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gress of the revival which he hoped was approaching, or of doing any thing to prevent the salvation of others, even if they did not desire salvation for themselves. besought them by all the interests of immortality, and for the sake of themselves and of their companions, to desist from hostilities against the work of God.

The discourse closed. and we dispersed. But many of us carried away the arrow in our hearts The gayest and the hardiest trembled at the manifest approach of a sublime and unwonted influence. Among some, who

might have been expected to raise the front of opposition, I resolved not to do it, but to let it take its course, keeping away from its influence without doing any thing to oppose it; but neutrality was impossible.'

I must interrupt the narrative of the letter again, to explain a circumstance which I perceive is alluded to in the next paragraphs. About a year before this time there had been similar indications of a returning sense of duty to God among the students. The offcers were much encouraged, but our hopes were all dispelled by the success of a manœuvre, which is so characteristic of college life and manners that I will describe it. The plan adopted by the enemies of religion was to come up boldly, and face the awakening interest, and, as it were, brave it down. The first indication of this design which I perceived was this: I had been invited by the serious portion of the students to address them one Saturday evening, in a recitation room. I took my seat in the great arm chair, which had been placed for me in the corner, with a Bible and hymn-book on the oval leaf attached to it, whose form and fashion any collegian will recollect, when the door opened, and in walked, one after another, six or eight of the most bold, hardened, notorious enemies of religion which the institution contained. They walked in, took their seats in a row directly before me, and looked me in the face, saying, by their countenances, most distinctly, 'Sir, we defy you, and all your religion :' and yet it was with that peculiar address with which a wild college student can execute his plans, so that there was not the slightest breach of any rule of external propriety, or any tangible evidence of intentional disrespect. Not one of them had, perhaps, ever been voluntarily in a religious meeting at college before, and every one in the room knew it. I can see the leader now, as distinctly as if he was before me; his tall form, manly countenance, and energetic look. He maintained his ground, as the enemy of God and religion, for a year after this time; but then, that is at the time described in my letter, his eyes were opened; he prayed with agony of spirit, hour after hour, in his epen room for forgiveness: and now he is in a foreign land, preaching to pagans the Saviour, whom I vainly endeavoured, on this occasion to bring to him. I do not know whether this description will ever reach him; if it does he will remember the meeting in the Freshman's recitation room, and be as bold for God now as he was then against him. He has been so already.

After a few similar efforts to this, the irreligious party, for it was almost a trained and organized party, determined to carry their system farther still. They accordingly formed a plan for a religious meeting, from which every friend of religion should be excluded. They circulated the information among themselves, taking special pains to secure the attention of every one, and then, one evening after prayers, as the officers were coming out of the chapel, one of them was astonished at being accosted by two well-known enemies of every thing like piety, who appeared as they said, from some of their friends, as a committee to invite him to attend a religious meeting that evening. The officer promised to come, and when, after tea, he repaired to the room, he found it crowded with persons whose faces he had never seen at a voluntary meeting before. There they sat-the idle, the dissipated, the profane, and the hater and despiser of God: there were also numerous others, moral and well-disposed, but regard. less of religious duty; but not a single one whom he had been accustomed to see in such a room, for such a purpose, was, on this, allowed to be there.

The officer addressed them faithfully and plainly, urging their duties and their sins upon their consideration, while they sat still in respectful, but heartless, silence; looking intently upon him, with an expression of countenance which seemed to say, 'Here we all are, move us if you can.' And they conquered. They went home unmoved; and all the indications of increasing seriousness soon disappeared. They continued to assemble for

several weeks, inviting the officers in succession to be present; and, at last, the few who remained conducted the meetings them selves, with burlesqued sermons and mocked prayers, and closed the series at last, as I have been informed, by bringing in an ignorant black man, whose presence and assistance completed the victory they had gained over the influences from above. All this took place the year before, and it is to these circumstances that the next paragraph in the letter alludes.

It was, probably, with an intention somewhat similar to that which prompted the meetings which the irreligious students held by themselves the year before that the following plan was formed. A student, who was temporarily my room-mate, importuned me to invite one of the tutors to conduct a religious meeting at my room. I told him I would, if he would obtain the promise of certain individuals, ten in number, whom I named, that they would attend. I selected such individuals as I was confident would not consent to be present. In a short time ho surprised me with the information that he had seen them all, and that they had consented to the proposal. Of course 1 was obliged, though reluctantly, to request the tutor to hold such a meeting. Most of us repaired to the place, at the appointed time, with feelings of levity, or of bitter hostility to religion. My room-mate had waggishly placed a Hebrew Bible on the stand. Whether this circumstance, or the character of his auditory, suggested the subject which the tutor chose I know not, but, after opening the meeting with prayer, he entered into a defence of the divine authority of the Holy Scriptures, from external and internal evidence, which he maintained in the most convincing manner; and then, on the strength of his authority, he urged its promises and denunciations upon us as sinners. The effect was very powerful. Several retired deeply impressed, and all were made more serious, and better prepared to be influenced by the truth. So that this affair fell out rather to the furtherance of the gospel.'

My own interest in the subject rapidly increased, and one day, while secluded in my apartment, and, overwhelmed with conflicting emotions of pride and despair, I was surprised by a visit from the President. He informed me that he had come with the hope of dissuading me from doing ang thing to hinder the progress of the revival. After intimating that he need feel no apprehension on that point, I confessed to him with difficulty the agitation of my thoughts. Apparently much affected, he only said, Ah, I was afraid you would never have such feelings.' After remaining silent a few minutes, he engaged in prayer, and retired, advising me to attend a certain meeting of my class. mates for prayer. I felt very much like the Syrian general, when offended by the supposed neglect of the prophet; for I thought he would have seized the opportunity to do some great thing for the relief of my labouring mind.

With feelings still more excited I repaired to one of my classmates, who had the reputation of being one of the most consistent Christians among us. I asked him, with tears, to tell me what I should do to be saved. He, too, betrayed his wonder, and only resorted to prayer with me, in which he could do little but say, "Jesus, thou son of David, have mercy on us!" Long afterwards, I learned that when he left me to join a circle assembled that evening for prayer, he told them that my inquiry for the way of salvation, made him feel as if he needed to learn it himself.'

The writer of the narrative which I have been transcribing had then a mother: she has since gone home. She was a widow, and he her only child. She was a Christian too, and her heart was oppressed, and her life saddened, by the character and conduct of her son. He wrote to her at this time, and among her papers after her death he found his letters, and has sent them to me, I wish I could put them, just as they are, into this description;— tattered and torn with frequent perusal. Those widowed and lonely mothers among my readers, whose lives are embittered by the impiety and wild irregularity of their unconverted sons, will understand the feelings which led her literally to wear these letters out with repeated readings. As they read them, let them look to God, and take courage, and remember that it is never too late to pray, and never too late for God to answer prayer.

In the first letter, he informs his mother of the indications of a general awakening to an interest in religion among the s'udents, and expresses a considerable personal interest in it. For the sake of the institution, of religion, and for my own sake, I

feel most anxious that the work may go on with power. With what joy would I inform you, that I felt the strivings of the Holy Spirit in my breast! But I can only say, that I feel a growing sense of humiliation for sin. May it ripen into conviction, sincere repentance, and unfeigned dedication of my heart, soul, and powers, to God!' He then asks for his mother's prayers, and thanks her for all her past kindness to him.

The anxious suspense which this letter must have occasioned to the parent who receive it, was dispelled a few days after. wards by the following. Before perusing it, I wish the reader would look around, in the village or town where he resides, fix his mind upon the leader in all the opposition to God and religion which is ma le there: some man of accomplished manners and address, superior intellect, and extensive influence, and the open and avowed opposer of piety, and all of its professors. You must have such a man in mind as the writer of this letter, in order to appreciate it at all. Then recollect, this is from an only son to a widowed christian mother, transcribed exactly from the tattered fragments which I now carefully put together.

My dearest Mother,

Amherst College, April 28, 1827.

Where shall I find words to declare the wonders of redeeming love? Even in my low state, Almighty God has not forgotten me, nor the prayers of my pious friends. How can I describe the peace of mind, the swelling, overwhelming tide of joy, which results from an entire submission to a merciful God! I can only say that there is no happiness like the happiness of a heart devoted to the holy pleasure of its Maker; 1.0 peace like the peace of a mind that is reconciled to God. At the be ginning of the present week, my a.tention was strongly directed to the importance of the soul. I immediately relinquished all other business, and devoted myself to this. My sense of the justice and excellence of the divine law, of the holiness of God, and my own dreadful and sinful condition, rapidly increased. Tuesday and Wednesday my distress and anxiety grew more and more overpowering. Under the alarming impression that I had committed the unpardonable sin, I devoted great and anxious inquiry to the nature of it. When I found reason to believe that this sin could not be brought up against me, there seemed to be a gleam of hope. I felt, or rather learned, that I must be wholly resigned to the will of God, yet there was great opposition in my heart. For a long time it seemed as if I would readily submit if I was only sure of pardon. I was making conditions, and struggling against impressions, and became almost desperate, believing that my guilt had shut up every avenue of hope. The conflict had prostrated my strength, and could not have been maintained much longer, when I was led to compare my situation with that of the lepers at the gate of Samaria, when that city was beseiged by the Syrians: "Ifthey save us alive, we shall live; and if they kill us, we shall but die." If I continue to hold out against God, I should surely be cut off, and that without remedy; if I surrendered myself unconditionally, and with an un livided heart. I still could but die, while there was every reason to hope that God would not reject a heart offered in sincerity and truth. Ac. cordingly I struggled to obtain this frame of mind, and at length, as I hope, subdued my pride and hostility, so as to melt into perfect submission to the will of God, heartily to confess the holiness and justice of the law, and freely ackowledge my own unworthiness. After I had been enabled by the Divine blessing to do this, it seemed so reasonable, so altogether necessary, and even so easy, that I marvelled at the blindness and hardness of heart that had prevented my doing it long since. At the same time, I was filled with such transport, that it seemed to me as if I could never leave the foot of the cross; as if I wished to retire from the world, to meditate and reflect on the loveliness of Christ. This happy change took place about Thursday noon. The period of my greatest mental distress was Wednesday night. Nature was so exhausted in a conflict of a few hours, that I could scarcely stand. I found it impossible to eat during a great part of this time. The flesh is still weak, but I rapidly recovered strength as I gained peace. I now for the first time realize what is meant by that saying, "Old things are passed way, and all things become new." I no longer see the same countenances, read the same Bible, or feel like the same person. The characters of all my acquaintances are entirely changed. My pious friends once appeared gloomy and reserved, now they are benevolent and cheerful. My gay acquaintances seem no longer happy, but mad. The Book of God, once seldom read, or when read, disrelished,

or misunderstood, now seems replete with interest and instruc tion. I am filled with joyful amazement as I learn from it the love which Jesus has manifested for the world, and the purity and excellence of the Divine character. At the same time it teaches numerous lessons of humility, gives an odious aspect to sin, and warns against our deceiving hearts. I reflect with horror and dismay on my former course of forgetfulness of God, and feel as if it were a privilege to be allowed to attempt, though feebly, to pursue a totally opposite course. The sense I have of my former character makes me feel deeply for all my impenitent friends. I feel constrained to humble myself before them on a count of my former bad example and influence, and even with tears beseech them to turn from their sinful ways to repentance and faith. In short, I feel a perfect good will, I hope, to all the world, and banish hatred and envy from my heart, where they have been long cherished. But, my dear mother, my hope is with great fear and trembling; sometimes it seems incredible that such an one as my self should find any favour with God; and if I have any hope, it is that Jesus Christ might show forth in me all long-suffering, for where sin abounded, grace doth much more abound. Sometimes I feel as if I was in rebellion yet, but I do not rest at such a time, till I resign myself anew, and without reserve, to my Maker. But, dear mother, I would that much fervent prayer might be offered up, that I may watch my heart diligently, and consider well the ground of my hope, and not be dangerously de. ceived; and if I find myself under such an awful mistake, that 1 may not rest there, but give myself no peace, till, by sincere repentance and faith, I may be reconciled to God in Christ. On the other hand, if it should seem that God has magnified his long suffering, and the riches of his tender mercies in me, pray that I may be strengthened and established in repentance towards God, and faith in the Lord Jesus Christ; and that I may exercise all the christian virtues, and walk according to the law of God, increasing in the knowledge of the truth, and in growth in grace and joy in the Holy Ghost. Oh, my dear mother, on you, on me, and on all the world, may God pour out the influence of the Spirit, to guide and sanctify us, and fit us for an eternity of happiness in heaven! I would wish to write much more, but hope to see you next Saturday, or before. My sincere love and prayers for you and for all friends. Your affectionate Son.'

I have thus followed out this particular case, in order to give to iny readers, by means of a minute examination of one specimen, a clear idea of the changes which were effected. There were, however, many other cases, as marked and striking as this; so that any person who was a member of college at that time, might be in doubt, after reading the preceding description, which of half a dozen decided enemies of religion, who were at this time chang ed, was the one referred to. In fact, the feeling went through the college-it took the whole. Nothing like opposition to it was known, except that, perhaps, in a very few cases individuals made efforts to shield themselves from its influence; and one or two did this successfully, by keeping themselves for many days under the influence of ardent spirits! With a few exceptions of this kind, the unwonted and mysterious influence was welcomed by all. It was not, among Christians, a feeling of terror, of sadness, and melancholy, but of delight. Their countenances were not gloomy and morose, as many persons suppose is the case at such a time, but they beamed with an expression of enjoyment, which seemed to be produced by the all-pervading sense of the immediate presence of God. I have seen, in other cases, efforts to appear solemn -the affected gravity of countenance, and seriousness of tone;but there was nothing of that here. Hearts were all full to overflowing, and it was with a mysterious mingling of peace and joy an emotion of deep overwhelming gladness in the soul, though of a character so peculiar, that it expressed itself in the countenance by mingled smiles and tears.

(To be concluded in our next.)

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Notice:-Several interesting Contributions are necessarily kept back for a future number of the Christian Beacon. LONDON: PUBLISHED BY SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, & Co.; HAMIL. TON, ADAMS, & Co.; AND R. GROOMBRIDGE; BANCES & Co., MANCHESTER; H. PERRIS, LIVERPOOL; J. SEACOME, CUES TER.-T. THOMAS, Printer, Eastgate Street Row, Chester,

THE interest which has been excited in most of our Cantons, by the death of the Rev. Mr. Mouron, of Chardonne, compels his friends to give to the public some information as to this unhappy event. It will be a useful work for travellers, who may hereafter visit the same spots and at the same time it will be a memorial of the interesting person who fell a victim to his researches.

The Rev. Mr. Mouron, left Yverdon on the 22nd of August, and travelling by Neufchatel, Berne, and Thoun, he came to Unterseen. From thence he pursued his journey to Lauterbrunnen and Grindelwald, at which place he rested on the 24th of August His name is to be seen in the Inn book with this date affixed. It is written so legibly, that if his friends had enquired for him carefully, there could have been no reason to doubt the identity of the person, but they were ignorant at the time the accident happened, that he had ever been at Grindelwald. The next day he crossed the Scheidech with a guide, and returned by Meyringen to Interlaken, which he chose as the centre of his excursions. He went again to Grindelwald, where he seemed drawn by an irresistible force. He asked for a guide to the Mer de Glace, which he regretted not to have seen; this is the name given to a sort of field of ice, which rests on the top of a smaller glacier, and which is divided into two branches; of which one lies on the S. E. towards the Schreckborn, and the other to the S. W. towards the Wieshscerhorn. Mr. Mouron departed on the 31st of August with his guide for that place, and followed at first the path which extends from the bottom of the valley about three quarters of a league, and crosses fields and woods of pine. The glacier is easily seen shining through the dark and sombre foliage of these trees. At nine o'clock they arrived at a shepherd's hut, where they reposed a moment, and then pursued their route. At a short distance from this the path begins to run along the edge of a frightful precipice, and you find yourself raised several hundred feet above the glacier, in which you contemplate with admiration and ter

ror, the pyramids, and numerous fissures; on the opposite side the tremendous rocks of the exterior Eyger rise into sight, intersected by little patches of turf, which feed several flocks of sheep and goats.

Near the top there is a round hole, called Heiterloch, or the Trou Serein, through which the sun shines twice in the year on the church and church-yard of Grindelwald. The path does not become dangerous, till it approaches a projecting rock, where it is so narrow, that you can only just place your feet close together, and the guide warned Mr. Mouron, that if he were subject to the vertigo, he ought not to attempt to pass. He replied smiling there was nothing to fear about his head, and went to the end with safety. After two leagues of difficult ground, he attained the glacier; they were then obliged to descend, and again climb up some steep declivities of ice, and often walk on a track exceedingly narrow, between deep and frightful crevices, before they arrived at the Serenberg, which is a grassy mountain, situated between the two branches of the glacier, on which are scattered some châlets which serve for shelter to the shepherds and their flocks. Mr. Mouron halted in one of these, and shared his provisions with the shepherd and his old guide. A sweet cheerfulness pervaded his manner, his conversation shone with that cordiality and benevolence which was so natural to him, and which secured the love and esteem of all who knew him.

The

shepherd accompanied him for some distance from his home, till they reached a heap of stones. upon the glacier.

In ten minutes they arrived at the gulf, where he was to be swallowed up. It is a kind of well, which a stream formed by the meeting of the ice and which runs, strongly after rain, and in hot weather, has hollowed out. The opening is about seven or eight feet in breadth, and from twelve to fifteen in length. The bed of the stream is five or six feet below the level of the ice, its sides are steep, and the water rushing precipitously down this abyss forms a noisy cataract.

H

As you approach nearer to the mouth, whether standing up or crawling, it is impossible to see the bottom. There is nothing to be seen but walls and sharp ridges of ice as smooth as a looking-glass, from the continual washing of the water. On the eastern side from the inequality of the ground the approach is both difficult and dangerous. The western side is level, and on that side Mr. Mouron and his guide came up. They stopped a few minutes at some distance from the edge. The guide wishing to give him some idea of the depth of the gulf, recommended him to wait, whilst he returned to pick up a stone; he stooped to pick one up, raised himself up and looked about him, but saw no one. In an agony of astonishment, he approached the gulf, but saw nothing but the stick of the unhappy traveller, planted firmly in a cleft, on the opposite side some few feet below the edge.

In his distress he walked round the opening, and called with all his might. No answer, all was deathlike stillness."

It appears that while the guide turned his back, Mr. Mouron, went up closer to the edge of the gulf, to get a nearer view of the abyss, and that in order to do this he leant on his mountain pole, which must have slipped from the weight of his body.

The guide not being able to render any assistance, returned in haste to Serenberg, and brought back the shepherd, with whom he redoubled his efforts to assure himself if the unfortunate man was still in being, but all was useless. They descended to the village below, where they announced the melancholy event. Two travellers from Berlin, friends, were rambling among the neighbouring mountains, one of them had staid below and the other hearing this news, thought at the moment it was the death of his friend they were deploring, but his return soon after allayed all his fears. A happiness which was not granted to the friends of Mr. Mouron.

The clergyman of Grindelwald, engaged that very evening four strong courageous men out of his parish, to ascend to the glacier above, notwithstanding the darkness and the heavy rain which was falling. They were perfectly ignorant who it was that had met with his death at this spot, and even if they had been liberally rewarded for their services, humanity alone could have enabled them to brave such dangers, After ascending by a rugged road for some way, they arrived at the mouth of the gulf, where they let down a lantern, and followed the light with their eyes. They called and listened attentively, longing to hear some sound, some noise which might lead them to hope, that the unfortunate man still lived. Hopeless attempt; the roaring of the cataract was all which they could hear, and after some farther trial which proved equally hopeless, they descended to the village, where they arrived in the middle of the night. The next morning the Pastor of Grindelwald sent to the bailiff of Interlaken, with an account of the fatal Occurrence. From Interlaken the report reached the government of Berne, and from thence to Lausanne.

The very illegible manner in which Mr. Mouron had written his name the second time at the Inn, gave rise to many mistakes, and caused much anxiety to those persons who had relations of that name. Two Vaudois

officers, coming from the camp at Thoun, visited the Mer de Glace on the following Monday, the 3rd of September, and they raised such a monument as the nature of the place allowed, close to the gulf, of stones built up in the form of an altar, on which they engraved these words, "To the memory of an unfortunate." Let them receive here a tribute of gratitude, for the kind proof of their interest and affection for the memory of their countryman.

As soon as the news of the melancholy event had been widely circulated, the friends and relations of Mr. Mouron left the Canton of Vaud, from all sides, to go up to the glacier, that they might hear all details, and use every means that were possible to recover the body. A feeble hope was excited by the manner in which his name had been written, and this led them on, and hastened their steps; but as they approached nearer to the fatal spot, melancholy forebodings, and proofs, alas! too certain, soon convinced them, that they should never again see among the living the relation they so fondly loved. Religion alone could at this sad hour furnish any conso lation, and soften the bitterness of their grief. Mr. B- of Yverdon, an intimate friend of Mr. Mouron, arrived the first at Grindenwald, he soon after commenced the ascent of the glacier, accompanied by the old guide and the shepherd of Serenberg. "I visited," said he, " every spot where my excellent friend had been. The guide related to me all he had seen and heard. I did not feel overwhelmed with grief, on approaching close to the gulf, for I felt that it was not there we must seek my friend, he had gone to a higher place, to the seat of everlasting peace and happiness. I recollected that if the weakness of man was incapa ble of raising his body, from this bed of never melting snows, that the Almighty Power of the Son of God would himself cause it to rise on the great day of resur rection. Oh! the beauteous grandeur of these spots, and the occasional crash of a falling avalanche, just interrupting the silent stillness, how it inspires the mind with religious awe, makes man feel his littleness, and nothingness, and leads him to turn his eyes upwards to Him who is infinite in power and greatness."

This first expedition was devoted to sounding the depth of the gulf, which was found to be from 125 to 130 feet, and also to deciding upon the best means of making the descent. On their return to Grindelwald, two more relations arrived, Mr. C. and another friend of Mr. Mouron. It was finally settled that they should re-ascend the next day the 11th of September with the men and necessary instruments. In consequence of this arrangement fifteen workmen, including the four who had already been on the glacier, on the evening when the accident occurred, and the friends and relations of Mr. Mouron, and the worthy pastor of Grindelwald ascended the glacier together.

On their road they cut down two pines, each of which was carried by two men; but at the place where the path becomes dangerous from the projection of the rock which has been mentioned before, it was impossible for the two bearers to proceed in their march so as to pre serve their equilibrium, and to keep from falling down the abyss beneath. It was necessary, therefore, for one alone to undertake the pass, and the shepherd of Seren

berg accomplished it laden with his burden, with as much courage as address, seven or eight men having gone on before, to try and turn the course of the stream which fell into the gulf. In order to effect this they dug a channel in the ice, which crossed in an oblique direction one of the projecting banks of the stream, and they raised a dyke to keep up the water. Whilst this work was going on, others placed the two pine trees across the mouth of the gulf, side by side, and another piece of wood was firmly fastened across these. Soon however, a heavy rain obliged them to seek shelter in one of the cottages of Serenberg. When it ceased they returned to the gulf, each carrying a clod of earth to make the dyke stronger and impenetrable; but fresh showers brought fresh water every minute, and there was a good deal falling into the gulf, when they resolved to attempt the descent. A guide, who the evening before had offered his services to descend, refused under such unfavourable circumstances. Another guide who had made the same offer, had never come up to the glacier that day. At length a Grindelwald man of the name of Hildebrand Burguer, who kept the Bear inn, declared himself willing to descend, Though he had never communicated this to any one, he appeared to have made up his mind before-hand, for he had brought with him a change of clothes.

At any

They inclosed him in a net work of cords, one of which was called the safety rope, and was fastened to his arm, two others were psssed round his shoulders, and one fastened to his back, and his head was covered with a goat skin to protect him from the water. other time this clothing would have appeared ridiculous; but the idea of the danger this brave man was going to expose himself to, and the recollection of the sacred duty he was about to fulfil, only caused a deep sense of admiration for his courage and devotedness. He sat down on the piece of wood which crossed the trees; for a moment hung by both, then by one alone, then he let go altogether, and thus began slowly to descend the gulf. Ten or twelve men held the ropes, and allowed them to unwind regularly together. Soon after he cried out, all the men drew up the ropes instantly. He arrived at the top, and said he thought he had seen the body, but that the water falling on his head caused such giddiness, he could not go any further or descend low enough to feel certain on the subject.

After he had recovered himself a little, he descended for the second, then a third time, but each time he saw less and less clearly, because the falling of the water produced such a giddiness, that he was ready to faint; besides which a part of the water rose in the form of mist, which totally prevented his distinguishing objects; and he declared that he must wait for a fine day when the stream might be more completely diverted, and then make a fresh attempt at the descent. They returned therefore that evening to Grindelwald, and consulted together whether they should proceed with their undertaking. Several persons appeared much discouraged. Nevertheless they resolved to make a last effort, and the next day the number of workmen was much increased by an unexpected circumstance. A report had been spread in the valley, that Mr.

Mouron, had been assassinated by his guide, and this accusation, though totally without foundation, might have given a death blow to the prosperity of this country, which had become so flourishing, since travellers had began to visit it. It was therefore of the highest importance that the real truth should be discovered, and to this end, large numbers of the inhabitants of Grindelwald assembled at the glacier.

The day was very fine; no untoward circumstance interrupted the progress ofthe lab ourers, and even the rain of the preceding day was found to have been beneficial by driving down a great deal of sand, and had heaped it up againt the mole by which means very little water escaped. An idea was suggested of hollowing out three little reservoirs, underneath, which a certain number of workmen should be employed to empty, as fast as they filled; this measure succeeded completely, and the abyss was soon entirely free from water. The intrepid Burguer then went down for the fourth time, and reached the bottom, where he remained five or six minutes. According to his description, the width is nearly the same at all parts. The glacier rests at this place on an inclined rock, and the water in falling dashes on the opposite wall, and forms a kind of side gallery, which probably communicates with the source of the Lutschine. All the ground is filled with stones more or less large, and it was in this gallery that the body was found. The current seemed to have carried it thither, and it was found there fixed between large stones frozen, and half under water. Burguer fastened it by the right leg, and gave the signal that he should be first drawn up.

At the moment they began to raise the body, anxiety boardering on agony was visible in the countenance of the old guide, and was soon communicated to all present. At every effort of the labourers, the heart beat with renewed agitation, and with eyes fixed on the gulf they waited with painful impatience for the moment when the unfortunate person should appear, who there had met his fate.

When at some distance from the surface, some one fancied he perceived that the body was stripped of clothing; the terror then became general, and the anguish of the wretched guide quite indescribable; but they soon discovered that it was an illusion; the leg alone was naked, the pantaloon having been torn by rubbing against the rocks. The moment when the body appeared was overwhelming to all present, the guide unable to stand, had sat down at a little distance, his mind a prey to the most violent emotions. When he heard a voice exclaim, "Come, and receive his watch and money," he rose hastily and threw himself on the neck of Mr. Mouron's friend. Though the body had remained twelve days in the depths of the abyss, the features of the face were not the least altered, and the eyes still retained a calm expression which encouraged hopes that his sufferings were not prolonged, and that probably the first stroke was mortal. The right side of the forehead was sunk, and there were marks of violent blows on the nose and chin: the left leg was broken in several places, as was also the arm, it is probable that the spine was also broken.

The body was wrapped in a sheet, fastened to a