MARTIGNY. Night was again descending, when my mule, So near the summit of the Great St. Bernard; That door which ever on its hinges moves To them that knock'd, and nightly sends abroad ROGERS. THE first object that presents itself worthy notice on quitting Lavey is the celebrated waterfall of Pissevache. It is situated on the high road, about three miles from Martigny, and well deserves the reputation it has acquired for beauty and sublimity. There are many cascades of greater pretensions, having a larger body of water, or a higher fall, but none can be more truly beautiful. Situated by the road-side, and, consequently, easy of access, it may on that account be undervalued, as there is a perverse kind of charm attending those sights which give rise to any unusual difficulty or danger. To those who are satisfied with beholding it from a carriage window, without the slightest risk or hazard, wishing for no perilous adventure to recount by "flood or field," it will ever be a scene of the greatest attraction, and must be considered one of the most beautiful objects in the country. It is formed by the river Salenche falling over a perpendicular height of upwards of 200 feet into the valley below. The effect produced by a first visit is invariably striking. The wild murmur of the breaking waters making perpetual music; the sparkling foam illumined in the rays. of the sun, glittering like broken pieces of burnished gold, and falling in a thousand varied shapes; the stillness of the solitude by which it is encompassed; the beautiful disorder of the scenery; large rocks scattered around, torn from their foundations by time and tempest; the little white romantic dwellings peeping from amongst the verdant foliage in spots apparently inaccessible to all but the goats of the mountains, leave nothing even for the imagination to desire. The charm produced by the scenery of the cascade continues as the traveller pursues his route, but it vanishes on arriving at Martigny. The feeling of delight which the tourist naturally experiences on viewing the most beautiful works of nature, subsides on approaching the scene of one of her most awful visitations. Martigny is the ancient Octodurum of the Romans. It is encircled by high mountains, and is divided by the river Dranse, which falls into the Rhone. There are direct roads from this place to the valley of Chamouni, which we have already noticed, and likewise to the Great St. Bernard, into Italy. This once considerable and prosperous town now offers but a ruinous appearance when compared with its former opulence, owing to the dreadful calamity it suffered some years since by a terrific inundation of the Dranse. Since that awful event, indeed, some of the inhabitants, aided by considerable voluntary donations, have courageously endeavoured to remedy the sad effects produced at that calamitous period, yet the vast extent of injury is even yet far from being repaired. Nothing could surpass the sublime yet terrific spectacle of this inundation; it was as awful in its progress and disastrous in its effects as the appalling commotion of an earthquake. The river Dranse, which divides Martigny, though in the summer a small and insignificant stream, becomes in the spring, when the snow melts on the mountains, swollen into a formidable torrent. It is in fact the outlet to the water which is formed by the many glaciers which appear in succession from Mont Blanc to the Rhone. The accumulation of waters, which caused the inundation, was not known for a considerable time, until some of the inhabitants of the valley remarked the unusual appearance of the stream, which continued trickling along without augmentation, although the snows had begun to melt. Several people went to the source to ascertain the cause, and found to their dismay, that a vast quantity of ice having accumulated from the glacier of Getroz, had fallen across the upper part of the valley, and formed a vast lake, into which the Dranse flowed, secured from* outlet by the artificial embankment. Anxiety and alarm spread throughout the country, and active measures were adopted to guard against the danger already apprehended to be at hand. It was proposed to cut a gallery through the immense wall of ice, and drain the lake gradually. The plan was adopted, and with great labour and difficulty it was eventually accomplished. Had the embankment lasted a few days longer, the whole mass of water would have found its way through this gallery into the Rhone; but shortly after the work was completed, fearful detonations were heard, and vast pieces of ice were seen floating on the lake, which had been loosened from the foundation of the dyke. Notice was speedily sent on all sides of the impending danger, the water begun to rush in considerable quantities from beneath the ice, and a crisis was every moment dreaded. At length, late one afternoon, a thundering explosion was heard. Reverberating through the surrounding hills, it bore the fearful tidings an immense distance, scattering dismay and terror amongst the trembling inhabitants. The dyke had burst; and the gigantic lakes of imprisoned water rushed from their confinement with headlong fury, forming a prodigious torrent a hundred feet deep, and sweeping along at the rate of twenty miles an hour. A huge forest, which lay across its track, was not proof against the strength of the waters, large trees were rooted up as though they had been osier wands, and borne away like floating branches in its tide. In this manner the inundation soon reached Bayne, offering to the view of the astonished and affrighted people, a stupendous mountain, composed of the ruins of all that the waters had gathered in their progress,-forests, rocks, houses, cattle, and immense masses of ice, shooting into the clouds a column of dense and heavy fog. The overwhelming deluge, thundering down in one promiscuous and unearthly roar, now sped towards Martigny, having compassed a distance of above fifteen miles in less than an hour. At length it burst on that ill-fated town, producing a scene of the most awful destruction. Half the place was immediately swept away, and the remain. ing part was covered with ruins. There were at least thirty persons perished, a conparatively small number, owing to the inhabitants having been taught to expect some catastrophe at hand, and having provided against the danger by flight. Among the victims was the landlord of the Swan Inn, who was well known and respected among travellers for his obliging disposition. He had imprudently remained too long in order to save his cattle, and was overtaken by the torrent and swept away. He was observed, at intervals, on the surface of the stream, struggling with the fearful energies of despair, until he sunk exhausted in the abyss. His corpse was afterwards found torn and battered against the tree which had arrested its progress. The inundation proceeded in its destructive course, till, about midnight, it reached Lake Leman, when the watery ruin was absorbed and lost amid the capacious lake. It is supposed that this has not been the first disaster of the kind which has occurred at Martigny, but that a similar calamity happened in the year 1595. There is a beam yet existing in the ceiling of a house in that town, which bears the following singular initial inscription: M. O. F. F. 1595, L. Q. B. F. I. P. L. D. G.; which has been thus ingeniously explained: "Monsieur Olliot Fit-Faire, 1595, Lors Que Bayne Fut Inondé Par Le Glacier De Getroz." An English gentleman, and a young artist from Lausanne, accompanied by a guide, after visiting the works at the dyke, which had created great interest even among |