ng much unseen in Turin, we did not regret our departure,
as we were anticipating our journey on the morrow, by the Mont Cenis
railway, through the magnificent and sublime scenery of which we had
heard so much. It is said--and I can well imagine the truth of it--that,
owing to the circle of mountains around it, Turin is exceedingly cold in
winter, and very hot in summer, and therefore to be avoided during these
seasons. The autumn is considered the pleasantest time for a visit.
However, we fortunately found it bright and bracing during our brief
stay.

* * * * *

We left Turin on April 12, by the 8.50 a.m. train.

It was a fine, bright morning, and we had a capital and comprehensive
view of the whole of the glorious Alpine range; the peak of Monte Viso
towering majestically to the clouds, and in the foreground the deep
purple tints of the nearer hills contrasting finely against the white
slopes in the distance, the green fields relieving the eye from the
dazzling loveliness of the snow. Passing Alpigano, and entering a gap in
the line of hills, the train left the plains, and commenced the ascent.
San Ambroglio is soon passed, with its octagonal church; in the
distance, on the top of Mount Piecheriano, is the old monastery _Sagra
di Michele_. It is said that in the tombs of this Abbey, owing to the
peculiar nature of the soil and atmosphere, the dead bodies are
preserved perfectly mummified. Crossing the river Dora, and passing
Borgone and Bassolemo, we now really commence the Mont Cenis railway. On
the left is the old castellated fortress Bruzolo, picturesquely perched
on the hilltop, a little village with a large church at its base.
Recrossing the Dora, we pass some beautiful chestnut woods, through
several tunnels, and thence on to Susa, the valley expanding, cultivated
with terraced vineyards and gardens. We now obtain grand retrospective
views of the beautiful valley below, with glimpses of ancient Roman
ruins and aqueducts; the arch of Augustus peeping out of the magnificent
scenery, and reminding one of the great spirits of the Latin race, with
their eye ever open to the beautiful and the grand. The old Mont Cenis
road winds prettily up the hill; the snow-clad Alps on the right and
left, the great Roche Melon and Roche Michel soaring to the clouds. The
valley then contracts and winds round a great rocky chasm (the Wild
Gorge), where the hills are veritably rent asunder, passing thr