when I think of what I felt when I was clinging there between heaven and earth in the person of that proxy.  At times the world swam around me, and I could hardly keep from letting go, so dizzying was the appalling danger.  Many a person would have given up and descended, but I stuck to my task, and would not yield until I had accomplished it.  I felt a just pride in my exploit, but I would not have repeated it for the wealth of the world.  I shall break my neck yet with some such foolhardy performance, for warnings never seem to have any lasting effect on me.  When the people of the hotel found that I had been climbing those crazy Ladders, it made me an object of considerable attention.

Next morning, early, we drove to the Rhone valley and took the train for Visp.  There we shouldered our knapsacks and things, and set out on foot, in a tremendous rain, up the winding gorge, toward Zermatt.  Hour after hour we slopped along, by the roaring torrent, and under noble Lesser Alps which were clothed in rich velvety green all the way up and had little atomy Swiss homes perched upon grassy benches along their mist-dimmed heights.

The rain continued to pour and the torrent to boom, and we continued to enjoy both.  At the one spot where this torrent tossed its white mane highest, and thundered loudest, and lashed the big boulders fiercest, the canton had done itself the honor to build the flimsiest wooden bridge that exists in the world.  While we were walking over it, along with a party of horsemen, I noticed that even the larger raindrops made it shake.  I called Harris’s attention to it, and he noticed it, too.  It seemed to me that if I owned an elephant that was a keepsake, and I thought a good deal of him, I would think twice before I would ride him over that bridge.

We climbed up to the village of St. Nicholas, about half past four in the afternoon, waded ankle-deep through the fertilizer-juice, and stopped at a new and nice hotel close by the little church.  We stripped and went to bed, and sent our clothes down to be baked.  And the horde of soaked tourists did the same.  That chaos of clothing got mixed in the kitchen, and there were consequences.  I did not get back the same drawers I sent down, when our things came up at six-fifteen; I got a pair on a new plan.  They were merely a pair of white ruffle-cuffed absurdities, hitched together at the top with a narrow band, and they did not come quite down to my knees.  They were pretty enough, but they made me feel like two people, and disconnected at that.  The man must have been an idiot that got himself up like that, to rough it in the Swiss mountains.  The shirt they brought me was shorter than the drawers, and hadn’t any sleeves to it—­at least it hadn’t anything more than what Mr. Darwin would call “rudimentary” sleeves; these had “edging” around them, but the bosom was ridiculously plain.  The knit silk undershirt they brought me was on a new plan, and was really a sensible thing; it opened behind, and had pockets in it to put your shoulder-blades in; but they did not seem to fit mine, and so I found it a sort of uncomfortable garment.  They gave my bobtail coat to somebody else, and sent me an ulster suitable for a giraffe.  I had to tie my collar on, because there was no button behind on that foolish little shirt which I described a while ago.