On the afternoon of the 14th of February I left Brother Bonnelli's house with regret, as we were doing good and the prospect was encouraging. It rained all day and was very muddy under foot. I therefore concluded to remain for the night at a small town named Elgg. It was evening. I walked into a respectable looking hotel and arranged for supper and lodging. The people were obliging, but to save trouble I concluded not to use any more German than a few words, such as any traveler is supposed to pick up in a few days. After drying my clothes a little, as they were wet through with rain, I sat down to supper. Men were coming and going during the evening as is usual in such places on the continent of Europe. They come to chat with their neighbors, read the papers, smoke and drink beer. I noticed a man sitting at the table opposite me. He had been there some time, although we had not spoken to each other. The man at length said to the waiter--of course in German--"You have a stranger here." "Yes," the waiter replied, "an Englishman, but he cannot speak German." That was satisfactory to me as I went on with my supper, but directly after, the man looking over to me, said (in German), "You are an Englishman, I believe?" "Ein Englaender," I replied, wishing to break off the conversation, when, to my astonishment, he addressed me in pretty good English. After asking several questions which led to an agreeable conversation, he informed me that he was the chief authority of the village, and then requested to look at my passport, which I at once handed him, but as I at the moment complimented him on the ease and fluency with which he spoke English (which seemed to gratify him), he probably did not notice that, according to the last endorsement which was written upon the document, I should have been on my way to St. Gall. My friend returned the passport good-naturedly, signifying his approval and stating that my staying at the hotel for the night was all right.