Reviews

The Pyrenees.
By H. Belloc.

(London: Methuen. 1909. 7s. 6d.Nett.)

No true Rambler – none, that is, who has in his heart the true spirit of the business – will fail to rind pleasure in this book. It is an odd book in many ways, and many will complain that it is inconsistent and unclassifiable, but they will read it, and read it with joy.

It would almost seem as if the Author had set out with an earnest desire to be learned, prosaic and dull, but soon found the effort to be far ‘beyond his strength, and gracefully abandoned the struggle, burning all that would have adorned ordinary guidebooks, and adorning all that a guidebook editor would have burned. One effect of this is seen in the unusual proportions of space assigned to different subjects. Where a guide would have most to say, Mr. Belloc says little, and where the former would practise rigorous compression the latter expands indefinitely. He discovers for instance that the Pyrenees do not form a straight line from sea to sea but, if we may so put it, resemble a tunnel, which having been begun from both ends at once, does not quite meet in the middle, and thus produces a small overlap. To prove this requires many diagrams and many, many pages, while the respective merits and defects of the various French Government maps are analysed and discussed at portentous length. The average reader will probably skip some of this, skim with growing interest the chapters on the river-systems and the history, and read with profit and delight every word of the excellent hints on equipment, camping and way-finding. The writer speaks with just praise of those excellent local contrivances, the hempen sandales and the gourde or wineskin. Of the former he says, “Remember that with alpargatas you will always end the day with wet feet. Let not that trouble you,” and of the latter “The gourd is designed by Heaven to prevent any man p from abusing God’s great gift of wine; for the goat’s hair inside gives to wine so appalling a taste that a man will only take of it exactly what is necessary for his needs.”  He appears to choose his rneat on the same principle for he takes only salpichon. “You will soon hate it even if you do not, as is most likely, hate it from the bottom of your heart on the first day, but there is nothing else so compact and useful. It is salt pig and garlic.”

With socks he deals after the manner of a famous chapter on the snakes of Iceland. “I must speak of socks. Those who know most of marching wear none.”

The writer’s knowledge of his subject is of so intimate a character and he is so keenly observant of such things as local names and expressions, that the few apparent slips which have come under our notice may well be corrections of common errors, but it can hardly be doubted that, like Pryenees and Cerdague, Trainzaygues (for Tramesaigues) is a mere oversight, while salpichon, Jedre, Anicle, and Gabediou may be improvements of the usual forms salpicon, Gédre, Niscle, and Gabiétou.

At least one curious statement is made which cannot be laid to the charge of the printer, “The true W. end of the chain (of the Pyrenees) lies well to the S. and E. of the Atlantic Ocean.” Sir Ernest Shackleton may know of some place, which answers this description, but certainly it cannot apply to any place in Europe or even Africa. The author must mean “S. and E. of a part of the Atlantic Ocean, commonly called the Bay of Biscay.”  Even when so rectified the statement would not be accepted by all, for the real W. end of the chain, though there happens to be a break in it near the S.E. corner of the Bay of Biscay, is near Cape Finisterre, and therefore S. but not E. of that Gulf.

The essence of the Pyrenean charm lies, after all, not so much in history, geography, zoology and mountaineering, though it is increased by all of them, as in the free life which it offers to the bivouacking rambler. Let us not say to the “camper,” for that word seems to imply tents and all kinds of, bulky apparatus which true Pyreneans scorn. To the man who would taste these joys Mr. Belloc is an invaluable guide. He is devoted to the open air bivouac. He refers sadly to “those few parts of England where the wealthy will allow plain men to indulge in this amusement,” and to his mind one of the best features of the Pyrenean range is to be found in ” the continual presence of overhanging rock” offering suitable shelter for the night’s repose. He cannot endure “the odiousness which most cosmopolitan holiday places radiate Mound them like an evil smell.”  Almost the only lure which can draw him into such towns is the prospect of a good dinner. At one time he leads you by the hand, indeed it may almost be said by the nose, to an ideal French inn “Smelt out by the infallible nose of the French professional class.”  At another he finds for you, even in ruinously expensive Luchon, a restaurant, where, at a moderate cost, you can enjoy “cooking , very good indeed, and wine really remarkable.”  Even among the filthy posadas of Spain he knows a country inn delicately described as “not too simple in its customs.”  Lastly, somewhat staggering our faith in him, he lavishes praise on Gabas – “as pleasant an Inn as you will find in the whole world.” Well! Time works changes, even in the Pyrenees, but twenty years ago, at any rate, it was not at that end of the scale.

A word must be said about the illustrations, which are numerous and graceful. One of them (inserted without comment) to show the folly of being guided solely by the map in selecting a camping place, is full of humour which might easily pass unnoticed. It shews what the traveller actually found, his map having promised a suitable spot provided with wood and water; the latter proves to be a torrent in a profound and gloomy gorge, and the former to be perched on a ledge half way up an inaccessible limestone cliff.

There is plenty of fun in the book and a right appreciation of the art of walking, now well nigh moribund elsewhere. In the Pyrenees the march of modern improvement is incredibly slow, and for a long while to come their proverb “Quien mal anda mal acaba” will remain true in its literal sense:- A bad walker has a bad time.” At least he will miss much enjoyment both of nature and of this delightful book.

W. P. H. S.

In A Yorkshire Garden.
By Reginald Farrer.

(London: Edward Arnold. 1909.)

There has been a plentiful crop in recent years of books about gardens, but this work will challenge comparison with the best of them, and Ramblers especially will give it a hearty welcome, not only as the work of a fellow member but as dealing with a garden created by the author in his father`s beautiful grounds at Clapham, so well known to all pot-holers.

The author’s article in this number of the Journal will give members a foretaste, if they have not yet read this book, of the mingling of quaint fantasy, shrewd philosophy and keen observation with which he describes the captives of his trowel, and, oddly enough – of his tie-pin! For says he “there is no s invented implement of such huge and multiform use in the garden – no, not the trowel itself, which is a mere specialist, compared to the general-practitioner genius of the tie-pin.”

For his delightful description of the individual plants we must refer the reader to the book itself, as they hardly come within the scope of this Journal, but the following description of Clapham will appeal to all lovers of beautiful Craven:-

“Now Clapham village claims to be the prettiest in England; and I will honestly confess that I have never yet seen another to challenge that claim, which, indeed, has even received a sort of canonisation in the pages of the Strand Magazine, in which Clapham was recorded as standing among the six prettiest in England – a recognition, partial though it be, by which the villagers were properly uplifted. Close under the shelter of the northern hills, all wooded, it lies. Straight overhead, out of sight, rolling up from tier upon tier of those lower hills, rises the great tutelary mountain. And down through the very middle of the village, embowered in hawthorns and Penzance briars and other such loveliness, flows the Beck, a rippling stream now, placid and peaceful, after its stormy career above.

“For the Beck emerges high on the flank of Ingleborough, plunges peevishly, like Arethusa, into the unplumbed (sic) darkness of Gaping Ghyll Hole, in mid-moor; like Arethusa emerges again at the mouth of the second Ingleborough Cave, about a mile or more lower, in the deep wooded, shady gorge, which is the beginning of the Ingleborough woods, and so, in cataract after cataract, and waterfall after waterfall, comes brawling down through the Ingleborough woods themselves – a creamy terror in spate, and a lovely mossy rippling in drought, until it loses itself in the quiet black waters of the Ingleborough Lake. From these, at last, it plunges finally towards the valley in three wild falls; and so, calm for ever, rolls broad and serene through Clapham village, under huge old spreading sycamores, and so on into the valley below, until its meanderings join another beck, where the shores are yellow with Mimulus; and the combination takes the name of Wenning, so to continue, under shaw and coppice, full of Trollius, until it joins the Lune, and so, like any weariest river, flows somewhere safe to sea on the hideous mud-flats that stretch out from Lancaster into Morecambe Bay.”

The author has gone to the Alps for many of his plants, and his chapter on the Piz Padella and Piz Languard is a moving story of the difficulties, climatic and otherwise, under which one who is confessedly not a mountaineer pursues his hobby, but it will hardly tempt the mere climber to forsake his more active rnode of enjoyment.

We are tempted to quote many of the quaint saws and modern instances to be found on every page, but space forbids, and we must conclude by heartily recommending the perusal, – and purchase – of the book itself.

In The Heart Of The Antarctic.
By Sir Ernest Shackleton, C.V.O.

(London: Heinemann & Co. 1909. 2 Vols.)

We welcome this splendid record of a splendid deed, and none the less because the author-hero is a Yorkshireman, if not by birth, at any rate by name and descent. But we cannot pretend to give even a summary of the contents of these sumptuous volumes, and must refer our readers to them for the convincing details of the camp life and the sledging, the geology and meteorology, and above all the inimitable penguins.

The ascent by Dr. Mackay and his party of Mount Erebus was the principal mountaineering exploit, and the difficulties met with were due chiefly to cold and wind, in fact rock climbing in “finskoi” boots and fur mittens was out of the question. And unlike the Great Glacier traversed by the leader and his party in their sledging expedition towards the South Pole, there were no crevasses.

Of that Southern Expedition and the modest account of its hardships, it is difficult to write in praise without seeming to exaggerate, but it is not too much to hope that some parts of it ‘ will be found in future Reading Books of every English school. Never did hero deserve better of Fortune, and never did one bear defeat more philosophically. ‘The author’s descriptions of the difficulties met with – the soft snow, the hard ice, the tremendous crevasses (in one of which they lost , their last pony), the blizzards, and above all the continuous pangs of hunger – make the chronicles of the most difficult Alpine climbs very small beer indeed.

We note that the party found Jaeger underclothing with s gaberdine outside better than the orthodox fur and thick cloth, and that a new and somewhat weird word, sastrugi to wit, is used to denote the windfurrows so often found on the nevé of a glacier.

Siberia: A Record Of Travel, Climbing And Exploration.
By Samuel Turner, F.R.G.S.

(London: T. Fisher Unwin, 1905.)

Siberia to the average English man is a term incognita and what little he knows about that immense country is “often distorted by an unfortunate racial animosity and by the too-ready credence that is given to sensational stories by the great mass of the public.” Fortunately the author of this work undertook his journey with an open mind and carried out his own precept, that “nations like individuals should be judged with some reference to their own ideas and modes of thinking and not by our pet personal standards of right and wrong.”  He found, as others have done, that the country has in the past been grossly libelled and misrepresented, “and many of the blood-curdling characteristics of the country and its people were altogether erroneous. It is certain that if these occurrences are real they rarely, if ever, come under the notice of the people among whom they are supposed to occur. Business is carried on pretty much the same as everywhere else and peace and serenity are the order of the day.”

The primary object of the author’s journey to Siberia was to investigate the butter industry, and the export of that commodity to this and other countries which has assumed enormous dimensions; and this done, he devoted the rest of his stay to exploring the Altai range of mountains.

His descriptions of the country, and the complete and valuable information and statistics as to its industries and institutions, educational and otherwise, and the peeps into the domestic life of its inhabitants, are full of interest not only to the political economist but to anyone who takes any interest in countries outside his own.

To the mountaineer however, the most attractive portion of the book is that which describes the author’s climbs and the difficulties he met with in travelling in late winter to and from the mountains, where even his interpreter refused to accompany him. An expert mountaineer himself, he set off with characteristic British pluck, in defiance of all opposition and with the remark that “as no one had ever been there in winter, not even the natives, nobody could possibly know whether the mountains were accessible or not.” His objective was Belukha (14,800 ft.), supposed to be the highest of the Altai mountains, and though defeated on that, he had already had the satisfaction of making the complete ascent of Willer’s Peak, which proved to be the highest discovered mountain in Siberia, overtopping Belukha by some 3,000 feet. The cold wind and hard ice slopes on Belukha proved too much for his unaided efforts and it was only by the exercise of the utmost will power that he was able to drag himself back to the tent again. He says, “I suddenly became aware that the snow was giving way beneath me, and the next moment I was on the top of a billow of loose snow that was gliding down the mountain side considerably more swiftly than was either comfortable or safe …. my body was crushed down in a most uncomfortable manner. I pushed away the snow and secured the head of the axe and using it as a lever, was presently able to wriggle myself out of the snow …. In this manner I advanced slowly, foot by foot, well aware all the time that if I was so unfortunate as to start that avalanche on its downward career once more I should most certainly be precipitated on to the ice below and killed …. Although cutting the step had restored the circulation to my limbs, the fierce north wind chilled me to the marrow and absolutely made me beat a retreat.”  The author very wisely, but after the event, deprecates the practice of venturing on such an expedition alone, and recommends taking an Alpine guide so as to be independent of the natives who seem to have an absolute dread of the mountains. As a climbing centre he says the Altai mountains contain enough virgin snow peaks to keep members of the Alpine Club busy climbing for the next few years. “I have gazed,” he says, “on Mont Blanc from the summit of the Matterhorn, and at the Matter horn from Mont Blanc, and on some of the grandest views on Switzerland; but the northern faces of the Katunskië-Belkie Range with the crystal clear glaciers hanging in the sun and sparkling like diamonds, form a picture so striking and beautiful that my experience can offer no parallel to them.”

The author’s race against the advancing thaw, when the roads would become impassable for several weeks, is graphically told and forms an exciting conclusion to his plucky journey.

The book is profusely illustrated and deserves a place in the library of every traveller and mountaineer.

S. W. C.

Ski-Running For Beginners And Mountaineers.
By W. R. Rickmers.

(T. Fisher Unwin, Adelphi Terrace. 4s. 6d. Nett.)

The Ski-Runner.
By E. C. Richardson.

(At 1, Mitre Court, Temple, E.C. 45; 61). Nett.)

These two books are complementary – and complimentary – to each other, and the beginner would be well advised to get both. While it is true that any athletic art can be best learned from a friendly expert, it is equally true – experto crede – that experts are not always there when wanted and possibly not always friendly enough to be of use. We were at a Swiss ski-ing centre very recently and received many hints and instructions from an “old hand”: a perusal of these works shows very clearly where the “old hand” gets his information.

We have not space to enter into the different descriptions of turns and stems, but we may perhaps be allowed to ask Mr. Rickmers in all seriousness to reconsider, in his next edition, his descriptions of the proper movements and positions. “Draw (not lift or pull) the glider down to the braker, ending up DB, then FP. Afterwards combine the two moves SS-DB-FP into one, smartly” may be an accurate description of how to finish, but is rather too much like an American College football-formula. Mr, Richardson’s explanations are quite as lucid and less like Euclid. Speaking for beginners, we would beg of Mr. Rickmers to allow us something more in the way of sticks than “any stiff pole reaching at least as high as the shoulder and without a disc”; and he hardly emphasises sufficiently the need for wax when snow is soft. To toil up hill and down with clogging snow for want of wax, while others are sailing by you, is an experience we do not wish to repeat. We would also ask Mr. Richardson with submission whether the attitude in the diagram on page 110 is really correct. It is not graceful and except on very steep slopes an upright position as shewn in the photograph immediately underneath is quite as easy and much more elegant.

Our readers may not be aware of it, but in the ski-ing world there has been fierce rivalry for years between “toe-bindings” composed mainly of straps, of which the “Huitfeldt” and “Ellefsen” are typical examples, and “sole-bindings ” represented by the “Lilienfeld.”  A truce has now been called and Mr. Rickmers treats the subject very briefly with a leaning to the “Lilienfeld” type, but Mr. Richardson goes into the matter at length and gives a reasoned decision in favour of the other principle, and English ski-runners will be disposed to follow him.

Both books are written from the point of view of the tourist or mountaineer, and both open up a new field of travel and adventure for the climbers and the troglodytes of our Club. They are written, of course, for English visitors to the Alps in winter, a majority of whom have not gone through the school of high pedestrianism, and though to the mountaineer, some of the advice may seem trite this is only an error of excess. The dangers from winter avalanches are dwelt on very fully by both writers and the description of the nature and habits of these monsters strikes us as being to a great extent new. Both books are admirable in this respect. Mr. Rickmers, owing as he too modestly says to “a complete absence of personal experience and proficiency” devotes hardly any space to ski-jumping, but Mr. Richardson tells the beginner all that he need know of this fascinating art.

Although the art of ski-running comes from Norway where they pronounce it “shee,” we would humbly ask those in authority to have the fair alien naturalised. Why cannot we English it into “skee”?

Mr. Richardson has also something to say about ski-ing in England. It is never as pleasant falling on 6 inches of snow as on 6 feet, but even near Leeds ski-ing can be indulged in and one of our members (Mr. Wingfield) has shewn in the current number of the journal what can be done in the Yorkshire Dales. While urging our members to take up ski-ing before they are too old and stiff, we would also urge them to buy a handbook which he who runs may read. Someone has sagely remarked of books that style is the great antiseptic,’ and style in ski-ing as in skating is everything. ” Be sure you get it.”

J.J. B.

British Mountaineering.
By C. E. Benson.

(London: George Routledge &, Sons, Ltd. 1909.)

The novice in mountaineering has now small lack of literature for guidance either as to proficiency in the sport – at least as much of it as can be learnt from books – or as to where it may best be pursued.

Mr. Benson’s latest book certainly does not tell us much that is new – perhaps that is more than could be expected after all that has been written on the subject – but it is interesting to learn his views on matters of moment to climbers.

He has much to say on Equipment, Rambling, Scrambling, and Rock and Snow Climbing that will be found of considerable help to the young climber, and his advice is, in the main, very sound. Not only does he tell the novice what ought to be done and how to do it, but also, what is at times of even greater importance, what must not be done.

Mr. Benson does not enter into detailed descriptions of even the best known climbs in Great Britain; but, after giving the novice much valuable advice and a brief description of the best known districts, leaves him to ramble and scramble at will; although for instruction’s sake, he occasionally, in imagination, guides him over certain hill-countries and enters a little more fully into topographical details.

It is, however, of extreme importance that a guide should himself be perfectly clear in describing routes or points of interest; and in this respect Mr. Benson is occasionally found tripping – and in the Lake District too, which he knows so well! For instance he writes about “the swampy part behind the Langdale Pikes” apparently forgetting that the “swamp” really lies behind Pike of Stickle only, and if anything in front of Harrison Stickle. Also to write of the Langdale Pikes as if they all lay on the North side of the dale is to ignore Pike o’ Blisco on the South side.

Again, standing on Harrison Stickle, he tells us that Bowfell lies on “the opposite side of the valley.”  Seeing that he is at the time supposed to be guiding an imaginary party which has gone astray, such a description of the position of Bowfell is not as clear as it ought to be. Indeed Mr. Benson would appear to be a little astray himself in this part of the Lakes; for, in the frontispiece to his book, a view of Stickle Tarn is given with Pavey Ark and Harrison Stickle on the right, effectually blocking out any possible view of Bowfell, yet in the background, where by no stretch of imagination could it be placed, he calls a mountain Bowfell, which is obviously Wetherlam. The illustration is in fact a reduced copy of a by no means scarce engraving by Allom.

A considerable number of the text illustrations are taken from Almescliff Crag, a mass of millstone grit forming a double crown to a low hill, a few miles south of Harrogate and an almost ideal rock on which to practice rock-climbing. These illustrations are admirably chosen to illustrate chimneys, cracks, and face climbs; but in recording the early history of this favourite little practice ground of the Yorkshire Ramblers, for he seems to have that place in his mind, Mr. Benson is certainly not justified in saying that not one of those climbers who began the sport there “had any true idea of the possibilities of these crags”; and that when they were tackled “the easy courses fell first, then the moderate, and last of all the difficult; the climber being for the most part safeguarded by a rope from above taken round to the top of the crags by some easy way.”  As one of the three or four that some eighteen years ago were the first to do nearly all the important climbs on the crag itself – boulder-climbing was left to a later date – the present reviewer, though admittedly the least skilful of the party, can bear witness to the contrary. The correct story of the early days of climbing on Almescliff Crag has yet to be written, but the order in which the climbs fell was certainly not that stated by Mr. Benson. Indeed several of the difficult climbs were done before some of the more moderate, and only once, or at most twice, was the rope dropped from above to help in a new climb. Except these two, all the climbs were well within the power of the leaders, two of them born mountaineers of the best kind.

In giving this crumb of history, it is not intended to subvert the sound doctrine which Mr. Benson teaches, viz:- that the climbing novice should take his courses easy first, moderate next and difficult last.

The book has chapters on Mountaineering for Ladies and the Dangers of Mountaineering, Useful Medical Hints, a List of Rambling Centres in Great Britain and a short Glossary.

Though there are a few minor faults in the book, besides those chargeable to the printer, it may safely be recommended to the novice as a useful and entertaining little work, and it is written in Mr. Benson’s usual light and breezy style.

If another edition should be called for, the lower illustration on p. 33 should be placed right side up, and when emphasising the importance of straight-grained ash for the shafts of ice-axes it would be as well not to use illustrations which shew the grain very badly twisted.

T. G.

The Tramp.; An Open Air Magazine.

The Adelphi Press, Ltd. Monthly 6d. No 1, March, 1910.

Every Rambler should buy this, the latest comer of the many monthly sixpennies, for it devotes itself entirely to the pleasure of those who, like himself, have tasted the joys of the wide fell and the open road, and deals not at all with that paraphernalia of statistics and jargon which have made the records of modern “sport” such a bore. The place of honour is given to an article by Dr. E. A. Baker on “Easter at the Lakes,” which, though short, shews an intimate knowledge of the subject, and is illustrated by some charming photographs, taken from unusual points of view. There are articles on Fontainebleau, the New Forest, Hitchen and Donegal, all well illustrated, a practical account of the gentle art of Vagabondage, and several good stories with local colour.

We are sufficiently altruistic to add that the Editor professes his willingness to consider articles, illustrated and unillustrated, particularly such as deal with subjects connected with travel and topography, for which payment will be made, after publication, at the ordinary rates.

British Mountain Climbs.
By George D. Abraham.

(London: Mills And Boon. 1909.)

The author’s attempt to bring together, in one handy volume, descriptions and general information as to the now great number of recognised rock-climbs in Great Britain has been very successful. The climbs are grouped round the well-known climbing centres and in most cases are adequately, though briefly, described, with the help of many diagrams shewing the principal routes, and of the author’s very beautiful photographs. As to the latter we should like to ask whether the rocks shewn on pp. 23 and 189 are really so steep as they appear in the photographs.

Besides the ordinary descriptive matter, a considerable number of hitherto unrecorded adventures – and misadventures – are related, which, at any rate, form interesting reading for others, however they may have struck the persons principally concerned.

With regard to the statement on p. 54 respecting Botterill’s C1imb on Scafell that “at one point the daring pioneer’s footsteps are not there, for upward progress was made by using a quaint form of ice-axe plunged into doubtful turf,” we feel bound to remark that we have Mr. Botterill’s authority for saying that this was not so, nor is there anything in his account of the climb to warrant it. (Cf Y. R. C. Journal, Vol. II, p. 16 et seq.)

On p. 118 it is said that the actual direct ascent of the Central Gully on Lliwedd has not yet been accomplished, but we understand that this was done in the summer of 1909, probably since the book went to press.

We put down the book with the feeling that the climber of to-day is very well catered for in the way of written guidance, not only to the foot of his climb, but also for his feet when actually climbing; and we endorse the author`s many words of warning and advice.

J. A. G.

Mountaineering In The Land Of The Midnight Sun.
By Mrs. Aubrey Le Blond.

(London: T. Fisher Unwin. 1908. 304 pp. 10s. 6d. Nett.)

We heartily welcome the reappearance of this delightful book on Arctic mountaineering, and feel sure it will be appreciated, as much by the tourist as by the skilled mountaineer, for the life led in the valleys is almost as full of incident and adventure as that spent amongst the peaks and glaciers.

Mrs. Le Blond was accompanied by the two Imbodens of St. Niklaus, father and son, the former a well tried and faithful Swiss guide, and in her two seasons of climbing amongst these far off peaks of Norway she succeeded in placing no less than 24 new ascents to her credit.

Seventeen chapters of the book are devoted to a detailed description of these climbs; indeed we are taken from one virgin peak to another with such breathless speed, that we turn with relief to the record of quiet days spent in camp by the side of lake or fjord.

We must confess it would have added very materially to the interest of the book if the heights of these new peaks had been given. The natural man has a distinct craving, when he has succeeded in reaching a mountain summit, to know the height he is above the level of the sea; but we are left in complete ignorance, as to whether we are 6,000 ft. or only 3,000 ft. Even a pocket aneroid observation would have given the elevation, at any rate, approximately.

But for a succession of stormy days – that special bugbear of the climber in Arctic Norway – there is no doubt the list of conquests would have been longer still; although days of , summer sunshine did come – witness the following description of the view from Isskartind:-

“Straight below us lay the tranquil blue waters of the Jaegervand. The sea beyond, studded with islands, shimmered in the brilliant light of a perfect summer’s day. Beyond the Kjosenfjord, spotless robes of snow covered the mountains. Glaciers with green rifts in their waves of ice swept majestically between the peaks, which stood like monster spires to the north. Tiny lakes looked up at us with wide open sapphire eyes from every little hollow. Clouds drifted lazily, here and there, casting deep purple shadows on the hill sides. Not a sound fell on the ear. We seemed detached from the earth.”

The illustrations are for the most part good, and many are excellent.

E. G.

From Ruwenzori To The Congo: A Naturalist’s Journey Across Africa.
By A. F. R. Wollaston.

(London: John Murray. 1909. 3v. & 315 pp.)

A well written account of how the author joined the British Museum Ruwenzori Expedition, as medical officer, at its camp at Bihunga, on the eastern slope of Ruwenzori, and did some climbing from there. He reached one of the lower peaks of Kiyanja, but was prevented from doing anything on the Western slope by trouble with the natives! The book is lavishly furnished with beautiful photographs and gives a very clear idea of what travelling in Central Africa means to-day. The appendices, though short, are very interesting, especially that on sleeping sickness. A disease whose mortality is 100 per cent. and prevention so far as we know extremely difficult and uncertain, and which has killed more than 200,000 people in Uganda alone in the last seven years, is a formidable obstacle to civilization. 

THE BERNESE OBERLAND.

Vol. 1. From. the Gemmi to the Mönchjoch.
Part 2. The Groups N. and S. of the Main Range.

A New Edition by the Rev. W. A. B. Coolidge.

(London: T. Fisher Unwin. 1910. pp. xvii & 214, 32mo. 2s.)

It is unnecessary, at this time of day, to add another stone to the cairn which grateful climbers have been building for some twenty years past to the honour and glory of Mr. Coolidge and his helpers in the laborious task of compiling and collating all that is known about the different ways up the Alpine peaks. One can only wonder how guideless climbers did, and in some parts of the Alps still do, Without these guides.

This volume deals with the Blümlisalp, the Bietschhorn, the Nesthorn and the Aletschorn groups; and we observe, with special interest, a note of the first descent from the Nesthorn by its SE. aréte, of which Mr. Lowe writes an account in this issue of the Journal; a ridge only ascended for the first time by Mr. G. Winthrop Young and party, so lately as last summer.

Those of us who, in years gone by, have tried in vain to keep within shouting distance of the “times” in other volumes of this series, will read with gratitude that those recorded here are such as would be taken by average climbers under average conditions.