in which gillie is sagacious, an excursion is undertaken, wondrous sights are seen, and avalanches of more kinds than one are encountered.

“susan,” said gillie, one morning, entering the private apartment of mrs stoutley’s maid with the confidence of a privileged friend, flinging himself languidly into a chair and stretching out his little legs with the air of a rather used-up, though by no means discontented, man, “susan, this is a coorious world—wery coorious—the most coorious i may say that i ever come across.”

“i won’t speak a word to you, gillie,” said susan, firmly, “unless you throw that cigar out of the window.”

“ah, susan, you would not rob me of my mornin’ weed, would you?” remonstrated gillie, puffing a long cloud of smoke from his lips as he took from between them the end of a cigar that had been thrown away by some one the night before.

“yes, i would, child, you are too young to smoke.”

“child!” repeated gillie, in a tone of reproach, “too young! why, susan, there’s only two years between you an’ me—that ain’t much, you know, at our time of life.”

“well, what then? i don’t smoke,” said susan.

“true,” returned gillie, with an approving nod, “and, to say truth, i’m pleased to find that you don’t. it’s a nasty habit in women.”

“it’s an equally nasty habit in boys. now, do as i bid you directly.”

“when a man is told by the girl he loves to do anythink, he is bound to do it—even if it wor the sheddin’ of his blood. susan, your word is law.”

he turned and tossed the cigar-end out of the window. susan laughingly stooped, kissed the urchin’s forehead, and called him a good boy.

“now,” said she, “what do you mean by sayin’ that this is a curious world? do you refer to this part of it, or to the whole of it?”

“well, for the matter of that,” replied gillie, crossing his legs, and folding his hands over his knee, as he looked gravely up in susan’s pretty face, “i means the whole of it, this part included, and the people in it likewise. don’t suppose that i go for to exclude myself. we’re all coorious, every one on us.”

“what! me too?”

“you? w’y, you are the cooriousest of us all, susan, seeing that you’re only a lady’s-maid when you’re pretty enough to have been a lady—a dutchess, in fact, or somethin’ o’ that sort.”

“you are an impudent little thing,” retorted susan, with a laugh; “but tell me, what do you find so curious about the people up-stairs?”

“why, for one thing, they seem all to have falled in love.”

“that’s not very curious is it?” said susan, quietly; “it’s common enough, anyhow.”

“ah, some kinds of it, yes,” returned gillie, with the air of a philosopher, “but at chamouni the disease appears to have become viroolent an’ pecoolier. there’s the capp’n, he’s falled in love wi’ the professor, an’ it seems to me that the attachment is mootooal. then mister lewis has falled in love with madmysell nita hooray-tskie (that’s a sneezer, ain’t it), an’ the mad artist, as mister lewis call him, has falled in love with her too, poor feller, an’ miss nita has falled in love with miss emma, an miss emma, besides reciprocatin’ that passion, has falled in love with the flowers and the scenery—gone in for it wholesale, so to speak—and dr lawrence, he seems to have falled in love with everybody all round; anyhow everybody has falled in love with him, for he’s continually goin’ about doin’ little good turns wherever he gits the chance, without seemin’ to intend it, or shovin’ hisself to the front. in fact i do think he don’t intend it, but only can’t help it; just the way he used to be to my old mother and the rest of us in grubb’s court. and i say, susan,” here gillie looked very mysterious, and dropped his voice to a whisper, “miss emma has falled in love with him.”

“nonsense, child! how is it possible that you can tell that?” said susan.

the boy nodded his head with a look of preternatural wisdom, and put his forefinger to the side of his nose.

“ah,” said he, “yes, i can’t explain how it is that i knows it, but i do know it. bless you, susan, i can see through a four-inch plank in thick weather without the aid of a gimlet hole. you may believe it or not, but i know that miss emma has falled in love with dr lawrence, but whether dr lawrence has failed in love with miss emma is more than i can tell. that plank is at least a six-inch one, an’ too much for my wision. but have a care, susan, don’t mention wot i’ve said to a single soul—livin’ or dead. miss emma is a modest young woman, she is, an’ would rather eat her fingers off, rings and all, than let her feelin’s be known. i see that ’cause she fights shy o’ dr lawrence, rather too shy of ’im, i fear, for secrecy. why he doesn’t make up to her is a puzzle that i don’t understand, for she’d make a good wife, would miss emma, an’ dr lawrence may live to repent of it, if he don’t go in and win.”

susan looked with mingled surprise and indignation at the precocious little creature who sat before her giving vent to his opinions as coolly as if he were a middle-aged man. after contemplating him for a few moments in silence, she expressed her belief that he was a conceited little imp, to venture to speak of his young mistress in that way.

“i wouldn’t do it to any one but yourself, susan,” he said, in no wise abashed, “an’ i hope you appreciate my confidence.”

“don’t talk such nonsense, child, but go on with what you were speaking about,” rejoined susan, with a smile, to conceal which she bent down her head as she plied her needle briskly on one of emma’s mountain-torn dresses.

“well, where was i?” continued gillie, “ah, yes. then, lord what’s-’is-name, he’s falled in love with the mountain-tops, an’ is for ever tryin’ to get at ’em, in which he would succeed, for he’s a plucky young feller, if it worn’t for that snob—who’s got charge of ’im—mister lumbard—whose pecooliarity lies in preferrin’ every wrong road to the right one. as i heard mr lewis say the other day, w’en i chanced to be passin’ the keyhole of the sallymanjay, ‘he’d raither go up to the roof of a ’ouse by the waterspout than the staircase,’ just for the sake of boastin’ of it.”

“and is mr lumbard in love with any one?” asked susan.

“of course he is,” answered gillie, “he’s in love with hisself. he’s always talkin’ of hisself, an’ praisin’ hisself, an’ boastin’ of hisself an’ what he’s done and agoin’ to do. he’s plucky enough, no doubt, and if there wor a lightnin’-conductor runnin’ to top of mount blang, i do b’lieve he’d try to—to—lead his lordship up that; but he’s too fond of talkin’ an’ swaggerin’ about with his big axe, an’ wearin’ a coil of rope on his shoulder when he ain’t goin’ nowhere. bah! i don’t like him. what do you think, susan, i met him on the road the other evenin’ w’en takin’ a stroll by myself down near the glassyer day bossong, an’ i says to him, quite in a friendly way, ‘bong joor,’ says i, which is french, you know, an’ what the natives here says when they’re in good humour an’ want to say ‘good-day,’ ‘all serene,’ ‘how are you off for soap?’ an’ suchlike purlitenesses. well, would you believe it, he went past without takin’ no notice of me whatsumdever.”

“how very impolite,” said susan, “and what did you do?”

“do,” cried gillie, drawing himself up, “why, i cocked my nose in the air and walked on without disdainin’ to say another word—treated ’im with suvrin contempt. but enough of him—an’ more than enough. well, to continue, then there’s missis stoutley, she’s falled in love too.”

“indeed?”

“yes, with wittles. the count hur—what’s-’is-name, who’s always doin’ the purlite when he’s not mopin’, says it’s the mountain hair as is agreein’ with her, but i think its the hair-soup. anyhow she’s more friendly with her wittles here than she ever was in england. after comin’ in from that excursion where them two stout fellers carried her up the mountains, an’ all but capsized her and themselves, incloodin’ the chair, down a precipice, while passin’ a string o’ mules on a track no broader than the brim of mister slingsby’s wide-awake, she took to her wittles with a sort of lovin’ awidity that an’t describable. the way she shovelled in the soup, an’ stowed away the mutton chops, an’ pitched into the pease and taters, to say nothing of cauliflower and cutlets, was a caution to the billions. it made my mouth water to look at her, an’ my eyes too—only that may have had somethin’ to do with the keyhole, for them ’otels of chamouni are oncommon draughty. yes,” continued gillie, slowly, as if he were musing, “she’s failed in love with wittles, an’ it’s by no means a misplaced affection. it would be well for the count if he could fall in the same direction. did you ever look steadily at the count, susan?”

“i can’t say i ever did; at least not more so than at other people. why?”

“because, if you ever do look at him steadily, you’ll see care a-sittin’ wery heavy on his long yeller face. there’s somethin’ the matter with that count, either in ’is head or ’is stummick, i ain’t sure which; but, whichever it is, it has descended to his darter, for that gal’s face is too anxious by half for such a young and pretty one. i have quite a sympathy, a sort o’ feller-feelin’, for that count. he seems to me the wictim of a secret sorrow.”

susan looked at her small admirer with surprise, and then burst into a hearty laugh.

“you’re a queer boy, gillie.”

to an unsophisticated country girl like susan quick, the london street-boy must indeed have seemed a remarkable being. he was not indeed an absolute “arab,” being the son of an honest hardworking mother, but being also the son of a drunken, ill-doing father, he had, in the course of an extensive experience of bringing his paternal parent home from gin-palaces and low theatres, imbibed a good deal of the superficial part of the “waif” character, and, but for the powerful and benign influence of his mother, might have long ago entered the ranks of our criminal population. as it was, he had acquired a knowledge of “the world” of london—its thoughts, feelings, and manners—which rendered him in susan’s eyes a perfect miracle of intelligence; and she listened to his drolleries and precocious wisdom with open-mouthed admiration. of course the urchin was quite aware of this, and plumed himself not a little on his powers of attraction.

“yes,” continued gillie, without remarking on susan’s observation that he was a “queer boy,” for he esteemed that a compliment “the count is the only man among ’em who hasn’t falled in love with nothink or nobody. but tell me, susan, is your fair buzzum free from the—the tender—you know what?”

“oh! yes,” laughed the maid, “quite free.”

“ah!” said gillie, with a sigh of satisfaction, “then there’s hope for me.”

“of course there is plenty of hope,” said susan, laughing still more heartily as she looked at the thing in blue and buttons which thus addressed her.

“but now, tell me, where are they talking of going to-day?”

“to the jardang,” replied gillie. “it was putt off to please the young ladies t’other day, and now it’s putt on to please the professor. it seems to me that the professor has got well to wind’ard of ’em all—as the cappen would say; he can twirl the whole bilin’ of ’em round his little finger with his outlandish talk, which i believe is more than half nonsense. hows’ever, he’s goin’ to take ’em all to the jardang, to lunch there, an’ make some more obserwations and measurements of the ice. why he takes so much trouble about sitch a trifle, beats my understandin’. if the ice is six feet, or six hundred feet thick, what then? if it moves, or if it don’t move, wot’s the odds, so long as yer ’appy? if it won’t move, w’y don’t they send for a company of london bobbies and make ’em tell it to ‘move on,’ it couldn’t refuse, you know, for nothin’ can resist that. hows’ever, they are all goin’ to foller the lead of the professor again to-day—them that was with ’em last time—not the count though, for i heard him say (much to the distress apperiently of his darter) that he was goin’ on business to marteeny, over the tait nwar, though what that is i don’t know—a mountain, i suppose. they’re all keen for goin’ over things in this country, an’ some of ’em goes under altogether in the doin’ of it. if i ain’t mistaken, that pleasant fate awaits lord what’s-’is-name an’ mr lumbard, for i heard the cappen sayin’, just afore i come to see you, that he was goin’ to take his lordship to the main truck of mount blang by way of the signal halliards, in preference to the regular road.”

“are the young ladies going?” asked susan.

“of course they are, from w’ich it follers that mr lewis an’ the mad artist are goin’ too.”

“and mrs stoutley?” asked susan.

“no; it’s much too far and difficult for her.”

“gillie, gillie!” shouted a stentorian voice at this point in the conversation.

“ay, ay, cappen,” yelled gillie, in reply. rising and thrusting his hands into his pockets, he sauntered leisurely from the room, recommending the captain, in an undertone, to save his wind for the mountainside.

not long afterwards, the same parties that had accompanied the professor to the montanvert were toiling up the mer de glace, at a considerable distance above the scene of their former exploits, on their way to the jardin.

the day was all that could be desired. there were a few clouds, but these were light and feathery; clear blue predominated all over the sky. over the masses of the jorasses and the peaks of the géant, the aiguille du dru, the slopes of mont mallet, the pinnacles of charmoz, and the rounded white summit of mont blanc—everywhere—the heavens were serene and beautiful.

the jardin, towards which they ascended, lies like an island in the midst of the glacier du talèfre. it is a favourite expedition of travellers, being a verdant gem on a field of white—a true oasis in the desert of ice and snow—and within a five hours’ walk of chamouni.

their route lay partly on the moraines and partly over the surface of the glacier. on their previous visit to the mer de glace, those of the party to whom the sight was new imagined that they had seen all the wonders of the glacier world. they were soon undeceived. while at the montanvert on their first excursion, they could turn their eyes from the sea of ice to the tree-clad slopes behind them, and at the chapeau could gaze on a splendid stretch of the vale of chamouni to refresh their eyes when wearied with the rugged cataract of the glacier des bois; but as they advanced slowly up into the icy solitudes, all traces of the softer world were lost to view. only ice and snow lay around them. ice under foot, ice on the cliffs, ice in the mountain valleys, ice in the higher gorges, and snow on the summits,—except where these latter were so sharp and steep that snow could not find a lodgment. there was nothing in all the field of vision to remind them of the vegetable world from which they had passed as if by magic. as lewis remarked, they seemed to have been suddenly transported to within the arctic circle, and got lost among the ice-mountains of spitzbergen or nova zembla.

“it is magnificent!” exclaimed nita horetzki with enthusiasm, as she paused on the summit of an ice-ridge, up the slippery sides of which she had been assisted by antoine grennon, who still held her little hand in his.

ah, thoughtless man! he little knew what daggers of envy were lacerating the heart of the mad artist who would have given all that he possessed—colour-box and camp-stool included—to have been allowed to hold that little hand even for a few seconds! indeed he had, in a fit of desperation, offered to aid her by taking the other hand when half-way up that very slope, but had slipped at the moment of making the offer and rolled to the bottom. lewis, seeing the fate of his rival, wisely refrained from putting himself in a false position by offering any assistance, excusing his apparent want of gallantry by remarking that if he were doomed to slip into a crevasse he should prefer not to drag another along with him. antoine, therefore, had the little hand all to himself.

the professor, being a somewhat experienced ice-man, assisted emma in all cases of difficulty. as for the captain, gillie, and lawrence, they had quite enough to do to look after themselves.

“how different from what i had expected,” said emma, resting a hand on the shoulder of nita; “it is a very landscape of ice.”

emma’s simile was not far-fetched. they had reached a part of the glacier where the slope and the configuration of the valley had caused severe strains on the ice in various directions, so that there were not only transverse crevasses but longitudinal cracks, which unitedly had cut up the ice into blocks of all shapes and sizes. these, as their position shifted, had become isolated, more or less,—and being partially melted by the sun, had assumed all sorts of fantastic shapes. there were ice-bridges, ice-caves, and ice obelisks and spires, some of which latter towered to a height of fifty feet or more; there were also forms suggestive of cottages and trees, with here and there real rivulets rippling down their icy beds, or leaping over pale blue ledges, or gliding into blue-green lakes, or plunging into black-blue chasms. the sun-light playing among these silvery realms—glinting over edges and peaks, blazing on broad masses, shimmering through semi-transparent cliffs, and casting soft grey shadows everywhere—was inexpressibly beautiful, while the whole, looming through a thin golden haze, seemed to be of gigantic proportions.

it seemed as if the region of ice around them must at one time have been in tremendous convulsions, but the professor assured them that this was not the case, that the formation of crevasses and those confused heaps of ice called seracs was a slow and prolonged process. “doubtless,” he said, “you have here and there the wild rush of avalanches, and suchlike convulsions, but the rupture of the great body of the ice is gradual. a crevasse is an almost invisible crack at first. it yawns slowly and takes a long time to open out to the dimensions and confusion which you see around.”

“what are those curious things?” asked nita, pointing to some forms before her.

“they look like giant mushrooms,” said captain wopper.

“they are ice-tables,” answered antoine.

“blocks of stone on the top of cones of ice,” said the professor. “come, we will go near and examine one.”

the object in question was well suited to cause surprise, for it was found to be an enormous flat mass of rock, many tons in weight, perched on a pillar of ice and bearing some resemblance to a table with a central leg.

“now,” said captain wopper emphatically, “that is a puzzler. how did it ever get up there?”

“i have read of such tables,” said lawrence.

“they are the result of the sun’s action, i believe.”

“oh, it’s all very well, lawrence,” said lewis, with a touch of sarcasm, “to talk in a vague way about the sun’s action, but it’s quite plain, even to an unphilosophical mind like mine, that the sun can’t lift a block of stone some tons in weight and clap it on the top of a pillar of ice about ten feet high.”

“nevertheless the sun has done it,” returned lawrence. “am i not right professor?”

the man of science, who had listened with a bland smile on his broad countenance, admitted that lawrence was right.

“at first,” he said, “that big stone fell from the cliffs higher up the valley, and it has now been carried down thus far by the ice. during its progress the sun has been shining day by day and melting the surface of the ice all round, with the exception of that part which was covered by the rock. thus the general level of the ice has been lowered and the protected portion left prominent with its protector on the top. the sides of the block of ice on which the rock has rested have also melted slowly, reducing it to the stalk or pillar which you now see. in time it will melt so much that the rock will slide off, fall on another part of the ice, which it will protect from the sun as before until another stem shall support it, and thus it will go on until it tumbles into a crevasse, reaches the under part of the glacier, perhaps there gets rolled and rounded into a boulder, and finally is discharged, many years hence, it may be, into the terminal moraine; or, perchance, it may get stranded on the sides of the valley among the débris or rubbish which we call the lateral moraine.”

as the party advanced, new, and, if possible; still more striking objects met the eye, while mysterious sounds struck the ear. low grumbling noises and gurglings were heard underfoot, as if great boulders were dropping into buried lakes from the roofs of sub-glacial caverns, while, on the surface, the glacier was strewn here and there with débris which had fallen from steep parts of the mountains that rose beside them into the clouds. sudden rushing sounds—as if of short-lived squalls, in the midst of which were crashes like the thunder of distant artillery—began now to attract attention, and a feeling of awe crept into the hearts of those of the party who were strangers to the ice-world. sounds of unseen avalanches, muffled more or less according to distance, were mingled with what may be called the shots of the boulders, which fell almost every five minutes from the aiguille verte and other mountains, and there was something deeply impressive in the solemn echoes that followed each deep-toned growl, and were repeated until they died out in soft murmurs.

as the party crossed an ice-plain, whose surface was thickly strewn with the wreck of mountains, a sense of insecurity crept into the feelings of more than one member of it but not a word was said until a sudden and tremendous crash, followed by a continuous roar, was heard close at hand.

“an avalanche!” shouted slingsby, pointing upwards, and turning back with the evident intention to fly.

it did indeed seem the wisest thing that man or woman could do in the circumstances, for, high up among the wild cliffs, huge masses of rock, mingled with ice, dirt, water, and snow, were seen rushing down a “couloir,” or steep gully, straight towards them.

“rest tranquil where you are,” said the guide, laying his hand on the artist’s arm; “the couloir takes a bend, you see, near the bottom. there is no danger.”

thus assured, the whole of the party stood still and gazed upward.

owing to the great height from which the descending mass was pouring, the inexperienced were deceived as to the dimensions of the avalanche. it seemed at first as if the boulders were too small to account for the sounds created, but in a few seconds their real proportions became more apparent, especially when the whole rush came straight towards the spot on which the travellers stood with such an aspect of being fraught with inevitable destruction, that all of them except the guide shrank involuntarily backwards. at this crisis the chaotic mass was driven with terrible violence against the cliffs to the left of the couloir, and bounding, we might almost say fiercely, to the right, rushed out upon the frozen plain about two hundred yards in advance of the spot on which they stood.

“is there not danger in being so close to such places?” asked lewis, glancing uneasily at nita, whose flashing eyes and heightened colour told eloquently of the excitement which the sight had aroused in her breast.

“not much,” answered the professor, “no doubt we cannot be said to be in a place of absolute safety, nevertheless the danger is not great, because we can generally observe the avalanches in time to get out of the way of spent shots; and, besides, if we run under the lea of such boulders as that, we are quite safe, unless it were to be hit by one pretty nearly as large as itself.” he pointed as he spoke to a mass of granite about the size of an omnibus, which lay just in front of them. “but i see,” he added, laughing, “that antoine thinks this is not a suitable place for the delivery of lectures; we must hasten forward.”

soon they surmounted the steeps of the glacier du talèfre, and reached the object of their desire, the jardin.

it is well named. a wonderful spot of earth and rock which rises out of the midst of a great basin of half-formed ice, the lower part being covered with green sward and spangled with flowers, while the summit of the rock forms a splendid out-look from which to view the surrounding scene.

here, seated on the soft grass—the green of which was absolutely delicious to the eyes after the long walk over the glaring ice—the jovial professor, with a sandwich in one hand and a flask of vin ordinaire in the other, descanted on the world of ice. he had a willing audience, for they were all too busy with food to use their tongues in speech, except in making an occasional brief demand or comment.

“glorious!” exclaimed the professor.

“which, the view or the victuals?” asked lewis. “both,” cried the professor, helping himself to another half-dozen sandwiches.

“thank you—no more at present,” said nita to the disappointed slingsby, who placed the rejected limb of a fowl on his own plate with a deep sigh.

“professor,” said nita, half-turning her back on the afflicted artist, “how, when, and where be all this ice formed?”

“a comprehensive question!” cried the professor. “thank you—yes, a wing and a leg; also, if you can spare it, a piece of the—ah! so, you are right. the whole fowl is best. i can then help myself. miss gray, shall i assist you to a—no? well, as i was about to remark, in reply to your comprehensive question, mademoiselle, this basin, in which our jardin lies, may be styled a mighty collector of the material which forms that great tributary of the mer de glace, named the glacier du talèfre. this material is called névé.”

“an’ what’s nevy?” asked captain wopper, as well as a full mouth would allow him.

“névé,” replied the professor, “is snow altered by partial melting, and freezing, and compression—snow in the process of being squeezed into ice. you must know that there is a line on all high mountains which is called the snow-line. above this line, the snow that falls each year never disappears; below it the snow, and ice too, undergoes the melting process continually. the portion below the snow-line is always being diminished; that above it is always augmenting; thus the loss of the one is counterbalanced by the gain of the other; and thus the continuity of glaciers is maintained. that part of a glacier which lies above the snow-line is styled névé; it is the fountain-head and source of supply to the glacier proper, which is the part that lies below the snow-line. sometimes, for a series of years, perhaps, the supply from above is greater than the diminution below, the result being that the snout of a glacier advances into its valley, ploughs up the land, and sometimes overturns the cottages. (see note 1.) on the other hand the reverse process goes on, it may be for years, and a glacier recedes somewhat, leaving a whole valley of débris, or terminal moraine, which is sometimes, after centuries perhaps, clothed with vegetation and dotted with cottages.”

“this basin, or collector of névé, on whose beautiful oasis i have the felicity to lunch in such charming society (the jovial professor bowed to the ladies), is, according to your talented professor forbes (he bowed to lawrence), about four thousand two hundred yards wide, and all the ice it contains is, farther down, squeezed through a gorge not more than seven hundred yards wide, thus forming that grand ice-cascade of the talèfre which you have seen on the way hither. it is a splendid, as well as interesting amphitheatre, for it is bounded, as you see, on one side by the grandes jorasses, on the other by mont mallet, while elsewhere you have the vast plateau whence the glacier du géant is fed; the aiguille du géant, the aiguille noire, the montagnes mandites, and mont blanc. another wing, if you please—ah, finished? no matter, pass the loaf. it will do as well.”

the professor devoted himself for some minutes in silence to the loaf, which was much shorn of its proportions on leaving his hand. like many great men, he was a great eater. the fires of intellect that burned within him seemed to require a more than ordinary supply of fuel. he slept, too, like an infant hercules, and, as a natural consequence, toiled like a giant when awake.

little gillie white regarded him with feelings of undisguised awe, astonishment and delight, and was often sorely perplexed within himself as to whether he or captain wopper was the greater man. both were colossal in size and energetic in body, and both were free and easy in manners, as well as good-humoured. no doubt, as gillie argued with himself (and sometimes with susan), the professor was uncommon larned an’ deep, but then the captain had a humorous vein, which fully counterbalanced that in gillie’s estimation.

the philosophic urchin was deeply engaged in debating this point with himself, and gazing open-mouthed at the professor, when there suddenly occurred an avalanche so peculiar and destructive that it threw the whole party into the utmost consternation. while removing a pile of plates, gillie, in his abstraction, tripped on a stone, tumbled over the artist, crushed that gentleman’s head into nita’s lap, and, descending head foremost, plates and all, into the midst of the feast, scattered very moraine of crockery and bottles all round. it was an appalling smash, and when the captain seized gillie by the back of his trousers with one hand and lifted him tenderly out of the midst of the débris, the limp way in which he hung suggested the idea that a broken bottle must have penetrated his vitals and finished him.

it was not so, however. gillie’s sagacity told him that he would probably be wounded if he were to move. he wisely, therefore, remained quite passive, and allowed himself to be lifted out of danger.

“nobody hurt, i ’ope,” he said, on being set on his legs; “it was a awk’ard plunge.”

“awk’ard? you blue spider,” cried the captain; “you deserve to be keel-hauled, or pitched into a crevasse. look alive now, an’ clear up the mess you’ve made.”

fortunately the feast was about concluded when this contretemps occurred, so that no serious loss was sustained. some of the gentlemen lighted their pipes and cigars, to solace themselves before commencing the return journey. the ladies went off to saunter and to botanise, and slingsby attempted to sketch the scenery.

and here again, as on the previous excursion, captain wopper received a chill in regard to his matrimonial hopes. when the ladies rose, lewis managed to engage nita in an interesting conversation on what he styled the flora of central europe, and led her away. emma was thus left without her companion. now, thought the captain, there’s your chance, dr lawrence, go in and win! but lawrence did not avail himself of the chance. he suffered emma to follow her friend, and remained behind talking with the professor on the vexed subject of the cause of glacial motion.

“most extraor’nary,” thought the captain, somewhat nettled, as well as disappointed. “what can the youngster mean? she’s as sweet a gal as a fellow would wish to see, an’ yet he don’t pay no more attention to her than if she was an old bumboat ’ooman. very odd. can’t make it out nohow!”

captain wopper was not the first, and will certainly not be the last, to experience difficulty in accounting for the conduct of young men and maidens in this world of cross-currents and queer fancies.

note 1. such is actually true at the present time of the görner glacier, which has for a long time been advancing, and, during the last sixty years or so, has overturned between forty and fifty châlets.