At last, however, we reached plainer going, traversing a steeper but less broken slope which led to the foot of a final pyramid of rock. But these rocks, unfortunately, we never actually reached, for the storm battalions from the north swept furiously down upon us, swallowing up the view before ever we reached the crest of the range whence we might have looked down into the dark hollow of Beagle Channel. The darkness in the north before the tempest fell upon us was truly appalling. As it advanced it seemed to devour the wintry world. The heavens appeared to be descending in solid masses, so thick were the skirts of snow and hail that the advancing cloud-phalanx trailed beneath it. The black islands, the leaden waters, the pallid snows, and the splintered ice-encrusted peaks disappeared in the blackness of the storm, which enveloped us also, almost before we had realized that it was at hand. A sudden wind shrieked and whirled round our heads; hail was flung into our faces, and all the elements began to rage together. The ice-plastered rocks were now easily accounted for; we resembled them ourselves in a very few minutes. All landmarks vanished; the drifted snow itself was no longer distinguishable from the snow-filled air. To advance under these appalling conditions was impossible. The one thing to be done, and done at once, was to secure our retreat before it was too late. How we raced downwards! Not till we gained the lower glacier did snow give place to rain, which soaked us to the skin and overflowed in a steady stream out of our boots. We floundered in swamps, tumbled through brushwood, and at last gained the shore, almost dead beat with toil, yet delighting in what had been, after all, an exhilarating experience. A boat came off to fetch us, and we were soon on board our steamer. Thus we did not reach the actual summit of Mount Sarmiento--that remains virgin, for I could not wait to try it again. Whoever climbs it will accomplish a great feat and will have a splendid experience. Some years have already passed since my attempt, however, and I have not heard of another. I suppose the inhabitants of Sandy Point have more urgent interests to attend to. [Illustration: THE UNTRODDEN SUMMIT OF MOUNT SARMIENTO, WHICH THE AUTHOR WAS PREVENTED FROM REACHING BY A SUDDEN STORM. _From a Photograph._] The Spider's Web. AN UNDERGRADUATE'S STRANGE STORY. +Told by "Cecil Addington" and Set Down by George A. Raper.+ A remarkable drama of modern life, showing the pitfalls that lie in wait for well-connected and inexperienced young men, and that even to-day, in the heart of London, a man may go in peril of his life. For obvious reasons the names of the people concerned have been changed, but the correct names of all the parties have been supplied to us in confidence.