The German landlady gave us neat rooms and nice beds, and when I and my agent turned in, it was with the resolution to be up early and make the utmost of our first Alpine sunrise.  But of course we were dead tired, and slept like policemen; so when we awoke in the morning and ran to the window it was already too late, because it was half past eleven.  It was a sharp disappointment.  However, we ordered breakfast and told the landlady to call the Englishman, but she said he was already up and off at daybreak—­and swearing like mad about something or other.  We could not find out what the matter was.  He had asked the landlady the altitude of her place above the level of the lake, and she told him fourteen hundred and ninety-five feet.  That was all that was said; then he lost his temper.  He said that between ------fools and guide-books, a man could acquire ignorance enough in twenty-four hours in a country like this to last him a year.  Harris believed our boy had been loading him up with misinformation; and this was probably the case, for his epithet described that boy to a dot.

We got under way about the turn of noon, and pulled out for the summit again, with a fresh and vigorous step.  When we had gone about two hundred yards, and stopped to rest, I glanced to the left while I was lighting my pipe, and in the distance detected a long worm of black smoke crawling lazily up the steep mountain.  Of course that was the locomotive.  We propped ourselves on our elbows at once, to gaze, for we had never seen a mountain railway yet.  Presently we could make out the train.  It seemed incredible that that thing should creep straight up a sharp slant like the roof of a house—­but there it was, and it was doing that very miracle.

In the course of a couple hours we reached a fine breezy altitude where the little shepherd huts had big stones all over their roofs to hold them down to the earth when the great storms rage.  The country was wild and rocky about here, but there were plenty of trees, plenty of moss, and grass.

Away off on the opposite shore of the lake we could see some villages, and now for the first time we could observe the real difference between their proportions and those of the giant mountains at whose feet they slept.  When one is in one of those villages it seems spacious, and its houses seem high and not out of proportion to the mountain that overhands them—­but from our altitude, what a change!  The mountains were bigger and grander than ever, as they stood there thinking their solemn thoughts with their heads in the drifting clouds, but the villages at their feet—­when the painstaking eye could trace them up and find them—­were so reduced, almost invisible, and lay so flat against the ground, that the exactest simile I can devise is to compare them to ant-deposits of granulated dirt overshadowed by the huge bulk of a cathedral.  The steamboats skimming along under the stupendous precipices were diminished by distance to the daintiest little toys, the sailboats and rowboats to shallops proper for fairies that keep house in the cups of lilies and ride to court on the backs of bumblebees.