of 



IN AN ALPINE PASS. 



" Meek dwellers 'mid yon terror-stricken cliffs, 

 With brows so pure, and incense-breathing lips, 

 Whence came ye ? Did some white-winged messenger, 

 On mercy's missions, trust your timid germs 

 To the cold cradle of eternal snows; 

 Or, breathing on the callous icicles, 

 Bid them with teardrops nurse ye? 



Man, who, panting, toils 



O'er slippery steeps, or, trembling, treads the verge 

 Of yawning gulfs, o'er which the headlong plunge 

 Into eternity, looks shuddering up, 

 And marks ye, in your placid loveliness ; 

 Fearless, yet frail, and clasping his chill hands, 

 Blesses your pencilled beauty." 



T might have been supposed these elegant 

 stanzas of Mrs Sigourney's, on " Alpine 

 Flowers" had been written to comme- 

 morate the striking adventure of " The 

 Mauvais Pas," as recorded by Bishop Stanley, who 

 published it nearly thirty years ago in Blackwood's 

 Magazine. Probably not many of my readers have 

 read his romantic narrative, which affords some 

 admirable illustrations of the courageous spirit and 



