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riage provided for us by that most obliging of landlords, mine host of the Bellevue, for Kandersteg. Our driver promises to point out all that is worth seeing on our road; but we scarcely require his help, for what during this exquisite drive is not worth seeing? Along the shores of the beautiful lake we take our way, till in about an hour and a half we reach the old tower of Strättlingen; and then, crossing the Kander by a lofty bridge, we pass the entrance of the Simmenthal, and find ourselves apparently at the very base of the Niesen, its dark-green sides rising in the form of a cone on one side of the valley, while the Stockhorn lifts its rounded summit on the other. The road, after we had passed the pretty village of Reichenbach, was bordered on either side by rich pasture-lands; and, although there was little of autumn feeling in the sunny air, the time for bringing down the cattle from their summer pasturage on the High Alps had evidently arrived. Troop after troop of Swiss villagers, followed by their herds and flocks, met us on our way to Frutigen, the men carrying on their backs piles of dairy furniture; the women, most of whom were afflicted with goître, had either babies or lambs in their arms, both of which they seemed to regard with almost equal tenderness; of course there were plenty of young girls and boys, with no lack of little children, and it was pretty to see the friendly terms on which they were with the young of the flocks; the goats and kids skipped and gambolled with their childish companions, whilst the more staid sheep and half-grown lambs were ever ready to come to their call and to take from their hands the bonne-bouche of salt, or to receive the loving caress that was offered them by their merry little friends.

We have reached Frutigen, and our driver tells us his horse will require an hour's rest before he takes us on to Kandersteg; so we order luncheon of the maiden who meets us at the inn door, and follow her to a covered balcony on the second story, where we find a table spread with a snow-white cloth, and laid ready for refreshments. While ours are preparing, we have plenty to amuse us; the street below is crowded with the booths of a fair, and the combination of the utile and dulce which it contains have drawn a large assemblage of villagers to the sale. Here, too, on their road from the High Alps, have stopped many a man and maiden, who for the last five months have been banished from all the excitement of “shopping;" that large booth on the left is crowded with stalwart peasants, who wait while one of their companions draws off the boots that have lasted through the summer, and tries on those he hopes will protect him through the snows of winter; here, on the right, the old lady who stands protected beneath her awning has many purchasers in the maidens attracted by the scarlet kerchiefs, the bright silvered chains, and coifs of black lace that she displays, while the good-humoured woman who sells sweets and curious sugar cakes, and against the post of whose booth a black lamb is tied,

which complacently takes the bits of cake or bread given it by the passers-by, has as much as she can do to satisfy the numerous young claimants who throng her counter. Just beneath our balcony have met, evidently after a separation of some months, a youth and maiden; the maiden is very coy, and blushes as she retreats from the joyous recognition of the youth; but he, adept in the weaknesses of the gentler sex, has drawn her gradually to the front of the kerchief stall, and is rewarded by a smile of delight as he selects the gayest of the store, and whispers as he holds it towards the damsel, “ Willst du nicht?”

Beyond the village the view is one of rare beauty; the little river Engstligen sparkles through meadows to lose itself in the larger Kander, which runs beneath its bridge, past the picturesque prison of Tellenburg, and on through the richly-cultivated valleys of the Kanderthal to Kandersteg. On either side rise the snowy Balmhorn and sharp brown Altels, and in their rear again is seen the mighty head of the Ralligstöcke.

About two hours from Frutigen brought us to Kandersteg, just in time to escape a thunderstorm and violent shower, and to hear the peasants hurriedly gathering in their cattle with the musical sounds of the Ranz des Vaches, ere the rain overtook them in the meadows. The next morning was bright and clear; we drove along a wide road commanding a grand panorama of mountain scenery to the foot of the Gemmi Pass. Here we found our horse and guides stationed by a bridge crossing the sparkling brook that runs from the Ueschinen valley. Along its banks we began to ascend, through a wood of pine-firs, the pass. By zig-zag paths we rose gradually beneath the trees till we reached an open plain with a few châlets, thence on by a steeper zig-zag, giving us beautiful views of the Kander valley and of the grand mountains round it, to a stony desert, from which almost all traces of vegetation had disappeared, till we reached the inn at Schwarenbach—a rude, half-way house between Kandersteg and Leukerbad, built out of the slaty rocks amid which it stands. An hour's rest at Schwarenbach, with some fresh eggs

and delicious


made us fit to start for the second part of our journey, having still three miles to ascend before we reached the top of the pass. About midway lies the Daubensee-a small green lake, surrounded by wild rocks and huge piles of slate; the road, too, is composed of slate blocks and loose pieces of rock, and the travelling is a sort of scramble until the Daube or summit of the Gemmi is reached. Here, beneath the shadow of the Daubenhorn, we bid adieu to our horses and their leaders, for the descent of the Gemmi is best made on foot. To copy the words of one who has well described it, “ the path is quite upright, but twisted in the manner of a snail's shell, with perpetual windings and short bendings to the right and left."

Some idea of the extent of these windings may be formed by the mention that the perpendicular height of the Gemmi cliff is

about seventeen hundred feet, while the length of the path way from the Daube to the base of the mountain is nearly ten thousand seven hundred feet; and this elongation is very necessary, for even with it the road down is steeper for the greater part than the steepest of staircases, and the mountain rises so straight that the village of Leukerbad, when seen from the top, appears to lie immediately beneath, and half an hour's walk seems sufficient to reach it, whereas two weary hours were spent in turning and twisting on the craggy height ere we found ourselves crossing the green meadows that led to the village. Glorious views of the Monte Rosa range, rising in peaks of dazzling white behind the darker summits of an intervening chain of mountains, were gained during our descent; the air was so transparent that our guides were able to point out each separate mountain, and give a name to every snowy peak before us. At length we reached the foot of the pass

, and clambering through large masses of stone, the débris of some fallen rock, we entered a pine wood, and thence passing by some stone pens, built to receive the flocks from the High Alps, we went on through the dirty village of Leukerbad to the pleasant rooms and good dinner offered us in the Hôtel de l'Union.

Beneath a small edifice in the market-place, more like a stone dog-kennel than anything else, bubbles up the Lorenzquelle, the largest of the hot medicated springs which draw each year a large invalid population to the baths of Leuk; it was late in the bathing season when we arrived, but there were still some occupants of the large tanks, in which those who make use of the baths are doomed to inmerse themselves eight or nine hours every day for a month. The long room we entered contained four of these tanks; they were not more than three feet deep, and the bathers, attired in long brown flannel gowns, sat down, so as to let the water reach their necks. Little tables with chocolate, dominoes, chess-boards, and other helps to beguile the weary hours, floated amongst them; ladies and gentlemen occupied the same tanks, the former having their unwetted heads elaborately dressed with silver and velvet ornaments, and, judging from the gay laughs we heard, there was no lack of sociability or mirth amid the watery company.

On the next day, passing the curious ladders fixed against the rock as a means of communication between the inhabitants of Albinen and Leukerbad, we drove along a road continually descending to Leuk. On either side rose precipices of cliff and rock, from the top of them villages smiling in the sun's rays looked down upon us-Albinen with its bright church spire, and Indem its red-roofed houses, contrasting with the green table-land that covers the rock on which it stands; below were pasture land and green slopes richly wooded, and watered by the rushing Dala, into whose turbulent waters fell many a bright cascade. From Leuk, a village on a hill, consisting of an old church and castle, and sundry wooden houses, we gained a fine view of the Rhône

valley, the stony bed of the river abutted on either side by moun. tains, distinct in front, but growing dreamy and blue in the farther distance, and ending in the cold hazy whiteness of a snowy range on the horizon. Crossing the Rhône, beneath Leuk, by a covered bridge, our drive was along the sunny dusty Simplon road towards Vispach. Mountains, beautiful in form, but monotonous in their sameness, bounded us on both sides; fields of Indian corn assuming its rich golden colour, gardens of the graceful tobacco-plant, trailing vines, and long feathery plantations of hemp and flax, were giving occupation to many a sun-burnt villager as we passed. Reaching Tourtemagne, we turned from the main road to visit its fine cascade, which falls in one great body of water from a rock nearly a hundred feet high, and in about another hour we entered, by its wide and covered bridge, the handsome town of Visp. While refreshing ourselves, after our hot and dusty drive, with the bread and honey, cream and butter, liberally supplied us by mine host of the Sonne, we engaged a horse and its leader, and a trager for our carpet-bags, to remain with us during the five days we intended to spend in visiting Zermat.

“ Trauben, süss und reif,” says a black-eyed, smiling maiden, who meets us on the steep stony path leading into Stalden village, holding towards us bunches gathered from the vineyards we have passed on our road from Vispach. We have skirted the river Visp all the way, crossing it at Neubrücke by a stone bridge with a little oratory, containing a figure of the Virgin and Child, on its centre parapet. The beautiful Balferin had, till now, been the snowy peak rising above many a verdant slope before us; but after leaving Stalden, with its rich fields of maize and hemp and corn, we gained a fine view of the Bruneckhorn, which, with the Weisshorn, rose majestically in front, while on either side were wooded mountains, interspersed with great crags of rock, over which fell streams from many a glacier. Beneath us ran the river, now placidly between its banks, now dashing over huge rocky fragments that lay in its bed; we crossed it two or three times ere we reached St. Nicholas, by bridges formed of the trunks of fir-trees, curiously and strongly interlaced, and held together by crossbeams fastened with large wooden pegs; these bridges are in perfect keeping with the scenery in which they are erected, but, though quite safe and strong, their appearance is so wild and fragile, that it requires some little courage to cross them over a river that boils and rushes like a torrent beneath their wooden arches. Very dirty was our bedroom, and very warm the crowded eating-room, at St. Nicholas; but it mattered little; sleep soon came after our long day's journey, and the next morning found us early on our onward road. The pleasant writer of “Over the Pyrenees to Spain” tells of a postmaster there who “knew England was not in America, but did not seem sure that England was not in London;" she need not have travelled so far to find his


phical incertitude equalled, if not surpassed, for the Swiss maiden who now waited on us told us that she was hoping soon to have saved money enough to join her sister in England; and on our asking her in what part of England the sister was, she said, “ New York, United States !”

Before leaving St. Nicholas we paid a visit to its church, which is ornamented in the usual gold and doll-work style of Roman Catholic temples, and has on the edge of its pulpit the bare arm and hand holding a crucifix, which we saw in most of the Swiss churches; it has, besides, its charnel-house, where, piled up neatly, are numberless skulls and bones, looking so white and clean, that we were almost tempted to bring away one of them as a memento, but abstained from a doubt of the pleasantness of finding a skeleton head at the bottom of our carpet-bag every night at bedtime. My good steed, “ Liza,” was quite ready to take from my hand the bread and sugar she had already learned to expect from me ere we started on our road, and, having gained her good will by these small delicacies, she carried me well and willingly along the path, which now grew wilder and grander each step we took on our way by Randa to Zermatt. Every now and then we had to cross the stony beds of torrents running from the glaciers towards the Visp, over which a plank just broad enough to carry our horse had been thrown; at other times the path was so steep that Liza was left to find her way down, while we followed with greater security on foot, but everywhere the scenery was so lovely that fatigue was little thought of. Flowers grew in profusion; barberries, and wild raspberries, and bright red strawberries to refresh us were in abundance, and from every rock trickled a stream of bright and cold water. From Randa, up on its rocky height, we saw the Bies glacier; and, leaving the village by a path which gradually narrowed, we began to gain views of the Monte Rosa group, until at last, as we turned an angle in our path, the Matterhorn itself burst upon our view, its mighty peak, lightly sprinkled with snow, rising nearly four thousand feet above the sea of ice and snow in which it is embedded, and shooting up in lonely sublimity, like a pyramid, from among the lower mountains that surround it. So lately before we left England had our countrymen perished in their descent from this mountain, that we listened with eager interest to our guides as they pointed out the spot on which their feet first slipped, and showed from the distance the ledge of snowcovered rock in which the remains of some of that fated party are still believed to lie concealed. Nor was our sympathy with the sad story decreased when, after the table d'hôte that evening, we found in the drawing-room of the hotel at Zermatt some lines written by the poor young Lord Douglas the night before he started on his fatal journey; they possess little or no poetic merit, but we venture to copy a verse or two of them, for they show the bright, brave spirit of the boy who wrote them, and who perished

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