BIRDS ON A SWISS GI^AZIER 



Now the path winds up the steep side of the 

 cliff, and for an hour or more we climb, taking 

 heed of each step, for the soft shale crumbles and 

 breaks at every footfall. At length we reach a 

 more level expanse, where vegetation grows 

 freely. The character of the ground is strange : 

 huge tussocks arise on every hand like grave- 

 mounds. The valley is still hidden in darkness 

 and mist, but higher, the vast range of snow peaks 

 stand pale against the sky. Soon a faint bar of 

 light rests on the horizon in the east. One by one 

 the distant summits are touched with rose. The 

 bar of light deepens and turns to ruddy gold. 

 Peak after peak arises in dazzling whiteness, and 

 the rose and azure and gold glow on a myriad 

 heights. For awhile these shining lines of white 

 hills seem like islands rising from a sea of clouds. 

 But soon, as the sun lifts itself clear of the horizon, 

 the shadows turn and flee, and great rifts are cut 

 sheer in the mist. Here, for a moment, we mark 

 a great bird-of-prey — probably a buzzard- 

 hanging motionless on its wings. Hemmed in 

 on either hand by dense, murky walls of mist, it 

 looks down through this shaft of light to un- 

 fathomable deeps where the little villages appear 

 set in green plains : then with a hardly perceptible 

 beat of its great pinions, it sails into what seems 

 to be the solid masonry of clouds. 



On the nearer heights the plumes of the pine 

 trees still rooted in mist come into ken, and little 

 by little the whole landscape is swept clear, 

 and a new world of rock, and wood, and torrent, 

 of snow, mountain and nestling hamlet rests in the 

 morning sunshine. 



We have now reached the foot of the jagged 

 line of crests at the point where the ascent may 

 be most easily made. Here a halt is called, and 

 the ropes are got ready. As we rest, the eye is 



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