We had a beautiful day on which to leave for Aix–les–Bains by the Mont Cenis Tunnel. The view of the snowy mountains was brilliantly clear as we approached them. In about six miles we reached the first or low hills. Thenceforth the scenery along the line of railway was at some parts wild and grand, and at others the hills were surmounted by structures which gave a picturesque character to them. At last we reached and passed through the Mont Cenis Tunnel. The time taken in passing through was about twenty–eight minutes. It was long to be boxed up in the dark, but it did not feel so long as I anticipated. Once or twice I put down a window; the air felt slightly damp, not cold. On issuing from it on the French side, the railway makes a long detour to reach the lower level of Modane, where luggage is examined by the French _douaniers_, and we changed into French carriages, which were superior in comfort to those of the Italian line. The scenery all along to Chambery and Aix–les–Bains was among the mountains, some of them capped with snow. We stayed, as we had planned, a week at Aix–les–Bains, and we should have enjoyed it but that great part of the time we had rain, and the air, though warm, was moist. A range of low hills separates Aix from Lake Bourget, enclosed on the other side by steep rugged mountains, their summits visible over the hills. A short walk takes one to the top of these hills, whence an excellent view is had of the lake, upon which a steamer plies during the summer. The lake is reached by the road at a part fringed by tall poplars about one and a half to two miles distant, offering a pleasant stroll on a fine afternoon such as we had to walk to it. * * * * * We left by a morning train for Dijon, and shortly after the sky got black, and we were obliged to change carriages at Culoz in drenching rain, the station being destitute of cover so necessary at a junction like this, or indeed at every railway station. As we passed along, the whole country seemed to be inundated. Both at Dijon and Fontainebleau we were caught in showers unexpectedly. At Paris, where we rested for a few days, we had rain, but principally through the night. At Boulogne we had a shower. Crossing thence, we landed, after a beautiful passage, at Folkestone in May 1878, and proceeded by Bristol to Stoke Bishop. Here, instead of the sunshine with which the neighbourhood of Clifton is usually favoured at this season, and to which we had looked forward, we were still pursued by almost daily rain. After remaining six weeks looking constantly for better weather, we got back to Scotland. * * * * *