LYELL. 323 



it well enough, but it is certainly too early in the 

 season to enjoy it ; and Mrs. Murchison suffers from 

 the cold and damp, though she has not often com- 

 plained in this tone. 



Mont Dore is partially covered with snow, and 

 almost always with clouds, and the transition in 

 coming up here from the low country is violent. 

 Yesterday we rode up from the climate of Italy to 

 that of Scotland. It is the most varied and 

 picturesque country imaginable. There are in- 

 numerable old ruins for sketches, with lakes, 

 cascades, and different kinds of wood, so that we 

 wonder more and more that the English have not 

 found it out. The peasantry are very obliging, 

 industrious, well-fed, and clothed, and to all appear- 

 ance are the very happiest I ever saw. We have 

 crossed the chain of Puys, the Limagne, and the 

 valleys leading from Mont Dore, in all directions. 

 The people in the higher regions begin to talk 

 French — at least there are generally some who 

 have served in the armies, and their children catch 

 some from them. Their own language has a good 

 deal of the old Provencal in it, and a great many 

 of the terminations are Italian. In short, we often 

 find a demand in Italian succeed when French 

 misses fire ; but all our ammunition often fails to 

 produce any impression. The population is dense, 

 and bears no other resemblance to other parts of 

 France that ever I saw. In the mountains a large 

 portion do not believe that Napoleon is dead, 

 especially the old soldiers. There is an almost 



