Valence, which we reached towards noon, is a commonplace city on the Rhone; and my only reasons for traversing its dirty streets in preference to taking the road, which passes without the walls, were—­to get something for dinner, and because it might have been the birth-place of Aymer de Valence, the valorous Crusader, chronicled in “Ivanhoe,” whose tomb I had seen in Westminster Abbey.  One of the streets which was marked “Rue Bayard,” shows that my valiant namesake—­the knight without fear and reproach—­is still remembered in his native province.  The ruins of his chateau are still standing among the Alps near Grenoble.

In the afternoon we crossed the Isere, a swift, muddy river, which rises among the Alps of Dauphine, We saw their icy range, among which is the desert solitude of the Grand Chartreuse, far up the valley; but the thick atmosphere hid the mighty Mont Blanc, whose cloudy outline, eighty miles distant in a “bee line,” is visible in fair weather.  At Tain, we came upon the Rhone again, and walked along the base of the hills which contract its current.  Here, I should call it beautiful.  The scenery has a wildness that approaches to that of the Rhine.  Rocky, castellated heights frown over the rushing waters, which have something of the majesty of their “exulting and abounding” rival.  Winding around the curving hills, the scene is constantly varied, and the little willowed islets clasped in the embrace of the stream, mingle a trait of softened beauty with its sterner character.

After passing the night at a village on its banks, we left it again at St. Vallier, the next morning.  At sunset, the spires of Vienne were visible, and the lofty Mont Pilas, the snows of whose riven summits feed the springs of the Loire on its western side, stretched majestically along the opposite bank of the Rhone.  In a meadow, near Vienne, stands a curious Roman obelisk, seventy-six feet in height.  The base is composed of four pillars, connected by arches, and the whole structure has a barbaric air, compared with the more elegant monuments of Orange and Nismes.  Vienne, which is mentioned by several of the Roman historians under its present name, was the capital of the Allobroges, and I looked upon it with a new and strange interest, on calling to mind my school-boy days, when I had become familiar with that war-like race, in toiling over the pages of Caesar.  We walked in the mud and darkness for what seemed a great distance, and finally took shelter in a little inn at the northern end of the city.  Two Belgian soldiers, coming from Africa, were already quartered there, and we listened to their tales of the Arab and the desert, while supper was preparing.