AN ASCENT OF THE MATTERIJORN. 237 



pastures and steep grassy slopes, the great moun- 

 tain ever in front and the glistening snows of the 

 Dent Blanche and the Breithorn flanking it on 

 either side. 



At sunrise we came to the first cabin, at the foot 

 of the upper pyramid of the Matterhorn, on a nar- 

 row crest of rocks which separates the Furggen 

 glacier from the Matterhorn glacier. This cabin, 

 built by the Swiss Alpenclub, is quite a comforta- 

 ble place, with plenty of straw, blankets, and fuel. 

 Many who climb the mountain spend the night 

 here, setting out at sunrise for the summit. The 

 walls of the cabin are covered with lead-pencil in- 

 scriptions in every tongue. One of these, in par- 

 ticular, is noteworthy as being higher above the 

 sea-level than any other poetry in the English 

 language. 



" Little Matt Homer 



Sat in the corner. 

 And vowed he would not be climbed : 



We tried it, you know, 



But found so much snow 

 We very politely declined." 



This is not much as poetry; but it is worthy of 

 notice that in a climate and at an altitude in 

 which ordinary spring poetry is frozen through 

 and through in a minute, this little blossom has 

 survived. 



For a few moments we watched the sun rising 

 over the glaciers of the Weissthor pass, and then 

 John the Baptist had us again under way. We 

 stood right at the foot of the mountain; but the 

 nearer we came the steeper it looked, and there 



