less magnificent scale, cuttings and embankments on the face of the hill
are sad eyesores, as in railway-ruined Killiecrankie; but here Nature's
works are so very grand, that the works of man are not offensively
prominent, being overawed by the very facts over which they have
triumphed. When we reached the more even part of the valley, where the
Reuse no longer roars and rushes far below, but winds quietly through
the soft grass on a level with the rail, the whole grouping was so
exceedingly charming, and the river itself so suggestive of lusty trout,
and the village of Noiraigue[48] looked so tempting as it nestled in a
sheltered nook among the headlong precipices, that I registered in a
safe mental pigeon-hole a week at the auberge there with a fishing-rod,
and excursions to the commanding summit in which the _Creux de Vent_ is
found. The engine-driver knew that he was in a region of beauties, and,
when he whistled to warn his passengers that the train was about to move
on, he remained stationary until the long-resounding echoes died out,
floating lingeringly up the valley to neighbouring France.

We had no definite idea as to the _locale_ of the glacière we were now
bent upon attacking. M. Thury's list gave the following
information:--'_Glacière de Motiers, Canton de Neufchâtel, entre les
vallées de Travers et de la Brévine, près du sentier de la Brévine_;'
and this I had rendered somewhat more precise by a cross-examination of
the guard of the train on my way to Besançon. He had not heard of the
glacière, but from what I told him he was inclined to think that Couvet
would be the best station for our purpose, especially as the 'Ecu' at
that place was, in his eyes, a commendable hostelry. Some one in Geneva,
also, had believed that Couvet was as likely as anything else in the
valley; so at Couvet we descended.[49]

This is a very clean and cheerful village, devoted to the lucrative