duction of the finest qualities of wines. At certain periods they have a great fête, at which premiums are distributed to the most meritorious wine-growers; and on these occasions sometimes as many as sixteen thousand spectators, from all parts of Switzerland, are present; and they are entertained with processions, dances, songs, banquets, and dramatic exhibitions of a most unique character, embracing “a medley of heathen ceremony and scriptural scenes from the Old Testament, mixed up with customs. still observed in the Canton."

"Clarens, sweet Clarens, birthplace of deep love,"

is the next village southeast of Vevay, and then comes Montreux, both, like Lausanne and Vevay, beautifully situated on the east shore, or near the shore of the lake, with a southern exposure. Next is Chillon, which can hardly be called a village, as we remember to have seen little more than scattering dwellings along the road which leads by the Chateau. As we were now soon to cross the mountains to Chamouni, and thence to take the diligence to Geneva, on going aboard the boat at Lausanne, we had our baggage checked direct to Geneva. From Vevay we proceeded to Chillon, where we landed, and our party of four (Mr. Evans and daughter being still with us) were in about twenty minutes conveyed in a rowboat to the Castle of Chillon, too late, however, to be admitted that evening, although the boatmen, who were in for a job, assured us that we should be in time. Arranging for an early admission in the morning, as we desired to take the first boat for Villeneuve, we walked a short distance to the nearest public house-a small hôtel or pension built against the perpendicular side of a cliff,

the top of which, where there was a vineyard, being reached by long ladders from the side of the highway. Here we had comfortable accommodations in rooms fronting on the lake; and the charge therefor was so ridiculously low that we give it: For supper, lodging, and breakfast, our bill for each person was just three francs and a half-seventy cents! In the morning by seven o'clock we were at the Castle, which resembles some of the smaller castles on the Rhine, and which we entered over a bridge. Until the invention of gunpowder it is said this Castle was considered impregnable, being entirely surrounded by water, which is very deep against the walls on the lake side.

"Lake Leman lies by Chillon's walls;
A thousand feet, in depths below,
Its massy waters meet and flow;
Thus much the fathomed line was sent
From Chillon's snow-white battlement,
Which round about the wave enthralls."

We were conducted over nearly the entire structure, going first into the dungeon where Bonnivard, prior of St. Victor, the "Prisoner of Chillon," made immortal by Byron, was confined six years, about 1536, and where we saw the ring in the stone pillar to which Bonnivard was chained. The name of Byron, cut by his own hand, appears on this pillar, or on one near it, and in an adjoining dungeon we saw the stone bed on which prisoners had to sleep, if they slept at all, on the night preceding their execution. The rooms occupied six hundred years ago by the Duke and Duchess of Savoy are now uninhabitable, and the banquet room is filled with old flags and other ancient relics. Other rooms contain cannon and a variety of other war implements.

On our way by Villeneuve, a large village, at which we did not stop, at the end of the lake, to Bouveret, we passed in the steamer near a diminutive island, only about large enough to support one or two trees, and this was the only spot of land within sight of Bonnivard, through the narrow opening in his dungeon wall. We reached Bouveret, a woe-begone looking little village, at nine o'clock in the morning, where we had to wait until noon for the train to Martigny, arriving at the latter place about half past one. This is the point of starting up over the mountains for the valley of Chamouni, and we had the afternoon for preparation and rest. Between Bouveret and Martigny we passed near the Gorge du Trient and the Falls of Sallenche in plain sight. This cascade has a fall of one hundred and twenty feet, ending almost in spray, and is very beautiful. The Gorge, so far as the splitting of the mountain is concerned, is quite as wonderful, perhaps, as the Tamina Gorge at Ragatz. In 1867 the writer walked into the Gorge du Trient half a mile or more on a narrow suspension foot bridge over and along the rushing river Trient-a principal tributary of the Rhone-the mountain opening just enough to allow the waters to pass between walls we should judge to be four hundred feet in height. In many places the space was so narrow and the walls so projecting that we could not see the sky above It is this Gorge, no doubt, of which Byron

us.

wrote:

"Now where the swift Rhone cleaves his way between
Heights which appear as lovers who have parted

In haste, whose mining depths so intervene

That they can meet no more, tho' broken hearted;

Though in their souls, which thus each other thwarted,

Love was the very root of the foul rage

Which blighted their life's bloom, and then departed —
Itself expired, but leaving them an age

Of years all winters - war within themselves to wage."

CHAPTER XXIX.

HAMOUNI, SEPTEMBER 27.-There is little of interest at Martigny, a village of some thirteen hundred inhabitants, but the surrounding scenery is grand. It is situated at the foot of the mountains where special conveyances are engaged for Chamouni, either by Tête Noir, or Col de Balme, as the traveler may choose. By the former route one may go in a low, narrow carriage, but by the latter, which we took, transportation is only by mules or donkeys. Having the whole afternoon at our disposal before starting on our route the next morning, we amused ourselves as best we could by walking around town and out over the river Dranse in the suburbs toward the Castle of La Batie, situated on a high bluff a mile or so from the village. The ruins of this old Castle add much to the picturesqueness of the place. The monks of St. Bernard have a convent here, but we remember to have seen no elegant buildings. We sought out the postmaster for some postage stamps, and seeing that he was engaged in making wine, we expressed a desire to see the wine press. He cheerfully acquiesced, and took us to the mill, a short distance from his office, where we were treated to a ladleful of the unfermented juice out of the wine vat. It tasted like sweet cider. The press resembled the old-fashioned

cider press. On our way back to our hôtel we were entertained by the violent antics of a donkey that took it into his head to run off with a load of fodder, regardless of sidewalks and frightened women and children. He was soon overtaken, however, and received a sound lashing for his ill-behavior. Our attention was also attracted by a peasant woman carrying a large basket of clothes on her head, and her bonnet or hat under one arm, while she was leading a goat and knitting all at the same time. Such industry surely ought to reap a suitable reward.

Having made our arrangements for guides and mules the preceding evening, we were ready to proceed on our journey at half past seven on the morning of the 25th instant. Our traveling companions were now increased to six. At least we formed a party of eight, who, with guides and mules, were to jog along together over the mountains. Each couple had two mules and one guide between them, except a Mr. Hoskins and wife, from London, who hired but one mule, Mr. Hoskins walking the whole way. An Irish member of Parliament, Mr. Brooks, and his wife, and Mr. Thomas Evans and daughter, previously mentioned, were the other two couples. The guides generally held the reins of the ladies' mules, but the gentlemen managed their own, or rather left the animals to do as they pleased. It was amusing to watch their perambulations. The writer's mule, like all the rest, we have no doubt, was very clever, in the English sense of that word at least. He had a decided penchant for going as near the edges of precipices as possible without falling over, and especially when we came to the short turns in our zigzag course. Several times in such places we drew a