him shoot along the ladder, whilst those beneath held the other end of the rope to direct his progress. There was no time to be lost, for already we could hear the avalanches falling about us. The dear boy was lowered like a log, and drawn on to the neck of ice. At this moment he looked fearful. His eyes seemed to be glazing.

When we were all gathered together, we consulted what had best be done for dear Ralph. I confess I was in tears, for I thought my dear school-fellow was dying. We rubbed his temples with snow, and forming a circle close round him, kept him in our centre for some ten minutes. Gradually the warmth of our bodies was imparted to his frame. Then we covered him up in our coats, and in turn held his hands in our bosoms, whilst others lay across his feet.

In this way, we saved poor Ralph's life, for by degrees his senses returned, and, at last, he had enough consciousness to be made to walk. With each step, too, we were approaching the warm valley, and as we left the cold behind us, so did he seem to recover. I never quitted his side, but did my utmost to encourage him, telling him that if he did not shake off his sickness before we reached the village, everybody would be pitying him. "That would never do, would it, Ralph ?" I asked.

He looked up in my face as if pathetically entreating me not to make him speak, but I still continued to jabber to him for fear his great courage should give way. We halted before we came to the Bois des Pélérins, and it was arranged by good Victor Coutet, and kind Francois Balmat, that to conceal Ralph's distress of body until we could obtain mules, he should be carried sitting on their crossed arms, as if in triumph. "And indeed," added Victor, "who is more deserving of a triumph? for he is both brave and gay, and the youngest traveller who ever climbed Mont Blanc."

At the Châlet des Pélérins, we made our noble boy drink a wine glass of brandy, which sent the blood back to his cheeks and quite restored his good looks. In this way did we proceed until we were met by a band of music, which had come out to render us honour.

Never was there a grander procession than ours. Mounted on our mules, and surrounding Ralph as much as possible to conceal him from too close an inspection, we marched across the fields, the band playing with all its vigour.

overwhelmed by avalanches of children, and up to their necks in wreaths of babies.

THEIR WIVES

in a highly dangerous state of affection.

PORTERS

hale and stout.

MORE DOGS,

majestic and solemn, but waving their tails with an enchanting grace.

On the road we had the honour of attracting the notice of the French lady who had previously taken such a liking to Ralph. No sooner did she behold our hero, than her affection for the boy overcame her fear of the world's opinion, and before the crowd of Chamouni she hailed him as her "petit amour,” her “little cabbage," her "little bibi," and a variety of other endearing terms. The stern Greene, now quite recovered, far from responding to these fondnesses, growled out, “Keep her off, or she'll want to kiss a fellow, and I don't like it." Ralph is only fifteen.

Ringing of bells and firing of cannon, gave an impressive dignity to the grand reception we met with on entering the village. The streets were crowded with admirers of all sexes, to whom we bowed with majestic grace. The band, although exhausted with walking, devotedly blew all their remaining breath into the instruments, and the effect was overpowering. When we reached the court-yard of our hôtel, I considered that I ought to address the multitude, and rising up in my stirrups I spoke this Napoleonic speech:

"Citizens of Chamouni, we thank you! Men of the Alpine mountains and women of the valleys, in the name of England we thank you! I am pleased with this day. He (Ralph) is pleased with this day. We (sweeping my arms around) are pleased with this day. The snows of a thousand years look down upon us! The chorus of countless avalanches add their thunder to your sympathy! The crackings of myriads of crevasses respond to the pulsations of your noble hearts! In the name of England, again I thank you!"

My first care was to put dear Ralph to bed, and I remained watching him until he fell asleep. I was getting nervous about his eyes, for they were so fearfully inflamed, that even when he closed his lids I had an idea that the friction must pain him. But by keeping him in a dark room, and with the aid of a kind doctor, the little lion soon grew well again.

Never did I feel so happy as when I saw this bold young traveller seated once more at the table d'hôte, and bragging unconsciously of the many great perils he had encountered, and the cool courage with which he had overcome them. According to his version of the story, Frank Kingstone had been on the point of perishing from fatigue, I was twice given over for lost; but the labour, the exhaustion, and the sufferings had been scarcely felt by him; indeed, he rather enjoyed it.

I have a great affection for the dear boy. He has a cousin who is the prettiest girl I ever saw.

THE heroes of the Scandinavian mythology, we are told, had a Walhalla for a Paradise, where, under the presidency of Thor and Odin, they quaffed huge draughts of metheglin from the skulls of their ancestors, and listened the eternal nights through to the songs of inspired bards, who chanted in lofty numbers the heroic deeds of their ancestors. I should like to be a hero, and to go to the Walhalla; but I confess I would rather drink my metheglin in some less ghastly goblet than a skull; indeed, I don't know but that I should prefer a glass of sound Devonshire cider to metheglin altogether; and I should decidedly object to hear any bard recite anything about my, ancestors