It has been raining cats and dogs these two days, so that we have been
unable to return to our headquarters at the Montanvert which we left on
Wednesday for the purpose of going up Mont Blanc. Tyndall (who has
become one of the most active and daring mountaineers you ever saw--so
that we have christened him "cat"; and our guide said the other day "Il
va plus fort qu'un mouton. Il faut lui mettre une sonnette") had set his
heart on the performance of this feat (of course with purely scientific
objects), and had equally made up his mind not to pay five and twenty
pounds sterling for the gratification. So we had one guide and took two
porters in addition as far as the Grande Mulets. He is writing to you,
and will tell you himself what happened to those who reached the top--to
wit, himself, Hirst, and the guide. I found that three days in
Switzerland had not given me my Swiss legs, and consequently I remained
at the Grands Mulets, all alone in my glory, and for some eight hours in
a great state of anxiety, for the three did not return for about that
period after they were due.

I was there on a pinnacle like St. Simon Stylites, and nearly as dirty
as that worthy saint must have been, but without any of his other claims
to angelic assistance, so that I really did not see, if they had fallen
into a crevasse, how I was to help either them or myself. They came back
at last, just as it was growing dusk, to my inexpressible relief, and
the next day we came down here--such a set of dirty, sun-burnt,
snow-blind wretches as you never saw.

We heartily wished you were with us. What we shall do next I neither
know nor care, as I have placed myself entirely under Commodore
Tyndall's orders; but I suppose we shall be three or four days more at
the Montanvert, and then make the tour of Mont Blanc. I have tied up six
pounds sterling in one end of my purse, and when I have no more than