a plentiful supply of biscuit, cheese, salt and smoked meats, wine, brandy and fire-wood.  In those parts of the road where the sides of the ravines are not sloping enough to admit of the road being cut along them, subterraneous galleries have been pierced through the rock, some of fifty, some of a hundred and more yards in length, and nearly as broad as the rest of the road.  In a word it appears to me the grandest work imagined or made by man, and when combined with its extreme utility, far surpasses what is related of the Seven Wonders of the world.  There are fifty-two bridges throughout the whole of this route, which begins at the distance of three miles from Geneva, skirts the southern shore of the lake, runs thro’ the whole Valais, traverses the Simplon and issuing from the gorges of the mountains at Domo d’Ossola terminates at Rho in the Milanese.  From Brieg to the toll-house, the highest part of the road, the distance is about 18 miles.  It made me dreadfully giddy to look down the various precipices; and what adds to the vertigo one feels is the deafening noise of the various waterfalls.  As the road is cut zigzag, in many parts, you appear to preserve nearly the same distance from Brieg after three hours’ march, as after half an hour only, since you have that village continually under your eyes, nor do you lose sight of it till near the toll-house.  Brieg appears when viewed from various points of the road like the card-houses of children, the Valais like a slip of green baize, and the Rhone like a very narrow light blue ribband; and when at Brieg before you ascend you look up at the toll-house, you would suppose it impossible for any human being to arrive at such a height without the help of a balloon.  It reminded me of the castle of the enchanter in the Orlando Furioso, who keeps Ruggiero confined and who rides on the Hippogriff.

The village of the Simplon is a mile beyond the toll-house, descending.  We stopped there for two hours to dine.  A snow storm had fallen and the weather was exceedingly cold; the mountain air had sharpened our appetite, but we could get nothing but fish and eggs as it was a jour maigre, and the Valaisans are rigid observers of the ordinances of the Catholic church.  We however, on assuring the landlord that we were militaires, prevailed on him to let us have some ham and sausages.  German is the language here.  The road from the toll-house to Domo d’Ossola (the first town at the foot of the mountain on the Italian side) is a descent, but the slope is as gentle as on the rest of the road.  Fifteen miles beyond the village of the Simplon stands the village of Isella, which is the frontier town of the King of Sardinia, and where there is a rigorous douane, and ten miles further is Domo d’Ossola, where we arrived at seven in the evening.  Between Isella and Domo d’Ossola the scenery becomes more and more romantic, varying at every step, cataracts falling on all sides, and three more galleries to pass.  Domo d’Ossola appears a large and neat clean town, and we put up at a very good inn.  At Isella begins the Italian language, or rather Piedmontese.