the right. At the châlet-where I went in search of a bottle to carry some water with us from the last spring-the inmates were busy in the one great Alpine business of cheesemaking. A great copper hung over the fire, and they were pressing the curds, and grinding salt in the old-fashioned quern. The only bottle to be had was so thoroughly impregnated with the fumes of "absinthe," that it was almost impossible to get rid of the odour after repeated rinsings with sand and gravel. But with it and a package of snowballs made up from a deep drift in a hollow we had to content ourselves for the day.

Climbing the last reach, we stood on the crest, a narrow rift between sharp needle-like rocks of serpentine, brightly variegated with yellow and deep orange lichens. The view from here was beautiful, but, without stopping to examine it, we aimed at an eminence to the right, the Pointe de Combetta. Gaining its summit by a steep climb, we chose our resting-place on the mountain top, commanding one of the most magnificent prospects conceivable; Monte Rosa on one side in imposing proximity, while on the other Mont Blanc appeared like an old friend-in the far distance, yet of commanding majesty.

The mountains fortunately kept clear for a great part of the day, and we never tired of contemplating these stupendous monuments of Almighty power. To the north and south our view was intercepted by the higher eminences of the ridge on which we were. On the side from which we had ascended, the grand object of course was Monte Rosa itself, now revealing the many peaks of its summit in unsullied glory, towering high above the glaciers and snow-fields at the head of the Val de Lys. The Lyskam was seen from here to be quite a secondary part of the range. Of the group of actual summits in view, the nearest to us was the elegant cone of the Vincent Pyramide, sloping steeply down to the pass of the Col d'Ollen. Behind it rose the Signal

Kuppe, a rounded mass; over the ridge sloping from it to the north, the tip of the Zumstein Spitze just peeped; and beyond it the Höchste Spitze, clearly defined, and connected with the lower Nord End. A singular phenomenon, which continued the whole afternoon, was the constant cloud which streamed away from the Signal Kuppe, like smoke or drifting snow. The moisture in the atmosphere carried by the northerly current over the icy masses of Monte Rosa is condensed behind the leeward summit, and drifting for a certain distance is dissolved again by the mingling currents of warm air, and disappears. This occurrence is frequent when the wind comes from the northward, and is one of the greatest obstacles to a clear view on or of the southern summits. It continued so long in a ceaseless drift, hardly changing in form, and apparently inexhaustible, that I was unable to complete my sketch of the outline on that side, while all the rest of the glorious mountain was cloudless.

The Valley of Gressoney seemed a bottomless rift at our feet, growing dark and gloomy as the afternoon shadows lengthened, and one or two solitary old larches on the slope, the last and only trees visible, seemed to overhang it. Above, in face of us, extended the deeply-scarred and furrowed ridge of a long and wild range running up to Monte Rosa, apparently all of serpentine, exquisitely tinted, the prevailing hues greenish and ashy purple. Right opposite, in a deep nick in the crest, was a solitary hut, the hospice of the Col de Val Dobbia, and the path down from it to Gressoney was traceable in a long sinuous line on the stony face of the mountain.

Turning round again to the south and west were the familiar forms of Mont Blanc, the glaciers of the Ruitor, the Becca de Nona, and, above it, the rugged ranges piled one above another to the snow-covered peaks of Cogne. The Val Challant or Ayas, shut in by the ridge of Mont Zerbion, over which we distinguished our former pass of the

Col de Jon, lay below us filled with a sea of mist. From it protruded the dark mass of Mont Nery, connected with a sharp embattled ridge crested with scattered pines, and descending precipitously into the valley. The Val d'Aosta, too, as far as we could see it over the Col de Jon, was packed with a dense sea of rolling clouds, lying evenly like a vast glacier, and radiant in the bright sun; more beautiful than any unclouded view of the valley could have been.

A chamois-hunter stealing up the rocks on our right, towards the snow-sprinkled Marienhorn, was the only living object to be seen. He had come up with E. while I was at the châlet below, and she was not sorry when I joined them, as he was a most sinister-looking, suspicious character to meet with on a lone mountain. His grizzly, tangled beard and hair were set off by a cap of wild cat's-skin; a queerlooking, short rifle hung over his shoulders; he walked barefoot, carrying his shoes in his hands, until we reached the Col together, when he put them on to climb the rocks, and not long after we heard the crack of his rifle echoing among the rocks.

We stayed till sunset, and gradually the rosy tints which from east, south, and west alike characterise the Monte Rosa above all other mountains, and without doubt have given its name, began to steal over it. The dark valley of Gressoney was now filled from side to side with mist, like a gently waving bed of cotton-wool. The furrows and rifts of the rugged ranges opposite were softened down by the cool uniform shading of the closing evening-and all was sinking into sombre grey, when suddenly the last rays of the sun, already long set to us, lit up the glittering peaks of Monte Rosa with a perfectly startling and glorious effulgence of rosy crimson and pale gold. The relief of the dusky mountains and deeply-shaded valley heightened the wondrous effect of the scene of enchantment, and we gazed on its changing hues and aspect until the last rosy spot died away on the highest pinnacle, and the mighty

snow-fields and glaciers lay as if to rest in a death-like paleness, cold and grandly silent.

Night threatened to overtake us rapidly, as we had the whole descent to make, and, taking the regular path, we hastened down the rough zigzags, stumbling along, as best we could, in the dim twilight over broken ground. We soon dropped down into the cold and clammy mist which boiled up among the pines, and had considerable difficulty in making out the way, which was quite unknown to us, meeting with several awkward adventures. However, after an hour and a quarter's sharp descent, we found ourselves once more at the torrent-bed, at the mouth of the gorge, and a few minutes' groping through the meadows brought us back to Gressoney. The starry circlet of the Corona Borealis was shining through a solitary rift in the clouds above the Grauhaupt, and fitful flashes of mountain lightning flickered through the thin veil

of mist.

CHAPTER XIII.

VAL DE LYS.

Expedition with Zumstein to Lys Glacier-Recent advance of glacier — Vegetation on the "Nase"-Salt-licks and chamois - Gressoney la Trinité-Baron Peccoz- Projected expedition to Val de Cogne - The baron's collection: horns of bouquetin and chamois - Failure of ascent of Grauhaupt-Start for Cogne - Descent of Val de Lys — Issime — Gorge of Guillemort- Fontaine more Rich scenery-Gold-mines of Liliane-Val d'Aosta St. Martin to Fort Bard.

On the morning fixed for our expedition with M. Zumstein to the Lys Glacier we rose at four, and, after a hasty breakfast, started for Noversch, E. going on in advance, wishing to take the first part of the long day's walk easily. The sun rose, tipping the highest mountains, and gradually tinging the snowy Lyskam as his ruddy rays crept round the flank of Monte Rosa. The air was deliciously fresh after a night's shower, and only a few little fleecy clouds, which floated across the valley and caught the rosy light, were to be seen on the face of the brilliantly blue sky. Having been detained packing the provisions and finding a porter to carry them, I only caught E. up as she had reached Noversch. Zumstein was ready waiting for us, alpenstock in hand, a telescope slung on his shoulder, and his chasseur's bag at his side with provisions.

We started at once, and took it leisurely up to Gressoney la Trinité, as there was much to interest us, especially with our cicerone's acquaintance with every feature of mountain and valley. Beyond Noversch a very singular horn rises from the mountains on the left, and apparently difficult of access, but he pointed out to us "a stone man" placed there by himself many years before. On the wall by the road