be at least three weeks before we can have done with Central France, and then we hope to work south towards Nice, down the Rhone, keeping always in analogous formations, and then to the Vicentin, if possible, though this is very uncertain, as we can never see far before us, either as to time or place, directing our course according to the new lights we are gaining. We shall leave this place in a day or two. I like it well enough, but it is certainly too early in the season to enjoy it; and Mrs. Murchison suffers from the cold and damp, though she has not often complained in this tone. Mont Dore is partially covered with snow, and almost always with clouds, and the transition in coming up here from the low country is violent. Yesterday we rode up from the climate of Italy to that of Scotland. It is the most varied and picturesque country imaginable. There are innumerable old ruins for sketches, with lakes, cascades, and different kinds of wood, so that we wonder more and more that the English have not found it out. The peasantry are very obliging, industrious, well-fed, and clothed, and to all appearance are the very happiest I ever saw. We have crossed the chain of Puys, the Limagne, and the valleys leading from Mont Dore, in all directions. The people in the higher regions begin to talk French—at least there are generally some who have served in the armies, and their children catch some from them. Their own language has a good deal of the old Provençal in it, and a great many of the terminations are Italian. In short, we often find a demand in Italian succeed when French misses fire; but all our ammunition often fails to produce any impression. The population is dense, and bears no other resemblance to other parts of France that ever I saw. In the mountains a large portion do not believe that Napoleon is dead, especially the old soldiers. There is an almost entire want of gentry here, but as it does not arise from absenteeism, but from the great sub-division of property, it evidently produces no ill effects on the character and well-being of the people. Give my love to all at Kinnordy, and believe me Your affectionate son, CHARLES LYELL.