Two hours' walking brought us near our place of rest; the porters had already reached it, and were now returning. We deviated to the right, and, having crossed some ice-ravines, reached the lateral moraine of the glacier, and picked our way between it and the adjacent mountain-wall. We then reached a kind of amphitheatre, crossed it, and climbing the opposite slope, came to a triple grotto formed by clefts in the mountain. In one of these a pine-fire was soon blazing briskly, and casting its red light upon the surrounding objects, though but half dispelling the gloom from the deeper portions of the cell. I left the grotto, and climbed the rocks above it to look at the heavens. The sun had quitted our firmament, but still tinted the clouds with red and purple; while one peak of snow in particular glowed like fire, so vivid was its illumination. During our journey upwards the Jungfrau never once showed her head, but, as if in ill temper, had wrapped her vapoury veil around her. She now looked more good-humoured, but still she did not quite remove her hood; though all the other summits, without a trace of cloud to mask their beautiful forms, pointed heavenward. The calmness was perfect; no sound of living creature, no whisper of a breeze, no gurgle of water, no rustle of debris, to break the deep and solemn silence. Surely, if beauty be an object of worship, those glorious mountains, with rounded shoulders of the purest white--snow-crested and star-gemmed--were well calculated to excite sentiments of adoration. [Sidenote: THE CAVE OF THE FAULBERG. 1858.]