which was then a very small building, was crammed with tourists, and could not take me in. As the way down was unknown to me, some of the people obligingly suggested getting a man at the chalets, otherwise the path would be certainly lost in the forest. On arriving at the chalets no man could be found, and the lights of Zermatt, shining through the trees, seemed to say, " Never mind a guide, but come along down; I'll show you the way;" so off I went through the forest, going straight towards them. The path was lost in a moment, and was never recovered; I was tripped up by pine-roots, tumbled over rhododendron bushes, fell over rocks. The night was pitch dark, and after a time the lights of Zermatt became obscure, or went out altogether. By a series of slides, or falls, or evolutions more or less disagreeable, the descent through the forest was at length accomplished; but torrents of formidable character had still to be passed before one could arrive at Zermatt. I felt my way about for hours, almost hopelessly; by an exhaustive process at last discovering a bridge, and about midnight, covered with dirt and scratches, re-entered the inn which I had quitted in the morning.
Others besides tourists got into difficulties. A day or two afterwards,
when on the way to my old station, near the Hornli, I met a stout curé who had essayed to cross the Theodule pass. His strength or his wind had failed, and he was being carried down, a helpless bundle and a ridiculous spectacle, on the back of a lanky guide, while the peasants stood by with folded hands, their reverence for the church almost overcome by their sense of the ludicrous.
I descended the valley, diverging from the path at Randa to mount the slopes of the Dom,[1] in order to see the Weisshorn face to face. The latter mountain is the noblest in Switzerland, and
- ↑ The highest of the Mischabelhorner.
