"But mum is the word, sir-I'll show you the way."
When he finished, Sir Rowland took good care to slip
In his ready stretched palm an uncommon good "tip."
Then followed the urchin who opening a door
Admitted him into the Lady's boudoir.
Alice rose to receive him, and blushed rosy red,
As extending her hand in a low voice she said,
"Oh Sir Rowland-you've startled me so, I declare―
"Who could have expected you--pray take a chair."
Well, they chatted and chatted till Alice began
To think she had ne'er seen so nice a young man;
E'er the interview closed they had got on so far
That the Lady herself had referred him to Pa!

With heart beating high

The young knight said, good bye;

Ere he went though, he pressed on her lips-but oh fie!
In such matters, dear reader, we ought not to pry,

So let's be content

With stating-he went

To ask Alice's father to give his consent.

He saw the Lord Chamberlain; opened his battery
In the stereotyped manner with personal flattery,
Said he'd never before seen his Lordship so gay
Or so hearty and well as he did on that day,
The fatigue and the trouble attending the ball
Didn't seem to have told on his Lordship at all,
He was looking so charming, 'twas really a treat,

And he begged that his Lordship would give the receipt

Which he used, for 'twas clear that, to tell the whole truth,
He'd been passing the night in renewing his youth—
When he fancied he'd doséd him enough, the demand
He made for his daughter's (fair Alice's) hand.

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140

150

His lordship who'd, late on the night before, stayed up,
And with whom the champagne had old gooseberry' played up, 160
Thinking the knight had come there to make game of him,
Muttered under his breath (it was really a shame of him)
"D――d puppy, I'll have him kicked out of my grounds
When Sir Rowland proposed, then his rage knew no bounds,
But summoning up all his hauteur, he tried

To calm down his feelings, and huskily cried

"My daughter, Sir Rowland, shall never unite

"With a lord and much less with a beggarly knight;

"I've a much higher union for Alice in store,

"Good morning, Sir Rowland-hem!-yonder's the door." 170

Sir Rowland went home in as sweet state of mind
As a Royal Bengal tiger, just caught and confined,

With a Hindoo outside of his cage, nice and fat
Whom he wants for his dinner, but cannot get at.

He walked up and down

With a terrible frown,

Upset every fruitstall he found in the town,

Took away from the Ludgate a criminal's head

Which he threw at a watchman and left him for dead.

Though each step that he took, he'd some outrage commit, he 180
Arrived safely at last at his home in the city.

'Twas midnight: Sir Rowland, alone in his room,
Sat buried in thought, in the midst of the gloom,
For the lamp had gone out and the household retired,
Not thinking their master aught further required.
At the table he sat with his hands on his forehead,
Planning schemes for revenge in a manner most horrid.
Then he suddenly rose and exclaimed in a tone,
That by passion was stifled to nearly a moan,
"Oh that brute of a Chamberlain-curse the old churl,
"Could I have my revenge and then marry the girl;
"Had I five hundred souls, I would give every one-"
Here he heard a low voice at his elbow say "done!"
"Who the devil was that?" he called out, and in spite
Of his natural hardihood felt in a fright,

When he saw by the light

Of the lamp, which had suddenly flared up quite bright,
A little old man dress'd entirely in black,

190

With a bag, the same colour, slung over his back,

When Sir Rowland exclaimed "Who the devil was that?"

200

His visitor smiling and raising his hat,

Said "Exactly, Sir Rowland, you've got it quite pat."

"What the deuce-!" "yes exactly-now what is the matter?"

Every tooth the knight had was beginning to chatter—

And while in his fright each particular hair

Stood on end-be endeavoured to utter a prayer;

But his visitor coughed with so savage an air

That it died on his lips-and he sunk on the chair."Now really, Sir Rowland, do pray draw it mild"A knight of your standing to act like a child;

"Come, come, my dear friend, when we're better acquainted,
"You won't find me nearly so black as I'm painted.
"My desire is to serve you, I think we can trade,
"Say five hundred and fifty-the bargain is made."
"Five hundred and fifty, good heavens! of what ?"

"Why souls, my dear friend, they are not hard to be got.
"But don't use such language, I wish you would not—”
"I don't understand you," Sir Rowland said, quaking
With fear at the turn which the subject was taking.

VOL V.

D

210

"Ah! you don't understand" said the little dark man,
"Well, my very dear friend-we'll explain if we can-
Then he opened the bag, set it down on the floor,
And began pulling documents out by the score.
Have you ever been at the St. James's Theatre,
And seen Mr. Frikell (no conjuror's better)
Pull impossible numbers of things from a hat,
Which before hadn't anything in it, but that
Although very well done, would in interest flag
Had you once seen the little dark gentleman's bag.
He kept pulling out papers, and strewed them around,

He cover'd the table, he covered the ground;

At last, the right paper he seemed to have found,

For he passed one across to Sir Rowland Mackay,
And carefully stowing all the others away,

220

230

"There, my friend," he exclaimed, "be so kind as to read
"This document over, and if we're agreed

"As to terms,-why just put down your name at the bottom,
"What! you want pen and ink-yes, exactly, I've got'em."

"What's this, ' marry the girl, be revenged on the father,
"Have unlimited riches'-that's coming it rather,
"On condition I send you before the year's end
"Five hundred and fifty-what!" "Souls, my dear friend."
"The proposal's your own, though I'll own it sounds funny,
"But there's nothing that cannot be purchased with money;
"And when you've unlimited wealth at controul,
"You won't find much trouble in buying a soul."

"Avaunt!" cried Sir Rowland-"all this is a sell,
"I never could pay such a debt- go to!" "Well,
"Now really that isn't polite, my young swell,
"You won't sign it-no-please yourself, very well!
"Poor Alice-she likes you, but yet I dare say

"I shall find her a husband-Sir Rowland, good day."

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250

"Hold, hold," cried Sir Rowland, "you mentioned Miss Alice-" Exactly," his guest replied, "come, I've no malice,

66

"Excuse me, your finger's beginning to bleed,

"There's a drop on your pen-there subscribe to the deed."

"Oh my eye! I have done it," exclaimed the young knight,
"Exactly, but don't go on so-you're all right,

"If you want me, just give me a call, I'll obey it,

"And as for the bond, you've a twelvemonth to pay it."
As the little man spoke, through the casement there shore
The first streak of dawn, and the knight was alone.

END OF PART I.

Owing to remonstrances no more of this appeared

260

ALPINE TRAVEL AND ALPINE ACCIDENTS.

THE summer of 1865 will long be memorable in the annals of Alpine adventure, 'cretâ et carbone notanda.' Strangely chequered in every way with successes and failures, with long periods of almost the finest and the worst weather ever known, it has surpassed all others in both the brilliancy of its successes and the awfulness of its calamities. The season, which has seen the Aiguille Verte, the Grandes Jorasses, the Gabelhorn, and the Matterhorn scaled, besides an ascent of Mont Blanc from the Brenva Glacier, has also witnessed a series of accidents more numerous and more terrible than any that have hitherto occurred. We have then thought that it may interest our readers, among whom are some members of and perhaps more aspirants to the fraternity of the Alpine Club, if we offer a few remarks and suggestions on the subject of Alpine Travel, and on the best mode (in our opinion) of enjoying its pleasures and avoiding its dangers.

The first questions to be asked, supposing a reasonable allowance of time and money, are when and whither to go. The season for pedestrian travel in the Alps (for of that alone we speak) begins with June and ends with September. In the early part of the former month, there may be at times difficulty or even danger from the remains of the winter snows, in the end of the latter from the shortness of the days and the coldness of the nights. August is, from motives of convenience, the month usually chosen, but it is open to objections, one of which is the long spell of bad weather so frequent in the middle of it. The second question is whither? The Alps may not inconveniently be divided into districts, one or more of which may be chosen according to time, funds, and inclination. These are, beginning on the south west, the Viso district, in which are included the Vaudois valleys, and those of the Guil and the Ubaye, together with the northern part of the maritime Alps; the Alps of Dauphine, meaning more especially the massif between the Romanche

and the Durance; the Tarentaise and Maurienne, that is, the region drained by the Arc and the Isère; the Graians; the Pennine Chain, which may be subdivided into the Chamonni and Zermatt districts; the Oberland with the Alps of Uri and Glarus; the Grisons and the Engadine; the West Tyrol Alps; the Dolomites, centering on the Marmolata; and the East Tyrol Alps, the most important peak of which is the Gross Glockner.

A word may be added upon their chief features of attraction. In the Viso district the snow fields are small, and true glaciers are, we believe, wanting, but there is great luxuriance of vegetation and loveliness of scenery in its sunny valleys with their crystal streams, exquisite colour and beauty of outline in its crags of slate and serpentine, and endless variety in the panoramic views of Italian plains and French mountains from its summits. For wild and awful grandeur the Alps of Dauphine, so far as the writer's experience goes, are unequalled; in no other district has he seen such an assemblage of towering pinnacles, shattered ridges, broken glaciers, and impracticable precipices, as are here grouped together, and, though the vast wastes of shattered blocks and the barren hill sides sometimes give an air of desolation to the scene, there are many rich oases in the deep and sheltered valleys. The Maurienne, Tarentaise, and Graians, perhaps less luxuriant than the Viso, less wild than Dauphine, and inferior in grandeur to the Pennine chain, unite in some respects the merits of all, and have many beauties of their own, which render them well worth visiting. The Pennine chain and the Oberland are so well known, that they require little more than a passing mention. Chamouni boasts itself in the grandeur of Mont Blanc and in the beauty of some of its attendant aiguilles; and the cliffs above the Alleé Blanche and the Val Ferrex are most striking; Zermatt, inferior to the former in the height of its mountains and extent of its glaciers, far surpasses it in the grouping of its summits and the variety of its scenery; while the Oberland is justly celebrated for the grandeur of its walls of rock and drapery of snow, as well as for the exquisite richness of its pine woods and pastures. The last four districts on the list are almost unknown to the writer; but the dolomites yield to few in grandeur of outline, and perhaps surpass all in richness of colouring.

We come now to the best mode of making a tour. Imprimis, get a companion; and more than that, a friend. Many and many an excursion has had almost all its pleasure marred by