look at it steadily, as it lit up the atmosphere on the horizon with rainbow hues. Little by little it sank behind the mountains beyond Geneva, until its last fire-point was lost. The horizon stretched out far into the immensity, not rounding as we see it on the ocean, but in a right line; and above it was a bank of colored atmosphere, a broad line of dull yellow, another of dull violet, another of dull red. It looked as if some rainbow had been on its errand of mercy to speak peace to the world, and, fatigued, weary in well-doing, had laid down to rest, and was stretched out asleep on the horizon.

The winds were slumbering in their native homes; even the zephyrs were nestling far down amongst the trees. The deep valleys were hidden in gloom; twilight lingered on the snow-peaks; then the stars came forth, and all was peace.

"Est ce que, monsieur, ne mangera pas?" I was so absorbed by the scene, that I had hardly noticed the previous calls to supper, as I sat on the cliff in the warm open air, fascinated by the strange environment. Now I roused myself, and, going into the hut, removed from my wet feet the stockings and used-up dress-boots, which had become almost a jelly. The simple mutton, egg, and bread supper was then eaten, and with a zest and relish those who do not climb mountains hardly dream of.

The hut stands on a little shelf of rock, with the steep hill of snow beyond it, the perpendicular rock on one side, and on the other a precipice, leading to curiously-formed caverns, arches, and huge débris of fallen ice. The hut or cabin itself is made of rough pine boards, and each piece bears a number in black paint. The Chamouni guides built this little shelter themselves, and the number by which each one is known as guide, was painted on the piece of board which he bore up the mountain to help form this humble attempt at architecture-the most elevated building, probably, in the world.

To my inquiry at what hour they

would start in the morning, the guides suggested two o'clock. I was unprepared for that, and demurred to it decidedly, as I thought with more sleep I could do more in the remaining hours. They then proposed three o'clock, and said we must go up and back the same day, or be frozen to death, as there was no possibility of shelter beyond the hut. I still objected, and four o'clock was finally decided on. The bed was a slight covering, over stiff, hard boards -a not very tempting resting-place; and though, at the time, I felt no fatigue from the day's hard work, yet, unfortunately, I could not sleep, and hour after hour rolled on, as I turned from side to side, and felt for a softer place in my hard couch. The very anxiety to sleep on that particular night, the eve of the supreme physical effort of my life, had also a tendency to keep me wakeful, to say nothing of the nerves, somewhat affected, probably, by the intense effort of seven hours' hard climbing. I closed my eyes for a few minutes several times, but, at half-past three, the guides called to listening ears and open eyes. I rose, annoyed, disappointed, and unrefreshed by the night's rest. The simple breakfast of eggs and a chop was soon despatched; but I felt a little disheartened, and doubtful if, under the circumstances, I could succeed. My foot also I found to be sore and inflamed, and now I was forced to fall back on my Alpine boots. These boots had thick soles, the upper leather double thickness, and a row of nails, with prominent pointed heads, all round the sole and heel. I first put some grease on the sore, then two pairs of stockings, then the boots, and, over them and the pants, thick warm leggings, strapped down tightly over and under the boot, and reaching above the knee; then the green goggles, two coats, a pair of thick woollen mittens, and the costume was complete. Taking the alpenstock, with a sharp iron spike in its end, I stepped out into the open air, for the moment a not very enthusiastic mountaineer.

The air had become colder; indeed,

a sharp frost had so hardened the snow, that no impression was made on it, except by the nail-heads in my boots. The rope was adjusted as before, a hardknot on our right sides, and some seven feet of loose rope between each person, two guides before and two behind me, and off we started at a good pace up the snow-hill, just as the day was breaking, clear, cloudless, and still.

I had made no slip so far with my thin boots, nor complained of fatigue; so the guides were in good spirits at the evident probability of winning their extra premium by my success; and I assumed the virtue, certainly without having it.

The inclined plane of snow we were now trudging up, extended about a mile, and our path led us over many a crevasse or chasm, which we had to leap, or cross over snow-bridges. At the end of this stretch there was a chasm, wilder in form, and wider than usual, and, rising immediately from it, a steep mountain of frozen snow. This chasm was one of the very few that I stood at the edge of and deliberately looked into. The snow-storms, snowdrifting, and frost, have a tendency to keep the opening at the top narrow, while the confined air below is warmer, and gradually melts out the sides, leaving the opening somewhat pear-shaped, the sides of which, from a few feet below the surface, are clear, green, glittering ice.

We could see down this gulf, say a hundred and fifty feet, or three times the depth of a four-story house; but we could not see the bottom, as the outline was crooked below, and one could hear any thing thrown in, rattle down, after it was out of sight. This awful chasm, over the orifice or opening of which we leaped, was below large enough to entomb an army. Each edge of the opening rounded down, so that the narrowest part was some feet below the surface. Carriez cut two little footholds in this slippery bank, the only thing between him and eternity; cautiously fixing his feet in them, he reached out his pole with the little ice hatch

et attached, and cut similar places in the rounding bank opposite. When this was ready, Favret approached close to him to leave the rope loose, when the first guide, taking the hatchet end of the pole in his hand, struck the iron spike at the other end into the ice opposite, and sprang, or swung himself over, I and the other guides of course keeping back with a firm footing; as, if Carriez slipped, he would be hanging in the stupendous ice-chasm utterly helpless, and hopeless, unless we could draw him up. He once over, I approached Favret, and he sprang. Fayret over, it was my turn; and he got to a higher step, and stood ready to catch me as I sprang; but I waived him away. In the first place, it was safer to do it alone; and in the next, if a man has not nerve enough for that, he is as much out of place on Mont Blanc as a baby on a tight-rope. If your pose and spring be good, your footing is pretty sure, with the iron points or prominences on the soles of your boots; though there is always danger, of course, that the step itself may give way under your weight. The other guides follow, and we are all over. I describe this particularly, although it is not done once, merely, but dozens of times, over these frightful places. But this one impressed me more, perhaps, from the fact that the snow-mountain rose steeply up from its opening-so steep, indeed, that the first guide had to cut steps in zigzag, first to the right, then to the left, before we could ascend at all, and with the consciousness, at each step, that, if we slipped, we should go down the mountain like a lightningflash, and be dashed into this very chasm at its foot. We gained the summit, however, safely, and then trudged on some two miles up another ascent, fatiguing, but not dangerous, where we had to go out of our way to avoid crevasses we could not cross, and finally reached a locality called La Côte du Petit Plateau. Here the rise was again steep, and steps had to be cut in the more difficult parts. A mile and a half of this work brought us to the Petit

Plateau itself—a snow-basin nearly level, but still up, and about a mile across, but with danger of avalanches from the mountains on our right, over which the first attempts were made to reach the summit. So many fatal accidents have occurred on that route, however, that it is now avoided, and a long détour is necessary in consequence. Then came

a steeper climb, called La Côte du Grand Plateau, not very high in feet, but the zigzags necessary to reach the summit and avoid the chasms made about three miles; the whole of this high bank or mountain-side being a good deal cut up with crevasses. Finally, reaching the summit, we were on the Grand Plateau.

We had kept up our spirits, and had been gay enough so far, in spite of our severe efforts in climbing the mountainsides and trudging through the snow for so many hours; but even an iron horse will stop finally. With the work of the previous day, the sleepless night, and five or six hours of this hard labor, my limbs began to feel decidedly weak. Indeed, on reaching the Grand Plateau, they plainly suggested that they did not care to support me any longer; and I threw myself down at full length on the snow, the guides placing a flannel wrapper over my face and shoulders, to keep off the frosty air. Ten minutes of this, and they roused me to proceed. I felt decidedly refreshed for a time, but we had not crossed the three-mile stretch of the Grand Plateau, before the fatigue returned, accompanied by a pretty decided heart-beat. This Plateau is a sort of resting-place, as it is nearly level; indeed, part of it slightly descending, with few cracks or crevasses; but still its vast extent, as well as the rarified air, make it quite fatiguing. At its end the mountain becomes steep, with great danger of avalanches, and here the rise is called La Côte du Corridor. Another hour of snow-climbing, over and by the side of precipices, of rocks so steep that the snow does not lodge on them, and where a false step would risk one's being dashed to pieces at their base, the looks of the guides,

On

and their hurrying footsteps, telling plainly that we were doing very serious work. On our right were the mountain ranges from which avalanches have destroyed more human life than has been lost anywhere in the ascent. the left was a strangely beautiful, gigantic ice-formation, resembling the Palisades on the Hudson River, only larger. Imagine the Palisades to be solid, green, glittering ice, hanging over towards the river, instead of perpendicular, and the steep banks of débris at their base to be snow, with us hurrying along at its foot, glancing up every few steps to see if the ice were cracking, and where, and you have a very fair picture of that hour's work.

We emerge beyond danger, at last, with hearts beating like little drums, our breathing quick and deep, and the perspiration on our faces. Throwing ourselves on the snow, we again halted ten minutes, and the guides called "Forward." The reaction did not come so quickly this time; and when I attempted to rise, my limbs seemed inclined to argue the point with my will, and back out of their undue share of the toil. The guides offered me wine. Of course, I declined that; for although it might stimulate me to a half-hour's exertion, I knew that, with the reaction, I should break down altogether. I had already told them, that, if I should reach within half an hour, or so, of the summit, and break down, they might give me as much as they pleased to make the last step sure, but not before. I lay down again in the snow. The guides, however, became uneasy. The summit, and back to the hut, was our enormous day's work; or death from exposure, if we were caught out all night-the beauty of the day having tempted us to go with very few and light extra wrappers. I rose, finally, and, to the astonishment of my guides, began undressing. Taking off my coats, and loosening other parts of my dress, I began, in spite of the earnest remonstrances of Carriez, to rub my body with handfuls of snow, assuring them that I knew perfectly well what I was

was evidently very curious and odd to the guides, and of very little avail to me-I was too far gone. I again suggested, as I had several times already, that eating something might relieve me. This they were utterly opposed to, and in the main they are correct; it is best to fast during extreme fatigue, and I was too much in doubt to urge the matter. I now think it would have been better to have eaten, as my stomach was not affected in feeling at all, and the lassitude was probably about equally divided between hard work, want of sleep, and fasting. Finally we compromised the matter, by my eating two small pears and two prunes. I rose at last, with just strength enough to stand upright, and they attempted a new movement. The two guides behind went on before, by the side of the other two, to see if by drawing on the rope round my waist they could help me; but the snow was deep, double tracks had to be made instead of stepping in each other's footprints, and all the guides by this time were tired; so that was given up, and we went in line again. And there beyond us, yet seemingly so near in the clear air, rose the mighty dome, which, with its white glitter and eloquent silence, has been the Syren to lure so many to destruction. Well! on we went, slowly enough, and often with a careless, unbalanced, uneven motion, as if we had been drinking; and finally, after throwing myself down a number of times to recover breath, and rest, we reached the foot of the great dome itself, which rises up in one huge half globe from one to two thousand feet.

We began the ascent, Carriez cutting steps as before where it was too steep to mount without. All were now tired out and silent. Hardly more than two words were uttered during the ascent, and those were "Allez!" when I felt able to go on, and at the end of thirty or forty slow steps," Arrêtez!" when my heart beat wildly, and I could no longer put one foot before the other; and then throwing myself down on the steep, careless of consequences, Louis

Favret would strike his alpenstock into the ice under my feet to keep me from slipping. There was no word of encouragement, no urging; when my heart stopped its wild beating I went on for a few minutes, then lay on the snow as long; and so, the silence broken only by "Stop!" "Go on!" Stop!" "Go on!" perhaps another hour passed on this way, which seemed endless. Fortunately, my foot never pained me after leaving the hut, or I should have broken down.

Finally, as I was lying on the snow breathing rapidly through my wideopen mouth, I looked up, and saw that Carriez had loosened himself from the rope, and was some distance ahead, and sitting down. "Where is he?" I asked. "On the summit," they answered with a smile. I sprang up at once, my fatigue all gone-began humming a familiar air, and started off with a feeling of triumph. In ten steps the solo ended, in ten more iny heart began to beat violently, in ten more I threw myself down in the snow, once more used up. But it did not last long, for the certainty of success was before me. In a few minutes I started up again; one more effort, and we were all on the summit together at 2 P. M. of August 19, 1867, and after ten long hours' toil from the hut where we had passed the night. I felt a little exultation, of course, at our success-as if I had been having a tussle with a young lion, and held him down by the mane conquered. Strangely enough, too, all my fatigue vanished, the moment I stood there with no further effort to make. Loosening the rope, I left the guides unpacking, and went to the highest peak of the dome, a few feet above them, and for a minute or two was the most exalted man in Europe. As is said of other extreme heights, which fame or statecraft leads to, I found it a little lonely, and a little cold.

The scene, of course, was not as picturesque as from many lower mountains, not so much so as from many points in the ascent itself, but it was grand, magnificent, wonderful; and in looking down from the other side of the dome