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beech and other deciduous trees; then dark belts of the 'pece" (Pinus picea); and, highest of all, endless waves of larch. In no part of Piedmont had we seen anything comparable to it. At the height at which we were, as we looked far away to the purpled ranges of the Val Anzasca, all was one magnificent interminable forest. At great heights in it columns of blue smoke, ascending from the charcoal-burners' fires, mingled with the wreathing clouds; and, as night stole on us, their glowing lights shone out like distant aërial furnaces, in the deepening gloom.

Mighty as are these forests, the axe was at work on a scale proportionate to the wonderful field ready for it. A mile or two below the head of this reach of the valley, and on the side opposite the mule track, commenced a timber-shoot, carried along and above the bed of the torrent like a long viaduct; consisting of a lofty stage formed entirely of large barked timber trees. They were laid side by side so as to form a road, hollowed in the middle, and supported by a leaning scaffolding, also of the largest trees entire, and extending for miles down the Val Ollocia, until it reached the river Anza in the main valley.

We heard the woodmen busy at work, shouting and singing in lusty chorus-just like jolly tars at the capstan-as they were lowering or adjusting the fallen timber. Enormous tiers of it were lying piled up alongside the shoot, ready to be sent down into the valley below, which is done in the winter. During frost the smooth trunks forming the trough-like road are watered by the mountain streams, or coated with snow, and on this slippery bed of ice the timber is launched, shooting with rapidly increasing velocity along the incline to the bottom; there it leaps into the Anza, whose waters, when swelled by floods in winter and spring, drift it down to the Lago Maggiore, on its way to Milan. One of the proprietors, who resided at Ponte Grande, told me that half a million of trees are thus brought down in a winter. The

quantity of timber employed in the shoot alone is immense; and yet with all this the clearing as yet is hardly observable, and absolutely a mere nothing to the vast tracts of pathless forest, extending for leagues, which still remain and must do for ages.

Our track on the left side began to seem as interminable as the forest itself, as we trudged on until twilight overtook us. At one point the ledge on the face of the cliff suddenly became too narrow, first for the mule and then for myself in advance; ending abruptly at a ravine, where it was evident the track had been recently destroyed. To get back was no easy matter, as well as a serious loss of time. Mora, however, was supposed equal to anything; and rather than retrace our steps, as night was fast closing in, Delapierre brought her at once in a marvellous manner down the steep face, where E. found it very difficult to follow. It was impossible to resist laughing, as Mora slipped and scrambled like a monkey, tearing through bush and brake, until she dropped on a better track below.

There was just light enough to see that we were now among fine Spanish chesnuts and walnuts, and we passed a few scattered châlets; the first inhabited places since we left Carcofaro in the morning. At a sudden turn a joyous chime of bells, borne up from the valley below and sounding like a welcome, told us we were again nearing the habitable world, and our night's destination. Still we had a long descent in the dark, down a slippery path of large well-worn blocks of stone, requiring caution, as its inequalities were undiscernible under the deep gloom of the great trees, as it wound for an hour or two through a continuous grove of Spanish chesnuts, the boles and gnarled roots of which were of enormous size. We stumbled along, feeling our way with our alpenstocks, until at length we suddenly came on a dazzling light, gleaming through the trees, which was the campanile of Banio, brightly illuminated with rows of lamps, the white spire looking like phosphorus in the waving light.

In endeavouring to find our way into the village, we got absurdly involved in some perilous back premises, the owners of which came out with lights, and their astonishment was unfeigned at our startling apparition in their little gardens or back yards. They, however, laughed when they understood our case, letting us out through a passage, from which we groped our way along the dark narrow streets, and emerging into a wide piazza or square, with the church in the centre, found it illuminated and densely crowded with people, while the bells we had heard above were ringing furiously. Lanterns and cressets, and pans of blazing charcoal, were raised on poles stuck in the ground among evergreen arches and festoons of flowers, and ranged along the roofs of the houses and church. Every window was illuminated, the crowd carried torches, fireworks blazed and exploded in all directions, rockets whizzed into the air, and, bewildering as it was to us after so long straining our eyes through the dense fog on the Col and the deepening gloom of the descent, no wonder Mora lost all command over her feelings and launched out with her heels, quickly clearing a wide space for us. We found it was all in honour of the Bishop of Novara, their diocesan, who had that day arrived; and on the morrow, Sunday, high festival was to be holden.

We were not in holiday plight, and, after watching the flight of some good rockets, left the gay scene for the pitch dark road down to Ponte Grande, still half an hour below. A broad clear road, well macadamized, had just been constructed in the most solid manner, descending the hill by easy zigzags; but for what object such expense had been incurred to reach a little place like Banio, the projectors doubtless knew better than we could divine. The roaring of the Anza and numerous scattered lights soon discovered to us the whereabouts of Ponte Grande, which we entered by the extraordinarily high pitched narrow old bridge which gives it the name, and found our way to the inn.

In the "sala" a motley set of Piedmontese, priests, and swaggering carabiniers, were drinking, smoking, and playing cards; while in the adjoining room, through which was the entrance to the sala, peasants were doing much the same, and playing "Morra" with frantic noise and gesticulations. Our appearance excited evident surprise, and all were astonished when it was understood we had crossed the Col d'Egua, and in such weather, with a mule, as they told us it was many years since one had passed it. As soon as we had changed our drenched garments, a welcome supper of noble trout from the Tosa, and stewed chamois, was set before our famished appetites, as we had tasted nothing since our meagre lunch on bread and snow on the top of the Col; and some red wine, which Delapierre had promptly heated with spices, restored warmth to our bodies. The host, who had taken no notice of our arrival, though he was in the room playing cards, at last lounged up at the end of a game, with his coat off and a huge meerschaum in his mouth, and he did not improve on acquaintance.

We soon left the noisy party and retired to rest, duly thankful-unpleasing as our quarters were-to be safely housed for the night, instead of huddling under some rock on the top of the dreary Col we had left far above us, in drizzling sleet and snow, without food or wine; and with little better chance of finding our way the next day, which proved one of incessant rain and thick mist.

CHAPTER XVIII.

VAL ANZASCA.-VAL MACUGNAGA.

Ponte Grande Festa and procession - Bishop of Novara - Inn - Mora's plight Start for Macugnaga-Vanzone-Cure's apiary-Ceppo Morelli -Ferns Limit of Val Anzasca - Barrier of ancient moraine - Morgen - Pestarena - Borca- "Albergo dei Cacciatori "— Culinary matters-Marmot Monte Rosa Inundations- Macugnaga glacier - Belvedere — Lost valley — Ascent of Monte Moro — Old church and linden-tree — German colonies: origin of - Dialects - Gold-mines of PestarenaDescent to Calasca - Deluge of rain-Lower Val Anzasca - Pie di Mulera View into Val d'Ossola.

THE morning of the great Sunday festa at Banio dawned gloomily enough. The dense cloud of brouillard, which had enveloped us on our weary walk over the Col d'Egua, the day before, now hung down closely on the valley, like a dark curtain. By nine o'clock a thorough drenching rain poured steadily down, without intermission for the rest of the day; until the noisy Anza in front of our windows, brimful to the banks, roared like thunder down its rough granite bed.

We were awoke by the ringing of the church bells; followed by the melodious sounds of chanting, coming up the valley, which swelled into rich harmony as it passed under our windows. Looking out, we saw a long procession filing past; headed by banners, crucifixes, and highly gilt and decorated carved lanterns on poles; followed by a long line of picturesquely dressed peasants, in full Val Anzascan costume. The rear was closed up by a number of priests, in richly embroidered vestments of purple, fine linen, and gold brocade; carrying the gold enshrined pyx and massive silver crucifixes; accompanied by a body of chorister boys in white surplices, whose treble and contralto voices alternated with the deep tenors and bass of the priests. As they neared the