that I had no appetite. I was much too disfigured by weeping to dine even at a separate table. Next morning when Sergy went to take his bath in the Réus river, his bather, an old retired Swiss soldier, asked him if it was true that our Russian soldiers served under arms the whole year. In Switzerland, as it appears, the soldiers are only assembled during eight weeks; every two years they assemble again for the grand manœuvres, and this is all the service the Swiss warriors go through. It is true that they have not at all a martial air, arrayed in long coats that touch the ground and tangle about their legs. After lunch we went for a sail on the “Lac des Quatre Cantons,” and had a delightful trip to Fluelen; with a gentle breeze we steamed off on the smooth waters. All the passengers, English for the most part, wearing leather gaiters and green Tyrolese felt hats with a feather in them, were laden with Alpenstocks with a bunch of Edelweiss on the top, and with cameras and knapsacks strapped upon their backs. We had dinner on board, whilst a troop of Tyrolese singers danced on the deck. On the blue and limpid lake fishermen were spreading their nets and preparing their tackle for the day’s labour. Here is a steamer coming towards us; the waiters on it are waving their napkins, instead of handkerchiefs, saluting their comrades on our boat. We are passing now the tiny chalet of “Wilhelm Tell,” situated on the shore of the lake. A little further on we saw a large monument erected on the rock to the memory of Schiller. We glided for some time side by side with a railway train which made off in the direction of St. Gothard, appearing and disappearing in numerous tunnels. Roaring water-falls and picturesque cascades leap from the heights of high and steep hills. We are now approaching the village of Fluelen, the nearest spot to the snow mountains, whose white peaks were dazzling on the blue sky. On approaching the small town of Viznau, from where one mounts by a funicular line on the summit of the Rigi-Kulm, a vast hill mounting to the sky, we saw an engine inclined almost perpendicularly, pushing one car up the steep mountain. From the peak, tumultuous torrents formed by the melting of the snow fell down. The road up the Rigi is an extraordinary piece of engineering, and how the funicular manages to climb it, is a matter of surprise. The weather was so clear that we could actually see the people walking about on the top of the mountain, and it gave us the desire to follow their example the next day. We were back at Lucerne towards evening, and after taking tea, we sat for a short time in wicker-chairs under the chestnuts on the quay and went to end our evening to the theatre to see a new play. I felt thoroughly fatigued and dozed off during the performance. The play appeared awfully dull and I thought the acting was atrocious, so did everyone, for the curtain dropped and nobody applauded.