It is very hilly about here.

Jim's cold is getting better.

Would you mind telegraphing to us who is the winner of the Australian cricket match to-morrow, and how many Grace scored?
In haste, Your loving son, Tom.
Riffel Hotel, _August_ 18.
Dear Gus,--We're awfully high up here--awful rum little inn it is.

It was chock full, and Jim and I have to sleep under the table.

There are about a dozen other fellows who have to camp out too, so it's a rare spree.
We're going to have a shot at the Matterhorn to-morrow if it's fine.