FROM Berne to Thun the scenery is less bold and rugged, although the horizon is always filled with great peaks that are to be seen from every quarter.

At Thun we take steamer across Lake Thun, one of the most beautiful of all the Swiss lakes. It is not so large as Lake Geneva, and is not fringed with such enormous mountain chains, but it abounds with unexpected views of rare beauty, resembling very much our own picturesque Lake George.

As the steamer skirts the north bank of the lake, which is a succession of vineyards, we suddenly come upon a magnificent view of the Jungfrau, almost as impressive as Mt. Blanc. From that time on the great range gradually unfolds itself like the views of a panorama, until at length we have all the highest peaks in full sight.

At DÄrlingen we leave the steamer, and, after a short wait, see a peculiar looking train dash through the tunnel, at the head of the lake, and then come puffing noisily into the station. This is the celebrated BÖdeli railway, the second shortest in the world. It runs from DÄrlingen to Interlaken, a distance of a mile and a half. Its cars are especially adapted to sight seeing, being constructed in two stories, so that every one can have an outside seat, to fully enjoy the picturesque scenery between the two stations.

The one main street of Interlaken is chiefly devoted to hotels, especially the upper portion of it, for from this location one has the best view of the celebrated Jungfrau, that stands head and shoulders above the high Silberhorn on the right and the Schneehorn on the left. Further down, the street is occupied with tempting stores filled with Swiss wood carvings. From this time on nothing can be seen but wood carving, save perhaps an occasional bit of chamois horn.

It is a quaint old town, full of odd nooks and corners, that would afford interesting study for weeks at a time. While there are no particular attractions, Interlaken is a favorite resort of tourists, and is always full of strangers, who enjoy the mild, equable climate and find pleasure in resting.

The broad walnut-lined HÖheweg, a beautiful avenue, leads down across an old-fashioned, massive stone bridge to a street set aside for markets. Here, during the forenoon, is a miniature Petticoat Lane, only the people are all clean, picturesquely dressed and decent. There are no rum shops, reeking with the vile odors of stale liquors and still staler tobacco smoke; there are no intoxicated men and women. Everything is quiet, orderly and well conducted. But the variety of articles offered for sale is something astonishing. Here an enterprising woman, as stiff and formal as the high white cap she wears, has a small stock of dry goods spread out on the pavement for the inspection of the picturesquely dressed peasants, who trade their milk and farm products for clothing material. A little further on you will find a complete assortment of boots and shoes, of all kinds and conditions. There a man has a hat store and a junk shop combined. At any place, almost, you can buy specimens of Swiss skill in carving. These stores or exchanges are all on the street, along which it is difficult to thread one’s way, so crowded is it with buyers and sellers.

These narrow, crooked streets are lined with houses built the Lord only knows how long ago. The long beams that cross each other in the front of the houses are carved and cut in every conceivable shape. Sometimes the artist was a little ambitious and attempted very elaborate work, not always successfully, however, for the heads and figures that adorn the fronts of some of them are grotesque to a degree.

Interlaken is the starting point for most of the mountaineering parties that visit the Bernese Oberland, the chief point of interest centering about the Jungfrau, which is forty-one hundred and sixty-seven feet high. The ascent of this mountain, which, though very fatiguing, is not dangerous, was first made in 1811, and between that time and 1856 it was only accomplished five times. Since the latter date, however, it has been made very frequently. We did not attempt to explore the icy regions, so far above the clouds, being perfectly content with our experience at Mont Blanc.

Interlaken is the great distributing point for the vast quantities of carved goods made in this vicinity. There are a number of large factories in the city, but the greater part of the work is done in the little towns near there. The displays made in the large stores are wonderful, some of the pieces being the work of genius. While every possible subject is treated, the carvers have a passion for bears, the heraldic emblem of some of the Cantons. You will see bears of every conceivable size, and in every attitude. Whole parties of them, playing billiards or cards, or dancing a quadrille; bears standing, sitting, lying down; bears everywhere and doing everything. Some of this work is wonderfully well done, the lines and spaces being so delicately cut that it seems as though a breath would break them.

On the way from Interlaken to Brienz we passed through little villages, whose one street is filled with wood carving establishments, and almost every house between the two places has a small factory for the manufacture of these pretty trifles.

At Brienz we went through a very large factory and saw the patient Swiss chipping away tirelessly at the huge piece of wood that was soon to be a medallion portrait. It is an art that requires great skill and delicacy of touch to produce fine work. In this factory there were some four hundred or five hundred men employed, and the work they turned out was marvelously beautiful. In fact one cannot sufficiently admire the wood carving of the region. The patient workers do everything artistic in the material, and it is artistic. Landscapes, portraits, hunting scenes, animals, angels, scriptural subjects, everything that is done on canvas or in marble, is done in wood, and many of the pieces are purchased by crowned heads, and at a very high price.

The artists in wood are, however, very poorly paid, even for Switzerland. In America their wages would be considered as close to starvation as possible, without touching it. Think of a man capable of doing the most artistic work laboring at four francs a day, or eighty cents! This is as high as any, except an occasional phenomenal genius, gets, and they appear to be content with it. For this miserable sum they work so long as they can see, commencing at daylight and ending at dark.

True, living is very cheap, and such as it is it ought to be. The wretched beer of the region is only about a cent a glass, and the black bread of the country costs next to nothing, and so the artist works all day and at night sits himself in his little cafÉ, and with his cheap wine and cheaper beer, plays cards contentedly, and enjoys himself thoroughly.

After all he is as well as though he got ten dollars a day. He couldn’t drink any more wine than he does, and neither would additional pay enlarge his capacity for black bread, and what does he want of anything more? It isn’t what you want—it’s what you don’t want that makes you rich. Even in little wood carving Brienz, romance gets in.

We saw on the street, there is only one in Brienz, a young man whose demoralized clothing, fiery eyes and unsteady steps, all bore evidence to the terrible fact of dissipation. He was the first drunken man of the genus loafer we had struck in Switzerland. The Young Man who Knows Everything looked at him and promptly remarked:—

“That young man has wisdom. He is cultivating a vice. When he wants to economize he has a basis for economy. Suppose he had always lived a perfectly correct life, and some emergency should come to him that demanded economy, what would he have to economize on? Every man should so live that he can, if he must, better himself. I admire that young man, for he leaves himself room for development.”

The landlord gave us his history. The young man was ruined by prosperity. He was an industrious and very skillful carver, and had attained sixty cents a day with an immediate prospect of a raise of twenty cents, which is the summit of a legitimate Brienz ambition.

He was engaged to be married to the daughter of a poor Swiss farmer, who had three cows and a goat or two, and there was no reason under heaven why he should not have been happy. He had health, strength, skill; Josepha was beautiful, and there was nothing to prevent his marrying her, and settling down quietly to watch the development of her goitre, and passing a long and happy life.

But evil was hanging over them. An uncle of Rudolph’s, who was a cook in Paris, died without issue, and left his entire estate, sixty-eight dollars and fifty cents, to his nephew, our Rudolph, in Brienz.

Immediately Rudolph grew cold towards Josepha. He did not meet her on the little bridge after his work; he did not take her to fairs where the two drank beer lovingly out of the same mug; he did not always have some little present for her; in short, he avoided her. To use the strong though not elegant English of the wild and untamed West, he “shook” her.

Josepha noticed this change, and wept in her enforced solitude. With true womanly instinct she felt what was coming. There was now an inseparable bar between them. Could she, a plain country girl, with no dowry to speak of, hope to wed a man with a fortune of sixty-eight dollars and fifty cents?

And so she wept her lost love, her first love, which never comes again. One may love twice, but the second love has not the twang, the flavor, as it were, of the first. It is the difference of a meal on an empty stomach and the tail end of a feast.

They met and Josepha made one appeal to him. He answered her briefly, brutally:

“I did love you, Josepha,” he said, “and could love you again, were it possible. But you must remember, my girl, that circumstances have changed; I am a man of fortune—you are the daughter of a poor farmer with but three cows, and those to be divided among ten children. And the price of cheese is sadly going down, and must still go down, owing to the competition of the factory system in America, where they can imitate even our most penetrating Limburger, and sell it cheaper here than we can produce it. It is no use to talk of buying our own product, all people buy where they can buy the cheapest. That is political economy.

“Had you an uncle, a cook in Paris, and liable to die, with sixty-eight dollars and fifty cents, the aspect of things would be changed. But you have no such uncle, and really, Josepha, you cannot expect me, in my altered condition, to so throw myself away. No indeed. But I wish you well. Forget me, if you can, and marry some one in your own sphere, and be happy. You would not want to wed me, and see me miserable! Life would then be a burden to both. Be ye not unequally yoked.”

Josepha, weeping, turned away, for despite her love, she realized the truth of what he said. And Rudolph, whistling an air, gaily went into the cafÉ, and sought to drown his feelings in wine.

He knew he had done a very mean thing, but he felt it to be impossible for a youth of his prospects to marry a penniless girl.

Reveling in his wealth he pursued his mad career and came to grief, as such men always do. He quit work, he dressed extravagantly, and finally he made an unlucky investment in stocks, which swept off every sou he had. His sixty-eight dollars and fifty cents were irrevocably gone, and Rudolph the Gay found himself without money, with an expensive appetite for wine and an extreme disposition to do no work of any kind.

One morning he heard a wild rumor that a brother of Josepha in America had made a strike in oil and had sent Josepha five hundred dollars. Then his feelings toward that young lady changed. He went to her and remarked that he forgave her for her treatment of him; that the cloud that had come between them and obscured their happiness had passed away, and that there was no reason now why they should not realize the dreams of their youth and wed.

It was now Josepha’s turn. She remarked that sentiment was all well enough, but that there was something in viewing matters from a mere worldly standpoint. Love was sweet, but fortunately the stock of the article in the world was not limited. It was not to be expected in her altered condition that she should unite her fortunes with those of a penniless man. She quite agreed with what he (Rudolph) had said to her on a former occasion, “Be ye not unequally yoked.” She (Josepha) had now five hundred dollars. He (Rudolph) had not a sou. Had he (Rudolph) five hundred dollars, and had he the good habits of his youth when he was an humble worker in wood, she would wed him gladly, but as he (Rudolph) was, in the language of the world, short of that amount, and as she (Josepha) had any quantity of coin, she rather thought she wouldn’t. She should always regard him in the light of a friend, and should weep with great regularity when she thought of their severed loves, but there was a young farmer up the mountain who had twelve cows, and with her capital could double the stock, and she believed that her best show was with him.

And so Rudolph, penniless, loveless, and with an appetite which, like jealousy, makes the meat it feeds on, is a mere cumberer on the earth about Brienz, the wreck we saw.

And Josepha, she married the young grazier, and has two children and one of the largest goitres in the neighborhood, and the two have prospered to the point of seriously contemplating the starting of a small inn, near a convenient waterfall, that they may fleece strangers, which is a more lucrative business in Switzerland than cheese-making or wood-carving.

In the evening we were rowed across the Lake of Brienz to the Giessbach, the regular sight of the locality. The lake is twenty feet higher than Lake Thun, from which it is separated by a narrow strip of low land only two miles wide. It is thought that at one time the two lakes were joined. Lake Brienz is from five hundred to nine hundred feet deep, its water being of a very dark blue.

The Giessbach consists of seven falls, the highest being one thousand one hundred and forty-seven feet above the lake. The water comes from a lake in the summit of the mountain, and tumbles from rock to rock till it finds its level in the lake below. All the seven are visible at once, and the sight is one of the most delightful in all Switzerland. Opposite the falls, on the other side of the enormous chasm, is a magnificent hotel, as a matter of course, where you are charged very reasonably—not more than twice what the same accommodations would cost you in a first-class hotel anywhere else. For this reasonableness you try to feel very thankful. One has to see the Giessbach, anyhow; and, as there is but one place to stop, the proprietor’s facilities for swindling are unlimited. A mere double charge may be classed as reasonable, there; especially as the sight is worth almost any expenditure.

It was nearly dark when we reached the Geissbach shore, so that we had but an imperfect view of the lovely falls, as we climbed up the steep path leading to the terrace, three hundred and nine feet above the lake. But even in the half twilight they were wondrously beautiful, as they dashed from rock to rock, hundreds of feet apart.

As it grew darker, the green foliage on each side threw out the silvery cascades, dancing from one to the other, in bold relief. Gradually darkness completely enveloped them, and we could see nothing but the dark, gloomy mass of mountains down whose side for a thousand feet the water fell, from one pool to another.

The terrace on which the hotel stands was brilliantly lighted, and was filled with tourists who were spending some little time here, visiting the many beautiful spots that make the Giessbach one of the favorite resorts in Switzerland.

Suddenly, about nine o’clock, a rocket flew skyward, from a point on the mountain opposite us. Then one went up from the terrace, and while we were admiring its flight high in air, the lights about the hotel and on the terrace were extinguished and we were left in utter darkness. A long drawn “Oh-h-h” involuntarily burst forth as the lowest cascade suddenly stood before us, a brilliant, beautiful sheet of water, of a delicate light blue tint. Then simultaneously the other cascades above shone forth in all their splendor. The scene was wonderful. It was fairy land.

Bengal lights of different colors were arranged back of the sheets of water, so that each cascade was brilliantly lighted, producing an effect exquisitely and indescribably beautiful.

Gradually the lights under the water went out, the gas at hotel was relighted, and we were rowed back to Brienz with a picture of wondrous beauty printed indelibly on our minds.

Tibbitts, who has rejoined the party after his attempt at reformation at the St. Gervais baths, (by the way his personal appearance is not a good advertisement for the waters,) got an idea at Giessbach, which he developed thus:

“I have at last got my fortune made. What is wanted in Switzerland is more waterfalls, with legends, more mineral springs, and more ruins, secular and sacred. As soon as I get back to New York I am going to organize a company for a Waterfall, Ruin and Spring Company.”

“But all the eligible waterfalls are taken.”

“Very true, and to get one we should have to pay too large a price. This is the very essence of my idea—I am going to create a waterfall. What is a waterfall, anyway? Nothing more than water pouring over a rock or other material. All that is necessary to a waterfall is an elevation and water. Turn on the water, and it can’t help falling, and there you are.

“How shall we get water? Easily enough. A side of a precipice, with a notch in it big enough for a hotel, can be bought anywhere along the Lake of Brienz for almost nothing. What is more easy than to construct a reservoir on the top, put a ninety-horse power engine in at the lake, and pump the water to the reservoir on the summit, and when visitors are there turn it on, and give them the best waterfall in all Switzerland.

“Keep the water on till after they all go to bed, and for an hour or so after, so the roar’ll soothe them to sleep; and if any rich Americans choose to stay up all night, and buy wine, keep it on all night. We must have nothing mean about our waterfall.

“There are a great many advantages in this over the natural article. The water can be turned off while the lights are being placed behind the sheet for illuminations, and the flow can be regulated so as to suit every taste. If the party is made up of young ladies who delight in the soft and beautiful, we can make a Minnehaha of it; if it is strong men and old maids who hunger for the grand, why, whack on more steam, and we can have a Niagara.

“About a mile or so away I am going to have a castle in ruins—ruins ain’t expensive where there is so much rock—and I can have any newspaper man write me a proper legend of it for ten dollars. This for the history crank. For the more devout we want the ruins of an ancient church, which was destroyed by whoever you choose. This will fetch all those who are on their way to the Holy Land. They don’t spend as much money for wine as the other classes, but we can make it up in charges for board and guides. The ruins must be so built as to make a guide necessary, and so extensive that two days will be necessary to get the proper views of them, and to study their history understandingly.

“But this speculation will not be complete without mineral springs in the valley below. This is the easiest thing of the lot. You will build a reservoir and chuck into it a few barrels of salt, and a few bushels of rusty iron filings with sulphuric acid, a ton or so of sulphur (we must be liberal with sulphur for it is cheap), and any other articles that smell—asafoetida isn’t bad—get it so thundering strong that it would drive a yellow dog out of a tanyard, and have it cure anything, from original sin to corns. We want a gorgeous cure, and a corps of distinguished physicians, and an analysis of the water, and all that, and we can just rope in the money. We commence them at the falls, we deplete them at the ruined castle, and dig into them at the ruined church, and finally finish them at the medicinal springs. We want a bank at the latter place, and, if the law permits it, a faro bank. Anyhow, we can get a Swiss hotel man, and if every blessed tourist doesn’t have to draw more money before he gets out, then the race has lost its cunning.

“I am going to be the president of this company, with a brother-in-law I have in Wisconsin for treasurer. There’s money lying around loose, and this scheme will corral all of it I shall ever want.”

Tibbitts talked of his joint-stock Waterfall, Ruin and Medicinal Spring Company all the way into Lucerne.