For the particulars of four delightful days spent in traversing the vallies of St. Martino, Clusone, and Luzerna, I shall refer you to our journals, which faithfully describe, and circumstantially narrate all that we saw and heard during our progress. I must hasten on to “metal more attractive” still, in the exquisite loveliness of San Giovanni. At La Torre we were arrested, as if by a spell of magical enchantment. There we halted during two days: visited the monument of Christina, sister of Elizabeth Smith, talked over Victor Amadeus with detestation, of the noble Henri Arnaud with enthusiasm, and were so lost in admiration of the Alpine beauties, and simple manners by which we were so hemmed in on every side, that after a week’s sojournment in this fascinating vale, we should all have been likely to forget the whole of what is called the civilized world, if certain thoughts of Turin, Selby, and Glenalta, had not been interwoven with the raptures to which we resigned ourselves. From La Torre, however, we _tore_ ourselves (I am not so unworthy as to _commit_ a _pun_ amidst the mountains of Switzerland), and proceeded to Angrogna. Here we _called a halt_, and the result of our deliberations was, that the two girls being intent on achieving, if practicable, the difficult ascent of La Vachera, and visiting the famous Pre du Tour, it was judged expedient that they should remain quietly housed in the village of Angrogna, while some of the party, in quality of scouts, were to reconnoitre, and returning to the rendezvous, declare how far it might be possible for the ladies to realize their daring resolution.