A

SUPPLENDA.

S I was prevented by illness from making any notes at Chambery, it may not be unacceptable to the Reader if I substitute the following animated Extracts from the unpublished Papers (written Sixty Years since) of an accomplished English Ecclesiastic, principally referring to the lovely, fertile, and romantic Territory of Savoy and its vicinity.

September 22nd, 1783.

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WE go from hence to Lyons, where we shall at present only pass a few days, and then proceed to Chambery, the capital of Savoy. We are induced to select Chambery, for the pleasure of rejoining the Baron de Chatillon, a young nobleman of Savoy, whom I fortunately met here, and soon distinguished from the herd of frivolous young Frenchmen about him. He is about eight and twenty, with the most manly and graceful person,

and a countenance as bright and open as the day: to all the politeness of the French, and all their quickness, he unites the frankness of an Englishman, and the insinuating softness of an Italian : his natural talents are highly cultivated, and excellent he has read much, discriminated much, and seen much he is a great proficient in music, and speaks the Italian language with as much elegance and fluency as the French. He made us promise to follow him into Savoy, to pass the Vintage there with him at his Country seat, and spend a part of the winter at Chambery, where he has his Town residence, and where his mother and two sisters reside; this will be an agreeable circumstance for my dear wife, as they are accomplished and amiable women.

Chambery, January 5th, 1784.

I AM lately returned with the Baron de Chatillon from an agreeable excursion into Bouget, a little neighbouring Province of France; we passed to it by the beautiful Lake of Bouget, which is three leagues long and one broad. On each hand the boldest rocks appeared, sometimes blank and precipitous, at others broken into a thousand fine angles, and adorned with all the various shades of Autumn; wherever there was an opening between them, you were certain to see it luxuriantly adorned

by the hand of nature, or cultivated by the hand of man: here a deep Dell, dark with Wood, sunk between the white Cliffs, from which a brook gushed into the majestic Lake, and there little Vineyards and Pastures smiled among the sheltering precipices, the latter spotted over with cattle and goats, watched by some poor peasant, who sat knitting at the foot of a spreading tree. But the most picturesque objects of all were the little Villages, Coppices, and Farms that appeared on the slopes, at the base of one stupendous rock, and above the summit of another, and which seemed to hang on dizzy heights, that defied the daring industry of man, whose avarice or necessity had found means to add the smiling graces of fertility to all their wild and awful charms. As we roved at the foot of one lofty and almost perpendicular rock, we saw several peasants cutting faggots from the wood with which it was crowned, and which they had no other means of conveying to the borders of the lake but by tumbling them down its craggy sides, so steep and dangerous was the path by which they had mounted. As we advanced, the Castle of Chatillon rose proudly as it were from the bosom of the Lake, eminently situated on the top of a rocky mount, fringed with underwood, and domineering over the Water on one side, and an extensive and lovely Vale on the other. You will suppose from its name that it belongs to my Friend, and gives him his title; it was once a powerful Fortress, and is now a majestic Ruin. Its date is

very ancient, and it was spacious enough, in the time of Bertoldus, the First Duke of Savoy, to contain him and all his train, it still looks sternly from its mouldering battlements and ivied towers, and seems to bid a haughty though vain defiance to the hand of Time, which has destroyed its strength without destroying its spirit, and which has given it in interest what it has taken from it in grandeur, by leading and leaving amidst its ruins all the Desolate Graces. We slept there one night, it proved a most tempestuous one. I lay in a vast, lofty, and comfortless Chamber, and felt a new and indescribable pleasure in listening to the Storm that beat against the crazy windows, and murmured in all their crevices. All the Spirits of the Lake seemed up in arms and tilting in the furious winds. It was consistent with the style of the old Castle, and sleepless as my night was, I preferred it to the calmest repose on a down bed, amidst all the luxurious concomitants of modern elegance and ease. From Chatillon we passed by the rapid Rhône into Bougêt, which is a small province full of great objects. Vast chains of Rocks and Mountains are successively offered to the eye, between which spread immense undivided Meadows, which are too monotonous, and have too much the air of marshes to be pleasing.

The Villages are but thinly scattered, but some of them strikingly situated, and the vast and frequent Forests of Pines, that stand in dark phalanx on the mountains' brows, give them a sombre grace,