CHAPTER VI 



SUMMER IN THE ALPS 



THE irresponsible harmony of a hundred cow-bells ; 

 a like but thinner music from a hundred head of 

 goats ; the sharp, strident clacking of the coach- 

 men's whips as diligence and carriage wend their 

 way up from the plain ; the weird notes from the 

 great goat-horn as the goatherd gathers his scattered 

 flock together from the rocky heights above ; the 

 constant lowing of the cattle on the slopes ; the 

 vacher vociferating the JRanz des Caches as he 

 thinks of nothing in particular, and trims a stick 

 with his pocket-knife ; while all the time the 

 'brimming echoes spill the pleasant din' these 

 are the summer sounds which, though we should 

 find it no easy matter to hear them in the towns 

 without consulting the police, or, at any rate, 

 writing to the papers, delight and intoxicate us in 

 the Alps, and seem the only possible accompani- 

 ment for the magnificent glaciers and lovely 

 flowers. Curious that so much discord should 



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