[Illustration: _of a mule's head lowered, with ears flattened._]
At length we opened on the Rhone valley; and at seven we reached Hotel
de la Tour, at Martigny. Here H. and S. managed to get up two flights
of stone stairs, and sank speechless and motionless upon their beds. I
must say they have exhibited spirit to-day, or, as Mr. C. used to say,
"pluck." After settling with our guides,--fine fellows, whom we hated
to lose,--I ordered supper, and sought new guides for our route to the
convent. Our only difficulty in reaching there, they say, is the
_snow_. The guides were uncertain whether mules could get through
so early in the season. Only to think! To-day, riding broilingly
through hay-fields--to-morrow, stuck in snow drifts!
LETTER XXXV.
Dear Henry:--
You cannot think how beautiful are these Alpine valleys. Our course,
all the first morning after we left Chamouni, lay beside a broad,
hearty, joyous mountain torrent, called, perhaps from the darkness of
its waters, Eau Noire. Charming meadows skirted its banks. All the way
along I could think of nothing but Bunyan's meadows beside the river
of life, "curiously adorned with lilies.
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