gushing out of a rock near by, and, bidding us "God speed," entered
the hut.

Franz was with us, but he had just stopped for a word with his
father, and there was a moisture in his eye that came very near
calling the tears to our own. We did not question him then, but going
on, we paused occasionally to observe the ruin which had been wrought
by many avalanches, while our ears mistook the sound of others for
thunder. Trees uprooted, withered branches and blasted trunks were
scattered in every direction, and sometimes a large space was
completely cleared by one of these tremendous agents of destruction.

"You have seen the village of Chamouni," said Franz; "it is said to
have been built by a few peasants who escaped an avalanche that
occurred on the opposite side of the Arve."

The higher we ascended the more steep and difficult it became, and
more than once did Franz have to turn and teach us how to use our
poles, resting the weight of the body upon them, but still inclining
the figure to the face of the mountain instead of the valley. Higher
up we came to shoots or rivers of frozen snow; the inclination of the
ice being extremely steep and the surface smooth, Franz crossed first,
making marks with his pole for our feet. He then directed us to look
neither above nor below us, but only to our feet, for should we fall
nothing could save us from sliding down the ice and being dashed
against the rocks or the stumps of trees beneath. Passing the first in
safety, we found the next less formidable, while the danger was
diminished in proportion to the experience we acquired.

Once over, Franz told us how his father was accustomed to descend the