Looking for a luncheon beer garden in Zurich, I picked up a small side-whiskered Englishman, and suggested we join a group of foreign geologists in a buffet. “Oh no,” he replied, “no beer. I only want a cup of tea and a biscuit.” So I left him and crudely and youthfully joined the younger men in the beer parlor for sauerkraut and wienies and Munich beer. Later at the opening meeting, the Geological Congress was addressed in French by the famous Sir Archibald Geikie, Director General of the Geological Survey of Great Britain and Ireland, and the author of “The textbook of geology,” the greatest of geology manuals. He was my pickup, whom I had deserted at lunch time. I had lost the opportunity of a lifetime, for a tête-a-tête with the world’s most famous geologist. Before going to Munich, Harry Gummeré of Haverford and I trekked through Denmark in a third class carriage amid peasants smoking fearful-smelling tobacco in long china-bowl pipes. Then we crossed to Christiansand in Norway. We traversed the fjords north to Trondhjem by rowboat, in “stoolcars” with little girl drivers. Then we traveled on foot, and everywhere in rain. Waterfalls were so numerous we never wanted to hear of another one. We climbed up to Stalheim from Bergen, saw the Jordalsknut, a magnificent half dome in a vast granite canyon like Yosemite. We rowed around the Kaiser’s yacht in the Nordfjord, and tried to pick him out on deck. We got soaked with days of rain in a backcountry village, and went to the inn, got into bed, and sent our clothing to dry in the kitchen. The local Norwegian bank looked at our Brown Brothers letter of credit and said, “Nothing doing,” which inspired us to compose a poem: We’re so happy we don’t know what to do. We haven’t any clothes to wear, We’re wet all through and through. We haven’t any money and we ought to feel quite blue But we don’t, we feel so happy, we don’t know what to do. Fortunately, the innkeeper was amused by our poem and sympathetic toward our plight. He took our IOU’s and told us we could have all the money we wanted and to send it back when we reached Trondhjem. From Trondhjem we crossed Scandinavia by rail to Stockholm, like Venice a city of canals. Delightful maiden ladies kept the breakfast place and served us with many queer breads, goats’-milk cheese, and sublime cleanliness. The canal boat took us across Sweden to Göteborg. It was a little steamer, from the porthole of which we saw a cow comfortably grazing a few feet away. And we saw and were impressed by the superb landscaping of lawns, by tree horticulture, and by lock masonry. In both Norway and Sweden the people talked English, the national costumes were delightful, the girls were pretty, and everybody was clean and democratic.