was the effect of the Syrian sun), and having an eye that, notwithstanding his affability, he could not encounter without a sense of fear.  The only saying of the hero which he treasured in his memory was, “I have spoiled a hat among your mountains:  well, I shall find a new one on the other side.”—­Thus spoke Napoleon, wringing the rain from his covering as he approached the hospice of St. Bernard.—­The guide described, however, very strikingly, the effects of Buonaparte’s appearance and voice, when any obstacle checked the advance of his soldiery along that fearful wilderness which is called emphatically, “The Valley of Desolation.”  A single look or word was commonly sufficient to set all in motion again.  But if the way presented some new and apparently insuperable difficulty, the Consul bade the drums beat and the trumpets sound, as if for the charge; and this never failed.  Of such gallant temper were the spirits which Napoleon had at command, and with such admirable skill did he wield them!

On the 16th the vanguard, under Lannes, reached the beautiful vale of Aosta, and the other divisions descended rapidly on their footsteps.  This part of the progress was not less difficult than the ascent before.  The horses, mules, and guns, were to be led down one slippery steep after another—­and we may judge with what anxious care, since Napoleon himself was once contented to slide nearly a hundred yards together, seated.

On the 17th Lannes arrived at Chatillon, where he attacked and defeated a corps of 5000 Austrians—­who received the onset of a French division in that quarter, with about as much surprise as if an enemy had dropped on them from the clouds.  Every difficulty now seemed to be surmounted, and corps after corps came down into the plentiful and verdant valley, full of joy.  But suddenly the march of the vanguard was arrested by an obstacle unforeseen, or, at least, grievously under-estimated.  Midway between Aosta and Ivrea the Dora flows through a defile, not more than fifty yards in width:  the heights on either hand rise precipitous; and in the midst an abrupt conical rock, crowned with the fortress of St. Bard, entirely commands the river, and a small walled town, through the heart of which lies the only passage.  Lannes having vainly attempted to force the place by a coup de main, a panic arose, and this spreading to the rear, orders were given for stopping the descent of the artillery.  The Consul had come as far as the town of Aosta when this intelligence reached him.  He immediately hastened to St. Bard, where he found the troops in much confusion.