e season;
but they were overcome at last by the usual application of a golden
key; and we found ourselves in due time pleasantly quartered in
Lucerne, at that most comfortable of European hostelries, the
Schweitzerhof.

We were a square party of four--Sir Charles and Amelia, myself and
Isabel. We had nice big rooms, on the first floor, overlooking the
lake; and as none of us was possessed with the faintest symptom of
that incipient mania which shows itself in the form of an insane
desire to climb mountain heights of disagreeable steepness and
unnecessary snowiness, I will venture to assert we all enjoyed
ourselves. We spent most of our time sensibly in lounging about the
lake on the jolly little steamers; and when we did a mountain climb,
it was on the Rigi or Pilatus--where an engine undertook all the
muscular work for us.

As usual, at the hotel, a great many miscellaneous people showed a
burning desire to be specially nice to us. If you wish to see how
friendly and charming humanity is, just try being a well-known
millionaire for a week, and you'll learn a thing or two. Wherever
Sir Charles goes he is surrounded by charming and disinterested
people, all eager to make his distinguished acquaintance, and all
familiar with several excellent investments, or several deserving
objects of Christian charity. It is my business in life, as his
brother-in-law and secretary, to decline with thanks the excellent
investments, and to throw judicious cold water on the objects of
charity. Even I myself, as the great man's almoner, am very much
sought after. People casually allude before me to artless stories
of "poor curates in Cumberland, you know, Mr. Wentworth," or widows
in Cornwall, penniless poets with epics in their desks, and young
painters who need but the breath of a patron to open to them the
doors of an admiring Academy. I smile and look wise, while I
administer cold water in minute doses; but I never report one of
these cases to Sir Charles, except in the rare or almost unheard-of
event where I think there is really something in them.

Ever since our little adventure with the Seer at Nice, Sir Charles,
who is constitutionally cautious, had been even more careful than
usual about possible sharpers. And, as chance would have it, there
sat just opposite us at table d'hote at the Schweitzerhof--'tis
a fad of Amelia's to dine at table d'hote; she says she can't bear
to be boxed up all day in private rooms with "too much