Having floundered along the pathway for about a mile, turning and winding, and at length ascending to the higher ground forming the flattish ridge of the Cap, we paused a little to have a view over the Mediterranean and the environs of Mentone. Mists hung on the summits of the higher mountains, a few peaks being slightly whitened with snow. One sharp point stood out clearly against the sky. ‘Do you see that tall jagged peak,’ said Mr Moggridge, ‘that one clear of clouds, immediately behind Castellare?’ ‘Of course I do,’ I replied: ‘it seems so narrow that a person could not find footing on the summit.’ ‘Quite a mistake,’ he replied. ‘I have often pic-nicked with parties on the very top, which is only 2745 feet high.’ ‘Surely, ladies cannot have climbed to such a height?’ ‘Yes, they have,’ replied my friend. ‘The last time I was up, there was a lady in the party who was a grandmother, and she is quite ready to make the ascent again at the first opportunity. You have no idea what spirited ladies—English visitors—we have in Mentone; they will walk for miles up the hills, and afterwards dance half the night at a ball at the Cercle. This is the place for exercising the limbs.’ ‘Perhaps,’ said I, ‘sometimes rather more dancing than discretion; however, that is not my affair. What is your idea about the climate of Mentone?—you must have had a good experience of it.’ ‘My idea is very conclusive; I care nothing about popular fancies, but go to Nature. Two things I take as a criterion—contour and vegetation. See that semicircle of mountains, the whole a mighty rampart sheltering the lower grounds from the cold and moist winds of northern and central Europe. Then, see what is the vegetation. Lemons and citrons, two most delicate fruits, growing in profusion in the open air, like apples in Herefordshire. Look around you, also, and see these noble olive trees, as old and as tall as oaks in England. I might speak of the carouba and various other trees, but it is unnecessary.’ ‘Is not dryness a peculiarity of the air?’ ‘Yes, the air is generally dry and light, which adapts it for some classes of invalids; but I do not consider it as being too dry; the sea must have a certain modifying influence. The benefit derived by members of my own family wintering here, enables me to speak with confidence of both air and climate.’