SCRAMBLES AMONGST THE ALPS.

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alike of animal or vegetable life ; pathless, of course ; sug-gestive of chaos, but of little else ; covered almost through-out its entire length with ddbris from the size of a walnutup to that of a house; in a word, it looked as if half a dozenfirst-class moraines had been carted and shot into it. Ourtempers were soured by constant pitfalls [it was impossibleto take the eyes from the feet, and if an unlucky individualso much as blew his nose, without standing still to performthe operation, the result was either an instantaneous tumble,or a barked shin, or a half-twisted ankle. There was noend to it, and we became more savage at every step,unanimously agreeing that no power on earth would everinduce us to walk up or down this particular valley again.]It was not just to the valley, which was enclosed by noblemountains,—unknown, it is true, but worthy of a greatreputation, and which, if placed in other districts, would besought after, and cited as types of daring form and gracefuloutline.

Not so very long ago, perhaps, the Vallon des Etangonswore a more cheerful aspect. It is well known that many ofthe French Alpine valleys have rapidly deteriorated in quitemodern times. Blanqui pointed out, a few years ago, someof the causes which have brought this about, in an addressto the Academy of Sciences ; and, although his remarks arenot entirely applicable to this very valley, the chapter maybe properly closed with some of his vigorous sentences.He said, “The abuse of the right of pasturage, and thefelling of the woods, have stripped the soil of all its grassand all its trees, and the scorching sun bakes it to theconsistence of porphyry. When moistened by the rain, asit has neither support nor cohesion, it rolls down into thevalleys, sometimes in floods resembling black, yellow, orreddish lava, and sometimes in streams of pebbles, andeven huge blocks of stone, which pour down with a frightfulroar. . . . Vast deposits of flinty pebbles, many feet in