The Tiffin tribune. (Tiffin, Ohio) 1868-1887, 1872-02-08


HISTORY
The circumstances I am about to re-
late happened just four autumns ago,
when 1 was travelling in Switzerland,
with my old school and college friend,
Egerton Wolfe.
Before going further, however, 1
wish to observe that this is no dressed
up narrative. am plain, pIosaic
man; my name Francis Legrice-by
profession barrister-and think it
would be difficult to find many per-
sons less given to look upon life from
a romantic point of view. By my
enemies, and sometimes, perhaps, by
my friends, am supposed to push my
habit of incredulity to the verge of un-
iversaI skepticism; and indeed 1 ad-
NIT that believe in very little that l
do not hear and see for myself. But
for these things that 1 am going to
relate, 1 can VOuch; and in SO far as
mine is a personal narrative 1 am re-
sponsible for its truth. What I saw,
l saw with my own eyes in the broad
daylight. I offer nothing, therefore,
in the shape of story; but simply a
plain statement of facts, as they hap
pened to myself.
was travelling, then, in Switzer-
land with EgertOn Wolfe. 1t was not
our first joint lOng-vacatiOn tour by
a good many, but it promised to be
the last; for Wolfe was engaged to be
married the following spring, to a
beautiful and charming girl, the daugh-
ter of nOrth-country barOnet.
He was a handsome fellow, tall,
graceful, dark-haired, dark-eyed; a
poet, a dreamer, an artist-as thor
Oughly unlike myself, in short, as one
man having arms, legs and a head,
can be unlike another. And yet we
suited each other capitally, and were
tine fastest friends and best travelling
companions in the world.
We had begun our holiday on this
occasion with a weeks idleness at a
place which 1 will call Oberbrun-a
delightful place, wholly Swiss, eCnsis-
ting of one huge wooden building,
half water cure establishment, half
hotel, two smaller buildings called de-
pendences, a tiny church, with bull
bous steeple painted green, and hand
full of village, ali perched together on a
breezy mOuntain-plateau, some three
thousand feet above the lake and val
ley. Here, far from the haunts of the
British tourist and the alpine club
man, we read, smoked, climbed, rose
with the dawn, rubbed up our rusty
German and got ourselves into train
ing for the knapsack-work to fol-
low.
At length, our week being up, we
ssarted-rether later, on the whole,
than was prudent, for we had thirty
miles'walk before US, and the sun was
already high.
For some distance our path lay
along the mountain side, through the
pine woods and by cultivated slopes
where Indian corn was ripened to gold,
and the late hay harvest was waiting
for the mower. Then the path wound
theyalley lay between
US and the pass We had laid out for
DAVIS wOrk-and then through sue
cession of soft green slopes and ruddy
apple orchards, we came to blue lake
fringed with rushes, when we hired a
boat with d striped awning, like the
boats on lake MaggOire, and were row.
ed across by a bOatman who rested on
his oars and sang a jOdel song when
we were half way across.
Being landed on the opposite bank,
we found our road at once begin to
tend upward; and here, as the guide
informed us, the ascent of the Hohen-
zollern might be said to begin.
'This, however, meine Herren," T"
said he, sis only part of the old pass.
1t is ill-kept; for none but country
folks, and travellers from Oberbrun,
come this way now. But we strike
the new pass higher up. A grand
road, meine Herren-as fine a road as
the Simplon, and good for carriages
all the way. 1t has only been open
since spring"
''The old pass is good enough for
me anyhow said EgertOn crowding
handful of wild forget-me-nOts un-
der the ribbon of his hat. ats like a
stray fragment of Arcadia"
And in truth it was wonderfully
lovely and secluded-a mere rugged
path winding steeply upward in a soft
yreeh shade, among large forest trees
and moss grown rocks covered with
patches of fYelvety-lichen. By-and-by,
when we had been following this path
for nearly an hour, we came upon a
patch of clearing, in the midst OF
which stOOda rough upright monolith,
antique, weather-stained, covered
with rude carvings like a Runic fnonu-
ment-the primitive bOundary-stOne
between the cantOns of Uri and Un-
teTwalden.
"Letusrest hereu'eries Egerton, fling
ing himself at full length on the grass.
'tEbeu fuqdcesl-and the hours are
shorter than the years. Why not
enjoy them ?''
But the guide, whose name is Pc
ter Kaufman, interpOses after the
manner of guides in general, and will
by no means let US have our OWL
way. There is a mountain inn, he
urges, only i've minutes distant-"an
excellent little inn, where they sell
good red wine" So we yield to fate