I had to take my month's holiday in June this year, rather earlier than I like (as it always seems more difficult to work when you come back to face all the hot weather), but we can't all have our holidays in the best months. A young brother and a sister and I agreed to spend a fortnight about our old haunts in Switzerland, and we had such a jolly time together. Of course we went first to Paris, and were fascinated with the shops, but tore ourselves away from them to visit the venerable Notre Dame, and then to spend a little time in the Louvre, but it was only time enough just to make us determined to stay longer in Paris on our way back. In the afternoon we took one of the boats up the Seine, and afterwards went for a walk in the Bois de Boulogne--a delightful breathing-place for the Parisiennes--good roads, lovely trees, and greenery, and yet quite near to all the bustle of the town. The next day we had a hot and dusty journey on to Geneva, rather afflicted by the presence of some old ladies who wished to keep all the windows shut--it is strange how these petty discomforts fix themselves in one's mind! At Geneva we had vast, big rooms just looking over the lake, in the Hotel des Bergues, and we took a Sabbath-day's rest there, finding a nice service in the English church, and for the rest of the day wandering about near the lake and up the river. The next day we felt more energetic, and B. went off for a trip round the lake by steamer, while we went up Salève by steam and electric tram, a lazy way of proceeding, but it was rather an exciting journey crawling up the face of the mountain, and then such a view from the top; mountains, mountains everywhere, and grand old Mont Blanc poking his head over the top, and down below the lake so still and blue, with green trees down to its edge, and then the trees growing darker as they grow higher up, until they stop and the snow-line begins. The next day we moved on to Chamonix; the train went only as far as Cluses, and from there we had a drive of twenty-five miles by diligence. It was a delightful drive on a bright, sunny day; at every turn we seemed to get fresh views of Mont Blanc, and each view seemed more beautiful than the last. We walked a good part of the way while the horses climbed the hills, and we found many varieties of wild flowers and plenty of wild strawberries. Chamonix is a charming place, but one wanted more time just to loaf about and enjoy the views. The Mer de Glace is, perhaps, the most noted glacier in Switzerland; it is within easy distance of Chamonix (about two hours' walk), and it is a wonderful sight, but somehow I can't describe it, it is all too solemn and grand. I always feel the truth of what the Psalmist says about the men that go down to the sea in ships: "These men see the works of the Lord and His wonders in the deep," and I think the same applies to those who climb into the heights of the mountains, but I suppose he had not had that opportunity!