WHERE THE MAIDEN LEAPED FROM.
Near Martigny we pass an old dilapidated castle, that, seven hundred years ago, was the stronghold of Peter of Savoy, who ruled with an iron hand the people in the neighboring Cantons.
Now we leave the valley of the Rhone and begin in earnest the ascent of the mountains.
It is hard to realize that horses and carriage can make their way over these great towering mountains. Apparently they are inaccessible as the clouds that float lazily above them. But we bowl along the hard white road at a rattling pace, and are soon at an elevation from which the villages in the valley below look like toy towns. The road is a continuous letter Z, winding up the side of the mountain, each tack bringing us higher and higher.
The air is clear and dry, so that at each turn in the road a wonderful view is afforded. Across the valley are seen well cultivated farms, with men and women hard at work in the harvest fields. Further down is a grove, the green foliage standing out in bold relief from the golden fields of grain that surround it, while above towers an old ruined church, its cold, gray color softened and subdued by the ivy that nearly covers it.
There is an exhilaration as we mount higher and higher. All thoughts of worldly cares are thrown to the winds and we revel in the delights of this new and wonderful experience. We almost envy the Swiss peasant as he cuts the sweet-smelling grass high up the mountain side. We are tempted to stop and visit some of these ugly chalets, with their stone-anchored roofs, which looked like miniature bee-hives from the valley below. We want to do almost anything to give vent to the superabundant supply of animal spirits this clear and bracing air produces.
A WOEFUL LACK.
We were subjected, however, to many grievous disappointments. We expected the moment we struck the Alps to see the graceful chamois, leaping from crag to crag, the Alpine hunter, dressed in knee breeches, with a peaked hat and particolored ribbons wound around his stockings. We kept sharp lookout for the Swiss maidens with their broad-brimmed hats and picturesque short dresses, and above all we hungered for a sight of a Swiss chalet, one of those delightfully beautiful and picturesque houses, all angles and gables, and things of that nature, which we all have admired at Long Branch and other watering places in America.