not, however, of St. Preux I thought, as I passed under the rock of
the Meillerie. Ah! how much of happiness, of enjoyment, have I lost,
in being forced to struggle against my feelings, instead of abandoning
myself to them! but surely I have done right. Let me repeat it again
and again to myself, and let that thought, if possible, strengthen and
console me.

_Monday._--I have resolved to attempt no description of scenery; but
my pen is fascinated. I _must_ note a few of the objects which struck
me to-day and yesterday, that I may at will combine them hereafter to
my mind's eye, and recall the glorious pictures I beheld, as we
travelled through the Vallais to Brig: the swollen and turbid (no
longer "blue and arrowy") Rhone, rushing and roaring along; the
gigantic mountains in all their endless variety of fantastic forms,
which enclosed us round,--their summits now robed in curling clouds,
and then, as the winds swept them aside, glittering in the sunshine;
the little villages perched like eagles' nests on the cliffs, far, far
above our heads; the deep rocky channels through which the torrents
had madly broken a way, tearing through every obstacle till they
reached the Rhone, and marking their course with devastation; the
scene of direful ruin at Martigny; the cataracts gushing, bounding
from the living rock and plunging into some unseen abyss below; even
the shrubs and the fruit trees which in the wider parts of the valley
bordered the road side; the vines, the rich scarlet barberries, the
apples and pears which we might have gathered by extending our
hands;--all and each, when I recall them, will rise up a vivid picture
before my own fancy;--but never could be truly represented to the mind
of another--at least through the medium of words.

And yet, with all its wonders and beauties, this day's journey has not