mentioned. My friend had left his watch on the table: it was found soon after our departure, and before the owner himself had discovered his loss, a messenger, dispatched on a pair of swift legs, overtook us and delivered the property to its rightful claimant. The place where we waited the approach of the innkeeper's servant, (whose shouts caused us to arrest our progress and quickly to divine the object of his mission) was a wildly romantic valley, on the left side of which rose an insulated eminence having on it a ruined castle formerly inhabited by the Marquisses of Savoy. The Arc, which had sometimes been brawling alongside of us in many narrow streams through a wide channel of shingle, and at others been rushing in an undivided torrent down some fearful declivity, we now quitted for awhile, and continued our route through the mountains. At noon we reached the point of junction formed by two opposite ranges of almost vertical elevation, and where the same remarkable stream precipitates itself with the resounding violence of a cataract, through a handsome bridge of stone. Every inch of the road is here the work of human labour, and the whole is kept in excellent repair. To protect this fine causeway from the destructive force of so powerful a current, the King of Sardinia, two years ago, caused an embankment of stone to be laid along the base of the road for a considerable extent.We proceed through the village of Epièrre, the hamlet of La Chapelle, and the little town of Chambre, all of them sad and sorrowful abodes. The country here is a striking solitude. On our right the river flows in an ample volume, its grey waters chafing and fretting against innumerable fragments of rock that have fallen into its hollow bed, and washing the foot of a cliff two hundred yards at least in perpendicular height: on our left is another enormous mound, which, not quite so high as its opposite neighbour, is cultivated on its platform, and serves as the foundation story (if I may use such an expression) of a much higher tier of rocks so steep in their acclivities, so indented on their barren tops, as to resemble the embattled walls of some vast cloud-capped citadel. Beyond these another and another ridge succeed in the ascending scale, as if to mock all human labours, and contrast their colossean proportions with the diminutive stature of every living thing. "Tho' pleas'd at first the towering Alps we try, "Mount o'er the vales, and seem to tread the sky; "And the first clouds and mountains seem the last: This part of the Maurienne, wherever its width and quality of soil have allowed cultivation, displays a good harvest of all sorts of grain and pulse. At Pont de la Madeleine we passed by a bridge of cast iron with strong stone buttresses to the left bank of the river Arc, opposite a very commanding emineuce on which stands the ruined castle of St. Marie de Cuine; and arrived in the faubourg (avoiding the town) of Saint Jean de Maurienne, about one o'clock. Here, after having in our long ride been made to feel very sensibly the united effects of sun and dust, from which the poor horses suffered dreadfully, we stopped a couple of hours to dine, take some repose, and avoid exposing ourselves too much to the almost overpowering heat of the weather.-In this extraordinary country, "the one" feature forces itself on the attention with a most influential potency. The imperial theme of the poem-the sublime constituent of the picture exhibits such Protean changes-presents itself with such an infinite diversity of aspects and accessories, that on the mind of Nature's admirer, as well in her terrific as in her more seductive garb, it produces every sensation save that of satiety. The Hotel de la Poste for example stands pleasantly by the road side: one of its gable ends seems attached to the base of a towering precipice: a line of snow-clad mountains* commences its gradual rise from the banks of the river in front of the house : we step out of our apartment into an open gallery at the back of the Inn, and there we find ourselves seemingly at the foot of a third ridge,+ whose summits, far exceeding the line of vegetation, still wear the blanched garb of frost amidst the blaze of summer. Almost immediately on leaving the Post House at St. Jean, (which merits recommendation for Antonio Balmet's civility and moderate charges) we cross the Arves, an impetuous torrent, only a little above its confluence with the Arc, over which we shortly afterwards pass in our way through the village of St. Julien, to the town of St. Michael. From thence to Modane, the country we go The Cols des Alcombes and de Belleville. The Pra Plan and the Col de St. Sorli. "A fine contrast is produced by this vicinity of the snows and the rich productions of Nature. In the valleys and mountains of the Alps, it continually happens that extremes so nearly meet as to present in one picture the four seasons of the year."-Reichard—Guide, vol. 3, p. 98. through is more replete with the stupendous objects of savage nature than any that we have yet seen in Savoy. The Arc now becomes our constant companion (if we may so speak of a river running near us, but in a direction the very opposite of our own). "Midst horrid crags and mountains dark and tall,” this offspring of eternal snows takes its more or less rapid course, assuming, according to the smooth or rough nature of its channel a temperate or an enraged appearance. Its general character and aspect are those of a torrent lashing its rocky banks like the surges of a stormy lake. Beyond St. Michael it increases more and more in violence and impetuosity, pouring down very high and steep falls, and foaming in its deep and pent-up way, among unnumbered pieces of rock, with pêle mêle, hurly burly uproar. From this whirlpool of its passion we proceed a few hundred yards further up, and find the same stream in comparative quiescence flowing down a gently inclined plane: but soon again, as we continue to advance in the direction of its source, it appears in fierce conflict with the enormous blocks of granite which it encounters as it rushes on in a complete cascade. Our road crosses the Arc no less than four times from St. Michael to St. Andre, a distance of scarcely three leagues. Notice has already been taken of the marked propensity of the Savoyards to "force a churlish soil for scanty bread." Proofs of this inherent disposition multiply themselves around us as we go on. Attached to their soil, and probably conscious of their unfitness for emigration, this quiet and inoffensive people appear sedulously to have hunted out every spot calculated to repay them with a crop for the labour of cultivation. Undismayed by its excessive height, undiscouraged by its local difficulties or inconveniences, the Peasant here digs and plants his patch of ground; he builds near it his cot of planks; and we see the power of vegetation excited by the sweat of man's brow displaying itself from the low-land meadow to the mountain-top. Some of these hanging villages, with their black houses and white churches, are seated at least eight hundred feet above the level of our still aspiring road. My friend likened such habitations, as then viewed at a distance, to so many toads squatting together round a chalk stone; and the comparison, though ludicrous, is not without a forcible degree of application. The tremendous precipices which at times completely overhang our route, being composed of loose and crumbling strata, awaken a fear of pieces from them falling on our heads; and doubtless at certain periods of the year, there must be great danger of this to passengers. As we take a closer view of the dwellings and inhabitants, our pity and our horror alternately arise. Cretins and persons exhibiting the "The Cretins are little people, stunted in growth, crazy in intellect, incapable of speaking, devoid of understanding, and almost insensible even to blows. They are bloated and chub-cheeked, with large broad countenances, dull eyes, flattened noses, discoloured lips, livid complexion. Their flesh is soft and without elasticity; they stagger in their walk, balancing themselves, and with difficulty keeping on their feet. Some of these unfortunate beings (but this is rarely to be found) are unable to sustain themselves; their senses are blunted and almost extinguished. Some of them are so defective in their organization that they never rise from their place. In general, they present the idea of a degraded, degenerated, and debased race of mankind. Their ordinary height is four feet; some three feet and a half: they seldom exceed four feet and a I |