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tercian, St Bernard of Clair- now to be found. Fifty or

vaux, who condemned Abelard, preached a crusade, and was, indeed, the dictator of Western Christendom. Nor is our Alpine saint to be identified with the Cluniac monk, Bernard of Morlaix, whose grand hymn on the heavenly country is so familiar in its English dress as "Jerusalem the golden." St Bernard of Menthon was a young man of noble family, whose father and mother had expected him to marry a beautiful girl of their choice, and to succeed them as the lord of Menthon. But the legend tells that he chose rather the "religious " life. Living in self-denial, charity, and sanctity, he was ordained priest, and ultimately became Archdeacon of Aosta. The iron rule of the Cæsars had long since disappeared, and once again the Alpine passes were infested with marauding bands who troubled Christian pilgrims. The righteous soul of the saint was vexed that such things should be, and having brought about the expulsion of the brigands and planted the Cross on the ruins of the ancient Temple of Jupiter, he established the refuges which for a thousand years have borne his name. From time to time the ecclesiastical status of the monks of St Bernard has been changed, but hospitality and protection have ever since his day been provided for poor travellers passing between Italy and France.

It is only on the Great St Bernard that any monks are

sixty of them, belonging to the Order of Augustinian Canons, live in the monastery, to which the great hospice, known to so many tourists, is attached. It was by this pass that Napoleon led the French into Italy. But the monks have disappeared from the Little St Bernard, which is the pass over which our mountaineers from the commune of Séez cross the frontier. The hospice still remains, and retains its old traditions of free hospitality to the poor. It is maintained, however, not by monks, but by the Military Order of St Maurice and St Lazarus, of which the King of Italy is the Grand Master; and the present building was restored under royal auspices in 1862. All, except the very poor, who lodge there, pay for their rooms and their food at the customary hotel rates, rough as the fare is; and, except that there is a little chapel in the house, and that the arrangements are controlled by a "rector" in Holy Orders, there is nothing monastic about it. It may surprise some who think of a "hospice" as a medieval kind of place, to learn that there is electric light in the rooms! But the fact is, that of recent years you will find electric light in most of the larger Alpine villages and inns, the water-power being got from the mountain torrents for nothing except the cost of a simple installation. A few of the famous St Bernard dogs are still kept at the hospice.

A remarkable feature of this bleak and grim mountain pass is a lovely rock-garden, which was created by the late rector, Rev. Pierre Chanoux, who was not only the beloved pastor of his people, but an enthusiastic botanist, and who collected plants from the Himalayas and the Pyrenees as well as from the Alps. "Chanousia," for so this garden is called, is kept up by the Order of St Maurice, and provides by itself a quite sufficient attraction to lovers of flowers to induce them to make a pilgrimage to the Little St Bernard-a quite easy journey now by the new motor road for those who cannot face the climb up the steep path that the peasants of Séez still use, as they bring their cattle to graze on the high Savoy slopes.

The flowers are only to be seen for about three months in the summer, as the snow begins to cover them for their winter sleep as early as September.

Whether for its exceeding beauty, or for the interest attaching to its old traditions, or as providing opportunities for studying a self-contained community of mountaineers, there are few districts in the Alps which offer greater attractions to a quiet visitor than the district of Séez in the Tarentaise. And the mountain road into Italy through the pass leads into one of the fairest parts of Piedmont, to the foot of Mont Blanc at Courmayeur, and to Aosta with its memories of the ancient Roman occupation.

J. H. BERNARD.

FROM THE OUTPOSTS.

THE MARKSMAN.

mulla's head, or settled on the features of the recumbent and undisturbed old gentleman by his side.

On the whole, Fadalmulla was contented. It gave him some satisfaction to think that most of his companions-in-arms would have been drilling at daybreak, and would at that moment probably be engaged in some tedious fatigue. Had

PRIVATE FADALMULLA sat on a rock and reflectively picked at a jigger in his little toe. Close by, a few kids, nominally under the control of two diminutive and undraped infants, gambolled and butted each other in a languid manner. A venerable savage, with a yard of tattered and dirty americani round his loins, had completed the lengthy process of choosing a really comfortable boulder Fadalmulla been of their numfor a pillow, and was composing himself for his diurnal nap under an adjacent thorn-bush. The Manyatta, a rambling collection of dome-shaped huts surrounded by a straggling zeriba, seemed to have settled down for the day. The camels and goats had been milked and driven off to graze. Such of the ladies as had not set out with their water-pots in the direction of the wells had betaken themselves to their domestic tasks and gossip. A few elmoran1 sat idly in the shade of the huts, while the majority had disappeared towards some unknown rendezvous of laziness and meat-eating in the bush. In fact, the only living creatures that were really taking an active interest in life were the flies, some thousands of which buzzed round Fadal

ber, he would probably even now be standing, like a block of carved ebony, in front of the orderly-room table, receiving with outward calm, but no little inward discomfort, the pointed remarks of his Company Commander anent the uncleanness of his rifle on parade that morning. However, Allah in his goodness had ordained that he should be sent on guard to an outlying manyatta, and as his corporal happened to be also his son-in-law (for Fadalmulla was something of a veteran), his lot seemed for the moment to have fallen in a pleasant place. Moreover, the plump little wife of old Leboteng yonder had thrown him not a few saucy glances as she moved among the camels with her bowl at milking-time that morning. So Fadalmulla, stripped

1 Warrior.

to his khaki shorts, with his fat black body shining like a hippo in the sunlight, was on the whole contented. Still, at the back of his mind, that musketry affair still rankled.

Once, when he was escorting a mail safari, Fadalmulla had shot a bustard quite eighty paces distant. Round the camp fires at night, and during the dragging noontide hours in the hot boma, he had not been sparing with repetitions of the tale of his prowess, nor had the distance of the bustard and the quickness and accuracy of the shot lost anything in the telling. So when, thanks to the bewitching of his bullets by some evil shaitan, his Bwana at the end of the musketry course had announced him to be a third-class shot, he had been the butt of a good many rude scoffs.

Of course Fadalmulla knew that he was not really a thirdclass shot, for no third-class shot could possibly have killed a bustard which, if it wasn't actually flying at the moment, was certainly just getting ready to fly. However, he had not been able to tell his Bwana about the bustard, for there was an unaccountable prejudice against people using their ammunition for shooting bustards, so Fadalmulla had been obliged to remain a target for the taunts of the ill-mannered.

This train of thought was only partially disturbed by the sight of three elmoran, who came running in an excited

manner towards the manyatta. What feather-pated fools those elmoran were ! Look at that one in front, hopping up and down now in front of the corporal, like a great marabout stork, shouting "Woh! woh ! woh!" like one afflicted of Allah. But while Fadalmulla's slow-moving brain was still pondering contemptuously on the antics of the newcomers, his disciplined body acted on the instant in response to its years of training, and no sooner had the shrill toots of the corporal's whistle carried the alarm to his ear than he was hobbling as fast as his bad toe would permit in the direction of his rifle and bandolier, and in hardly more time than it takes to write he and his five companions were grouped round their N.C.O., stolidly receiving that worthy's instructions.

The story brought by the elmoran was short, nor was there anything in it very novel to its hearers. Soon after daybreak Turkana raiders, "like the blades of grass in number," had swooped down on a neighbouring manyatta and "eaten it up." They (the elmoran) had performed deeds of unparalleled valour, but the Turkana were too many, and were even now driving off the stock, while the ground was strewn with the disembowelled corpses of the women and children. Would, the askaris come quickly and discomfort the dreaded "long-spears" with their rifles?

The corporal had heard the

the

story before. The Turkana which alone makes a long hot
were always "like the blades day endurable. However, no
of grass in number ";
sooner had he become comfort-
elmoran had always performed ably comatose than he was
prodigies; and, nine times out again aroused by alarums and
of ten, at the end of a long excursions. This time the dis-
hot double through the bush, turbers of the peace were four
he had found nothing but a terrified little maidens, who
manyatta seething with panic, came scampering at a great
because, forsooth, some laiyunii pace through the bush, inco-
had seen what he thought was herently screaming their tidings
a Turkana scout on a distant as they ran.
hillside. However, his duty
was plain, and his orders came
without hesitation. Two elmo-
ran were sent racing through
the bush to the boma, to repeat
the tale to the Bwana. He
himself, with five men, set off
hot-foot, though sceptical, to-
ward the scene of the rumoured
affray; and Fadalmulla, thanks
to the jigger in his toe, was
left behind in the manyatta to
prepare a bowl of refreshing
uji 2 against the coming again
of the combatant party. With
in five minutes of the elmoran's
arrival all was in train, and
Fadalmulla, serene amidst the
panic-stricken buzzing of the
now thoroughly awakened man-
yatta, had calmly started upon
his culinary labours.

The making of uji, like everything else in this world, doubtless requires more skill than the uninitiated would imagine, but for all that it can hardly be said to call for great mental exertion; so it was not long before Fadalmulla's brain had once more assumed the pleasant lethargy

1 Immature boy.

Fadalmulla remembered that he now held the responsible position of O.C. troops in the manyatta, so, rising reluctantly to his feet, he elbowed his way into the cluster of excited villagers who were crowding round the newcomers, and whose staccato lamentations bore witness to the badness of the tidings. It seemed that the story of the raid was not a false one. Not only had the neighbouring manyatta been attacked, but a large band of Turkana warriors, flushed with their easy triumph, were even now approaching through the bush. The little girls, who had been watching the young camels grazing from the vantage-point of a high rock, had heard their distant war-song and had caught sight of them as they crossed a rocky ridge not a mile away.

Now in the warfare of raids and counter-raids there is one invariable rule-when attacked, run away. You may concentrate in the bush for a counterattack, or you may content yourself with harrassing the

2 A sort of gruel.

Π

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