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recovered, and was ready again to go down. But we thought it desirable to take the additional precaution of lowering the other rope, with one of the belts securely fixed to it. My son quickly got hold of it, and placed the belt round his body, but he told us his hands were too cold to buckle it. Weissenfl?h now again descended, and soon he told us he had fixed the belt. With joyful heart some hauled away at one rope and some at the other, till at length, after my son had been buried in the ice for nearly half an hour, both he and the guide were brought to the surface.... Let a veil rest over the happiness of meeting. My boy's own account of what befell him is, that he first fell sideways on to a ledge in the crevasse, and then vertically, but providentially with his feet downwards, till his progress was arrested by the narrowness of the crevasse. He says he is sure he was stopped by being wedged in, because his feet were hanging loose. His arms were free. He believes the distance he fell, when Weissenfl?h dropped him, was about three or four yards, and that he fell to nearly, but not quite, the same place as that to which he fell at first, and that, in his first position, he could not have put the belt on. His fall was evidently a slide for the greater part of the distance; had it been a sheer fall it would have been impossible to escape severe injury."

A LOYAL COMPANION

A BRAVE GUIDE

On 1st September 1898, a party of two German gentlemen with a couple of guides went up Piz Pal?, a glacier-clad peak frequently ascended from Pontresina. One of the guides was a Tyrolese, Klimmer by name, the other a native of the Engadine, Schnitzler.

They had completed the ascent of the actual peak, and were on their way down, some distance below the Bellavista Saddle. Here there are several large crevasses, and the slope is very steep at this point. I remember passing down it with Schnitzler the previous January, and finding much care needed to cross a big chasm. Schnitzler was leading, then came the two travellers, finally the Tyrolese, who came down last man. Suddenly Schnitzler, who must have stepped on a snow-bridge, and Herr Nasse dropped without a sound into the chasm. Dr Borchardt was dragged some steps after them, but managed to check himself on the very brink of the abyss. Behind was Klimmer, but on so steep a surface that he could give no help beyond standing firm. At last, after some anxious moments, came a call from below, "Pull!" They did their best but in vain. "My God!" cried Schnitzler from below, "I can't get out!" A period of terrible apprehension followed. Herr Nasse was entreated to try and help a little, or to cut himself free from the rope, as he appeared to be suffering greatly. But he was helpless, hanging with the rope pressing his chest till he could hardly breathe, and cried out that he could stand it no longer. Dr Borchardt made a plucky attempt to render assistance, and the desperate endeavour nearly caused him to fall also into the crevasse.

The position was terrible, and Herr Nasse was at the end of his forces. He called out in a dying voice that he could bear no more--it was the last time he spoke.

Of Schnitzler nothing was heard, and the others could not tell if he were still alive.

But while this terrible scene was passing, Schnitzler had performed an act of the highest bravery. First he had tried, by using his axe, to climb out of the icy prison where he hung. This he could not do, so steadying himself against the glassy wall, he deliberately cut himself loose from the rope. He dropped to the floor of the crevasse, which, luckily, was not of extraordinary depth, and being uninjured, he set himself to find a way out. He followed the crevasse along its entire length, and discovered a little ledge of ice, with the aid of which, panting and exhausted, he reached the surface.

But even with Schnitzler's help it was impossible to raise Herr Nasse out of the chasm. The rope had cut deeply into the snow. He hung underneath an eave of the soft surface and could not be moved. Another willing helper, an Englishman, now came up, and after a time the body--for Herr Nasse had not survived--was lowered to the floor of the crevasse. Every effort was made to restore animation, but with no result, and there was nothing left to do but leave that icy grave and descend to the valley. Herr Nasse had suffered from a weak heart and an attack of pleurisy, and these gave him but a poor chance of withstanding the terrible pressure of the rope. Dr Scriven, from whose spirited translation from the German I have taken my facts, remarks that, "The death of Professor Nasse seems to emphasize a warning, already painfully impressed on us by the loss of Mr Norman Neruda, that there are special dangers awaiting those whose vital organs are not perfectly sound, and who undertake the exertion and fatigue of long and difficult climbs."

FOOTNOTE:

In the early days of mountaineering it was the custom to pass the rope through a ring or spring-hook attached to a strong leather belt, instead of, as now, attaching it in a loop round the body of each climber.

A WONDERFUL FEAT BY TWO LADIES

"On 11th August 1869, Miss Anna and Miss Ellen Pigeon, of London, were at the Riffel Hotel, above Zermatt, with the intention of making the passage of the Lys-Joch on the next day, in order to reach Gressonay. Starting at 3 A.M. on the 12th, accompanied by Jean Martin, guide of Sierre, and by a porter, they arrived at 4 A.M. at the Gorner Glacier, which they crossed rapidly to the great plateau, enclosed between the Zumstein-Spitz, Signal-Kuppe, Parrot-Spitze, and Lyskamm, where they arrived at 10 A.M. At this point, instead of bearing to the right, which is the way to the Lys-Joch, they turned too much towards the left, so that they found themselves on a spot at the extremity of the plateau, from which they saw beneath their feet a vast and profound precipice, terminating at a great depth upon a glacier. The guide had only once, about four years before, crossed the Lys-Joch, and in these desert and extraordinary places, where no permanent vestiges remain of previous passages, he had not remembered the right direction, nor preserved a very clear idea of the localities. At the sight of the tremendous precipice he began to doubt whether he might not have mistaken the way, and, to form a better judgment, he left the ladies on the Col, half-stiffened with cold from the violence of the north wind, ascended to the Parrot-Spitze, and advanced towards the Ludwigsh?he, in order to examine whether along this precipice, which lay inexorably in front, there might be a place where a passage could be effected. But wherever he turned his eyes he saw nothing but broken rocks and couloirs yet more precipitous.

"All mountaineers are aware how much the difficulty of a pass is lessened or increased by the state of the weather. In this we were greatly favoured. For some days it had been very cold and wet at the Riffel; and when we crossed the Sesia-Joch we found sufficient snow in descending the ice-slope to give foothold, which decreased the labour of cutting steps--the axe was only brought into requisition whenever we traversed to right or left. Had the weather been very hot we should have been troubled with rolling stones. It was one of those clear, bright mornings so favourable for mountain excursions. Our guide had only once before crossed the Lys-Joch, four years previously, and on a very misty day. We were, therefore, careful to engage a porter who professed to know the way. The latter proved of no use whatever except to carry a knapsack.

"We consider the Italian account incorrect as to the time we occupied in the descent. We could not have left our halting-place near the summit for the second time before a quarter to one o'clock, and in eight hours we were in this shepherd's hut.

"It is impossible to pass over without some further remark the behaviour of the guide and porter who shared this adventure. Jean Martin, if he led his party into a scrape, certainly showed no small skill and perseverance in carrying them safely out of it. Porters have as a class, and with some honourable exceptions, long afforded a proof that Swiss peasants are not necessarily born climbers. Their difficulties and blunders have, indeed, served as one of the standing jokes of Alpine literature. But we doubt if any porter has ever exhibited himself in so ignoble a position as the man who, having begun by obtaining an engagement under false pretences, ended by allowing one of his employers, a lady, to descend the Italian side of the Sesia-Joch last on the rope."

A PERILOUS CLIMB

I shall omit the first part of the narrative, interesting though it is, and go at once to the point where, not long after sunrise, the mountaineers found themselves.

"We had risen very rapidly, and must have been at an elevation of more than 12,000 feet. Our position, therefore, commanded an extensive view in all directions. The guides were in a hurry, so cutting our halt shorter than would have been agreeable, we resumed our way at 7.55, and after a few steps up a slope at an angle of 50?, found ourselves on the crest of the buttress, and looking down upon, and across, the lower part of a glacier tributary to the Brenva, beyond which towered the grand wall of the Mont Maudit. We turned sharp to the left along the ridge, Jacob leading, followed by Mr Walker, Horace, Mathews, Melchior, and myself last. We had anticipated that, assuming the possibility of gaining the ridge on which we were, there would be no serious difficulty in traversing it, and so much as we could see ahead led us to hope that our anticipations would turn out correct. Before us lay a narrow but not steep ar?te of rock and snow combined, which appeared to terminate some distance in front in a sharp peak. We advanced cautiously, keeping rather below the top of the ridge, speculating with some curiosity on what lay beyond this peak. On reaching it, the apparent peak proved not to be a peak at all, but the extremity of the narrowest and most formidable ice ar?te I ever saw, which extended almost on a level for an uncomfortably long distance. Looking back by the light of our subsequent success, I have always considered it a providential circumstance that, at this moment, Jacob, and not Melchior was leading the party. In saying this, I shall not for an instant be suspected of any imputation upon Melchior's courage. But in him that virtue is combined to perfection with the equally necessary one of prudence, while he shares the objection which nearly all guides have to taking upon themselves, without discussion, responsibility in positions of doubt. Had he been in front, I believe that, on seeing the nature of the work before us, we should have halted and discussed the propriety of proceeding; and I believe further that, as the result of that discussion, our expedition would have then and there come to an end. Now in Jacob, with courage as faultless as Melchior's, and physical powers even superior, the virtue of prudence is conspicuous chiefly from its absence; and, on coming to this ugly place, it never for an instant occurred to him that we might object to go on, or consider the object in view not worth the risk which must be inevitably run. He therefore went calmly on without so much as turning to see what we thought of it, while I do not suppose that it entered into the head of any one of us spontaneously to suggest a retreat.

Mr Moore tells how, over now easy ground, the party rapidly ascended higher and higher. "We reached the summit at 3.10, and found ourselves safe at Chamouni at 10.30. Our day's work had thus extended to nearly 20 hours, of which 17 1/2 hours were actual walking."

A FINE PERFORMANCE WITHOUT GUIDES

The precipitous peak of the Meije, in Dauphin?, had long, like the Matterhorn, been believed inaccessible, and it was only after repeated attempts that at last the summit was reached. The direct route from La B?rarde will always be an extremely difficult climb to anyone who desires to do his fair share of the work; the descent of the great wall of rock is one of the few places I have been down, which took longer on the descent than on the ascent.

"On the 19th July 1878, we reached La B?rarde, where we found Mr Coolidge with the two Almers. Coolidge knew that we had come to try the Meije, and he had very kindly given us all the information he could, not only about it, but about several other peaks and passes in the district. Almer also, after finding out our plans, was good enough not to laugh at us, and gave us one or two useful hints. He told us as well that the difficulty did not so much consist in finding the way as in getting up it.

"At two o'clock in the afternoon of 20th July, we left for our bivouac in the Vallon des Etan?ons, taking another man with us besides our two porters, and at four reached the large square rock called the H?tel Ch?teleret, after the ancient name of the valley. We determined to sleep here instead of at Coolidge's refuge a little higher up. The Meije was in full view, and we had our first good look at it since we had read the account of its ascent.

"We went hopefully to bed, telling our porters to call us at eleven the same evening, so as to start at midnight; but long before that it was raining hard, and it required all the engineering skill of the party and the india-rubber bag to keep the water out. It cleared up at daybreak. Of course it was far too late to start then; besides that, we had agreed not to make the attempt unless we had every sign of fine weather.

"As we had nothing else to do, we started at 8 A.M. on an exploring expedition, taking our spare ropes and some extra provisions, to leave, if possible, at M. Duhamel's cairn, some distance up the mountain, whilst our porters were to improve the refuge and lay in a stock of firewood. The snow was very soft, and we were rather lazy, so it was not until eleven that we reached the upper part of the Br?che Glacier, and were opposite our work. The way lies up the great southern buttress, which forms the eastern boundary of the Br?che Glacier, merging into the general face of the mountain about one-third of the total height from the Glacier des Etan?ons, and 700 feet below, and a little to the west of the Glacier Carr?, from whence the final peak is climbed. The chief difficulty is the ascent from M. Duhamel's cairn, on the top of the buttress to the Glacier Carr?.

"After a few steps up the snow, we gained the crest of the buttress by a short scramble. The crest is narrow, but very easy, and we went rapidly along, until we came to where a great break in the ar?te divides the buttress into an upper and a lower part; being no longer able to keep along the crest, we were forced to cross the rocks to our left to the couloir. Not quite liking the look of the snow, Gardiner asked us to hold tight whilst he tried it. Finding it all right he kicked steps up, and at five minutes past one we reached the cairn, having taken one hour and thirty-five minutes from the glacier. The great wall rose straight above us, but the way up, which we had had no difficulty in making out with the telescope from below, was no longer to be seen. Our spirits which had been rising during our ascent from the glacier, sunk once more, and our former uncertainty came back upon us; for it is difficult to imagine anything more hopeless-looking than this face of the Meije. It has been said that, after finding all the most promising ways impossible, this seeming impossibility was tried as a last chance. We looked at it a long time, but at last gave up trying to make out the way as a bad job, determined to climb where we could, if we had luck enough to get so far another day; so, leaving our spare ropes, a bottle of wine, a loaf of bread, and a tin of curried fowl carefully covered with stones, we made the best of our way back, reaching the glacier in one hour and twenty minutes, and our bivouac in an hour and a half more. There we spent the next night and following day, but at last we had to give in to the bad weather, and go sorrowfully down to La B?rarde. It was very disappointing. We had been looking forward to the attempt for more than six months. I had to leave in a few days for England. It was not a mountain for two men to be on alone; what if we had spent all our time and trouble for nothing, and only carried our bed and provisions to the cairn for someone else to use?

"We got under weigh at 5.15, and soon clambered up the remaining part of the buttress, and reached the bottom of the great wall, the Glacier Carr? being about 700 feet above us, and some distance to our right. We knew that from here a level traverse had to be made until nearly under the glacier before it was possible to turn upwards. We had seen a ledge running in the right direction; crossing some steep rocks and climbing over a projecting knob , we let ourselves gently down on to the ledge, leaving a small piece of red rag to guide us in coming back. The ledge, although 4 or 5 feet broad, was not all that could be wished, for it was more than half-covered with snow, which, as the ledge sloped outwards, was not to be trusted; the melting and refreezing of this had formed ice below, nearly covering the available space, forcing us to walk on the edge. We cut a step here and there. It improved as we went on, and when half-way across the face we were able to turn slightly upwards, and at 6.30 were near the spot where later in the day the icicles from the extreme western end of the Glacier Carr? fall. It is not necessary to go right into the line of fire, and in coming back we kept even farther away than on the ascent.

"So far the way had been fairly easy to find, but now came the great question of the climb; how to get up the 600 feet of rock wall above us. To our right it rose in one sheer face, the icicles from the Glacier Carr?, fringing the top; to our left the rocks, though not so steep, were very smooth, and at the top, especially to the right, near the glacier, they became precipitous. A little above us a bridge ledge led away to the left, slanting upwards towards the lowest and most practicable part of the wall, obviously the way up. Climbing to this ledge, we followed it nearly half-way back across the face, then the holding-places got fewer and more filled with ice, the outward slope more and more until at last its insecure and slippery look warned us off it, and we turned up the steeper but rougher rocks on our right. In doing so I believe we forsook the route followed by all our predecessors, but we were obliged to do so by the glazed state of the rocks.

"As the direction in which we were now going was taking us towards the glacier and the steep upper rocks, we soon turned again to our left to avoid them, the only way being up some smooth slabs, with very little hold, the sort of rocks where one's waistcoat gives a great deal of holding power; worming oneself up these we reached a small shelf where we were again in doubt. It was impossible to go straight up; to the left the rocks, though easier, only led to the higher part of the ledge we had forsaken; we spent some minutes examining this way, but again did not like the look of the glazed rocks; so we took the only alternative and went to the right. Keeping slightly upwards, we gained about 50 feet in actual height by difficult climbing. We were now getting on to the steep upper rocks near the glacier, which we had wanted to avoid.

"This last piece of the wall will always remain in our minds as the most desperate piece of work we have ever done; the rocks so far had been firm, but now, although far too steep for loose stones to lodge on, were so shattered that we dared not trust them; at the same time we had to be very careful, lest in removing any we should bring others down upon us.

"One place I shall never forget. Gardiner was below, on a small ledge, with no hand-hold to speak of, trying to look as if he could stand any pull; my brother on a knob a little higher up, to help me if necessary. I was able to pull myself about 8 feet higher, but the next rock was insecure, and the whole nearly perpendicular. A good many loose stones had been already pulled out; this one would not come. It is hard work tugging at a loose stone with one hand, the other in a crack, and only one foot finding anything to rest on. I looked down, told them how it was, and came down to rest.

"For about a minute nothing was said; all our faces turned towards the Glacier Carr?, now only about 60 feet above us. We all felt it would have been hard indeed to turn back, yet it was not a pleasant place, and we could not see what was again above. We were on what may be fairly called a precipice. In removing the loose stones, the slightest backhanded jerk, just enough to miss the heads of the men behind, sent them clear into the air; they never touched anything for a long time after leaving the hand, and disappeared with a disagreeable hum on to the Glacier des Etan?ons, 1800 feet below. We looked and tried on both sides, but it was useless, so we went at it again. After the fourth or fifth attempt I managed to get up about 10 feet, to where there was some sort of hold; then my brother followed, giving me rope enough to get to a firm rock, where I remained till joined by the others. It was almost as bad above, but we crawled carefully up; one place actually overhung--fortunately there was plenty of hold, and we slung ourselves up it! From this point the rocks became rather easier, and at 9.30 we reached a small sloping shelf of rock, about 20 yards to the west of the Glacier Carr? and on the top of the great rock wall. Stopping here for a short time to get cool, and to let one of the party down to get the axes, which had been tied to a rope and had caught in a crevice in the rock, we changed leaders, and crossing some shelving rocks, climbed up a gully, or cleft, filled with icicles, and reached the platform of rock at the south-west end of the Glacier Carr? at 10.15 A.M.

"The platform we had reached can only be called one by comparison; it is rather smooth, and slopes too much to form a safe sleeping-place, but we left our extra luggage there.

"At 11.10 we started up the glacier, Gardiner going ahead, kicking steps into the soft, steep snow.

"We were much more cheerful now than we had been two hours before. My companions had got rid of their heavy loads, the day was still very fine, and Almer had told us that, could we but reach the glacier, we should have a good chance of success.

"Shortly before 1 P.M. we were underneath the well-known overhanging top, the rocks of which, cutting across the face, form a triangular corner. It is the spot where Gaspard lost so much time looking for the way on the first ascent. We knew that the ar?te had here to be crossed, and the northern face on the other side taken to.

"Almost before I got my head over the crest came the anxious question from below, 'Will it go on the other side?' I could not see, however; so when the others came up, Gardiner fixed himself and let us down to the full extent of the rope. The whole northern face, as far as we could see, looked terribly icy; but as there was no other way of regaining the ar?te higher up without going on to it, we told him to come down after us.

"Turning to the right as soon as possible, we had to traverse the steep, smooth face for a short distance. It took a long time, for the rocks were even worse than they had appeared; we often had to clear them of ice for a yard before we could find any hold at all and sometimes only the left hand could be spared for cutting. After about 50 yards of this work we were able to turn upwards, and with great difficulty wriggled up the slippery rocks leading to the ar?te; rather disgusted to find the north face so difficult--owing, perhaps, to the lateness of the season.

"It was our last difficulty, for the ar?te, though narrow, gives good hand and foot-hold, and we pressed eagerly onwards. In a few minutes it became more level, and there, sure enough, were the three stone-men, only separated from us by some easy rocks and snow, which we went at with a rush, and at 2.25 we stood on the highest point of the Meije.

"Knowing that it would be useless for us to try and descend further than the Glacier Carr? that day, and as it was pleasanter on the top than there, we went in for a long halt. Untying the rope--for the top is broad enough to be safe--we examined the central cairn, where the tokens are kept. We found a tin box, containing the names of our predecessors; a bottle, hanging by a string, the property of Mr Coolidge; a tri-coloured flag; and a scented pocket-handkerchief belonging to M. Guillemin, still retaining its former fragrance, which it had not 'wasted on the desert air.' We tore a corner off each, leaving a red-and-yellow rag in exchange; put our names in the tin, and an English penny with a hole bored through it.

"Then, after repairing the rather dilapidated southern cairn, we sat down to smoke and enjoy the view, which the fact of the mountain standing on the outside of the group, the tremendous depth to which the eye plunges on each side, the expansive panorama of the Dauphin? and neighbouring Alps, and the beautiful distant view of the Pennine chain from Mont Blanc to Monte Rosa, combine to make one of the finest in the Alps.

"At four o'clock, after an hour and a half on the top, we started downwards, soon arriving at the spot where it was necessary to leave the ar?te; however, before doing so, we went along it to where it was cut off, to see if we could let ourselves straight down into the gap, and so avoid the detour by the northern face, but it was impracticable; so, putting the middle of the spare rope round a projecting rock on the ar?te, we let ourselves down to where we had gone along on the level, pulling the rope down after us; then regaining the gap by the morning's route, we crossed it, and leisurely descended the south-western face to the Glacier Carr?, filling our now empty wine tin with water on the way down. We reached the glacier at 6.30. In skirting the base of the Pic du Glacier we found a nice hollow in the snow, which looked a good place to sleep in. Gardiner wanted one of us to stop and build a stone-wall, whilst the others fetched the bag and provisions from the bottom of the glacier. Lawrence was neutral; I was rather against it, having slept on snow before. At last we all went down to the rocky platform where our luggage had been left. We cleared a place for the bag, but it all sloped so much, and the edge of the precipice was so near, that we dared not lie down. We looked for a good rock to tie ourselves to; even that could not be found. Then some one thought we might scrape a hole in the steep snow above us, and get into it. That, of course, was quite out of the question. Nothing therefore remained for us but Gardiner's hollow above--the only level place we had seen above M. Duhamel's cairn large enough for us to lay our bag on. There was no time to be lost; it was getting dark; a sharp frost had already set in: so we at once shouldered our traps and trudged wearily up the glacier once more, wishing now that we had left somebody to build a wall.

"On reaching the hollow we put the ropes, axes, hats, and knapsack on the snow as a sort of carpet, placed the bag on the top, then, pulling off our boots for pillows, and putting on the comfortable woollen helmets given to us by Mrs Hartley, got into the bag to have our supper. Fortunately there was not much wind; but it was rather difficult to open the meat tin. We did as well as we could, however, and after supper tried to smoke; but the cold air got into the bag and made that a failure; so we looked at the scene instead.

"The moon was half full, and shone upon us as we lay, making everything look very beautiful. We could see the snow just in front of us, and then, far away through the frosty air all the mountains on the other side of the Vallon des Etan?ons, with the silver-grey peak of the Ecrins behind, its icy ridges standing out sharply against the clear sky; and deep down in the dark valley below was the signal fire of our porters. As this could only be seen by sitting bolt upright, we got tired of looking at it, and the last link connecting us with the lower world being broken, we felt our utter loneliness.

"The moon soon going behind a rocky spur of the Pic du Glacier, we lay down and tried to get warm by pulling the string round the neck of the bag as tight as possible and breathing inside; but somehow the outside air got in also. So closing it as well as we could, with only our heads out, we went to sleep, but not for long. The side on which we lay soon got chilled. Now, as the bag was narrow, we all had to face one way on account of our knees; so the one who happened to be the soonest chilled through would give the word, and we all turned together. I suppose we must have changed sides every half-hour through the long night. We got some sleep, however, and felt all right when the first glimmering of dawn came over the mountains on our left. As soon as we could see we had breakfast; but the curried fowl was frozen, and the bread could only be cut with difficulty, as a shivering seized one every minute. We had the greatest trouble in getting our boots on. They were pressed out of shape, and, in spite of having been under our heads, were hard frozen. At last, by burning paper inside, and using them as lantern for our candle, we thawed them enough to get them on, and then spent a quarter of an hour stamping about to thaw ourselves. We rolled the bag up and tied it fast to a projecting rock, hanging the meat tin near as a guide to anyone looking for it.

"At 4.30 we set off, very thankful that we had a fine day before us. We soon went down the glacier, and down and across to the shelf of rock where the real descent of the wall was to begin. A few feet below was a jagged tooth of rock which we could not move; so to it we tied one end of the 100 feet of rope, taking care to protect the rope where it pressed on the sharp edges, with pieces of an old handkerchief; the other end we threw over the edge, and by leaning over we could just see the tail of it on some rocks below the bad part, so we knew it was long enough.

"After a short discussion we arranged to go down one at a time, as there were places where we expected to throw all our weight on the rope. Gardiner was to go first as he was the heaviest; my brother next, carrying all the traps and the three axes, as he had the strongest pair of hands and arms in the party; whilst I as the lightest, was to bring down the rear. So tying the climbing rope round his waist as an extra help, Gardiner started, whilst we paid it out. He soon disappeared, but we knew how he was getting on, and when he was in the worst places, by the 'Lower,' 'A little lower,' 'Hold,' 'Hold hard,' which came up from below, getting fainter as he got lower. Fifty feet of the rope passed through our hands before he stopped going. 'Can you hold there?' we asked. 'No. Hold me while I rest a little, and then give me 10 feet more if you can.' So after a while we got notice to lower, and down he went again until nearly all our rope was gone; then it slackened. He told us he was fast, and that we could pull up the rope.

"Then Lawrence shouldered his burdens, the three axes being tied below him with a short piece of rope. The same thing happened again, only it was more exciting, for every now and then the axes caught and loosened with a jerk, which I felt on the rope I was paying out, although it was tied to him. At first I thought it was a slip, but soon got used to it. Lawrence did not go so far as Gardiner, but stopped to help me at the bottom of the worst piece.

"It was now my turn. Tying the other end of the loose rope round me, I crawled cautiously down to where the tight rope was fixed. The others told me afterwards they did not like it. I certainly did not. The upper part was all right; but lower down the rocks were so steep that if I put much weight on the rope it pulled me off them, and gave a tendency to swing over towards the Glacier Carr?, which, as only one hand was left for climbing with, was rather difficult to resist. I remember very well sitting on a projecting rock, with nothing below it but air for at least 100 feet. Leaving this, Lawrence half pulled me towards him with the loose rope. A few steps more and I was beside him, and we descended together to Gardiner, cutting off the fixed rope high up, so as to leave as little as possible, and in a few minutes more we all three reached the small shelf of rocks above the smooth slabs by which we had descended the day before. It was the place where we had spent some time trying to avoid the steep bit we had just descended, and which had taken us nearly two hours.

"This ledge is about 3 feet broad. We had got down the only place on the mountain that had given us any anxiety. It was warm and pleasant; all the day was before us; so we took more than an hour to lunch and rest.

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