Perchance even we of the older school should reconstruct our ideals. We are told that in a few centuries the English language will be a mixture of Cockney and bad American, why not also set about evolving a new creed of mountaineering? Abandon the old love of cold nights in the open, of curious meals with the hospitable cur6, of hare-brained scrambles on little known glaciers and traverses of huge unclimbed ridges; and, instead, let us frequent the hotels and churches of Grindelwald and Zermatt, and, in the short intervals between the various functions appropriate to these two classes of building, run up the Jungfrau in a steam lift, or climb the Matterhorn on cog-wheels.
But the thought is too horrible. Let the snowstorm blow the reek of the oil-can from our nostrils, and the thundering avalanche and the roaring tempest drown the puny tinkle of cast-iron bells and the blare of cheap German bands. Let us even cherish a hope that the higher Alps will resist the navvy and the engineer for our time, and that we may still be left to worship peacefully at the great shrines of our fathers. The delights of guideless climbing have, however, led me far from the crags and towers of the Charmoz; they have, I fear, even betrayed me into that greatest of indiscretions, a confession of faith. Prudence suggests, therefore, that I should quit this perilous ground and re-
