tains of icebergs, filling the head of the Val, which, however, it does not descend. It finds an outlet northward on the Swiss side, where its radiated and scalloped structure, as it plunges deep into the valley, is beautifully seen.

A cross just appearing on a mountain top to the right, pointed out our course; to which we climbed by a steep track, extremely narrow and arduous for the mule; and E. had to ascend on foot. At last the summit was gained, after passing a perilous ledge on the brink of a fearful precipice;

Pass and Glacier of the Gries.

and we halted on the glacier edge, under shelter of its icecliffs, by a little emerald green pool embedded in the desolate lateral moraine.

Here we picketed the mule and dined on our hard-boiled eggs; while Luigi, who had now become our fast friend and had entreated to be allowed to accompany us to the Swiss Oberland, collected together some fragments of wood and straw, left by peasants who had crossed the pass with cheeses, and made a shortlived fire, whose blaze served to warm us as we sat shivering in the keen wind.

The deep blue mountains of Italy lay now below us; above, the grand Gries Glacier, shut in by huge rugged pyramids, at a height of 8000 feet, stretched in a wide sea of icy desolation and wild sublimity, while the howling wind which swept over it warned us to quicken our steps and cross its treacherous surface.

Our light meal finished, and the baggage packed on the saddle for the descent, we traversed the black sodden moraines for a short time, until we reached the ice at an accessible point. We set foot on the snow-covered glacier, just as dense volumes of gloomy clouds whirled rapidly down on the fierce blast of the rising storm, throwing a strange lurid shade over the icy solitude. Here and there bleached skeletons of animals, protruding from the snow, and the still fresh and frozen body of a mule, showed the perils of the pass in unfavourable weather, and heightened the mournful wildness of the scene. A crevasse lay across the centre of the glacier, crossed by a temporary bridge made of a few larch poles and tops, covered with beaten snow,-and this was the boundary between Piedmont and Switzerland.

To the northward the fast-closing clouds gave us a broken glimpse, framed in fantastic mist wreaths, of the snowy Swiss Alps of the Oberland, the Finster Aarhorn, the Schreckhorn, Sidelhorn, and other icy peaks; with the pass of the Grimsel, which we were to cross the following day. Between us and

them lay, far down and out of sight, the rush-grown alluvial flats of the Rhone valley, on which are grouped the dreary weather-stained châlets of Obergestlen,—our destination for the night, which we reached by a few hours' descent, down the steep and desolate pass of the Eginen Thal.

Before we crossed the boundary we turned to take one more, last, lingering look, on the purpled mountains of the Italian valleys; but the storm had swept down upon us, and blinding clouds of snow soon enveloped every object, except the poles marking the track, in utter obscurity. We drew our plaids closely round us as we breasted the north wind, which searched to the skin, with a keenness that seemed intense, after the blazing sunshine of Italy. We now felt we had fairly bidden adieu to southern skies and southern scenes, and had left behind us the last of those exquisite Vals, through which we had been wandering for three months with unflagging interest and delight,

Each in turn, as we had penetrated into and explored its innermost nooks, had not merely afforded gratification to the outward senses and an invigorating stimulus to one's physical frame; but also had, day by day, impressed us with everincreasing convictions of the infinite power, wisdom, and goodness of the Almighty; which had invested even these remote and little-known recesses with such wonderful variety, beauty, and grandeur, and had framed and fitted them so marvellously for the abode or the enjoyment of man: and though we now numbered those days of delightful sojourn among them with things of the past, yet our memories were stored with remembrances for future and lasting enjoyment.

The sublime snow Alps, with their mighty glaciers and thundering avalanches,--the rugged mountains and vast primeval forests,—the ceaseless torrents, leaping and foaming down to the sunny vales,-where the broad-leaved fig, the spreading chesnut, mantling vines, and the fruits of the earth in richest profusion fill up the picture of romantic beauty, and

where man, the last work of creation, flourishes in a type of vigour and comeliness, united with simplicity and industry, rarely equalled—all were ineffaceably impressed on the tablets of our minds. We had learned to realize more deeply the force of those words of the Divine Psalmist, which so aptly recur to the thoughtful traveller,-either when face to face he holds communion with such scenes of sublimity and beauty; or when, in after days, the memory-pictures of them stand vividly before him, stirring up earnest longings to be again bodily among them-words of vast meaning for time and for eternitythe loftiest theme alike of men and angels :

"The works of the Lord are great:

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Sought out of all them that have pleasure therein. "His work is worthy to be praised, and had in honour: "And his righteousness endureth for ever."

INDEX.