to put into practice the first geometrical axiom, and turning myself towards the summit, I signed to my man, guide no longer, to follow; and up we went, climbing on our hands and knees, making use of all sorts of projections to assist us in our ascent, often pausing for want of breath, not daring to look behind, but keeping our eyes on the summit, red with the eastern glow.

About an hour of this desperate exercise brought us to the last rock, round which we turned and scaled with more ease, possibly because it was the last, than I had imagined possible, and we were on the top of La Pointe au Favre, eighty feet higher than its fellow peak, which gives the name of Dent de Morcles to the mountain. There we remained only long enough to trace out the road to be taken to reach the lower peak, a more difficult task than the one we had accomplished, but presenting no such formidable dangers and difficulties as I had been led to expect. Descending from our elevation as rapidly as we could, we found that in order to cross the chasm between the two, we must pass along a narrow ridge of rocks with scarcely room to place one foot after the other, where, with the glacier de Martinet on one side, and multitudes of ragged peaks broken by the thawing of the snow on the other, if one lost his balance the

other could not have been of the least assistance to him. Each one took care of himself, I keeping my eyes on my feet till about two-thirds over, when feeling a giddiness coming over me, and knowing that I must conjure up a strong will or be lost, I looked resolutely down on each side of me, and the result proved that determination was all that was needed to overcome the vertigo. After some ten minutes of this tight-rope dance, we reached the end of the ridge; and then there was only about 200 feet of easy climbing straight ahead, and our feat was accomplished.

We threw ourselves down; I to regain my breath, as for the last half-hour I had been sensible of an increased quickness of respiration: and I may remark that it was after I passed the elevation of 6,000 feet, as near as I could guess, that I first felt this unpleasant sensation, which continued until I was within 1,500 feet of the top, when it left me, and returned as I was climbing the last peak. Notwithstanding that the sun had risen a couple of hours when we reached the top, I felt it piercingly cold, as soon as the glow produced by the severe exercise had passed away, and I was compelled to swallow some brandy before I could enjoy the sublime scene. My companion, who like myself had not eaten any

thing that morning, set himself immediately to work to diminish our stock of bread and cheese-an occupation which he appeared to think far more sensible than getting into ecstasies with the scenery; and doubtless he was right, as far as he was concerned, for he had more than once seen pretty much the same from a lower elevation, and would doubtless have many opportunities of doing so again, whilst I might never more have a chance of beholding a prospect that, in my opinion, is unrivalled even in Switzerland.

The first object my eyes rested on was, as usual, Lac Leman, like a sheet of burnished gold, with the Rhone issuing from it at the further end, running its course, now hidden by hills, now reappearing, until it was finally lost in the mountains of the Jura. Two thousand feet below me on the right was the Lac de Fuilli, black and gloomy, in a hollow on the top of a mountain, like an extinct crater; further on towered the Grand Muveran, with its three glaciers, looking massive enough to crush the world. At its foot, the lovely valley of Les Plans, and the village of Frénières, lay smiling in their verdant oases of emerald green; and next to the Grand Muveran, the Diablerêts, the highest point, the Oldenhorn, wrapped in its eternal white

shroud, frowned in stern and savage grandeur upon the desolation and ruin made by their fallen brethren in the valleys below. Mont Blanc, lighted by the morning sun, looked one smooth mass of snow; and the mighty Rhone, on the near side of the lake, seemed so shrunk in volume, that, as it rolled its slow course through the dimly-lighted valley, I could compare it to nothing but a single grey hair in a thick black wig-a very mundane comparison to suggest itself on those heights; but it came, and the reader can make a better if he please. 'After remaining on the top nearly half an hour, we commenced our descent by a path I had discerned leading by the Lac de Fuilli, that was quite as grim and dark on a near inspection as at a distance; thence we passed at a rapid rate down some steep rocky declivities, through some pastures, a wood, the bed of a torrent, down some more rocks, then through another wood and another pasturage, and by some châlets, into a better path, and finally reached the village of Outre-Rhone about two o'clock. There we had dinner, doing justice to the homely fare afforded by the little auberge, my appetite being no longer disturbed by the contemplation of the sublime, and arrived at Bex, nine miles off, soon after five.'

CHAPTER VII.

Picnic-A French Countess Christening a Cascade—Frénières-Les Plans-Pension Bernard--Search for SnowSnowballing in June-Exciting Pastime-The Lost Child— Happy Valley-Interior of a Châlet.

WHEN I look back on past events, my life appears as a varied landscape, in which the mountains, the most prominent features, correspond to those bright and happy portions of my existence on which the memory first seizes; the chasms and abysses so deep and sombre, to the dark and troubled times from which my thoughts involuntarily shrink; and the level plains, to those more tranquil periods, during which my existence moved on without variation or disturbance. Some few days there are, brighter and happier than any others, that are more clearly defined in my remembrance, like the mountain-tops that are the first to hail the rising sun, and the last to wish him good-night; and most assuredly, of all these, the one on which I love most to dwell, is a day spent in a picnic aux Plans, the Elysian

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