A mile beyond Samaden are Celerina and Cresta, now merged into one. Plate II. is a view on the way: in the background Piz Albriz, on the right a buttress of the sombre Piz Chalchaign, Pontresina in middle distance; nearer, standing lorn among the tombs on a little larch-clad hill, the ancient church of San Gian, which, except for funerals, is now disused; in the meadowed floor of the valley the Inn rests in quiet reaches after its furious descent from the lakes; its clear waters are joined by those of the Flaz from Val Bernina, turbid with 'the dust of continents to be,' and larger in volume than those of the stream in which after their confluence its name and individuality are lost; in the triangle between the rivers are the Samaden golf links. The most famous and fatal of toboggan runs descends between St. Moritz and Cresta. Between Celerina and St. Moritz the rail threads the romantic Charnadura gorge above the raging Inn. At the upper end is a fine fall by which the water descends from the lake of St. Moritz, the lowest of the chain of blue-green lakes that form {13} the characteristic charm of the upper reaches of the Engadine. St. Moritz strikes one on arrival as a town of hotels. Happily, hotels are becoming sensible that they cannot afford to be unsightly outrages on the scenery that is their _raison d'être_. An example of this is the Hôtel Margna, designed by Signur Nichol Hartmann, in whom the Engadine possesses an architect imbued with the spirit of its characteristic and picturesque style of building, and with unfailing resource in adapting it to modern requirements and utilizing old construction. 'Only a matter of appearance,' said a practical companion when I was hesitating to enter a restaurant that disfigured a lovely nook of tarn and fell. It was said with a superior air of appealing to higher considerations, much as Solomon, in extolling the God-fearing woman, reminds us that favour is deceitful and beauty is vain. But, after all, what is scenery save a matter of appearance? In fact, Switzerland lives on appearances, and it is but business to take them into account in catering for the thousands who are attracted thither, not by the sterling virtues of the inhabitants, but by the superficial beauty of the land. St. Moritz, seated on a spur of hill at the head of the lake, is the highest village in the Engadine, being some 200 feet higher than the Maloja Pass at the head of the valley. At the highest point is the old church, no longer used, whose interesting belfry seems {14} leaning to its fall. The inestimable Swiss periodical _Heimatschutz_ has pointed a salutary architectural moral by presenting this neglected tower with its simple proportions and vestiges of good work side by side with the modern parish church, a painstaking example of bad taste.