JUNE IN FRANCONIA. Pall 
have been able to see the invisible. “In 
the mountains,” says Wordsworth, “did he 
feel his faith.” But the poet was speaking 
then of a very old-fashioned young fellow, 
who, even when he grew up, made nothing 
but a peddler. Had he lived in our day, 
he would have felt not his faith, but his own 
importance; especially if he had put him- 
self out of breath, as most likely he would 
have done, in accomplishing in an hour and 
forty minutes what, according to the guide- 
book, should have taken a full hour and 
three quarters. The modern excursionist 
(how Wordsworth would have loved that 
word!) has learned wisdom of a certain wise 
fowl who once taught St. Peter a lesson, and 
who never finds himself in a high place with- 
out an impulse to flap his wings and crow. 
For my own part, though I spent nearly 
three hours on the less than four miles of 
mountain path, as I have already acknow- 
ledged, I was nevertheless somewhat short- 
winded at the end. So long as I was in the 
woods, it was easy enough to loiter; but no 
sooner did I leave the last low spruces be- 
hind me than I was seized with an importu- 
nate desire to stand upon the peak, so near 
