CHAPTER XIII.

_My Dear Lucy_:--I am writing this in my room high up on the hillside of Lucerne, (Luzern) pronounced as if there were a "t" before the "z." The day is closing. The light is yet bright on the mountains, but the lake lies in shadows. The lamps are being lighted down below in the town and along the promenade. I hear faintly the arrival of the steamer at the pier.

But let me begin at the beginning, and tell you what I have seen and done up to the present. This telling is a poor substitute for the reality, I assure you; but as you have never been in Switzerland, you might be interested in the sights here--through my eyes! Let me say now, before I forget, that at every point of beauty and interest, I said in my heart, "O that Lucy could be here to enjoy this!" It really seemed selfish in me to be alone. And then, you know, the pleasure of sight seeing is materially enhanced when one has a sympathetic companion to whom one may exclaim: "Isn't that grand!"

We entered Switzerland at Basel, then journeyed on to Zurich. This is Switzerland's largest city, and in my opinion, it is one of the most beautiful large cities I have ever seen. Of course, I hunted up the Church headquarters, where I was fortunate to meet a friend I had known in Salt Lake. He kindly gave me the information I desired about the city and even took a few hours off duty to accompany me to points of interest.

That evening we went to the Opera house, where Faust was being played. I had a great desire to see Faust in the original, and though my German is not up to Goethe's standard, I could follow the plot somewhat, and I was eagerly watching for Margaret to make her appearance on the stage. After a long evening, the curtain went down, and all the people got up and left--yet no Margaret had appeared. I was puzzled; but my friend explained that the play was only half over. If I desired to see the rest, I would have to come back the following evening. What do you think of that? Well, I didn't go back--I went to Lucerne, next morning.

I wanted to see the Alps, of course, and we got a distant view only of them from Zurich. Here, at Lucerne, we have them in all their grand beauty.

I don't mind admitting to you that my purse would not allow my stopping longer at the Schweizerhof, than to merely take a good look at the exterior. I had with me the Lucerne elders' address, and easily found them. They directed me to a friend who had cheap rooms, and it is here I am writing to you. The view is just as fine from my window as from the big hotel--nay, finer, for I am higher up; and after all, Lucy, the five francs' out-look on a beautiful world is enjoyed quite as much as if it cost fifteen. I can see the cap or the collar of Mt. Pilatus better perhaps than the fat, cross, silk-clad lady I saw on the boat yesterday, can see them. (By "cap" is meant a cloud resting on top, by "collar" the cloud encircling Pilatus' head.)

This brings me to my trip on Lake Lucerne day before yesterday. We started early. The tourist season has hardly begun yet, so we were not crowded. There was rain threatening. The mountain tops were hidden by clouds, and the prospect was not assuring. However, by the time we landed at Brunnen, the clouds had lifted, the sun came out, and the day became pleasantly warm. From Brunnen, it was our plan to walk along the Axenstrasse, to Fluelen, a distance of five or six miles. There were three of us, with an elder for guide. I wish you could have spent that afternoon with us--with me, strolling along that wonderful road, cut out of the mountain side bordering the lake. The post cards I am enclosing will give you an idea of the scenery, and I assure you the blueness of the lake is not overdone in the picture.

The road leads along gently sloping hill-sides, covered with farms, then it pierces the sheer rock, then again borders the cliff, fifty or one hundred feet from the lake below. The trees are in full leaf and some are in bloom. The grass is high where we walked, but up towards the tops of the mountains, the snow still lies. One of the strange sights is to see large, splendid hotels perched in some cranny away up near the summit of the peaks. Cog railways now take the tourists up some of the mountains.

The region around Lake Lucerne is historic, I am told. Here began the Swiss struggle for liberty which we read about. The scene of William Tell's exploits are laid here, and we are shown on the shore of the lake, Tell's Capelle, said to mark the spot where the apple-shooting patriot leaped ashore and escaped from the tyrant Gessler. I do not wonder at men, born and reared amid these mountains not submitting to the yoke of oppression.

In reading up on Lucerne, I came upon this, taken from "Romance and Teutonic Switzerland."

"The Swiss nation was born on the banks of Lake Luzern, and craddled upon its waters. First, the chattering waves told the news to the overhanging beaches; and they whispered it to the forests, to the lonely cedars on the uplands. The blank precipices smiled, the Alpine roses blushed their brightest, the summer pastures glowed, the glaciers and avalanches roared approval; and, finally, the topmost peaks promised to lend their white mantles for the baptism." That's rather nicely put, don't you think?

About half way along Axenstrasse, we discovered that we were hungry, so we proposed to try one of the farm houses for something to eat. Our guide, tried one that looked typical of what we wanted, and the rest of us waited by the road, for fully thirty minutes.

At last the elder returned, explaining that he had had no easy task. He had to plead with every member of the household, from grandmother to daughter, to get them to take us in; but at last he was successful. We went into a most interesting room. The finish and furnishings were old and quaint, the woodwork bare of paint and scoured clean and smooth by years of scrubbing. In time we were served with bread (they were out of butter, they said) preserved cherries, walnuts, and hot milk. (Our guide said it was safer to have the milk boiled.) We enjoyed the meal amid the unique surroundings. The good people were profuse with thanks when we paid them in good-sized silver. I believe the elder left a gospel tract with them, so who can tell what will be the outcome of our visit?

From Fluelen we took steamer back to Lucerne.

Well, it's getting late. I'd better go to bed. I fear I shall tire you by my guide-book descriptions. But this for a good-night's thought: Here I am away from you, away from my world, as it were. I can look back on my short life, and I can see the hand of an allwise and merciful Father, shaping events, ever for my good. Was it chance that we two should have taken the same steamer and be thrown together as we were. Not at all.

There is a power behind the universe--call it what we may--which directs. This power will not permit any honest, truth-seeking soul to be overcome and be destroyed. I thank the Lord for His blessings to me. Out of seeming darkness and despair He has led me to light and happiness.

And may I say it, we two, because of our cleaving to the light as it has been made known to us, have been brought together. Is it not true? I wish and pray also that your father may soften his heart towards the truth. I sometimes fear that his heart does already accept the gospel, but that his will says no. There now, good night.

Good morning. I had a fine sleep. I dreamed that you were with me, and we were looking at the Lion of Lucerne. The dying lion roared, and you clasped me so tightly in your fright, that I awoke,--all of which reminds me that I have not told you much about this city or its sights.

The Lion, I suppose is Lucerne's most distinctive curiosity. As you will see by the card, it is a large figure of a lion carved out of the solid rock in the hillside. Thorwaldsen furnished the model. It was made to commemorate the bravery of the Swiss guards who fought in the service of Louis XVI at the outbreak of the French Revolution.

Switzerland is sometimes called the playground of Europe. Down on the promenades by the lakes, one may see people from "every nation under heaven" nearly. By the way, who do you think I met, day before yesterday? Why, our would-be gallant ship-board friend. Strange to say, he was sober, and more strange, he appeared pleased to see me. He wanted to take me to all kinds of places, and treat me to all kinds of good things; but further, strange(?) to relate, I shook him for the company of a few native saints, for there was a meeting that evening which I attended. I had to speak too, in English, of course, with one of the missionaries interpreting. It was an odd experience.

The postman has just been here with your note. I was very sorry the news from you was not better. I am blaming myself for tiring you out too much with my sight seeing. Send me at least a card everyday to this address, _please_. I have thought to go through the country to Bern, but I suppose all the lakes and mountains of Switzerland look much alike. I am quite satisfied with Lucerne. I was very much interested in what your father said about "Mormonism." If our prayers are of any avail, we'll "get him" yet.

Before I close this long letter, and I must do so now--I want to tell you of an incident that occurred yesterday. I was taking a stroll up above the town, by myself, for I will admit I was in a "mood." There are a lot of monks in Lucerne. You can see them on the street, fat, rolly-poly looking men, bare, oddly-cropped heads, and outwardly clad in what looks like a dressing gown. Well, I was curious to see the convent where the monks live a life of ease, I suppose to get used to the eternal "rest" which they expect when they get to heaven, of which I have my "doubts." However, I did not find the convent, nor did I see any monks, but as I was walking along an unfrequently traveled road, I met a little boy and girl, walking towards me, hand in hand. They were crying.

When they saw me, they wiped their eyes and stopped. I saw they were poorly clad, and, somewhat dirty. I became interested in them, but they were so shy that it was with difficulty I got them to remain. They looked at the coppers I held out, but they did not move until I placed a silver piece beside them. Their eyes rounded out, then, and the little girl became brave enough to come and take them. Well, I tried my German on them, but they were, evidently, too Swiss to understand me--I was at the time making a whistle from a small willow which I had cut from the wayside. I seated myself on the bank and went on making my whistle. The children watched me pound the bark, then twist off the loosened peeling, and finish the whistle. When I blew it, they laughed. I handed it to the boy, who timidly put it to his lips. They sat down by me, and I made a whistle for the girl, then a third, bigger one, which I stuck into the boy's pocket, telling him to take it home. You ought to have seen the changed expression on those two dirty faces when they left me, blowing happily on their willow whistles.

I was lonesome no longer. What a little thing will bring joy into a dreary life!

Love to all with heaping measures for you, from

Yours as ever,

CHESTER.

CHAPTER XIV.

A week of comparative quiet brought little change for the better to Lucy, so it was decided that they would by easy stages, get back to London, thence to Cork and Kildare Villa. Lucy kept Chester informed of their doings, saying as little as possible about her health. As she did not wish to deprive him of the full enjoyment of his visit to Switzerland, she did not send him word of their intentions, until they were ready to leave. They would go by way of Calais and Dover, the short-water route, she wrote him.

When Chester received this information he hastily cut short his sight seeing, and started for London by way of Rotterdam. The long ride alone was somewhat tiresome, and he was glad to meet again some of the elders in the land of canals and windmills.

Just before the train rolled into Rotterdam, Chester thought of Glen Curtis. It came to him as a distinct shock when he realized that he had entirely forgotten to enquire about Glen on his former visit. "Well,"

said he to himself, "so easily do our interests change from one person to another." But now he must find his old friend. He could freely talk to him now even about Julia Elston.

Chester learned from the elder in charge at the office, that Elder Curtis was released to return home in a few days. He would be in Rotterdam shortly. When? In a few days. But Chester could not wait that long, so he took train to the city where Glen was laboring, and found him making his farewell rounds.

"Well of all things," exclaimed the elder, as Chester took him firmly by the hand.

"I'm the last person on earth you expected to see here in Dutchland, I suppose?"

"You certainly are. And what are you doing here?"

Chester told him as they walked arm in arm along the quiet streets of the town.

"And now you're going home. We'll go together," exclaimed Glen.

"I wish we could," said Chester, "but I fear that my party is not ready, and Lucy is not well enough to make the trip, I fear."

"Lucy?"

Chester smiled goodnaturedly, then told him freely of Lucy. "And when you get home, you can tell Julia all about me and mine. It will please her, I am sure. By the way, how is it between Julia and you? I haven't heard lately."

"All right," said Glen.

"You're a lucky boy," declared Chester, "to get such a girl. There's just _one_ other I would rather have."

"I'm glad you think so."

"Of course you are--for--oh, for everybody's sake."

Chester had to return to Rotterdam the same day, so he claimed. Glen could not keep him longer, and reluctantly waved him off at the station.

The boat was slow from the Hook, at least it seemed so to Chester, and there was a high sea which nearly upset him. He got to London too late in the evening to call on the Strong's, but next morning he was out early.