Bells in Chamouni told us several new tales. Once, the soft tinkling of scores of tongues broke our morning slumbers, and going to the window, the sight was a novel one- a hundred or so of goats, each with its musical accompaniment, having left their milk to feed travelers from all lands, were going in search of the pastures which should supply them again. Another time, joyous bells rang out, and then everybody greeted some returning heroes who had been victorious in their contest with snow and rocks. Imagine with what regret we left Chamouni, singing all the time the sweet Swiss song:

"Chamouni, sweet Chamouni,

Oh, the vale of Chamouni!"

By this time we had become practiced pedestrians, and Bradshaw told us that the most interesting way of reaching Montigny was over the picturesque pass of the Tete Noire, which was accessible by mules and could be done in nine hours. But mules are too slow and too obstinate, so the Three set out on foot, and had gone but a little distance before the clouds became thick and overcharged with rain. What a silver lining that cloud had we did not at first discover. We shortened our analysis of flowers and quickened our steps to find a shelter, which we unexpectedly, and joyfully too, did find at Argentiere, four miles from Chamouni. The day was not half gone, but as it was the last day of the week, we concluded to remain there over the Sabbath. Had it not been for friendly intercourse with congenial hearts across the sea, it would indeed have been a dismal day. The clouds settled down almost upon our heads, and the mountain peaks, which had seemed so near and looked so pure, had almost withdrawn themselves from the panoramic view. It was Switzerland without the mountains, and the charm was gone. But on Monday morning, the first day of Autumn, our eyes opened upon a gorgeous sight. A silver lining we said the cloud had, but we thought then it was a golden one. One bound to the window, and no sense

of propriety or decorum could restrain the bursts of enthusiasm and the clapping of hands. Aladdin's palace never rose more suddenly than the palaces of the Alps had sprung from the gloom. Awestruck, we said with Coleridge:

"Who bade the sun

Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flowers
Of liveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet?
God! let the torrents, like a shout of nations,
Answer! and let the ice-plains echo, God!

God! sing, ye meadow-streams, with gladsome voice!
Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds!

And they too have a voice, yon piles of snow,
And in their perilous fall shall thunder, God!
Thou great ambassador from earth to heaven,
Great hierarch! tell thou the silent sky,

And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun,

Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God!"

Quickly attiring ourselves lest the vision should fade, we went hastily through the little Alpine village, where the women had collected around their troughs and tubs and were lost in gossip and the labor of washing, out into the fields to see the snow-clad mountains and find the Glacier des Bois, the source of the river we had followed so long-and the delight of the writer must have been somewhat akin to that of Dr. Livingstone when he thought he had discovered the source of the Nile. The source of the Arve was not found, but it was its twin, the Arveiron. Yes, just above Chamouni we found that the gay little river was blessed with two heads. We kept them both in sight a long time, and finally found one of them hidden under the rocks of ice in the Glacier d'Argentiere. A most beautiful sight it is where it breaks out from under the icy arch and goes tumbling along, as it tumbles all the way till it meets the blue Rhone. No arch of triumph is carved more beautifully or more thickly set with shining crystals. Transparent blue are the juttings of rock, and weird and dark the caverns whence the water rushes out. We pluck a bouquet from the midst of the rocks near the fountain head, and with sorrow we part from the waters which have given us so much

joy. We shall doubtless find other rivers coming down from these hills of snow, but we shall never forget the Arve.

Another has described the termination of this glacier as "An enormous mass of ice twenty times as large as the front of St. Peter; a magnificent palace cased over with the purest crystal; a majestic temple, ornamented with a portico; columns of several shapes and colors; it has the appearance of a fortress flanked with towers and bastions to the right and left, and at the bottom is a grotto terminating in a dome of bold construction. The whole is so artistically splendid, so completely picturesque, so great and beautiful beyond imagination that the art of man can hardly produce a building so grand in its construction or so varied in its ornaments." Truly there is often much in a name, as was proved in the present instance. Among the Latin nouns declined in childhood. was Argentum, meaning silver, so like unto Argentiere, where was disclosed the cloud's silver lining in the silver dome of ice and the silvery waters of the Arveiron, rushing forth as if glad to meet the sunlight, of which the silvery tones of memory will keep our recollections bright.

UR meanderings in this mountainous land may seem somewhat unaccountable. From Geneva on the western extremity of Lake Geneva, we had passed into France when at the foot of Mt. Blanc, and now on our way to Martigny, we again crossed the boundary between these countries, but at what point we know not. It was enough that three American girls walked sixteen miles that day and came down at the foot of the Pass Tete Noire, rather late in the day and quite footsore. Morning showed us what we could not see at that time, the place where the monks find a home when they have passed many less years than threescore and ten, on the Great St. Bernard saving the lives of men, for they can spend but a few years so high above the world, and they come down to end their days in the valleys below. This is the place where many start for the Great St. Bernard, which is twentytwo miles away. We should have been glad to follow in the footsteps of Charlemagne, Fred. Barbarossa and Napoleon the Great, but we concluded to take more peaceful ones. Passing over the Dranse on a bridge so old that we imagined the armies of Charlemagne keeping watch over it, we walked a little distance in the valley of the Rhone, and then for variety, took the cars to Bouveret where we cut off in a boat the south

eastern part of Lake Geneva sailing across the waters of the Rhone (these waters are aristocratic and do not wish to mingle with common waters,) to the Castle of Chillon at Villeneuve. The Church of Calvin and the Castle of Chillon confront each other at the extremes of Lake Leman (Geneva).

Here we must pause, for the poet has pointed out the way. Going down into the depths of the castle and standing by the column to which the prisoner of Chillon was chained and around which he had walked till he wore down the earth, we plainly heard him say:

"My hair is gray but not with years,

Nor grew it white in a single night,

As men's have grown from sudden fears;
My limbs are bowed though not with toil,
But rusted with a vile repose,

For they have been a dungeon's spoil."

We seemed to hear him give his own history in the words of Byron :

"We were seven who now are one.

Six in youth and one in age,
Finished as they had begun.
Proud of Persecution's rage,
One in fire and two in the field,"
Their belief with blood hath sealed;
Three were in a dungeon cast,

Of whom this wreck is left the last."

They tell us that when at last Bonnevard was set free he ran back to his column and begged to be left there in his second home, and Byron makes him say,

"I regained my freedom with a sigh."

Twelve miles we walked that day by the side of the bluest waters and under the bluest sky that we imagine earth affords. We had purchased pictures at Geneva with which to confront the artist, and defy him to take us where we could find such colors except in the hues of the rainbow or upon the artist's brush; but we nevermore say that the views of Swiss skies and Swiss lakes are too highly colored. Concluding to stop for the night, although the sun was high in the sky, we left our lake