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they float on the snow-covered declivity of a mountain, they resemble the almost transparent lawn that half conceals the bosom of Diana.

Notwithstanding the rude surface of these mountainous tracts, there seems no scarcity of the real necessaries of life. You are not lodged in such splendour, or pampered with such luxuries as populous cities afford. Yet you are received with cordial hospitality; your board is plentifully spread, and your charge is honest and reasonable. Their meats are lean, but sweet; their butter and cheese are excellent. They have bread and honey in abundance; and their wine is well-flavored though weak. The abundance they have, flows not from an ingenious system of barter, but is the produce of an indefatigable industry. There is not the smallest spot of land throughout this part of the Alps, capable of use, that is not diligently cultivated. This was not the proper season of the year to see the produce of their lands, or even the foliage of their woods; but we were informed, that from many situations, they obtained good crops of wine and corn; and that their grass was remarkably sweet and nutritious. There is every where good shooting and fishing. It was not in our power to make much observation on their manners. It may however be presumed from the incommunicability of their situation, that they are unpolished and undepraved.

The first night after leaving Chamberry, we slept at St. Jean de Maurienne, the capital of the province; the second night at Lauslebourg, another small town at the foot of Mont-Cenis, and chiefly supported by travellers who are obliged to rest there, and provide themselves with every requisite assistance to ascend the mountain. When we arrived within a post of Lauslebourg, the road, covered with deep snow, was dangerous, and in fact impassable to carriages. We were therefore obliged to alight and be drawn the rest of the way in a sledge. This vehicle is divided into five seats, and drawn by mules, with much more expedition than carriages can be on such unequal roads. You are drawn up the hills as fast, and in descending, the mules almost gallop, and although sometimes on the brink of tremendous precipices, you do not feel half the sensations of alarm that impress your mind in such situations in wheeled carriages. We should have much enjoyed this novel mode of conveyance, had not the approach of evening and our present elevation rendered the cold almost intolerable. We found the little hovel where we halted at Lauslebourg, filled with company, who had arrived that evening from Italy, or who, with us, waited the morning to traverse the mountain. In spite of being placed at the same table with postillions at supper, and being compelled to sleep in four-bedded chambers, we found no want of appetite or rest. At seven in the morning we found our guides prepared to lead us over this difficult pass, more steep, I believe, than any other across the Alps; and in the winter, doubly difficult. Including our muleteers, we were a party of about twenty, and I must indulge in a particular description of our cavalcade. Each passenger was mounted on his mule, with a conductor by his side, and dragging a light sledge at his heels. Thus we proceeded in regular order, wrapped up in all the great coats and gloves we could borrow. I question if Don Quixotte and his knight Sancho Pancha, were two more laughable figures, when they sallied forth from La Mancha, than my friend and myself. The ascent soon became too steep to permit any other than a zig-zag road. This continued nearly three miles, the snow con

stantly increasing in depth as we advanced, and the cold becoming more and more intense. The keen cold winds penetrated our thick clothing, and every exertion of activity, of which we were capable, was insufficient to prevent our feet and fingers from being benumbed. Within half a mile of the top, a heavy snow fell, and deprived us of the extensive mountain-scenery this elevation would have afforded. All around us we had snow, and when we reached the wished for summit, we observed three or four houses, buried to the very eaves in snow, which we were informed were only used in summer as barns to gather in the hay of this mountain, which is said to be superior to any in the world. We here alighted, and resorted to the sledge, in which, being immoveably fixed, with a driver each, seated on our toes, we were drawn with rapidity across a gentle descent of about three miles. On this kind of plain there is an extensive lake, but entirely concealed from our view by the snow. Indeed the guides informed us, that in many parts of our roads we had a depth of thirty or forty feet under us, and that to quit the beaten track, would be at the hazard of our lives. This however is not easy, as the government has planted way-posts along the whole of this glassy tract within five rods of each other. Arrived at an alehouse-like inn at the extremity of the plain, we quitted our sliding cars with that joy that a sailor feels on entering a long-expected port, and sought the friendly fireside to restore the wonted circulation of the blood, and the use of our frozen limbs. One of our party observed, that he had crossed the mountain twenty times, and at all seasons, but never before suffered so severely from the cold. Near the house at which we rested for refreshment, is a building marked with Buonaparte's name, devoted to the salutary purpose of relieving poor travellers, who have occasion to traverse the mountain during the inclemency of winter. The entertainment at the mountain inn was not so good as it ought to have been, but we had some excellent honey, which this plain, covered in the summer with herbage and flowers, yields in great abundance. After having our baggage visited by a revenue officer, and taken warmth and refreshment, we again wrapped ourselves up, and were tied two by two in our vehicles, covered with coarse cloth and stuffed with straw. A large thick blanket was then bound over our arms and shoulders, and pegged to the frame of the machine, that we could neither move hand or foot. Thus secured from cold, as well as from the power of interrupting the course of our guide, we again embarked on our smooth sea, not as before, drawn by mules, their assistance soon appeared unnecessary, but with our conductors seated on the front of each sledge. Our machine, in gliding downwards, needed no other impulse than its own weight; the duty of the conductor was to check, direct, and turn it. We soon reached what I call the precipices. Here there was occasion for all the experience and dexterity of the guides. The descent was tremendously steep, and as the weather was then clear, we could see the depths immediately beneath us, and the sledge tracts formed on their brink in a zig-zag manner, are so narrow, that to overturn would be inevitable destruction. The guide fixed in front depends entirely on the use of his heels, with which he most dexterously turns the obedient machine round the sharp corners, which present a most terrific prospect to the inexperienced traveller, since he glides with almost winged rapidity down those shoots, and at the approach of every angle, has directly before him a sudden precipice of many hundred feet, from which he seems to be secured by only

one slight rail. The skill of the conducter, is, however, with great bodily exertion, a better security. When close to the angle, he checks, the swift motion of the sledge by pressing both heels with all his strength in the snow, and at the turn itself, by stretching one heel out, and bearing with his band on the opposite handle of the sledge, whirls you round the corner in an instant. This motion may be compared with that of a skaiter, and independently of some palpitations until the first two or three angles are passed, is an easy and pleasurable mode of descending. Recovering from the first emotions of surprise at this manner of conveyance, we found ourselves sliding into a kind of amphitheatrical vale surrounded by mountains, presenting on every side, grand and picturesque objects. On the left, you have embodied icicles like rocks, pendent from the highest overhanging brink, and, by the accession of some mineral waters to the melted snow, stained by most clear and beautiful colours. These brilliant incrustations, hanging in various forms over the dark perpendicular rocks, have the appearance of a magnificent basso relievo. On the right, the water from the lake above, gushing over the silvery summit of the precipice, forms an elegant cascade, and falls nearly two hundred perpendicular feet into a kind of grotto, created by accumulation of icicles from the foam of the water-fall, and partly covered with snow. The magnitude of the stream, the height of the fall, the remendous roar, and splendid diffusion of the spray, made this a very interesting scene. After this first fall, it rushes away impetuously over rugged rocks, and constantly falling and constantly increasing, precipitates itself along the side of the road all the way down into the plains of Italy. An idea of its abrupt straggling course may be formed by the nature of the road I am about to describe. Quitting now the most steep part of the descent, you cross the torrent and pass over a sloping plain, until you reach a long vaulted way, formed at a great expense by the same patriotic prince, who excavated the road near the passage of Hannibal. This useful undertaking, like the former, was necessary to render Mont-Cenis passable in the depth of winter. Still continuing to descend rapidly, we found a very perceptible change in the climate, and the snow so nearly melted off the rocky surface, that the sledge became a very uneasy carriage by the time we arrived at a small village about half-way down the mountain. Here we halted, and exchanging our sledges for mules, again proceeded in calvacade order. The road from thence to the town at the foot of the mountain, may be literally called a winding staircase; and is so unequal as well as steep, that I am persuaded, that no other animals than practised mules could have carried us safely over the last three miles. The dangerous and uncomfortable state of the road was, however, almost compensated by the rich and romantic objects around us. The snow had every where disappeared, even from the mountains on the right and left. We began to have a glimpse of the luxuriancy of Italian foliage. The sylvan parts of the scene were relieved by many evergreens and oaks, and brambles of faded hue, which absolutely had not shed the leaves of last year. The rocks, low-browed and impending over the torrent, were clothed in a velvet moss, far more rich and brilliant than it appears in our climates. The sweeping slopes of the majestic mountains were fresh with uncovered verdure, and occasionally ornamented with small cataracts pouring over their sides from the snows on the summit into the torrent beneath. With these kind of views, yet ever varied, were we grati

fied, on our first entrance into Italy, until we reached the small town of Novalisi, where we alighted from our mules, and discharged our conductors, who made a very moderate demand for the service they had rendered us over these long and difficult steeps. Whilst our dinner was preparing, we walked into the town with all the eagerness of curiosity which novelty excites. The distinctions immediately obvious to remark, were, a change of language, a more gross degree of superstition, and a love of finery. Many of the private houses were coarsely bedaubed with Saints and Madonnas, under which were inscriptions emphatically addressed to passers-by. Many crucifixes too were placed in the most conspicuous parts of the streets. The churches (for there were two or three in this small place) seemed most gaudily decorated with many paltry ornaments; and being Sunday, there were crowded congregations. The women were dressed in a manner totally different from any we had seen in France---silk gowns with large showy patterns---shoes of the same kind---and head-dresses bound in a tufted manner round their heads, and crowded with large headed pins. The children too were bedecked in the same gay stile. We observed nothing particular in the exterier of the men, except that they wore net caps instead of hats, of various colours, with long tails hanging behind, and sometimes tassels. The streets were very narrow, and the houses ill-built, awkwardly contrived, and very dirty, Yet a rude love of show prevails even here, for all their doors and windows are painted round the borders with the gayest colours. Leaving this miserable little town, where, if there seemed an equality of condition, it was an equal degree of poverty and wretchedness, we passed with an equipage far superior to what we found in France, over a rocky road, through a narrow romantic vale, with the same torrent by our side, now magnified into a large stream, gradually becoming less and less furious as the declivity diminished, and the hills on each side by degrees melted away.

About four miles from Novalisi is a small town remarkable only for a fortress most advantageously posted to greet the pass to the mountains, on a solitary rock placed by nature in the midst of the valley. Beyond this town, the summits of the hills not so lofty as to be exposed to a severity of climate, yet high enough to command a view of the rich plains of Turin, are adorned by antique castles, convents, or private seats, less remarkable for elegance of structure than the singularity and beauty of their situation.

At eight miles from the capital, we passed through the town of Rovoredo, famous for an engagement (of which we saw the marks) between the French and Russians, in which the former were defeated. On an eminence, close to the town, a palace belonging to the ci-devant Duc d'Aôst, brother to his Sardinian Majesty, stands awfully imposing, both from its magnificence and site. The town itself is well built, and the streets are narrow; this which appears to us a defective mode of constructing a town, is very general in all the small towns of Italy, and in some of the grandest. To exclude the sun from a street is much to be desired in warm climates, yet narrow streets certainly tend to degrade the style of building, for, we generally observed, that in the wide streets of Italy we found the most elegant architecture.

(To be Continued.)

Printed and Published by RICHARD CARLILE, 62, Fleet-street, where all Communications, post-paid, or free of expense, are requested to be left

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The Lion.

No. 23. VOL. 2.] LONDON, Friday, Dec. 5, 1828. [PRICE 6d.

TO THE INHABITANTS OF NOTTINGHAM AND ITS VICINITY.

LETTER IV

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My attention is recalled to you, in consequence of finding in a lateNottingham and Newark Mercury,' that there has been some sparring in the Catholic Journal,' on the subject of Mr. Gilbert's shrinking from a meeting with me for public discussion. I was pleased to find this to have been the case, though you will see by my insertion of a part of that sparring, and of a letter (refused insertion) which I sent to the Editor of that Journal, that the poor sneaking Christians are all tarred with the same brush, whether they be Catholic or Protestant. The Catholic Journal' went on crowingly against Mr. Protestant Gilbert, until some one at Nottingham, some cunning wag, perhaps Gilbert himself or Bailey, hinted that Mr. Catholic Journalist exhibited more affection for Atheism than for Protestantism! That was a damper? That was a raising of the devil! The Christian league was recalled, and Atheism denounced as very contemptible! My letter to the editor of the Catholic Journal' affords you a proof, that neither Catholic nor Protestant can bear discussion with us who. advocate free discussion. Have any of you seen the learned refutations of Mirabaud, Meslier, Paine, and Palmer, that were to come forth spiritualized from the Friar Street Chapel and Gin Shop? I am very impatient to see them. What has been done, that was promised, in consequence of Mr. Gilbert being prevented from meeting me as genteelly as he could wish? I hear of Mr. Gilbert's Lectures about infidelity; but it is contemptible in the lowest degree, to moot controverted subjects in a place where controversy is not allowed. It is the game that is

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Printed and Published by R. CARLILE, 62. Fleet Street. No. 23. Vol. 2. 2 z

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