to the pedestrian in like cases. The Frères Gallesio informed me that they kept Holloway's ointment if I preferred it, and we were amused to see half a side of the Aostan papers covered with flaming advertisements of its virtues, accompanied with a hideous list of unnameable disorders in which it was certified to be infallible on the authority of the "Lord Maire" of London! There was some difficulty in getting a circular note cashed, there being no correspondent nearer than Turin; but at last that was effected by making the payment of the landlord's bill dependant on it; the money was soon forthcoming, and I took it in the new gold 10-franc pieces, which were very useful and portable. In the Val d'Aosta a napoleon is universally called a "marengo."

The only remaining want was a mule for the journey. A peasant from Valpelline, Créton by name, who came in to Aosta to market, was brought to me as a likely person. He agreed to send a proper muleteer and mule by 5 in the morning, so that we might easily reach the last châlets above Valpelline before night, and have time to see the mines at Ollomont on the way. Everything was now arranged, and we hoped to accomplish the pass of the Col de Chermontane, and visit the glaciers, which we had been unable to do from Orsières. We then purposed, after exploring both reaches of the Val Pellina, to try and effect a passage from it over into the Val St. Barthélemy, and from thence to the Val Tournanche. The weather was unbroken, a brilliant moon shone above the Becca de Nona, as we took our last evening stroll in the Place, and our good fortune in cloudless skies and fair weather seemed likely to continue.

CHAPTER VII.

VAL PELLINA.-VAL D'OLLOMONT.

-

VAL DE BIONA.

Copper-smelt

Mule, muleteer, and baggage-Start for Val Pellina - Views above Aosta Rovent and trout-stream-Valpelline - Difficulties ing works Ollomont - Mines - Night at the Châlets of By Smuggling Alpine life- Bed in the hay - Fenêtre de Chermontane Glacier scenes Return to Valpelline - Hospitality - Ascent of Val de Biona - Quarters at the Cure's - Châlets of Prerayen.

THE mule promised by Créton from Valpelline did not make its appearance until so long after the time that we began to imagine we had been deceived. When it did arrive, we found the owner, who accompanied it, such a surly independent fellow, that we seemed no nearer a start than before. He declared first that he could not, and then that he would not pack the saddle-bags on the mule, and that we must get an additional one for them-giving the mule a kick and a sharp jerk on the bit, by way of illustrating his temperament. He soon, however, discovered it was of no use, as I told him he might pack them forthwith, or go back without us; when he sullenly helped me to cord and strap them on-while the fat cook in his white cap and apron, and a group of ragged crétins, looked on.

We were now in marching order for the remainder of our tour, having nothing more with us than what was barely necessary for the next two months. The two saddle-bags

contained all miscellaneous requisites, while our wardrobe, the cooking apparatus, spare wraps, plaid, and herbarium fitted into the waterproof saddle-case fastened behind the saddle, and lying securely on the back of the mule. I had had the saddle edge furnished with a number of rings to

which to append various little matters of convenience, and to receive the cords which made all secure and steady. A side-saddle thus loaded-however small the baggage may be -requires much care and nicety to adjust its balance; very much of the rider's comfort and safety, as well as the ease of the mule, depending on its firmness. I invariably had to pack everything myself, as each of our muleteers in turn seemed to have so little notion of doing such matters neatly and handily, that if I ever left it to them I always had to do it again myself; generally finding they had used up all the straps and cords in absurd knots before the packing was half done. The weight of all, on starting, was not more than 60 lbs., which-as E. generally walked half the day, and always down the descents-was a mere nothing for a mule.

At length we got off at eight o'clock, leaving Aosta by the Porte Pertuis, and by the shady trees and gardens outside the city. We had lost the cool of the morning, and the broiling sun poured down on us with full power as we climbed the vineyard terraces above Aosta, on the Gignod road. We had a noble view from them of the beautifully situated city and the wonderfully rich and lovely valley in which it is embosomed; the Doire sweeping through it in a long sinuous line from west to east ; among bright meadows, groves of trees, and wooded slopes, vineyards, and maize fields. In the midst of this rich scene, the campaniles and white houses of the city of Augustus stood enclosed within the distinct quadrangular outline of the old Roman walls, surmounted by the battlemented towers of the middle ages-now in their turn ruins. Majestic ranges of mountains, and distant glaciers, encircled the whole, as if to guard the happy valley from the intrusion of all that might mar its beauty or repose; and yet fair and Edenlike as it seemed from here—we knew too well the hideous curse that hung over its inhabitants-a deformity of mind and reason, as well as of body, degrading thousands of them to a level almost below that of brutes.

From such thoughts it was pleasant to turn one's face once more to the fresh mountains and the bright glaciers at the head of the Val Pellina. The glistening snows of Mont Combin appeared above the trellised vines, while under their shady roofs hung the thickly clustering purple crop-lusciously tempting to the sight.

Half an hour before reaching the Church of Gignod we turned off to the right from the St. Bernard route, and struck up the valley, by a path above the Buthier torrent, through rich meadow slopes, and under the refreshing shade of the fine walnut-trees with which it is thickly wooded. The bushes in blossom by the road side, the woodland glades, and the flowery meadows, were enlivened by hosts of butterflies, especially Fritillaries, Clouded yellows, and Hipparchias—and the waving grass, the fresh air, and bright flowers, brought back again the joyousness of spring time, after the semi-tropical sensations of Aosta; where the shrill cicadas singing day and night, the great violet bees, and the scorpions basking in the hot stone-walls, reminded us more of Sicily.

Halting in front of a little frescoed oratory, by a few cottages mantled with gourds and old vines, we had a commanding view of the deep valley from north to south. To the southward the three peaks of Mont Emilius, including the Becca de Nona, were now distinctly separated, with the miniature glacier of Arpesson in the centre, facing the north. The relative height of the Becca de Nona was also apparent from here, its altitude being 10,381 feet, while that of the highest point of Mont Emilius is 11,785. A little to the west, and behind it, once more rose the beautiful and singular peak of the Corne de Cogne, or Grivola. Its eastern side, glistening in the sun, was divided by the most sharply defined ridge, from the west flank, now in deep shade-as from the upper Val d'Aosta we had seen it in the setting sun, tinged with a rich golden carmine-its eastern side then in shade.

To the north, in front of the glaciers of Mont Combin— which we kept before us all the way-was a central mountain called the Petit Brusson; and in rear of this, and between it and Mont Combin, I judged to be the whereabouts of the Fenêtre de Chermontane, for which we were now once more making. At the foot of it, where the bases of the mountains intersected, was the hollow in which lay Valpelline. On the side of the valley, opposite to us, the white spire of Roysan rose from among the deciduous trees, which in refreshing contrast to the endless pine forests here clothed the cliffs down to the bottom of the valley. There the torrent of the Buthier, before it is lost in a profound gorge, is spanned by a picturesque pointed stone bridge, connecting the two sides of the valley at an accessible point. From the windows of the ancient château of Gignod-the square tower of which still stands on an eminence abovethey must have had a splendid view.

The next little village, Rovent, the last before reaching Valpelline, delighted us with its beautiful situation on a rushing trout stream bright as crystal, which works a mountain shoeing forge and one or two little mills. Fed from the clear mountain springs, and untainted by glacier water, it abounds in trout, and I longed to stop and follow its bubbling course with my fly rod through the lovely little glen from which it issues.

Our guide Glaissier was about as uncommunicative as he could be, without being uncivil-which he found an unadvisable line-and in clearing up some doubts about several localities marked on the map, I had recourse at last to the only peasant we met with on the road. The poor old woman, however, had but one ancient tooth apparent in her head, and mumbled such fearful shreds of patois that I was obliged to give it up, with thanks for the information she was anxious to convey.

Here cultivation ended abruptly for a time; the valley