We roll along, by diligence, to Sion, the chief town of Canton Valais, between the mountain-walls of the Rhone valley, which look down gloomily upon us. We stop at Sion, and set off early the next morning to Viege. The clouds travel with us, or rather rush on after us, till finally they drop down upon us in downright rain. A dismal prospect for Monte Rosa; but my young friends are in the highest spirits, form one droll impossible scheme after another, to accompany me to Italy, and laugh heartily at their own fancies. I cannot but laugh with them, but yet am myself any thing but merry.
We have dinner at Viege,—an excellent little dinner, and are waited upon by a handsome, clever Rosa. Viege lies at the entrance of the Zermatt valley, and here the mountain-river, the Viege, throws itself into the Rhone.
At Viege, we must decide either for or against the journey to Monte Rosa. We inquire from all weather-oracles, and behold, the sky grows clearer, and seems to promise favorably. We determine to venture the attempt. This evening we shall reach St. Nicholas. It is two short days' journey, through the Zermatt valley, which is celebrated for its grand scenery.
We set off. Two of us ride, two of us walk with long Alpine staffs in our hands, two guides accompanying us. We see, in Viege, many traces of the earthquake which occurred, last year, in the Canton Valais. The church roof has fallen in; many houses are in ruins. Our journey is beautiful; the valley infinitely picturesque. Both on the right hand, and
