Italy looks cloudily down upon me, and it rains. Whilst I rest here a day, at the foot of Simplon, I will say a few words about the journey across the mountain.
I waited at Viege for the diligence, which passes through that place in the night from Lausanne. It arrived at three o'clock, but quite full. They gave me, however, a little carriage with one horse; a brisk, active young woman at the public house, helped me in, together with my luggage, in the dark, and away we went up the hill. My carriage, very rickety from the beginning, grew more out of condition with every jolt. But the peculiar and grand character of the journey occupied my attention. From Birisal to the heights of the Simplon, I went on foot. The scenery was wild, and of an imposing grandeur. The sun shone upon the mass of cloud, and wind chased the misty shadows amongst the mountains. All around, in an immense circle, glaciers and snow-covered mountain peaks gleamed forth from amongst the clouds. Before me rose a lofty mountain, shaped like a cupola, the top of which was covered with black cloud, whilst the lower part was lighted up by bright sunshine. It was the peak of the Simplon. Troops of misty shapes were chased round it by the wind, as in a wild sweep, while they strove to reach the top, which seemed, in its turn, to reject them. The black cloud lay threateningly above, and the white misty spectres careered around, like the unhappy and unsettled souls in the hell of Dante. Still increasing in number, they ascended from the depths below; still more and more wildly were they chased round the ice-
