_Extracts from Lord Byron's Journal._

"Diodati, near Geneva, Sept. 19th, 1816.

"Rose at five. Crossed the mountains to Montbovon on horseback, and on
mules, and, by dint of scrambling, on foot also; the whole route
beautiful as a dream, and now to me almost as indistinct. I am so
tired;--for, though healthy, I have not the strength I possessed but a
few years ago. At Montbovon we breakfasted; afterwards, on a steep
ascent, dismounted; tumbled down; cut a finger open; the baggage also
got loose and fell down a ravine, till stopped by a large tree;
recovered baggage; horse tired and drooping; mounted mule. At the
approach of the summit of Dent Jument[1] dismounted again with
Hobhouse and all the party. Arrived at a lake in the very bosom of the
mountains; left our quadrupeds with a shepherd, and ascended farther;
came to some snow in patches, upon which my forehead's perspiration
fell like rain, making the same dints as in a sieve; the chill of the
wind and the snow turned me giddy, but I scrambled on and upwards.
Hobhouse went to the highest pinnacle; I did not, but paused within a
few yards (at an opening of the cliff.) In coming down, the guide
tumbled three times; I fell a laughing, and tumbled too--the descent
luckily soft, though steep and slippery; Hobhouse also fell, but
nobody hurt. The whole of the mountains superb. A shepherd on a very
steep and high cliff playing upon his _pipe_; very different from
_Arcadia_, where I saw the pastors with a long musket instead of a
crook, and pistols in their girdles. Our Swiss shepherd's pipe was
sweet, and his tune agreeable. I saw a cow strayed; am told that they
often break their necks on and over the crags. Descended to Montbovon;
pretty scraggy village, with a wild river and a wooden bridge.