The village of Trient is a dismal gloomy place, and the dark and dirty little ale-house is perfectly in unison with the scenery.[26] The landlady was goitrous; I have seen many such persons, and when they are young it only produces a plumpness in the lower part of the throat, which is hardly disagreeable; but as the disease increases, two unequal protuberances are produced, which at length become loose and skinny, and are excessively disgusting. The people among the mountains are pale, and seem unhealthy and inactive; the women more so than the men. The children have little vivacity; and I have not seen a woman dancing an infant, or giving it any exercise, either in Savoy or Switzerland. From Trient I ascended the Forclaz. The valley, which descends thence to Martigny, was completely filled with a cloud at some hundred feet below me. The descent is long and tedious, but the upper part of the way is adorned with noble pines and larches, particularly the latter. Some enormous trees waved their wild branches over the road, in magnificent style; others, which had been broken by storms while yet young, assumed the most irregular shapes; but they were large trees, vigorous and flourishing, and would have been capital subjects for the pencil. About half way down, we emerged under the cloud, and saw the Vallais stretched out beneath us; but the stratum of vapour I had just passed, prevented all view of the summits, and communicated a dull monotony to the scene, which it probably would not have had in finer weather.