id and happy land if one is
a naturalist, and cares for the beauty of Alpine meadows, and of the
flowers which grow among and upon the rocks near the great glaciers.
This year the weather has, no doubt, been exceptionally cold and wet,
and at no great height (5,000 feet) we have had snow-storms, even in
July. But as compared with that of Paris and London the weather has
been delightful. There has been an abundance of magnificent sunshine,
and many days of full summer heat and cloudless sky. A fortnight ago
(July 16th), and on the day before, it was as hot and brilliant in the
valley of Chamonix as it can be. Mont Blanc and the Dome de Goutet
stood out clear and immaculate against a purple-blue sky, and, as of
old, we watched through the hotel telescope a party struggling, over
the snow to the highest peak.

At Chillon the lake of Geneva, day after day, spread out to us its
limitless surface of changing colour, now blending in one pearly
expanse with the sky--so that the distant felucca boats seemed to
float between heaven and earth--now streaked with emerald and
amethystine bands. The huge mountain masses rising with a vast sweep
from St. Jingo's shore displayed range after range of bloom-like greys
and purples, whilst far away and above delicately glittered--like some
incredible vision of a heavenly world beyond the sun-lit sky
itself--the apparition of the snows and rocks of the great Dents du
Midi. All this I have left behind me, and have passed back again to
dull grey Paris, to the stormy Channel, and to the winter of London's
July.

The incomparable pleasure which the lakes and valleys and mountains of
Switzerland are capable of giving is due to the combination of many
distinct sources of delight, each in itself of exceptional character.
A month ago, in bright sunshine, I went, once again, by the little
electric railway (most blessed invention of our day) from the
pine-shaded torrent below to the great Eiger rock-mountain, and
through its heart to the glacier beyond, more than 10,000 feet above
sea-level. On the way back I left the train at the foot of the Eiger
glacier, and walked down with my companion amongst the rocks of the
moraine and over the sparse turf of these highest regions of life.
Everywhere was a profusion of gentians, the larger and darker, as well
as the smaller, bluest of all blue flowers. The large, plump, yellow
globe-flowers (_Trollius_), the sulphur-yellow anemone, the glacial
white-and-pin