absolutely destructive to such minute particles of living matter, even when hard-frozen, and that is intense light, the ultra-visible vibrations of smallest wave-length. [Illustration: A dance on the seashore: a sketch by Edward Forbes (1852).] CHAPTER XVIII A SWISS INTERLUDE AFTER the hot summer of 1911 I escaped from London in September and made straight for Interlaken. Thence I was "wafted" by the electric railway to the "Schynige Platte"--a wonderful hill-side, 4500 feet above the "Bödeli," the flat meadowland in which Interlaken is placed. At the Schynige Platte we are separated to the south from the Jungfrau and the great Oberland range of mountains only by a deep rift in which rushes the "Black Lütschine," coming down from Grindelwald to join its "white" brother-torrent close beneath us at Zweilütschinen. To reach the "Platte" we creep in our train up the northern side of the mountain--one of whose peaks is known by the curious name "Gummihorn"--for more than an hour without a glimpse of what is on the other side. Then, when we are 6000 feet above sea-level, we enter a short tunnel in the shoulder of the mountain, and all is dark. When the train emerges every one in it gasps. You hear a cry from every mouth--for the scene is astounding! Coming through that tunnel we have stolen surreptitiously upon a band of gigantic snow-white brethren--the Wetterhörner, the Schreckhörner, the Eiger, the Mönch, the Jungfrau, the Mittaghorn, the Breithorn, and the Tschingelhorn. There they are--lying close to us, unaware of our approach--naked and unashamed, glistening in the sunlight, variously stretched in their immense repose. One feels on seeing them thus free from every scrap of cloud and clothing as though one had intruded upon a glorious company of titanic beings innocently sunning themselves in perfect nudity. It is with the sense that humble apologies for the intrusion are due to them, and will be graciously accepted because we hold them in such profound admiration and reverence, that we venture, little by little, to let our eyes dwell on their wondrous beauty. There are moments, it must be confessed, when we feel a qualm of modesty and are unwilling to take advantage of our rare chance--moments when we should not be surprised if one of the giants were to hurl a command at us--in terms of thunder and avalanche--ordering us at once to retire to the other side of the Gummihorn and leave them to their rightful privacy. There is no great view of snow mountains at close range--not even that from the Gornergrat--which is at once so fine and so easily accessible.