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It was nearly noon when I arrived at the top of the ascent. For

some time I sat upon the rock that overlooks the sea of ice. A

mist covered both that and the surrounding mountains. Presently a

breeze dissipated the cloud, and I descended upon the glacier.

The surface is very uneven, rising like the waves of a troubled

sea, descending low, and interspersed by rifts that sink deep.

The field of ice is almost a league in width, but I spent nearly

two hours in crossing it. The opposite mountain is a bare

perpendicular rock. From the side where I now stood Montanvert

was exactly opposite, at the distance of a league; and above it

rose Mont Blanc, in awful majesty. I remained in a recess of the

rock, gazing on this wonderful and stupendous scene. The sea, or

rather the vast river of ice, wound among its dependent

mountains, whose aerial summits hung over its recesses. Their icy

and glittering peaks shone in the sunlight over the clouds.