So I bought the cuckoo clock; and if I ever get home with it, he is "my meat," as they say in the mines.

I thought of another candidate--a book-reviewer whom I could name if I wanted to--but after thinking it over, I didn't buy him a clock.

I couldn't injure his mind.
We visited the two long, covered wooden bridges which span the green and brilliant Reuss just below where it goes plunging and hurrahing out of the lake.

These rambling, sway-backed tunnels are very attractive things, with their alcoved outlooks upon the lovely and inspiriting water.

They contain two or three hundred queer old pictures, by old Swiss masters--old boss sign-painters, who flourished before the decadence of art.
The lake is alive with fishes, plainly visible to the eye, for the water is very clear.