ising the conclusions of modern philosophy, it struck me that it was scarcely a fitting watchword for the mountaineer face to face with the hugest of unclimbed giants.
Our camp was of a most Spartan simplicity, for we had outwalked our baggage, and Zurfluh's knapsack, which I had fondly imagined contained sleeping-bags and soup-tins, proved to be mainly filled with a great pot of most evil-smelling boot grease—brought with much labour all the way from Meiringen—a large hammer, an excellent stock of hobnails and a sort of anvil to assist in their insertion. These various articles were doubtless of great value, but hardly useful as bedding, for, whatever may be the case with rose-leaves, a man need scarcely be a sybarite to object to crumpled hobnails as a mattress. Luckily various portions of a sheep, a large loaf of Russian bread, and a load of firewood had been piled on an active native whom we had met and appropriated before leaving the rest of our caravan.
The night proved remarkably cold, and we were glad to turn out at 4 a.m. and start on a preliminary examination of our peak. I soon discovered, however, that Zurfluh had more ambitious views, and was possessed of the wild idea of taking a mountain 17,054 feet high, as a training walk! It was, however, desirable to see what lay behind the Misses glacier, so I limited my protests and followed
