mborazo with that placidity, that sang-froid, which is the
characteristic of an elevated soul instinctively attracted to realms
above.

Reaching the summit with torn feet and bleeding hands, he was about to
fix a conqueror's grasp upon the rock, when he saw in one of the
crevices a heap of visiting-cards, placed there successively, during a
half century, by two or three hundred of his compatriots.

Disappointed but not discouraged, Lord K. drew from his case a shining,
satiny card, and having gravely added it to the many others, began to
descend Chimborazo with the same coolness and deliberation that he had
climbed up.

Half way down he found himself face to face with Sir Francis P., about
to attempt the ascent that Lord K. had just accomplished. Although
alienated by difference of party, they were old friends, dating their
acquaintance, I believe, from the University of Oxford.

Without appearing astonished at so unexpected an encounter, they bowed
politely, and on Chimborazo, as in politics, went their separate ways.

Betrayed by the New World, Lord K. directed his steps towards the Old.
He penetrated the heart of Asia, plunged into the Dobrudja region, and
paused only at the foot of Tschamalouri, upon the borders of Bootan. It
is fair that I should thus visit on you the formidable erudition
inflicted upon me by Milord.

You must know, then, dear Edgar, that the Tschamalouri is the highest
peak of the Himalayan group.

The Jungfrau, Mount Blanc, Mount Cervin, and Mount Rosa, piled one upon
the other, would make at best but a stepping-stone to it. Judge, then,
of Milord's transports in the presence of this giant, whose hoary head
was lost in the clouds! They might rob him of Chimborazo, but
Tschamalouri was his.

After a few days for repose and preparation, one fine morning at
sunrise, behold Milord commencing the ascent, with the proud
satisfaction of a lover who sees his rival dancing attendance in the
antechamber while he glides unseen up the secret stairway with a key to
the boudoir in his pocket.

He journeyed up, and on the first day had passed the region of
tempests. Passing the night in his cloak, he began again his task at the
dawn of day.

Nothing dismayed him--no obstacle discouraged him. He bounded like a
chamois from ridge to ridge, he crawled like a snake and hung like a
vine from the sharp aretes--wounds and lacerations covered his
body--after scorching he froze. The eagles whirled about his