Saussure describes so enthusiastically. Below the Cramont is a remarkable conical mountain, called the Pain de Sucre or Mont Chétif, immediately above Courmayeur; to the left of these the valley of the Little St. Bernard opens up, and between it and the Val Grisanche are the peaks and glaciers of the Ruitor already mentioned, and those of the Grand Sante; the former from 10,000 to 11,000 feet in height. Morges (not Morgex) was the first village we came to, and the rough narrow path through it, down which the mule slid, rather than walked, was like a street built on a ruined staircase; the people however looked happy and contented, saluting us most civilly, and helping to shoe the mule with an alacrity and good will, more to the purpose than the rude make of their primitive tools. Just outside Morges we came on the first of those frescoed chapels, or wayside oratories, which are so characteristic of Italy. The frescoes here were in true mediæval style: on one side of the door, St. George in the attitude of one of Froissart's knights, on a white horse, in full armour, with a white flowing cloak, was vanquishing an antique dragon, while the Virgin quaintly held out her hands in the act of benediction, a tremendous rosary round her neck reaching in wreaths to her feet; on the other side was the Madonna alone. The valley now opened out beneath us in indescribable beauty, the river Doire, in a broad silvery belt, winding along the bottom of it; and at our feet the white cluster of Morgex, grouped round its campanile and embosomed in walnut groves. The picturesque castle of La Salle, perched on a rock to our left, above a slope of terraced vineyards, stood out in relief, commanding the vast amphitheatre. A straight narrow line marked the long road to Courmayeur by St. Didier, the last of which we could barely see, embedded in the mouth of a deeply shaded glen leading to the Little St. Bernard. A mass of fiery clouds like molten copper hung over the Mont Cramont, crimsoned with the setting sun, while at the lower end of the valley to our left, the closing mountains were of a deep sombre indigo. The descent, by a very rough and stony track, became trying and tedious, for, having severely sprained my knee, I, as well as E., who was also on foot, felt it as fatiguing as many much greater descents. Morgex seemed ever at our feet, and never nearer; the descent on this side of the Col being at least 2000 feet more than that to St. Remy. But the wonderful beauty and rich colouring of the exquisite scene in such an August evening, a few hours only from the cold grey Swiss Alps, would have compensated for ten times the fatigue. Emerging from a glade of dwarf Pinus sylvestris, with underwood of savin and juniper, at a jutting point over a deep dell, we had a most extraordinary view into a vast rift, where the mountain precipice was cleft from the summit to a vast depth below. The sheer perpendicular precipices, on which not a blade of grass rested, gaped just wide enough to let a little stream gush through, which was quickly lost to sight in a lower chasm. This singular feature is of itself well worth a visit. At length through golden crops of rye and barley, little hamlets and irregular gardens, we reached the green meadows. A brilliantly blue Delphinium of dwarf habit, which we had also seen between Orsières and St. Pierre, here again attracted our admiration for its lovely colour. I never remember seeing it in our gardens, but it would be well worth growing; the seeds were abundant but unfortunately not ripe. Vines, trailing in graceful festoons over rustic trellises, embowered the path among the scattered cottages; luxuriant pumpkins with their great golden fruit straggled over the orchards; and by a beautiful little byway under shady walnut-trees, we entered Morgex. Our muleteer tried hard to induce us to make Morgex our resting-place for the night, in which, however, he did not succeed. Leaving him with the mule, for a short halt, to bait, we walked leisurely on to Courmayeur, luxuriating in the delicious coolness of the valley after the heat of the afternoon's descent. Twilight faded, and the stars now shone out with Italian brilliancy in the pure transparent air; Jupiter cast a sensible shadow, the milky way spanned the narrowed vault of heaven, like a bridge of light, from Mont Carmet to Mont Cramont; and the indistinctness enhanced the grandeur of the glens and mountains, investing them with a romance of mystery. On the grassy banks, glowworms glittered with a pale emerald light, and far below us on our left, we looked on the lights of St. Didier, twinkling at the bottom of a deep glen, where we heard, but could not see, the thundering waters of the Doire. Grand as was the scene, yet all was calm and tranquillizing, and we were hardly prepared to credit our senses, when, as we advanced up the valley, what at first seemed to be a fantastic bank of white clouds, slowly resolved itself into the stupendous range of Mont Blanc ; at an almost inconceivable height, and at only a few short miles distance, shutting in the end of the valley like an enormous ice wall, in cold relief against the serene sky. The starlight glistened palely on the gigantic mass of snow and ice, intercepted only by the dark cone of the Pain de Sucre. Once a brilliant meteor shot slowly above it, leaving a long train of light; and, as we gazed on its immeasurable ridges, the mind was lost in realizing the overwhelming sublimity of the scene. Our fatigue and hunger were almost forgotten in our rapt admiration of it. We were only roused by Pierre and the mule coming up, when, after an ascent of two leagues from Morgex, we shortly entered the village of Courmayeur. Though only 10 o'clock, every one seemed to have retired to rest, but we found welcome and excellent quarters, chez Bertolini. The active landlord, who would hardly believe that E. had walked down from the St. Bernard, and by the Col de Serena that day, spared no exertion or attention, quickly setting before our ravenous appetites a savoury dish of broiled mountain trout. Before retiring to rest I opened the window to look once more on Mont Blanc, but an invidious pile of mountains shut it out entirely. Jupiter was dipping behind the sharp towering ridge of the Cramont-a long ray shot over it for a moment and vanished. CHAPTER II. VAL D'ENTRÈVES - VAL de L'Allée BLANCHE -VAL DE BELLAVAL. - Courmayeur-View of Mont Blanc range Glacier of La BrenvaPresent and former extent - Baths of La Saxe - Start for the Allée Blanche-Forest of St. Nicholas - Glacier of Miage Lac de Combal - Flowers Col de la Seigne - Châlets of Mottet - Chapiu - Descent of Val de Bellaval - Tarentaise - Bourg St. Maurice. THE village of Courmayeur comprises ten small hamlets, with a united population of about 2250, scattered over the Val d'Entrèves, in one of the most exquisitely beautiful situations to be found in the whole of the Alps. Completely shut in by lofty mountains, it nestles at their bases in the bottoms of the narrow valleys, overhung with pine forests, among green meadows, gardens, copse-wood, and corn-fields which run up to the very foot of the glaciers. From the head village of Courmayeur itself, where we had established our quarters, Mont Blanc is not visible, until one turns the shoulder of Mont Chétif, at the head of the valley, but a portion of the chain, with the lofty Aiguille du Géant, grandly closes in the north. On the west, the frowning crest of the Cramont runs up like an inaccessible ridge into the air, the craggy face overshadowing Courmayeur, a sheer precipice nearly 5000 feet high; just below it, and to the right, rises the conical Mont Chétif or Pain de Sucre. On the south are the heights above La Thuile and the Little St. Bernard, and to the east the sharp ridges of Mont Carmet. No mere description can do justice to it, nor can the wonderfully grand elements of its scenery be really comprehended in all their magnificence, until the eye has become in |