t the scene. My amusement was climbing the most
frightful precipices, followed by the large and faithful dogs, and
viewing nature in her wildest and most sublime attire. At other times,
when bodily fatigue required rest, I sat down, with morbid melancholy,
in the receptacle for the bodies of those unfortunate persons who had
perished in the snow. There would I remain for hours, musing on their
fate: the purity of the air admitted neither putrefaction, or even
decay, for a very considerable time; and they lay, to all appearance,
as if the breath had even then only quitted them, although, on
touching those who had been there for years, they would often crumble
into dust.

Roman Catholics, we know, are ever anxious to make converts. The prior
asked me whether I was not a protestant? I replied, that I was of no
religion; which answer was, I believe, much nearer to the truth than
any other I could have given. The reply was far more favourable to the
hopes of the monks, than if I had said I was a heretic or a moslem.
They thought me much more likely to become a convert to _their_
religion, since I had none of my own to oppose to it. The monks
immediately arranged themselves in theological order, with the whole
armour of faith, and laid constant siege to me on all sides; but I was
not inclined to any religion, much less to the one I despised. I would
sooner have turned Turk.

I received a letter from poor unhappy Eugenia--it was the last she
ever wrote. It was to acquaint me with the death of her lovely boy,
who, having wandered from the house, had fallen into a trout-stream,
where he was found drowned some hours after. In her distracted
state of mind, she could add no more than her blessing, and a firm
conviction that we should never meet again in this world. Her letter
concluded incoherently; and although I should have said, in the
morning, that my mind had not room for another sorrow, yet the loss of
this sweet boy, and the state of his wretched mother, found a place in
my bosom for a time, to the total exclusion of all other cares. She
requested me to hasten to her without delay, if I wished to see her
before she died.

I took leave of the monks, and travelled with all speed to Paris, and
thence to Calais. Reaching Quillac's hotel, I received a shock which,
although I apprehended danger, I was not prepared for. It was a letter
from Eugenia's agent, announcing her death. She had been seized with
a brain fever, and had d