from it rapidly descending and trending away to the northeast, from the Petite Jorasse down to the Aiguilles Droites and Mont Dolent. The Col Ferret, with the solitary snow summit of the distant Mont Combin, closed in the east side. The stern, gloomy pyramids of Mont Carmet-naked and deeply scarred on the faces next us, in which appeared an outcrop of 'white gypsum-intercepted the view towards Monte Rosa. To the southward the lower slopes of this mountain, the Cramont, and the range above St. Didier, covered with dense forests of pine, converged in broad lines of richly tinted light and shade, descending precipitously into the valleys of Aosta and Courmayeur, and, above them all, the glittering snow-peaks from Cogne to the great glaciers of the Ruitor. Westward were the dark peaks of the Cramont and Mont Favre, the granite cone of Mont Chétif, and beyond it, over the Allée Blanche, the snow mountain of Chamooix above the Alps of the same name. To the right of this the Col de la Seigne terminated the long vista of the Allée Blanche, with all its wonderful glaciers in profile, which forms one continuous valley with the branch of the Ferret, together some twenty miles long.

The Val Ferret, which we completely overlooked in its whole length, like a deep fosse, just separating us from the great peaks opposite, was a picture of wild desolation; only a few clusters of stunted larch varying the dreary sterility of the beds of debris and granite blocks seamed by the discoloured glacier streams which are collected in it; closed up at the east extremity or head by the glaciers of Triolet and Mont Dolent, which are separated by the Mont Ru.

We had reached the summit before nine o'clock, and remained the whole day enjoying the grand scene, again favoured with a sky of unrivalled splendour and clearness. I completed my sketch of the entire range in continuation of that from the Cramont, while E. explored the summit in all directions, without, however, much reward in the way

of plants. The flowers were all long since over on this exposed Alp, but in one spot we discovered a nearly dry spring in a little hollow, a perfect fairy-like grotto exquisitely fringed with the tiny delicate green fronds of a Cystopteris, name unknown, and overhung with thick clusters of the dazzling blue gentian.

Bertolini's care had provided us with a basket of peaches and pears, which, after dining on gressins and sausage, were most refreshing. A hollow near at hand also contained a welcome mass of snow to cool our wine, and furnished water by melting it on slates in the sun; for, though there is a tiny lakelet or pond not far from the summit, its waters are not drinkable. It was late in the afternoon before we left, and on descending we halted for some milk at a lonely group of miserable stone-built huts, the cheese châlets of these pasturages, roofed with rough shingle, and built loosely up in the corners of the rocks, nearly even with and hardly distinguishable from them. The pâtre came out of his cabin with a couple of miserable stunted children, their faces hideously scarred in deep seams. After some hopeless patois, in which I could detect no trace of either French or Italian, he brought us out delicious cream in an earthenware bowl, exactly like a large Highland quaigh.

The interior of the hut was a model picture of the life of an "Alp," in which the one paramount body-engrossing, soul-absorbing interest is cheese. There were neither chairs nor beds, as if they neither sat nor slept; the chief article of furniture being a large brass caldron, which would have held a man sitting-and swinging over a fire of embers on the floor of live rock. Cheeses were hardening in the smoke, while in every direction were strewn a strange collection of milk-pails, pots, pans of all shapes and sizes, and wooden bowls and other cheese apparatus, none apparently used for any other culinary purposes.

The walls were hung with cheese-cloths drying; a couple

of knapsacks, apparently containing the whole wardrobe; marmot-skins, and rows of carved spoons curiously arranged. The herdsman himself was graced with a singular appendage, in the way of a tail, which had a droll effect. His milkingstool, consisting of a stout wooden peg fastened in a curved piece of wood accurately fitted as a seat, was firmly tied on behind, wagging like a stiff wooden tail as he walked about. This caudal appendage, apparently a fixture, explained the absence of seats, while the hay-shed supplied ready beds without the trouble of making. When out with the cattle on the distant pasturages, they build little kennels half sunk in the ground, and covered rudely with flat stones, into which they crawl, and lie coiled up during bad weather. One would be inclined to imagine it a most monotonous dreary life; but, on the contrary, they are all very fond of it, and pine for the free life of the "Alps" when down in the valley.

I had wished to descend on the other side of the mountain from that on which we had ascended, and allow time to examine the singular tunnels or mines called the "Trous des Romains," extending a great way under ground, and anciently worked for a lead-ore containing silver, but now exhausted. Our cowardly muleteer, however, was so terribly afraid of the steepness on that side, and the alleged difficulties and dangers of the descent, that I did not insist on his doing so, which I afterwards regretted, having no other opportunity of visiting these mines. We had, however, the advantage of the grand view of the range of Alps, which is lost on the other side.

The ascent may be easily made from Courmayeur in 2} hours, and even in much less; and it is surprising how little it is known and visited by travellers, being of such comparatively easy access, and commanding so magnificent a view.

It was starlight when we again reached Courmayeur. Jupiter shone brilliantly over the Val d'Aosta-our route on the morrow. The evening air was deliciously cool and

balmy, and we looked with regretful feelings mixed with the most pleasurable reminiscences on the pale outline of the glorious snow-peaks, now become familiar as old friends, and which during the rest of our tour we should not see again, except from some far distant summit.

Few spots in the Alps have left with us more vivid recollections than Courmayeur, surrounded as it is by the most magnificent mountain scenery in Europe, with commanding points of great elevation from which to scan it with an ease and familiarity rarely attainable. The geologist, the naturalist, the artist, or sportsman, or any one in fact who has higher aims and pursuits than the mere superficial tourist, may find at Courmayeur and in its neighbourhood ample occupation and enjoyment for a long sojourn.

CHAPTER V.

VAL D'AOSTA.

Descent of Val d'Aosta -Scenery - Vines - La Salle - Alluvial mounds - Last view of Mont Blanc - Ivrogne -- Villeneuve -- Barricaded windows-Châtel Argent-Château St. Pierre - Château d'Aimaville— Goîtres and crétinism - Entrance to Aosta - Hotel quarters, heat, swarms of flies - Cathedral - Bishops of Aosta - Calvin- Anselm Church of St. Ours - Cool of evening - Moonlight walk.

CONTINUOUS Sunshine favoured us as we packed the mule baggage on the 18th of August, to descend to Aosta. Bertolini took so much interest in our intended tour, that he had fully resolved at one time to join in our adventures. Had it been only a fortnight later, when most of his guests were returning to Turin, he would have left his hotel to manage as it might, and accompanied us as guide, with his own mule. He could not, however, prudently leave the party who were regular visitors each season, and he very reluctantly gave up the idea, though only at the last. We shook hands with him, wishing him the success he deserved, and also with our Italian friends, who had all assembled at the door to wish us a hearty "buon viaggio."

The descent of the Val d'Aosta, after joining the route from St. Didier, is by an excellent government road down to the gates of Aosta, a distance of 25 miles. For enchanting variety and contrast of scenery, and in the combination of features of wild sublimity and extraordinary richness, in the same compass, it is almost without a rival. A vast region of snow, ice, and eternal winter, overhangs its head, where only a few patches of sterile granite are bared for a month or two in the year, scattering their shivered fragments, glacier borne, over the desolate rock-strewn valleys. But immedi