verty, than we expected to find among the hardy Swiss, "pelted and starved as they are by the elements." A dozen of the descendants of Tell beset us for charity, in our first day's ride among their mountains. Most of the inhabitants in this Canton are Catholics; and the style of mendicity varies very little from that of Italy.

The villages, hamlets, farm-houses, and cottages of the Valais, however picturesque and romantic they may appear at a distance, seated as they often are upon the acclivities of the mountains, are comparatively rude in structure, and will not bear a very close examination, except in point of cleanliness, which is carried throughout every department of life. Even the smallest taverns are perfectly neat; and in several instances, females were seen sweeping out the stalls of their cows. Many of the buildings are of red cedar, the complexion of which gives them the appearance of having been painted. The barns are elevated upon piles, five or six feet from the ground, to prevent the approach of rats and mice. A ladder leads to the door, and the basement is used to shelter cattle from the weather. The cabins are often constructed of hewn logs; small, dark, and gloomy, with circu=lar panes of glass for the windows. Huts upon the mountains are frequently inhabited only during the summer, by shepherds and herdsmen, who retreat to the vale before the storms, torrents, and avalanches of winter and spring.

Such are some of the physical and moral features of the Vale of the Rhone, which I have attempted to generalize, to save repetition, where so great a uniformity of scenery prevails. Our journey of two or three days furnished few incidents, to swell the contents of this sketch. At Viege, seven or eight miles from Brigue, we paused a moment, and had a fine view of our old acquaintance, Monte Rosa. A deep ravine here opens in nearly a direct line to its base.

While dinner was preparing at Tourtemagne, a visit was paid to a cascade, back of the village. It spouts from the rocks of the Alps, and is twisted into a silver thread in its descent. The stream is small; or at least it appears so, in comparison with other natural objects around it.

We took lodgings for the night at Sion, which is the capital of the Haut-Valais, the old Sedunum of the Romans. Its ancient inhabitants opposed the march of Hannibal, upon the summit of the Alps and their scarcely less warlike descendants kept the Bas-Valais tributary, for three hundred years.

It is a large town, the seat of a Bishop, with half a dozen churches, and several convents. The houses are three and four stories high, with handsome fronts. We found the streets muddy and silent. A walk was attempted; but the pavements and corsos of Italy were wanting. The hotel was thronged with another swarm of English travellers, bound across the Simplon.

At 4 o'clock the next morning, we resumed our journey down the Bas-Valais. The sun came up behind the Alps, and again poured a flood of glory over the glaciers. It was a scene, which would bear a thousand repetitions in the reality, though but one in description. At Martigny, the Rhone makes a bold sweep, towards the north, preparatory to its entrance into the lake. A fine view is here obtained of St. Bernard, over which Napoleon and his army marched into Italy. From its sides a torrent descended in 1818, and deluged the village, sweeping away houses and their tenants, in its furious march to the Rhone. The height to which the water rose is marked on the front of the hotel, at an elevation of ten or twelve feet from the ground; and the devastations of the flood are still visible.

Soon after leaving Martigny, we had a fine view of the celebrated cascade of Pissevache, which is within a few rods of the road. In an approach from the south, the stream is not seen above the fall, and the water appears to gush out of the solid and perpendicular cliff, as if it had been smitten by the rod of Moses. The descent, including the rapids, is said to be 270 feet; but the perpendicular pitch cannot much exceed one hundred. It is worthy of its name, in comparison with the cataracts of our own country. The sheet of water is spread into a sort of silver net-work, resembling a lace veil, which forms a pretty piece of drapery, as it hangs from the sombre brow of the mountain. Tiny rainbows were observed upon the cloud of spray, which rolls from the foot. finest view is obtained from the north, where the Salanche is seen tossing and foaming among the dark crags above, before it leaps the precipice.

The

We reached St. Maurice at noon. From an eminence beyond the town, a glimpse of the Lake of Geneva and of the shores near its head was caught, through the narrow vista of mountains, which here continue to rise to the height of six or seven thousand feet, presenting precipitous faces to the vale. Vevay, Clarens, and other white villages, were seen in the

distance. The defile is but just wide enough for the passage of the Rhone, and the site of St. Maurice, under the cliffs upon its left bank, occupying a most romantic position. A tremendous glacier rises from the opposite shore, crowned with naked masses of rock, in the shape of castles and fantastic towers. The old town has been a place of some importance ever since the days of Cæsar. It was the great cemetery of the Roman Legions, employed in the conquest of Helvetia, and one of the modern churches was formerly paved with their tombstones. Here the emperor Maximian is said to have twice decimated, and then put to the sword a whole legion, who had been baptized into the Christian faith, and who refused to renounce their fidelity to the Cross. Under a cliff, back of the village, sheltered from the storm and the avalanche, stand a hermitage and chapel, overlooking the vale, from a solitary recess in the rocks. The latter building is said to be a votive offering to the Virgin, by a wealthy individual, for the preservation of his child, in falling uninjured from a precipice a hundred feet in height.

After dinner, our journey towards the Lake was continued. In going out of the town, we passed a noble stone bridge, said to date from the age of the Romans, spanning the rapid current of the Rhone, and leading down the opposite shore to Lausanne. A castle stands at one end, and a chapel at the other. Onward, the mountains retreat, the vale widens, and the scenery assumes a softer character. Deep forests of chestnut and hanging woods clothe the slopes of the hills the waters are less turbulent; and the fields are luxuriant in pasturage, corn, and wine.

Just at dusk, we reached the head of the lake, and rode for several miles along its margin, to St. Gingoux, where good accommodations were found for the night. The hotel stands upon a declivity, sloping to the water, and commanding a full view of the bright expanse, which spreads between it and the opposite shore, where the old castle of Chillon, Clarens, and Vevay are seated at the foot of the hills, which rise in the back-ground. Adventitious circumstances conspired with the intrinsic richness of the scenery, to render the first glance transporting. Our eyes had been accustomed for several days to rest on savage mountains, forming a striking contrast to the rural and luxuriant borders of Lake Leman. Its very brink is deeply wooded and green, fringing waters which were now slumbering in an azure sheet, and in

unbroken quiet; as if like ourselves they were happy to repose, after having been tossed and agitated, in traversing a rugged region. A little fleet of boats was moored along the strand, and every image was that of peace and tranquillity. The moon shone in unclouded splendour, and the radiance of the Lake was as brilliant as her own orb. A poet might fancy, that Dian in one of her fabled chases here dropped her silver crescent among the mountains. It was probably such a night as this, which inspired the impassioned dreams of Rousseau, and the still loftier imagery of Byron.

A peep from our chamber windows at day-break dispelled all the poetical visions of the night, and served to damp the ardour of romantic feelings :

"The dawn is overcast-the morning lowers,
And heavily brings on the day."

Lake Leman has its mists, like less pure and brilliant elements; as the minds of the novelist and poet were sometimes overshadowed with gloom, in the same manner as meaner intellects. In plain terms, it was a very dark, foggy, unpleasant morning-the first we had experienced since leaving Milan. But the sky soon cleared, and another bright autumnal day cheered us onward to Geneva.

As the sun broke through the clouds, it fully disclosed the intrinsic beauty of the Lake, as well as the grandeur and picturesque scenery of its shores. It is about fifty miles in length, from the entrance to the exit of the Rhone, and eight or nine in width, in the broadest part; lying very nearly in the form of a crescent. The complexion of the water is a deep azure, slightly tinged with green, arising as well from the verdure of its borders, as from the original colour of its tributaries. Numerous boats, spreading their canvass to the inland breeze, were seen skimming its peaceful bosom. From this point, the view of the opposite side can hardly be surpassed in extent, richness, and splendour. A long line of white villages and hamlets is traced by the eye, from Chillon to Geneva, studding the green and woody slopes, which rise with moderate acclivities from the margin. In the distance, the chain of the Jura Alps sweeps round in amphitheatric grandeur, presenting alternately broken rocks and deep forests.

We rode all day along the southern shore of the Lake, which affords few objects of interest, except what nature

herself furnishes. The woods are rich and beautiful, retaining their verdure, and freshness of foliage even at this season. Through groves of chestnut, walnut, ash, and elm, gleams of blue water meet the eye, on the right; while on the other hand, the broken and snowy peaks of the Alps rise in the distance, above the intervening curtain of forests. At a custom-house, not far from St. Gingoux, we left the frontier of the Bas-Valais, and entered Savoy. Although doganas, officers, and troops of his Sardinian Majesty were seen upon the road, they gave us no trouble in this part of his dominions. The air of the Swiss mountains is not so congenial to the funguses of petty despotism, as the more stagnant political atmosphere of Italy. If the people are no longer independent, they retain a portion of the thoughts, feelings, manners, and babits of freemen.

The rocks of Meillerie are haunted by the spirits of Rousseau's lovers. He could scarcely have found a more romantic seclusion. A rugged spur of the Alps here projects to the very brink of the Lake, and terminates in a cliff two hundred feet in height. It was hewn down to its base by Napoleon, who seemed to sport with mountains, as children play with pebbles. Double walls and terraces were constructed along the precipice, to give security to the road. Had not the Simplon just exhausted admiration, the extent and magnitude of this humbler work would have excited astonishment.

Between Evian and Thonon, we passed the torrent of Dranse, opening from the Alps in the vicinity of Mont Blanc. Its banks are strewed with ruins of the mountains to the width of more than half a mile, similar in character to the gorges of the Haut-Valais. It is passed on a strong stone bridge, the massive walls of which are made watertight, to guard against the floods, which at certain seasons sweep down with tremendous fury. The old Convent of Ripaille, on the borders of the Lake, and one or two picturesque ruins on the left, give variety to the scenery.

After leaving Thonon, the road deserts the margin of the Lake, and becomes rather monotonous, though it passes through a rich agricultural district, well tilled and shaded with large forest trees. Our heads were turned to the left all the afternoon, to catch a glimpse of Mont Blanc; and just before evening, our wishes were gratified as fully, as they could be at the distance of fifty or sixty miles. An hour