led me northwards again. The Engadine, I need hardly tell my readers versed in Murray, is the sixty-mile-long Valley of the

Inn.

The valley is one vast meadow, with sheep-pastures extending up the mountain-slopes. The flocks arrive thin and starved in the early summer, and go away fat and wellliking in the early autumn. It is a happy valley, with little or no want or beggary, unless the civilisation (?) wrought by crowds of tourists should corrupt its simplicity. Let me transcribe a more interesting passage than is often found in guide-books: The sons of the valley, for the most part, quit home at an early age, scatter themselves over the Continent, and are to be found in most of the capitals working as pastry-cooks, confectioners, distillers of liqueurs, clerks in warehouses, keepers of cafés, and sellers of chocolate. Many of them thus acquire independence, and become millionaires in florins, with which they return to end their days in their native valley. They display their wealth especially in the architecture of their houses, which are distinguished by their large dimensions and solidity, by their decorations of whitewash, gilding, frescoes, escutcheons, and elaborate wrought-iron grilles and gates. One reason for their large size is that they often comprise under the same roof barn, stable, and cowshed.' It took some time to go through all the valley; but I sought the Grinnells ineffectually at Maloia, at St. Moritz, at Silvaplana, and at half a dozen places. How I denounced myself for the lack of moral courage which had not allowed me to ascertain their probable address when I had met them at Splügen! At last I met with some good-natured people who seemed to identify the party, and assured me that they had gone on

to Pontresina. And accordingly I took the well-known footpath from St. Moritz, which crosses the little Inn between the lake and the waterfall, and so on through the wood.

In this region there is a great deal of mountain-climbing. I had never been much of a climber, but I had inured myself to it by practice. I had not done so to the extent of a friend, who told me that he carried out the plan of gradually increasing the extent of his climb day by day until he could ascend Monte Rosa without difficulty, and there stand with his heel over Italy and his toe over Switzerland. I had no capacity for such violent delights; but I had got enough training to enable me with ease to effect any moderate ascents.

For a mountain climb, for those who are inexperienced in such ways, is trying to delicate constitutions, as will be seen presently. There is generally a long walk to the foot of the mountain, which ought to be saved; and then, after a provokingly easy ascent, the real climb begins. But you like it, and you say with truth that you like it, and you enjoy it heartily, and you cut off the corners of the zigzags in order to save ground. Yes, my young friend, but when you have to go on zigzagging, mile after mile, hour after hour, you begin to pull against the collar; you feel it in your chest or your backbone, or through the muscular system generally. It is certainly very trying. Trying to find that when you think you are nearly on the top you are only half-way; when the sun beats intolerably at your back; when your companion, who entertains severe disciplinary ideas, ruthlessly refuses to let you sit down, because you will only be much more tired afterwards. There are some things which are pleasant enough in the ascent: pleasant to note the boskage and the delicious

wild-flowers, to observe the everwidening prospects; and sometimes, though rarely, to taste of some fountain that bursts from the rock. Then if the unwonted climber is really weakly or of a nervous turn, the ascent begins to tell on him. The fatal misfortune on the Matterhorn seems to have been due to a man who was trying more than he was able to perform. If you are working your way through a forest, dotting the lower side of the mountain, the trees seem to close in and almost to suffocate one.

Indeed, to a nervous person, although the path is really safe enough, it is easy to see that a stumble or a blunder might cause very serious consequences. Then the path is at times very narrow and precipitous; you instinctively cling close to the mountain, feeling that a second might send you a thousand feet into space. You are no better off if you are on a mule, for you feel that the mule may go over the edge, or you may go over the mule. With a little practice, however, all this nervous feeling goes away, and one of joyous security succeeds. I had pretty well gone through all the stages during this tour; but there was one traveller journeying up the mountain to whom the experience was new, and to whom it might have proved disastrous.

It was not very far from the summit, where a narrow ledge of path glided round the bare rock of a mountain, that my progress was barred by a party of three ladies, one of whom was supported by the other.

'Good heavens! she has fainted, she has fainted, she will die!' exclaimed one of the ladies.

I rushed forward, and there was Maud Grinnell, nearly or entirely insensible.

'She would walk up, she would walk up,' exclaimed Mrs. Grinnell,

'and either she has been tired out by the long path, or she has been frightened by this narrow dangerous bit. O, what shall we do?'

I knew that there was only one thing to be done. It was at least three hours to the village on the slope, and one hour to the nearest water. But it was only half an hour to the summit, and on a day like this I knew that there would be people who would give help and refreshment; very likely people from the village had taken up refreshment for expected visitors. And now Maud had actually fainted. There was only one way by which she could be carried along the ledge. Fortunately I had little weak brandy-and-water in my flask, and succeeded in pouring some down her throat. Then I took her up in my arms as if she were a child-and she was not much more and though there might have been just a little danger in the effort, I bore her along to a point where the path considerably widened, and there was a margin of turf below the rock. I could not forbear, for a moment, pressing the poor girl to my heart, at what really seemed to me a critical moment. Presently she was quite safe. A sudden torrent of tears, the fingers convulsively clasped mine, and O, it is you!' she exclaimed with returning reason, as I rested her on the turf against the rock.

One of the ladies had followed easily enough, but I had to return for Mrs. Grinnell, whose nerves were dreadfully shattered. She flew to her daughter, and presently Maud Grinnell, with smiles and tears, thanked me for the help which I had been so fortunate as to render her. It seemed that a large party of ladies had arranged to start that morning from one of the Pontresina hotels for the top of the Piz

Languard. They said, and said truly, that the ascent was not so very much, and that it was constantly done by ladies; but then it is not easy for ladies in delicate health and who are making their first experiments in mountaineering. The others had pushed on with the mules that carried the restaurating baskets, and Maud and her mother had gradually lagged behind, save that one lady had fallen into conversation with them, and kindly bore them company.

It was certainly very pleasant work when we came to rest on the summit with all the materials of a sumptuous lunch. Every kind of reserve, if there ever had been such beyond what my shy nature had assumed, ceased to exist. All the social ice had dissolved into melting genial waters. The young girl's nervousness disappeared as she enjoyed the thorough rest and the regained companionship of her friends. As

I lay at the feet of Maud, and the field-glasses and the panoramic plans passed from hand to hand, she disclosed the treasures of a tender, imaginative, and well-stored mind.

She was so entirely recovered that she passed the giddy corner this time on returning without nervousness, and indeed she has always insisted that it, was the long walk and no lack of courage that caused her to faint away at this critical point. And now I was admitted to very intimate companionship with the Grinnells; the courier found his occupation gone, and, meeting with even a still better opening, in great disgust proffered his resignation. Very pleasant indeed were the three weeks that I spent with them in the Engadine.

I need not tell at any length the idyllic story of my courting in the Swiss valley. I do not profess to say for a single moment that old Grinnell, when he knew all about my history and surroundings, would,

as a sane man in his senses, think that I was a desirable man for his son-in-law. But it so happened that, unworthy as I was, I had enlisted Maud's affections before he knew it, or I myself knew it, or sweet Maud herself knew it. He was quite wrapped up in his only child. He had gathered the belief, surely not on irrational grounds, that a happy love would be the best security for health and serenity; but that a misfortune in love might sap the very springs of being. And after all there was nothing against me but my poverty, and nothing against my father but the misfortune which in these unhappy days of depression has happened to so many worthy gentlemen. I spoke at last with as much kind encouragement as ever a maiden's mother gave to suitor. I took the gracious gift with no consciousness of desert on my side, but as one. takes those bounteous gifts which a kindly Providence showers upon us. It was settled that I should not return to Mr. Fisby's: I was to be promoted to a desk in the inner office, and in due time I became both son-in-law and junior partner.

Sometimes my wife will drive down to the office and fetch me home in the brougham, and if I have gone to the club will lay in wait for me there, that I may get a drive in the Park before dinner. People tell me, and I repeat without indorsing the flattery, that for a mere scholar I am a very good man of business, and that scholarship is not a bad element in commercial life. As for my wife, you would never think, from her buxom curves and roses on her cheeks, that she was ever thought in danger of consumption. We went to Switzerland for the honeymoon, and we mean to go there regularly. We both agree that the Engadine is the most delightful part of Switzerland.