these convents of their estates, thereby rendering their total suppression a necessary consequence; for, of course, large funds are required for their maintenance, and for the support of their impartial and commendable hospitality.

"We found comfortable beds in the rooms prepared for us; but even the stoves and double windows failed in affording such a degree of warmth as I could have wished. The cold of the night was intense, and the storm raged around the building with undiminished fury.

"After an excellent breakfast, on the following morning, I proceeded with Père Hubert to see the great hall of the convent, where all the poor travellers were assembled. There were then above sixty, all driven in by the storm, and all in a warm room, eating the soup and other provisions that had been supplied to them. Neither from these, nor any other travellers, is payment ever required; but it is usual, for those who can afford it, to give a donation for the benefit of the poor.

"On returning to the refectory, we found the inspector arrived. He had come to consult with us on the possibility of continuing our journey. Our entertainers, however, were averse to this, and kindly pressed us to remain as long as we might find it convenient; but we were anxious to get on, and as the inspector assured us that he believed we could do so on sledges that day, while, if we delayed beyond it, ten days might clapse before the roads would be safe or passable, we agreed at once to make the experiment. As he had sent to Simplon for sledges, we hoped to be able to start by two o'clock. He called our attention to the diligence, which had just passed, and was winding slowly down the road along which we had come. It was by no means an encouraging picture. The vehicle was fixed upon a sledge, and seemed to rock to and fro in a very unpleasant manner, and looked as if it must inevitably be blown over by the furious gale that still raged. The snow fell so thick, that, as the diligence passed, the track which it had made was almost instantly lost and obliterated by the fresh covering of snow, so that in a few minutes it would have been difficult, from the appearance of the ground, to tell that anything had passed that way. The monks again tried hard to dissuade us from going, assuring us that the experiment would prove both unpleasant and unsafe; but, encouraged by the inspector, we decided on making the attempt; and he further promised his own assistance, with that of ten of his men, to get us safe to Simplon.

"We were greatly touched by the devoted kindness of Père Hubert, who declared that he also would accompany us on our route, and that he could remain that night at Simplon and return the next morning. In vain we protested against his making so painful an exertion on our account; go he would; and, leaving the room, he soon returned completely equipped in his mountaineer's dress. We dined in the refectory at one o'clock, which we found was the usual dinner-hour; and before proceeding on our way, our hosts insisted on giving us some excellent coffee, and a chasse caffé of the delicious kirschenwasser, far better than any I have tasted elsewhere. With great attention to our comfort, they arranged that we should get into the carriage in the rémise, and then with real regret we took leave of our kind hosts, with the exception of Père Hubert, who accompanied us, chiefly on foot, but sometimes mounted on the box of our carriage. Our cortège was certainly most curious and picturesque: first, our carriage on a sledge, drawn by the four horses from Brieg; next, the wheels and luggage on another sledge, which was consigned to three white horses. Our guards consisted of the inspector and ten men, most wild-looking objects, dressed in goat-skins, and armed with spades and all useful implements; besides the voiturier and his aide from Brieg, our own servant, and the monk.

'The journey was certainly not performed without considerable misgivings and alarms; the distance from the convent to Simplon, although only three miles, we were above three hours in accomplishing. The snow, where it had drifted on either side of the road,

was frequently above the height of the carriage, and every step we advanced seemed to be only accomplished after much scraping and digging on the part of the troop, for of course there was no track whatever. In some parts the snow was less deep, and we could see around us the great rocks, so thickly covered with a fleecy mantle that no part of their original form was visible, while the tall heavy fir trees seemed bowed almost to the ground by the weight on their branches. Enormous icicles, of every form and shape, hung pendent from the rocks, and in the already fading light assumed innumerable shades of colour. Nothing could be more beautiful, nothing more wildly grand and sublime, than the scene; and, in spite of my fears, I found myself almost absorbed in intense admiration. But I was frequently disturbed by the exclamations, the cries, and shouts of our followers, or by the really perplexed face of Père Hubert, who, appearing at the window, endeavoured to re-assure us, while he himself was evidently very anxious and uneasy. At times the carriage, or rather sledge, would give us a most uncomfortable lurch to one side; when this happened, our escort would rush hastily to the other side, and hanging on to the carriage like monkeys, use all their weight to preserve the balance until the perilous part was past. At one time, I heard one of them say to another, in answer to some previous question which escaped me, "We must go on; for it is impossible to go back." The alternative did not seem hopeful; but at length, to our great relief, from amidst the increasing darkness and the glimmering of the white world which surrounded us on every side, we discerned the lights of the village of Simplon, and soon after, with great joy and gratitude, found ourselves installed in a tolerably comfortable and warm room. Our friendly Hubert spent the evening with us, and made himself very agreeable; he assured us that the journey there had proved even more dangerous than he anticipated, and that, had he known how bad it was, he never could have allowed us to undertake it. We had a parting interview with the inspector, whom we overwhelmed with thanks, and with the greatest possible difficulty persuaded to accept a sum of money for himself and his men. He refused for a long time, saying he had only done his duty, and was glad to have served us; almost the only instance this, I ever saw, of a Swiss disinterested enough to refuse anything. We saw Père Hubert on the following morning, just before his departure; he told us that we could now continue our journey with perfect safety-a rapid thaw having come on in the night—and that, on the southern side of the pass, we should probably be soon out of the region of snow. We accompanied him to the door, where the diligence was stopping, and then took leave, with many assurances of friendship on both sides, and of gratitude on ours, which I still feel so warmly that I have great pleasure in bearing my humble testimony to the kindness and valuable hospitality I received.

"The rest of our journey seemed flat after the adventure of the last two days, and the weather was such that I can give no particular account of the beauty of the descent on the Italian side. I was struck by the general grandeur of the scene, the wild and sublime gorge of Gondoo, and the magnificent construction of the gallery, cut through the solid rock for a distance of 596 feet, and which required, for eighteen months, the labours of above 100 men; but any enjoyment of the scenery was impossible, for the rain fell in torrents, and the streams pouring in every direction, above and below us, together with the wild roar of the Doveria, fretting in its narrow bed below, made us really feel as if we had emerged from snow and ice into a second deluge. The rain continued incessant, and the Val d'Ossola, as we descended into it, presented such a lamentable and dismal aspect, so unlike the usual bright beauty of an Italian scene, that, overcome by the depressing influence, I abruptly discontinued the journal or notes from which this narrative is now extracted."

We thank the fair writer for her interesting narrative, which does credit to her kindliness and power of endurance, as well as to the vigour and gracefulness of her pen.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE VILLAGE OF LEUK-THE GORGE OF THE DALA—THE BATHS OF LEUK-THE PASS OF THE GEMMI.

RETRACING our steps as far as the village of Leuk, called by the French Löèche, which we passed on the left when proceeding from Sierre up the valley of the Rhone, we come to the entrance of the gorge of the Dala torrent. The village is built on the steep slope. of the mountain side. The convent, the church, and indeed the various objects that are connected with them, have a picturesque appearance when seen from below; but on entering, we exclaim,

""Tis distance lends enchantment to the view."

In pursuing our course towards the celebrated Leukerbad, which is eight or nine miles from the village, we traversed the handsome and rather boldly-constructed road that leads from Sion to that place, and is wide enough for two carriages abreast. The cul-desac valley, in which we now were, and at the head of which Leukerbad is situated, is traversed by the Dala torrent, and which, though not very extensive, is one of the most romantic. The road crosses the torrent twice by two beautiful bridges, which rise above it about fifty feet, and it then runs along the left-hand side of the valley, sometimes a little way up the mountain side, and then along the edge of fearful precipices. As the shades of evening were drawing on, the vivid lightning began to play around the tops of the neighbouring elevations,-at one moment revealing their sharp outlines, while in the next they were plunged into greater obscurity than before. At length we espied the lights burning in the village, and we were soon busily engaged in the salle à manger of the Bellevue Hotel.

Another route might have been taken to reach this village, by starting from Sierre, and following a rough and steep ascent to the village of Varen.

Clambering over this village, which was at first seen hanging above you, leaving it far below, as well as that of Leuk, which you see farther up the valley, you toil on, thinking perhaps that you are entering some of the wildest, most picturesque and extensive views to be enjoyed in this excursion, when all at once the scene bursts upon you. You rise to the summit of a steep ascent, step upon a space of table-land, advance a few feet, and suddenly find yawning before you a fearful gulph of some 900 feet deep, into which the ridge on which you stand seems beetling over, ready to fall with your own weight. It is the gulf of the Dala, a torrent which rolls at the bottom, but almost too far down for you to see the swift glance of the water, or hear the roar, for even the thunder of the cataract of Niagara would be well nigh buried in its depths.

Advancing a few steps in the direction of this gulf, and "turning," says Cheever, "a natural bastion of the mountain, there comes sweeping down upon you from above a

gorge of overwhelming grandeur, overwhelming both by the surprise and the deep sublimity of the scene. You tremble to enter it, and stand fixed in silent awe and admiration. Below you is that fearful gulf down plunging in a sheet perpendicular of almost a thousand feet, while above you is a tremendous overhanging precipice of near an equal height, adown and across the face of which runs, cut out, the zig-zag perilous gallery by which you are to pass. Whole strata of this perpendicular face of the mountain seem loosened above, and ready to bury you in their fall, and the loose stones come thundering down now and then with the terror of an avalanche. You step carefully down the gallery or shelf, till perhaps you are near the centre of the pass; now look up to heaven along the perpendicular height above you, if you can do it without falling, and see those bare pines that seem bending over the edge; they look as if blanched with terror. What a steep gigantic mountain brow they fringe! You feel as if the gallery where you are treading were a perilous position, and yet you cannot resist going back and gazing again down into the measureless gulf, and enjoying again the sudden sweep of this sublime gorge upon your vision. Towards the pass of the Gemmi it is closed by a vast ridge of frowning castellated mountains, and still beyond that, lofty snowy mountains are shining, such pyramids of pure snow that they seem as if they would fling the hues of sunset that flash upon them down into the farthest recesses of the valley as it darkens in the evening.

"It was such a sight as this that suggested that beautiful sonnet of Wordsworth, closing with so fine an image.

Glory to God! and to the Power who came

In filial duty, clothed with love divine;

That made his human tabernacle shine
Like Ocean burning with purpureal flame ;
Or like the Alpine Mount, that takes it name
From roscate hues, far kenn'd at morn and even,
In times of peace, or when the storm is driven
Along the nether region's rugged frame!

Earth prompts-Heaven urges; let us seck the light.
Studious of that pure intercourse begun

When first our infant brows their lustre won ;
So like the Mountain may we grow more bright,
From unimpeded commerce with the Sun,
At the approach of all-involving night !'

"But what is it that arrests your eye on the other side of the gulf, overhung, in like manner, with a sheer perpendicular mountain? There seems to be something in motion along the smooth face of the precipice, but it is not possible. You look again steadily; it is actually a line of mules and travellers, creeping like flies along the face of a wall, and you you find there is a road there also, cut along this fearful gulf out of the solid rock; but it is so far across that the passing caravans of travellers seem like moving insects. You watch them a few moments, as they perhaps are watching you; and now they pass from the cliff, and enter on the winding fir-covered path, that takes them along the thundering torrent of the Dala down to the village of Leuk.

"The view of this gorge might not perhaps have appeared to us quite so sublime, had we been prepared for it, or had we come gradually upon it but the solemn, sudden, overwhelming grandeur of the view makes it one of the finest passes in all Switzerland. It stirs the very depths of your soul within you, and it seems as if you could remain motionless before it, and not wishing to move, from daylight to sunset, and from sunset to the moon, whose pale, soft, silver light steeps the vales and crags and glaciers with such romantic beauty."

A natural phenomenon, not hitherto noticed, in our present wanderings, is, that almost all springs, even those regarded as the purest, are impregnated with some foreign ingredients, which, from chemical solution, are so intimately blended with the water, as not to affect its clearness, while they generally render it more agreeable to the taste, and more nutritious than simple rain water. But the so-called mineral springs contain a great abundance of earthy matter in solution, and there is a remarkable correspondence between the substances with which they are impregnated, and those which are evolved in the form of gas by volcanoes. The temperature of many of these springs is higher than that of the place where they arise, as they do through all kinds of rock, but are most frequent in volcanic regions, or where violent earthquakes have occurred within comparatively modern cras.

Thus, when remote from volcanic regions, their site usually coincides with the position of some great derangement in the strata; a fault, for example, or great fissure, indicating that a channel of communication has been opened with the interior of the earth at some former period of local convulsion. It is also ascertained that at great heights in the Pyrences and Himalaya mountains, thermal springs burst out from granite rocks, and • they are abundant in the Alps also, these chains having all been disturbed and dislocated at times comparatively recent.

In the centre of the village, for example, at which we have arrived, and in its immediate neighbourhood, there are several hot springs, at a temperature of about 124 deg. Fahrenheit. The water, impregnated with various sulphates, is of a yellowish colour, and of a disagreeable odour, and is said to be beneficial in various diseases. The largest of the springs is one which issues in a fountain in the small market-place, and is called the Lorenzquelle. The water has little or no taste: it contains some sulphate of lime and some sulphate of magnesia, as well as traces of iron, potass, soda, and silica.

The sleep of the early morning at Leukerbad was interrupted by a long-continued shout, or rather yell. The first thought of one scarcely half-awake was, as to its cause. What could it be? was not merely the curious, but the natural, inquiry at the moment. The next was, Were the inhabitants roused by an avalanche from the mountains above the village, and which was just about to overwhelm it, and to bury us all in one common grave, or else to sweep us down again into the valley of the Rhone? And then, as no satisfactory solution of the mystery was instantly attainable, action succeeded, and the question was proposed to the occupant of the next room, separated only by a wooden partition, when he sagaciously suggested that the noise must have been occasioned by the people rushing into the baths. But the reply, however ingenious, did not prove to be correct for it was subsequently found that the tremendous noise arose from persons in the bathing-houses, because some person had entered one of them without taking off his hat!

A fountain is erected over the only spring in the valley that is used; from this the hot fluid constantly flows, so that persons may be seen drinking it at all hours in the day; and several pipes attached to it convey the water to the various bathing-houses. In these are public and private baths, but the visitors of the former are by far the most numerous. The public baths are large rooms, generally divided into four compartments, or rather reservoirs, around the sides of which, at about the distance of a foot from the bottom, seats are placed. The bathers, attired in a cap, and a kind of cloak or frock reaching to the knees, enter from side-doors, sit down on the benches so that the water may come up to their necks, and, by way of diversion, they have floating-tables before them, on which is a small basket for the handkerchief, snuff-box, books, cards, chess, flowers, and other articles of amusement.

There are about twenty large public baths, capable of containing from fifteen to forty persons, besides smaller ones, which will hold from four to six bathers. All