"That young man has wisdom. He is cultivating a vice. When he wants to economize he has a basis for economy. Suppose he had always lived a perfectly correct life, and some emergency should come to him that demanded economy, what would he have to economize on? Every man should so live that he can, if he must, better himself. I admire that young man, for he leaves himself room for development." The landlord gave us his history. The young man was ruined by prosperity. He was an industrious and very skillful carver, and had attained sixty cents a day with an immediate prospect of a raise of twenty cents, which is the summit of a legitimate Brienz ambition. He was engaged to be married to the daughter of a poor Swiss farmer, who had three cows and a goat or two, and there was no reason under heaven why he should not have been happy. He had health, strength, skill; Josepha was beautiful, and there was nothing to prevent his marrying her, and settling down quietly to watch the development of her goitre, and passing a long and happy life. But evil was hanging over them. An uncle of Rudolph's, who was a cook in Paris, died without issue, and left his entire estate, sixty-eight dollars and fifty cents, to his nephew, our Rudolph, in Brienz. Immediately Rudolph grew cold towards Josepha. He did not meet her on the little bridge after his work; he did not take her to fairs where the two drank beer lovingly out of the same mug; he did not always have some little present for her; in short, he avoided her. To use the strong though not elegant English of the wild and untamed West, he "shook" her. [Illustration: FEMALE COSTUMES IN APPENZELL.] Josepha noticed this change, and wept in her enforced solitude. With true womanly instinct she felt what was coming. There was now an inseparable bar between them. Could she, a plain country girl, with no dowry to speak of, hope to wed a man with a fortune of sixty-eight dollars and fifty cents? And so she wept her lost love, her first love, which never comes again. One may love twice, but the second love has not the twang, the flavor, as it were, of the first. It is the difference of a meal on an empty stomach and the tail end of a feast. They met and Josepha made one appeal to him. He answered her briefly, brutally: [Sidenote: JOSEPHA'S WOE.] "I did love you, Josepha," he said, "and could love you again, were it possible. But you must remember, my girl, that circumstances have changed; I am a man of fortune--you are the daughter of a poor farmer with but three cows, and those to be divided among ten children. And the price of cheese is sadly going down, and must still go down, owing to the competition of the factory system in America, where they can imitate even our most penetrating Limburger, and sell it cheaper here than we can produce it. It is no use to talk of buying our own product, all people buy where they can buy the cheapest. That is political economy.