held there, and it was in the plan of the traveller to buy a large piece of 
linen, and, by smuggling it across the Sardinian frontier, to reimburse 
himself for the expenses of the journey. There was nothing to prevent 
the execution of the scheme — a very common one among the peasants 
of the Savoy Alps. Accordingly, after having remained a night at 
Martigny, and driving as close a bargain as possible for his piece of 
linen, the j^ilgrim started on his journey early on the morning of the 
16th September. To avoid the Custom-house, particularly strict on this 
part of the Sardinian territory, he had to take a rather difficult path 
across the Col de la Forclaz, frequented only by smugglers and chamois 
hunters, but, nevertheless, free from danger to an experienced moun- 
taineer. Leaving the main road from Martigny to Chamouny to the 
left, he climbed the precipitous sides of the Col de Balme ; then 
descended into the stony and desolate Alpine gorge, enclosed by thick 
pine forests, and traversed by the Eau-noire ; then again mounted the 
snow-clad ridges of the Taunevergez, and, climbing higher and higher, 
at length reached the western slope of Le Buel, where ice fields, descend- 
ing from the summit of Mont Blanc, marked the frontier between 
Switzerland and Sardinia — now between Switzerland and France. 
Here the young mountaineer was met by a peasant of the village of 
Sixt, to whom he gave news of the fair of Martigny. No human eye 
ever saw him alive after. Not coming home at the appointed time, he 
was sought for in all directions, but no trace of him could be discovered. 
For many a lonely night a young widow wept in her little cottage in 
the village of Passy, gradually solaced by the cries of a baby who had 
never seen his father, and after that the veil of time covered aU. The 
mysterious disappearance of the pilgrim of Passy was forgotten, as most 
mysteries are forgotten in this fleeting world. 
On the 7th of September, 1863, a shepherd of the village of Samoens 
went in search of a lost goat, which, in consequence of an uncommonly 
dry and warm summer, had strayed far up into the mountains over- 
hanging the valley of the Dranse. Exploring the ice-bound ridges 
fruitlessly for a whole day, the man himself lost his way, and, seeing 
the sun sinking in the west, hurried home in what he believed to 
be the direction of his village, leaping from rock to rock with the help 
of his long alpenstock. Suddenly, on jumping across a deep glacier, an 
extraordinary sight arrested his eyes. The rays of the sinking sun 
illuminated a gulf of ice, looking like a vast crystal cavern, in the midst 
of which was the figure of a man lying flat on his back, with appa- 
rently open eyes and hands folded across his breast. Horrorstruck, the 
peasant nearly lost his footing, but, recovering himself, looked once 
more from the height of a detached rock into the crystal cave below. 
He had not been mistaken ; there was the figure at the bottom, to all 
