before they touched the grim walls of the gully. My seat was at the extreme end of the projecting crag, and somewhat destitute of foothold. I will own that, at moments, the appalling precipice exerted such an effect on my brain, that the very stability of our perch itself seemed doubtful, and I almost seemed to feel it rock as if it were starting on its tremendous plunge through space.
After three-quarters of an hour, we packed the knapsack and scattered ourselves over the mountain, seeking for a suitable place for the camera. A little ledge, barely wide enough to squeeze along, led to the flat-topped tower which forms the Charmoz wall of the cleft, and which, from the Mer de Glace, looks like a hole through the ridge. It is not in actual fact a hole, as the key-stone of the arch above has fallen out, leaving a narrow gap. The camera was brought round to this point and Miss Bristow promptly followed, scorning the proffered rope. On this aerial perch we then proceeded to set up the camera, and the lady of the party, surrounded on three sides by nothing and blocked in front with the camera, made ready to seize the moment when an unfortunate climber should be in his least elegant attitude and transfix him for ever. The result may be seen on the next page.
Slingsby and I then returned to the col, and, putting on the rope, I went down the couloir and traversed to the rock known as the "take off."
