We were, of course, very anxious to see the dogs, but were told they are now becoming exceedingly scarce.  They can not be kept very long in the piercing air of the mountains, its rarefaction being as injurious to them as to human beings.  Most of them are therefore kept at Martigny, or some other place below.  We were told, however, that two ‘pups’ were now at the hospice; and as we sallied out for a walk over the hills, we heard a violent scratching at an adjoining door, which being opened, out burst the pups.  They were perfect monsters, though very young, with huge paws, lithe and graceful but compact forms, full of life and activity, and faces beaming with instinct.  Darting out with us, they seemed frantic with joy, snuffed the keen air as they rushed about, sometimes tumbling over each other, and at times bursting against us with a force that nearly knocked us down.  They reminded me of two young tigers at their gambols.  I have never seen nobler-looking brutes.  What fine, honest, expressive countenances they had!  At times a peculiar sort of frown would ruffle the skin around their eyes, their ears would prick up, and every nerve seem to be quickened.  The face of a noble dog appears to me to be capable of almost as great a variety of expression as the human countenance, and these changes are sometimes more rapid.  The inquisitive and chagrined look when baffled in pursuit of prey, the keen relish of joy, the look of supplication for food, of conscious guilt for misdemeanor, the eyes beaming with intense affection for a master, and whining sorrow for his absence, the meek look of endurance in sickness, the feeble, listless air, the resigned expression of the glassy eye at the approach of death, blending even then with indications of gratitude for kindness shown!  These dumb brutes can often teach us lessons of meek endurance and resignation as well as courage, and few things call forth more just indignation than to see them abused by men far more brutish than they.

Accompanying one of the younger brethren on an errand to the valley below, we watched them dashing along till the intervening rocks hid them from our view.  In the extensive museum of the Monastery we found much to interest us.  Many of the curiosities are gifts of former travelers, and some of them are of great value.  There is also a small collection of antiquities found in the immediate neighborhood, where, I believe, are still traces of an ancient temple.  The St. Bernard has been a favorite pass with armies, and is thought by many to have been that chosen by Hannibal.

Not very far from the house is the ‘morgue’ so often noticed by travelers, containing numerous bodies, which, though they have not decayed, are nevertheless repulsive to look upon.  The well-known figures of the woman and her babe show that for once the warm refuge of a mother’s breast chilled and fainted in the pitiless storm.