which grew on the borders of the ice, like a kind salutation of welcome.
But the joy was of short duration; for, in order to reach Le Chapeau—the only way, on this side, down to Chamouni—one must clamber along the side of a perpendicular rock, without any thing to hold by but a rope, fastened by iron nails, as a hand-rail on the mountain wall. One walks along a narrow pathway cut in the rock, midway between two perpendicular mountain-walls,—the one above, the other below. At the depth of many hundred feet below this again, is the Mer de Glace, with its sheer descent. A moment's dizziness, and all would be over! The guides now began to advise us to hasten, “because stones are frequently precipitated from the rocks above.”
I glance up, and see that masses of stone are hanging above our heads, as it appeared, just ready to fall. But how is one to hasten here, where one must give heed to every step, and hold fast by the rope? And now even this ceases, and the path goes before me steep up hill. I have merely the guide's hand, who pulls me up.
“We shall go quite safely!” he says, consolingly.
“Nay, on, on, go on still faster!” I replied, whilst I see stones and debris giving way under each heavy step he takes, and I pray silently, “Deliver us from evil!”
Louise, with her light-footed guide, is already up and out of danger, upon firm ground, and now—I am so too,—and now the danger, and all the difficulties of the journey, are overcome. We are very near the
