mopped your forehead, quit the table for the "Conversations Saal."
Here (still keeping in gas and stove, if there is one) smoke till you
can't see six feet before you. Keep this up till you have had enough
of it, and feel the time is getting on for you to go through a
modified edition of the same process at supper. At least, this is how
the German element--a very formidable one at the Hôtel Titlis--for
the most part, conducted itself over the principal meal of the day.
There were, of course, exceptions, for all Germany is not essentially
German; yet it must be confessed that the prevailing features were
of this guzzling, and, for the want of a more descriptive word, I
would add, "sweltering" type, not fully appreciated by the ordinary
travelling Briton, who, whatever else he may be, is not a gross
feeder, though he does set the proper value on a breath of pure fresh
air.

"Get him up? Of course we can get him up," rejoined Dr. MELCHISIDEC,
warmly. This in answer to some doubts expressed by one of the more
cautions spirits of our party as to the possibility of dragging the
Dilapidated One over one of the stock excursions of the neighbourhood,
to wit, the Fürren Alp. "Why, put him into a _chaise à porteur_, and
we could get him up the Titlis itself, and throw in the Schlossstock,
and the Gross-Spannort, for the matter of that, as well. _Baedeker_
makes only a two and a half hours' affair of it."

And so we find ourselves in due course, doing the "Fürren-Alp" in
approved style.

"By Jove, I'll be hanged if I think it's a bit better than going up
Primrose Hill, twenty times running: and not near such good going
either," observes young JERRYMAN, after we have been struggling up a