has, however, now done what the
Roman Catholic armies failed to do--established itself in the midst of
the Vaudois stronghold, though by no means in the hearts of the
people.

Desirous of ascertaining, if possible, the site of the ancient
college, we proceeded up the Pra, and hailed a young woman whom we
observed crossing the rustic bridge over the Pele, one of the mountain
rivulets running into the torrent of Angrogna. Inquiring of her as to
the site of the college, she told us we had already passed it, and led
us back to the place--up the rocky side of the hill leading to the
Vachere--past the cottage where she herself lived, and pointed to the
site: "There," she said, "is where the ancient college of the Vaudois
stood." The old building has, however, long since been removed, the
present structure being merely part of a small farmsteading. Higher up
the steep hill-side, on successive ledges of rock, are the ruins of
various buildings, some of which may have been dwellings, and one,
larger than the rest, on a broader plateau, with an elder-tree growing
in the centre, may possibly have been the temple.

From the higher shelves on this mountain-side the view is extremely
wild and grand. The acclivities which surround the head of the Pra
seem as if battlemented walls; the mountain opposite throws its sombre
shadow over the ravine in which the torrent runs; whilst, down the
valley, rock seems piled on rock, and mountain on mountain. All is
perfectly still, and the silence is only audible by the occasional
tinkling of a sheep-bell, or the humming of a bee in search of flowers
on the mountain-side. So peaceful and quiet is the place, that it is
difficult to believe it could ever have been the scene of such deadly
strife, and rung with the shouts of men thirsting for each other's
blood.

After lingering about the place until the sun was far on his way
towards the horizon, we returned, by the road we had come, the valley
seeming more beautiful than ever under the glow of evening, and
arrived at our destination about dusk, to find the fireflies darting
about the streets of La Tour.

The next day saw us at Turin, and our summer excursion at an end. Mr.
Milsom, who had so pleasantly accompanied me through the valleys, had
been summoned to attend the death-bed of a friend at Antibes, and he
set out on the journey forthwith. While still there, he received a
telegram intimating the death of his daughter at Allevard, near
Gren