468 OLD ALPINE JOTTINGS. 



wonder at the geological contortions along the flanks of 

 the adjacent mountain, and truly famous examples they 

 happen to be. I followed the Gotthardt's-strasse over 

 the Devil's Bridge, the echoes of which astonished me, 

 to Andermatt and Hospenthal, where the road was 

 quitted to cross the Furka. Taking by mistake the 

 wrong side of the river Reuss, I was earnestly ad- 

 monished by a pretty, dirty, little chalet girl that I 

 had gone astray. At this time there was no shelter on 

 the Furka, and being warned at Realp of the danger 

 of crossing the pass late in the evening, I halted at 

 that hamlet for the night. Here pastoral Switzerland 

 first revealed itself to me, in the songs of the Senner, 

 and the mellow music of the cow-bells at milking-time. 

 On the 29th I first saw the glacier of the Rhone. 

 Snow had fallen during the night ; the weathered ice- 

 peaks of the fall were of dazzling whiteness, while a 

 pure cerulean light issued from the clefts and hollows 

 of the ice. A week previously a young traveller had 

 been killed by falling into one of these chasms. I did 

 not venture upon the ice, but went down to the source 

 of the historic river. From this point the Mayenwand 

 ought to have been assailed, but the track over it was 

 marked so faintly on my small map that it escaped my 

 attention, and I therefore went down the Rhone valley. 

 The error was discovered before Oberwald was reached. 

 Not wishing to retrace my steps over so rough a track, I 

 inquired at Oberwald whether it would not be possible to 

 reach the Grrimsel without returning to the Rhone gla- 

 cier. A peasant pointed to a high hill-top, and informed 

 me that if I could reach it an erect pole would be found 

 there, and after it other poles, which marked the way 

 over the otherwise trackless heights to the Hospice. I 

 tucked up my knapsack, and faced the mountain. My 

 remarks on this scramble would make a climber smile 



