nacled in clouds their snowy scalps,
And thron'd Eternity in icy halls
Of cold sublimity, where forms and falls
The avalanche--the thunderbolt of snow,
All that expands the spirit, yet appals,
Gather around these summits, as to show
How earth may pierce to Heaven, yet leave vain man below."

BYRON.

NARRATIVE OF A JOURNEY, &c.

Geneva, July, 1819.

You, my dear friend, who are well acquainted from my infancy with my
clambering disposition, which, within these few months, has carried me
to the top of both Vesuvius and AEtna, will not be much surprised to
learn, that I have attempted, with success, to mount to the summit of
Mont Blanc; an aerial journey which the sight of this mountain has
inspired many persons with a wish to accomplish; but in which few have
engaged, and still fewer have succeeded. I am somewhat afraid that you
will condemn the expedition as a wild one, and will justly consider
the gratification of our curiosity, which was, unfortunately, the only
object we attained, as an inadequate recompense for our toil and
danger; but you have no cause to fear my embarking in similar
adventures in future. Having reached a spot, undoubtedly the highest
in Europe, and, with the exception of the Himalaya mountains in India,
the highest in the Old World, my curiosity is completely gratified,
and there is scarcely any possibility of my meeting with an enterprise
of this nature, of sufficient magnitude to renew its excitement: since
five of the loftiest of the Alleghanies piled on each other, would
scarcely reach to the height I have attained. To give you a correct
idea of the nature of our undertaking, I will begin with a concise
account of this king of the Alps, and of the various attempts that
have been made to reach its summit.

Mont Blanc is situated amidst some of the highest mountains of Savoy,
forming a part of the great chain of the Alps, above which, however,
it raises far its snowy head, as with a dignified air of conscious
triumph. It is this white head, which its elevation renders doubly
bright, that gives its name. On the north side of the mountain, and
immediately at its foot, is the valley of Chamouny, which is sixteen
leagues south from Geneva, and is much frequented in the summer season
by the inhabitants of that city, and strangers, who throng to this
enchanted vale, to e