believe, from inquiries made on the spot, that there are very large numbers who in secret hold to the faith of the young and martyred prophet. At Abadeh there certainly are many such, though gruesome pits full of Babees' skulls exist within the walls of the town.

In Khorassan and the western provinces of Persia I have not travelled, but my inquiries went to show that in the holy city of Mashad, around the shrine of the Imam Reza itself, Babees abound. It will be obvious from what I have said that I can give no reliable numerical estimate; but this need not be considered a serious omission, as no one knows whether the population of Persia at this day is five or, as I think, nearer eight millions. It will suffice to say that Babees abound, and chiefly among the richer and more educated classes.

J. D. REES.

From Blackwood's Magazine. DEATH IN THE ALPS. There was bustle and excitement inside of the principal hotel in Vargues, for a party was preparing to attempt the ascent of the formidable Pic d'Aube. Once upon a time the attempt to ascend the dreaded Pic had caused a wave of emotion to run through the little community and a fierce sensation to agitate the hotels. The departure of the daring band-looked upon as curiosity's forlorn-hope- was something between a funeral procession and a triumphal march. Gentle eyes gazed tenderly after them, and telescopes lay heavily upon them till the mountain hid them from view. Small wonder that many have climbed to heaven up this snowy ladder of the sky.

Nowadays the good people of Vargues only shrug their shoulders when they see a party with guides pass through their quiet streets, and wonder if life is so unattractive in their own country that these foreigners care to risk losing it to hear an avalanche roar. So, not

unlikely, thought the guides and porters who hung waiting, ready booted and furred, and carrying in their hands the ropes with which some have played the part of their own executioners. But they laughed and talked, and thought chiefly of the golden guineas which would jingle in their pockets when the toil was over.

In the doorway a man stood smoking. His dress and general air of aloofness proclaimed him to be a Briton. His age could not have been accurately determined, so much did he contradict himself. He seemed to be in his prime, but his prime had evidently come early. He was so well-proportioned that he did not look his six feet of height. But for his head and face you would have taken him for a soldier, so erect was his carriage. But his broad, white forehead and thoughtful cast of face spoke of the intellectual life. Hugh Rainer in his day had been a great athlete. But there is in these days a belief or a superstition which you will — that brawn and brain do not go together, and that whoever holds by the latter must slight his biceps and calves. The minister's robe must hide thorax and thigh discreetly out of sight, lest religion be scandalized; and in later years he had demurely dropped his gown over his early ways. But a week ago he had kicked gown and bands into a dark cupboard, and had started for that happy corner of the North dropped by nature in the South as a playground and a refuge for the peoples that cluster about its knees. To him the Pic d'Aube was as familiar as Ben Lomond-or more so. Every year he struck a match on the loftiest rock in Europe, and every time he left on the summit of the Pic a handful of earth brought from his garden at Perth, that he might have something of his own there, and thus feel a sense of proprietorship in it.

Presently he looked round as a man lounged out to join him, cigar in mouth.

The new-comer was a man of fifty, clean-shaven, military-looking, heavily moustached, with the unmistakable look of a cavalry officer in undress.

His was a suggestive figure, and fired the imagination. A man of many continents, as a British officer must be: Asia, Africa, and America seemed to look at you out of his eyes. A great Indian sabreur, feared of fierce hillmen. As you looked at him, you seemed to see the paddy-fields stretch away into boundless space, and to hear the low hum of innumerable dialects out of the beehive of the East.

wanderer over three continents-one who had boiled her pannikin of tea on the outer slopes of the Himalayas, and washed her pocket-handkerchief in the source of the White Nile. She, too, had done the Pic d'Aube before, and now went chiefly in the capacity of chaperon to the niece whose curiosity and love of adventure were the immediate causes of the expedition.

The latter was of a different type

Just then they were joined by a third, a man of three or four and thirty; unmistakably an Englishman; patriotically fresh-complexioned and brightcolored; with an English face, English whiskers, and English clothes-one of that typical class whose nationality shouts at you half a mile off, and which may be said to carry its country about with it on its back; that class which, varying largely in type and style, yet stands as the ideal representative of the modern Englishman to every country under the sun.

"Aren't the ladies ready yet?" he inquired, almost in the words of the earlier comer.

"No, Wainford," returned Rainer; "but it's time we were off. The Pic is usually in a good humor in the morning, but its temper isn't to be depended on in the afternoon."

As he spoke two ladies came forward. The elder was a woman mature in mind and person, of dignified presence, keeneyed, composed, with a strikingly resolute air about her, clearly the sort of woman to beard the Alps if any should -which is one of those points which, like some others, women cannot settle for themselves, and will not let men settle for them,-a woman who had a grudge against Nature for her sixtythree inches, and was determined to be tall in spite of her, yet who never felt her femininity to be a misfit or something come to her by mistake. She had spent half her life almost solely in men's society, yet was keenly resentful of slights to her sex. This bright-eyed, observant, compressed little woman was known far and wide as an intrepid

milestones marking the distance their sex had travelled in a generation. They were like natives of two sundered continents who gaze at one another with an interest born half of the like and half of the unlike, possessing much in common, yet chiefly struck by the differences which separate them. They looked across the chasm which lay between them, and wondered how the same things could seem so different to them. The elder woman had seen her sex the wide globe over, and her niece seemed stranger to her than many wild women had done.

By three in the afternoon they had accomplished half their journey, and had arrived at the widest and most dangerous covered ravine on the mountain, known as the "great crevasse." The younger Miss Arbuthnot, with Rainer and Wainford, and the guides in attendance, were some distance ahead of the others; the second division, consisting of General Arbuthnot, his sister, and the other two guides, with the porters following close behind, being about thirty yards in their rear.

They had all crossed the crevasse without accident, and the last guide had just set his feet on solid ground, when suddenly a low warning roar shook the steadfast air.

The leading guide stopped and

Rainer, Wainford, and Miss Arbuthnot, who were some yards ahead, heard the cry and looked upwards, and as they did so they stopped short, petrified with horror.

For the great white mountain above seemed to open, and out of its bosom a vast mass of surging frothing snow boiled over and rushed down the slope towards them with the swiftness of a swallow's flight, and with a noise that grew momentarily into louder thunder.

"Run!" Rainer was heard to shout above the tumult as the white cataract neared them. But it was too latealready it was upon them. Suddenly the world seemed to turn upside down, and to overwhelm them in a white bewilderment.

For one awful moment Rainer's heart stood still; then he found himself standing covered with snow-foam, but unhurt. The great white death had passed him by, merely flicking him with the tip of its pinion as it went.

As he gazed agonizedly around he saw something struggling to emerge from the snow hard by. It was Wainford. He seized and dragged him out of the solid surf, breathless and panting. But where was Miss Arbuthnot?

Suddenly he caught sight of a bow of ribbon, and near it the figure of a woman outlined under the snow. He plunged his arms into the mass and drew her out. He looked into her face. It was almost as white as the place on which they stood. Her eyes were closed.

Wainford staggered towards them. "My God, she's dead!" he exclaimed, wringing his hands.

like a watchword from peak to peak till it died away in the distance. After a minute he repeated his cry even louder than before, putting his hands to his mouth to guide his voice, as if he were shouting against a north-west hurricane. A third time he called out to those who a moment before had stood by his side, but who could now hear no voice that fell short of Paradise.

"It's no use," he said. "We shall see them no more in this world." He heaved a deep sigh. "Let us carry her up to the hut. It's not more than three hundred yards farther; I know it well."

Without another word they raised her, and bore her silently along. On reaching the empty hut they carried her in and laid her on the floor. In a few moments she opened her eyes.

"Where am I?" she asked, looking around in a dazed way.

"In the hut," said Rainer, who was supporting her head on one of his knees. "You must not speak yet. You will be better soon."

He took out his flask, and pouring a little brandy into the cup, coaxed her to swallow it. She soon revived.

"I have had such a terrible dream," she said. "But was it a dream?" she added quickly, as the reality of her position broke upon her. "Where is my aunt-and the others?" she next asked.

Rainer hesitated. "They have not come up yet. We hurried on with you."

"Tell me what has happened," she said. "I seem to be in a sort of daze."

"Oh!” replied Rainer carelessly, “a quantity of snow came down right between us and them and cut them off

As he spoke a sudden crash, like the rattle of artillery, tore the silent air. "What was that?" asked Wainford. Then a thought struck him. "Where are the others?" he said.

Rainer did not reply directly. He laid his hand on Wainford's arm.

cross it any more than we could, so I expect they've gone back."

The explanation seemed to appease her for the moment, for she closed her eyes and relapsed into silence. But she was evidently not satisfied.

"Do you think they are all right?" she asked next.