IHE ALUMNI JOURNAL. 



159 



And now, with this account, I will 

 commence my personal experiences. 



I am one of those patriotic Ameri- 

 cans who is always ready to rave and 

 storm and grow indignant at the tourists 

 who leave our shores for Europe, in- 

 stead of studying our own country first. 

 I often argued that Europe has no Ni- 

 agara, no Yosemite, no Yellowstone Park, 

 no canyons of Colorado, nor the caves of 

 Kentucky, but yet at the first opportu- 

 nity I flew — to Europe ! How sublime to 

 practice what we preach. My subject 

 permits me to speak only of the moun- 

 tains, hence I commence with Switzer- 

 land. 



We entered from the south side — 

 Italy — and through the great St. Gothard 

 tunnel. The tunnel was a surprise to 

 me. I had lived in the idea that I was 

 to pass through an atmosphere as thick 

 and dark as that which passed over 

 Egypt in Biblical days, and remembering 

 that the guide book said the tunnel was 

 nine miles long I could not help but 

 reflect at the vast opportunities for the 

 osculatory exercise of which the comic 

 books so often remind us. 



But the tunnel was no such thing. I 

 soon learned that it had not been con- 

 structed for the sweet exercise just 

 spoken of, but was a gigantic, prodig- 

 ious result of man's ingenuity. It was 

 one steady, continual ascent in a serpen- 

 tine manner, that we hardly realized we 

 were climbing, over chasms, over roar- 

 ing mountain streams, over stone bridges 

 or high trestle work, as we crossed from 

 one altitude to another, into one tunnel to 

 emerge again only to enter another, into 

 huge artificial caverns, or along a narrow 

 ridge with a steep descent, directly be- 

 low us, winding in and out, buried in 

 the woodlands of nature. It was won- 

 derful. 



As we emerged from each tunnel 

 we could look below and see the road 



we had just traversed, and realize how 

 rapidly we were ascending from the sea- 

 level. From our observation car we 

 could look all over, and as I gazed about 

 me and saw the luxuriant, productive 

 valleys clad in the brightest of verdure, 

 the nestling villages with their quaint, 

 low houses, and as far as the eye could 

 reach mountain upon mountain, rolling 

 and toppling over one another, each 

 one vieing for supremacy, I felt moved. 

 Nature is eloquent in her silence. 



Switzerland, although a fertile coun- 

 try, is hump-backed, and this, of course, 

 retards agricultural developments. We 

 therefore find the people skilled in finer 

 arts — watch- making, wood-carving and 

 lace weaving. Along the roadside we 

 see the peasant girls seated and applying 

 their deft fingers to the bobkins and 

 weaving that exquisite lace for which 

 they are famous. In the huts the sturdy 

 mountaineer artistically shapes the small 

 pieces of wood into any imaginable figure. 

 The people are strong, sturdy, not intel- 

 lectual, but honest and exceptionally 

 tidy, and as amongst the Scandanavians, 

 a Swiss house is a model of neatness. 



We soon reached Lucerne, beautifully 

 situated on the Lake of Eucerne, or as 

 they call it, the Vierwaldstaetter Sea. 

 Before us was the Rigi. I had heard so 

 much of it that my heart throbbed in 

 expectancy, for at last I was to enter the 

 region of perpetual snow and ice. We 

 took the steamer to Vitznau. The ab- 

 sence of all mountaineering preparations 

 surprised me, but I was dumbfounded 

 when we entered an incline railway, 

 somewhat similar to the one on Mt. 

 Washington, and had a most delightful 

 ride to the top. No avalanches, no 

 yawning abyss, no glaciers, no snow- 

 storm — nothing but sunshine, grass and 

 a fine hotel. I was disappointed. 



Upon looking about me I soon realized 

 why the Rigi is the Mecca of all Swiss 



