he ascent to the summit.

But can it be three o'clock already. The gibbous moon still hangs in the
sky and casts a feeble light over the scene. Then up and away for the
final climb. How rough the path is among the black rocks along the
ridge! Now we strike out on the gently rising glacier, across the crust
of snow, picking our way among the crevasses, with the rope tied about
our waists for fear of a fall. How cold it is! But now the gray light
of morning dawns, and now the beams of sunrise shoot up behind the
Glockner, and now the sun itself glitters into sight. The snow grows
softer as we toil up the steep, narrow comb between the Gross-Venediger
and his neighbour the Klein-Venediger. At last we have reached our
journey's end. See, the whole of the Tyrol is spread out before us in
wondrous splendour, as we stand on this snowy ridge; and at our feet the
Schlatten glacier, like a long, white snake, curls down into the valley.

There is still a little peak above us; an overhanging horn of snow
which the wind has built against the mountain-top. I would like to stand
there, just for a moment. The guide protests it would be dangerous, for
if the snow should break it would be a fall of a thousand feet to the
glacier on the northern side. But let us dare the few steps upward.
How our feet sink! Is the snow slipping? Look at the glacier! What is
happening? It is wrinkling and curling backward on us, serpent-like. Its
head rises far above us. All its icy crests are clashing together like
the ringing of a thousand bells. We are falling! I fling out my arm
to grasp the guide--and awake to find myself clutching a pillow in the
bunk. The alarm-clock is ringing fiercely for three o'clock. A driving
snow-storm is beating against the window. The ground is white. Peer
through the clouds as I may, I cannot even catch a glimpse of the
vanished Gross-Venediger.

1892.

AU LARGE

"Wherever we strayed, the same tranquil leisure enfolded us; day followed
day in an order unbroken and peaceful as the unfolding of the flowers
and the silent march of the stars. Time no longer ran like the few
sands in a delicate hour-glass held by a fragile human hand, but like a
majestic river fed by fathomless seas. . . . We gave ourselves up to
the sweetness of that unmeasured life, without thought of yesterday or
to-morrow; we drank the cup to-day held to our lips, and knew that so
long as we were athirst that draught would not be denied us."--H