outlet, soon spread itself over the neighbouring plains, and formed a deep and extensive lake, a league in length and three hundred feet in depth. The size and strength of the enormous icy barrier may be divined, when the vast mass of water it sustained is considered. The inhabitants of the valley, aware of the impending calamity, should the summer's sun dissolve the mighty dam and give liberty to the imprisoned mass of waters, fled with rapidity to the adjacent mountains. The course of such a stream, rapid and powerful, must carry desolation whithersoever it rushed. But time and habit reconcile man to many things, which on the first glance appear terrible and unsupportable. The peasants beheld the mighty mass sustain the pressing waters for so long a period, that they deemed it could sustain them for ever, and by degrees returned to their deserted cottages. They saw that the summer's sun had not injured the icy barrier; and, forgetful that other seasons

might produce other effects, they concluded all was safe, and resumed their former habits of life.

The Val di Bagne, close to Chamouni, and not far from the Lake of Geneva, had long been the favourite resort of travellers. But the recent alarming change intimidated strangers from venturing as usual to the spot. This was an arrangement deeply regretted by the inhabitants; the visits of ramblers had been a source of pleasure and profit to them for many years, and they beheld themselves deprived of these advantages with no common feelings of sorrow. -Were the new routes to be long pursued, the Val di Bagne would never again find a place in the itinerary of the exploring wanderer. To remedy this apprehended evil, several skilful engineers were engaged to visit the spot, and survey the state of this wonderful natural dam. After a minute and scientific investigation, they reported, that it was as yet uninjured, and per

fectly capable of much longer sustaining the accumulated waters; that what the summer's

sun dissolved, the winter's frost restored; and that this equal dissolution and restoration promised a continuance of many years of safety.These reports, ably drawn up, were printed and published at Geneva and the other neighbouring towns, and, on the faith of their accuracy, travellers again pursued their accustomed route in the Val di Bagne.

The sight of the new phenomenon offered a fresh incentive to curiosity; and the great accession of visitors more than compensated to the frugal and thriving Vallaisans for the losses of former years.

Another summer passed in safety and prosperity. The inhabitants ceased to think it was possible the avalanche could be shaken, and travellers crowded to their towns and villages.

In the year 1817,* an Englishman, mounted

on his mule, and attended by his guide, had reached a spot on the mountain's side whence he could command a view of the far-famed lake, and the long-admired Val di Bagne.

It was evening. The declining sun shed a rich light on woods and meads, and corn-fields and vineyards. The neat white châlets were scattered singly here and there in lonely dells, each surrounded by meadows and herds. The villages, embosomed in trees, clustered each around its simple but picturesque church. The river, dwindled to a rivulet, wound like a silver line amidst the verdant pasturage. The purple hue of twilight was stealing over the distant mountains, while the departing sun shed a glorious flood of light upon the vale. All was hushed and silent, except the tinkling of the bells which marked where the herds wandered.

The Englishman gazed with the eye of taste and feeling on the lovely and magnificent landscape. The icy pointes des aiguilles glittered

with effulgent light, and the snow-clad summits of the towering mountains waved like a light cloud floating between earth and heaven. All was beauty, grace, and sublimity. The gale of evening, rich in the fragrance of wild herbs and flowers, gave a new sense of enjoyment and luxurious indulgence. At this moment, from a cot in a sheltered nook below, a peasant issued, and leaning carelessly on his vine-clad door, touched the notes of his native pipe, and breathed the sounds of his national song. The soft plaintive air of the "Rans des Vaches" floated upon the fragrant breeze, and awakened and regaled another sense!

Harmony! beauty! fragrance! Nature, perfect and lovely as was the hour, it was all thine own! The talents of man had little share in the enchantment, for it was the absence of all art that gave the herdsman's pipe its highest charm!-Nature, it was all thine own!-Let no rational creature thus lose the cause in the