valleys of the Upper Alps; where even the pines become
scanty, and no sound is heard but the wheels of one's carriage, except
when there happens to be a storm or an avalanche, neither of which
entertained us. There is, here and there, a small stream of water
pouring from the snow; but this is rather a monotonous accompaniment to
the general desolation than an interruption of it. The road itself is
certainly very good, and impresses one with a strong notion of human
power. But the common descriptions are much exaggerated; and many of
what the Guide-Books call 'galleries' are merely parts of the road
supported by a wall built against the rock, and have nothing like a
roof above them. The 'stupendous bridges,' as they are called, might be
packed, a dozen together, into one arch of London Bridge; and they
are seldom even very striking from the depth below. The roadway is
excellent, and kept in the best order. On the whole, I am very glad
to have travelled the most famous road in Europe, and to have had
delightful weather for doing so, as indeed we have had ever since we
left Lausanne. The Italian descent is greatly more remarkable than the
other side.

"We slept near the top, at the Village of Simplon, in a very fair and
well-warmed inn, close to a mountain stream, which is one of the great
ornaments of this side of the road. We have here passed into a region of
granite, from that of limestone, and what is called gneiss. The valleys
are sharper and closer,--like cracks in a hard and solid mass;--and
there is much more of the startling contrast of light and shade, as
well as more angular boldness of outline; to all which the more abundant
waters add a fresh and vivacious interest. Looking back through one
of these abysmal gorges, one sees two torrents dashing together, the
precipice and ridge on one side, pitch-black with shade; and that on the
other all flaming gold; while behind rises, in a huge cone, one of the
glacier summits of the chain. The stream at one's feet rushes at a leap
some two hundred feet down, and is bordered with pines and beeches,
struggling through a ruined world of clefts and boulders. I never saw
anything so much resembling some of the _Circles_ described by Dante.
From Simplon we made for Duomo d'Ossola; having broken out, as through
the mouth of a mine, into green and fertile valleys full of vines and
chestnuts, and white villages,--in short, into sunshine and Italy.

"At this place we dismissed o