to a young man called William Richardson, the son of a rich shoddy plutocrat, of Manchester, who wished his son to go, under an Oxford tutor, on a tour through Europe. As I knew France fairly already I was especially fit for this kind of work. Our tour, however, extended beyond France into Switzerland and Germany. We went to Strasburg, thence into the Schwarz Wald, where we took a charming walking tour for a few days. We took train at Freiburg for Bâle, whence we walked through the region of the Juras to Berne.
At Berne we met a charming family, a father, mother, and daughter,—the Christophersons—to whom I had introductions from some college friends. I found Mr. Christopherson a most agreeable acquaintance, and one who especially suited my tone of mind. We often took excursions in the mountains together with young Richardson, sometimes in the company of the two ladies, who drew out very pleasantly the intelligence of my young charge. I must say I was, at first, somewhat jealous of the notice Miss Christopherson took in Richardson, but I soon saw that she merely patronised the raw lad, whom I think she rather despised than admired, though, in kind good-temper, she sometimes brought him out.
