A BIT OF CLIMBING.
THE PERSEVERING ONE.
At the next resting place one of the ladies discovered that she had turned her ankle, and she went back. She danced as briskly as usual, however, at the hotel that evening.
Another of the gentlemen thought it his duty to assist her down to the hotel. This left but three, who silently lifted themselves up step by step to the next resting place. From this the view was something unutterably grand. The valley sweeping out to the lake, the mountains on the other side, with the clouds kissing their summits, the fleecy white, pink-tinged by the setting sun, forming a beautiful contrast to the forbidding black of the rocks, and the dark green of the mountain foliage. One of the gentlemen looked up to the dizzy height still before him, and remarked that he had seen as much grandeur as he could take in at one time, and down hill he went.
The other and last smiled a contemptuous smile as he disappeared on the zigzag path, and setting his teeth, turned his footsteps upward. He reached the summit, and waving a small American flag (which he always carried about his person), took in the wonderful view, and slowly but majestically descended.