awakened had no fixed character. An object of beauty would stand beside an object of terror. A calm and soft snow-field that looked in the distance as if it might be a slumbering place for spirits, went creeping up to as savage a cliff as ever frowned over an abyss; while the gentle mist, "like children gone to their evening repose," slept here and there in chasms that seemed fit only as a place of rendezvous for the storm. Strangely wild and majestic towered away those peaks on the vision. I gazed and gazed, reluctant to say farewell to the wondrous scene.

Just then, a body of mist riding the mountain blast, swept over us, veiling every thing in impenetrable gloom, while the rain began to descend in torrents. Sheltering ourselves under the projecting roof of a Swiss hut that stood a little removed from the path, we waited awhile for the shower to pass over, but it was like waiting for a river to run by-the clouds condensed faster and faster, and the day grew darker and darker, till sudden night seemed about to involve every thing. A feeling of dread crept over me as we wheeled out again into the rain, and turned the drooping and dripping heads of our mules towards the pass. I felt as if we were on the threshold of some gloomy fate, and I defy any one to keep up his spirits when hanging along the cliffs of an Alpine pass in the midst of a pelting Alpine storm. We spurred on, however; now crawling over barren and desolate rocks, now shooting out on to some projecting point that balanced over a deep abyss filled with boiling mist, through which the torrent struggled up with a muffled sound,—and now sinking into a black defile through which the baffled storm went howling like a madman in his cell. As I stood on a ledge, and listened to the war of the elements around, suddenly through a defile that bent around a distant mountain, came a cloud as black as night. Its forehead was torn and rent by its fierce encounter with the cliffs, and it came sweeping down as if inherent with life and a will. It burst over us, drenching us with rain, while the redoubled thunder rolled and cracked among the cliffs like a thousand cannon-shot. Every thing but my mule and the few feet of rock I occupied would be hidden from my sight, and then would come a flash of lightning, rending the robe of mist, as it shot athwart the gloom, revealing a moment some black and heaven-high rock; and then

A CRUSHED HAMLET.

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leaving all again as dark and impenetrable as ever. The path often led along the face of the precipice, just wide enough for my mule; while the mist that was tossing in the abyss below, by concealing its depth; added inconceivably to its mystery and terror. Thus, hour after hour, we toiled on, with every thing but the few feet of rock we occupied shrouded in vapour, except when it now and then rent over some cliff or chasm. I was getting altogether too much of sublimity, and would have gladly exchanged my certainly wild enough path for three or four miles of fair trotting ground. But in spite of my drenched state, I could not but laugh now and then as I saw my three companions and guide straggling along in Indian file, and taking with such a meek, resigned air, the rain on their bowed shoulders.

As we advanced towards the latter end of the pass, I was startled as though I had seen an apparition. The mist, which for a long time had enshrouded every thing, suddenly parted over a distant mountain slope high up on the farther side of the gulf, and a small Swiss hamlet, smiling amid the green pasturages, burst on the vision. I had hardly time to utter an exclamation of surprise before it closed again as before, blotting out every thing from view. I could hardly believe my own senses, so suddenly had the vision come and departed, and stood a long time waiting its re-appearance. But it came no more-the stubborn mist locked it in like the hand of fate. That little eagle-nested hamlet, with its sweet pasturages, came and went like a flash of lightning, yet so distinct was the impression it made, that I could now almost paint it from memory.

Reaching the lower slope of the mountain, we passed a little village utterly prostrate by an avalanche. The descending mass of snow swept clean over it, carrying away church and all. It looked as if some mighty hand had been spread out over the dwellings, and crushed them with a single effort to the earth. It was one scene of ruin and devastation; yet strange to say, though the avalanche fell in the night, only two or three persons were killed. In riding along it was fearful to see where an avalanche had swept, bending down strong trees, as though they were reeds, in its passage.

Soaked through, worn out and depressed, I was glad when the

gloomy path around the Tête Noire (black head) opened into daylight; and the blazing pine fire that was soon kindled up in a dry room, was as welcome as the face of a friend. The only relic I brought away from this pass was an Alpine rose, which my guide plucked from among the rocks, where it lay like a ruby amid surrounding rubbish.

In looking over this description, I see I have utterly failed in giving any adequate conception of the scenery. One would get the impression that there was a single defile, dark and narrow, and nothing more. But when it is remembered that we started at nine, and emerged from the dark forest of Tête Noire at three; one can imagine the variety of scenery that opened like constant surprises upon us. Now we would be climbing a steep mountain-now plunging into a dark gorge filled with boiling mist-now hanging along a cliff, that in its turn hung over an almost bottomless chasm-now stretching across some sweet pasturage-now following a torrent in its desperate plunge through the rocks, and now picking our careful way through as gloomy a forest as ever enclosed a robber's den. I do not know how it may appear in pleasant weather, but the pass of the Tête Noire in the midst of an Alpine storm is not a pleasure jaunt.

BATHS OF LEUK.

V.

BATHS OF LEUK.

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IN coming from the Simplon up the Vallais to Geneva, one passes the baths of Leuk, a little removed from the Rhone. This hamlet, elevated 4500 feet above the level of the sea, is shut in by a circular precipice that surrounds it like a mighty wall, up which you are compelled to climb in steps cut in the face of the solid rock. Its hot springs are visited during the summer months by the French and Swiss for their healing effects. It is something of a task, as one can well imagine, to get an invalid up to these baths. The transportation is entirely by hand, and the terms are regulated by the director of the baths. These regulations are printed in French, and one relating to corpulent persons struck me so comically that I give a translation of it.

"For a person over ten years of age four porters are necessary; if he is above the ordinary weight, six porters; but if he is of an extraordinary weight, and the commissary judges proper, two others may be added, but never more."

There are some dozen springs in all, the principal one of which, the St. Lawrence, has a temperature of 124 deg. Fahrenheit. The mode of bathing is entirely unique, and makes an American open his eyes, at first, in unfeigned astonishment. The patient begins by remaining in the bath the short space of one hour, and goes on increasing the time till he reaches eight hours; four before breakfast and four after dinner. After each bath of four hours' duration, the doctor requires one hour to be passed in bed. This makes in all ten hours per day to the poor patient, leaving him little time for any thing else. To obviate the tediousness of soaking alone four hours in a private bath, the patients all bathe

together. A large shed divided into four compartments, each capable of holding about eighteen persons, constitutes the principal bath house. A slight gallery is built along the partitions dividing the several baths, for visitors to occupy who wish to enjoy the company of their friends, without the inconvenience of lying in the water. This is absolutely necessary, for if eight hours are to be passed in the bath and two in bed, and the person enduring all this is to be left alone in the mean time, the life of an anchorite would be far preferable to it. It is solitary confinement in the penitentiary, with the exception that the cell is a watery one. All the bathers, of both sexes and all ages and conditions, are clothed in long woollen mantles with a tippet around their shoulders, and sit on benches ranged round the bath, under water up to their necks. Stroll into this large bathing room awhile after dinner, the first thing that meets your eye is some dozen or fifteen heads bobbing up and down, like buoys, on the surface of the steaming water. There, wagging backwards and forwards, is the shaven crown of a fat old friar. Close beside, the glossy ringlets of a fair maiden, while between, perhaps, is the moustached face of an invalid officer. In another direction, gray hairs are floating on the tide,” and the withered faces of old dames peer 66 over the flood." But to sit and soak a whole day, even in company, is no slight penalty, and so to while away the lazy hours, one is engaged in reading a newspaper which he holds over his head, another in discussing a bit of toast on a floating table; a third, in keeping a withered nosegay, like a waterlily, just above the surface, while it is hard to tell which looks most dolorous, the withered flowers or her face. In one corner two persons are engaged in playing chess; and in another, three or four more, with their chins just out of water, are enjoying a pleasant" tête-à-tête" about the delectability of being under water, seething away at a temperature of nearly 120 deg., eight hours per day. Persons making their daily calls on their friends are entering and leaving the gallery, or leaning over engaged in earnest conversation with those below them. Not much etiquette is observed in leave-taking, for if the patient should attempt a bow he would duck his head under water. Laughable as this may seem, it is nevertheless a grave matter, and no one would

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