( Originally Published 1902 )
THE crevasses of high mountains are often spanned by bridges, made by the falling snow. The wise tourist and guide always passes over these bridges with extreme caution. Every now and then some venturesome person or party falls through them and is lost. About a year ago, Dr. Schaffer and a guide undertook to pass over a crevasse in the Alps on the snow. The guide got safely across, but the doctor fell through and dragged his companion with him down into the chasm. The fall did not kill them, and they called and called, and struggled and struggled, for a day and night in vain ; and, writing in their diary an account of their experiences and messages to their survivors, laid down in their ice bed, with its blue canopy of sky, to a painless sleep that knows no waking.
In climbing the steeps of life's mission, the traveler will find chasms that are spanned by snow bridges, which are beautiful and solid to behold, but thoroughly unsafe. The sun that smiles upon them weakens them ; and yet incautious travelers are constantly trying and falling through them. There is one safe bridge over the dangerous chasms of earth and over the river of death—the one which is made out of the timbers of the Cross on which the Saviour died.