descent of glaciers to their expansion, during the congelation of water in their crevasses and capillary fissures.

Thought was indeed stricken with penury; but it occured to M. Rendee, Bishop of Annecy, that glaciers might roll down declivities like a ductile and liquid lava. He conjectured that the central portions of glaciers move faster than the lateral ones, as in fluid motion; and he distinctly states, that there was a number of facts which would make us believe that the substance of glaciers possess a kind of ductility which permits them to mould themselves in the same manner as a soft paste would do.

It remained, however, for Professor Forbes, by numerous and diverse experiments, before he saw the bishop's work, to announce the great truth that "a glacier is an imperfect fluid, or a viscous body, which is urged down slopes of a certain inclination by the mutual pressure of its parts." The idea thus embodied, is, doubtless, bold and startling. It must have proved so to the professor himself. Happily, however, like Copernicus, Newton, and Cuvier, in similar circumstances, he was not "scared from his propriety," but satisfied that his mind, in this instance, "turned upon the poles of truth," he courageously announced his discovery, persuaded that whatever might be the objections of a shallow philosophy, or of a pert and ignorant criticism, it was destined to an ultimate triumph.

The transport of huge masses, by means of glaciers, is a remarkable fact. No mass, indeed, is too weighty for the strength of a glacier. A leaf or a pebble is actually more likely to sink into it than a block of 100,000 cubic feet; and on a modern glacier a moving block has been seen at least eighty feet long, twenty broad, and forty high. Here, then, is the cause of phenomena otherwise unaccountable. The blocks carried down the Alpine valleys lie not on the bottoms where gravity would have placed them, but often at the heights of 1,000, 1,500, or even 2,000 feet above the level of the riveron ledges, and even projecting points of rock, surmounting precipices where it is hardly conceivable that water should have carried them. Currents, indeed, are yery fantastic; but ice, either floating or on a glacier, could alone have perched them on these elevations.

On the slope of the secondary chain of the Jura, just facing the valley of the Rhone, and at a mean height of 800 feet above the lake of Neuchatel, there exists a great belt of angular blocks of granite, extending many miles. These blocks have, somehow or other, been transported from peaks of the Alps, sixty or seventy miles distant. Some of them are of the size of cottages. The Pierre-à-Bot, or toad-stone, lies in a belt of wood about two miles west of Neuchatel, forming a stupendous monument of power, which it is impossible to behold without emotion, after surveying the distance which separates it from its birthplace.

On the rise of the hill immediately behind, there are thousands of travelled blocks of similar granite, some of them small and rounded, but a vast number exceeding a cubic yard in contents, and perfectly angular. It occurred to Mr. Forbes, that if these blocks were transported by glaciers, evidence of the fact and its effects would appear in the valleys through which the supposed glaciers must have passed. Accordingly he found, in the narrow gorge through which the Rhone rushes at St. Maurice, and particularly between St. Maurice and Bex, the marks of glacier wear and polish.

On the north-western face of the Val d'Illiers, which must have fronted the tide of ice which flowed through the rocky defile, the condition of the blocks is not less surprising than that of those on the Jura. The rock is here all limestone; but the distance from native granite does not exceed eighteen or twenty miles. The "Blocks of Monthery," as they are called from the ridge immediately below them, must be seen to be appreciated. Here is a belt or band of blocks, poised as it were on a mountain side, it may be 500 feet above the alluvial flat through which the Rhone winds below. This

belt has no great vertical height, but actually extends for miles along the mountain side, composed of blocks of granite of 36, 40, 50, and 60 feet on the side-not a few, but by hundreds, fantastically balanced on the angles of one another, their grey, weather-beaten tops standing out in prominent relief from the vertical slopes of secondary formation on which they rest. They are thickest in the midst of a wood; and the traveller has his admiration divided between the singularity of the phenomenon and the exquisite picturesqueness of the spot. "The blocks," says Mr. Forbes, "are piled one on another, the greater on the smaller, leaving deep recesses between, in which the flocks or their shepherds seek shelter from the snow-storm, and seem not hurled by a natural catastrophe, but as if balanced in sport by giant hands. For how came they thus to light upon the steep, and there remain? What power transported them, and when transported, thus lodged them high and dry 500 feet at least above the plain? We reply, a glacier might do this. What other inanimate agent could do it, we know not."

Another phenomenon may conclude this chapter. In examining the higher valley of the Sallenche, before this stream causes "the Falls," Mr. Forbes found that the vertical precipices, which form the mural angle between that valley and the valley of the Rhone, are scored by horizontal grooves or flutings, which are clearly the result of superficial attrition.

"But what," he asks, "could have worn them in this position? Could a current of water 1,500 feet deep have borne boulders on its surface, which should leave these plain horizontal markings? What could have been moved with a steady pressure as a carpenter presses his cornice-plane on the wood, or as a potter moulds with a stick his clay, pressed laterally too with a perpendicular face of 1,500 feet beneath? Nothing that I am acquainted with, save a glacier, which at this day presses, and moulds, and scores the rocky flanks of its bed, extending to a depth, often certainly of hundreds of feet beneath. A torrent, however impetuous-a river, however gigantic-a flood, -however terrific, could never do this."

Such, then, is a glance at the glaciers of Switzerland, which it appeared desirable for the traveller to take before advancing onwards; and we now proceed to consider the quadrupeds and birds of the country, and then to conduct him to the valley of the Rhone.

CHAPTER XI.

ANIMALS OF THE ALPINE REGIONS-THE CHAMOIS, THE MARMOT, THE LYNX, AND THE GOAT THE EAGLE-THE LAMMERGEYER.

In the elevated districts of the Alps, as well as the Pyrenees, the chamois dwells in small herds, cropping the herbage of the mountain-sides. The size of this animal is equal to that of a large goat; its colour is of a dark chesnut brown, with the exception of the forehead, the sides of the lower jaw, and the muzzle, which are white. Its horns, rising just above the eyes, are black, smooth, and straight, for two-thirds of their length, when they suddenly curve backwards in a hook. Its hoofs are admirably adapted to avail themselves of any little roughness or projection, either of the naked granite, or the icy glacier; and its hair is thick, long, and coarse, serving not only as a defence against cold, but as a provision against the bruises to which the chamois is constantly liable.

These animals have often been seen when feeding, in the morning or the evening, on the green slopes, with their young ones gambolling like playful kids. But, as Werni says:

beasts have reason too

And that we know, we men that hunt the chamois :

They never turn to feed-sagacious creatures!

Till they have placed a sentinel a-head,

Who pricks his ears whenever we approach,

And gives alarm with clear and piercing pipe."*

Only let man or beast of prey appear, and he makes a loud hissing noise, as a warning of danger; the herd now gaze intently, as if to satisfy themselves there is no deceit; when, this fact being established, they bound from ledge to ledge, where the eye can mark no footing, spring from crag to crag, from point to point, clearing the crevasse, sweeping over the glacier, throwing themselves down the precipice, and finding safety where death would seem to be inevitable.

A hunter had been for some days endeavouring to discover the haunt of one of these animals, and at length he saw two little ones sporting around the mother, in a niche at the top of a high rock, while she was glancing warily down the valley, to watch for any hostile approach. To avoid being seen, he made a great circuit, and so reached a path which led to the spot. Exactly in front of the niche the rocks descend perpendicularly to an immense depth. At the back was another steep descent; some fragments of rocks re-formed a kind of bridge between the large masses; but these were placed too high to be accessible to the little ones, and could only be available to the mother. Escape, therefore, seemed to be impossible.

No sooner did the mother, however, catch sight of the hunter than she sprang upon him with all the fury that maternal love will breathe into the most timid creatures. As

Schiller.

the hunter now found both hands necessary to sustain himself on the narrow path, he warded off the blows of the chamois, as well as he could, with his feet, and kept still advancing. The anguish of the mother increased; she dashed back to her young, coursed round them with loud cries, as if to warn them of their danger, and then leaped up before the fragments of rocks, already mentioned, from which the second, but most difficult, egress from the niche was to be won.

Again and again did she descend and make the leap, as if to show her young ones the way; but they were not equal to the task; and the hunter had advanced some steps nearer. He was just preparing to make his last effort, when the mother, fixing her hind legs firmly on the rock behind, stretched her body to the utmost length, and planted her fore-feet on the rock above, thus forming of her back a temporary bridge. In a moment the young passed over it; the hunter sprang into the niche, thinking himself sure of his game, but all three were off with the speed of the wind; and the bullets he instantly discharged after the fugitives were expended in vain.

The chamois hunter engages in a desperate undertaking. Provided with a gun, a bag of provisions, an iron-shod staff to assist in climbing and leaping, and an axe to cut steps in the towering parapets of ice, he traverses the mountains, having his shoes studded with iron points. He prowls warily for his prey, not only in the day but in the night. Wherever the chamois flies, there he follows, along narrow ledges of rock, by the brink of yawning abysses, or up the rugged sides of precipices, where a wrong step, or a short leap, would prove fatal. Often has he to say

"Even so,

This way the chamois leapt ; her nimble feet
Have baffled me; my gains to-day will scarce
Repay my break-neck toil.”*

Imminent perils constantly await him-the rigours of those Alpine heights-the treacherous snow covering some immense chasm-the avalanche sweeping all before it ; and of many a chamois hunter might it be said—

"Alas!

Nor wife, nor children, more shall he behold,

Nor friends, nor sacred home! On every nerve

The deadly winter seizes, shuts up sense,
And o'er his inmost vitals creeping cold,
Lays him along the snows, a stiffened corse,

Stretched out and bleaching in the northern blast."+

The interesting little animals called marmots, also inhabit the higher parts of the Alps, as they do those of the Pyrenees, just below the region of perpetual snow. About the size of a rabbit, when full grown, they have a thick and short body, short legs, very short round ears, and the tail differs materially from that of the squirrel, being much shorter in proportion and straight. Avoiding moist places, they construct their dwellings under the earth, each family living in its distinct habitation. They scoop out the soil for this purpose with great dexterity and expedition; throwing away a small part and beating the remainder close, they make a very compact and solid passage. Their excavations may be compared to the letter. Y, the proper dwelling-place being at the point where the limbs branch off. The extreme length is about twenty feet when the branches are formed, and seldom less than eight feet when they are not.