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THE earth, in all probability, possesses not a nobler scene of natural splendour, than that which is present ed to the traveller, who, from the bridge of Chamouni, looks up the valley towards Mont Blanc, during those few moments when the last rays of the setting sun, lingering on its crest, reflect by their brilliancy a hallowed artificial twilight over the pine-woods and glaciers below; and then, after gradually tinting those eternal snows with every shade of colouring, from the bright glittering of burnished gold, to the softest ple, finally leave them in well defined outline, boldly contrasted with the dark background of a clear autumnal sky; and to Mr Pocock and Mr Wyndham, who, in 1742, were the first to explore the wonders of this stupendous scenery, it must have been enhanced by the peculiar charm attendant on what has hitherto eluded the gaze of the rest of human kind. It is not my intention to sift the causes, or analyse the effects, of a fastidiousness, which, in spite of better and more rational principles, does, and will, detract more or less from the admiration of what is in other respects excellent and perfect, when once it becomes the common property of the world at large. Suffice it to say, it was under the influence of some such feelings that the writer of these pages, satiated with the again and again repeated routine of a Swiss tour, placed his maps before him, and ranged over the circumscribed limits of the time and space at his command, to find something less frequented, though not less interesting.

Names, after all, have more powerful attractions than we are aware of, and possibly, therefore-Breche de Roland-Mt. Perdu-and, though last, not least, Maladetta, had a certain influence in turning his attention to the Pyrenees, a district less visited than other picturesque portions of Europe, and moreover rich in

interesting associations. The valleys amidst these mountains had been the refuge of that singular order of chivalry, the Knights Templars; therein had they raised their banners, and erected chapels in remote recesses, whose remnants were still in existence. Every frontier pass had its eventful tale of daring and lawless smugglers. The gorges and the ca verus had each been the reputed resorts of mountain plunderers: and, above all, many of these romantic heights were endeared to Englishmen, by the recollection of gallant deeds of British valour performed in the closing scenes of the Peninsular

war.

The result was, that the writer found himself, after seeing much that amply repaid his labour, in process of time, in the elevated regions of Bagneres de Luchon, the view from which, down a protracted avenue of nearly a mile in length, is bounded by the apparently insurmountable barrier formed by the Pic de la Pique on the left, and the serrated heights of Estaovas on the right, between which lay concealed the hidden Port of Venasque; the whole forming a frowning screen, excluding from view the mysterious form of Maladetta, "The accursed." It is to this pass, and to this singular mountain, which, although three times more elevated than Snowdon, and little inferior to the highest of the Alps, contrives by its locality to elude observation, requiring to be closely approached to be seen, that he would direct the reader's attention, and request him in imagination to form one of a party preparing at midnight to quit the little town of Luchon, to meet the rising sun upon the uplands, as his first rays should dawn upon the Spanish frontier of Venasque.

The thermometer had during the day, even in the shade, risen to 85 Fahrenheit, and, at this late hour, was stationary at 75; but though not a breath of air was stirring, it was the

glow of heat without the oppression; the moon, in her waning quarter, had just risen behind a bank of mountains, only revealing her presence by a lighter tint in a cloudless heaven, adding by its mild and mellow gleam to the perfection of a night which might have been coveted by the inmates of Paradise. Leaving a galaxy of candles and lanterns, held up by half the wondering villagers assembled to see us set out, our little horses clattered merrily over the pavement, and down the long avenue, till we soon found ourselves in a rough and stony track, winding for a time by the banks of the river Pique, which soon brought us to the foot of the natural mound on which the ruined tower of Castel Viel reared itself, serving in its day as the advanced post and guardian of the valley. Leaving it on our right, we diverged from the line of the river, and began to ascend through a dense and continued forest, the path growing more wild, the trees more grand, as we proceeded, our horses sometimes stepping over the stems of fallen pines, sometimes making a detour to the very edge of the precipice, to avoid their projecting roots and stumps, catching an occasional glimpse through the branches of the peaks of Venasque, towering high in the moonlight. It was the scenery of a dream, in its indistinct sublimity. As the night advanced, and the ascent increased, the glowing warmth of Luchon was exchanged for a piercing chill, and long before one o'clock, all were muffled up in their respective cloaks, capotes, or roquelaures, padding their way in Indian file along the narrow path.

This sudden transition from excessive heat to the searching cold of the mountain air, and the impressive stillness of the romantic scenery, had each, probably, its effect in reducing conversation to an occasional remark, or an involuntary exclamation, as shadowy peaks, or indistinct objects glided into view. It was during one of these intervals, that the silence was interrupted by a shrill scream, evidently distant, but so acute and

mournful, that it was difficult to conceive it uttered by other than an unhappy wanderer on some lonely crag, suffering under severe pain; was it the death-cry of a human being? "No," replied the guide," it is the great night-owl of the woods,* calling to its mate;" and in a few moments the doleful cry was answered by its partner. from the rocks immediately above. As we proceeded, a vast tenebrious mass increasing in size had long been perceived, and its gloomy undefined form had now monopolized nearly the whole of the distant landscape. We knew from its position and outline, that it was in fact the precipitous boundary of our excursion, but to the eye of an ignorant observer, it had all the resemblance of a jet-black gloomy sky, enlivened only by one stray ruddy star, which glimmered alone far above, near the summit. "It is the watchlight of an izard hunter," said our guide; "while yonder fire burns, he may sleep in safety; the wolf and the bear will not molest him.”

About a quarter after two o'clock, we emerged from the forest; and crossing a comparatively flat grassy plain, reached the Hospice of Bagneres, a large lonely building erected for the accommodation of travellers. The loud barking of some shepherds' dogs announced our approach; and, without knocking, the door was speedily opened by the keepers of this secluded hostelry, who, accustomed to see guests of all classes and characters, at all hours and seasons, expressed no surprise at a visit which in most places would have been equally ill-timed and unseason. able.

We were admitted from the passage into a large lugubrious chamber, black and dingy with accumulated dust and smoke, dimly lighted at one end by the smothering remnants of an expiring fire, scattered over a wide hearth-place, and encircled with stools and rude benches recently occupied by a numerous body of shepherds or smugglers, or other doubtful characters, whose bodies, buried in sleep, were inter