ON THE MOUNTAIN. 229 



After a like escape it seems a blessed privilege to 

 breathe the sweet air in safety ; yet having, as it may 

 be said, already tasted of death, you hardly know for 

 the first instant or two if it is quite in character to 

 breathe or not. You look round you on the earth 

 and sky, as a man looks on a cherished thing that he 

 thought utterly lost, but now has found again; and 

 you seem to love all better than before, and much 

 more tenderly. You feel very thankful, and you carry 

 that feeling in your heart, till you see the chamois ; and 

 then another thought possesses you, " Shall I be able 

 to get a shot?" I do not mean to say that the feel- 

 ing of gratitude does not return it would indeed be 

 very sad if it did not when you go over the whole 

 occurrence once more, as you will be sure often to do ; 

 but the truth is that the physical exertion, the excite- 

 ment, and the necessary caution, prevent your dwelling 

 long on anything save the present moment : that is 

 all-engrossing. 



Once on the ridge, it was necessary to be very care- 

 ful lest the chamois should see our forms against the 

 sky ; but with snow on the ledge, and that ledge 

 sloping outwards, I found it rather unpleasant walk- 

 ing, for close beside it the crags went down precipi- 

 tously full a thousand feet or more. 



But the chamois must have seen us, and are moving : 

 they are making for the gap to which Berger predicted 

 they would go. We rush forwards, to try to head them, 

 but it is too far. They pass, and are among the pre- 

 cipices of the other side before we can get there. 



