crowds go home about the end of September. Then all is changed. The country hotels shut up, and even here they dismiss their large staff of servants, and only keep a small portion of each house open. But they are looking forward to a great increase of winter business in Lucerne later, when the St. Gothard tunnel, which is now begun, shall be finished; though, of course, it will be nothing compared to the summer influx.” “And what becomes of the poor servants?” I asked. “Are they turned adrift on the world?” “Oh! dear, no. They are engaged for the hotels at Nice and Mentone, and all along the Riviera, in bodies of a hundred at a time. If you happen to go south in November, you will doubtless fall in with many a Kellner or a house‐maid you met up here in the summer. That is the form the Swiss foreign service has taken in our days of steam and easy communication. And very much they distinguish themselves. Both men and women are considered more honest and active than those of any other nation, and consequently are at a premium. That wonderful race of ‘Kellners’—a race apart—which goes by the generic name of German waiter, is largely composed of the Swiss element. Strangely enough, however, every waitress you meet, even in these districts, is certain to come from the canton of Berne. The women there have a _spécialité_ in that line. The peasants of the Catholic cantons keep to the housemaid department, as a rule, and our Lucerne maidens become ladies’ maids or governesses in English families. And very well they turn out, too. Both in this town and in the rural cantons they are a solidly good, pious population. Very conservative also; in fact, most conservative, in spite of our staunch republicanism, and most united at the same time.” It suddenly occurred to us to ask whose funeral we had seen that morning. “No doubt of some distinguished citizen?” “No,” replied Herr H——, “not particularly distinguished; only an old and highly‐respected tradesman. Oh! no; that is an every‐day occurrence. All the neighbors consider it a duty to attend the High Mass and to pray for each other. I was there, amongst others, just before I went to the Beau Rivage Hotel; for, although I have spent so many years away from Lucerne, I knew this man from my earliest childhood, and he has been working all his life for every one you saw there this morning, so that the least we might do was to go and pray for the repose of his soul, poor fellow! They will do the same for each one of us in turn. Here is a column of advertisements, composed of nothing but ‘Thanks’ from relatives,” he said, drawing a Lucerne daily paper from out of his pocket, and amongst the number we read the following touching one: