the region of snow and ice, though sometimes the foot or the hand fails in its hold on rocks, especially in descending. Thus two valuable lives have been lost to our University, that of Archdeacon Hardwick on the Sauvegarde, and that of Mr. Wilson on the ice-polished cliffs of the Riffelhorn, a peak which (we speak from personal experience) should never be climbed by a solitary traveller. On ice, notwithstanding its nature, if only the steps are well hewn, not too wide apart, and the traveller advance cautiously, the danger of slipping is very small. An ice slope is often a great difficulty, but rarely a danger, except when covered with snow, of which more hereafter. When, however, a thin layer of ice glazes the face of a sloping crag, where the ice is not deep enough to allow good steps to be hewn, and the rock does not project sufficiently to afford any stay, there is the utmost peril. It was a combination of this kind, which caused the fearful accident on the Matterhorn on the 14th of July last. The travellers had accomplished the ascent from the spot where they had bivouaced, at a height of 11,000 feet, after about eight hours actual walking. They had first mounted by the north-eastern face which overhangs the Furgen glacier, they had then climbed, for some distance, along the arête descending towards the Hörnli-this was to scale the wall of the house-like summit-and finally had ascended by the shelving roof which terminates above the fearful precipices overhanging the Matterhorn glacier. On descending the steepest part of this slope, which was, as may often be seen from below, thinly covered with ice and snow, one of the party slipped and knocked over the leading guide; the jerk of the rope successively overthrew the next two, but the last three, Mr. Whymper and the two Zermatt guides, stood firm in their steps. The rope snapped under the strain, and the result is too well known. On this lamentable occurrence we shall venture a few remarks, because so much nonsense has been talked and written about it by those who are wholly unqualified to form an opinion on the subject. The misfortunes of others is the opportunity of fools' is a pretty general law, and certainly the English Press did not 'prove' it on this occasion. The newspapers were flooded with the usual out-pourings of ignorant correspondents, and the Times improved the occasion in a leader' conspicuous for its folly and bad taste. Pre-eminent over all was a writer in the Pall Mall Gazette, who, signing himself' Cui Bono,' complained of the wickedness of "tempting ill fed guides" into places where their lives were endangered. The impudence of this assertion is really staggering; everyone, who has ever visited the Alps, knows that the leading guides of Savoy and Switzerland are men of great personal strength, very much the reverse of ill fed, who enjoy the work as much as their employers, to whom their word, ' forwards' or 'back,' is law. Such a man was Michel Croz, of whom it was often said by those who knew him well, that he was never thoroughly happy except when more than ten thousand feet above the sea, and was in highest spirits when overcoming a difficulty. Had 'Cui Bono' felt the support of his strong arm, as often as the writer, seen him thread with unerring sagacity the mazes of a broken glacier, or cut steps and jokes together down a difficult ice slope, he would not have indulged in such preposterous nonsense.* But more lives have been lost by treacherous snow than by any other means. The upper fields of the glacier look smooth and inviting, surely no harm can lurk under those gently undulating plains of spotless purity! The inexperienced traveller treads heedlessly, he staggers and is gone, a crash of falling icicles followed by a dull thud comes up through the round hole that now marks the level surface, and too often help cannot be given till it is too late. We know of two travellers, one an Englishman, the other a Russian, who have so perished, besides several natives of the country. This danger, however, can always be obviated by tying the party together with a strong rope as soon as the snows are reached. An accident is then, we believe, impossible; and the travellers, whatever the guides may say, should always insist on this precaution; for, owing to their very skill, the best guides are often more inclined to neglect it than those that are inferior. The writer has seen three or four narrow escapes from the results of this carelessness. Worst of all, however, is fresh snow when it overlies ice. After continued fine weather the surface of the snow slopes, through melting by day and freezing by night, becomes ice, and the new deposit does not readily bind with the old. Hence the weight of the travellers destroys equilibrium, the snow slips from their tread and they slide down, riding, as it were, on a small avalanche; this was probably the immediate It may be observed en passant that a picture representing this accident (by Gustave Doré) is as improbable in detail, as it is viciously bad in taste. The subject was not one for the painter; we wonder what he will give us next, perhaps a man caught in a spiuning jenny, or run over by a railway train! cause of the lamentable accident on the south side of the Col du Géant in 1860; and a late and a present fellow of this College, together with a distinguished Professor and two Pontresina guides had an almost miraculous escape on the eastern face of the Piz Mortaratsch, after sliding down for full a thousand feet. This is undoubtedly the greatest danger in Alpine climbing; no experience can entirely avoid it, and no skill overcome it. Such are the main sources of peril in Alpine travel; it remains to say one word on the use of the rope, a question which has been much mooted since the Matterhorn accident. On glaciers, especially on the upper snow fields it is always an advantage; on rocks, it is sometimes rather an impediment, but unquestionably a security. In fact its great value is that it prevents serious consequences resulting from a slight slip. On steep snow slopes, if the steps are well hewn, it has the same advantage. Always keep it as nearly taut as possible. There are, however, occasionally places where a slip on the part of one endangers the whole party; in that case every man should go singly, or better still, the expedition should be abandoned. If life is to be deliberately exposed to considerable risk, there are many better causes in which it may be hazarded. The writer is of opinion that not more than four men should be in a string; three ought to be able to hold up one, and if they could not, the momentum acquired by so many falling bodies would in most cases, pull down the others. If some must perish, better few than many. Lastly, never undertake a difficult excursion with untried companions. Is then Alpine climbing to be discouraged as a dangerous amusement? Certainly not, for we maintain that if proper precautions be taken, the real risk is very small. Lives are lost every day in various sports, riding, boating, swimming, cricket, and the like, yet no one thinks of declaiming against these. The chief evil is that difficult excursions are often undertaken without proper training. The perils of the Alps were formerly exaggerated, they are now, perhaps, underrated. There is an art in Alpine climbing as in all other exercises, which can only be learnt by practice, and the raw neophant who undertakes its most difficult feats without previous education, does as foolish a thing as if he were to ride a steeple-chase the first time he mounted a horse, or get into a crank funny on a deep lake without knowing how to row or swim. But, it may be asked, granting that the risk is small, What is the good of it? It is an exercise wholesome alike for mind and body. The little hardships inseparable from it; simple fare, hard beds, endurance of cold and heat, in a word 'roughing it,' are no bad discipline for those who live in an over-luxurious age: while the nature of the work brings into exercise coolness and self-command in dangers, prompt decision in action, perseverance under difficulties, and many other valuable qualities. The Alpine climber often goes with his life, humanly speaking, in his own hand, and so forms habits of caution, firmness, and courage. The same steadiness of nerve which enables a man to glance calmly down a steep ice slope, or to cling to the projections of a precipitous arête, habituates him to distinguish between real and apparent dangers in the affairs of life, and prepares him to estimate at their true value the "bugbears" which will from time to time beset him in his daily walk. But besides this, the undulating wastes of lifeless snow, the frozen cataracts of the glaciers, the dark crags and splintered pinnacles of the highest mountains, speak to the heart in a language 'understanded not of' those who view them afar off from the luxurious valley. Rest to the fevered brain, peace to the weary heart, life to the languid frame, these are their gifts. Truly we would not give much for that man, who, placed on some mountain summit, was all unconscious of new emotions and better thoughts, and did not for the future enter more fully into the spirit of that clause in the Benedicite: "O ye ice and snow, O ye mountains and hills, bless ye the Lord: praise Him and magnify Him for ever." 8. AN ITALIAN PICTURE. A Fragment. AND changing then, methought I strayed at will I passed by town and village, vale and hill; I tracked the dancing rivulet to its source; Or here a simple shepherd told his love, The while a damsel combed her hair; Nor dreams to find her one day faithless prove, And know her false as fair. And ever as I passed my spirit burned With awe and glow of strange delight; New beauties met me everywhere I turned, Dazzling my wondering sight. A long dark mountain-wall athwart the blue, Rich streaming olive-gardens, vines The hill-sides, mingled with the cypress lines |