and led up the mountain side and over the rocks above the Gula; dropping down again on the outlet of the chasm, where a slender bridge, but just wide enough for Mora, and with scarce any remains of the ruined parapet, led us over to the other side. Here the Val opened out, and seemed comparatively bright after the dark prison-like gorge; and by starlight we could distinguish the foaming waters of the Mastalone at a vast depth below, as they plunged in a furious cataract from the dread cavern, growling angrily as if impatient of their gloomy silent captivity.

From this point we hoped our difficulties were really at an end; but we were quickly undeceived, for we found that the new road from here was only in course of construction, and crossing the old track again and again, often taking its line, rendered progress most dangerous and almost impossible. Huge fragments of blasted rock, mounds of soil, unfinished embankments, piles of stones, planks, barrows, &c., every few hundred yards, obstructed the path. In many places the old road was cut through by roughly quarried pits many yards deep; and, dark as it was, it was a miracle that none of us broke any bones in attempting to grope our way along some miles of this kind of descent. Sometimes we found ourselves in the fields, and had difficulty in regaining the track at a practicable point; but Delapierre and myself pioneering, we managed to lighten some of the difficulties of E.'s weary way, and made slow but gradual progress. My boots had long given way, as I had feared they would, with the rough work so unexpectedly thrown on them; and my feet, which had burst through, were now bleeding and severely cut, causing no small pain when I had time to think of it, or stumbled on unusually rough footing. How Mora got on was better known to Delapierre than ourselves, as he kept with her, and we were often widely separated; but every now and then we forgot our own work, to watch, or rather listen to, the clever way in which she scrambled up and down, and in and out.

Once we all fairly gave her up. A lofty stone embankment wall had been constructed, intended to be filled with rubbish between it and the rock, to raise the road. This was only partially done, up to a point from which Mora, in a moment when Delapierre was looking out for a means of getting her down it, took to the wall; and to his consternation was in a few minutes distinguishable against the sky, at a height of some fifteen feet above our heads, scrambling along the narrow wall with the raging torrent on the other side, and the dark pitfall on ours. If the wall were, as we fully expected, unfinished at the other end, there was no possibility of her turning or backing, and we looked upon her and our baggage as hopelessly lost. Delapierre shouted frantically above the noise of the torrent, "Oh Mora! Mora! vous êtes perdu!" but Mora tripped unheedingly along, until she came to the unfinished end as we had anticipated. It was a moment of trying suspense, but she coolly put down her nose, paused for a moment, and then to our astonishment stepped down the edge of the rough stone courses-which most fortunately were gradually ended-until she reached "terra firma " once more, where Delapierre very carefully kept her for the rest of the way.

It seemed a weary distance to Varallo, short as it had been represented to us, and at times we almost despaired of reaching it; but the road ultimately became a little more finished, the trees and foliage overhead grew thicker along the route, and at length, by a narrow lane between vineyardwalls, we entered Varallo itself, a few lights on a lofty eminence above it showing the site of the famous Sacro Monte. Delapierre was now at home, threading his way among the narrow streets, while I followed with E., limping along with as much alacrity as my lacerated feet permitted. It was evidently late at night, for there were few people stirring, and scarce a light to be seen, except a dim lamp burning here and there before a Madonna at some street

corner.

At the other end of the town we at last walked into the square, galleried, inn-yard of the excellent Albergo d'Italia, where lights were quickly brought out to our help, and the ready hostess came to welcome us. Our baggage, forwarded from Ivrea, and two months' letters, awaited us, bringing nothing but good news; and, after a night of perils and difficulties we shall never forget, nor I trust cease to be grateful for our preservation from, we found thorough comfort and well-earned repose in the rooms we had occupied on our former visit many years before; and where we had first projected the tour of the southern valleys of Monte Rosa, that night happily completed.

CHAPTER XX.

VAL SESIA.-LAGO D'ORTA.-LAGO MAGGIORE.-VAL D'OSSOLA.

Varallo: situation-Romagnano-Val Sesian artists-Gaudenzio Ferrari: his masters, works, and scholars - Church of San Gaudenzio - Ferrari's house Santa Maria delle Grazie San Pietro il Martire-GulaFarewell to Delapierre and Mora Sacro Monte: its history and chapels -Scuola di Barolo - Mines of Balma-Start from Varallo - Col di Colma Last view of Monte Rosa-Lago d'Orta - San Giulio -Orta Sacro Monte - Monte Monterone- Baveno Fish and fishing — Granite quarries — Islands of the Lago Maggiore - Domo d'Ossola.

THE first view that met our eyes from the windows next morning was that of the well-remembered "Holy Mountain," immediately before us, clothed with chesnut forests now exquisitely tinted; on its summit the three wooden crosses representing the Calvary; and, a little lower down, the clustered shrines and buildings of the "Nuova Gerusalemme," the wide-spread fame of which over Piedmont, Lombardy, and more distant Catholic countries, has, for now three centuries, given Varallo a name and an importance which has attracted thousands of visitors annually; and but for which it would have remained to this day an isolated mountain town.

Though Varallo is the capital of the Val Sesia, the market to which its produce is brought, and whence the wants of its population are chiefly supplied, it has but one high road by which it is accessible to the outer world; all the other inlets being either mere mountain tracks, or ending in them at no great distance. Buried in a deep but sunny basin of rich foliage-covered steeps, it is shut in on every side from the surrounding provinces of Aosta, Ossola, Orta,

Novara, Vercelli, and Biella, by lofty mountain ridges; except at one point, where the course of the Sesia connects it with the plains of Novara by a road flanking the river. By this way the principal traffic of Varallo is carried on, and branch roads from Biella, and from Arona on the Lago Maggiore, join it at Romagnano-a quaint little Italian town of old galleried and frescoed houses, and a locality which will always be regarded with special interest, as the scene of the last battle and the death of Pierre de Taille, the immortal Chevalier de Bayard.

By the bridge between Romagnano and Gattinara, which commanded the passage of the Sesia, the French army under the command of Bonnivet, in the Milanese campaign of 1524, were effecting an important junction with a body of Swiss allies, when their rear was attacked by the forces of Charles V., led by the Constable de Bourbon, with, among others, the Prince of Orange and the Duke of Urbino,—the latter of whom has the credit of the masterly stratagem by which they inflicted such loss on the French rear, and had nearly defeated the object of their movement. Bonnivet being wounded, Bayard assumed the command, and shortly afterwards," whilst drawing off the rear-guard under the enemy's fire, a shot fractured his spine. Refusing to be carried from the spot, he had himself supported against a tree with his face to the foe, and continued to give his orders with composure: at length, feeling the hand of death upon him, he confessed himself to his faithful squire, kissing the hand-guard of his sword as a substitute for the cross. Thus fell, in his forty-ninth year, the flower of French chivalry, the fearless and irreproachable knight.'"*

The road from Romagnano enters the Val Sesia at the little village of Ara, passing Grignasco - famous for its excellent wines Borgo Sesia, and Quarona; the scenery

*Dennistoun's 'Dukes of Urbino,' vol. ii. p. 410.