more and more the grandeur of the immense ice-field now gradually opening out and unfolding the wealth of mountain glory which encloses it.
We tried in vain to identify Mount Darwin or the most northerly peaks of the Malte Brun Range, which we knew were amongst those on our left, and, according to our reckoning by the maps—framed from Von Haast's—which seems to have been compiled from guesswork as far as this locality is concerned—we should at this time have been on the Classen Glacier, which lies at the southern head of the Godley River, and, in reality, was some miles north over the Liebig Range.
Passing several branch glaciers on our left, and observing that those on our right were assuming larger proportions, we sidled obliquely across and made for the snow-field leading to the saddle which we had every reason to believe led into the Tasman. Altering our course to due north, and crossing the lower and sloppy part of the snow-field, which was flat and quite undrained by crevasses, we were soon on snow in miserable order, and putting on the rope we wound our way gently upwards amongst the crevasses now beginning to appear.
We had just six hours of daylight, and considered we could reach the saddle in four if all went well, which would leave us two hours to find a bivouac on the other side, provided the descent were feasible.
We found it necessary to change leaders again and again to distribute the arduous task of breaking steps in treacherous snow, just in the condition to let us through knee-deep as we put our weight on it, and we
