"I had been in communication with him for years; he had followed me in many of my spring rambles in the Maritime Alps, Algeria, and elsewhere.
"I knew something of the man, and, as we all did, I thoroughly liked and trusted him. He was not only fearless and brilliant as a climber; he possessed an original, strong, and keen intelligence.
"In his talk as in his books, he carried you on, whether sympathising or disagreeing with his mood and dicta, by a certain vigorous enthusiasm and directness.
"He was a stimulating companion.
"His untimely death is a grievous loss to the club."
Nearly fourteen years have elapsed since a certain winter evening when my husband threw on to the table a bundle of papers, and at the same time announced his intention of writing an account of his climbing experiences, with a view to publication.
He was usually careless and indifferent in recording his ascents, and many of his notes were of the most meagre description; very frequently they consisted of a few details scribbled on the back of a hotel bill, or pencilled on a visiting card, and these memoranda were probably jotted down whilst spending the night in some high bivouac; very often they were smudged and smeared, and difficult to decipher; however, by the aid of his powerful memory, and with his usual
