Our party, (Mr. and Miss M----, and myself,) left Geneva in a 'carry-all' yesterday morning at five o'clock. It was another clear and brilliant day, and the ride, of course, was delightful. Lake, hill, mountain, valley, cascade, river, in their happiest combination, presented a splendid panorama, during the whole distance to this place, fifty-four miles. By way of variety, I must tell you my troubles, also. About five miles from Geneva, we were made aware of having left the Swiss, and entered the Sardinian territory, by a summons, at a little frontier bureau, for our passports. When lo! it was discovered that mine was minus the signature of his Sardinian majesty's consul at Geneva,[5] and I was politely requested to return for it! This was particularly pleasant! For to do it, would be to lose the whole day, and the party beside. After some useless debate, the _carbinier_ kindly permitted me to send back the document by a loafer who happened along, knowing that I could not go far without it; and the next day I received it at Chamouni, and had the pleasure of paying five dollars for not heeding Madame Starke's directions. We breakfasted at Bonneville, a little village on the Arve, worthy of its name; and we were soon ushered into a region of sublimer scenery than we had as yet visited. The craggy summits, even of the minor mountains, literally touch or rise above the clouds, while their sides, up to a fearful height, are covered with verdure, and studded with cottages: and the valleys below are laid out in squares of varied green. At St. Martin, we changed our vehicle for a _char-banc_, better suited to the rough and narrow path, for we were now coming where nature displays some of her wildest scenes: ----'Above me are the Alps, The palaces of Nature, whose vast walls Have pinnacled in clouds their snowy scalps, And throned eternity in icy halls Of cold sublimity, where forms and falls The avalanche, the thunder-bolt 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.' The village of Chamouni is situated in the middle of the valley of the same name, which is ten miles long, and forms one of the most popular 'lions' in Europe, for the botanist, mineralogist, and all nature's students. Our first expedition was to the celebrated _Mer-de-Glace_. We set off from our inn on mules, headed by a guide, and shortly came to a steep and laborious ascent of some thousand feet, on Mont Anvert, from which, as we looked back, the objects in the valley appeared dwindled to atomies. In about three hours, that wonderful phenomena, the _frozen sea_, suddenly burst upon our view: