back-rider shouts Coraggio, Signora!' and slipping and sliding, we venture over, and are safe on the other side. And as we still climb the icy pathway, my guide points to a small hollow between two rocks, and tells that had it not been for the Brethren of St Bernard, he would have died there three years ago. He, with two other men, had urgent business to transact at Aosta, which lies on the other side of the Pass of the Great St Bernard. It was in the spring, when the sun's influence detaches the avalanches from their snowy beds, and when, therefore, it is the most dangerous time to travel in their vicinity. It was a dull day when they set off from Oasieres, but they did not anticipate rain: at Liddes, however, a drizzling mist fell round them, which by the time they had reached the miserable inn where I had been lent the blanket, had turned into sleet and snow. The house was not yet occupied, it being too early to venture a residence there. So they pushed onwards, never speaking, for fear the sound of their voices should detach the loosened masses of snow that slightly adhered to the mountain's sides, and congratulating themselves each in his heart that thus far they had safely journeyed towards the hospitable walls of the convent, where they were sure of a welcome for the night. But on crossing the Drance, to their utter dismay all traces of the path to the convent had been obliterated by the recent fall of snow: to return to Liddes was hopeless; the shades of evening were closing in fast upon them. With beating hearts and uncertain steps they sought for the lost path in every direction-in vain. Terrified and bewildered, they seemed to be hunting in a magic circle. At last Jean declared that he had discovered it; the other two maintained he was mistaken; but he toiled onwards until, as his friends had refused to follow him, he lost faith in himself, and, as he expressed it, sank upon the ground with a 'dying heart;' and whence he instantly slipped down a shelving projection of the rock. His last recollection was hearing a terrific explosion, as if the solid rock had been rent from its base, and of his

agonising struggle to extricate himself from the soft, yielding snow, which, the more he wrestled with it, the more effectually wrapped him in its stifling embrace. He had a sensation of for ever sinking-sinking!—and he remembered no more, as all consciousness forsook him.

The monks of the hospice were out in that awful hour on their charitable mission, as is their usual custom. Provided with lanterns, and carrying vials of restoratives, and accompanied by their dogs, they had sallied forth in quest of any helpless travellers who, like Jean and his companions, might have lost their way across that dreary solitude. The unerring instinct of the dogs led them to the place where Jean was buried. They burrowed beneath the snow, scenting their course; whilst their long bushy tails rising above its surface told their masters at times where to follow them. When close to our poor guide's body, they commenced whining and scratching the ground. Forthwith the monks dug into the snowheap, and discovered him almost dead! He was placed on a stretcher, and carried by them to the hospice, where they tended him with all tenderness for the following three weeks that he struggled between life and death. But notwithstanding all their skill he has never fully recovered the shock; and his eyes are ever most painfully affected by the snow. Most fortunate it was for him that he had slipped into this crevice of the rock; for the avalanche had rolled harmlessly over it: an instant later, and he would have been inevitably crushed to death. His companions were found close to the hospice, but in the blinding snow-storm had failed to discover its proximity: they had been walking about to keep off sleep, but were at last yielding to its fatal influence, and in despair had thrown themselves on the ground.

It was with a species of veneration for its inhabitants that I gazed upon the low massive stone-walls of the Hospice of St Bernard, which, at the conclusion of my guide's story, appeared in view. Here, 8200 feet above

the level of the sea, live a community of religieux, who, young, accomplished, with every feeling alive to the enjoyments of the world, still voluntarily devote themselves to a life of toil and dangers. In the spring and summer time of their existence, when 'youth at the prow and pleasure at the helm' beckon their bark forwards to sail on the stream of pleasure, they cast their anchor on this tempest-shaken rock, heart and soul, giving themselves up to the service of those fellow-beings who, in this dreary but frequented pass of the mountains, would inevitably perish without their aid. For here, across this savage solitude, is the great peasant-thoroughfare between Italy and Switzerland; across this pass come our organ - boys, our dormice - bearers, and those children of the south who swarm our streets. Almost all can tell, with raised caps in sign of reverence, that they have been welcomed on their homeless road by 'Our Brethren of St Bernard!' Without such aid hundreds would have perished. Even in the depths of winter such wanderers are forced to seek its shelter; and the hospice has never been known to be without its guests.

As we rode up to the low dwelling, one of the brethren stood at the door, bidding farewell to a party of travellers. We alighted, and craved his hospitality for the night. He was a young man of two-and-thirty, with a pale countenance and delicate frame; and yet he braved the midnight storm in the cause of charity! His dress struck me, woman-like, at once, as being most becoming. A long frock-coat, fastened down the front with large buttons, and descending even to the ankles; full sleeves falling over tighter ones of the same material; a white collar, worked bead - fashion with black; and a linen scarf, with black silk ends, thrown gracefully across the chest, composed an attire at once most clerical and most gentlemanly. He raised his velvet cap with courteous grace to welcome us, and expressed his pleasure at receiving an English gentleman and lady within the walls of the hospice. He was the clavendier, or the brother

deputed to welcome and entertain travellers. He laughed heartily at my blanket, and at once ushered me into the reception-hall—a large room hung with pictures, the gifts of travellers, and furnished solely with a long table and chairs after which he hastened to conduct Edward into a sleeping-apartment, where he might change his thoroughly-soaked boots. By the wood-fire, at the end of the hall, were crouched two Aosta girls. Immediately on my entrance they rose, and offered me a seat between them, commencing a conversation in semi-Italian and French perfectly charming, so free was it from forwardness and its opposite extreme, sullen reserve. These maidens, with their golden-bodkined hair, were enchanted when they found that I had come from England; for at first they had taken me for a Frenchwoman. England with them was synonymous with gold; and many and curious, though not at all impertinent, were the questions they plied me with. 'Was it quite true that, though we all did as we liked, we would die for our Queen? Was she very pretty?' I replied, it was quite true that we all loved our Queen, and women as well as men would fight for her were it necessary: that our Queen was a fair, blue-eyed lady, with skin so dazzlingly white, that when the ermine of her royal robe had rested on her shoulders it looked to me yellow in comparison. Upon this the two maidens raised their own sunburnt hands, and nodded their heads, until their long earrings swayed to and fro with the motion.

Soon the clavendier joined us, and, rather to my dismay, every word of my conversation was volubly poured forth into his attentive ears by these Aosta maidens. He entered into their interest about trifles with childlike heartiness, but soon turned to other subjects; and I found him perfectly acquainted, not only with the graver topics of the day, but also with our light literature, poetry, and recent discoveries. In all this the peasant girls mixed with a propriety, where they understood the subject, which would have astonished me had I not met with it before. They soon, however, took their leave,

not without giving me a pressing invitation to bring my brother and see their beautiful Aosta. In the retirement of my own room, where I was now conducted, I could not but marvel at myself: here for an hour had I been chatting away with the monk and these peasant maidens without restraint-I, whom Edward is continually lecturing on reserve and hauteur. My bedroom contained two beds, a dressing-table, and washhand-stand, double windows, but no carpet. O how bitterly cold it was!-like an icy vault. I retained my shawl; and wrapping my veil round my head, once more descended to the hall, where I found fresh arrivals, who were conducting themselves less as guests than as travellers at a common inn. They grumbled at the lowness of the fire; so I drew out the wood from the closet whence I had seen the monk take it, and piled it on the hearth, but explained to them at the same time, that as fuel in these elevated regions was very scarce, it behoved us to husband it; and told them that for three months all the cattle of the convent were incessantly employed in bringing wood from the dangerous Val Ferret for the winter consumption, but that owing to the convent having been in forcible possession of the soldiers, even this supply had been rendered more scanty. The party assembled were infinitely more amused at my having discovered the wood-closet than concerned for the wasteful burning which ensued. The convent-bell had so often announced fresh arrivals, that before supper-time we had formed no inconsiderable party round the fire, among whom were three ladies besides myself. One poor little creature suffered cruelly from the cold, her nails being perfectly blue, and her eyes were often filling with tears from actual suffering. She was a young Italian bride! Edward and I were the only English.

Nothing could exceed the refined and polished manner of the clavendier; it was not merely gentlemanly, but high breeding. He had an easy way of adapting himself to all in our mixed circle, without losing one particle of his dignified self-respect-a talent in itself of no mean