The young man kept sighing and saying in shrill cries, "We are lost! my GOD! we are lost!"

I was fastened by a rope between them, so it was impossible for me to change my position. I then besought the younger Pierre to descend; he dared not. It was impossible for his father and me to advance before he had decided.

Old Pierre, comprehending the danger, began also to cry out, "We are lost! lost!"

The old man finished by recovering himself, and approached a rock, round which he fastened a rope; the young guide then decided to descend, and we were all three of us reunited. During the two hours which followed, I thought that each moment would be my last; not only the Taugwalders, entirely unnerved, were incapable of rendering me the slightest assistance, but they were in so much terror, that each step I feared to see them slip. We finished, however, by doing that which ought to have been done at the commencement of the descent, that is to say, by fixing some ropes to the most solid rocks to assist our march; some of these ropes were cut and abandoned. We remained, moreover, fastened to each other. The terrified guides dared not advance, even with this supplementary help; old Pierre turned towards me several times, repeating with emphasis, his face pale, and trembling in every limb, "I cannot do it!"

Towards six o'clock in the evening, we arrived at the snow over the ridge towards Zermatt, and we were from that moment safe from all danger. We had often made fruitless efforts to discover our unfortunate friends; bending over the edge, we called them with all our strength. No voice replied to us; solemn silence prevailed around us. Convinced at last that they were lost to us for ever, we ceased our useless efforts. Too low-spirited to talk, we gathered in silence everything that had belonged to us and to those we had lost, and we prepared to descend. Night came on; for an hour we continued to go down in thick dampness. At half-past nine we found a sheltered space, where we passed six long hours on a miserable flag-stone hardly large enough for all three of us to lie down upon. At the dawn of day we resumed our route. We ran down the edge of Hörnli to the châlets of Buhl, and from thence to Zermatt. Seiler, whom I encountered at the door, followed me in silence into my room.

"What has then happened, sir?" he inquired of me.

"I am come back with the Taugwalders," I replied.

He understood me, and burst into tears, then, without losing a moment in useless lamentations, he ran to awake all the village. In a short time about twenty men were assembled to go and seek for our lost companions. At half-past eight we were on the upper plateau, or table-land of the glacier, in sight of the fatal spot where we were to find the remains of our unfortunate companions. Each guide took the telescope in his turn and passed it in silence to his neighbour, his countenance covered with a livid pallor. All hope had fled for ever. We drew near the fatal spot. They were lying on the snow in the same order as they had slipped-Croz a little in front, Hadow near him, then Hudson at some distance behind; but we could discover no trace of Lord Francis Douglas, who was without doubt caught by a rock. The government sent very strict orders that the bodies should be brought to Zermatt. This was done, but not without great danger. The remains of Hudson and Hadow were interred in the northern part of the church of Zermatt, in presence of a sorrowing and sympathising crowd. The body of Michel Croz was buried on the opposite side; his tomb bears an inscription which recalls in the most honourable terms his courage, uprightness, and devotedness.

The tradition which represented the Cervin as absolutely inaccessible was thus abolished; legends of a more real character were now to replace it. Other tourists may, in their turn, try to scale its proud ridges; but this terrible mountain will never be for any of them such as it was to the first who reached its summit. Others may tread its frozen top, but none will feel the same impression as experienced by those who, for the first time, contemplated this marvellous panorama.

Three days after the fatal accident to Mr. Whymper's party, four men from the Val Tournanche, availing themselves of a rope left by Dr. Tyndall, and detecting a ledge which he had not observed, accomplished the ascent from Breuil on the Italian side. Subsequently trials were made, and it was found that by erecting a hut on that side of the mountain, and sleeping there a night, the remainder of the ascent might be performed the next morning in favourable weather without considerable risk. In difficult places ropes have been fixed by iron stanchions to afford hand-holding to climbers, and thus a hazardous course has been rendered comparatively practicable, and certainly more safe. The dwellers and guides on the Zermatt side now felt the impulse of jealousy and the fear of rivalry, whereupon M. Seiler, the enterprising inn

keeper at Zermatt, who is now literally the monarch of all the hotels he surveys from his village, erected a hut on the ledge of the mountain on his side, and the particularly dangerous slope having been rendered less perilous by a rope attached to holdfasts, the ascent from Zermatt became practicable for experienced mountaineers. It is at present, and will for some years continue to be, the popular Alpine feat for ardent climbers. Many other travellers have attempted to climb these dangerous Alpine passes.

A very melancholy occurrence took place quite recently. Two gentlemen, accompanied by three guides, attempted to ascend the Lyskamm and were all killed by the bursting of a glacier. The English cemetery at Zermatt is again the resting-place of the bodies of several more of these unfortunate travellers.

Alas! how many tourists have been condemned to see their joy turned into despair, their bursts of laughter into cries of sorrow.

L. B.

FIRST VIOLETS.

IN MEMORIAM. MARCH 6тH.

ONE March bypast, in childhood's hours,
I wandered forth to weep,

And turned amidst the pleasaunce bowers,
Where early flow'rets peep,

The dearest friend of childhood's years

Lay mute in early death,

He had (sweet hope 'midst sorrow's tears)
To GOD resigned his breath.

I sought amidst the wintry blast,
Some gentle flow'ret's bloom
To offer-ere I looked my last

On him, 'midst coffin'd gloom.
The golden crocus bloomed around,
I turned from it away—

His hand had placed it in the ground,
But still it shone too gay.

I searched the dark green violet bed,
It was his planting too;

Already it sweet odours shed,

Breathed from its buds of blue.

I wrapped them in my kerchief white,
And laid them on his heart,
Sweet emblems of that land of light
Where death shall never part.

Just underneath his shroud they lay,
That last night on this earth,
I ever saw that precious clay,

The mainspring of my birth;
Their odour filled that narrow bed,
The coffin where he slept,

A trembling child, I bowed my head
Upon its lid, and wept.

Sweet violets! when I meet you now
You call those memories back,
And mind me of that pale dead brow
In life's past vista's track ;
And as you bloom each spring anew

You whisper, he must rise

In fresh new life-my father true-
When "GOD shall wipe all eyes!"

K. B. KNOX.

A GLANCE AT SOME FEATURES OF CHURCH HISTORY PAST AND PRESENT.

"HISTORY repeats itself" is a trite saying, which is in no case more true than in that of the present subject-Ecclesiastical History. The delightful fiction hugged by many minds that all was peace and perfection in the early days of the Church, speedily vanishes before a careful study of Church history. Some would have it that no troubles were known, or heresies existed, until Constantine the Great meddled in Church matters, and thus began the system of "Church and State. The fact that it was the troubles which had arisen which caused Constantine to interfere at all, is either forgotten or ignored!

Now it is a fact, that there were at least four distinct heresies which prevailed during the first two centuries of the Church, and Constantine the Great was born A.D. 275! Time after time, in successive ages, it

seemed as if it were scarcely possible that the Church could have survived the storm of difficulties which beset her path. Yet," to quote from Mr. Robertson's "History of the Christian Church," "throughout the dreariest of the ages which lie before us, we may discern the gracious providence of GOD, preserving the essentials of the truth in the midst of ignorance and corruptions, enabling men to overcome the evil influences by which they were surrounded, and filling the hearts of multitudes with zeal not only to extend the visible bounds of CHRIST'S kingdom, but also to enforce the power of faith on those who were already professedly His subjects." Can we wonder, then, if such has been the case from "age to age," that we have troublous times even in our own day? If we only look back to the history of past ages, how infinitely more peaceful will it be seen is the Church of our times than that of days of yore. With reference to matters of dispute as to doctrine, we see much the same in each period as it rolled along. The Council of Nice, A.D. 325, when the clauses of the Nicene Creed were arranged and discussed, and, fourteen centuries later, the Bonn Conference in 1870, when one of the special subjects for which the conference met was the discussion of the "Filioque Clause," in this very same creed, and the agreement to which those assembled came concerning it, reckoned as a marked feature in the latest history of the Church.

One of the grandest of the "Fathers" and Bishops of the Church was S. Ambrose, Bishop of Milan. His influence for good over the half-savage Emperor Theodosius, and the manner in which the emperor submitted to him is very remarkable. When Theodosius was, according to custom at Constantinople, going to take his seat in the choir of Milan Cathedral, S. Ambrose informed him that the proper place for the laity was in the nave, whereupon the emperor obediently withdrew, and took his seat in the nave. On another occasion Theodosius lent his sanction to the commission of a frightful massacre at Thessalonica, and shortly after came to the cathedral. S. Ambrose met him at the door, and denied him admission until he had done penance for his crime; nor did S. Ambrose admit the emperor to the rites of the Church until months had elapsed, and he was fully persuaded that Theodosius had come to a right mind, and then after confession he was once more allowed to enter the Cathedral of Milan. Truly S. Ambrose was one of those who "boldly rebuked vice." The only marvel is 1 Vol. ii., Chap. I.