"O, I want to get down," said I, "and go near them."
Down I did get, and taking what seemed to be the straightest course,
began running down the hill side towards them.
"No, no! Back, back!" shouted the guide, in unimaginable French and
German. _"Ici, ici!"_
I came back; and taking my hand, he led me along a path where
travellers generally go. I went closer, and sat down on a rock under
them, and looked up. The clear sun was shining through them; clear and
blue looked the rifts and arches, all dripping and beautiful. We went
down upon them by steps which a man had cut in the ice. There was one
rift of ice we looked into, which was about fifty feet high, going up
into a sharp arch. The inside of this arch was clear blue ice, of the
color of crystal of blue vitriol.
Here, immediately under, I took a rude sketch just to show you how a
glacier looks close at hand.
[Illustration: _of the broken and chiseled surface of a glacier._]
C. wanted, as usual, to do all sorts of improper things. He wanted to
stone down blocks of ice, and to go inside the cave, and to go down
into holes, and insisted on standing particularly long on a spot which
the guide told him was all undermined, in order that he might pelt a
cliff of ice that seemed inclined to fall, and hear it smash.
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