was to describe a triangle from left to right, and towards his breast, to feel whether he still possessed them or not. Umbrellas, hats, and walking-sticks swung in the net over him, and almost took away the prospect, which was impressive enough: he glanced out at it, and his heart
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sang what one poet at least, whom we know, has sung in Switzerland, but has not yet printed:
'Tis a prospect as fine as heart can desire
Before me Mont Blanc the rough:
'Tis pleasant to tarry here and admire,
If only you've money enough.
Great, grave, and dark was all nature around him. The pine woods looked like tufts of heather upon the high rocks, whose summits were lost in cloudy mists; and then it began to snow, and the wind blew cold.
'Ugh!' he sighed: 'if we were only on the other side of the Alps, then it would be summer, and I should have got money on my letter of credit: my anxiety about this prevents me from enjoying Switzerland. Oh, if I were only at the other side!'
And then he was on the other side, in the midst of Italy, between Florence and Rome. The lake Thrasymene lay spread out in the evening light, like flaming gold among the dark blue hills. Here, where Hannibal beat Flaminius,
