it; I did not wish to know when the weather was going to be good, what I wanted to know was when it was going to be bad, and this I could find out from Harris’s corns.  Harris had had his corns tested and regulated at the government observatory in Heidelberg, and one could depend upon them with confidence.  So I transferred the new barometer to the cooking department, to be used for the official mess.  It was found that even a pretty fair article of soup could be made from the defective barometer; so I allowed that one to be transferred to the subordinate mess.

I next boiled the thermometer, and got a most excellent result; the mercury went up to about 200 degrees Fahrenheit.  In the opinion of the other scientists of the Expedition, this seemed to indicate that we had attained the extraordinary altitude of two hundred thousand feet above sea-level.  Science places the line of eternal snow at about ten thousand feet above sea-level.  There was no snow where we were, consequently it was proven that the eternal snow-line ceases somewhere above the ten-thousand-foot level and does not begin any more.  This was an interesting fact, and one which had not been observed by any observer before.  It was as valuable as interesting, too, since it would open up the deserted summits of the highest Alps to population and agriculture.  It was a proud thing to be where we were, yet it caused us a pang to reflect that but for that ram we might just as well been two hundred thousand feet higher.

The success of my last experiment induced me to try an experiment with my photographic apparatus.  I got it out, and boiled one of my cameras, but the thing was a failure; it made the wood swell up and burst, and I could not see that the lenses were any better than they were before.

I now concluded to boil a guide.  It might improve him, it could not impair his usefulness.  But I was not allowed to proceed.  Guides have no feeling for science, and this one would not consent to be made uncomfortable in its interest.

In the midst of my scientific work, one of those needless accidents happened which are always occurring among the ignorant and thoughtless.  A porter shot at a chamois and missed it and crippled the Latinist.  This was not a serious matter to me, for a Latinist’s duties are as well performed on crutches as otherwise —­but the fact remained that if the Latinist had not happened to be in the way a mule would have got that load.  That would have been quite another matter, for when it comes down to a question of value there is a palpable difference between a Latinist and a mule.  I could not depend on having a Latinist in the right place every time; so, to make things safe, I ordered that in the future the chamois must not be hunted within limits of the camp with any other weapon than the forefinger.

My nerves had hardly grown quiet after this affair when they got another shake-up—­one which utterly unmanned me for a moment:  a rumor swept suddenly through the camp that one of the barkeepers had fallen over a precipice!