the huge aiguilles of the Blumlis Alp rose with bare crags, too steep for the snow to rest on their sides; on the left, the more sloping parts of the same mountain, now clad entirely in white. Behind were the heights of the Gletcher, and the summit of the Jungfrau; below were the clouds.

But the indescribable charms of such a spectacle were soon exchanged for a sense of extreme toil. The snow lay many yards thick, covering the glacier. The party sank into it ankle-deep, as they dragged their feet through it in silence. In spite of exertion, cold was beginning to be severely felt. Some bread and kirschwasser were hastily partaken as they advanced. The yielding of the snow rendered the toil extreme. The more they exerted themselves, the more they were retarded by the half-hard crispness, which gave way as soon as they trod heavily upon it. In this manner they continued forcing their way for an hour, and yet the summit of the incline was apparently as far off as ever.

Nor was this all. The legs ached, and the feet were so benumbed, that the tourists scarcely knew where to place them. The higher they ascended the slopes, the more the snow increased in softness, and, from ankle, became nearly knee-deep. The effect of the rarity of the atmosphere was now telling on their frames. The face became purple, the hearing was gone, sight was beginning to fail, and to plod on mechanically, scarcely knowing or caring where they went, was all that was possible.

As, however, they descended on the other side, these sensations disappeared. At the summit the hail fell with some violence for a while, and it rained the whole way down. Such is the general character of the land of mist and snow. After traversing nine miles of it, they came upon the uncovered glacier. It resembles a saddle bestriding a gorge of the Blumlis.

Feeling their way with their alpenstocks, they escaped all danger. Soon leaving this part of the glacier, they trode by its side the firm ledge of rocks that shut it in. After walking for half an hour, they came in full view of that part of it which empties itself into the valley. It is a glacier of surprising beauty. Masses of ice, mast-high, of as rich an azure as ultramarine would paint them, formed the steep bulwark, closing up the valley into which they were now to descend. Here the glacier rose in crags and obelisks, in pinnacles and towers, broken and hurled into every form, like a colossal mass of crystallisation.

The descent of these adventurous tourists, though a considerable journey, did not occupy much time. Cold, hungry, wet, and way-worn, they reached a spot of solace and repose.

LONG before the sunbeams had penetrated the deep and narrow valley of Lauterbrunnen, where the daylight lasts, in winter, for only seven or eight hours, we were attracted onwards. Our object was to reach the top of the Wengern Alp. We had, therefore, first to ascend a very steep path to the left of the village, then to wind along the mountain brow, at the elevation of more than a thousand feet above the valley, and having traversed a forest of firs and some rich pasture land, our object was gained.

At the height of 6,000 feet above the sea, with the colossal peaks of the Jungfrau, Mönch, and Eiger, rising almost perpendicularly to the elevation of 8,000 feet above the summit you have gained, the mind may revel in, perhaps, the grandest and most awful spectacle in Switzerland. Not only does the sound of the avalanches salute the ear, like the roll of musketry; but as soon as the sun begins to exert its power on the snow, you see them rushing down into the valley which lies between you and the Jungfrau. On the right of the Virgin Mountain, juts the Silberhorn, a little snow-clad peak, and by its brilliant smoothness contrasting strangely with the rugged and abrupt sides of the Jungfrau, which overtops it. To the right of the Silberhorn was one vast ocean of mist, with, here and there, a marble-like island floating on its surface. All around were

luxuriant pastures, and large numbers of cows and goats, with their bells, breaking the silence of that elevated region.

On the Wengern Alp, a part of "Manfred" is said to have been composed; and its author has recorded, most probably, his first visit to this elevation :—

"Ascended the Wengern mountain; left the horses, took off my coat, and went to the summit. On one side our view comprised the Jungfrau, with all her glaciers; then the Dent d'Argent, shining like truth; then the Little Giant and the Great Giant; and last, not least, the Wetterhorn. The height of the Jungfrau is 11,000 feet above the valley. Heard the avalanches falling every five minutes nearly.

"The clouds rose from the opposite valley, curling up perpendicular precipices, like the foam of the ocean of hell during a spring-tide-it was white and sulphury, and immeasurably deep in appearance. The side we ascended was not of so precipitous a nature; but, on arriving at the summit, we looked down on the other side upon a boiling sea of cloud, dashing against the crags on which we stood-these crags on one side quite perpendicular. In passing the masses of snow, I made a snow-ball, and pelted Hobhouse with it. Our path conducted us to the old, and now unused hotel, and just beyond we caught the first glimpse of the Grindelwald valley, guarded, as it was, by its towering mountain peaks. The Wetterhorn appears in front, exhibiting walls of snow-covered ice very near its summit; and afterwards the Wetterhorn and Eiger, which close up the extremity of the valley. The rocks bordering it are of the most fantastic

diversity; broad and bare cliffs, peaks like a horn, others clothed with trees, and, in short, every variety that the same class of objects can well be conceived to offer. Each of these mountains is insulated, and composed of naked rock so perpendicular, that the snow finds but a partial lodgment. The immense wastes of ice behind these mountains, surrounding the Schrekhorn and the Finsteraarhorn, are not passable by the most venturous chamois hunters: and the inferior glacier has encroached on the valley, now occupying ground where were formerly habitations and a chapel. Black masses of mountain are crowned with plains of snow and ice, which are overtopped by the peaks themselves, whilst the two seas of ice, known by the names of the lower and higher glaciers of Grindelwald scintillate at the boundary of the pasture-lands, and in the wide intermediate valleys which separate the three mountains. Until of late years it was generally thought, even in the vicinity of these elevations, that these mountain-summits were inaccessible, except the Schrekhorn, or terror-peak, which had been ascended by a few Swiss naturalists, who had there planted a flag which might be seen through a telescope."

The descent soon after commences in right-down earnest. The scenery is extremely wild. Rocks, piled about in every direction, are the memorials of the past and terrific storms of winter. At several spots rude cabins are inhabited by boys, who have cannons to fire and horns to blow, the echoes of which are even more numerous than those of the Staubbach. The instrument may be nothing but a straight wooden trumpet, about six feet long, requiring no small quantity of breath to give it utterance. But "the Old Man of the Mountains, that old musician, coeval with the first sunrise in creation, takes up the melody with his mighty reverberating concave wall of granite, and sends it back with a prolonged, undulating, ringing, clear, distinct tone, the effect of which is indescribably charming." And no sooner is the little cannon fired, than the mountain sends back the sound with a thousand thunders, that roll gradually from the distant crags, and from ridges still more distant. We could now just distinguish the little pavilion surmounting the Faulhorn, on the farther side of the valley of Grindelwald. Then a few hours of gentle walking, beneath a burning sun, brought us into the “Ours."

The tourist may be glad if he can find, as he wanders from spot to spot, a sufficient quantity of the food he can take. Epicures may, of course, be indulged when some places are visited; but in others there is a lesson of contentment with small means, whether it is really learned or not. A traveller thus gives one of his experiences at Grindelwald. "The waiter, when we ordered dinner, gave a doubtful look, and it was pretty evident that something concerning it was passing in his mind. No hesitation was expressed, however, and measures were taken which seemed to announce that the meal was to proceed on a large scale.

"At length appeared the flustered and important face of the waiter, half-hidden behind a large covered dish. The dish was set on the table, the cover removed with a flourish, which carried with it, as expressively as a flourish could do, the exclamation, 'Now for it!' and, behold, at the bottom of the dish lay three small fishes, each about three and a half inches long! We lay back on our respective chairs, and fell into a fit of laughter; and, surely, we were entitled to do so. But we did not forget that the matter required to be handled in a practical manner, and instead of creating a storm, which might have been useful in such an emergency in the Strand, we proceeded to draw lots for this the first course.

"The second course consisted of three pieces of mutton chop, on precisely the same scale; and this was appropriated by lot, cast between the remaining two of us. Finally, came a cubical morsel of black beef-steak, which fell to the lot of the unsuccessful, yet not least fortunate, lot-drawer. It was now time, we thought, to look the matter in the face, and we demanded if there were aught else to be had. Some little, crabbed, wild

strawberries were produced; but that was not precisely the thing we wished. At last, by means of bread and scrapings of abandoned cold meat, we did manage to get enough for our wants, and were therewith content. It is fair to add, that however much the dinner was deficient in the requisites of a first-rate hotel, there was one feature in which the landlord seemed resolved not to fall below his caste-namely, the charge." Our experience in the Grindelwald was different: we were not doomed to "short commons during our sojourn at the "Ours.”

Although 3,150 feet above the sea, and in the region of storms, Grindelwald is so much overtopped every way, that it is never struck by lightning; while a particular spot on the Eiger was struck three times in one year, and a large rock detached, which rolled down to the Wengern Alp. The climate of this valley is not severe, but the seasons are often backward. The inhabitants have been keen sportsmen; and though, at one time, bands of fifty or a hundred chamois might be frequently met with, the sight of these animals has become rare. The lynx and the bouquetin have long disappeared. About half a century has elapsed since the last bear was killed. Sometimes the lammergeyer may be observed, and a few birds of less note, as the coq de bruyère, the red partridge, and the mountain pheasant. Trout are to be found in all mountain streams; but it is worth notice, that those of the Black Lütchine-the waters of which receive their particular, tinge from the argillaceous schistus of their bed, have whitish scales instead of brown, their usual colour.

The upper glacier is worthy of a visit. It may be ascended, by steps cut in the icc, to a place whence the traveller may look down one of the blue chasms into which the glacier at its termination is rent. Here it was that Christopher Bohren, the innkeeper at Grindelwald, fell into a crevasse. With a broken arm and a dislocated wrist, he was now shut up in a frozen dungeon; but he had sufficient energy to seek an escape. But how was this to be effected? To climb the walls was absolutely impossible; yet hope was not entirely extinct. The sound of a torrent caught his ear, and, following it, he crawled along till, at length, his heart was gladdened by the light of day, and he long survived to tell the tale of this providential deliverance.

M. Ebel concluded, from a series of observations, that the ice which descends annually into the ducts of the glaciers varies from twelve to twenty-four feet; others have assumed that it amounts to eighteen feet in one year, or to three miles in 900 years; and it is manifest that portions of rock have been gradually dragged by the ice in some glaciers over inclined plains, more than thirty miles in length.

Strange movements have been described by an eye-witness, a resident at Grindelwald, who set out with some friends to visit the celebrated glacier in the neighbourhood of that village. "We had sat down to rest ourselves," he says, "when we witnessed that singular phenomenon, the growth or swelling up of the glacier. It was accompanied with a tremendous noise; every object seemed to move around of its own accord; guns, sticks, and game-bags were all overturned; rocks, apparently fixed in the ice, were detached and dashed against each other; crevasses, from ten to twenty feet, were opened, others closed as suddenly, and the water contained in them was thrown to a great height. The whole glacier, thus agitated with so much violence, had advanced a few paces; but ere long tranquillity was restored, and the usual stillness was interrupted only by the screams of the wild fowl and the cries of the marmot."

So late as the sixteenth century, a direct communication existed between the Valais and Grindelwald, by a path now under the glacier; it is stated that, in the year 1561, some people of the Valais came to a wedding at Grindelwald; and other instances are mentioned of a subsequent date. In the year 1712, during the prevalence of civil dissensions, three Oberland men, having been detained by the Valais people, in order to compel them to become Catholics, made their escape over the glacier to their own land.

On the Valais side they experienced great difficulty in ascending; but the descent towards Grindelwald was extremely perilous, and but for extraordinary efforts, and the labour of cutting steps in the ice to secure a footing, they would have been frozen to death. Seventy years after, four Valaisans at Lauterbrunnen, exposed themselves to precisely the same perils, that they might hear mass on a Sunday. These miners traversed the level top of the glacier in three hours; then descended, amidst the greatest dangers, its broken slope into the Valais, and returned the day after by the same route.

The inscriptions on some of the dwellings in Switzerland will not fail to be observed by the intelligent traveller. In one instance he may read, "By the help of God, in whom is my trust, I have erected this for my habitation, and commend the same to his gracious protection, 1781." Picturesque wooden cottages are widely scattered over the village of Grindelwald. When evening comes on, the stranger will observe the inhabitants of the village seated before their doors, under the great spreading roof over the little projecting gallery, ready to tender him the salutation, "May you sleep well!"