CHAPTER VII.

THE GLACIERS.

We

AN ingenious, though somewhat paradoxical, author asserts that the period of human life spent in travelling may fairly be reckoned at double the length it would count for if spent at rest. might subscribe to the truth of the remark if, as is probable, the writer merely meant that in a given space of time a person gains twice as much useful experience of the world and its ways, when his understanding and feelings are acted upon by the friction of the external world on a journey, than if they were exposed during the same period to the rust and dust at home. One thing is quite clear, namely, that it will depend essentially on the temperament of the individual, whether the result be a gain or a loss in the balance-sheet of life. Lord Byron, with his mind's eye in a fine frenzy rolling, talks, in his bold and peculiar style, of “curdling a long life into one hour." This is the opposite view of the matter; and unfortunately for him, poor fel

low, grand poet though he was, and enjoying a splendid renown, he turned all his experience the wrong way, and by drawing only misery out of his researches, curdled his whole existence into a few bitter hours. For my part, I am not ashamed to own myself a disciple of that school the great master of which "clapped his hands cheerly together," and declared, "that if he were in a desert he would find out wherewith in it to call forth his affections."* In other words, I have found this much abused world a very good sort of a world, both when vegetating, cabbage-fashion, at a fixed point, and when wheeling or sailing along its surface. Griefs and crosses will, no doubt, occur in both cases, but even these, if rightly taken, may be

great use, by preventing the wheels of life from catching fire when our rate of going becomes too great, or prevent their being clogged if we become too languid in our pace.

Be all this, however, as it happens to fall out in the grand tour of existence, there can be no doubt that a day's work amongst the mountains of Switzerland offers an agreeable illustration of the position at the beginning of this chapter, in which it is held that so much more may be seen and done and learned when moving about than when at rest. Nor is the variety of circumstances less than that

* Sterne: Sentimental Journey.

of the scenery. We may pass the morning in a hot climate, under the shade of such rich foliage as that of the baths of St. Gervais; at noon be labouring ankle-deep in snow on one of the bleakest shoulders of Mont Blanc; and before night be again springing along a grassy meadow in the temperate depths of an Alpine valley. We may thus breakfast at a sumptuous hotel, in company with the best society of Paris or London; dine on the summit of a barren rock 10,000 feet above the level of the sea, many a weary league from the nearest habitation of man; and at the close of the day take our supper with the Savoyard peasantry of a region we have never heard of, speaking a language of which we scarcely understand one word in ten ; and at length be glad to lie down to rest on a pallet of straw, in a hovel which, the day before, we would have considered scurvy lodging for our dog!

It seems admitted by every tourist who has made the journey, that the Allée Blanche, which lies on the southern side of Mont Blanc, forms the most interesting portion of the tour of that great mountain, and in some respects is justly considered one of the most magnificent scenes in all the Alps. Tastes will differ in these matters; but to my mind, after having crossed and recrossed these grand chains by ten different passes, I continue of my original

opinion, that the view of Mont Blanc, taken in reverse, from the top of the Col de la Seigne lying at the upper extremity of the Allée Blanche, is the grandest thing I am acquainted with in the way of pure mountain scenery, entirely divested of trees or of any sort of verdure, and undecked by anything but snow. Of that, indeed, the part of the mountain, which faces the south-east, has a smaller portion than any other side, chiefly, or I suppose I might say entirely, owing to a circumstance which in another way gives a wonderful degree of magnificence to this particular aspect of the cluster of peaks included in the general term Mont Blanc. I allude to the steepness of the rocks, which, on the side next the Allée Blanche are so very precipitous that no snow lies upon them, much less can it accumulate there. I therefore advise any one who really has a love for these mountains, and wishes to have the means of judging truly of their merits, to make an expedition to the Allée Blanche, either by the route we took over the Col de Bonhomme, or by the easier though somewhat longer way of the Great St. Bernard, Aosta, and Courmayeur, or finally, by the Col de Ferret, from Martigny. Besides this particular view and several others of almost equal magnificence, a trip to the Allée Blanche is well worth while, were it only to see the mighty glaciers of

Miage and Brenva. The glacier of Miage lies near to the top of the valley, between the foot of Mont Blanc and the Col de la Seigne, which is one of its low shoulders. Enormous masses of rock, it is true, are found on that side of the mountain, so precipitous that no snow can lie on them; but there occur also many valleys and many districts of rock of much less steepness, some visible, and some out of sight far up amongst the eternal snows. All these furnish materials out of which the enormous glaciers alluded to are formed in a manner I shall afterwards describe. Of these the most remarkable is the glacier of Miage, which not merely comes all down the side of the mountain, but actually traverses the valley at right angles, dams up the stream flowing along it, and by a long series of deposits of broken rocks, the detritus of the higher ridges of the Alps, forms a huge rampart across the valley several hundred feet high. Above this mighty natural barrier there is collected the lake of Combal, the waste waters of which have no small difficulty in finding their way past this formidable impediment. They are drawn off by a narrow channel lying between the mountains on the south side of the Allée Blanche, and the end of the embankment of rocks deposited by the glacier. The water from this lake mixing with those caused by the melting of the glacier of