servable on the surface of these mighty | of the huge snowfield out of which the glastreams, which, till lately regarded as merely cier directly issues, to the termination of the "the regions of eternal frost," are found to glacier in the magnificent gorge of the Massa, have played no unimportant part in the en- its length is fifteen miles, and its breadth tire formation of the earth's surface, so much nowhere less than 1,200 yards, in some so that it would seem their work is almost places reaching nearly double that amount. done, and that great as is their present The depth of the ice can hardly be guessed magnitude, it is but a shadow of the great- at. The lateral valley containing the Märness that has been. Probably these glaciers jelän See, though of no small width, and at have been observed by thousands who never least a hundred feet lower than the glacier, considered the force which gave them birth. has not the slightest effect in deflecting its The description of their origin in the book course, so enormously deep and solid is the before us is short and clear. Every one mass of ice flowing down the channel of the knows that more snow falls on the tops of Great Aletsch. The stream of the Massa, high mountains than is melted by the sun, formed by the meltings of this single glacier, and seeing, as Mr. George quaintly observes, is double the size of the Rhone at their "mountains do not grow in height," some point of junction, although the latter conveys thing must become of the surplus. Now, as the accumulated waters of the whole Upper we are all aware, Snow, in itself, is only Valois." And if in an age which has passed minute particles of ice, so loosely joined to- away there were glaciers which bore in size gether that a great proportion of air is en- the relation to the present which the mamclosed in their interstices, which causes the moth bears to the mouse, which could “toss snow, in its ice particles necessarily trans- with ease huge rocks which their degenerate parent, to appear white and opaque." We descendants of the present day could hardly have only to imagine the air expelled from support," we may realize in some faint dethese particles to see that the ice must again gree the influence they may have had in become transparent, and that pressure the entire formation of the earth's surface; would be the principal agent in this trans- how they then "scooped out valleys, formed formation, and it is easy to perceive that lake-beds, deposited chains of hills" then the weight of ever accumulating snow formed of moraines to which the present are would "force out the lower portions of the ant-hills. "Into the vast plain of North mass, and compel them to find place for Italy project whole ranges of hills, entirely themselves in whatever direction they can composed of ancient moraines, brought escape," which of course will be downwards down from Monte Rosa and piled on the into the great valleys. And the undulations plain by the gigantic glaciers which once of the surface are also accounted for. The streamed from the southern slope of the passage of the mass of ice thus continually Alps. Many interesting details of these forced out is not over a smooth channel, but moraines or accumulations of earth, stones, often over immense obstacles, which impede &c., on the sides of the glaciers are given but never stop its way. Thus, for instance, in these pages. Nor are the lighter features when the mass has reached the brow of a of glacier scenes forgotten. The tables, so precipice it must fall over to continue its curious in their formation as often to puzcourse. The foremost portion will fall, and zle the superficial observer, are well denecessarily break with the strain, but before scribed. Blocks of stone, sometimes a whole wholly dividing another and another will slab of granite, falling on the open glacier, succeed, each cemented to the one which the stone protects the ice immediately preceded it by the principle of regelation, under it, while the surrounding surface is while the whole presents the wave-like as-wasted away, and thus gradually it is left pect so beautifully exemplified in a portion on the top of a column of ice." A beautiful of the Ober Grindelwald glacier, as seen in little photograph of one of these curious the frontispiece. With slow but resistless tables is given under the description at page force the glacier goes on its way. The Great 62. Then there are the glacier fountains, Aletsch glacier gives us some idea how irre- and the ice needles, with their glittering sistible that force is. "Sweeping down in points, the ice peaks, the moulins, active one majestic course, unbroken by a single and extinct, all illustrated; but if the subice fall, it has a character of deliberate yet ject of glaciers takes a somewhat prominent irresistible force, which no obstacle, how-place in the work, the mountains loom with ever strong, will avail to turn aside from its settled course. Its dimensions are truly colossal, measured from the foot of the Juugfrau Joch, against which abuts the upper end quite sufficient distinctness in the background; and new mountain routes are pointed out which will have a special interest for tourists given to mountaineering, and to all members of the Alpine Club, for whose spe- of the Bernina, standing out dark and solitary cial delectation we imagine the book is pub- against the pale green of the horizon. Southlished. The ascent of the Jungfrau from wards, to the right of the Bernina, the grey peaks the northern side, the Schneehorn bivouac, of the Lombard Alps, sharp in the outlines of and other adventures by the way have all their actual tops, yet grouped so closely and so much obscured by the mists that fill the valleys an interest for those who have made or may as to render it impossible for the eye to distinyet make the ascent. The pleasure of the guish their relative distances, form a background whole party at finding the Nesthorn still to the snowy range of the upper Rhone valley." unascended, resembles the delight with which the botanist seizes some new specimen They lingered, taking in at every fresh or the antiquarian some undoubted relics. glance a thousand new beauties, till ChrisThere is no better chapter in the book than tian Almer, the indefatigable guide, warned the one which describes the ascent of the them it was time to descend, and a day of untried peak. Starting at four p.m. on Sep- perfect success and enjoyment was brought tember 18, they commenced the ascent, and to a close by "a good dinner, and a bottle after three or four hours' hard work suffered of champagne presented by our landlord, the sight of a glacier table to suggest the in honour of the only new peak within his propriety of breakfast. Step-cutting in the dominions." "We cannot follow the travelice is no mean provocative of hunger, but lers further, though we wish we were able they soon pressed forward again, determined to give in full a curiously picturesque little if possible to reach the summit by mid-day, description of the autumnal gathering toand succeeded, standing there five minutes gether of the flocks on the Lusgen Alp, before that time, well repaid for the morning's exertion. which through the summer find pasturage on the higher slopes. The gathering of the shepherds takes place on Sunday, and on 66 Mr. George describes the summit as "precisely similar in shape to the quarter of an Monday evening all had so completely orange. Two perfectly vertical walls of disappeared that the Nesthorn party were snow form an exact right angle, pointing unable to find any one interested in the fact eastward, and the enclosed slope is rounded of a stray sheep, which they had encounoff in a smooth, uniform curve, growing tered close to the Ober Aletsch glacier, somesteeper at every yard." The view, which what lame, and wearing on its black face certainly, as he observes, would try the an expression of the most pitiable perplexity descriptive powers of a Ruskin, is well and bewilderment." We would suggest that sketched, but it is impossible to extract the photograghs, which are excellent, should more than a few lines: be studied under a strong light, and we cannot help hoping that photographing may eventually become a more general pursuit with tourists, taking the place of the sketches which so often afford but a meagre idea of the spot represented. Besides, the camera commands for some of the party the leisure so indispensable to research. Much of the real benefit of travel is lost through the speed with which every place is hurried through. We do all things rapidly 'in the present day, but, in the immediate presence of the mountain and the glacier, we might do well to pause, and inquire the origin and end of our feverish haste. "Looking first to the cast, in the direction whither the shape of the peak itself seems naturally to direct our attention, we see immediately at our feet, its moraines dwarfed into mere dark bands on the clear white surface, the Ober Aletsch glacier, whence but a few hours ago we looked up at our present eminence with feelings of hope, considerably tempered by our total ignorance of what lay before us. Bounding the immediate foreground rises the steep uniform ridge that forms the castern bank of the Great Aletsch, glowing crimson and scarlet with the autumn tints of the whortleberry and alpine rose; and far beyond towers the mighty mass THE circumstance-which has been variously commented on in the papers of sending out female convicts from France to be married, whether they will or no, with French convict settlers at Cayenne, is an old legal, or illegal, custom with our neighbours. Formerly, the persons who were condemnel by the authorities to marry met each other in the church of Ste.Marina, where, in the earliest days, the ceremony was performed with a ring of straw. CHAPTER XXV. WHAT WOULD MEN SAY OF YOU? HARRY, tell me the truth, tell me all the truth." Harry Clavering was thus greeted when in obedience to the summons from Lady Ongar, he went to her almost immediately on his return to London. It will be remembered that he had remained at Clavering some days after the departure of Hugh and Archie, lacking the courage to face his misfortunes boldly. But though his delay had been cowardly, it had not been easy to him to be a coward. He despised himself for not having written with warm full-expressed affection to Florence and with honest clear truth to Julia. Half his misery rose from this feeling of self-abasement, and from the consciousness that he was weak,- piteously weak, exactly in that in which he had often boasted to himself that he was strong. But such inward boastings are not altogether bad. They preserve men from succumbing, and make at any rate some attempt to realize themselves. The man who tells himself that he is brave, will struggle much before he flies; but the man who never does so tell himself, will find flying easy unless his heart be of nature very high. Now had come the moment either for flying, or not flying; and Harry swearing that he would stand his ground, resolutely took his hat and gloves, and made his way to Bolton Street with a sore heart. But as he went he could not keep himself from arguing the matter within his own breast. He knew what was his duty. It was his duty to stick to Florence, not only with his word and his hand, but with his heart. It was his duty to tell Lady Ongar that not only his word was at Stratton, but his heart also, and to ask her pardon for the wrong that he had done her by that caress. For some ten minutes as he walked through the streets his resolve was strong to do this manifest duty; but, gradually, as he thought of that caress, as he thought of the difficulties of the coming interview, as he thought of Julia's hightoned beauty, perhaps something also of her wealth and birth, and more strongly still as he thought of her love for him, false, treacherous, selfish arguments offered themselves to his mind, arguments which he knew to be false and selfish. Which of them did he love? Could it be right for him to give his hand without his heart? Could it really be good for Florence, poor injured Florence, that she should be taken by a man who had ceased to regard her more than all other women? Were he to marry her now, would not that deceit be worse than the other deceit ? Or, rather, would not that be deceitful, whereas the other course would simply be unfortunate, - unfortunate through circumstances for which he was blameless ? Damnable arguments! False, cowardly logic, by which all male jilts seek to excuse their own treachery to themselves and to others! Thus during the second ten minutes of his walk, his line of conduct became less plain to him, and as he entered Piccadilly he was racked with doubts. But instead of settling them in his mind he unconsciously allowed himself to dwell upon the words with which he would seek to excuse his treachery to Florence. He thought how he would tell her, not to her face with spoken words, for that he could not do,— but with written skill, that he was unworthy of her goodness, that his love for her had fallen off through his own unworthiness, and had returned to one who was in all respects less perfect than she, but who in old days, as she well knew, had been his first love. Yes! he would say all this, and Julia, let her anger be what it might, should know that he had said it. As he planned this, there came to him a little comfort, for he thought there was something grand in such a resolution. Yes; he would do that, even though he should lose Julia also. Miserable clap-trap! He knew in his heart that all his logic was false, and his arguments baseless. Cease to love Florence Burton! He had not ceased to love her, nor is the heart of any man made so like a weather-cock that it needs must turn itself hither and thither, as the wind directs, and be altogether beyond the man's control. For Harry, with all his faults, and in spite of his present falseness, was a man. No man ceases to love without a cause. No man need cease to love without a cause. A man may maintain his love, and nourish it, and keep it warm by honest manly effort, as he may his probity, his courage, or his honour. It was not that he had ceased to love Florenee; but that the glare of the candle had been too bright for him and he had scorched his wings. After all, as to that embrace of which he had thought so much, and the memory of which was so sweet to him and so bitter, it had simply been an accident. Thus, writing in his mind that letter to Florence which he knew, if he were an honest man, he would never allow The reader will now understand what himself to write, he reached Lady Ongar's | door without having arranged for himself was the truth which Lady Ongar demanded any special line of conduct. from Harry Clavering. "Harry, tell me the truth; tell me all the truth." She had come forward to meet him in the middle of the room when she spoke these words, and stood looking him in the face, not having given him her hand. We must return for a moment to the fact that Hugh and Archie had returned to town before Harry Clavering. How Archie had been engaged on great doings, the reader, I hope, will remember; and he may as well be informed here that the fifty pounds were duly taken to Mount Street, and were extracted from him by the spy without much difficulty. I do not know that Archie in return obtained any immediate aid or valuable information from Sophie Gordeloup; but Sophie did obtain some information from him which she found herself able to use for her own purposes. As his position with reference to love and marriage was being discussed, and the position also of the divine Julia, Sophie hinted her fear of another Clavering lover. What did Archie think of his cousin Harry? "Why; he's engaged to another girl," said Archie, opening wide his eyes and his mouth, and becoming very free with his information. This was a matter to which Sophie found it worth her while to attend, and she soon learned from Archie all that Archie knew about Florence Burton. And this was all that could be known. No secret had been made in the family of Harry's engagement. Archie told his fair assistant that Miss Burton had been received at Clavering Park openly as Harry's future wife, and, "by Jove, you know, he can't be coming it with Julia after that, you know." Sophie made a little grimace, but did not say much. She, remembering that she had caught Lady Ongar in Harry's arms, thought that, "by Jove," he might be coming it with Julia, even after Miss Burton's reception at Clavering Park. Then, too, she remembered some few words that passed between her and her dear Julia after Harry's departure on the evening of the embrace, and perceived that Julia was in ignorance of the very existence of Florence Burton, even though Florence had been received at the Park. This was information worth having, -information to be used! Her respect for Harry rose immeasurably. She had not given him credit for so much audacity, so much gallantry, and so much skill. She had thought him to be a pigheaded Clavering, like the rest of them. He was not pigheaded; he was a promising young man; she could have liked him and perhaps aided him, only that he had shown so strong a determination to have nothing to do with her. Therefore the information should be used; and it was used. FOURTH SERIES. LIVING AGE. VOL. III. "What truth?" said Harry. "Have I ever told you a lie?" But he knew well what was the truth required of him. "Lies can be acted as well as told. Harry, tell me all at once. Who is Florence Burton; who and what?" She knew it all, then, and things had settled themselves for him without the necessity of any action on his part. It was odd enough that she should not have learned it before, but at any rate she knew it now. And it was well that she should have been told;only how was he to excuse himself for that embrace? "At any rate speak to me," she said, standing quite erect, and looking as a Juno might have looked. "You will acknowledge at least that I have a right to ask the question. Who is this Florence Burton?" "She is the daughter of Mr. Burton of Stratton." "And is that all that you can tell me? Come, Harry, be braver than that. I was not such a coward once with you. Are you engaged to marry her?" "Yes, Lady Ongar, I am." "Then you have had your revenge on me, and now we are quits." So saying, she stepped back from the middle of the room, and sat herself down on her accustomed seat. He was left there standing, and it seemed as though she intended to take no further notice of him. He might go if he pleased, and there would be an end of it all. The difficulty would be over, and he might at once write to Florence in what language he liked. It would simply be a little episode in his life, and his escape would not have been arduous. But he could not go from her in that way. He could not bring himself to leave the room without some further word. She had spoken of revenge. Was it not incumbent on him to explain to her that there had been no revenge; that he had loved, and suffered, and forgiven without one thought of anger;—and that then he had unfortunately loved again? Must he not find some words in which to tell her that she had been the light, and he simply the poor moth that had burned his wings? "No, Lady Ongar," said he, "there has been no revenge." 19. "We will call it justice, if you please. At any rate I do not mean to complain." "If you ever injured me - he began. "I did injure you," said she, sharply. "If you ever injured me, I forgave you freely." 99 "I did injure you As she spoke she rose again from her seat, showing how impossible to her was that tranquillity which she had attempted to maintain. "I did injure you, but the injury came to you early in life, and sat lightly on you. Within a few months you had learned to love this young lady at the place you went to, the first young lady you saw! I had not done you much harm, Harry. But that which you have done me, cannot be undone. “Julia,” he said, coming up to her. "No; not Julia. When you were here before I asked you to call me so, hoping, longing, believing, doing more, so much more than I could have done, but that I thought my love might now be of service to you. You do not think that I had heard of this then? "Oh, no." "No. It is odd that I should not have known it, as I now hear that she was at my sister's house; but all others have not been as silent as you have been. We are quits, Harry; that is all that I have to say. We are quits now." "I have intended to be true to you;-to you and to her." "Were you true when you acted as you did the other night?" He could not explain to her how greatly he had been tempted. "Were you true when you held me in your arms as that woman came in? Had you not made me think that I might glory in loving you, and that I might show her that I scorned her when she thought to promise me her secrecy; her secrecy, as though I were ashamed of what she had seen. I was not ashamed, not then. Had all the world known it, I should not have been ashamed. I have loved him long,' I should have said, and him only. He is to be my husband, and now at last I need not be ashamed." So much she spoke, standing up, looking at him with firm face, and uttering her syllables with a quick clear voice; but at the last word there came a quiver in her tone, and the strength of her countenance quailed, and there was a tear which made dim her eye, and she knew that she could no longer stand before him. : She endeavoured to seat herself with composure; but the attempt failed, and as she fell back upon the sofa he just heard the sob which had cost her so great and vain an effort to restrain. In an instant he was kneeling at her feet, and grasping at the hand with which she was hiding her face. "Julia," he said, "look at me; let us at any rate understand each other at last." "No, Harry; there must be no more such knowledge, - no more such understanding. You must go from me, and come here no more. Had it not been for that other night, I would still have endeavoured to regard you as a friend. But I have no right to such friendship. I have sinned and gone astray, and am a thing vile and polluted. I sold myself as a beast is sold, and men have treated me as I treated myself." "Have I treated you so?" 66 Yes, Harry; you, you. How did you treat me when you took me in your arms and kissed me, knowing, knowing that I was not to be your wife? O God, I have sinned. I have sinned and I am punished." "No, no,” said he, rising from his knees, "it was not as you say." "Then how was it, sir? Is it thus that you treat other women;-your friends, those to whom you declare friendship? What did you mean me to think?” "That I loved you." "Yes; with a love that should complete my disgrace,- that should finish my degradation. But I had not heard of this Florence Burton; and, Harry,that night I was so happy in my bed. And in that next week when you were down there for that sad ceremony, I was happy here, happy and proud. Yes, Harry, I was so proud when I thought that you still loved me, -loved me in spite of my past sin, that I almost forgot that I was polluted. You have made me remember it, and I shall not forget it again." It would have been better for him had he gone away at once. Now he was sitting in a chair sobbing violently, and pressing away the tears from his cheeks with his hands. How could he make her understand that he had intended no insult when he embraced her? Was it not incumbent on him to tell her that the wrong he then did was done to Fiorence Burton, and not to her? But his agony was too much for him at present, and he could find no words in which to speak to her. "I said to myself that you would come when the funeral was over, and I wept for poor Hermy as I thought that my lot was so much happier than hers. But people have what they deserve, and Hermy, who has done no such wrong as I have done, is not crushed as I am crushed. It was just, |