Little pleasure steamers, black with people, are coming and going all the time; and everywhere one sees young girls and young men paddling about in fanciful rowboats, or skimming along by the help of sails when there is any wind.
The front rooms of the hotels have little railed balconies, where one may take his private luncheon in calm, cool comfort and look down upon this busy and pretty scene and enjoy it without having to do any of the work connected with it.
Most of the people, both male and female, are in walking costume, and carry alpenstocks.

Evidently, it is not considered safe to go about in Switzerland, even in town, without an alpenstock.

If the tourist forgets and comes down to breakfast without his alpenstock he goes back and gets it, and stands it up in the corner.

When his touring in Switzerland is finished, he does not throw that broomstick away, but lugs it home with him, to the far corners of the earth, although this costs him more trouble and bother than a baby or a courier could.

You see, the alpenstock is his trophy; his name is burned upon it; and if he has climbed a hill, or jumped a brook, or traversed a brickyard with it, he has the names of those places burned upon it, too.
Thus it is his regimental flag, so to speak, and bears the record of his achievements.