On this beautiful winding road, which is carried along and between, the
ridge of hills on which Avranches stands, and commands views westward
over the bay to Mont St. Michael and eastward towards Alençon and the
plains of Orne, we only meet one or two solitary pedestrians. We are
nearly as much alone as in a Swiss pass; the scenery might be part of
the Tête Noire, and the _Hôtel de la Poste_, at Mortain, which is built
on the side of a hill over a ravine, and at which our diligence makes a
dead stop, might, for many reasons, be a posada on the Italian Alps.

If we stroll out at once, before the evening closes, we shall have time
to visit the cemetery on the rocks, to see the remains of a castle of
the Norman dukes, and above all, the superb panorama from the heights;
and we may wander afterwards into the valleys to see the cascades, the
ivy-covered rocks, and the masses of ferns; scenes so exquisite and
varied that we are lost in wonder that all these things are to be seen
in France at small trouble and cost, and that French artists have
hardly ever told us of them.[34]

That 'the country round Mortain is not known as well as it deserves,' is
a remark that cannot be too often repeated; we cannot, indeed, imagine a
more delightful district for an English artist in which to spend a
summer, and we promise him that he shall find subjects that will look as
well on the walls of the Academy as the Welsh hills, or the valleys of
Switzerland.

We are at a loss to express in words the romantic beauty of the
situation of Mortain, where we may pitch our tent, and make studies of
rocks, which will tell us more in practice, than written volumes about
these wondrous geological formations; and the clusters of ivy in the
niches, the moss and lichen, the rich colour of the boulders, the trees