troversy, he bore all with unruffled
humour, as if not unwilling to be beaten. At length, after a ride of
twenty miles over the plain, in which the husbandman, with plough as old
in its form as the Georgics, was turning up a soil rich, black, and
glossy as the raven's wing, we arrived at Pignerolo, a town on the
borders of the Vaudois land.

The two Vaudois and myself adjourned to the hotel to dine. Even in this
we had an instance of changed times. In this very town of Pignerolo a
law had been in existence, and was not long repealed, forbidding, under
severe penalties, any one to give meat or drink to a Vaudois. The
"Valleys" were only ten miles distant, and we agreed to walk thither on
foot. Indeed, all such spots must be so visited, if one would feel their
full influence. Leaving Pignerolo, the road began to draw into the bosom
of the mountains, and the scenery became grander at every step. On the
right rose the hills of the Vaudois, with knolls glittering with woods
and cottages scattered at their feet. On the left, long reaches of the
Po, meandering through pasturages and vineyards, gleamed out golden in
the western sun. The scenery reminded me much of the Highlands at
Comrie, only it was on a scale of richness and magnificence unknown to
Scotland.

After advancing a few miles, I chanced to turn and look back. The change
the mountains had undergone struck me much. A division of Alps, tall and
cloud-capped, appeared to have broken off from the main army, and to
have come marching into the plain; and while the mountains were closing
in upon us behind, they appeared to be falling back in front, and
arranging themselves into the segment of a vast circle. A magnificent
amphitheatre had risen noiselessly around us. On all sides save the
south, where a reach of the valley was still visible, the eye met only a
lofty wall of mountains, hung in a rich and gorgeous tapestry of bright
green pasturages and shady pine-forests, with the frequent sunlight
gleam of white chalets. The snows of their summits were veiled in masses
of cloud, which the southerly winds were bringing up upon them from the
Mediterranean. I seemed to have entered some stately temple,--a temple
not of mortal workmanship,--which needed no tall shaft, no groined roof,
no silver lamps, no chisel or pencil of artist to beautify it, and no
white-robed priest to make it holy. It had been built by Him whose power
laid the foundations of the earth, and hung the star