OLD ALPINE JOTTINGS. 437 



the common boundary of the Rhone and Trift glaciers.* 

 Before us and behind us for many a mile fell the daz- 

 zling neves, down to the points where the grey ice 

 emerging from its white coverlet declared the junction 

 of snow-field and glacier. We had plodded on for hours 

 soddened by the solar heat and parched with thirst. 



There was 



Water, water everywhere, 

 But not a drop to drink. 



For, when placed in the mouth, the liquefaction of the 

 ice was so slow, and the loss of heat from the surround- 

 ing tissues so painful, that sucking it was worse than 

 total abstinence. In the midst of this solid water you 

 might die of thirst. At some distance below the col, 

 on the Khone side, the musical trickle of the liquid 

 made itself audible, and to the rocks from which it 

 fell we repaired and refreshed ourselves. The day was 

 far spent, the region was wild and lonely, when, beset 

 by that feeling which has often caused me to wander 

 singly in the Alps, I broke away from my companions, 

 and went rapidly down the snow-field. Our guide had 

 previously informed me that before reaching the cascade 

 of the Rhone glacier the ice was to be forsaken, and the 

 Grimsel, our destination, reached by skirting the base 

 of the peak called Nagelis Gratli. After descending 

 the ice for some time I struck the bounding rocks, and 

 climbing the mountain obliquely, found myself among 

 the crags which lie between the Grimsel pass and the 

 Rhone glacier. It was an exceedingly desolate place, 

 and I soon had reason to doubt the wisdom of being 

 there alone. Still, difficulty rouses powers of which we 

 should otherwise remain unconscious. The heat of the 



* Seven years previously Mr. Huxley and myself had at- 

 tempted to reach this col from the other side. 



