fore, suggested occult knowledge. I was, perhaps, a Mahatma (or its Saas Thal equivalent), and he settled himself in a sheltered corner and, charmed by the caresses of my Lady Nicotine, told me weird tales of the ghosts and goblins which still haunt the great circle of cliffs towering above the Val Anzasca. As the day wore on, the burden of a cheerful countenance became too much for me, so I retired to a quiet nook and, wrapped in numerous rugs, sought to drown my anxieties in sleep. Late in the afternoon Burgener awoke me with a great thump and bid me look at the weather. My first impression was that he had come to upbraid me as an impostor, and hold up my prophecies to scorn and derision. His jubilant air and a look of thinness about the lingering clouds, however, negatived these painful thoughts, and I found that the thump was intended to convey devout appreciation of my astounding wisdom! I shook myself free from the damp rugs, and a gleam of sunshine breaking through the mists, we welcomed the returning orb of day with ear-splitting yells and a "break down" as vigorous as hobnailed boots would permit. Our conduct would doubtless have suggested to competent critics that we were pious followers of Zoroaster (or escaped lunatics?). These ebullitions of joy having exhausted themselves and us, we packed the knapsacks and, appropriating the store of rugs belonging to the hut, made for the rendezvous appointed with Gentinetta.
