elegant wooden birdcage hung up against the side of a wall.

Single men, on pleasure bent, but at the same time of frugal mind, will of course reach their destination per third-class carriage. The fare

From Boulogne to Paris, 15 francs 65 centimes: From Paris to Neuchatel, 31 francs 05 centimes; altogether 46 francs 70 centimes, or less than 27. The reader is reminded, once for all, that 10 centimes make one penny, and therefore that a franc, or 100 centimes, is tenpence; 25 francs make a pound; 100 francs make 41.

Permit me to speak didactically, while giving travelling advice. First day, leave Boulogne at six in the morning, and don't stop in Paris, for reasons already stated. Take luncheon in the railway carriage; cross Paris to the Chemin de Fer de Lyon, and go on to sleep at Montereau. Second, an easy day to Dijon. Third, an easier to Dole. Fourth, to Neuchatel.

This reads like tardy progress, but really is not so in the end. 'Chi va piano, va lontano,' is an excellent motto for travellers. It implies not only 'Slow and sure,' but slow and far.' Never knock yourselves up with the ardent outburst of your first two or three days' journeying. Travelling all night, except upon pressing emergency, is a mistake and a piece of false economy. The next day has to pay for it; perhaps the debt is not quite cleared off till the day after the next. The machinery of the human frame refuses to act properly, if cheated of its regular rations of repose. No man has more than a limited capital of strength in his corporeal bank. If he draw on it too freely and rapidly, he will become insolvent in the end.

For those not familiar with French railway travelling, it may be advisable to mention some of the regulations in force. Contrive to be at the station at least half an hour before the starting of your train. The advantage of arriving early is that you may generally secure for your luggage the first or second turn of registration. A porter will receive your luggage and place it on the

bench connected with the luggage office, as near the office window as possible, to take its turn. The French railway people, if civilly treated, are almost invariably civil and obliging. Cases of just complaint are extremely rare. Gratuities to porters are forbidden; but such prohibitions are useless. If human nature be driven out at the door, it will return by the window. I have found the administration of half a franc, or even of a few odd sous, greatly expedite matters in hand.

As soon as your luggage is deposited, take your place at the ticket wicket, and wait patiently. Νο crowding or pushing is allowed there; travellers are required to advance to the wicket regularly, one by one, in single file, in the order of their arrival, forming what the French call a queue, or tail. Rails are mostly placed in front of this wicket, to compel the formation of the queue. If you stand first in the file, you will be served first; therefore go early. You thus avoid all hurry, fuss, and feverish bustle; you keep your temper and abstain from putting yourself into a perspiration. At the wicket, state briefly, and distinctly, the number of your party, the class you travel by, and your destination, thus: Trois-Premières -Paris.' Your tickets and your change will be returned with admirable rapidity.

As soon as you are in possession of your party's tickets, hasten to the luggage-office window. Have in readiness ten centimes, that is, a couple of sous, which is the charge for registration. Every traveller by rail in France is allowed a certain weight of luggage, without extra charge. I do not tell what weight, because you are wise enough to travel with as little luggage as possible; the model quantity (the only quantity suitable for Cheap Switzerland) is a small carpet bag which you can carry in your hand and take in the carriage with you, under the seat. In foreign hotels, you get things washed with wonderful rapidity. The American plan, when out on a journey, is not bad; as soon as a thing gets spoiled and shabby,

throw it aside and buy a new one. Anything to avoid encumbrances. It is also good to start light, to leave room for purchases and things collected on the way. The French allowance of luggage is more than enough for reasonable tourists, especially as it is distributed over your party. One has a little more, another has a little less; and the average remains within reasonable bounds.

You give your tickets to the luggage clerk; the porter puts your luggage into the weighing machine, and shouts, while the clerk writes, 'Three voyageurs; four colis, packages; SO many kilos (weight); Paris.' Other porters paste on each package a printed label with the No. of registration and the destination. The clerk takes the two sous, stamps your ticket on the back 'Bagages,' and hands you a duplicate of the registration, which you will put in your purse, and go in peace, keeping your ticket in a comeat-able place. You have now no further care about the luggage, until you arrive at your journey's end, which is a very great comfort when the journey is long.

You are then admitted to the waiting-room belonging to your class. When the train is on the point of starting, the doors of the first-class waiting room are first thrown open; then, after a short delay, during which the first-class folk take their places, the secondclass passengers are let loose; and then the third. You start; we will suppose that you arrive without accident. You have to wait in a lobby or hall of the station while the luggage is being classed in order. At last, you are admitted to claim your own by presenting the duplicate of registration. But note that luggage cannot be removed till it has been passed by the Octroi officers of the town, which they do by chalking a hieroglyph on each package. Therefore, have your keys in readiness, in case they choose to search it for meats or liquors. The larger the town at which you arrive, the more strictly the Octroi insists on its right; which, however, by railway, and by express trains especially, is often suffered to drop into

an inoffensive formality, although the right still remains.

The cheapness with which Switzerland can be 'done' depends entirely upon how far you can combine the following conditions. Travel second or third class by rail. On steamers, take the second place, the fore part of the vessel, which has the best view and costs the least. Numbers who pay for places at the stern, crowd to the front and remain there during the whole passage. Go to cheap inns, which need not be bad ones, but quite the contrary. You will find many such respectable, clean, and comfortable, although you may often not have the view,' and will be less thrown in the way of wealthy English. But you have only to walk out to see the view, and your main object, I suppose, is Switzerland. Lastly, travel on foot all you can; not by any means eschewing the convenience of railways, diligences, and steamers, when they fall in your way, but avoiding the expense of hired carriages or saddle-horses, to make the innumerable excursions for which there is no public conveyance. The knapsack and the little carpet bag are also an introduction to cheap hotels, as well as a persuasion to concede reduced prices in hotels which are not exactly cheap.

For in Switzerland the whole art of cheap travelling consists in settling the prices beforehand. Have no shame or hesitation in doing it; the innkeeper would think you a fool if you had. I do not claim the merit of the discovery. M. Desbarolles, a French artist, has published 'A Journey in Switzerland at three and a half francs per day.' The author practises painting and palmistry, making, possibly, more by the latter than the former. book is amusing from its intense Anglophobia, for which we may pardon him, considering that it (the book) has done great good. For instance, the charge for 'bougie' has already disappeared from several moderate-priced inns, being incorporated with the more general and less objectionable item of 'service.' Of course he is no favourite with numerous innkeepers; nevertheless, he has directed considerable custom

His

to those who are willing to meet the demand for fair accommodation at moderate charges. He boldly carried out the ideas which were long ago suggested by Topffer's charming' Voyages en Zigzag.' His grand arcanum for the economical traveller is to FIX HIS PRICES BEFOREHAND. His tariff is, dinner, including such an allowance of wine as he can get for his money, a frane and a half; bed, one franc; breakfast of coffee, milk, bread, butter, and honey, another franc; service and bougie, nothing. Total, three francs and a half.

This figure is low. I get my bed for a franc, but pay more for other things, and do not refuse a trifle for service. I get a good dinner, without beer or wine, for a franc and a half, especially if I do not dine alone. A more substantial breakfast than that allowed by M. Desbarolles is required by most constitutions while making a pedestrian tour with only two meals a day. In truth, it is difficult beforehand to set precise limits to your total expenditure. Extra fatigue requires extra restoratives; and a man's appetite for meat and drink is very different amongst the Alps to what it is in a city counting-house. The above prices only apply to towns and lowlands. Up in the hills, where provisions have to be fetched by horses or men, prices are necessarily higher, but not more so than might be reasonably expected. On the top of the Niesen (a most delectable climb), reached only by a bridle path which mounts steeply and continuously for ten long miles, I had a good and wholesome dinner for two francs. Fair ordinary white wine was a franc and a half the bottle, Yvorne two francs, and Nuits (Burgundy) three francs only. All this wine is carried up on horses' backs. If a wine-carrier were to fall, what a smash and a spill!

Every intending pedestrian ought to take great thought how he means to be shod. A doggrel philosopher has enunciated the formula that 'without feet you can't have toes;' I carry the truism further, and assert that without good walking toes and feet you can't walk. But sedentary people are apt to forget that

there are two sorts of human feet, feet to walk with, and feet to sit still with. We treat our sedentary feet exactly as they should be treated, by carrying out the golden rule to keep the head cool and the feet warm. But walking feet must be otherwise managed; they must be kept cool and dry; hence, partly, the pedestrian exploits performed by nude-footed people, as the Scotch and the Arabs. Thick stockings which encourage, and boots, highlows, or bottines which confine moisture, are bad.

At the end of a long summerday's journey you will have your feet tender, sodden, half-skinned, approaching the condition of an overboiled fowl; for which misfortune the best remedy is to inclose your toes and the parts affected in a linen rag soaked in brandy and olive oil before drawing on your stockings. Wear thin socks or stockings of finest wool, and thick-soled shoes, cut low rather than high, and already worn before starting. If you must have gaiters, to keep out gravel and bits of stick, let them be of brown holland or hempen cloth. I guess that silk would make the best walking stockings, but have not tried it.

The rest of your costume, proceeding upwards, may be trousers rather thick than thin; waistcoat of the same, buttoning high: light frock coat, and waterproof wideawake or cap, with the means of fastening under the chin. Instead of stick or al penstock, take a large strong umbrella with a convenient handle, an iron ferule, and a stick exactly the length of your walking-stick. It will serve besides as a parasol in the sunshine and a screen in the wind.

In starting for an eminence where a view is to be admired (as the Rigi, Mount Pilate, &c.), take with you a woollen comforter and a flannel shirt; an overcoat also is a wise precaution. You arrive perspiring at the top; you immediately change your wet flannel for dry. If the air is keen, as mostly happens, you don the additional outer clothing and enjoy your panorama in comfort and safety. I convey these and a few other items in a little hand-bag,

easily carried; but you will often have offers to be relieved of it for a mere trifle, ganz billig,' very cheap, especially if you appear not to care to be relieved of it. In Switzerland, as elsewhere, the less you are supposed to be in need of a thing, the more likely you are to get it. Independence is master of the market. You say, and show, 'I can do without you,' and you have your man.

The question of braces or no braces' merits careful consideration. Their absence gives a freedom to the chest and the whole upper portion of the body, which cannot be imagined by those who have never tried the experiment. You feel as much at ease in all your motions as if you were a prizefighter about to enter the ring. The girding of the loins, in order to keep the trousers in their place, is a support which is popular, historical, and biblical. The improvement of your personal appearance is indisputable. On the other hand, persons who perspire much may find themselves inconvenienced by tight girding. Braces enable you both to trudge along with your loins ungirded, and also serve to keep the bottoms of your trousers out of the dirt in sloppy weather. On the whole, my advice is, start without braces, but take a pair with you for occasional service.

The pedestrian must not be disheartened by weariness at the outset of his journey. After two or three days' walking, he will find his fatigue gradually diminish until he is thoroughly in tramping trim, and able to continue his march for many hours without feeling tired or in the least exhausted. Rest may be allotted in various ways; as, part of the day on foot, part in steamer or diligence. French troops, when on the move (in time of peace), march four days, and rest the fifth. If you take two days' rest in the week (Sunday and either Wednesday or Thursday) and walk the rest, it will carry you over a considerable extent of country.

Once at Neuchatel, Helvetia's all before you where to choose. You may turn to the right, to Lausanne and the Lake of Geneva; you may

cross the Lake to Morat, and walk on to Freyburg; or you may take rail to Berne and Thun, whence the steamer will land you at Neuhaus. And now for a cheap day or two.

Walking from Neuhaus to Unterseen (the twin village of Interlacken, one of the grand rendezvous for Swiss tourists), rain came on; so, instead of proceeding, I slept there. Next morning early, while the goats belonging to each family were assembling in the Place or Square to be driven off together to their browsing ground, I started early on foot, and reached Zweilütschinen. Excellent breakfast, if. 80c. Thence on to Lauterbrunnen, where I would tell about the Staubbach cascade if there were room, and if you could not read about it elsewhere. After the Staubbach, onwards and upwards on the way to Mürren. On leaving Lauterbrunnen, there started from the ground a little brown man about two feet high, with an old little face made of Gruyère cheese, a russet coat and waistcoat much too short, brass buttons much too big, a pair of shoes much too large, and a stick. as long as he was himself. The little brown man had, moreover, a knowing look and a cunning smile. He would carry my bag to Mürren for three francs.

No, he wouldn't; I could perfectly carry it myself.

At this, he was a beaten mannikin; my slave. He would carry it for two; and did so.

Installed in office, Johannes Fichter informs me that, though small enough for six, he is ætat. sixteen. He is a guide in the bud. He shows me a squirrel (quite different to ours, black with white muzzle), high up a cherry-tree. As we ascend, the little brown man, up to his business, pulls off his coat-a hint for me to do the same. Nor is he without pretensions. He wears a hat, if you please, -somebody's cast-off wide-awake, chucked into a ravine-and not a black cotton nightcap, like his little fellows. He leads the way manfully to Mürren (which I advise you to see), telling the names of the giant peaks as they rise before us. His information is useful; for a flat map gives no idea of the nature and bear

ings of a mountainous country. At Mürren, little brown man asks for a trink gelt, and gets 25c. Good dinner at Murren, with wine and London stout, 6f. [Dearer, because not at table d'hôte time.] Host evidently wishful to keep me for the night. Know better. If bad weather sets in on the mountain, you are caught in a trap, where you must stay perhaps two or three days. Therefore, after dinner, walk down to Pension Staubbach to sup and sleep.

Another cheap day. Supper, bed, and breakfast at the Pension Staubbach, 4f. 50c. Start, with a roll in pocket, over the Wengern Alp, on foot, expending by the way 1f. 5c. in wine and coffee, and passing close by the foot of the Jungfrau. In descending to the valley of Grindelwald, do not enter the village, but make for Zweilütschinen again, where dine and sleep.

One more cheap day. Dinner, bed, and linen washing at Zweilutschinen, 6f. 15c. Walk to Interlacken. Excellent breakfast there, with coffee and glass of cognac, 2f. 1oc. Steamer to Brienz, If. On the top of the diligence, over the Brunig to Alpnach, 5f. 60c. Steamer to Lucerne, if. 20c. Dinner at Lucerne, with bottle of wine, 2f. 50c. In this cheap day, a great distance is accomplished and a wonderful variety of scenery beheld.

Mont Blanc, and similar excessively high work, are not included in Cheap Switzerland; and if you wish to distinguish yourself by scaling the Cervin or some other (is there any other now?) unclimbed precipice, you must pay for it in pocket, and often in person. A member of the Alpine Club, who made an ineffectual attempt to ascend the Schreckhorn while it was still a virgin peak, has never recovered his eyesight perfectly since the two nights which he spent among the snow four or five years ago.

I conclude with a list of cheap inns, from personal experience, premising that I don't know a bad

Hôtel du Commerce in France, nor a bad Hôtel du Lac in Switzerland.

Neuchatel, Hôtel du Lac.
Berne, La Clef (am Schlussel).
Unterseen, Hôtel de Ville (Kauf-
haus).

Zweilütschinen, L'Ours (am Baar).
Lauterbrunnen, Pension Staub-

bach.

Interlacken, Hôtel du Lac. Lucerne, L'Aigle d'Or. Rigi Staffel (hill prices). Wimmis (foot of the Niesen), Hôtel du Lion.

Very good, but not of the very cheapest:

Unterseen, Pension Beausite.
Geneva, Hôtel du Lac.

Berne, zum Affe, Pension Hirter.
Thun, Freienhof.
Zurich, Faucon.

Rapperschwyl (Lake of Zurich), Hôtel du Lac.

Lucerne, Swan.

Cheap hotels, not known to the writer:

Baths of Leuk (Gemmi), Hôtel de l'Union.

Mullinen, L'Ours de Berne.
Art, La Couronne d'Or.
Brienz, L'Ours.
Sachseln, L'Ange.

Hergiswyl (foot of Mont Pilate), Cheval.

Meyringen, Mdlles. Balmer.
Altorf, Guillaume Tell.

And now, my friends in 'London Society'-the young ones especially whose hearts and heels and purses are yet light,-peradventure an ‘old stager' has put you up' to a few things. After your first or next ramble about Switzerland you may think of the excellent investment you made in this month's number of your favourite magazine-how it was worth as many sovereigns as it cost you pence. Au revoir!

E. S. D.