selves saw many fields in which the corn had been broken quite off. Mr. B-told us that potatoes often saved them from famine when the chesnuts and corn failed. As we advanced, Lucerna was on our right; it was sweetly situated on the opposite side of the Pelice, beneath lofty points, the tower of its church humbly proclaiming richer gifts than the mountains and the vales can bestow; and the morning clouds rolling majestically from the mountains seemed to recall to my mind the promise of the taking away the covering which is over all nations, while the disclosure of the various snowy tops in beautiful succession seemed to hint at the beauties of the celestial world. We saw on the road a tall old gentleman in black, apparently about seventy, with white flowing locks; and on inquiring who it was, were told that it was the pastor of St. Giovanni. The churches of the Protestants and Catholics stand opposed on neighbouring hills,—that of the Protestants very much resembles, though on a smaller scale, the church of Monte de la Trinità at Rome, and has before it a wooden screen, placed there, it is said, to prevent the defilement of the Catholics, by seeing the Protestants enter their place of worship. There is now a large school-room building near the church, and the whole gives the impression that the Protestants are not slumbering, but following the injunction, "work whilst it is called to-day." The church is literally set upon a hill, and cannot be hid, notwithstanding the screen.

Passing Bricherasco and Osasco we again met the Clusone: much did we wish that we could skirt its banks till we reached Pomaretto in the valley of Perosa; for although we knew that the venerable Peyrani no longer endured the struggles of a lofty mind with adverse circum

stances, yet we would fain have seen his dwelling amidst rocks and torrents. This we could not, however, effect, and soon found ourselves quitting these happy valleys and entering Pinerolo.

The inn at Pinerolo is very large; and across a square stands conspicuous the Jesuits' College-that college in which formerly the Protestant children were secluded, to win them from the faith as it is in Jesus. Various churches and monasteries ornament the hills beautifully, but the presence of Sardinian soldiers and innumerable Catholic priests remind one that danger is at hand, and the fold but ill secured from alarm. Before us are the place-d'armes, an hospital and barracks, the work of that enemy to all Protestants, Cardinal Richelieu. In 1808 a dreadful earthquake is said to have roused the inhabitants at midnight, and driven them to the place-d'armes to seek courage in congregated numbers. The situation of the town is beautiful, opening on the right to the plains of Turin, and on the left and front are all the Alpine ranges of Mont Cenis, Monte Viso, and San Genevre. I remember that it was here the Vaudois were represented to the Duke of Savoy, not as men but as monsters, and indeed some of these people almost appear as another race of beings, owing to their prodigious goitres.

Leaving Pinerolo, we passed through Nona, and once more descended to the plains, on which we might have kept our level way even to Venice.

CHAPTER XVIII.

Turin-The Valley of the Doria-Susa-Mont Cenis-The Valley of the Arc-La Chapelle-St. Jean de Maurienne-Houseless peasant.

To quit the noble streets of Turin was to us no effort, and passing through a straight road bordered with trees, we soon arrived at Rivoli, The castle, which once detained Victor Amadeus II. prisoner, overlooks the town. Between Rivoli and Avigliano the mountains begin to rise, and one lofty black height, barren and forbidding, stands at the portal of the wild region you are about to enter; the level land terminates in this direction, and as you approach Avigliano, height after height lies on the right and the left. At Ambrogio the valley becomes narrow, and on the lofty summit of a pyramidal mountain stand the ruins of the castle of San Michele, and beneath is an ancient convent of Benedictines. The Doria flows immediately beneath the rock, and here a cross and there an oratoire seem to consecrate the vale to prayer. Vast mountains of granite commenced at Vayez near St. Antonino. The opening from the valley of St. Ambrogio is very fine, the snowy tops of Alpine heights crossing in every direction. While I sat sketching, the peasantry who passed each stopped to take a peep, and to say some kind word.

Skirting the Doria, we passed the hamlet of San Borgone. For a few miles thence the country takes the appearance of an orchard, abounding in mulberry trees and vines. At

Bussolino is an old Gothic château-indeed these are so numerous on all sides, that a fresh picture is presented at every turn. The rivers Ceneschia and Doria rush from the rocks that overhang Susa, and which form the barrier between Piedmont and France, the Ceneschia from the Mont Cenis, and the Doria (or Riparia) from Mont Genevre. On entering the town of Susa we found it surrounded by noble crags, and soon wandered forth to enjoy. its various beauties. On one side is found the famous marble called "Vert de Suse." We crossed the Doria through a gateway which led us immediately into a rocky defile, through which the Doria roared and foamed in its hasty descent from its source to join the Ceneschia in the vale, and then their united streams flow on till they fall into the Po. The rock immediately above the gateway is magnificent; we gathered from its interstices the finest mountain pinks I have seen; and a woman, with her distaff, driving her goats home, gave life to the scene. As we stretched our heads over the cliffs to catch a glimpse of the noble rocky defile which borders the Doria, and recollected that it was beneath these masses and beside these rough waters, that the eight hundred exiles of the Vaudois fought their way to victory, every point gained a deeper interest, and we could fancy these brave veterans debouching in the dim abyss below. It was perhaps the victory of such men that made us less anxious to see the arch of Augustus in the ancient castle, which omission, in moments of less deep interest, we regretted.

At four the next morning we quitted Susa, with the freshest yet mildest breeze waking our dormant powers. Passing the gate, we enter a fine rocky ravine. The little village of Gariglione is situated amidst rocks, ornamented