Everywhere in Switzerland the earth on the roadway is removed to the depth of four or more feet, and pounded stone, gravel and sand are deposited in its stead, gutters on the side are carefully made; till you have, to travel over, a beautifully rounded way which never can be wet, and never anything but solid and smooth. Along the entire length there are, beside the road, small piles of broken stone, and at regular distances are men with tools, whose business is to keep them clean and in perfect order. Whenever a depression, no matter how slight, appears, it is instantly filled, as skillfully as a tailor puts a patch in your trowsers; thus keeping them, everywhere and always, smooth, uniform and clean.
The bridges are solid masonry, and on the edge of declivities and dangerous places are solid walls of stone. Not a point, either for safety or comfort, is overlooked.
They are rather costly to make, to begin with, and it costs something to keep them in order, but it pays, after all. Enormous loads are hauled over these smooth roads, and the wear and tear upon horses, vehicles and harness is reduced to well-nigh nothing, to say nothing of the comfort and pleasure. Bad weather makes no difference with their inland traffic, for just as great a burden can be hauled in wet weather as in dry, nor does frost affect them.
I would that every American farmer, in the month, say, of March, could see these roads, could view the enormous loads piled upon the enormous wagons, and see with what ease they are moved. Then his mind should go back to his own country, and there should come up a recollection of the last March, when he was lashing and swearing at his poor horses, who were doing their level best to pull him, in an empty wagon, through the rivers of mud we call roads. A Swiss horse would commit suicide were he taken to Illinois in Winter or Spring.
It would pay America to imitate Switzerland in this particular. Our half-made roads should be at once abolished, and the money spread out over ten miles, which the first thaw obliterates, should be used in making one mile of permanent road, and that mile should be extended just as fast as the people can bear the burden. The Swiss are not so fast as we are, but their work, when once done, stays. There is scarcely any section of America where material of some sort is not attainable to make better roads than the wretched apologies we have for them. Whoever makes himself the apostle of good roads in America will have many generations to rise up and call him blessed.
Next to the perfection of the roads comes the delightful shade that is over them. This has been done, not spasmodically and at the whim of the people residing along the roads, but it is a government matter, and as much care is taken of it as of the roads. On either hand are lines of beautiful trees, forming a most delightful arch over the road, and the shade is as grateful to the horses as to the riders. A long vista of trees, whose branches form an arch over the roadway, is not only a comfort, but it gratifies all the senses. A Swiss tree-bordered road is one of the most delightful sights in the country.
We cannot, of course, compel the planting of trees by the roadside, by law, but if the farmers of America could be made to understand the beauty and comfort there is in it, they would do it of their own free will and accord. New England has shaded roads, and some scattering parts of other sections, but it should be made general. It would add several per cent. to the value of every farm, to say nothing of the perpetual gratification it would afford. We have the best shade trees in the world, and the cost of transplanting is comparatively nothing.
Road shading should be systematically pushed in America, and the sooner it is commenced the better.
At Geneva you get the first glimpse of the Alpenstock people, male and female. They are a queer lot. They appear to you at the hotels clad as follows: The men with a sort of blouse bound by an enormous belt, for which there is no earthly use, short knee breeches with woolen stockings reaching above the knee, and the most utterly absurd shoes that ever annoyed the human foot. The soles of these shoes are an inch thick; they project beyond the uppers, and are studded with nails, as if the wearer had joined an exploring party which would require eight years of his life, and make necessary one pair of shoes that should exist all that time, inasmuch as he would be far beyond the reach of that important adjunct of civilization, a cobbler. Then he has a broad-brimmed hat, with a clout about it, hanging down behind, and a vast assortment of baskets, flasks and glasses, and all sorts of appliances, provisions enough to join Livingstone or Stanley for the exploration of the interior of Africa.
FEMALE CLIMBERS.