"And is that what you came down to Gethin about?" inquired he, with a sort of grim despair, which had nevertheless a comical effect. Richard could only trust himself to nod his head assentingly. "Well," cried the other, striking the table with his fist, "if I didn't think you was as deep as the devil the very first day that I set eyes on you! So you are Parson Whymper's man, are you?"

And here, in default of language to express his sense of the deception that, as he supposed, had been practiced on him, Mr. Trevethick uttered an execration terrible enough for a Cornish giant. "I am not Mr. Whymper's man at all," observed Richard, coolly. "Mr. Whymper is my man or at least he will be one day or another."

Whymper's experiments with the aneroid barometer after his return from his classic climbs to the summits of the Bolivian Andes. Colonel Watkins devised an instrument in which by a threaded post and a thumb-screw the spring may be relaxed or brought into play at will, and the instrument is never in commission save when a reading is taken.

No man had ever accomplished the ascent before, though the attempts had been numerous. MR. WHYMPER'S NARRATIVE We started from Zermatt on the 13th of July, at half past five, on a brilliant and perfectly cloudless morning. Hadow, Rev. Mr. Hudson, and I. To insure steady motion, one tourist and one native walked together. The youngest Taugwalder fell to my share.

In the churchyard is a monument to Michel Auguste Croz, the guide, and near by are the graves of the Reverend Charles Hudson and Mr. Hadow. These three, with Lord Francis Douglas were killed in Mr. Whymper's first ascent of the Matterhorn. The body of Lord Francis Douglas has never been found. It is probably deep in some crevasse or under the snows which surround the base of the Matterhorn....

You will find me speak the truth." There was irony in Parson Whymper's tone; and yet the young man felt that he was not the subject of its cynicism. Was it possible that this hard-drinking, hard-riding, hard-headed divine was scornful of himself, and of his own degraded position? Yorke did not credit him with any such fine feeling.

Richard's own observation, aided by the clew which Parson Whymper's few chance sentences had given him, had convinced him that Wheal Danes was a most coveted object in the landlord's eyes; and had it happened to have fallen into his own hands, he did really suspect enough to have had it searched for ore from top to bottom.

But Solomon rose, and, with a frown, seemed to be asking of Trevethick the reason of this unexpected intrusion. "This is a friend of Mr. Whymper's," said the landlord, setting down the sherry on the table; "and therefore, I am sure, the friend of all of us. We are a family party, in fact, or shall be some day; so, pray, make yourself at home." "I have seen Mr.

Never shall I forget the first time he took me to Switzerland to climb. I had never climbed before unless you call scrambling on the hills at home climbing and I was all eagerness to try till John gave me Whymper's book on Zermatt to amuse me in the train, and I read of the first ascent of the Matterhorn and its tragic sequel. It had the effect of reducing me to a state of abject terror.

One of the most memorable of all the Alpine catastrophes was that of July, 1865, on the Matterhorn already slightly referred to, a few pages back. The details of it are scarcely known in America. To the vast majority of readers they are not known at all. Mr. Whymper's account is the only authentic one.