“I hardly know, Jimmy; but you must play only things that are suitable to the Sabbath-day.”

Next Sunday the preacher stepped softly to a back-room door to see if the children were rightly employed.  He peeped in.  A chair occupied the middle of the room, and on the back of it hung Jimmy’s cap; one of his little sisters took the cap down, nibbled at it, then passed it to another small sister and said, “Eat of this fruit, for it is good.”  The Reverend took in the situation—­alas, they were playing the Expulsion from Eden!  Yet he found one little crumb of comfort.  He said to himself, “For once Jimmy has yielded the chief role—­I have been wronging him, I did not believe there was so much modesty in him; I should have expected him to be either Adam or Eve.”  This crumb of comfort lasted but a very little while; he glanced around and discovered Jimmy standing in an imposing attitude in a corner, with a dark and deadly frown on his face.  What that meant was very plain—­he was impersonating the deity!  Think of the guileless sublimity of that idea.

We reached Vispach at 8 P.M., only about seven hours out from St. Nicholas.  So we must have made fully a mile and a half an hour, and it was all downhill, too, and very muddy at that.  We stayed all night at the Ho^tel de Soleil; I remember it because the landlady, the portier, the waitress, and the chambermaid were not separate persons, but were all contained in one neat and chipper suit of spotless muslin, and she was the prettiest young creature I saw in all that region.  She was the landlord’s daughter.  And I remember that the only native match to her I saw in all Europe was the young daughter of the landlord of a village inn in the Black Forest.  Why don’t more people in Europe marry and keep hotel?

Next morning we left with a family of English friends and went by train to Brevet, and thence by boat across the lake to Ouchy (Lausanne).

Ouchy is memorable to me, not on account of its beautiful situation and lovely surroundings—­although these would make it stick long in one’s memory—­but as the place where I caught the London times dropping into humor.  It was not aware of it, though.  It did not do it on purpose.  An English friend called my attention to this lapse, and cut out the reprehensible paragraph for me.  Think of encountering a grin like this on the face of that grim journal: 

Erratum.—­We are requested by Reuter’s Telegram Company to correct an erroneous announcement made in their Brisbane telegram of the 2d inst., published in our impression of the 5th inst., stating that “Lady Kennedy had given birth to twins, the eldest being a son.”  The Company explain that the message they received contained the words “Governor of Queensland, twins first son.”  Being, however, subsequently informed that Sir Arthur Kennedy was unmarried and that there must be some