Tuesday, 27th December.--I rose at six o'clock, having arranged with my men to start at seven, if the weather at all permitted. Edouard Simond, my old assistant of 1857, and Joseph Tairraz were the guides of the party; the porters were Edouard Balmat, Joseph Simond (fils d'Auguste), Francois Ravanal, and another. They came at the time appointed; it was snowing heavily, and we agreed to wait till eight o'clock and then decide. They returned at eight, and finding them disposed to try the ascent to the Montanvert, it was not my place to baulk them. Through the valley the work was easy, as the snow had been partially beaten down, but we soon passed the habitable limits, and had to break ground for ourselves. Three of my men had tried to reach the Montanvert by _la Filia_ on the previous Thursday, but their experience of the route had been such as to deter them from trying it again. We now chose the ordinary route, breasting the slope until we reached the cluster of chalets, under the projecting eave of one of which the men halted and applied "pattens" to their feet. These consisted of planks about sixteen inches long and ten wide, which were firmly strapped to the feet. My first impression was that they were worse than useless, for though they sank less deeply than the unarmed feet, on being raised they carried with them a larger amount of snow, which, with the leverage of the leg, appeared to necessitate an enormous waste of force. I stated this emphatically, but the men adhered to their pattens, and before I reached the Montanvert I had reason to commend their practice as preferable to my theory. I was however guided by the latter, and wore no pattens. The general depth of the snow along the track was over three feet; the footmarks of the men were usually rigid enough to bear my weight, but in many cases I went through the crust which their pressure had produced, and sank suddenly in the mass. The snow became softer as we ascended, and my immersions more frequent, but the work was pure enjoyment, and the scene one of extreme beauty. The previous night's snow had descended through a perfectly still atmosphere, and had loaded all the branches of the pines; the long arms of the trees drooped under the weight, and presented at their extremities the appearance of enormous talons turned downwards. Some of the smaller and thicker trees were almost entirely covered, and assumed grotesque and beautiful forms; the upper part of one in particular resembled a huge white parrot with folded wings and drooping head, the slumber of the bird harmonizing with the torpor of surrounding nature. I have given a sketch of it in Fig. 13. [Illustration: Fig. 13. Snow on the Pines.] [Sidenote: SOUND OF BREAKING SNOW. 1859.]