St. Bernard; thus interposing entirely between France and Italy, and cutting off the communication between the forces of Napoleon and those in the plains of Lombardy.

With this reference to the political state of the Valais, one fact may be stated as to its ecclesiastical condition. The Grand Council of the Canton, under direction of Jesuit priests, have adopted a law respecting illegal assemblies, and condemnable discussions and conversations, of which the first article runs as follows :— "Those who hold conversations tending to scandalise the Holy Catholic Apostolic and Roman religion, or contrary to good morals, shall be punished with a fine of from 20 to 200 francs, und imprisonment from a month to two years. Also those who introduce, affix, expose, lend, distribute, or keep secretly and without authorisation, writings or bad books, or caricatures which attack directly or indirectly the Holy Religion of the State and its Ministers. The objects designated shall be confiscated, and in case of a second offence, the highest amount of fine and imprisonment shall be doubled. Blasphemers are to be punished according to the criminal laws."

Accordingly the penalty of their violation would be incurred by any one who should allege that in his opinion a declared miracle is apocryphal—that a certain priest was not the most virtuous of beings-or that an excess of honour was rendered to the Virgin Mary. Even at this period in the history of the world, the fine is appointed to be levied on the heretic, and the dungeon to incarcerate him for his offence!

Nor is this all; to write books which challenge inquiry into the religion of the state, to give, or to lend one, and even to possess such works, without special authority, is to hazard similar penalties. Such is Jesuit intolerance, in order to prevent the rising of a thought inimical to its power. How effectual is its usurpation is evident from the mental and moral condition of the population of the Valais, and the more this is examined, the more distressing will be the results of this iron bondage to every well-regulated mind.

CHAPTER XIII.

A WINTER ADVENTURE IN THE SIMPLON PASS.

A LADY has recently given a graphic account of a winter adventure in the Simplon Pass, in one of our popular periodicals.*. She left England, accompanied by a friend, in the latter part of the month of October, 1845, to join some part of her family, who were at that time residing in the north of Italy. Passing over the previous incidents of her journey, to avoid a notice of places on which we have already touched, we select a portion of her narrative, beginning at the starting of the travellers from Brieg.

"In spite of the advantages of the road, our voiturier judged it inexpedient to tax the strength of his three white horses in dragging us up the mountain, and he employed for that purpose four stout horses from the post-house at Brieg, leaving his own to follow at their leisure the progress of our carriage. The first part of our journey was entirely absorbed in admiration of the grandeur of the scene. The road runs near to the gorge of the Saltine, on the verge of a precipice, whence at a vast depth the torrent is seen forcing its way tumultuously through the rocks. The scene is grand and almost terrific, when, crossing the torrent by a lofty bridge, called Pont du Gauther, the road turns down on the opposite side, and, by various and most tortuous ways, brings the traveller to the little inn of Bérésal. The upper end of this ravine is fearfully subject to avalanches, and, contrary to the usual custom of the country, the bridge is uncovered, for it is supposed that any additional resistance of timber work would expose it to inevitable destruction by the fearful currents of air that accompany the fall of each avalanche. We were desired to dine at Bérésal, and, luckily obeying the orders of our voiturier, we really fared very tolerably, contrary to the expectations we had formed from the homely appearance of the small tavern of the place. Soon after leaving Bérésal, we passed the first gallery, 95 feet long and between 3,000 and 4,000 feet above the Glys. The view from this point of the Bernese Alps, glorious no doubt in clear weather, was on this day misty, dim, and uncertain, and we could barely discern the giant peaks of the Breithorn and Aletsch-hörner.

"The cheerful sense of security which had attended us on our way as far as Bérésal, here began to diminish considerably; for soon we perceived, not only that the road was covered with snow, getting deeper and deeper every yard we advanced, but also that it was beginning to snow afresh, while the air grew perceptibly denser, and rapid, sudden, and startling gusts of wind from time to time seemed to forbode the coming storm. As we could have no hope of reaching Simplon under three hours and a half at least, I own I felt considerable disquiet, but I was unwilling to show my friend, already greatly alarmed, the fears that were agitating my mind. The voiturier was grave and cross, and our English servant looked, as English servants too frequently do in difficulties, most

"The Leisure Hour."

gloomy and discouraging; and few things are more disagreeable than a long sulky face when one wants a few words of comfort. The portion of the road which we had now to traverse, between the fifth refuge and the summit, is reckoned, though I did not know it at the time, the most dangerous of all; and to protect unfortunate travellers as far as possible from the perils of avalanches, it has six places of shelter, three galleries, two refuges, and a hospice. The refuges are inhabited by labourers, who are employed upon the road, and also, as we afterwards found, in protecting and aiding those who are so unhappy as to be overtaken by storms in this fearful locality. By the time we left this fifth refuge, no doubt could exist as to the alarming state of the weather. It was blowing hard, the cold being bitter and intense; the snow was driving in our faces, and thickening the air so much that hardly anything beyond the immediate road could be discerned. These storms, in Alpine language, are called "tourmentes," and truly they deserve the name. One peculiar feature of them is, that the snow, so called, resembles more a shower of ice, and the flakes or morsels thereof, driving hard and fast into the face and eyes of the unhappy traveller, so blind and stupify him, that, exhausted in the attempt to battle with the icy tempest, he too frequently sinks down in the snow, and, overtaken by an irresistible stupor, miserably perishes. A fall of snow in these regions, it will therefore be seen, is a wholly different matter from the soft, large, woolly flakes which we are accustomed to in the world below.

"The darkness was increasing upon us every instant, and the snow on the road had now become so deep as to hide nearly half the wheels of the carriage, and cause the greatest difficulty in their turning at all. The snow being also newly fallen, was wholly untracked; und, no wall or parapet being possible in this part of the road, the path is only divided from the edge of the precipice by occasional large, heavy, single stones, something like magnified mile-stones. Against these we more than once heard the wheels of the carriage grate, proving how fearfully near the edge we were: and there really seemed nothing to guide or to save our struggling horses from overstepping the almost imperceptible boundary that lay between us and total destruction. It was a fearful scene, and one calculated to try the strongest nerves. My friend, terrified beyond all control, insisted on getting out of the carriage, and I, as in duty bound, followed. The danger of our position really seemed frightful. Men and horses were blinded and driven back by the wind and incessant fall of snow which came direct against them; and though striving hard to get on, they constantly stumbled and fell in the untracked and deep snow. The horses could only by the greatest exertions be induced to face the gale, or move a step onwards, their labour being of course doubled by the difficulty of forcing the clogged wheels to advance at all. Night, and that too a fearful one of storm, was evidently fast approaching. What was to be done? became the question. By this time we were getting near to the sixth refuge, and feeling that our ineffectual attempts to get on in the snow were only additional hindrances to the men, I persuaded my friend to return to the carriage. I felt almost in despair, for it seemed to me absolutely impossible that we should this night pass beyond the place where we now were. But at this moment we stopped, and, hearing strange voices, I looked out, and perceived that two men from the refuge had joined us: wild figures they were, enveloped in goat skins, yet I hailed their arrival with joy and gratitude, for I felt sure that some help was now near. One soon advanced to me, and, announcing himself as the inspector of the Simplon road, and therefore, of course, the chief of the band of men thereon employed, assured me that, though our situation was certainly alarming, he hoped to be able to get us on to the Hospice, where the monks would instantly admit us, and there, he said, we must sleep. "At this crisis our voiturier joined the conference, and with his usual obstinacy, objecting strongly to this plan, insisted that we must go on to Simplon, where, he said, we should certainly arrive before night. I soon perceived the cause of this perverse

opposition, which was the fear of having to keep and pay for, during another day, the four horses and their driver whom he had brought from Brieg; and for this pitiful consideration he was willing to risk all our lives without the slightest compunction. My friend the inspector, a remarkably pleasant-looking man, with a more open countenance than is usually seen among the Swiss, was not, however, of a sort to give way on a point so important, and he insisted on our adopting his plan, saying he was in a manner responsible for travellers, and that he could not agree to our making so desperate an attempt as to proceed on our journey in such a night as he foresaw this was likely to be. He said the road was wholly untracked, and that it was next to impossible for any carriage on wheels to get on; but that if we slept at the Hospice, we might perhaps, by sending for sledges, get on the next day. I strongly supported his arguments, and finally carried the point by peremptorily telling the voiturier that, if he said any more, I would dismiss him instantly on arriving at Domo d'Ossola, and send him back to Basle, and at the same time write to the hotel keeper and others there an account of his misconduct. He submitted, therefore, with a very bad grace, and we slowly and painfully proceeded on our way. The inspector and his man being provided with spades of a peculiar kind, preceded us, and by digging and shovelling away the snow in the worst parts, and making a sort of track for the horses to follow, they considerably diminished tho difficulties of our progress, which, though the distance is only half a mile between the last refuge and the Hospice, occupied a very long time. At last we arrived in front of a large and solid edifice, of a sober grey colour, and stopping opposite to it, the inspector advised us to get out and proceed as well as we could on foot, for that it would be both a tedious and difficult operation in so deep a snow to turn the carriage, and get it into the rémise or coachhouse of the Hospice. We of course obeyed, as we should have done any directions he gave, and scrambling with great difficulty through the great masses of snow which covered the ground between us and the gate, chilled through and through, we at last arrived at the entrance, just as the great bell rang, and a monk, with three large dogs, came out to welcome and receive us.

"The refectory, where our guide at first took us, is a large long room, looking front,' and commanding a fine view of the mountains, and the road each way. It was warmed by an enormous stove, and altogether seemed, to us poor shivering wretches, the very perfection of comfort; and the sight of it, joined to the hospitable welcome we received, was most cheering to those who, an hour before, had hardly known where they should pass the night. The monks assured us that their supper would be ready in less than an hour, but they were very anxious that we should immediately have some refreshment; we, however, declined this offer, and begged to wait for the usual supper-time, for we had been too much alarmed and excited to feel very hungry. They then occupied themselves in seeing that rooms were immediately prepared for us, and the stoves lighted, so that they should be warm and comfortable by our bed-time. These rooms were on the opposite side of the corridor. There were four monks, including the prior, all intelligent and agreeable men, but especially so the Père Hubert, who was clavandier or bursar to the establishment. He had been twelve years at the St. Bernard Hospice before coming to the Simplon; the prior, Père Barras, had been there also a much longer time. They expressed great surprise at our having ventured over the mountains in such weather, and strongly blamed the people at Brieg for having allowed us to start. The night of the storm at Bex had been, they said, the setting in of their winter, and it had snowed almost incessantly ever since. The morning that we had thought so satisfactory and promising was, they informed us, exactly what any one at all conversant with the variable and peculiar climate of the Alps, must have known to be the precursor of bad weather and tourmentes. The extreme stillness, the grey sky, and the mild air we had so enjoyed, always, it appears, precede and warn those who understand these signs of the

coming storm. The tourmente now raging was, they said, a terrific one; and they added, that we might indeed congratulate ourselves on being safely housed before night came on. In fact, as I afterwards accidentally ascertained, on this very day, on the Grand St. Bernard, where the tourmente was probably still more fearful, the clavandier of that Hospice, together with three servants and some dogs, were buried beneath an enormous avalanche from the Mont Mort, which covered them to the depth of fifteen feet, and of course all perished.

"We passed the time till supper in agreeable conversation with our kind and courteous hosts, and in profiting as much as possible from the delightful warmth of the great stove. It seemed almost like a dream, for travellers, who had so lately left civilised England, to be supping in the refectory of a convent on the summit of the Alps. They placed us at the head of their long table, they themselves sitting next to us, two and two. On each side, there were some other travellers, apparently of a middling class; and, lastly, our own servants. Nothing could be more excellent than the supper; everything was plain but good; and the wine, which they informed us came from one of their own estates in Italy, was delicious. In this climate, all abstemious rules belonging to their order seem to be suppressed; and this was explained to us by the monks, who said that it was indispensable to health in that climate to live well, and that they had on that account a dispensation from many of the rules practised by their order elsewhere. In fact, they seemed to me, in-doors, to lead a most 'jolly' life, neglecting nothing that could, in that dreary region, conduce to their comfort. They related to us many very interesting particulars of the establishment, and of the adventures that so often occur amid the perils and dangers of their long and rigorous winters. When we spoke of our alarm at the difficulty we had experienced in keeping on the road at all, after we got into the deep snow and out of all track of wheels, Père Hubert told us that the same sort of adventure had occurred some years before, to an English lady and gentleman, who were forced to sleep at the refuge. In the morning, they sent their carriage on, determined themselves to wait for the diligence, which, being on a sledge, would be a safer conveyance than their own coach. The latter vehicle was therefore sent on; providentially it had no one in it, for it actually went over the precipice, horses and all, and was never again heard of. "Our hosts told us that, on the Simplon, they seldom have occasion for the dogs, which are so much used on the St. Bernard. Undismayed by the fearful dangers they encounter, they accompany the monks in the expeditions constantly undertaken for the discovery and relief of exhausted and overwhelmed wayfarers, who must otherwise perish. The dogs are especially useful; being able, from their light weight, to venture across snowdrifts, which would not bear the burden of a man; and frequently, by instinct, they recover the path, when in the darkness and hurricane all traces of it are imperceptible to the human eye. On one occasion, in 1823, all the dogs and three servants, who had been sent out together, were destroyed by an avalanche; and it was feared that the breed (which is supposed to have been originally a cross between the Newfoundland and the Pyrenean) would have been lost, but happily a couple of dogs which the monks had given away were returned to them, and the deficiency supplied. Since that period, they have always kept some young dogs at Martigny, and other places in the valley. The labour performed by the dogs is so great, that they seldom live more than nine years, and are frequently before that time rendered infirm and useless from attacks of rheumatism. In both convents, all travellers, of whatever class, are received, warmed, fed, and supplied with beds, also medicines, or any comforts their state may require; and they are welcome to remain until the weather is such as to permit of their proceeding in safety. Much as we must deplore, as protestants, the erroneous system of doctrine with which they are connected, all travellers in that district must agree that it would be a public loss, and a very great one, should the authorities of the canton persist in their intention to deprive