of rocks, in which lies the little village of Serves. There the road runs round some very highly variegated rocks, and takes again the direction toward the Arve. After crossing the latter, you again ascend. The masses become constantly more imposing. Nature seems to have begun here with a light hand to prepare her enormous creations. The darkness grew deeper and deeper as we approached the Valley of Chamouni; and when, at last, we entered it, nothing but the larger masses were discernible. The stars came out one by one; and we noticed above the peaks of the summits, right before us, a light which we could not account for. Clear, but without brilliancy; like the milky way, but closer; something like that of the Pleiades,—it riveted our attention, until at last, as our position changed, like a pyramid illuminated by a secret light within, which could best be compared to the gleam of a glowworm, it towered high above the peaks of all the surrounding mountains, and at last convinced us that it must be the peak of Mont Blanc. The beauty of this view was extraordinary. For while, together with the stars that clustered round it, it glimmered,—not, indeed, with the same twinkling light, but in a broader and more continuous mass,—it seemed to belong to a higher sphere, and one had difficulty in thought to fix its roots again in the earth. Before it we saw a line of snowy summits, sparkling as they rested on the ridges covered with the black pines; while between the dark forests vast glaciers sloped down to the valley below.
My descriptions begin to be irregular and forced: in fact, one wants two persons here,—one to see, and the other to describe.
Here we are, in the middle village of the valley called "Le Prieuré," comfortably lodged in a house which a widow caused to be built here in honour of the many strangers who visited the neighbourhood. We are sitting close to the hearth, relishing our Mus-
