The snow of Alpine regions differs greatly from that of the lower countries where the snow falls in flakes, as it resembles in size and form extremely small shot, and cannot be pressed together so as to make a snow-ball. The German peasants in Switzerland distinguish the mountain-snow as firn, while the ordinary kind is called snow. The region of the forests extends in the Alps from 3,000 to 6,000 feet above the sea-level, and here snow in winter, like rain in summer, is very abundant. Where the trees disappear, and are replaced by bushes, the quantity of rain decreases gradually, and goes on diminishing in approaching the snow-line. Above this line only snow falls.

Some hundreds of rocky masses of the Alps rise above the snow-line; and these are sometimes so closely connected as to constitute a snowy mass, covering an immense extent of country. In the Alps of Berne, between the upper courses of the rivers Rhone and Aar, a tract of country of about six hundred square miles, or twice the area of the county of Middlesex, is one sheet of snow, excepting only three or four narrow valleys,' which run into the mass, and are so depressed as to be free from snow throughout several successive months. The valleys cut in these mountains communicate with one another by foot-paths, which run for several miles over the snow, but are only practicable for pedestrians, and that during a few weeks of the year.

As the snow-fields of the Alps rarely present level spaces on their tops, and as the snow is there lodged in declivities, which are frequently broken by short, but steep ascents and descents, the effect on the scenery is very great. The variety it ordinarily displays becomes actually majestic and impressive, from the number of rocky masses with which, in the forms of needles, steeples, ruined castles, and narrow ridges, the entire surface is overspread. As, too, these rocks usually rise perpendicularly, or nearly so, and as their steep sides will not allow snow to lodge on them, their dark colour contrasts most strikingly with the whiteness of the snow, and the snow-fields add, therefore, a peculiar charm to Alpine scenery.

Wordsworth thus depicts an Alpine scene, with a master-hand :

""Tis morn: with gold the verdant mountain glows,

More high, the snowy peaks with hues of rose.

Far stretched beneath the many-tinted hills

A mighty waste of mist the valleys fills,

A solemn sea! whose vales and mountains round
Stand motionless, to awful silence bound-

A gulph of gloomy blue, that opens wide,
And bottomless, divides the mid-way tide.
Like leaning masts of stranded ships appear

The pines, that near the coasts their summits rear.
Of cabins, woods, and lawns, a pleasant shore
Bounds calm and clear the chaos still and hoar.
Loud through that midway gulf, ascending, sound
Unnumbered streams with hollow roar profound.
Mount through the nearer mist the chant of birds,
And talking voices, and the low of herds,
The bark of dogs, the drowsy tinkling bell,

And wild-wood mountain lutes of saddest swell."

Not so is it when evening comes on; then the quiet and the repose are perfect. There is no stir among the cottagers; they seem already to have sunk into rest. The solitary toll of some church bell is often the only sound that meets the ear. Still, perhaps, the tourist passes onwards; then the valleys open; at almost every turn of the road appear new combinations of scenery, new outlets among the mountains; yet the road is perfectly level, and the heights form the side scene, and a beautiful one indeed. "I was charmed," says an elegant writer,* "by observing the effect of the clouds that floated around them, or rested on their summits, as the day drew nearer and nearer towards its close. Sometimes these veils of vapour dropped upon and wholly concealed them from our sight; then they shifted, rose gradually, and passed on, alternately discovering or concealing the sides and summits of the mountains, or now partially disclosing some beautiful valley, enriched with woods that appear of the deepest purple against a sky of liquid gold. Now and then might be seen some light spot of verdure that might not unaptly be compared to an emerald set in the diadem of the mountain's brow. Indeed, never till I travelled in Switzerland, did I see effects in nature equal in lustre, and in the depth and richness of their colouring, the jewels and precious stones of the earth. But not to jewels alone might the glories of such a sunset as this be compared. The clouds shifted so continually, that there was no end to the fanciful effects they produced in combination with the deepening colours and the glittering rays of the last beam of the sun. Sometimes the vapour was so light, that it served only to produce that optic illusion of magnifying objects without wholly obscuring them: when seen through such a medium, the rocks may now and then assume a phantom-like form;" so that it is easy to conceive how wild legends arise.

• Mrs. Bray.

When, however, the mist and storm have been on the mountains, the sublimity which Wordsworth has exquisitely described, arrays an Alpine scene at the setting of the sun :

""Tis storm: and hid in mist from hour to hour,
All day the floods a deepening murmur pour.
The sky is veiled, and every cheerful sight,
Dark is the region as with coming night.
But what a sudden burst of overpowering light!
Triumphant on the bosom of the storm
Glances the fire-clad eagle's wheeling form.
Eastward, in long perspective glittering, shine
The wood-crowned cliffs that o'er the lake recline.
Wide o'er the Alps a hundred streams unfold,
At once to pillars turned, that flame with gold.
Behind his sail the peasant tries to shun
The west, that burns like one dilated sun,
Where in a mighty crucible expire

The mountains, glowing hot, like coals of fire!”

To allude to only one other change,-that which occurs during the reign of hoaryheaded winter, it is difficult to realise. As the mountain-ranges are but one mass of whiteness, the eye can no longer distinguish the loftiest peaks, or measure their respective distances. The lakes which, under the brilliant beams of a summer's sun, reflected all the colours of the rainbow, are now dark and sombre, their ebon-like surface gloomingly contrasting with the snowy borders which surround them. The cascades, which before sparkled so merrily in the solar rays, leaping buoyantly, or dashing violently, from crag to crag, with so loud a roar, are now pent up in silent slumberings, in huge masses of ice.

All around there is the desolation of death. No flocks wander along the mountain sides. No herds of cattle resort to them in quest of pasture. No bird hovers over the landscape with feeble or with mighty wing. No stream dashes along the valleys. The very trees, heavy laden with their wintry coverings, stand stiff and motionless. The snow which lies on the surface of the earth seems like the funeral-pall of nature. The silence that prevails is profound, and almost painful. The very echoes are departed, and the blast of a trumpet, if sounded, would die as soon as blown. But there is sublimity in the stillness and desolation. Yet, look, there is one sign of life,—it is the tall column of pale, blue smoke, curling slowly upwards,-the proof that a village is at hand. To wander in that direction, is to find that the road is cleared for some distance, and on entering the village, every house appears carefully disengaged from the vast masses of snow which collect around it, while other paths lead to the storehouse of fuel, and to other spots around.

Glaciers are natural appendages to snow mountains; the former indeed cannot exist without the latter-" the eternal reservoirs," as they have sometimes been called. The snow-line itself constitutes the point where the snow mountain terminates and the glacier begins. This may be described as a stream of ice flowing down a declivity between banks, which are sometimes precipitous. The sea of ice has its source in the regions of perpetual snow; and is, in fact, snow passing into ice and mingled with it. The impression that to walk on a glacier is as difficult as to do so on a frozen sheet of water, is therefore erroneous; for the entire surface, except where it is vertical, or nearly so, is covered with gritty particles. These particles are derived from rocks on the surface of the glacier, and from the sides of the valley down which the ice-stream flows;— partly from the motion of the glacier itself, and partly from the rains washing down the particles from the higher grounds.

The chasms in the glaciers are frequently many feet wide, and more than a hundred deep. Their formation, which never takes place in winter, but is frequent during summer, is accompanied with a loud noise resembling thunder, and a shock which makes

the neighbouring mountains tremble. These chasms are subject to change every day, and almost every hour, and hence the ascent of the glaciers is so dangerous to travellers. Sometimes there are found in the glaciers pyramids of ice, of a regular form and a

CHASMS ON THE GLACIERS.

9

considerable elevation, on the tops of which are placed large pieces of rocks. At the lower extremity of the glaciers is an excavation in the form of a grotto, frequently a hundred

feet high, and from sixty to eighty wide, whence issues a small river, bringing down a blueish water. Though every single crystal of the ice of the glaciers seems perfectly white,