side to side of the fissure for a few seconds, and was then lost. The poor fellow was much distressed, and many plans were formed for its recovery, but none were deemed practicable, the crevasse was too deep. They left the spot, and soon finding another bridge, crossed it, and attained the rock. The spot usually fixed upon for what is called "spending the night," is Les Grands Mulets-a narrow chain of dark granite rocks-rocks which are 11,000 feet above the level of the sea, or less than 5,000 feet below the summit of Mont Blanc; and to reach them is generally regarded as a sufficient task for one day. There is difficulty in making the ascent, but when the feet once gain the solid and comparatively warm surface of the rock, the sensation is quite luxurious, the muscles being relieved from that incessant tension which is necessary in walking upon ice. The masses of rock are sometimes loose, and must be carefully examined before the weight of the body is trusted to them, as the dislodgment of one large fragment is likely to sweep away the whole of the party that may be following below in the line of ascent. So great is the difficulty in climbing this rock, that parties have been more than an hour in reaching the summit, occasionally swinging in the air, suspended by ropes, where there was scarcely footing for a chamois. The name of these rocks is derived from a fancied resemblance of their aspect, as seen from the valley, to a team of mules; but all images fail to exhibit the awful contrast of their dark isolated range of pinnacles with the dazzling fields of ice and snow above, around, and beneath them. The resting-place consists of an uneven ledge in one of the rocks, about twelve feet long and five feet wide. It is a few yards below the top of the rock, which rises at the back of it, forming a solid natural parapet on that side; on the other three sides there is a slight protection from the precipice, in a little wall about six inches high, formed of loose stones piled one on the other. There is, however, nothing like a roof, but all is open to the elements, in whatever state they may be, unless, indeed, a sort of tent be set up, which has usually been done. The view now unfolded to the eye is of no ordinary beauty and magnificence. The panorama, heightened by the deep azure of the sky, and the clearness of the atmosphere, embraces within its mighty grasp, mountains than which none are more sublimemasses of ice and snow of surpassing grandeur-valleys smiling with verdure, lit up, perhaps, by the rays of the sun,-Leman, all placidity, appearing like a lake of molten silver-and the blue hills of Jura, "far, far away." Mont Blanc, the most prominent feature of this august scene, "High o'er the rest, displays superior state, Moving round from left to right, and almost in front rises the huge Dome du Goûté-here surveyed in its full grandeur-a vast cupola of stainless snow; to its right, the Aiguille du Goûté, a mass of rock rising out of a belt of snow; to the left, the highest summit, scarcely here looking larger than from the valley, but cast further back in a more solemn seclusion from its subject domes and spires! All beneath these, the greatest summits being covered with unspotted snow, broken only by a few reddish rocks on the right of the top; ascending on every side from the basement out of which the rock-the foot-place of the spectator-arises, and thence floating downwards till lost to the sight in the steepness of the descent, except that here and there, at the rim of the downward view, a rock projects out, as if overhanging the unseen abyss, in shape like the tusk of some gigantic animal. The lower snow is, however, marked by the track of the party-deeply imprinted steps, which give a human interest to the waste. Beyond, far below, almost as at the bottom of a well, the broadest part of the Valley of Chamouni gleams with its bits of yellow fields, and white baby-houses, above which the top of the Brévent stands out in blackness; and beyond that, the far mightier rock of the Aiguille Varens, crouched like a lion in the deep blue sky. To the left, the huge round top of the Buet walled in the prospect; which, though thus mighty in objects, is from some points yet limited in extent, admitting no distance except a gleam of blue of the Lake of Geneva, with a faint outline of hills-the line of the Jura beyond it-which also may, perhaps, be traced to the left of the Brévent at the extreme verge of the horizon. And now, as the spectator crawls round the buttress which towers above the resting-place, and looks down into the other great snow valley which it overlooks and divides from the one that has been crossed, it appears not so vast, but still more fearful; bordered by heights more abrupt between the Aiguille du Midi and the summit, precipices which the chamois can never scale. The spectacle presented to the eye of Mr. Albert Smith from hence was truly glorious; and he has thus graphically painted it, in his published account of the ascent he made, August, 1851:— "The sun at length went down behind the Aiguille du Goûté, and then, for two hours, a scene of such wild and wondrous beauty-of such inconceivable and unearthly splendour-burst upon me, that, spell-bound and almost trembling with the emotion its magnificence called forth,-with every sense, and feeling, and thought, absorbed by its brilliancy, I saw far more than the realisation of the most gorgeous visions that opium or hasheesh could evoke, accomplished. At first, everything about us—above, around, below-the sky, the mountain, and the lower peaks-appeared one uniform creation of burnished gold, so brightly dazzling, that, now our veils were removed, the eye could scarcely bear the splendour. As the twilight gradually crept over the lower world, the glow became still more vivid; and presently, as the blue mists rose in the valleys, the tops of the higher mountains looked like islands rising from a filmy ocean-an archipelago of gold. By degrees, this metallic lustre was softened into tints-first orange, and then bright transparent crimson-along the horizon, rising through the different hues with prismatic regularity, until, immediately above us, the sky was a deep pure blue, merging towards the east into glowing violet. The snow took its colour from these changes, and every portion on which the light fell was soon tinged with pale carmine, of a shade similar to that which snow at times assumes, from some perfectly unexplained cause, at high elevations,-such, indeed, as I had seen, in early summer, upon the Furka and Faulhorn. These beautiful hues grow brighter as the twilight below increased in depth; and it now came marching up the valley of the glaciers until it reached our resting-place. Higher and higher still it drove the lovely glory of the sunlight before it, until at last the vast Dome du Goûté and the summit itself stood out, icelike and grim, in the cold evening air, although the horizon still gleamed with a belt of rosy light." The first operation on gaining this scene of anticipated rest is, generally, to clear out the snow that has lodged there. The batons, or poles, which have occasionally aided the party in crossing the ice, are now inclined against the rock, sheets are thrown over them, and blankets are spread on the rock. A fire is lighted, the knapsacks are unpacked, the evening meal is made, and then, adding threefold to their clothing, and wrapping up especially the feet, the party crawl into their cabin, stow themselves, perhaps, transversely on the ledge in a half sitting posture, with their feet turned towards the precipice, a provision bag making a tolerable pillow. The guides, meanwhile, lie closely around. They soon sleep soundly, but the traveller has frequently different thoughts and feelings, as on that lofty rock he listens, notwithstanding his fatigue, greatly increased by the tremendous excitement through which he has passed, to the long reverberated sound • Blackwood's Magazine, January, 1852. of avalanches. Interrogations strangely mingle at that unprecedented season with the reflections that arise. "Some of that falling ice covers, perhaps, the track we made to-day. Who can tell what other masses we may meet with to-morrow? This journey may prove fatal to some-to me! If I escape death, some serious accident may befall me. What shall I do if any of the guides should be swept away irrecoverably into some chasm, or suddenly disappear, sinking into an abyss through some thin and deceitful crust of snow? With strangely mingled feelings, their friends and relations parted with them yesterday, but how will they meet the survivors to-morrow, should such a catastrophe occur? And then I—.” Most imposing is the scene from this eminence on a brilliant night. Thus Dr. Barry says:-" Beneath a dark and cloudless vault, the snowy mantle of the mountain shone resplendently with the beams of a full Italian moon. The guides lay buried in the deepest sleep. Thus, in the midnight hour, at the height of 10,000 feet, I stood alone; my resting-place a pinnacle of rock that towered darkly above the frozen wilderness, from which it isolated me. Below me, the yawning rifts and uproarious desolation of the glacier presented an appalling picture of danger, scarcely gone by; around and above was a sea of fair and treacherous snow, whose hidden perils yet lay before us. I saw the chain of Jura, and the distant top of many an unknown alp,—an earnest of the prospect from still more lofty regions; yet among them Mont Buet's white dome, a warning monument of Eschen's fate, forbade the attempt to go up higher. The Vale of Chamouni slept at the mountain's foot; and now and then, broken by the deep thunder of an avalanche, the profoundest silence reigned. It seemed the vastest, wildest, sternest of nature's prodigious reposing; now starting as in a fitful dream, then sinking again into the stillest calm. The influence upon my mind of that poetic vision of the night,' I must despair of ever being able to communicate to others; and yet the scene itself lives, a picture in my memory, standing alone-unalterable by time. It held me until an hour and a half had passed away; when a recollection of the coming day's fatigues rendered it proper again to try, at least, to take repose." Dr. Clark says, when on the Grands Mulets, "during the night I rose, left our rude tent, and reconnoitred the appearance of the weather. The guides were all sleeping, some near to the end of the tent, others in a small cavity in the rocks below. The dark sky was perfectly clear, and the stars sparkling in the ebon vault. To complete the sublimity of the scene, the bright moon was shining on the top of Mont Blanc, and throwing strong masses of light and shade over the wide waste of snow. This scene alone was worth a pilgrimage! No words can convey an adequate impression of the solemnity and awful wildness of this moonlight picture!" But three hours too quickly pass; the guides are awake; they arouse any one who has sunk into a fitful dreamy slumber; for they have carefully looked out on the state of the snow; were it too soft the enterprise must even now be given up, but they declare it is not, and after a hasty meal, the adventurers resume their course. When Mr. Auldjo recommenced his ascent, the moon was shining with great brilliancy; the effect of its light on the snow and glaciers, which were visible to a great extent, was beautiful and soft. The appearance of Mont Blanc was particularly grand and sublime, the deep colour of the sky behind forming a strange contrast with the now bright snow. The whole scene was of a deeply impressive nature; to enhance which the awful and unbroken stillness contributed in a great degree. On Dr. Barry resuming his course, Orion shone where the full and now setting moon had beamed three hours before. Soon the mountain-top became a pyramid of gold; a delightful token that the rising sun, between which and the tourist the mountain intervened, had redeemed the pledge given by his departing rays. Mr. Auldjo and his party directed their course towards the Dome du Goûté, walking |