with pines and ilexes on the other side, and in front
another vast rock which was shining in the reflected light of the
setting sun. I never shall forget it. How I turned round and
round, afraid to miss a particle of the glorious scene. It was
the liveliest impression because it was the first. I walked
nearly to the other post with the most exquisite pleasure, but it
was dark by the time I got to La Grotta. I went on, however, all
night, very unhappy at the idea of losing a great deal of this
scenery, but consoled by the reflection that there was plenty
left. As soon as it was light I found myself in the middle of the
mountains (the Lower Alps), and from thence I proceeded across
the Mont Cenis. Though not the finest pass, to me, who had never
seen anything like it, it appeared perfectly beautiful, every
turn in the road presenting a new combination of Alpine
magnificence. Nothing is more striking than the patches of
cultivation in the midst of the tremendous rocks and precipices,
and in one or two spots there were plots of grass and evergreens,
like an English shrubbery, at the foot of enormous mountains
covered with snow. There was not a breath of air in these
valleys, and the sun was shining in unclouded brightness, so that
there was all the atmosphere of summer below with all the livery
of winter above.

The altitude of some tall crag
That is the eagle's birthplace, or some peak
Familiar with forgotten years, that shows,
Inscribed as with the silence of the thought
Upon its bleak and visionary sides,
The history of many a winter storm
Or obscure record of the path of fire.
There the sun himself
At the calm close of Summer's longest day
Rests his substantial orb; between those heights,
And on the top of either pinnacle,
More keenly than elsewhere in night's blue vault
Sparkle the stars, as of their station proud:
Thoughts are not busier in the mind of man
Than the mute agents stirring there,--alone
Here do I sit and watch.

In one place, too, I remarked high up on the side of the rugged
and barren mountain two or three cottages, to arrive at which
steps had been cut in the rock. No sign of vegetation was near,
so exactly the description of Goldsmith:--

Dear is that shed to which their souls conform,
And dear that hill that lift