structure standing. On that occasion he had penetrated about midway from the Colorado into the wilderness, and had encamped near the Little Red River, with the Sierra Blanca looming up to the south, when he noticed at a little distance an object that induced him to examine further. As he approached, he found it to be a kind of citadel, around which lay the ruins of a city more than a mile in length. It was located on a gentle declivity that sloped towards Red River, and the lines of the streets could be distinctly traced, running regularly at right angles with each other. The houses had all been built of stones, but all had been reduced to ruins by the action of some great heat, which had evidently passed over the whole country. It was not an ordinary conflagration, but must have been some fierce furnace-like blast of fire, similar to that issuing from a volcano, as the stones were all burnt-some of them almost cindered, others glazed, as if melted. This appearance was visible in every ruin he met with. A storm of fire seemed to have swept over the whole face of the country, and the inhabitants must have fallen before it. In the centre of this city we refer to, rose abruptly a rock twenty or thirty feet high, upon the top of which stood a portion of the walls of what had once been an immense building. The outline of the building was still distinct, although only the northern angle, with walls fifteen or eighteen feet long, and ten feet high, was standing. These walls were constructed of stone, well quarried and well built. All the south end of the building seemed to have been burnt to cinders, and to have sunk to a mere pile of rubbish. Even the rock on which it was built appeared to have been partially fused by the heat. Captain Walker spent some time in examining this interesting spot. He traced many of the streets and the outlines of the houses, but could find no other wall standing. As often as he had seen ruins of this character, he had never until this occasion discovered any of the implements of the ancient people. Here he found a number of handmills, similar to those still used by the Pueblas and the Mexicans for grinding their corn. They were made of light porous rock, and consisted of two pieces about two feet long and ten inches wide, the one hollowed out, and the other made convex like a roller to fit the concavity. They were the only articles that had resisted the heat. No metals of any kind were found. Strewn all around might be seen numerous fragments of crockery, sometimes beautifully carved, at others painted. This, however, was not peculiar to this spot, as he had seen antique pottery in every part of the country, from San Juan to the Gila.

Captain Walker continued his journey, and noticed several more ruins a little off his route next day, but he could not stop to examine them. On this side of the Colorado he has never seen any remains, except of the present races. The Indians have no traditions relative to the ancient people once thickly settled in this region. They look with wonder upon these remains, but know nothing of their origin. Captain Walker, who, we may remark, is a most intelligent and close observer, far superior to the generality of the old trappers, and with a wonderfully retentive memory, is of opinion that this basin, now so barren, was once a charming country, sustaining millions of people, and that its present desolation has been wrought by the action of volcanic fires. The mill discovered proves that the ancient race once farmed. The country, as it now appears, never could be tilled: hence, it is inferred, it must have been different in early days. They must have had sheep, too; for the representation of that useful animal was found carved upon a piece of pottery.

Lieutenant Beale states that on his first trip across the continent he discovered in the midst of the wilderness north of the Gila what appeared to be a strong fort, the walls of great thickness, built of stone. He traversed it, and found it contained forty-two rooms. In the vicinity numerous balls of hard clay, from the size of a bullet to that of a grape-shot, were met with. What was singular about them was the fact, that frequently ten or twenty were stuck together like a number of bullets run out of half-a-dozen connecting moulds, or like a whole baking of rolls. It is difficult to say what these were intended for. They were so hard, however, that the smaller ones could be discharged from a gun. And now it remains for the antiquary to explore this most interesting region in the very heart of our country, and to say who were the people that inhabited it. They may have been the ancestors of the Aztecs whom Cortes found in Mexico; for they were known to have come from the north. Tradition relates that they sailed out from their northern homes directed by their prophets not to cease their march till they came across an eagle sitting upon a cactus with a serpent in its claws. This they found where the city of Mexico now stands, and there they established their dominion. This legend is still preserved in the device upon the Mexican dollar. Some remnants of the Aztecs still remained within a few years past at the ruined city of Grand Quivera, or Pecos, in the wilderness of New Mexico. Here, in deep caverns, they kept alive, with reverential care, the sacred fire, which was always to burn until the return of Montezuma. It only went out about ten years ago, when the last Indian of the tribe expired. It may be that the Pimos, south of the Gila, are an offshoot of the great Aztec nation, left behind in their march to the south. The Pimos, it is known, are far superior to the Indians of Mexico. They raise fine cotton, and from it manufacture all their clothing.

Would that some Stephens or Layard would arise to explore the wonders that lie concealed within this great basin, and bring to light the history of the strange people that once inhabited it!

MEMORANDA OF A RUN THROUGH SWITZERLAND.

GUIDED by the oracle of "Murray," that it is advisable to enter Switzerland from the side of Germany rather than from that of France, and assured that a route commencing with the Rhine and ending with Chamouny presents "in the happiest gradation, and with the best pauses and intermixtures, the beautiful, romantic, wild, grand, and sublime," we found ourselves in Cologne on the evening of Saturday, September 3d, fairly en route for Switzerland. A miserably wet night presented no aspect of novelty, and first impressions of a continental city were postponed till the morrow. Early on Sunday, threading our way through narrow streets, alive with all the indications of a German Sabbath, we hastened to High Mass in the venerable-though unfinished-Cathedral, which, during six hundred years, has been gradually advancing to a perfection of structure, designed one day to eclipse the most gorgeous erections of medieval piety. From the western door the coup d'œil was most imposing,-nave, aisle, and transept filled with one vast congregation, presenting a strange, startling contrast to the dreary solitude of "Cathedral service" at home. And as we glanced down that glorious pile, thronged with apparently devout worshippers, and caught the magnificent strains of one of Mozart's masses, we could

estimate the wondrous fascination of the Romish ritual, and the power of those appeals to the eye, and to the ear, by which it professes to reach the heart. An approach to the high altar revived our Protestantism; and the combination, which a moment before had entranced by its harmony, now revealed itself as an unholy alliance between the opera and the house of prayer. The re-action was complete, while, ascending the steps of the shrine which seemed the centre of attraction, and before which the long procession of officiating Priests bowed with the lowliest homage, we were permitted to gaze upon the most precious relics of Cologne. In a dungeonlike recess, visible through an iron grating, three human skulls, set in gold, and blazing with jewellery, command and receive the adoration of the faithful, as the skulls of the Magi who worshipped the infant Saviour! From the Cathedral we went to the unpretending room (for it can hardly be called a chapel) set apart for the worship of English Protestants. And never did the beauty and devotional pathos of the Liturgy of the English Church fall so sweetly on the ear, as when neither "sung," nor merely "said," but prayed in that "upper room." We felt its perfect contrast to the meretricious ritual from which we had just escaped.-Apart from its Cathedral, and its intramural cemetery, or rather catacomb, dedicated to S. Ursula and her 11,000 virgins, Cologne is destitute of interest, save for a sanitary reformer,-sewerage being regarded by the municipal authorities of this archiepiscopal city as a needless superfluity: an omission by no means disinterested, as the consumption of the celebrated fluid which is prepared in five-and-twenty distilleries of the place is thereby greatly increased.

A day of cloudless pleasure was that of our voyage "up the Rhine." Bright, beautiful weather, accomplished and agreeable company, and scenery far surpassing our most highly wrought expectations, combined to make one of those happy occasions which, far withdrawn from the bustle of life, seem associated only with childhood, and, like it, gone for ever. As if anticipating the sight of a familiar friend, we caught with eager eye the first glimpse of "the castled crag of Drachenfels," wreathed round with the fantastic drapery of the receding mist. It is not seldom seen "frowning o'er the wide and winding Rhine;" but no frowns were visible that day. All was joyous and smiling. Around were vine-clad hills, with their "grey but leafy" monuments of baronial pride and tyranny, and sunny plains dotted with picturesque villages,-one beauteous, unrivalled panorama. Beyond Coblentz the river loses the continuous "blending of all beauties" descriptive of its preceding course, and is broken into a succession of lakes, each perfect in itself, and unique in its own peculiar charm. The golden hues of evening were beginning to fade, when we left this noble highway of Germany and landed at Castel. Crossing the bridge of boats to Mayence, we succeeded in obtaining a twilight view of the Cathedral,—a splendid specimen of Byzantine architecture. An hour's ride by rail terminated the day's travelling at Frankfort. An inflexible resolution to go as rapidly as possible to Switzerland compelled us to confine our acquaintance with this noble city to its handsome and commodious station; and early on Tuesday morning we were off for Freiburg. One transient glimpse of Heidelberg was the only relief to the monotony of an eight hours' ride on a German railway. Dull heavy rain without, and dull heavy Germans smoking within, unitedly exhorted us to the exercise of patience, and the severest study of "Murray." Snatching a few minutes from the table d'hôte, we had one view of the graceful spire of Freiburg Minster, and one

peep into its transcendently stately interior; and then, consigning ourselves to one night's imprisonment with hard labour, (we only wished that it had been solitary confinement,) in the great lumbering diligence, we anticipated with almost childish rapture the break of day in Switzerland. Evening was sinking into night when we entered the wild, majestic pass of the Hollenthal; and imagination, aided by the obscurity of twilight, exaggerated the grim and rugged grandeur of the "Valley of Hell,"-as a strange nomenclature has styled this magnificent defile. We only halted at Schaffhausen to exchange vehicles, and by breakfast-time were in sight and sound of the great Rhine-Fall. It is customary to express disappointment here; and a rather vague criticism-that "it is more of a rapid than a fall" -has passed into currency as a quasi-apology for the grandest cataract in Europe. Some tourist-critics forget that a cataract which combines a rapid and a fall, must combine power and beauty in an extraordinary degree. Crossing the river just below, (a perfectly safe voyage, with a competent boatman,) you are landed at the foot of a rock, on the summit of which stands a castle tenanted by an artist, who with admirable taste has selected several views of the fall. The best of these, and the only one which enables the spectator adequately to comprehend the stupendous power and matchless purity of the foaming mass of waters, is the view from a balcony thrown out from the vertical cliff within a few feet of the cataract. Standing on this frail platform, trembling over the boiling gulf, you not merely feel-you are overpowered with-the majesty of the giant element. It swallows up all other impressions; and you have "no eye but for its ever-flashing spray, no ear but for its never-pausing thunder." And not less wondrous are the dignity and the grace with which the chafed torrent almost momentarily regains its equanimity, and, as if forgetful of this turbid episode in its career, glides calmly on with rippleless serenity through the rich woodland country which skirts its margin. Rare indeed are the prospects which combine, in a single view, such images of terrific grandeur and tranquil beauty.

We had scarcely bid adieu to Schaffhausen, before our hopes of fine weather were again doomed to disappointment. The rain was descending in torrents when we rattled down the narrow streets of the Manchester of Switzerland. Despite our own rather gloomy state, it was amusing to observe the assiduity, provoking contradiction, with which the various parties in the salle à manger of the hotel assured each other that there was "no use in thinking of the Righi to-morrow." We tried to follow their advice, and speedily resolved (under the influence of a strong pressure from without) that it was a most desirable thing to be detained for a day in the venerable city of Zurich.-Accordingly we spent the day, notwithstanding the unpropitious weather, most pleasantly. Apart from "the commonplace characteristics" (as some one styles them) of a prosperous manufacturing town, distinguished for its attention to literature and education,the city where Zwingle preached-where the first complete translation of the Bible into the English tongue was printed *—and where fathers of the English Reformation found a safe asylum during the Marian persecution— is by no means unhallowed ground. Not the least interesting of the relics associated with those memorable times, are the three autograph letters from Lady Jane Grey to Bullinger, and a copy of St. Paul's Epistles in the

This seems probable, though both Frankfort and Cologne have competed for this honour.-EDITORS.

VOL. X.-FOURTH SERIES.

D

hand writing of Zwingle. The exquisite penmanship of Lady Jane seems so truly characteristic of her mental and physical beauty, as almost to countenance the dreams of modern graphiology.

The principal manufacture of Zurich is that of silk. Thousands, both in the town, and on the banks of the lake, are employed in weaving. The opening of this source of abounding wealth dates from the time when the noble citizens of Zurich received, with open arms, the refugees from Papal intolerance. Some hundred exiles, driven from Locarno, found a home at Zurich; and they repaid their generous hosts by introducing this exquisite art, and by the establishment of mills, dyeing-houses, &c. Pestalozzi and Lavater were natives of Zurich; and seldom has the heroism of charity been more brightly displayed than in the death of the great physiognomist. On the capture of the town by the French army in 1799, Lavater, while assisting one of the wounded invaders, was brutally shot by a soldier, to whom, but a minute or two before, he had given wine and offered money. Massena offered a large reward for the discovery of the murderer. It is said that he was well known to the lingering sufferer and his family, but they allowed him to escape.

The first glimpse of Friday dissipated all our gloomy forebodings as to the weather; and under the generalship of a capital guide, whom we engaged to convoy us to Geneva, we started for Lucerne over the Albis. A simple block of stone, erected near the road, marks the place where Zwingle was martyred; who, in the Protestant Cantons, fairly competes with Tell in the enthusiastic admiration of the Swiss. When we halted at the pretty little town of Zug, though the day seemed bright and promising, our despotic sovereign vetoed the ascent of the Righi, and we occupied a halfhour's rest with a visit to the Church of St. Michael. Tawdry and vulgar, as were all the Romish churches we saw in Switzerland, this singular place is rendered unique by a repulsive and loathsome "aid to devotion," in the shape of a chapel set apart as a receptacle for the skulls of the inhabitants of the village. "It is the custom," says Murray, "for the relations of the dead to cause their skulls to be taken up, cleaned, labelled with their names and date of birth and death, and then placed in this bonehouse."-In the course of our lovely afternoon's drive, we felt that rapturous admiration which the first sight of the Alps calls forth,-not the sight of the vast mountain-range, but of its snow-capped peaks flashing with a dazzling purity against the deep blue sky. And the impressions produced by those glittering masses are not evanescent: the eye never wearies of gazing at their splintered pinnacles and frosty domes, while the mind is ever trying to fathom the cause of the fresh and elevating sensations they arouse. "Removed," as imagination has painted them, "from all the pollution of earth,-unvisited by mortal steps, and incapable of ever becoming the scenes of human passions, loves, joys, and sorrows, the mind cannot acquire familiarity with them, except as they may receive and reflect the influences of the atmosphere and the heavens. You cannot imbue their peaked tops or glistening slants with the earnestness of thought, or trace in them symbols of the history of man, or of the tragedy of his life, as in the rocks and caverns and forests of the earthy mountains." It is rare, indeed, to see on earth an image of stainless, deathless purity.

Upon our arrival at Lucerne, we lost no time (a comfortable location being secured at the Schweitzer Hof, a palace-like hotel overlooking the lake) in wending our way to the "Lime-tree," a romantic eminence on the outskirts of the town, to view the sunset. The landscape on which our