CHAPTER VIII.

ZERMATT.

EVERYBODY of late, who has travelled in Switzerland, has at least heard of Zermatt. Hundreds of our countrymen have been there, and those who have not will never cease to regret it. It is only within fifteen years that it has become known, and this is chiefly owing to the efforts of Professor Forbes, whose enthusiastic love of natural scenery and science led him to bring its claims before the world. The discovery somewhat resembled that of Pompeii, for its inhabitants were nearly as much lost to the world as those of that city of the dead. Deep in the heart of a secluded valley thirty miles long and six thousand feet above the level of the sea, they were nearly as barbarous as the ancient Rhæti. Their village was merely a collection of squalid huts, blackened by age and smoke, and without chimneys or windows. They ate black bread, and cheese of an odor by no means fragrant; hunted the chamois occasionally, went to church with great regularity, and once a year in a body made a pilgrimage to "Our Lady of the Snow," whose chapel is perched high on a cliff above her worshippers.

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All this they may have done, for aught any one knows, since the days of the Roman Empire. They do it now, in fact, but are beginning to be tinctured with civilization. Their bread is a little whiter, their cheese a shade less demonstrative; they hunt the chamois a great deal more than they used to; they stay away from church once in a while, and the eagle eye of "Our Lady of the Snow" now and then misses a pilgrim who ought to be in his place, but is kept at home, perchance by neuralgia, or some other complaint disastrous to Peter and Paul. The villagers are no longer frightened at the sight of a modern bonnet or a silk umbrella. Handkerchiefs and wash-basins are making their appearance here and there, and altogether one can distinguish considerable progress in the right direction.

This is as it should be. It is the direct result of modern travel, and those tourists who take trouble to reflect upon it, are quite convinced that they are missionaries, only slightly disguised, and spend a large part of their time going about doing good. Their head-quarters are two gigantic hotels, which tower like great factories of philanthropy - above the huts around them, and a third on the Riffelberg, several thousand feet higher. These are well supported, and since Zermatt has become the rival of Chamonix, there is no lack of strangers from all quarters of the earth to fill them. As a central

point, from which to make excursions, Zermatt is

unsurpassed. In its vicinity are many of the most. glorious mountain summits, the most lofty and difficult passes, and the grandest glaciers. The sublimity of its scenery no pen can describe, and it seems like a great temple where all nations and all sects can come and worship with unanimity. Few can resist the temptation to climb at least one of these almost inaccessible heights, where the reward is so great, even for the most arduous exertions; and men and women, who call themselves invalids at home, here are surprised to find themselves capable of feats of daring that their wildest ideas never before conIceived. Most of these are done by English and Americans. They flock here in multitudes, and give a tone to everything that is done. At evening they crowd the table d'hôte, and at the same time discuss their dinner and the events of the day. Conversation flows full and free, the last great ascent is talked over, preparations are made for the next day's work, and every one contributes his share to that which is of interest to all. Good breeding almost invariably prevails, and it is pleasing to notice how the quiet refinement of Paris, or London, has been transported to even this remote locality. In truth, but for the surroundings, one might well believe himself at a reunion of polite and cultivated people in his own land. Much good results from these cheerful meetings; and this displays itself in the interchange of many courtesies, and the tender of information which is

often of great value, especially to the inexperienced. This is by no means one of the slightest benefits of travel, which, in our day, has so vastly increased with the progress of mental culture and improve

ment.

The Church of England, which always provides well for the spiritual interests of its more prominent and respectable members, by no means neglects those who travel on the continent. At Interlaken, Lucerne, and many other places in Switzerland, handsome chapels have been provided, where they can, on Sunday, hear their own service in their own tongue. Resident ministers are stationed at all these villages, and even in such remote localities as Ragatz and Zermatt. Heretofore there has been no chapel at the latter place, and the weekly worship has been performed in a room of one of the hotels. It is now proposed to build an elegant edifice for this object. The site has already been chosen, and those of my readers who have been there will perhaps call it to mind. It is a little elevation opposite to, and some little distance from, the door of the Hôtel Mont Cervin. It overlooks the valley, and from its entrance can be seen the lofty and magnificent form of the Matterhorn, which is the great feature of the scenery in this part of Switzerland. Since the sad accident of two years ago, in which four persons lost their lives, it has a terrible significance to every one who looks upon it, and to Englishmen more than any others. For this reason it

is designed to make the new building a memorial church, and consecrate it to the memory of the unfortunate sufferers who died within sight of its walls. A monumental tablet will bear their names, and recall to every one that reads them the fearful lesson which their fate conveys.

It is impossible to think of the hard lot of the youngest of these men without feelings of the deepest compassion. Though only eighteen years of age, Lord Francis Douglas was one of the most promising among the rising nobility of England. Athletic and vigorous in body, his mental acquirements were by no means small, and he had just passed the best examination out of a large number of candidates for military promotion in the British army. He had already distinguished himself among Alpine climbers by many exploits, requiring great strength, judgment, and endurance. A few days before his death, he had mounted to the top of one of the most precipitous and lonely mountains in this vicinity, and come down in safety. Almost the last words he wrote were the following, just before leaving on his trip to the Matterhorn. I copied them from the stranger's book of the hotel where he stopped, in which it is the custom of those who have done anything unusual in mountain ascents to record a short memorandum thereof:

"1865, July 10. Lord F. Douglas, England. Ascended the Gabelhorn from Zinal, and descended to Zermatt. Time 18. I believe this to be the