Chapeau, and may quietly rest there, before we go further. I feel ready to cry.
But a few minutes later, when we had reached the Chapeau, and little Alpine cottage, sheltered by a rock in the shape of a hat-crown, and seated upon a wooden bench, in the cheerful sunshine, with my young friend's hand clasped in mine, I felt so unspeakably thankful to have overcome all the perils of the way, that I could not do other than share Louisa's delight over the extraordinary spectacle which the Mer de Glace presented from this place: for at this place, the pressure from above has caused the ice to mass itself together, and to assume the most remarkable forms. Imagine to yourself a stream of ice-witches and hobgoblins, with their children, and bag and baggage, on their journey to—the lowest pit! Here a gray giantess, with three daughters, in hoods, shawls, and crinolines, are advancing majestically forward; there a whole procession of gray nuns; here monks without heads; there giants in berserker-mood; and yonder a castle of ice, with many towers, like an immense artichoke, with its points somewhat turning inwards. In general, it seemed to me that the figures of the Mer de Glace resemble the forms and peaks of the circumjacent mountains. Saussure saw, from the heights of Mont Blanc, groups of its pyramids and needles, like the leaves of an artichoke, turning inwards towards the middle;—imagine to yourself all this crowd of dirty-gray ice-witches, little and big hobgoblins, now in fantastical groups, now a solitary, lofty figure, amongst towers, columns, ruins, as of a demolished city;—imagine all this immov-
