In the summer of 1861, I found myself, with some members of my family, in a small rustic _pension_ in the village of Arzier, one of the highest villages of the pleasant slope by which the Jura passes down to the Lake of Geneva. The son of the house was an intelligent man, with a good knowledge of the natural curiosities which abound in that remarkable range of hills, and under his guidance we saw many strange things. More than once, he spoke of the existence of a _glacière_ at no great distance, and talked of taking us to see it; but we were sceptical on the subject, imagining that _glacière_ was his patois for _glacier_, and knowing that anything of the glacier kind was out of the question.…
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