The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1886-03-17

| The first half of the way is over magnlfi-
| cent road built by Napoleon Ill, when Italy
| surrendered this corner of her territory to
| France. This part of the drive is an UNI
| broken ascent. but accomplished with ease,
| at each turn revealing new views of the as
piring Aiguilles and the sublime Mulets.
Just after we cross over the French bounda-
~ we pass a reviying fountain OF water,
over which was a box, with this inscription
| Cette fontaine dime Peau, sud6e ct hmpide,
est an tonnage fat da1 royd9euf, par te
fonddteur. lie tTOnc recerrd C0Dende an
rovage,, bienueiUant. At the terminus OF
the French highway the road changes into
narrow rocky path, twisting around the Tiny
patches of cultivated ground, and under the
very caves of the rudest chalets, which are
more picturesque than comfortable. The
roofs are loose boards, kept on by heavy
rocks. and filed underneath with herbs,
grain. furs and bundles of fagots, laid by for
winter use, which hang out in fringes of rich
olive and brown shades. About midday the
clouds drifted across our horizon, shutting
ont the snowy peaks, and opening the very
fountains of the heavens. We were enyel-
oped in mist and darkness, wholly uncon-
scious of the sublimity of the scenery about
us, except when an occasional fash of light
ming lit up the heights and flashed into
the valleys beneath. The weary horses
tugged and slipped on the muddy sleeps, as
we toiled over the very summit of Tete
Noir. When we were rounding the edge of a
perpendicular cliff, where the driver walked
beside the horses on the outer edge to assure
our timid ones, we suddenly were brought to
a stand-still face to face with two double
teams. We saw no possible way of extricat-
ing ourselves out of the difficulty, as to swing
around or back down the mountain was
equally ruinous; and by the perfect silence
of the occupants of the other carriages we
mistrusted they had no idea of backing up
the road. Our drivers, used to such exigen-
cies, began measuring and dragging
wheels. When both teams were fairly
abreast, ours having the right of way on the
substantial side, while one pair of the wheels
of the other seemed to rest on the edge OF
nothing, one of two fellows, whom we had
taken for Oxford students, shouted out, Il
guess you are glad you are on that side.s
This Yankee pass word was all we needed
for an introduction, and we responded with
hearty congratulations ON their safely pass
ing the Rubicon. We kept on climbing till
the clouds and mountain tops lay at our
feet; then commenced the cautious descent.
Long after we could see the green meadows
and stately chestnuts in Martigny, we
guessed how many more herrlng-bone
turns we should make to reach the town,
varying from five to ten. One cratic child
ventured twenty and, and sure enough, our
horses turned on semi-baekward track
twenty-four times before they crossed the
Rhone and tramped, wet and besmeared
with mud, through the village.
The next day at Martigny we had time to
answer the cathedral bell, calling the peas
ants to morning prayers. Humanity pre-
sents a hopeless aspect Of degradation in
these italian villages. Here one sees the
Roman Catholic religion and superstitions
exercise their normal power over the poor
and ignorant. We have often heard it said
that the gorgeous spectacular worship ap-
pealing to their childish natures, and the alb
solute authority restraining their uncrushed
passions, was the one redeeming element in
their power for good. When one sees the
shiftlessness of their daily life and mingles
with them in their blind, or worse, indiffer-
ent worship, one must cast out even this
apology for the willful inculcation of known
errors. We have yet to see one community
where Catholicism pervades the life of the
people, which is not filled with squalor and
every disgusting form of vice and uncleanli-
ness. One needs no other index to point out
the theology of the various cantons of Swift
zerand, which are singularly mixed in relig-
ion, than to walk among the habitations of
the common people. NJ. C. p. b.