75. Thus long before the air from the equator reaches the poles its vapour is in great part removed from it, having redescended to the earth as rain. Still a good quantity of the vapour is carried forward, which yields hail, rain, and snow in northern and southern lands.

Illustrative Experiments.

76. I have said that the air is chilled during its expansion. Prove this, if you like, thus. With a condensing syringe, you can force air into an iron box furnished with a stopcock, to which the syringe is screwed. Do so till the density of the air within the box is doubled or trebled. Immediately after this condensation, both the box and the air within it are warm, and can be proved to be so by a proper thermometer. Simply turn the cock and allow the compressed air to stream into the atmosphere. The current, if allowed to strike the thermometer, visibly chills it; and with other instruments the chill may be made more evident still. Even the hand feels the chill of the expanding air.

77. Throw a strong light, a concentrated sunbeam for example, across the issuing current; if the compressed air be ordinary humid air, you see the precipitation of a little cloud by the chill accompanying the expansion. This cloud-formation may, however, be better illustrated in the following way:—

78. In a darkened room send a strong beam of light through a glass tube three feet long and three inches wide, stopped at its ends by glass plates. Connect the tube by means of a stopcock with a vessel of about one-fourth its capacity, from which the air has been removed by an air-pump. The exhausted cylinder of the pump itself will answer capitally. Fill the glass tube with humid air; then simply turn on the stopcock which connects it with the exhausted vessel. Having more room the air expands, cold accompanies the expansion, and, as a consequence, a dense and brilliant cloud immediately fills the tube. If the experiment be made for yourself alone you may see the cloud in ordinary daylight; indeed, the brisk exhaustion of any receiver filled with humid air is known to produce this condensation.

79. Other vapours than that of water may be thus precipitated, some of them yielding clouds of intense brilliancy, and displaying iridescences, such as are sometimes, but not frequently, seen in the clouds floating over the Alps.

80. In science what is true for the small is true for the large. Thus by combining the conditions observed on a large scale in nature we obtain on a small scale the phenomena of atmospheric clouds.

§ 8. Mountain Condensers.

81. To complete our view of the process of atmospheric precipitation we must take into account the action of mountains. Imagine a south-west wind blowing across the Atlantic towards Ireland. In its passage it charges itself with aqueous vapour. In the south of Ireland it encounters the mountains of Kerry: the highest of these is Magillicuddy's Reeks, near Killarney. Now the lowest stratum of this Atlantic wind is that which is most fully charged with vapour. When it encounters the base of the Kerry mountains it is tilted up and flows bodily over them. Its load of vapour is therefore carried to a height, it expands on reaching the height, it is chilled in consequence of the expansion, and comes down in copious showers of rain. From this, in fact, arises the luxuriant vegetation of Killarney; to this, indeed, the lakes owe their water supply. The cold crests of the mountains also aid in the work of condensation.

82. Note the consequence. There is a town called Cahirciveen to the south-west of Magillicuddy's Reeks, at which observations of the rainfall have been made, and a good distance farther to the north-east, right in the course of the south-west wind, there is another town, called Portarlington, at which observations of rainfall have also been made. But before the wind reaches the latter station it has passed over the mountains of Kerry and left a great portion of its moisture behind it. What is the result? At Cahirciveen, as shown by Dr. Lloyd, the rainfall amounts to 59 inches in a year, while at Portarlington it is only 21 inches.

83. Again, you may sometimes descend from the Alps when the fall of rain and snow is heavy and incessant, into Italy, and find the sky over the plains of Lombardy blue and cloudless, the wind at the same time blowing over the plain towards the Alps. Below the wind is hot enough to keep its vapour in a perfectly transparent state; but it meets the mountains, is tilted up, expanded, and chilled. The cold of the higher summits also helps the chill. The consequence is that the vapour is precipitated as rain or snow, thus producing bad weather upon the heights, while the plains below, flooded with the same air, enjoy the aspect of the unclouded summer sun. Clouds blowing from the Alps are also sometimes dissolved over the plains of Lombardy.

84. In connection with the formation of clouds by mountains, one particularly instructive effect may be here noticed. You frequently see a streamer of cloud many hundred yards in length drawn out from an Alpine peak. Its steadiness appears perfect, though a strong wind may be blowing at the same time over the mountain head. Why is the cloud not blown away? It is blown away; its permanence is only apparent. At one end it is incessantly dissolved, at the other end it is incessantly renewed: supply and consumption being thus equalized, the cloud appears as changeless as the mountain to which it seems to cling. When the red sun of the evening shines upon these cloud-streamers they resemble vast torches with their flames blown through the air.

§ 9. Architecture of Snow.

85. We now resemble persons who have climbed a difficult peak, and thereby earned the enjoyment of a wide prospect. Having made ourselves masters of the conditions necessary to the production of mountain snow, we are able to take a comprehensive and intelligent view of the phenomena of glaciers.

86. A few words are still necessary as to the formation of snow. The molecules and atoms of all substances, when allowed free play, build themselves into definite and, for the most part, beautiful forms called crystals. Iron, copper, gold, silver, lead, sulphur, when melted and permitted to cool gradually, all show this crystallizing power. The metal bismuth shows it in a particularly striking manner, and when properly fused and solidified, self-built crystals of great size and beauty are formed of this metal.

87. If you dissolve saltpetre in water, and allow the solution to evaporate slowly, you may obtain large crystals, for no portion of the salt is converted into vapour. The water of our atmosphere is fresh though it is derived from the salt sea. Sugar dissolved in water, and permitted to evaporate, yields crystals of sugar-candy. Alum readily crystallizes in the same way. Flints dissolved, as they sometimes are in nature, and permitted to crystallize, yield the prisms and pyramids of rock crystal. Chalk dissolved and crystallized yields Iceland spar. The diamond is crystallized carbon. All our precious stones, the ruby, sapphire, beryl, topaz, emerald, are all examples of this crystallizing power.

88. You have heard of the force of gravitation, and you know that it consists of an attraction of every particle of matter for every other particle. You know that planets and moons are held in their orbits by this attraction. But gravitation is a very simple affair compared to the force, or rather forces, of crystallization. For here the ultimate particles of matter, inconceivably small as they are, show themselves possessed of attractive and repellent poles, by the mutual action of which the shape and structure of the crystal are determined. In the solid condition the attracting poles are rigidly locked together; but if sufficient heat be applied the bond of union is dissolved, and in the state of fusion the poles are pushed so far asunder as to be practically out of each other's range. The natural tendency of the molecules to build themselves together is thus neutralized.

89. This is the case with water, which as a liquid is to all appearance formless. When sufficiently cooled the molecules are brought within the play of the crystallizing force, and they then arrange themselves in forms of indescribable beauty. When snow is produced in calm air, the icy particles build themselves into beautiful stellar shapes, each star possessing six rays. There is no deviation from this type, though in other respects the appearances of the snow-stars are infinitely various. In the polar regions these exquisite forms were observed by Dr. Scoresby, who gave numerous drawings of them. I have observed them in mid-winter filling the air, and loading the slopes of the Alps. But in England they are also to be seen, and no words of mine could convey so vivid an impression of their beauty as the annexed drawings of a few of them, executed at Greenwich by Mr. Glaisher.

90. It is worth pausing to think what wonderful work is going on in the atmosphere during the formation and descent of every snow-shower: what building power is brought into play! and how imperfect seem the productions of human minds and hands when compared with those formed by the blind forces of nature!

91. But who ventures to call the forces of nature blind? In reality, when we speak thus we are describing our own condition. The blindness is ours; and what we really ought to say, and to confess, is that our powers are absolutely unable to comprehend either the origin or the end of the operations of nature.

92. But while we thus acknowledge our limits, there is also reason for wonder at the extent to which science has mastered the system of nature. From age to age, and from generation to generation, fact has been added to fact, and law to law, the true method and order of the Universe being thereby more and more revealed. In doing this science has encountered and overthrown various forms of superstition and deceit, of credulity and imposture. But the world continually produces weak persons and wicked persons; and as long as they continue to exist side by side, as they do in this our day, very debasing beliefs will also continue to infest the world.

§ 10. Atomic Poles.

93. "What did I mean when, a few moments ago (88), I spoke of attracting and repellent poles?" Let me try to answer this question. You know that astronomers and geographers speak of the earth's poles, and you have also heard of magnetic poles, the poles of a magnet being the points at which the attraction and repulsion of the magnet are as it were concentrated.

94. Every magnet possesses, two such poles; and if iron filings be scattered over a magnet, each particle becomes also endowed with two poles. Suppose such particles devoid of weight and floating in our atmosphere, what must occur when they come near each other? Manifestly the repellent poles will retreat from each other, while the attractive poles will approach and finally lock themselves together. And supposing the particles, instead of a single pair, to possess several pairs of poles arranged at definite points over their surfaces; you can then picture them, in obedience to their mutual attractions and repulsions, building themselves together to form masses of definite shape and structure.

95. Imagine the molecules of water in calm cold air to be gifted with poles of this description, which compel the particles to lay themselves together in a definite order, and you have before your mind's eye the unseen architecture which finally produces the visible and beautiful crystals of the snow. Thus our first notions and conceptions of poles are obtained from the sight of our eyes in looking at the effects of magnetism; and we then transfer these notions and conceptions to particles which no eye has ever seen. The power by which we thus picture to ourselves effects beyond the range of the senses is what philosophers call the Imagination, and in the effort of the mind to seize upon the unseen architecture of crystals, we have an example of the "scientific use" of this faculty. Without imagination we might have critical power, but not creative power in science.

§ 11. Architecture of Lake Ice.

96. We have thus made ourselves acquainted with the beautiful snow-flowers self-constructed by the molecules of water in calm cold air. Do the molecules show this architectural power when ordinary water is frozen? What, for example, is the structure of the ice over which we skate in winter? Quite as wonderful as the flowers of the snow. The observation is rare, if not new, but I have seen in water slowly freezing six-rayed ice-stars formed, and floating free on the surface. A six-rayed star, moreover, is typical of the construction of all our lake ice. It is built up of such forms wonderfully interlaced.

97. Take a slab of lake ice and place it in the path of a concentrated sunbeam. Watch the track of the beam through the ice. Part of the beam is stopped, part of it goes through; the former produces internal liquefaction, the latter has no effect whatever upon the ice. But the liquefaction is not uniformly diffused. From separate spots of the ice little shining points are seen to sparkle forth. Every one of those points is surrounded by a beautiful liquid flower with six petals.

98. Ice and water are so optically alike that unless the light fall properly upon these flowers you cannot see them. But what is the central spot? A vacuum. Ice swims on water because, bulk for bulk, it is lighter than water; so that when ice is melted it shrinks in size. Can the liquid flowers then occupy the whole space of the ice melted? Plainly no. A little empty space is formed with the flowers, and this space, or rather its surface, shines in the sun with the lustre of burnished silver.

99. In all cases the flowers are formed parallel to the surface of freezing. They are formed when the sun shines upon the ice of every lake; sometimes in myriads, and so small as to require a magnifying glass to see them. They are always attainable, but their beauty is often marred by internal defects of the ice. Even one portion of the same piece of ice may show them exquisitely, while the second portion shows them imperfectly.

100. Annexed is a very imperfect sketch of these beautiful figures.

101. Here we have a reversal of the process of crystallization. The searching solar beam is delicate enough to take the molecules down without deranging the order of their architecture. Try the experiment for yourself with a pocket-lens on a sunny day. You will not find the flowers confused; they all lie parallel to the surface of freezing. In this exquisite way every bit of the ice over which our skaters glide in winter is put together.

102. I said in (97) that a portion of the sunbeam was stopped by the ice and liquefied it. What is this portion? The dark heat of the sun. The great body of the light waves and even a portion of the dark ones, pass through the ice without losing any of their heating power. When properly concentrated on combustible bodies, even after having passed through the ice, their burning power becomes manifest.

103. And the ice itself may be employed to concentrate them. With an ice-lens in the polar regions Dr. Scoresby has often concentrated the sun's rays so as to make them burn wood, fire gunpowder, and melt lead; thus proving that the heating power is retained by the rays, even after they have passed through so cold a substance.

104. By rendering the rays of the electric lamp parallel, and then sending them through a lens of ice, we obtain all the effects which Dr. Scoresby obtained with the rays of the sun.

§ 12. The Source of the Arveiron. Ice Pinnacles, Towers, and Chasms of the Glacier des Bois. Passage to the Montanvert.

105. Our preparatory studies are for the present ended, and thus informed, let us approach the Alps. Through the village of Chamouni, in Savoy, a river rushes which is called the Arve. Let us trace this river backwards from Chamouni. At a little distance from the village the river forks; one of its branches still continues to be called the Arve, the other is the Arveiron. Following this latter we come to what is called the "source of the Arveiron"—a short hour's walk from Chamouni. Here, as in the case of the Rhone already referred to, you are fronted by a huge mass of ice, the end of a glacier, and from an arch in the ice the Arveiron issues. Do not trust the arch in summer. Its roof falls at intervals with a startling crash, and would infallibly crush any person on whom it might fall.

106. We must now be observant. Looking about us here, we find in front of the ice curious heaps and ridges of débris, which are more or less concentric. These are the terminal moraines of the glacier. We shall examine them subsequently.

107. We now turn to the left, and ascend the slope beside the glacier. As we ascend we get a better view, and find that the ice here fills a narrow valley. We come upon another singular ridge, not of fresh débris, like those lower down, but covered in part with trees, and appearing to be literally as "old as the hills." It tells a wonderful tale. We soon satisfy ourselves that the ridge is an ancient moraine, and at once conclude that the glacier, at some former period of its existence, was vastly larger than it is now. This old moraine stretches right across the main valley, and abuts against the mountains at the opposite side.

108. Having passed the terminal portion of the glacier, which is covered with stones and rubbish, we find ourselves beside a very wonderful exhibition of ice. The glacier descends a steep gorge, and in doing so is riven and broken in the most extraordinary manner. Here are towers, and pinnacles, and fantastic shapes wrought out by the action of the weather, which put one in mind of rude sculpture. Annexed is a sketch of an ice-pinnacle. From deep chasms in the glacier issues a delicate shimmer of blue light. At times we hear a sound like thunder, which arises either from the falling of a tower of ice, or from the tumble of a huge stone into a chasm. The glacier maintains this wild and chaotic character for some time; and the best iceman would find himself defeated in any attempt to get along it.

109. We reach a place called the Chapeau, where, if we wish, we can have refreshment in a little mountain hut. We then pass the Mauvais Pas, a precipitous rock, on the face of which steps are hewn, and the unpractised traveller is assisted by a rope. We pursue our journey, partly along the mountain side, and partly along a ridge of singularly artificial aspect a lateral moraine. We at length face a house perched upon an eminence at the opposite side of the glacier. This is the auberge of the Montanvert, well known to all visitors to this portion of the Alps.

110. Here we cross the glacier. I should have told you that its lower part, including the broken portion we have passed, is called the Glacier des Bois; while the place that we are now about to cross is the beginning of the Mer de Glace. You feel that this term is not quite appropriate, for the glacier here is much more like a river of ice than a sea. The valley which it fills is about half a mile wide.

111. The ice may be riven where we enter upon it, but with the necessary care there is no difficulty in crossing this portion of the Mer de Glace. The clefts and chasms in the ice are called crevasses; we shall make their acquaintance on a grander scale by and by.

112. Look up and down this side of the glacier. It is considerably riven, but as we advance the crevasses will diminish, and we shall find very few of them at the other side. Note this for future use. The ice is at first dirty; but the dirt soon disappears, and you come upon the clean crisp surface of the glacier. You have already noticed that the clean ice is white, and that from a distance it resembles snow rather than ice. This is caused by the breaking up of the surface by the solar heat. When you pound transparent rock-salt into powder it is as white as table-salt, and it is the minute fissuring of the surface of the glacier by the sun's rays that causes it to appear white. Within the glacier the ice is transparent. After an exhilarating passage we get upon the opposite lateral moraine, and ascend the steep slope from it to the Montanvert Inn.

§ 13. The Mer de Glace and its Sources. Our First Climb to the Cleft Station.

113. Here the view before us is very grand. We look across the glacier at the beautiful pyramid of the Aiguille du Dru (shown in our frontispiece); and to the right at the Aiguille des Charmoz, with its sharp pinnacles bent as if they were ductile. Looking straight up the glacier the view is bounded by the great crests called La Grande Jorasse, nearly 14,000 feet high. Our object now is to get into the very heart of the mountains, and to pursue to its origin the wonderful frozen river which we have just crossed.

114. Starting from the Montanvert with, the glacier below us to our left, we soon reach some rocks resembling the Mauvais Pas; they are called les Fonts. We cross them and reach l'Angle, where we quit the land for the ice. We walk up the glacier, but before reaching the promontory called Trélaporte, we take once more to the mountain side; for though the path here has been forsaken on account of its danger, for the sake of knowledge we are prepared to incur danger to a reasonable extent. A little glacier reposes on the slope to our right. We may see a huge boulder or two poised on the end of the glacier, and, if fortunate, also see the boulder liberated and plunging violently down the slope. Presence of mind is all that is necessary to render our safety certain; but travellers do not always show presence of mind, and hence the path which formerly led over this slope has been forsaken. The whole slope is cumbered by masses of rock which this little glacier has sent down. These I wished you to see; by and by they shall be fully accounted for.

115. Above Trélaporte to the right you see a most singular cleft in the rocks, in the middle of which stands an isolated pillar, hewn out by the weather. Our next object is to get to the tower of rock to the left of that cleft, for from that position we shall gain a most commanding and instructive view of the Mer de Glace and its sources.

116. The cleft referred to, with its pillar, may be seen to the right of the preceding engraving of the Mer de Glace. Below the cleft is also seen the little glacier just referred to.

117. We may reach this cleft by a steep gully, visible from our present position, and leading directly up to the cleft. But these gullies, or couloirs, are very dangerous, being the pathways of stones falling from the heights. We will therefore take the rocks to the left of the gully, by close inspection ascertain their assailable points, and there attack them. In the Alps as elsewhere wonderful things may be done by looking steadfastly at difficulties, and testing them wherever they appear assailable. We thus reach our station, where the glory of the prospect, and the insight that we gain as to the formation of the Mer de Glace, far more than repay us for the labour of our ascent.

118. For we see the glacier below us, stretching its frozen tongue downwards past the Montanvert. And we now find this single glacier branching out into three others, some of them wider than itself. Regard the branch to the right, the Glacier du Géant. It stretches smoothly up for a long distance, then becomes disturbed, and then changes to a great frozen cascade, down which the ice appears to tumble in wild confusion. Above the cascade you see an expanse of shining snow, occupying an area of some square miles.

§ 14. Ice-cascade and Snows of the Col du Géant.

119. Instead of climbing to the height where we now stand, we might have continued our walk upon the Mer de Glace, turned round the promontory of Trélaporte, and walked right up the Glacier du Géant. We should have found ice under our feet up to the bottom of the cascade. It is not so compact as the ice lower down, but you would not think of refusing to call it ice.

120. As we approach the fall, the smooth and unbroken character of the glacier changes more and more. We encounter transverse ridges succeeding each other with augmenting steepness. The ice becomes more and more fissured and confused. We wind through tortuous ravines, climb huge ice-mounds, and creep cautiously along crumbling crests, with crevasses right and left. The confusion increases until further advance along the centre of the glacier is impossible.

121. But with the aid of an axe to cut steps in the steeper ice-walls and slopes we might, by swerving to either side of the glacier, work our way to the top of the cascade. If we ascended to the right, we should have to take care of the ice avalanches which sometimes thunder down the slopes; if to the left, we should have to take care of the stones let loose from the Aiguille Noire. After we had cleared the cascade, we should have to beware for a time of the crevasses, which for some distance above the fall yawn terribly. But by caution we could get round them, and sometimes cross them by bridges of snow. Here the skill and knowledge to be acquired only by long practice come into play; and here also the use of the Alpine rope suggests itself. For not only are the 'snow bridges often frail, but whole crevasses are sometimes covered, the unhappy traveller being first made aware of their existence by the snow breaking under his feet. Many lives have thus been lost, and some quite recently.

122. Once upon the plateau above the ice-fall we find the surface totally changed. Below the fall we walked upon ice; here we are upon snow. After a gentle but long ascent we reach a depression of the ridge which bounds the snow-field at the top, and now look over Italy. We stand upon the famous Col du Géant.

123. They were no idle scamperers on the mountains that made these wild recesses first known; it was not the desire for health which now brings some, or the desire for grandeur and beauty which brings others, or the wish to be able to say that they have climbed a mountain or crossed a col, which I fear brings a good many more; it was a desire for knowledge that brought the first explorers here, and on this col the celebrated De Saussure lived for seventeen days, making scientific observations.

§ 15. Questioning the Glaciers.

124. I would now ask you to consider for a moment the facts which such an excursion places in our possession. The snow through which we have in idea trudged is the snow of last winter and spring. Had we placed last August a proper mark upon the surface of the snow, we should find it this August at a certain depth beneath the surface. A good deal has been melted by the summer sun, but a good deal of it remains, and it will continue until the snows of the coming winter fall and cover it. This again will be in part preserved till next August, a good deal of it remaining until it is covered by the snow of the subsequent winter. We thus arrive at the certain conclusion that on the plateau of the Col du Géant the quantity of snow that falls annually exceeds the quantity melted.

125. Had we come in the month of April or May, we should have found the glacier below the ice-fall also covered with snow, which is now entirely cleared away by the heat of summer. Nay, more, the ice there is obviously melting, forming running brooks which cut channels in the ice, and expand here and there into small blue-green lakes. Hence you conclude with certainty that below the ice-fall the quantity of frozen material falling upon the glacier is less than the quantity melted.

126. And this forces upon us another conclusion: between the glacier below the ice-fall and the plateau above it there must exist a line where the quantity of snow which falls is exactly equal to the quantity annually melted. This is the snow-line. On some glaciers it is quite distinct, and it would be distinct here were the ice less broken and confused than it actually is.

127. The French term névé is applied to the glacial region above the snow-line, while the word glacier is restricted to the ice below it. Thus the snows of the Col du Géant constitute the névé of the Glacier du Géant, and in part, the névé of the Mer de Glace.

128. But if every year thus leaves a residue of snow upon the plateau of the Col du Géant, it necessarily follows that the plateau must get annually higher, provided the snow remain upon it. Equally certain is the conclusion that the whole length of the glacier below the cascade must sink gradually lower, if the waste of annual melting be not made good. Supposing two feet of snow a year to remain upon the Col, this would raise it to a height far surpassing that of Mont Blanc in five thousand years. Such accumulation must take place if the snow remain upon the Col; but the accumulation does not take place, hence the snow does not remain on the Col. The question then is, whither does it go?

§ 16. Branches and Medial Moraines of the Mer de Glace from the Cleft Station.

129. We shall grapple with this question immediately. Meanwhile look at that ice-valley in front of us, stretching up between Mont Tacul and the Aiguille de Léchaud, to the base of the great ridge called the Grande Jorasse. This is called the Glacier de Léchaud. It receives at its head the snows of the Jorasse and of Mont Mallet, and joins the Glacier du Géant at the promontory of the Tacul. The glaciers seem welded together where they join, but they continue distinct. Between them you clearly trace a stripe of débris (c on the annexed sketch-plan); you trace a similar though smaller stripe (a on the sketch), from the junction of the Glacier du Géant with the Glacier des Périades at the foot of the Aiguille Noire, which you also follow along the Mer de Glace.

130. We also see another glacier, or a portion of it, to the left, falling apparently in broken fragments through a narrow gorge (Cascade du Talèfre on the sketch) and joining the Léchaud, and from their point of junction also a stripe of débris (d) runs downwards along the Mer de Glace. Beyond this again we notice another stripe (e), which seems to begin at the bottom of the ice-fall, rising as it were from the body of the glacier. Beyond all of these we can notice the lateral moraine of the Mer de Glace.

131. These stripes are the medial moraines of the Mer de Glace. We shall learn more about them immediately.

132. And now, having informed our minds by these observations, let our eyes wander over the whole glorious scene, the splintered peaks and the hacked and jagged crests, the far-stretching snow-fields, the smaller glaciers which nestle on the heights, the deep blue heaven and the sailing clouds. Is it not worth some labour to gain command of such a scene? But the delight it imparts is heightened by the fact that we did not come expressly to see it; we came to instruct ourselves about the glacier, and this high enjoyment is an incident of our labour. You will find it thus through life; without honest labour there can be no deep joy.

§ 17. The Talèfre and the Jardin. Work among the Crevasses.

133. And now let us descend to the Mer de Glace, for I want to take you across the glacier to that broken ice-fall the origin of which we have not yet seen. We aim at the farther side of the glacier, and to reach it we must cross those dark stripes of débris which we observed from the heights. Looked at from above, these moraines seemed flat, but now we find them to be ridges of stones and rubbish, from twenty to thirty feet high.

134. We quit the ice at a place called the Couvercle, and wind round this promontory, ascending all the time. We squeeze ourselves through the Égralets, a kind of natural staircase in the rock, and soon afterwards obtain a full view of the ice-fall, the origin of which we wish to find. The ice upon the fall is much broken; we have pinnacles and towers, some erect, some leaning, and some, if we are fortunate, falling like those upon the Glacier des Bois; and we have chasms from which issues a delicate blue light. With the ice-fall to our right we continue to ascend, until at length we command a view of a huge glacier basin, almost level, and on the middle of which stands a solitary island, entirely surrounded by ice. We stand at the edge of the Glacier du Talèfre, and connect it with the ice-fall we have passed. The glacier is bounded by rocky ridges, hacked and torn at the top into teeth and edges, and buttressed by snow fluted by the descending stones.

135. We cross the basin to the central island, and find grass and flowers at the place where we enter upon it. This is the celebrated Jardin, of which you have often heard. The upper part of the Jardin is bare rock. Close at hand is one of the noblest peaks in this portion of the Alps, the Aiguille Verte. It is between thirteen and fourteen thousand feet high, and down its sides, after freshly-fallen snow, avalanches incessantly thunder. From one of its projections a streak of moraine starts down the Talèfre; from the Jardin also a similar streak of moraine issues. Both continue side by side to the top of the ice-fall, where they are engulphed in the chasms. But at the bottom of the fall they reappear, as if newly emerging from the body of the glacier, and afterwards they continue along the Mer de Glace.

136. Walk with me now alongside the moraine from the Jardin down towards the ice-fall. For a time our work is easy, such fissures as appear offering no impediment to our march. But the crevasses become gradually wider and wilder, following each other at length so rapidly as to leave merely walls of ice between them. Here perfect steadiness of foot is necessary a slip would be death. We look towards the fall, and observe the confusion of walls and blocks and chasms below us increasing. At length prudence and reason cry "Halt!" We may swerve to the right or to the left, and making our way along crests of ice, with chasms on both hands, reach either the right lateral moraine or the left lateral moraine of the glacier.

§ 18. First Questions regarding Glacier Motion. Drifting of Bodies buried in a Crevasse.

137. But what are these lateral moraines? As you and I go from day to day along the glaciers, their origin is gradually made plain. We see at intervals the stones and rubbish descending from the mountain sides and arrested by the ice. All along the fringe of the glacier the stones and rubbish fall, and it soon becomes evident that we have here the source of the lateral moraines.

138. But how are the medial moraines to be accounted for? How does the débris range itself upon the glacier in stripes some hundreds of yards from its edge, leaving the space between them and the edge clear of rubbish? Some have supposed the stones to have rolled over the glacier from the sides, but the supposition will not bear examination. Call to mind now our reasoning regarding the excess of snow which falls above the snow-line, and our subsequent question, How is the snow disposed of. Can it be that the entire mass is moving slowly downwards? If so, the lateral moraines would be carried along by the ice on which they rest, and when two branch glaciers unite they would lay their adjacent lateral moraines together to form a medial moraine upon the trunk glacier.

139. There is, in fact, no way that we can see of disposing of the excess of snow above the snow-line; there is no way of making good the constant waste of the ice below the snow-line; there is no way of accounting for the medial moraines of the glacier, but by supposing that from the highest snow-fields of the Col du Géant, the Léchaud, and the Talèfre, to the extreme end of the Glacier des Bois, the whole mass of frozen matter is moving downwards.

140. If you were older, it would give me pleasure to take you up Mont Blanc. Starting from Chamouni, we should first pass through woods and pastures, then up the steep hill-face with the Glacier des Bossons to our right, to a rock known as the Pierre Pointue; thence to a higher rock called the Pierre l'Échelle, because here a ladder is usually placed to assist in crossing the chasms of the glacier. At the Pierre l'Échelle we should strike the ice, and passing under the Aiguille du Midi, which towers to the left, and which sometimes sweeps a portion of the track with stone avalanches, we should cross the Glacier des Bossons; amid heaped-up mounds and broken towers of ice; up steep slopes; over chasms so deep that their bottoms are hid in darkness.

141. We reach the rocks of the Grands Mulets, which form a kind of barren islet in the icy sea; thence to the higher snow-fields, crossing the Petit Plateau, which we should find cumbered by blocks of ice. Looking to the right, we should see whence they came, for rising here with threatening aspect high above us are the broken ice-crags[B] of the Dôme du Goûté. The guides wish to pass this place in silence, and it is just as well to humour them, however much you may doubt the competence of the human voice to bring the ice-crags down. From the Petit Plateau a steep snow-slope would carry us to the Grand Plateau, and at day-dawn I know nothing in the whole Alps more grand and solemn than this place.

142. One object of our ascent would be now attained; for here at the head of the Grand Plateau, and at the foot of the final slope of Mont Blanc, I should show you a great crevasse, into which three guides were poured by an avalanche in the year 1820.

143. Is this language correct? A crevasse hardly to be distinguished from the present one undoubtedly existed here in 1820. But was it the identical crevasse now existing? Is the ice riven here to-day the same as that riven fifty-one years ago? By no means. How is this proved? By the fact that more than forty years after their interment, the remains of those three guides were found near the end of the Glacier des Bossons, many miles below the existing crevasse.

144. The same observation proves to demonstration that it is the ice near the bottom of the higher névé that becomes the surface-ice of the glacier near its end. The waste of the surface below the snow-line brings the deeper portions of the ice more and more to the light of day.

145. There are numerous obvious indications of the existence of glacier motion, though it is too slow to catch the eye at once. The crevasses change within certain limits from year to year, and sometimes from month to month; and this could not be if the ice did not move. Rocks and stones also are observed, which have been plainly torn from the mountain sides. Blocks seen to fall from particular points are afterwards observed lower down. On the moraines rocks are found of a totally different mineralogical character from those composing the mountains right and left; and in all such cases strata of the same character are found bordering the glacier higher up. Hence the conclusion that the foreign boulders have been floated down by the ice. Further, the ends or "snouts" of many glaciers act like ploughshares on the land in front of them, overturning with slow but merciless energy huts and chalets that stand in their way. Facts like these have been long known to the inhabitants of the High Alps, who were thus made acquainted in a vague and general way with the motion of the glaciers.

§ 19. The Motion of Glaciers. Measurements by Hugi and Agassiz. Drifting of Huts on the Ice.

146. But the growth of knowledge is from vagueness towards precision, and exact determinations of the rate of glacier motion were soon desired. With reference to such measurements one glacier in the Bernese Oberland will remain forever memorable. From the little town of Meyringen in Switzerland you proceed up the valley of Hasli, past the celebrated waterfall of Handeck, where the river Aar plunges into a chasm more than 200 feet deep. You approach the Grimsel Pass, but instead of crossing it you turn to the right and follow the course of the Aar upwards. Like the Rhone and the Arveiron, you find the Aar issuing from a glacier.

147. Get upon the ice, or rather upon the deep moraine shingle which covers the ice, and walk upwards. It is hard walking, but after some time you get clear of the rubbish, and on to a wide glacier with a great medial moraine running along its back. This moraine is formed by the junction of two branch glaciers, the Lauteraar and the Finsteraar, which unite at a promontory called the Abschwung to form the trunk glacier of the Unteraar.

148. On this great medial moraine in 1827 an intrepid and enthusiastic Swiss professor, Hugi, of Solothurm (French Soleure), built a hut with a view to observations upon the glacier. His hut moved, and he measured its motion. In the three years—from 1827 to 1830—it had moved 330 feet downwards. In 1836 it had moved 2,354 feet; and in 1841 M. Agassiz found it 4,712 feet below its first position.

149. In 1840, M. Agassiz himself and some bold companions took shelter under a great overhanging slab of rock on the same moraine, to which they added side walls and other means of protection. And because he and his comrades came from Neufchâtel, the hut was called long afterwards the "Hôtel des Neuchâtelois." Two years subsequent to its erection M. Agassiz found that the "hotel" had moved 486 feet downwards.

§ 20. Precise Measurements of Agassiz and Forbes. Motion of a Glacier proved to resemble the Motion of a River.

150. We now approach an epoch in the scientific history of glaciers. Had the first observers been practically acquainted with the instruments of precision used in surveying, accurate measurements of the motion of glaciers would probably have been earlier executed. We are now on the point of seeing such instruments introduced almost simultaneously by M. Agassiz on the glacier of the Unteraar, and by Professor Forbes on the Mer de Glace. Attempts had been made by M. Escher de la Linth to determine the motion of a series of wooden stakes driven into the Aletsch glacier, but the melting was so rapid that the stakes soon fell. To remedy this, M. Agassiz in 1841 undertook the great labour of carrying boring tools to his "hotel," and piercing the Unteraar glacier at six different places to a depth of ten feet, in a straight line across the glacier. Into the holes six piles were so firmly driven that they remained in the glacier for a year, and in 1842 the displacements of all six were determined. They were found to be 160 feet, 225 feet, 269 feet, 245 feet, 210 feet, and 125 feet, respectively.

151. A great step is here gained. You notice that the middle numbers are the largest. They correspond to the central portion of the glacier. Hence, these measurements conclusively establish, not only the fact of glacier motion, but that the centre of a glacier, like that of a river, moves more rapidly than the sides.

152. With the aid of trained engineers M. Agassiz followed up these measurements in subsequent years. His researches are recorded in a work entitled "Système glaciaire," which is accompanied by a very noble Atlas of the Glacier of the Unteraar, published in 1847.

153. These determinations were made by means of a theodolite, of which I will give you some notion immediately. The same instrument was employed the same year by the late Professor Forbes upon the Mer de Glace. He established independently the greater central motion. He showed, moreover, that it is not necessary to wait a year, or even a week to determine the motion of a glacier; with a correctly-adjusted theodolite he was able to determine the motion of various points of the Mer de Glace from day to day. He affirmed, and with truth, that the motion of the glacier might be determined from hour to hour. We shall prove this farther on (162). Professor Forbes also triangulated the Mer de Glace, and laid down an excellent map of it. His first observations and his survey are recorded in a celebrated book published in 1843, and entitled "Travels in the Alps."

154. These observations were also followed up in subsequent years, the results being recorded in a series of detached letters and essays of great interest. These were subsequently collected in a volume entitled "Occasional Papers on the Theory of Glaciers," published in 1859. The labours of Agassiz and Forbes are the two chief sources of our knowledge of glacier phenomena.

§ 21. The Theodolite and its Use. Our own Measurements.

155. My object thus far is attained. I have given you proofs of glacier motion, and a historic account of its measurement. And now we must try to add a little to the knowledge of glaciers by our own labours on the ice. Resolution must not be wanting at the commencement of our work, nor steadfast patience during its prosecution. Look then at this theodolite; it consists mainly of a telescope and a graduated circle, the telescope capable of motion up and down, and the circle, carrying the telescope along with it, capable of motion right and left. When desired to make the motion exceedingly fine and minute, suitable screws, called tangent screws, are employed. The instrument is supported by three legs, movable, but firm when properly planted.

156. Two spirit-levels are fixed at right angles to each other on the circle just referred to. Practice enables one to take hold of the legs of the instrument, and so to fix them that the circle shall be nearly horizontal. By means of four levelling screws we render it accurately horizontal. Exactly under the centre of the instrument is a small hook from which a plummet is suspended; the point of the bob just touches a rock on which we make a mark; or if the earth be soft underneath, we drive a stake into it exactly under the plummet. By re-suspending the plummet at any future time we can find to a hairbreadth the position occupied by the instrument to-day.

157. Look through the telescope; you see it crossed by two fibres of the finest spider's thread. In actual work we first direct the telescope across the glacier, until the intersection of the two fibres accurately covers some well-defined point of rock or tree at the other side of the valley. This, our fixed standard, we sketch with its surroundings in a note-book, so as to be able immediately to recognise it on our return to this place. Imagine a straight line drawn from the centre of the telescope to this point, and that this line is permitted to drop straight down upon the glacier, every point of it falling as a stone would fall; along such a line we have now to fix a series of stakes.

158. A trained assistant is already upon the glacier. He erects his staff and stands behind it; the telescope is lowered without swerving to the right or to the left; in mathematical language it remains in the same vertical plane. The crossed fibres of the telescope probably strike the ice a little away from the staff of the assistant; by a wave of the arm he moves right or left; he may move too much, so we wave him back again. After a trial or two he knows whether he is near the proper point, and if so makes his motions small. He soon exactly strikes the point covered by the intersection of the fibres. A signal is made which tells him that he is right; he pierces the ice with an auger and drives in a stake. He then goes forward, and in precisely the same manner takes up another point. After one or two stakes have been driven in, the assistant is able to take up the other points very rapidly. Any requisite number of stakes may thus be fixed in a straight line across the glacier.

159. Next morning we measure the motion of all the stakes. The theodolite is mounted in its former position and carefully levelled. The telescope is directed first upon the standard point at the opposite side of the valley, being moved by a tangent screw until the intersection of the spider's threads accurately covers the point. The telescope is then lowered to the first stake, beside which our trained assistant is already standing. He is provided with a staff with feet and inches marked on it. A glance shows us the stake has moved down. By our signals the assistant recovers the point from which we started yesterday, and then determines the distance from this point to the stake. It is, say, 6 inches; through this distance, therefore, the stake has moved.

160. We are careful to note the hour and minute at which each stake is driven in, and the hour and the minute when its distance from its first position is measured; this enables us to calculate the accurate daily motion of the point in question. The distances through which all the other points have moved are determined in precisely the same way.

161. Thus we shall proceed to work, first making clear to our minds what is to be done, and then making sure that it shall be accurately done. To give our work reality, I will here record the actual measurements executed, and the actual thoughts suggested, on the Mer de Glace in 1857. The only unreality that I would ask you to allow, is that you and I are supposed to be making the observations together. The labour of measuring was undertaken for the most part by Mr. Hirst.

§ 22. Motion of the Mer de Glace.

162. On July 14, then, we find ourselves at the end of the Glacier des Bois, not far from the source of the Arveiron. We direct our telescope across the glacier, and fix the intersection of its spider's threads accurately upon the edge of a pinnacle of ice. We leave the instrument untouched, looking through it from hour to hour. The edge of ice moves slowly, but plainly, past the fibres, and at the end of three hours we assure ourselves that the motion has amounted to several inches. While standing near the vault of the Arveiron, and talking about going into it, its roof gives way, and falls with the sound of thunder. It is not, therefore, without reason that I warned you against entering these vaults in summer.

163. We ascend to the Montanvert Inn, fix on it as a residence, and then descend to the lateral moraine of the glacier a little below the inn. Here we erect our theodolite, and mark its exact position by a plummet. We must first make sure that our line is perpendicular, or nearly so, to the axis or middle line of the glacier. Our instructed assistant lays down a long staff in the direction of the axis, assuring himself, by looking up and down, that it is the true direction. With another staff in his hand, pointed towards our theodolite, he shifts his position until the second staff is perpendicular to the first. Here he gives us a signal. We direct our telescope upon him, and then gradually raising its end in a vertical plane we find, and note by sketching, a standard point at the other side of the glacier. This point known, and our plummet mark known, we can on any future day find our line. (To render the measurements more intelligible, I append on the next page an outline diagram of the Mer de Glace, and of its tributaries.)

164. Along the line just described ten stakes were set on July 17, 1857. Their displacements were measured on the following day. Two of them had fallen, but here are the distances passed over by the eight remaining ones in twenty-four hours.

DAILY MOTION OF THE MER DE GLACE.

First Line: A A' upon the Sketch.

165. You have already assured yourself by actual contact that the body of the glacier is real ice, and you may have read that glaciers move; but the actual observation of the motion of a body apparently so rigid is strangely interesting. And not only does the ice move bodily, but one part of it moves past another; the rate of motion augmenting gradually from 12 inches a day at the side to 33 inches a day at a distance from the side. This quicker movement of the central ice of glaciers had been already observed by Agassiz and Forbes; we verify their results, and now proceed to something new. Crossing the Glacier du Géant, which occupies more than half the valley, we find that our line of stakes is not yet at an end. The 10th stake stands on the part of the ice which comes from the Talèfre.