In the morning we drove up to Lauterbrunnen, and I am compelled to say that so completely fickle had we become, that I believe all who had seen this valley before, pronounced it less beautiful than that of Lungern.  By the way of proving to you how capricious a thing is taste, I liked the Staubbach better than in the former visit.  We did not attempt the mountains this time, but drove round in our chars to Grindewald, where we dined and slept.  Either a new approach, or improved tastes, or some other cause, wrought another change here; for we now preferred Grindewald to Lauterbrunnen, as a valley.  The vulgar astonishment was gone, and our eyes sought details with critical nicety.  We went to the lower glacier, whose form had not materially changed in four years, and we had fine views of both of them from the windows of the inn.  There was a young moon, and I walked out to watch the effect on the high glaciers, which were rendered even more than usually unearthly in appearance, under its clear bland light.  These changes of circumstances strangely increase the glories of the mountains!

We left Grindewald quite early next morning, and proceeded towards Neuhaus.  The road led us through a scene of desolation that had been caused by a rising of the waters in 1830, and we examined the devastation with the more interest, as some of our acquaintances had nearly perished in the torrent.

The family in question were residing temporarily at Interlachen, when two of the ladies with a child, attended by a black servant, drove up the gorge of Lauterbrunnen for an airing.  They were overtaken by a tempest of rain, and by the torrent, which rose so rapidly as to cut off all retreat, except by ascending the precipice, which to the eye is nearly perpendicular.  There is, however, a hamlet on one of the terraces of the mountain, and thither the servant was despatched for succour.  The honest peasants at first believed he was a demon, on account of his colour, and it was not without difficulty they were persuaded to follow him.  The ladies eventually escaped up the rocks; but our coachman, who had acted as the coachman on that occasion, assured us it was with the utmost difficulty he saved his horse.

This accident, which was neither a sac d’eau nor an avalanche, gives one a good idea of the sudden dangers to which the traveller is liable, in the midst of a nature so stupendous.  A large part of the beautiful meadows of Interlachen was laid desolate, and the calamity was so sudden that it overtook two young and delicate females in their morning drive!

We drove directly to the little port at Neuhaus, and took a boat for Thoun, pulling cut into the lake, with a fresh breeze directly in our teeth.  The picturesque little chateau of Spietz stood on its green promontory, and all the various objects that we had formerly gazed at with so much pleasure, were there, fresh, peculiar, and attractive as ever.  At length, after a heavy pull, we were swept within the current of the Aar, which soon bore us to the landing.