narrow, nearly all the way to Maglan, and, in some places, the road is straitened in between the river and the bases of precipices, which actually overhang the traveller. From some of these, a little out of the road, the steep talus of rocks and stones which have fallen from above, spread out to the river, and the road rises over the ridges. The banks of the river are well wooded, and the scenery is as beautiful as it is wild.

Before arriving at Maglan, the precipices on the left, retire a little, forming an amphitheatre, which is filled, nearly halfway up, with the debris of the mountain. At the top of this talus, 800 feet above the valley, the grotto of Balme is seen, to which a mule-path leads, which is undistinguishable below. At a little hut in the hamlet of La Balme, mules are kept for a visit to the grotto; and whilst these are getting ready, limonade gazeuse, and other temptations to the thirsty traveller, are offered. A little beyond La Balme, those who are amateurs in pure water may taste from a spring which bursts out close to the road in large volume. Saussure conjectured that it might be the embouchure of the channel which empties the lake of Flaine, in the mountains above.

Those who intend to go on to Chamouny, should not waste any time here; but if the day's journey be only to St. Martin or Sallenches, the grotto is worth a visit. Its depth is great: it enters the mountain more than 1800 feet; but the view from it, owing to the narrowness of the valley, is limited. The peaks, however, of Mont Douron, seen on the other side of the valley, are remarkably fine in form.

Maglan lies below the lofty mountains on the right bank of the Arve; the Commune which is straggling, contains nearly as many inhabitants as Cluses,-they, too, are distinguished for their establishment in foreign countries. Beyond Maglan the same character of scenery prevails, but the valley widens. About a league and a half beyond Maglan, the road passes close to one of the highest waterfalls in Savoy, that of Nant d'Arpenaz; the stream is small, and before it reaches half its first descent it is broken into spray. After storms, however, its volume falls on the rock, on which it breaks; after reaching the slope or talus, formed by the soil and stones it has brought down, it rushes across the road beneath a bridge, and flows into the Arve. The rock of brown limestone, from which it descends is remarkable for its tortuous stratification, forming a vast curve, and the face of the rock is so denuded that its structure is perfectly seen. The route from Geneva is so much frequented by strangers in this season, that it is beset by all sorts of vagabonds, who plant themselves in the way openly as beggars, or covertly as dealers in mineral specimens, guides to things which do not require their aid, dealers in echoes, by firing small cannon where its reverbera

tion may be heard two or three times. These idle nuisances should be discountenanced.

Between the fall of Arpenaz and St. Martin, the valley increases in width, and rich fields spread up the base of the Douron from Sallenches; the peaks of the Varens, which rise nearly 8000 feet above the level of the sea, and immediately over the illage of St. Martin, which now opens to the view, and shortly after the traveller enters the bustling innyard of the Hôtel du Mont Blanc. Here, in the season, he never fails to meet numerous travellers going to or from Chamouny; the latter imparting their impressions of the wonders of Mont Blanc, and their adventurous scrambles in the presence of the "Monarch" to the listening expectants of such enjoyment; all is excitement.

Within a hundred yards of the inn a bridge crosses the Arve, and leads to the town of Sallenches, half a league from St. Martin's. On this bridge one of the noblest views on the Alps is presented of Mont Blanc: its actual distance to the peak is more than 12 miles in a direct line, yet so sharp, and bright, and clear in every part of its stupendous mass, that the eye, unused to such magnitude with distinctness, is utterly deceived, and would rather lead to the belief that it was not one third of the distance. On looking up the valley over the broad winter-bed of the Arve however, objects recede, and give the accustomed impressions of distance; above this rises the mountain of the Forclaz, its sides clothed with pines, and its summit with pasturage. Over these, are seen the Aiguille de Gouté, the Dome de Gouté, and the head of the loftiest mountain in Europe, propped by ridges of aiguilles, and the intervals of these filled with glaciers. This one view, the first usually enjoyed by travellers from England to Chamouny, is so impressive as to be generally acknowledged a sufficient reward for the journey.

Sallenches, about 36 miles from Geneva, is a little town containing about 1500 inhabitants. Though above half a league further, the tariff for chars, mules, and guides, are the same as at St. Martin; these may be referred to upon hiring either, and thus all disputes are avoided; a pour boire to the postilions is at the will of the employer, and their civility almost always insures it. A char to Chamouny, without return, is 12 francs.

The pedestrian who intends to visit Chamouny and return by Geneva, is advised to go from St. Martin up the right bank of the Arve to Chède, Servoz, and Chamouny, and return by the Col de Forclaz, and the baths of St. Gervais. If, however, the traveller should not intend to return by the valley of the Arve, the most agreable approach to Cha

mouny from St. Martin is by Sallenches, and the baths of St. Gervais to Chède.

From Sallenches the distance along a level road to the baths is a good league, it there turns abruptly on the right into the gorge of the Bourant, a stream which descends from the Bon-homme. At the upper extremity of a little level spot, a garden in the desert, are the baths, the houses en Pavillon, for lodging and boarding the invalids who retire to this delicious spot, and find in their absence from the stirring scenes of society, a repose which restores the mind and body to its energies; the credit of this is, however, given to the waters, which are at 90° temperature; the heat of Bath with the qualities of Harrowgate. In the Journals of an Alpine Traveller, he says, on leaving St. Martin's,

66

Went in a char-à-banc, a sort of carriage like a sofa placed on wheels, to the baths of St. Gervais. This is so little out of the usual route, by Chède, and so pleasant a deviation, that all visitors to Chamouny should go or return by it; it is a little fairy spot, in a beautiful valley, where excellent accommodation may be had en pension; hot mineral baths for the sick, and delightful walks around this little paradise for the convalescent. At the back of the house, a little way up the glen, there is a fine cataract; and one of the pleasures of this place is its solitude, amidst scenes so beautiful and wild, that it would be difficult to find it, without a guide.

"

The glen is a cul-de-sac; there is no leaving it upward; it is necessary to return to the entrance, where two roads branch off-one very steep, leads up to St. Gervais, a beautiful village in the Val Mont Joie, through which the Bourant flows, until it falls into the gulf behind the baths; above St. Gervais, this road continues through the villages of Bionay and Tresse to Contamines, and the pass of the Bonhomme. (Route 118.)

The other road, at the entrance of the glen of the baths of St. Gervais, after skirting a little way the mountain base. below the Forclaz, leads across the valley of the Arve, and falls into the shorter road by Passy to Chède. Passy is a village a little on the left out of the road; it is remarkable for some Latin inscriptions, which were found in building the church; they have led to many conjectures upon its antiquity, and the supposed acquaintance of the Romans with this retired valley.

Chède is a little hamlet, where the road steeply ascends above the broad plain of the Arve, which from Sallenches to this abrupt rising off the valley, forms a vast level, that, when filled by winter torrents, resembles a lake in its extent. Near to Chède there is on the left a fine cascade,

which travellers, who start at 5 A.M. for Chamouny, generally visit for the sake of the beautiful iris that then plays over it.

:

At length, after attaining a considerable height above the plain of the Arve at St. Martin's, the road passes, what, until within a very short period, was a little lake, the Lac du Chède from which, as from a mirror, a fine view of the summit of Mont Blanc, towering over the lower range of mountains was reflected; this was one of the little "lions" in the excursion to Chamouny; but a débâcle of black mud, and stones, has descended and filled it, and the lake of Chede is no more.

Pictet, in full encouragement of the little vagabonds that infest the route, at least from Cluses to Chamouny, advises travellers to provide themselves with small coin to give to the numerous little children, who serve as guides to the cascade, the lake, etc.

The road, still rising above the spot where the lake was, turns into a deep curve to cross the bed of a wild torrent. This usually furnishes the first alpine adventure to the traveller, for the road can seldom be kept in good condition for a week; every fall of rain alters it, and varies the apparent peril to those who follow.

From this wild spot the road passes through what is called a forest, and soon reaches the village of Servoz, where there are now two inns, offering very tolerable accommodation to travellers overtaken by storms. Here the horses of the chars are usually rested; and if St. Martin have been left before breakfast, this is a capital place to obtain one, good enough to satisfy an appetite given by the freshness of the morning air in the mountains. Tea and coffee, eggs, milk, butter and bread, and the delicious honey of Chamouny are ample materials; to these chicken or a ragoût of chamois can often be added.

At Servoz there is a shop where the minerals of Mont Blanc are sold, but these are usually bought by travellers at Chamouny, where the collections are larger, and the purchase is a reminiscence of Mont Blanc.

At Servoz, guides may be had to accompany the traveller to the Buet, one of the sight-seeing summits near Mont Blanc, and offering a fine view of the Monarch; and, from its elevation, nearly 10,500 feet above the level of the sca, a vast extent of horizon is presented, hounded on the east by the mountains of St. Gotthard, and on the west by ranges which extend and subside into Dauphiny, the lakes of Geneva and of Annecy are partly seen, and the whole line of the Jura mountains bounds that part of the horizon, The Buct is a dangerous mountain to visit without a good

guide: the fate of a young Danish traveller, M. Eschen, is still remembered; he perished in August, 1800; his fate arose from his disregarding the advice of his guide.

Servoz is the best side on which to ascend the Buet; the usual way is to proceed up the mountain, and sleep at some châlet; then starting early, reach the summit of the Buet, and descending by the Val Orsine, arrive at Chamouny in the evening.

Those who, returning to Geneva, would vary their route, may, from Servoz, enter the valley of Sixt at its head, and descending by Samoëns and Tanninges, pass on the northern side of the Mole, by St. Jeoire and Baillard, and enter the high road from Chamouny to Geneva, near Nangy; this excursion is detailed by Captain Markham Sherwill, whose ascent of Mont Blanc in 1825, and frequent visits to Chamouny, and residence there, have made him perhaps better acquainted with the neighbourhood of Mont Blanc than any other Englishman: he says in a private letter, describing the visit to the valley of Sixt,

"You must start early in the morning from Chamouny, walk or ride, if an opportunity offers, to Servoz; breakfast here, and lay in a moderate supply of cold meat and bread, with wine, or brandy and water; the latter is preferable. Take the footpath that leads to the Col d'Anterne. Be sure you engage a guide at Chamouny, who is acquainted with the pass, or it would, perhaps, be better to take one from Servoz. After having ascended as far as the last châlets, you bear to your left, instead of continuing to the summit of the Col d'Anterne, and direct your course amidst the terrific débris of the écroulement of the Montagne des Fys. The path is rugged, but when the pedestrian has reached the top of the mountain, which he must attain through a forked-like opening, he will contemplate with great satisfaction the magnificent view of Mont Blanc, and a thousand other stupendous objects. Having rested here an hour to enjoy a scanty meal, the descent on the northern side is gradual, and you arrive in about an hour at some châlets, which bear the name of Les Chalets des Sales, properly so termed, for they are a cluster of huts, containing the most dirty, filthy, and savage (in appearance) set of women that can be imagined. Here you will find milk and cheese, with tolerable good water, of which there is none on the Montagne des Fys. Near these huts are fossil shells. On quitting this spot, where women, children, and swine pig together, you continue to descend rapidly during nearly four hours through a narrow gorge, whose beauties and luxurious appearance are very striking after the barren and bleak pass of the mountain: cascades, rushing streams, and forests of dark and imposing