skin of parchment, with bony, nervous-looking hands-arms gaunt and lean, uncovered to the elbow-every kind of material taking the place, or being an apology for clothing. I actually saw one woman with a cow's hide over her shoulders, protecting her from the storm, with one horn dangling to it. As the clouds separated for a moment or two, we could discover steep and rugged paths leading from hamlet to hamlet, on which men and women were traveling, bearing heavy burdens of every kind, in every form, on their heads and backs, at times entirely hiding their persons and looking much like a small walking hay-stack. Occasionally could be seen a respectable house, with an ornamented balcony; but it was a most forlorn day, and it did seem that the most deplorable specimens of the human family appeared before us at every turn. we reached nearly the hight of this tremendous pass, the vapor and mist became so dense that we could see nothing around us, and only hear the roaring of the streams, swollen by the rain and fed by the melting snows from above, rushing with fury along the mountain sides, or dashing down fearful rocky hights,

As

then thundering into unknown caverns below. At other times, the mist would rise in great fleecy clouds, and, as they separated, or drifted away, would reveal a variety of features in the landscape. In one opening could be seen green pastures, where sheep were feeding, clinging to the slopes as flies to a wall; in another appeared dark and frightful ravines, awful precipices, yawning chasms, and huge piles of misshapen rocks, of such a wild and savage character as to intimate they were thrown together by a fierce tornado. Riding on we were soon above the clouds, and, looking down, we could see their misty forms. For hours we were passing through a deep, dense forest of pines and balsams, and, although sheltering us from the rain, yet. preprevented me from gathering the beautiful mosses growing in such rich beds, also hanging down in long and graceful festoons from the trees. It was very tiresome riding; but in attempting to walk, my feet became piteously clogged with mud, and it continuing to rain all the way, we consoled ourselves with the idea of seeing the Alps in every variety of weather. In the evening, we enjoyed the

blazing fire on the hearth in our room at the hotel, where we succeeded in drying our clothes, which we were obliged to do on us, as we had no change. While Mr. N. was lying on a lounge, rolled up in a blanket, I came very near depriving him of a pair of boots he had purchased in Dublin, by holding them too near the fire, and crisping them a little at least; and although nearly asleep, the scorched leather affecting his olfactory organ, he exclaimed, "Don't burn up my boots, for they are all I have with me. Remember, there is not a pair to be purchased here except wooden ones, and how do you imagine I would appear in them?" Our supper was brought to our room, which we relished exceedingly after riding three days, in all about eighty miles, on mule-back. The first thing I did the next morning, as we were to leave early, was to arrange my mosses and flowers for preservation; but, alas, for the snails I had picked up during the journey, and which I had so carefully pinned up in a paper until I could boil them, and thus preserve the shells, which were very beautiful, "Where have they gone?" I exclaimed, as I discovered a hole in

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the paper. Not one remained. But what, thought I, is this, as I turned to look in the mirror, where, to my amusement, I found they had crawled on the glass, and, like the frogs of Pharaoh, had come up into our bed, clothes, and shoes. I gathered some of them hastily; others adhered so closely that I could scarcely pull them off, and departed, leaving many in their secret hiding-places. The river Rhone sweeps through an extravagantly wild and romantic valley, giving us a splendid opportunity to enjoy it in our early ride from Martigny. The famous waterfall of Sallenches attracted our attention as the most beautiful feature in the scenery. A fountain, fed by some vast field of melting snow, suddenly gushes out of the crevices of the rocks and bounds over a ledge two or three hundred feet at one precipitous leap—a cloud of spray ascending from below, spanned by a rainbow of unparalleled beauty, completing a picture in water colors that can never fade from my memory.

CHAPTER XI.

PRISON OF CHILLON-SWEET CLARENS-MADAME DE STAEL-GREAT MEN-GENEVA.

It was about nine o'clock when the waters of Lake Leman again lay stretched out before us. Crossing over in a little steamer to Villeneuve, a walled town, situated on the eastern extremity of the lake, we walked up to the Hotel Byron to take our breakfast. This hotel is a magnificent wooden building, on an eminence a little back from the lake, and surrounded by extensive gardens, ornamented with flowers, and elegantly laid out in graveled avenues, winding walks, with charming little arbors and rustic seats. In less than an hour, we were standing before "Chillon's snow-white battlements." The castle is built on an isolated rock, its ancient walls laved by the waters of Lake Leman.