jJertlons Adventure of Rishopy Stanley
IN AN ALPINE PASS.

‘* Meek dwellers ’mid yon terror-stricken cliffs,
With brows so pure, and incense-breathing lips,
Whence came ye? Did some white-winged messenger,
On mercy’s missions, trust your timid germs
To the cold cradle of eternal snows;
Or, breathing on the callous icicles,
Bid them wlth teardrops nurse ye?

Man, who, panting, toils

O'er slippery steeps, or, trembling, treads the verge
Of yawning gulfs, o’er which the headlong plunge
Into eternity, looks shuddering up,
And marks ye, in your placid loveliness ;
Fearless, yet frail, and clasping his chill hands,
Dlesses your pencilled beauty.”

‘T might have been supposed these elegant
stanzas of Mrs Sigourney’s, on “ Alpine
_ Flowers” had been written to comme-

 

morate the striking adventure of “ The
Mauvais Pas,” as recorded by Bishop Stanley, who
published it nearly thirty years ago in Blackwood’s
Magazime. Probably not many of my readers have
read his romantic narrative, which affords some

admirable illustrations of the courageous spirit and —