was. Nothing beautiful could I see, except a few green openings just at hand, where thousands of little butterflies were fluttering above the grassy sward, as if they were intoxicated by the sun, the morning air, and the perfume of the flowers. Not so was I; captive in the labyrinths of the wood, I went round, and round, and round, hour after hour, seeking no longer for views, but merely an outlet, until, at length, after four hours' wandering, I emerged from the wood, and reached Interlachen, so wearied with walking, seeking about, the heat of the sun, and wood-snares, that I seemed to be at least sixty years old, and I began again to mistrust my strength for the journey I had undertaken.
I passed a bath-house on the banks of the Aar, on my way to the hotel—the Schweitzer-Hof. The door stood half open, and the thought suggested itself to me of a bath in the Aar. True, the season for bathing was not yet, and the Aar water was at all times icy cold. The Aar is a glacier river, and has its origin in the bosom of an ice-mountain not far from here; but the embrace of the Titans' daughter must be invigorating with a vengeance, and I would venture it! I enter the house; the kindly-mannered attendant says:—
“No one has yet bathed here; the water is still very cold, but you can make the trial.”
Good; I will do so. But with the first attempt to step into the bath, I drew back with terror, for it felt like burning iron round my ankles. I bethought myself for a moment; summoned all my courage; the water was so clear and fresh, so smiling, so enticing;
