the cabinet of natural history, which are in the same building, told me to amuse myself till one (the universal dinner hour), and meet him at the Botanic Garden at three, and afterwards spend the evening at his house. The cabinets here are in an old, rather inconvenient building, once a Jesuits’ college, which now contains them all, as well as the library, the lecture-rooms of the university, etc., but in a year or so all will be removed to very fine buildings the king is erecting for their reception. Excepting the Brazilian collections, which are large and good, there is nothing worth particular notice in the zoölogical and mineralogical cabinets; they make no great show after that of Vienna. The library is immense, this and the one at Paris being the two largest in the world; the books fill a great number of rooms, none of them magnificent but very convenient; the whole is soon to be transferred to other quarters. I was introduced to one of the librarians, who was at the moment showing the curiosities of the collection, very old and rich manuscripts,--the earliest attempts at wood-engraving, etc.,--to a party of English. When he had done with them I told him he must have been bored quite sufficiently for once, and that I would not trouble him any further just then, but that I wished to acquire some useful information about the plan and arrangement of the library, rather than to see its curiosities. So he fixed upon Friday morning, when he would be quite disengaged, and would gladly afford me all the information I desired. Shortly after dinner I went down to the Botanic Garden; found Martius, who, having an unexpected engagement, consigned me to the head gardener, and I was very kindly shown over the whole establishment, which is much larger and better than I had supposed, and in excellent condition.

Afterwards I strolled about the town for an hour or two, heard the fine military band in the Hofgarten, and at half past six went to the house of Martius; saw his wife, who looks much younger than he, and I suspect he was not married until after his return from Brazil. She seems a very intelligent and pleasant lady, understands English pretty well, but does not speak it, while Martius speaks extremely well; the eldest daughter, a pretty girl of thirteen, speaks French fluently, has taken lessons in English, which she reads readily, but speaks slightly; there is another daughter of about ten, another still younger, and a boy a little more than a year old completes the list. Professor Zuccarini was there, and afterwards an entomologist, whose name I forget, dropped in; also a young man from Rio Janeiro, a Dr. Hentz from Vienna, who inquired especially after Dr. Buck; the director of the music in the royal chapel here; and two ladies, one of whom sung exquisitely. The director and Dr. Hentz both played the piano to perfection, and, to crown all, Martius seized his fiddle, quite to my surprise, and played with great spirit. Before they were done a little crowd had began to assemble before the windows. So the evening passed off very pleasantly.

I like the sound of the German language much; it is manly, and certainly not more rough than the English. From the lips of the women and the little children I assure you it sounds very musical, and I often stop in the street to listen to it, when I do not understand a word that is spoken.

13th June, 1839.--I passed the whole morning, that is, until one o’clock, at the Botanical Cabinet, looking at grass and such like. After dinner Zuccarini called for me, took me to his house, showed me his Japan plants, the work he is publishing on them, etc. I looked over and named his American Cyperaceæ, and he made me most bountiful offers for exchange. He gave me some of his publications and even offered me his “Japan Flora” (Siebold’s), which is an expensive work, but it is very desirable for us to have, though it will be rather difficult for me to give him an equivalent. It is now sunset, eight o’clock; all the shops in the town have been closed nearly an hour, the people all enjoying themselves in the gardens roundabout. I am going to bed early, in hopes to rise in time to go down to the Garden and hear Martius lecture at seven o’clock. He lectures every morning at that hour, and Zuccarini again every morning from eight to nine, and also from eleven to twelve. The scientific people here have been arranging a little fête for Saturday, the birthday of Linnæus. It is decided that there is to be a botanical excursion, I believe, to the Tegernsee, some fifteen miles off, and I suppose also a picnic dinner. I have not learned all the particulars, but this I shall do in time, as I am to be one of the party.

14th June, 1839.--I rose early this morning and went to hear Martius lecture at the Garden at seven o’clock. He is a good lecturer, fluent and clear. Called on Dr. Schultes; then returned to breakfast; afterwards spent the morning at the cabinet, with the exception of an hour devoted to the library, which one of the chief officers very kindly showed me through. They have about half a million books, excluding duplicates, and about 16,000 manuscripts. The librarian took much pains to explain to me the arrangement and classification of the library, which is in excellent order, and to show me as many of the rarities as I desired to see: very ancient Greek and Latin manuscripts of the Bible or the Evangelists; a number of very old and richly illuminated German manuscripts; the collection of printed books without date, of which they had 6000 (these early printed books being many of them intended to pass for manuscripts); a copy of Faust’s Bible again (the first book printed),--they have two; Luther’s Bible, beautifully printed on vellum, and illuminated,--in the frontispiece his original portrait, a sturdy-looking old fellow, who looks as if he might have been as fearless as indeed he was; the portrait of Melanchthon, by the same artist, whose name I forget, is given on the next leaf. I saw also a manuscript letter of Luther, and many other things, too tedious to trouble you with now.

Dined with Martius and his very pleasant family; stayed until six o’clock, looking over plants, etc.; took a little walk, now that it is a little cooler, for the day has been exceedingly sultry, and am now going to bed, as I have to rise at half past four and meet the pedestrian portion of the Linnæan party at half past five. If it be as sultry a day as this has been we shall have warm work of it.

15th June, 1839.--We had a truly German fête champêtre, and I have learnt more of German life and manners in one day than I could otherwise have obtained in a long time. I was at the place of rendezvous at the time appointed, and met there the two professors and about thirty students, with whom we set out on our excursion, and our number was soon doubled by the accessions we received. Our course lay along the banks of the Isar (what lad that has been at school has not heard of “Isar rolling rapidly”), along which we ascended for about six miles, botanizing on the way. It was about twelve o’clock when we reached the place where the Linnæan celebrations are always held. Here we found Madame Martius and the girls, who had arrived in a carriage, and the lady and children of another professor. Three or four other professors also joined the party: Professor Tirsch, the celebrated Grecian scholar; Professor Neumann, of Oriental languages; a celebrated physician, and some others. We filled an immense rustic dinner-table spread in an open pavilion, ornamented in a simple manner with branches and flowers, and a portrait of Linnæus. Professor Martius then read his address, which I judged from its effects upon the audience to be humorous; then followed the dinner, plain but good, consisting of three or four courses, beer supplied ad libitum, and this was no trifle, as you would understand if you could see how all these Bavarians swill their beer. It is light, extremely light as compared with English. But you may judge how cheaply the Germans contrive to live, and how cheaply and simply they get up an affair which in England or at home would cost a round sum, when I inform you that the whole charge for dinner was twenty-four kreutzers or one Austrian zwanziger (sixteen cents!). This I suppose did not include the wine, of which there was a small supply, provided, perhaps, by Martius himself.

Three or four odes, written for the purpose, some in Latin, others in German, were sung, with a heartiness and a nicety of execution entirely German. Three or four toasts were drunk, some speeches made, and the party left the table. The greater part, excluding the ladies, then went to the Linnæan Oak, a young tree planted on the day of this fête five years ago. Here all took their seats on the grass around it, and a number of half-serious, half-humorous addresses or meditations were made, the people all sitting at their ease; then a song for the purpose was sung, and the celebration was over. Some part dispersed immediately, but the greater part assembled around our dinner-table, and heard some music from a paysanne, who accompanied her voice with an instrument like a guitar. Martius and Zuccarini had arranged to stay over night in the neighborhood to botanize to-morrow, and wished me to stay also, which I declined to do, but returned in a carriage with Madame Martius and the eldest daughter. We had a very agreeable ride and reached the city just as it grew dark. We had all day most beautiful views of the Bavarian Alps, which seemed close to us. The different professors spoke English with me, Professor Neumann, indeed, extremely well; were very polite to me, and I obtained much important information, and have put myself in the way to get still more. The whole affair was extremely well arranged. I have printed copies of a part of the odes, and a copy of the print of Linnæus, a very good lithograph, which was brought to the place and sold to the students for twenty-four kreutzers (sixteen cents) a copy. This is not the birthday of Linnæus; the 24th of May is the proper one, but it is not then pleasant in the country here.

18th June.--On Sunday I attended service in the Protestant church, a large and fine building, which was well filled. A part of the royal family are Protestants, but the king himself is a bigoted Catholic. The interior of the church is made to resemble a Catholic chapel as much as possible; the altar has a picture behind it, and a small crucifix stood upon the reading-desk. There was a very short liturgy, and singing in which all the congregation took part, as is always the case in Germany. The sermon which followed may have been very orthodox for all I know, for I could understand but a few words of it. I spent the remainder of the day in my own room....

Tuesday evening.--This morning I went to the cabinet of botany, to the library, and after dinner to Martius; looked over his Carices, etc. We then walked to the Garden, and afterward to the establishment for telescopes, etc., of the successors of Fraunhöfer, where I bought a very pretty little achromatic glass and a simple lens; looked at his workshop and collections, etc....

It is so long since I have seen your handwriting that I might forget it, but I met with it to-day very unexpectedly, you would never guess where! Even on labels of Carices in Martius’ herbarium. After I get to Switzerland I shall count days until I see England again, from which there are but two steps home, on board a ship, and off again.

ZURICH, June 22, 1839.

In the afternoon I called on Dr. Schultes, who offered me a pretty little parcel of Egyptian plants. Made up my parcels and left them with Martius, to be sent, with the things that he and Zuccarini are to add, to Hamburg, against my arrival there. Spent the evening at Martius’ house, and took my leave of madame and Caroline. I gave Madame M. my copy of “Childe Harold,” a very pretty one, which she seemed to value considerably. Martius I saw again the next morning at the cabinet, and took leave very affectionately; he kissing me tenderly, after the German fashion. Ask Dr. Torrey to look in the list and see if Martius is not an honorary member of the Lyceum, as I believe, but am not sure. If he is he knows it not. The Lyceum has also been remiss in sending him the “Annals,” which should not be, as he has been a liberal contributor. His works give him much trouble since the death of the late king, who was his patron and subscribed toward the expense; the present king does nothing at all for Martius or for science anyway, so that poor Martius is a little embarrassed. Meanwhile he is pressed down with his duties as professor, director of the Botanic Garden, etc., for which he is most miserably paid.

The Botanic Garden is better arranged than any other I have seen on the Continent, except at Paris, and I have secured a copy of the plan. But I must break off with Munich.--Arrived at Lindan, on Lake of Constance, yesterday; a fine lake, but too large to show well; the shores only at the eastern end mountainous; the rest ordinary, and in high cultivation, dotted with thriving villages; took a steamboat after dinner for Constance....

ON THE RIGI, 25th June.

I must resume the thread of my narrative where I left it, at my entrance to Zurich. I did nothing that evening but look about the town, visit the old church where Zwingli, the earliest Swiss reformer, preached. The prettiest view is from the new stone bridge which is thrown across the Limmat just where it emerges from the lake. The stream, like all those that proceed from these lakes, is full, and clear almost as glass, of a fine blue tint; it rushes with great rapidity, but is still and even. The view extends up the lake to its middle, where a slight change in its direction intercepts further view; beyond rise some low mountains; a little farther a higher range overtops these, and these are again overlooked by the Alps of Glarns, Schwyz, etc., with thin tall peaks and brilliant glaciers. The shores of the lake are highly cultivated and thickly covered with little manufacturing villages. This is a Protestant canton. I attended church and heard a preacher who seemed to be very earnest, but as his language was an unknown tongue, there was little chance of my being edified, and I spent the remainder of the day at my room. The new hotel here is extremely good. Early yesterday morning I prepared myself for a pedestrian excursion over the finest mountain regions of Switzerland, which will take me about ten days, if I do not get tired of it and give it up. Not that I intend to walk all the way, which would be a great loss of time, but to avail myself of steamboats, etc., along lakes, and a diligence when I am on routes which they traverse, knowing full well that there will remain many weary and difficult miles that can only be passed by the pedestrian. So I have packed up my trunk and sent it on to Geneva, at the opposite corner of Switzerland. The garçon of the hotel purchased a knapsack for me.... Thus equipped, my knapsack on my back, the Guide to Switzerland in one pocket, and Keller’s excellent map in the other, I set out on my travels in search of the sublime. At nine o’clock yesterday morning I left Zurich; took the steamboat down the lake as far as Horgen, some eight or ten miles, where I took a little lunch, and crossed the bridge into the little canton of Zug,--Catholic, as one soon finds out, by the crosses and beggars which abound by the wayside. Here the lofty Mont Pilate, with its sharp peaks, was in sight; it lies on the other side of Lake Lucerne. Soon after I saw the Lake of Zug, and soon after one o’clock I reached Zug, on the borders of the lake of the same name, the capital of the canton, a retired and lifeless village. I entered the best hotel well heated with my walk, which now amounted to about twelve miles. I obtained a plain but very good dinner of soup, the everlasting corned beef, fish, roast, and strawberries and cherries ad libitum; chatted French with the voluble kellnerinn (the demoiselle of the inn); paid my bill of two francs, and was again on my way. It was very warm, so I walked quite leisurely down the shore of the lake; the scenery growing every moment more picturesque, the Rigi rising at its foot on one side, bold and abrupt, the Rossberg on the other. (A sad tale belongs to this last, of which I had often read.) I reached Arth, the little village at the foot of the lake and of these two mountains, at half past four (seven miles); took more strawberries and milk, and at five o’clock commenced the ascent of the Rigi by the shortest but most difficult footpath. The landlord told me the ascent took four hours and a half. This, indeed, I accomplished, but found it a hard task. But the desire of witnessing the sunset from the top induced me to do my best. I had plenty of offers to relieve me of my knapsack, and at length, as I left the village, transferred it to the shoulders of a stout fellow, for it began to grow weighty. The poor fellow I think earned the ten batz he demanded (about thirty cents), though he did not seem to mind it much. The first third of the ascent the path is formed of steps like a staircase, and is very fatiguing. After we meet the road for mules or horses, which ascends from Goldau, it is not so difficult. Both in the ascent and from the summit, I had a full view of the vestiges of the awful landslip of the Rossberg; the vacant space of the mountain occupied by the portion that fell and the scarred surface of the path are most distinctly in view, and at the bottom of the valley lies the huge and unsightly and confused mass of rubbish which overwhelmed and buried the three villages of Goldau, Bussingen, and Rothen. This catastrophe took place in September, 1806. Several hundred houses and other buildings were destroyed; cattle in great number, and four hundred and fifty human beings perished....

But time is becoming precious, and I must tell you in a few words of the view from the summit of the Rigi, though description is wholly out of the question. The view from the Kulm, or peak, owes its great beauty and extent, not so much to the height of the mountain, which is only 5676 feet, as to its isolation, giving a clear view in every direction. It is also easy of access; ladies and persons who do not care to walk can ride up on horses or mules, by either side of the mountain. So there are great crowds here all the summer....

I was called in the morning at half past three to ascend the peak and watch the effect of sunrise upon the Alps and valleys. The morning proved quite favorable, though a little cloudy. The mountains, lakes, and valleys were all distinct, but looked cold. At length a blast from a wooden trumpet (a better instrument than you would think) announced sunrise, and the sun appeared between two strips of cloud, lighting up first the distant and high peaks and glaciers of the Bernese Alps, the Jungfrau, the Finster-Aarhorn, the Titlis, highest of all,--the white glaciers shining like burnished silver. Soon the serrated ridge of the gloomy Pilatus is lighted up; the dark valleys become more distinct; the lakes look brighter, and the broad valley toward the north stretches before you like a map, far as the eye can reach, covered with hamlets and villages, and diversified here and there with beautiful lakes....

Stanz, 25th June.... I intended to leave the Rigi by way of Wäggis on Lake Lucerne; to take there the steamboat as it passed at two o’clock, and go up the farther part of the lake, the Bay of Uri, and finding, if possible, the mail-courier at Fluellen, to go with him to the summit of the pass of St. Gotthard, return as far as Hospital, and cross by the pass of the Furca and the Grimsel to Grindelwald, etc. If you had Keller’s fine map before you, it would be easy to trace this route, and to find out also where I now am. Without it you will not do it so easily. So having plenty of time, I stayed on the Rigi until noon, and then descended leisurely, having grown wise by experience, and knowing that the descent of a steep mountain is much worse for the legs and feet than the ascent. Besides, a little storm arose, and I took shelter under an overhanging rock, and amused myself in watching its progress down the lake, and in hearing the deep and prolonged echoes of the thunder as it was reverberated from peak to peak among the Alps. It was a scene to be remembered. And then the numerous ever-changing aspects of the mountains and lake as it cleared up! Saw the steamboat at a distance, and hastened to the foot of the mountain, when it soon became evident enough that the boat did not intend to touch there; so we took a boat and went out to meet it. But although we drew very near them as they passed, they did not choose to take the slightest notice of us, and I was obliged, in the middle of the lake, to consider what should be done in such a predicament. I had no intention of awaiting the return of the steamboat and going with her to Lucerne, thence to begin the route to-morrow; and for a few moments I was a little bothered. But fortunately a pedestrian like me is not at the mercy of steamboats and stagecoaches; and the high satisfaction one feels at his comparative independence is one of the great pleasures of this mode of locomotion, and goes far to compensate for the fatigue. I reflected that I might not find the courier at Fluellen, and in that case should have a prodigious journey, and moreover that I had clearly saved the money I should have paid. So, learning on hasty inquiry that a blind mountain path led from the opposite shore into the canton of Unterwalden to Stanz, etc.,--from whence I knew I could reach the Grimsel, and if I chose St. Gotthard, and that it was the nearest way to the Grindelwald and all the finest part of Switzerland,--I ordered the boat to take me to that shore, where I was accordingly left to shift for myself as well as I could. But then came on one of the ills that flesh is heir to, most especially in traveling,--I wanted my dinner! I stopped at a cottage, the only one in the vicinity, but found no one but a little girl, who stared at me as if she had never seen a civilized being; saw no chance of getting anything to eat, so I climbed the mountain, very steep, and almost without a path; it evidently had not been crossed before, this season. From the top I saw the bay and village of Buochs, and in the distance, Stanz, which I reached at six o’clock; found an inn which within was more comfortable than its exterior promised. I think I never enjoyed anything more than the piece of cold roast veal and coarse bread, and the plentiful dish of strawberries with excellent cream that followed. Now that I had got out of the ordinary route of travelers, I determined to visit the valley of Engelberg. I asked the landlord for a char-à-banc (as there is a good enough road for this vehicle) or a horse, to go this evening, but mine host seemed to have made up his mind that I should stay with him all night, and insisted that there would not be time for Engelberg. So not to disappoint him, I made up my mind to rest for the night, and sallied out to look at the village....

MEYRINGEN, 26th June.

I have accomplished a journey to-day, such as I think few pedestrians have ever surpassed, considering the difficulties of a great part of the way,--from Stanz to Engelberg, thirteen miles, then over a tremendous mountain, the Joch, 6890 feet high, among the snows and near the glaciers of the Titlis and the Wendenstock, and then by a long path, through the most sublime mountain gorge and valley of Engstlen, to Meyringen. The distance from Engelberg is reckoned at nine hours (they always reckon by hours here), which on ordinary routes would be thirty miles. I do not know how far it really is. I accomplished it between half past eleven A.M. and half past seven P.M., and am fatigued past all conception, completely done over, and my feet apparently spoiled. To-morrow, perhaps, I will tell you something about it.

GRINDELWALD, Thursday, half past five, 27th June.

I take the first leisure hour to resume my account. I find that I must have walked about thirty-four miles yesterday, making due allowance for the windings of the path. I commenced at five o’clock, reached Engelberg at nine, where I rested till half past eleven, and reached Meyringen, as I said before, at half past seven. The journey from Stanz is through a narrow but fertile valley inclosed by high and picturesque mountains for about seven miles, when the valley contracts, the mountains on each side rise to a great height into sharp and bare peaks, leaving barely room for the Aar to descend between. It forms, I may say, one continual cataract from Engelberg to this point. Before this pass is reached I had gone by some other mountains which were very remarkable; among them the Brisenstock, a ridge of rock like the upturned edge of a hatchet, some 6,000 feet high, and throwing up from one extremity a column of rock like a vast obelisk. The road, which is carried at considerable elevation along one side of this narrow valley, is not difficult, and exhibits the whole way the most sublime scenery. The Wallenstock rises on one side to the height of above 8,000 feet; and those on the other side are not less lofty. Presently the shining summit of the Titlis rises before you, surrounded by others scarcely less elevated. The Titlis is the highest of the Unterwalden Alps, 10,710 feet. You then arrive at a place where the Aar forms a series of cataracts in the bottom of the gorge, nearly a thousand feet below you; the opposite mountain exhibits an almost perpendicular wall of rock, nearly 6,000 feet high, and a little cataract formed by the melting snow above falls from the top to the bottom. Soon I entered the little valley of Engelberg, the most beautiful and picturesque I have seen, probably the finest in Switzerland; at least that of Meyringen and this of Grindelwald, where I am now writing, are not to be compared with it. I only wonder it is so little known. I think it not improbable that I am the first American that has visited it. It is far out of the ordinary routes, and though easily accessible with chars from Stanz, yet the three passes that lead out of it are excessively difficult footpaths. It is a green, sunshiny valley, having perhaps eighty acres of plain, but very rich pastures rise up the mountain-sides to some distance; it is entirely shut in by the high mountains that rise on every side; the Titlis rising abruptly on the south within a few yards of the village, and sending down its avalanches in the spring close to the houses. But the glaciers are so situated as to send their summer avalanches in the other direction, so that the hamlet is not in danger; the other mountains toward the south have the glaciers on their summits, but the peaks on the other sides present naked precipices. The Engelberg, from which the hamlet is named (angel-mountain) is a lofty mountain shaped like a slender cone, with the apex cut off obliquely. It rises almost within the valley, and presents a very curious appearance. The large convent stands just between the base of this mountain and the Titlis. Attached to it is a very large and fine church for such an out-of-the-world place. I stopped at the simple auberge of the Engel (angel); mine host could only speak or understand German and Italian, so that our communication took place mostly by signs and single words, I giving him the German names as far as I could of what I wished. I got a very comfortable lunch of cold roast meat; but I wanted some strawberries, and could not think of the German name, and had considerable difficulty. At length he seemed dubiously to comprehend what I wanted; he went out, and returned in a few moments with a fine dish of the article in question. Excellent cream is as common as need be; so I had a fine feast. I found that I was the first visitor here this season. I amused myself with looking over the travelers’ book (which you always find) and reading the remarks of former visitors. An Englishman the summer before had ascended the highest peak of the Titlis. I afterwards saw that this could readily be done, as my route led me close to the top of the main body of the mountain.

To get into the valley of the Aar it was necessary to cross the Joch, a mountain connected with the Titlis, and almost as high. The pass between the two mountains is almost 7,000 feet at the summit, is covered with snow, and is in immediate proximity with the glaciers of the Titlis. The ascent is exceedingly difficult; indeed, from all I can learn, it is much more difficult than any of the passes at all frequented by travelers. I took a guide to the summit and some distance beyond, as a stranger could never have found the way. My guide was an old man of sixty years. From a high ridge near the summit, which belonged rather to the Titlis, I had a magnificent view of the mountains to the north and the valley I had passed through, and on the other side, close to us, of a vast glacier; the streams emerging from it formed a small river, which we had some difficulty in crossing, and which emptied into a dark alpine lake just below. Here I gathered a few alpine plants, as souvenirs of the place. Another weary climb over the snow brought us to the top of the Joch, and here, where shelter was impossible, we were exposed to a shower, but our umbrellas protected us in part, and the view repaid for a little wetting. Descending a little, my guide showed me a lake almost surrounded with snow, fed by the glaciers; the outlet, the source of one branch of the Aar, was the stream which flowed down the valley I was to descend to Meyringen; the knapsack was again transferred to my shoulders and I was left to myself. As I entered the valley of Engstlen the scenery grew wonderfully fine. Tired as I was I enjoyed the whole journey extremely, though it took me four hours and a half of continual descent; yet I look back upon it with delight. The main stream formed a succession of beautiful cascades; the mountains on each side very high, and mostly perpendicular faces of rock, and down these a great multitude of cascades of all sizes fell, some of them springing 500 feet at a leap; others, falling from much greater height over the rocks, looked like long skeins of yarn, if you will pardon the simile, dangling in the air. It must be much like the valley of the Lauterbrunnen, according to the description; but I think the latter cannot excel it. I hope to know to-morrow. A shower drove me into a miserable châlet, the highest one inhabited at this season, where I found a young man, who dwelt there for the summer, with his herd of goats, and his brother, a young lad of fifteen, who had come up from Meyringen to bring him some food, etc., and was just about to return, I drank about a quart of milk fresh from the goat, and found it excellent. When it stopped raining the youngster and I started together; I transferred my knapsack to his shoulders, and a franc and a half to his pocket, to the great satisfaction of both parties. He proved a very useful little fellow, though I could not understand much of what he said; he showed me some waterfalls and curious things that I should otherwise have missed. With the true spirit of his nation, ever ready to improve an opportunity, he told me he had a brother who spoke French, who would be my guide for the next day. It rained most of the way, but I was compensated for the partial wetting by the views of the most beautiful waterfalls, which fell into the valley in great profusion from the high precipices on each side. I could sometimes see twenty at one view. After a long and weary descent we came at last near the bottom, where this valley, and two others almost at the same point, fell into the main valley of the Aar, and I could look at the same moment up four deep and wild mountain valleys. Then skirting along the side of the mountain, we soon descended to Meyringen, deep in the main valley of the Aar, with two fine cascades behind it, and another very fine one, the cascade of the Reichenbach, on the opposite side of the valley. Glad enough was I when we reached the door of the humble auberge, and great was the havoc I made with the eatables which the kind landlady provided in abundance and of excellent quality. I sat down on a sofa in my chamber to read a little, but fell asleep instantly; slept until eleven, then took my bed and slept until half past seven in the morning.

I can say, with Sancho Panza, “Blest be the man who first invented sleep.” In the evening, what with my great fatigue and blistered feet, I supposed I should be scarcely able to move the next day, and that traveling on foot would be impossible. But I awoke perfectly restored, my limbs supple and my feet much better than I had anticipated; my guide made his appearance while I was at breakfast; said that it would take three days to make the excursion over the Great Scheideck to Grindelwald, then over the Lesser to the Wengern Alp, to Lauterbrunnen, and back to Meyringen by Interlaken and the Lake of Brienz. I insisted that it should be done in two, with the aid of a char from Brienz, at the end of the second day. Leaving my knapsack here, and taking a few things in our pockets, we set out at half past nine; stopped on our way to see the falls of the Reichenbach, where the stream of the valley we were climbing makes the descent of 2,000 feet in a succession of leaps; the longest forms the celebrated falls,--very fine. Farther above numerous waterfalls are seen dangling from the perpendicular sides of the narrow valley; one, remarkably high and slender, is called the Seilbach (rope-fall). Ascended through beautiful mountain pastures, dotted with châlets; the peak of the Wetterhorn in full view directly before us, a sharp pyramid, one side dark rock, the other pure white snow. The body of the mountain was still hidden by the Wellhorn, the first of the chain of high Bernese Alps we were approaching (9,500 feet); then the Engelhörner (angel’s-peaks) and high up between these, we had a fine distant view of the most beautiful glacier in Switzerland, the Rosenlaui, celebrated above all others for the purity of its untarnished white surface, and the clear azure of its depths and caverns. Stopped at a little inn, which is occupied only through the summer; got an excellent little dinner at half past eleven, charges moderate; visited another waterfall, and then walked half an hour out of our way to the foot of the Rosenlaui glacier, which descends to only 4,200 feet above the level of the sea; found a party there, two gentlemen and lady, the latter carried in a chair; admired the pure white surface, entered a little way into one of the crevices, looked down into the deep azure chasms; returning, viewed the awful gorge through which the stream from the glaciers makes its way, at least 500 feet deep, and only four or five feet wide, the water rushing and boiling and roaring in the bottom like mad. Threw down a big stone, and heard it crashing against the sides and shattered to atoms. Continued up the Scheideck, close along the broad and vast perpendicular side of the Wetterhorn; finally reached the summit of the pass (6,040 feet), and enjoyed the magnificent view of the mountains down the valley of the Grindelwald. The Wetterhorn (peak of tempests) rises, one vast precipice of alpine limestone, its base extending from Grindelwald on the one side almost to Rosenlaui on the other, and so near us that it seemed easy for a strong man to throw a stone against it, though it is really more than a mile off; its summit is 11,450 feet above the sea; this precipice consequently forms a wall about 6,000 feet in height. Next to this is the Mettenberg (perhaps 10,000 feet); and next, the great Eiger (giant, 12,220 feet), presenting its long thin edge, like the blade of a hatchet turned up into the air; while back of the Mettenberg appears the pointed cone of the Schreckhorn (the peak of terror, 12,500 feet). The vast space between these peaks is filled by an immense glacier, here and there interrupted, which under various names extends from Rosenlaui and Grindelwald almost to the Grimsel, and to Brieg in the Valais. The increasing supply of ice and the refrigeration of such an immense quantity forces branches down the valleys far below the level of perpetual snow, particularly these at Grindelwald, the lowest known; the base of the lowermost being little more than 3,000 feet above sea-level. I descended rapidly, looked down upon the two glaciers just mentioned, reached the little hamlet of Grindelwald in the bottom of the valley, close at the feet of these vast mountains, and a little above the foot of the lower glacier, which is so close that it seems almost possible to throw a stone to it; but I believe it is a mile off; reached here at five o’clock (twenty-one miles), having walked very deliberately. It is now just at sunset; the day has been warm; but now it is very cold, and I am shivering too much to hold my pen; besides, it is time for supper, and I want another view of the mountains. Adieu....

Villeneuve, 4th July, 1839.... Being unexpectedly detained here for a few hours, almost at the close of my Swiss pilgrimage, I resume my pen, which I have had no time to use for some time past, and must bring up my journal in a hurried way to the present. Since I broke off I have seen more than half the wonders of Switzerland. I can only now tell you where I have been from day to day; but I shall have much to give you viva voce some of the evenings of the rapidly approaching autumn. Stayed at Grindelwald Thursday night (a week ago); watched the clouds striking against the Wetterhorn and the Eiger and rolling down its sides; terribly cold. Friday, 28th, rose at four; started at five, in fine walking trim, after paying an exorbitant bill for very indifferent fare; was very confident that the guide paid nothing, and therefore suspected a connivance between him and the aubergiste to put all on my shoulders,--one of the evils of a guide; they are worse than useless on all the usual routes, indeed anywhere, except in ascending very high mountains and crossing glaciers; felt a little inclined to punish my guide, and therefore set off at a swinging pace and took him up the Little Scheideck much more rapidly than he ever went before. I buttoned up my coat and pretended not to be making any effort at all, while the poor fellow stripped off first his coat, then his waistcoat, the perspiration running off his face; until finally he pronounced it impossible to keep near me, and lagged far behind. At length I took pity on him and walked slower, but we crossed the Scheideck and reached the Wengern Alp, a journey of four hours and a half, in a little less than three....

From the crest of the Little Scheideck (6,300 feet) I got my first near view of the remainder of the high Bernese Alps,--the Mönch (12,660 feet), the Jungfrau (12,670 feet) (I have been giving you the height all along in French feet, as they are put down in Keller; in English feet the numbers will be considerably higher), with the two white peaks, the Silberhörner (silver-peaks), which belong to it.

Still beyond, though not quite so lofty, were the Grosshorn, the Breithorn, etc. The point where I stood commanded nearly the whole view, from the Engelhörner, Wetterhorn, a glimpse of the Schreckhorn, the Mettenberg, Eiger, Mönch, and Jungfrau, as I stood just in the mid-distance; an unsurpassed view it is. As I descended the other side to the Wengern Alp I lost those more to the east, but came still nearer to the Jungfrau....

At the Jungfrau hotel, a mere châlet on the side of the Wengern Alp, we were close under that magnificent mountain, separated only by a narrow gorge, and elevated just enough to have the most perfect view from base to summit. We had heard the day previous the crash and roar of falling avalanches on the other side of the Wetterhorn, and I was very anxious to see one; before long I saw two, one of them a pretty good one, come tumbling and roaring down the Jungfrau. Soon a thick cloud came and enveloped these mountains, so that I departed earlier than I should have done; it threatened to rain; and we descended into the valley of Lauterbrunnen, which is very deep and narrow, and had on the way a fine view of the valley and the mountains and glaciers that close its upper extremity. Saw the celebrated fall of the Staubbach, and was disappointed in it....

Walked rapidly down the valley of Lauterbrunnen to the lake of Brienz, turning aside so as not to pass through Interlaken, which is a little British colony; took a boat to the opposite end of the lake (eight miles); had a heavy shower and much wind; saw the falls of Giessbach from the lake, seven very fine cascades one above the other. Landed at Brienz; took a char up to Meyringen again, looking at the beautiful waterfalls from each side of the valley, now very full from the rains. Arrived at my own lodgings at five o’clock, having accomplished in the twelve hours fifty miles, of which thirty-two were traveled on foot.

Saturday, 29th, rose in good condition, breakfasted, and parted with my thoroughly Swiss landlady at five o’clock; went up the vale of Hassli, one of the finest in Switzerland, for the Grimsel, perhaps the wildest and grandest pass across the Alps. It is a footpath, or at best a bridle-path. I set out alone, with my knapsack on my back. Ascended a considerable distance when the clouds sunk lower and it began to rain, though I had the satisfaction to see down the valley that the sun was shining at Meyringen. Passed the last little village (Guttannen), a lonely place; above, the scenery grew to the very height of gloomy grandeur: immense blackened granitic mountains, clothed at the base with black stunted firs, above all naked tremendous rocks and peaks; between, just room enough for the river to tumble along, forming here and there a cataract. The view was heightened much, I doubt not, by the clouds and storm, so entirely in character with the scenery. I never before enjoyed a lonely rainy walk so much.

At the height of about 4,500 feet, and in the midst of the very wildest and most lonely scenery, reached the falls of the Aar at Handek, the finest in Switzerland,--indeed the only sublime waterfall here; viewed it first from below, then from the rude bridge thrown across just a few feet above where it leaps into the awful gorge. The scenery and all is in character, and for savage grandeur I have seen nothing to compare with it. Stopped at the châlet near the only dwelling within some miles; waited a little for the rain to subside, and finding that even here a traveler’s first wants had been pretty well provided for, I made an early but most excellent dinner upon bread, butter, cheese, and honey, the last especially excellent. No signs of better weather; so started on, passing a spot where falling avalanches every winter and spring had swept over a vast space of rock and completely worn it smooth; was now above trees, with here and there a bit of scanty vegetation, but almost every step to the end was now on rock or snow, and I walked on to the hospice near the summit in the midst of a snowstorm, one and a half hours; knowing it could scarcely accumulate sufficiently to obstruct or obscure entirely the path until I could reach the place of shelter, I enjoyed it intensely, but had quite enough when, at one o’clock, I reached the hospice (twenty miles), near the summit of the pass, surrounded with unmelted snow, more than 6,000 English feet above the sea. It is as comfortable a place as can be expected in such a situation, now kept as a kind of inn during the summer, and in winter left in charge of a single servant, with a store of provisions to last him until spring. The winter before last it was crushed by an avalanche, but the man and his dog escaped, and reached Meyringen in safety. It is now repaired; the stone walls are extremely thick, the roof protected against the winds, as is usual here, by laying huge stones upon it. Laid aside part of my wet clothes, and lay down before the fire to dry the remainder; fell asleep; on waking had just begun to write, but when I had given the heading, in came three more travelers: two Germans, whom I had met before at Grindelwald, and a young Englishman; all thoroughly wet with the storm, which was now more violent. We all had to huddle about the fire, so there was an end of writing.

Awoke Sunday morning and found myself in mid-winter; very cold, snowing hard, and the wind howling frightfully around our humble but snug place of refuge. The other travelers determined to prosecute their journey, spite of the Sabbath or the storm, and to go by way of the glacier of the Rhone, the other side of the summit of the pass and about four miles distant. They sallied out with their guide and left me to myself, which was one advantage. But in three hours they returned, giving an alarming account of the difficulties and dangers of the way. When just abandoning the attempt they heard a cry for help, and succeeded in rescuing another party of three with their guide, who had lost their way in the thick mist and storm and were wandering about in the drifts, suffering extremely with the cold, and who, as well as their guide, had given up all hope of reaching the hospice unless their cries should perchance be heard and bring them aid. All returned to the hospice together, and no further attempts to leave it were made that day. When left alone I had the fire to myself, and was spending the time in as profitable a manner as possible, thinking a little, too, of the strangeness of passing the day in such an elevated position; so their return, with an accession to their company, though very desirable for them, was not so favorable to me. And then of all people in the world the Germans are the noisiest talkers; Frenchmen are nothing to them; the fire which dried their clothes and warmed their fingers loosened their tongues, and they kept up a continual gabble for the greater part of the day. Scarcely a winter passes that some persons are not lost in this pass during such storms. A gloomy lake on the summit of the mountain, into which the bodies are thrown for burial, receives the name of “The Lake of the Dead” (Todten-See).

Monday morning, still enveloped in the clouds, but the storm apparently over. Found it no use trying to make a visit to the Rhone glacier; the clouds were so thick we could scarcely hope to find it, and the recent snow so deep nothing could be seen. Was disappointed also by these same clouds in getting a view of the high Bernese Alps, particularly Finster-Aarhorn and the glaciers, from this side, but determined not to wait here longer; so set off at half past ten in company with a native of Valais, who was traveling towards home and served as guide; traveled through deep snow, climbed up to the summit of the pass, more than a thousand feet higher, where at first we were so completely enveloped in the clouds that we seemed actually to be traveling through them and on them; dug a specimen or two of Soldanella out of the snow to serve as souvenirs. At length the wind arose and now and then sent a hole in the clouds to give me some glimpses of the desolate yet grand scenery through which we were passing. Soon I got a view of the valley of the Rhone almost at its commencement, with the river flowing through like a mere rivulet; looked down upon Oberwald, the highest village in Valais, a collection of little châlets all huddled together as if to keep themselves warm,--as indeed they have need; got out of winter and snow and into the valley at the little village of Obergesteln, and walked, on the same day, through a quick succession of most retired little Swiss villages of the humblest sort, to Brieg, on the Simplon road, near the mountain of that name, which I reached at nine o’clock in the evening, making a journey of forty miles, a portion through the snow, in ten hours and a half. I would like to tell you much about the upper Valais, a region seldom visited by travelers, but have not time; people kind and simple; got nothing to eat on the way except hard and dry brown bread, that may have been baked ten days; passed the villages where avalanches had fallen in former years and crushed many people; the scenery much more picturesque than I expected, but was most interested in the people and their little villages; women mowing, reaping, and doing every sort of the hardest labor; all awfully afflicted with goitre, scarce a person wholly free from it; actually saw one woman with a goitre not quite as large as her own head certainly, but about the size of that of the child she held in her arms, apparently a year old; saw one cretin. Stopped a few moments at the principal auberge in the village of Viesch; found the priest with two of his parishioners playing a game of cards together. A stranger being a curiosity in that region, one person accosted me very politely, and took me up the valley a little way to see the glacier and mountains. Reached Brieg utterly worn out, but got a good supper and bed; this being just where the famous Simplon road commences the ascent of the mountains, there are many travelers and a good hotel, though dear.

Rose Tuesday morning at four o’clock; my feet and legs very stiff and sore; thought of going up the Simplon road into the mountains to see some of the galleries and bridges and get fine views, but the morning was cloudy and I did not like to lose the time; started off down the valley, but got on slowly and very painfully; however, walked as far as Lenk, I believe about twenty-four miles, and there hired a char, which took me on to Siou, the capital of the canton, about twenty-two miles further, where I slept.

Wednesday, rose at four, and feeling pretty stout, I started off at five on foot, and though certainly in very far from the best condition for walking, went on to Martigny to breakfast, which place I reached at half past ten, twenty-four miles according to the guide-book, but the latter part was very painful. From this place one may go to the Hospice of St. Bernard in ten hours. I would have been glad to have seen so famous a place, but as to scenery it is decidedly inferior to much I had already seen. One may go to Chamouni in nine hours, getting the superb view of Mont Blanc from the summit of Col de Balme on the way. Thinking it impossible to walk farther, I hired a mule, and a person with him, and went up to the top of Col de Balme (five hours), passing the vale and glacier of Trient. Reached the summit at four o’clock; enjoyed a fine view of Mont Blanc and its attendant peaks from top to bottom, or rather at top and bottom, for there was a belt of cloud about the middle,--a most superb and complete view, Mer de Glace and all.

Quite satisfied without going to Chamouni, so returned to Martigny at eight P.M.; another good day’s work, particularly as I walked both up and down the worst part of the road, being merciful to the beast. On my descent obtained a splendid view of the Bernese Alps. Much aroused at looking over the register at the hotel, where the travelers expressed their opinions of the different hotels on the road, praising some, and speaking of others in terms of great reprobation; good plan. I think if the proprietor of the hotel at Sion (a very dirty hotel) could read all that is written in his own book he would burn it.... Lay down and slept till midnight.

Thursday, took diligence at one o’clock A.M. for Villeneuve; saw the falls of the Sallanches by moonlight; arrived at Villeneuve at half past seven, just after the morning steamboat had left for Geneva; am confident we were delayed on purpose, to induce us to go on in the diligence instead of the next boat. For myself I did not mind waiting till one o’clock, that I might make myself look a little decent, though I had not the means here of improving my appearance much; as to my boots, and indeed all my habiliments, they were much in the condition of those of the Gibeonites when they made their visit to Joshua. Wrote a little, went out to take a look at the Castle of Chillon, which is near,--the building itself not remarkable, but the situation fine....

Took the steamboat in the afternoon; passed Vevay, Lausanne, etc., etc., and after traversing the whole length of this much-admired, most beautiful lake, arrived at Geneva, just at sunset; having accomplished my pedestrian tour (long to be remembered) in ten days (excluding the Sunday)....

GENEVA, 19th July.

My mornings, between eleven and four, have been constantly and fully occupied at De Candolle’s. Earlier in the morning I have spent much time with Mr. Duby, a botanist and clergyman,--one of the government pastors here, and it is said almost the only one who is a pious man. I have yet to pack up a box of my gatherings and to send to the roulage to be forwarded to New York. I have taken lodgings, for my short stay here, with the Wolff family, very pious and excellent people, who are pretty well known to many persons of the same class in New York. One of the daughters is the wife of Dr. Buck, and I believe your dear mother is acquainted with her. After dinner I have sometimes made little excursions in the neighborhood; once or twice I have been accompanied by Madame Wolff and the two daughters. They are very fond of walking, and often make long excursions on foot. The two daughters walk as fast as I can, and in fact one of them nearly tired me down the other day, when we were hurrying in order to watch the effect of the setting sun on Mont Blanc. I have taken quite a fancy to this river, the Rhone. I made my acquaintance with it when it was but a babbling brook; I have trudged along with it for many a mile, until it grew to a headstrong stream, and became so turbulent and muddy that it was obliged to jump into the lake to wash itself clean, and when it leaves the lake it is as clear as crystal,--emerald, I should say, for it is about that color. A few months ago I saw the same river in its old age, just falling into the ocean. Walked back along the shore of the lake; reached the house just in time to join in the evening worship,--a sweet hymn was sung (in French), one of the young ladies leading with the piano and all joining with their voices, and hearts, too, I doubt not; and then the venerable old man read a chapter, which I could understand very well, and closed with a simple and fervent prayer. You cannot know yourself how pleasant it is, after being jolted about in the rude world for months, to get again with a pious family. The house is just without the town, surrounded with a large garden and fine trees and shrubbery, and all very pleasant. Some days after, we made another excursion to visit their pastor. He was not at home, so I missed him, but saw his pretty garden. On the two Sundays I have heard one of the pastors of the Evangelical Society preach in the morning, and the clergyman of the English chapel in the afternoon. I have also had the satisfaction of seeing Mr. Malan, who, when he called here the other day, was so good as to hold a long and edifying religions conversation with me. He is a very apostle in appearance, and in conversation. Indeed, I have been thrown here into the midst of religious society of a high tone and of great sweetness and simplicity. I hope I have received some benefit from it. As I leave here I shall lose all this and shall see nothing more like it until I get home again....

TO GEORGE P. PUTNAM.

BÂLE, July 23d.

... I left on Saturday morning for Lausanne and Freiburg, where I heard the big organ on Sunday; came on in the night to Berne, and yesterday to this place over the Jura. I wished here to see Professor Meisner, but found out this morning, some hours after the steamboat had left, that he was absent on a journey. I was a great fool for not finding that out last night, in which case I should now have been below Strasburg,--and this evening at Mannheim. As it is, I can’t wait here till Thursday morning for the next boat, and shall leave this evening for Schaffhausen and Tübingen, and thence push on, the best way I can, for Dresden and Leipsic. I do not lose a moment of time. Do not be surprised if I drop in upon you about the 4th or 5th of September. I would like to sail for home the latter part of that month. In early winter we will hope to give you an entire volume of “Flora,” and see what you can do with it. I have blocked out, in my mind, scientific labor enough for several years to come, and several works some of which will be good in a publisher’s acceptance of the term; others, I dare say, not. As Murray’s fame is derived from Byron, so shall you be immortalized and known to all posterity as the publisher of the celebrated Dr. Gray!!!

We have not much time to lose, and on my arrival at London I shall be wonderfully busy. I hope you will have picked up a great quantity of books for me by that time. My future credit and comfort will very much depend upon my bringing home an immense quantity of books for my money.... When I was in England I could scarcely hold up my head as a Yankee should--what with our border wars and domestic quarrels. But now I feel greatly relieved. The recent “Birmingham affair” and several other things fortunately (?) give me “wherewith to answer them that are of the contrary part.” Let them shut their mouths now! You know my address at Berlin, or you may address poste restante if you will. I think I shall be there till about the 25th August. I shall stop a few days at Hamburg. I think I may say that I shall not go up to Rostock. You will perhaps be receiving some letters for me, which, now you know my movements, you will act according to discretion either in forwarding to me or in retaining.

I have bought scarcely any books since I left Paris. I have had some good ones given me.

Excuse this hurried epistle. I have precious little time, and I find I am growing more and more slovenly every day. Adieu.

Most truly yours, A. GRAY.

TO GEORGE BENTHAM.

... Arrived at Geneva by way of Villeneuve and the Lake. De Candolle and Alphonse had returned only three days previous to my arrival. They received me very cordially, and I went through the herbarium as far as the “Prodromus” is prepared.

From Geneva I went to Lausanne and Freiburg; ... thence to Berne, where I made no stay; thence to Bâle, to Schaffhausen, to Tübingen, where I spent the morning with Mohl; reached Stuttgart toward evening and Heidelberg the next morning. Frankfort in the evening; took the eilwagen the same night for Leipsic; saw Pöppig, Schwägrichen, etc.; railroad to Dresden; saw Reichenbach for a few moments, as he went into the country the same day; visited the picture-gallery, which deserves to be called the richest out of Italy; returned to Leipsic; to Halle; passed a day or two with Schlechtendal; saw the Carices in the herbarium of Schkuhr; Potsdam, Sans-Souci, the marble palace, the beautiful statue of the late queen of Prussia by Rauch (the second and best one); and thence to Berlin, where I remained nearly a month; saw the botanists, etc.

TO WILLIAM J. HOOKER.

LONDON, September 13.

MY DEAR FRIEND,--The “penny postage system” not being yet in operation, I embrace an opportunity that offers to send you a line in Pamphlin’s parcels. I am again in London, you see; indeed I have been here about a week. But it is only to-day that I have had intelligence of your return to Scotland. I had some hopes that I should find you in London on my arrival, or that you would return here from Chatham, and that I should have the gratification of seeing you once more. I received your welcome letter of August 14th, at Berlin, for which I thank you much. I wish my friends at home were half as prompt correspondents. While on the Continent I have received precious few letters.

I have been much interested at Berlin, and worked hard. The herbarium of Willdenow is larger and in better condition than I supposed, and the general herbarium is very interesting and rich. Klotzsch is very industrious, and has got the whole collection in much better order than most of the herbaria on the Continent. I am under great obligations to Dr. Klotzsch, who not only afforded me every facility at the Herbarium, but most cheerfully aided me in every possible way, and during a transient illness (for I was confined to my room for a week or so, and to my bed for a few days) he procured for me the best medical advice, and took a great deal of trouble on my account.

I lost some time by this, but fortunately I had nearly finished my work at the Herbarium, and afterwards I had a few days to finish, and to look at Kunth’s herbarium, with which I was rather disappointed. Kunth was extremely polite and attentive to me. He is at work upon the third volume of his “Enumeratio,” but I fear it will not be very well done. I saw Ehrenberg frequently, and Link once or twice, but nearly all my time was spent at Schönberg, where the Botanic Garden and Herbarium are situated, which is nearly a half hour’s ride from the city. The garden is much the finest in Germany, and the government annually expends very large sums upon it. The building exclusively devoted to the herbarium is very commodious, though Klotzsch begins to complain that he has not sufficient room. It is so far from town that there are no loungers there, and one may study perfectly undisturbed. I brought a few things for you from Klotzsch and Link, which Pamphlin is to send to-morrow.

Having lost some time by illness I did not go to Rostock, a most out-of-the-world place, although I suppose I shall hereafter regret that I did not see Lamarck’s herbarium.

I spent several days at Hamburg, saw Lehmann, his herbarium, and the botanic garden; and took steamboat for London. Since my return I have been busily occupied in the city, completing some purchases for the Michigan University, and shall be mostly thus employed during the remainder of my stay....

19th September.--I saw Dr. Richardson the day before yesterday, who informed me that the Erebus was still lying at Chatham, and (what I was not aware of) that I could reach Chatham in three or four hours. So I arranged at once to go down and see Joseph before he started, but the next day I learned that the vessels had dropped down from that port.

I expect to sail in the Toronto from Portsmouth on the 1st October.... I have yet very much to do. Yesterday I dined with Dr. Lindley and visited the Garden. One wing of the conservatory is erected and nearly covered with glass. It is entirely glass and iron, about 130 feet long, and will be very fine.... Believe me, my very dear friend, most truly yours,

A. GRAY.

NEW YORK, 5th November, 1839.

MY DEAR FATHER,--Through the favors of a kind Providence, my journey is safely brought to a close. I am happy to inform you that I reached New York last evening in the ship Toronto, after a passage of thirty-five days. I left London on the last of September, and Portsmouth on the 1st ult. The steamship Great Western, which left on the 19th of last month, reached New York two days before us! Our voyage was a rather pleasant one, although we had nearly forty passengers. It was rather rough, but no very hard gales. I was sea-sick but a single day, and then but slightly. I have brought with me nearly the full amount of my purchases of books for the Michigan library, a large collection. I am waiting to hear from Detroit to know whether it will be necessary for me to go up there this fall. I hope I shall not be obliged to make this journey until spring. I shall not come up to see you until I hear from Michigan, when I can take Sauquoit in my way if it be necessary to go to Michigan. I am now busy in getting my boxes and parcels through the custom-house, which is a tedious business. I hope I shall be allowed to remain here during the winter, as I have a great deal to do here.

I find here a letter from my friend Dana, of the Exploring Expedition, dated Valparaiso. He seems not very well satisfied with his situation. I have not heard from any of you for a full year. Perhaps one of my sisters will favor me with a letter now that I am so near. Love to all.