1 88 WILD SPORTS OF THE WEST. 



was performing an act of devotion, on her bare knees, 

 making an occasional pause, to offer up a prayer and drop 

 a bead from her rosary. 



The valley had a solemn and imposing character ; 

 everything about it was lonely and desolate. No traces 

 of human visits were discernible ; no pathway led to 

 the ruin, — all was deep, unbroken solitude ; a hallowed 

 and melancholy spot, where the living seldom presumed 

 to approach the mansions of the dead. 



The breeze fell, the air became unusually oppressive, 

 the hill behind robbed us of the little wind that still par- 

 tially cooled the sultry atmosphere ; a distant muttering 

 among the mountains was faintly heard, and a sound 

 like a rising stream was audible. Suddenly, a black 

 cloud rose like magic upon the summit of the mountain, 

 and a flash of light succeeded. " The storm is on," 

 said my kinsman, and leaving the attendants to discuss 

 the fragments of the feast, where they might best obtain 

 shelter, we hurried down the hill, and couched beneath 

 the ruins of the chapel. 



There is more grandeur in an Alpine storm than can 

 be imagined by those who have not witnessed its effect. 

 As the thunder crashes over the hills, and miles away is 

 reverberated from the opposite mountains, the loneliness 

 of the wilderness is in fine keeping with the anger of 

 the elements. The rain-drops now fell faster — quick 

 and vivid flashes burst from the southern heavens, 

 and roll after roll succeeded, like sustained discharges 

 of artillery. The dogs, in evident alarm, cowered at our 

 feet, soliciting mortal protection from what, instinct 

 told them, were the visitations of an awful power. 

 Suddenly, one prolonged and terrific crash burst over- 

 head — a deluge of rain descended — and rapidly as it 



