The Rigi-Kulm is an imposing¹ Alpine² mass, six thousand feet high, which stands by itself, and commands a mighty⁴ prospect⁵ of blue lakes, green valleys, and snowy mountains—a compact and magnificent picture three hundred miles in circumference⁶. The ascent⁷ is made by rail, or horseback, or on foot, as one may prefer. I and my agent panoplied⁸ ourselves in walking-costume, one bright morning, and started down the lake on the steamboat; we got ashore⁹ at the village of Waeggis; three-quarters of an hour distant from Lucerne. This village is at the foot of the mountain.

We were soon tramping leisurely¹⁰ up the leafy mule-path, and then the talk began to flow, as usual. It was twelve o’clock noon, and a breezy, cloudless day; the ascent was gradual, and the glimpses, from under the curtaining boughs¹¹, of blue water, and tiny sailboats, and beetling¹² cliffs, were as charming as glimpses of dreamland. All the circumstances were perfect—and the anticipations¹³, too, for we should soon be enjoying, for the first time, that wonderful spectacle, an Alpine sunrise—the object of our journey. There was (apparently) no real need for hurry, for the guide-book made the walking-distance from Waeggis to the summit only three hours and a quarter. I say “apparently,” because the guide-book had already fooled us once—about the distance from Allerheiligen to Oppenau—and for aught I knew it might be getting ready to fool us again. We were only certain as to the altitudes—we calculated to find out for ourselves how many hours it is from the bottom to the top. The summit is six thousand feet above the sea, but only forty-five hundred feet above the lake. When we had walked half an hour, we were fairly into the swing and humor of the

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