It may seem incredible, but I assure the reader that some of these parboiled bathers actually sleep while in these tanks. I, myself, saw a head drooped backward as though severed from the body. Its eyes were closed; its mouth was slightly open; and from the nose a mournful sound came forth at intervals, which told me that the man was snoring. Before him, half-supported by the little table, half-bedraggled in the flood, was a newspaper. Bending over the rail, I read the title. Poor man! I no longer wondered that he slept. Those who have read the ponderous sheet will understand its soporific effect. It was a copy of the London Times.
A WAITRESS AT LEUK.
NATIONAL MONUMENT—GENEVA.
After the baths of Leuk and the stupendous precipices of the Gemmi, it is a pleasure to approach a less imposing but more beautiful part of Switzerland,—Geneva and its lake. The bright, cream-colored buildings of the one present a beautiful contrast to the other's deep blue waves. Next to Stockholm and Naples, Geneva has, I think, the loveliest situation of any city in Europe. Curved, crescent-like, around the southwest corner of the lake, the river Rhone with arrowy swiftness cleaves it into two parts, thus furnishing the site for all the handsome quays and bridges which unite the various sections of the town.
