cannot know, we strive to penetrate to existence in itself; and what we have laboured intensely to attain, we at last fondly believe we have accomplished. But, like Ixion, we embrace a cloud for a divinity. Conscious only of limitation, we think to comprehend the infinite, and dream of establishing our human science on an identity with the omniscient God. It is this powerful tendency of the most vigorous minds to transcend the sphere of our faculties, that makes a learned ignorance' the most difficult acquirement of knowledge. In the words of a forgotten, but acute philosopher,-magna, immo maxima, pars sapientiæ, est quædam æquo animo nescire velle.

ART. XII.-Narrative of an Ascent to the Summit of Mont Blanc, on the 8th and 9th August 1827. By JOHN AULDJO, Esq. of Trinity College, Cambridge. London: 1828.

WE feel extremely reluctant to state in words the observa

tions which must, we think, suggest themselves to every person of reflection, upon perusing this narrative; because we are aware they may wear an invidious aspect, and seem to show very little gratitude for the pleasure which the perusal has, no doubt, given. Nevertheless, we consider Mr Auldjo's as one of a great number of cases, requiring some comment; and good may arise from a little calm and respectful expostulation.

The ascent of Mont Blanc, the highest mountain in Europe, indeed in the Old World, being about three miles perpendicular above the level of the sea, was, when first undertaken for scientific purposes, an object eminently praiseworthy; and the accomplishment of it, through very great toil and dangers, justly entitled Paccard and Saussure to gratitude and admiration, not to be merely measured by the real value of the additions resulting from it to the sum of human knowledge. Nor would any one hesitate to bestow similar applause on others who might follow in the same track, with the view of repeating or varying the observations of those philosophers; because the sufferings to be endured are as great, and the risks to be encountered not much less now than they were to the first adventurers. But to climb the mountain merely for the sake of a view, and undergo all the toil, and pass through all the dangers of the expedition, only that you may have it to boast of, deserves very little commendation at the hands of the most lenient judges; while those who look more narrowly at the matter will be led to condemn the proceeding altogether.

He who would reach the summit of Mont Blanc, has, very early in his journey, to make his way along a path cut upon the face of a cliff, sometimes perpendicular, and sometimes overhanging, several hundred feet in height, so narrow, that he must frequently walk sideways, in order to keep his balance; and this is one of the least perilous portions of the expedition. He soon meets with abysses, which can only be crossed by laying a few poles over, and walking or sliding upon them. Others he must pass, so broad, that he can only get over upon natural bridges of snow; and as the snow frequently is too thin to bear the weight of a person walking, one crawls over, and the others are drawn by ropes. In one place a huge block of ice is in the way, and lies upon a crevice so deep, that the eye cannot see to the bottom. Upon the perpendicular side of this block, steps are cut with a hatchet, and by means of these the adventurous traveller, in quest of amusement, reaches the other side, should he be fortunate enough to escape without slipping. Sometimes, in clambering up the sides of the glacier, the feet give way, and he rolls and slides to the very edge of the precipice, before the guide, to whom he is attached by a rope, can venture to stop him; lest he should, on his own insecure footing, be moved by the effort, and be dragged after him over the brink. An avalanche is so frequent, that, in the course of the journey, it is many chances to one that he should be buried under it. The latter part of the ascent, from the rarified state of the air, with the fatigue of climbing, makes the bursting of a blood-vessel extremely likely, and is sure to prove fatal if there be any hidden defect in the chest or head. The dangers of the return are considerably increased by the great difficulty of keeping the head steady in descending, and of using the limbs under the effects of exhaustion. The reward of the whole is a view from a height far too great to make any object discernible, and the being able to say you have done what very few besides ever did, and what you had much better have left undone.

We have said nothing all the while of the mere sufferings, independent of danger, the extreme fatigue, the pains in the head, and lungs, and limbs-the excessive cold-the annoyance from cutting winds, and sleet, and rain-the severe inflictions of thirst and loss of strength. All this, endured in his own person, is the price paid by the traveller for his boast; and endured by his guides, is the purchase which he makes with his money. He has a perfect right to suffer in this way himself, and to bribe others to suffer with him, so long as it is only pain and privation. But has a man a right to expose his own life, and the lives of others, for an object of no earthly value either to

himself or to his fellow-creatures? If life is lost in the adventure, how little does the moral guilt differ from that of suicide or murder? There is nothing more worthy of a man, nothing by which the applause of the world is more severely, or more justly earned, than in steadily meeting great dangers for the attainment of some adequate object,-some good to another, some benefit to mankind. But there is not a more senseless act, or one deserving less respect, even if it were justifiable, than encountering danger for the mere love of it, and without an object. Besides, if a man is of this humour, he may gratify it far more easily, and at much less expense, than by climbing in the Alps. There is not a house, certainly not a steeple, in any part of the country, which does not afford as great facilities as the Pierre Pointere. A run along the parapet of a bridge, after a fall of sleet, sounds less magnificent, but in real substantial danger, may vie with the worst adventure in all Mr Auldjo's journal. And so the wise folks, who practise in this line upon Mount Vesuvius, might find just as good opportunities of displaying their contempt of danger and common sense, at the next limekiln, or blacksmith's forge, or even without going further than their own kitchen fire.

Is it not worth considering that Mr Auldjo might have rescued many a drowning man from destruction at less hazard to his own life than he passed through during almost any one hour of his journey up and down the mountain? But is it not also to be considered, that had he thrown away his own life upon this occasion, his country would have lost an active, enterprising young man, capable of proving a useful citizen, and his family would have been plunged in grief? To set against the evils of a failure, there is no one benefit resulting from the most complete success. Some thirty or forty years ago, the happiness of two amiable and respectable families in England was destroyed, by their apparent heirs being drowned in attempting to sail down a fall, or rapid, in the Rhine. Their only reason for making the attempt was exactly that, which, in the absence of all other motives, ought to have prevented them from thinking of it—that the thing had never been done before. Such motives are constantly operating, in various ways, upon very thoughtless people; the consequences are often fatal, and frequently highly pernicious, even where no lives are lost.

It may be said that we are too severe in this condemnation; that those who thus sport with their lives, do so with no design whatever to throw them away; and that, at all events, it is their own affair, the stake being peculiarly theirs. We readily admit that there is no determination to lose in such adventures, any

more than in other kinds of gambling, where men stake their fortune and not their lives, with the hope of winning other men's money at the hazard of losing their own;-a speculation beyond all comparison more rational and less criminal, bad as it is reckoned by every sound moralist. But surely the mere absence of a positive intention in a man to kill himself, does not materially vary the case; unless we mean also to acquit him of murder, who, firing blindfolded into the street, kills a passenger whom he never heard of, and could not suspect to be near. Life is intrusted to us for other purposes than to be so trifled with. It is a mere figure of speech to call it our own, in the sense of being entitled to do as we please with it. No one is so insulated that his death may not injure some other; and no extreme case of isolation can be so put, that another might not equally be figured to justify hazarding the lives of others. Indeed, it is remarkable that the kind of expeditions which have drawn forth these remarks, affords an example of this also. The rich Englishman not only exposes his own life to risk, but he hires some halfdozen of guides to expose theirs along with him. How far this is relished by their wives and families, is very candidly relaed to us by our author. Some who had engaged to go, drew back, overcome by the entreaties of their relatives. Their place was supplied by others, and of these some, in like manner, were prevailed upon to desert. When, at length, the complement was obtained, and the hour fixed for setting out arrived, I could not,' says Mr Auldjo, get them toge'ther at the time; most of them had to part from their wives ' and relations. When they did join us, it was with a cortege, some crying, some upbraiding us with tempting those who formed their only support, to sacrifice themselves to my curiosity ' and pleasure; many a bitter tear flowed, and more than one ' heart waxed heavy on the morning of the 8th: two or three of my countrymen were kind enough to accompany me through the weeping crowd assembled,' &c.-(P. 9.) It seems, however, that the mere hire is not the only inducement which leads these poor people to run such risks. The folly of idle travellers, and especially of women, urges them on. The first question 'generally asked by the visitors of all nations, and invariably by 'the fair sex, is, Have you been up the mountain? They all know the value of the recommendation, if they have been, and 'with great pride answer in the affirmative; those who have not, reply dejectedly.' In short, it is plain that those who have been up, are on all occasions preferred, in their ordinary vocation of guides, especially by those silly women who, taking good care to run no risks themselves, thus hold out encouragement, by

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their senseless babble, to make as many fathers of families as they can lose their lives, for absolutely nothing. We should not envy one of those fair sex' interrogators her feelings, the day after Dr Hamel's three guides perished in ascending the mountain; some of them having, possibly the week before, been asked the usual question, and replied, dejectedly,' in the negative.

With the formation of the plan itself, however, our disapprobation of Mr Auldjo ends. He merits no little admiration for the courage and constancy which he displays in executing it; and we are forced to admit, that, had there been any adequate motive for so much endurance, he would have claimed a high rank among adventurous travellers. His narrative, too, is sufficiently minute and interesting to keep up the attention, notwithstanding the somewhat uniform nature of the details.

The first point which the travellers aim at is the Grands Mulets, two sharp rocks which form the summits of a precipice three hundred feet in height on one side, but not a hundred feet above the surface of the glacier on the other. About threefourths from this latter base, there is a narrow platform, upon which it is necessary to encamp, in order to avoid the danger of avalanches in the night. To reach this halting-place was a matter of some difficulty.

Arriving near the base of those rocks called the "Grands Mulêts," we found that a chasm of eighty feet in width separated them from us. We proceeded up an acclivity forming a narrow neck of ice, but at its termination a wall opposed us: on either hand yawned a wide and deep crevice, and it appeared that there was no advancing_without climbing this perpendicular mass of twenty feet in height. The neck we were standing upon overhung a gulf formed by the chasm and crevices, the very sight of which was appalling. The wall met this neck with an angle formed by these two crevices, which continued on each side of it, the angle coming to a most acute and delicate point. No time was to be lost: we were standing in a very perilous situation, and Coutet commenced cutting steps on the angle with his hatchet, and after great labour, and considerable danger, in the execution of his purpose, got to the top, and was immediately followed by another guide. The knapsacks were then drawn up, and the rest of the party after them. ascending this wall, being partly drawn up, partly clambering, I stopped for an instant and looked down into the abyss beneath me: the blood curdled in my veins, for never did I behold any thing so terrific. I have endeavoured, in a sketch which the singularity and peril of our position induced me to take, and from which Mr Harding has been able to make a very interesting drawing, to represent the scaling of this wall. The great beauty of the immense crevices around us excited not only my admiration, but even that of the guides, accustomed as they were to such scenes.

In