I found at my hotel a party, consisting of two of my countrymen and a French gentleman, who were waiting for a fourth person to join them, in making an excursion to the celebrated scenes of Chamouny and Moutanvert. This was an opportunity not to be neglected, particularly as my former companion had determined on going into Italy, notwithstanding the very alarming accounts of its disturbed state, given us by some travellers, lately arrived from thence, who had themselves been robbed, and who reported that the banditti, in many of the mountains, amounted to from 500 to 1500 men. The unsettled political state of Italy too, rendered the present, in my opinion, by no means an auspicious moment, for an excursion of curiosity into that country. To see Italy well would occupy a longer portion of time than I had at my disposal, and if once across the Alps it would be almost impossible to return without visiting Rome. Under these circumstances, I resolved to content myself with seeing Chamouny, and Mt. Blanc, and I had every reason to be pleased with my determination, as the party were extremely agreeable, and we had the good fortune of having fine weather for our excursion, an occurrence which is rare amongst such lofty mountains nor were we disposed to complain of the inconvenience of occasional showers, in a country where it is not unusual for the rains to continue without intermission for many days. * * * * * CHAP. VII. Having made the necessary arrangements in the evening, our carriage was in readiness at an early hour next morning. It was something like an English _sociable_, but had a leather cover which could occasionally be drawn over our heads, and of which we more than once experienced the utility, in protecting us from the very sudden and violent showers which we sometimes met with. As soon as the rain was over we drew back the cover, and enjoyed the romantic prospects which surrounded us. From Geneva we ascended continually through a wild but not uninteresting country to Bonnevilie, a distance of about five leagues; here we breakfasted, and remained two or three hours to allow our horses to repose from the fatigues of the road. This little town has nothing particularly worthy of remark, and its appearance is dull, although it is the chief place of one of the three divisions which are formed of Savoy. Here is a bridge of stone (which is not usual in this country, where timber abounds, and where many of the rivers are so rapid, as to oblige the inhabitants to remove the bridges, at the commencement of autumn) over the river Arve, the course of which we followed for several leagues through the valley of Cluse, so called from the little town of that name. This long and narrow district is surrounded by lofty mountains, and the traveller is often at a loss to guess which way he can proceed, until some sudden turning discovers an outlet, barely