It slept all the winter, but turned round once a fortnight to
avoid lying too long upon one side. When it woke up from its
winter sleep it no longer recognised him, but bit him savagely
right through the finger; by and by its recollection returned to
it, and it apologised.
From the summit, which is about 7600 feet above the sea, the path
descends over the roughest ground that is to be found on the whole
route. Here there are good specimens of asbestos to be picked up
abundantly, and the rocks are full of garnets; after about six or
seven hundred feet the Alpe di Campolungo is reached, and this
again is an especially favourite place with me. It is an old lake
filled up, surrounded by peaks and precipices where some snow rests
all the year round, and traversed by a stream. Here, just as we
had done lunching, we were joined by a family of knife-grinders,
who were also crossing from the Val Maggia to the Val Leventina.
We had eaten all we had with us except our bread; this Guglielmoni
gave to one of the boys, who seemed as much pleased with it as if
it had been cake. Then after taking a look at the Lago di
Tremorgio, a beautiful lake some hundreds of feet below, we went on
to the Alpe di Cadonighino where our guide left us.
At this point pines begin, and soon the path enters them; after a
while we catch sight of Prato, and eventually come down upon Dalpe.
In another hour and a quarter Faido is reached. The descent to
Faido from the summit of the pass is much greater than the ascent
from Fusio, for Faido is not more than 2300 feet above the sea,
whereas, as I have said, Fusio is over 4200 feet. The descent from
the top of the pass to Faido is about 5300 feet, while to Fusio it
is only 3400. The reader, therefore, will see that he had better
go from Fusio to Faido, and not vice versa, unless he is a good
walker.
From Faido we returned home. We looked at nothing between the top
of the St. Gothard Pass and Boulogne, nor did we again begin to
take any interest in life till we saw the science-ridden, art-
ridden, culture-ridden, afternoon-tea-ridden cliffs of Old England
rise upon the horizon.
APPENDIX A - Wednesbury Cocking (See p. 55)
I know nothing of the date of this remarkable ballad, or the source
from which it comes. I have heard one who should know say, that
when he was a boy at Shrewsbury school it was done into Greek
hexameters, the lines (with a various reading in them):
"The colliers and nailers left work,
And all to old Scroggins' went jogging;"
being translated:
