SOURCE OF THE ARVEIRON.

THE Arveiron is a stream of considerable size, issuing from the Glacier des Bois through a large arch at its lower extremity, which is called by the people of the valley the mouth of the Arveiron, although it really marks the source of that torrent, or at least the spot at which it first becomes visible. It may be visited in the descent from the Montanvert; but the route is so steep as to be quite exhausting, especially to those who have already accomplished one fatiguing journey. The best way is to proceed at once to it from the Priory through some fine meadows and a "superb forest," which occupy the interesting part of the valley; this excursion is a delightful walk.

The "source of the Arveiron" is described by all writers as one of those objects most worthy of the attention of the traveller, in the whole valley. Figure to yourself, to use the words of Saussure, a deep cavern, the entrance of which is an arch of ice, more than 100 feet high, and of a proportionate width,-a cavern cut by the hand of nature in the middle of an enormous rock of ice, which, by the play of the light, seems here white and opaque, like snow, and there transparent and green, like aqua-marine. From the bottom of this cavern issues with impetuosity a river, white with foam, and oftentimes rolling in its waves vast rocks of Raising the eyes above this vault, you see an immense glacier, crowned with pyramids of ice, from the VOL. XI.

ce.

midst of which rises the obelisk of the Dru, its summit almost lost in the clouds; lastly, the whole picture is framed, as it were, by the beautiful forests of the Montanvert and the Aiguille du Buchard, which rise with the glacier until its summit is confounded with the sky. The spot from which this prospect is seen is extremely wild; the glacier formerly extended further into the valley, and in retreating has left masses of sand and stone devoid of verdure.

Some persons have curiosity enough to enter this cavern, and there is no difficulty in penetrating within it when the arch is pretty wide, and not entirely occupied by the water of the Arveiron; but there is always rashness in the attempt, because large fragments of ice are constantly falling from the roof. There is a story told of a sad calamity which happened to a party visiting this spot, in consequence of the imprudence of a young man, who ventured, in opposition to the advice of the guides, to fire off a pistol, in order to observe the effect of the explosion. The concussion detached from the roof of the cavern a large mass of ice, the fragments of which arrested the escape of the stream for a few minutes. At length the accumulated volume of waters burst through this barrier with a loud noise, sweeping along with it the fragments of ice. The party had placed themselves, as they thought, in security, upon a small island, but the young man whose imprudence had occasioned the catastrophe lost his life, and his father had both of his legs broken. 337

Saussure remarked, when he visited this place in 1778, a great horizontal crevice in the arch, cut at each extremity by a vertical cleft; he judged from the appearances, that the whole mass marked out by these crevices would soon be detached. In the night, a noise similar to a thunder-clap was heard, and it was found that what he had expected had actually occurred. The fragment which had fallen was the key of the vaulted roof; its fall had occasioned that of the whole of the external portion of the arch; this mass of ice suspended for some moments the course of the Arveiron; its waters accumulated in the bottom of the cavern, and then all at once breaking down this dyke, carried away with violence vast blocks of ice, dashed them against the rocks with which the bed of the torrent is strown, and bore off large fragments to a considerable distance.

This arch is not at all times equally large, nor equally beautiful; nor is it always to be seen in the same place, because the glacier sometimes advances and sometimes recedes, as we have indeed already explained. In Winter it either is very small, or has no existence at all; the Arveiron, being then reduced to a very diminutive stream, creeps out under the ice, which descends in a slope to the level of the ground. As the heat increases on the approach of Summer, the volume of its waters becomes greatly augmented, and at the same time the hardness of the ice is diminished, the stream works its way out at the sides, and the mass of ice in the middle, being no longer supported, gives way, and is carried off in the torrent. Other fragments successively fall, until the upper part of the opening has assumed the shape of an arch, and its parts thus mutually sustain each other. The appearance of the arch frequently changes from day to day; sometimes the whole of it falls in, but a new one is quickly formed.

THE COUVERCLE, AND THE GARDEN. ONE of the most hazardous expeditions which can be made from Chamouni, is the excursion to a rock called the Couvercle, which lies at the extreme end of the Mer de Glace. Those who undertake it should pass the night, as Saussure did, in the châlet on the Montanvert, so as to be ready early in the morning to begin their journey on the Mer de Glace, or rather on its border, along the base of the Montanvert, by the side of which this glacier runs until it joins the great longitudinal Glacier du Tacul, in the manner already stated. When he has reached the point of junction he can no longer delay his journey on the ice. He has two glaciers, or two branches of a glacier as it were, before him; the one on his right is that of du Tacul, which runs parallel to the valley of Chamouni up to the very foot of the summit of Mont Blanc,-the other on his left, or rather straight before him, is a continuation of the Mer de Glace, by the side of which he has hitherto been journeying. As the traveller must necessarily be of an adventurous turn to have engaged in the expedition, it would undoubtedly be more interesting to follow that on the right, and thus approach Mont Blanc, as Saussure remarked when he made the excursion some years before a route to the summit had been discovered in another direction; "its slopes of snow and ice, as they present themselves to us, do not seem to be absolutely inaccessible, but their appearances are deceitful: the approach to this redoubtable mountain is defended by glaciers, intersected by deep crevices, masked here and there by thin coverings of snow." This naturalist thought it, however, possible, that by fixing upon a year in which a great deal of snow had fallen, and setting out while it still retained its firmness, a bold and skilful hunter might venture to try this route.

With this tempting glacier on his right, the traveller strikes at once across the ice, and soon reaches the Glacier de Léchaud, which is the name given to the continuation of the Mer de Glace, on the further side of the junction with the Tacul, and here he approaches one of the most wonderful sights which the glaciers can afford. The Glacier du Talèfre, a circular glacier, lying to the left of that of Léchaud, and on a higher level, empties itself, if we may use the expression, into the latter. The view at the point of junction is striking; the slope by which the Glacier du Talèfre descends is very steep, and "its blocks of ice assume the shape of towers, of pyramids variously inclined, which seem ready to crush the rash traveller who should dare to approach them."

In order to reach the upper part of the Glacier du Talèfre, beyond this steep slope, it is necessary to climb a rock on its left, called the Couvercle, the sides of which are extremely

steep and difficult to ascend. The prospect from its top is magnificent. "From that station," says Coxe, "we had the view of three stupendous valieys of ice; the Glacier of Talèfre to the left, in front that of Léchaud, and the Tacul to the right, all uniting in one great valley of ice, called the Glacier des Bois, which stretched under our feet, and was surrounded and ornamented by the rugged needles. The dead silence which reigned in this place, was only interrupted by the bounding of distant chamois, and the cries of alarm which the marmots gave to their tribes at our approach."

From the Couvercle Rock the traveller proceeds on to the Glacier du Talèfre, around which, in a semicircular form, arise a number of peaks, or aiguilles, of various shapes and to various heights; and here, entirely shut in amid ice, and snow, and barren crags, where all vegetation might be supposed to cease, his eye is startled at the sight of a small rock, clothed with grass and alpine plants,-" an oasis in the desert,"-" a fertile island in the midst of a desolate ocean,"-which is familiarly known by the name of le Jardin, or "the Garden." Saussure thus describes it" A very singular bit of the picture is a flattened rock, situated, like an island, in the midst of the ice and snow of the Glacier du Talèfre. Its form is nearly circular, and it is a little elevated above the level of the glacier. The eternal hoar-frosts which cover the whole surrounding region seem to respect this rock; they make no stay upon it, or at least they quit it much sooner than they quit the rest of the mountain. It is even clothed in a little verdure, which was only just beginning to break forth, the month of July being a season of early Spring on these lofty mountains, but at the end of August it is covered with a beautiful green turf, set off with a great variety of pretty alpine flowers; it is named le Courtil, which, in the language of Savoy, as well as in old French, signifies the garden.' It is even shut in like a garden, for the glacier has deposited around it a ridge of stones and gravel, forming an exact enclosure. I was very desirous of going there to examine whether there might not be some warm spring, or some other local cause, which occasioned the melting of the snow, and favoured the process of vegetation; but the deep crevices in the glacier, concealed by a soft and thin covering of snow, rendered the approach at that period so dangerous, that our guides absolutely prevented us from going. For the rest, however, this phenomenon is not unique in the history of the glaciers; I have seen other instances in those of Switzerland, but, perhaps, nowhere is there one to be seen in so fine a situation, and covered with so beautiful a verdure. When the snow is melted, the approach is neither dangerous nor difficult."

THE BREVEN.

MONT BREVEN is the name of the mountain which rises opposite to Mont Blanc on the north-western side of the valley, immediately above the Priory or village of Chamouni; it is connected at the base with the Aiguilles Rouges, which form another portion of the boundary of the valley on that side. Its summit, however, is isolated and bare, presenting a perpendicular appearance on the side towards Chamouni, but being rounded off on the opposite side. Saussure says, that this mountain is in every respect one of those most interesting to a naturalist. The ascent to its upper part is one of the regular excursions made by visiters to Chamouni; some content themselves with mounting only a part of the way, to a point whence they get as fine a view as from the summit; others continue to the topmost point, "for the glory" of it, as Simond observes. "There was no difficulty," says that gentleman, who himself went up for that memorable reason, “till we came to the first field of snow, which was very steep and very slippery; a back-sliding might have been serious on account of the difficulty of stopping. By sticking in the end of your foot at every step you take, you get a secure footing, and may anchor yourself, with your hands in the snow, when the declivity is very great, without a stick, nearly as well as with it. At the Chimney, a difficult passage at all times, the guides held a consultation, as it had not been tried yet this season; we might have turned it, by another field of snow, but it was more precipitous than the first, therefore it was determined to make for the Chimney,-first climbing a steep rock with very little difficulty, and no danger, provided you do not look behind; above that is the Chimney, a chasm or recess full of ice, which, melting first where it touches the rock, had left a vacant space of about two feet. With your back against

the smooth ice, and plying diligently with feet, knees, and | hands, against the rock, in the manner chimney-sweepers do, you may work yourself up, with tolerable ease and comfort, to the top, some twenty or thirty feet, in a very few minutes. There you find another field of snow-ice not at all steep, then a very steep ascent, and the last, wholly composed of broken schist, which brings you to the signals, two rude constructions like altars, on the top of the Breven. The prospect of Mont Blanc was here very little different from what we had found it at the Châlet, [lower down,] yet the summit of Mont Blanc appeared now less foreshortened, and the whirlwinds of snow-dust upon it were clearly distinguished athwart the dark blue of the sky, moving round with great violence on particular spots. Where we were, indeed, it was scarcely possible to stand the wind, and a large sheet of greasy paper, which had served to wrap up our provisions, being blown off, first flew over the precipice of nearly two thousand feet, which separated us from the Châlet, then over the Châlet, and in a very few minutes fell on a spot it took us afterwards two hours to reach, although down hill."

When Captain Ross was engaged in exploring Baffin's Bay in quest of the much-desired North-West Passage, he and his companions were astonished at the sight of some cliffs covered with "red snow," as it was called; and on his return, much surprise was excited by the account of this phenomenon. It is a little remarkable, as Mr. Bakewell observes, that it should have escaped public attention at the time that the same phenomenon occurs every year in the Alps, but at a season when it is not often exposed to the view of travellers. "Our guide," he states, “said that its appearance was like that of minute red grains scattered on the snow; they were to be seen in March, and generally disappeared about the end of May, or the beginning of June." The powder or grains penetrate two or three inches into the snow, and are of a very lively red colour; is to be seen chiefly where the snow lies in a concavity, is deepest near the centre, and very faint upon the borders, as if it had been carried down from the edges towards the lower parts, by a partial melting of the snow. Several persons told Mr. Bakewell, that they had seen this red snow; travellers never visit the valley till after it has wholly disappeared.

Saussure, however, saw it on his first ascent of the Beven, in 1760, as he visited the mountain at a season when it was covered with snow in several places. He brought down a small quantity in a drinking glass, the only vessel he had with him, but the powder sunk down to the bottom as the snow melted, and its colour became less brilliant. When the water had wholly evaporated, the quantity of the powder was very minute, and its colour had wholly gone. The next year, Saussure went up the Breven again, and filled a large pocket-handkerchief with it; but as he left it exposed to the sun, that the snow might be melted, somebody stole it. He tells us, that he has seen this substance not only upon the Breven, but upon all high mountains, at least in the same season, and in similar positions; and he expresses his surprise, that those who had written expressly upon the Alps, had neglected to mention it. Some years after his visit to the Breven, he obtained a supply of this red powder from the St. Bernard mountain; and the experiments which he made upon it, led him to the conclusion that it was a vegetable matter, and probably the pollen of some Alpine plant. But he admits, at the same time, that he is not acquainted with any plant in Switzerland, whose flowers yield a red powder, and which is so universally distributed over the mountains; and, also, that in examining the grain with a microscope, he could not perceive any of that regularity of form which characterizes the grains of pollen. Mr. Bakewell, suggests, as a fact quite as probable, that it is deposited by some species of fly, observing that Mont Breven, where it occurs most abundantly, is on the snowy side of the Valley of Chamouni. When the snow brought home by Captain Ross was examined, it was said to be a vegetable product.

HEIGHT OF MONT BLANC.

"MONT BLANC," says Coxe, "is particularly distinguished from other mountains, by having its summits and sides clothed to a considerable depth with a mantle of snow, almost without the intervention of the least rock, to break the glare of the white appearance; from whence its name is derived. This circumstance frequently deceives the eye

* See Saturday Magazine, Vol. III., p. 212.

unaccustomed to such objects, and in many situations renders it less lofty in appearance than it is in reality. Although its summit was elevated more than seven thousand feet above the spot where I stood, yet it did not impress me with that astonishment which might be expected from its superior height and magnitude above the circumjacent mountains. I was, indeed, more struck with the first view of the Schreckhorn from the top of the Scheidec, than of Mont Blanc from the Col de Balme. The summit of Mont Blanc being of a roundish form, and covered with snow, unites beauty with grandeur; whereas, the Schreckhorn being piked, naked, and its shagged sides only streaked with snow, its grand characteristics are ruggedness and horror; and hence, indeed, it derives its name of Schreckhorn, or the Peak of Terror. But Mont Blanc soon reassumed its real importance, seemed to increase in size and height, and solely attracted our attention, until we entered the Vale of Chamouni.”

The same writer remarks, that a reader who is totally unacquainted with alpine scenes, may, perhaps, conceive a faint idea of the elevation of this gigantic mountain, on being informed, that the mantle of snow, which appears to cover its top and sides, exceeds an altitude of four thousand feet perpendicular, and nine thousand feet in a horizontal direction, from the dome of Gôuté to the summit; and that the height of the snow and ice, estimated from the source of the Arveiron, at the bottom of the Glacier of Montanvert, to the summit of Mont Blanc, cannot be less than twelve thousand perpendicular feet, or more than three times as high as Snowdon, in North Wales.

The height of Mont Blanc is variously stated, according to different calculations. It has been ascertained by both barometrical and trigonometrical observations; the results of the latter are, of course, more precise and worthy of reliance than those of the former. It was at no distant period a disputed question whether the Mont Blanc were really the highest mountain in Europe,--its claim to that honourable pre-eminence being contested by the Mont Rosa. In the following extract from the Astronomical, &c., Correspondence, of the well known savant, the Baron de Zach, the matter is thus summed up :

"For half a century the height of Mont Blanc is a question which has occupied geographers and philosophers without their being able to arrive at a conclusive result. We shall only regard the trigonometrical measurements which have been made in late years with superior means. From them we have obtained the following:

Toises.

2468.0

2460.0

2462.5

39

combres

2459.9

2460-1

the French Engineers from Mont Granier

Mean height of Mont Blanc above the level of the sea.. 2462-0 This mean of the different calculations,-2462 toises,-is equivalent to 15,743 English feet; so that the perpendicular height of the summit of Mont Blanc above the level of the sea, is within one hundred feet of three English miles. That it is the highest point of Europe is a fact now well ascertained; the Mont Rosa, which ranks next to it, being only 2366 toises in height,-that is to say, 96 toises, or 614 English feet, lower than Mont Blanc."

VIEWS OF MONT BLANC.

"ON a beautiful serene Summer evening," says Dr. Clarke, "we walked up the hill from the town of Neuchatel to La Rochette, a charming villa overhanging the lake. Standing here on the terrace-walk, surrounded with exotics of gayest tint and sweetest fragrance, we gazed for the first time on the hoary monarch of the Alps. You look down over a green vineyard, and a poplar colonnade, on the blue surface of the lake; beyond, rise the green swelling hills of the opposite shore, and then far above, the eye roams along a snowy range of Swiss and Savoy alps, extending more than a hundred miles in the sweep of the distant horizon. The sun gradually descended behind the Jura; we watched in silence the shadow of the horizon spreading slowly upwards from peak to peak; but when all the less lofty summits were clad in sober gray, still the colossal summit of Mont Blanc remained conspicuous, like a bright cloud detached from the earth, and glowing with a warm roseate light in