Scenes in Switzerland

won to add a month, and then another, it being quite impossible to slip away from the kind friends with whom I had so much in common; the fascination only the more potent as we listened to the beating winds, and looked out into the slippery paths leading down into the cantons beneath.

Spring had come when it was "fit to travel," as Gretchen said. The green of the landscape was brilliant and uniform; the turf sown with primrose, violet, anemone, veronica, and buttercups. It was time for me to leave; neither could I be persuaded to stay till the meeting of the Landsgemeinde. It was sad to leave them, and the little Gretchen was only pacified by my assurance that, if possible, I would return at no distant day. My friend Spruner had business at Herisau, and spending one more evening together, our prayers mingling for the last time, we parted.

Our way led through the valley of the Sitter, a stream fed by the Sentis Alps, and spanned by a bridge hundreds of feet above the water. The same smooth carpet