of the Dor is therefore shut in either by precipitous volcanic walls, or
is guarded by sombre woods. Once on the tops of the plateaux, and you
may ride a whole day on unbroken turf; or, if you penetrate within the
forest lands, you may wander for any time you please, days or weeks,
without seeing either their beginning or their end. On the summits of
the mountains around, snow is to be found in patches, even in the
hottest days of summer; and as the Pic de Sancy is more than six
thousand feet above the level of the sea, almost every gradation of
climate is to be found amongst these lonely hills. In the dog-days, the
valleys are so hot that you gladly escape to the upper lands for air and
coolness; but the winter sets in, in October, and the valley of the Dor
is then covered deep with snow for many a long month. The Dor itself is
a pleasant lively stream: it can boast of some picturesque falls here
and there, but it is commonly a "brawling brook," winding about at its
pleasure; allowing itself to be forded every now and then; and producing
plenty of small trout for those who like to waste their time in fishing.

The urchins of the peasant tribe know how to get these finny creatures
more cannily than the professed angler; you may see them on a summer's
morning wading up the stream, and hunting under every stone, and in each
little pool, for the objects of their search. As soon as they see a
trout, they drive it into little convenient nooks that they know of, and
there--how they manage it nobody knows, but the result is certain--they
catch them with their hands or knock them on the head with their sticks;
and will always produce you a respectable dish at a few hours' notice.

About a couple of leagues below the Pic de Sancy, towards the west, one
of the plateaux on the northern side of the valley assumes an
exceedingly bold and regular appearance; it is called the Plateau de
l'Angle--perhaps from its making, by an abrupt termination, the corner
of two valleys; and it towers out like a promontory at sea, soaring
some four or five hundred feet above the bed of the river. Not very far
from where this plateau is cut off--a mile or so--there is a bold
cascade dashing over its side, and carrying off the superfluous waters
of a pool and morass higher up in the bosom of the mountains. Here the
basaltic precipice is hollowed out into a circling chasm, and over its
black face rushes the impetuous stream upon a huge chaos of rocks and