in at Annemasse, could succeed in raising
them. But at the inn a blazing fire, a good
dinner, and Mr. King's engrossing book of
travels, contented us for that night, and
next day the fine weather set in and re-
mained. And what a paradise we enjoyed!
If there are days on which "the heavens
seem brought down to the earth," it was
surely those. We seldom made very long
excursions; we often started walking with-
out an idea in the world as to whither we
were going; and yet we always in the end
found ourselves at some foaming cascade,
glacier, or point of view. Sometimes we
spent whole days on the mountain, fragrant
with aromatic scents, without meeting
even a peasant in our wanderings. Only
the scattered sheep and goats occasionally
came up and rubbed their noses affection-
ately against us. Often close under the
"eternal silences" of the glaciers, we
gazed up to where

For a great sign the icy stair doth go
Between the heights to heaven,

friends with the natives. We were fortu- | gradually sank so low that not even the nate once in finding a friend in our sole free gift of one hundred days' indulgence travelling companion on the diligence from each, from a snuffy old priest who had got Geneva. It was a drenching downpour, and "the gates of the hills" were swathed in cruel grey rolls of mist. But a cheery voice soon came from a tall, somewhat bent, middle-aged man, wearing a peasant's blouse, who astonished us by greeting us in English, with a fine American twang. He was very communicative, and we soon discovered that he was a native of the valley who had just returned from fifteen years' work in San Francisco, having "made his pile." He was now prepared to seek a wife, buy a little homestead, and settle down for good in the old country. Accustomed to American go-ahead farming operations, he groaned terribly over the archaic methods in vogue in the valley. "Ah!" he said regretfully, as we passed one humble homestead after anothereach with its rough wooden balcony, its pile of manure heaped up against the house, and its poor garden plot- I could teach them a thing or two!" He was a knowing hand, this Savoyard-Yankee. Long residence in America had not dimmed his remembrance of his countrymen's ways. At Geneva, he told us with pride, he had purchased his cotton blouse, for otherwise they would have imposed upon him as on a stranger; "and," he added, "I shall save the price of it many times before I get to Chamonix." And so it proved; for, on comparing our respective diligence fares, we found that, though we alboccupied precisely the same seats in that ramshackle old vehicle, he had paid only one-third of what we had. At Sallanches he avoided the table d'hôte and lunched on his own account in a separate room. "Ah!" he said, on coming out, "what did you pay? Four francs! Why, I had exactly the same food as you had, but I got it for half the price." What a pity that we, too, had not invested in blue cotton blouses at Geneva ! for, obviously, it is but the blouse that makes the peasant- and commands peasant prices. Our friend bore otherwise no resemblance to a rustic; he was a distinct fraud; his clothes were beyond reproach, he wore gold rings, his shirt was fine, and he fingered his napoleons with the ease of a millionaire. He was very fond of the hills; "I loved them," he said, "when I was a boy, but I hardly dared to speak of them. Damn the mountains!' my father would say; they give us no food.""

We parted company with him at Les Ouches, and the rain increasing, our spirits

and it seemed almost sacrilege to break the stillness. Even the poets have not broken silence before Mont Blanc quite successfully. Coleridge has, perhaps, come nearest to the grandeur of his theme in the " Hymn before Sunrise," but he, too, is inadequate.

You can make no "grand ascents," of course, in May; but you will be unwise if you do not make friends with a guide or two -they are the pick of the peasants, and all the Savoyard peasants are worth knowing. They are much pleasanter than the Swiss of the Rhone valley; and, indeed, the first thing that strikes one on passing over the Tête Noire to Martigny is the curt grunt-or, oftener, stony glare - that takes the place of the pleasant bon voyage on the French side of the pass. It is wonderful, too, how simple and unspoiled the Chamonix people still are, considering the demoralizing tendency of the tourist crowd. In May, before the ". 'season sets in, they all seem unaffectedly glad to see you, and have plenty of time to talk about themselves. Our chief friend was one Séraphin Simond, of the village of La Tour; he is considered a man of property, for he keeps three cows. As a gentleman of property should be, Simond is a decided Conservative. would have driven our Savoyard-Yankee friend of the diligence to utter despair, for to Simond every custom of the country

He

.

66

any one- - any old gentleman or lady up Mont Blanc." This was not so flattering. "It is a mere nothing of an expedition," added Simond. 66 It may affect madame unpleasantly at first; she will be a little sickle mal de montagne- that is all; or she may turn a little black in the face. But we will get her up to the top nicely."

66

Certainement, car madame a de bonnes jambes," concluded Bertrand earnestly – and critically.

was as the law of the Medes and Persians, which altereth not." Walking one day up the valley, en route for the Flégère, we wondered why every cow or goat pasturing in the meadows required a special attendant - either man, woman, or child set apart for its own use; no animal being ever seen without its caretaker. We remarked to Simond that this seemed rather a waste of time and energy. "C'est bien possible!" gravely replied the owner of three cows; "mais 99 and this refrain constantly came "c'est une habitude du pays." Simond was never surprised by anything we said; he listened respectfully, but always remained of his own opinion. However, this particular instance of apparent waste of time is no doubt due to the communal system. The peasant pays so much per cow for the right of common pasturage; therefore his object is that his cow should get as much as possible from the common land and not feed on his own, nor, of course, trespass on his neighbor's. And tending cows is not by any means such waste of time as would appear, for we discovered that you can do three things at a time mend stockings, carry a load of wood, and tend a cow. Many women knitted beside their cow; one we saw reading a book. Often small children are told off to tend cows and goats, and a pretty handful they seem to find them. At Martigny once we saw a lame old man whose cow was just like a pet dog, turning round to be patted, and even sniffing at his coat pockets for bread. Although we embarked on no very arduous excursions, Simond expressed great admiration Our favorite halting-place on many exof the powers of walking displayed by cursions was a humble little auberge at "madame." One day, as we were cross-the hamlet of Les Ouches, where they ing the Mer de Glace from Montanvert, he exclaimed approvingly, "Madame grimpe comme un chamois." Madame felt flattered at this till she remembered that all the guides always said as much, on principle, to everybody. Like the children of Heine's ballad, they have probably

Made the very same speeches
To many an old cat since.

Simond and another guide Bertrand, accompanied us to the Jardin one cloudless day. Bertrand, a tall, silent young fellow, I also pretended to be lost in amazement at madame's walking. "Yes, monsieur and I madame ought certainly to ascend Mont Blanc," said Simond. "Madame would I do it capitally." This seemed to require I confirmation. Bertrand was appealed to. He grinned, then spoke gravely: "Two good guides," he said, can safely take

A propos of the ascent of Mont Blanc, Simond pointed out to us a fine house with green shutters, situated high up the valley, near Argentière. This, he said, was in. habited by the well-known English lady who had married her guide after an ascent of Mont Blanc in mid-winter. Jean Charlet, the husband, was "un pauvre garçon, added Simond, and she was 66 très riche." Jean had been her guide for fourteen. years, and they were both middle-aged nearly forty- when they married, and that was now about ten or twelve years ago. "Had they ever ascended Mont Blanc since?" we asked. "Non, jamais. Elle fait le ménage, elle élève ses deux garçons; c'est une personne très convena. ble." "Are they happy?" we inquired. "Yes, very," Simond asseverated. "She must have been very strong to have gone up in winter." Oui, c'est une dame très forte, très robuste; elle a de bonnes jambes." Bertrand no doubt imagined when he delivered the critical opinion above mentioned that all English ladies were built on the same pattern.

never had any kind of meat, but always excellent bread, milk, eggs, and red wine. The landlady and her husband were strong, bustling people, who had a good deal of "custom" in a small way. We noticed once a little heap of something sitting on a high chair at the door. On looking closer we imagined it to be a sickly baby; but it was the couple's only son, and it turned out that he was over twenty. It seemed that he had had a bad fever at nine years old, and in consequence of this he was all wizened and deformed, and sat all day at the door or in the chimney-corner, propped up on tiny crutches; it was a sad sight. The waiter at Chamonix, who was sympathetic and conversa. tional, told us afterwards that the parents were gens de bien, and that last year, when the "conscription came, the father was obliged, according to the regulations, to

bring the boy up to be examined " pour | bread, but we did our best, so as not to

être soldat," and that "le père avait pleuré en l'amenant."

The story brought tears to our own eyes.

hurt his feelings. He really seemed terribly ashamed to have nothing better to offer us. Poor simple paysan! alone in his solitary cabin on the far away Alp with This little inn at Les Ouches was a real no wife, no child, only a few goats for his comfort, for the one drawback if draw- companions. Two or three of the comback must be confessed to Chamonix in mon green glazed pots of the valley stood May was that when on many of our ex-in the windows of his hut, gay with trailcursions, thirsty and tired, we longed for ing plants. The old peasant was evidently a refreshing drink, we were apt to find the a lover of flowers; perhaps they were the Alpine inn on which our hopes had long sole brighteners of his solitude. been set all deserted and boarded up for the winter. Most of these high-lying inns do not open until at least the first of June, and only a disconsolate goat or two wandered about their inhospitable doors. But on one occasion, when returning sad and weary, cheated of a meal, from the deserted inn on the Col de Voza, we met an old peasant toiling up the steep hill slope to his poor little châlet, under a heavy crate filled with faggots, we told him how hungry we were, and begged him to direct us to the nearest inn. Instantly he led the way to his poor hut, brought out his rough wooden stools, placing them for us on the grassy Alp outside, and fetched all his provisions. Alas! they were only black bread, and an almost uneatable cheese made from goats' milk. No wine, no milk did he possess. "Je suis honteux," he said sadly, "d'apporter cela pour une dame, mais je suis simple paysan." We could hardly manage to bite the black

But happy, after all, is he who can confess to so few wants! Our SavoyardYankee, with all his latest improvements in the way of civilization, is probably the less happy man of the two. We met him again at Les Ouches, just before leaving. He was still loafing about in his blouse, and apparently teaching the rustics a thing or two, for he was followed about by a crowd of admiring little boys. He seemed less bent than before on coming back to settle in his native valley. He was so disgusted, he said, with the poor way in which they lived, and with the old-world style of agriculture. "But you will wake them up a bit, as you proposed to do," we remarked a little unkindly. "Oh, no!" he replied gloomily; "it's hopeless. I can't get them to pick up any new notion." So they will remain simples paysans still. The chance of learning something of these simple peasants is not the least of the charms of Chamonix in May.

THE SOLDIER OF 1854 AND 1891.-In 1854 the soldier was tightly buttoned, tightly stocked, and closely shaved, till, in consequence of comments" in those horrible newspapers," the torture was relaxed by orders from home; but I am bound to say that the infantry of that day, if they suffered for it in the flesh, looked far better than the men of 1891. The shako (or "Albert hat," as it was called), heavily as it weighed upon the head, was prettier if less martial, with all its show of brass ornament and tuft, than the pickelhaube worn by the 32nd and other Russian regiments on the Alma, recently copied by our army from the all-conquering Prussian. The uniforms fitted better to the men, and were of finer-looking cloth than they are now. The officer was epauletted and bestrapped, and his blue frock-coat or double-breasted swallow-tail sat closely to his figure. The Guards loomed larger and taller than they do now. They and the Fusilier regiments sported far loftier bearskins, and there were many distinctive regimental badges on shako and button. The line cavalry were much more brilliant. Hussars and horse artillery wore pelisses, and there was a brilliant display of lace and feathers

generally in all arms, and along the line the colors marked the centre of each regiment. I confess that it seems to my eye as if the days of smartness have fled from the army, with the exception of the cavalry and some special corps; but it matters little if the spirit, of which that smartness was taken to be a soldierly indication, still beats under the shapeless sack in which the frame of the warrior is encased at present.

Dr. W. H. Russell, in Army and Navy Gazette.

WARMING RAILWAY CARRIAGES. The new steam-heating wagons for the Prussian State Railways have just been put for the first time on the line from Berlin to Potsdam. They are built in the form of a luggage van, are painted brown, and are marked"Heizwagen.' One of these wagons is placed in the middle of the train, the steam for warming the car riages being conveyed to the latter through flexible tubing from each end of the wagon A low chimney through the roof is provided for the smoke from the boiler furnace.

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