MÜRREN—HOTEL DES ALPES.
It was while visiting this sea of ice that my guide suddenly turned and asked me with a smile, "Are you a clergyman?"
I answered that I could not claim that flattering distinction, but begged to know the reason of his question. "Because," he said, "clergymen seem to be unlucky in Grindelwald; all the accidents that take place here somehow happen to them."
A GLACIER.
As we were at that moment just about to venture on the ice, I naturally recalled Charles Lamb's reply when he was requested to say grace at dinner. "What," he exclaimed, "are there no clergymen present? Then I will say, the Lord be thanked!"
A moment or two later we entered the well-known cavern in this glacier—a strange and chilling passageway, two hundred feet in length, cut in the solid ice, whose gleaming walls and roof seemed to be made of polished silver.
