the tempest was magnificent, and I enjoyed the wild spectacle, in my desolate hotel.
Next day, I was seated in a kind of omnibus with a dozen other persons. Three horses trotted on heavily with us along the drenched roads. The rain had now ceased, but the sky was cloudy.
At the station, the conductor came round to the carriage, and, laughing heartily, announced to the travelers that they would not be able to proceed further that day than Vogogna!
Voices from the omnibus.—“What? What? Vogogna? Why? Why not forward to Palanza?”
Reply.—“The Tosa is flooded; it cannot be crossed!”
Long faces in the omnibus, and gloomy silence.
We again trot forward, and it begins again to rain, with low thunder.
Towards noon we arrived at Vogogna, a small and not an ugly town, picturesque in situation, and without any fault, it seems to me, except that of not being the place at which we thought of passing the night.
In the middle of the road stands, with a very melancholy look, as it has stood since last night, the great diligence from Simplon, without horses, waiting till “La Tosa” permits it to cross.
Now arrives a large private post-carriage; draws up, and the people begin to ask what it means?
“Halte là! It is not possible to cross!” says La Tosa. The horses are taken out. Now comes a large, handsome landau. The same question; the same answer, and the same fate. Now come three large carriages in train, Grand-Seigneur-like; and so
