lim Frenchman with a tall hat and one eye-glass. The
postilion gets up to his place. Crack, crack, crack, goes the whip; and,
amid "sensation" from the crowd, we are off at a rattling pace, the whip
cracking all the time like Chinese fireworks. The great passion of the
drivers is noise; and they keep the whip going all day. No sooner does a
fresh one mount the box than he gives a half-dozen preliminary snaps; to
which the horses pay no heed, as they know it is only for the driver's
amusement. We go at a good gait, changing horses every six miles, till
we reach the Baths of St. Gervais, where we dine, from near which we
get our first glimpse of Mont Blanc through clouds,--a section of a
dazzlingly white glacier, a very exciting thing to the imagination.
Thence we go on in small carriages, over a still excellent but more
hilly road, and begin to enter the real mountain wonders; until, at
length, real glaciers pouring down out of the clouds nearly to the road
meet us, and we enter the narrow Valley of Chamouny, through which we
drive to the village in a rain.

Everybody goes to Chamouny, and up the Flegere, and to Montanvert, and
over the Mer de Glace; and nearly everybody down the Mauvais Pas to the
Chapeau, and so back to the village. It is all easy to do; and yet
we saw some French people at the Chapeau who seemed to think they had
accomplished the most hazardous thing in the world in coming down the
rocks of the Mauvais Pas. There is, as might be expected, a great deal
of humbug about the difficulty of getting about in the Alps, and the
necessity of guides. Most of the dangers vanish on near approach. The
Mer de Glace is inferior to many other glaciers, and is not nearly so
fine as the Glacier des Bossons: but it has a reputation, and is easy of
access; so people are content to walk over the dirty ice. One sees it
to better effect from below, or he must ascend it to the Jardin to know
that it has deep crevasses, and is as treacherous as it is grand. And
yet no one will be disappointed at the view from Montanvert, of the
upper glacier, and the needles of rock and snow which rise beyond.

We met at the Chapeau two jolly young fellows from Charleston, S. C.
who had been in the war, on the wrong side. They knew no language but
American, and were unable to order a cutlet and an omelet for breakfast.
They said they believed they were going over the Tete Noire. They
supposed they had four mules waiting for them somewhere, and