CHAPTER VII.
BYE-DAYS IN ALPINE MIDLANDS
1. A Pardonable Digression.
On well-ordered intellects—The drawbacks of accurate memory—Sub-Alpine walks: their admirers and their recommendations—The “High Level Route”—The Ruinette—An infallible prescription for ill-humour—A climb and a meditation on grass slopes—The agile person’s acrobatic feats—The psychological effects of sunrise—The ascent of the Ruinette—We return to our mutton at Arolla—A vision on the hill-side.
2. A Little Maiden.
Saas in the olden days—A neglected valley—The mountains drained dry—A curious omission—The Portienhorn, and its good points as a mountain—The chef produces a masterpiece—An undesirable tenement to be let unfurnished—An evicted family—A rapid act of mountaineering—On the pleasures of little climbs—The various methods of making new expeditions on one mountain—On the mountaineer who has nothing to learn, and his consequent ignorance.
1. A Pardonable Digression.
There are some, and they are considered, on the whole, fortunate by less highly gifted individuals, who possess minds as accurately divided up into receptacles for the storage of valuable material as a honeycomb. Every scrap of information acquired by the owner of such a well-ordered intellect is duly [pg 237]sifted, purged, ticketed, and finally pigeon-holed in its proper cell, whence it could undoubtedly be drawn out at any future time for reference, were it not for the fact that the pigeon-holes are all so very much alike that the geometrically minded man commonly forgets the number of the shelf to which he has relegated his item of knowledge. He need not really regret that this should be the case; persons with this exceedingly well-ordered form of mind are apt to be a little too precise for ordinary folk, and may even by the captious be rated as dull creatures. A love for the beautiful is not usually associated with excessively tidy habits of mind. An artist’s studio in apple-pie order would seem as unnatural as a legal document drawn up on æsthetic principles. If the truth be told, the picturesque is always associated with—not to mince matters—the dirty; and the city of Hygeia, however commendably free from the latter quality, would be but a dreary and unattractive town. Nor would it, as seems to be sometimes supposed, be quite a paradise to that terrible and minatory person, the sanitarian. On the contrary, he would probably be found dining with the undertaker—off approved viands—and the pair would be bewailing the hard times.
On well-ordered intellects