venture, then steered for its left bank to avoid the upper of its two formidable ice-falls, and after descending the requisite distance by some old snow lying between the glacier and the cliffs which border it, crossed directly to the right bank over the level ice between the two ice-falls.^[1] The right bank was gained without any trouble, and we found there numerous beds of hard snow (avalanche débris) down which we could run or glissade as fast as we liked.

Glissading is a very pleasant employment when it is accomplished successfully, and I have never seen a place where it can be more safely indulged in than the snowy valley on the right bank of the glacier de Triolet. In my dreams I glissade delightfully, but in practice I find that somehow the snow will not behave properly, and that my alpenstock will get between my legs. Then my legs go where my head should be, and I see the sky revolving at a rapid pace; the snow rises up and smites me, and runs away; and when it is at last overtaken it suddenly stops, and we come into violent collision. Those who are with me say that I tumble head over heels, and there may be some truth in what they say. Streaks of ice are apt to make the heels shoot away, and stray stones cause one to pitch headlong down. Somehow these things always seem to come in the way, so it is as well to glissade only when there is something soft to tumble into.^[2]