which had taken root on the faces of the gneiss. Torn up by the winds, the trunks and roots lay rotting together; and the rocks, which were loosened at the same time, were lying in rough masses among them.
At last we reached the valley where the River Trent takes its rise from a glacier, and passing the village of Trent, close upon our right, we followed the windings of the valley along a rather inconvenient road, and about six reached Martinac, which lies in the flatter portion of the Valais. Here we must refresh ourselves for further expeditions.
Martinac, Nov. 6, 1779.
Evening.Just as our travels proceed uninterruptedly, so my letters, one after another, keep up my conversation with you. Scarcely have I folded and put aside the conclusion of "Wanderings through Savoy," ere I take up another sheet of paper in order to acquaint you with all that we have further in contemplation.
It was night when we entered a country about which our curiosity had long been excited. As yet we have seen nothing but the peaks of the mountains, which enclose the valley on both sides, and then only in the glimmering of twilight. We crept into our inn, and from the window we see the clouds shift. We feel as glad and comfortable to have a roof over our heads, as children do, when with stools, table-leaves, and carpets they construct a roof near the stove, and therein say to one another that outside "it is raining or snowing," in order to excite a pleasant and imaginary shudder in their little souls. It is exactly so with us on this autumnal evening in this strange and unknown region.
We learn from the maps that we are sitting in the angle of an elbow, from which the smaller part of Valais—running almost directly from south to north, and with the Rhone—extends to the Lake of Geneva,
