see 30 feet before me, and the crevasses and mountains of snow looming close round us looked awful.  At this moment the guides asked me if I must make the passage.  I said instantly that I wanted to do so, but that I would sooner return at once than endanger the lives of any of them.  They told me there was certainly great danger, they had lost their way, but were unwilling to give up.  For an hour and a half we beat about in the fog, among the crevasses, trying every way to find the pass, which is very narrow, wet to the skin, and in constant peril; but we knew that the descent on the Chamouni side is far more difficult than that on the Courmayeur side.  At last all the guides agreed that it was impossible to find the way, said the storm was increasing, and that our only chance was to return at once.  So we did, but the fearful difficulties of the descent I shall never forget.  Even in the finest weather they reckon it very difficult, but yesterday we could not see the way, we were numbed with intense cold, and dispirited from being forced to return.

In many places the hail and sleet had washed out the traces we trusted as guides.  After about four hours, we had passed the most dangerous part, and in another hour we were safely upon the Mer de Glace, which we hailed with delight:  Couttet, who reached the point of safety first, jumping on the firm ice and shouting to me “Il n’y a plus de danger, Monsieur.”  Here we took off the ropes, and drank some more brandy, and then went as hard as we could, jumping across crevasses, which two days before I should have thought awkward, as if they were cart ruts.  We reached Chamouni at 8.30 P.M., having been sixteen and a quarter hours without resting.  I was not at all tired; the guides thanked me for having given so little trouble, and declared I had gone as well as themselves.  Indeed I was providentially unusually clear-headed and cool, and it was not till the danger was over that I felt my nerves give way.  There was a good deal of anxiety about us at Chamouni, as it was one of the worst days ever seen here.  Hornby had taken all my clothes to Geneva, so I put on a suit of the landlord’s, and had some tea, and at 11 P.M. went to bed, not forgetting, you may be sure, to thank God most fervently for this merciful protection, as on the ice I did many times with all my heart.

’On reviewing coolly, to-day, the places over which we passed, and which I shall never forget, I remember seven such as I trust never again to see a man attempt to climb.  The state of the ice and crevasses is always shifting, so that the next person who makes the ascent may find a comparatively easy path.  We had other dangers too, such as this:  twice the guides said to me, “Ne parlez pas ici, Monsieur, et allez vite,” the fear being of an ice avalanche falling on us, and we heard the rocks and ice which are detached by the wet falling all about.  The view from the top, if the day is fine, is about the most magnificent in the Alps; and as in that case I should have descended easily on the other side, the excursion would not have been so difficult.  I hope you will not think I have been very foolish; I did not at all think it would be so dangerous, nor was it possible to foresee the bad weather.  My curiosity to see some of the difficulties of an excursion in the Alps is fully satisfied.’