There are few large farms in Switzerland. Yet, we stayed last week at one that would do credit in size even to the United States--a couple of hundred acres, mostly given up to grass and stock; every foot as carefully looked after as if it were a gentleman’s lawn in London. The owner is what they call a rich Bauer. He is a romantic-looking character, the red-cheeked, burly man, as he goes about among his hired people in the picturesque costume of other days. His wife and daughter also dress in unique costume. They all look very striking on the green meadows away up here on a mountain side, half as high as the Rigi. All this peasant’s immediate ancestors were born in this old stone house, and, though he has grown rich here, his life is unchanged from theirs. There are many long, round-paned windows to the rooms, through which the sun pours in and warms the bright-colored flowers with which the window shelves are filled. An old eight-day clock of his grandfather’s stands in the corner counting the seconds for these two hundred years. There is not a carpet or a table cloth in the house, but in their stead are old chests, wardrobes and chairs of rare carving, and queer pewter mugs of another age are on the walls. Their lives are very simple. At dinner they gather around an uncovered pine table, and the family dip soup from the same big bowl. They have an abundance of sour wine, black bread, and such butter, cheese and milk as would make an epicure glad. The high mountain air about them is bracing; they seem happy and healthful, and, more than most peasants, enjoy the grand scene of Alps and lakes around them. They set a little side table for us in another room, where we had all the good things a farm affords for two francs a day. Over on the Rigi, just across the lake from us, the tourists and the fashionables are paying ten to twenty francs for food not so wholesome. _October 9, 1871._--“Chicago has burned to the ground and all your houses are burned with it,” was the telegram that came to me for Brentano three nights ago. I went to his house at midnight, but he was gone to Freiburg. When he came back, he simply telegraphed, “Commence to rebuild at once.” The Americanism of the order set all his Swiss friends to talking. “Had Chicago burned up in Europe,” they said, “we would have spent a year mourning over it. Over there they simply rebuild the same day and say nothing.” I commenced a subscription list to help the unfortunate of Chicago, two weeks ago. I have raised 60,000 francs in sums as low as two cents each. I think no town of its population in Europe has given so liberally. To-morrow the cash goes on. CHAPTER V 1872 LOUIS BLANC, THE STATESMAN--HIS NOVEL COURTSHIP--HIS APPEARANCE--INVITES US TO PARIS--JUST MISS VICTOR HUGO--HIS SPEECH AT MADAME BLANC’S GRAVE--LETTER FROM LOUIS BLANC-- ALABAMA ARBITRATORS--SEE GAMBETTA AND JULES FAVRE.