ncon, in Wales, and can imagine them not yet settled into place,
after the first confusion of the Titanic war.

"Ter sunt conati imponere Pelio Ossam
Scilicet, atque Ossa frondosum involvere Olympum;
Ter pater exstructos dejecit fulmine montes."

The view is worth several hours of an artist's time, and its effect is
considerably increased by a solitary tower, resembling a moss-trooper's
abode, which stands in the middle distance. It is called, as we
understood, the Chateau de Crest, and is the relic of a state prison. On
passing a corner of rising ground this wild valley disappears, and the
same rich and cheerful country as has been already described
recommences. The same unbroken rocky barrier bounds the Rhone on the
right, while in front numberless peaks of very distant mountains become
visible over the plain through which its windings are traced.

The neat-looking inn at Loriol probably affords better breakfasts than
the cafe, which, in spite of its neat outside, is dirty and imposing, an
exception to the usual rule.

To Montelimart fifteen miles: the first three we walked, and rested on a
rising ground, commanding in each direction a long day's journey through
this fine district. Our walk perhaps made us relish the more a bottle of
the vin du pays, which Derbieres, a little village a mile or two farther
on, afforded; but I have no doubt that worse is sold in Paris at seven
or eight francs a bottle, under the name of pink champagne: it is at
least worth the while of any thirsty traveller to try the experiment, if
it were merely for the sake of the civil old landlady of the little inn.
We could obtain no information from her respecting the history of a
singular ruin on the opposite side of the river, excepting that it was
called Chateau Crucis, and about seven hundred years ago was an abbey.
Somewhat beyond this black pile stand two or three pyramidical rocks,
projecting from the general line of hills, the same probably which the
French Itineraire mentions as commanding a celebrated view, and
exhibiting in themselves a geological curiosity. I doubt, however,
whether any person would do well to cross the Rhone to explore them,
upon the mere credit of that wise octavo.

Montelimart is a large old town, the ancient fortifications of which,
as of Valence, remain in perfect preservation. The approach to it from
Loriol gives by no means so favourable an idea of it as it deserves; and
to estimate its beautie