u, hidden the day before,
appeared in full view with the rolling away of the clouds, and we
desired to approach nearer to the shy maiden. All the listlessness of
the day before was past. As we stepped out of the little _chalet_, in
the hotel garden, where--the hotel being full--we had slept in a room
only vacated for the night, with a pair of immense red slippers behind
the door, and Madame's gowns hanging from pegs on the wall, everybody
was astir. More than one party was sipping their scalding coffee as we
entered the hotel breakfast-room, while, under the great trees outside,
guides and saddled horses waited impatiently.

When we had tied on our wide-rimmed hats, and gathered our shawls, we
found a roomy carriage, an open landau, waiting for us at the side-door
of the hotel. We drove quickly out of the town, followed by and
following other carriages, until we formed a long procession by the time
we had reached the valley of Lauterbrunnen and began the ascent. It is a
deep, dark valley, shut in by innumerable overhanging rocks, from which
thread-like waterfalls hang suspended in air, or are lost in spray.
Hardly does the sun seem to penetrate its depth, and an indescribable
gloom, as well as chill, pervades the place. From a few scattered
cottages women and children emerged to follow the carriages, begging
mutely or offering fruits, while at one point a man awaited our approach
to awake the echoes with an Alpine horn.

After an hour we reach Lauterbrunnen, and leave the carriage at the door
of an inn, where a crowd bargains and waits for guides and horses. We
swell the number. When we are served, we mount to our places, and file
out of the straggling village, turning before we reach the Staubach
Falls--a stream of silvery spray that never touches earth, but swings
and waves in mid-air. The ascent grows more and more steep. The recent
rain has added to the icy streams, which filter constantly from snows
above, and the horses sink in the mire, or slide and slip in a way by no
means reassuring. Often the path is mounted by steps of slippery logs;
when added to this is a precipice upon one side, we hold our breath--and
pass in safety. We commend each other as we perform feats of valor and
intrepidity which would make our fortune in the ring, we fancy. The
guides, insolent and careless, stroll on in advance, leaving the most
timid to their own devices. Presently, as we enter a perfect slough of
despond, we see a man befor