3 1924 095 665 513 
 
 CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 BEQUEST 
 
 OF 
 
 STEWART HENRY BURNHAM 
 1943 
 
The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924095665513 
 
WANDERINGS OF A PILGEIM 
 
 SHADOW OF MONT BLANC 
 
 i>t 
 
 GEORGE B. CHEEVER.D.D. 
 
 JjO, in the Valo, the mists of evening spread I 
 The visionary arches are not there, 
 Nor the green Islands, nor the shining Seaa ; 
 Yet sacred to me is this Mountain's head, 
 From which I have been lifted on the t 
 Of harmony, above all earthly care. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 JOHN WILEY, 
 
 No. 56 ■WALKEE-8TEEET 
 
 1859. 
 
TO 
 
 REV. DR. MALAN, 
 
 OF GENEVA, 
 
 THIS BOOK 
 
 IS MOST RESPECTFULLY AND AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED, 
 
 BY HIS OBLIGED FRIEND, 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 A Preface is a thing of inconsistencies. Though it comes 
 first in the Book, it is last in the Author's thoughts ; the first 
 thing with the reader, it is the last with the writer and the 
 printer. Though it is the shortest part of the Book, it is liy 
 far the most difficult. And though it is no part of the 
 Book, it is sometimes the only part read, and the longest 
 remembered. 
 
 It is always demanded by custom, though oftentimes 
 wholly unnecessary. It is like a visit of ceremony, with 
 half an excuse for not calling sooner, and half an apology 
 for calling at all. It is like the title Esq., which is no part 
 of any man's name, and yet every man writes it on a letter 
 to his neighbor. It is like notes at the bottom of the page 
 which, if they contain anything important, had better be 
 put in the body of the work. Finally, it is like standing at 
 the door in a rain-storm, and sending in the servant to 
 announce your name. 
 
 A Preface in the present case might have been spared, 
 • inasmuch as there is an introductory chapter. But perhaps 
 it may be set down as one of those graces in book- life, like 
 the touch of your hat to a friend across the street, which 
 softens the manners, and does not permit men to bo brutes. 
 This doubtless is the philosophy of it, though the etymology 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 intimates that it is simply the art of putting the best face 
 foremost. 
 
 It may be questioned whether it were not- better not to 
 have published at all ; but this should have been thought of 
 before. When I first wrote, I was thinking of dear friends, 
 just as in collecting my Alpine Flowers, and of the pleasure 
 I would give them, if ever permitted to show them my 
 mountain treasures. To write merely for the public, is but 
 poor business ; it makes a sort of commercial traveller out 
 of a man, who goes about like an Argus, seeing with a 
 hundred eyes, not one of which is his o"wn ; seeing every- 
 thing for the public, nothing for himself; a kind of com- 
 mission agent to trade with nature, and drive the best 
 speculations. 
 
 " These Tourists, heaven preserve us, needs must lead 
 A profitable life !" 
 
 They climb the crags, and beat about the bushes, for mare's 
 nests, that they may show and sell the eggs. What can 
 they see of Nature's own, of Nature's hidden treasures, 
 which come to view all spontaneously, just as the graceful 
 attitudes of children are seen only when you are not watch- 
 ing for them, and before they have been taught to dance. 
 
 On the other hand, to write for dear friends, and then 
 publish, if need be, as an after thought, is not so bad. Nor 
 need the Author tell his reasons for so doing. If the public 
 are pleased, that is reason enough ; if not, they care nothing 
 at all about it. For his own gratification and benefit, it is 
 better for the traveller in so glorious a region as that of the 
 Alps, always to write, whether he publishes or not ; and then, 
 the copying and filling up of his journal is as pleasing as the 
 vevisiting of a beautiful gallery of paintings. If he could 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 make the description as interesting to his reader, as the 
 visit was to himself, he would never need an apology for a 
 Book. I do quite despair of this, and yet I have attempted 
 my Pilgrim Story. 
 
 In speaking of the shadow of Mont Blanc, and of Day 
 and Night, of Morn and Eve, of Sun and Moon and Stars 
 upon ihe Mountain, I could adopt what Dante says of the 
 light of Paradise, except that my dream of glory is bettei 
 remembered ; and this shall be my Preface. 
 
 " As one who from a Dream awakened, straight. 
 All he hath seen forgets ; yet still retains 
 Impression of the feeling in his Dream ; 
 E'en such am I : for all the vision dies. 
 As 't were, away ; and yet the sense of sweet. 
 That «prang from it, still trickles in my heart. 
 Thus in the sun thaw is the snow unsealed; 
 Thus in the winds on flitting leaves was lost 
 The Sybil's sentence. eternal beam ! 
 Whose height what reach of mortal thought may soar .' 
 Yield me again some little particle 
 Of what thou then appearedst ; give my tongue 
 Power, but to leave one sparkle of thy glory. 
 Unto the race to come, that shall not lose 
 Thy triumph wholly, if thou waken aught 
 Of memory in me, and endure to hear 
 The record sound of this unequal strain." 
 
 Caret's Dante, Paradise, Canto xxxiii 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAOB 
 
 I. Introductiow. — Iktehphetation of nature 1 
 
 II Mont Bi.anc fbom Geneva and its Outskirts 6 
 
 III. Cloud-Land and Mountain Scenery from the Grand 
 
 Saleve 12 
 
 IV. Junction of the Arve and the Rhone 17 
 
 V. The Truth of Christ and its Defenders in Geneva. 20 
 
 VI Dr. Malan, Dr. Merle D'Aubigne, and Dr. Gaussen. 27 
 
 VII. Dk. Merle D'Aubigne 35 
 
 VIII. Dr. Gaussen. — The Children of the Oratoihe. — Re- 
 ligious Liberty 45 
 
 IX. Chamouny and the Ms:r de Glace 53 
 
 X. Cascade des Pelerines. — A Swiss Family. — Cole- 
 ridge's Hymn 64 
 
 XI. Mont Blanc from the Colds Balme 73 
 
 XII. Starting for the Tour around Mont Blanc 79 
 
 XTII. Cascade Barbehiha and Pass of the Tete Noire... 85 
 
 XIV Pass of the Grand St. Bernard 91 
 
 XV. Hospice of the Grand St. Bernard 94 
 
 XVI. Descent into the Val d'Aoste. — Romish Intole- 
 rance, AND that of State and Church 103 
 
 XVII. Lower Valley of Aoste into Ivrea and Turin 110 
 
X CONTENTS. 
 
 CH.4PTEB PAOH 
 
 XVIII. The Gkaotj St. Behnard bt Moonlight. — Fi/)od or 
 
 THE DkAITCE lis 
 
 XIX. Sttnset. — The Tete Noire. — The Vaix)Rsine bt Mooir- 
 
 UGHT. PlETT OF THE GlTIDES 123 
 
 XX. City of Aoste. — The Sabbath. — ^The Peabaitts. — Moir- 
 
 UMENT TO John Calvin 128 
 
 XXI. ■ ANTiqtrrriEs, Calamities, and Bt-Laws of Aoste. — 
 
 Mont Blanc from Ivrogne 139 
 
 XXII. Mont Blanc from the Upper Val d' Aoste 144 
 
 XXIII Pass of the Col de la Seigne 150 
 
 XXIV. Pass of the Col de Bonhomme 155 
 
 XXV. Chamount to Geneva. — The Bishop of Cashel 
 
 Pbbachino m the Dining-Hail 162 
 
WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM 
 
 SHADOW OF MONT BLANC. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Introduction. Interpretation of Nature. 
 
 The Fasciculus of leaves from the journal of a summer's trave 
 here presented to the reader, is more like a familiar letter than 
 a book ; it was written, at first, for the perusal of a few friends, 
 and it makes no pretensions to depth or greatness, but is a quiet 
 expression of thoughts and feelings, which any man may expe- 
 rience amidst the wonders of Alpine scenery. There is neither 
 political economy, nor geology, nor botany, nor musical, nor 
 theatrical, nor statistical information much attempted in it. 
 And yet it is possible to find in such a journal, a book which 
 may beguile and benefit both the traveller among the Alps, and 
 the Pilgrim at home ; a book, " which meets us like a pleasant 
 thought, when such are wanted." Mere descriptions, be the 
 scenery ever so grand, are cloying and tiresome, and soon 
 become tame. It is like living upon pound-cake and cream, or 
 rather upon whip-syllabub. But if, while the eye is pleased 
 the heart may be active, and the mind awakened into deep 
 thought, if the thought be such as befits the immortal tenant oi 
 a world so beautiful, then will the mind and heart be at harmony 
 with nature, and the language, which the very frame of the 
 world speaks, will be understood, and the spirit which pervades 
 such a world will imbue the being as a calm and gentle 
 element. 
 
 Nothing is more desirable than for a traveller so to converse 
 with nature, as well as with mankind. We do not con men's 
 2 
 
2 WANDERINGS OP A PILGRIM. [chap i. 
 
 features alone, when we meet them ; we do not report their 
 eyebrows, meir noses, their lips, the color of their eyes, and 
 think we have done with them ; we learn their habits, thoughts, 
 feelings ; we speak to their souls. And Nature hath a soul as 
 well as features. But a man's own soul must be awakened 
 within him, and not his pleasure-loving faculties and propensi- 
 ties merely, if he would enter into communion with the soul 
 that is in nature. Otherwise, it is as with a vacant stare that 
 he sees mountains, forests, bright skies and sounding cataracts 
 pass before him ; otherwise, it is like a sleep-walker, that he 
 himself wanders among them. What is not in himself he finds 
 not in nature, and as all study is but a discipline to call forth 
 our immortal faculties, no good will it do the man to range 
 through nature as a study, if his inward being be asleep, if hi i 
 nind be world-rusted and insensible. 
 
 " It were a vain endeavor. 
 
 Though I should gaze for ever. 
 On that green light that lingers in the west ; 
 I may not hope from outward forms to win 
 The passion and the life, whose fountains are within." 
 
 And hence the extreme and melancholy beauty of that pas- 
 sage in John Foster's writings, where he speaks of the power 
 of external nature as an agent in our education, and laments 
 the inward deficiency in many minds, which prevents our 
 " foster-mother " from being able to instil into them her sweetest, 
 most exquisite tones and lessons. " It might be supposed," he 
 says, " that the scenes of nature, an amazing assemblage of 
 phenomena, if their effect were not lost through familiarity, 
 would have a powerful influence on all opening minds, and 
 transfer into the internal economy of ideas and sentiment some- 
 thing of a character and a color correspondent to the beauty, 
 vicissitude and grandeur, which continually press on the senses. 
 On minds of genius they often have this effect ; and Beattie's 
 Minstrel may be as just as it is a fascinating description of the 
 feelings of such a mind. But on the greatest number this influ- 
 ence operates feebly ; you will not see the process in children, 
 nor the result in mat) '.re persons. The charms of nature are 
 
CHAP. I.] INTERPRETATION OF N A.TURE. 3 
 
 objects only of sight and hearing, not of sensibility and imagi- 
 nation. And even the sight and hearing do not receive impres- 
 sions sufficiently distinct and forcible for clear recollection ; it 
 .'s not therefore strange that these impressions seldom go so 
 much deeper than the senses, as to awaken psnsiveness or 
 enthusiasm, and fill the mind with an interior permanent scenery 
 of beautiful images at its own command. This defect of fancy 
 and sensibility is unfortunate amidst a creation infinitely rich 
 with grand and beautiful objects, which, imparting something 
 more than images to a mind adapted and habituated to converse 
 with nature, inspire an exquisite sentiment, that seems like the 
 emanation of a spirit residing in them. It is unfortunate, I 
 have thought within these few minutes, while looking out on one 
 of the most enchanting nights of the most interesting season of 
 the year, and hearing the voices of a company of persons, to 
 whom I can perceive that this soft and solemn shade over the 
 earth, the calm sky, the beautiful stripes of cloud, the stars and 
 the waning moon just risen, are all blank and indifferent." 
 
 Unfortunate, indeed ; for did not God design that the walls 
 of our external abode should be, as it were, at least as the scaf- 
 folding wherewith to help build up the inward temple of the 
 mind, and that the silent imagery upon the one should be re- 
 flected in the thoughtful treasures and instructive galleries of 
 the other ? Nature is as a book of hieroglyphics, which the 
 individual mind must interpret. 
 
 What can be more desirable than an interior permanent scenery 
 of beautiful images, so formed ? Much depends upon a man's 
 inward spiritual state, which, even by itself, when its pulse beats 
 in unison with His Spirit who rules universal nature, may sup- 
 ply what might have seemed an original defect of taste and 
 sensibility. So the great metaphysician of New England, who 
 never suspected himself, nor was suspected by others, of being 
 a Poet, and whose character might have been deemed defective 
 in its imaginative parts, was drawn, by his deep and intense 
 communion with God and the love of his attributes, into such 
 communion with external nature, and such sensitive experience 
 of her loveliness, so simple and yet almost ecstatic, as Cowper 
 himself might ha 'e envied. So certain it is that by the culti- 
 
WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap. i. 
 
 vation of our spiritual being we discipline in the best manner 
 our intellectual being ; we come into a power of appreciating 
 and enjoying the banquet, which God hath placed before all 
 men, but from which so many do voluntarily exclude them- 
 selves. So it is, that one traveller meets angels at every step 
 of the way, and to him it seems as a walk in Paradise ; while 
 another meets but the outward form of things. One traveller 
 throws a shroud over nature, another a wedding-garment ; one 
 clothes her with the carking anxieties of his own mind, another 
 sees no beauty in her. 
 
 " A primrose by the river's brim. 
 Or at the cottage door, 
 A yellow primrose is to him. 
 And it is nothing more." 
 
 Not so does a mind read nature, or listen to her teachings, 
 whose inward sight has been purified and illumined from above. 
 " God's excellency," says Jonathan Edwards, describing the 
 exercises of his mind after his conversion, " God's excellency, 
 his wisdom, his purity and love, seemed to appear in every- 
 thing ; in the sun, moon, and stars, in the clouds and blue sky ; 
 in the grass, flowers, and trees ; in the water and all nature, 
 which used greatly to fix my mind. I often used to sit and 
 view the moon for a long time, and in the day spent much time 
 in viewing the clouds and sky, to behold the sweet glory of God 
 in these things ; in the meantime singing forth, with a low voice, 
 my contemplations of the Creator and Redeemer." 
 
 Sweet, indeed, was this frame of mind ; delightful would it 
 ever be, so to warjder over God's bright world, interpreting 
 nature by ourselves, and singing, with a low sweet voice, our 
 praises of the Creator. Then only do we feel the beauty and 
 the glory that is around us, when there is a mind at peace within 
 us. Coleridge's words are as true as they are beautiful, 
 
 " Lady ! we receive but what we give. 
 And in our life alone doea nature live ; 
 Ours is her wedding-garment, ours her shroud ! 
 And would we aught behold of higher worth. 
 
CBU-.t] INTERPRETATION OF NATURE. S 
 
 Than that inanimate cold world allowed 
 To the poor loveless ever-anxious crowd, 
 
 Ah ! from the aoul itself must issue forth 
 A light, a glory, a fair luminous cloud 
 
 Enveloping the Earth ; — 
 And from the soul itself there must be sent 
 
 A sweet and potent voice, of its own birth, 
 Of all sweet sounds the life and element !" 
 
 You, then, kind reader, are my companion by the way, so 
 long as you please to join me in these pages, and I shall talk 
 with you quietly and frankly in my pilgrimage ; supposing you 
 to be a friend. If you could answer me, you might suggest a 
 thousand thoughts, fancies, feelings, more beautiful than those 
 I utter to you ; I might find that you have a far deeper sympa- 
 thy with nature than I have, and a heart singing God's praises 
 more constantly. If, therefore, you discover any vein of 
 thought in the conversation (which in this case I have all to 
 myself) that pleases you, I shall be glad ; if anything that does 
 you good, I shall be more glad ; if you find anything that dis- 
 pleases you, I can only say, it would be somewhat wonderful if 
 you did not ; but it is not certain, because it displeases you, that 
 therefore it is wrong. We; are going through a glorious region ; 
 I have only to wish that I could fill my journal with thoughts 
 as grand as the mountains, and as sweet as the wild flowers. 
 We begin with Geneva, and some of the pleasant excursions 
 amidst the scenery around that city. Then we will visit the 
 Vale of Chamouny, and from that spot make the tour of Mont 
 Blanc, through the lovely Val d'Aoste in Italy. After this, we 
 have before us the magnificent Oberland Alps, and the wonder- 
 ful pass of the Splugen. 
 
WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap, ii 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Mont Blano from Geneva and its outakirta. 
 
 Geneva is a spot where one may study the beauty of nature in 
 all its changes and varieties, and where that beauty passes also 
 into sublimity, in the mighty Jura range of mountains, and in the 
 magnificent view of the flashing snowy Alps, with Mont Blanc 
 towering in the centre. There are many delightful excursions 
 within the compass of a few hours, or a day going and returning. 
 There is the Lake, so grand and beautiful at its other extremity, 
 around Vevay — there is the arrowy Rhone, so blue and rapid, and 
 its junction with the Arve, combining so many points of interest 
 and beauty, from the heights that overlook the rivers. There 
 are the various commanding views of Mont Blanc, especially at 
 sunset, with the changing hues from the dazzling white to the 
 deep rich crimson, from the crimson to the cold grey, from the 
 grey to the pink, till the color is lost in the dimness of evening. 
 Then there are the golden hues of twilight shadowed in the 
 lake, and the light veil of mist drawing across the foliage of the 
 valley as the evening shuts in upon it. Then you continue your 
 walk in the soft light of the moon and stars, in which the vast 
 shadows and dark rising masses of the mountains appear so 
 solemn, almost like spiritual existences slowly breathing into 
 your heart a sense of eternity. How these forms of nature 
 brood upon the soul ! The powerful impression which they pro- 
 duce, so deep, so solemn, like great types of realities in the eter- 
 nal world, is sometimes quite inexplicable. It is like the awe 
 described in Job as falling upon the soul in the presence of an 
 invisible Spirit. The heart trembleth, and is moved out of his 
 place. God thundereth marvellously with his voice. He cast- 
 eth the garment of his clouds around the mountains ; theli the 
 bright light is gone ; then the wind passeth and cleanseth them. 
 
CHAP. II.] MONT BLANC FROM GENEVA. 7 
 
 Fair weather cometh out of the north : with God is terrible 
 majesty. 
 
 Mont Blanc is clearly visible from Geneva perhaps once in 
 the week, or about sixty times in the year. When he is visible, 
 a walk to the junction of the Arve and the Rhone either by the 
 way of the plains on the Genevan side, or by way of the heights 
 on the side towards the south of France, affords a wonderful 
 combination of sublimity and beauty on the earth and in the 
 heavens. Those snowy mountain ranges, so white, so pure, so 
 dazzling in the clear azure depths, do really look as if they be- 
 longed to another world — as if, like the faces of supernatural 
 intelligences, they were looking sadly and steadfastly on our 
 world, to speak to us of theirs. Some of these mountain peaks 
 of snow you can see only through the perspective of other 
 mountains, nearer to you, and covered with verdure, which 
 makes the snowy pyramids appear so distant, so sharply defined, 
 so high up, so glorious ; it is indeed like the voice of great 
 truths stirring the soul. As your eye follows the range, tliey 
 lie in such glittering masses against the horizon — in such grand 
 repose — they shoot into the sky in bright weather in such infi- 
 nite clearness, so pure, so flashing, that they seem never to lose 
 the charm of a sudden and startling revelation to the mind. 
 Are they not sublime images of the great truths of God's own 
 word, that sometimes indeed are veiled with clouds, but in fair 
 weather do carry us, as in a chariot of fire and with horses of 
 fire, into eternity, into the presence of God ? The atmosphere 
 of our hearts is so misty and stormy, that we do not see them 
 more than sixty times a year, in their glory : if every Sabbath- 
 day we get a view of them without clouds, we do well ; but 
 when we see them as they are, then we feel their power, then 
 we are rapt by them from earth, away, away, away, into the 
 depths of heaven ! 
 
 In some circumstances, when we are climbing the mountains, 
 even the mists that hang around them do add to the glory of the 
 view ; as in the rising sun, when they are so penetrated with 
 brightness, that they sofily rise over the crags as a robe of misty 
 light, or seem like the motion of sweet nature breathing into the 
 atmosphere from her morning altars the incense of praise. And 
 
8 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap, ii 
 
 in the setting sun how often do they hang around the precipices, 
 glowing with the golden and crimson hues of the West,, and 
 preventing us from clearly defining the forms of the mountains, 
 only to make them more lovely to our view. So it is sometimes 
 with the very clouds around God's word, and the lights and shades 
 upon it. There is an inscrutability of truth which sometimes 
 increases its power, while we wait with solemn reverence for 
 the hoiir when it shall be fully revealed to us; and our faith, 
 like the setting sun, may clothe celestial mysteries with a soft and 
 rosy-colored light, which makes them more suitable to our pre- 
 sent existence, than if we saw them in the clear and cloudiest 
 atmosphere of a spiritual noon. 
 
 You have a fine point for viewing Mont Blanc, without going 
 out of the city, from the ramparts on the west side of Rousseau's 
 Island. Here a brazen Indicator is erected, with the names of 
 the different mountain summits and ridges, so that by taking 
 sight across the index !you can distinguish them at once. You 
 will not mistake Mont Blanc, if you see him ; but until you get 
 accustomed to the panorama, you may easily mistake one of 
 his court for the King, when the Monarch himself is not visible. 
 
 A still better point of view you will have at Coppet, ascend- 
 ing towards the Jura. In proportion as you rise from the bor- 
 ders of the Lake, every part of the landscape becomes more 
 beautiful, though what you wish to gain is the most commanding 
 view of the mountains, every other object being secondary. In 
 a bright day, nothing can be more clearly and distinctly de- 
 fined than Mont Blanc, with his attendant mighty ranges^ cut 
 in dazzling snowy brightness against the clear blue sky. The 
 sight of those glorious glittering fields and mountains of ice and 
 snow produces immediately a longing to be there among them. 
 They make an impression upon the soul, of something super- 
 natural, almost divine. Although the whole scene lying be- 
 fore you is so beautiful (the lake, the verdant banks, the trees, 
 and the lower ranges of verdure-covered mountains, constituting 
 in themselves alone one of the loveliest pictures in the world), 
 yet the snowy ranges of Mont Blanc are the grand feature. 
 Those glittering distant peaks are the only thing in the scene 
 that takes a powerful hold upon the soul ; but they do quite 
 
CHAP, n.] MONT BLANC FROM GENEVA. S 
 
 possess it, and tyrannize over it, with an ecstatic thraldom. 
 One is never wearied with gazing and wondering at the glory. 
 I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my 
 help! 
 
 Another admirable point, much farther from the lake and the 
 city than the preceding, and at a greater elevation, is what is 
 called the promenade of the point Sacconex. A fine engraving 
 of this view is printed on letter paper for correspondence ; but 
 there is not sufficient distinctness given to the outlines of Mont 
 Blanc and the other summits of the glittering snowy range, that 
 seems to float in the heavens like the far-otT alabaster walls of 
 Paradise. No language, nor any engraving, can convey the 
 ravishing magnificence and splendor, the exciting sublimity and 
 beauty of the scene. But there are days in which the air around 
 the mountains seems itself of such a hazy whiteness, that the 
 snow melts into the atmosphere as it were, and dies away in 
 the heavens like the indistinct outline of a bright but partially 
 remembered dream. There are other days in which the fleecy 
 clouds, like veils of light over the faces of angels, do so rest upon 
 and mingle with the snowy summits, that you can hardly tell 
 where one begins and the other ends. Sometimes you look upon 
 the clouds thinking they are mountains, and then again Mont 
 Blanc himself will be revealed in such far-ofi", unmoving, glitter- 
 ing grandeur, in such wonderful distinctness, that there is no 
 mistaking the changeful imitations of his glory for the reality. 
 Sometimes the clouds and the mountains together are mingled 
 in such a multitudinous and interminable array of radiances, that 
 it seems like the white-robed armies of heaven with their floating 
 banners, marching and countermarching in front of the domes and 
 jewelled battlements of the Celestial City. When the fog scenery, 
 of which I shall give you a description, takes place upon the earth, 
 and at the same time there are such revelations of the snowy 
 summits in the heavens, and such goings on of glory among 
 them, and you get upon the mountain to see them, it is impossible 
 to describe the efiect, as of a vast enchantment, upon the mind. 
 
 The view of Geneva, the Lake, and the Jura mountains from 
 Coligny is much admired, and at sunset perhaps the world can- 
 not offer a more lovely scene. It was here that Byron took up 
 
10 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. (chap, ii 
 
 his abode, a choice which I have wondered at, for you cannot 
 see Mont Blanc from this point, and therefore the situation is 
 inferior to many others. Ascending the hill farther to the East, 
 when you come to Col. Tronchin's beautiful residence, you have 
 perhaps the finest of all the views of Mont Blanc in or around 
 Geneva. Go upon the top of Col. Tronchin's Tower about half 
 au hour before sunset, and the scene is not unworthy of com- 
 parison even with the glory of the sunrise as witnessed from the 
 summit of the Righi. It is surprising to see how long Mont Blanc 
 retains the light of day, and how long the snow burns in the set- 
 ting sun, after his orb has sunk from your own view entirely 
 behind the green range of the Jura. Then after a succession 
 of tints from the crimson to the cold grey, it being manifest that 
 the sun has left the mountain to a companionship with the stars 
 alone, you also are ready to depart, the glory of the scene being 
 over, when suddenly and unaccountably the snowy summits red- 
 den again, as if the sun were returning upon them, the counten- 
 ance of Mont Blanc is filled with rosy light, and the cold grey 
 gives place for a few moments to a deep warm, radiant pink (as- 
 if you saw a sudden smile playing over the features of a sleep- 
 ing angel), which at length again dies in the twilight. This 
 phenomenon is extremely beautiful, but I know not how to account 
 for it ; nor was any one of our party wiser than I ; nevertheless, 
 our ignorance of causes need never diminish, but often increases 
 the pleasure of beautiful sights. 
 
 Beneath the shadow of Mont Blanc there dwell side by side 
 one of the truest forms of liberty, and one of the most thorough- 
 going despotisms in the world, together with the brightest piety 
 and the deepest superstition. A line divides these kingdoms. 
 Beneath the shadow of Mont Blanc there have been transacted 
 some of the most glorious and most humiliating scenes recorded 
 in history. We are now on a spot consecrated to Freedom and 
 Truth. We can take our Bibles to the top of this tower, and 
 we might read from them and teach from them, unmolested, to 
 as many thousands as could assemble within reach of our voices. 
 But in the direction in which you are looking towards Mont 
 Blanc, you see the smoke ascending from the cottages within the 
 boundary line qf the kingdom of Sardinia, Step across that line 
 
CHAP. II.] MONT BLANC FROM GENEVA. li 
 
 and enter those cottages, and your teachings with the Bible In 
 your hand will carry you to prison. There is religious tyranny, 
 here is religious liberty. The grass is as green there as it is 
 here ; the air is as bright and sweet there as it is here ; you can 
 see the kingly crown of Mont Blanc glittering there, as massive 
 and silvery as it does here. The difference is not in external 
 nature, but in the world of souls. 
 
 Looking from the tower, a little to the left, across the grove 
 which surrounds it, you see a delightful work of the taste and 
 piety, of Colonel Tronchin, in a private hospital, erected and sup- 
 ported at his own expense, where a number of the poor arid sick 
 are taken care of with the utmost benevolence, without any distinc- 
 tion as to their religion, whether they be Protestants or Roman- 
 ists. There is religious worship and instruction in the hospital, 
 and sentences from the scriptures are engraven here and there 
 upon the walls, as in some of the cottages of Switzerland ; and 
 results both unexpected and delightful have been known to come 
 from the perusal of these lessons. We attended the evening 
 worship in this benevolent little retreat. Colonel Tronchin read 
 the scriptures, with some familiar and deeply interesting remarks, 
 and led his needy flock, gathered from the highways and hedges, 
 in prayer. No visitor can come to this spot without blessing it, 
 nor can any go, without feeling that its excellent proprietor has 
 here put his money into a bank, where his Lord at his coming, 
 " will receive his own with usury." 
 
W WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap. m. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Cloud-land and mountain scenery A'om the Grand Sal^re 
 
 I MUST not omit to carry you on one excursion from Geneva, 
 which many travellers miss entirely, either because they are 
 not in the region at the season in which it is to be enjoyed, or 
 because they have not time and curiosity, a combination quite 
 requisite for undertaking the expedition. 
 
 In the autumn, when the fogs prevail, it is often a thick driz- 
 zling mist in Geneva, and nothing visible, while on the moun- 
 tain tops the air is pure, and the sun shining. On such a day 
 as this, when the children of the mist tell you that on the moun- 
 tains it is fair weather, you must start early for the range near- 
 est Geneva, on the way to Chamouny, the range of the Grand 
 Saleve, the base of which is about four miles distant, prepared 
 to spend the day upon the mountains, and you will witness one 
 of the most singular and beautiful scenes to be enjoyed in 
 Switzerland. 
 
 The day I set out was so misty, that I took an umbrella, for 
 the fog gathered and fell like rain, and I more than doubted 
 whether I should see the sun at all. In the midst of this mist I 
 climbed the rocky zigzag half hewn out of the face of the 
 mountain, and half natural, and passing the village that is 
 perched among the high rocks, which might be a refuge for the 
 conies, began toiling up the last ascent of the mountain, seeing 
 nothing, feeling nothing, but the thick mist, the veil of which 
 had closed below and behind me over village, path and preci- 
 pice, and still continued heavy and dark above me, so that I 
 thought I never should get out of it. Suddenly my head rose 
 above the level of the fog into the clear air, and the heavens 
 were shining, and Mont Blanc, with the whole illimitable range 
 of snowy mountain tops around him, was throwing back the 
 
CHAP, in.] CLOUD-LAND. 13 
 
 sun .' An ocean of mist, as smooth as a chalcedony, as sofl and 
 white as the down of the eider-duck's breast, lay over the whole 
 lower world ; and as I rose above it, and ascended the mountain 
 to its overhanging verge, it seemed an infinite abyss of vapor, 
 where only the mountain tops were visible, on the Jura range 
 like verdant wooded islandsjOn the Mont Blanc range as glitter- 
 ing surges and pyramids of ice and snow. No language can 
 describe the extraordinary sublimity and beauty of the view. 
 A level sea of white mist in every direction, as far as the eye 
 could extend, with a continent of mighty icebergs on the one 
 side floating in it, and on the other a forest promontory, with a 
 slight undulating swell in the bosom of the sea, like the long 
 smooth undulations of the ocean in a calm. 
 
 Standing on the overhanging crags, I could hear the chime 
 of bells, the hum of busy labor, and the lowing of cattle buried 
 in the mist, and faintly coming up to you from the fields and 
 villages. Now and then a bird darted up out of the mist into 
 the clear sun and air, and sailed in playful circles, and then 
 dived and disappeared again below the surface. By and by the 
 wind began to agitate the cloudy sea, and more and more of the 
 mountains became visible. Sometimes you have a bright sun- 
 set athwart this sea of cloud, which then rolls in waves bur- 
 nished and tipped with fire. When you go down into the mist 
 again, and leave behind you the beautiful sky, a clear bracing 
 atmosphere, the bright sun and the snow-shining mountains, it 
 is like passing from heaven ta earth, from the brightness and 
 serenity of the one, to the darkness and cares of the other. The 
 whole scene is a leaf in nature's book, which but few turn 
 over ; but how rich it is in beauty and glory, and in food for 
 meditation, none can tell but those who have witnessed it. This 
 is a scene in Cloud-land, which hath its mysteries of beauty, 
 that defy the skill of the painter and engraver. 
 
 The bird darting from the mist into the sunlight, was a very 
 beautiful incident. " That," said Dr. Malan to me, as I re- 
 counted to him the experience of the day, " is Faith, an emblem 
 of Faith ;" for so as that soaring bird from the earth, when it 
 was dark and raining, flew up and up, and onward, undiscour- 
 aged, till heaven was shining on her wings, and the clouds were 
 
U WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap. in. 
 
 all below her, and then returned, not to forget that sight, but to 
 sing to her compfanions about it, and to dwell upon it till clear 
 weather J so does our Faith, when all looks dark and discour- 
 aging here, when within and around there is nothing but mist 
 and rain, rise and still rise, and soar onwards and upwards,' till 
 heaven is visible, and God is shining in the face of Jesus Christ ; 
 and then, as it Were, comes back with glad tidings, to tell the 
 soul to be of good cheer, for that heaven is not far off, and to 
 sing, even like the nightingale, in the darkness and the rain, for 
 that soon again there shall be day-break and fair weather. And 
 Ihe memory of one such view of the gates of heaven, with the 
 bright Alps of truth glittering around you, is enough to sustain 
 the soul through many a weary day of her pilgrimage. When 
 you see the face of Christ, all the darkness is forgotten, and you 
 wonder what it was you were doubting about, and what it was that 
 could have made you so perplexed and desponding. Because it 
 is mist and rain here below, you are not therefore to suppose that it 
 is raining on the mountains ; it is all clear there. And besides, 
 you know that the mist, the rain, the showers are necessary, and 
 we cannot have them and the sunshine at the same time, though 
 the showers that water the earth are as requisite to make it 
 luxuriant, as the sun's clear shining after rain. Any time 
 Faith may get upon the mountains and see the Alps, though 
 it is not to be done without labor. There must be much prayer 
 and spiritual discipline, before you find that your head is above 
 the mist, and heaven is shining around you. 
 
 The poet Wordsworth has given two very vivid descriptions 
 of these mist phenomena, under different aspects from that in 
 which I witnessed them. The first is contained in his descrip. 
 tive s'tetohes. of a pedestrian tour among the Alps. 
 
 '"Tis morn : with gold the verdant mountain glows. 
 More high, the snowy peaks with hues of rose. 
 Far stretched beneath the many-tinted hills 
 A mighty waste of mist the valley fills, 
 A solemn sea ! whose vales and mountains round 
 Stand motionless, to awful silence bound. 
 A gulph of gloomy blue, that opens wide 
 And bottomless, divides the midwiy tide. 
 Like leaning masts of stranded ships appear 
 
CHAP, ni.] PHENOMENA OF MISTS. 15 
 
 The pines, that near the coast their summits rear. 
 Of cabins, woods and lawns a pleasant shore 
 Bounds calm and clear the chaos still and hoar. 
 Loud through that midway gulph ascending, sound. 
 Unnumbered streams with hollow roar profound. 
 Mount through the nearer mist the chant of birds, 
 And talking voices, and the low of herds,. 
 The bark of. dogs, the drowsy tinkling bell. 
 And wild-wood mountain lutes of saddest swell." 
 
 But this extract is not to be compared for power to the follow 
 ing from the same poem, describing an Alpine sunset after a 
 day of mist and storm upon the mountains : — 
 
 '"Tis storm, and hid in mist from hour to hour. 
 All day the floods a deepening murmur pour. 
 The sky is veiled, and every cheerful sight. 
 Dark is the region as with coming night. 
 But what a sudden burst of overpowering light ! 
 Triumphant on the bosom of the storm 
 Glances the fire-clad eagle's wheeling form. 
 Eastward, in long perspective glittering, shine 
 The wood-crowned cliffs, that o'er the lake recline. 
 Wide o'er the Alps a hundred streams unfold, 
 At once to pillars turned, that flame with gold. 
 Behind his sail the peasant tries to shun 
 The west, that burns like one dilated sun, 
 Where in a mighty crucible expire 
 The mountains, glowing hot, like coals of fire !" 
 
 Mr. Coleridge used to adduce this extract, from a poem writ- 
 ten in the earliest period of Wordsworth's career, as a rich pro- 
 phecy of the fruits that would come from his maturer genius. And 
 indeed superior to both these preceding passages is the other 
 sketch of cloud scenery among the mountains, which is to be 
 found in the second book of the Excursion. The scene, how. 
 ever, is not in Switzerland, but in Scotland. 
 
 " A step, 
 A single step, that freed me from the skirts 
 Of the blind vapor, opened to my view 
 Glory beyond all glory ever seen 
 By waking sense, or by the dreaming soul. 
 The appearance, instantaneously disclosed, 
 
1« WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap, hi, 
 
 Was of a Mighty City, — ^boldly say 
 A wilderness of building, sinking far, 
 And self-withdrawn into a wonderous depth. 
 Far sinking into splendor without end ! 
 Fabric it seemed of diamond and of gold. 
 With alabaster domes, and silver spires, 
 And blazing terrace upon terrace high 
 Uplifted ; here, serene pavilions bright. 
 In avenues disposed ; there, towers begirt. 
 With battlements, that on their restless fronts 
 Bore stars, — illumination of all gems ! 
 
 ! 'twas an unimaginable sight ! 
 Clouds, mists, streams, watery rocks and emerald turf. 
 Clouds of all tincture, rocks and sapphire sky. 
 Confused, commingled, mutually inflamed, 
 Molten together, and composing thus, 
 Each lost in each, that marvellous array 
 Of temple, palace, citadel, and huge 
 Fantastic pomp of structure without name. 
 In fleecy folds voluminous enwrapped. 
 
 Right in the midst, where interspace appeared 
 Of open court, an object like a throne 
 Beneath a shining canopy of state 
 Stood fixed ; and fixed resemblances were seen 
 To implements of ordinary use. 
 But vast in size, in substance glorified ; 
 Such as by Hebrew prophets were beheld 
 In vision— forms uncouth of mightiest power. 
 For admiration and mysterious awe. 
 Below me was the earth i this little vale 
 Lay low beneath my feet; 'twas visible— 
 I saw not, but I felt that it was there. 
 That which I saw was the revealed abode 
 Of spirits in beatitude " 
 
CHAP IT.] THE ARVE AND THE RHONE 17 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Junction of the Arve and the Rhone. 
 
 TThe junction of these two rivers, the Arve and the Rhone, 
 is one of the pleasantest excursions in the neighborhood of 
 Geneva. You go out of the gates of the city towards 
 France, and you follow the course of the Rhone from coun- 
 try seat to country seat along its borders. The banks in- 
 crease in height until they become craggy and precipitous, and 
 from the overhanging cliffs you gaze down into the deep blue 
 swifl, water at your feet, and you can at one view almost trace 
 the river's course from w.here it issues from the city and the 
 lake to the point immediately beneath you, where the brawling, 
 furious, muddy Arve rushes into it. The Rhone is the biggest 
 river, but the Arve is very pertinacious. The Rhone is majes- 
 tic in its depth and volurtie, and as swift and graceful as an 
 arrow in its flight ; but the Arve is shallow and fioisy, and 
 makes a great sand-bank in the effort to come into the Rhone 
 with as great space and pretension as possible. The Rhone is 
 as clear and delicious an azure as the lake itself, almost as 
 deep and bright and transparent a color as that of the heavens 
 reflected in its bosom ; but the Arve is as muddy as Acheron, 
 and as cold as death. The Rhone comes from the crystal sleep- 
 ing lake, the Arve from the restless grinding glaciers. 
 
 The Arve endeavors to rush into the Rhone almost at right 
 angles, and to mingle its muddy, turbulent current with the 
 crystal depths of the lake-river; but the Rhone refuses the 
 mixture, and flies on by itself, so that the Arve is also com- 
 pelled, though much mortified, to keep on its own side, being able 
 to unite with the Rhone only in little eddies or ringlets, like the 
 tresses of a fair-haired girl beside the curls of an Ethiopian. 
 One hardly knows how the Rhone is able to conquer, but the 
 3 
 
18 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap, it 
 
 two rivers flow on without mingling, so that you have the cold 
 mud on the one side, and the clear crystal on the other. From 
 the commanding height, where you stand above the banks of the 
 Rhone, you see with the utmost clearness the play, the sport, 
 the coquetry, aversion and conflict of the waters, the hatred of 
 amalgamation and annexation on the one side, and the desire for 
 it on the other. 
 
 But you feel that the Rhone is clearly in the right, while the 
 Arve is an impudent intruder. The Arve is the child of Night 
 and Frost, while the Rhone is the daughter of the Day and of 
 Sunshine. The Arve roars, discolored and angry, from its 
 black ice-cavern, to the music of the Avalanche ; the Rhone 
 shoots, like a river of foaming light, from the quiet bosom of the 
 lake, amid the busy hum of industry, to the song of the moun- 
 tain breeze. The Arve strides sullenly like a beetle-browed 
 villain ; the Rhone dances like a mountain-maiden. Nature 
 has forbid the banns between the two rivers, and all that the 
 Arve can do is in vain, for his offers and his menaces are both 
 rejected, and he has to pass on in cold and single blessedness. / 
 j Now, here is a curious symbol of many things ; but I have 
 tnought that it shadows forth very fitly the forced union some- 
 times attempted between human philosophy and the word of 
 God. Philosophy is meant to be the handmaiden, and not the 
 partner, and wherever the marriage is attempted, all goes 
 wrong. Human philosophy apart from revelation is almost mere 
 mud. It has its origin in the debris of creation, amidst frozen 
 glaciers, in the uncertainty of death and chaos, and when it 
 would force its muddy guesses into competition and union with 
 the Divine Word, the celestial stream refuses the connection, 
 and flows on in its original purity and independence. A man 
 may stand on the banks of the water of life, and drink and fill 
 his pitcher only from that side, and then he has the truth pure 
 and fresh from heaven. Or he may go where the philosophy 
 and the truth are coquetting and conflicting, and he may drink 
 of both together, and fill his pitcher with both together, and 
 then he has generally as much mud as clear water, though he 
 often thinks he has drawn up the truth much clearer than he 
 who drank only of the crystal stream. Or he may go clean on 
 
CHAP. IV.] THE ARVE AND THE RHONE. 1« 
 
 the other side, and drink only of the scientific, metaphysio mud, 
 of the cold stream of human guessings and rationalism ; a 
 melancholy sort of drinking, to which, however, men become 
 so much attached, and get their taste thereby so completely 
 perverted, that the mud seems a sweeter and more wholesome 
 draught to them by far than the clear water. 
 
 There is another thing which these two streams, the Arve and 
 the Rhone, at their junction, may symbolize, and that is the 
 streams of Romanism and the gospel in Geneva and Sardinia. 
 The stream of Romish superstitions, born at the foot of frozen 
 glaciers in the caves of pagan antiquity, rolls on, furious and 
 turbulent, striving to be acknowledged as the gospel, and usurp- 
 ing its place. But the gospel cannot unite with it, and flows 
 on, undisturbed by it, a pure river of life. The people who 
 drink of the stream of Romanism, and live on that side, are 
 lean, poor, and ignorant. They love their own stream to des- 
 peration, muddy and gravelly as it is, and cannot endure the 
 other ; though sometimes a single drink at the other operates to 
 open their eyes and change their whole heart and life, insomuch 
 that the authorities are afraid of it, and pass severe laws against 
 using it, or circulating or selling it. If any of the priests gel 
 to tasting it, or become attached to it, and attempt to declare 
 their preference, it is said that the others, if they can catch 
 them, shut them up and send them to Rome, where they have 
 a way of curing them of their appetite for pure water. Mean- 
 time the mud flows on, and the stream just no'v is evidently 
 increasing and getting more turbulent. But the gosnel streana 
 flows on likewise, and will do so for ever, j 
 
90 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The Truth of Christ and its Defenders in Geneva. 
 
 Geneva ought to be the cradle of the finest race of ministers of 
 the gospel in the world. There is no place in the world, where 
 all adnnirable influences of nature do so conspire to aid the 
 influences of divine grace in building up a noble character, 
 and giving firmness, independence, and an ardent love of truth. 
 But how strikingly does the history of the Genevese church 
 show that all natural and human advantages will prove worth- 
 less, when divine grace is suflfered to die out of existence, and 
 the truth ceases to be kept in love. The danger to Geneva at 
 first was from the prevalence of Socinianism, which indeed has 
 had its day, and has been " as the dry rot in the flooring and 
 timbers" of the national church and republic. But now the 
 crisis of danger is from the Resurrection of Romanism ; the 
 indifference of the national church, its want of love for and 
 interest in the truth of the gospel, and the kingdom of the Re- 
 deemer, greatly increases this danger. The dependence of the 
 National Church upon the State makes the crisis more difficult. 
 Socinian error holds its place in Geneva mainly by the secular 
 arm. Were it not that the National Church is salaried by the 
 State, its pulpits would soon be occupied by men preaching the 
 truth as it is in Jesus. And if the National Church were evan- 
 gelical, there would be comparatively little to fear from the pro- 
 gress of Romanism, Romanism increases in Geneva, as it does 
 in our own country, by emigration. Fifty years ago there was 
 not a single Roman citizen in Geneva ; now not less than two- 
 fifths of the population of the Canton are Romanists, At this 
 rate, therefore, between the execution of their own plans and the 
 indifference and carelessness of those who ought to be on their 
 guard against them, they may, at no distant period, gain a ma- 
 
CHAP, v.] CHRISTIANS IN GENEVA. 21 
 
 jority in the city, and so in the councils and government of the 
 Republic ; and if this should be once accomplished, farewell to the 
 freedom of the Genevese, farewell to their long enjoyed religious 
 privileges. Should this be once accomplished, Rome and the Je- 
 suits may rule here even as they do in Sardinia ; but such 
 supremacy could not be gained without conflict and bloodshed. 
 
 The poesibility of these things, and the gradual approach of 
 them, do fill the minds of good men and lovers of their country 
 with great alarm — and well they may. It would be a fearful 
 day for Geneva, when Romanism should gain the ascendency 
 in her councils. Meantime there is a knot of precious men, a 
 circle of noble soldiers of Christ, gathering close around the 
 standard of the cross, and doing all in their power to prepare for 
 that conflict, which seems inevitable. There are no finer minds, 
 nor better spirits, nor more resolute Christians, than in the circle 
 of D' Aubigne, Gaussen, Malan, and others, who are lifting up the 
 standard, while the enemy comes in like a flood. The Evange- 
 lical Theological Seminary is a strong citadel for Christ, a 
 school of the utmost importance, both in its position and its 
 influence. 
 
 Geneva has seen great revolutions, but has had great men to 
 carry her through them. Near a thousand years ago the coun- 
 try was held as the entire possession of Ecclesiastical Sove- 
 reigns, temporal and spiritual in one ; next came the reign of 
 ducal despots, then the light of a religious reformation, then a 
 republican and religious freedom, in which the world wondered 
 at, and sometimes imitated the great sight of a Church without 
 a bishop, and a State without a king ; then came the fires of the 
 French Revolution, next the gloom of infidelity and the coldness 
 of a spiritual death ; lastly, a simplicity of equal and represen- 
 tative citizenship, and a fresh, healthful, spiritual awakening, in 
 the glow of which Geneva is again producing MEr for the world. 
 God is causing the little republic to live not unto itself; Great 
 voices come from it, the voices as of kingly spirits throned 
 among the hills, striking deep responsive chords in the heart of 
 other nations. And now from the bosom of the mountains, on 
 the eve of a great new universal conflict between Rome and the 
 Church of Christ, the watch-word and the ba--tle-cry is given out 
 
23 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap. t. 
 
 through Europe, Clirist and Spiritual liberty, Dependence upon 
 Christ and his Truth ! 
 
 It has been remarked, and probably without exaggeration, that 
 no State so small ever filled such a space in the history of the 
 world, or exercised an influence so great over other nations since 
 the age of the Grecian Republics, as Geneva. All things con- 
 sidered, even those Republics give place to the little Swiss Can- 
 ton; for the light of the Gospel of Christ has be^n the hiding 
 and revealing of the power of Geneva. Here it pleased God to 
 set a great fountain, fed by his own Word, at which the nations 
 drank, and from which the water of life was carried far and 
 wide amidst the rage of persecution. Here it pleased God to 
 kindle a fire, at which great and good men of other lands lighted 
 torches, and carried away the flame to kindle other fires, which 
 are to burn till the earth itself kindles in the fires of the Great 
 Judgment. John Knox came to Geneva, and carried this fire 
 into Scotland. The Puritans of England caught it, and made 
 it burn across the ocean, on the rock of Plymouth, over hill and 
 valley, a purer, brighter flame than ever. And in later times, 
 the children of this light have gone back with it to those moun- 
 tain altars where it was first kindled, but where, meanwhile, it had 
 well-nigh gone out, and there again it is beginning to blaze with 
 a more heavenly glory, because both the altar and the fire are 
 God's, not Caesar's. We look with hope and confidence to the 
 time when the whole Church of Geneva shall be no more a Na- 
 tional Establishment, but Christ's Free Church. 
 
 The national part of it, the human, the Caesar in it, has been 
 evil from the beginning. The Church-and-State Republic has 
 fallen into crimes and inconsistencies of despotism, of which 
 neither Church nor State alone would have been guilty. The 
 connection has produced a brood of evils, a family of serpents, 
 inwardly consuming and self-destructive, as sooner or later it 
 always does. A dreadful progeny — 
 
 " For, when they list, into the womb 
 That bred them, they return, and howl and gnaw." 
 
 The history of Geneva is singular as containing within itself 
 R demonstration that under every form both of Truth and Error 
 
CBAP. v.] CHRISTIANS IN GENEVA. 23 
 
 the State and Church united are intolerant. The State oppresses 
 the Church — the Church, in her turn, tempted by the State, op- 
 presses those v/ho differ from her, and so the work goes on. At 
 first it was the State and Romanism — the fruit, intolerance ; 
 next, it was the State and Unitarianism — the fruit, intolerance ; 
 next, it was the State and Calvinism — the fruit, intolerance; 
 in the Canton de Vaud, it is the State and democratic infidelity — 
 the fruit, intolerance. The demonstration is such, that no man 
 can resist its power. Inoculate the Church, so to speak, 
 with the State, and the same plague invariably follows ; no con- 
 stitution, not the most heavenly, is proof against the virus. 
 
 John Knox, escaping from the Castle of St. Andrews in Scot- 
 land, and compelled to flee the kingdom for his life, found secu- 
 rity in Geneva, because there his religion was the religion of 
 the State. If it had not been, he would merely have gone out from 
 one fire, for another fire to devour him. Servetus, escaping in 
 like manner from a Roman Catholic prison in France, where he 
 would otherwise have been burned in person, as he was in effigy, 
 fled also to Geneva ; but his religion not being the religion of the 
 State, the Evangelical republic burned him. And thus the grand 
 error of the Reformers in the union of Church and State occa- 
 sioned what perhaps is the darkest crime that stains the annals 
 of the Reformation. The burning of Servetus in Roman Catho- 
 lic fires would have added but an imperceptible shade to the 
 blackness of darkness in a system which invariably has been 
 one of intolerance and cruelty. But the man was permitted by 
 divine providence to escape, and come to Geneva, to be burned 
 alive there, by a State allied to a system of Faith and Mercy, to 
 show to all the world that even that system cannot be trusted with 
 human power; that the State, in connection with the Church, 
 though it be the purest Church in the world, will bring forth 
 intolerance and murder. The union is adulterous, the progeny 
 is sinful works, even though the mother be the embodied profes. 
 sion of Justification by Faith. God's mercy becomes changed 
 into man's cruelty. So in the brightest spot of piety then on 
 the face of the earth, amidst the out-shining glory of the great 
 doctrine of the Gospel, Justification by Faith, God permitted the 
 smoke and the cry oi' torture by fire to go up to heaven, to teach 
 
84 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap. v. 
 
 the nations that even purity of doctrine, if enforced by the State, 
 will produce the bitterest fruits of a corrupt Gospel and an infi- 
 del apostasy : that is the lesson read in the smoke of the funeral 
 pyre of Servetus, as it rolls up black against the stars of heaven, 
 that the union of Church and State, even of a pure Church in a 
 free State, is the destruction of religious liberty. 
 
 It was this pestiferous evil that at one time banished from the 
 Genexpse State its greatest benefactor, Calvin himself; the 
 working of the same poison excludes now from the pulpit of the 
 State some of the brightest ornaments of the ministry in modern 
 times — such men as Malan, D'Aubigne and Gaussen. It is 
 true, that it is the corruption of doctrine, and hatred of divine 
 truth, that have produced this last step ; but it could not have 
 been taken, had the Church of Christ in Geneva been, as she 
 should be, independent of the State. Such measures as these 
 are, however, compelling the Church of Christ to assume an 
 independent attitude, which, under the influence of past habit 
 and example., she would not yet have taken. Thus it is that 
 God brings light out of darkness, and good out of evil. 
 
 These are the views of great men in Switzerland, Vinet and 
 Burnier, D'Aubigne and Gaussen ; and in this movement it may 
 be hoped that the Evangelical church in Geneva will yet take 
 the foremost place in all Europe. But as yet, says Merje' 
 D'Aubigne, " we are small and weak. Placed by the hand of 
 God in the centre of Europe, surrounded with Popish darkness, 
 we have much to do, and we are weak. We have worked in 
 Geneva ; and we maintain there the Evangelical Truth on one 
 side against Unitarian Rationalism, and on the other side against 
 Papistical Despotism. The importance of the Christian doctrine 
 is beginning to be again felt in Geneva. Our Canton is become 
 a mixed one, and we are assailed by many Roman Catholics 
 cominjg to our country to establish themselves there." Never 
 theless, our hope is strong in the interposition of Gtod by hi* 
 good Spirit, which will yet take the elements of evil, and changf- 
 their very nature into good. 
 
 The Evangelical Society of Geneva, founded just fifteen 
 years ago, was crushed out of the wine-press of State and 
 Church Despotism, and is one of the best proofs and fruits of 
 
CHAP, v.] CHRISTIANS IN GENEVA. 25 
 
 God's awakening breath in that Republic. Let any man peruse 
 the successive reports of that Society from year to year, and he 
 will see an electric path of truth and life running through them, 
 indicating the presence and the steps of Christ. Hei"e are the first 
 fruits of Christian Liberty, for the Society is as purely a volun- 
 tary offering to God, as any of the benevolent and Missionary 
 Societies in our own country. The Theological School under its 
 care is one of the best in the world, considering its youth and 
 limited means, and in all probability is destined to become a bul- 
 wark of Christ's Free Church in Europe. Its establishment amidst 
 enemies and dangers was a conspiracy for the spiritual deliver- 
 ance of Switzerland more glorious than that of the three patriots 
 at midnight on the field of Grulli. The Christian stranger who 
 happens to be present in Geneva, at the period when the prayer- 
 ful opening of the session of the School takes place, may look 
 in and see Christ dropping into ground prepared by his Spirit the 
 germs of trees, whose fruit shall shake like Lebanon. The grand- 
 eur of the enterprise, the apostolic simplicity of the meeting, the 
 deportment of the Professors as affectionate shepherds and 
 parents of their flock, the students as children and brethren, the 
 discourse of the President, the word of instruction and exhorta- 
 tion by the teachers and patrons in turn, and the closing prayers 
 by the students themselves, make it a scene of the deepest 
 interest. It is there that D'Aubigne first utters some of those 
 voices of Truth and Freedom — those declarations of independ- 
 ence, which afterwards go echoing through the world. 
 
 This is God's way, when he intends to save a people from 
 their sins ; he puts in the leaven of the gospel, and lets it work, 
 till the whole be leavened ; he saves men and States hy working 
 in them to will and to do. God works by the voluntary system ; 
 man is always disposed to compulsion. God is long-suffering ; 
 man is impatient, intolerant. God speaks in a still small voice ; 
 man roars like a beast, and thinks it is God's thunder. God 
 takes an erring man, and renews his heart ; man takes him, and 
 burns him at the stake, or cuts off his head. We greatly pre- 
 fer God's way to man's way. Who would not much rather have 
 his heart made better, at whatever cost, by God's forbearance, 
 than lose both head and heart together by man's impatience ? 
 
26 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM [chap. t. 
 
 The world has been a world of extremes, oscillating like a 
 great pendulum, swinging now in one direction and now in 
 another, beyond the possibility of regulation. It has had some 
 periods of stillness, but a regular and regulating activity in 
 harmony is what is needed. This can never be found, never 
 established, so long as the main-spring of society is constrained 
 and tampered with. That main-spring is Religion, religious 
 conviction, religious opinion. It must be left to itself under the 
 word and spirit of the living God. If Government tamper with 
 it, it will forever be out of order; if the State undertake to 
 regulate it, there will be commotion, violence, internal conflict, 
 constraint, and disorder, instead of free growth, quietness, and 
 happiness. It is as if you should tie the main-spring of a city 
 clock to a great steam engine. It is as if you should plow 
 with an ox and an ass together. Let Caesar take care of the 
 things which are Caesar's, but let him not meddle with the things 
 that are Giod's. 
 
CHAP. VI.] VOICE OF SWITZERLAND. 87 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Dr. Malan, Dr. Merle D'Aubign£, and Dr. Gaussen. 
 
 " Two voices are there ; One is of the Sea, 
 One of the Mountains : each a mighty voice." 
 
 When Wordsworth penned this twelfth of his Sonnets to 
 Liberty, he thought the voice of Switzerland had perished. But 
 how wonderfully God works ! Which voice is now the mightiest, 
 that of the Mountains, or the Sea, Switzerland or England ? 
 The v"oice of the Mountains surely ! the voice of Switzerland 
 is the noblest, in Geneva at least, and therefore the mightiest 
 
 " In this from age to age men shall rejoice, 
 It is thy chosen music, Liberty ! " 
 
 Wherever you catch the tone of stern religious principle 
 against oppression in any people, you feel that they are strong, 
 their voice is mighty. The voice of a nation is the voice of its 
 great men ; and the voice of the great men of England just 
 now is the hoarse, melancholy cry of expediency, in the sacri- 
 fice of principle ; while that of the great men of Switzerland 
 is the clear, ringing, thrilling shout of Spiritual Liberty ! May 
 it ring and never cease, as long as the eagle screams in the 
 mountain pines, as long as the tempest roars, as long as the ava. 
 lanche thunders. 
 
 " Great men have heen among us," England sings, " hands 
 that penned, and tongues that uttered wisdom, better none." 
 Great men are now among us, Switzerland may say, and free 
 spirits, that by their deeds and thoughts are planting the germs 
 of goodness and greatness in many hearts. There is a circle 
 of such spirits, not alone in Geneva ; but I shall be constrained 
 
28 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap, vi 
 
 to limit my personal notes of them to the memc irs of the three, 
 with whom I have been most acquainted. Thinlting of these 
 men, and of others whom I have met in Switzerland, and of th« 
 simplicity and freedom still living among those proud mountains, 
 I cannot help warning my readers against the sneers of some 
 English men and books — Murray's Hand-Book, for example, — 
 in regard to the moral and political condition of the country. 
 In some parts it is bad enough, we all know ,■ but I have thought 
 that sometimes the English really seemed vexed and envious at 
 the existence of so much freedom, happiness and greatness in a 
 little, unaristocratical, republican Canton like Geneva. May I 
 be forgiven if 1 judge them harshly ; but such envious hatred 
 is a hateful thing. I am sure the great body of Englishmen 
 would not feel it ; but Toryism and Puseyism together do make 
 queer mixture of Despotism and Prejudice. Through suqh 
 glasses the mind sees nothing good, or will acknowledge nothing ; 
 green-eyed Jealousy squints and looks askant, both at civil and 
 religious Liberty ; a titled nobility and a mitred priesthood do 
 sometimes rail away against a Church without a Bishop and a 
 State without a King, in a manner so unmerciful, that I am apt 
 to think it is because they feel inwardly self-condemned in the 
 presence of such great forms of Truth and Freedom. Those 
 forms stand to them in the shape of accusers, and very glad 
 they are to have some such shadow of excuse for their own bit- 
 terness, in the case of our own country, for example, as is 
 aiforded them in Mississippi repudiation, Irish riots, and negro 
 slavery. But they have none of these things in Geneva. 
 
 Dr. Malan wad honored by Divine Providence to be among 
 the foremost instruments in the spiritual awakening with which 
 it has pleased God to bless Geneva. He was a preacher of 
 Sooinianism in the National Church, in 1814, and was also one 
 of the Regents of the College. He was much admired for his 
 eloquence, and continued to preach and to teach, for some time, in 
 utter ignorance of the truth as it is in Christ crucified. At 
 length it pleased God to visit him, and give him light ; as early 
 as 1816 the darkness was removed from his mind, and Christ 
 the Saviour was made known to him, in so blessed a manner, 
 with so much assurance and joy, that he felt as if the delight 
 
CHAP VI.] DR. HAL AN OF GENEVA. 24 
 
 which filled his own soul, b)' the view of the grace of God in 
 Jesus, must certainly be experienced likewise by all who heard 
 him. But he was greatly mistaken. His views were deemed 
 new, strange, and erroneous ; he was ordered not to repeat 
 them ; then the churches were interdicted him, and at length, 
 on preaching in the Cathedral a discourse, in proof of the doc- 
 trine of Justification by Faith, he was finally deprived of the use 
 of the pulpits. 
 
 This was in 1817. The severity with which he was treated, 
 being expelled from all employments in the College and the 
 Church, together with the boldness and firmness of his bearing, 
 the fervor of his feelings, and the power of his discourses, drew 
 crowds after him ; men were converted by the grace of God j 
 and in 1818 an independent church was formed, and a chapel 
 built in a lovely spot, a short walk outside the city, of which he 
 continues the Pastor to this day. He has been often in England, 
 and the friendshipand prayers of warm-hearted EnglishChristians 
 have greatly sustained and animated him ; they in their turn have 
 also found in Geneva the conversation and holy example of the 
 man, together with the exercises of divine worship in his chapel, 
 as a fountain of home religious life in a foreign country. He 
 and his family have become imbued with the language, the 
 literature, and the friendships of England, without losing their 
 Swiss republican simplicity and frankness. 
 
 All his life he has been indefatigable and remarkably suc- 
 cessful in the use of the press as well as the pulpit. His 
 writings in the shape of tracts and books have been numerous 
 and useful, especially in revealing the Saviour to men in the 
 errors of Romanism. Some of his tracts are like the Dairyman's 
 Daughter of Leigh Richmond, for simple truth and beauty. 
 They present the living realities of the gospel in a manner most 
 impressive and affecting to the mind, in narratives, in dialogues, 
 in familiar parables and illustrations. He loves to dwell upon 
 the bright persuasive side of Truth Divine, and leads his flock 
 in green pastures beside still waters; though some of his 
 peculiar speculative views and shades of belief may sometimes 
 not be received even by the very hearts he is so successful in 
 winning and comforting. 
 
39 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap, vi 
 
 His extensive missionary tours have been attended with a 
 great blessing. Indeed, of all men I ever met with, he seems 
 most peculiarly fitted for familiar conversational efTort to win 
 men to Christ. With a deep fountain of love in his heart, an 
 active mind, full of vivacity and impulse, an extraordinary 
 fertility of illustration, a strength of faith which makes upon the 
 minds of others the most successful impression of argument and 
 conviction, and with great sweetness and happiness in his own 
 Christian experience, he goes about among the mountains, 
 pouring forth the stores of thought and feeling for the guidance 
 and the good of others, comforting the tempted soul, and pointing 
 the distressed one to the Saviour. In his encounters with the 
 Romanists, nothing can withstand his patience, his gentleness, 
 his playfulness, his fulness of Christ. 
 
 The Romanists well know him, and the clergy fear him, on 
 account of the manner in which he wins his wa}' among them, 
 fearlessly opposing them, appealing to the Bible, and winning 
 them by aigument and love. When I was among the Walden- 
 sian Christians of Piedmont, I asked them if it would not be 
 exceedingly pleasant and profitable for Dr. Malan to make one 
 of his Missionary visits among them ? Ah, said they, the Ro- 
 manists know him too well to suffer that. Probably they would 
 not let him pass the frontier ; certainly they would not suiTer 
 him to preach or to teach in the name of Jesus ; and if he 
 attempted to do it, the least they would do would be to put him 
 under the care of gens d'armes, and send him back to the Canton 
 of Geneva. 
 
 Dr. Malan traces his own ancestry to the Waldenses, says he 
 is one of them, and pleasantly remarks, " We are not of the 
 Reformed Christians ; we have always been evangelical ; a true 
 Church of Christ before the Reformation." He frequently 
 expressed a desire to visit the Waldenses, but told me an anec- 
 dote of his personal experience of the tender mercies of Sar- 
 dinia, which I have seen in Dr. Heugh's excellent book on reli- 
 gion in Geneva. If I remember correctly, he was on a visit at 
 Chamouny, and had given a Bible to some of the peasantry j 
 certainly he had talked with them of the Saviour and Divine 
 Truth ; he would not be anywhere without doing this. He was, 
 
CHAP. VI.] DR. MALAN'S CONVERSATION. 31 
 
 however, accused of distributing tracts fernicious to the Roman 
 Catholic faith, and under this charge vi^as arrested, put in the 
 custody of twcy gens d'armes, and sent to prison. It was a bold 
 step ; but, not being able to prove their accusation, they were 
 compelled to let him go ; not, however, till they had unwittingly 
 afforded him an opportunity, of which he gladly availed himself, 
 *.o preach the gospel to the soldiers who attended and guarded 
 him. Probably they never before listened to such truth ; and 
 Dr. Heugh remarks that " there is good reason for believing 
 that one of these soldiers, employed to incarcerate the ambas- 
 sador of Christ, was himself brought to the Saviour, and intro- 
 duced into the glorious liberty of the sons of God." Very 
 many have been the incidents of this nature in the experience 
 of Dr. Malan, and sometimes among the Romanists he has had 
 very narrow escapes. 
 
 The dealings of God with him have been abundant in mercy, 
 though at first he had to pass through a great fight of aflliction, 
 and his own peculiarities in the Christian faith, or rather in the 
 manner of presenting it, may be traced probably to the discipline 
 of the divine Spirit with his own heart, and the manner in 
 which the Saviour was first revealed to him. He has said most 
 beautifully that his conversion to the Lord Jesus might be com- 
 pared to what a child experiences when his mother awakes him 
 with a kiss. A babe awakened by a mother's kiss ! What a 
 sweet process of conversion ! Now if all the subsequent teach- 
 ings and dealings of the Spirit of God with his soul have been 
 like this, who can wonder at the earnestness and strength, with 
 which he presses the duty of the assurance of faith and love 
 upon other Christians, or at the large measure of the Spirit of 
 Adoption, with which his own soul seems to have been gifted. 
 
 His conversational powers are very great, in his own way, 
 and he leads the mind of the circle around him with such per- 
 fect simplicity and ease, like that of childhood, to the sacred 
 themes which his heart loves, that every man is pleased, no 
 one can possibly be offended. What in him is a habit of life, 
 proceeds with so much freedom and artlessness, that a pergonal 
 address from him on the subject of religion, in circumstances 
 where from any other man it might be intc lerably awkward and 
 
32 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap. ti. 
 
 ofTensive, becomes appropriate and pleasing. Great and precious 
 is this power, and great is doubtless the amount of unrevealed 
 good, which Dr. Malan has thus accomplished in the course of 
 his life. The stream of his conversation through the world has 
 been like the streams from his native mountains running through 
 the vales, and then being the fullest and the sweetest, when ajl 
 common rivers are the lowest. Before I saw Dr. Malan, I-had 
 heard him described by Christian friends, who had met him in 
 England. An account was given me of an evening spent in his 
 presence in Edinburgh, which might bring to mind the familiar 
 lines of Cowper. 
 
 " When one that holds communion with the skies 
 Has filled his urn where those pure waters rise. 
 And once more mingles with us meaner things, 
 'Tis e'en as if an angel shook his wings. 
 Immortal fragrance fills the circuit wide, 
 That tells us whence his treasures are supplied. 
 So when a ship well freighted with the stores 
 The sun matures on India's spicy shores 
 Has dropped her anchor, and her canvass furled. 
 In some safe haven of our western world, 
 'Twere vain inquiry to what port she went, 
 The gale informs us, laden with the scent." 
 
 On this occasion a most interesting instance of conversion was 
 said to have occurred through the instrumentality of Dr. Malan. 
 A licentiate of the church of Scotland was present, of whom Dr. 
 Malan had inquired personally, if he possessed the love of 
 Christ. The young gentleman opposed the Doctor's views with 
 great heat and argument, and at length begged of him to go 
 into a private room, that they might converse together with more 
 freedom. When they had shut the door, the licentiate proposed 
 prayer. " No," said Dr. Malan, " I will not pray with you, for 
 I am convinced that you know not the love of Christ ; but I will 
 pray /or you ;" and they knelt in prayer. The argument was 
 then continued for a great length, but such was the effect of Dr. 
 Malan's address, that when they returned to the company the 
 licentiate was in great agitation, and did not conceal his excite- 
 ment. When he went tc his lodgings, instead of retiring to bed. 
 
CHAP. Yi.] PERSONAL APPEARANCE. 33 
 
 he sat down to write a refutation of Dr. Malan's views, with a 
 clearness and power of argument, as he thought, such as he 
 could not command in conversation, and he continued writing 
 till four o'clock in the morning. Then, when he rose and 
 looked at his. manuscripts, and ran over his train of reasoning, a 
 sudden flash of conviction, a light like that which shone on the 
 mind of Paul in his way to Damascus, poured upon him, that 
 he had heen fighting against God, and was indeed, a guilty, 
 wretched, perishing sinner. He threw himself upon his knees, 
 implored forgiveness through the blood of Christ, and that very 
 hour obtained peace in his Redeemer. When he arose, and 
 looked at his watch, he found that it wanted but little of the time 
 when Dr. Malan was to take his departure in the morning's 
 coach. He hurried away, and finding him at the door of his 
 house, just ready to set out, embraced him as his spiritual father, 
 declaring that he had never known Christ till that morning. 
 That same individual I was told is now a devoted minister of 
 the Lord Jesus in the city of Glasgow. 
 
 From all that I knew of Dr. Malan during my delightful re- 
 sidence in Geneva, I could easily credit this narration. In the 
 bosom of his own family, he shines the man of God; delightful 
 is that communion. I shall never forget the sweet Sabbath 
 evenings passed there. A charm rested upon the conversation, 
 an atmosphere as sacred as the Sabbath day's twilight. At tea 
 a text of Scripture had been always written for each member of 
 the family, as well as for the Christian friends who migiit 'be 
 present, and was placed beneath the plate, to be read by each 
 in his turn, eliciting some appropriate remark from the venera- 
 ble pastor and father. The evening worship was performed 
 with hymns which Dr. Malan had written, to melodies which h«» 
 had himself composed, sung by the voices of his daughters, witH 
 the accompaniment of instrumental music. It would have bees 
 difficult anywhere to have witnessed a lovelier picture of a 
 Christian family. In his personal conversation, in his remarks 
 jpon the Scriptures, arid' in the nearness and tender breathing of 
 nis intercourse with God, as he led us to the throne of grace, he 
 made us feel as if the atmosphere of a brighter world had de- 
 Ecended around us. 
 4 . 
 
34 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap, vi 
 
 Were you to be introduced to Dr. Malan, you might think at 
 once of John Bunyan, if you chanced to have got your impres- 
 sion of the Dreamer, as I did, from an old picture of a counten- 
 ance full of grade, with silvery locks flowing down upon the 
 shoulders. This peculiarity makes Dr. Malan's appearance 
 most venerable and delightful. His eye is remarkably quick 
 and piercing, his countenance expressive and changeful with 
 emotion^ 
 
 " Like light and shade upon a waving field, 
 Coursing each other, while the flying clouds 
 Now hide, and now reveal, the sun." 
 
 None who have been much with him can forget his cheerful 
 laugh, or the sudden animating bright smile and playful re- 
 mark, bespeaking a deep and sparkling fountain of peace and 
 love within. # 
 
 I hope you will not object to my being thus minute in my 
 description of personages yet living ; for I do not know that 
 there is anything out of the way in endeavoring familiarly to 
 recall the image of an eminent beloved Christian, now in the 
 decline of life, who, however men may choose to differ from 
 his peculiarities, has been permitted to accomplish so much for 
 the advancing kingdom of his Redeemerj has been the chosen 
 instrument of good to so many souls, and is endeared in the 
 depths of so many hearts, both in this country and in England. 
 Dr. Malan's character and household seemed to me like some 
 of the peaceful shining vales among his native mountains, where 
 one might sit upon the hill-side he is climbing, and gaze down 
 upon the green grass and the running murmuring stream, and 
 say within himself, If there were happiness undisturbed in the 
 wide world, it might be here. But who knows ? There is no 
 place undisturbed where there is sin. A perfect character and 
 a perfect home shall be found alone in Heaven. 
 
CHAP. VII.] DR. MERLE D'AUBIGNE. 33 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Dr. Merle D'Aubigne. 
 
 Dr. Merle D'Aubignb was a youthful student in S9cinian the- 
 ology in the College of Geneva ; when, in the year 1816, it 
 pleased God to send Mr. Robert Haldane, a remarkable Scottish 
 Christiern, on a visit to that city. This man soon became ac- 
 quainted with a number of the students, and conversed with 
 them familiarly and profoundly concerning the gospel. He 
 found them in great darkness. " Had they been trained," says 
 he, " in the schools of Socrates or Plato, and enjoyed no other 
 means of instruction, they could scarcely have been more 
 ignorant of the doctrines of the gospel. To the Bible and its 
 contents their studies had never been directed. After some 
 conversation, they became convinced of their ignorance of the 
 Scriptures, and of the way of salvation, and exceedingly 
 desirous of information." 
 
 The two students with whom Mr. Haldane at first conversed, 
 brought six others in the same state of mind with themselves ; 
 and with them he had many and long conversations. Their 
 visits became so frequent, and at such different hours, that at 
 length he proposed they should all come together ; and it was 
 arranged that they should do so three times a week, from six to 
 eight o'clock rn the evening. This gave him time to converse 
 with others, who, from the report of the students began to visit 
 him, as well as leisure to prepare what might be profitable for 
 their instruction. He took the Epistle to the Romans as his 
 subject ; and, during the whole of the winter of 1817, until 
 the termination of their studies in the summer, almost all the 
 students in tlieology regularly attended. 
 
 This was a most remarkable movement of Divine Providence, 
 one of the most remarkable to be found on record. What 
 
»6 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap. tii. 
 
 renders it more astonishing is the fact that Mr. Haldane at first 
 was obliged to converse with these students through an inter- 
 preter, in part at least, so that he could not then have conveyed 
 to them the full fervor of his feelings, nor the fire of the truth 
 as it was burning in his own soul. Nevertheless, these singular 
 labors, under circumstances so unpromising, were so blessed by 
 the Divine Spirit, that sixteen out of eighteen young men, who 
 had enjoyed Mr. Haldane's instructions, are said by Dr. Heugh 
 to have' become subjects of Divine grace. And among the 
 students thus brought beneath the power of the word of God, 
 was the future historian of the Reformation, young Merle 
 D'Aubign6. 
 
 D'Aubigne himself has described this remarkable m»vement. 
 Rev. Adolph Monod, of Paris, was a fellow student at this time 
 with D'Aubigne, and dates his own conversion also to the efibrts 
 of Mr. Haldane. The Professor of Divinity in the University 
 of Geneva at that time, instead of teaching the students the pe- 
 culiar doctrines of Christianity, confined himself to lecturing on 
 the immortality of the soul, the existence of God, and similar 
 topics. Instead of the Bible, he gave them quotations from the 
 writings of Seneca and Plato. These were the two saints, whom 
 he delighted to hold up to the admiration of his students. A 
 work on the Divinity of Christ having been published by an 
 Evangelical clergyman, to such an extent did the opposition 
 against the truth prevail, that young D'Aubigne, and the rest of 
 the students, were induced to meet together, and issue a declara- 
 tion against the work and its pious author. 
 
 At this juncture it was that D'Aubigne heard of the visit of 
 Mr. Haldane. He heard of him as the English or Scotch gen- 
 tleman, who spoke so much about the Bible,> a thing which 
 seemed very strange to him and the other students, to whom the 
 Bible was a shut book. He afterwards met Mr. Haldane at a 
 private house, along with some other friends, and heard him 
 read from an English Bible, a chapter from the Epistle to the 
 Romans, concerning the natviral corruption of man, a doctrine 
 in regard to which he had never before received any instruction. 
 He was astonished to hear of men being corrupt by nature ; but 
 clearly convinped by the prayprs yea^ tp him, hp said tq Mr. 
 
OHAP. vn.] DR. MERLE D'AUBIGNE. 37 
 
 Haldane, " Now I do indeed see this doctrine in the Bible." 
 *' Yes," replied the good man, " but do you see it in your heart ?" 
 It was but a simple question ; but it came home to his conscience 
 it was the sword of the spirit, and from that time he saw and felt 
 that his heart was indeed corrupted, and knew from the Word 
 of God that he could be saved by grace alone in Christ Jesus. 
 
 Felix NefF, that Alpine Missionary of Apostolic zeal and 
 fervor, Was another of these young converts. Never was the 
 seed of the Gospel sown to better effect than in these hearts. 
 Such an incursion of divine grace within the very citadel of 
 error was anything but acceptable to its guardians ; but, how 
 could they resist it 1 Who knows how to shut the heart, when 
 God opens it ? What " Venerable Company of Pastors " can 
 stand before the door, and keep out the Divine Spirit, when he 
 chooses to enter ? The strong man armed must give up his 
 house, when a greater than he comes upon him. Nevertheless, 
 an attempt was made on the part of the " Venerable Company " 
 to have Mr. Haldane banished from the country, and it was 
 proposed that he should be cited to answer for the doctrines he 
 was teaching to the students. They would more justly have 
 cited Paul in the Epistle to the Romans ; all was of no avail ; 
 the light of the gospel was diffused to a remarkable degree, and 
 the religious excitement and knowledge in Geneva went on 
 steadily increasing. The movement among the students had 
 doubtless been greatly helped and forwarded by the remarkable 
 and almost simultaneous conversion and efforts of Dr. Malan 
 among the ministers and teachers. It was of God that ■ Mr. 
 Haldane should visit Geneva at that time. 
 
 Dr. Merle D'Aubigne finished his university studies and 
 repaired to Berlin in Germany. Thence he was invited to 
 Hamburgh, to become Pastor of a French Protestant Church in 
 that city. After five years spent in that station, he was called 
 by the King of Holland to Brussels, where he became Pastor of 
 an Evangelical Church and Chaplain to the King. At the time 
 of the Revolution in Belgium in 1830, when D'Aubigne was 
 four days and four nights amidst cannon balls and conflagrations 
 in the city, he escaped with no small risk of his life into 
 Holland, and thence returned to his native city. Immediately 
 
38 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap. vu. 
 
 after this step, the New School of Theology was founded and 
 established, and D'Aubigne accepted in it the office of Professor 
 of Ecclesiastical History and Homiletics. 
 
 While on his way to Berlin, the mind of D'Aubigne encoun- 
 tered the extraordinary impulse which was the germ of his great 
 work on the History of the Reformation. He had passed through 
 the little town of Eisenach, which was the birth-place of Luther, 
 and was visiting the Castle of the Wartburg, where ihe great 
 Reformer had been, at such a critical era, safely imprisoned 
 from his enemies. He gazed upon, the walls of the cell that 
 Luther occupied. How many men of piety, of learning, of 
 genius, have stood and gazed in like manner ! But in the mind 
 of D'Aubigne a great thought was rising ; the drama of the 
 lives of the Reformers passed in vision before him ; what if he 
 should write the History of the Reformation ? The impulse 
 was strengthened by reflection, he devoted himself to Ecclesias- 
 tical researches, and so the providence of God led him to the 
 commencement, as we trust it will preserve him for the coni- 
 pletion, of that great work. It is a work which will one day clus- 
 ter around its own history a series of associations and reminis- 
 cences, like those that crowd the cell of Luther in the Wartburg. 
 And we should like to see a picture of D'Aubigne standing in 
 that cell, gazing on those walls, and listening to the inward 
 voice which was saying to him. Thou art to write the History 
 of this great Reformation. The visit was of God, as much as. 
 Robert Haldane's visit to Geneva, but it is not often that the 
 links of Divine Providence can be so distinctly traced, espe- 
 cially when they pass from outward events into inward 
 purposes. 
 
 D'Aubigne was prepared for that work by many qualities and 
 studies, but by none more than that earnest simplicity of char- 
 acter, which makes him understand and sympathize perfectly ' 
 with the simplicity and earnestness of the Reformers, and that 
 deep piety, which leads him to see and to trace God rather than 
 man, in the Reformation. To make his history, he went to the 
 Reformers themselves, and not to what men have said about 
 them ; and both the Reformers and their work he has judged by 
 the word of God. By his dramatic and descriptive power, he 
 
CHAP. VII.] DR. MERLE D'AUBIGNE 39 
 
 sets the Reformers acting and speaking in his pages ; the work 
 is a great Historical Epic. 
 
 But the greatest charm and value of his history is the hea- 
 venly impression it leaves upon the soul — the atmosphere of 
 love to Christ, and of fervent, spiritual feeling pervading it, 
 which makes it, indeed, a true book of devotion. It is precious 
 for the clearness and power with which it presents the work of 
 the Spirit of God, especially in tracing the deep conflict and 
 experience of Luther, Zuinglius and others, the great process 
 of inward and external trial, through which God carried them, 
 to fit them for the part he would lead them to perform. D'Au- 
 bigne's views of Christian Doctrine, and of the institutions and 
 ordinances of the Church of Christ, his views, also, on the nature 
 of the liberty with which Christ makes his people free, eminently 
 fitted him, in an age when the fetters of a great Spiritual 
 Despotism are again sought to be clasped upon mankind, to 
 show to the world the Church of Christ in her simplicity, her 
 freedom, her true unity and beauty. 
 
 By this great work he has gained the reputation of the greatest 
 of modern historians ; a work translated, it is said, into the 
 tongue of every Protestant people, and of which already there 
 are no fewer than five translations jn the English language. 
 The truth is, there never was a work more remarkably adapted 
 to the wants of the age, and the nature of the trial, through 
 which the Church of Christ is still passing. The same may be 
 said of the character and experience of D'Aubigne himself, with 
 his coadjutors in Geneva, in the work and way in which God is 
 there leading them. 
 
 I shall not soon forget an evening's walk and conversation 
 of great interest, which it was my privilege to enjoy with D'Au- 
 bigne, just before I left Geneva. We passed along the magnifi- 
 cent face of Mont Blanc in the sunset, and returned over the 
 hill by the borders of the lake beneath the glow of twilight, in 
 the deepening shadows of" the evening. He spoke to me with 
 the kindest openness and freedom of his History of the Reforma- 
 tion, especially the part he was then engaged upon, the length 
 of time before he should be able to issue another volume, and 
 the impossibility of pleasing the opposing parties in his account 
 
40 WANDERINGS OF A PIL JRIM. [.-hap, rii. 
 
 of the Reformation in England. He told me that he was quite 
 beset with the multitude of letters which were sent to him, 
 urging him to set this, and that, and the other points in such 
 and such a light, beseeching him to do justice to the English 
 Church, each man wishing to color his history through the 
 medium of his own opinions and prejudices. 
 
 It is not difficult to see on which side the sympathies of the 
 author belong ; but the tenor of the history thus far assures us that 
 it will still he strictly impartial and faithful to the truth. A great 
 work is before him in the history of the Reformation in Geneva ; 
 another in France ; another in England. How vast the field! 
 how varied the incidents ! how full of life and thrilling interest ! 
 
 D'Aubigne spoke this evening with much anxiety of the 
 future prospects of his own country, in consequence of the 
 increase of Romanism, and the incapacity of the Church, in her 
 humiliating dependence on the State, to prevent the evils that 
 threaten the Republic. He seemed to feel that the single 
 measure of separating the Church from the State and rendering 
 it independent, would save his country ; and, under God, it 
 would : it would put religious liberty in Geneva beyond reach 
 from any invasion of Rome. His conversation on this point was 
 like what he has written in his " Question of the Church." 
 " We are distressed," said he, " and know not whither to turn. 
 All around us Rome advances. She builds altar after altar 
 upon the banks of our lake. The progress is such among us, 
 from the facility which strangers have in acquiring the rights 
 of citizenship, that quickly (every one acknowledges it) the 
 Romish population will exceed the Protestant population of 
 Geneva. Let Rome triumph at Rome; it is natural. Let 
 Rome, as she assures herself, triumph at Oxford ; the conquest 
 will be great. But let Rome triumph at Geneva ; then she will 
 raise a-cry, that will echo to the extremity of the universe. 
 Genevese ! that cry will announce to the world the death of 
 your country." 
 
 " The faith of our fathers made Rome tremble at the name 
 of Geneva ; now, alas ! Geneva trembles at the name of Rome. 
 Are we sure that Popery, triumphant, and perched upon our 
 high towers, will not one day, and quickly, mock with bitter 
 
OHAJ. TH.] DR. MERLE D'AUBIGNE 41 
 
 derision, the blindness of our citizens ? The air is heavy, the 
 atmosphere is choking; the night, perhaps the tempest, ap- 
 proaches. Let us enter, then, into our bosoms — let us reflect in 
 that inner temple, and raising our cry to heaven, let us say, 
 O God, save the country, for men come to destroy it." 
 
 Such was the tenor of D'Aubigne's conversation this evening ; 
 It was painful to see what a deep gloom was before his mind. 
 His trust is in God, though he seemed as one at sea, in a frail 
 bark, who beholds, in a dark, tempestuous night, the dim shadow 
 of a great ship driving fast upon him. He has himself referred, 
 in one of his works, to his oppressed feelings, saying that he had 
 unavailiiigly played the part of Cassandra to his blinded 
 countrymen. 
 
 D'Aubigne's style in writing is often strengthened by powerful 
 antithesis, the compelled, condensed result of profound though 
 strict logic. Where the two come together in a focus, so to 
 speak, upon great principles, it is like the galvanic action in a 
 compound battery, illustrating and burning with intense power 
 and beauty. Some of the best examples of this great excellence 
 are to be found in what, though brief, is one of D'Aubigne's 
 greatest productions, — the concise discourse upon the heresy of 
 Puseyism. It is full of pregnant suggestions and veins of 
 thought, which, pursued and elaborated, would lead to a great 
 mine, if a man were able to work it. He defines the nature of 
 religious liberty, which, in truth, is the great stake in this 
 conflict — true religious liberty, without which all other liberty is 
 but a dangerous plaything. Take the aphorism, ye Maynooth 
 Statesmen, and worshippers at the shrine of Expediency, and 
 dwell upon its meaning. Without true religious liberty, every 
 other liberty is but a useless and dangerous plaything. 
 
 But what characterizes this work of D'Aubigne especially is 
 the announcement of its three onlys. We thank D'Aubigne for 
 THE THKEE ONLYS. They are the Christian army, the army of 
 Christian doctrine, in the form of battle ; a triangular phalanx, 
 every point, each wedge of which pierces the opposing mass of 
 error, and makes a breach, through which in rushes the whole 
 gospel, and sweeps the field. These are the three onlys : 
 
<2 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. toHAP. vn 
 
 The Word of .God,, only ; 
 The Grace of Christ, only ; 
 the Work of the Spirit, only. 
 
 The_/ormaZ principle, the materia? principle, and the personal prin- 
 ciple, of Christianity, are here enunciated ; and D'Aubigne has 
 set them in such direct and powerful array against the correspond- 
 ing counteracting, enormous errors of Rome and of the Oxford 
 Theologians, that the moment you look upon the battle array, 
 you see the victory ; the masterly disposition of the forces tells you 
 beforehand the history of the combat. Singling out each of the 
 columns of error that make Oxford one with Rome, he drives 
 each of these great principles of Christianity against them with 
 such steadfast tread and condensation, that nothing can with- 
 stand the shook. Such a description of so brief an essay might 
 almost seem hyperbolical ; but the little essay condenses thought 
 for whole volumes, and I beg you, if you find fault with me, to 
 read it, and test its power for yourself. See if it does not make 
 upon your own mind the impression of victory, of greatness. 
 
 The manners of D'Aubign6 are marked by a plain, manly, 
 unassuming simplicity, no shade of ostentation, no mark of the 
 world's applause upon him — a thing which often leaves acloud 
 of vain self-consciousness over the character of a great man, 
 worse by far than any shade produced by the world's frowns. 
 His conversation is full of good sense, just thought and pious 
 feeling, disclosing a ripe judgment and a quiet, well-balanced 
 mind. You would not, perhaps, suspect him of a vivid imagina- 
 tion, and yet his writings do often show a high degree of that 
 quality. A child-like simplicity is the most marked character- 
 istic to a stranger, who is often surprised to see so illustrious a 
 man so plairi and affable. He is about fifty years of age. 
 
 You would see in him a tall, commanding form, much above 
 the stature of his countrymen, a broad, intelligent forehead, a 
 thoughtful, unsuspicious countenance, a cheerful,, pleasant 
 eye, over which are set a pair of dark, shaggy eyebrows, likt 
 those of Webster. His person is robust, his frame large, anc 
 powerful, and apparently capable of great eijdurance j yet hi? 
 health is infirm. Altogether, in f&c. and form his appear 
 
OTAP. vn. DR. MERLE D'AUBIGNE. 43 
 
 ance might be described in three words — noble, grave, and 
 simple. The habit of wearing spectacles has given him aa 
 upward look, in order to command the centre of the glass, which 
 adds to the peculiar openness and manliness of his mein. He has 
 great earnestness and emphasis of manner in his discourses to 
 his students. 
 
 The residence of D'Aubigne, embowered in foliage on the 
 banks of the lake opposite the Jura mountains, commands the 
 loveliest sunset view of that mighty forest-covered range, 
 reflected, with the glowing purple clouds and evening sky, in the 
 bosom of the quiet waters. " How completely," said Dr. 
 Arnold, speaking from the fullness of his rich, classical asso- 
 ciations, "is the Jura like Cithseron, with its rdirai and )ii/iai«s, and 
 all that scenery, which Euripides has given to the life in the 
 BacchsE." Are not all mountains more glorious in the sunset ? 
 They certainly seem more intelligent at that hour than at any 
 other. They seem like a vast, silent, meditative consciousness. 
 What shall I say of the flush of rich deep color, and the 
 atmosphere of glory, in which the Jura range, " with its pines 
 and oaks, its deep glens, and its thousand flowers," lies sleeping ? 
 Meantime, the Lake ripples at your feet, and whispers its low, 
 stilly, hushing music;, so soft, so quiet, as if almost it were the 
 expression of an ecstatic, in-dwelling soul, communing with the 
 parting light, that, as it dies away, fills the face of the Lake 
 with such indescribable and pensive beauty. Sometimes it 
 seems, as you stand beneath the trees, and look across the lake, 
 and up to where the Jura outline cuts the sky, as if all heaven 
 were opening before you ; but speedily, as the shadows deepen, 
 comes that sober coloring to the eye, that hath kept watch o'er 
 man's mortality, and the earth, the air, the water, though so 
 pure, so bright, do breathe irresistibly upon your mind a sacred 
 melancholy. 
 
 But why should this melancholy be connected with the twi- 
 light, and the stars, and all at evening-fall, that is so beautiful ? 
 Perhaps it is because " in the cool of the day " God came down 
 10 talk with Adam concerning his sin, and the stars saw him, 
 and the shades of evening were around him, when he fled to 
 hide himself beneath the trees in the garden. Ah, how this green 
 
44 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap vii 
 
 light, that lingers in the west, looked to him then, when the 
 bliss of innocence had gone from his soul, and he began to be 
 afraid of God ! 
 
 " It is almost awful," said the excellent Dr. Arnold, sitting 
 above the delicious lake of Como (and I quote the passage 
 here, because it is the expression of thoughts and feelings that 
 such a Christian as D'Aubigne must often have experienced in 
 the presence of the loveliness of nature before his own door) ; 
 " it is almost awful to look at the overwhelming beauty around 
 me, and then think of moral evil. It seems as if heaven and 
 hell, instead of being separated by a great gulf from one 
 another, were absolutely on each other's confines, and indeed 
 not far from every one of us. Might the sense of moral evil be 
 as strong in me as my delight in external beauty, for in a deep 
 sense of moral evil, more perhaps than in anything else, abides 
 a saving knowledge of God ! It is not so much to admire moral 
 good ; that we may do, and yet not be ourselves conformed 
 to it ; but if we really do abhor that which is evil, not the 
 persons in whom evil resides, but the evil which dweileth in 
 them, and much more manifestly and certainly to our own 
 knowledge in our own hearts,— </w« is to have the feeling of 
 God and of Christ, and to have our spirit in sympathy with the 
 Spirit of God." 
 
CHiP. vui.] DR. GAUSSEN OF GENEVA 45 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Dr. Gaussen. — The Children of the Oratoire. — Religious Liberty. 
 
 Dr. Gaussen, the able coadjutor of D'Aubigne, and author of 
 the admirable work on Inspiration entitled Theopneustia, was 
 pastor of the parish of Santigny, in the Canton of Geneva, in the 
 year 1815. It was about this time that he likewise became a 
 Christian, and preached the way of salvation through faith in 
 Christ crucified. In his teachings among his flock. Dr. Gaussen, 
 becoming dissatisfied with the Catechism imposed for instruction 
 by the National Church, principally because it had no acknow- 
 ledgement of the great fundamental truths of the gospel, laid it 
 aside, and proceeded to teach the children and candidates for 
 communion in his own way. For this he was brought before 
 the "Venerable Company of Pastors," and finally was by-them 
 censured, and suspended for a year from his right to sit in the 
 Company. 
 
 But Dr. Gaussen and his friends, D'Aubigne and others, 
 nothing terrified by their adversaries, proceeded still farther. 
 They framed the Evangelical Society of Geneva, took measures 
 for the preaching of the gospel in the city, and established, 
 though in weakness and fear and in much trembling, yet in 
 reliance upon God, the Evangelical Theological Seminary. 
 Finding that all efibrts and threatenings to prevent or stay their 
 career were in vain, the Venerable Company proceeded, in 
 1831, to reject Mr. Gaussen from the functions of Pastor of 
 Santigny, and to interdict Messrs. Gaussen, Galland and Merle 
 from all the functions of the pulpit in the churches and chapels 
 of the Canton. What a spectacle was this ! It recalls to mind 
 the action of the Genevese Republic 300 years before, in the 
 banishment of Calvin and Farel from the city. The result has 
 been happy in the highest degree. Forced out of the National 
 
46 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap, vni 
 
 Church, these men have been made to feel, what at first it is so 
 difficult to be convinced of, that the Churcl of Christ belongs 
 to Christ, and not to any nation. They see t lat there is a new 
 transfiguration, a new approximating step of glory for the 
 Reformed Church in Europe, in which she shall become free in 
 Christ — shall assume her true catholicity, her supremacy, her 
 'ndependence— ^becoming forever, and everywhere, a Church 
 in the^Spirit, the Truth, and the Liberty of Christ. 
 
 In Geneva, the Church is in subjection. The people cannot 
 choose their pastors — the pastors are compelled to receive every 
 man to Christian Communion as an indiscriminate right of 
 citizenship. At a certain age, every young man comes into the 
 Church by law, no matter how depraved, and declares in the 
 most solemn manner that he believes, from the bottom of his heart, 
 the dogmas in which his pastor has instructed him ; that he will 
 still hold to them, and renounces the world and its ponrtps. For 
 entering the army, for becoming an apprentice, for obtaining 
 any employ, the young man must take the communicant's oath. 
 Have you been to the communion ? is the test question — first 
 and implacable. Hence, if a pastor should refuse the com- 
 munion to a young libertine, the candidate and the whole 
 family would regard it as the highest insult and injustice, 
 debarring the young man from rights sacred to him as a citizen, 
 shutting, indeed, the door of all civil advancement against him. 
 To say nothing of piety, how can even morality itself be pre- 
 served in a Church in such degrading subjection to the civil 
 power ? 
 
 Dr. Gaussen was appointed to the office of Professor of Sys- 
 tematic Theology in the new Evangelical School, and he also 
 officiates as one of the Pastors in the Church of the Oratoire, 
 of which M. Pilet is the regular preacher. M. Pilet is distin- 
 guished for his gifts of eloquence and piety, and holds the office 
 of Professor of Exegetical Theology, along with Professor La 
 Harpe, the latter taking the Department of the Old Testament, 
 the former of the New. Every Lord's day, at eleven o'clock in 
 the morning, after the sermon, there is in the Church of the 
 Oratoire an exercise for the young, of which Dr. Gaussen has 
 the special charge. It is a catechetical exe "cise in which the 
 
CHAP. VIII.] DR. GAUSSEN OF GKNEVii.. 47 
 
 children are instructed from the Scriptui'es, making the Bible 
 their text-hook and book of study. It was for the crime of 
 substituting the Bible instead of the old catechisn; of the Company 
 of Pastors, in his instruction of the children of his flock at 
 Santigny, that Dr. Gaussen was first censured and finally 
 deposed from that parochial charge. He has great power over 
 the children, possessing the rare faculty of awakening and 
 interesting the youthful mind, while at the same time his 
 questions and illustrations are full of the richest instruction to 
 those who are more advanced and learned in the things of 
 Christ. Hence this exercise is attended by parents as well as 
 children, and by strangers, who look on and listen with delight 
 and profit at the understanding and answers of the little ones. 
 It is a most interesting spectacle to see these youthful minds 
 brought so actively ii;ito play, and enriched a^id disciplined by 
 the acuteness, knowledge, and lively eloquence of the teacher. 
 
 Dr. Gaussen seems a somewhat younger man than D'Au- 
 bigne, shorter of stature, with a quick and active eye and 
 movement. His countenance is full of life, frankness and 
 intelligence. There is a pleasing combination of energy and 
 suavity in his manners, indicating perhaps the characteristics 
 of his mind ; for he is a man of learning in action, and of solid 
 accomplishments gracefully employed. His style is admirable 
 for its united richness and vivacity. There is the same interest 
 and life in his conversation, as in his writings, with the great 
 charm of a simplicity and friendliness of character as open as 
 the sun, and a most attractive warmth and enthusiasm of 
 Christian thought and feeling. His mind kindles and glows, 
 especia^y on the preciousness of the Word of God, the advancing 
 kingdom of the Redeemer, and the nature of the enmity which 
 the Church of Christ in Europe must now encounter. He 
 speaks with the same deep earnestness as D'Aubigne of the 
 great crisis which is so evidently hastening in Europe — the 
 rapidly advancing battle, and filial trial, between Rome and the 
 Gospel. No one can tell what scenes are soon to arise ; what 
 events — ^t may be, alarming ones — are to be developed. 
 
 Dr. Gaussen's residence is in a beautiful rural spot, not far 
 outside the gates of the city, towards France, commanding a noble 
 
48 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap, vin 
 
 view of the Alps. During conversation in a walk thither, he spoke 
 to me of his views of inspiration, as exhibited in his work on that 
 subject. The professors seek to build up their pupils on the Word 
 of God, and to make them strong in that, as their impregnable 
 citadel, having no half-way in its divine authority. Next they 
 would have them rooted and grounded in the doctrine of Justifi- 
 cation by Faith. Dr. Gaussen told me that his high views of 
 the Word of God were powerfully sustained in his own mind by the 
 manner in which our blessed Lord himself quotes and refers to 
 the Old Testament. It is the Word of God and not Man ; it is 
 God's own words, speaking to the Soul ; by which, by every 
 word, man shall live, and not a word shall be broken. They 
 have an authoritative power and life, not weakened by any 
 mixture of human authority or human opinion and doubt ; and 
 they are appealed to in such a manner as could not consist with 
 anything less than the highest, fullest, direct, divine inspiration. 
 He spoke of the necessity of a separation of the Church from 
 the State, in order to the freedom and purity of the Church ot 
 Geneva, and remarked that his own views on this subject ac- 
 corded with those of D'Aubigne. He mentioned what to me 
 was a startling fact, that out of forty pastors in the National 
 Church, only three were regarded as Evangelical ; hence the 
 deep anxiety which men of God entertain in regard to the future 
 welfare of the city and Canton, when they see how fast in num- 
 bers Rome steals upon them, while there are few to resist her 
 encroachments, and while the Church is so allied with and 
 dependent on the State, that a majority of political voters would 
 carry the whole establishment, without any reserve or tolerance, 
 over to the Pope. There is no antidote to the evil, but in making 
 the Church independent. The great Reformation of the nine- 
 teenth century, in his own opinion, as well as D'Aubignfe's, will 
 be the mutual independence of the State and the Church. Then, 
 if not before, will the great voice be heard, Babylon is fallen ! 
 But before this. Dr. Gaussen inclines to the opinion that God will 
 yet once more scourge with the rod, in the resurrection of 
 Romanism, those kingdoms that, ungrateful for the mercies of 
 ;he gospel, and spurning the priceless gifl of religious liberty, 
 have of late despised the Reformation, and begun to render some- 
 
CHAP. VIII.] CONSTITUTION OF GENEVA. n-.a 
 
 thing pif their old homage to the Man of Sin, falling on the neck 
 of the grim old' tyrant/ even with tears and kisses. What a dis- 
 graceful spectacle'!' ■ 
 
 " Milton ! thou shouldst be living at this hourt 
 England h^th need, qf the^ : p'bff is a, few 
 
 ; O^ stagnant watecs ; altar, sword and pen, . . 
 Fireside, the heroic wealth of ball and bower. 
 Have ^forfeited th^ir anpient. English dower 
 Of inward happiness, We are selfish men. 
 Oh ! raise us up, return to us again. 
 And give us manners, virtue, freedom, power. 
 Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apairt : 
 Thou hadst a voice whose sound waslil(e the sea. 
 Pure as the nal^i^d heaveiis, majestic, free. 
 So did^t thoii .ti^ayel on life's common way. 
 In cheerful godliness ; and yet thy heart 
 The lowliest duties on herself 3id lay." 
 
 The constitution of Geneva is 'such, tha:t by its; provisions there 
 is no liberty of instruction or congregation, but only by authority 
 of the Council of State. The ninth and tenth articles provide 
 that liberty of instruction" shall be guaranteed to all Genevese, 
 only under the reserve of dispositions prescribed by the laws for 
 the interest of public order and good manners ; and also that no 
 corporation or congregation can be established without the 
 authority of the Council of State. It is easy to see that with 
 such St constitution of ChurcTi and State, the Romanists have 
 everything nlade easy to their hand in Geneva, and only need a 
 civil majority, when, by appointing their own Council of State, 
 they can put every heretical congregation to the torture, and 
 forbid, by law, any school or assembly of instruction or worship, 
 other than pleases them, under whate'ver severity of penalty they 
 may choose to impose. No wonder that the cry of every chris- 
 tian patriot in Geneva should be, separate Church and State, 
 separate Church and State ! May God help them in their strug- 
 gle after libertyi 
 
 " Advance — come forth from thy celestial ground, 
 ■• Dear Liberty! — stern nymph of soul untamed. 
 Sweet nymph, Oh rightly ~/ the mountains named ! 
 6 
 
so WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap. vm. 
 
 Through the long chain of Alps from mound to mound. 
 
 And o'er the eternal snows, like Echo, bound. 
 
 Like Echo, when the hunter-train at dawn 
 
 Have roused her from her sleep : and forest-lawn, 
 
 Cliffi, woods, and caves, her viewless steps resound. 
 
 And babble of her pastime ! — On, dread Power, 
 
 With such invisible motion speed thy flight. 
 
 Through hanging clouds, from craggy height to height. 
 
 Through the green vales and through the herdsman's bower, 
 
 That all the Alps may gladden in thy might. 
 
 Here, there, and in all places at one hour " 
 
 Liberty must come soon, or to all human appearance the case 
 will be desperate ; the time may come, when men like Malan, 
 Gaussen, D'Aubigne can no more speak out as they are doing 
 now, from the mountain citadel which they hold for Christ, but 
 will either be silenced or banished. The progress of the danger 
 is rapid. " By the annexation of the new territory," remarks 
 Dr. Heugh, " and also by a perpetual immigration of poor Savoy- 
 ards in quest of the comforts of Geneva (like Hibernian immi- 
 gration into Britain), the Roman Catholics have now upwards of 
 twenty-seven thousand, out of a population rather under sixty 
 thousand ; and during the last five years, the Catholic population 
 increased by three thousand, while that of the Protestants dimin- 
 ished by two hundred, the former by immigration into the terri- 
 tory, the latter by emigration from it. That advancing minority 
 will become, and probably will soon become, a majority ; and 
 then, suffrage being universal, Geneva may, by the vote of a 
 majority of her citizens, lose her rank among Protestant States, 
 renounce by open profession the Protestantism which in fact her 
 ministers and her people have already betrayed, and re-annex 
 herself to Rome." It should be added to this, that the calcula- 
 tion above made is with reference to the Canton, and not the city 
 of Geneva. The city contains about 30,000 inhabitants, of 
 whom but a very small portion are Romanists. Of the whole 
 twenty-two Cantons in the Swiss Confederation, there are only 
 nine Popish ; in six Cantons both Romanism and Protestantism 
 are legalized together. 
 
 The only safety against these dangers is in the interposition 
 of God, by means of the three onlys ; let nie repeat them : 
 
CHAP, vni.] RELIGIOUS LIBERTY. M 
 
 The Word of God only, 
 The Grace of Christ only, 
 The Work of the Spirit only. 
 
 These things can keep the Roman Catholic population in a safe 
 minority, or indeed can make them all Protestants, or should 
 there be a majority, can in a moment change it from falsehood 
 into truth. So, by these three onlys Geneva will still be safe. 
 
 These three onlys will be the perfect independence of the 
 Church of Christ. These three onlys will make the Church of 
 Christ, in that independence, triumphant through the world. 
 
 In the Canton de Vaud, a Church-and-State Canton, the peo- 
 ple have been so greatly enraged against the assemblies of 
 Christians, who chose to worship by themselves, apart from the 
 National Church, that they have broken up those assemblies 
 with violence and almost with murder. When, in consequence 
 of these acts, the Christian assemblies demanded protection from 
 the State, they were coolly told that they themselves were the 
 authors of the disturbance, and that they must cease from those 
 meetings, which gave occasion for it ! Such is the definition of 
 religious liberty in a Church-and-State republic! 
 
 How difficult it is to work out a great truth, to work it clear. 
 There is a muddy fermentation, and if it be drank while that is 
 going on, it produces great disturbance in the system. This is 
 the case with religious liberty. It has never been fully under- 
 stood, it is just working itself clear. But it makes a great dis- 
 turbance in doing so, or rather the ingredients, foreign and per- 
 nicious, with which it has been compelled to mingle, have made 
 disturbance, and do so still. There never will be quiet in 
 Europe, till there is perfect religious liberty. The doctrine is 
 in the laboratory of trial, tossed from crucible to crucible, and 
 is going through processes for its purification, enough, in Mr. 
 Dana's language, to make the most knowing Chemists stare. 
 God is purifying it for use in the kingdom which he is to set 
 up on earth. The nations have never yet been ready for it ; 
 the old bottles would not hold this wine of the new dispensation j 
 
5? WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap, viu 
 
 but God is preparing the world for it, and the throes in regard 
 to its reception are perhaps a sign that the 'kingdom of peace 
 and love is near at hand. But after all, the doctrine of a perfect 
 religious liberty can there only be understood, and there only be 
 practicable, where the truth prevails in love. The truth produ- 
 ces love, and love produces liberty, and thiis men, made free them- 
 selves, rejoice in the freedom of others. If not, they are not 
 free ; "their passions forge their fetters." 
 
 It is with the great error of Church and State as with minuter 
 practical errors, that have long prevailed ; they must be un- 
 dermined gradually, and the occupants above warned off the 
 ground. If not, both the assailants and the besieged will fight, 
 and get blown up, or otherwise injured. " Truth," said Coleridge 
 very pithily, " is a good dog ; but beware of barking too close In 
 the heels of an error, lest you get your brains kicked out." 
 
CHAP. II.] CHAMOUNY. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Chamouny and the Mer de' Glace. 
 
 Chamounv is in some respects the central and concentrating 
 scene of the grandeur and glory of Switzerland. It is among 
 the Alps what Raphael's painting of the Transfiguration is 
 among the European galleries of pictures. It is a finished and 
 perfect world of sublimity, within a world of beauty. Four or 
 five several times I have visited it, and each time with new dis- 
 coveries of its glory, new impressions and lessons, new wonder 
 and delight. 
 
 Fl-om Chamouny you may make the Tour of Mont Blanc, 
 which also is itself a separate and perfect gem of travel. My 
 first visit to Chamouny was made some years ago, iri company 
 with an American gentleman, in the bright month of October, 
 on foot. A man should always travel in Switzerland as a pe- 
 destrian, if possible. There is no telling how much more per- 
 fectly he thus communes with nature, how much more deeply 
 and without effort he drinks in the spirit of the meadows, the 
 woods, the running streams and the mountains, going by them 
 and among them, as a friend with a friend. He seems to hear 
 the very breath of Nature in her stillnfess, and sometimes when 
 the whole world is hushed, there are murmurs come to him on 
 the air, almost like the distant evening sdng of angels. Indeed 
 the world of Nature is filled with quiet soul-like sounds, which, 
 when one's attention is gained to them, make a man feel as if he 
 must take his shoes from his feet and walk barefooted, in order 
 not to disturb them. Theve is a language in Nature, that re- 
 quires not so much a fine ear, as a listening spirit ; just as tliere 
 is a mystery and a song in religion, that requires not so much a 
 clear understanding, as a ielieving spirit. To such a listener 
 and believer, there comes 
 
M WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap, a 
 
 " A light in sound, a sound-like power in light. 
 Rhythm in all thought, and joyaunce everywhere — 
 Methinks it should have been impossible 
 Not to love all things in a world so filled, 
 Where the breeze warbles, and the mute still air 
 Is music slumbering on her instrument." 
 
 The music of the brooks and waterfalls, and of the wind among 
 the leaves, and of the birds in the air, and of the children at 
 play, and of the distant villages, and of the tinkling pleasant 
 bells of flocks upon the mountain sides, is all lost to the traveller 
 in a carriage, or rumbling vehicle of any kind ; whereas a pe- 
 destrian enjoys it, and enjoys it much more perfectly than a man 
 upon a niule. Moreover, the pedestrian at every step is gaining 
 health of body and elasticity of spirits. If he be troubled with 
 weak lungs, let him carry his own knapsack, well strapped upon 
 his shoulders ; it opens and throws back the chest, and strength- 
 ens the weakest parts of the bodily system. Besides this, the 
 air braces him better than any tonic. By day and by night, it 
 is an exhilarating cordial to him, a nepenthe to his frame. 
 
 The pedestrian is a laboring man, and his sleep is sweet. He 
 rises with the sun, or earlier, with the morning stars, so as to 
 watch the breaking of the dawn. He lives upon simple food, 
 with an unsuspicious appetite. He hums his favorite tunes, 
 peoples the air with castles, cons a passage in the gospels, thinks 
 of the dear ones at home, cuts a cane, wanders in Bypath 
 meadow, where there is no Giant Despair, sits down and jots in 
 his note book, thinks of what he will do, or whistles as he goes 
 for want of thought. All day long, almost every faculty of 
 mind and body may be called into healthful, cheerful exercise. 
 He can make out-of-the-way excursions, go into the cottages, 
 chat with the people, sketch pictures at leisure. He can pray 
 and praise God, when and where he pleases, whether he comes 
 to a cross and a sepulchre, or a church, or a cathedral, or a 
 green kooll under a clump of trees, without cross, or saint, or 
 angel ; and if he have a Christian companion, they two may go 
 together as pleasantly and profitably, as Christian and Hopeful 
 in the Pilgrim's Progress. He ought to be a draughtsman, ought 
 to know how to sketch from nature. I must confess that I did 
 
CHAP. IX.] CHAMOUNY 53 
 
 not, and so I warn others from my own experience ; if they are 
 going to walk in Switzerland, let them learn to draw. The only 
 original sketch I brought home in my note book, which other« 
 wise might have been filled with rude gems, was a sketch of the 
 battle-field of Morgarten, pencilled amidst my own word-sketches, 
 by an English clergyman, my companion. After all, however, 
 my friend was almost always more vexed for want of time to 
 finish his sketches, than he was gratified with collecting them. 
 If one could take a little daguerreotype with him, it would be a 
 nice thing among , the mountains, to let nature do her own 
 sketching. 
 
 One of the most interesting scenes in Chamouny apart from 
 ihe mountains, is the assembly of guides, either waiting to be 
 hired, or gathered previous to an ascent of Mont Blanc. The 
 guides of Chamouny are the best in all Switzerland. They are 
 a hardy, robust, energetic, sagacious set of men, most' of them 
 cheerful and good humored, devoted to their profession, and en- 
 thusiastic in it. Some of them know every nook and cranny 
 of the mountains, every aspect of the weather, every prophesy 
 of storms, the paths of the avalanche, the most invisible signs 
 of the seasons, the voices of the winds, what it means when the 
 south breeze makes the glaciers sing, what stories the rivers tell 
 of the goings on in the high Alpine solitudes. They are the 
 seamen of the Alps, the old salts of the mountains. They are 
 under a regimen of law, a strict system by the government of 
 Sardinia, which determines their time of apprenticeship, their 
 tarifi" of prices, whether for special excursions, or by the day. 
 The prices are not high ; six francs by the day is very little, 
 when it is remembered that the guide finds himself, and carries 
 the knapsack of his master, if he be going on foot, besides a 
 thousand free and good natured civilities, which make him a 
 sort of travelling servant. He will carry on his back a load 
 of thirty or forty pounds, during a day's walk of thirty mile.s, 
 but you must concede to him the liberty of complaining at the 
 close, especially if he be unaccustomed to it, and of hoping for 
 your own kindness. 
 
 The guides are under the direction of a chief or syndic, to 
 whom application must be made, when you wish to take one, 
 
a« WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM [chaf ix. 
 
 and to whom all disputes are to be referred. He has a list of 
 some forty men or more, whose services are called upon in turn^ 
 so that they have their days of guide work with the utmost regu- 
 larity. If you hire a guide for a day in which it does not conrle 
 his turn, you must pay three francs in addition. The mules 
 also are six francs each. There are certain excursions, each 
 of which is considered a day's work ; such as the excursion to 
 the Mer de Glace, the Flegfere, the Breven, and in general up 
 any of the mountains in the valley. It is sometimes possible to 
 make two of these excursions in one day, in which case you 
 pay ten francs to your guide. Of course, if you have two or 
 three or more friends in your party, the expense is mere nothing, 
 since one guide is enough for the whole party, if you are on 
 foot, but if you choose to ride, for every mule there must be a 
 separate guide. If you have ladies (and I leave it"to your own 
 experience to determine whether you particularly desire it in 
 climbing the mountains) each . lady may need a guide, or had 
 best have one. 
 
 If you take a guide to so great a distance from his home, tliat 
 he cannot get back again the same day, he is entitled to what is 
 called back-fare, which nearly or quite doubles the original 
 amount ; so that a single pedestrian on a long course, if he take 
 a guide, makes, it somewhat expensive. But this is better than 
 falling into a snow-drift so deep, or over a precipice so terrible, 
 that only the dogs of the Grand St. Bernard can find you ; better 
 than getting lost alone or even With a friend, and better, like- 
 wise, than going iii uncongenial company. Besides, you may 
 gain a great deal of. information from your guide, and if you 
 please, may possibly do him some good, apart from your money. 
 You should let him see that you have a well stored and busy 
 heart, as well as a full purse. Your kind, instructive words 
 will sometimes win upon him better than a sovereignl The 
 stream of travel through Switzerland would not be so corrupt- 
 ing as is complained of, so tending to make the people venal, 
 if travellers would e.xhibit and dispose of some other good quali- 
 ties and examples besides gold. 
 
 How can we expect otherwise, than to make the common 
 people venal, if we do nothing lut make trade of them, if we 
 
CHAf w.] CHAMOUNY 67 
 
 show to them nothing but what is venal in ourselves. Alas ! 
 how often do the rich pass among the poor, through a kingdom 
 of the poor, doing nothing in the world but just to hire them, 
 swear at them, and pay them. Sure I am that it would be very 
 wonderful if a people were not corrupted by intercourse with 
 foreigners, who leave such an impression from the contact, that 
 the chief thing visible is an oath. Thanks be to God, swearing 
 travellers are a much less ordinary nuisance than they used to 
 be. 
 
 The present Chief of the guides in Chamouny is quite a study. 
 He is himself an ancient guide, of great experience and excel- 
 lence of character. His face is one of the most perfect expres- 
 sions of benevolence and honesty, combined with intelligence 
 and thoughtful ness, that you will ever meet with. He inspires 
 you with confidence, and almost an affectionate interest, the mo- 
 ment you see him. It is pleasant to look on such faces, for na- 
 ture seldom deceives you, when she casts such an outward 
 mould, but there is always something within answering to it, and 
 proving its worth and truth. 
 
 The guides are quite honest in regard to the weather. They 
 do not, in order to provoke you to hire them, promise you a fair 
 day, when it will be rainy, but leave you to determine for 
 yourself whether you will make the excursion. They do not 
 love to ascend Mont Blanc. It is a perilous enterprise, and 
 though much belter paid than the ordinary courses, does not 
 recompense the guide for his hazard and fatigue. About forty 
 were assembled during one day of my visit at Chamouny, for 
 the ascent of Mont Blanc, with a company of French scientific 
 gentlemen, sent out by the government. Each of the attendants 
 received his supply of water and provisions for the journey, 
 having, moreover, the instruments and apparatus of the savans 
 to carry, together with materials for a tent, which they promised 
 to pitch upon the very summit of the mountain. Napoleon, it 
 is said, once had a huge cross erected there, but Mont Blanc 
 proved a genuine, intractable Iconoclast ; he was not enough 
 of a Romanist to respect it, and away it went in a Puritanical 
 storm of Alpine freedom. The French gentlemen had resolved 
 to stay three days upon the mountain, scorning all dangers, and 
 
98 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap, ix 
 
 they were to shoot off a display of Parisian fireworks, which 
 perhaps they intended should be seen in Geneva, if vision could 
 reach so far, and certainly celebrated all over Europe ; but the 
 mountain was not in a mood for such antics, and they did not 
 succeed even in getting to the summit, till after several 
 distinct experiments, returning half-dead with fatigue and disap- 
 pointment. 
 
 The first and principal excursion fromChamouny is generally 
 that to the Mer de Glace. It is not at all difiicult, but if you 
 have fine weather, it gives you some of the most sublime expe- 
 riences of mountain scenery you can meet with in all the regions 
 of the Alps. You cross the meadows in the vale of Chamouny, 
 step over the new-born, furious Arve, and climb the mountain 
 precipices to the height of 2,000 feet, by a rough, craggy 
 path, sometimes winding amidst a wood of firs, and sometimes 
 wandering over green grasses. At Montanvert you find yourself 
 on the extfemity of a plateau, so situated, that on one side you 
 may look down into the dread frozen sea, and on the other, by a 
 few steps, into the lovely, green vale of Chamouny ! What 
 astonishing variety and contrast in the spectacle ! Far beneath, 
 a smiling and verdant valley, watered by the Arve, with ham- 
 lets, fields and gardens, the abode of life, sweet children and 
 flowers ; — far above, savage and inaccessible crags of ice and 
 granite, and a cataract of stiffened billows, stretching away 
 beyond sight — the throne of Death and Winter. 
 
 From the bosom of the tumbling sea of ice, enormous granite 
 needles shoot into the sky, objects of singular sublimity, one of 
 them rising to the great height of 13,000 feet, seven thousand 
 above the point where you are standing. This is more than 
 double the height of Mount Washington in our country, and this 
 amazing pinnacle of rock looks like the spire of an interminable 
 colossal Cathedral, with other pinnacles around it. No snow 
 can cling to the summits of these jagged spires ; the lightning 
 does not splinter them ; the tempests rave round them ; and 
 at their base, those eternal drifting i-anges of snow are formed, 
 that sweep down into the frozein sea, and feed the perpetual, 
 immeasurable masses of the glacier. Meanwhile, the laughing 
 verdure, sprinkled with flowers, plays upon the edges of the 
 
CHAP. IX.] THE MER DE GLACE. Sb 
 
 enormous masses of ice — so near, that you may almost touch 
 the ice with one hand, and with the other pluck the violet. So, 
 oftentimes, the ice and the verdure are mingled in our earthly 
 pilgrimage ; — so, sometimes, in one and the same family you 
 may see the exquisite refinements and the crabbed repugnancies 
 of human nature. So, in the same house of God, on the same 
 bench, may sit an angel and a murderer ; a villain, like a 
 glacier, and a man with a heart like a sweet running brook in 
 the sunshine. 
 
 The impetuous arrested cataract seems as if it were ploughing 
 the rocky gorge with its turbulent surges. Indeed the ridges 
 of rocky fragments along the edges of the glacier, called 
 motaines, do look precisely as if a colossal iron plough had torn 
 them from the mountain, and laid them along in one continuous 
 furrow on the frozen verge. It is a scene of stupendous sublimity. 
 These mighty granite peaks, hewn and pinnacled into Gothic 
 towers, and these rugged mountain walls and buttresses, — what 
 a Cathedral ! with this cloudless sky, by starlight, for its fretted 
 roof — the chaunting wail of the tempest, and the rushing of the 
 avalanche for its organ. How grand the thundering sound ofthe 
 vast masses of ice tumbling from the roof the Arve-cavern at 
 the foot of the glacier ! Does it not seem, as it sullenly and 
 heavily echoes, and rolls up from so immense a distance below, 
 even more sublime than the thunder of the avalanche above us ? 
 We could tell better, if we could have a genuine upper avalanche 
 to compare with it. But what a stupendous scene ! " I begin 
 now," said my companion, " to understand the origin of the 
 Gothic Architecture." This was a very natural feeling ; but, 
 after all, it could not have been such a scene, that gave birth to 
 the great idea of that " frozen poetry " of the Middle Ages. 
 Far more likely it was the sounding aisles of the dim woods, 
 with their chequered green light, and festooned, pointing arches. 
 
 The colossal furrow of rocks and gravel along the edges of 
 the ice at the shores of the sea are produced by the action of the 
 frost and the avalanches, with the march of the glacier against 
 the sides of the mountains. Nothing can be more singular 
 than these ridges of mountain debris, apparently ploughed up 
 and worked off by the moving of the whole bed of ice down 
 
63 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap. «. 
 
 the valley. Near the shore, the sea is turbid with these rocKa 
 and gravel ; but as you go out into the channel, the ice becdmes 
 clearer and more glittering, the crevices and fissures deeper and 
 more dangerous, and all the phenomena more astonishing. 
 Deep, blue, pellucid founts of ice-cold water lie in the opening 
 gulfs, and sometimes, putting your ear to the yawning fissures, 
 you may hear the rippling of the rills below, that from the 
 bosom of the glacier are hurrying down to constitute the Arve, 
 bursting furiously forth from the great ice-cavern in the 
 Valley. 
 
 This Mer de Glace is an easy and excellent residence for the 
 scientific study of the glaciers, a subject of very great interest, 
 formerly filled with mysteries, which the bold and persevering 
 investigations and theories of some modern naturalists have 
 quite cleared up. The strange movements of the glaciers, their 
 apparent wilful rejection of extraneous bodies and substances to 
 the surface and the margin, their increase and decrease, long 
 remained invested with something of the supernatural ; they 
 seemed to have a soul and a life of their own. They look mo- 
 tionless and silent, yet they are always moving and sounding on, 
 and they have great voices that give prophetic warning of the 
 weather to the shepherds of the Alps. Scientific men have set 
 up huts upon the sea, and landmarks on the mountains opposite, 
 to test the progress of the icy masses, and in this way it was 
 found that a cabin constructed by Professor Hugi on the glacier 
 of the Aar, had travelled between the years 1827 and 1840, a 
 distance of 4,600 feet. It is supposed that the Mer de Glace 
 moves down between four and five hundred feet annually. 
 
 It is impossible to form a grander image of the rigidity and bar- 
 renness, the coldness and death of winter, than when you stand 
 among the billows of one of these frozen seas ; and yet it ia 
 here that nature locks up in her careful bosom the treasures of 
 the Alpine vallies, the sources of rich summer verdure and vege- 
 table life. They are hoarded up in winter, to be poured forth 
 beneath the sun, and with the sun in summer. Some of the 
 largest rivers in Europe take their rise from the glaciers, and 
 give to the Swiss vallies their most abundant supply of water, 
 in the season Mhen ordinary streams are dried up. This is a 
 
CHAP. DC.] MYSTERIES OF THE GLACIERS. 
 
 61 
 
 most interesting provision in the economy of nature, for if the 
 glaciers did not exist, those verdant vallies into vifhich the sum- 
 mer sun pours with such fervor, would be parched with drought. 
 So the mountains are parents of perpetual streams, and the 
 glaciers are reservoirs of plenty. 
 
 The derivation of the German name for glacier, gletscher, is 
 suggested as coming liot from their icy material, but their perpetual 
 motion, from glitschen to glide ; more prdbably, however, from 
 the idea of gliding upon their surface. These glaciers come 
 down from the air, down out of heaven, a perpetual frozen 
 motion, ever changing and gliding, from the first fall of snow in 
 the atmosphere, through the state of consolidated grinding blocks 
 of ice, and then into musical streams that water the valleys. 
 First it is a powdery, feathery snow, then granulated like hail, 
 and denominated Jim, forming vast beds and sheets around the 
 highest mountain summits, then frozen into masses, by which 
 time it has travelled down to within seven thousand feet above 
 the'levelof the sea, where commences the great ice-ocean that 
 fills the uninhabitable Alpine valleys, unceasingly freezing, melt- 
 ing and moving down. It has been estimated by Saussure and 
 others that these seas of ice, at their greatest thickness, are six 
 or eight hundred feet deep. They are traversed by deep fissures, 
 and as they approach the great precipices, over which they 
 plunge like a cataract into the vales, they are split in all direct- 
 ions, and heaved up into waves, reefs, peaks, pinnacles and mi- 
 narets. Underneath they are traversed by as many galleries 
 and caverns, through which run the rills and torrents constantly 
 gathering from the melting masses above. These innumerable 
 streams, gathering in one, as they approach the termination of 
 the glacier, rush out from beneath it, under a great vault of ice, 
 and thus are born into the breathing world, full grown roaring 
 rivers, from night, frost and chaos. 
 
 A peasant has been known to have fallen into an ice-gulf in 
 one of these seas, near one of the flowing sub-glacial torrents, 
 and following the course of the stream to the foot of the glacier, 
 he came out alive ! The German naturalist, Hugi, set out to 
 explore the recesses of one of the glaciers through the bfed of a 
 forraer torrent, and wandered on in its ice caverns the distance 
 
«S WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap. a. 
 
 of a mile. " The ice was everywhere eaten away into dome- 
 shaped hollows, varying from two to twelve feet in height, so 
 that the whole mass of the glacier rested at intervals on pillars, 
 or feet of ice, irregular in size and shape, wh^ch had been left 
 standing. As soon as any of these props gave way, a portion 
 of the glacier would of course fall in and move on. A dim twv 
 light, scantily transmitted through the mass of ice above, pre- 
 vailed in these caverns of ioe, not sufficient to allow one to read, 
 except close to the fissures, which directly admitted the daylight. 
 The intense blue of the mass of the ice contrasted remarkably 
 with the pure white of the icy stalactites, or pendents descending 
 from the roof. The water streamed down upon him from all 
 sides, so that, after wandering about for two hours, at times 
 bending and creeping, to get along under the low vault, he re- 
 turned to the open air, quite drenched and half frozen." 
 
 Wandering about under these glaciers is like making re- 
 searches in the German sceptical philosophy ; you may catch 
 your death of cold, while you are satisfying your curiosity. It 
 is like Strauss losing himself in myth-caverns, instead of gospel 
 verities. It is like the speculations of the author of that book 
 entitled " Vestiges of Creation." You may see strange things 
 and wonderful, but you come out drenched and half-frozen. 
 And if a man should be there when the supporting stalactites 
 give way, and should be buried under the falling masses, he 
 would pay dear for his whistle. 
 
 This Sea of Ice, which embosoms in its farthest recesses a 
 little living flower-garden, whither the humble-bees from Cha- 
 mouny resort for honey, is also bordered by steep lonely beds of 
 the fragrant Rhododendron, or Rose of the Alps. This hardy 
 and beautiful flower grows from a bush larger than our sweet 
 fern, with foliage like the leaves of the ivory-plum. It con- 
 tinues blooming late in the season, and sometimes covers vast 
 declivities on the mountains at a great height, where one would 
 hardly suppose it possible for a handful of earth to cling to the 
 rocky surface There, amidst the snows and ice of a thousand 
 winters, it pours forth its perfume on the air, though there be 
 none to inhale the fragrance, or praise the sweetness, save only 
 
CHAP. IX.] HERDSMEN OF THE GLACIERS. flS 
 
 "the little busy bees," that seem dizzy with delight, as they 
 throw themselves into the bosom of these beds of roses. 
 
 Higher still on the opposite side of this great Ice-Sea, there 
 are mountain slopes of grass at the base of stupendous rocky 
 pinnacles, whither the shepherds of the Alps drive their herds 
 from Chamouny, for three months' pasturage. They have no 
 way of getting them there but across the dangerous glacier ; 
 and it is said that the passage is a sort of annual celebration, 
 when men, women and children go up to Montanvert to witness, 
 and assist the difficult transportation. When the herds have 
 crossed, one peasant stays with them for the whole three months 
 of their summer excursion, living upon bread and cheese, with 
 one cow among the herd to supply him with milk. When he is 
 not sleeping, he knits stockings, and ruminates as contentedly as 
 the browsing cattle, his only care being to increase his store. 
 
 But all this while, what is the man's mind, heart, and soul, 
 doing ? Only knitting stockings, and looking at the green grass 
 and the fat cattle ! One cannot help thinking of the great need 
 of intellectoal and spiritual resources for these lonely herdsmen. 
 How much a man might do in these three months' total seclusion 
 and leisure on the mountains ! He might almost fit himself to 
 be the schoolmaster of the valley for the winter — he might 
 commit the Bible to heart — might learn Hebrew, Greek, some- 
 thing besides the mathematics of Ave Marias and Credos, or the 
 homely swain's arithmetic, that seemed so pleasant to King 
 Henry ; — so many days the ewes have been with young ; so 
 many weeks ere the poor fools will yean ; so many years to the 
 shearing ; so many pounds to the fleece. But the Bible here is 
 in the main a forbidden book — and so, from childhood, the upper 
 and nether springs of thought and feeling are sealed, and the 
 mind of the valley moves, not like the living streams, that, with 
 each individual gladsome impulse, go dancing, sparkling, hurry- 
 ing to the ocean, but, like the frozen glacier, in eternal chains, 
 some four hundred feet a year, over the same path, by the same 
 necessity of icy nature. 
 
WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap. i. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Cascade des Pelerines. — A Swiss Family. — Coleridge's Hymn. 
 
 Theee is a water-fall in Cliamouny, which no traveller should 
 omit going to see, though I believe many do, called the " Cascade 
 des Pelerines." It is one of the most curious and beautifu 
 scenes in Switzerland. A torrent issues from the Glacier des 
 Pelerines high up the mountain, above the Glacier du Bossons, 
 and descends by a succession of leaps, in a deep gorge, from 
 precipice to precipice, almost in one continual cataract. But it 
 is all the while merely gathering force, and preparing for its 
 last magnificent deep plunge and recoil of beauty. Springing 
 in one round condensed column out of the gorge, over a perpen- 
 dicular cliff, it strikes at its fall, with its whole body of water, 
 into a sort of vertical rock basin, which one would suppose its 
 prodigious velocity and weight would split into a thousand 
 pieces; but the whole cataract, thus arrested at once, suddenly 
 rebounds in a parabolic arch, at least sixty feet into the air, and 
 then, having made this splendid airy curvature, falls with great 
 noise and beauty into the natural channel below. It is beyond 
 measure beautiful. It is like the fall of divine grace into chosen 
 hearts, that send it forth again for the world's refreshment, in 
 something such a shower and spray of loveliness, to go winding 
 its life-giving course afterwards as still waters in green pastures. 
 The force of the recoil from the plunge of so large a body 
 of water, at such a height, is so great, that large stones, thrown 
 into the stream above the fall, may be heard amidst the din strik- 
 ing into the basin, and then are instantly seen careering in the 
 arch of the flashing waters. The same is the case with bushes 
 and pieces of wood, which the boys are always active in throw. 
 ing in for the curiosity of visitors, who stand below, and see 
 each object invariably carried aloft with the cataract, in its re- 
 
CHAP. X.] CASCADE DES PELERINES. 65 
 
 bounding atmospheric gambols. When the suu is in the right 
 position, the rainbows play about the fall, like the glancing of 
 supernatural wings, as if angels were taking a shower-bath. 
 If you have " the head and the legs of a chamois," as my guide 
 said to me, you may climb entirely above this magnificent scene, 
 and look out over the cliff, right down into the point where the 
 cataract shoots like the lightning, to be again shot back in ten 
 thousand branching jets of diamonds. 
 
 If you take the trouble to explore these precipitous gorges 
 farther up the mountains, you will find other cataracts similar 
 to this, in the midst of such green Alpine herbage, such dark 
 overshadowing verdure, such wild sublimity of landscape, that 
 the pleasure of your discoveries amply repays the fatigue of 
 your excursions. Higher up, you are met by everlasting ice, 
 across which you may, if you choose, according to Professor 
 Forbes, make an unusual cut over into the Mer de Glace, and 
 the singular scenery of the Jardin. Nature hides her grandest 
 beauties, and 6f\en makes them almost inaccessible. Is it not 
 because, if they were thrown in our common way, and the view 
 of them to be gained at any time and without labor, their effect 
 would be lost upon us ? What is common is not appreciated, 
 oftentimes is not even noticed, just as the dwellers around a 
 great cataract never go to look at it, and become so accustomed 
 to its noise, that they do not even hear it. 
 
 Those who pursue the stream of truth to its sources have 
 much climbing to do, much fatigue to encounter, but they see 
 great sights. In order to live by the truth, to enjoy the verdure 
 with which it refreshes the valleys and plains, and to quench 
 our thirst at it, it is not necessary to pursue these higher, subtle 
 and difficult investigations and speculations, but to be content 
 and grateful with the life it ministers. For many drink of the 
 truth, who know not the depths from whence it springeth, nor 
 the heights, nor the fearful precipices, over which it has plunged 
 and thundered. Nevertheless a patient and deep-searching 
 Christian philosopher will find his reward, when, he follows the 
 stream upwards as well as downwards, among the mountains, 
 as well as in the vales. 
 
«6 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap, x 
 
 In my wanderings high up among the scenery above this 
 beautiful cascade, I became acquainted with a Swiss family, 
 whose kindly welcome, and frank, modest manners, were to me 
 like the music of their own wild waterfalls. The simple rural 
 beauty both of face and deportment, in the inmates of the cottage, 
 and their kindness of address and feeling, were as attractive as 
 they were unexpected. It was the highest of the summer pas- 
 turages in the neighborhood of the Glacier des Pelerines. A 
 peasant and his daughter were at work cutting their grass upon 
 the steep declivities, and after some little talk of inquiry and 
 answer he invited me into his mountain Chalet, which he pointed, 
 out to me a little distance below. It was the highest human 
 habitation on that side Mont Blanc, a cabin rudely but comfort- 
 ably constructed for the summer, for it would not be possible to 
 abide there in the winter, and used as a sort of mountain dairy 
 for the bestowment of the rich productions of their herds, tended 
 there in their mountain pasturages. I entered the cottage and 
 partook, with great relish, of a bowl of milk and black bread 
 set before me by the kind mother of the family. When I rose 
 to depart, on taking my purse to make some recompense for their 
 kindness, I found myself unexpectedly minus. Thereupon, it 
 being very questionable whether I could visit the mountain 
 family again, I entered into an agreement with a sweet little 
 girl, who had brought me a drink of cold water from the spring, 
 that she should pick me a basket of strawberries, and bring 
 them to me the next day at my hotel at Chamouny ; and so in 
 their debt, 1 bade them good bye. The next evening, as I was 
 sitting with some friends at tea, came in an enormous bowl of 
 the richest mountain strawberries. My maiden of the Chalet 
 had performed her promise. 
 
 I met them again several times upon the mountains, and en- 
 tered into another strawberry treaty with them, and they began 
 at length to view me quite as a brother. But after some con- 
 versation touching the essentials of piety and the tenets of the 
 Roman Catholic Church, it was very plain that the mother had 
 a serious suspicion of my soundness in the faith. I could not 
 make her understand what Protestantism was, or rather, finding 
 that she was perfectly unaware of there being any faith but her 
 
CHAP. X.] A SWISS FAMILY. 67 
 
 own, I endeavored simply to dwell upon the neces.sity of prayer 
 with the heart, and of Christ as the Saviour. She had at first 
 concluded that I and all my friends in America were Roman 
 Catholics like themselves, and she took a deeper interest in me 
 because, as she said, she had a son in America, and just so 
 it was with the sisters, on account of their brother. I being the 
 only American they had ever seen, they were perhaps delighted 
 to find that their beloved absent brother, so far away across the 
 ocean was not amidst savages. 
 
 I should like to look in upon the family to-day, and carry 
 them a Bible. All the religion in their prayer-books I greatly 
 fear is neutralized by Ave Marias, and absolutions. Between 
 the Virgin Mother in heaven and the Priest on earth, how is it 
 possible they should have any just ideas of faith in the One 
 great Mediator between God and Man. May God bless them, 
 and bring them in some way or another to the knowledge of the 
 truth in Jesus ! I could have emptied my knapsack of Bibles 
 forty times among the mountains, if I had had them ; and the 
 Bible would soon make Savoy as free as Geneva. 
 
 There was a time during the Middle Ages, when Chamouny 
 was inhabited by monks. The reigning Lord of the country 
 made a present of the whole valley to a convent of Benedictine 
 Friars, in the eleventh century. Two English travellers, Messrs. 
 Pococke and Windham, drew attention to its wonderful scenery 
 in 1741, and now it is a grand highway of summer travel, visited 
 annually by three or four thousand people. A visit to Mont 
 Blanc has become a pilgrimage of fashion. Fashion does some 
 good things in her day ; and it is a great thing to have the steps 
 of men directed into this grand temple of nature, who would other- 
 wise be dawdling the summer perhaps at immoral watering-places. 
 A man can hardly pass through the Vale of Chamouny, before 
 the awful face of Mont Blanc, and not feel that he is an immortal 
 being. The great mountain looks with an eye, and speaks with 
 a voice, that does something to wake the soul out of its slumbers. 
 
 The sublime hymn by Coleridge, in the Vale before sunrise, 
 is the concentrated expression of all the inspiring and heaven- 
 directing influences of the scenery. The poem is as remarkably 
 distinguished above the whole range of poetry in our language, 
 
68 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap. x. 
 
 for its sublimity, as the mountain itself among all the great 
 ranges of the Alps. I am determined to quote it in fiill, for that 
 and the Tour of Mont Blanc ought to go together ; and I will 
 present along with it the German original of the poem in twenty 
 lines, nearly as translated by Coleridge's admiring and affec- 
 tionate relative. I am not aware that Coleridge himself ever 
 visited the Vale of Chamouny ; arid if not, then that wonderful 
 Hymn to Mont Blanc was the work of imagination solely, 
 building on the basis of the original lines in German. This was 
 a grand and noble foundation, it is true ; but the Hymn by Col- 
 eridge was a perfect transfiguration of the piece, an inspiration 
 of it with a higher soul, and an investiture of it with garments 
 that shine like the sun. It was the greatest work of the Poet's 
 great and powerful imagination, combined with the deep wor- 
 shipping sense of spiritual things in his soul. 
 
 On visiting the scene, one is apt to feel as if he could not have 
 written it in the Vale itself j the details of the picture would 
 have been somewhat different ; and, confined by the reality, one 
 may doubt if even Coleridge's genius could have gained that lofty 
 ideal point of observation and conception, from which he drew 
 the vast and glorious imagery that rose before him. Not be- 
 cause the poem is more glorious than the reality, for that is impos- 
 sible ; but because, in painting from the reality, the- force and 
 sublimity of his general conceptions would have been weakened 
 by the attempt at faithfulness in the detail, and nothing like the 
 impression of the aerial grandeur of the scene, its despotic 
 unity in the imagination, notwithstanding its variety, would 
 have been conveyed to the mind. 
 
 Yet there are parts of it which at sunrise or sunset either, the 
 Poet might have written from the very windows of his bed-room, 
 if he had been there in the dawn and evenings of days of such 
 extraordinary brilliancy and glory, as marked and filled the 
 atmosphere, during our sojourn in that blessed region. A glo- 
 rious region it is, much nearer heaven than our common world, 
 and carrying a sensitive, rightly-constituted mind far up in spirit 
 towards the gates of heaven, towards God, whose glory is the 
 light of heaven, and of whose power and majesty the mountains, 
 ice-fields and glaciers, whether beneath the sun, moon, or star% 
 
CHAP. X.] HYMN FROM THE GERIJAN. 09 
 
 are a ^im, though . grand and glittering, symbol. " Fire and 
 hail, snow and vapor, stormy wihdj fulfilling His word, moun- 
 tains and all hills, fruitful trees and all cedars praise the Lord, 
 He Ippkefch on the earth and it trenjbleth j He tducheth the hills, 
 and they smoke." .1 . 
 
 The following is the original German hymn, in what the 
 translator denominates a very b^ald English translation, to be 
 compared as a curiosity with its glorification in Coleridge. It 
 occupies but five stanzas of , four lines, and is entitled "Cha- 
 mouny at Sunrise. To Klopstock." I have here put It into the 
 metrical form of the original : — 
 
 Out of the deep shade of the silent fir-grove. 
 Trembling I survey thee, mountain-Tiead of eternity. 
 Dazzling (blinding) summit, from whose vast height 
 My dimly-perceiving spirit floats into the Everlasting. 
 
 Who sank the pillar deep in tlie lap of earth 
 Which, for past dinturies, fast props thy mass up ? 
 Who uptoweredj'high in the vault of ether. 
 Mighty and bold, thy beaming countenance ? 
 
 Who poured you from on high, out pf eternal Winter's realm, 
 O jagged streams, downward with thunder-noise ,' 
 And who bade aloud, with the Almighty Voice, 
 " Here shall rest the stiffening billows .'" 
 
 t " ■ 
 
 Who marks out there the path for' the Morning Star ? 
 Who wreathes with blossoms the skirt of eternal Frost ? 
 To whom, wild Arveiroii, in terrible harmonies. 
 Rolls up the sound of thy tumult of billows .' 
 
 Jehovah ! Jehovah ! crashes in the bursting ice ! 
 Avalanche-thunders roll it in the clefl downward : 
 Jehovah ! it rustles; in the bright tree-tops ; 
 It whispers murmuring in the purling silver-brooks. 
 
 This is very grand. - Who, but a mighty: Poet, one seeing 
 with " the Vision and the Faculty divine," — what, but a trans- 
 fusing, all-conquering imagination, — would have dared the attempf 
 to compose another poem pn the same subject, or to carry this to 
 a greater height of sublimity, by melting it down anew, so to 
 speak, and pouring it out into a vaster, more glorious mould ? The 
 
70 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap, x 
 
 more one thinks of it, the more he will see, in the poem so pro- 
 duced, a proof most remarkable, of the spontaneous, deep-seated, 
 easily exerted, and almost exhaustless power and originality of 
 Coleridge's genius. Now let us peruse, " with mute thanks and 
 secret ecstacy," his own solemn and stupendous lines : — 
 
 HTMN BEFORE SUHRISE, Df THE VALE OF CHAMOUNT. 
 
 [Besiidps tfae rivers Arv6 and Arveiron, which have their sources in the foot of Mont 
 Blanc, five conspicuous torrents rush down Its sides ; and, within a few paces of the 
 glaciers, the Gentiana Mqjor grows la inmnense numbers, with its " flowers of 
 loveliest blue."] 
 
 Hast thou a charm to stay the Morning Star 
 In his steep course ? so long he seems to pause 
 On thy bald, awful head, Sovran Blanc ! 
 The Arve and Arveiron at thy base 
 Rave ceaselessly ; but thou, most awful form ! 
 Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines. 
 How silently ! Around thee and above. 
 Deep is the air, and dark, substantial, black ; 
 An ebon mass : methinks thou piercest it 
 As with a wedge ! But when I look again. 
 It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine. 
 Thy habitation from Eternity 1 
 
 dread and silent Mount ! I gazed upon thee. 
 Till thou, still present to the bodily sense. 
 
 Didst vanish ii-om my thought : entranced in prayer 
 
 1 worshipped the Invisible alone. 
 
 Yet, like some sweet, beguiling melody. 
 So sweet, we know not we are listening ts it. 
 Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my thought. 
 Yea, with my Life, and Life's own secret joy. 
 Till the dilating Soul, enrapt, transfused. 
 Into the mighty vision passing, — there. 
 As in her natural form, swelled vast to heaven ! 
 
 Awake my Soul ! not only passive praise 
 Thou owest ! not alone these swelling tears. 
 Mute thanks and secret ecstacy ! Awake, 
 Voice of sweet song ! Awake, my heart, awake ! 
 Green va .cs and icy clifls, all join my hymn. 
 
CHAP X.] HYMN BEFORE SUNRISE. 
 
 Thou first and chief, sole Sovereign of the Vale ! 
 0, struggling with the darkness all night long, 
 And aU night visited by troops of stars. 
 Or when they climb the sky, or when they sink; 
 Companion of the Morning Star at dawn. 
 Thyself earth's rosy star, and of the dawn 
 Coherald : wake, wake, and utter praise ! 
 Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth ? 
 Who filled thy countenance with rosy light ? 
 Who made thee Parent of perpetual streams ? 
 
 And you, ye five wild torrents, fiercely glad ! 
 Who called you forth from night and utter death. 
 From dark and icy caverns called you forth, 
 Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks. 
 Forever shattered, and the same forever ? 
 Who gave you your invulnerable life. 
 Your strength, your speed, your fury and your joy. 
 Unceasing thunder and eternal foam ? 
 And who commanded (and the silence came) 
 Here let the billows stiffen and have rest ? 
 
 Ye ice-falls ! ye that from the mountain's brow, 
 Adown enormous ravines slope amain — 
 Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty Voice, 
 And stopped at once, amidst their maddest plunge ! 
 Motionless torrents ! silent cjitaracts ! 
 Who made you glorious as tne Gates of Heaven 
 Beneath the keen full Moon ? Who bade the Sun 
 Clothe you with rainbows .' Who, with living flower» 
 Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feel .' 
 God ! let the torrents, like a shout of nations. 
 Answer ! and let the ice-plains echo, God ! 
 God ! sing, ye meadow-streams, with gladsome voice ! 
 Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds ! 
 And they, too, have a voice, you piles of snow. 
 And in Uieir perilous fall shall thunder, God ! 
 
 Ye living flowers, that skirt the eternal frost ! 
 Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest ! 
 Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain-storm ! 
 Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds ! 
 Ye signs and wonders of the elements ! 
 Utter forth God ! and fill the hills with praise ! 
 
» WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap, x 
 
 Thou,, too, hpai Mount, with, thy sky-pointing peakSi 
 Oft from wliQae feet, the Avalanche, unheard. 
 Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene 
 Into the depths of clouds, that veil thy breast, 
 ■ Thou too agaliuj stuppadous mountain! thou, 
 That as I raise my head, awliile bowed low 
 In adoration, upward from thy base , 
 Slow trarelliflg with dim eyes suffused with tears. 
 Solemnly aeemest, like a vapory cloud. 
 To rise before me,— Rise, ever .rise ! 
 Rise, like a cloud of incensej from the earth ! 
 Thou kingly spirit throned among the hills. 
 Thou dread Ambassador from Earth to Heaven, 
 Great Hierarch ! tell thou the silent sky. 
 And teU the stars, and tell yon rising sun. 
 Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God ! 
 
 Thanks to thee, thou noble Poet, for giving this glorious voice 
 to Alpine nature^for so befitting and not unworthy an interpre- 
 tation of nature's own voice, in words of our own iflother-tongue. 
 Thanks to God for his grace vouchsafed to thee, so that now 
 thou praisest Him amidst the infinite host of flaming seraphs, 
 before the mount supreme of glory, where all the empyrean rings 
 with angelic hallelujahs ! The creation of such a mind as 
 Coleridge's, is only' outdone by its redemption through the blood 
 of the Lamb. O, who can tell the rapture of a soul, that could 
 give a voice fof nations to such a mighty burst of praise to God 
 in this world, when its powers, uplifted in eternity, and dilated 
 with absorbingj'urimmgled, unutterable love, shall pour them- 
 selves forth in the Anthem of Redemption, Worthy is the Lamb 
 that was slain ! 
 
CHAP. XI.] PASS OF THE COL DE BALME. 13 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 Mont Blanc from the Col de Balme. 
 
 Before setting out on our pilgrimage around Mont Blanc by the 
 passage of the T6te Noir, I must give you the notes of my ex- 
 perience in the parallel pass of the Gol de. Balme. Travellers 
 sometimes take one of these passes, and sometimes the other, on 
 their way into Italy by the Simplon or across the Grand St. 
 Bernard ; but a lover of Switzerland will wish to see both. 
 The first I visited during a very magnificent fortnight in Octo- 
 ber. From the sublime wonders of the Mer de Glace, we pro- 
 ceeded down the valley of Chamouny, and arrived at Argenti- 
 ere. a miserable hamlet at the foot of the glacier of the same 
 name, in the evening of October 8th. We slept at a very dirty 
 inn, in a very dirty room, rolled up in dingy blankets, after a 
 very meagre supper upon hard black bread for the main in- 
 gredient. By reason of the memory of this supper, in the 
 natural conclusion that a breakfast in the same spot would be 
 of the same general character, we left the Auberge in the 
 morning as soon as we got out of our blankets, at half past five, 
 while it was yet dark, in order to reach the resting place on 
 the summit of the mountain at an early hour. 
 
 The Col de Balme is about seven thousand feet high, and 
 lyin" as it does across the vale of Chamouny at the end towards 
 Martigny and the valley of the Rhone, through which runs the 
 grand route of the Simplon from Switzerland to Italy, you have 
 from it one of the most perfect of all views both of Mont Blanc 
 and the vale of Chamouny, with all the other mountain ridges 
 on every side. You have, as it were, an observatory erected 
 for you, 7,000 feet high, to look at a mountain of 16,000. 
 
 There is a solitary Chalet, or traveller's Refuge, on the sum- 
 mit of the Col, which is kept as an inn during the travelling 
 
n WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap. xi. 
 
 season, the only habitation beyond the hamlet of Argentiere. 
 When men upon the^ mountains reject a poor breakfast in the 
 hope of getting a good one, they should take all things into con- 
 sideration, for they may easily go farther and fare worse. That 
 day was the last of the keeper's staying in the Chalet during 
 that autumn. The season^ wa|9 oyer, apd he was moving down 
 into the more habitable world, "so ihat one day later, in our anxi- 
 ety for a good breakfast^ we should nearly ha,ye perished, hav- 
 ing found the house empty. We reached it after a sharp frosty 
 walk of nearly three hou^s. 
 
 Every man ought to endeavor to shield others - from ; the. evils 
 he has experienced himself. A truly benevolent ma„n will 
 always do this, and a traveller, who will not warn others of perils 
 which he has himself encountered, is like one going through a 
 thick, wood, and letting the branches fly back in the face of those 
 that follow him. I do therefore cut off this branch, and say, 
 Let no traveller ever attempt upon an empty stomach such a 
 walk as we took that morning ; indeed, men in general are not 
 so simple as to do any suoh thing. ; 
 
 Till we arrived within a quarter of an hour of the summit, 
 the atmosphere was clear, and Mont Blanc rose to the view with 
 a sublimity, which it seemed at every step could scarcely be 
 rivalled, and which yet at every step was increasingj^ The path 
 is a winding ascent, practicable only for mules or on foot. A 
 North-East wind, in this last quarter of an hour, was driving 
 the immensity of mist from the other side of the mountain oyer . 
 the summit, enveloping all creation in a thiclc. frosty fog, so that 
 when we got to the solitary, house, wfi were surrounded by an 
 ocean of cold gray cloud, that, left, neither mountain nor the sun 
 itself distinguishable. , And such, thought we, is the end of all 
 our morning's starvation, perils, and labors ; nqt: to see an inchi 
 before us j all this mighty prospect, fqr which alonp one might 
 worthily cross the Atlantic, hidden from us, apd quite sjiut out! 
 We could have wept perhapsy if we had' not been top colc|j.,and 
 too hungry. Our host burnisd up the remf^inder of his year's 
 supply of wood, to get us a fire, and then most hospitably pro- 
 vided us with a breakfast of roast, potatoes, whereby all imme- 
 diate danger of famishing was deferred to a considerable distance. 
 
iHAP XI.] PASS OF THE COL DE BALME. 79 
 
 But our bitter disappointment in the fog was hard to be borne, 
 and we sat brooding and mourning over the gloomy prospect for 
 the day, and wondering what we had best do with ourselves', 
 when suddenly, on turning towards the window, Mont Blanc was 
 flashing in the sunshine. 
 
 Such an instantaneous and extraordinary revelatipn of splen- 
 dor, we never dreamed of. The clouds had vanished, we could 
 not tell where, and the whole illimitable vast of glory in this, 
 the heart of Switzerland's Alpine grandeurs, was disclosed ; the 
 snowy Monarch of Mountains, the huge glaciers, the jagged 
 granite peaks, needles, and rough enormous crags and ridges 
 congregated and shooting up in every direction, with the long 
 beautiful Vale of Chamouny visible from end to end, far beneath 
 us, as still and shining as a picture ! Just over the longitudinal 
 ridge of mountains on one side was the moon in an infinite 
 depth of ether ; it seemed as if we could touch it ; and on the 
 other the sun was exulting as a bridegroom coming out of his 
 chamber. The clouds still sweeping past us, now -concealing, 
 now partially veiling, and now revealing the view, added to its 
 power by such sudden alternations. 
 
 Far down the vale floated in mid air beneath us a few fleeces 
 of cloud, below and beyond which lay the valley, with its villa- 
 ges, meadows, and winding paths, and the river running through 
 it like a silver thread. Shortly the mists congregated away be- 
 yond this scene, rolling masses upon masses, penetrated and 
 turned into fleecy silver by the sunlight, the whole body of them 
 gradually retreating over the southwestern end and barrier of 
 the valley. In our position we now saw the difl'erent gorges in 
 the chain of Mont Blanc lengthwise, Charmontiere, Du Bois, 
 and the Glacier du Bosson protruding its whole enorme from the 
 valley. The grand Mulet, with the vast snow-depths and cre- 
 vasses of Mont Blanc were revealed to us. That sublime sum- 
 mit was now for the first time seen ij) its solitary superiority, at 
 first appearing round and smooth, white and glittering with per- 
 petual snoW, but as the sun in his higher path cast shadows 
 from summit to summit, and revealed ledges and chasms, we 
 could see the smoothness broken. Mont Blanc is on the right 
 of the valley looking up from the Col de Balme ; the left range 
 
W WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap, xi 
 
 being much lower, though the summit of the Buet is near 10,000 
 feet in height. Now on the Col de Balme we are midway in 
 these sublime views, on an elevation of 7,000 feet, without an 
 intervening barrier of any kind to interrupt our sight. 
 
 On the Col itself we are between two loftier heights, both of 
 which I ascended, one of them being a ridge so sharp and steep, 
 that though I got up without much danger, yet on turning to 
 look about me, and come down, it was absolutely frightful. A 
 step either side would have sent me sheer down a thousand feet ; 
 and the crags by which I had mounted appeared so loosely 
 perched, as if I could shake and tumble them from their places 
 by my hand. The view in every direction seemed infinitely ex- 
 tended, chain behind chain, ridge after ridge, in almost endless 
 succession. 
 
 But the hour of most intense splendor in this day of glory, 
 was the rising of the clouds in Chamouny, as we could discern 
 them like stripes of amber floating in an azure sea. They rested 
 upon, and floated over, the successive glacier gorges of the 
 mountain range on either hand, like so many islands of the blest, 
 anchored in mid heaven below us ; or like so many radiant 
 files of the white-robed heavenly host floating transversely 
 across the valley. This extended through its whole length, and 
 it was a most singular phenomenon ; for through these ridges 
 of cloud we could look as through a telescope, down into the 
 vale, andwilong to its farther end ; but the intensity of the light 
 flashing from the snows of the mountains, and reflected in these 
 fleecy radiances, almost as so many secondary suns, hung in the 
 clear atmosphere, was well nigh blinding. 
 
 The scene seemed to me a fit symbol of celestial glories ; and 
 I thought, if a vision of such intense splendor could be arrayed 
 by the divine power out of mere earth, air, and water, and made 
 to assume such beauty indescribable at a breath of the wind, 
 a movement of the sun, a slight change in the elements, what 
 mind could even dimly and distantly form to itself i conception 
 of the splendors of the world of heavenly glory. 
 
 And if it sometimes blinds us to look even at earthly glories 
 steadily, what training and purifying of the soul must it require 
 to look at God and his glory ! I love the spirit of the Poet Cow- 
 
CHAP. XI.] GRACE AND NATURE. 77 
 
 per in his communion with nature ; so heartfelt, so simple, so 
 truly Christian. It is the spirit not of mere sentimentalism, nor 
 merely a refined taste, nor of a powerful imagination only, nor 
 merely of tender and elevated thought, of which you may find 
 so much in the pages of Wordsworth, but of pure, heartfelt de- 
 votion, of sincere and humble piety, bringing you directly to 
 God. 
 
 " These are thy glorious works, thou source of good, 
 How dimly seen, how faintly understood ! 
 Thine, and upheld by thy paternal care, 
 This universal frame, thus wondrous fair." 
 
 Alas ! how many are the persons who love to look at nature, but 
 do not love to look at nature's God. This is the case certainly 
 with many of those \^ho travel in Switzerland. Indeed it is the 
 case with every man naturally, for this is natural religion. 
 
 " The landscape has his praise. 
 But not its Author. Unconcerned who formed 
 The Paradise he sees, he finds it such. 
 And such well pleased to find it, asks no more." 
 
 And yet, there could not be a discipline better fitted to lead the 
 heart to God, as well as to invigorate the mind, and inspire it 
 with new and elevated views of the Divine Glory, than the disci 
 pline of travel among the regions of the Alps. The atmosphere 
 is as bracing to the mind, as it is to the body ; and these stu- 
 pendous scenes are as good for the heart as they are for the 
 mind, if they be but rightly studied. But it is not mere taste 
 that will sanctify them. Mere cultivated taste is a cold com- 
 mentator on the works of nature ; as unfit for such an office, as 
 mere learning without* piety for the -office of a teacher of the 
 Word of God. There are two books of God, two revelations ; 
 they are both open before us, God's word on the one side, and 
 sun, moon, and stars, seas, vales and mountains throughout the. 
 year, with our own mortal and immortal frame, so fearfully and 
 wonderfully made, on the other. 
 
 Now, whoever loves to read one of these books, because God 
 made it, m ill love to read the other, and find God in it. But this 
 
78 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap. xi. 
 
 is the teaching of Grace, not Nature. Nature may teach men 
 to be astronomers, threading the spheres, and viewing their sta- 
 tions, surveying the stars, as if among them they designed to 
 make a purchase. Nature may teach men to be subtle chem- 
 ists, poring among the principles of things, and following the 
 traces of death, and the laws of matter. But nature alone 
 brings not man to God ; " the homely nurse doth all she can," 
 but she cannot make her foster-child love her Creator ! 
 
 " What hath not man sought out and found. 
 But his dear God ? who yet his glorious law 
 Embosoms in us, mellowing all the ground 
 
 With showers and frosts, with love and awe ; 
 So that we need not say, where's this command ? 
 
 Poor man ! thou searchest round 
 To find out Death, but missest Life at banc !" 
 
 Gbosge Herbest 
 
CHAP. XII.] THE TOUR OF MONT BLANC. 79 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Starting for the Tour around Mont Blanc. 
 
 When you hear the guides speak of making the Tour of Mont 
 Blanc, you are apt to think of a pleasant circle at the hase of 
 the mountain, where, without much terror of its storms, or down- 
 rushing armies of glaciers and avalanches, you can always keep 
 it in sight, and tread softly as in the Vale of Chamouny. This 
 is a great mistake ; for the Tour of Mont Blanc takes you across 
 the Great St. Bernard, up the Val d'Aoste, through the Allee 
 Blanche, across the Col de la Seigne, over the Col de Bonhomme, 
 and so on by St. Gervais, a route in great part on the uninhab- 
 itable extreme verge of nature's life — wild, awfully sublime, 
 and often dangerous and utterly impracticable. It is a circle of 
 four or five days, or, if you please, a week, provided you have 
 pleasant weather ; if not, you may be obliged to return by the 
 way you came, leaving the untrampled glaciers for the excur- 
 sions of your imagination. You may have the great view of 
 Mont Blanc from the Val d'Aoste, without tempting the weather, 
 or braving the perils of the high passes; and, if you choose, can 
 stop at Courmayeur : but you will not have made the Tour of 
 the Mountain, nor seen the stupendous up-coiling piles of glaciers, 
 nor the white cataracts roaring down among them, nor the shat- 
 tered chaos of enormous rock.fragments, as if a granite world 
 had exploded. It is, without any exaggeration, one of the grand- 
 est excursions in Switzerland ; and, through the Val d'Aoste, 
 one of the loveliest. 
 
 It was my first pedestrian tour alone ; — it required not a little 
 courage and perseverancer to set out and continue going. I 
 experienced a feeling of my dependence on God, and of His 
 care as my only friend and protector, such as I have rarely had. 
 Never, even in preparing to cross the Atlantic, did I feel this 
 
60 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap. xn. 
 
 more deeply. This sentiment was heightened by my havirg to 
 leave my luggage in the care of the Iceeper of the hotel, with 
 directions, in case of any accident, or if he did not hear from 
 me by a certain time, to send my effects to the care of Dr. 
 Malan at Geneva. This was somewhat lik^ making a will 
 before a long journey. My feelings were caused principally by 
 my being alone, in a strange country, far from relatives and 
 friends, unknown. How much these circumstances heighten our 
 sense of being on a pilgrimage here below ! Pilgrims, pilgrims, 
 pilgrims ; such we are : but, in the midst of society, with a 
 thousand ties to bind us, and a thousand props to support us, and 
 many dear friends, relatives, and companions with us, we do not 
 daily feel it, daily realize it. Now I felt that I was a Pilgrim in 
 more senses than one, and to be alone, where danger waits upon 
 you, or when you think it does, is to be brought very near to God. 
 It is good to be among the mountains, alone — ^good, both for the 
 mind and the heart. Not that a man is nearer to heaven, in place, 
 upon the mountain tops, than at his own fire-side, though nearer 
 the blue sky and the stars. It makes one think of Milton : 
 
 He that hath light within his own clear breast. 
 May sit i' the centre, and enjoy the day. 
 But he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts. 
 Benighted walks under the midday sun ; 
 Himself is his own dungeon." 
 
 Just so, he that hath the spirit of heaven within him, walks upon 
 the Delectable Mountains, though be be working in a coal-mine, 
 or following the plough afield in a rainy day ; while he with the 
 spirit of earth hath his soul chained in Plato's Cave, though his 
 feet be treading the heights of Monte Rosa in tl e sunrise. We 
 must be above the world, while in the world, or we shall not be 
 above it, when out of it. 
 
 But it is not without a purpose that we are told in the Scrip- 
 tures of our blessed Lord's love of the mountains and of solitude. 
 He went apart into a mountain, to pray ; he withdrew himself 
 into a desert place, and there prayed ; he went out into the wil. 
 demess, and prayed ; he went up into a mountain to pray, and 
 continued all night in prayer to God j he went up into a moun. 
 
S.HAP. xii.j THE SOLITUDE OF MOUNTAINS. 81 
 
 tain to pray, when he wa.^ transfigured, and on the mountain his 
 disciples saw his glory. When the soul is fitted for it, there is a 
 natural connection between the mountain-tops and prayer, and 
 spiritual glory. It was not as a monk, not as quitting the world, 
 that our Saviour frequented the mountains, but to fit himself the 
 better to endure the world's atmosphere, and fulfil his life of 
 sufifering love to its inhabitants. 
 
 I would not counsel a man to make the tour of Switzerland 
 alone; it is better to have a friend ; but sometimes it is good, 
 both for the mind and heart, to be for days upon the mountains, 
 alone. Nevertheless, when you get a little accustomed to it, it 
 needs much watchfulness and some efibrt, even there, not to 
 forget God. A scene of overwhelming sublimity lifts the mind 
 and heart directly to him, but you want to be musingof him, not 
 merely when the mountains make you think of him, when, with 
 a silent but irresistible voice of power and glory they say to you, 
 God ! but also amidst more humble scenes — in the valleys, with 
 the flowers, by the brooks, beneath the trees, or where, upon the 
 dusty highway, your mind turns in upon itself. 
 
 Not having been prepared for this journey when I left Geneva, 
 I was forced to borrow a military knapsack from my former 
 guide, in which I could put a few articles of clothing and toilette 
 sufficient for my tour, and carry it with ease upon my shoulders. 
 I queried much whether I should take a cloak, but the weather 
 was fine, and would likely be so warm the other side of the" 
 mountains, that it would only prove burdensome ; besides, it 
 weighed almost a ton. I determined to leave it, and to take only 
 an umbrella. So, with a long Alpen-stock shod with iron, my 
 knapsack on my shoulders, and a little edition of Paul's Epistle 
 to the Romans in my waistcoat-pocket, I started off, feeling, after I 
 had got fairly started, very independent. I went by the Tete Noire 
 After an hour or so, finding my knapsack very heavy, I got a lad 
 by the wayside to carry it for me for a season, a thing which a 
 pedestrian may always do without diminishing his self-compla- 
 cency as to his own powers of endurance, or comprontiising his 
 dignity, or suspecting himself of laziness; and, certainly, until 
 he gets accustomed to his load, it is a great relief to borrow 
 another pair of shoulders. 
 
«a WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chaf. x:i 
 
 There is one good thing in carrying your own knapsack; 
 when you throw it off at evening, you feel so light from the 
 relief, that your other fatigues are quite forgotten ; you could 
 almost set out for another day's walk. It seems as though some 
 heavenly power had put wings to your shoulders. I do not 
 expect, by this argument, to persuade any man to walk all day 
 with a weary fardel on his back ; it would be something like 
 getting sick, in order to^ enjoy the pleasure of convalescence ; 
 but certainly, if one feels compelled to walk under a burden, 
 what I have mentioned is some consolation and encouragement. 
 Just so, it may be, that those who have the heaviest burdens to 
 bear through life, will be the lighter for them when they lay 
 them down at evening in the grave. Certainly they will, if the 
 burdens were borne for ChrJst, if they came upon the shoulders 
 in his service, or if they were carried in sweet cheerful submis- 
 sion to him, because he laid them there. Men will be lighter 
 and brighter, for all such burdens, for ever and ever ; lighter 
 and brighter in their path of glory and happiness through eter- 
 nity, than those, whose knapsack of evils was borne for them by 
 others, or who had none to bear for Christ. Yes, burthened pil- 
 grim, this ligM affliction worketh an exceeding and eternal weight 
 of glory. 
 
 But there is another kind of burden ; happy indeed should 
 we all be, if we could get rid of it, both now and for ever. This 
 ^oad on one's back makes the lonely traveller think of Bunyan's 
 Pilgrim from the city of Destruction ; but here among the 
 mountains the pedestrian is very different from the Pilgrim to- 
 wards Zion ; for the spiritual traveller cannot get another person, 
 whether man or boy, to carry his load of sins for him ; he must 
 bear his burden himself, till he comes to the cross, and there is 
 but one Being who can take it off for him, but One, who has 
 power or love enough to bear it for him. Even if other men 
 could bear our spiritual burdens, they would not be loving enough 
 to do it. There is indeed a system in the world, that pretends 
 to take off this load, that has its sin-porters, if I may so call 
 them, in its priests, who will both take the responsibility of a 
 man's conscience, and remove the burden of sin whenever it 
 presses ; but for all this, the burdei) is worse in the end- It is 
 
3HAP. XII.] GREAT-COATS IN THE lETE NOIRE. 83 
 
 infinitely better to bear it and to feel it, until Christ takes it off, 
 than to be insensible to it, or go to false means to get rid of it. 
 
 I had not been travelling more than two hours, when the 
 clouds" began to roll down the valley of Chamouny behind me, 
 threatening a rainy day. The Valorsine, with its green slopes 
 and clustered chalets, opened upon me. As I passed through 
 the village, it began to rain, but I raised my umbrella, and 
 trudged on. It rained harder, and grew dark and chilly. And 
 now 1 began to think myself very imprudent for leaving my 
 pilot-coat behind me, and even to question whether it were not 
 wrong for an invalid to undertake at all a pedestrian tour in this 
 manner, and indeed, would it not be best to go back to Chamouny 
 at once, and take a different mode of travelling ? But no, 
 thought I, I will, at least, get to the Tete Noire, even in the rain, 
 and there we can determine. But I was getting wet, and the 
 prospect was quite desolate. One or two groups of travellers 
 passed me in the way to Chamouny j they would get speedily to 
 comfortable quarters. 
 
 Now I met a peasant going home from the fields on account 
 of the weather. You '11 get very wet, said he, but if you '11 
 turn back with me a little way, I have a good cloak that I will 
 lend you, and will, if you wish, carry your knapsack for you, 
 even to Martigny, where we can easily arrive by the evening. 
 I turned back with him at once, to see at least what his carrique, 
 as he called it, should be, and found that he had got really a 
 magnificent great-coat of drab broadcloth, with near twenty 
 capes, which would shield me effectually from the rain, and 
 carry me dry and warm at least through the Tete Noire. He 
 had a far more precious treasure in a sweet little daughter wait- 
 ing for him in the rude house to which he carried me, where I 
 sat down amidst a profusion of rakes, ploughs, grindstones, and 
 rural implements unknown, that would have done honor to a 
 New-England farm-house, while the peasant disappeared in a 
 sort of hayloft above, to put on his "go-to-meeting clothes," for 
 the voyage to Martigny. Meanwhile I arrayed myself in the 
 carrique, and we set out. He told me he bought the coat at Paris 
 for only thirty-five francs ; and in all likelihood he would get 
 the value of it again and again by thus lending it to storm-beaten 
 
84 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap. xn. 
 
 travellers. Now I began to take back what I had said to myself 
 about imprudence. If I can borrow a cloak in the Tete Noire, 
 thought I to myself, so I can on the Grand St. Bernard, and 
 elsewhere, if need be. What happens one day may happen the 
 next. AUons ! we '11 not turn back to Chamouny yet. 
 
 " Some few that I have known in days of old, 
 Would run most dreadful risk of catchfng cold ; 
 While you, my friend, whatever wind should blow. 
 Might travel Alpland safely to and fro. 
 An honest man, close buttoned to the chin. 
 Broadcloth without, and a warm heart within." 
 
CHAi- xni] CASCADE BARBERINA. 89 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Cascade Barberina and Pass of the Tete Noire. 
 
 My peasant guide was very reasonable in his demands, and ex- 
 ceedingly kind and communicative. He carried me by a side 
 path to a scene of great beauty and grandeur, which travellers 
 often miss seeing, because it is off the grand route and difficult 
 to find, arid many of the guides either do not know it, or do not 
 wish to take the additional trouble of getting to it. This was 
 the Cascade Barberina, one of the grandest waterfalls in Swit- 
 zerland. The torrent of water comes down from the glaciers 
 of the Buet, and makes a sudden and most terrific plunge sheer 
 over the precipice into a black jagged mountain gorge, which 
 the ancients would have celebrated as one of the mouths of hell, 
 with a mighty roar and crash that is almost stunning. On this 
 side you stand upon a green knoll, a little grassy mountain, of 
 which the verdure is perpetually wetted by the spray, and hold- 
 ing on by your staff firmly thrust into the ground, or by a tree 
 on the borders of the gorge, you may look down into the roaring 
 depths, see the cataract strike, and admire the conflict of the 
 waters. The accompaniments are very grand ; hanging masses 
 of verdant forest on either side, but above, enormous, snow- 
 covered mountains, out of which, from the mouth of a craggy 
 gorge bursts at once upon you the raging torrent. In a sunny 
 day you would have rainbows arching the torn rocks, glittering Iq 
 the spray, and dancing over the impearled grass where you are 
 standing But even amidst the rain, as I was, in my drab great- 
 scat, it was a scene of great sublimity. 
 
 Coming to it, my guide carried me along the side of a moun- 
 tain across the path of a tourmente, or mountain whirlwind, the 
 marks of which, in themselves alone, are worth going far to see. 
 A circuitous belt of the largest trees amidst the pine and fir 
 
WS WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap. iiii. 
 
 forest that clothes the mountain, are stripped of branches, ver- 
 dure, and sometimes bark, as if scathed by lightning, while 
 others are broken and twisted, as you might twist a willow sap- 
 ling. The fury of these tourmenies is inconceivable ; a trav- 
 eller overtaken by one of them would inevitably be lost ; they 
 would almost tear the crags themselves from the mountains. A 
 similar scene is presented in the valley up which you pass from 
 Chamouny ta see the Cascade des Pelerines, marking in this case 
 the passage of an avalanche, of which the wind produced by its 
 swift flight has swept, torn, and broken a thousand trees in the 
 same manner. At first you can hardly credit it, but you are 
 convinced that it was the wind, and not the waves of the ava- 
 lanche, by seeing some trees broken short off, half way down, as 
 if the storm-angel had twisted and snapped them asunder with 
 careful hands, close beside other trees prostrated and stripped, 
 and others still standing. The traveller gazes upon these mute 
 spectacles, mute, but fiercely eloquent, with deep interest. 
 
 From the Cascade Barberina, we regained, by a romantic 
 path, the grand route, which we could see far beneath us. 1 
 was hungry and tired, and it was high time to be so. My guide 
 carried me into a mountain chalet, incomparably ruder than his 
 own, built in the conical shape of a tent, with a hole at the top, 
 so that the smoke might escape without the trouble of a chimney. 
 As I stood to dry my clothes at the verge of the circle of stones 
 where the fire was kindled, the rain came down upon me from 
 the aperture above, demonstrating the comfort of the arrange- 
 ments. The wigwam was inhabited by a very large family, and 
 they talked in their native patois, of which I could not under- 
 stand a syllable. They set before me a bowl of boiled milk, 
 with black bread so hard, that one of its large round loaves 
 might have served Achilles for an embossed shield, or Ajax to 
 play at quoits with. Neither had it the property of sweetness 
 any more than of soilness, but it is wholesome, and would keep 
 for ages. 
 
 As we passed on from thence, we could discern a solitary um- 
 brella at the bottom of the valley, with a traveller beneath it ; my 
 peasant told me it was the curate of the parish. If he was visit- 
 ing his people on tliat rainy day, I am sure he deserved credit, 
 
CHAP, xni.] PASS OF THE fETE NOIRE 87 
 
 though if I could travel for health and pleasure, it was quite 
 obvious that he might likewise, to do good. We were now en- 
 tered upon the savage grandeur of the pass of the Tete Noire. 
 
 There is a combination of grand and beautiful elements in 
 this pass, which it is very difficult to array in language, and the 
 painter can transfer to his canvas only little by little the won- 
 ders of the scene. Abrupt precipices, frowning at each other 
 across the way like black thunder clouds about to meet ; enor- 
 mous crags overhanging you so far, that you tremble to pass 
 under them ; savage cliffs looking down upon you and watching 
 you on the other side, as if waiting to see the mountain fall upon 
 you ; a torrent thundering Ifeneath you ; masses of the richest 
 verdure flung in wild drapery over the whole gorge ; galleries 
 hewn in the rock, by which you pass the angular perpendicular 
 olifTs as in rocky hammocks swung in the air ; villages suspended 
 above you, and looking sometimes as if floating in the clouds ; 
 snowy mountain ridges far above these ; clusters of chalets almost 
 as far below you, with the tinkling of bells, the hum of voices, 
 and the roar of the torrent fitfully sweeping up to you on the wind ; 
 these are the combinations presented to you in the Tete Noire. 
 
 It is a concentration and jepetition in miniature of some of 
 the grand features of the Simplon, but at the same time rich 
 and beautiful beyond description. I enjoyed this passage much, 
 although in the rain ; and when I got to the solitary Auberge in 
 the midst of all this grandeur, I resolved to go no farther, but to 
 wait one night at least for fair weather. A party of English 
 ladies with one gentleman passed me just then. I told him I 
 did not like to leave such scenery, without beholding it by sun- 
 light. You are right, said he, to wait, being alone, but we must 
 move on. Poor man ! It was but too evident that he envied me 
 my loneliness and independence. Just at this moment he could 
 not well do otiierwise ; indeed, there is a comfort in being alone, 
 sometimes ; I certainly congratulated myself that I was not in 
 the place of that gentleman, to go dripping behind the ladies in 
 such a forlorn mist, through some of the finest scenery in the 
 world. Had there been ladies in my case, we too should have 
 had to move on, so there may possibly sometimes be something 
 gained by being a single man. For, if I had been double cr 
 
88 WANDERINGS OK A PILGRIM. [chap, xin 
 
 triple, the triplicity could hardly have been accommodated, or 
 would have thought it necessary, as this English party did, to 
 go farther, and perhaps fare vi^orse. So on they went, through 
 the mist and rain, doubting whether to admire the scenery, or 
 to regret that they could not see it i while for me the good people 
 at the A uberge kindled a fire, prepared me a comfortable, supper 
 with plenty of strawberries and cream, and gave me a comforta- 
 ble bed. In strawberry and cream time, a traveller fares grandly 
 in Switzerland, and I managed to bear the disappointment of a 
 stormy evening with much more equanimity, than if I had been 
 clambering the precipices on the way to Martigny. 
 
 The snow fell upon the mountains during the night, and the 
 next day it was fine weather, the air as clear as crystal, and the 
 sun shining as if just created. Sudden and beautiful was the 
 revelation of the mountains, hidden in mist the evening before, 
 now glittering far down even to the fields of summer verdure, 
 in theii robe of new fallen snow, and far up into the heavens, 
 with their crown of glaciers. The pass of the Tete Noire now 
 changes its direction into the valley of Trient, at the foot of the 
 Forclaz and the Col de Balme. From the Auberge in the Tete 
 Noire to the Forclaz it was about two hours, a constant scene of 
 grandeur and picturesqueness. Ascending to the Forclaz, the 
 pinnacles, from one of which a most unfortunate young German 
 traveller a few years ago fell and lost his life, are directly be- 
 fore you, the hamlets and valley of Trient are beneath' your 
 feet ; but a step or two onward carries you to a point, where, on 
 the other side, one of the most extensive and beautiful views in 
 Switzerland is instantaneously revealed. This is Martigny and 
 the great valley of the Rhone, shut in by two mighty mountain 
 ranges, and visible for many leagues up the Simplon without in- 
 terruption or obstruction to your view. As you descend towards 
 Martigny, the view becomes richer and more distinct, without 
 losing any of its vastness. 
 
 Just before reaching the valley, I turned ofi" into a village 
 path, which the peasants pointed out to me, crossing a most lux- 
 uriant and lovely ravine with pleasant embowered cottages, and 
 joining the route to the Grand St. Bernard a short distance up 
 the valley of the Drance ; by which cross-cut I both enjoyed a 
 
CHAP, xm.] ROUTE OF THE GRAND ST. BERNARD. 89 
 
 more romantic, unfrequented way, and avoided the necessity 
 of travelling down to Martigny, gaining some miles besides. 
 An admirable road runs up this valley, following the course of 
 one of the most furious torrents of the Alps. The villages which 
 you pass through are, I think, much better looking in general 
 than those in the valley of the Rhone. I had made this remark, 
 without being aware under what government they were subject ; 
 not knowing that I had gone from one state into another. Sup- 
 posing that I was still in the dominions of the King of Sardinia, 
 I asked a peasant, who was carrying my knapsack for an hour 
 or two, if he were not a subject of that monarch, but he did not 
 even let me get through with the question, so great was his scorn 
 at the idea. " O no," exclaimed he, " Liberty ! Liberty ! We 
 are of Suisse !" To be the subject of a King, and especially the 
 King of Sardinia, seemed to him equivalent to the want of lib- 
 erty, if not to Slavery. 
 
 The carriage road over the Grand St. Bernard stops at a place 
 called Liddes, from whence, or from St. Pierre, about three miles 
 further, mules are usually taken. A little beyond St. Pierre is 
 the boundary of the Papal states, and about two hours further 
 you reach the Cantine, or Auberge, the last habitable spot in a 
 most desolate defile, utterly bare of trees and shrubs, gloomy 
 and wild, just where the steep ascent of the Grand St. Bernard 
 commences. I had intended getting to the Hospice that night, 
 but it was altogether too late, even if I had had a guide ; with- 
 out a guide it would have been rashness and folly to have at- 
 tempted it. They gave me, at this wild spot, a good supper, an 
 excellent bed, and a good breakfast, and were very moderate in 
 their charges. The day had been a fatiguing one, though 
 crowded with scenes of grandeur and beauty from morning till 
 night, and closed with a sunset of such exquisite loveliness, such 
 richness and magnificence, as it is very rare to witness. No 
 language can describe the beauty of the outlines and slopes of 
 the mountains in the setting sun, nor the splendor of the distant 
 snow-covered ranges and summits. I could have stood for hours 
 to watch them, and a great enjoyment it is to have them always 
 before you, to mark their changes as you travel, and to take in 
 leisurely every feature of beauty in the region you are cross- 
 
to WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chai-. xm, 
 
 ing. 1 had passed to-day from the extreme of luxuriance and 
 richness in nature, to that of desolation and wild sublimity. 
 The beauty of the landscape at Orsieres deserves many words, 
 if they could paint it, and the extraordinary richness of cultiva- 
 tion far up the mountain sides, sometimes to their very summits, 
 makes them so lovely, that the eye is never satisfied with gazing. 
 And. often there are villages and clustered chalets so lofly, that 
 you wonder«if the airy inhabitants ever have any communication 
 with the world below. 
 
XIV.] PASS OF THE GRAND ST. BERNARD. 91 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Pass of the Grand St. Bernard. 
 
 In the year 1800 Napoleon crossed the Grand St- Bernard with 
 his army, dragging their artillery ; and a fearful task they must 
 have had of it in the month of May, especially through the 
 forest and over the frightful precipices of St. Pierre. They un- 
 locked the cannon from their stocks, put them in the hollow 
 trunks of trees, and then one-half the battalions dragged them 
 up the mountain, while the other half carried the arms and 
 accoutrements of their comrades, with stores of provisions for 
 five days. The road at this day scales the face of the deep 
 ravine over the Drance, having been cut boldly out of the per- 
 pendicular rock, wide enough for a carriage ; so that a man 
 passing now so easily can scarcely conceive the difficulties with 
 which Napoleon had to contend is scaling the precipices. For 
 some distance up from St. Pierre, the road lies through the 
 fir forest, where Napoleon came so near losing his life by slip- 
 ping from his mule on the verge of the tremendous precipice. 
 Perhaps he was dreaming of the battle of Marengo, but he was 
 saved from falling over into the gulf only by his guide, who 
 caught him by the coat, and thus preserved him. The guide was 
 rewarded with a thousand francs ; and it would not have been 
 amiss if the tailor, who made the consular coat, had been pen- 
 sioned likewise, for if that had given way, the French would 
 never have had an Emperor. The mountains here on both sides 
 are hung with verdure, but this speedily ceases — the larches and 
 the pines become stunted, and at length disappear, leaving no- 
 thing but a covering of mosses and patches of grass, and at last 
 the bare grey crags, declivities and pinnacles of rock, or mounts 
 of snow. You pass through difficult, rugged defiles, and across 
 rich mountain pasturages, watered by streams from the glaciers, 
 which shoot their steep Icy masses down into contact with the 
 verdure on the plains. 
 
W WANDERINGS OF A PILGRiM. [chai xiv 
 
 My next morning's walk of about three hours brought ire to the 
 celebrated Hospice of the Grand St. Bernard. Near half an hour 
 of this journey is over ice and snow. The path circles the pre- 
 cipices, and crosses the torrent, and scales the declivities in such a 
 manner, that in winter, when the deceitful masses of snow have 
 covered the abysses, the passage must be very dangerous. A few 
 wooden poles are stuck up here and there, to mark the way, but 
 at such intervals, that if, in a misty day, or when the snow has 
 covered the foot-path, you should undertake to follow them, you 
 would certainly fall. Indeed, I do not see how there can be any 
 passage at all in the winter, when the snow falls to such a depth, that 
 around the building of the Hospice it is from twelve to twenty feet. 
 Wo be to the poor traveller overtaken in a storm ! How any man 
 can ever escape in such a case is a marvel — ^but the dogs and 
 monks have saved many a wanderer ready to perish. 
 
 There are some dreary and solemn memorials of the dangers 
 of the way, in certain little low-browed stone huts like ice-houses, 
 planted here and there a little out of the path, the use of which 
 a traveller would hardly conjecture in fair weather, though he 
 might learn it from fearful experience in a storm. The guides 
 will tell him that these are refuges in extreme peril, or in cases 
 of death are used as temporary vaults, in which the stiffened 
 bodies of unfortunate travellers are deposited, till they can be 
 finally laid, with book and bell, and funeral hymns, and solemn 
 chantings, in the strangers' burial-place at the Hospice. A man 
 says within himself, as he slops and contemplates the rude, solitary 
 building. What if I had been laid there ? And then, as swift as 
 thought, he is away across the ocean, and gazing in upon the 
 happy family circle, where his place is vacant, and he thinks 
 what misery it would make there — what a funeral and a burial 
 there would be in the hearts of tliose beloved inmates, and vvhat 
 lasting, wasting anguish, if he should die away from home, if he 
 should perish in the storms of his pilgrimage. He bows down his 
 head and muses, and the faces of his home look him in the face, 
 and those loving eyes of Mother and Sister are on l.lta, and he 
 hears his name breathed at the family altar in fervent prayer. But 
 ah, how many dangers to be encountered, how many thouKind 
 leagues of earth and ocean to be traversed, before again he can 
 
CHAP. XIV.] ALPINE FLOWERS. bt 
 
 kneel with them at .hat loved altar ! And who can tell whether 
 ever again they shAl all kneel there together? This will be as 
 God pleases ; but if not, shall there not be family altars in heaven 
 — altars of praise indeed and not of prayer — ^but grateful altars 
 still, where the dear family circle, so broken and wasted here, shall 
 be gathered again, no more to be divided, in rap*ure, love, and praise, 
 for ever ? God grant it ! This hope shall be one of our songs 
 in this House of our Pilgrimage. 
 
 Nothing can be more beautiful than the flowers which border 
 the snow and ice, are sprinkled over the rocks, sown in the 
 valleys, and spring up everywhere. Where the hardiest shrubs 
 dare not grow, these grow. The fearless little things dance over 
 the precipices, and gem the grass like stars. I am surprised that 
 they and the grass with them can thrive amidst such constant 
 cold : for I plucked an icicle hanging from a rock over which the 
 green moss and grass were hanging also, and this in the month of 
 August. The nights are cold, but the sun has great power. The 
 cows find pasturage in f ammer quite up to the Hospice. 
 
04 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap, xv 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Hospice of the Grand St. Bernard. 
 
 This is a bright, mild pearl of love and mercy set in the midst 
 upon the icy crown of Winter. True, it was the hand of Super, 
 stition that placed it there, but also the voice and the feeling of 
 .self-denying, active benevolence were in it. Sudden and grateful 
 to the lonely traveller, from the Alpine side, is the sight of the 
 Hospice, for its stone steps do almost hang down over deep, pre- 
 cipitous gulfs, where a tourmente might bury you for ever, even 
 with the sweet chime of the chapel-bell dying on your ear amid 
 the tempest. So near one might come to the Refuge, and yet be 
 lost. Storms arise almost as sudden as Indian hurricanes, and 
 whirling mists spring up, like dense, dark fogs around a ship ai 
 soa, with jagged reefs before her : and neither by storm nor mist 
 would one wish to be overtaken on this mountain, even in August, 
 out of sight of the building. So might one perish at the threshold 
 of mercy, even as the storm-o'ertaken peasant sinks down exhausted 
 in the snow, within reach of the struggling rays of light from 
 his own cottage window, nor wife, nor little ones, shall more 
 behold. 
 
 If a man wishes to be cheated into a complacent regard for 
 monastic institutions, let him read the "Ages of Faith," or go 
 with a crust of bread and ' a pitcher of water to pass the day at 
 the cloud-capped hermitage of Cintra,or sit down tired and thankful 
 at the pleasant table of the monks of St. Bernard. Indeed, if all 
 monasteries had been like this, there had been more summer, and 
 less winter in the world. 
 
 Bernard said (but not the saint that founded the Hospice), 
 " Bonum est nos hie esse, quia homo vivit purius, cadii rarius, surgit 
 velocius, ineedit cautius, quiescit securius, moritur fettdus, pur- 
 gatur dlius, prcRmiatur copiosiits." Not to trouble my readers with 
 
OHAP. XV.] MONKS OF THE HOSPICE 95 
 
 the Latin, which has douMeiaa decoyed many a monk into orders 
 by its golden net-work, I shall add Wordsworth's translation of 
 this, as follows : 
 
 " Here man more purely liveg, less oft doth fall. 
 More promptly rises, walks with nicer heed. 
 More safely rests, dies happier, is freed 
 Earlier from cleansing fires, and gains, withal, 
 A brighter crown : " — 
 
 Every line of it, alas ! as every word of the Latin, false ; proved 
 so by the reality and by history ; yet, as Wordsworth says, a 
 potent call, that hath cheated full oft the heart's desire after purity 
 and happiness. As if a man could shut out his depravity, by 
 shutting himself up in a cell ! There is no place, neither in the 
 clouds, nor under the earth, nor on the niountains, where Satan 
 cannot find some mischief for idle hearts to do. 
 
 The sagacious dogs of the Hospicb make as good monks as 
 their masters. Noble creatures they are, but they greeted me 
 >v*lth a furious bark, almost as deep as thunder, being nearly the 
 first object and salutation I encountered, after passing the crowd 
 of mules waiting out of doors for travellers. The dogs are some- 
 what lean and long, as if their station were no sinecure, and not 
 accompanied by quite so good quadrupedal fare, as their labors 
 are entitled to. Probably the cold, keen air keeps them thin. They 
 are tall, large-limbed, deep-mouthed, broad-chested, and looking 
 like veteran campaigners. Thfe' breed is from Spain, and most 
 extraordinary stories are told of their great sagacity of intellect, 
 and keenness of scent, yet not incredible to one who has watched 
 the psychology of ido^ even of inferior natures. They are 
 faithful sentinels in summer, good Samaritans in the winter. 
 
 But I had almost asked, Why do I speak of the Summer ? For 
 the deep little lake before the Hospice, though on the sunny Italian 
 side, does not melt till July, and freezes again in September, and 
 in some seasons, I am told, is not free from ice at any time. And 
 the snow falls almost; every day in the year. They had had three 
 or four inches two nights before I reached the Hospice. , And 
 when the snow melts, it reveals to the waiting e-^us of the inmate* 
 nothing but the bare ridgy backs and sharp granite needles, crags, 
 
96 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap. xt. 
 
 and almost perpendicular slopes of the mountains. Not a tree 
 is to be seen anywhere, nor a sign of vegetable life, nor a strag- 
 gling shrub of any kind, but only patches of moss, and grass, and 
 the flowers, that spring up by a wonderful, sweet, kindly impulse 
 out of this dreariness, like instructive moral sentiments in the 
 hearts of the roughest and most unenlightened men. The flower- 
 ing tufis of. our humanity often grow, like the Iceland moss, be- 
 neath the snow, and must be sought in the same manner. , These 
 earnest, patient, quick-coming, long-enduring little flowers on the 
 Grand St. Bernard, are an emblem of the welcome kindness of 
 the monks. They remind one, as the foot treads among them, or 
 as you kneel down to admire and gather them, of Wordsworth's 
 very beautiful lines, very memorable : — 
 
 " The primal duties shine aloft like stars. 
 The charities that soothe, and heal, and bless. 
 Are scattered at the feet of man, like flowers." 
 
 Or better still, they remind one of Cowper's sensible and beauti- 
 ful couplets : — 
 
 " Truths, that the learn'd pursue with eager thought, 
 Are not important always, as dear bought ; 
 Proving, at last, though told in pompous strains, 
 A childish waste of philosophic pains ; 
 But truths, on which depend our main concern, 
 That 'tis our shame and misery not to learn, 
 Shine by the side of every path we tread. 
 With such a lustre, he that runs may read." 
 
 With these good monks the charities and primal duties are the 
 same, and they shine like stars, and are scattered like flowers, all 
 the year round. And it is at no little sacrifice that the post is 
 maintained, for the climate is injurious to health, and the dwellers 
 here are cut off from human society during the greater part of 
 the year. It is true that the peopling of the Hospice with an order 
 of religieuses is now somewhat a work of supererogation, since a 
 family with a few hardy domestics could keep up an auberge 
 suflicient for travellers the year round, and at much less expense ; 
 nevertheless, the institution is one of great benevolence, and the 
 
cii*c XV.] MONKS OF THE HOSPICE. 97 
 
 monks are full of cordiality and kindness. A guest-chamber or 
 hall is kept for travellers, apart from the refectory of the monks, 
 only two or three of the elder and more distinguished among them 
 having the custom of entertaining the strangers. I sat down to 
 dine with several' Sisters of Charity from a village on the Alpine 
 side, when there were two of the brotherhood presiding at the feast. 
 It being Friday, there was no meat, but a variety of dishes, ad- 
 mirably dressed, and constituting a most excellent repast. The 
 monks said grace and returned thanks with much seriousness, and 
 they were pleasant and communicative in conversation. 
 
 The monks remain at the Hospice only for a limited term of 
 service. One of them told me he had lived there for fourteen years, 
 and he pointed out another, who had been there twenty. In 
 general, the brotherhood consist of young recruits, whose vigorous 
 constitutions can stand but for a few years the constant cold and 
 the keen air of these almost uninhabitable heights and solitudes. 
 They enter on this life at the age of eighteen, with a vow of 
 fifteen years' perseverance. Much of this time is occupied in the 
 daily exercises of the Chapel — the Roman Catholic Liturgy and 
 service being admirably contrived, if strictly observed, to fill up 
 with ritual observances, with " bodily exercise " of incense-wav- 
 ings, and marchings to and fro, and kneelings, and chantings, 
 and masses, and prayers, and saint- worshippings, the time which 
 would otherwise hang very heavy on the monks' hands, and the 
 time of any devotees who have nothing else to do. ■ I asked one 
 of the monks what they found to employ themselves with in the 
 long winters. Oh, he said, we study and read. 
 
 But the Roman Catholic Theology must be more barren than 
 the mountains ; canon law and Popes' decretals, mingled with 
 Ave Marias, Bellarmine, and the terrible conjugations in the 
 grammar of the confessional, make volumes of melancholy, soul- 
 torturing Scriptures.. Even old Thomas Aquinas, Dante's great 
 favorite, is the granite without the flowers : and, though you can 
 here and there find great rook crystals, yet these are the force 
 of nature in spite of Rome, and not the growth of Babylon, noi 
 of the monastic, superstitious, bead-telling, will-worship and dis- 
 cipline. Nevertheless we will do them justice. 
 8 
 
98 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [ohaf XT 
 
 " Record we too, with just and faithful pen. 
 That many hooded Cenobites there were. 
 Who in their private cells had jet a care 
 Of public quiet; unambitious men. 
 Counsellors for the worldi of t)iercing ken. 
 Whose fervent exhortations irom afar 
 Move Princes to their duty, peace or war : 
 .^d ofltimes, in the most forbidding den 
 Of solitude, with love of Science strong, 
 How patiently the yoke of Thought they bear ' 
 How subtly glide its finest threads along ! 
 Spirits that crowd the intellectual sphere 
 With many boundaries, as the Astronomer, 
 With orb and cycle, guides the starry throng." 
 
 They have a very nice chapel, adorned with paintings, and in 
 it is a " Tront," or charity-box, where travellers who partake of 
 the hospitality of the kind monks, do ordinarily deposit alms, 
 though the shelter and Hospice are entirely without charge. The 
 Hospice is spacious, and the bed- rooms for strangers are very neat 
 and comfortable, A pleasant fire is always burning in the guest- 
 hall for travellers, and it is almost always necessary, for the air is 
 keen in August ; but all their wood must be brought fix)m the 
 valleys below. A piano decorates this room, the gift of some 
 kind lady, with plenty of music, and some interesting books. The 
 records of the Hospice, or registers, 1 should say, of the names of 
 visitors, abound with interesting autographs, men of science and 
 literature, men of the church and the world, monarchs and nobles, 
 and men whose names sound great, as well as multitudes both of 
 simple and uncouth nomenclature, unknown to fame. 
 
 There is a valuable museum in a hall adjoining the strangers' 
 refectory, where one might spend a long time with profit and 
 delight. The collection of medals and antique coins is very fine, 
 and there are some fine portraits, paintings, and engravings. It 
 is curious to see what blunders the finest artists will sometimes 
 make in unconscious forgetfulness. . There is in the museum an 
 admirable spirited drawing, which bears the name of Brockedon, 
 presented by him to the monks — a sketch of the dogs and the 
 monks rescuing a lost traveller from the snow. The Hospice is 
 drawn as in full sight, and yet the dogs, monks, and travellers, are 
 
IHAP. XV.] MONKS OF THE HOSPICE. -ffO 
 
 plunging in the snow at the foot of an enormous pine-tree. Now 
 there is not a tree of any kind to be seen or to be found within 
 several miles of the Hospice. The engraving, however, is veiy 
 fine. I am no* sure that it is by Drocltedon ; I think one of the 
 monks told me not ; but it was presented by him. 
 
 The Hospice is on the very highest point of the pass, built of 
 stone, a very large building, capable of sheltering three hundred 
 piirsons or more. Five or six hundred sometimes receive assist- 
 ance in one day. One of the houses near the Hospice was 
 erected as a place of refuge in case of fire in the main building. 
 It is 8200 feet above the level of the sea. There are tremendous 
 winter avalanches in consequence of the accumulation of the 
 snow in such enormous masses as can no longer hold on to the 
 mountains, but shoot down with a suddenness,' swiftness, violence, 
 and noise, compared by the monks to the discharge of a cannon. 
 Sometimes the snow-drifts encircle the walls of the Hospice to the 
 height of forty feet ; but it is said that the severest cold ever 
 recorded here was only 29 degrees below zero of Fahrenheit ; 
 sufficiently cold, to be sure, but not quite so bad as when the 
 mercury freezes. We have known it to be 35 degrees below 
 zero in the interior of the State of Maine ; and at Bangor, one 
 winter, it was below 40, or, rather, being frozen, it could no longer 
 be measured. The greatest degree of heat recorded, at the 
 Hospice, has been 68 degrees. The air always has a piercing 
 sharpness, which makes a fire delightful and necessary even at 
 noon-day, in the month of August. The monks get their supply 
 of wood for fuel from a forest in the Val de Ferret, about twelve 
 miles distant, not a stick being found within two leagues of the 
 convent. 
 
 It is a curious fact that on account of the extreme rarity of the 
 atmosphere at the great elevation of the Hospice, the water boils 
 at about 187 degrees of Fahrenheit, in consequence of which it 
 takes nearly as long again to cook meat, as it would if the water 
 boiled at the ordinary point of 212 degrees. Thei fire must be 
 kept glowing, and the, pot boiling, five hours, to cook a piece of 
 meat, which it would have taken only three hours to get ready for 
 the table, if the, water would have waited till 212. This cost> 
 fuel, so that their dish of bouilU makes the nionks consume an in- 
 
iOO WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [CHip. xv 
 
 ordinate quantity of wood in the kitchen. On the other hand, it 
 may take less fire to boil the kettle for tea, or to make coffee, or 
 to boil an egg. As to the baked meats, we take it the oven is no 
 slower in its work here than in the valleys ; but for the business 
 of boiling they lose 25 degrees of heat, for want of that pressure 
 and density of the atmosphere, which would keep the water quiet 
 up to 212. Just so, some men's moral and intellectual energies 
 evaporate, or go off in an untimely explosion, unless kept under 
 forcible discipline and restraint. 
 
 This, therefore, is but a symbol of the importance of concen- 
 trating thought and passion in order to accomplish great things in 
 a short time, with as little waste as possible. A man has no 
 increase of strength after he gets to the boiling point. A man, 
 therefore, whose energies of passion boil over, before his thoughts 
 get powerfully heated, may make a great noise, but he will take 
 a long time at an expense of much fuel in doing what a man of 
 concentration would accomplish in half the time with half the 
 ado. Some men boil over at 187 ; other men wait till 212 ; others 
 go still higher before they come to the boiling point ; and the 
 higher they go, the greater is the saving of intellectual fuel and 
 time. 
 
 " He who would do some great thing in this short life," says 
 Foster, speaking of the fire of Howard's benevolence, " must apply 
 himself to the work with such a concentration of his forces, as, to 
 idle spectators, who live only to amuse themselves, looks like 
 insanity." This delay in boiling is undoubtedly a great element 
 in decision of character, as it is in tenacity and perseverance. 
 While some men are boiling impetuously, others, at a much higher 
 point, with far greater intensity of heat, keep quiet, manifest no 
 turbulence whatever ; but, when the proper time comes, then they 
 act, with a power and constancy all the more effectual for their 
 previous calmness. So it is with religious feel'ng : that which is 
 deepest, makes the least noise, but its principle and action is 
 steadfast and intense. Stillest streams oft water fairest meadows ; 
 and the bird that flutters least is longest on tho wing. 
 
 I believe it is some years since any persons have been lost in 
 passing the mountain, though Brockedon says that some additions 
 to the sepulchre are annually made. In Dece-nber, 1825, three 
 
OHAP. XV.] THE FROZEN DEAD. 101 
 
 domestics of the convent, together with an unfortunate traveller, 
 of whom they had gone in search with their dogs in a stormy 
 time, were overwhelmed with an avalanche. Only one of the 
 dogs escaped. These humane animals rejoice in their benevolent 
 vocation, as much as the monks do in theirs. They go out with 
 the brethren in search of travellers, having some food or cordials 
 slung around their necks ; and, being able on their four feet to 
 cross dangerous snow-sheets, where men could not venture, they 
 trace out the unfortunate storm victims, and minister to their 
 suiTerings, if they find them alive, or come back to tell their 
 masters where the dead are shrouded. These melancholy duties 
 were formerly far more frequent. 
 
 The scene of greatest interest at the Hospice, a solemn, 
 extraordinary interest indeed, is that of the Morgue, or building 
 where the dead bodies of lost travellers are deposited. There 
 they are, some of thorn as when the breath of life departed, and 
 the Death Angel, with his instruments of fros t and snow, stiffened 
 and embalmed them for ages. The floor is thick with nameless 
 skulls, and bones, and human dust heaped in confusion. But 
 around the wall are groups of poor sufferers in the very position in 
 which they were found, as rigid as marble, and in this air, by the 
 preserving element of an eternal frost, almost as uncrumbling. 
 There is a mother and her child, a most affecting image of suf- 
 fering and love. The face of the little one remains pressed to 
 the mother's bosom, only the back part of the skull being visible, 
 the body enfolded in her careful arms, careful in vain, affectionate 
 in vain, to shield her offspring from the elemental wrath of the 
 tempest. The snow fell fast and thick, and the hurricane wound 
 them both up in one white shroud and buried them. There is also a 
 tall, strong man standing Talone, the face dried and black, but the 
 white, unbroken teeth firmly set and closed, grinning from the 
 fleshless jaws — it is a most awful spectacle. The face seems to 
 look at you from the recesses of the sepulchre, as if it would tell 
 you the story of a fearful death-struggle in the storm. There are 
 other groups more indistinct, but these two are never to be for- 
 gotten, and the whole of these dried ^and frozen remnants of 
 humanity are a terrific demonstration of the Tearfulness of this 
 mountain -pass, when the elements, let loose in fury, encounter 
 
102 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap, xr 
 
 the unhappy traveller. You look at all this through the grated 
 window ; there is just light enough to make it solemnly and dis- 
 tinctly visible, and to read in it a powerful record of mental and 
 physical agony, and of maternal love in death. That little child, 
 hiding its face in its mother's bosom, and both frozen to death ; — 
 one can never forget the group, nor the memento mori, nor the 
 token of deathless love. 
 
CHAP. XVI.] JEALOUSY OF THE SCRIPTURES. 103 
 
 CHAPTER XVl. 
 
 Deaceat into the Val d'Aoste. — Romish Intolerance, iind that of 
 State and Church 
 
 We leave the Hospica with regret, but it is quite tcx) cold to re- 
 main. The View on both sides, both the Italian and the Swiss 
 side, is verygrand^ though you see nothing but countless ridges 
 of mountains. The snowy Velan is an object of great magnifi- 
 cence. On the Italian side, we first circle the little lake, the 
 centre of which is the boundary line between Savoy and the Can- 
 ton Vallais, ' within which the Hospice stands. Then a rapid 
 winding descent speedily bringsthe traveller from the undisputed 
 domain of ice and granite first to the mosses, then the scant grass, 
 then the mountain shrubs, then the stunted larches, then the fir 
 forests, and last the luxuriant vineyards and chestnut verdure of 
 the Val d'Aoste.. It were endless to enumerate the wild and 
 beautiful windings of the route, the openings from it, the valleys 
 of picturesque beauty which run off among the mountains, and 
 the grandeur of the view of Mont Blanc, when you again en- 
 counter it. ■ The first village from the Hospice is that of St. Remy, 
 where the sentinel of the Bureau carefully .examined the contents 
 of my knapsack. 
 
 Taking up my crimson guide-book, he remarked that he sup- 
 posed it was a book of prayer. I told him no, but showed him my 
 pocket epistle to the Romans. John Murray's guide-book might 
 very well be denominated the Englishman's prayer-book on the 
 continent, for everybody has it in his hand, morning, noon, and 
 night. What does Mr. Murray say ? is the question that decides 
 everything on the road. At. the inns, when you dome down to 
 breakfast in the morning, besides a cup of coflfee, an egg, and a 
 roll, your traveller has his Murray at his plate, open at the day's 
 route before him. If he is a genuine Irishman, you may expect 
 
104 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap, xti 
 
 him to take a bite at it, instead of his bread. And when, fatigued, 
 you sit down at tea in the evening, there is John Murray again in 
 his scarlet binding. The book looked very like a mass-book to 
 the sentinel, and certainly, it being always the first thing that met 
 his sight in every pocket, trunk, or knapsack, if he made, with 
 every English traveller that crossed the mountain that summer, 
 the same mistake that he did with me, he must have thought the 
 English a MKJnderfully devout people. 
 
 But perhaps, if I had told him it was my prayer-book or' Bible, 
 he would have taken it away from me. For this was the very 
 place where an English gentleman, whom I afterwards met at 
 Geneva, travelling with his daughter, had their English Bible and 
 prayer-book both taken from them, in obedience to an edict that 
 had just been issued by the Sardinian police, in regard to all 
 books on the frontier. He made a great storm about it, and would 
 not give them up, till he had compelled the officer to sign a re- 
 ceipt for them under his own name, telling him at the same time 
 that he should report the aifair to the English ambassador at 
 Turin, when he would soon know if Englishmen were to be in- 
 sulted in that way. The consequence was that after his return 
 to Geneva he received his prayer-book and Bible safe and sound, 
 restored by the authorities. The encyclical letter of the Pope 
 had frightened the Sardinian government into unusual jealousy, 
 that season, against the scriptures. But if I had made a detour 
 a little out of the village, I could have carried half a hundred 
 weight of Bibles into Sardinia unmolested. Strange to say, my 
 passport was not demanded, and it was only because, being on 
 foot, the passport officer did not happen to be watching when I 
 
 In six hours from the Hospice you reach the lovely valley, 
 where, beneath a southern sun and sky, are spread the vineyards 
 and the Cite D'Aoste. Few scenes are more refreshingly beauti- 
 ful than the rich chestnut and walnut foliage, which marks your 
 proximity to the city ; in a few hours you have gone from the 
 extreme of coldness and sterility amidst eternal ice and snow, to 
 that of an almost tropical warmth and luxuriance of vegetation. 
 It was Saturday evening about eight o'clock, when I reached t! e 
 Hotel de la Vallee. The sunset was superb, and you could, s^ e 
 
CHAP, xvi.l ROMISH INTOLERANCE IN SAVOY. lOS 
 
 at once the Grand St.Bernard and Mont Blanc filling their differ- 
 ent quarters of the horizon, and throwing back from their crim- 
 soned snowy summits the last rays of light. My hotel I found 
 most excellent, mine host a Swiss and a Protestant, he and his 
 family forming the only four Protestant individuals in all the city. 
 
 Next after Rome, it is in the kingdom of Savoy, under the Pied- 
 montese government and administration, that the Romish Clergy 
 and the Jesuits have obtained the most absolute power. They 
 exclude the people, as far as possible, from the knowledge of the 
 scriptures, and watch against the introduction of heretical books 
 with a quarantine more strict than the laws of the Orient against 
 the Plague. Nevertheless, the labors of ih6 colporteurs and 
 others do now and then sow the seed of the Word of God suc- 
 cessfully. Then cometh the devil and taketh it away. A young 
 Savoyard, a poor little chimney-sweep, purchased one day a Tes- 
 tament, for which he paid ten sous, and set himself immediately 
 to read it. Delighted to possess the Word of God, he ran to the 
 priest, in his simplicity, to show him the good bargain he had made 
 with his savings. The priest took the book, and told the young 
 Savoyard that it came from the hands of heretics, and that it was 
 a book forbidden to be read. The peasant replied that everything 
 he had read in the book told him about Christ, and, besides, said 
 he, it is so beautiful ! You shall see how beautiful it is, said the 
 priest, seizing it, and cast it into the fire. The young Savoyard 
 went away weeping. 
 
 I will be tolerant of everything, said Coleridge, except every 
 other man's intolerance. This is a good rule. The worst thing 
 in controversy is its tendency to engender an intolerant spirit. 
 To be much in it, is like eating Lucifer matches for your daily 
 food. What was intended to strike light gets into the bowels, gives a 
 man the colic, and makes him sour and mad. Nay more, if such 
 food be persisted in, it sets his tongue on fire of hell, makes him 
 a living spit-fire, a walking quarrel, an antagonism incarnate. 
 Controversy, as a religious necessity of earnest contention for the 
 faith once delivered to the saints, is a great and sacred duty, and 
 good and blessed in its place with love, but it is bad as a habit. 
 Without love, it is a beast that throws iU rider, even if he gets 
 
106 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap, xvi 
 
 fairly into the saddle, which he seldom does, for he almost always 
 o'erleaps himself, and falls on the other side. 
 
 But; what shall be said of controversy against a system, that 
 would take the Bread of Life from men's tables, and shut them 
 up in prison for distributing and reading it ? Is it not a sacred 
 duty of humanity 1 Yea, it is; no man can receive such an 
 account of the intolerance of this system as the following (which 
 I shall tell as it was given to me in writing), without a feeling of 
 the deepest indignation. 
 
 It was of M. Pache, of the village of Morges, in Switzerland, 
 a Minister of the Gospel, and a member of one of the most res- 
 pectable families of the whole Country, who was sojourning, 
 during the summer, for his health, at the baths of Aix,'in Savoy. 
 He was so ill that he was often shut up in his chamber, and 
 obliged to keep his bed. An old woman had the care of him as 
 his nurse, a creature as cunning and malicious as she was bigoted. 
 She soon observed, by his conversation and mariner of life, that 
 M. Pache was a religious man, although, knowing the jealousy 
 of the priests, he had prudently abstained from giving her either 
 Bibles or Tracts. This, hbwever, did not prevent the old woman 
 from going to her priest, and telling him, it is said at the confes- 
 sional, all that she had seen or heard of- her patient's heresy. 
 
 The priest took the alarm, but M. Pache could not be arrested 
 without some plausible pretext, and how should that be gained ? 
 Under guidance of her Confessor, the old woman pretended to her 
 patient to be filled with a very sincere and earnest desire to be 
 instructed as to the interests of her soul. She entered into con- 
 versation with M. Pache, and finished by begging him to give her 
 one or two of the religibus tracts which she had seen upon his 
 table. The sick man yielded to her request — for who, not knowing 
 her wicked league with the priest, could have refused it ? 
 
 Soon as the old woman had got possession of the tracts, she ran 
 in triumph to carry them to the priest. M. Pache was at once 
 arrested and conducted to prison. Some influential friends exerted 
 themselves to obtain his liberation, but in vain ; they were told 
 that M. Pache must wait in prison the issuing of his judgment. 
 The priscner next addressed a petition to the King of Sardinia, 
 with whom he had been personally acquainted, had lived with him 
 
BHAP. XVI.] ROMISH INTOLERANCE IN SAVOY. 107 
 
 at Greneva, had dwelt in the same house with him, and studied in 
 the same school. He received for answer, the assurance that the 
 King remembered him very well, but that he could not hinder the 
 free course of justice. 
 
 At length, after having waited a long time in vain for his sen- 
 tence in prison — all bail being refused to him — he was brought 
 before the Senate of Chambery, and there condemned to a year's 
 farther imprisonment, a fine of a hundred pieces of gold, and to 
 pay besides, the expenses of the process. The infamous treat- 
 ment would have been still Worse, had it not been for his personal 
 relations with the King, and the interference of some persons of 
 high rank. 
 
 The treatment which this Minister of the Gospel received while 
 in prison was severe and cruel. They only who may have vis- 
 ited the interior of a prison in a Romish country, and especially in 
 Italy, can imagine what M. Pache must have suffered. During con- 
 siderable space of time he vi^as shut up in the same cell with eight 
 banditti! A man of admirable education, of refined manners, 
 a companion of the studies of the King, resorting to the baths of 
 Aix for his health, is taken sick from his bed, and shut up in a foul, 
 infected dungeon, with corrupt and disgusting villains, where he 
 cannot enjoy one moment's repose, nor even a corner to himself, 
 but day and night is surrounded with filthy creatures, covered 
 with vermin ! All this for giving away a religious tract, at the 
 wily instigation of the priest himself! 
 
 With all this, it will scarcely be believed that out of this mon- 
 strous piece of persecution and deceit the Romish Church arro- 
 gated to herself the praise of great tolerance ! After M. Pache 
 had suffered in prison nine or ten months, the Bishop of Strasburg 
 interfered in his favor by^a pompous letter, which spoke of "the 
 pity and compassion of the Church," and pretended to implore mercy 
 and deliverance for a heretic justly condemned ! This was really 
 adding mockery and insult to the punishment ; but, at length, 
 just as the period of imprisonment for their victim was expir- 
 ing, M. Pache was set at liberty in consideration of the appli- 
 cation of the bishop. Of course this was applauded as a proof 
 of the compassion of the Romish Church, which may well pret.^nd 
 to be merciful, when its very acts of persecution can be turned, 
 
loe WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap, xri 
 
 by the ingenuity of the priests, into the strongest and most populaJ 
 proofs of its tolerance. Who can wonder at the appellations bes- 
 towed in the Scriptures upon such a Church ? Mystery of Ini- 
 quity, Mother of Abominations, and Man of Sin ! 
 
 I am bound to add, that, towards the end of his imprisonment, 
 M. Pache obtained a remarkable alleviation of its miseries, in con- 
 sequence of his former friendship with the King, and the solicita- 
 tions and measures of some personages of high rank. He ob- 
 tained the favor of being transferred from the dungeon where ho 
 was surrounded by such a band of malefactors, and was put into 
 another cell, in company with a murderer ! This was a pleasant 
 companion for a sick man and a clergyman, and a new proof of 
 the compassions of the Romish Church, in consenting so won- 
 derfully to ameliorate the position of a heretic. 
 
 The original account of this most iniquitous procedure may be 
 found in the Archives du Christianisme. My informant adds 
 that M. Pache was condemned in virtue of a law which forbids 
 the circulation of the Scriptures and of Tracts in the States of the 
 King of Sardinia. If the inhabitants of Savoy have rightly in- 
 formed me, he says there is in force in that country a law called 
 " the Law of Blasphemy," which annexes the penalty of five 
 years in the galleys to every attack made against the Romish 
 religion. He had himself passed a village in the mountains, where 
 a man was condemned to two years in the galleys, for speaking ill 
 of the Virgin Mary ! 
 
 What a country is this ! what despotism of the priesthood ! what 
 degradation and trembling servitude of the people ! Surely, 
 every man having the least regard for freedom and piety is bound 
 to exert himself to the uttermost against such a system of intole- 
 rance. It is time it were brought to an end — for the whole 
 creation, where.it exists, groaneth and travaileth in bondage 
 under it. 
 
 There are two great forms of this bondage of Antichrist, — the 
 Church, absorbing the State, as in the government of the Papacy, 
 and violently preventing men from worshipping according to their 
 conscience ; and a State absorbing the Church, as is the case with 
 almost every State and Church establishment, and compelling men 
 to acts of religioi;s prgfei^ion ^nd worship, when conscience tells 
 
CHAP. XVI.] ROMISH INTOLER k.NCE IN SAVOY. 109 
 
 them it is all hypocrisy. It is nothing less than sacrilege and 
 «mony, which thus springs from permitting the State to prescribe, 
 enforce, or sustain, as a civil right and duty, the form of worship 
 in the Church. Take the instance so forcibly described by Col. 
 Tronchin, of the young man compelled by the laws of the Gene- 
 vese National Establishment to come to confirmation and the 
 communion at an appointed age. Perhaps the young man is the 
 support of his family, and in this case he may be shut out from 
 employment, if he have not performed the sacred act, without 
 which he will hardly be able to gain bread for the subsistence of 
 his parents. Be his own life upright or debauched, be his prin- 
 ciples religious or infidel, be the Church true or false, he must 
 enteikit, he must accomplish the solemn formality, and the sooner 
 the better, in order for his successful entrance into the active 
 world. 
 
 Hence, by a singular perversion, this profession of piety by 
 " the act of Confirmation," comes to be regarded by many as " an 
 act of emancipation," a sort of absolution to ysin. A father in 
 the National Church, hearing his son use blasphemous language, 
 reproved him thus : Miserable boy ! you have not yet communi- 
 cated, and you swear like a pagan ! And it is not unusual for 
 mothers to refuse permission to their daughters to mingle in the 
 gay amusements of the world, because, say they, they are still 
 under religious instruction, and have not yet communicated f 
 Thus the most important of all religious rites, that which consti- 
 tutes the solemn profession of a Christian, becomes a compulsory 
 act, even for the greatest unbelievers. A class of catechumens 
 at Geneva celebrated the day of their admission to the Lord's 
 Supper by a shameful debauch ! This is but the legitimate con- 
 sequence of setting religion in a dependence on the State. In- 
 tolerance and irreligion are just as sure to follow, as they do 
 when you give to the Church the power of the State, and thus 
 tempt her to persecute. 
 
 The sole remedy and safe-guard is this : Keep t le Church and 
 State separate. Leave the conscience alone with God. Leave 
 the Church in her dependence on the Word of jod only, the 
 Grace of Christ only, and the Work of the Spirit only. Here ia 
 light and liberty, glory and power. 
 
no WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap. xvu. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Lower Valley of Aoste into Ivrea and Turin, 
 
 Of all my wanderings beneath the shadow of Mont Blanc, nc 
 excui-sion was more excitingly beautiful, than a return walk by 
 moonlight from the City of Aoste across the Grand St. Bernard, 
 and back again to Chamoiiny. I shall interpose it here, because, 
 though in actual time it did not come within the Tour of Mont 
 Blanc, which we are now making, it is, nevertheless, one of its 
 Unities, though like a wild dream interposed between the realities 
 of day. 
 
 I was oil my way from Turin to Chamouny. We had left that 
 charming Piedmontese city at noon, for Ivrea, in the diligfence. 
 The beauty of the ride, especially when we begad to enter on the 
 confines of the mountains, was quite indescribable. It was the 
 commencement of harvest season in September. The softness 
 and luxuriance of the landscape, the abundance of fruits, flowers, 
 and foliage, the fields entering on their autumnal richness, the 
 carts pressed down with sheaves for the harvest-home, the hilarity 
 of the peasantry, the goodly fruitage', the fragrant odors, and the 
 bright light and sweetness of the Italian climate, made this one 
 of the pleasantest parts of the year for such an excursion. AV 
 nature was laughing with plenty. 
 
 Ivrea is a walled market-town, twelve leagues from Turin, con- 
 taining about 8,000 inhabitants, and occupying a most picturesque 
 and lovely defile on the banks of the Doire. The scene by 
 moonlight on the waters of this river, and from the bridge, by 
 which you enter the town, might have tempted Raphael from Rome 
 with his canvass. The place is the gate to the Val d'Aoste, which 
 extenls about 75 miles, in one continued winding way of loveli- 
 ness and sublimity, up to the very glaciers of Mont Blanc. 
 Through this valley Napoleon fought his way to Marengo, in the 
 
CHAP. XVII.] I OCAL ASSOCIATIONS. Ill 
 
 year 1800, and Hannibal of old came down by this pass of beauty 
 into Italy, both of them beholding the scenery not through the 
 green and peaceful coloring of nature, but through the red and 
 smoky atmosphere of war. Earlier still, this town of Ivrea is 
 recorded to have been a slave-mart for selling the conquered in- 
 habitants of the country — ^the brave old Salassi — 36,000 at once, 
 by the Romans under Varro. 
 
 Nature writes nothing of all this upon the rocks and rivers ; 
 but if the spirits of those armies, with their generals, could pass 
 by moonlight now through this region of silent, unchanged beauty, 
 they would see nothing Imi this. Not the present, but the past, 
 would be before them, in processions more terrible by far than 
 glittering squadrons, with whole parks of brazen-throated artillery. 
 How many places, which the traveller passes without thought, 
 must constitute to some beings a memoria iechnica of a power 
 almost as dread, as to Cain's own mind would have been the spot 
 where the earth drank the blood of Abel ! 
 
 " There are many," remarks John Foster, "to whorh local asso- 
 ciations present images, which they fervently wish they could 
 forget J images which haunt the places where crimes have been 
 perpetrated, and which seem to approach and glare on the criminal 
 as he hastily passes by, especially if in the evening, or the night. 
 No local associations are so impressive as those of guilt. It may 
 here be observed, that as each has his own separate remembrances, 
 giving to some places an aspect and a significance, which he alone 
 can perceive, there must be an unknown number of pleasing, or 
 mournful, or dreadful associations, spread over the scenes inhabited 
 or visited by men. We pass without any awakened consciousness 
 by the bridge, or the wood, or the house, where there is something 
 to excite the most painful or frightful ideas in the next man that 
 shall come that way, or possibly the companion that walks along 
 with us. How much there is in a thousand spots of the earth, 
 that is invisible and silent to all but the conscious individual !" 
 
 "I hear a voice you cannot hear; 
 1 see a hand you cannot see." 
 
 Ali places that recall injuries done to others, or to ourselves, or 
 to crtjd, must be, to the heart that hath not been visited with Re- 
 
112 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap. xvii. 
 
 pentance, the habitation of Remorse. Nemesis dwells there, and 
 Erinnys with her snakes. Nor is there any help for this, but in 
 the mercy of Jesus Christ ; nothing that will remove the red 
 images of avenging Justice from the mind, but the washing of the 
 guilty soul in the blood of the slain Lamb. Blessed be God, that 
 will do it for the chief of sinners. 
 
 " There is a Fountain filled with blood, 
 Drawn from Immanuel's reins. 
 And sinners, plunged beneath that flood. 
 Lose all theii guilty stains." 
 
 Leaving out Mont Blanc, the romantic wildness and grandeur 
 of the Valley from Ivrea up to Aoste, about fifteen leagues, are 
 more exciting than in the other half of the way from Aoste to 
 Courmayeur. There is the utmost luxuriance combined with 
 sublimity, and savage desolation with beauty. Rich vines are 
 trellised amidst rocks, hanging out their purple fruit over the 
 precipices. The torn and thunder-rifted gorge at Fort Bard and 
 beyond, is almost equal in wildness to the Via Mala in the passage 
 of the Splugen. Precipices fise above you into perpendicular 
 mountains, while a village hangs in the moonlight beneath the 
 parapet of the road on the other side, and beyond and below the 
 village, rushes the river. The combination of Italian and almost 
 tropical vegetation with the grandeur of these mountains, is what 
 especially strikes the mind. 
 
 Fort Bard appears like a white castle hanging in the air. It 
 was such an impregnable position, crowning a pile of crags, over 
 which alone there was any possibility of passing up or down the 
 Valley, that the Austrians, who held it in 1800, were very near 
 checking the progress of Napoleon, and so routing his army, be- 
 fore the battle of Marengo. But the fort must be carried. Some 
 hundreds of daring soldiers scaled the dangerous and almost inac- 
 cessible mountain of the Albaredo, overhanging the castle, and 
 there, with a single cannon, silenced the dread battery which pre- 
 vented all approach to the passage. Then, in the conflict at 
 midnight, the soldiers in the fort, under the fire of another cannon, 
 which was poured over their heads from a belfry near the vf»«*? 
 
CHAP. XVII ] PRAYING TO THE VIRGIN. 113 
 
 were compelled to surrender, and so the storm of victory passed 
 on, to burst upon the plains of Italy. 
 
 At one of the small villages on our route, two young girls took 
 passage for Aoste, whom I could not but admire for the modesty 
 and beauty of their faces and manners. I had taken the front 
 seat or coupee of the coach, for the sake of clear vision ; they 
 were obliged to take the same, because theje was none other left, 
 the cool night air keeping the inside seats full. They seemed 
 unwilling to acknowledge any disposition to sleep, but at length 
 the youngest of the two fell asleep on her sister's arms, and the 
 elder reclined and slept against the corner. When they awoke, 
 they betook themselves to their devotions, and it was affecting to 
 witness the simplic.ity and earnestness with which, whenever we 
 passed an image of the Virgin by the roadside, they crossed them- 
 selves and prayed. Is it not sad to have this strong religious ten- 
 dency, this yearning after the repose of the soul in faith, turned 
 thus from its rightful object, and perverted into a sinful supersti- 
 tion ? O, if the gospel could be clearly preached in Italy, how 
 would the people, the common people, flock to the joyful sound ! 
 If Christ could there be lifted up, he would draw all men unto 
 him. The Scribes and Pharisees would rage, undoubtedly, but 
 the common people would hear him gladly, as of old. Well ! 
 the time is coming. 
 
 Have you ever been travelling in the diligence by night through 
 a lovely country, and experienced the dilemma of the conflict 
 between sleeping and waking at that hour of prime, when the 
 dawn is breaking, and all the processes of nature are so exqui- 
 sitely beautiful, that you wish for every sense to be on the alert to 
 watch them ? At length you decide the matter by getting out in the 
 cool morning twilight, and walking till your frame is warm with 
 exercise, and your eyes are opened. A delicious cup of coffee 
 awaits you at the next post, and you feel refreshed as if the dili- 
 gence had been to you a comfortable elastic mattrass, or, at the 
 worst, a bed of heather in the wilderness, from which you rose to 
 see the pale brow of the morning, as saith Dante, looking o'er the 
 eastern cliff, lucent with jewels. 
 
 " Where we then were, 
 Two steps of her ascent the night had past, 
 9 
 
Hi WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap. xvn. 
 
 And now the third was closing up its wing. 
 When I, who had so much of Adam with me. 
 Sank down upon my couch, o'ercome with sleep." 
 
 But the morning air is gently stirring the dew-laden leaves towards 
 the breaking dawn, and bidding them drop their coronet of pearls 
 upon the grass, in honor of the approaching sun, already mak>ng 
 the East glow like a sapphire ; and the birds are singing their 
 sweet early hymn of praise ; and the stars, thit all night long 
 spangled the firmament with fires, are dimly withdrawing into the 
 blue ether ; and between all this, and the fragrance of the aro- 
 matic eastern berry, if we too are not awake, and singing our 
 morning hymn of gratitude and love, we shall make nature 
 herself ashamed of us. 
 
 What pictures of beauty are the villages that lie nestled above 
 us in the verdant nooks of the mountains ! Ah yes, in the dis- 
 tance they are the very perfection of the romantic and picturesque, 
 but the charm disappears when you ride through them as through 
 a row of beggars on a dunghill. Both in the moral and material 
 world, so far as man mingles his work with it, distance has al- 
 ways much to do with enchantment. Now up the broad valley, 
 the secluded city of Aoste, nigh buried among mountains, opens 
 upon us, the approach to it from the south as well as the north 
 being most beautiful, through the rich foliage of magnificent 
 chestnuts and walnuts. Romantic castles crown, here and there, 
 the crags that rise from the bosom of the luxuriant vegetation. 
 
CHAV xviH.] ST. BERNARD BY MOONLIGHT. 11£ 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 The Grand St. Bernard by Moonlight. — ^Flood of the Drance. 
 
 It was about noon on Friday that I set oat from Aoste on foot for 
 the Grand St. Bernard, in order, by passing the mountain that 
 night, to make a possible day's march to Chamouny before the 
 Sabbath. Mine host gave me a miserable, drunken guide, a fat, 
 bloated, hairy, savage looking wretch, whom, however, he recom- 
 mended so highly, that between his word, and my anxiety to get 
 on in season, I was persuaded to commit my knapsack to him, and 
 we marched. But I almost had to drag the creature after me. 
 He would drink nothing but i wine, ^ajid quenched his thirst as 
 often as he could get the opportunity ; he was like a full hogshead 
 attempting to walk. Then, at the last village below the Hospice, 
 he stopped and ordered supper, saying that they would give him 
 nothing but soup and water o» the mountain, and he chose to 
 have something solid and palatable. The poor fellow might have 
 got a very sufficient supper at the Hospice gratis, but he could 
 not forego his wine. In order to hurry him, I took my knapsack 
 on my own shoulders and hastened on, leaving him to follow, if 
 he chose. It was night- fall^ and we arrived at the Hospice about 
 eight o'clock by the light of the rising moon. 
 
 The view of the lovely lake and the Hospice by moonlight, 
 with the surrounding mountains, makes one of the wildest and 
 most impressive scenes, that can possibly be conceived of. There 
 is a deep and awful stillness and solemnity, with the most gloomy 
 grandeur. 
 
 " The moon, well nigh 
 To midnight hour belated, made the stars 
 Appear to wink and fade ; and her broad disk 
 Seemed like a crag on fire, as up the vault 
 Her course she journeyed." — Dants. 
 
16 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap, xviit 
 
 The day being Friday, as before, I could get no meat, though 
 I had walked seven mortal hours and the air was keen ; not even 
 an egg, though 1 was actually hungry. No wonder my drunkard 
 was determined to eat at St. Ilemy ; the devout instinct of hia 
 stomach taught him that it was fast-day at the Hospice, which I 
 had forgotten. But the coffee was delicious. Such a cup of 
 Mocha, with the richest boiled milk, I never tasted. The mate- 
 rial elements of life provided by the good monks are of the best 
 kind, and doubtless it was my fault being hungry on Friday. It 
 was a very heretical appetite, for which I could not get even the 
 absolution of an egg. 
 
 I persuaded a stout young herdsman at the Hospice to accom- 
 pany me down the mountain, dismissed my drunkard, and after 
 getting quite rested and enlivened by the hospitable coffee of the 
 fast-keeping monks, we started about ten o'clock. Before leaving, 
 I went once more over the magnificent collection in the Museum 
 Egyptiacum at the Hospice, with the gallery of paintings. One 
 of the paintings is a very remarkable piece, a blind fiddler by 
 Espagnoletto. 
 
 The moonlight descent of the mountain, in so glorious a night, 
 is an excursion of the greatest enjoyment, the air being cold 
 and sparkling, inspiriting, and bracing the frame for exercise. 
 With what majesty and glory did the moon rise in the heavens ! 
 With what a flood of light, falling on the ancient grey peaks, 
 crags, and rugged mountain ridges, glittering on the glaciers, 
 shining on the white foaming torrents, gilding the snowy out. 
 lines with ermines of pale fire, robing the fir-forests with a 
 veil of melancholy, thoughtful, solemn beauty ' In such an hour, 
 m the stillness of midnight, the voices of the torrents, to the sky, 
 the moon, and the mountains, go down into the soul. The wild 
 gorges, the deep, torn ravines, the jagged precipices, the white 
 glaciers, are invested by this moonlight of harvest, amidst their 
 stern and awful desolation, with a charm that is indescribable. 
 The little stone refuges by the path-side for storm-beaten travel- 
 lers, and burial vaults for dead ones, slept quietly under the moor, 
 with their iron grated windows, singular objects, of which no mi c 
 could guess the purpose. 
 
 The lonely area of the Cantine, or house of refuge, so desolate 
 
CHAP, xvm.] ALPINE MOONLIGHT. 117 
 
 when I passed up, was now clad in grandeur and beauty. The 
 snowy peaks, rising above the more sombre and grey ridges, 
 -might have been deemed the alabaster spires and domes, or the 
 outcircling walls of some celestial city. The utter loneliness of 
 the scene was singularly shaded and humanized by a light visible 
 so far up the mountains, that it seemed as if it burned from the 
 bottom of the glacier. My guide said it was possibly a light in 
 the cabin of some bold, industrious Chamois hunter. How that 
 single light, in the recesses below the glacier, veils and softens 
 the wild mountain with an imaginative, almost domestic interest ! 
 
 " Even as a dragon's eye, that feels the stress 
 Of a bedimming sleep, or as a lamp, 
 Sullenly glaring through sepulchral damp, 
 So burns yon taper mid its black recess 
 Of mountains, silent, dreary, motionless : 
 The lake below reflects it not ; the sky 
 Muffled in clouds affords no company 
 To mitigate and cheer its loneliness. 
 Yet round the body of that joyless thing. 
 Which sends so far its melancholy light. 
 Perhaps are seated in domestic ring 
 A gay society with faces bright. 
 Conversing, reading, laughing ; or they I5ng, 
 While hearts and voices in the song unite." 
 
 Our descent from the mountain was so rapid, that we arrived 
 at Liddes between twelve and one o'clock, but the surly inhabit- 
 ants would not admit us into either of the inns. Not a soul was 
 stirring in the village. After many ineffectual attempts, we 
 roused some signs of life in the main hotel, a window was cau- 
 tiously raised, a night-cap appeared, and a female voice informed 
 us that every room in the house had been taken in possession by 
 a party of Englishmen for the mountains, and they would not let 
 us in. We inquired if they would make us sleep in the street, 
 but they shut the window, and Parley the porter was not to be 
 tempted. In the other inn we succeeded in getting the door open, 
 but were warned off the premises by angry sleepers in their beds. 
 Here was a predicament. There was not a shed nor a bundle 
 ot straw where we could lie down, but we could walk all night 
 more safely than we could have slept by the way-side ; so 1 de- 
 termined to go on. 
 
113 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap, xviii 
 
 The next village of Orsieres was about three hours distance. 
 We could get there with all ease between three and four o'clock 
 in tlie morning, and the night was so glorious, that it might have 
 tempted a traveller to the walk, even had there been no compul- 
 sion. For us there was no alternative. My guide had engaged 
 to come only as far as Liddes, but I persuaded him by a new 
 bargain, and again we started off. So, after a walk of thirty- 
 nine miles, performed between twelve at noon and tour the next 
 morning, we came to a cone usive halt at Orsieres, where I suc- 
 ceeded in getting a bed in a very comfortable hotel, and slept 
 soundly, as a laboring man has a perfect right to do. 
 
 About nine o'clock the same morning, I was on my way again 
 with a new guide, for who could think of walking all the way to 
 Chamouny under a heavy knapsack, after forty miles pedestrian 
 travel of the preceding sixteen hours ? The weather continued 
 delightful, and strange to say, I felt very little fatigue. The air 
 bore me up in its elastic embrace, and made me ciieerful. It 
 was like the effect of earnest spiritual effort in the heavenly pil- 
 grimage ; the soul grows strong and elastic by journeying up- 
 wards. The fatigue of one day fits it the better for the labors of 
 the next. My soi^ followeth hard after Thee ; thy right hand up- 
 .holdeth me : — when there is this hard labor of the soul after God 
 (and David's language is very emphatic), there is also the right 
 hand of God upholding it ; it is upborne on indefatigable wings, 
 every effort bringing new strength and lightness. Very blessed 
 is such mountain air and exercise. 
 
 I am right glad to find that the wonders of Alpine scenery 
 lose none of their effect by familiarity ; nay, they grow upon the 
 mind, as it learns to appreciate and compare thiem. I was more 
 impressed with the features of the landscape before me, than I 
 had been in coming up the valley in August. The road between 
 St. Branchier and Beauvemois presents a scene of savage deso- 
 lation and picturesque wildness not often rivalled, even in Swit- 
 zerland. 
 
 The furious torrent Drance thunders down the goi^e between 
 rugged and inaccessible mountains, where there is no vegetation 
 bui such as has fallen from its hold, as it were, in despair, and 
 struggles ill confusion. Roclcs ai e piled up as if a whole mount- 
 
CHAP. XVIII.] TERRIFIC ALPINE FLOOD. 119 
 
 din had fallen with its own weight ; a gallery overhanging the 
 torrent is passed through,, and to add some, picturesqueness in a 
 view of almost unrelenting desolation, you have a rude little 
 wooden bridge carelessly thrown across the cataract for the in- 
 habitants. A friar was leisurely fishing for trout along the eddy- 
 ing borders of the *ater. 
 
 This valley was the scene of that awM sweep of destruction 
 iaused by the gathering and bursting of a great lake among the 
 glaciers, where the Drance was dammed up in the mountains. 
 The chaos of rocks I had passed throiigh were memorials of its 
 progress. One of the boulders rolled down by the. cataract is 
 said to contain 1,400 square feet. This inundation happened in 
 1818. From a similar cause, the falling of .great glaciers from 
 the mountains across the bed of the Drance, and so damming it 
 up, there was a much more terrible destruction in the year 1595, 
 by which more than one hundred and forty persons perished. It 
 is thus that the Alpine torrents prove from time to time the sources 
 of vastly greater ruin than the avalanches, overwhelming whole 
 regions that the avalanches. cannot visit, berating whole mountain 
 ridges, and changing the landmarks and the face of nature. 
 
 One of the best descriptions of the catastrophe of 1818 is given 
 by the artist Brockedon, from the account of Escher de Linth, 
 published in the Bibliotheque de Geneve. The reader may learn 
 from it something of the dangers that ever lie in wait on Alpine 
 life even in the midst of fancied .security. 
 
 " In the spring of 1818, the people of the valley of Bagnes 
 became alarmed on observing the low state of the waters of the 
 Drance, at a season when the melting of the snows usually en- 
 larged the torrent ; and this alarm was increased! by the records 
 of similar appearances before the dreadful inundation of 1595, 
 which was then occasioned by the accumulation of the waters 
 behind the debris of a glacier that formed a dam, which remained 
 until the pressure of the water burst the dike, and it rushed through 
 the valley, leaving desolation in its course. . - ' 
 
 " In April, 1818, some persons went up the valley to ascertain 
 the cause of the, deficiency of water, and they discovered that 
 vast masses of the glaciers of Getroz,^and avalanches of snow, 
 
120 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap. xviH. 
 
 had fallen into a narrow part of the valley, between Mont Pleureur 
 and Mont Mauvoisin, and formed a dike of ice and snow 600 feet 
 wide and 400 feet high, on a base of 3,000 feet, behind which the 
 waters of the Drance had accumulated, and formed a lake above 
 7,000 feet long. M. Venetz, the engineer of the Vallais, was con- 
 .sulted, and he immediately decided upon cutting a gallery through 
 this barrier of ice, 60 feet above the level of the water at the time of 
 commencing, and where the dike was 600 feet thick. He calcu- 
 lated upon making a tunnel through this mass before the water 
 should have risen 60 feet higher in the lake. On the 10th of 
 May, the work was begun by gangs of fifty men, who relieved 
 each other, and worked, without intermission, day and night, with 
 inconceivable courage and perseverance, neither deterred by the 
 daily occurring danger from the falling of fresh masses of the 
 glacier, nor by the rapid increase of the water in the lake, which 
 rose 62 feet in 34 days— on an average nearly 2 feet each day ; 
 but it once rose 5 feet in one day, and threatened each moment to 
 burst the dike by its increasing pressure ; or, rising in a nmre 
 rapid proportion than the men could proceed with their work, 
 render their efforts abortive, by rising above them. Sometimes 
 dreadful noises were heard, as the pressure of the water detached 
 masses of ice from the bottom, which, floating, presented so much 
 of their bulk above the water as led to the belief that some of 
 them were 70 feet thick. The men persevered in their fearful 
 duty without any serious accident, and, though suffering severely 
 from cold and wet, and surrounded by dangers which cannot be 
 justly described, by the 4th of June they had accomplished an 
 opening 600 feet long ; but having begun their work on both sides 
 of the dike at the same time, the place where they ought to have 
 met was 20 feet lower on one side of the lake than on the other : 
 it was fortunate that latterly the increase of the perpendicular 
 height of the water was less, owing to the extension of its surface. 
 They proceeded to level the highest side of the tunnel, and com- 
 pleted it just before the water reached them. On the evening of 
 the 13th the water began to flow. At first, the opening was not 
 large enough to carry off the supplies of water which the lake 
 received, and it rose 2 feet above the tunnel ; but this soon en- 
 larged from the action of the water, as it melted the floor of the 
 
CHAP, xviii.] TERRIFIC ALPINE FLOOD. 121 
 
 gallery, and the torrent rushed through. In thirty-two hours the 
 lake sunk 10 feet, and during the follbwing twenty-fours 20 foet 
 more ; in a few days it would have been emptied ; for the floor 
 melting, and being driven off as the water escaped, kept itself 
 below the level of the water within ; but the cataract which issued 
 from the gallery, melted and broke up also a large portion of the 
 base of the dike which had served as its buttress : its resistance 
 decreased faster than the pressure of the lake lessened, and at 
 four o'clock in the afternoon of the 6th of June the dike burst, and 
 in half an hour the water escaped through the breach, and left 
 the lake empty. 
 
 " The greatest accumulation of water had been 800,000,000 
 of cubic feet ; the tunnel, before the disruption, had carried off" 
 nearly 330,000,000— Escher says, 270,000,000 ; but he neglected 
 to add 60,000,000 which flowed into the lake in three days. In 
 half an hour, 530,000,000 cubic feet of water passed through the 
 breach, or 300,000 feet per second ; which is five times greater in 
 quantity than the Rhine at Basle, where it is 1300 English feet 
 wide. In one hour and a half the water reached Martigny, a 
 distance of eight leagues. Through the first 70,000 feet it passed 
 with the velocity of 33 feet per second — four or five times faster 
 than the most rapid 'river known ; yet it was charged with ice, 
 rocks, earth, trees, houses, cattle, and men ; thirty-four persons 
 were lost, 400 cottag^; swept away, and the damage done in the 
 two hours of its desolating power exceeded a million of Swiss 
 livres. All the people of the valley had been cautioned against 
 the danger of a sudden irruption ; yet it was fatal to so many. 
 All the bridges in its course were swept away, and among them 
 the bridge of Mauvoisin, which was elevated 90 feet above the 
 ordinary height of the Drance. If the dike had remained un- 
 touched, and it could have endured the pressure until the lake had 
 reached the level of its top, a volume of 1,700,000,000 cubic feet 
 of water would have been accumulated there, and a devastation 
 much more extensive must have been the consequence. From this 
 greater danger the people of the valley of the Drance were pre- 
 served by the heroism and devotion of the brave men who effected 
 the formation of the gallery, under the direction of M. Venetz. 
 I know no instance on record of courage equal to this : their risk 
 
123 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap, xviu 
 
 of life was not for fame or for riches — they had not the usual 
 excitements to personal risk, in a world's applause oi gazetted 
 promotion, — their devoted courage was to save the lives and prop- 
 erty of their fellow-men, not to destroy them. They steadily and 
 heroically persevered in their labors, amidst dangers such as a 
 field of battle never presented, and from which some of the bravest 
 brutes that ever lived would have shrunk in dismay. These 
 truly brave Yallaisans deserve all honor ! " 
 
 The devastation at Martigny was fearful. More than twenty 
 years have not sufficed to restore the fertility of nature, covered 
 as the soil then was with a thick, desolating mass of stones, sand, 
 and gravel. 
 
 At Beauvemois the valley again assumes an aspect of great 
 luxuriance, which increases as you draw towards the opening into 
 the great valley of the Rhone. Here you turn aside into a cross- 
 path, through beautiful slopes, and woods of walnut and chestnut, 
 to gain the fatiguing ascent of the Forclaz. It was the walnut 
 harvest ; the peasants, men, women and children, were gathering 
 the nuts by cartloads, and a pleasant sight it was to see Mothei 
 Earth's abundance for her offspring. Their Heavenly Fathei 
 feedeth them. That Hum givest them, they gather. 
 
CHAP. SIX.] PIC-NIC IN THE TETE NOIRE. J2S 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Sunset. — The Tete Noire.— The Valorsine by Moonlight.— Piety 
 of the Guides. 
 
 I ARRIVED at the Auberge of the Tete Noire abou four o'clock in 
 the afternoon, and found it shut and abandoned for the season. 
 But here I had promised to dismiss my guide, and so was obliged 
 to march forward with my heavy pack alone, a fatigue by no 
 means despicable, after the long wearying walk already encoun- 
 tered. Most happily I had stored the pockets of my fancy blouse 
 with a luncheon, and possessed, with some other fruits, an enor- 
 mous pomegranate, which had added to the weight of my knap- 
 sack since leaving the city of Turin. I had no idea the weighty 
 delicious fruit was to stand me in so good stead. 
 
 I sat down at the shut of day in the wildest and most beautiful 
 part of the Pass. The stream was roaring through the gorge 
 with grand music at my feet, the foliage reflected the golden light 
 of sunset, the evening shadows of the mountains were falling on 
 the valley. I had some leagues to travel yet, before the shadow 
 of Mont Blanc again would cover me, but the moon would rise 
 and travel with me, and who, with such a companion, could feel 
 friendless or lonely ? He who made the moon, and bade it rise 
 upon the mountains, — his mercy rises with it, our life's star. So, 
 having laid my pack upon the grass, to serve me for a table, be- 
 side the huge celebrated rock Balmarussa, that overhangs the 
 pathway, I partook, with most romantic relish, my lonely, frugal 
 repast of bread, Aostian pears, Parmesan cheese, and the ripe, 
 ruddy, refreshing pomegranate. What a delicious fruit is this ! 
 It was well worthy of being associated with the music of the 
 golden bells upon the ministering robes of Aaron. 
 
 The Poet Horace pays a great compliment to mulberries. 
 
 " Ille salubres (says he), 
 .^states peraget, qui nigris prandia moria 
 Finiet, ante gravem qus legerit arbore solem. 
 
124 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap. xix. 
 
 This dietetic precept I shall render thus : That man will get 
 along very comfortably through the hot weather, who will every 
 day finish his dinner with black mulberries, gathered in the dewy 
 coolness of the morning. If the measure would permit, instead 
 of moris I would put granada, and say, If a man desires a quiet 
 old age, let him every day eat a ripe pomegranate. But it is not 
 every traveller that can know the pleasure of quenching his thirst 
 with it in the. Pass of the Tete Noire. 
 
 Shouldering my pack again, I hastened forward, greatly enjoy- 
 ing the wildness and grandeur of the scenery. At the Valorsine 
 I found another guide, a sturdy peasant, who was just driving 
 home his cows from pasture for the milking. " Wait till I change 
 my clothes," said he, " and I will go with you." He was very glad 
 of a visit to Chamouny, particularly as the next day was a feast 
 day. He carried me into a cottage like a gipsey's cavern. 
 
 We proceeded still by moonlight, which is always so lovely 
 among the mountains. The moon is the beautiful moon of harvest. 
 In the deep glens of the valley it is long in rising, for its lovely 
 light falls on the mountain summits, and kindles them like cres- 
 sets in the sky, long before you catch a glimpse of the round 
 silvery orb, which is the fountain of all this glory ; until the 
 bright veil of rays, as it falls softly from crag to crag, chases 
 rhe shade down into the valley, leaving the rocks, the woods, the 
 caverns steeped in an effulgence, which gives them a beauty not 
 to be imagined in the glare of day. 
 
 The first appearance of the light of the rising moon upon a 
 high mountain, while you are in obscurity below, produces an 
 efiect of enchantment. It is like a blush, or sudden glow, coming 
 out of the mountain, like the emotion of some radiant spirit dwell- 
 ing within, expressed externally, or like the faint beginning of the 
 fire-light behind a transparency. On the opposite side of the 
 valley, all is yet in deep shade, but at the mountain summit, be- 
 hind which the hidden moon is sailing up the sky, there is a wild 
 deepening light, and a fleecy cloud steeped in it, looking as if the 
 moon were to break out into the blue depths, just there, at the 
 point where the cliff cuts the stars and the azure. Still it is long 
 before you see her fill round orb, and you travel on in expect- 
 
CHA.P. XIX.] PIETY OF THE GUIDES 125 
 
 ancy. Her light upon ti e virgin snow is v ildly brilliant and beau 
 tiful. 
 
 My guides to-day have been Roman Catholics. I have had a 
 good deal of conversation with them, and found in the first a truly 
 serious disposition, and a regard for the forms of devotion in his 
 church, which I would hope is mingled with something of true 
 piety. He told me much about his habits of prayer, that he 
 prayed every day, using the pater noster, the ave, the credo, the 
 acts of faith, etcetera, which he knew by heart. He also prayed 
 to the saints, especially St. Bernard. I asked him if he ever 
 prayed in any other manner, and he said no, never with any prayer 
 but what was written for him. I asked if he did not sometimes 
 from a deep sense of sin in himself cry out to God thus, " Lord 
 have mercy upon me a great sinner, and forgive my guilt," and 
 he said yes. 
 
 He told me that he had seen the Bible, and possessed a New 
 Testament, which he read about twice a week. I asked him why 
 not oftener ? He said he had no time. I told him that he could 
 easily read a few verses every day, if he chose, for it would take 
 almost no time at all. I told him the word of God was the bread 
 of the soul, notre pain quotidienne, for which he prayed in the 
 pater noster, and that it was necessary to be eaten daily. What 
 good would it do for our bodies, if we ate but twice in the week ? 
 We should soon starve ; and just so with our souls. We need 
 to receive God's bread, our spiritual food, the Bread of Eternal 
 Life, every day, morning and evening, at least. This would be 
 but two meals for our souls, where we make three, or more, for 
 our bodies. " Give us this day our daily bread." This does not 
 mean merely give to our bodies wherewithal to eat ; but far more 
 it means, feed our souls with that precious spiritual bread, without 
 which we perish. Sanctify us by thy truth. Be Thou our daily 
 Bread, the Life of our Souls. For Man shall not live by bread 
 alone, but by every word that proceedeth out of the mouth of God 
 shall man live. 
 
 My guide seemed much impressed with this manner of present- 
 ing the case, but 1 doubt if he ever had the least idea of what the 
 Word of God really is for the soul. He told me that he goes to 
 confession regularly, and takes the sacrament twice a year, when 
 
126 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM [chap, xix 
 
 the priest gives him absolution, and all his sins are taken away, 
 I told him that the Blood of Jesus Christ alone could take away 
 sin, and he assented to it ; but this was the great truth of the gos- 
 pel, which the Romish system renders " bed-ridden in the dormi- 
 tory of the soul," while her own superstitions govern its active 
 life. She does not turn the truth out of doors, but sets Error to 
 be its keeper, confined and strait-jacketed, as if it were a mad- 
 man ; or to be its nurse, as if it were a paralytic. So if any vi- 
 sitors inquire 'after its health. Error answers them. 
 
 This guide was a person of the better sort, and there was a 
 mixture of truth and error in him. Some day the truth may get 
 loose, and save him. 
 
 My next guide was a Valorsine, a subject of the King of Sardi- 
 nia. He shrugged his shoulders, and said it was necessary to be- 
 lieve in the Church and as the Church believed. He goes to con- 
 fession once a year, and believes that then all his sins are washed 
 away, when the priest gives absolution. He believes that the 
 holy sacrament gives life and saves the soul, alleging the words 
 of our Saviour, " He that eateth my flesh and drinketh my blood," 
 &c. So much of the gospel as this he had been taught like a 
 parrot. He had never seen the New Testament, and hardly 
 seemed to know what it was. 
 
 He put many questions to me concerning religion in America, 
 and asked among other things if we believed in the commandments 
 of God. Sidney Smith probably would have answered him, " all 
 except the one, ' Thou shalt not steal.' " He prays night and 
 morning with the jtater noster, the credo, the ave Maria, die. I 
 gave him a little volume containing the gospel of Luke, which I 
 had brought with me from the Waldeases. 
 
 Another man whom I talked with at Chamouny, told me that he 
 knew of a Bible in one house, but it was at some distance. They 
 were very rare, though sometimes families got them from Paris, 
 but the priests did not like them to have the scriptures. This 
 man firmly believed that the priests liave power to forgive sins. 
 
 Now what a monstrous system is this ! What utter and com- 
 plete destruction of a man's free agency, in that great and solemn 
 business, in which of all others he should act for himself, and 
 feel his responsibili.y. These men seemed to have shuffled ofl 
 
CHAP. XIX.] A CRAG IN THE HEAVENS. 127 
 
 their religious anxieties without the slightest concern for the re- 
 suit, as a traveller deposits his funds with a banker, and takes a 
 circular letter of credit. The transaction with the priest is an 
 anodyne administered to the conscience, which makes it sleep 
 profoundly, and if perchance it wakes, an appeal to the Virgin 
 quiets it. O sad and dreadful Mystery of Iniquity ! Prayer it- 
 self, the highest, most ennobling exercise of the soul, turned into 
 idolatry and superstition ! " How will these men," asks Dr. 
 South, with his accustomed pith and power in one of his ser- 
 mons, — " How will these men answer for their sins, who stand thus 
 condemned for their devotions ?" 
 
 Mont Blanc has been almost hidden during this last visit. But 
 there is a owild hurried light at times under the clouds, when they 
 are a little lifted, which shows what is concealed, with great sub- 
 limity. At times also the clouds open around a lofty peak, and it 
 stands out in the sky alone, while the whole mountain and world 
 beside is hidden in mist. A craggy or snowy peak so seen, seems 
 to have gone like an island with wings up into the heavens, it ap- 
 pearing so lofty and so wildly bright. The glacier du Bosson 
 struggling down the valley seems like a lost thing from another 
 world. How beautiful the new fallen snow upon the mountains ! 
 
188 WAVJiTRINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chxp xx 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 City of Aoste.—The Sabbath. — The Peasants.— Monument to John Calvin. 
 
 The City of Aoste, lying under an Italian sky, and out of the 
 way of communication with the gospel, has always remained in 
 allegiance to the Pope and Tradition. It is not very fer from the 
 interesting territory of the Waldenses, where the light of gospel 
 truth has never gone out, and where, from age to age, men have 
 suffered martyrdom rather than wear the mark of the beast on 
 their foreheads. But a few mountains interposed make Evan- 
 gelical Christiana of one party, and of the other subjects of 
 Rome. 
 
 It is impossible to describe the feeling of confidence and comfort 
 which you have, in a Romish city like this, on finding yourself in 
 a pleasant Protestant family. The people of mine inn were not 
 Christians in personal experience, but the bare absence of the 
 bondage of the priesthood, and the disregard of the superstitious 
 ceremonies of the Cathedral, with the speculative knowledge of 
 the truth which they had had in Switzerland, gave them a great 
 superiority to those around them. What a shameful thing to hu- 
 man nature it is to feel afraid of your fellow-creatures on account 
 of their religion, because their religion makes them your enemies, 
 and teaches them to view you as criminals, who ought to be pun- 
 ished. One c'l hardly pass through a Romish city, without 
 seeing Giant Grim sitting at the door of his cave, and muttering, 
 as you pass by. You will never mend till more of you be burned. 
 But all the bigotry and jealousy in the world cannot make the 
 grass less green in this delicious region, nor the song of the birds 
 less sweet, nor cause the sun to shine less brightly upon Protes- 
 tants, than he does upon Romanists. It is a lovely place, where 
 you may experience both the delight of the Poet in the loveliness 
 of Nature, and the grief of the Poet for what man has made 
 of man. 
 
CHAP. XX.J SABBATH IN AOSTE. 120 
 
 " I heard a thousand blended notes, 
 While in a grove I sat reclined. 
 In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts, 
 
 Bring sad thoughts to the mind. 
 
 To her fair works did Nature link 
 The human soul that through me ran, 
 And much it grieved my heart to think 
 
 What man has made of man. 
 
 Through primrose tufts in that sweet bower. 
 The periwinkle trailed its wreaths ; 
 And 'tis my faith that every flower 
 
 Enjoys the air it breathes. 
 
 The birds around me hopped and played ; 
 Their thoughts I cannot measure : — 
 But the least motion which they made, 
 
 It seemed a thrill of pleasure. 
 
 The budding twigs spread out their fan 
 To catch the breezy air ; 
 And I must think, do all I can. 
 
 That there was pleasure there. 
 
 If this belief from Heaven is sent, 
 If such be nature's holy plan, 
 Have I not reason to lament. 
 
 What man has made of man .' 
 
 1 spent the Sabbath in this city, and enjoyed much a solitary 
 walk in the fields and along the margin of the riv^r. Beautiful 
 region ! How calm an " grand the mountains, looking down upon 
 the green earth like venerable, benevolent genii, who guard the 
 abodes of its inhabitants, or like ancient white-haired prophets speak- 
 ing of the mysteries of heaven ! It is sweet to commune with God 
 amidst the lovely scenes of nature, when the desecration and forget- 
 fulness of his Sabbath and his temples built by human hands compel 
 you, as it were, to Iseek him in solitude, by the music of running 
 water, beneath the open temple of a sky so glorious, amidst groves 
 of such quiet shade and luxuriance, with such Sabbath-like repose. 
 Atid amidst the idolatry and wilful superstitions of Romanism. 
 near the heart of the great system where its throbbings agitate 
 lU 
 
130 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. chap, xx 
 
 the whole mass of society, it is good to plead with God, that his 
 Holy Spirit may descend upon this region, and his own truth 
 prevail. 
 
 The calm retreat, the silent shade. 
 
 With prayer and praise agree, 
 And seem by thy sweet bounty made 
 
 For those who worship Thee. 
 
 My heart "went back to America, to dear relatives and friends 
 going to the House of God with those that keep the day holy. Ah, 
 if our Heavenly Father is as good to them as he has been to me, 
 I have nothing to ask for them but a heart filled with lively grati- 
 tude for all his mercy. Mountains, kingdoms, oceans are between 
 us, but we are equally near to God, and we still meet at the Mercy 
 Seat, though thousand leagues of sea and land separate us. This 
 is better than looking at the moon, at hours appointed, even though 
 marked by love. 
 
 " Oh ye, who guard and grace my home, 
 Wliile in far distant lands we roam. 
 Inquiring thoughts are turned to you ; 
 Does a clear ether meet your eyes ? 
 Or have black vapors hid the skies 
 And mountains from your view : 
 
 " I ask in vain— and know far less 
 If sickness, sorrow, or distress 
 Have spared my dwelling to this hour : 
 Sad blindness ! but ordained to prove 
 Our Faith in Heaven's unfailing Love 
 And all-controlling Power." 
 
 Wordsworth's Eclipse of the Sun. 
 
 At the morning mass the Romish Cathedral was full of worship- 
 pers, there being more men than I have seen in a Romish church 
 for a long time. The streets were very quiet, but a little out of 
 the city the common people were playing ball, and towards eve- 
 ning the noble public square in front of our hotel was crowded 
 with men, women, and children, gathered around a large band of 
 musicians m the centre, who meet there and play every Sabbath 
 evening. Their music-books and benches were arranged arounJ 
 
CHAP. XX.] PEASANTS AND PRIESTS. 131 
 
 a hollow square, in the centre of which the leader directed their 
 operations and timed their movements with most energetic jerking 
 and slapping of hands. Amidst the crowd, a group of three 
 priests enjoying the music, conversing, and now and then appa- 
 rently suggesting some piece which they would like to have per- 
 formed. The respect paid to them, and the air of ease and dig- 
 nity with which they moved, were so strikingly different from the 
 mutual deportment of priest and people on the other side of the 
 Grand St. Bernard, that I could not but remark it. 
 
 And yet, it is curious to listen to the talk of the common people 
 in regard to the priests, even here, where so little light has been 
 let in upon them. I had quite a long conversation with a 
 well-dressed peasant whom I met in the fields, and he told 
 me that the priests were very avaricious — would do nothing for 
 love, but everything for money, and attended more to the rich 
 than the poor, and all for self-interest. Now, there are in every 
 country plenty of people who will talk abundantly and unwar- 
 rantably against their Clergy ; but this man considered himself a 
 good Roman Catholic, and he had just then come from mass. He 
 would hardly have got absolution, if he had made confession of 
 his talk this day to a heretic. 
 
 I spoke to him of the beauty and richness of the country. He 
 said it was a country of ndseres, poor, miserable people. I spoke 
 to him of the goodness of God and the preciousness of the Saviour. 
 He seemed to have some right ideas of the nature of prayer. He 
 said that the world cared little for Jesus Christ, and that poor 
 people had need of much patience to be pious amidst their pov- 
 erty : most true indeed this was, but the poor fellow seemed to 
 have the idea that their sufferings in this life, if rightly endured, 
 would be considered as a sort of penance, in consideration of 
 which they would gain eternal life in the world which is to come. 
 
 It never came to my mind so forcibly before, how the idra of 
 penance and merit by suffering is inwrought by the Romish 
 system into every conception of religion in the souls of the poor 
 misguided multitudes. Imbued as they are from infancy with the 
 errors of that system, how can they have any true idea of the 
 gospel ? Alas ! how pernicious ! how destructive of the true 
 view of Christ as a Saviour ! Penance and human merit as the 
 
132 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap, xx 
 
 purchase of salvation ! This is the theology which Rome teaches, 
 and if I am not mistaken, it is the religious atmosphere, an at- 
 mosphere of thick, blinding, ruinous error, in which almost every 
 soul under that teaching grows and dies. I mean, if possible, to 
 get at the practical effect of this atmosphere in the almost uncon- 
 scious thoughts and feelings of unsophisticated peasants, and com- 
 mon ignorant men. I wish to learn how far it is possible for a 
 common mmd, in innocence and simplicity of purpose — for a 
 person who sincerely, and, as it were, unconsciously, pursues the 
 routine dictated and taught by the Romish Church, to have any 
 right conception of religion or of Christ. I believe it will be 
 found, that even if Rome were chargeable with no other error or 
 iniquity, this idea of the purchase of salvation by human works 
 and merit, effectually darkens the mind in every case, and excludes 
 from it the light of the gospel ; as much so as the vilest rites of 
 idolatry do degrade and darken the mind in lands utterly heathen. 
 Therefore it is that the multitudes under the delusions of Rome 
 need missionaries, as much as the Pagans. They are totally 
 ignorant of the great truth of faith in Christ. It is not in their 
 system. It is far from the teachings of the priests — far from the 
 knowledge of the people. 
 
 Let the poet Dante, the great poet of a Romish creed and Scho- 
 lastic philosophy intermingled, but a poet " all compact " with 
 freedom and great thought, seeing beneath the surface, and telling 
 what he saw, — ^let Mm describe the route of Romish teachers, and 
 you will no more call it prejudice and harsh judgment, if you find 
 the same colors copied now from the reality of things. 
 
 " Men, thus at variance with the truth. 
 Dream, though their eyes be open ; reckless some 
 Of error ; others well aware they err, 
 To whom more guilt and shame are justly due. 
 Each the known track of sage philosophy 
 Deserts, and has a by-way of his own : 
 So much the restless eagerness to shine, 
 And love of singularity, prevail. 
 Yet this, offensive as it is, provokes 
 Heaven's anger less, than when the Book of God 
 Is forced to yield to man's authority. 
 
 Or from its straightness warped: no reck'ning made 
 
 What blood the souring of it in the world 
 
CHAP. XX.] DANTE, AND GOD'S WORD. 133 
 
 Has cost ; what favor for himself he toins. 
 
 Who meekly clings to it. 
 
 The aim of all 
 Is how to shine : e'en they, whose office is 
 
 To preach the gospel, let the gospel sleep. 
 
 And pass their oum inventions off instead. 
 
 One tells, how at Christ's sufferings the wan moon 
 
 Bent back her steps, and shadowed o'er the sun 
 
 With intervenient disk, as she withdrew. 
 
 Another, how the light shrouded itself 
 
 Within its tabernacle, and left dark 
 
 The Spaniard, and the Indian, with the Jew. 
 
 Such fables Florence in her pulpit hears. 
 
 Bandied about more frequent than the names 
 
 Of Bindi and of Lapi in her streets. 
 
 The sheep meanwhile, poor witless ones, return 
 
 From pasture, fed with wind : and what avails 
 
 For their excuse they do not see their harm .' 
 
 Christ said not to his first conventicle 
 Go forth and preach impostures to the world; 
 But gave them Truth to build on ; and the sound 
 Was mighty on their lips ; nor needed they. 
 Beside the gospel, other spear or shield. 
 To aid them in their warfare for the faith." 
 
 What a noble, powerful voice is this ! Dante had in his soul 
 the germ of the very principle of Protestantism and of freedom, 
 adherence to the Word of God above all autlwrity ; and hence no 
 small portion of his power ; hence the fetters broken from his 
 genius. He could scarce have said more, had he seen the mod- 
 ern Romish preachers taking for their text the Holy Coat of Treves. 
 
 " The preacher now provides himself with store 
 Of jests and gibes ; and, so there be no lack 
 Of laughter while he vents them, his big cowl 
 Distends, and he has won the meed he sought. 
 Could but the vulgar catch a glimpse the While 
 Of that dark bird, which nestles in his hood, 
 They scarce would wait to hear the blessing said. 
 Which now the dotards hold in such esteem. 
 That every counterfeit, who spreads abroad 
 The hands of holy promise, finds a throng 
 Of credulous fools beneath. St. Anthony 
 Fattens with this hia swine, and others worse 
 
134 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap. xx. 
 
 Than swine, who diet at his lazy board, 
 Paying with false indulgences their fare." 
 
 Pahadise, Canto XXIX., Carey's Dante. 
 
 I met several women on the Sabbath, reading in Romish books 
 of devotion, and observed that in the Cathedral many persons had 
 their prayer-books in their hands. Sometimes a maiden would 
 be sitting at the house door in the street, reading. Again, I pass- 
 ed an old man clad in his Sabbath garments, reading to his wife. 
 Again, a little out of the city, a woman sitting under the shadow 
 of the trees and reading to her children. It was a collection of 
 Roman Catholic hymns, some of them very excellent, others ad- 
 dressed to the saints, and full of error from beginning to end. 
 But it was pleasant to see that there were so many people who 
 knew how to read. This being the case, they are prepared, at 
 least, to receive the Bible ; it could not be lost upon them. 
 
 One of the little girls, seeing I was very curious in my inqui- 
 ries as to the books they read and studied, and as to whether they 
 had the Bible, ran into the house, and brought me the two other 
 books, which I suppose constituted their little library, one of 
 which Contained the lives of some excellent devout persons in 
 humble situations, one of them being celebrated for his great de- 
 votion to the Virgin Mary. The other book was a History of the 
 Holy Bible, which was all they possessed approximating to the 
 scriptures. The priests give them the History of thfe Bible, but 
 withhold the Bible itself. 
 
 The woman asked me what religion they were of in my country, 
 and I told her the Reformed Religion ; but finding that she did 
 not understand me, I told her the religion of Jesus Christ. All, 
 said she, it is the same religion as ours ; our religion is the religion 
 of Jesus Christ, you have the same. I did not attempt to explain 
 to her the difference, but simply spoke of the necessity of faith in 
 Christ, and of prayer always. But really, to what a system of 
 monstrous error the name and seal of Jesus Christ are affixed in 
 the Romish Church ! Their religion has with great propriety been 
 called the religion of the Virgin rather than of Christ, Marianism 
 instead of Christianity. 
 
 The city of Aostc was for a little season the scene of the labors 
 of Calvin, a place of retreat from the persecutions of his enemies. 
 
CHAP. XX.] LEGEND CONCERNING CALVIN. 135 
 
 But he was obliged by the roar of the Beast to fly from this beau- 
 tiful valley, and now in the city itself there is a stone cross with 
 an inscription at its base, to commemorate his departure, a curious 
 testimony of the priests as to the power of this great man, and the 
 dread with which his presence, his influence, and his labors, were 
 regarded among them. 
 
 Mine host told me a curious story, which he said was current 
 and firmly believed in the city and the valley as to the cause of 
 Calvin's flight, which was that he had promised the people, as a 
 sign of the truth of his teaching, to raise a dead man to life ; that 
 he made the attempt and failed, and that the whole city was so 
 enraged against him, that he had to fly a* midnight, or rather at 
 eleven o'clock, across the Grand St. Bernard, to save himself from 
 destruction. As a proof of this legend, the inhabitants of Aoste, 
 to commemorate this event, have ever since made the hour of 
 eleven their midday and midnight, so that they dine at eleven in- 
 stead of twelve, and consider eleven as noon. They dine and 
 sleep on the remembrance of Calvin's flight from their holy Ro- 
 mish Apostolic city. Much good may it do them. It is a dream, 
 which mingles with their dreams, and facilitates their digestion ; 
 the inscription on the monument is as good to them as wine after 
 dinner ; and much more innocent is it than many other Popish 
 lies and superstitions, of which the ridiculous legend about Calvin 
 raising a dead body bears the stamp of a notable example. 
 
 One of the most striking features in the character of this great 
 man (as in that of all the prominent Reformers) was the extreme 
 remove of his mind from everything like fanaticism. Without 
 being a Stoic, he was one of the calmest of them all. They were all 
 remarkably characterized by strong faith, a living faith, celestial 
 but sober, as men who see realities, and never degenerating into 
 presumption or fanatical pretence. The whole life of Calvin, as 
 the steady burning of a uniform but intense energy, reminds us 
 of Foster's original remark in regard to the fire of Howard's 
 benevolence : " it was the calmness of an intensity kept uniform by 
 the nature of the human mind forbidding it to be more, and by 
 the character of the individual forbidding it to be less." Intense, 
 unremitting determination, so intense " that if, instead of being 
 habitual, it had been shown only for a short time on particula? 
 
136 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap, xx 
 
 occasions, it would have appeared a vehement impetuosity," 
 never had a more signal exhibition. Calmly, but rapidly, it burnt 
 his life to the socket. Of him, as of Howard, one might wonder 
 what must have been the amount of that bribe, in emolument or 
 pleasure, that would have detained him a week inactive, after the 
 final adjustment of his plans. It was this inflexible decision of 
 mind, as much as the largeness and acuteness of his intellect, and 
 the depth of his piety, which gave him such supreme influence 
 and sway in the Genevese republic. Perhaps it was more this, 
 than all his other great qualities, in which his friends, and they 
 who were much older than himself, felt his superiority. 
 
 Calvin was not' a man to attempt a miracle, but to strip the 
 disguise from every pretender. It would have been a strange 
 hallucination indeed, if his clear intellect, and uniform logical 
 passion, had ever taken the form of a miracle-working enthusiasm. 
 He was the incarnation of the Logic of the Reformation, as Me- 
 lancthon was of its Benevolence, Zuingle of its Zeal, and Luther 
 of its Faith, Boldness, and Hope. It was not a mere scholastic 
 Logic, but rich and large, and at the same time simple and 
 natural, and all informed, permeated, and kindled by Divine 
 Truth. It was not subtlety, but the faculty of keen, clear insight, 
 without the rambling of a thought, and of rigid, severe expression, 
 without the waste of a word. In Calvin's life and character, two 
 great qualities met, Method and Passion ; not the creations of the 
 senses, but deep in the soul ; qualities of Intellect and Duty, the 
 mould and frame-work of the man. 
 
 And now as to intolerance. If it came under the guise of an 
 angel, we should hate it ; and we abhor it not the less, where it 
 is an accident in a system of truth, than where it is the very 
 spirit, demand, and breathing necessity of a system of error, ll 
 grows out of the Romish system at all times; it has attached itself 
 to the system of the Reformation sometimes ; it springs almost 
 inevitably from the union of Church and State with any system 
 whatever. The intolerance of the Reformed Churches has been 
 the detestable fruit of this detes'able connection. 
 
 Edmund Burke once remarked that " the whole class of the 
 severe and restrictive virtues are at a market almost too high for 
 humanity." Calvin was distinguished for these virtues, and 
 
CHAP. XX.] SACRAMENT OF FIRE. 137 
 
 perhaps he bore his faculties as meekly as any mortal mixture of 
 earth's mould could have done, endowed with them so highly. 
 They are of an unbending class, and may sometimes put the 
 mind out of a proper sympathy for human weakness. But the 
 secret of that intolerance which sometimes darkened the progress 
 of the Reformation, and which has been permitted to throw so 
 deep a shade over the character of Calvin, has been better told by 
 Coleridge than by any other writer. 
 
 " At the Reformation," said he, " the first Reformers were beset 
 with an almost morbid anxiety not to be considered heretical in 
 point of doctrine. They knew that the Romanists were on the 
 watch to fasten the brand of heresy upon them whenever a fair 
 pretext could be found ; and I have no doubt it was the excess of 
 this fear which at once led to the burning of Servetus, and also 
 to the thanks offered by all the Protestant Churches, to Calvin and 
 the Church of Geneva, for burning him." 
 
 Poor human nature ! A wiser and still more loving John than 
 Calvin would once have burned all Samaria, if our Blessed Lord 
 would have permitted it. But Grace shall one day take all these 
 wrinkles from the Church of Christ, and present it without spot, 
 fair as the Moon, clear as the Sun, and terrible as an army with 
 banners. 
 
 Mark the perverted and fanatical use which James and John 
 would have made of the example of Elias I " Lord ! wilt thou 
 that we command fire to come down from heaven, and consume 
 them, even as Elias did ?" But what a sweet rebuke was that 
 which restrained and corrected a zeal so mingled with the un- 
 righteous spirit ! " The Son of Man is not come to destroy men's 
 lives, but to save them." Who could have thought, after this, 
 that fire to burn up erring men would have passed into the Church 
 as one of its great sacraments, " Acts of Faith," and most solemn 
 celebrations of worship ? But in so doing, it constitutes one of the 
 most glaring, evident seals, not of the Church of Christ, but Anti- 
 Christ. Whoever adopts it, adopts a seal of the Great Apostasy. 
 
 Mark you, also, that James and John, before they would have 
 used it, consulted their Divine Master — " Lord, wilt thou that we 
 command fire ?" If always, in such a mood, men had so con- 
 sulted Christ, when thinking of applying fire, they ■\yould have 
 
138 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap, xx 
 
 found out its wickedness ; they would have received and felt the 
 answer, Ye know not what spirit ye are of. 
 
 It is remarkable that death by burning has always been con- 
 sidered as consecrated, if I may so speak, to the crime of a reli- 
 gious faith. It is the Baptism of Fire, with which the Court of 
 Rome preeminently has chosen to finish and perfect the ethereal- 
 ization of those noble spirits, who in the midst of torture and 
 death, opposed her errors and her despotism. It is the only Sa- 
 crament that Romish bigotry and superstition have ever granted to 
 heretics ; the sacrament with which a multitude of souls, of the 
 best mould ever shaped, have been dismissed in a chariot of fire 
 to Immortality. 
 
CHAP. XXI.] ANTIQUITIES OF AOSTE. I'Q 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 Antiquities, calamities and by-laws of Aoste. — Mont Blanc from Ivrogne. 
 
 The old Romans left a more enduring memorial of their resi- 
 dence and conquests in the city of Aoste, than Calvin did of iiis. 
 There is a triumphal arch erected by Augustus twenty-four years 
 before Christ, a Roman bridge across the river, and a remarkable 
 double Roman gate, or entrance to the city. There are ruins of 
 an amphitheatre, subterranean vaults, and many fragments of an- 
 tiquity and use unknown. Mine host carried me into one of the 
 long subterranean passages beneath the city, built, it is said, by 
 the ancient native inhabitants before the time of the Romans ; 
 now half filled and choked with rubbish, but running in different 
 directions clear across the city, and even, it is said, under the 
 bed of the river. The old city in the time of the Romans was 
 called Cordele, the chief city of the Salassi. 
 
 The city is most beautiful in its position, close to the junction 
 of the rivers Buttier and Doire, in the centre of a luxuriant val- 
 ley, from many points of which you can see both the Mont Blanc 
 and the snowy ranges of the Grand St. Bernard. Magnificent 
 mountains, girdled with beautiful verdure far up towards their 
 rocky summits, enclose the valley, and rich vineyards cover their 
 beautiful slopes below. In the eleventh century Anselm, Arch- 
 bishop of Canterbury, was born in this city, and St. Bernard in 
 his day was Archdeacon of Aoste, so that it is a city of great 
 names and memories in other triumphs than the flight of Calvin. 
 
 The inhabitants speak French, and are horribly disfigured with 
 cretinism and goitre, enormous bag necks, and idiots, or cretins, 
 meeting you, in both men and women, in almost every street. 
 What a calamity is this ! and amidst such fertility and beauty, 
 such softness, sweetness, purity and luxuriance of nature ! While 
 nature smiles (Foster sadly remarks), there are many pale coun 
 
iki WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM; [chap, xxt 
 
 tenances that do not. But sadder is the sight of a living face, 
 from which the last gleam of intellect has departed, than of many 
 dreadful forms of pain and misery. This fearful disease of cre- 
 tinism excludes its victims from society, and reduces them to the 
 level of brutes. Men of science have endeavored without suc- 
 cess to discover its cause and arrest its progress. Saussure 
 supposed that it is occasioned by a vicious atmosphere, not 
 changed and renewed, and wanting in certain elements necessary 
 to the healthful development of man. But if this were the cass, 
 why should not all the inhabitants- of the village feel it ? Why 
 should it decimate them ? Why should any escape ? Strange, 
 indeed, and dreadfully subtle and penetrating, must that peculi- 
 arity in the atmosphere be, which passes through the frame to 
 attack the intellect. 
 
 Mine host told me that the goitre was to be attributed to the 
 lilthy habits of the people, who live in the stables with the cattle, 
 in winter, for the sake of warmth : this is not improbable, but 
 again, on the other hand, there are communities quite as filthy in 
 various parts of the world, where this goitre never yet made its 
 appearance. The streets of the city are clean, and indeed, in the 
 midst of most of them a clear running stream from the moun- 
 tains pours over the pavements. Fruits are abundant and deli- 
 cious ; moreover, it was the season of strawberries, with plenty 
 of cream. 
 
 I was amused with looking over the exposition of the articles 
 of law relative to the government of the city. No loud singing 
 is allowed in the streets afler ten o'clock in the evening, nor any 
 noises capable of disturbing good people who wish to sleep. Va- 
 gabonds are to be carried to watch-houses, and nothing but honest 
 callings are to be permitted, and decent moral amusements for 
 recreation. All persons are forbidden to expose for show any 
 images in wood or wax, of Venus, or any great notable assassins, 
 or men famous for their crimes in any way. All the world 
 knows that Venus is a great assassin, well deserving of capital 
 punishment ; and if the priests had stated that this was one of the 
 laws which Calvin caused to be framed while residing in the city, 
 it might be easier believed, than their tale of Calvin raising the 
 dead. In these laws the utmost vigilance is enjoined against the 
 
CHAP. XXI.] AOSTE TO COURMAYER. 141 
 
 introduction into the city of books or tracts of any kind tending 
 injuriously towards the Holy Catholic Roman Apostolic Church, 
 religion or government. The cleanness of the streets may pos- 
 sibly be accounted for by a law that every person shall be held 
 to keep the street clean before his own door, carefully removing 
 all the dirt, and preventing its accumulation. This is somewhat 
 different from our laws in New York, where the swine have a pre- 
 mium as city scavengers. 
 
 There is a most curious propensity in the lower orders to asso- 
 ciate a foreign language, or the supposed ignorance of their own, 
 with deafness. Moijt persons have probably met with instances 
 of this, but I never knew a more singular example than that of a 
 peasant in Aoste, who, seeing that I was a foreigner, stepped up 
 to me, and answered a question I had asked him, with a shout 
 such as you would pour into the ear of a person incurably 
 deaf. He evidently supposed, that being a foreigner, I had lost 
 my hearing, or rather that I possessed the sense of hearing only 
 for my own language, and could understand his only when it 
 thundered. On this principle, all a man needs in travelling 
 through foreign countries would be an ear-trumpet, instead of the 
 grammar and dictionary. 
 
 From the Cite d' Aoste to Courmayeur, at the end of the valley 
 near Mont Blanc, it is about twenty-seven miles. I had a return 
 char-d-baTW entirely to myself, for the very small sum of five 
 francs. The ride and the views of Mont Blanc enjoyed in it 
 were worth five hundred. For twelve miles the road winds along 
 the bottom of the valley, sometimes at the edge of a torrent, 
 sometimes crossing it, through scenes of the richest vegetation. 
 The openings of rich valleys here and there lead off the eye 
 as in a perspective wilderness of wlldness and beauty ; and the 
 grandeur of the mountains, snow-topped even in August, in- 
 creases as the valley narrows towards Mont Blanc. 
 
 About half way up the valley from Aoste to Courmayeur is a 
 little vagabond village named Ivrogne, I know not on what princi- 
 ple or for what reason so baptized, unless it were from the fact 
 that you pass immediately to a point where, in the language of 
 Lord Byron, the scene is of such effulgence, that you are well 
 oigh" dazzled and drunk with beauty." For, a little beyond 
 
142 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap. xxi. 
 
 this village of Ivrogne, Mont Blanc bursts upon you with indescri- 
 bable sublimity. Your weather must indeed be fine, and you 
 must be there at a particular hour, for the most favorable position 
 of the sun upon the scene ; but when these requisites concur, 
 nothing in nature can be more glorious, than the vision, which 
 I had almost said blazes in floods of living light before you. 
 
 I have seen Mont Blanc from all the best points of view, from 
 the Breven, the Flegefe, from St. Martin, in fine weather in Au- 
 gust, with every advantage, and from the Col de Balme on a day 
 in October so glorious, that I then thought never could be pre- 
 sented, at any other season, such a juncture of elements in one 
 picture, of such unutterable sublimity and beauty. But all things 
 taken together, no other view is to be compared for its magnificence 
 with this in the Val d'Aoste. The valley from this point up to 
 Courmayeur, more than twelve miles, forms a mighty infolding 
 perspective, of which the gorges of the mountains, inlaid and with- 
 drawing one behind another, like ridges of misty light, lead off 
 the eye into a wondrous depth and distance, with Mont Blanc 
 completely filling up the close. This scene, by the winding of 
 your way, bursts almost as suddenly upon you, as if the heavens 
 were opened. The poet Dante may give you some little impres- 
 sion of the glory. 
 
 " As when the lightning, in a sudden sheen 
 Unfolded, dashes from the blinding eyes 
 The visive spirits, dazzled and bedimmed ; 
 So, round about me, fulminating streams 
 Of living radiance played, and left me swathed 
 And veiled in dense impenetrable blaze. 
 
 I looked. 
 And in the likeness of a river saw 
 Light flowing, from whose amber-seeming waves 
 Flashed up efliilgence, as they glided on 
 'Twixt banks on either side painted with spring 
 Incredible how fair : and from the tide 
 There ever and anon outstarting flew 
 Sparkles instinct with life ; and in the flowerg 
 Did set them, like to rubies chased in gold. 
 Then, as if drunk with odors, plunged again 
 Into the wondrous flood. 
 
OTAP. XII.] VISION OF MONT BLANC. 143 
 
 How vast a space 
 Of ample radiance ! Yet, nor amplitude. 
 Nor height impeded, but my view with ease 
 Took in the full dimensions of that joy." 
 
 Pakadise, Canto XXX. 
 
 If to this you please to add Milton's description of the gate in 
 heaven's wall, as seen out of Chaos, you will have, not indeed an 
 accurate picture, but a semblance, an image by approximation, 
 of the manner in which Mont Blanc may rise before the vision. 
 
 " Far distant he descries. 
 Ascending by degrees magnificent 
 Up to the wall of heaven, a structure high. 
 At top whereof, but far more rich, appeared 
 The work as of a kingly palace gate 
 With frontispiece of diamond and of gold 
 Embellished ; thick with sparkling orient gems 
 The portal shone, inimitable on earth 
 By model or by shading pencil drawn. 
 The stairs were such as whereon Jacob saw 
 Angels ascending and descending, bands 
 Of guardians bright, when he from Esau fled 
 To Padan-Aram in the field of Luz, 
 Dreaming by night under the open sky. 
 And waking cried, This is the gate of heaven " 
 
144 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM [chap. ixh. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 Mont Blanc from the upper Val d'Aoste. 
 
 Almost every separate view of Mont Blanc from different vales 
 and mountains has some peculiarity to characterize it. I never 
 obtained so complete an idea of the vastness of its slopes of snow, 
 and the immensity of its glaciers, as when gazing on it in a fine 
 day from the summit of the Fleg6re in the vale of Chamouny. 
 But that day the peculiar interest of the view was derived from 
 the fact that a number of travellers could be seen ascending Mont 
 Blanc, and it was in fact particularly on that account that at that 
 time we made the ascent of the Flegere. The French govern- 
 ment had sent several scientific gentlemen to climb the mountain, 
 remain upon it3 summit several nights, and fill the world with the 
 glory of their observations. They had made several most peril- 
 ous and unsuccessful trials to accomplish their mission, but Mont 
 Blanc always proved too surly for them, till there came an inter- 
 val of fine weather ; then, it being known in the valley that they 
 were on their way up the mountain to the number of about forty, 
 guides and all, many of the travellers then in the valley seized 
 this opportunity to ascend the Flegfire and have a look at the 
 French voyageurs in their perilous expedition. And intensely in- 
 teresting it was to look at them with the telescope, about two thirds 
 up the mountain, creeping along, like emmets, in a single file be- 
 hind one another, over the surface of the ice and snow. 
 
 Now they seemed hanging to the face of one precipice, and 
 suspended over the awful gulf of another. Now they wound 
 carefully and painfully along the brink of an enormous glacier, 
 where a slide of snow from above, or the separation of the mass 
 over which they were treading, would have carried them all to 
 destruction. Again they were seen higher up, evidently engaged 
 in cutting footsteps in the steep ice path, and making such slon 
 
CHAP. XXII.] MONT BLANC FROM THE FLEGERE. 14£ 
 
 progress, that the eye could scarcely distinguish their motion nt 
 all. Then we would lose sight of them entirely, and again thisy 
 would appear in another direction, having surmounted the obsta- 
 cles successfully, but again we saw them in a position evidently 
 so hazardous, that from moment to moment it would have been no 
 surprise to see them fall. The exclamation of almost every indi- 
 vidual looking at them was this, What a foolhardy enterprise ! 
 What fools to risk their lives in such an undertaking ! And yet 
 the danger is probably not so extreme as it appeared to us, although 
 indeed the hazards of the ascent of Mont Blanc are at all times 
 very great, while there is really no sufficient recompense to the 
 traveller'on the summit, for the peril and fatigue encountered in 
 reaching it. 
 
 It is like those heights of ambition so much coveted in the world, 
 and so glittering in the distance, where, if men live to reach them, 
 they cannot live upon them. They may have all the appliances 
 and means of life, as these French savans carried their tents to 
 pitch upon the summit of Mont Blanc ; but the peak that looked 
 so warm and glittering in the sunshine, and of such a rosy hue in 
 the evening rays, was too deadly cold, and swept by blasts too 
 fierce and cutting ; they were glad to relinquish the attempt and 
 come down. The view of the party a few hours below the sum- 
 mit was a sight of deep interest. So was the spectacle of the im- 
 measurable ridges and fields, gulfs and avalanches, heights and 
 depths, unfathomable chasms and impassable precipices, of ice and 
 snow, of such dazzling whiteness, of such endless extent, in such 
 gigantic masses. The telescope sweeps over them, and they are 
 brought startlingly near to the eye, and the spectator feels grate- 
 ful that neither himself nor any of his friends are compelled to 
 hazard their lives amidst such perilous sublimities of nature, 
 whether in individual or governmental scientific curiosity. 
 
 The views of Mont Blanc from the Flegere, from the Breven, 
 and from the Col de Balme, might each seem, under favorable cir- 
 cumstances, so sublime and glorious, that nothing could exceed 
 thom or cause any increase in their sublimity. But Mont Blanc 
 from the Italian side, from the Val d'Aoste, is presented to the eyo 
 in a greater unity of sublimity, with a more undivided and over- 
 whelming impression, than from any other point. In the vale of 
 11 
 
146 WANDERIK>i:' OF A PILGRIM. [chap, xxii 
 
 Chamouny you are almost too near ; you are under the mountain, 
 and not before it ; and from the heights around it, there are other 
 objects that command a portion of your admiration. But here 
 Mont Blanc is the only object, as it were, between you and eter- 
 nity. It is said that on this side, the mountain rises in almost a 
 sheer perpendicular precipice thirteen thousand feet high ; an ob- 
 ject that quite tyrannizes over the whole valley, so that you see 
 nothing else ; and in a day of such glowing brilliancy as I am 
 writing of, you desire to see nothing else, for it seems as if heaven's 
 splendors were coming down upon you ! 
 
 It was between four and five in the afternoon that I came upon 
 this view — and I gazed, and gazed, and gazed, almost wishing 
 that I could spend as many days as these were minutes in the 
 same position, and full of regret to leave a spot of such glorious 
 beauty. The splendor was almost blinding. A brilliant sun, a 
 few fleecy clouds around the mountain, a clear transparent atmo- 
 sphere, the valley invested with the richest verdure, range after 
 range of mountains retreating behind one another, tints softening 
 from shade to shade, the light mingling with, and, as it were, enter- 
 ing into, the green herbage and forming with it a soft, luminous com- 
 position, dim ridges of hazy light, and at the close of this perspective 
 of magnificence, Mont Blanc sheeted with snow, and flashing like 
 a type of the Celestial City ! 
 
 Coming suddenly upon such a scene, you think that no other 
 point of view can possibly be equal to this, and you are tempted 
 not to stir from the spot till sundown ; but, looking narrowly, you 
 see that the road scales the cliffs at some distance beyond, at an 
 overhanging point, where Mont Blanc will still be in full view ; 
 so you pass on, plunging for a few moments into a wood of 
 chestnuts, and losing Mont Blanc entirely. Then you emerge, 
 admiring the rich scene through which you have been advancing, 
 until you gain the point which you observed from a distance, 
 where the road circles the jagged, outjutting crags of the moun- 
 tain at a great distance above the bottom of the valley, and then 
 again the vision of glory bursts upon you. What combinations ! 
 Forests of the richest, deepest green, vast masses of foliage below 
 you, as fresh and glittering in the sunlight as if just washed in a 
 June shower, mountain crags towering above, the river Doire 
 
CHAP. XXII ] MONT BLANC IN THE SUNSET. 147 
 
 thundering far beneath you, down black, jagged, savage ravines ; 
 behind you, at one end of the valley, a range of snow-crowned 
 mountains ; before you, the same vast and magnificent perspective 
 which arrested your admiration at first, with its infolding and re- 
 treating ranges of verdure and sunlight, and at the close, Mont 
 Blanc flashing as lightning, as it were a mountain of pure 
 alabaster. 
 
 The fleecy clouds that here and there circled and touched it, 
 01- like a cohort of angels brushed its summit with their wings, 
 added greatly to the glory ; for the sunlight reflected from the 
 snow upon the clouds, and from the clouds upon the snow, made a 
 more glowing and dazzling splendor. The outlines of the mountains 
 being so sharply defined against the serene blue of the sky, you 
 might deem the whole mass to have been cut out from the ether. 
 You have this view for hours, as you pass up the valley, but at 
 this particular point it is the most glorious. 
 
 It was of such amazing effulgence at this hour, that no lan- 
 guage can give any just idea of it. Gazing steadfastly and long 
 upon it, I began to comprehend what Coleridge meant, when he 
 said that he almost lost the sense of his own being in that of the 
 mountain, so that it seemed to be a part of him and he of it. 
 Gazing thus, your sense almost becomes dizzy in the tremulous 
 efiulgence. And then the sunset ! The rich hues of sunset 
 upon such a scene ! The golden light upon the verdure, the 
 warm crimson tints upon the snow, the crags glowing like jasper, 
 the masses of shade cast from summit to summit, the shafts of 
 light shooting past them into the sky, and all this flood of rich 
 magnificence succeeded so rapidly by the cold grey of the snow, 
 and gone entirely when the stars are visible above the mountains, 
 and it is night ! 
 
 Now again let me collect some images from the burning pen 
 of Dante, who, if he had been set to draw from an earthly symbol, 
 what his imagination painted of the figurings of Paradise, might 
 have chosen this mountain at this evening hour. For, indeed, it 
 seems as if this must be the way travelled by happy spirits from 
 earth to heaven, and this the place wnere the angels of God are 
 ftscending and descending, each brighter than the sun. 
 
148 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap. zxn. 
 
 " A lamping as of quick and volleyed lightning. 
 Within the bosom of that mighty sheen 
 Played tremulous. 
 
 And as some cliff, that from the bottom eyes 
 Its image mirrored in the crystal flood. 
 As if to admire its brave apparelling 
 Of verdure and of flowers ; so, round about. 
 Eyeing the light, on more than million thrones. 
 Stood, eminent, whatever from our earth 
 Has to the skies returned. 
 Behold this fair assemblage, snowy white. 
 How numberless. The city where we dwell 
 Behold how vast ; and these our seats so thronged 
 
 'Twixt gladness and amaze. 
 In sooth no will had I to utter aught. 
 Or hear. And, as a pilgrim, when he rests 
 Within the temple of his own, looks rouiui 
 In breathless awe, and hopes sometime to tell 
 Of all its goodly state ; e'en so mine eyes 
 Coursed up and down along the living light. 
 Now low, and now aloft, and now around. 
 Visiting every step. 
 
 Emboldened, on 
 I passed, as I remember, till my view 
 Hovered the brink of dread infinitude." 
 
 Paradise, Cantos xxt ^d xxxi. 
 
 The feelings are various in viewing such a scene. It lifts the 
 soul to Giod — ^it seems a symbol of his invisible glory — ^you are 
 almost entranced with its splendor ! Wonderful ! that out of the 
 materials of earth, air, ice, rock and mist, with the simple robe 
 of light, such a fit type of the splendors of eternity can be con- 
 structed. It is the light that makes the glory. Who coverest 
 thyself with light as with a garment ! Who dwellest in light 
 inaccessible and full of glory ! It is God that makes the light ; 
 it is God that with it makes such shadows of his own brightness. 
 But if such be the material, what is the immaterial ? — if such be 
 the earthly, what is the spiritual ? — if such be the hem, as it were, 
 of God's robe of creation, what is God ? And if he can present 
 to the weak sense of men in bodies of clay such ecstasy of ma- 
 terial glory, what must be the scenes of spiritual glory presented 
 to the incorporeal sense of those that love him ? 
 
«HAP XXII.] VOICE OF MONT BLANC. i49 
 
 " If such the sweetness of the streams. 
 What must the Fountain be. 
 Where saints and angels draw their btias 
 Immediately from Thee ? " 
 
 But the view of such a scene also makes one sensible of his 
 own insignificance and sinfulness ; it makes one feel how unfit he 
 is for the presence of a God of such inaccessible glory. The one 
 powerful impression made upon my mind was this : if out of such 
 material elements the Divine Being can form to the eye a scene 
 of such awful splendor, what mighty preparation of Divine Grace 
 do we need, as sinful beings, before we can behold God — before 
 we can see his face without perishing — before we can be admitted 
 to his immediate spiritual presence ! Ah, Mont Blanc, in such 
 an hour, utters forth that sentence, Without holiness no man 
 shall see God ! 
 
150 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap, xxm 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 Pass of the Col de la Seigne 
 
 After a day or so of much enjoyment, I arrived at Courmayeur, 
 thankful that I had been led to persevere in my pedestrian excursion. 
 There are at this village some most salutary mineral springs, very 
 like the Congress spring at Saratoga, resorted to by many of the 
 Piedmontese. The water pours directly out of the rock, in a 
 natural grotto, with which a rude building is connected, and in 
 each tumbler deposits a good deal of flinty sediment. One might 
 have enjoyed a fortnight at these refreshing waters, with such 
 sublime scenery around, and I had a great mind to stay awhile, 
 for I know of no such glorious watering-place in the world ; but 
 the difficult passes of the Col de la Seigne and the Col de Bonhomme 
 were before me, and who could tell how long the fine weather I 
 was enjoying might last, or how soon it might change ? Cour- 
 mayeur is close beneath Mont Blanc ; ten minutes' walk from the 
 village brings you to a full, magnificent view of him, much more 
 perpendicular on this side than on that of Chamouny. You may 
 step from a sward of the greenest delicious grass enamelled with 
 flowers, into ice-bergs as old as the creation. 
 
 After some deliberation I resolved to start at once, with one of 
 the brothers Proment for my guide, and had cause to be grateful 
 for this resolution, since our fine days lasted but just long enough 
 to bring us within three or four hours of Chamouny, and the 
 mountain-passes could not have been crossed in bad weather. 
 
 Immediately on leaving the village, you have before you a very 
 grand view of Mont Blanc, with his whole majestic train of 
 sweeping snowy mountains. The Allee Blanche, up which you 
 pass, must have been so named from the stupendous fields of ice 
 and snow, and from those vast white glaciers, on the very borders 
 of which you traverse a long time, as you may on the borders of the 
 
CHAP, xxni.] GLACIERS OF MONT BLANC. 151 
 
 Mer de Glace. There is no situation in which these mighty ice- 
 creations are seen to more advantage, or appear in greater sub- 
 limity. There is none where your path passes so near to them. 
 You might suppose that it was in crossing one of these Alpine 
 gorges verging on chaos, that Dante gathered first some dim 
 struggling conception of the fantastic craggy circles of his nine 
 hells. Tt would be easy to people the region with blue-pinched 
 spirits, thrilling in thick-ribbed ice, and ghosts, fiend-like, 
 chained to the splintered rocks, or wrestling in their dismal 
 cloisters. 
 
 ** The shore, encompassing th' abyss 
 Seems turreted with giants, half their length 
 Uprearing, horrible, whom Jove from heaven 
 Yet threatens, when his muttering thunder rolls." 
 
 Here you may see the distorted resemblances of a thousand 
 prodigious things, crouching, deformed, unutterable, of earth, and 
 ice, and subterranean, tortured floods, freezing or fiery, Phlege 
 thon, Styx, Acheron, with all the abhorred brood of Night and 
 Chaos ; remnants of a world, where the thick air may have up. 
 borne upon its crude consistence winged lizards a league long, 
 now petrified and fixed upright in mummy cases under coats of 
 ice, as the bas-reliefs, and grinning, iceberg Caryatides of the 
 mountains. The cold, hoarse brooks growl when the storm rages, 
 till, fed from ten thousand sluices, they swell into impetuous cata- 
 racts, and thunder down, tearing the hills in their passage. Some- 
 times a whole glacier drops wedge-like into them, when they rise 
 into broad imprisoned lakes, pressing and tugging at their crystal 
 barriers, till at length, bursting all restraint, they are precipitated 
 down into the vales with dreadful ruin. 
 
 Sometimes from a great height you look down upon the glaciers, 
 and observe their monstrous minarets, battlements, shivered domes, 
 and splintered, deep, frightful ravines, and sometimes you look up, 
 where they seem as if pouring down from heaven across your path 
 their frozen cataracts. The moraines, or colossal ridges of broken 
 rocks, which they have ploughed up, are truly wonderful. Some- 
 times you can almost command the whole length and windings 
 ■>f the glacier up to its issue, and down to the point where a river 
 
152 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap. xxm. 
 
 rushes from its icy caverns. At one spot the guide traced for me 
 the perilous route to Chamouny by the Col de Geant. We crossed 
 a whole mountain of frightful ruins, looking as if some lofty Alps 
 of granite had toppled down by its own weight, and burst into a 
 wild chaos of ridges of fragments. 
 
 Along this scene of stupendous desolation, the uneasy path up- 
 coiling, scales the huge fallen crags, vestiges of Titanic convul- 
 sions and conflicts, where a storm would bring down an avalanche 
 from the accumulated ruins of other avalanches. All this way, 
 the snowy mountains are overhanging you on one side, and the 
 bare outjutting precipices look ready to fall from the sky on the 
 other. We are continually following the valley of the Doire to 
 the crash, and roar of its thundering music. At a spot on the 
 other side of the stream, my guide pointed me to a cave, at the 
 base of a mountain impregnated with saltpetre, which he said was 
 of a frightful depth, and was the resort of great numbers of 
 Chamois. Under a huge rock opposite this cave, the hunters lay 
 in ambush, to take aim at the Chamois without being seen. 
 
 We passed the little lake of Combal, increased by a massive 
 artificial rocky barrier, and bordered, on the side opposite Mont 
 Blanc, with hardy green shrubbery and beautiful flowers. It cost 
 us near five hours to accomplish the height of the pass, but about 
 three hours from Courmayeur, just above the last beautiful farms 
 watered by the Doire, where the women and maidens were busy 
 making hay, we stopped at the solitary Auberge and made an ex- 
 cellent dinner of time-defying bread, that might outlast the mount- 
 ains, together with goats' milk, rich, light and wholesome. The 
 woman told me she had four children, two boys and two girls, and 
 added that it was two girls too many. ^ 
 
 This was one of the most unmoBierly speeches I ever heard, but 
 it was uttered on the extreme verge of the habitable world, where 
 Mont Blanc darts his frost-arrows through the air, and shakes over 
 the earth his robe of glaciers, and looks you out of countenance 
 with a theory of population sterner than that of Mr. Malthus. 
 Yet it was strange that a mother could wish to have had not one 
 daughter for herself, not one loving sister for her sons ! What 
 must be the hardship of that life, how full of unrelenting toil, how 
 with chill penury, how stripped of flowers, and barren of 
 
CHAP, xxin.] SWISS GIRLS HAYMAKING. 153 
 
 all beauty and dry as summer's dust, that could suffer in a mother's 
 heart so unnatural a wish ! Ah, there must have been something 
 of hardness in the heart, as wejl as hardship in the life, to bring 
 about such feelings. 
 
 I remonstrated with the poor woman in behalf of her daughters, 
 but she observed that other families had girls enough, and intimat- 
 ed that they were a mere incumbrance, while the boys could earn 
 their own bread. But if the girls who were making hay lower 
 down the valley did not earn theirs, there is never a hunter in all 
 Switzerland could earn it. Indeed, there seemed to me to be al- 
 most no labor, in which the women-folk do not bear a good part in 
 these Alpine solitudes. Their station in the household is anything 
 but a sinecure ; they only do not hunt for Chamois. 
 
 Farther up than this we passed a little cluster of huts for making 
 cheese, and drank of the rich fresh milk which they were just 
 drawing from the cows, pouring it into a colossal Titanic kettle, 
 to undergo in mass the process preparatory for the cheese-press. 
 
 At length over fields of ice and snow we gained the summit of 
 the Col de la Seigne, from whence a very grand view is to be en- 
 joyed on both sides, but especially on the side towards the Val 
 d'Entreves and Courmayeur. The summit of Mont Blanc is 
 sublimely visible, with the glaciers pouring down its sides into the 
 valley, at the distant end of which the Mont Vclan and the sum- 
 mits of the Grand St. Bernard fill up the view. The descent 
 from this point to Chapieu was rapid and easy. Arriving at a 
 cluster of chalets called Motet, we were advised to go over the 
 Col de Fours to Nant Bourant for the night, instead of proceeding 
 down to Chapieu,. as this would be adding an hour's travel to 
 Nant Bourant ; but it was late, and looked threatening, so that we 
 determined to proceed towards Chapieu for our sleeping place, 
 and glad was I for this determination. For, in less than an hour the 
 clouds gathered towards us with every appearance of a sudden 
 storm, which would have been terrible, had we been overtaken 
 by it at evening, on the heights of the Col de Fours, as we must 
 have been, had we attempted that course. 
 
 To get to our shelter at Chapieu before the rain, we hurried, 
 and ran, even after a day's fatiguing march ; and we had but 
 just arrived at these lonely huts, when it began to thunder and 
 
154 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap, xxiii. 
 
 lighten on the mountains, and the rain fell ; and never did shelter 
 appear to me more grateful. I was reminded of my adventures 
 in Spain, outside the city of Barcelona, in the midst of the Carlist 
 war at night- fall. The thunder among the mountains was ter- 
 ribly grand. I feared a wet day for the next, but the storm spent 
 itself in the night, and at break of dawn cleared off beautifully. 
 But here the morn sows not the earth with orient pearl, " her 
 rosy steps in the eastern clime advancing," nor are there leaves, 
 nor fuming rills, nor thick, delicious boughs, nor verdurous walls 
 of foliage, with birds singing their matin song among them, but a 
 cluster of miserable hamlets, inhabited only in the summer, in 
 the midst of desolate torrent-beds of rocks, hemmed in by bare 
 rough mountains. The valley is like a gloomy triangular shaft 
 sunk in a continent of granite, or like the broad, deep crater of 
 an extinct volcano. Nevertheless, on first rising out of it, the 
 view of the mountains opposite, as you climb towards the Col de 
 Bonhomme, is very grand. The shafts of light, pouring down 
 into it irom the mountain-peaks at sunrise, as the sun gains and 
 surmounts one after another, present a spectacle of the greatest 
 beauty. The Morn thus kindles the dreariest bare crags with an 
 imaginative glory, before the dewy leaves or the grass under our 
 steps have begun to reflect it. So Schiller- beautifully says, " be- 
 fore truth sends its triumphant light into the 1-ecesses of the heart, 
 the imagination intercepts its rays ; and the summit of humanity 
 is radiant, while the damp night still lingers in the valleys." 
 
CHAP. XXIV.] PASS OF THE COL BONHUMME. 155 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 Pas3 of the Col de Bonhomme. 
 
 The chalet where we lodged and breakfasted was, I believe, 
 the death-place of an English traveller, a few years ago, who 
 had been overtaken by a storm on the Col de Bonhomme, and 
 perished, it was said, not so much from exposure to the cold upon 
 the mountain (from the effect of which he might perhaps have 
 been saved) as from too sudden exposure to the fire, on being 
 brought into the cottage. He and his companion were both lost, 
 one of them a clergyman aged 30, the other a young gentleman 
 of 20. They had two guides, but the snow fell so fast and thick, 
 with such intense cold, that one of the travellers sank down entirely 
 exhausted and perished on the mountain, and the other reached 
 the house of refuge in the valley only to die. The story is of 
 deep and melancholy interest. 
 
 The summit of ihe pass is more than 8,000 feet above the level 
 of the sea, and in bad weather is of the extremest difficulty and 
 danger. It was easy to see that whether on the ridge of the pass, 
 or for a long way down, to be overtaken by an Alpine storm would 
 almost inevitably be fatal ? So it would, if compelled to go on 
 in one of those fogs, which sometimes settle for days upon the 
 mountains. 
 
 We reached the height of the pass by a very difficult ascent, 
 in about three hours from Chapieu. Those unfortunate English 
 travellers were cominp from the other side, and had arrived within 
 little more than an hour of our resting-place, when the storm 
 conquered them. On either side the prospect commanded is one 
 of the sublimest and most extensive views in Switzerland. The 
 magnificent snow-covered mountain beyond the valley from which 
 we ascended, being one of the most beautiful summits of the Alps, 
 is here in so bright a day seen in all its grandeur, with its triaii- 
 
IS6 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap «mt 
 
 gular pyramidal peak towering against the sky, far above the 
 ocean of mountains around it. 
 
 " How clear, how keen, how marvellously bright. 
 The effulgence from yon distant mountain's head, 
 Which, strewn with snow as smooth as heaven can shed. 
 Shines like another sun, on mortal sight 
 Uprisen, as if to check approaching night." 
 
 Mighty and glorious vision ! serene, radiant, as the face of an 
 Archangel, dazzling as the morn risen on mid-noon, and glitter- 
 ing with such entire and steadfast, yet tremulous effulgence be- 
 neath the blaze of day, that you can hardly leave the spot that 
 commands an object of so great sublimity. On the side towards 
 Piedmont and France, the vast and multitudinous mountain ranges 
 are scarcely less sublime, from their immense extent and variety. 
 
 Going down from such a view into the valley, one's sensations 
 are full of regret, it makes you almost sorrowful. When you 
 gain such a view, you feel it to be well worth all the fatigue you 
 have encountered in the ascent, and the time it has cost you. But 
 how little time you can enjoy it, how short the moments ! Never- 
 theless, the memory of it does not pass from the mind when you 
 come down into our common world, and mingle again with its in- 
 habitants, and live amidst its every-day scenes ; but it is put away 
 as an additional picture in the remembrance-gallery of the soul, 
 and you often recur to it, as a vision of glory. 
 
 Descending from such an elevated point, where you are so far 
 above the world and so near heaven, where the air is so pure and 
 bracing, and the landscape swells off into infinity, you feel like a 
 Christian Pilgrim compelled to descend from the Mount of Trans- 
 figuration, where he has been spending a season with Moses and 
 Elias, and Peter, and James, and John, beholding the glory of the 
 Saviour. It takes a long time and much spiritual discipline, much 
 prayer and toiling upwards, to reach such a height, and many get 
 discouraged and go down without reaching it, and without entering 
 into the glory that is around its summit. When you are there, 
 you think with Peter, Let us build here three tabernacles ; here 
 would we stay the remnant of our days, and go no more down 
 amidst the cares and temptations pf a world so dangerous, ao full 
 
CHAP. XXIV.] PASS OF THE COL BONHOMME. 157 
 
 of care and sin. But you cannot always be upon the Mount ; 
 your duties are in the world, though your delight may be with 
 Moses and Elias in glory. Meanwhile, even one such view ought 
 to be of such invigorating, animating refreshment and encourage- 
 ment, that in the strength of it you might go for many days and 
 nights of your weary pilgrimage. 
 
 Upon the Spiritual Mount you are never in danger of a storm, 
 and the way upward is the safest of all ways, and you have no 
 need to seek a shelter, for it is never'night. But upon this earthly 
 mountain elevation, you are in the situation of all others the most 
 exposed to storms. This view on the Col de Bonhomme is one 
 which you are compelled to leave, however unwilling, having no 
 time to lose in admiration, if you would get to a resting-place in 
 good season. 
 
 It was. this passage, so perilous in bad weather, across which 
 the brave Henri Arnaud passed in the 17th century, with his 800 
 Waldenses, on that wonderful, heaven-directed enterprise of re- 
 peopling their native valleys with the Church of Christ's witnesses. 
 They passed, strange to say, without loss, though in the midst of a 
 torrent of rain, with the snow at the same time knee deep upon 
 the mountain. The same Divine Hand guided them on this occa- 
 sion, that afterward covered them with the cloud, that they might 
 escape fi-om their enemies. No expedition recorded in the annals 
 of history, except the flight of the Hebrews from Egypt, and their 
 passage of the Red Sea, is to be compared with this, for its mar- 
 vellous greatness and success. 
 
 The descent from the Col de Bonhomme to Nant Bourant is 
 over many partial glaciers, amidst wild and appalling precipices ; 
 and just below Nant Bourant, the torrent, which you cross by a 
 bridge thrown over a gulf of great depth, falls into a fearful, con- 
 torted gorge in the mountains, torn and twisted with split crags, 
 against which the cataract in its fall crashes, roars, and rebounds 
 from one side to the other with terrific din and fury. The passage 
 is so overhung with thick black firs, and the gulf is so deep, that 
 though the road passes within a few feet of it, it is with the utmost 
 difiiculty and danger that you get a fair view down into the roar- 
 ing hell of waters. 
 
 From the chalets, pasturages and cataract of Nant Bourant you 
 
.58 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap, xxiv 
 
 follow the furious torrent down by a steep and rocky path into a 
 deep dell at the village of Notre Dame de la Gorge, at the base 
 of the Mount Joli. Here a church is set ; indeed the church and 
 its appendages constitute almost the whole village ; it must be a 
 place of pilgrimage, and for some distance down the valley, which 
 begins to be very beautiful, a series of Roman Catholic " Stations " 
 extends at short intervals, with niches for pictures, representing the 
 life and sufferings of Christ, to the number of some twenty-foui . 
 It forms a sort of sacra via, such as they had of old in Thebes, 
 but without the Sphinxes. Farther down toward Contamines, you 
 pass chapels in honor of the Virgin, where the inscriptions indicate 
 the idolatrous veneration which the misguided people are taught 
 to pay her. For example, on one of these chapels, in connection 
 with the rude image of the Virgin, you may find these ruder 
 lines : 
 
 Quand la Mort fermera nos yeux 
 Accordez nous, Reine de Cieux, 
 La Sejour de bienheureux. 
 Jesus et Maria ayez pitie de nous. 
 
 When grim Death shall close our eyes. 
 Accord to us. Queen of the skies, 
 A dwelling-place in Paradise. 
 Jesus and Maria have mercy on us ! 
 
 On another altar or chapel erected in the same way in honor of the 
 Virgin, you may find the following inscription, which imitates, in 
 a manner approaching very near to blasphemy, the language ap- 
 propriated in scripture to God and the Saviour. 
 
 Qui invenerit Mariam, 
 Inveniet vitam. 
 
 He who findeth Mary. 
 Findeth life. 
 
 Alas ! the influence and the end of these things is Death ! For 
 who, of all the crowds that are taught this idolatrous trust in and 
 worship of the Virgin, can be supposed to have any true sense of 
 the nature of faith in Christ, or any true knowledge of Him as the 
 soul's only Saviour ! 
 
BHAP. XXIV.] INSTANCE OF THE WATER-GURE. 159 
 
 " Our Mother who art in heaven (says this great system of 
 MariatUsm, instead of Christianity), O Mary, blessed be thy name 
 for ever ! let thy love come to all our hearts ; let thy desires be 
 accomplished on earth as in heaven ; give us this day grace and 
 mercy, give us the pardon of our faults, as vi^e hope from thine 
 unbounded goodness, and let us no more sink under temptation, 
 but deliver us from evil. Amen." 
 
 Passing from this valley through the village of Contamines and 
 some other hamlets, through scenery, which sometimes is of great 
 beauty, and sometimes combined with very grand views of Mont 
 Blanc, we at length reached the village of Gervais. I had before 
 visited its celebrated baths, and the singular wild valley, at the 
 end of which they are situated, and now, after gaining, with a 
 good deal of difficulty, a view of the cataract from above the falls, 
 in the savage rift through which it thunders, I proceeded on my 
 way for Chamouny through Servoz. We had but arrived at the 
 last village, when there came on a tremendous thunder storm, 
 and it being evening, it was in vain to think of advancing farther 
 that night. A bed was made for me in the salle a manger, the 
 inn being completely full, and so I fell asleep listening to the rain, 
 and hoping for fine weather in the morning. And in the early 
 morning it was indeed fine, perfectly clear, so that we set out with 
 the expectation of a fair day for our six hours' walk to Chamouny. 
 
 Scarcely had we been an hour on our way, when the thunder 
 began again to reverberate, and as we reached the height between 
 Servoz and the entrance upon the vale of Chamouny, the rain 
 came down in torrents driven by the wind as in a tempest. 
 Should we keep on in the storm ? Why, thought we, it will 
 doubtless rain all day, so that there is no use in turning aside for 
 a shelter. So we persevered, but by the time one could get com- 
 fortably wetted, the clouds, rain and wind once more passed over, 
 and the sun came out bright and warm, so that with the exercise 
 of walking we were dry again without danger of taking cold. 
 
 On arriving at our Hotel de I'Union, the rain set in again- and 
 continued without interruption into the evening. The weather 
 proved that I was wise in not stopping at the springs among the 
 mountains. Take time by the forelock is a good proverb. Had 1 
 been a day later from Courmayeur, it would havn been well nigh 
 
160 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap. xxiv. 
 
 impossible to have crossed the Col de Bonhomme, and I must either 
 have turned back, or waited nearly a week for available weather. 
 As it was, I was happy in encountering only one storm, and this was 
 an experience, which, considering that I was something of an in- 
 valid, might perhaps with propriety be regarded as an instance of 
 the water-cure. It is true that I was not wrapped up in blankets, 
 nor put to bed in my wet clothes, but I was wetted and dried the 
 same day ; and the question may be submitted, if a thorough wet- 
 ting in a soaking rain, and an immediate consecutive drying by exer- 
 cise in a warm sun, the patient being accustomed to wear flannel, 
 may not constitute a more natural and effective water-cure, than 
 the artificial soaking and drying within doors. 
 
 I tried it again partially the very next day, and with equal suc- 
 cess, having travelled in snow and water over our shoes, and of 
 course walking some hours with cold and wet feet, till we walked 
 ourselves dry again, without the least injury. We were ascend- 
 ing the Breven, right opposite Mont Blanc. The day looked 
 promising for nothing but mist and rain ; nevertheless we started 
 four in all, in the hope that by the time we reached the summit, 
 the clouds might, clear away, and reveal to us the glorious pros- 
 pect, which in fine weather is enjoyed so perfectly from that height. 
 One of our party was the lamented Mr. Bacon of Connecticut, a 
 noble-hearted and cheerful traveller, but not being well, he gave 
 out about a third of the way up, and amused himself with toppling 
 down the loose rocks into the savage ravines below us. We left 
 him in that agreeable occupation and went on with our guide. 
 
 Afler some two hours' clean climbing over heights and depths, 
 crags, rock-fields, and terraces of green sward interspersed, we 
 entered upon the last ascent just below what is called " the chim- 
 ney," which is said to be (for I did not succeed in reaching it) 
 a hollow perpendicular tunnel or groove, up which you climb 
 (like a bear or tree-toad, in the hpllow of a dead knotty p'ne or 
 oak), and on coming out of the top, find yourself on the summit 
 of the Breven, some 10,000 feet in the tir, looking Mont Blanc 
 in the eye, and tracing the perilous crevasses, precipices, inacces- 
 sible savage ravines, bottomless glaciers, ice-slides, and snow fields, 
 with the avalanchian scars and abysses deep intrenched on the 
 face and shoulders of the mountain. The yesterday's storm of 
 
eHAP. XXIV.] ASCENT OF THE CHIMNEY. 161 
 
 rain in the valleys had been a deep fall of snow on the mountain 
 heights, which was now about the consistency of a fresh water-ice, 
 or of ice-cream made out of blue milk. After making our way 
 for some time in this penetrating sposh, we found ourselves quite 
 too liungry and exhausted to attempt the chimney without 
 dinihg ; so our load of provisions was unslung from the guide's 
 shoulders, and we stood and ate and drank what had been intend- 
 ed for the whole party, as it had been Peter's sheet, with an appe- 
 tite keen as the air we were breathing, not at all diminished by 
 being obliged to keep stamping all the while with jur feet in the 
 snow to avoid freezing. 
 
 In proportion as my hunger was allayed, my wet feet grew cold, 
 and my ardor for the chimney cooled also ; and as the mist 
 was round about us like a blanket, though now and then bursting 
 open and revealing at a glimpse both the snowy heights above and 
 the depths below, Mont Blanc flashing before us, and the peaceful 
 vale shining and smoking beneath, I therefore concluded for once 
 to play the better part of valor, and leaving my more resolute 
 friend and the guide to report concerning the chimney and the 
 mist ajove, turned and ran down the snow-sheeted rocks with in- 
 credible velocity, somewhat like Timorous and Mistrust running 
 down the hill of Difficulty. However, I was leaving no " celes- 
 tial city " behind me, nor could I even have got a glimpse from 
 " the Delectable Mountains ;" as my friend afterwards confessed 
 that he got nothing but a prodigious deal of fatigue, and a more 
 sublime experience of the infinitude of mist, for his pains, when 
 he rose from the craggy tunnel, like a chimney-sweeper in the 
 smoke. I got back quite dry, and without any cold, to the vale 
 of Chamouny, and this was my second successful experiment of 
 the water-cure. 
 
 13 
 
103 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap, xxy 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 Chamouny to Geneva. -The Bishop of Cashel Preaching in the 
 Dining-Hall. 
 
 IIavins once more visited the beautiful Cascade des Pelerines, 
 we started for Geneva at five in the morning in what is called the 
 diligence, being, until you get to St. Martin's, a simple char-d-hanc 
 for three. The most beautiful sight in the excursion, after the 
 magnificent view of Mont Blanc from the bridge at St. Martin's, 
 was that of the miniature Staubach cascades, which fall softly, 
 like a long veil of wrought lace, over the precipices by the road- 
 side, many hundred feet high. You catch them now before, now 
 behind, now sideways, now in front, now beifeath, where they 
 seem dropping on you out of heaven, now among the trees, 
 glancing in fairy jets of foam, so light, that it seems as if the 
 air would suspend them. They are like — what are they like ? — 
 like beautiful maidens, timidly entering the gay world — like 
 Raphael's or Murillo's pictures of the Virgin and Child — like the 
 light of unexpected truth upon the mind — like a 'morrice band ' of 
 daisies greeting a ' traveller in the lane ' — like a flock of sheep 
 feeding among lilies — ^like the white doe of Rylstone — like the 
 frost-work on the window — ^like an apple-tree in blossom — like the 
 first new moon. How patiently, modestly, unconsciously, they 
 throw themselves over the cliff, to be gazed at. They are like 
 fairies dancing in the moonlight; like the wings of angels commg 
 down Jacob's ladder into the world. 
 
 The saddest and most dismal sight in this excursion (for where 
 does the shadow of Mont Blanc fall, without meeting some sor- 
 row ?) was the burned town of Cluses, with the inhabitants like 
 melancholy ghosts among the ruins. A whole village of indus- 
 trious peasants devoured by fire, and only one whole house 
 left ! All their property, all their means of subsistence gone ! A 
 substantial, thriving village it was, the key of the valley, at the 
 
CHAP. XXV.] CHAMOUNY TO GENEVA. 163 
 
 mouth of a romantic gorge, where there was room for only one 
 street and the bridge, all annihilated. Just so the town of Thusis, 
 near the pass of the Splugfin, has been burned entirely within a 
 short period ; and just so, nearly the whole town of Sallenches, 
 a few miles from Cluses, was not long ago laid in ashes. This 
 terrible calamity desolates the Swiss villages more frequently 
 than the overwhelming avalanche, or the tempest-driven torrents 
 from the glaciers. Benevolence was busy, sending in her supplies 
 from every direction, but the sight was a very sad one ; the people 
 literally sitting in sackcloth and ashes. Had the calamity fallen 
 in the winter, the suffering would have been terrible. 
 
 After this beautiful day's ride amidst the grandeur of the 
 gorges, valleys, and castellated ridges of nfountains between 
 Chamouny and the Lake Leman, we arrived for a quiet, pleas^ant 
 Sabbath, at the Hotel de I'Ecu, from which we had departed. 
 
 The change from Chamouny to Geneva is from the extreme of 
 sublimity to the highest degree of beauty. 
 
 " Clear, placid Leman ! thy contrasted lake. 
 With the wild world I dwell in, is a thing 
 That warns me, by its stillness, to forsake 
 Earth's troubled waters for a purer spring." 
 
 If Byron had but tasted of that spring — if he had known who 
 it was, and what better impulse, that was whispering to him when 
 he wrote these lines, he would have asked, and Christ would have 
 given him, of that living Fountain, which would have been in him 
 a well of water springing up to everlasting life. And then he 
 would not have again returned to " earth's troubled waters ; " 
 instead of descending from the elevation of Childe Harold's Pil. 
 grimage to the degradation of Don Juan, he would have gone up, 
 excelsior ; he would have shaken off the baser passions of hu- 
 manity, and his poetry would have breathed the air of heaven. 
 
 Alas ! this sweet stanza of the Poet's thoughts on the lake of 
 Geneva recalls to my mind the image of the noble-hearted com- 
 panion before mentioned, of some of my rambles among the 
 mountains (Mr. Bacon, of Connecticut), with whom I parted one 
 bright morning on the lake, repeating that very stanza. He was 
 just setting out on his way through the north of Switzerland, and 
 
. 64 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. Ichap. xxv. 
 
 by the Rhine, for. England. There was a melancholy upon hia 
 mind, produced, in part, no doubt, by illness ; but he had spoken 
 of a beloved father, of the delight to which he looked forward in 
 rejoining him in America, of his only earthly wish to make the 
 declining years of his parent happy, and of the strife in his mind 
 between the desire to spend a few months more in Europe, and 
 his impatience to be again with those who seemed so dependent 
 upon him for enjoyment. 
 
 The Sabbath evening before we parted, Mr. Bacon had gone 
 with me to hear the Bishop of Cashel. The service was in the 
 dining hall of the Hotel de Bergues, a fashionable resort, where 
 there were gathered as many of the votaries of rank and wealth 
 from England as ordinarily are to be found in Geneva on any 
 Sabbath. It was an unusual step for a Bishop of the Englbh 
 Church ; — a regular conventicle — a Sabbath evening extempore 
 sermon from a Bishop in the dining hall of the Hotel ! I love to 
 record it as a pleasant example of a dignitary of the Establish- 
 ment, using the influence of his rank to do good, to gather an as- 
 sembly for hearing God's word, in circumstances where no one 
 else could have commanded an audience of half a dozen persons, 
 where, indeed, the use of the room for such a purpose, would 
 hardly have been granted to any other individual. 
 
 The hall was perfectly crowded. The preacher's sermon was 
 a most simple, faithful, practical, affectionate exhibition of divine 
 truth. It was on the subject of Paul's conversion, its steps, its 
 marks, its results, especially the blessed temper. Lord, what wili 
 thou have me to do ? He showed that every creature, who would 
 be a Christian, must be converted, just Wee Paul ; that the change 
 in Paul was no extraordinary case, as it is sometimes viewed, but 
 a case of conversion ; and that they must every one be converted, 
 and become as little children, in like manner, saying. Lord, what 
 wilt thou have me to do ? 
 
 A second Sabbath evening, the good Bishop, having been un- 
 expectedly detained in Geneva, appointed a second service of the 
 same kmd. Again the hall was crowded. He took for his sub- 
 ject, this time, the conversion of that sinful woman, who loved 
 much, because much was forgiven ; and again it was a most un. 
 ostentatious, straight-forward, practical exhibition of the truth, 
 
CHAP. XXV.] BISHOP OF CASHEL. 165 
 
 plain, convincing, humbling, direct to the conscience and the heart. 
 Every person, he told his hearers, needed conversion by the grace 
 of Christ, just as much as this woman. Without that grace, be 
 you ever so refined, so amiable, so upright, so pure, you are just 
 as certainly unfit for heaven, and in the way to perdition, as she 
 was. And you must come to Christ just as she did, be as peni- 
 tent for your sins as she was, and love your Saviour, like her, 
 with all your heart. 
 
 Indeed it was pleasant, it was delightful, it was heart-cheering, 
 to hear a Bishop of the Church of England, in the midst of the 
 prevalence of Oxfordism, the resurrection of a religion of forms, 
 baptisms, crossings, and not of faith and conversion, take these 
 simple themes, and go with Christ's bare truth straight to the 
 hearts of his hearers. He must have had a unity of design in 
 taking Paul for the first evening, and the sinful woman for the 
 second ; two extremes of society, two great sinners, high and low ; 
 and the grace of Christ equally necessary for both, and for all 
 intermediate characters ; and the grace of Christ just the same 
 with both, and with all sinful hearts under wnatever exterior ; 
 grace, divine grace, and not form j conversion and not baptism. 
 
 Among others present at these meetings, we noticed the youth- 
 ful and extremely beautiful wife of M. Bodisco, the Russian Am- 
 bassador to America, our fair countrywoman. What can console 
 her amidst the trials of her rank and expatriation, but that same 
 grace, which the Bishop of Cashel commended with such affec- 
 tionate earnestness to the heart of every one of us ? Probably 
 many a sermon of the same nature had she listened to in her own 
 dear native land. May she find the pearl of great price ! There 
 were others there, who perhaps never before in all their lives lis- 
 tened to such plain truth. The good Bishop may reap a great re- 
 ward from these two Sabbath evenings' simple labors. 
 
 He had just been made Bishop of Cashel in Ireland ; before, 
 he was plain Rev. T. Daly. A Scottish clergyman of my ac- 
 quaintance, who had formerly known him well, called on him in 
 Geneva. " I hope," said he, when allusion was made to his re- 
 cent elevation, " that you will find me Thomas Daly still." 
 
 Mr. Bacon was much struck with the simplicity and directness 
 of the preaching. " Pretty well for a bishop," said he ; " this is 
 
166 WANDERINGS OF A PILGRIM. [chap, xxv 
 
 like our good, New England, practical theology." We conversed 
 on the subject, and the next morning, when we parted, I handed 
 him a letter, pursuing the same train of thought, knowing well 
 that he would read it with kindness and affection. 
 
 I often thought of him. Where was he, while I was wander- 
 ing ? Then I heard of his sudden death in Spain, in the lovely- 
 region of Seville, but in a land of strangers, with only the image 
 of distant childless parents in his heart ! What a 'iestruction of 
 the fondest hopes, on the one side and on the other ! And what a 
 veil there is between the traveller and the future ! 1 had crossed 
 seas, passed through the severest trial and sorrow I ever encoun- 
 tered, in the death of a younger brother unutterably dear, and in- 
 describably lovely in his character ; but yet I was on my way 
 hmie, had been preserved in mercy amidst all dangers, and on my 
 way took up a newspaper in my native land, to behold the record 
 of Ms death in Spain, from whom I parted that bright morning on 
 the lake of Geneva ! I thought of the desolation of his home, its 
 flower gone for ever. What a blow was that ! An only son ! an 
 affliction far deeper than the mere elastic energies of our human- 
 ity can bear up under. But there is One who bindeth up the 
 broken in heart, and healeth all their wounds. He alone, who 
 inflicts such a blow, can mingle consolation with it ; he only can 
 support the soul beneath it. 
 
 The shadow of Mont Blanc falls upon sickness, trial and suf- 
 fering, as well as upon elastic frames, gay hearts, buoyant hopes 
 and joyous spirits. And sometimes it falls upon those, whose own 
 shadow, as they stand unawares on the brink of the grave, falls 
 already from Time into Eternity. Would that the pilgrimage of 
 all, who tread from year to year that wondrous circle of sublimity 
 and glory, sometimes in shadow, sometimes in sunshine, some, 
 times in storm and danger, might terminate in the Light of 
 Heaven ! 
 
THE PIL&RIl 
 
 IN THE SHADOW 
 
 OF THE JUNGFRAU ALP. 
 
 BY 
 
 GEORGE B. CHEEVER, D.D. 
 
 And when I grieve, O rather let it be 
 
 That I — whom Nature taught to sit with her, 
 
 On her proud mountnins, by her rolling spa ; — 
 
 Who, when the winds are up, with mighty stir 
 
 Of woods and waters — feel the quickening spur 
 
 To my strong spirit; — who, as mine own child, 
 
 Do love the flower, and in the ragged bur 
 
 A beauty see ;— that I this mother mild 
 
 Should leave, and go with care and passions fierce and wild. 
 
 Daha. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 JOHN WILEY, 
 
 No. 56 WALKER-STEEET. 
 1859. 
 
RICHARD H. DANA, ESQ., 
 THE POET OF " DAYBREAK," 
 
 THIS VOLtTME IS MOST KESP ECTrTTLI-Y 
 
 AND AFrECTIONATELY INSCRIBES 
 
 BT HIS GRATEFUL FRIEND, 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
PREFACE, 
 
 I WISH all my readers a merry Christmas and a happy 
 New Year. May their holidays be graced with good 
 cheer, and what is infinitely better, may the grace of Him, 
 whose love gives us our true holidays, make every heart a 
 temple of gratitude and holy joy. A Pilgrim may wander 
 all over the earth, and find no spot in the world, where men 
 are bound to God by so many ties of mercy, as we are in 
 our own dear native country, or where old and young, 
 rich and poor, have so much cause for heartfelt rejoicing. 
 
 Therefore, an American, wherever he goes in the world, 
 should go with the feeling that his own country is the best 
 in the world. Not as a proud feeling, let him carry it, but 
 a gentle one, a quiet feeling behind all other moods and 
 varieties of thought, like the sense of domestic happiness, 
 which makes a man sure that his own home is the sweetest 
 of all homes. So, wherever an American goes, the image 
 of his country, like a lake among the mountains, should, as 
 a mirror, receive and reflect the world's surrounding im- 
 agery. He should see all other countries in the light of 
 his own. 
 
 The first time I left America for Europe, the last word 
 said to me by Mr. Dana (to whom I have taken the liberty 
 of inscribing this volume, though I doubt not there are 
 some things in it which will displease him), was this : See 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 all that you can see. A good rule for a traveller, to whom 
 things that he has neglected seeing, always seem very im- 
 portant to him after he has got beyond their reach, though 
 while he was by them they seemed unimportant. But a 
 man should not look upon external shows or ostentations 
 merely, but at men's habits of thought and action, as they 
 have grown in the atmosphere of surrounding institutions. 
 So Mr. Dana would doubtless add to his advice the maxim 
 that a man should say just what he thinks of what he sees, 
 and not be frigiitened by the weird sisters of criticism. 
 Among all classes there will be found here and there a 
 frank, free, gentle-hearted critic, with the milk of human 
 kindness and indulgence for another's prejudices ; though 
 there be some, who will accuse a man of bigotry, when- 
 ever he says anything that does not square exactly with 
 their own religious views. But if a man tries to please 
 everybody, there is a fable waiting for him, of which it is 
 a sorry thing to experience the moral, instead of being 
 warned by it. We do love the good old New England 
 privilege of speaking one's mind. 
 
 As this book of the Jungfrau will probably be bound up, 
 if any think it worthy of a binding, with the other of Mont 
 Blanc, I ".ay say of both, that if I had been intending to 
 make a regular book of travel, with statistical information, 
 politircal speculation, records of men's Babel-towers, and 
 all the ambitious shows of cities, I should have made a 
 very different work indeed. But there are so many more 
 books in the world of that sort, than of this pilgrimage 
 kind, that I have preferred to go quietly, as far as possible, 
 hand in hand with Nature, finding quiet lessons. So, if 
 you choose, you may call the book a collection of Sea- 
 weed ; and if there were a single page into which there 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 had drifted something worthy of preservation, according 
 to that fine poem of Longfellow, I should be very glad ; — 
 anything, whether from my own mind, or the minds of 
 others, that otherwise would still have floated at random. 
 There are many such things ungathered, for the waves are 
 always detaching them from the hidden reefs of thought in 
 our immortal being, and tossing them over the ocean. 
 
 " Ever drifting, drifting, drifting. 
 On the shifting 
 Currents of the restless heart; 
 Till at length in bool<s recorded, 
 
 They, like hoarded 
 Household words, no more depart." 
 
 The reader will find, in our two pilgrimages, a rehearsal, 
 if I may so speak, of most of the noted passes of Switzer- 
 land, and of the wonders of some, that are not usually 
 threaded by travellers. We have passed amidst the mag- 
 nificence and sublimity of Chamouny in the face of Mont 
 Blanc, have crossed the Col de Balme with its sights of 
 glory, and the pass of the Tete Noire, with the hospitable 
 Grand St. Bernard, the sunset splendors of the Vale of 
 Courmayeur, the stormy Col de Bonhomme, and the glit- 
 tering icebergs of the Allee Blanche. Now we climb the 
 wondrous Gemmi, and in the face of the Jungfrau march 
 across the sublime pass of the Wengern Alp, by the 
 thunder of the Avalanches, then over the Grand Scheideck, 
 the gloomy and terrible Grimsel, the pass of the Furca, the 
 romantic St. Gothard, the sky-gazing brow of the Righi, 
 the Wallenstadt passes, and last and grandest of all, the 
 amazing pass of the Splugen. And as we go, we visit the 
 great glaciers and cataracts, shining and roaring, and the 
 infant cradles of some of the largest rivers in Europe, and 
 
REFACE. 
 
 the most romantic lakes in the world, and many a won- 
 drous scene besides. We go moralizing, all the way, 
 not at all unwilling to be accused, sometimes, of discourses 
 upon our icy texts, and wishing to make a volume more 
 of thoughts than things. I beg those who do not like them, 
 to remember that there may be those also, who will think 
 they are the best parts of the book. 
 
 I somewhat regret not having incorporated into this 
 volume my early visit to Italy through the Pass of the 
 Simplon, but this deficiency will be more than made up in 
 the excellent book of Mr. Headley on the Alps and Rhine, 
 to which I heartilv commend the reader 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. Introduction. The serious side of travel 1 
 
 II. Lake Leman. Entrance on the Valley of the Rhine 7 
 
 III. Ecclesiastical despotism in the Valais. Measures of the 
 
 Jesuits 13 
 
 IV. Physical Plagues of the Canton du Valais and of Switzerland. 
 
 Hospital for the Cretins 18 
 
 V. Gorge of the Dala 24 
 
 VI. Elements of the landscape. Alpine Flowers. Jonathan 
 
 Edwards 27 
 
 VII. The Moon and the Mountains. Village of Leuk 30 
 
 VIII. Baths of Leuk 34 
 
 IX. Pass of the Gemmi. Trials of Faith 33 
 
 X. Pass of the Gemmi. Successive splendors of the view ... . 39 
 XI. Canton Berne. Scripture on the houses. Truth a good 
 
 talisman 43 
 
 XII. Picturesque cottages. A picturesque language. Eight and 
 
 unright innovation 48 
 
 XIII. Kandersteg. Frutigen. The Blumlis Alp. Lake and Vil- 
 
 lage of Thun 33 
 
 XIV. Thun to Interlachen. Interlachen to Lauterbrunnen. Bi- 
 
 ble in Schools 57 
 
 XV. Staubach Cascade and Vale of Lauterbrunnen 62 
 
 XVI. The Wengern Alp and morning landscape and music 66 
 
 XVII. The Jungfrau Alp and its Avalanches 70 
 
 XVIII. Mortar-avalanches. Valley and glaciers of Grindlewald .... 74 
 
 XIX. Pass of the Grand Scheideck to Meyringen 80 
 
 XX. Glacier of Rosenlani and Falls of the Reichenbach 84 
 
 XXI. Twilight, Evening, and Night in Switzerland. A Sabbath 
 
 in Meyringen 87 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PACK 
 
 XXII. From Meyringen to the Pass of the Grimsel 93 
 
 XXIII. Upper Hasli and the river Aar. Falls of the Aar. Deso- 
 
 lation of the Pass 96 
 
 XXIV. Hospice of the Grimsel. Glaciers of the Aar 100 
 
 XXV. LakeoftheDeaJ. Glacier of the Rhone. Pass of the Furca 104 
 XXVI. The Devil's Bridge. Savage defiles of the Reuss 108 
 
 XXVII. Legends of the pass. Cowper's Memoria Technica 112 
 
 XXVIII. Associations. Canton Uri, and the Memoirs of Tell 116 
 
 XXIX. Traditions of Freedom. Religious liberty the garrison of 
 
 civil 120 
 
 XXX. Lake of Uri and town of Lucerne 128 
 
 XXXI. Ascent of the Righi. Extraordinary glory of the view. . 133 
 XXXII. Lucerne to Einsiedeln. Dr. Zay's history of the Rossberg 
 
 Avalanche 143 
 
 XXXIII. Morgarten, Sempach, and Arnold of Winkelried 149 
 
 XXXIV. Pilgrimage of Einsiedeln and worship of the Virgin 152 
 
 XXXV. Zurich and Zwingle. Banishment of Protestants from Lo- 
 carno 160 
 
 XXXVI. Scenery on the Lake of Zurich. Poetry for Pilgrims. 
 
 Grandeur of the Lake of Wallenstadt 166 
 
 XXXVII. Baths of Pfeffers. Gorge of the Tamina. Coire and the 
 
 Grisons 171 
 
 XXXVIII. Course of the Rhine. Louis Philippe. The Royal School- 
 master at Reichenau. Reichenau to Thusis 175 
 
 XXXIX. Terrific Grandeur of the Splugen. The Via Mala. 
 
 Creation as a Teacher of God 179 
 
 XL, Natural Theology of the Splugen 185 
 
 XLI Pass of the Splilgen into Italy. The Cardinell and Mac- 
 
 donald's Army. Campo Dolcino and Chiavenna 188 
 
 XLII. The Buried Town of Pleurs 194 
 
 XLIII. Beauty of the Lake of Como. Como to Milan. Leonar- 
 do da Vinci 199 
 
 XLIV. The Cathedral of Milan. The Gospel in Italy 203 
 
 XLV. Silvio Pellico, and the Bible in Italy 208 
 
 XL VI. The Farewell. Swiss character and freedom 211 
 
THE PILGRIM 
 
 SHADOW OF THE JUNGFRAU. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Introdnction. The serious side of travel. 
 
 Hail to the Oberland Alps ! As Mont Blanc is the Monarch 
 of Mountains in all Switzerland, so the Jungfrau is the Maiden 
 Queen, with her dazzling coronet of sky-piercing crystal crags 
 for ever dropping from their setting, and her icy sceptre, and her 
 robe of glaciers, with its fathomless fringe of snow. She too is 
 " Earth's rosy Star," so beautiful, so glorious, that to have seen 
 her light, if a man had leisure, would be worth a pilgrimage 
 round the world. To have heard her voice, deep thunder with- 
 out cloud, breaking the eternal stillness in the clear serene of 
 heaven, and to have beheld her, shaking from her brow its rest- 
 less battlements of avalanches, were an event in one's life, from 
 which to calculate the longitudes of years. 
 
 But how can any man who has seen this describe it? To 
 think of doing this perfectly, is indeed perfeqtly hopeless ; and 
 yet any man may tell how it affected liim,. A celebrated treatise 
 on self-knowledge has the following curious intellectual recipe : 
 " Accustom yourself to speak naturally, pertinently, and ration- 
 ally on all subjects, and you will soon'learn to think so on the 
 best." This is somewhat as if a man should say, I^earn Ic float 
 well in all seas, and you will be able to swim in fresh-water 
 rivers. But a man may both have learned to think and to speak, 
 naturally, pertinently, and rationally, if not on all subjects, yet 
 on some, and still may find himself put to shame by a snow. 
 
 Part ii. 2 
 
2 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap, i 
 
 covered mountain in the setting day, or beneath " the keen full 
 moon." 
 
 In attempting to paint scenery by words, you are conscious of 
 the imperfection of language, which, being a creation of the 
 mind, is by no mean^ of so easy use, skilfully and accurately, 
 in delineating form, as in conveying thought. I am reminded 
 of the curious experience related by Coleridge. " Some folks," 
 he says, ""apply epithets as boys do in making Latin verses. 
 When I first looked upon the Falls of the Clyde, I was unable to 
 find a word to express my feelings. At last a man, a stranger to 
 me, who arrived about the same time, said — ' How majestic !' 
 It was the precise term, and I turned round and was saying — 
 ' Thank you, sir, that is the exact word for it,' when he added in 
 the same breath, ' Yes, how very pretty !' " 
 
 It is easier to tell how nature affects the heart and mind, than 
 to describe nature worthily ; and the passages in our favorite 
 poets, which go down deepest into the heart, and are kept as 
 odorous gums or bits of musk amidst our common thoughts, are 
 those which express, not the features, so much as the voice of 
 nature, and the feelings wakened by it, and the answering tones 
 from the Harp of Immortality within our own souls. It is much 
 easier for the Imagination to create a fine picture, than for the 
 mind to draw a real picture with power of Imagination ; for the 
 soul works more feelingly and intensely in the Ideal, than the 
 accurate senses reportideally in the actual. What an exquisite 
 picture has the sensitive, sad genius of Henry Kirke White drawn 
 of a Gothic tomb ! Had he been to copy it from some fine old 
 churcli-yard or cathedral, it would not have been half so affect- 
 ing, so powerful. 
 
 " Lay me in the Gothic tomb, 
 lu whose solemn fretted gloom 
 I may lie in mouldering state, 
 With all the grandeur of the great : 
 Over me, magnificent, 
 Carve a stately monument : 
 Then thereon my statue lay, 
 With hands in attitude to pray, 
 And angels serve to hold my head. 
 Weeping o'er the marble dead." 
 
CHAP. 1.] THE SOUL IN NATURE. 3 
 
 How, then, says the authoress of some very beautiful letters 
 to a Mother from abroad, speaking of the land of Tell, over 
 which we are about to wander, " How then can I describe, for 
 there 1 could only feel? And in truth, the country is so beauti- 
 ful and sub ime, that I believe, had Schiller seen it, he would 
 have feared endeavoring to embody it in his immortal plaj'- 
 How courageous is imagination ! And is it not well that it is so, 
 for how much should we lose, even of the real, if the Poet drew 
 only from reality !" 
 
 There is profound truth in this. And hence one of those 
 homely and admirable observations, which, amidst gems of toe- 
 try, Coleridge was always dropping in conversation, as fast as a 
 musician scatters sounds out of an instrument. " A poet," said 
 he, " ought not to pick nature's pocket : let him borrow, and so 
 borrow, as to repay by the very act of borrowing. Examine na- 
 ture accurately, but write from recollection ; and trust more to 
 your imagination than to your memory." 
 
 And yet, how many are the books of Travellers, who have 
 gone among the finest scenes of nature, and given us free and 
 careless pictures and incidents, lively stories, anecdotes, the talk 
 of men, the wayward etchings of wild life and manners, but have 
 made no attempt whatever to connect with nature the eternal 
 feeling and conscience of the soul. Perhaps they would call 
 this sermonizing; as Charles Lamb once playfully translated 
 one of Coleridge's mottos, sermoni jiropripra, properer for a ser- 
 mon ! But unless we travel with something in our hearts higher 
 than the forms of earth, and a voice to speak of it, to report it, 
 « little do we see in nature that is ours." And we bring our- 
 selves under the Poet's condemnation : 
 
 " Whose mind is but the mind of his own eyes. 
 He is a slave, the meanest we can meet." 
 
 Therefore, if any reader thinketh that he finds things " pro- 
 perer for a sermon " in our little picture of a pilgrimage, we 
 pray him to remember, that the sermons in stones are precisely 
 the tnmgs in nature most generally overlooked ; and we only 
 wish that we had more of them and better reported. For mere 
 
4 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. lchap. i, 
 
 pictures, ever so beautiful, are scarce worth travelling so far to 
 see, except we link their sacred lessons to our inner selves. 
 Many of Wordsworth's sonnets are gems beyond all price, be- 
 cause they embalm rich moral sentiments, like apples of gold in 
 pictures of silver : and in his own words, 
 
 " The Grove, the sky-built Temple, and the Dome, 
 Though clad in colors beautiful and pure. 
 Find in the heart of man no natural home : 
 The immortal mind craves objects that endure." 
 
 And it ought to have them, it ought to be accustomed to them ; 
 every man ought to endeavor to present them to his fellow-man. 
 And indeed how can a man go about the whole circle of our 
 humanity, copying everywhere the hieroglyphics on its external 
 temple, and yet elude all serious reference to our Immortality 
 and Accountability ? Say that these things will make his book 
 less popular ; why wish to make it popular, and not endeavor at 
 the same time to make it useful ? " Whole centuries," says 
 Schiller, " have shown philosophers as well as artists busied in 
 immersing truth and beauty in the depths of a vulgar humanity ; 
 the former sink, but the latter struggles up victoriously, in her 
 own indestructible energy." 
 
 How noble is that maxim of Schiller, how worthy of all en- 
 deavor to fulfil it : — " Live vMh your century, but be not its 
 creature ; bestow upon your contemporaries not what they praise, 
 but what they need." 
 
 The tendency of travel, in our day, is strong towards habits 
 of outwardness, and forgetfulness of that which is inward. The 
 world is in two great moving currents, each looking at the other 
 as its spectacle, its show, its theatrical amusement. A book must 
 be a comedy ; there is scarce such a thing possible as serious 
 meditation. The world are divided between living for what 
 other people will say of them, and living to see how other people 
 live. Certes, this is an evil habit, and every record of external 
 shows, that does not lead the mind to better things, tends to con- 
 solidate and fasten the world's incurable worldliness. Thus, the 
 more a man knows of other things, the less he may know of his 
 own being ; and the more he lives upon the food of amusement. 
 
CHAP. I.] THE SOUL IN NATURE. S 
 
 the less power will the Word of God, and those trains of thought 
 that spring from it, and direct the mind to it, have over him. 
 ".We know ourselves least," says Dr. Donne, 
 
 " Wo know ourselves least ; mere outward shows 
 Our minds so store. 
 That our souls, no more than our eyes, disclose 
 But form and color. Only he, who knows 
 Himself, knows more," 
 
 So then we will remember, while wandering amidst form and 
 color, tiiat wc ourselves are not mere form and color ; that while 
 all we look on and admire is transitory and changing, we our- 
 selves are eternal ; and we are gathering an eternal hue, even 
 from the colors that are temporal. Amidst the wreck of is and 
 rras, we will be mindful that " His finger is upon us, who is the 
 same yesterday, to-day, and for ever." 
 
 Most strikingly does John Foster remark that " A man may 
 Iiave lived almost an age, and traversed a continent, minutely 
 examining its curiosities, and interpreting the half obliterated 
 characters on its monuments, unconscious the while of a process 
 operating on his own mind to impress or to erase characteristics 
 of much more importance to him, than all the figured brass or 
 marble that Europe contains. After having explored many a 
 cavern, or dark ruinous avenue, he may have left undetected a 
 darker recess in his character. He may have converaed with 
 many people, in diflerent languages, on numberless subjects ; 
 but having neglected those converaations with himself, by which 
 his whole moral being should have been continually disclosed to 
 his view, ho is better qualified perhaps to describe the intrigues 
 of a foreign court, or the progress of a foreign trader j to repre- 
 sent tlie manners of the Italians or the Turks ; to narrate the 
 proceedings of the Jesuits or the adventures of the gypsies; than 
 to write tlie history of his own mind." 
 
 I have no need of an apology for this quotation, and I may 
 add one short word more, from the same great writer, before we 
 take our Alpenstock in hand, as a prelude, or grand opening 
 symphony, to the solemn beauty of which sound we may step 
 across the threshold of tlie great Temple we are entering. 
 
6 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap, i 
 
 " This fair display of the Creator's works and resources will be 
 gratifying, the most and the latest, to the soul animated with the 
 love of God, and the confidence of soon entering on a nobler 
 scene. Let me, he may say, look once more at what my Divine 
 Father has diffused even hither, as a faint intimation of what he 
 has somewhere else. I am pleased with this, as a distant out- 
 skirt, as it were, of the Paradise toward which I am going." 
 
 Yes ! the Paradise towards which we are going ! The trees 
 of Life, the River of the Water of Life, the City of God, the 
 streets of gold, the walls of jasper, the gates of pearl, and the Lord 
 God Almighty and the Lamb for the Temple of it j no night, nor 
 storm, nor darkness, nor need of sun nor moon, for the glory of 
 God doth lighten it, and the Lamb is the Light thereof. 
 Jerusalem ! Jerusalem ! 
 
CHAP. II.] SETTING OUT. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Lake Leman. Entrance on the Valley of the Rhone. 
 
 It must be of a Monday morning, in August, in delightful weei- 
 ther, that you set out with me from Geneva, on a pedestrian tour 
 through the Oberland Alps, which may perhaps be closed with 
 the grand pass of the Splugen, and a march through the North 
 of Italy, into the secluded valleys of the Waldenses. But as we 
 cannot walk across the Lake, our pedestrianizing begins by sail- 
 ing in a crowded steamer, on board which we probably find a 
 number of just such travellers as ourselves, accoutred with knap- 
 sacks and stout iron-soled shoes, and perhaps a blouse and an 
 Alpenstock, determined on meeting dangers, and discovering wild 
 scenes, such as no other traveller has encountered. I was happy 
 in having for a companion and friend an English gentleman and 
 a Christian. For this cause, our communion had no undercur- 
 rent of distrust or difference, and we could sympathize in each 
 other's most sacred feelings, although he was a Churchman and 
 a Monarchist, while I belonged to the Church with the primitive 
 Bishop, and the State without a King. 
 
 By the way, that word Churchman is a singular appellation 
 for a Christian. It seems to be taking the species instead of the 
 genus for designation, and it reminds me of the saying, " Israel 
 hath forgotten his Maker, and buildeth Temples." It is a pity to 
 put the less for the greater. We are all Churchmen, of course, 
 if we be Christ's men, but we may be furious Churchmen, in 
 any denomination, without being Christ's men at all. 
 
 We started at half past eight for Villeneuve, at the other end 
 of the Lake, and the day being very lovely, we had a most en- 
 chanting sail. A conversation with some Romish Priests on board 
 was productive of some little interest. They defended their 
 Church with great earnestness against the charge of saint and 
 
6 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap. n. 
 
 image worship, which we dwelt upon. Then we compared our 
 different pronunciation of Latin, repeating the QuadrupedarUe 
 putrem, et cetera, for illustration. They knew nothing about 
 Greek, and of course had never examined the New Testament in 
 the original. 
 
 The end of Lake Leman near Vevay and Villeneuve can 
 scarcely be exceeded in beauty by any of the lakes in Switzer- 
 land. It very much resembles the Lake of Lucerne. The finest 
 portion of Lake George looks like it, except that the mountains 
 which enclose and border the Lake of Geneva beyond Vevay are 
 vastly higher and more sublime than any in the neighborhood of 
 the American lakes. To see the full beauty of the Lake of 
 Geneva, the traveller must be upon the summit of the Jura moun- 
 tains in a clear day ; then he sees it in its grand and mighty set- 
 ting, as a sea of pearl amidst crags of diamonds j coming from 
 France, the scene bursts upon him like a world in heaven. But 
 if in fine weather sailing toward Villeneuve, he have a view, as 
 we did, of the Grand St. Bernard, magnificently robed with snow, 
 he will think also that the sublimity and beauty of this scene, and 
 of the Lake itself, can scarcely be exceeded. 
 
 The Lake, you are aware, is the largest in Switzerland, being 
 at least fifty miles in length, a magnificent crystal mirror for 
 the stars and mountains, where even Mont Blanc, though sixty 
 miles away, can see his broad glittering diadem of snow and ice 
 reflected in clear weather. How beautifully Lord Byron has 
 described the lake in its various moods, and the lovely scenery, 
 connected with a sense of its moral lessons calling him away 
 from evil, like a sister's voice. Brother, come home ! Ah, if the 
 Poet had but followed those better impulses, which sweet nature 
 Bometimes with her simple sermons awakened in his soul ! 
 
 " Clear, placid Leman ! thy contrasted lake, 
 With the wild world I dwelt in, is a thing, 
 Which warns me with its stillness to forsake 
 Earth's troubled waters for a purer spring ! 
 This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing 
 To waft me from destruction ; once I loved 
 Torn ocean's roar ; but thy soft murmuring 
 Sounds sweet as if a Sister's voice reproved 
 That I with stern delights should e'er have been so moved." 
 
CHAP. II.] THE RHONE IN THE LAKE. 9 
 
 The lesson of the quiet sail is lost on board the anxious steamer 
 with her noisy paddles ; but any traveller may enjoy it, if he 
 will take the time, and few things in nature can be more lovely 
 than a sail or a walk along the Lake of Geneva in some of its 
 exquisite sunsets. Meditation there " may think down hours to 
 moments," and there is something both solemn and melancholy, 
 in the fall of the curtain of evening over such a scene, which 
 quickens the inward sense of one's immortality and accountability, 
 and irresistibly carries the heart up to God in prayer. 
 
 Our boat lands her passengers in small lighters at Villeneuve, 
 where we take a diligence for St. Maurice, some three hours' 
 drive up the Valley of the Rhone. The river runs into the Lake 
 at Villeneuve, and out of it at Geneva ; though why the radiant 
 sparkling stream, that issues with such swiftness and beauty, 
 should bear the same name with the torrent of mud that rolls into 
 it, it is difficult to say. Nevertheless, a Christian bears the same 
 name after his conversion that he did before; and the new and 
 beautiful characteristics of this river, when it rushes from the 
 lake at the republican and Protestant end of it, might well re- 
 mind you of the change, which takes place between the charac- 
 ter of a depraved man, and a regenerated child of God. Our 
 hearts come down wild and ferocious from the mountains, bear- 
 ing with them rocks and mud, casting up, as the Word of God 
 saith, mire and dirt. So are we in our native, graceless depravity. 
 It is only by flowing into .the crystal Lake of Divine Love, that 
 we leave our native impurities all behind us, on the shore of the 
 world, and then when we reappear, when we flow forth again 
 fi-om this blessed Baptism, we are like the azure, arrowy Rhone, 
 reflecting the hues of heaven. Then again the muddy Arve 
 from the mountains falls into us, and other worldly streams join 
 us, so that before we get to the sea we have, alas, too often, deep 
 stains still of the mud of our old depravity. The first Adam 
 goes with us to the sea, though much veiled and hidden ; but the 
 last Adam is to have the victory. Some streams there are, how- 
 ever, that flow all the way from the Lake to the Sea, quite clear 
 and unmingled. The course of such a regenerated stream through 
 the world is the most beautiful sight this side Heaven. 
 
 The immense alluvial di posit from the Rhone, where it pours 
 
10 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU [chap, n 
 
 into the Lake, makes the valley for-some distance from Villeneuve 
 a dreary bog, which every year is usurping something more of 
 dominion ; but you soon get into wilder scenery, which becomes 
 extremely beautiful before reaching St. Maurice. Here Mr. 
 Rogers's " key unlocks a kingdom," for the mountains on either 
 side so nearly shut together, that there is only the width of the 
 river and the narrow street between them. You cross a bridge 
 upon a single arch, and find yourself wondering at the great 
 strength of the pass, and entering a village, which is like a stone 
 basket hanging to a perpendicular wall. Farther on, an old her- 
 mitage high up overhangs the road, like a grey wasp's nest, under 
 th6 eaves of the mountain. Hereabouts you cross a vast mound 
 of rock-rubbish, made up of the ruins of one of the various ava- 
 lanches which from time to time bury whole fields of the verdant 
 Alpine Valleys, and sometimes whole villages. This was an 
 avalanche of mud, glacier, granite, and gravel, which came down 
 from the lofty summit of the Dent du Midi in 1835, not swiftly, 
 but like thick glowing lava, and covered the valley for a length 
 of nine hundred feet. 
 
 At St. Maurice you pass from the Canton de Vaud to the 
 Romish Canton of the Valais, a transition perceptible at once in 
 the degradation of the inhabitants. We took a char-a-hanc from 
 St. Maurice to Martigny, about eleven miles, arriving at seven 
 o'clock in the evening, having visited the superb cascade formerly 
 called the Pissevache, on our way. It only wants a double vol- 
 ume of water to make it sublime, for it rolls out of a fissure in 
 the mountain three hundred feet high, and makes a graceful 
 spring, clear of all the crags, for more than a hundred and twenty 
 feet, and then, when it has recovered, so to speak, from the fright 
 of such a fall, runs off in a clear little river to join the muddy 
 Rhone. So, sometimes, a youth from the country, who had, at 
 first, all the freshness and purity of home and of a mother's love 
 about him, gets lost in the corruption of a great city. 
 
 Our pedestrianizing this day, you perceive, was accomplished 
 first in the steamer, second in the diligence, third in the char-a- 
 lanc. For myself, having got wet by a furious cloud of spray, 
 which the wind blew over me as I adi anced too near under the 
 water-fall, I did really w^lk the greater part of the way frorr. 
 
CHAP. II.] TOWER AT MARTI GNY. 11 
 
 thence to Martigny, about four miles, leaving my friend to enjoy 
 tlie char-d-ianc alone, and to order our supper when he arrived 
 at the inn. This char-d-banc, so much used in Switzerland, is a 
 hard leathern sofa for two, or at most three, in which you are 
 placed as in the stocks, and trundled sideways upon wheels. It 
 is a droll machine, somewhat as if a very short Broadway omni- 
 bus, being split in two lengthwise, each half, provided with an 
 additional pair of wheels, should set up for itself. It was in this 
 conveyance that we rode, while travelling in the Canton de Va- 
 lais, for no one would dream of pedestrianizing here, unless 
 indeed along the sublime pass of the Simplon. between Briegg and 
 Domodossola. I had moreover passed through the Valley of the 
 Rhone before into Italy, and deferred my pedestrianizing till I 
 should come upon a new route over mountains so rough, that my 
 companion with his mule could go no faster than I on foot. He 
 preferred to ride always ; I chose to walk, whenever the scenery 
 was sublime enough to justify it, and the road rough enough to 
 make it agreeable. 
 
 The evening at Martigny was transcendently beautiful, the 
 weather being fine, the atmosphere wildly, spiritually bright, and 
 the moon within one night of her fulness ; " the moon above the 
 tops of the snow-shining mountains." We ascended the hill 
 near Martigny to the picturesque old Feudal Tower, by this 
 moonlight, and rarely in my wanderings have I witnessed a scene 
 to be compared with this. Looking down the valley, the outline 
 is bounded by a snowy ridge of great beauty, but in the direction 
 of the Grand St. Bernard mountains of dark verdure rise iato the 
 air like pyramidal black wedges cleaving the heavens. We are 
 high above the village, and on one side can look down sheer into 
 the roaring torrent, many hundred feet ; it makes you dizzy to 
 look. The ruins of the castle, the verdure around it, the village 
 below, the silence of night, the summer softness of the air, com- 
 bined with an almost autumnal brightness, the mountains in their 
 grandeur sleeping in such awful, such solemn repose, the distant 
 landscape, so indistinctly beautiful, the white rays of the moon 
 falling in such sheets of misty transparence over it, and the 
 glittering snowy peaks which lift themselves before you like grey 
 prophets of a thousand years, yea, like messengers from Eter- 
 
12 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap. ii. 
 
 nity, — is there anything needed to make this one of the most 
 magnificent scenes, and most impressive too, that we shall be 
 likely to find in all Switzerland ? 
 
 " A deep 
 
 \ And solemn harmony pervades 
 
 The hollow vale from steep to steep. 
 And penetrates the glades." 
 
 The night is so beautiful, that it is difficult to intrude upon it 
 by going to bed ; and yet, if travellers would be up betimes in 
 the morning, they must sleep at night. But all night long me- 
 thinks one could walk by such a moon, amidst such glorious 
 mountains, and not be wea'ried. Some years ago we passed this 
 same valley in a very different season, when a great part of the 
 Swiss world was covered deep with snow, and the frost was so 
 sharp, that the trodden path creaked under our feet, and our 
 breath almost froze into little snow-clouds' in the air. The 
 scepery then was of a savage sublimity, but now, how beautiful ! 
 
CHAP. lu.] DESPOTISM IN THE VALAIS. 13 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Ecclesiastical despotism in tlie Valais. Measures of the Jesuits 
 
 We started at six in the morning, again in a char-d-banc, for Sion 
 and Sierre, twenty-seven miles. A party of lads from the Jesuit 
 Seminary at Fribourg were at the door, under the care of their 
 instructors, accoutred for the day's pedestrian excursion. They 
 spend some weeks in this manner, attended by the priests ; but 
 learning lessons of freedom from wild nature, drinking in the 
 pure mountain air, and gaining elasticity of body and spirit by 
 vigorous exercise. They were going to Chamouny. Between 
 Martigny and Sion, our man of the char-d-banc pointed out to us 
 the scene of a recent desperate conflict between the liberalists 
 and despotists of the Canton, part of which ille fuit, and the 
 whole of which he saw, being on the Sion side when they burned 
 the beautiful bridge which the furious torrent had so long re- 
 spected. The matter has ended in the establishment of a priestal 
 republican despotism, under which the protestant religion is pro- 
 scribed, its exercise forbidden even in private, the protestant 
 schools are broken up, and intolerance to the heart's content of 
 Romanism forms the political and religious regime of the Can- 
 ton. The Bishop or Archbishop of Sion, which is the chief town 
 of the Canton du Valais, presides over the general assembly. 
 
 Here is an opportunity of instruction for impartial observers, 
 which they ought not to let pass. It is always interesting to see 
 a fair experiment, on a questioned subject, either in chemistry or 
 morals. You must have a large laboratory, good reports, fur- 
 naces, crucibles, blowpipes, and so forth, and let the chemical 
 agents work without hindrance. This Canton in Switzerland is 
 a grand laboratory, where the Jesuits, unimpeded, have just de- 
 monstrated the nature of their system. They have played out 
 the play, and all who please may satisfy themselves as to the re- 
 siduum. In point of oppression, it is remarked abroad, they have 
 
14 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap. hi. 
 
 run beyond all that can be imagined of the most exorbitant des- 
 potism, not stopping contented with the laws of Louis XIV., 
 but dragging from the mould of ages the legislation even of 
 Louis IX. 
 
 I shall draw a description of their freaks from a Parisian Jour- 
 nal before me,* which answers the question, How the Jesuits 
 govern the Canton du Valais. The Grand Council of the Can- 
 ton, under direction of Jesuit Priests, have adopted a law respect- 
 ing illegal assemblies, and condemnaile discussions and conversa- 
 tions, of which the first article runs as follows: Those who hold 
 conversations tending to scandalize the Holy Catholic, Apostolic 
 and Roman religion, or contrary to good morals, shall be pun- 
 ished with a fine of from 20 to 200 francs, and imprisonment from 
 a month to two years. Also those who inti'oduce, affix, expose, 
 lend, distribute, or keep secretly and without authorization, writ- 
 ings or bad books, or caricatures which attack directly or indi- 
 rectly the Holy Religion of the State and its Ministers. The 
 objects designated shall be confiscated, and in case of a second 
 offence, the highest amount of fine and imprisonment shall be 
 doubled. Blasphemers are to be punished according to the 
 criminal laws. 
 
 Here are two classes of crime noted ; scandalous and blas- 
 phemous conversations, and having bad books in your library. 
 A Valaisan may chance to say that such or such a miracle 
 published, by the Reverend Fathers, appears to him some- 
 what Apocryphal ; the opinion is scandalous against the Holy 
 Catholic, Apostolic and Romish religion, and he shall undergo 
 fine and imprisonment for his enormous crime. He dares to pre- 
 tend that certain priests do not set the best possible example ; the 
 opinion is thrice scandalous, for which he shall suffer the highest 
 amount of fine and imprisonment. He goes even a little further ; 
 possibly he discusses the claim of the Virgin Mary to the adora- 
 tion of the faithful, and maintains that on this point the Romish 
 Church is contrary to the New Testament. This is worse than 
 a mere scandalous opinion or proposition ; it is blasphemy ; and 
 blasphemy is a crime for criminal law to punish. If the hardy 
 
 * The Semeur. 
 
CHAP. III.] LAWS OF THE VALAIS 15 
 
 Yalaisan shall dare affirm that the morality of the Jesuits is pos- 
 sibly very immoral, this is blasphemy in the first degree, and 
 must be punished with the highest infamy. 
 
 It is almost incredible that a law of this nature can have been 
 promulgated in 1845, upon the frontiers of France and Italy, 
 under notice of the public press, when the Jesuits have so many 
 reasons for making men believe that their system is not incom- 
 patible with some degree of liberty. But it is a fair experiment 
 fully played out. It would scarcely have been believed that they 
 would have dared offer to Europe a spectacle of such drunkenness 
 of despotism. In France, the people were full of indignation 
 against the law of sacrilege in that nation, and after the Revolu- 
 tion of July, they utterly abolished it. But that law, in com- 
 parison with this of the Canton du Valais, concerning scandalous 
 opinions and propositions, was sweetness and benevolence itself. 
 It was necessary at least to have actually committed the oiTence 
 in some place of worship, during the religious exercises, or to 
 have directly attacked some minister of the church. But in the 
 Canton du Valais it is enough to have simply expressed a scan- 
 dalous opinion, in the street, or the tavern, or in one's own house 
 in presence of a neighbor ! Did the Inquisition ever go farther 
 than this ? 
 
 We should have thought that the laws of the eleventh century 
 commanding to pierce the tongues of blasphemers and heretics 
 with a hot iron, existed now only in history, as monuments of an 
 atrocious barbarity. But it is a great mistake. The Jesuits suffer 
 nothing of cruelty and infamy to perish. They keep it concealed 
 for a season ; they shut up their arsenal when the popular storm 
 thunders ; but so soon as the sun shines, they bring up again 
 their chains, their pitiless axes and instruments of torture. 
 
 Again by this law men shall be fined and imprisoned, not only 
 for having written bad books, or drawn wicked caricatures against 
 the holy religion of the State, not only for having introduced into 
 the Canton, or exposed, or. distributed, or lent, such books or 
 writings, but even for having knowingly or without authorization 
 kept them in their libraries. An inhabitant of the Valais, foi 
 example, has among his books the works of Voltaire, Rousseau, 
 Montesquieu, or even the new writings proscribed in the Index 
 
16 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap. i:i. 
 
 "<" the Romish Congregation, such as the books of Guizot, Cousin, 
 Dupin, Jouffroy, Thierry, in a word, whatever work may Have, 
 been published in France for half a century, except the naufeout/ 
 productions of the Jesuitical school. Well ! the bare fact of hav- 
 ing kept these volumes constitutes a crime, unless the authr-riza- 
 tion of the Company of Ignatius shall have been obtained, a ihing 
 which cannot be, except for its most devoted creatures. Cer. 
 tainly, this* is new, original, unheard of. We have heard of 
 certain ordinances of our ancient kings punishing the readers of 
 a bad book, after having condemned the author ; but we never 
 heard of a law pronouncing a universal . sentence against the 
 proprietors and keepere of works contrary to the Holy Catholic, 
 Apostolic and Romish religion. 
 
 But how can the law be executed ? Will they make domi- 
 ciliary visits, to examine, one after another, the books belonging 
 to each individual ? Will they ferret for them in the secret coi- 
 ners of the household, in order to be sure that the proscribed 
 writings are not shut up in some hiding-place ? When a poor 
 inhabitant of the Canton comes under the suspicions of the Clergy 
 because he has not regularly kept the fasts, nor taken his note 
 of confession at canonical times, will they break open his bureaus, 
 his furniture, to discover the unhappy volumes, which have in- 
 spired him with such infidelity ? We should not be at all sur- 
 prised at this. Where there is a will, there is a way. If they 
 would not shrink from publishing such a monstrous law, neither 
 will they quail before the measure necessary to carry it into exe- 
 cution. It will be a permanent inquisition, which will always 
 possess the means of oppressing and breaking down those who 
 will not humbly bow beneath its yoke of bondage. 
 
 Talk to us after this of the generous principles of the Jesuits 
 and the Romish Priests ! Tell us, ye propagandists of the Rom- 
 ish faith, your love of liberty ! Tell us for the millionth time 
 that you, and you only, know how to respect the rights of the 
 people and \he progress of humanity ! Pretend your loving de- 
 mocracy in your sermons and your journals ! Go to, we lAiow 
 you of old, and soon there will not be a reasonable man in the 
 world, who will not discover under your mask the deep imprints 
 of your insatiable instinct of tyranny ! If there were the least 
 
CHAP. III.] LAWS OF THE VALAIS. 17 
 
 particle of sincerity in your liberal maxims and pretences, you 
 would at least express your indignation against such monstrous 
 laws promulgated in the Canton du Valais ; you would attack 
 these abominable enterprises of the Jesuits ; but what one of 
 your journals is there, that would have the frankness and sin- 
 cerity to do this ? Every Ecclesiastical Gazette is silent, and 
 yet to-morrow these same despotic journals will dare tell their 
 adversaries that they are the enemies of liberty. 
 
 Comedians, comedians ! the execrable farce you are playing 
 will have to be finished, and then beware of the conclusion ! 
 
 This is an energetic strain of criticism, appeal, and invective, 
 before which, if there be much of it, such detestable measures 
 cannot stand. The Jesuits are the Mamelukes of the Romish 
 Church J neither king nor people can be independent or free 
 where such a body of tyrants, the worse for being secret, bear 
 sway. Note the expression directly or indirectly in the law 
 against writings and propositions tending to bring into disrepute 
 the Holy Ronush religion of State. What traps and caverns of 
 tyranny are here ! What room for more than inquisitorial acute- 
 ness and cruelty, in searching out and detecting the indirect ten- 
 dencies of publications, which the Priests see fit to proscribe. 
 The most innocent writing may thus be made the ground of a 
 severe imprisonment ; and as to all investigation or discussion of 
 the truth, it becomes impossible. 
 
 But we have pleasanter footsteps to follow than those of the 
 Jesuits ; so farewell to their trail for the present. We shall 
 meet them again in Switzerland. 
 
 FART II. 3 
 
/8 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap, iv 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Physical plagues of the Canton du Valais and of Switzerland. Hospital 
 for the Cretins. 
 
 Appeoachinu Sion from Martigny the view is exceedingly pic- 
 turesque and romantic, by reason of several extensive old castles 
 on successive craggy peaks, that rise in commanding grandeur, 
 like the Acropolis at Athens, and seem, as you advance upwards, 
 to fill the whole valley. One of the highest summits is crowned 
 with a church or convent, a most imposing object, seen against 
 the sky long before you arrive at the base of the village. The 
 view from this church in every direction, or from the crags on 
 which it is perched, is so extensive, so rich, and so picturesque, 
 as abundantly to recompense even a tired traveller for the toil of 
 the ascent. Besides, there is on this hill an exceedingly aged 
 old rocky edifice of worship, that looks as if it might have ex- 
 isted before the Roman Catholic Church itself began to have a 
 being. Of the village below, wooden shoes and woollen stockings 
 seemed to be the staple commodity, while a knot of industrious 
 women, washing clothes around the fountain in the centre of the 
 street, were, when we passed, the most striking object in view. 
 
 Age, disease, uncleanly cottages, hard labor, penury, scanty 
 and unwholesome food, will transform beauty into ugliness, any- 
 where in the world, even under the most delicious climate. What 
 a change ! Could any being, unacquainted with the progress of 
 our race from elastic youth to that colorless, toothless time, when 
 the grasshopper is a burden, believe that these forms, which seem 
 now a company of the personified genii of wrinkles, were once 
 as fair as the Virgin Mother of their invocations ? They may 
 have been. Youth itself is beauty, and the most secret, black, 
 and midnight hags were once young. But Shakspeare need not 
 have gone upon the Continent, nor Wordsworth among the fish- 
 women of Calais, to find good types of witches. I think I have 
 
CHAP. IV.] PLAGUE OF CRETINISM. 19 
 
 seen in Edinburgh as fair e.xamples of tough, old, furrowed ugli. 
 ness, as in Switzerland, or Turkey, or Italy, or Spain, or Egypt. 
 Old age is beautiful, when gentleness goes with it, and it has 
 filial tenderness and care to lean upon ; the Christian's hope 
 within, and the reverential fond pride and honor of grey hairs in 
 the household, make up a picture almost as beautiful as that of a 
 babe in the cradle, or a girl at play. But where, from infancy 
 to three score years and ten, there are only the hardest, wrinkle- 
 making realities of life, its tasks without its compensations, and 
 its withering superstitions without its consolations, there can be 
 nothing left of beauty ; humanity stands like a blasted pine in 
 the desert. 
 
 " 'Tis said, fantastic Ocean doth unfold 
 The likeness of whate'er on land is seen; 
 But, if the Nereid Sisters and their Queen, 
 Above whose heads the tide so lonjj hath rolled. 
 The dames resemble, whom we here behold. 
 How terrible beneath the opening waves 
 To sink, and meet them in their fretted caves. 
 Withered, grotesque, immeasurably old." j 
 
 Your attention in the Valley of the Rhone is painfully turned 
 to the miserable cretins or idiots, and those unfortunate beings, 
 whose necks are distended with the excrescences of the goitre, as 
 if hung round with swollen bladders of flesh. The poor creatures 
 so afflicted did always seem to me to have an exceeding weight 
 of sadness in their countenances, though they went about labor- 
 ing like others. These frightful diseases prevail among the 
 population of the Valais to a greater extent >han anywhere else 
 in Switzerland. The number of inhabitants in Sion is about 
 2500. Poverty, disease, and filth mark the wjjole valley ; and 
 so long as the people are shut up to the superstitions of 
 Romanism, so long they must remain shut out from the only con- 
 solations that could be some support amidst their miseries, and 
 debarred from the only refining and elevating, influences, that 
 could soften and bless a condition so sad as theirs. 
 
 Of the two physical plagues that infest the beautiful valleys 
 of Switzerland, cretinism is by far the worst. It is the^ most re- 
 pulsive and painful form of idiocy I have ever witnessed. It 
 
20 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap. iv. 
 
 makes the human being look less intelligent than the brute. A 
 hooting cry between a howl and a burst of laughter sometimes 
 breaks from the staring and gibbering object before you, a crea- 
 ture that haunts the villages, you cannot say like a spectre, for 
 these miserable beings seemed always in good flesh, but like the 
 personification of the twin brother of madness, and far more 
 fearful. It creates a solemn awe in the soul, to look upon one 
 of these beings, in whom the mind does not seem so much de- 
 rangeo; as departed, gone utterly, not a gleam of the Spirit left, 
 the household dog looking incomparably more human. It is a 
 dreadful sight. The cretin will sometimes hobble after you with 
 open hand, grinning for charity, with a chaotic laugh, like a gust 
 of wind clatterinsj through the hall of a ruined castle. 
 
 In the midst of poverty this calamity is doubled, and none of 
 its salient points of grim, disgusting misery can be concealed. 
 The families and villages where it is developed are for the most 
 part miserably poor. Filth, squalid corners for sleep, and im- 
 pure nourishment, help on the disease, like fuel for the plague. 
 No moral causes are set in motion, no more than physical, to 
 combat or hinder its progress, or ameliorate the condition of its 
 victim ; the family and the village bear the burden in silent 
 hopeless despair, as a condemned criminal wears his chains. 
 The only rnilder feature of the wretchedness that you can think 
 of is this, that the poor cretin himself is not in pain, and is per- 
 fectly insensible to his condition. 
 
 But perhaps you are asking if there are no benevolent efforts 
 to remedy this great evil, no asylums or hospitals for the poor 
 creatures so stricken. I know of only one, and that of recent 
 establishment, though there was never a more suitable field for 
 philanthropy to work in. The celebrated philosopher Saussure 
 conceived that this disease of cretinism must be owing to a vicious 
 atmosphere, wanting in some of the elements necessary to the 
 healthful development of the human system. Meditating on this 
 point, a philanthropic physician among the Oberland Alps not 
 long since co.iceived the happy idea of combating this evil at its 
 commencement, by taking the children in their infancy from the 
 fearful influence darting upon them, and carrying them away to 
 be nourished and strengthened by the pure air of the mountains. 
 
CHAP. IV.] ASYLUM FOR THE CRETINS. 21 
 
 The name of this .excellent man was Doctor Guggenbiihl. He 
 had been called one day to examine a case of some malignani 
 disease, which for ages from time to time had ravaged the beau- 
 tiful valleys of the higher Alps, when his attention was fixed by 
 an old Cretin, who was idiotically hlating a half forgotten prayer 
 before an image" of the Virgin at Seedorf in the Canton Uri. 
 How melancholy that the only religion learned by the poor idiot 
 was that of an Ave Maria before a wooden image ! But the 
 sight deeply agitated the sensibilities of the physician in behalf 
 of those unfortunate creatures, and, as he says, " fixed his voca- 
 tion." A being susceptible of the least idea of God seemed to him 
 worthy of every care and every sacrifice. " These stricken in- 
 dividuals of our race," said he, " these brethren beaten down, 
 are they not more worthy of our efforts, than those races of ani- 
 mals, which men strive to bring to perfection ? It is not in vain 
 formulas, but in charitable efforts that we must find that divine 
 love which Jesus Christ has taught us." 
 
 Dr. Guggenbiihl went immediately at work. The attempt 
 had never been tried, of which the idea had come to bim, but he 
 found encouragement and sympathy. He fixed upon a Moun- 
 tain in the Oberland called the Abendberg, elevated about three 
 thousand feet above the level of the sea, and seeming to him to 
 combine all the requisites for the foundation of his establishment. 
 Having issued his appeals and subscriptions, he soon received 
 funds sufficient for the support of some twenty children, and con- 
 secrated all his efforts to the moral and physical development of 
 his interesting family. He placed them in the circle of a simple 
 but comfortable domestic life, so distant from the world as not to 
 be distracted by its noise, so near to it as to be accessible to all 
 the good resources of a civilized society. 
 
 The mountain air was pure and sweet for them to breathe in. 
 The mountain streams gave them pure running water for drink- 
 ing, bathing, and washing. The forests afforded wood for the 
 construction of their asylum, around which the land was laid out 
 in gai-dens. The farm gave them plenty of butter and milk, 
 eggs and poultry. Regular means of communication were es- 
 tablished with Unterseen, Interlachen, and other subjacent 
 villages. 
 
82 PILGRIM OF THE JITNGFRAU. [chap, it 
 
 The first medical efTorts of Dr. Guggenbuhl with his interest- 
 ing patients were applied to the education, and, in a manner, the 
 regeneration, of the physical organs attacked first by the malady, 
 which plays such frightful ravages afterwards upon the mind. 
 The sensitive form is first to be restored to its natural strength 
 and delicacy, and then the conscience and the wandering facul- 
 ties shall be won back, as it were, to abide within it. The change 
 from the hot, damp, and stagnant atmosphere of poor filthy hovels 
 in narrow valleys, to the clear, cool, bracing air of the mountain 
 summits, is itself enough to create a gradual regeneration in the 
 whole physical being. The patient breathes the principle of a 
 new life, and this is powerfully aided by a simple, healthful 
 nourishment, exercise in the open air, varied and increasing in 
 proportion as strength is regained. Cold bathing, frictions, and 
 various games adapted to fix the attention, and inspire quick 
 voluntary movement, are added to this routine of discipline. 
 
 When thus he has succeeded in modifying the physical organs, 
 and giving them a direction towards health and activity. Dr. 
 Guggenbuhl begins upon the mental faculties. Probably the 
 degrees of idiocy, towards which the disease has advanced, are 
 various, sometimes but the commencement, sometimes sadly con- 
 firmed. The report from which I draw these particulars states 
 that Dr. Guggenbuhl possesses an admirable assistant in his 
 labors of instruction. I have watched this person descending, 
 says the writer, with the sweetest patient benevolence, to the level 
 of these little idiots, and there striking with perseverance upon 
 the hard stone within, till some little sparkle of fire shall be 
 elicited, some sparkling indication of intelligence. And when 
 he has once succeeded in seizing the least end of the thread of 
 thought, with what infinite precautions does he unroll it, lest it be 
 broken. Then at length are multiplied in the depths of the 
 previous intellectual obscurity a series of fruitful, thought-awak- 
 ening images. 
 
 How delightful is this ! It is almost worth the suffering of 
 the calamity, to have so truly benevolent an institution spring 
 from it. This indeed, if not one of the final causes of calamity 
 in this world, is one of its compensating blessings, to give men 
 opportunity for the growth and discipline of charity and love. 
 
HAP. IV.] MOUNTAIN HOSPITAL.. 23 
 
 For the benefit of this Mountain Hospital contributions have been 
 made at Geneva, at Bale, Hamburg, Amsterdam, and London. 
 The King of Prussia with many foreigners of distinction have 
 interested themselves in it. Its successful and benignant influ- 
 ence is but a type of what would wait upon the whole Valley, if 
 all its families could be blest with a truly Christian education. 
 Indeed, if all the ignorant and degraded children of the Canton 
 du Valais could be taken to the mountains and freely and fully 
 educated, the Canton itself would speedily be free ; all the 
 Jesuitism in Europe could not bring back the people to their old 
 bondage of ignorance and superstition. 
 
94 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap. 
 
 CHAPTER V- 
 
 Gorge of the Dala. 
 
 At Sierre, a few miles beyond Sion, we were to leave the valley 
 of the Rhone for the wonderful pass of the Gemini, and here' 
 commenced my pedestrianizing in good earnest. It is always a 
 singularly interesting excursion to go by a side pass from one val- 
 ley, across an apparently impregnable barrier of mountains, over 
 into another. To cross the Gemmi from the valley of the Rhone, 
 you may start from the village of Leuk, or turn off as we did 
 from Sierre by a path of incomparable beauty, winding gradually 
 within the mountains, and rising rapidly by a precipitous ascent,^ 
 where at every step your view up and down the valley you are 
 leaving becomes more inimitably grand and vast. You clamber 
 over the little village of Varen, which at first was hanging above 
 you, leaving it far below, as well as that of Leuk, which you 
 see farther up the valley, and thus you are toiling on, thinking 
 perhaps that you are witnessing some of the wildest, most pic- 
 turesque and extensive views to be enjoyed on this excursion, 
 when all at once there bursts upon you a scene, surpassing all 
 previous experience and anticipation. You rise to the summit 
 of a steep ascent, step upon a space of table land, advance a few 
 feet, and suddenly find yawning before you a fearful gulf of 
 some nine hundred feet deep, into which the lidge on which you 
 stand seems beetling over, ready to fall with your own weight. 
 It is the gulf of the Dala, a torrent which rolls at the bottom, but 
 almost too far down for you to see the swift glance of the water, 
 or hear the roar, for even the thunder of the cataract of Niagara 
 would be well nigh buried in its depths. 
 
 Advancing a few steps in the direction of this gulf, and turn- 
 ing a natural bastion of the mountain, there comes sweeping down 
 upon you from above, a gorge of overwhelming grandeur, over- 
 
CHAP. V..1 GORGE OF THE DALA. 25 
 
 whelming both by the surprise and the deep sublimity of the 
 scene. You tremble to enter it, and stand fixed in silent awe and 
 admiration. Below you is that fearful gulf down plunging in 
 a sheer perpendicular of almost a thousand feet, while above you 
 is a tremendous overhanging precipice of near an equal height, 
 adow .a and across the face of which runs, cut out, the zigzag 
 perilous gallery, by which you are to pass. Whole strata of 
 this perpendicular face of the mountain seem loosened above, 
 and ready to bury you in their fall, and the loose stones come 
 thundering down now and then with the terror of an avalanche. 
 You step carefully down the gallery, or shelf, till perhaps you are 
 near the centre of the pass ; now look up to heaven along the 
 perpendicular height above you, if you can do it without falling, 
 and see those bare pines, that seem bending over the edge ; they 
 'ook as if blanched with terror. What a steep gigantic moun- 
 tain brow they fringe ! You feel as if the gallery, where you 
 are treading, were a perilous position, and yet you cannot resist 
 going back and gazing again down into the measureless gulf, and 
 enjoying again the sudden sweep of this sublime gorge upon 
 your vision. Towards the pass of the Gemmi, it is closed by a 
 vast ridge of frowning castellated mountains, and still beyond 
 that, loftier snowy summits are shining, such pyramids of pure 
 snow, that they seem as if they would fling the hues of sunset 
 that flash upon them, down into the farthest recesses of the val- 
 ley as it darkens in the evening. 
 
 It was such a sight as this, that suggested that beautiful son- 
 net of Wordsworth, closing with so fine an image, 
 
 " Glory to God ! and to the Power who came 
 In filial duty, clothed with love divine ; 
 That made his human tabernacle shine 
 Like Ocean burning with purpureal flame ; 
 Or like the Alpine Mount, that takes its name 
 From roseate hues, far kenn'd at morn and even, 
 In times of peace, or when the storm is driven 
 Along the nether region's rugged frame ! 
 Earth prompts — Heaven urges ; let us seek the light. 
 Studious of that pure intercourse begun 
 When first our infant brows their lustre won ; 
 So like the Mountain, may we grow more bright. 
 
36 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFEAU. [chap t. 
 
 From unimpeded commerce with the Sun, 
 At the approach of all-involving night ! " 
 
 But what is it that arrests your eye on the other side of the 
 gulf, overhung in like manner with a sheer perpendicular moun- 
 tain ? There seems to he something in motion along the smooth 
 face of the precipice, but it is not possible. You look again 
 steadily ; it is actually a line of mules and travellers, creeping 
 like flies along the face of a wall, and you find there is a road 
 there also, cut along this fearful gulf out of the solid rock ; but 
 it is so far across, that the passing caravan of travellers seems 
 like moving insects. You watch them a few moments, as they 
 perhaps are watching you ; and now they pass from the cliff, and 
 enter on the winding fir-covered path, that takes them along the 
 thundering torrent of the Dala down to the village of Leuk. 
 
 The view of this gorge might not perhaps have appeared to us 
 quite so sublime, had we been prepared for it, or had we come 
 gradually upon it ; but the solemn, sudden, overwhelming gran- 
 deur of the view makes it one of the finest passes in all Switzer- 
 land. It stirs the very depths of your soul within you, and it 
 seems as if you could remain motionless before it, and not wish- 
 ing to move, from daylight to sunset, and from sunset to the moon, 
 whose pale, soft, silver light steeps the vales and crags and gla- 
 ciers with such romantic beauty. 
 
CH ».p. VI.] LANDSCAPE ELEMENTS. 27 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Elements of the landscape. Alpine flowers. Jonathan Edwards 
 
 Passing out from this wonderful scene, through a forest of 
 larches, whose dark verdure is peculiarly appropriate to it, and 
 going up towards the baths of Leuk, the interest of the landscape 
 does not at all diminish. What a concentration and congrega- 
 tion of all elements of sublimity and beauty are befoi-e you ! 
 what surprising contrasts of light and shade, of form and color, 
 of softness and ruggedness ! Here are vast heights above you, 
 and vast depths below, villages hariging to the mountain sides, 
 green pasturages and winding paths, chalets dotting the moun- 
 tains, lovely meadow slopes enamelled with flowers, deep immea- 
 surable ravines, torrents thundering down them, colossal, overhang, 
 ing, castellated reefs of granite, snowy peaks with the setting sun 
 upon them. You command a view far down over the valley of 
 the Rhone with its villages and castles, and its mixture of rich 
 farms and vast beds and heaps of mountain fragments, deposited 
 by furious torrents. What affects the mind very powerfully on 
 first entering upon these scenes is the deep dark blue, so intensely 
 deep and overshadowing, of the gorge at its upper end, and the 
 magnificent proud sweep of the granite barrier, which there shuts 
 it in, apparently without a passage. The mountains rise like 
 vast supernatural intelligences taking a material shape, and draw- 
 ing around themselves a drapery of awful grandeur ; there is a 
 forehead of power and majesty, aijd the likeness of a kingly 
 crown above it. 
 
 Amidst all the grandeur of this scenery, I remember to have 
 been in no place more delighted with the profuse richness, deli- 
 cacy and beauty of the Alpine flowers. The grass of the mea- 
 dow slopes in the gorge of the Dala had a depth and power of 
 verdure, a clear, delicious greenness, that in its effect upon the 
 
2S PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap. vi. 
 
 mind was like that of the atmosphere in the brightest autumnal 
 morning of the year, or rather, perhaps, like the colors of the sky 
 at sunset. There is no such grass-color in the world, as that of 
 these mountain meadows. It is just the same at the verge of the 
 ice oceans of Mont Blanc. It makes you think of one of the 
 points chosen by the Sacred Poet to illustrate the divine benevo- 
 lence (and I had almost said, no man can truly understand why 
 it was chosen, who has not travelled in Switzerland), " Who 
 maketh the grass to grow upon the mountains." 
 
 And then the flowers, so modest, so lovely, yet of such deep 
 exquisite hue, enamelled in the grass, sparkling amidst it, " a 
 starry multitude," underneath such awful brooding mountain 
 forms, and icy precipices, how beautiful ! All that the Poets 
 have ever said or sung of Daisies, Violets, Snow-drops, King- 
 cups, Primroses, and all modest flowers, is here out-done by the 
 mute poetry of the denizens of these wild pastures. Such a 
 meadow slope as this, watered with pure rills from the glaciers, 
 would have set the mind of Edwards at work in contemplation 
 on the beauty of holiness. He has connected these meek and 
 lowly flowers with an image, which none of the Poets of this 
 world have ever thought of. To him the divine beauty of holi- 
 ness " made the soul like a field or garden of God, with all man- 
 mer of pleasant flowers ; all pleasant, delightful, and undisturbed; 
 enjoying a sweet calm, and the gentle, vivifying beams of the 
 Sun. The soul of a true Christian appears like such a little 
 white flower as we see in the spring of the year ; low and hum- 
 ble on the ground ; opening its bosom to receive the pleasant! 
 beams of the Sun's glory ; rejoicing, as it were, in a calm rap-'j 
 ture ; diffusing around a sweet fragrancy ; standing peacefully / 
 and lovingly, in the midst of other flowers round about ; all in] 
 like manner opening their bosoms to drink in the light of thej) 
 Sun." . " 
 
 Very likely such a passage as this, coming from the soul of 
 the great theologian (for this is the poetry of the soul, and not of 
 artificial sentiment, nor of the mere worship of nature), will 
 seem to many persons, like violets in the bosom of a glacier. But 
 no poet ever described the meek, modest flowers so beautifully, 
 rejoicing in a calm rapture. Jonathan Edwards himself, with his 
 
CHAP. VI.] ALPINE FLOWERS. 29 
 
 grand views of sacred theology and history, his living piety, and 
 his great experience in the deep things of God, was like a moun- 
 tain glacier, in one respect, as the " parent of perpetual streams," 
 tliat are then the deepest, when a.11 the fountains of the world are 
 driest ; like, also. In another respect, that in climbing his theology 
 you get very near to heaven, and are in a very pure and bracing 
 atmosphere ; like, again, in this, that it requires much spiritual 
 labor and discipline to surmount his heights, and some care not 
 to fall into the crevasses ; and like, once more, in this, that when 
 you get to the top, you have a vast, wide, glorious view of God^ 
 great plan, and see things in their chains and connections, which 
 before you only saw separate and piecemeal. 
 
30 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap, vii 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 , The Moon and the Mountains. Village of Leuk. 
 
 The village of the Baths of Leuk is at the head of this gorge, 
 ^ the foot of the celebrated pass of the Gemmi. The wonders 
 of the scenery are greater than the marvels of Oriental romance ; 
 it is a totally different world from that which lies below you, that 
 where you were born. You seem to have risen to the verge 
 between the natural and the supernatural, between the visible 
 and the invisible ; or to have come to the great barriers, behind 
 which lies open " the multitudinous abyss," where Nature hides 
 her secret elemental processes and marvels. Strange enough, 
 the village in the remembrance reminds me of Nicomedia in 
 Turkey. The moon rose about eight o'clock from behind the moun- 
 tains beneath which the baths and the hamlets are situated, so 
 that we had the hour and the scene of all others in some respects 
 most beautiful. No language can describe the extraordinary 
 effect of the light falling on the mighty perpendicular crags and 
 ridges of the Gemmi on the other side, while the village itself 
 remained in darkness. It appeared as if the face of this moun- 
 tain was gradually lighting up from an inward pale fire, suffused 
 in rich radiance over it, for it was hours before we could see the 
 moon, though w>e could see her veil of soft light resting upon 
 those gigantic, rock-fibbed, regal barriers of nature. 
 
 There is an inexpressible solemnity to the mind in the sight 
 of those still and awful forms rising in the silent night, how 
 silently, how impressively ! Their voice is of eternity, of 
 God ; and why it is I cannot tell, but certain it is, that the deep 
 intense blue of distant mountains by day impresses the mind in 
 the same way with a sense of eternity. Vastness of material 
 masses produces the same impression on the mind as vastness of 
 time and space ; but why intensity of color should have so pecu- 
 
CHAP. VII.] MAKING HAY BY MOONLIGHT. 3 
 
 liarly sublime an effect I know not, unless it be simply from con- 
 nection with such vastness of material form. At all events the 
 mountains in these aspects do raise the mind irresistibly to God 
 and eternity, making the devout heart adore him with praise and 
 awe, and compelling even the careless heart into an unusual 
 sense of his power and glory. Sometimes the mountains seem^, 
 as if shouting to one another, God ! Sometimes they seem re-/ 
 pealing in a low, deep, stilly murmur of adoration, God ! Some-I 
 times they seem to stand and gaze silently at you with a look' 
 that goes down into the soul, and makes the same impression,J 
 God! 
 
 How different it is with men, their huts, their palaces, their 
 movements, their manners ! Oflen there is nothing to remind you 
 of God, save the profane oath, in which his dread, sacred name 
 drops from the lips in blasphemy ; that fearful oath, which on 
 the continent of Europe has given a name to Englishmen, and 
 of which no European language can afford a rival or a parallel. 
 
 This beautiful night, after the moon was fully risen, I could 
 not resist the temptation, notwithstanding the fatigues of the day, 
 to walk down alone to that deep, wild, fir-clad gorge, through 
 which the torrent of the Dala was thundering, that I might ex- 
 perience the full and uninterrupted impression of moonlight and 
 solitude in so grand a scene. As I passed down from the village 
 through the meadow slopes toward the black depths of the ravine, 
 one or two peasants were busied, though it was near midnight, 
 silently mowing the grass ; I suppose both because of the cool- 
 ness of the night, and to secure their hay during the pleasant 
 weather. A beautiful grey mist, like the moonlight itself, lay 
 upon the fields, and the sweep of the scythes along the wet grass 
 was the only sound that rose upon the perfect stillness of the 
 atmosphere, save the distant subterranean thunder of the falls of 
 the Dala, buried in the depths of the chasm. Looking down into 
 those depths amidst the din and fury of the waters, the sublimity 
 of the impression is greatly heightened by the obscurity ; and 
 then looking upward along the forest of dark verdure that clothes 
 the overhanging mountain, how still, how beautiful in the moon- 
 light are those rising terraces of trees ! They seem as if they 
 too had an intelligent spirit, and were watching the night and 
 
32 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap, -h 
 
 enjoying its beauty. My friend was sound asleep at the inn. 
 Who was wisest, he or I ? Considering the fatigues of the day, 
 and those to be encountered on the morrow, there was great wis- 
 dom in the act of sleeping. But then again it is to be considered 
 that any night is good for sleeping, while such a night as this for 
 waking might not again be enjoyed, with all its accessories, in a 
 man's lifetime. 
 
 These laborers, that were but making hay, could toil all night, 
 and the day after go to their work as usual. But all the hay in 
 Switzerland would not be worth the impulse that mighi be gained 
 from such a night as this, were the soul only prepared for it. 
 Night and the stars ! Silence and voices deep, calling the soul 
 to hear them, not the sense ! What music were it, if those living 
 lights, waxing in splendor, would let us hear, as Dante saith, 
 " the chiming of their angelic bells." 
 
 " One sun by day, by night ten thousand shine. 
 And light us deep into the Deity : 
 How boundless in magnificenceand might ! 
 what a confluence of ethereal fires 
 From urns unnumbered, down the steep of heaven '. 
 My heart at once it humbles and exalts. 
 Lays it in dust, and caills it to the skies. 
 Bright Regions swarm unseen, and sing, unheard 
 By mortal ear, the glorious Architect, 
 In this, his universal Temple, hung 
 With lustres, with innumerable lights, 
 That shed religion on the soul, at once 
 The Temple and the Preacher ! 
 
 Who sees Him not. 
 Nature's controller, author, guide, and end ? 
 Who turns his eye on nature's midnight face 
 But must inquire, — What hand behind the scene. 
 What arm Almighty put these wheeling globes 
 In motion, and wound up the vast machine ? 
 Who rounded in his palm these spacious orbs .' 
 Who bowled them flaming through the dark profound. 
 Numerous as glittering gems of morning dew. 
 Or sparks from populous cities in a blaze. 
 And set the bosom of old Night on fire ?" 
 
 What grand lines are these ! The sublimity of Young rises 
 ftometimes higher than that of Dante, as his devotion is more direct 
 
CH.5P. VII.] NIGHT THOUGHTS. ' 33 
 
 and scriptural. The grandeur of that image or conception of 
 the spacious orbs bowled Jlaming through the dark profound, nume- 
 rous as glittering gems of morning dew, could scarcely be exceed- 
 ed. It is like the image of the same great Poet, of Old Time 
 sternly driving his ploughshare o'er Creation. The Poem of the 
 Night Thoughts is full of great and rich materials for the mind 
 and heart ; it is one of the best demonstrations in our language 
 of the absurdity of that strange idea of Dr. Johnson, that devo- 
 tion is not a fit subject for poetry ! Let the Christian stand at 
 midnight beneath the stars, vi^ith mountains round about him, and 
 if the influences of the scene are rightly appreciated, though he 
 may be no Poet, he will feel that Prayer, Praise, and the highest 
 Poetry are one. 
 
 " In every storm that either frowns or falls 
 What an asylum has the soul in prayer ! 
 And what a Fane is this, in which to pray ! 
 And what a God nust dwell in such a Fane !" 
 
 Night Thoughts^ IX. 
 
 PAET II. 
 
34 FILGRTiV^ OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap, viii 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Baths of Leuk. 
 
 The village or hamlet of the baths is a place of about thiee 
 hundred inhabitants, whose clusters of wooden nests hang to 
 the mountains at an elevation of more than 4500 feet above the 
 level of the sea. The bathing houses and inns are spacious, 
 crowded for some six weeks in July and August, deserted almost 
 all the rest of the year, and shut up and abandoned from October 
 to May. Three times since their establishment in the sixteenth 
 century they have been overwhelmed by Avalanches, though to 
 the eye of a stranger in the summer, their position does not seem 
 to be of imminent peril. But the scenery is of an extreme 
 grandeur, a glorious region, where the sublimities of nature com- 
 bine to elevate the mind, at the same time that the body comes 
 to be healed of its infirmities. These healing springs, wherever 
 they occur, are proofs of the Divine benevolence ; may they net 
 be regarded as peculiarly so, when placed in the midst of scenes 
 so adapted to raise the thoughts to heaven ? 
 
 But what invalid here ever thinks of the scenery who has4o 
 spend eight hours a day immersed and steaming in hot water 1 
 The grand spring bursts forth like a little river close to the bath- 
 house, of as great heat as 124 Fahrenheit, and supplies the great 
 baths, which are divided into wooden tanks, about twenty feet 
 square, four in each building, where men, women, and children 
 bathe indiscriminately, clad in long woollen gowns. There they 
 sit for hours in the water, some two or three weeks together, four 
 hours at breakfast and four hours after dinner. It is very droll 
 and very disgusting to look at them, floating about, such a motley 
 crew, in such a vulgar mixture, some TRfteen or twenty in each 
 tank. It is surprising that persons of either sex, with any refine, 
 ment of feeling, can submit to such a process, so coarse, so pub- 
 
CHAP VIII ] BATHS OF LEUK. 35 
 
 lie, so indelicate ; but they say that this social system is resorted 
 to, because of the tedium of being obliged to spend six or eight 
 ho ^7s a day in the water j so they make a regular sairie of it, a 
 sort of Fourier affair, having all things common, and entertaining 
 each other as much as possible. 
 
 The traveller stands on a wooden bridge, and gazes at the 
 watery community in amazement, looking narrowly for fins; but 
 he sees nothing but groups of human heads, emerging and bob- 
 bing about like the large corks to a fishing net, among which are 
 floating a score of little wooden tables with books, newspapers, and 
 so forth, for the occupation of said heads, or tea and coffee with 
 toast, or a breakfast d la fourchette, for the supply of the bodies 
 belonging to them. Some are reading, others amphibiously 
 lounging, others coquetting at leisure with a capricious appetite, 
 others playing chess, all up to the chin in hot water. Inveterate 
 chess-players would make excellent patients in these baths. 
 Without some occupation of that nature, one would think there 
 must be no little danger of falling asleep and getting drowned. 
 One of the bathing houses is for the poor, who are admitted free 
 of expense ; and here it is not so surprising to see them all par- 
 boiling together ; but that the better rank should suffer such a 
 system of vulgarity and publicity, seems incredible. 
 
 It is principally from France and Switzerland that the visitors 
 come, and they have to be steeped three weeks in the water for 
 cure. Eight hours daily in the baths and two in bed, together 
 with the eight or ten spent in sleep, nearly finish the twenty-four 
 of our diurnal existence. There are no provisions for private 
 baths, so tjiat the necessity of making a t&te-d-tete of some fifteen 
 or twenty together is inexorable. And, after all, there may be 
 no more want of refinement in a social Neptunian pic-nic of this 
 sort, than there is in tripping over the white sands at Brighton, 
 or floating in the surf on the beach at Newport, Naiad-like, in 
 companies. 
 
86 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap, a 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 Pass of the Gemmi. Trials of Faith. 
 
 Feom the baths we set our faces, and my companion the face of 
 his mule, to traverse the pass of the Gemmi, in many respects 
 the grandest and most extraordinary pass in all Switzerland. If 
 the builders of Babel had discovered this mountain, methinks 
 they would have abandoned their work, and set themselves to 
 blast a corkscrew gallery in the rock, by which to reach heaven. 
 No language can describe the sublime impression of its frowning 
 circular ridges, its rocky, diademic spheroids, if I may so speak, 
 sweeping up, one after another, into the skies. The whole valley 
 is surrounded by ranges of regal crags, but the mountain of the 
 Gemmi, apparently absolutely inaccessible, is the last point to 
 which you would turn for an outlet. A side gorge that sweeps 
 up to the glaciers and snowy pyramids flashing upon you in the 
 opposite direction, is the route which you suppose your guide is 
 going to take, and visions of pedestrians perilously scaling icy 
 precipices, or struggling up to the middle through ridges of snow, 
 begin to surround you, as the prospects of your own experience in 
 this day's expedition. So convinced was I that the path must go 
 out in that direction, that 1 took a short cut, which I conceived 
 would bring me again into the mule-path at a point under the 
 glaciers, but after scaling precipices, and getting lost in a wood 
 of firs in the valley, I was glad to rejoin my friend with the 
 guide, and to clamber on in pure ignorance and wonder. The 
 valley is what is called a perfect cul-de-sac, having no opening 
 except where you entered from the Valley of the Rhone, and 
 running up blunt, a little beyond the Baths of Leak, against one 
 of the loftiest perpendicular barriers of rook in all the Alpine 
 recesses. It was therefore not possible to imagine where we 
 should emerge, and not being able to understand clearly the dia- 
 
CHAP. IX.] TRIALS OF FAITH. 37 
 
 lect of our guide, we began to think that he did not himself knov 
 the way. 
 
 Now what a striking symbol is this, of things that sometimes 
 take place in our spiritual pilgrimage. We are often brought to 
 a stand, hedged up and hemmed in by the providence of God, so 
 that there seems no way out. A man is sometimes thrown into 
 difficulties, in which he sits down beginning to despair, and says 
 to himself. Well, this time it is all over with me ; like Sterne's 
 Starling, or worse, like Bunyan's Man in the Cage, he says, I 
 can't get out. Then, when God has driven him from all self- 
 confidence and self-resource, a door opens in the wall, and he 
 rises up and walks at liberty, praising God. 
 
 Sometimes he says within himself, " This cannot be the path 
 of duty ; the mountain is too high, too inaccessible ; there is no 
 possibility of scaling it ; the undertaking, Sir Conscience, that 
 you point out to me by God's Word, is desperate. The path 
 must go this other way ; I am sure it must." Alas, poor pilgrim, 
 try it, if you dare ! Leave the Guide, whose dialect you think 
 you can't understand, though Conscience all the while under- 
 stands it, and too soon you will get lost amidst woods and preci- 
 pices ; and well for you it will be, if you do not fall over some 
 fearful crag, or wander so far and so irretrievably, that no longer 
 the voice of your Guide can be heard, and you stumble upon the 
 dark mountains, till you are lost in the congregation of the dead. 
 Remember By Path Meadow, and Giant Despair's Castle, and 
 come back, yea, haste back, if you are going where the Word 
 of God does not go before you. Let your feet be towards the 
 King's highway, and the mountain you will find is accessible, 
 and the Lions are chained. 
 
 Shall I pursue the simile any farther ? I will ; for it makes 
 me think of the course of some men, who will not suffer them- 
 selves to be led across the great mysteries of God's Word, but 
 endeavor to wind their way out of the gulf without scaling the 
 nfountain. They say it is utterly impossible, it is irrational, it 
 cannot be, there must be some other mode of explaining these 
 passages, than that of admitting the stupendous, inexplicable 
 mystery and miracle, which they bear upon the face of them. 
 So they would carry you round by side galleries, across drifts of 
 
<S PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap, ix 
 
 snowy reasoning, as cold and as deceitful as the crusts of glitter- 
 ing ice, that among the Alps cover great fissures, where, if you 
 step, you sink and are out of sight for ever. Keep to the ap- 
 pointed path, over the mountain, for there alone are you sate. 
 It is the path of Faith, faith in God's Word, faith in God's mys- 
 teries, faith in Gtod's Spirit, faith in God's Son. Sometimes it is 
 the path of Faith without reasoning, and you must lake it, be- 
 cause Gofl says so ; indeed that great Word, God Saith, is the 
 highest of all reasoning, and if your reasoning goes against it, 
 your reasoning is a lie. 
 
 Now have you tried your own way, and found it deceitful and 
 ruinous ? And are you ready to follow your .Guide, as an ignorant 
 little child, in all simplicity ? This is well, and God sometimes 
 suffers us to have our own way, to take it for a whiie, that we 
 may find by sore experience that his way is the best. Your path 
 seems to be shut up, but if he points it out, you may be sure that 
 he will open it. As to the children of Israel, when brought 
 to a stand at the verge of the Red Sea, so he says to you, Go 
 forward ! 
 
 The mysteries in God's Word, and the practical difiiculties in 
 our Pilgrimage, are like these mountain-passes. If you refuse 
 to clamber, you must stay in the gulf, or go, by apostasy, back- 
 ward, for there is no other way out. And if you will not accept 
 the path, walking by Faith, not Sight, then you will never see 
 the glory that is to be enjoyed on the summit. The great funda- 
 mental truths of God's Word, the Resurrection, the Atonement, 
 the Triune Mysteries of the Godhead, the Eternity and Provi- 
 dence of God, the Deity and Grace of Christ, the Work of the 
 Holy Spirit, — ^these are all mountain passes, to be crossed only 
 by Faith ; but tohen you so cross them, then what glory ! O what 
 glory ! So you rise to Heaven ; while they who deny them, are 
 creeping and feeling their way as dull materialists, blindfold grop- 
 ing in the gulf below. 
 
 Well ! let us go on, after our digression, in the strange path of 
 the Gemmi. My steady companion, in this case, answered to 
 the principle of Faith, and I, of self-willed Reason. But I came 
 back, before I got beyond reach of his powerful voice shouting 
 to me, and we advanced together. 
 
CHAP. X.] P^.SS OF THE GEMMI.- 3» 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Pass of the Gemmi. Successive splendors of the view. 
 
 It is a scene as singular as it is sublime. You march up towards 
 the base of the mountain ; you look above you, around you, but 
 there is no way ; you are utterly at a loss. You still advance 
 to within three or four feet of the smooth perpendicular rock, and 
 still there is no outlet. Is there any cave, or subterranean pas- 
 sage, or are you to be hoisted, mules and all, by some invisible 
 machinery over the crags ? Thus musing, your guide suddenly 
 turns to the left, and begins a zigzag ascent, where you never 
 dreamed it was possible, over a steep slope of crumbling rocky 
 fragments, that are constantly falling from above, by which at 
 length you reach a ridgy winding shelf or wrinkle on- the face of 
 the mountain, not visible from below. Here you might have 
 seen from the valley parties of travellers circling the rocky wall, 
 as if they were clinging to it sideways by some supernatural 
 power, and you may see others far above you coming down. 
 Sometimes sick persons are borne on litters down these preci- 
 pices to visit the baths, having their eyes blindfolded to avoid see- 
 ing the perils of the way. 
 
 It is a lovely day, most lovely. Far and near you can see 
 with dazzling distinctness ; trees and crags, streams, towns, mea- 
 dowslopes, mountain outlines, and snowy summits. And now every 
 step upwards increases your wonder and admiration. You rise 
 from point to point, commanding a wider view at every turn. 
 You overhang the most terrible precipices. You scale the face 
 of crags, where narrow galleries have been blasted like grooves, 
 leaving the mountain arching and beetling over you above, while 
 there is no sort of barrier between you and the almost immea- 
 surable gulf below. It is a passage which tries a man's nerves. 
 iMy companion did not dare to ride, but dismounted, and placing 
 
40 PILGRIM OF THt: JUNGFRAU. [chap. x. 
 
 the guide outside between him and the outer edge of the grooves, 
 crept along, leaning against the mountains, and steadying himself 
 with his hands. The tremendous depths, without fence or pro- 
 tection, made him sick and dizzy. Once or twice I had the 
 samij sensation, but generally enjoyed the sense of danger, which 
 adds so greatly to the element of sublimity. 
 
 This ascent, so perpendicular, yet by its zigzags so gradual, 
 affords a constant change and enlargement of view. The little 
 village and baths of Leuk look like a parcel of children's toys 
 in wax, it is so far below you. Now you can see clear across 
 the Dala valley with its villages and mountains, clear down into 
 the valley of the Simplon. Now the vast snowy range of moun- 
 tains on the Italian side begins to be visible. Now you can dis- 
 tinctly count their summits, you may tell all their names, you 
 gaze at them as a Chaldean shepherd at the beauty of the stars, 
 you can follow their ranges from Monte Rosa and the Velan even 
 to the Grand St. Bernard, where the hoary giant keeps guard 
 over the lovely Val D'Aoste, and locks the kingdom of Italy. 
 How dazzling, how beautiful are their forms ; verily, you could 
 sit and watch them all day, if the sun would stay with them, and 
 not tire of their study. 
 
 But now a zigzag takes you again in the opposite direction, 
 and again you enter a tremendous gorge, by a blasted hanging 
 gallery, where the mountains on either side frown like two black 
 thunder-clouds about to discharge their artillery. On the other 
 side of this awful gulf, the daring chamois hunters have perched 
 a wooden box for a sort of watch-tower beneath a shelf in the 
 precipice, utterly inaccessible except by a long pole from beneath, 
 with a few pegs running through it, in imitation of a dead pine. 
 An inexperienced chamois might take it for an eagle's nest, and 
 here a man may lie concealed with his musket, till he has op- 
 portunity to mark his prey. How majestically that bird below 
 us cleaves the air, and comes sailing up the gorge, and now cir- 
 cles the gigantic cliffs of the Gemmi, and sweeps away from us 
 into the sky ! Would it not be a glorious privilege to be able in 
 like manner ourselves to sail off into liquid air, and mount up to 
 heaven ? Oh that I had wings like a dove, then would I fly away 
 and be at rest. So we shall be able to soar, from glorious peak 
 
CHAP. X.] REMARKABLE ECHO. 4* 
 
 to peak, from one part of God's universe to another, when clothed 
 upon with our spiritual body, our house which is from heaven. 
 
 Where we stand now there is a remarkable echo from the 
 depths of the gorge and the opposite face of the mountain. You 
 hear the sound of your footsteps and your voices, as if another 
 party were travelling on the other side. You shout, and your 
 words are twice distinctly reverberated and repeated. In some 
 places this Echo is as if there were a subterranean concert, 
 muffled and deep, of strange beings, creatures of wild dreams, 
 the Seven Sleepers awakened, or people talking in a madhouse. 
 The travellers shout, then hold their breath, and look at one 
 another, and listen with a sense of childish wonder to the strange, 
 clear, bold answers, out-spoken across the grim black gorge in 
 the mountain. The Poet Wordsworth seems to have heard the 
 full cry of a hunting pack, rebellowing to the bark of a little 
 dog, that took it into its head to wake the Echo. Thence came 
 that fine sonnet from his tour on the Continent. 
 
 " What Beaat of Chase hath broken from the cover ? 
 Stern Gemmi listens to as full a cry, 
 As multitudinous a harmony, 
 As e'er did ring the heights of Latmos over. 
 When, from the soft couch of her sleeping Lover, 
 Upstarting, Cynthia skimmed the mountain dew 
 In keen pursuit, and gave, where'er she flew. 
 Impetuous motion to the stars above her. 
 A solitary wolf-dog, ranging on 
 
 Through the bleak concave, wakes this wondrous chime 
 Of aery voices locked in unison, — 
 Faint — far off— -near — deep — solemn and sublime ! 
 So from the body of a single deed 
 A thousand ghostly fears and haunting thoughts proceed !" 
 
 This last comparison unexpectedly reveals one of the most 
 impressive thoughts ever bodied forth by Wordsworth's Imagina- 
 tion." There is an eternal Echo both to the evil and the good of 
 our actions. The Universe is as a Gallery, to take up the report 
 and send it back upon us, in music sweet as the celestial harmo- 
 nies, or in crashing thunder of wrath upon the soul. Evil deeds, 
 above all, have their Echo. The man may be quiet for a season, 
 and hear no voice, but Conscience is yet to be roused, and he is 
 
42 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAb. [chap, s 
 
 to stand as in the centre of Eternity, and hear the reverberation 
 coming back upon him, in Remorse, Judgment, Retribution. The 
 reproduction of himself upon himself would alone be retribution, 
 the reverberation of his evil character and actions. Every man 
 is to meet this, vi^hose evil is not purged away by Christ ; whose 
 life is not pardoned, whose soul is not cleansed, whose heart is 
 not penitent and made new by Divine Grace. 
 
 So neither the evil nor the good that men do is ever interred 
 with their bones, but lives after them. There is always going 
 on this process of reverberation, reproduction, resurrection. 
 Wherefore let the wicked man remember, when he speaks or 
 acts an evil thing, though in present secresy and silence, that he 
 is yet to hear the Echo from Eternity. 
 
 "Now! It is gone! Our brief hours travel post; 
 Each with its thought or deed, its why or how. 
 But know, each parting hour gives up a ghost. 
 To dwell within thee, an Eternal Now." ' 
 
 You continue your zigzag ascent, wondering where it can at 
 length end. Your mule treads with the utmost unconcern on 
 the very brink of the outjutting crags, with her head and neck 
 projecting over into the gulf, which is so deep and so sheer a 
 perpendicular, that in some places a plumb line might be thrown 
 into the valley below, near 1600 feet, almost without touching 
 the rock, [t makes you dizzy to look down into the valley from 
 a much less height than this, but still you ascend, and still com- 
 mand a wider and more magnificent view of the Snowy Alps on 
 the Italian side of the Canton du Valais. You are now on a 
 level with those hanging lines of misty light, so distant and so 
 beautiful, floating over the valley of the Simplon, where the vapor 
 is suspended in hazy layers, just beneath the limit of perpetual 
 snow. Above are the snow-shining mountains, below, the grey 
 crags, forests of fir, pasturages, chalets, farms, castles, and vil- 
 lages. 
 
 " Fancy hath flung for me an airy bridge 
 Across thy long, deep Valley, furious Rhone ! 
 Arch, that here rests upon the granite ridge 
 Of Monte Rosa — there on frailer stone 
 
CHAP, x] SUMMIT OF^ THE PASS. 43 
 
 Of secondary birth — the Jungfrau's cone ; 
 And from that Arch, down looking on the Vale, 
 The aspect 1 behold of every zone ; 
 A sea of foliage tossing with the gale, 
 Blithe Autumn's purple crown, and Winter's icy mail." 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 And now at length you have accomplished the ascent, and 
 reached the highest point of the pass of the Gemmi. You turn 
 with reluctance from one of the grandest views in Switzerland, 
 though you have been enjoying it for hours; but it is always a 
 grief to quit a chain of snowy Alps in the landscape, for they 
 are like a wide view of the ocean ; it thrills you with delight 
 when you come upon them. You emerge from the gorge, pa^s 
 the little shed, which would be somewhat better than an umbrella 
 in a storm, walk a few steps, and what a contrast ! What a 
 scene of winter and of savage wildness and desolation ! You 
 are 7200 feet above the level of the sea. Stupendous walls and 
 needles of bare rock are shooting into the sky, adown whose 
 islopes vast fields of ever-changing snow sweep restlessly, feed- 
 ing a black lake in the centre of storm-beaten ridges of naked 
 limestone. A vast pyramid of pure white snow rises so near you 
 on the right, from behind these intervening ridges of bare rock, 
 that it seems as if a few minutes' walk might plunge you into the 
 midst of it. If you were to undertake it, you would find it a 
 day's work, across frightful ravines, and over mountains. The 
 desolation increases as you descend, till you come to the solitary 
 auberge built upon the ruins of an avalanche, the scene, it is 
 said, of one of the German poet Werner's tragedies. 
 
 You are suspicious here, though glad enough to have come to 
 a place of refreshment, because Mr. Murray, whose Guide-book 
 is the Bible of most Englishmen on the continent, has put into 
 his pages the warning that the landlord of this inn is not well 
 spoken of. You naturally expect to meet a surly, ill-looking 
 fellow, who is going to oheat you, and who might on occasion 
 murder you; but you find a pleasant looking man, who speaks 
 pleasantly, treats you kindly, and charges no more for your fare 
 than it is fairly worth ; and you pass from the place exclaiming 
 against the extreme injustice which has thus, upon the chance 
 
44 PILGRIM OF JHE JUNGFRAU. [chap. x. 
 
 report perhaps of some solitary, well-fed, English grumlier 
 affixed a libel to the name of this landlord, which is sure to pre- 
 judice every traveller against him beforehand. 
 
 Well it is for the poor man, that travellers who have passed 
 the Gemmi have a sharp appetite, and cannot eat fossils, an^ 
 that there is no other inn but his in the desolate pass of the moun- 
 tain. This being the case, they eat, and afterwards survey the 
 character of the landlord in better humor, and then, having got 
 ready to be cheated, it is a most agreeable surprise to find that 
 there is no cheat at all, though 7000 feet above the level of the 
 sea might almost justify it, for who could be expected to keep such 
 an inn without some inordinate compensation ? There is nothing 
 that travellers ought to pay more cheerfully, than high charges 
 in such places ; but from the manner in which John Bull some- 
 times complains, you would think he was a very poor man, close 
 upon the verge of his last farthing. I have seen an Englishman 
 in a storm of rage for a charge in Switzerland, which would 
 have been three times as high in his own country, besides that 
 there he would have been obliged to pay the servants in addition, 
 no little proportion of what here the meal itself cost him. 
 
CHAP. XI.] CANTON BERNE. 43 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Canton Berne. Scripture on the houses. Truth a gooa talisman. 
 
 Soon after quitting the inn, the pasturage vegetation commences, 
 and you cross from the Roman Catholic Canton du Valais into 
 the Protestant Canton Berne; it is impossible net to be struolt 
 with the great contrast between the two regions, when you enter 
 the villages From the poverty, filth, and ignorance in the Val- 
 ley of the Rhone you pass to abodes of comfort, neatness, and 
 intelligence. A traveller cannot shut his eyes against this con- 
 trast. He may have heard it described, and may have set it 
 down to the score of religious prejudice exaggerating the facts ; 
 but he finds the contrast to be an undeniable reality. Neither 
 can he tell how much of this difference arises from physical 
 causes, the Valley of the Rhone being subject to calamities and 
 diseases from which the Canton Berne is happily free ; nor 
 how much is owing to the contrasted system of religion and edu- 
 cation. The fact is quite beyond controversy, that the popula- 
 tion of the Canton Berne are far superior in thrift, intelligence, 
 and prosperity to that of the Canton du Valais. 
 
 I cannot say that Protestant grass is any greener than Romish, 
 or that heretical cattle are any fatter than those on the Pope's 
 side of the mountain ; but the vegetation began speedily to luxu- 
 riate as we descended, large firs began to clothe the crags, herds 
 of cows and oxen were pasturing, and the ridges of rock so 
 bare and perpendicular on the other side the pass, on this were 
 hidden under thick forests. The mountains are split asunder in 
 deep ravines, immense jagged chasms, whicli are fringed with 
 rich verdure, and the shade into which you enter is so deep, that 
 it looks like evening, though the sun has not much passed the 
 meridian. The side-views of the Oeschinen and Gastesen val- 
 leys one on your right, the other on your left, as you descend to- 
 
46 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap. si. 
 
 wards Kander.steg, are exceedingly impressive, both for their 
 savage grandeur and beauty. On one side you seem to look 
 through the torn rook-rifts of the pass, and over forest crowned 
 projections of the mountains, into the icy palace of Winter where 
 he reigns alone ; frosted sparkling peaks, and icy-sheeted crags, 
 and masses of pure white snow, seen through the firs, make a 
 singular wild contrast with the verdant scenery, that rises imme- 
 diately arQund you, and is spread out below you. On the other 
 side, the path that takes you into the Oeschinen valley winds over 
 green grassy slopes to introduce you to a lovely lake encircled 
 by precipices and glaciers, at the foot of the Blumlis Alps. 
 
 And now you arrive at Kandersteg, a scattered village in the 
 luidst of a smooth grassy expanse of table land at the foot of the 
 Gemmi, about 3300 feet above the level of the sea. The change 
 in the aspect of the hamlets, from the region where you have 
 been travelling, attracts your notice. Some of the villages look 
 like New England. Nature is more kindly than in the Valley of 
 the Rhone, and the people have endeavored to keep pace with 
 her more equally. They are certainly better to do in the world, 
 and under the Canton Berne, in a freer, more cheerful, less re- 
 pressing government. 
 
 In place of the symbol of the cross, or the statue of the Virgin 
 in her niche, or the picture of the Mother and Child, the traveller 
 may see, as in some of the old houses in Edinburgh, sentences 
 from the Scriptures piouely inscribed over the doors, or across 
 the outside walls of the cottages. It has a most pleasing effect 
 upon the mind, although doubtless many of the inhabitants think 
 no more of their meaning, than the Jews did of that of the scrip- 
 tural inscriptions on their broad phylacteries. Yet it is pleasant 
 to see a rim of sentences from the Word of Grod running round 
 the hamlet, and sometimes a stray thought may be caught by it 
 and made devotional. If there could be an outward talisman, 
 making the house secure from evil, forbidding the entrance of 
 bad spirits, 
 
 " Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt," 
 
 sweetly reminding intelligent beings of duty, and making sacred 
 things inanimate, this were it. Girt round about with Truth, 
 
CHAP, xi.j CHARM OF BIBLE TRUTH. «t 
 
 what defence could equal it ? No sprinkling with holy water, no 
 spittle of priests, no anointing with oil, no forms of exorcism, 
 could so frighten the wandering imps of darkness. Then, too, 
 there is no superstition connected with it ; it is justified hy, and in 
 perfect accordance with, the injunctions given to the Hebrews, 
 Thou shalt write them upon the door posts of thine house, thou 
 shalt teach them to thy children. 
 
 It is a curious indication, that the religion of superstition and 
 will-worship resorts to all other talismans and symbols save the 
 Word of God. The Romanists, so profuse of signs and rites and 
 things pretended holy, are very sparing and cautious of this. On 
 the other hand, the Mohammedans apply themselves to sentences 
 from the Koran. The palace of the Alhambra in Spain is cov- 
 ered all over with leaves from the sayings of their prophet. • The 
 religion of the Mohammedans is not afraid of its professed books 
 of inspiration ; it never enacted a law forbidding them to be read 
 in the vernacular tongue, or by the common people. The re- 
 ligion of the Romanists is afraid of the Word, and instead of 
 teaching it, conceals it, and uses all other things but that as sym- 
 bols. Here is matter for reflection. 
 
« PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap, xii 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Picturesque cottages, A picturesque language. Right and unright inno- 
 vation. 
 
 Some of the Swiss cottages are extremely picturesque, espe- 
 cially here in the Oberland Alps, with their galleries running 
 round them outside, their rows of chequered windows, and their 
 low-dropping, sheltering, hospitable roofs. Sometimes the shin- 
 gles are curiously wrought with much pains-taking, and fitted 
 like the scales of some sea-creature. But in general there is not 
 the care for clustering shrubbery outside, which might add so 
 much to their beauty, and which makes many a poor cot in 
 England, when Spring has thrown its blossoming warp over them, 
 for Summer to fill up, so rich with mossy greenness. The rows 
 of yellow golden corn, hanging under the eaves of the Swiss 
 cottages, might suggest to an imaginative mind a new order of 
 architecture. 
 
 I see not why this quality of picturesqueness is not quite as 
 desirable in buildings as it is in scenery, and also in language, 
 in opinions, in literature, in the whole of life There is muofa 
 more of it in every way in the Old World than in America, and 
 hence in part the romantic charm, which everything wears to the 
 eye of a Transatlantic. Why should there be so much monotony 
 with us ? Why not more originality and variety ? Is it because 
 of the irresistible despotism of associations, which are so much 
 and so usefully the type of modern society, breaking down and 
 repressing, or rather hindering the development of individuality ? 
 
 The desire to produce uniformity, when unaccompanied with 
 the idea and the love of the free and the beautiful, and unchecked 
 by a regard to the rights of others, produces despotism and mono- 
 tony in the whole domain of life, as well as in the Church. Some 
 men would push it even into the syllabic constitution of our Ian- 
 
CHAP, xn.] INNOVATIONS. 49 
 
 guage, which they would reduce to a monotonous regularity, 
 quite undesirable, even if it could be accomplished. Why should 
 we desire to do it, any more than we should wish to put the stars 
 into strait jackets of squares or triangles, or all the trees into the 
 form of quincunxes 1 There are men, Mr. Dana once said, who, 
 if they could have had the making of the universe, instead of 
 the fair vault of azure hung with its drapery of gorgeous cloud, 
 and by night studded with innumerable wild stars, would have 
 covered the sky with one vast field of dead, cold blue. 
 
 There are just such men in literature and spelling, for ever 
 thrusting their dry, bare, sapless formulas of utility before the 
 mind, telling you that nothing must be done without some reason, 
 that everything must have its place, and its place for everything, 
 and in fine, with a multitude of wise old saws and moaern in- 
 stances, they come to the conclusion that the world, which has 
 gone wild and crazy in freedom and beauty, wild above rule or 
 art, is now to be constructed over again, according to the pre- 
 cepts and analyses of their utilitarianism. Wo be to a superflu- 
 ous letter, if these men catch it caracoling and playing its pranks 
 in a word, which, though it may be none the better for its pre- 
 sence, yet, being accustomed to it, is none the worse ; away it goes 
 to the Lexicographer's watch-house, till it can be tried for vagrancy. 
 Instead of the good old word height, these men would have us 
 drop the e and spell hight, but to be consistent, both the g and the 
 h should be dropped, and the word written hyt. That would be 
 strict utilitarianism. The word pretence they would change into 
 pretense, and so with others of that family. The word theatre 
 they would print theater, and others of the same clan in like 
 manner. The expressive word haggard they would change into 
 hagard, because, forsooth, two gs are superfluous. In this at- 
 tempt at change they are going contrary to good usage, which 
 must ever be the prevailing law of language, and instead of pro- 
 ducing uniformity in the language itself (in which irregularities 
 are of little consequence, nay, sometimes add to its beauty), they 
 are causing one of the greatest evils of language, irregularity, 
 uncertainty, and lawlessness in the mode of using it. 
 
 This is owing in a great measure to Dr. Webster's unfortunate 
 
 PART II. 5 
 
50 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap, xu 
 
 orthographioal eccentricities, which have set so many spellers 
 and journeymen printers agog to imitate him. It is vexatious to 
 think of the prospect of our becoming provincialized, and as ob- 
 noxious to the charge of dialects as any county iii England, when 
 heretofore we have been, as a people, so much more pure and 
 classical in our use of the English language, than the English 
 people themselves. These innovations should be resisted, nor 
 should any mere Lexicographer, nor University, nor knot of 
 critics, have it in their power to make them prevalent. A great 
 and powerful writer, like John Foster or Edmund Burke, a great 
 Poet, like Shakspeare or Milton, is a great king and creator in 
 language ; his sway is legitimate, for he enlarges the capacity of 
 his native tongue, and increases its richness and imaginative 
 power, and when the soul of genius innovates, it has some right 
 so to do. And such innovations will inevitably pass into the soul 
 of language, and become a part of its law. But the mere critic 
 and lexicographer has no right to innovate ; he is to take the 
 language as he finds it, and declare and set forth its forms ac- 
 'Sording to good usage ; he is out of his. province, and becomes 
 an usurper, when he attempts to alter it. 
 
 These surveyors of the King's English are going about to 
 prune the old oaks of the language of all supernumerary knots, 
 leaves and branches. If there is any question as to the propriety 
 of their course, whist, they whip you out of their pocket the 
 great American Lexicographer's measuring line, and tell you 
 exactly how far the tree ought to grow, and that every part not 
 sanctioned by his authority must be lopped off. It were well if 
 these gentlemen were compelled to practise the same rules and 
 attempt the same innovations with the bonnets of their wives, 
 that they are attempting with the King's English. Let them cut 
 off every supernumerary ribbon, and shape the head-dress of the 
 ladies by square and compass, and not by the varieties of taste, 
 and in this enterprise they would find somewhat more of dif- 
 ficulty in carrying out their utilitarian maxims. 
 
 The sacred word Bible our coterie of critics must needs spell 
 with a small b. This is worse than mere innovation. There is 
 a dignity and sacredness of personification connected with the 
 
CHAP. XII.] INNOVATIONS. 51 
 
 word Bible, which appropriately manifests itself in making the 
 term a proper name. It partakes of the sacredness of the name 
 of God, and ought always to be written with a capital B, for the 
 usage has obtained, as a matter of religious reverence, and a 
 good and venerable usage it is. 
 
 We shall have a grand world by and by, when it is all a dead 
 level. Every mountain is to come down, and every valley to be 
 raised, and a utilitarian railroad is to run straight across the 
 world ; an embargo is to be laid on all winding ways ; the trees 
 are to have just so many leaves, and no more ; the oaks are not 
 to be suffered to sport any more knots ; the rose-bushes are to 
 put forth no more buds than the essence-makers declare to be 
 wanted ; our prayers are to have only so many words, and if 
 any minister appears in the pulpit without a white neck-cloth, or 
 a surplice so many inches long, he is to be suspended and excom- 
 municated. All our hymns are to undergo a revision, and to be 
 cleansed of all hard and naughty words, and pruned of all super- 
 numerary stanzas, and a fine is to be laid upon every clergyman 
 who shall give out more than four. 
 
 The corps of revisers would do well for awhile to let other 
 men's productions alone, and to leave the English language in 
 the hands of Addison and Goldsmith, Shakspeare, Cowper, and 
 our Translation of the Bible. Some poet-pedlars are especially 
 fond of tinkering with old hymns, thinking they can solder up 
 the rents in Watts and Cowper. Walker's Rhyming Dictionary 
 and Webster's great Lexicon might constitute tlieir whole stock 
 in ti'ade. Methinks we can hear them bawling from the wooden 
 seat of their cart, " Any old hymns to mend, old hymns to 
 mend 1" This tinkered ware will not last. We should almost 
 as soon think of adopting wooden nutmegs, at the instigation of 
 the pedlars " down east," instead of the old-fashioned genuine 
 spices of Morgenland. But alas, the fictitious and the genuine 
 have got so mingled up by generation after generation of mendfers, 
 that poets like Cowper and Watts would find it difficult them- 
 selves, in some cases, to say which was their own version. The 
 same is the case with some of the best old tunes in music, ground 
 down to suit the barrel organs of new composers. O that men 
 would leave some of the old stones with mosses on them ! 
 
52 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap. xii. 
 
 What has all this to do, you are asking, with Kandersteg and 
 the Swiss hamlets ? We have made a digression, it must be 
 acknowledged, but the way back is not difficult. It is clearly 
 manifest that picturesqueness is as desirable a quality in language 
 and literature as it is in trees and houses. And let us remember 
 that the utmost simplicity is perfectly consistent with this quality 
 of picturesqueness. If we must change our language, let it not 
 be by making it more bare, but richer and more simple. Men 
 often mistake barrenness for simplicity, but there is no necessary 
 relationship between the two. A bare naked man, we take it, 
 has no more simplicity than a decently dressed gentleman. The 
 bald, staring, red front of a brick house on a dusty street is not 
 half so simple an object, as a pretty cottage with verandahs and 
 honeysuckles. It is not the things which are omitted, but those 
 which are wisely retained, that constitute true simplicity. The 
 simplicity of words is not to be judged by the equilibrium of 
 syllables, or the balance of vowels and consonants, nor is lan- 
 guage to be judged as the shopkeepers would measure tape by 
 the yard, or carpets by the figures. It must grow as the trees 
 do, with the same variety and freedom, under the same law of 
 picturesque and not immutable vitality. 
 
CHAP, xiii.] BLUMLIS ALP AT SUNSET. 63 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Kanderateg. Frutigen. The Blumlis Alp. Lake and Village of Thun. 
 
 It was early enough in the afternoon to reach Thun, by taking a 
 char, the same evening, and I was sufficiently tired for the day, 
 and quite well disposed for a ride through the lovely valley of 
 Frutigen, still far below us. A few miles from Kandersteg we 
 found ourselves on the outer edge of the spreading farms of that 
 village, a most sudden and romantic contrast, to one stepping 
 down from the icy top and rough sides of the Gemmi. 
 
 " Who loves to lie with me, 
 Under the greenwood tree. 
 Come hither, come hither, come hither ; 
 Here shall he see 
 No Enemy 
 But Winter and rough weather." 
 
 Here shall you see Summer and Winter conversing together, with 
 but a wall between them, as a fair girl on an errand of mercy 
 might stand in the sweet open air outside a prison, and converse, 
 through the grated black window, with a savage, shut up criminal, 
 with wild eyes and matted hair. By and by the Savage will break 
 prison, and come down into the grassy plains, but this is not his 
 season of liberty. You can talk with him, and hear his fierce 
 voice, and look at his icy fingers, without his touching you. 
 
 Turning from Kandersteg and the Gemmi, you overlook at 
 iuce the long descending vale, all the way to where it ends at 
 Frutigen, with the spires and white houses of that village shining 
 in the distant evening sun. Is not the view quite enchanting ? 
 Nearly at right angles with the gorge down which you are de- 
 scending, lies the noiv concealed valley of Frutigen, one of the 
 richest deep inclosures of the Alps. And now it opens upon us. 
 We lose the Gemmi and the woods and roaring brooks of Kan. 
 
84 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap. xiii. 
 
 dersteg, and turn down towards the more open face of a world so 
 beautiful. 
 
 Our drive through the vale brought us full upon the view of 
 the snowy Blumlis Alp at sunset. What a form of majesty and 
 glory ! How he flings the flaming mantle of the evening sun 
 down upon us, as if he were himself about to ascend in fire from 
 earth to heaven ! 
 
 " So like the Mountain, may we grow more bright, 
 From unimpeded commerce with the Sun, 
 At the approach of all involving night." 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 Nothing earthly can be more glorious than such a revelation. 
 Meantime, as we rode into the twilight of the Vale, there came 
 and went, between the trees and the mountains, through which 
 we looked, into the western heavens, a sky, that seemed for a 
 season to be growing brighter, as we were getting darker, a sky, 
 as the same Poet describes it, 
 
 " Bright as the glimpses of Eternity, 
 To saints accorded in their dying hour." 
 
 So shone the Blumlis Alp. But we had hardly done admiring 
 the crimson tints on that grand and mighty range, when turning 
 from this valley and passing the lovely entrance of the Simmen- 
 thal, we came upon the borders of the Lake of Thun, and beheld 
 suddenly the full moon rising behind the snowy ranges of the 
 Bernese Alps, and gilding them with such mild, cloudless efful- 
 gence, that nothing could be more beautiful. They were distinct 
 and shining, and so soft and white, so grand and varied in their 
 outlines, that the sudden vision beneath the sailing moon seemed 
 like a trance or dream of some eternal scenery. For the hori- 
 zon, and the deep air above it, glowed like a pale liquid flame, 
 and in this atmosphere the mountains were set, like the founda- 
 tions of the Celestial City. Then we had the Lake, with the 
 moonlight reflected from it in a long line of brightness, and 
 amidst the beauty of this scenery, our day's excursion was .ended 
 by our entrance into Thun. 
 
CHAP, xm ] LAKE OF THUN. 55 
 
 Now it would scarcely be possible in all Switzerland to fill a 
 day with a succession of scenes of more extraordinary grandeur 
 and sublimity, softness and loveliness. Gcd's goodness has pro- 
 tected us from danger, and shielded us from harm in the midst 
 of danger, unworthy that we are of his love. How have we 
 wished for the dear ones at home to be with us, enjoying these 
 glories ! And is not the goodness of God peculiarly displayed, 
 in giving us materials and forms of such exciting sublimity and 
 beauty to gaze upon in the very walls of our earthly habitation ? 
 What a grand discipline for the mind, in these mighty forms of 
 nature, and for the heart too, if rightly improved, with its affec- 
 tions. These mountains are a great page in our natural the- 
 ology : they speak to us of the power and glory of our Maker. 
 And for the food and enkindling of the imagination they are in 
 the world-creation what such a work as the Paradise Lost is in 
 the domain of poetry ; they are what a book of great and sug- 
 gestive thoughts is to a sensitive mind ; they waken it up and 
 make it thrill with great impulses ; and as a strain of grand un- 
 earthly music, a thunder-burst of sound, or as the ringing of the 
 bells of the New Jerusalem permitted to become audible, they 
 put the soul itself in motion like an inward organ, and set it to 
 singing in the choral universal harmony. 
 
 The next day after this memorable excursion opened with a 
 morning cloudy and misty, but it was clear again at ten. We 
 are at the Pension Baumgarten, in the picturesque town of Thun, 
 under the shadow of a green mountain, with the Lake to the 
 right, the town before us, and the clear rapid Aar shooting like 
 an arrow from the Lake, under old bridges, and past houses and 
 battlements, as the crystal Rhone from the Lake at Geneva. 
 There are about 5000 inhabitants, with a noble old Feudal Castle 
 of the twelfth century towering on a steep, house-clad hill in the 
 centre of the village, and an antique venerable church nearly as 
 lofty. From the church-yard tower and terrace, where I am 
 jotting a few dim sketches in words, you have a magnificent 
 view of the Lake and the Alps. Parties of visitors, most of them 
 English, are constantly coming and going at this spot. The 
 Lake stretches before you about ten miles long, between lovely 
 green gardens and mountain- ranges fringing it, with the flashing 
 
86 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap. xm. 
 
 snowy summits and glaciers of the Jungfrau, Finster-Aarhom, 
 Eigher, and Monch filling the view at its extremity. On the 
 plains of Thun the troops from the various Swiss Cantons are at 
 this moment encamped for review, and passing through a variety 
 of evolutions. 
 
 How like the first garden are the delicious vales and lakes 
 hidden among the mountains ! The Poet Cowley observes, as 
 indicating to us a lesson of happiness, that the first gift of God 
 to man was a garden, even before a wife ; gardens first, the gift 
 of Grod's love, cities afterwards, the work of man's ambition. 
 
 " For well he knew what place would best agree 
 With innocence and with felicity : 
 
 And we elsewhere still seek for them in vain. 
 
 If any part of either yet remain : 
 If any part of either we expect. 
 This may our judgment in the search direct, 
 
 God the first Garden made, and the first city, Caiit " 
 
CHAP. XIV.] THUN TO INTERLACHEN. 57 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Thun to Interlachen. In terlachen to Lauterbrunnen. Bible in Schools. 
 
 Seeing that I am to be a solitary pedestrian, from Thun through 
 the Oberland Alps as far as Lucerne, my friend being bound 
 homewards through Berne for England, I must make the most of 
 this continued lovely weather ; and since there is nothing in 
 Thun to detain me, unless I were fond of looking at the crowds 
 of gay and care-defying visitors, coming and going, in whom, 
 being strangers, I feel no personal interest, and they none in me, 
 I must even start to-day in the little iron steamer of the lake for 
 Neuhaus. I could not persuade my friend to go farther, for he 
 was continually thinking of his wife and children, looking to- 
 wards home in just the state to have become a pillar of salt. In- 
 wardly mourning, he dragged at each remove a lengthening 
 chain. Besides, a careless herdsman on the mountains had 
 struck him on the leg with a stone intended for one of his unruly 
 cattle, and he remembered, years ago, how one of his classmates, 
 with whom he was then travelling in Switzerland, was laid on a 
 sick bed for weeks, in consequence of a similar hurt not attended 
 to. So between the sweet domestic fire-side, and the lame leg, 
 he was compelled to turn his face homewards. I parted from 
 him with great regret, and resumed my pilgrimage alone. 
 
 The sail from Thun to Neuhaus, at the other end of the Lake, 
 needs the sun upon the mountains, if you would have the full 
 glory of the landscape. For us it shone upon the Lake and on 
 its borders, but on the distant Alps the clouds rested in such 
 fleecy volumes, like a troop of maidens hiding the bride, that it 
 was only at intervals the mountains were revealed to us. Land- 
 ing at Neuhaus, you may go in a diligence, omnibus, hackney 
 coach, mail carriage, or any way you please that is possible, a 
 couple of miles to Unterseehen, a brown old pripijtive "village ; 
 
68 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap. xiv. 
 
 and a little farther to Interlachen, which is a large English hoard 
 ing house, with streets running through it, shaded with great 
 walnut trees, and paraded by troops of dawdling loungers and 
 lodgers, with here and there a sprinkling of Swiss natives. It 
 is beautifully situated in the midst of a large plain, about mid- 
 way betwe^ the Lakes of Thun and Brientz, both these Lakes 
 being visible from a hill amidst the meadow behind Interlachen, 
 with all the lovely intervening scenery and villages. Going from 
 Neuhaus to Interlachen, you are reminded of the passage from 
 Lake George to Lake Champlain. The verdure and foliage of 
 the valley, to where it passes from meadow to mountain, is rich 
 beyond description. It becomes really magnificent as it robes 
 the stupendous mountain masses in such dark rich hues. 
 
 From Interlachen the way to Lauterbrunnnen lies through one 
 of the most beautiful valleys in Switzerland. Entering it from 
 the plain, we had a noble view of the Jungfrau rising with its 
 eternal snows behind ridges of the most beautiful verdure, now 
 veiled and now revealed from its misty shroud. The moun- 
 tain torrent Lutschinen thunders down a savage gorge between 
 forest-clad slopes and precipices, along which you pass from the 
 villages of Wylderschwyl and Mulhinen for about two miles, 
 when the valley opens into two deep ravines, one on the left, run- 
 ning to Grindlewald, the other on the right to Lauterbrunnen, 
 each traversed by a roaring stream that falls into the Lutschinen. 
 You may go either to Lauterbrunnen or Grindlewald and back 
 again to Interlachen in a few hours, having witnessed some of 
 the sublimest scenery in Switzerland ; but the grand route is 
 through Lauterbrunnen across the Wengern Alps, down into the 
 valley of Grindlewald, and thence across the Grand Scheideck 
 down into Meyringen, from whence you may go to the Lake 
 Brientz on one side, or across the pass of the Grimsel on the 
 other. 
 
 My German guide from Interlachen was very intelligent, and 
 being an inhabitant of the village of Muhlinen, he communicated 
 to us many interesting particulars. He told us of the schools of 
 his native village, and among other things how each parent pays 
 five iatz, or fifteen cents, in the winter, and three in the summer, 
 for each child's schooling, and how in the winter the children go 
 
CHAP. XIV ] RELIGIOUS SCHOOL TEACHING. 59 
 
 to school in the morning from eight to twelve, then home to din- 
 ner, then in the afternoon from one to three ; but in the summer 
 only from eight to eleven in the morning at school, and then tne 
 rest of the day to work. He told us also how the school had 
 two masters and one mistress, besides the clergyman of the parish, 
 who takes the children for religious instruction two hours a-day. 
 
 Upon my word (the traveller may say to himself) here is a 
 good, wise, time-honored provision. These primitive people are 
 old-fashioned and Biblical enough, to think that religious instruc- 
 tion ought to be as much an element of education, and as con- 
 stant and unintermitted, as secular. They are right, they are 
 laying foundations for stability, prosperity, and happiness in their 
 little community. The world is wrong side up in this matter of 
 education, when it administers its own medicines only, its own 
 beggarly elements, its own food, and nothing higher, its own 
 smatterings of knowledges, without the celestial life of know- 
 ledge. Power it gives, without gawdance, without principles. It 
 is just as if the art of ship-building^jshould be conducted without 
 helms, and all ships should be set aflqat to be guided by the winds 
 only. For such are the immortal ships on the sea of human life 
 without the Bible; its knowledge, its principles, ought from the 
 first to be as much a part of the educated intelligent constitution, 
 as the keel or rudder is part and parcel of a well built ship. 
 
 Religious instruction, therefore, and the breath of the sacred 
 Scriptures, ought to be breathed into the child's daily life of 
 knowledge, not put off to the Sabbath, when grown children only 
 are addressed from the pulpit, or left to parents at home, who 
 perhaps themselves, in too many cases, jiever open the Bible. If 
 in their daily schools children were educated for Eternity as 
 well as Time, there would be more good citizens, a deeper piety 
 in life, a more sacred order and heaven-like 'beauty in the Re- 
 public, a better understanding of law, a more patient obedience 
 to it, nay, a prediction of it, and a conformable organization to it, 
 and an assimilation with its spirit, beforehand. 
 
 It is by celestial observations alone, said Coleridge" (amd it was 
 a great and profound remark), that terresii&al charts can be con- 
 structed. If our education would be one that States can live "by 
 and flourish, it must be ordered in the Scriptures. What suicidal, 
 
eo PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap. xit. 
 
 heterogeneous, Roman madness, fai the attempt to exclude the 
 Bible from our public schools ! May its authors bite themselves ! 
 
 Our guide told us moreover a very curious regulation of the 
 internal police of the school at Muhlinen, intended to keep the 
 children from playing truant, which they accomplish effectually 
 by working not upon the child's fear of the rod, or love of his 
 studies, but upon the parent's love of his money. That is to say, 
 if the children are absent, and as often as they are absent, a 
 cross is put against the parent's name, and he is made account- 
 able, and is fined, if he does not give satisfactory reason for the 
 child's absence. Of course all the whippings for playing truant 
 are administered by the parent, and therefore it being very sure, 
 if there is a fine for the parent to pay, that the amount of it will 
 be fully endorsed upon the child with a birch rod, the pupils 
 take good care to keep punctual at school. No delinquent can 
 escape, for no false excuse can be manufactured. It is a system 
 which might perhaps be very useful in other arts besides that of 
 school-keeping. 
 
 Coming up the valley to Lauterbrunnen, you cannot cease ad- 
 miring the splendid verdure that clothes the mountains on each 
 side, as well as the romantic depth and wildness of the gorge, 
 above which your road passes. Just before you enter the village 
 or hamlet, the cascade of the Staubach, at some distance beyond 
 it, comes suddenly into view, poured from the very summit of the 
 mountain, as if out of heaven, and streaming, or rather waving, 
 in a long line of foam, like Una's hair as described by Spenser, 
 or like the comet Ophiuncus in Milton ; sweeping down the per- 
 pendicular face of the mountain with indescribable grace and 
 beauty. 
 
 The rising of the moon upon this scene was beyond expression 
 lovely. The clouds had gone, and the snowy summit of the 
 Jungfrau seemed hanging over into the valley, and the moon rose 
 with a single star by her side, lending to the glaciers a rich but 
 transitory brilliancy, and shining with her solemn light, so still, 
 so solemn, down into the depths of the broad ravine, upon mea- 
 dow, rock, and torrent. From the window of my room in our 
 hotel I could see in one view this moon, the glittering Jungfrau, 
 and the foaming Staubach on the other side, The night was 
 
CHAP. XIV.] MOUNTAIN SOLITUDES. 61 
 
 very beautiful, but soon the mists rose, filling the valley, and 
 taking away from a tired traveller all apology for not going 
 immediately to bed. We had had a charming day, and 
 were onoe more out of the world of artificial and dawdling 
 idlers, and in the deep heart of nature's most solitary and sub- 
 lime recesses. How great, how pure, how exquisite, is the en- 
 joyment of the traveller in these mountain solitudes ! He 
 scarcely feels fatigue, but only excitement ; it is a species of 
 mental intoxication, a joyous, elevated, elastic state, which is as 
 natural an atmosphere for the mind, in these circumstances, as 
 the pure bracing moun'ain air is for the body. 
 
ea PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. fcHAP. xr 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Staubach Cascade and Vale of Lauterbrunnen. 
 
 The first sound I heard on waking in the morning, indeed the 
 sound that waked me, was the echoing Alpine Horn, breaking 
 the stillness of the Valley with its long drawn far off melody. 
 I threw open my window towards the East ; the sun was already 
 on the snowy summit of the Jungfrau, the air sparkling and 
 frosty, giving a sharp, decisive promise of a clear day ; and the 
 Staubach, which was such a dim and misty line of waving silver 
 in the moonlight of the evening, was clearly revealed, almost 
 like a bird of paradise, throwing itself into the air from the hrow 
 of the mountain. 
 
 It is the most exquisitely beautiful of waterfalls, though there 
 are miniatures of it in the Valley of the Arve almost as beautiful. 
 You have no conception of the volume of water, nor of the 
 grandeur of the fall, until you come near it, almost beneath it ; 
 but its extreme beauty is better seen and felt at a little distance ; 
 indeed we thought it looked more beautiful than ever when we 
 saw it, about ten o'clock, from the mountain ridge on the opposite 
 side of the Valley. It is between eight and nine hundred feet in 
 height, over the perpendicular precipice, so that the eye traces its 
 course so long, and its movement is so checked by the resistance 
 of the air and the roughnesses of the mountain, that it seems 
 rather to float than to fall, and before it reaches the bottom, 
 dances down in ten thousand little jets of white foam, which all 
 alight together, as softly as a white- winged albatross on the bosom 
 of the ocean, [t is as if a million of rockets were shot off in 
 one shaft into the air, and then descended together, some of them 
 breaking at every point in the descent, and all streaming down in 
 a combination of meteors. So the streams in this fall, where it 
 springs into the air, separate and hold their own as long as possi. 
 
CHAP. XV.] STAUBACH CASCADE. 63 
 
 ble, and then burst into rockets of foam, dropping down at first 
 heavily, as if determined to reach the ground unbroken, and 
 then dissolving into showers of mist, so gracefully, so beauti- 
 fully, like snow-dust on the bosom of the air, that it seems like a 
 spiritual creation, rather than a thing inertj material. 
 
 " Time cannot thin thy flowing hair, 
 Nor take one raj of light from thee. 
 For in our Fancy thou dost share 
 The gift of Immortality." 
 
 Its literal name is Dust-fall, and to use a very homely illustra- 
 tion, but one which may give a man, who has never seen any- 
 thing like it, some quaint idea of its appearance in part, it is as if 
 Dame Nature had poured over the precipice from her horn of 
 plenty a great torrent of dry white meal ! One should be more 
 mealy-mouthed in his figures, but if you are not satisfied with 
 this extraordinary comparison, take the more common one of a 
 long lace veil waving down the mountain ; or better still, the un- 
 common one of the Tail of the Pale Horse streaming in the wind, 
 as painted so beautifully in Lord Byron's Manfred. 
 
 " It is not noon, — the sun-bow's rays still arch 
 The torrent with the many hues of heaven, 
 And roll the sheeted silver's waving column 
 O'er the crag's headlong perpendicular, 
 And fling its lines of foaming light along. 
 And to and fro, like the pale courser's tail, 
 The giant steed to be bestrode by Death, 
 As told in the Apocalypse." 
 
 It makes you think of many things, this beautiful fall, spring- 
 ing so fearlessly into the gulf. It is like the faith of a Christian, 
 it is like a poet's fancies, it is like a philosopher's conjectures, 
 plunging at first into uncertainty, but afterwards flowing on in a 
 stream of knowledge through the world. For so does this fall, 
 when it reaches the earth in a mere shower of mist, gather itself 
 up again in a refreshing, gurgling stream, for the meadows and 
 the plains to drink of. It may make you think of Wordsworth's 
 Helvetian Maid, the blithe Paragon of Alpine grace : — 
 
64 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap, xt 
 
 " Her beauty dazzles the thick wood ; 
 Her courage animates the flood ; 
 Her step the elastic greensward meets, 
 Returning unreluctant sweets, 
 The mountains, as ye heard, rejoice 
 Aloud, saluted by her voice." 
 
 Or of the " sweet Highland Girl," with her " very shower of 
 beauty ;" or of a Peri from Paradise weeping ; or of a saint 
 into Paradise entering, " having shot the gulf of death ;" or of 
 the feet upon the mountains, of them that bring the news of glad- 
 ness: 
 
 " Or of some bird or star. 
 Fluttering in woods or lifted far." 
 
 When the Poet Wordsworth approached this celebrated cas- 
 cade, he seems to have been assailed with a young troop of tat- 
 tered mendicants, singing in a sort of Alpine whoop of welcome, 
 in notes shrill and wild like those intertwined by some caverned 
 witch chaunting a love-spell. His mind was so taken up, and 
 his thoughts enthralled by this musical tribe haunting the place 
 with regret and useless pity, that his Muse left him with but just 
 one line for 
 
 " This bold, this pure, this sky-born WaterfaUj !" 
 
 The traveller should see it with its rainbows, and may, if ha 
 choose, read Henry Vaughan's lines before it, which may se forth 
 an image of the arches both of light and water. 
 
 " When thou dost shine, darkness looks white and fair ; 
 Forms turn to music, clouds to smiles and air ; 
 Rain gently spends his honey-drops, and pours 
 Balm on the cleft earth, milk on grass and flowers. 
 
 Bright pledge of peace and sunshine ! the sure tie 
 Of thy Lord's hand, the object of his eye ! 
 When I behold thee, though my light be dim. 
 Distant and low, I can in thine see Him, 
 Who looks upon thee from his glorious throne. 
 And minds the covenant betwixt All and One." 
 
CHAP. XV.] TASSELLED FOUNTAINS. 63 
 
 There are some thirty cascades like this pouring over the cliffs 
 in this remarkable Valley, hanging like long tassels or skeins of 
 silver thread adown the perpendicular face of the crags, and 
 seeming to dangle from the clouds, when the mist is suspended 
 over the valley. Some of them spring directly from the icy 
 glaciers, but others come from streams, which in the course of 
 the summer are quite dried up. The name of the Valley, Lau- 
 ierbrunnen, is literally nothing but fountains, derived from the 
 multitude of little streams, which, after careering for some time 
 out of sight on the higher mountain summits, spring over the 
 vast abrupt wall of this deep ravine, and reach the bottom in so 
 many rainbow showers of spray. Between these prodigious 
 rock-barriers, the vale is sunk so deep, that the sun in the winter 
 does not get down into it before twelve o'clock, and then speedily 
 disappears. In the summer he stays some hours earlier and 
 longer. The inhabitants of the village are about 1350, in houses 
 sprinkled up and down along the borders of the torrent, that 
 swiftly courses through the bottom of the Valley, about 2500 feet 
 above the level of the sea. 
 
 FART II. 6 
 
66 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [cu*.p. xn 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 The iVengem Alp and morning landscape and music. 
 
 And now we leave the village, and the lovely waterfall, and rise 
 from the Valley, to cross the Wengern Alp. We are full of 
 expectation, but the scene on setting out is so indescribably beau- 
 tiful, that even if dark clouds should settle on all the rest of the 
 day, and shut out the glorious Jungfrau from our view, it would 
 have been well worth coming thus far to see only the beginning 
 of the glory. As we wind our way up the steep side of the 
 mountain, the mists are slowly and gracefully rising from the 
 depths of the Valley, along the face of the outjutting crags. It 
 seems as if the genius of nature were drawing a white soft Veil 
 around her bosom. 
 
 But now, as we rise still farther, the sun, pouring his fiery 
 rays against the opposite mountain, makes it seem like a smoking 
 fire begirt with clouds. You think of Mount Sinai all in a blaze 
 with the glory of the steps of Deity. The very rocks are burn- 
 ing, and the green forests also. Then there are the white glit- 
 tering masses of the Breithorn and the Mittachshorn in the dis- 
 tance, and a cascade shooting directly out from the glacier. Up- 
 wards the mists are still curling and hanging to the mountains, 
 while below there are the clumps of trees in the sunlight, the 
 deep exquisite green of spots of unveiled meadow, the winding 
 stream, now hid and now revealed, the grey mist sleeping on the 
 tender grass, the chalets shining, the brooks murmuring, the 
 birds singing, the sky above and the earth beneath, in this " in- 
 cense breathing morn " uniting in a universal harmony of beauty, 
 and melody of praise. 
 
 " In such a season of calm weather. 
 Though inland far we be. 
 Our souls hare sight of that immortal sea, 
 
CHAP. XVI.] ■ LESSONS OF NATURE. S*J 
 
 Which brought us hither ; 
 
 Can in a moment travel thither,— 
 And see the Children sport upon the shore. 
 And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore !" 
 
 And in such a season, on such a height as this, in such a morn- 
 ing, away from Home, as well as in the woodbine walk at Eve, 
 that "dear tranquil time, whet}, the sweet sense of Home is 
 sweetest," may not the sensitive mipd experience the feeling, 
 spoken of by John Foster as the sentiment of intent and devout 
 observers of the material world, " that there is through all nature 
 some mysterious element like soul, which comes, with a deep 
 significance, to mingle itself with their own conscious being ?" 
 May not such observers find in nature "'a scene marked all over 
 with mystical figures, the prints and traces, as it were, of the 
 frequentation and agency of superior spirits ? They find it 
 sometimes concentrating their faculties to curious and minute 
 inspection, sometimes dilating them to the expansion of vast and 
 magnificent forms ; sometimes beguiling them out of all precise 
 recognition of material realities, whether small or great, into 
 visionary musings, and habitually and in all ways conveying 
 into the mind trains and masses of ideas of an order not to be 
 acquired in the schools, and exerting a modifying and assimi- 
 lating influence on the whole mental economy." A clear intel- 
 lectual illustration of all this, Foster well remarks, would be the 
 true Philosophy of Nature. 
 
 A philosophy like this is yet but little known and less acknow- 
 ledged. It cannot but be truth, and truth which finds utterance 
 in the highest strains of poetic inspiration, in >. quiet, meditative 
 mind, like Cowper's, quiet, but not visionary, religious, not 
 vaguely and mystically sentimental, that 
 
 " One Spirit, His 
 Who wore the platted crown with bleeding brows 
 
 Rules universal nature. 
 
 The soul that sees Him, or receives, sublimed. 
 New faculties, or learns at least to employ 
 More worthily the, powers she owned before ; 
 Discerns in all things what, with stupid gaze 
 Of ignorance, till then she overlooked. 
 A ray of heavenly light gilding all forms 
 
88 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap, xti 
 
 Terrestrial in the vast and the minute ; 
 
 The unambiguous footsteps of the God, 
 
 Who gives its lustre to an insect's wing, 
 
 And wheels his throne upon the rolling worlds !" 
 
 And how can an immortal being in God's world avoid acknow- 
 lodging and feeling this ? Can the soul of man be the only thing 
 that does not praise Grod in such a scene ? Alas, it may, if di- 
 vine grace be not there. The landscape has his praise, but not its 
 Anther. Nay, you may sometimes hear the most tremendous 
 oaths of admiration, where God's sacred name drops from the 
 lips in blistering impiety, while meek unconscious nature, all 
 undisturbed and quiet, singeth her matin hymn of gratitude and 
 love. But again, you may see the eye of the gazer suffused 
 with tears of ecstasy, and if you could look into the heart, you 
 would see the whole being ascending with the choral harmony 
 of nature, in a worship still more sacred and holy than her own. 
 God be praised for the gift of his Spirit ! What insensible, stu- 
 pid, impious stones we should be, without divine grace. But let 
 us go on ; we are not the only mixture of good and evil that hath 
 flitted across this mountain. 
 
 We pass now the Wengern village, a few very neat chalets 
 hanging to the mountain amidst plenty of verdure. Then we 
 sweep round the circular base of a craggy perpendicular moun- 
 tain ridge, which encloses us on one side, while the deep Valley 
 of Laulerbrunnen is hid out of sight on the other. Here we 
 stop to listen to the Alpine Horn, with its clear and beautiful 
 echoes. It is nothing but a straight wooden trumpet, about six 
 feet long, requiring no small quantity of breath to give it utter- 
 ance. The Old Man of the Mountains, that old Musician, coeval 
 with the first noise in creation, takes up the melody with his 
 mighty reverberating concave wall of granite, and sends it back 
 with a prolonged, undulating, ringing, clear, distinct tone, the 
 effect of which is indescribably charming. Our lad of the horn 
 has also a little cannon, which he fires off at the instance of the 
 traveller, and the mountain sends it back with a thousand thun- 
 ders, that roll in grand bursts of sound from the distant crags, 
 and again, from still more distant ridges, reverberate magnifi- 
 cently. 
 
CHAP. XVI.J JUNGFRAU ALP. 
 
 " The Cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep, — 
 I hear the Echoes through the mountains throng '" 
 
 And now we pass on, and enter a silent sea of pines, how 
 beautiful ! silent, still, solemn, religious ; dark against the enor. 
 mous snowy masses and peaks before us. How near their glit- 
 tering glaciers seem upon us ! How clear the atmosphere ! 
 How our voices ring out upon it, and the very hum of the insects 
 in the air is distinctly sonorous. We have now ascended to such 
 a height, that we can look across the vales and mountains, down 
 into Untei'seen and Interlachen. And now before us rises the 
 Jungfrau Alp, how sublimely ! But at this moment of the view 
 the Silberhorn is far more lovely with its fields of dazzling 
 snow, than the Jungfrau, which here presents a savage perpen- 
 dicular steep, a wall of rock, scarred and seamed indeed, but so 
 steep, that the snow and ice cannot cling to its jagged points. 
 Higher up commence the tremendous glaciers, presenting a chaos 
 of enormous ravines of snow and ice, just ready to topple down 
 tlie ridge of the mountain. 
 
7C PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap, xvii 
 
 CHAPTER XVIL 
 
 The Jungfrau Alp and its Avalanches. 
 
 When we come to the inn upon the Wengem Alp, we are near 
 5500 feet above the level of the sea. We are directly in face 
 of the JuNGFKAU upon whose masses of perpetual snow we have 
 been gazing with so much interest. They seem close to us, so 
 great is the deception in clear air, but a deep, vast ravine (I know 
 not but a league across from where we are) separates the Wen- 
 gem Alp from the Jungfrau, which rises in an abrupt sheer pre- 
 cipice, of many thousand feet, somewhat broken into terraces, 
 down which the Avalanches, from the higher beds of untrodden 
 tverlasting snow, plunge thundering into the uninhabitable abyss. 
 Perhaps there is not another mountain so high in all Switzerland, 
 which you can look at so near and so full in the face. Out of 
 this ravine the Jungfrau rises eleven thousand feet, down which 
 vast height the Avalanches sometimes sweep with their incal- 
 culable masses of ice from the very topmost summit. 
 
 The idea of a mass of ice so gigantic that it might overwhelm 
 whole hamlets, or sweep away a forest in its course, being shot 
 down, with only one or two interruptions, a distance of eleven 
 thousand feet, is astounding. But it is those very interruptions 
 that go to produce the overpowering sublimity of the scene. Were 
 there no concussion intervening between the loosening of the 
 mountain ridge of ice and snow, and its fall into the valley, if 
 it shot sheer off into the air, and came down in one solid mass 
 unbroken, it would be as if a mountain had fallen at noon-day 
 out of heaven. And this would certainly be sublime in the 
 highest degree, but it would not have the awful slowness and deep 
 prolonged roar of the Jungfrau avalanche in mid air, nor the 
 repetition of sublimity with each interval of thousands of feet, 
 in which it strikes and thunder.^. 
 
CH^P. XVII.] JUNGPRAU AVALANCHES. 7. 
 
 I think that without any exception it wsls the grandest sight I 
 ever beheld, not even the cataract of Niagara having impressed 
 nie with such thrilling sublimity. Ordinarily, in a sunny day at 
 noon, the avalanches are falling on the Jungfrau about every ten 
 minutes, with the roar of thunder, but they are much more sel- 
 dom visible, and sometimes the traveller crosses the Wengern 
 Alp without witnessing them at all. But we were so very highly 
 favored as to see two of the grandest avalanches possible in the 
 course of about an hour, between twelve o'clock and two. One 
 cannot command any language to convey an adequate idea of 
 their magnificence. 
 
 You are standing far below, gazing up to where the great disc 
 of the glittering Alp cuts the heavens, and drinking in the influ- 
 ence of the silent scene around. Suddenly an enormous mass 
 of snow and ice, in itself a mountain, seems to move ; it breaks 
 from the toppling outmost mountain ridge of snow, where it is 
 hundreds of feet in depth, and in its first fall of perhaps two 
 thousand feet, is broken into millions of fragments. As you first 
 see the flash of distant artillery by night, then hear the roar, 
 so here you may see the white flashing mass majestically bowing, 
 then hear the astounding din. A cloud of dusty, misty, dry 
 snow rises into the air from the concussion, forming a white 
 volume of fleecy smoke, or misty light, from the bosom of which 
 thunders forth the icy torrent in its second prodigious fall over 
 the rocky battlements. The eye follows it delighted, as it ploughs 
 through the path which preceding avalanches have worn, till it 
 comes to the brink of a vast ridge of bare rock, perhaps more 
 than two thousand feet perpendicular. Then pours the whole 
 cataract over the gulf, with a still louder roar of echoing thun- 
 der, to which nothing but the noise of Niagara in its sublimity is 
 comparable. 
 
 Nevertheless, you may think of the tramp of an army of ele- 
 phants, of the roar of multitudinous cavalry marching to battle, 
 of the whirlwind tread of ten thousand bisons sweeping across 
 the prairie, of the tempest surf of ocean beating and shaking 
 the continent, of the sound of torrent floods or of a numerous host, 
 or of the voice of the Trumpet on Sinai, exceeding loud, and 
 waxing louder and louder, so that all the people in the camp 
 
12 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap, xvn 
 
 trembled, or of the rolling orbs of that fierce Chariot described 
 by Milton, 
 
 " Under whose burning wheels 
 The steadfast empyrean shook throughout." 
 
 It is with such a mighty shaking tramp that the Avalanche down 
 thunders. 
 
 Another fall of still greater depth ensues, over a second simi- 
 lar castellated ridge or reef in the face of the mountain, with an 
 awful, majestic slowness, and a tremendous crash in its concus- 
 sion, awakening again the reverberating peals of thunder. Then 
 the torrent roars on to another smaller fall, till at length it reaches 
 a mighty groove of snow and ice, like the slide down the Pilatus, 
 of which Playfair has given so powerfully graphic a description. 
 Here its progress is slower, and last of all you listen to the roar 
 of the falling fragments, as they drop, out of sight, with a dead 
 weight into the bottom of the gulf, to rest there for ever. 
 
 Now figure to yourself a cataract like that of Niagara (for I 
 should judge the volume of one of these avalanches to be proba- 
 bly every way superior in bulk to the whole of the Horse- 
 shoe fall), poured in foaming grandeur, not merely over one 
 great precipice of 200 feet, but over the successive ridgy preci- 
 pices of two or three thousand, in the face of a mountain eleven 
 thousand feet high, and tumbling, crashing, thundering down, 
 with a continuous din of far greater sublimity than the sound of 
 the grandest cataract. Placed on the slope of the Wengern Alp, 
 right opposite the whole visible side of the Jungfrau, we have 
 enjoyed two of these mighty spectacles, at about half an hour's 
 interval between them. The first was the most sublime, the 
 second the most beautiful. The roar of the falling mass begins 
 to be heard the moment it is loosened from the mountain ; it 
 pours on with the sound of a vast body of rushing water ; then 
 comes the first great concussion, a booming crash of thunders, 
 breaking on the still air in mid heaven ; your breath is suspended, 
 as you listen and look ; the mighty glittering mass shoots head- 
 long over the main precipice, and the fall is so great, that it pro. 
 duces to the eye that impression of dread majestic slowness, of 
 
OHAP. XVII.] AVALANCHE THUNDER. 73 
 
 which I have spoken, though it is doubtless more rapid than 
 Niagara. But if you should see the cataract of Niagara itself 
 coming down five thousand feet above you in the air, there would 
 be the same impression. The image remains in the mind, and 
 can never fade from it ; it is as if you had seen an alabaster 
 cataract from heaven. 
 
 The sound is far more sublime than that of Niagara, because 
 of the preceding stillness in those awful Alpine solitudes. In 
 the midst of such silence and solemnity, from out the bosom of 
 those glorious glittering forms of nature, comes that rushing, 
 crashing thandefrburst of sound ! If it were not that your soul, 
 through the eye, is as filled and fixed with the sublimity of the 
 vision, as through the sense of hearing with that of the audible 
 report, methinks you would wish to bury youi; face in your hands, 
 and fall prostrate, as at the voice of the Ete):nal ! But it is im- 
 possible to convey any adequate idea of the combined impression 
 made by these rushing masses and rolling thunders upon the 
 soul. When you see the smaller avalanches, they are of the 
 very extreme of beauty, like jets of white powder, or heavy 
 white mist or smoke, poured from crag to crag, like as if the 
 Staubach itself were shot from the top of the Jungfrau. Travel- 
 lers do more frequently see only these smaller cataracts, in which 
 the beautiful predominates over the sublime ; and at the inn they 
 told us it was very rare to witness so mighty an avalanche as 
 that of which we had enjoyed the spectacle. Lord Byron must 
 have seen something like it, when he and Hobhouse were on the 
 mountain together. His powerful descriptions in Manfred could 
 have been drawn from nothing but the reality. 
 
 " Ye toppling crags of ice, 
 Ye avalanches, whom a breath draws down. 
 In mountainous o'erwhelming, come and crush me ! 
 I hear ye momently, above, beneath, 
 Crush with a frequent conflict : but ye pass. 
 And only fall on things that still would live ; 
 On the young flourishing forest, or the hut 
 And hamlet of the harmless villager. 
 The mists boil up around the glaciers ; clouds 
 Rise curling far beneath me, white and sulphury, 
 Like foam from the roused ocean of deep hell." 
 
1* PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap, xtiii, 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 Mortar-avalanches. Valley and glaciers of Grindlewald 
 
 Now must we leave this scene, refreshed both in body and spirit, 
 and travel on higher, still higher, to the summit of the pass. 
 The Jungfrau with her diadem of virgin snow is still before us, 
 singing her hymns of thunder, and the sharp enormous mass of 
 the Eigher shoots out almost in front. The avalanches are still 
 falling at short intervals, but chiefly on the other side of the 
 mountain, produced by the echoes of guns, fired from the Wen- 
 gem side. This is the method resorted to for bringing down the 
 hanging masses of snow, by the concussion of the air, when the 
 avalanches do not occur voluntarily in sight of travellers, in 
 order, if possible, that they may not be obliged to pass the moun- 
 tain without witnessing this greatest of Alpine sublimities. And 
 even these mortar-avalanches are well worth seeing. But they 
 cannot be so sublime as those which Nature produces of her 
 own proper motion. Besides, it is quite intolerable to find every- 
 thing for sale ; to be buying a look at an avalanche, just like 
 some popular wonder, where the keeper stands with the string of 
 the curtain in his hand, ready to disclose the mysteries so soon 
 as you have deposited your shilling. So you get an avalanche 
 with a sixpence worth of powder, as if you had gone to visit the 
 Zoological Gardens, or Dr. Koch's Hydrargos. Really one 
 would rather wait upon the mountain for days, and talk alone 
 with nature, permitting her to indulge her own fancies. 
 
 On the highest part of the pass we found a vender of straw- 
 berries, cakes, and cream, with a stout little cannon and plenty 
 of ammunition. For a dish of strawberries he charged only a 
 single hatz, or three cents, and half this sum for firing his can- 
 non ! Probably it was because most of our party were Germans ; 
 bat whatever men may say of Swiss prices, there was no extortion 
 
CHAP. XVIII.] VIEW OF GRINDLEWALD. 73 
 
 here, neithei at the Hotel of the Mountain ; and at either place 
 they would be justified in charging quite inordinately. Here a 
 man may shoot avalanches, as he would bring down pigeons 
 on the wing, but he cannot always bag his game. He hears 
 the swift crashing mass, but sees nothing. The virtue of our 
 strawberry-lad's cannon was thus tested, and each time the re- 
 port was followed, after a moment or two of silence, by two 
 rusliing ice-falls, but apparently on the other side of the moun- 
 tain, with a sound as of buried thunder. 
 
 The view from the summit of the pass towards Grindlewald 
 is very magnificent, for you see the whole green and lovely val- 
 ley, amidst its grand surrounding mountains, and can even dis- 
 tinguish afar otf the inn on the pass of the Grand Scheideck. 
 The snowy peaks of the Jungfrau, 13,718 feet above the level 
 of the sea, the Monch, 13,598 feet, and the Giant Eigher, 13,070 
 feet, are in full sight ; also, as you proceed, the Wetterhorn, or 
 Pealc of Tempests, the Schreckhorn, or Peak of Terror, and the 
 Finster-Aarhorn, or Peak of Darkness, come into the vision, the 
 latter, with its sharp sky pointed pyramid, being the loftiest of 
 the Oberland group. Well named are these mighty peaks, for 
 Terror, Storm, and Darkness do here hold their sway through 
 no small part of the year, though, on such a bright midsummer's 
 day as we are passing, with what glittering, varied, successive 
 splendors do they crown the view ! You can scarcely take your 
 eye from them, so exciting and transcendently beautiful is the 
 scene, even to watch the difficult rough path by which you are 
 travelling. There are within sight of it the traces of the path 
 of an enormous avalanche, which swept down whole woods, as 
 the sweep of a mower's scythe cuts clean the grass, and leaves 
 the dry stubble. 
 
 The glacier of Grindlewald is seen at the bottom of the Val- 
 ley, having pushed itself out through a mountain gorge from the 
 everlasting Empire of Winter, down amidst the habitations of 
 man, by the green pastures and gardens and sunny brooks of 
 summer. A little more, and it might hang its icy dripping 
 caverns over the heads of the haymakers, though now you enter 
 those caverns at a point much below the sloping meadows, where 
 the mowers are busy with their scythes. The body of the glacier, 
 
76 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap, xviii. 
 
 that at this point extends its advanced post into the green valley, 
 winds, it is said, among the Alps of the Oberland to the immense 
 extent of 115 square miles. You visit this Lower Glacier of 
 Grindlewald on your way down from the Wengern Alp, and jou 
 find a scene, which in some respects is the JVIont-Anvert of 
 Chamouny over again. The cavern, from which issues one of 
 the two rivers that form the Lutschinen, seems not so large as 
 that of the Arveiron in Chamouny, although the entrance to it 
 is said to form a magnificent arch seventy feet high. The color 
 of the ice is exquisitely clear, sparkling, and beautiful, whereas 
 at the foot of the Chamouny glacier it is grey and dingy. The 
 mountains that rise around this glacier of Grindlewald, the ex- 
 quisite green of the valley, the exciting contrast in the land- 
 scapes, the soft pastures and black forests of fir skirting and 
 fringing such oceans of frost, and craggy ridges and peaks of 
 ice and snow, present a strange, wild, lovely scene to the im- 
 agination, both grand and lovely, with such startling alternations 
 as you meet no where else but in dreams. 
 
 From my room in the evening at the inn I could see, or seemed 
 in the distance to see, the whole of this glacier. An excursion 
 upon it would have detained me a day of this bright weather 
 (and who could tell how soon it might change, leaving me impri- 
 soned among the mountains?), but the visit would have been almost 
 as interesting as the exploring of the glaciers of Mont-Anvert. 
 A sea of ice and snow spreads out before us, from which rises in 
 awful sublimity the vast peak of the Schreckhom, and here you 
 may enter the very deepest recesses of winter, shut out from 
 every sign of life and verdure. How sublime the scenery of this 
 Valley ! for every successive generation the same impressive 
 grandeur. While spring, summer, autumn, winter, have danced 
 their changing life of glory and gloom together, from creation's 
 dawn, tempest and storm have made these peaks their habitation, 
 and will do so while the world lasts. What a day of sublime 
 and beautiful visions has this been ! It is almost too much of 
 glory to be crowded into one such short interval. One scarcely 
 notes the fatigue of the passage, in the constant excitement of 
 mind produced by such glorious forms of nature. 
 
 With what undying beauty does the moon pour her soft light 
 
CHAP. XVIII.] GRINDL'SWALD VILLAGE. 77 
 
 into the deep snowy recesses of the glacier, or rather of the vast 
 abyss, round which the sides of mountains sheeted with eternal 
 ice form perpendicular barriers, where avalanches shoot down to 
 bury themselves as in an ocean. The scene is still and solemn. 
 The glacier is so near, that the dwelling-houses seem almost to 
 toucli it. The moon is now shooting her light up from behind 
 the vast mountain of the Wetterhorn, streaming across the Met- 
 tenberg, and gilding the snowy outlines of the scenery, till they 
 look like the edges of the silvery clouds. Dante has some lines 
 in his celestial Paradise that might well be descriptive of this 
 scene. The cornice of snow running round the inner walls of 
 the mountains and tlie glaciers looks like the cornices of Egyp- 
 tian Temples. 
 
 The guides at Grindlewald seemed to enjoy themselves after 
 the day's various excursions, carrying their merriment deep into 
 the night. From all quarters travellers are collected in the vil- 
 lage to scatter again across the mountain passes in the morning, 
 some back to Interlaohen, some over the Wengern Alp to Lau- 
 terbrunnen, some for the glaciers, some across the Grand Schei- 
 deck. The little valley is a central mirror both of the grandeur 
 and beauty of Swiss scenery. The village is in clusters of pic- 
 turesque cottages, scattered along the grassy upland slopes, and 
 winding down to the bottom of the vale. The people must sub- 
 sist principally by the pasturage of their cattle, and the products 
 of the dairy, with some chamois hunting ; for Spring, Summer, 
 and Autumn are all condensed into five short months, leaving the 
 rest of the year to undisputed winter, and mingling the instability 
 of all seasons into one. The thick forest-like verdure of the 
 Valley of Lauterbrunnen is missing here, though the two vales 
 are about the same height above the sea. Lauterbrunnen is a 
 deep, entire, colossal, perpendicular cleft in the mountains, an 
 oblong shaft as in a mine ; Grindlewald is a more gradual basin 
 oetween gigantic ascending peaks and pas.ses. In either Valley 
 how appropriate are those texts from Scripture, which sometimes 
 run round the wooden galleries t.f the cottages. Insicribed when 
 the dwellings were erected, they are as an heir-loom of piety, as 
 the voice of an ancestral patriarch still speaking. " Bf the help of 
 Grod, in whom is my trust," says one of these devout '«wxjrv»ntos, 
 
*8 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap, xviii. 
 
 " I have erected this for ray habitation, and commend the same 
 to his gracious protection. 1781." Surely it is a good and plea- 
 sant custom. " Because thou hast made the Most High thy 
 habitation, thei e shall no evil befall thee, neither shall any plague 
 come nigh thy dwelling." 
 
 In the morning, when ascending from the Valley, peak after 
 peak comes into view, with the bright sun successively striking 
 them. At length you see at once the two glaciers, with the peaks 
 of the Schreckhorn, the Eigher, the Wetterhorn, the Mettenberg, 
 arid far across the Wengern Alp, the range of snowy summits 
 beyond Lauterbrunnen. The sunrise is beautifully reported from 
 point to point, with the rays of light gilding and silvering the 
 edges and crags of the mountain. 
 
 Almost every grand scene in Switzerland has its story or le- 
 gend of sad things or supernatural connected with it. The acci- 
 dents and escapes of ages are chronicled in tradition, as the 
 battles of the mountain heroes are in history. It is said that 
 one of the former innkeepers at Grindlewald, Christopher Bohren, 
 was once on his way across the glacier between the Wetterhorn 
 and the Mettenberg, when the ice broke beneath him, and he 
 was plunged down a cavity of some sixty-four feet. He was 
 not killed by the fall, but his arm was broken. There was no 
 possibility of an ascent, and this gulf seemed to enclose him for 
 the resurrection, in a sepulchre of ice, himself embalmed while 
 living, by the Magician Frost, to sit there as a staring ice-mum- 
 my, for ever. Nevertheless, there was the sound of dripping 
 and gurgling water, and on groping round he discovered a chan- 
 nel worn in the ice, into which he could just creep and advance 
 painfully, if it might possibly issue to the day. There was a 
 hope, and it kept the fingers of the frost from his heart, and ani- 
 mated him to drag his bruised and stiffened limbs along the djip- 
 ping ice-fissure, thinking of his wife and children. What a 
 terrible situation ! Would he ever again see the blue sky, and 
 the green grass, and the curling smoke from the chalets of the 
 village ? Would he hear the voices of friends searching for 
 him ? Could he live till they should miss him ? Would he ever 
 again see the face of a human being ? Thus groping in the 
 heart of the glacier, suddenly he came to the outlet of the tor- 
 
CHAP, xvin.] JUNGFRAU AVALANCHES. 79 
 
 rent, which had worn for him the channel, and following its 
 plainer and more open course, he was extricated and saved ! 
 
 Not longer ago than 1821, M. Mouron, a clergyman from Ve- 
 vay, lost his life in visiting the lower glacier. He was not with- 
 out a guide, but not being tied to him, fell into one of the yawn- 
 ing crevices in the ice, a gulf of near 700 feet in depth, and 
 must have been killed instantly. Twelve days afterward the 
 body of the unfortunate traveller was found and brought up to 
 the day by tying a guide to a rope, and letting him down into the 
 abyss with a lantern. After several attempts of this nature, 
 the persevering hunter, though exhausted by the want of air, 
 succeeding in attaching the corpse to his own body. A watch 
 and purse found upon it redeemed the guide from the murderous 
 suspicions which had rested upon him, and the dead traveller was 
 buried in the parish church. There is great danger in walking 
 upon or along the sharp edges of the almost fathomless gulfs in 
 these glaciers. You may think yourself very careful, but then 
 you are to remember also the inevitable fatal consequences of a 
 single slip, or of one false step, or even of an uncertain move- 
 ment. There are sometimes similar situations in life, where a 
 man's path, be it wrong or right, leads across great dangers, and 
 one false or presumptuous step is the misery of a life-time. A 
 decision, which it takes but an instant to make, it may cost years 
 to recover from. A man is a fool, who ventures amidst such 
 hazards, except at the call of truth and duty. 
 
80 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap. xix. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Pasa of the Scheideck to Meyringen. 
 > 
 I FIND that I have recorded the scenes of this day iu my journal, 
 as having been so varied and so beautiful as to be almost fatigu- 
 ing. The feeling of fatigue is gone ; I do not at all remember 
 it ; but the sense of beauty is eternal. We started from Grin- 
 dlewald early, and visit the Upper Glacier. There is a little 
 lake of water at its margin, a crystal cup as it were, where 
 the glacier, the mountains and the heavens are reflected with 
 wonderful depth and beauty. An old man met us, who acts as 
 guide into the glacier, and who told us he had twenty-four chil- 
 dren, ten by his first wife, and fourteen by his second. He was 
 a droll old fellow, this ice guide, looking indeed immeasurably 
 old, but entering with a great deal of youthful cheerfulness into 
 the blithesome humor of the young travellers about him. Under 
 his guidance we entered a cavern in the glacier, a deep crystal 
 ravine, high enough to advance upright, without touching the 
 pointed roof, winding quite a distance into the body of the glacier, 
 whose superincumbent mountain masses will one day crush it. 
 The ice-walls are of an exquisite and almost perfectly transparent 
 emerald or azure, smooth as glass, and dripping with water as 
 cold as the ice itself. It was a hazardous position for the travel- 
 ler, for the roof of this cavern of azure ice is sure to fall, and it 
 might as well fall while we were there, as at any other time, but 
 we entered and came forth in safety. An entombment alive in 
 such a sepulchre would have been far worse than a fall of ten 
 thousand feet among the icy precipices. 
 
 It is impossible to say what it is that gives to the ice of these 
 glaciers so beautiful a color. It is this partly which makes them 
 so much more beautiful than those of Chamouny ; at the' same 
 time, that their peaks and minarets are so varied, their depths so 
 
CHAP XIX.} SIGHTS IN FINE WEATHER. 81 
 
 enormous, and the step from them into the depths of an intense 
 summer verdure so sudden and startling. They are a forest of 
 icebergs, that have marched down to bid defiance to the forest of 
 firs. From the height of the Grand Scheideck the glacier is a 
 most magnificent object, as also are the glittering mountain bar- 
 riers, silent, stern, and awful, that enclose it. How different your 
 feelings when you are in the depths of the Valley, with the moun- 
 tains shutting you in and keeping watch over you, looking down 
 upon you with their grand and awful countenances, and those 
 which you experience when you ascend so high as to command 
 both them and your former position in one view, when you rise to 
 a point, whence you can look in among them, count and compare 
 their masses, and confront their brightness from their foundations 
 to their topmost summits. But you must have fine weather. 
 Scarce one feature of all this glory is to be seen, if you are tra- 
 velling in the mist, if the clouds are low, or the rain is pouring. 
 
 It is like the progress of the soul in the study of divine truth. 
 Your atmosphere must be clear, the sun shining. There are days 
 when clouds cover everything, days of rain, and days of mist, 
 and seasons of tremendous tempest. When you are in the val- 
 ley, it does not make so much difference. There is a portion of 
 truth, which is visible at all times, green grass, still waters, quiet 
 meadows, though you may not see a single mountain summit. 
 Down in such a quiet depth, the great mysterious truths of the 
 system that surrounds you, overshadow you and shut you in. 
 But if you would see their glory, there is much labor of the soul 
 needed ; you must toil upwards, you must have bright weather 
 in the soul, and by and by you gain a point, where you survey 
 the mighty system j its glittering masses and ranges stretch off 
 below, above, around you; its sky-pointing summits pierce the 
 upper depths of heaven ; here you must have faith, you must 
 be somewhat with John in Patmos, in the Spirit ; for if the mist 
 is around you, you can see nothing, but if the sun is shining, 
 what an infinitude of glory opens to your view ! 
 
 While on the Grand Scheideck, we enjoyed the sight of a most 
 beautiful Avalanche ; it was the extreme of beauty, but without 
 the sublimity of those we have witnessed the day before. If this 
 had been all that we had seen, we should have deemed the de- 
 
 PAKT II. ^ 
 
82 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [Chap, xix 
 
 scriptions sometimes given to be altogether exaggerated. The 
 traveller in Switzerland is unfortunate, who does not see a genu- 
 ine avalanche on a grand scale. But this was very beautiful ; 
 first a sudden jet from the mountain, like a rocket of white 
 smoke, then the fall of the whole mass of ice and snow with a 
 cloud rising from it, and a rush of small thunder, like the roar 
 of a water%ll. 
 
 From the Grand Scheideck down into the Valley of Hasli at 
 Meyringen, the journey is one of indescribable, and to a man 
 that knows nothing of Alpine scenery, inconceivable magnificence. 
 It is true that the prospect before you, as you pass down towards 
 Rosenlaui, is not so remarkable for its grandeur, as the scenes 
 you have already passed through ; but behind you, in the even- 
 ing sun, the way is a perspective of lengthening glory, where the 
 snowy mountains, seen through the forests of firs, and overhang- 
 ing them, floating, as it were, in a heaven of golden light, give 
 to the eye a vision of contrasts and splendors, the like of which 
 may possibly no where else be presented. 
 
 Such is sometimes the difference between experience and an- 
 ticipation. A man's early life is often so much pleasanter and 
 more prosperous than his late, that the retrospect looks full of rich 
 and mellow scenes, lovely remembrances in soft enchanting 
 colors, while the prospect Is destitute of beauty, or sometimes is 
 filled with foreboded tempests. Many a man in the decline of 
 life seems going down into gloom from a mountain-top of glory, 
 and all the light of his existence shines to him from behind. But 
 this cannot be the case with a Christian. The brightest prospect 
 is before him. That man is happy who loves to dwell upon the 
 future, upon what is in reserve for him. That man is happy, 
 who sees, over the storms of his past life, a bow of promise, 
 created by a setting sun, that is to rise in glory. A guilty man 
 cannot love to dwell upon the past, unless he be a penitent man, 
 a man of faith, who sees in the past the commencement and pro- 
 phecy of a better future. The saying of the ancient moralist 
 was uttered without much knowledge of its whole meaning : 
 
 " Hoc est vivere bis 
 Vita ppsse pdore &ui." 
 
CHAP. XIX.] THE CROSS ON THE PAST. SI 
 
 " 'Tis living twice, 
 
 To enjoy past life." 
 
 For, who can enjoy his past life, unless the light of the Cross be 
 shining upon it ? No man can do it, without some great and 
 dreadful delusion, for the only light of hope, or material of good- 
 ness and blessedness in the Past, comes from the Cross of Christ. 
 But where that is shining, how it floods the mountain passes of 
 our existence with glory ! 
 
ti PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap, xx 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Glacier of Rosenlaui and Falls of the Reichenbacli. 
 
 On your way down, you have the excursion to the glacier of 
 Rosenlaui, celebrated for the extreme beauty of its roseate and 
 azure colors. It lies in a mighty mountain gorge on our right, 
 far up between the great masses of the Wellborn and the Angels' 
 Peaks (Engelhorner), a most remarkable scene, both in itself and 
 its accessories, the ice-born picture, its fir-clad base, and its 
 gigantic craggy frame. A thundering torrent comes roaring 
 down an almost fathomless split in the mountain, where the jag- 
 ged sides threaten each other like the jaws of hell. Torrents 
 from different directions meet fiercely at the foot of the glacier, 
 which is thrown over them as a mountain of ice, with vast ice 
 blocks roofing the subterranean fissure, with a mighty peak of 
 rock towering above, and a mountain of granite on the other side. 
 You enter the bosom of the glacier by steps cut for you by the 
 guide, at the risk of tumbling into the conflict of waters below. 
 The surrounding forests of fir, the cataracts, the ice-cliffs shining, 
 and the grey bare crags, keeping watch like sentinels, together 
 with the extreme picturesqueness and beauty of the Valley open- 
 ing out beneath, make up a scene well worth the toil of climbing 
 to it. 
 
 Now you take the way down from Rosenlaui to Meyringen ; 
 looking behind you, it is still inexpressibly beautiful, more beau- 
 tiful than the vision of the vale. It is because of the combina- 
 tion between the snow, the sun, and the black fir forest, the firs 
 against the snow, the snow against the sun, the air a flood of 
 glory. Through a winding vale of firs the great white moun- 
 tains flash upon you, now hidden and now revealed ; and of all 
 sights in Switzerland, that of the bright snow summits seen 
 through and amidst such masses of deep overshadowing foliage, 
 
• HAP. XX.] REICHENBACH CASCADE. 8.5 
 
 by which you may be buried in twilight at noonday, is the most 
 picturesque and wildly beautiful. Between four o'clock and 
 sunset this Rosenlaui pass, in a bright day, is wonderful. The 
 white perfect cones and pyramids of some of the summits alter- 
 nate with the bare rocky needles and ridges of others, all dis- 
 tinctly defined against the sky, with the light falling on them in a 
 wild magic azure-tinted clearness. Here is one section or qua- 
 drature of the picture as you look upwards to the' heights down 
 which you have been so long descending ; far off, up in the 
 heavens a vast curling ridge of snow cuts the azure upper deep ; 
 nearer, the enormous grey peak of the Wellborn shoots above it ; 
 lower, towards this world, between two great mountains, down 
 rusbes the magnificent glacier of Rosenlaui, till its glittering 
 masses, which seem ready to take one plunge out of heaven to 
 earth, are lost to your eye behind the green depths of the forest. 
 
 But if we stay looking at this scene and still loitering and 
 looking behind us, we shall not get to Meyringen till night- fall. 
 So down we climb, beside the roaring torrent, which is impetu- 
 ously plunging and foaming to take the leap of the Reichenbach 
 fall, not at all knowing what awaits us, when suddenly comes 
 another of those swift, vast contrasts, those mighty shiftings of 
 scenery, so unexpected and unthought of, as in a dream. As if 
 the world's walls had opened before you, and you had just lighted 
 with wings on a shelving precipice to look forth, the Vale of 
 Meyringen is disclosed far beneath, with its village and meadows, 
 church steeples and clumps of trees, and the bright Alpbach cas- 
 cade pouring over the crags on the other side. From the point 
 where you stand, the descent into the Vale is near two thousand 
 feet, rugged and precipitous, and from nearly your present level, 
 the stream of the Reichenbach takes its grand leap down the 
 gorge at your left, making the celebrated Reichenbach Falls, 
 and afterwards, by a succession of leaps not quite so grand, it 
 races, foaming and thundering, over precipice after precipice, 
 through black jagged picturesque tortuous ravines down into the 
 Valley to join the Aar. 
 
 One would think the two rivers would be glad to have 
 a moment's peace, and pleasant, gurgling communion, after 
 such a furious daring cataractical course of foam and thun- 
 
86 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap. xx. 
 
 der. Each of them has come down out of ice-palaces as 
 from the alabaster gates of heaven, and each has made, in its 
 perilous course, one of the grandest cataracts in all Switzerland, 
 Now they flow on as if nothing had happened, like generous 
 minds after some great action. Methinks they are saying one to 
 another, as their waters meet and mingle. How much pleasanter 
 it is to be gliding on so quietly between green banks and rich 
 meadows, than to be tumbling over the mountains, where we seem 
 to be of no use whatever, but for great parties of English people 
 to come and look at us through their eye-glasses. But you are 
 mistaken, gentle streams. Perhaps you have done more good, 
 by the grand thoughts your " unceasing thunder and eternal 
 foam " have given rise to in your perilous career among the 
 mountains, than you will do in your path of verdure all the way 
 to the sea. It is not the sole use of streams like yours to make 
 the grasses and the flowers to grow, or to enjoy yourselves among 
 them. But we cannot wonder that you do not wish to be always 
 playing the Cataract. 
 
CHAP. XXI.] VOICES OF EVENING. 81 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 Twilight, Evening, and Night in Switzerland. A Sabbath in Meyringen. 
 
 The stillness of evening in Switzerland is accompanied with a 
 soft music from the thousand mountain torrents, which roar with 
 such a shouting voice at noon day, loosened by the sun from the 
 glaciers, and then subside into a more quiet, soul-like melody. It 
 is like the wind, strong blowing on an Eolian Harp with loud 
 strains, and then sinking down into faint aerial murmurs. So at 
 evening, the streams being partially pent up again in ice, the 
 sound grows less in body, but more distinct in tone, and more in 
 unison with the sacred stillness of the hour. It is like changing 
 the stops in an organ. The effect has been noted both by plain 
 prose travellers and imaginative poets, and nothing can be more 
 beautiful. The lulled evening hum of the busy world, and the 
 dim twilight of the air, and the gradual stealing forth of the 
 modest stars after the heat and glare of day, are in harmony. 
 As in Milton, 
 
 " At last a soft and solemn-breathing sound 
 Rose like a steam of rich-distilled perfumes, 
 And stole upon the air." 
 
 For at such an hour the music of nature, passing into solemn 
 voices of the night, seems rather like the hushing strains from 
 invisible harps of celestial intelligences floating in the atmosphere, 
 than like any music from material things. Some of the finest 
 lines ever composed by the Poet Rogers were called forth by the 
 perception of these stilly notes and almost imperceptible harmo- 
 nies of evening. I feay almost imperceptible, because a man 
 busied with external things, or even engaged in social talk, will 
 scarce notice them. The mind must be in somewhat of a pen- 
 sive mood, and watching with the finer senses. A traveller must 
 be alone, or must say to his friend. Hush ! listen ! 
 
S8 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap. xxi. 
 
 " Oft at the silent, shadowy close of day, 
 When the hushed grove has sung its parting lay, 
 When pensive twilight, in her dusky car, 
 Comes slowly on to meet the evening star. 
 Above, below, aerial murmurs swell 
 From hanging wood, brown heath, and bushy dell ! 
 A thousand nameless rills, that shun the light. 
 Stealing soft music on the ear of night. 
 So oft the finer movements of the soul, 
 That shun the sphere of pleasure's gay control. 
 In the still shades of calm seclusion rise. 
 And breathe their sweet seraphic harmonies !" 
 
 Pleasures of Memorv. 
 
 This is very beautiful. Do we not at such an hour, more than 
 any other, feel as if we were sojourning, in the slriiiing language 
 of Foster, " on that frontier, where the material and the ideal 
 worlds join and combine their elements ?" It is the hour, when 
 Isaac-lilie, the solitary saint in the country, if not in the city, 
 
 " Walks forth to meditate at even-tide," 
 
 and thinks upon a world that thinks not for herself. It is the 
 hour, when among the mountains or in the villages, the soul seems 
 sometimes to see far out beyond the verge of Time, seems to feel 
 the horizon of existence expanding, seems to be upon the sea-side, 
 and is impelled, as in the beautiful image of Young, to 
 
 " Walk thoughtful on the silent, solemn shore 
 Of that vast Ocean, she must sail so soon !" 
 
 Delightful it is, when Saturday evening comes, with such 
 calm and sacred voices and influences of nature, if the soul is 
 in the right mood, to hear the prelude wherewith it seems as if 
 nature herself would put man in harmony for the Sabbath. 
 
 " It is a beauteous evening, calm and free ; 
 The holy time is quiet as a Nun 
 Breathless with adoration ; the broad sun 
 Is sinking down in its tranquillity ; 
 Listen ! the mighty Being is awake. 
 And doth with his eternal motion make 
 A sound like thunder — everlastingly !" — Wordswohth, 
 
CHAP. XXI.] VOICES OF EVENING. 89 
 
 There is the feeling, if not the audible sense, of a similar sound 
 among the mountains, though inland far we be, the sound as of 
 waters rolling on the shore of another world, whether we call it, 
 with Wordsworth, the sound of that Immortal Sea that brought 
 us hither, or content ourselves with saying in plain prose that it 
 is the ever brooding sense of our Immortality, which no immor- 
 tal accountable being can ever shake from his constitution. 
 
 And now as I have quoted so many poets, drawn by the 
 analogy of that hour in human existence, which seems some- 
 times to have collected both religious and irreligious writers to- 
 gether in the same Porch, before the inner Temple of Devotion, 
 under the same irresistible influences, I will add one extract from 
 a great Poet who has entered that Temple, and not merely stood 
 and sung without j a Poet of America, who has written too little, 
 and that little in too high a strain, to catch the popular applause 
 of his own countrymen.* 
 
 " O listen, Man ! 
 A voice within us speaks that startling word, 
 Man ! thou shalt never die ! Celestial voices 
 Hymn it unto our souls : according harps 
 By angel fingers touched, when the mild stars 
 Of morning sang together, sound forth still 
 The song of our great immortality : 
 Thick clustering orbs, and this our fair domain, 
 The tall dark mountains, and the deep-toned seas. 
 Join in this solemn, universal song. 
 — listen, ye, our spirits ! drink it in 
 From all the air ! 'Tis in the gentle moonlight ; 
 'Tis floating midst Day's setting glories ; Night, 
 Wrapt in her sable robe, with silent step. 
 Comes to our bed, and breathes it in our ears : 
 Night and the Dawn, bright Day and thoughtful Evo 
 All time, all bounds, the limitless expanse. 
 As one vast mystic instrument, are touched 
 By an unseen living Hand, and conscious chords 
 Quiver with joy in this great Jubilee. 
 — The dying hear it ; and as sounds of earth 
 Grow dull and distant, wake their passing souls 
 To mingle in this heavenly harmony !" 
 
 • Richard H. Dana. He might take a rank as high above all the Ameri- 
 can Poets, as Wordsworth has done above the modern Poets oi Griat 
 Britain. 
 
90 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap. xxi. 
 
 All my companions left me at Meyringen, and I had a quiet, 
 lonely Sabbath. It was a beautiful day for travelling, but more 
 lovely still for resting. Had it rained, a number of persons 
 would have kept Sabbath at Meyringen, but they would not do It, 
 unless compelled by bad weather. Now God had given us .six 
 days of bright elastic air, clear sun, and cloudless skies to see 
 him in his \y,orks ; should we grudge one day for the study of 
 his Word, one day for prayer ? Should we travel without God, 
 and travel in spite of him ? What a dark mind, under so bright 
 a heaven ! It is a sad and sinful example, which Protestant tra- 
 vellers do set in Switzerland, by not resting on the Sabbath day. 
 Prayer and provender never hindered a journey. That is a good 
 old proverb J but it is safe to say that a man who rides over the 
 Sabbath, as well as through the week, though he may give- his 
 horse provender, is starving and hurrying his soul. 
 
 Who resteth not one day in seven, 
 That soul shall never rest in heaven. 
 
 But there may be rest without worship, rest without prayer. The 
 Sabbath is more thoroughly observed by Romanists, in their way, 
 than it is by Protestants, in theirs. Without prayer, it is the 
 worst day, spiritually, in all the seven. He who gave it must 
 give the heart to keep it. How adrnirable is that sonnet trans- 
 lated by Wordsworth from Michael Angelo. Few original pieces 
 of Wordsworth contain so much real religion as these beautifully 
 translated lines. 
 
 " The prayers I make will then be sweet indeed. 
 If Thou the spirit give, by which I pray : 
 My unassisted heart is barren clay. 
 Which of its native self can nothing feed : 
 Of good and pious works Thou art the seed. 
 Which quickens only where thou sayst it may; 
 Unless Thou show to us thine own true way 
 No man can find it: Father ! Thou must lead. 
 Do Thou then breathe those thoughts into my mind. 
 By which such virtue may in me be bred 
 That in thy holy footsteps I may tread : 
 The fetters of my tongue do Thou unbind. 
 That I may have the power to sing of Thee, 
 And sound Thy praises everlastingly." 
 
riiAP. XXI.] SABBATH AND PRAYER. 91 
 
 The nights of Saturday and Sabbath, it was a lovely sight to 
 watch the rising moon upon the tops of the snow shining moun- 
 tains, at such an immense height above us. We could not see 
 the moon, but couU only see her pale light travelling slowh 
 down, as a white soft veil, along the distant peaks and ridges, till 
 at a late hour the silver radiance poured more rapidly over the 
 forests, and filled the Valley. 
 
 Saturday evening is distinguished in Scotland and New Eng- 
 land as a time of speciality for washing children ; in some parts 
 of Switzerland it is a chief time for courting. I do not know 
 that here among the Oberland Alps they have any such custom 
 of child-scrubbing ; in some parts it might be questioned if they 
 have any ablutions at all; but I am sure it is a good habit. 
 There was always a great moral lesson in it, besides the blessed- 
 ness of being perfectly cIcl n once in a week. It taught the 
 children unconsciously that pui 'y was becoming to the Sabbath j 
 there was a sort of instinctive feeling induced by it, of the ne- 
 cessity of putting off the dark soils of the world and the week, 
 and of being within and without clean and tidy for the sacred 
 day. Well would it be if children of a riper growth could 
 wash themselves of the cares of the world and the deceitful- 
 ness of riches every Satu'day evening, with as much ease 
 and ready obedience as they used to gather up their playthings and 
 submit to the bath of soap-suds ; if they could put aside their 
 ledgers, and see how their accounts stand for eternity on Satur- 
 day night, they would have more leisure for prayer on the Sab- 
 bath, and wouM not so often bring their farms, their cattle, and 
 their counting-houses into the House of God. 
 
92 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap, xxii, 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 From Meyringen to the Pass of the Grimsel. 
 
 AuAiN in the week's opening, upon our winding, upward way, 
 from Meyringen to the Pass of the Grimsel. What glorious 
 weather ! the element of Autumnal brightness and coolness min- 
 gling with the softness and warmth of the Summer. 
 
 " The silent night has passed into the prime 
 Of day — to thoughtful souls a solemn time. 
 For man has wakened froir ais nightly death 
 And shut up sense, to m ^rning's life and breath. 
 He sees go out in heaven the stars that kept 
 Their glorious watch, while he, unconscious, slept ; — 
 Feels God was round him, while he knew it not, — 
 Is awed — then meets the world — and God's forgot. 
 So may I not forget thee, holy Power ! 
 Be to me ever, as at this calm hour. 
 
 " The tree tops now are glittering in the sun : 
 Away ! 'Tis time my journey were begun !" 
 
 Dana. 
 
 Forth from the industrious, thriving village of Meyringen, we 
 pass through a picturesque, broken, wooded vale, with many 
 romantic side openings, and then comes one of the loveliest sud- 
 den morning views of the distant blue and snowy mountains. 
 The clouds have ranged themselves in zigzag fleeces, in a bright 
 atmosphere of many shades of azure, deepening and softening in 
 the distance. It is a lovely day. Whatever travellers have 
 been resting on the Sabbath, that rest has lost them nothing of 
 this heavenly weather, and it ought to make the soul's atmosphere 
 clearer and brighter for the whole week. So may it be ! So, 
 when we meet the world, may we not be " without God in the 
 world." How beautiful is God's creation in this light ! 
 
CHAP, xxii.] JACOB'S LADDER. 93 
 
 " And if there be whom broken tie? 
 Afflict, or injuries assail. 
 Yon hazy ridges to their eyes 
 Present a glorious scale, 
 Climbing suffused with sunny air. 
 To stop, no record hath told where ! 
 And tempting fancy to ascend 
 And with immortal spirits blend ! 
 Wings at my shoulder seem to play, 
 But rooted here, I stand and gaze 
 On those bright steps that heavenward raise 
 Their practicable way. 
 
 Come forth, ye drooping old men, look abroad 
 And see to what fair countries ye are bound !" 
 
 The multiplication of mountain ridges of cloud, Wordsworth 
 describes as a sort of Jacob's ladder leading to heaven. Some- 
 times the mountains themselves look like a ladder, up and down 
 which the clouds, like angels, are flying. Were it as easy for 
 a broken-hearted man to get to heaven, as to climb these moun- 
 tain passes, few would fail. Afflictions make a craggy path in 
 the pilgrimage of many a man, who yet, alas, does not, by their 
 means, ascend to God, nor even experience the desire of so 
 ascending. But our motto must be Excelsior ! Excelsior ! 
 Higher ! Still Higher ! even to the throne of God ! 
 
 Thither the wings of Poetry will not bear us, nor glorious 
 sights, nor emblems, nor talk of angels, nor prosperity, nor ad- 
 versity, nor aught but Divine Grace. The best ladder in the 
 universe is good for nothing without grace, simply because men 
 would not climb it. It might be made with steps of Jasper, and 
 set against the stone pillow beneath the sleeper's head, and angels 
 might stand upon it and wave their wings and beckon, but never 
 a step would man take, if grace within did not move him. This 
 thundering river Aar will split mountains in its course down- 
 war s rather than not get to the sea ; the very mound we are 
 oro iing is rifted from top to bottom to let it through ; but you 
 could not make it turn backward and upward to its source. 
 Such is the course of a man's heart, so self-willed, so unchange- 
 able ; downwards, away from God, nothing can stop it ; up- 
 wards, back to God, home to God, nothing can 'urn it, but God's 
 uwn grace in Christ. 
 
94 PILGRIM OF" THE JUNGFRAU. [chap. xxii. 
 
 Petrarch once climbed a high mountain with a little volume 
 of Augustine's Confessions in his pocket. At the summit, after 
 feasting himself with the landscape, he opened the book to read, 
 when the first passage that caught his eye was the following : 
 " Men travel far to climb high mountains, to observe the majesty 
 of the ocean, to trace the sources of rivers, but they neglect 
 themselves." Petrarch closed the book, and meditated upon the 
 lesson. If I have undergone so much labor in climbing this 
 mountain, said he, that my body might be nearer to heaven, what 
 ought I not to do, what labor is tod great to undergo, that my 
 soul may be received there for ever ! This thought in the Poet's 
 mind was both devout and poetical, but it rises in the depths of 
 many a soul, without being reduced to practice. So much easier 
 is it to go on pilgrimage with the body, than to climb spiritually 
 the hill Difficulty ; so much easier to rise towards heaven with 
 the feet, than to carry the heart thither. 
 
 Why should a step of the soul upward be more difficult than 
 one of the body ? It is because of the burden of sin, and its 
 downward tendency. Nevertheless, there is this consolation, 
 that with every step of the soul upward the fatigue becomes less, 
 and the business of climbing grows from a labor into a habit, till 
 it seems as if wings were playing at the shoulders ; while in 
 climbing with the body there is no approximation to a habit, and 
 the fatigue is ever increasing. The nearer the soul rises to God, 
 the more rapid and easy is its motion towards him. How be- 
 neficent is this ! How grand and merciful that " Divine agency," 
 says John Foster, " which apprehends a man, as apostolic lan- 
 guage expresses it, amidst the unthinking crowd, and leads him 
 into serious reflection, into elevated devotion, into progressive vir- 
 tue, and finally into a nobler life after death." 
 
 " When he has long been commanded by this influence, he 
 will be happy to look back to its first operations, whethei "they 
 were mingled in early life almost insensibly with his feeling i, or 
 came on him with mighty force at some particular time, and in 
 connection with some assignable and memorable circumstance, 
 which was apparently the instrumental cause. He will trace 
 all the progress of this his better life, with grateful acknowledg- 
 ment to the Sacred Power, which has advanced him to a deci- 
 
CHAP, xxn.] RELIGIOUS HABIT. 95 
 
 siveness of religious habit, that seems to stamp eternity on his 
 character. In the great majority of things, habit is a greater 
 plague, than ever aiHicted Egypt ; in religious character it is a 
 grand felicity. The devout man exults in the indications of his 
 being fixed and irretrievable. He feels this confirmed habit as 
 the grasp of the hand of God which will never let him go. From 
 this advanced state he looks with firmness and joy on futurity, 
 and says, I carry the eternal mark upon me that I belong Id 
 God ; I am free of the universe ; and I am ready to go to any 
 world to which he shall please to transmit me, certain that every- 
 where, in height or depth, he will acknowledge me for ever." 
 
flfi PILGRIM OF THE J UNGFRAU. [chap. xxni. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 ■Ripper Hasli, and the river Aar. Falls of the Aar. Desolation of the Pass. 
 
 Now we overlook the Vale of the Upper Hasli, with the Aar 
 winding through it. As 1 sit upon a rock by the way-side and 
 sketch these words, the air is full of melody, the birds are sing- 
 ing thoughtfully, the large grasshoppers make a sonorous merry 
 chirping, and the bells of the goats are tinkling among the herbage 
 and trees on the sides of the mountains. The dewy mist has not 
 yet passed from the grass, but lies in a thin, transparent haze 
 over the meadow. Half way across lies the deep shadow of a 
 mighty mountain peak, over which the sun is rising ; but beyond 
 this shade the chalets and clumps of trees are glittering and 
 smoking in the morning sunshine. The mist-clouds are now 
 lingering only within the ridges of the farthest mountains, while 
 the whole grand outline cuts the deep cloudless blue of heaven. 
 The shafts of light shoot down into the vale, past the angular 
 peaks and defiles. No language can tell the beauty of the view. 
 I could sit here for hours, not desiring to stir a step farther. The 
 mind and heart are filled with its loveliness, and one cannot help 
 blessing God for the great and pure enjoyment of beholding it. 
 If his grace may but sanctify it, it will be like a sweet chapter 
 of his word, and one may go on his way, refreshed as Pilgrim 
 was, when he had gazed over the distant Celestial glory from the 
 Delectable mountains. 
 
 See the smoke rising from the chalets before you ! The sun- 
 light is absolutely a flood of glory over this scene. Oh how 
 lovely ! And still, as I sit and write, new shades of beaiuty come 
 into view. And now a few steps farther, and what a new and 
 perfect picture ! The vale is almost a complete circle hemmed 
 in by mountains, with the Aar glittering across it like a belt of 
 liquid silver. And now we come down into the valley. How 
 
CHAP, xxiii.] VALE OF HASTI. 97 
 
 rich the vegetation, impearled with the morning dew ! And the 
 little village of Hasli-Grund just at the base of the mountain, with 
 a cloud of smoky light upon it, how beautiful ! Does it not seem as 
 if here could be happiness, if anywhere on earth ? But happiness 
 is a thing within ; you cannot see it, though you may guess at it, 
 and say within yourself. One might be happy here. It takes many 
 things to constitute the beautiful appearances that make a stranger 
 stop and exclaim. How lovely ! Whereas, it takes but few things 
 to make up real happiness, if all imthin is right. A crust of bread, 
 a pitcher of water, a thatched roof, and love ; — there is happiness 
 for you, whether the day be rainy or sunny. It is the heart that 
 makes the hmie, whether the eye of the stranger rest upon a 
 potato-patch or a flower-garden. Heart makes home precious, 
 and it is the only thing that can. 
 
 From this point the mountain passes look as winding up to 
 Paradise ; the broken masses of verdure around you are like that 
 " verdurous wall " round Eden, over which Satan made such a 
 pernicious leap. Pass out from the valley, and the scene changes 
 into one of savage wildness and grandeur ; you are wandering 
 among rough, broken mountains, with fearful craggy gorges, 
 through which the Aar furiously rushes ; the guide tells you of 
 perilous falls in tempests, and of deaths by drowning and by the 
 avalanche ; and, to confirm his words, ridge after ridge of barren, 
 savage, scathed peaks present their bare rook ribs, down which 
 are perpetually thundering the avalanches, as if to dispute with 
 the torrent the right of roaring through the valley. Piles of 
 chaotic, rocky fragments, over which the path clambers, bespeak 
 the dates of desolating storms. Now and then the eye and the 
 mind are relieved by the greenness of a forest of firs, but in 
 general the pass is one awful sweep of desolation and sterile sub- 
 limity. It is like the soul of a sinner deserted jf God, while the 
 thundering torrent, madly plunging, and never at rest, is like the 
 voice of an awakened angry conscience in such a soul. 
 
 Amidst this desolate and savage scenery, after travelling some 
 four or five hours, with a single interval of rest at Guttanen, we 
 come suddenly upon the celebrated falls of the Aar. There is a 
 point on which they are visible from the verge of the gorge be- 
 low, before arriving at Handek, but it is bv no means so good as 
 
 PART II. 8 
 
98 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap xxin. 
 
 the points of view above. These points are very accessible, and 
 from a bridge thrown directly over the main fall, you may look 
 down into the abyss where the cataract crashes. A storm of 
 wind and rain rushes furiously up from the spray, but when the 
 sun is shining, it is well worth a thorough wetting, to behold the 
 exquisitely beautiful rainbows which circle the fall beneath. A 
 side torrent comes down from another ravine on the right, meet- 
 ing the Aar fall diagonally, after a magnificent leap by itself over 
 the precipice, so that the cataract is two in one. The height of 
 the fall being about two hundred feet, when the Aar is swollen 
 by rain, this must be by far the grandest and most beautiful 
 cataract in Switzerland. The lonely sublimity of the scenery 
 makes the astounding din and fury of the waters doubly impres- 
 sive. 
 
 A short distance from the falls, a single chalet, which itself is 
 the inn, constitutes the whole village of Handek. From this 
 place up to the Grimsel, the pass increases if possible in wildness 
 and desolation. Vegetation almost entirely ceases. The fir, that 
 beautiful emblem of the true Christian, as it has been called, 
 satisfied with so little of earth, and rising straight to heaven, can 
 no more find a footing. Gloomy bare mountains, silent and naked 
 as death, frown over the pathway, and you seem to be coming to 
 the outermost limits of creation. 
 
 The path crosses a singular, vast, smooth ledge of rock, called 
 the Hollenplatte, nearly a quarter of a mile in extent, about two 
 miles above the Falls, said to have been the bed of an old gla- 
 cier, and to have become worn smooth and polished by the attri- 
 tion of the ice-mountain. The path is hewn along the edge of 
 the precipice. Your guide-book tells you that it is " prudent to 
 dismount here, and cross this bad bit of road on foot, since the 
 path runs by the edge of the precipice, and the surface of the 
 rock, though chiselled into grooves, to secure a footing for the 
 horses, is very slippery. A single false step might be fatal to 
 man and beast, precipitating both into the gulf below : and the 
 slight wooden rail, which is swept away almost every winter, 
 would afibrd but little protection." A pedestrian, having no care 
 of a mule, is very independent of all these dangers, though he 
 would not wish to cross this place in a tempest ; but the guide. 
 
CHAP. XXIII.] PERPENDICULAR HAYMAKING. 99 
 
 book might have added the account of a traveller, whose mule 
 slipped and ftU over the precipice, while he himself was saved 
 only by the presence of mind and sudden firm grasp of his guide, 
 dragging him backwards, even while the mule plunged down the 
 abyss. It is extreme fool-hardiness to go against the direcjtions 
 or cautions of the guide, in a place of danger. 
 
 By and by the path crosses the Aar and recrosses, and at 
 length leaves it on the left, to seek the Hospice of the Grimsel. 
 Vegetation seems annihilated ; but amidst all this frightful sterility 
 you behold upon a rocky shelf far up the side of an almost per- 
 pendicular mountain, a man mowing ! My guide shouted, and 
 suddenly I heard an answer and an echo from above, and lifting 
 up my eyes, there stood the mower, sharpening his scythe, on the 
 brow of the precipice, looking down upon us with great uncon- 
 cern, though the little green spot he was mowing seemed itself so 
 steep, tfiat he was in the greatest peril of sliding into the gulf 
 below. What a strange life many of these mountaineers do lead, 
 an existence more dangerous and precarious than that of the mar- 
 mot and the chamois ! 
 
 " The Earth," said Coleridge, " with its scarred face, is the 
 symbol of the Past ; the Air and Heaven of Futurity." What a 
 striking image is this, amidst such awful scenery as our path has 
 led us through from Hasli-Grund! These scarred crags and 
 mountains, riven as with thunderbolts, and desolate of verdure, 
 are hieroglyphics of man's sins. The whole creation groaneth 
 and travaileth in bondage. But this bright air and these blue 
 heavens are still as glorious as when the morning stars sang 
 together, and all the Sons of God shouted for joy. Through the 
 grace of Christ, though a man's Past be like the scarred black 
 valley of the Grimsel, his Futurity may b6 like the Air of 
 Heaven in its purity and radiancy of glory. 
 
100 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap, xxiv 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 Hospice of the Grimsel. Glaciers of the Aar. 
 
 The Hospice of the Grimsel stands immediately beneath and 
 amidst these desolate; and barren mountains, about half an hour 
 from the summit of the pass. Grimly and fearfully they frown 
 upon it, as if to say, the nearer Nature gets to Heaven without 
 Grace, the more you see nothing in her but craggy, gloomy, 
 overwhelming horrors, the emblems of a scarred and guilty Past, 
 more visible and striking, the nearer they come into contrast with 
 the pure and radiant Future. So is a fallen being, unrenewed. 
 So it is with the inveterate and crabbed repugnancies, the black 
 and thunder-riven crags, the desolate and barren peaks, of fallen, 
 guilty, despairing human nature ; no where so awful, as when 
 brought nearest to God, if not clothed with verdure, and brought 
 near to him in Christ. There is a transformation to be wrought, 
 and when the righteousness which Christ imparts is thrown upon 
 this same ruined nature, when his Spirit dwells within it and 
 transfigures it, then Despair departs into hell, and earth, that 
 groaned in bondage, reflects and resembles Heaven. Craggy 
 men become little children, and in the Spirit of Adoption, Abba, 
 Father, is the voice that all the renewed creation sends up to 
 God. 
 
 The Hospice is a rough, strong, rock building, with a few 
 small windows, like a jail, or Spanish Monastery, or hospital for 
 the insane. Altogether, it is the gloomiest, dreariest, most re- 
 pulsive landscape, externally, to be found in any of the passes 
 of Switzerland. The peaks of the mountains rise above it about 
 a thousand feet, it being itself at a bleak elevation above the 
 sea of more than seven thousand ; — the rocks around it might 
 remind you of some of Dante's goblins damned, like crouching 
 hippopotamuses, or like gigantic demons chained and weep- 
 
CHAP. XXIV.] HOSPICE OF THE GRIMSEL. 101 
 
 ing, with the tears freezing in their eyelids. There is a little 
 tarn, or black lake, directly behind the Hospice, which looks like 
 Death, black, grim, stagnant, a fit mirror of the desolation around 
 it. No fish live in it, but it is said to be never frozen, though 
 covered deep with snow all winter. A boat like Charon's crosses 
 it, to get at the bit of green pasture beyond, where the cows of 
 the Hospice may be fed and milked for one or two months in the 
 summer. There are admirable materials for goblin tales in this 
 Spitzbergen landscape. 
 
 Within the building, everything is nice and comfortable; a 
 fine little library, enriched, probably by English travellers, with 
 some admirable religious books, a well furnished refectory and 
 abundant table, eighty beds or more, and everything in excellent 
 order. What a fine testimony it is, that the truly religious books 
 one meets with, are mostly in the English language. There are, 
 indeed, in our tongue, perhaps more devotional books, more 
 streams running from the Bible, than in all other languages put 
 together. It was delightful to meet these familiar and loved 
 companions in this desolate pass of the Grimsel. We sat down, 
 about twenty visitors in all, to a plentiful evening meal, with a 
 cup of tea, most refreshing to such a tired traveller as I was. 
 The number of visitors daily at table is from thirty-six to forty. 
 A few days since one hundred persons were here at once, for 
 the night, with half as many guides in addition. 
 
 I liked mine host at the Grimsel ; he seemed to take a fatherly 
 interest in the stranger, and pressed my hand warmly at parting, 
 with many good wishes for my pleasant journey. How it takes 
 away from the mercantile, cold, mercenary character of an inn, 
 when the keeper of il is blest with cordial, hospitable manners ! 
 Whether he have the heart of a good Samaritan or not, if he 
 seems to take an interest in you, he gets double interest from you ; 
 it invests the bought fare with a home feeling ; you pay for it 
 ten times as readily as you would to a grumbler, and you leave 
 the house as that of a friend. 
 
 I paid a more hasty visit to the Aar glacier than I could have 
 wished, for it would be worth a sojourn of two or three days to 
 study it ; but I was afraid of the weather. From the Grimsel 
 you may walk to the lower glacier in about three quarters of an 
 
102 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap, xxiv 
 
 hour, and see at its very source tlie wild river, up vifhose furious 
 torrent you have been all day climbing. The termination of the 
 glacier in the valley is of the color of a rhinoceros' hide, from 
 the mixture of rocks and gravel ground up in the ice ; and 
 where the river runs out of its mouth, it may give you, as you 
 stand below its huge masses, the idea of a monstrous elephant 
 disporting with his proboscis. The rocks protrude from the ice, 
 constantly dropping as fast as it melts, and forming chaotic 
 masses of fragments beneath. 
 
 This enormous glacier is said to be eighteen miles long, and 
 from two to four in breadth. 'The great peak of the Finster- 
 Aarhorn, the Aar-peak of Darkness, rises out of it, probably 
 the loftiest of the Oberland Alps, a most sublime object. This 
 is the glacier so interesting for the studies and observations of 
 Agassiz and Hugi, carried on upon it, and for their hotel under 
 a huge rock upon its surface. This is the glacier on which the 
 hut was built by Hugi in 1827, to measure the movement of the 
 masses, and it was found that in 1836 they had advanced 2184 feet. 
 Think of this iti;measurable bed of ice, near eighty square miles 
 in extent, and how many hundred feet deep no man may know, 
 moving altogether if it move at all, moving everlastingly, with 
 the motion of life amidst the rigidity and certainty of Death ; — 
 crossed also by another glacier, the two throwing up between 
 them a mighty causeway or running ridge of mingled ice and 
 rocks, sometimes eighty feet high ! The Upper and Lower 
 Glaciers together are computed to occupy a space of near 125 
 square miles. They are not so much split into fissures as the 
 glaciers of Chamouny, and therefore the;^ are much more ac- 
 cessible. 
 
 The Hospice of the Grimsel is tenanted from March to No- 
 vember by cnly a single servant, with provisions and dogs. In 
 March, 1836; this solitary exile was alarmed by a mysterious 
 sound in the 3vening, like the wailing of a human being in dis- 
 tress. He took his dog and went forth seeking the traveller, 
 imagining that some one had lost his way in the snow. It was 
 one of those warning voices, supposed by the Alpine dwellers to 
 be uttered by the mountains in presage of impending storms or 
 dread convulsions. It was heard again in the morning, and soon 
 
CHAP XXIV.] ANSWERS TO PRAYER. 103 
 
 afterwards down thundered the Avalanche, overwhelming the 
 Hospice, and crushinfr every room save the one occupied by the 
 servant. With his dog he worked his way through the snow, 
 thankful not to have been buried alive, and came in safety down, 
 to Meyringen. 
 
 This is the common story. But I have met with more than 
 this, in an interesting little book of Letters and travelling sketches 
 from a Daughter to her Mother. Miss Lament tells us that the 
 lonely tenant of the Hospice occupied himself all winter with his 
 art of wood-carving, having no companions but his dogs, and was 
 able, during the perilous seasons, to save the lives of nearly a 
 hundred persons every year. He said he heard the supernatural 
 voice several times before the fall of the avalanche. It was a 
 great storm, and for four days snowed incessantly. " When he 
 first took out his dog, it showed symptoms of fearj at last it 
 would not go out at all ; so when he had the third time heard the 
 low voice, which said, " Go into the inner room," he went in, and 
 knelt down to pray. While he was praying, the avalanche fell, 
 and in a moment every place, except the one little room where 
 he was, was iilled with snow. He firmly attributed this excep- 
 tion to his prayers — and why might it not be so ? Answer not, 
 ye,, who suppose a world can only he governed by such laws as 
 ye can comprehend !" 
 
 No ! answer not, except you have faith in God, except you 
 know, yourself, what it is to pray, what it is to live a life of 
 prayer. Then answer, and say that the Power, which loosened 
 the Avalanche, and directed its path, was the same, and none 
 other, which as a protecting hand encircled the place of prayer. 
 The Divine Grace, that led the heart thither, only preceded the 
 Divine Power that summoned the storm. And what an infidel 
 heart must that be, which, having experienced such a protection, 
 would not attribute it to prayer ! 
 
104 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap, xir 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 Lake of the Dead. Glacier of the Rhone. Pass of the Furca. 
 
 The night was cold and cloudless. By the rising moon, the 
 scene of awful desolation around the Hospice, cold as it was, 
 was covered with a veil of loveliness. It is scarcely possible tc 
 convey an idea of the beauty of the moonlight night in such a 
 region. This morning the air is of a crystal clearness, but a 
 fathomless, white ocean of cloud fills the valley beneath us, while 
 the grisly sharp peaks and ridges around us and above, rise into 
 a bright shining sky. 
 
 Close at the summit of the pass, about half an hour from the 
 Hospice, 8400 feet above the sea, you coast the margin of a little 
 dark, still lake, into which the bodies of dead travellers, who 
 perished by the way, have been launched for burial. It therefore 
 goes by the name of the Dead Sea, or Lake of the Dead. These 
 names are singularly in keeping with the effect of the scenery 
 upon the mind, so wild, so grim, yet so majestic, so seemingly 
 upon the confines of the supernatural world, where it seems as if 
 imprisoned silent genii, still and awful, were gazing upon you, 
 as if the eye of these heaven-scaling mountains watched you, 
 and would petrify and fasten you, as you flit careful like a 
 spectre across the vast and dream-like landscape. A small 
 glacier, wljich you have to cross, falls into this Lake and feeds 
 it, and the peak of the Seidelhorn rises above it with the snowy 
 Schreckhorn towering through the mountain ridges from the Aar 
 glacier. The magnificent white range of the Gries glacier 
 sweeps glittering on the other side. 
 
 A little distance beyond this death-lake you come suddenly 
 upon the view of the glacier of the Rhone, very far below you, 
 a grand and mighty object, with the furious Rhone itself issuing 
 from the ice, like a whole menagerie of wild beasts from their 
 
CHAP XXV.] GLACIERS OF THE RHONE. 105 
 
 cages. Down it roars, with the joy of liberty, swift and furious 
 through the Valley, leaping, dashing, thundering, foaming. Re- 
 membering the career it runs, how it sometimes floods the valleys 
 like a sea, by how many rivers it is joined, and how it pours 
 dark and turbid into the Lake of Geneva, and out again re 
 generated as clear as crystal from Switzerland into France, 
 and so into the Mediten-anean, it is interesting to stand here far 
 above its mighty cradle, and look down upon its source. The 
 glacier is a stupendous mass of ice-terraces clear across the Val- 
 ley, propped against an overhanging mountain, with snowy peaks 
 towering to the right and left. There is a most striking contrast 
 between the bare desolation of the rooks on the Grimsel side, and 
 the grassy slopes of the mountains in companionship with this 
 glacier. Your path coasts along its margin, amidst a thick 
 fringe of bushes and flowers, from which you can step down 
 upon the roofs and walls of the ice-caverns, and look into the 
 azure crevasses, and hear the fall, the gurgle, and hurrying sub- 
 glacial rush of unconscious streams just born as cold as death. 
 Their first existence is in a symphony of dripping music, a pre- 
 lude to the babble of the running rill, and then, as they grow 
 older, they thunder like the trumpet of a cataract. Far above 
 you, herds of cattle are seen browsing on the steep mountain side, 
 so steep, that it seems as if they must hold on to the herbage to 
 keep from falling. The voices of the herdsmen echo down the 
 Valley ; you half expect to see the whole group slide, like an 
 avalanche, into the glacier below. 
 
 There are, more properly speaking, two glaciers of the Rhone, 
 for as you pass up towards the Furca, you see a rapid stream 
 rushing from a glacier that cuts the sky above you to the right, 
 and pouring cavernous and cataractical, into the Lower Glacier, 
 from whence it afterwards issues in the same stream which con- 
 stitutes the Rhone. From the pass of the Furca, which costs 
 you a hard climb 1o surmount, there is a grand and varied view 
 of the Finsteraarhorn and the Schreckhorn, with the more distant 
 snowy mountains. From thence into the Valley of the Sidli Alp 
 you have a rapid descent, which carries you over wide steep 
 fields of ice and snow, down which you may glide, if you please, 
 like a falling star, though not so softly. There is a most ex. 
 
106 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap. xxv. 
 
 citing and dangerous delight in flying with your Alpenstock down 
 such an abrupt immense declivity. You feel every moment as 
 if you might plunge headlong, or break through into some con- 
 cealed abyss, to be laid away in crystal on the secret shelves of 
 the deep mountain museum ; but bating that, you enjoy the 
 somewhat perilous excursion, as much as you ever did when a 
 wild, careless boy, plunging into snowbanks, skating with the ice 
 bending beneath you, or sliding fiercely down the steep hill, and 
 shouting at the top of your voice. Clear the coast ! to the mani- 
 fest danger of all astonished passengers. The path along the 
 terra iirma of the mountain is also in some parts hazardous, 
 since a single false step, or a slip at the side, might prove fatal. 
 
 On the Furca pass you are at the boundary between the Can- 
 tons Valais and Uri, and you have, within a circle of little more 
 than ten miles around you, the sources of five prominent rivers, 
 some of them among the largest in Europe ; the Rhine, the 
 Rhone, the Reuss, the Ticino, and the Aar ; some tumbling into 
 the Mediterranean, some into the Gierman Sea. You have 
 passed two of their most remarkable feeding glaciers, those of 
 the Rhone and the Aar. The course of the river Reuss you are 
 now to follow in the pass and valley of the St. Gothard. 
 
 Continuing our course from the Furca, for a long distance 
 there is no habitation whatever, except for the swine, or the dead, 
 until you come down to the Realp, a cluster of some dozen 
 houses, where the Capuchin friars have a convent, and own the 
 inn. One of these men, in his coarse brown robe, with a hempen 
 cord about it, entered while I was taking some refreshment, and 
 stepped up to the barometer. Really, the corded friars do oilen 
 look as if they had been just cut down from the gallows, or were 
 going thereto. What a queer choice of vestments and symbols ! 
 It reminds one of the passage concerning " them that draw ini- 
 iiuity with cords of vanity, and sin as it were with a cart-rope." 
 Nevertheless, notwithstanding the rope, the friars may be very 
 kind and hospitable men, when they have the means. 
 
 Seeing him watch the glass, I made to him the very original 
 remark that the weather was very fine. Yes, said he, but we 
 snail have bad weather very soon. Hearing this, I also ran to the 
 barometer, for the sound of bad weather is startliqg ^o a pedes- 
 
CHAP. XXV.] ST. GOTHARD. W1 
 
 trian among the mountains, and found indeed that the mercury 
 was falling. Thereupon I at once determined to push on, if pos- 
 sible, to the Devil's bridge, that I might see at least the finest pari 
 of the St. Gothard pass while the weather was clear, since little 
 is to be seen when it rains or is misty on the mountains. So my 
 guide led me by a shorter cut across the rooky pastures on the 
 left side of the Urseren Valley, without stopping at Hospenthal, 
 that I might have ample time to survey the pass by daylight. 
 
lOS PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. fCHAP. xxvi 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. . 
 
 The Devil's Bridge. Savage defiles of the Reuss. 
 
 The Valley of Urseren, into which we have descended from tha 
 Furca, is one of the highest inhabited vales in Svvitzerland, 4356 
 feet above the level of the sea, perfectly destitute of trees, yet 
 covered with soft green pasturage, and affording subsistence to 
 four dairy-keeping, cattle-rearing, cheese-making villages, with 
 1360 inhabitants. The cheese and red trout are much recom- 
 mended by the guidebooks, but we had satisfied a traveller's ap- 
 petite at the inn of the friars, and were not cognizant of the 
 temptation. The Hospice of the St. Gothard lies a couple of 
 hours farther up the pass, from whence you go down by innu- 
 merable zigzags into sunny Italy. 
 
 We made haste across the river, and through the village of 
 Andermatt, about a mile beyond which you are separated from 
 the Devil's Bridge only by the right shoulder of an inaccessible 
 mountain. From the green, smooth, and open meadows of An- 
 dermatt, you abruptly enter this mountain^ through the long gal- 
 lery or tunnel of Urnerloch, hewn in the solid rock over the 
 river Reuss, 180 feet in length, and wide enough for carriages. 
 Before this grand tunnel was bored, the mountain, shutting down 
 perpendicular into the roaring river, had to be passed by a rude 
 suspension gallery of boards outside, hung down by chains 
 amidst the very spray of the torrent. It was a great exploit to 
 double this cape. 
 
 You are not at all prepared for the scene which bursts upon 
 you on the other side, for you have been luxuriating in meadows, 
 and there is no sign of change ; it is really like a hurricane in 
 the West Indies ; you are one moment under a clear sky, you 
 see a black cloud, and down comes the fierce tornado. So from 
 tlie green and quiet slopes of the sheltered Urseren Valley, after 
 
CHAP. XXVI.] DEVIL'S BRIDGE. 109 
 
 spending a few moments in the darkness of the Urnerloch rock 
 gallery, you emerge at once into a gorge of utter savageness, di- 
 rectly at the Devil's Bridge, and in full view of some of the 
 grandest scenery in all Switzerland. It bursts upon you, I say, 
 like a tropical storm, with all the sublimity of conflicting and 
 volleying thunder-clouds. It is a most stupendous pass. The 
 river, with a great leap over its broken bed of rocks, shoots like 
 a catapult into the chasm against the base of the mountain, by 
 which it is suddenly recoiled at right angles, and plunges, bel- 
 lowing, down the precipitous gorge. 
 
 The new bridge spans the thundering torrent at a height of 
 about 125 feet over the cataract. It is of solid, beautiful ma- 
 sonry, the very perfection of security and symmetry in modern 
 art. But as to sublimity, though there is from it by far.the best 
 view of the Cataract of the Reuss, and though, being nearer to 
 that Cataract, it sets you more completely in the midst of the 
 conflicting terrors of the gorge, yet for itself, as to sublimity and 
 daring, it is not to be compared with the simple rude old struc- 
 ture, above which it rises. That was the genuine Devil's Bridge, 
 still standing, a few yards lower down than the new, like an arch 
 in the air, so slight, so frail, so trembling. It is much more in 
 accordance with the scenery than the new, and is so covered with 
 mosses, being made of unhewn stones, which centuries have 
 beaten and grizzled with tempests, that the mountains and the 
 bridge seem all one, all in wild harmony ; whereas the new 
 bridge is grossly smooth, elegant and artificial, almost like a 
 dandy looking at the falls with his eye-glass. The two bridges 
 might stand for personifications of genius and art ; the old bridge, 
 with its insecurity and daring, is a manifest work of Genius ; 
 the new is the evident length to which Art can go, after Genius 
 has set the example. 
 
 The olfl bridge, the genuine Devil's Bridge, was built in 1H8, 
 by the Abbot of Einseideln, perhaps to invite pilgrims from a 
 greater distance to that famous convent. In comparison with the 
 old, it is like one of Campbell's thundering war-odes, the battle 
 of Hohenlinden for example, beside a tedious, prosy, correct de- 
 scription, or like Bruce's Address to his army, or like Ih© yell of 
 an Indian war-whoop, compared with ihe written speeches of 
 
110 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap xxvi. 
 
 commanders in Sallust. The upper bridge spans the cataractical 
 performance of the Reuss at an angle in the mountain, where 
 naturally there is not one inch of space for the sole of the foot, 
 but a perpendicular cliff, against which the torrent rages, and in 
 which the only way of blasting the rock, and scooping out a 
 shelf or gallery for the passage on the other side, was by lower- 
 ing down the workmen with ropes from the brow of the mountain, 
 where, hanging over the boiling gulf, they bored the granite, and 
 fixed their trains of powder. 
 
 The old bridge was only one arch thrown across the gorge, and 
 but just broad enough to admit of two persons passing each other 
 in safety, with scarcely any protection at the sides, and at a 
 height of about a hundred feet above the torrent. It was a dizzy 
 thing to. pass it, and for persons of weak nerves dangerous, and 
 to get upon it you coasted the gulf of zigzag terraces. The new 
 bridge is of two arches, with safe and strong parapets, and of 
 ample width for carriages. Till the first bridge was made there 
 was no passing this terrific chasm, no communication possible 
 from one side to the other. 
 
 Who could have supposed that into this savage den, amidst its 
 roar of waters, so distant from the world, so unsuitable for a bat- 
 tle field, there could have been poured the conflicting tides of the 
 French Revolution, in a condensed murderous strife between two 
 armies ! Twice in the space of a little more than a month was 
 the war campaign of 1799 driven through this pass by the 
 French, Russians, and Austrians, conquering alternately. First 
 in August the French charged the Austrians, and driving them 
 across the Devil's Bridge, rushed pell mell after them, when the 
 arch fell midway and precipitated the wedged masses of the 
 soldiery into the boiling torrent. Then in September, that great 
 war-wolf Suwarrow poured down with his starved Russians from 
 the top of the St. Gothard. They devoured the soap in the vil- 
 lage of Andermatt, and boiled and ate the tanned leather and raw 
 hides, and in the strength of these aliments, drove the French 
 across the Devil's Bridge, and rushed themselves to the passage. 
 The French in their retreat broke down the bridge by blasting 
 the arch, but this put no stop to the impetuous fury of the Rus- 
 sians, who crossed the chasm on beams of wood tied together 
 
CHAP. XXVI.] WAR AND WISDOM. 1H 
 
 with the officers' scarfs, and in their rage to eoine at their ene- 
 mies plunged hundreds of the foremost ranks of their own 
 columns into the foaming cataract. It was more fearful meet- 
 ing the fury of their enemies in this conflict, than having their 
 path over the mountains swept by the dread avalanches. The 
 war of human beings was worse than that of nature, though 
 they had to encounter both. They dared the fight of the ava- 
 lanches, that they might fight with each other. Such is human 
 passion, such is war ! 
 
 Yet the world has deified its warriors, and starved its benefac- 
 tors and poets. What sort of proportion is there between the 
 benefit conferred upon the English nation by the Duke of Marl- 
 borough in the victory of Blenheim, and that bestowed upon Eng- 
 land and the world by John Milton in the gift of Paradise Lost ? 
 None at all. The work done by the Poet is so infinitely superior 
 to that accomplished by the Warrior, that you can scarcely insti- 
 tute a comparison. 
 
 And yet the Parliament and Queen of Great Britain bestowed 
 upon the Duke of Marlborough after the battle of Blenheim a 
 royal domain with royal revenues, besides devoting five hundred 
 thousand pounds sterling to build a palace fit for so great a war- 
 rior to live in ; while John Milton was obliged to sell the copy, 
 right of his great poem for ten pounds, and died comparatively 
 unknown and poor ! In England, by that great poem, thousands 
 of people have been literally gaining their subsistence, and mak- 
 ing their fortunes, to say nothing of the tens of thousands, whose 
 minds have been invigorated and enlarged by feeding on it, while 
 by the great victory, and the magnificent reward of it, revenues 
 that might have supported thousands have been devoted exclu- 
 sively to the luxury and splendor of a single family ! So went 
 the war-worshipping era of our world. At present it may be 
 hoped, if poetry is not rising, war at least is at a discount. 
 
1 13 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap, xxvii. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 Legends of the pass. Cowper's Memoria Technica. 
 
 After the gorge of the Devil's Bridge, you plunge down the 
 precipitous valley, by well constructed zigzags, crossing and re- 
 crossing the Reuss repeatedly, till you come to the savage defile 
 of Schellinen, where for several miles the ravine is so deep and 
 narrow, that the cliffs seem to arch the heavens, and shut out the 
 light. The Reuss meanwhile keeps such a roaring din, making 
 in the short space of four leagues a fall of 2500 feet, almost in 
 a perpetual cataract, that the people have called this part of the 
 way the Krachenthal, or crashing valley. The noise and the 
 accompaniments are savage enough. The mountains seem ready 
 to tumble into tjie bed of the river. " We tremble," said my 
 companion under the influence of the scenery of the Gemmi, 
 " lest the mountains should crush us ; what must be that state of 
 despair in men's hearts, which can call on the mountains to fall 
 on them and bury them, rather than meet the face of God ?" 
 
 There are curious legends in this part of the valley. Enor- 
 mous fragments of rock are strewn around, as if they might have 
 fallen here from the conflict of Titans, or angels, when they 
 plucked the seated hills with all their load to throw at each other. 
 One of them, almost a mountain by itself, nearly in the road, 
 goes by the name of Teufelstein, or Devil's Stone, having been 
 dropped, it is said, by the overworked demon, in attempting to get 
 it across the St. Golhard pass. The legend runs that he set out 
 to convey this crag across the valley for a wager, but let it slip, 
 and lost the game. The manner in which the traveller gazes 
 upon this rock, in consequence even of this foolish legend, the 
 peculiar interest he feels in it, is a curious example of the power 
 of imaginative association, the craving of the mind for some in- 
 telligent moral or meaning. In all things possible you must have 
 
CHAP, xxvu.] THE TEUFELSTEIN. 113 
 
 a human or a supernatural interest. The principle is universal. 
 A child in the nursery would not be half so much interested by 
 a simple engraving of a house, ever so well done, with merely 
 the announcement. This is a house, as when you come to say, 
 This is the house that Jack halt ; then what an interest ! Then 
 now the imagination peoples it ! There is Jack, the malt, the 
 cat, the rat, the priest, the milk-maid, and this is the cosy house, 
 where all the wonders of the linked story had their existence. 
 What a place of interest ! Just so with the Devil's Crag. 
 Ridiculous as the legend is, no man can pass that stone, without 
 being interested in it, and perhaps seeing his disappointed Infer- 
 nal Majesty in idea, with sail broad vans in the air above him, 
 sweating like a day laborer, and ineffectually struggling to float 
 beneath the weight. The common legends concerning the Devil 
 do almost always represent him as outwitted, foiled, and cheated, 
 instead of being successful in his villainy ; — it is a good sign 
 and prediction, for he mtist go down. 
 
 At Wasen I found a comfortable, excellent inn, a good, cheer- 
 ful happy family, and a kind, hospitable host. They seemed 
 well to do in the world, and were Romanists, as are most of the 
 people of the Canton Uri. I went to bed thinking of the Capu- 
 chin's promise of bad weather, and glad that I had seen the St. 
 Gothard pass in bright day. In the morning the Friar's predic- 
 tion was still unaccomplished. Again the morning was fair, though 
 the clouds were clinging to the mountains up and down the val- 
 ley, sometimes in long ridges, sometimes in thick fleecy volumes, 
 now surrounding the base half way down, now revealing only 
 the lofty peaks, and now swept from the whole face of the gorge, 
 and admitting the bright sun to fill it. At this moment, on the 
 edge of the mountain top beside us, so lofty and perpendicular 
 that it seems ready to fall, the sun is struggling with the fleecy 
 masses of cloud glowing like silver, and the trees upon the verge 
 of the cliff seem on fire as in a burning focus, while all around 
 is grey mist. 
 
 We are now coming into a region trodden of old by great pa- 
 triots, and consecrated at this day, to liberty, in history. We 
 are getting upon the borders of the country of William Tell ; 
 we must not look at the scenery alone, for grand as it is, the 
 
 PART II. 9 
 
114 PILGRIM OF THE JUNiJFRAU. [chap. xxvn. 
 
 great thoughts and struggles of freedom are grander. In truth, 
 a man ought not to travel through such a region without a fresh 
 memory of connected localities and incidents. How much a 
 man needs to know, to make a good traveller ! Or rather, how 
 much he needs to remember, and how vividly ! The Poet Cow- 
 per, in one of his beautiful letters, recommends pedestrianizing as 
 good for the memory. " I have," says he, " though not a good 
 memory "in general, yet a good local memory, and can recollect, 
 by the help of a tree, or a stile, what you said on that particular 
 spot. For this reason I purpose, when the summer is come, to 
 walk with a book in my pocket; what I read at my fire-side,, I 
 forget, but what I read under a hedge, or at the side of a pond, 
 that pond and that hedge will always bring to my remembrance." 
 
 But suppose the gentle Poet wishes to recall the passages in 
 some other part of the country. It would certainly be somewhat 
 clumsy to have to carry about with you a pond or a hedge as a 
 memoria techrdca; it would be less inconvenient to carry your 
 whole library. And besides, what art shall there be to quicken 
 the memory in knowledges already forgotten ? The memory is 
 a most perverse faculty ; it treasures up things we could wish to 
 forget, and forgets things we could wish to retain ; but there is 
 one chain, that no man can escape, except he goes to Jesus 
 Christ, and that is, the memory of his own sins. To many a 
 man, to all men " in their sins," the art of forgetting, could it 
 but last for ever, would be the greatest of all blessings. 
 
 What an affecting page in the history of an individual mind 
 is presented in those melancholy remorseful stanzas, said to have 
 been written in a blank leaf of the Pleasures of Memory. They 
 trace the human being ; they present a more universal experience 
 of our fallen nature by far, than the more agreeable, but more 
 superficial recollections of childhood and of later days. They 
 are as a fossil leaf, in which you observe the fibres, that charac- 
 terized a whole living family of the vegetable creation. So do 
 these stanzas read the experience of our species, not indeed, 
 always so clearly acknowledged, even to one's own conscious- 
 ness, but always existing, though sometimes like sympathetic let- 
 ters, to be only revealed when brought to the fire. 
 
CHAr. xxTii.] PENAL POWER OF MEMORY. 115 
 
 " Pleasures of memory ! supremely blest, 
 And justly proud beyond a poet's praise. 
 If the pure confines of thy tranquil breast 
 Contain indeed the subject of thy lays ! 
 By me how envied, for to me, 
 The herald still of misery, 
 Memory makes her influence known 
 By sighs and tears and grief alone. 
 I greet her as the fiend, to whom belong 
 The vulture's ravening beak, the raven's funeral song. 
 Alone, at midnight's haunted hour, 
 
 When nature woos repose in vain. 
 
 Remembrance wakes her penal power. 
 
 The tyrant of the burning brain. 
 
 She tells of time misspent, of comfort lost. 
 
 Of fair occasions gone for ever by. 
 Of hopes too fondly nursed, too rudely crost. 
 Of many a cause to wish, yet fear, to die. 
 For what, except the instinctive fear 
 Lest she survive, detains me here, , 
 When all the life of life is fled ? 
 What but the deep inherent dread. 
 Lest she beyond the grave resume her reign. 
 And realize the hell, that priests and beldams feign." 
 
 How painfully impressive is this ! The penal power of re- 
 membrance is a terrible reality. It has driven many a mind to 
 thoughts of suicide. But why think of suicide to escape from 
 memory, when the penal power of memory is only a prophecy 
 of the future ? It is to be earnestly hoped that the self tortured 
 unknown individual, who traced from bitter unavailing experience 
 the gloomy lines just quoted, may have sought and found in 
 Christ that deliverance from the death of sin and the fear of 
 death, with which, only the Lamb of God, who taketh away the 
 sin of the world, can bless the soul. 
 
116 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap, xxviii 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 Associations. Canton Uri, and the memories of TeU. 
 
 How infinite are the moral and spiritual relations even of mate- 
 rial things ! Indeed, what subject is there, says Edmund Burke, 
 that does not branch into infinity ? A world that has been the 
 habitation of intelligent creatures,, becomes connected in every 
 part with the story and the influences of their existence. Nature 
 herself sympathizes with them, is invested with the significance 
 of their immortality, travaileth in bondage beneath their sins and 
 burdens, and acquires the language both of their history and 
 destiny. Point after point, feature after feature, landscape after 
 landscape, the wjiole world of land, and every rood of sea, may 
 become, in the course of ages, indissolubly linked with some great 
 transaction, and with a crowd of the soul's experiences, in such 
 wise, that ever, as long as the globe lasts, it shall be, as it were, 
 an organ, the keys of which are always sounding their intelli- 
 gent notes of guilty and sad, or innocent and joyous meaning. 
 All thought is eternal, and if the soul have forgotten it, material 
 nature will sometimes bring it up. The wicked may be silent 
 in the grave, but the grave shall not be silent in regard to the 
 wicked. The actors of a life of heroism and goodness pass 
 away, but the earth always speaks of them. 
 
 Such is the eternal, indestructible power of association. Fear- 
 fully and wonderfully are we made, and strangely linked with 
 the world that we inhabit. So, according to the multitude and 
 nobleness of a man's associations, especially of a moral charac- 
 ter, will be the depth and thoughtfulness of his delight in looking 
 upon nature. There is a scenery in the mind, connected with 
 that in nature, and appropriate to it, somewhat as the other parts 
 of a piece of music are connected with the air, and dependent 
 upon it. A man might be able to whistle the air alone, and 
 might have enjoyment in singing it, but if he is ignorant of the 
 
OHAP. xxviii.] HISTORICAL TRAVEL. U7 
 
 other parts, his pleasure cannot equal that of a musical mind, in 
 which all the parts come linked together in one full and perfect 
 harmony. 
 
 A traveller should be prepared to read the book of nature with 
 the historical harmony. An ignorant or forgetful man sees 
 nothing but the scene before him, when the historical student sees 
 it peopled with great forms, sees it in grand moral lights and 
 shades, surrounded by the many-colored atmosphere of the past, 
 as well as the light of the day's sun that is shining upon it. 
 When a man visits Altorf, he needs to be for the time thrown 
 back into the past ; but this is impossible, unless the past is in 
 him as the fruit of his studies, taken into his being. The guide 
 books will repeat to him the name t)f Tell and the facts in his 
 history ; the inscription will inform him that such and such great 
 events took place amidst the scenes he is visiting j but this does 
 not give him the past, does not make up that inward scenery 
 with which his mind has need to have been familiar, in order 
 that the place may call heroic times and interests into being. 
 How much greater is the enjoyment of a mind that has the whole 
 of such , a drama as Schiller's William Tell fresh in memory, 
 while wandering over the Canton Uri, than his that has but a few 
 dry dates and names, or worse than all is dependent on the monu- 
 ments, the guides, and the Handbooks ! 
 
 A man visits Zurich ; he goes into the Cathedral ; what a loss 
 to him, if for the first time he learns that Zwingle there preached, 
 or knows nothing about the history of Zwingle, and the scenes 
 of the reformation ! He visits Einseidlen ; seeks the shrine of 
 the Virgin, sees the monks at worship ; what a loss to him, if his 
 studies in history have failed to people the scene to his own mind 
 from the great life that for a time was there passing ! A man 
 crosses the Wengern Alp. If he has never read the tragedy of 
 Manfred, there is a grand scenery created from the poet's mind, 
 in respect of which he crosses before the Jungfrau with his eyes 
 shut. A man passes into Athens and stands on the Acropolis. 
 What a loss to him, if his studies have never made him familiar 
 with the age of Pericles ! Nay, there is a recollection of objects 
 around him, that have absolutely no meaning, no story, no lesson, 
 no language to his mind, if many a page of Grecian history be 
 
118 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap, xxviii. 
 
 not in his remembrance. A man wanders into Egypt, up and 
 down the Nile, into old majestic Thebes, with its dim colossal 
 ruins. What an inappreciable, irretrievable loss to him, if ht 
 never read Herodotus, or is destitute of a knowledge of the com. 
 bined prophetic and actual history of that antique marvellous 
 country, with its gigantic, monstrous types of thought and being! 
 
 " Labor to distil and unite into thyself," says andent Fuller, 
 " the scattered perfections of several nations. Manj' weed 
 foreign countries, bringing home Dutch drunkenness, Spanish 
 pride, French wantonness, and Italian Atheism; as for the good 
 l.sibs, Dutch industry; Spanish loyalty, French courtesy, and 
 Italian frugality, these they leave behind them ; others bring 
 home just nothing ; and because they singled not themselves 
 from their countrymen, though some years beyond sea, were 
 never out of England." This is the great folly of travelling 
 without a foreign language, that it compels a stranger to keep 
 company only with his own countrymen, so that he returns home 
 with all his prejudices. 
 
 We are still in the magnificent pass of the St. Gothard, and it 
 continues to present a character at once picturesque and beauti- 
 ful, wild and savage. The gorges are tremendous, the bridges 
 thrown across the torrent frequent and bold. Here and there, 
 dark forests of fir cling to the mountains, and sometimes you see 
 the savage jagged paths of recent avalanches. Now and then, 
 there is a little chapel on the mountain's brow ; the evening 
 chime of bells comes ringing up the valley ; you meet corded 
 brown friars walking and women working on the roads. The 
 sun is pouring through rifts in tlie clouds, and the dark blue sky 
 opens. 
 
 I cannot help noting the variety and contrast of colors offered 
 to the eye in such a scene ; the azure of the sky, the violet moun- 
 tains, of a hue as deep as the heart's ease, the grisly grey rocks, 
 the black iirs, the deep blue gorges, the pale verdure of the trees, 
 the deeper delicious green of the grassy slopes and meadow 
 patches, the white virgin snow, the dim mists, the silvery clouds, 
 the opal of the morn, the golden lights of evening. What an in- 
 termingling of lovely hues and shades! At some distance below 
 Wasen the mountains are singularly grand. Far down the 
 
CHAP, xxvm.] TELL'S BIRTHPLACE. 119 
 
 Valley, a pyramidal peak of bare granite guards the way to tke 
 heroic region, and now the green and flowery mottled slopes, with 
 the thick luxuriant foliage and fruits of the walnut, chestnut, 
 pear, and other trees, begin to spread out more largely. Here 
 is a sweet picturesque spot, wildly beautiful. The smell of the 
 new made hay, as it lies upon the green sward, is full of fra- 
 grance. Here and there it is gathered into small grotesque 
 stacks, to be carried on the shoulders. I have seen women, with 
 their heads and shoulders buried beneath enormous bundles of 
 this short grass, laboring along the path at the brink of precipices, 
 where a single step would plunge bundle and carrier into the 
 gulf below. Now and then comes to the ear the pleasant music 
 of the mower whetting his scythe. 
 
 The Valley opens out immediately at Amsteg, where the 
 ascent towards Andermatt, in the direction you have passed, com- 
 mences. From this to Altorf the way winds luxuriant through 
 a well wooded and cultivated region. You visit the village of 
 Burglen, where William Tell was born. It is a beautiful rural 
 hamlet, of most magnificent verdure, higher up among the moun. 
 tains than Altorf, and commanding a rich leafy view of the Val- 
 ley below. The church is in front, and in sight is tfie village 
 of Attighausen, where Walter Furst was born. A little chapel 
 stands on the spot formerly occupied by Tell's house. Why 
 could they not have let" the house remain as it was, and put the 
 chapel in the churchyard ? It is covered with very rude paint- 
 ings, descriptive of various scenes in Tell's life, accompanied 
 with sentences from Scripture. On the front of the chapel is the 
 text, " We are called unto liberty — but by love serve one 
 another." How admirable and appropriate ! Called unto liberty, 
 to serve in love ! A blessed world this will be, when all tyranny 
 and oppression end in that. A blessed inheritance it is, when 
 the Patriot leaves that to his countrymen. 
 
120 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chaf. vctx. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 Traditions of Freedom. Religious liberty the garrison of civil. 
 
 Less than half an hour's walk now brings you to Altorf, name 
 so sacred in Swiss story, where you pass through the very square 
 in which the heroic father shot the apple from his child's head. 
 There the figures stand, above the fountain ; the rudest carica- 
 ture of statuary could not deprive them of interest. And there 
 is the old tower, said to stand where the linden tree grew, to 
 which the noble boy was bound by the tyrant Gessler, as the 
 mark for the father's archery. The Child was father of the 
 Man, for had he not stood steadfast and smiling, the father's heart 
 had faltered. You must have your own boyish enthusiasm fresh 
 about you, with which you used to read the story at school, if 
 you would visit these spots now with proper feelings, or with en- 
 joymentlike that which the story itself once gave you. 
 
 And what an admirable tale ! In all the romantic or heroic 
 eras of nations there never were finer materials of poetry. What 
 a pity there could not have been some Homer to take them up, 
 to give them the charmed shape and being of truth wrought by 
 the imagination into epic song ! Schiller has done much in his 
 masterly drama, but the subject is that almost of an historical 
 epic. Schiller was eminently successful in, the delineation of 
 the child, as well as the patriot. Happy is the country, that has 
 such memories to cherish as those of ^Wallace, Leonidas, and 
 Tell, and is still worthy of them ! Unhappy and degraded is the 
 land, from which, though the letter of such memories may re- 
 main, the soul of them in the people hath departed ! It is sad to 
 say of a country. It has been free. It is sad to say of a country, 
 as of an individual, that 
 
 " The wiser mind 
 Mourns less for what age takes away. 
 Than what it leaves behind." 
 
CHAP. XIX.] CRITICAL INFIDELITY. 121 
 
 The critics are trying to mystify the historical grandeur of 
 Switzerland, casting the hlur of doubt and scepticism over its 
 heroic traditions, questioning whether Tell and the Apple ever 
 existed. A country of critical unbelievers that could produce a 
 Strauss, to turn Christ and the Apostles into a myth-mist, will dis- 
 pose easily of all less sacred story. There is no feat, which such 
 infidelity cannot perform ; it would put a lie into the lips of na- 
 ,ure herself. Ruthless work it makes when it turns the plough- 
 liiare of ruin through loved and hallowed associations. But true 
 patriotism and poetry, as well as Divine Truth, are too much for 
 it ; it can no more strike the memories of Tell from the mind of 
 Switzerland, '.ban it could abolish the earth's strata, or annihilate 
 her veins of gold and diamond. Ever will these heroic traditions 
 remain, ever in the faith of the Swiss hearts, ever in the glens of 
 the mountains, ever in the books and ballads of the cottages, as 
 indestructible as the Alps, as far kenned and brightly shining as 
 the light of those flowers that poets tell of : — 
 
 " Of flowers, that with one scarlet gleam 
 Cover a hundred leagues, and seem 
 To set the hills on fire." 
 
 Even so beautiful, so far seen, so inspiring, like beacons on the 
 mountain tops, are these historical traditions. What wickedness 
 it would be to sweep them from the soul of the country ! On a 
 clear moonlight night, it is said you can even now sometimes see 
 the stalwart form of Tell in his native valley bending his great 
 cross-bow apd trying the strength of his arrows. It would re- 
 quire no great power of Imagination to see -beneath the moon on 
 the meadow of Grutli the immortal group of three. Tell, Furst, 
 and Melcthal, with .solemn faces and hands uplift to heaven, tak- 
 ing that great oath of Liberty, which was the testament of free- 
 dom to their country. 
 
 All things considered, it is well and noble that the public 
 authorities in Uri should have ordered to be burned a book by 
 the son of the celebrated Haller, criticising the story of Tell so 
 as to injure the popular version. Let the rulers and the people 
 but keep the right spirit of the tradition which they guard with 
 such jealousy, and let them unite the freedom of the State and 
 
122 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [ohap. xxn 
 
 of the personal franchise on their mountains with the spirit of 
 piety, with freedom to worship God according to conscience, and 
 they will show themselves worthy of the inheritance which old 
 patriots transmitted to them. How true, how precious, how 
 noble, is that sonnet of Wordsworth on the obligations of Civil to 
 Religious Liberty, in which he apostrophizes his native land for 
 the ,dear memory of her sons, who for her civil rights have bleH, 
 and then passes to the great truth that all uselessly would these 
 great souls have fallen in the conflict, if it had not been after- 
 wards sustained and carried onward by religious principle ; if 
 the freedom fought for on earth had not been lighted from other 
 worlds and linked with heaven. So must claims from other 
 worlds inspirit the Star of Liberty in Switzerland, or not long 
 will it remain above the horizon. 
 
 " How like a Roman Sydney bowed his head. 
 And Russel's milder blood the scaffold wet ! 
 But these had fallen for profitless regret. 
 Had not thy holy church her champions bred. 
 And claims from other worlds inspirited 
 The Star of Liberty to rise. Nor yet, 
 (Grave this within thy heart !) if spiritual things 
 Be lost through apathy, or scorn, or fear, 
 Shalt thou thy humbler franchises support,* 
 However hardly won, or justly dear. 
 What came from Heaven, to Heaven by nature clings. 
 And if dissevered tneEce, its course is short" 
 
 Graver, deeper, more important truth than this was never con- 
 densed into the like human composition. Study it, ye politicians 
 and statesmen, and not only statesmen but Christians, and not 
 only in the Old World, but the New ! In England, in Geneva, 
 in America, wherever there is liberty in possession or "liberty in 
 danger, study this. If spiritual things he lost, through apathy, or 
 scorn, or fear, or formalism, your humbler civil privileges you 
 never can support, at what costly price soever they may have 
 been won, or however dear they may be to you. Let souls be 
 persecuted for religion, or your religion merged mto a State 
 Sacrament, or a church commandment fastened by the State, and 
 your State will be a despotism and yourselves slaves. YouT 
 
JHAP. XXIX.] TELL'S TOWER. J 21 
 
 true freedom must come from God, and cling to God, and leave 
 the soul alone and undisturbed with God, for God's Spirit alone 
 can support it. 
 
 " What came from Heaven to Heaven by nature clings, 
 And if dissevered thence, its course is short !" 
 
 I will not omit to add the very beautiful third stanza of those 
 suggested to Wordsworth by Tell's tower at Altorf, on which the 
 deeds of the hero are painted. It was not indeed an Italian pen- 
 cil that wrought the paintings, but neither was it an Italian heart 
 that wrought the actions. Tail's boy was the heir of his father's 
 courage, and the very personification of cheerful filial faith and 
 love. 
 
 " How blest the souls, who, when their trials come. 
 Yield not to terror or despondency, 
 But face, like that sweet Boy, their mortal doom, 
 Whose head the ruddy apple tops, while he 
 Expectant stands beneath the Linden tree. 
 Not quaking, like the timid forest game ; 
 He smiles, the hesitating shaft to free, 
 Assured that heaven its justice will proclaim. 
 And to his Father give its own unerring aim." 
 
 Before coming to Altorf, you cross a rapid stream, in which it 
 is said that William Tell lost his life in his old age by endeavor, 
 ing to save a child from drowning, when the waters were high. 
 This was in 1350. He was born about the year 1280. The village' 
 of Burglen, his birth-place, is a most lovely spot in a vale of 
 luxuriant vegetation, surrounded by great mountains, and fit to 
 educate a spirit like Tell's. Here a man must live in the Past, 
 the great Past, and hope for the future. Would that Tell's great 
 spirit could return from the dead, " to animate an age forlorn," 
 to waken his native vales again with the echoes of genuine 
 liberty ! Would that such a spirit might rise, to break the fet- 
 ters from the souls of his countrymen, worse, by far, than those 
 on the body. 
 
 " There is a bondage worse by far to bear 
 Than his, who breathes, by roof and floor and wall 
 
124 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap. xxix. 
 
 Pent in, a Tyrant's solitary thrall : 
 
 'Tis his, who walks about in the open air, 
 
 One of a nation who, henceforth, must wear 
 
 Their fetters in their souls. For who can he. 
 
 Who, even the best, in such condition, free 
 
 From self-reproach, reproach which he must share 
 
 With human nature ? Never be it ours 
 
 To see the sun how brightly it will shine 
 
 And know that noble feeling, manly powers, 
 
 Instead of gathering strength, must droop and pine. 
 
 And earth with all her pleasant fruits and flowers 
 
 Fade and participate in Man's decline." 
 
 But what is this bondage worse by far to bear ? It is the 
 bondage of the mind and heart in superstition ; it is the absence 
 of religious freedom ; it is the iron age of intolerance, and the 
 chaining of the soul in a spiritual despotism more rigid and ter- 
 rible than that of nature in the glaciers. This is worse to bear. 
 There never can be freedom in Switzerland, till there is freedom 
 to worship God. There never can be freedom, till there is the 
 religion of voluntary faith, instead of a despotic form, into which 
 you are pressed and held fast by penal law. It is a glorious 
 word, Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is Liberty ; and 
 now a spiritual Tell is needed in Switzerland, as in Rome, to 
 proclaim this to his countrymen, to tell them in what that liberty 
 consists, and to show them that an infidel mob, and a church with 
 penal persecuting maxims, are alike opposed to it and deadly, 
 whether under a monarchy, a despotism or a republic. 
 
 They have in Switzerland Romish Republics, but is republi- 
 canism a cure for intolerance ? Will it unloose the fettered 
 souls of the people ? No more than the mountain winds and the 
 summer months unbind the glaciers. In almost every Romish 
 Republican state in Switzerland the profession of Protestantism 
 is followed by the loss of the rights of citizenship, as well as in 
 capacity to fill any public office in the State. I speak the Ian- 
 guage of a Swiss citizen himself, who reminds me of the example 
 of his own Christian friend, M. Pfyffer, formerly a Professor of 
 history in the College at Lucerne, but who, on becoming a Pro- 
 testant, lost both his place of professor and his rights as a citizen. 
 He went to live at Lausanne, a voluntary exile from a country, 
 
CHAP. XXIX.] INTOLERANCE. 125 
 
 where he would inevitably be persecuted. Nevertheless, they 
 have at Lucerne the most republican institution, they have uni- 
 versal suffrage, but in addition to this, they have Romanism and 
 the Jesuits. Give to these agents the requisite majority of votes 
 and supremacy of power, and the freaks of persecution may be 
 even more startling and ferocious in a republic than a monarchy. 
 Universal suffrage, once fired by the spirit of intolerance, may 
 be worse than State edicts on a people, with whom to hear is to 
 obey. They wear their fetters in their souls, who wear them as 
 a part of the mob that forged them. Many masters are more 
 intolerable than one. 
 
 Every part of earth, every heritage of intelligent freemen, 
 that has been visited with the fires of religious persecution, and 
 every spot on earth that has not, ought to dread all approximation 
 to the union of Church and State ; for power converts even de- 
 votion inio superstition and fanaticism, and they that have got 
 free themselves run lo fasten their east off fetters upon others. 
 If the Church does not persecute through the State, the State will 
 oppress the Church, will make it a political tool, or nothing. 
 Read the commentary in the Canton de Vaud, where a democra- 
 tic State, not Roman Catholic, enacts the persecuting antics of the 
 English Church and State under Queen Elizabeth, while the 
 people are permitted ly the State to mob the assemblies of volun- 
 tary Christians ! Where the Church relies on the State for sup. 
 port, it is an abject creature, fawning, and ready to be perse- 
 cuted ; where it is a part of the State by Establishment, and 
 holds the legislative and executive power, it is a ferocious crea- 
 tnre, ready to persecute ; it is the cat or the tiger, as circum- 
 stances require ; it will catch mice for the State, and sleep by 
 the fire-side, or it will abide in jungles and play the Oriental 
 Despot. 
 
 This is not the true Church of Christ, but the Church cor- 
 rupted, for his kingdom is not of this world. When the powers 
 of this world, instead of being sanctified by the Spirit of Christ, 
 and so put in subjection to his authority, are committed to the 
 Church and subjected to the use of the Church under her au- 
 thority, that is not the advancement of Christ's kingdom, nor is 
 that the way in which Christ's kingdom can advance ; for Christ's 
 
126 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap. xxix. 
 
 kingdom is spiritual, in the hearts of men, and not in the govern- 
 ment of empires, which government, just so far as it is committed 
 to the Church, is but the act and voice of the Tempter, All these 
 things will I give thee, if thou wilt fall down and worship me. 
 
 All error is intolerant ; but even the Truth, if put into form 
 without love, will roast men alive with no more remorse than 
 error itself. So it is only the truth in love, that can make men 
 free. Put into form, and fought for as form, without love, it may 
 make men as bitter, as violent, as malignant, as intolerant, as any 
 despotism of hierarchical error. Because it becomes a selfish 
 thing, a proud thing, a thing of meum and tuum, a thing of con- 
 quest." a possession of selfishness and pride. 
 
 All the fighting for truth done without love, is not for God, but 
 for self and Satan. If you really love the truth, you will love 
 it under other forms besides your own ; you will not fight to im- 
 pose your form on others. But if you belong to a form without 
 love, and set out to extend the truth in your form, you inevitably 
 become intolerant, and if you had the power, you would be a 
 fierce persecutor. There is no safety for the world against your 
 intolerance, but in your weakness. 
 
 We want protection for our religious convictions, not only 
 against intolerance imposing an established form, not only against 
 the Church without love, the Church as an Inquisition, the 
 Church as a Despotism, but also against the intolerance of the 
 people, against the caprices of popular liberty associated with 
 power. We want a religious liberty above and separate from a 
 political liberty, and which can no more be invaded by it, than 
 a man's dwelKng house can be torn down with impunity, or a 
 church or a city fired by a mob. This is impossible, when the 
 Church is dependent on the State. The State will, if it pleases, 
 direct the Church what to teach, and how to teach it, and if she 
 refuses, will punish, will persecute. The State may be the 
 purest of republics, and yet may indulge in the most atrocious 
 despotism in matters of religion. Therefore, a constitutional 
 State must have no power to meddle with religion at all, except 
 to protect its quiet worship. The whole world must inevitably 
 come to this conclusion, and then the whole world will be still. 
 Then love will reign, and truth will burn brightly. The State 
 
CHAP. XXIX.] RELIGIOUS FREEDOM AND POWER. lil 
 
 itself will more readily become religious, when it is deprived of 
 all power to modify and govern religion. 
 
 How impressively are these truths illustrated by what is now 
 going on in Germany and Switzerland ! God in his providence 
 is showing us that neither Evangelical Protestantism, nor Roman- 
 ism, nor Rationalism, whether under a republic or a despotism, 
 can be entrusted with State power. The State cannot be en- 
 trusted with power over the Church ; for, some way or other, it 
 will act the tyrant. The Church cannot be entrusted with power 
 over the State, or with the use of the State to enforce her rubrics 
 or her teachings ; for the Church also, sooner or later, acts the 
 tyrant, when tempted to it. The temptation comes under the 
 guise of an angel, under the plausible pretence of uniformity in 
 worship, and the advancing of the Redeemer's kingdom. So 
 much the more dangerous it is, so much the more earnestly and 
 carefully to be repelled. Religion is a voluntary thing, both in 
 form and doctrine. Let every State and every Church respect it 
 as such, and cease from enforcing it, and leave to Christianity 
 
 The Word of God only 
 
 The Grace of Christ only 
 
 Tlie Work of the Spirit only, 
 and then intolerance and strife will cease, truth and love will pre- 
 vail, error will die out of existence, and throughout all nations 
 the kingdom of Christ will come. 
 
128 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap xxx 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 Lake of Uri and town of Lucerne 
 
 Fbom Altorf a short walk brings you to Fluellen, the low un- 
 healthy part of the Reuss Valley, on the celebrated Lake of 
 Lucerne. You embark, morning or evening, in the steamer for 
 the town of Lucerne at the other end, to enjoy a sail amidst the 
 almost unequalled scenery and unrivalled historical associations, 
 by which it is surrounded. You embark where Gessler em- 
 barked, with Tell in chains, you pass the table rock, where Tell 
 leaped on shore from the tempest and the tyrant, and sprang 
 lightly up the mountains ; also the little chapel erected in the 
 year 1380 by the men of Uri to his memory and the memory of 
 his escape, thirty -one years after his death, while one hundred and 
 fourteen individuals were still living, who had known the hero 
 personally ; you pass the sacred field of Grutli, where the mid- 
 night oath was taken by the patriots. The scenery is in keep- 
 ing with the associations, the associations with the scenery. 
 Assuredly the Lake is one of the sublimest in the world ; it is 
 useless attempting to describe it, or the mountains that rise in 
 such amazing grandeur out of it, or the bays that in such ex- 
 quisite beauty allure you to explore its winding recesses. 
 
 One of the precipitous Alps whose foundations it conceals, 
 shows, high up in the air, a white sear where a fragment of rock 
 1200 feet wide broke from the mountain and fell into the Lake 
 in the year 1801, raising such a wave in its fall, that at the dis- 
 tance of a mile a hamlet was overwhelmed and five houses de- 
 stroyed by it, with the loss of a number of lives. The size of 
 this fragment, though the scar in the mountain looks so incon- 
 siderable, may serve to direct the traveller's measurement of 
 those huge avalanches, which at the distance of leagues look so 
 enormous on the Jungfrau, and which on other mountains have 
 buried whcle villages and swept whole forests in their way. 
 
CHAP. XXX.] REGION OF LUCERNE. 129 
 
 Lucerne is a picturesque and lovely village situated like Ge- 
 neva at the effluence of a sea-green river from an azure lake, 
 and having many of the constituents of beauty and romance that 
 make Geneva such an earthly paradise, and some elements of 
 originality that Geneva does not possess. There is no Mont 
 Blanc, hanging its piles of snow in the heavens on one side, nor 
 any Jura range, skirting the golden sunset sky and shadowy 
 earth with its green fringe on the other ; but there are grand and 
 varied mountains, gazing into the crystal depths ; there is an 
 arrowy river, dividing the town, having journeyed all the way 
 through heroic lands down the valley of the St. Gothard from a 
 little tarn among the mountain summits ; there are picturesque 
 old feudal walls and watch-towers j thereare long bridges, which 
 are covered galleries of antique paintings ; and there are many 
 points of interest and of beautiful scenery, with wild wood-walks, 
 and sudden openings, and rich panoramas, where morning wakes 
 the world to music and beauty, and where at evening the western 
 clouds, mountains, groves, orchards, and all the shadow-dappled 
 foliage, burn richly in " the slant beams of the sinking sun." 
 
 " My friends emerge 
 Beneath the wide, wide heaven, and view again 
 The many-steepled tract magnificent 
 Of hilly fields and meadows, and the lake 
 With some fair bark perhaps, whose sails light up 
 The slip of smooth clear blue betwixt two isles 
 Of purple shadow." 
 
 Here a man, whose misfortune it may have been to be born in 
 the heartless heart of some great city, might, if it were not for 
 the demon of intolerance, find a spot for his family, to grow up 
 quietly under all the influences of nature. And if he have a 
 dear child like the Poet's, here he may muse, whether amidst 
 the Frost at Midnight, or the summer stars, and watching the 
 slumbers of his cradled infant, may say, 
 
 " Dear Babe, that sleepest cradled by my side. 
 Whose gentle breathings, heard in this deep calm, 
 Fill up the interspersed vacancies 
 And momentary pauses of the thought, 
 My babe so beautiful ! it thrills my heart 
 PAKT II. ' 10 
 
130 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap. xxx. 
 
 With tender gladness, thus to look at thee 
 And think that thou shall learn far other lore 
 And in far other scenes ! For I was reared 
 In the great city, pent mid cloisters dim, 
 And saw naught lovely but the sky and stars. 
 But thou, my babe ! shalt wander like a breeze. 
 By lakes and sandy shores, beneath the crags 
 Of ancient mountains, and beneath the clouds. 
 Which image in their bulk both lakes and shores 
 And mountain crags : $o shalt thou see and hear 
 The lovely shapes and sounds intelligible 
 Of that eternal language, which thy God 
 Utters, who from eternity doth teach 
 Himself in all, and all things in himself. 
 Great Universal Teacher ! He shall mould 
 Thy spirit, and by giving make it ask. 
 
 " Therefore all seasons shall be sweet to thee. 
 Whether the Summer clothe the general earth 
 With greenness, or the redbreast sit and sing 
 Betwixt the tufts of snow on the bare branch 
 Of mossy apjjle-tree, while the nigh thatch 
 Smokes in the sun-thaw ; whether the eave-drops fall. 
 Heard only in the trances of the blast, 
 Or if the secret ministry of Frost 
 Shall hang them up in silent icicles. 
 Quietly shining to the shining moon." 
 
 1 say, were it not for the demon of intolerance, the binding of 
 the conscience in the fetters of Church and State. This is the 
 pest that still afflicts Switzerland, worse by far than the scourge of 
 Cretinism and the goitre, and accompanied, in this region of 
 Lucerne, with an unaccountable passion foi* the JesuitS; whose 
 teachings in morality and political science are so at war with the 
 immemorial freedom of Tell's mountains. Lucerne is one of 
 the three towns, with Berne and Zurich, where the confederative 
 Diet holds its sessions. It is styled " Town and Republic," hav- 
 ing a Council of One Hundred for its government, divided into a 
 daily Council of thirty-six, and the larger Council of sixty-four, 
 the whole Hundred meeting every three years, or, if the daily 
 Council require it, oflener. At the head of the Council is a 
 Chief Magistrate, called the Avoyer. The number of inhabit, 
 ants in the town is about 8000 Romanists, and two hundred 
 
CHA.P. XXX.] LIONS AT LUCERNE. IJt 
 
 Protestants, the Protestants being excluded from all participation 
 in the rights of citizens, and only admitted on sufferance. How 
 different from the manner in which we receive Romanists in our 
 own country ! \Vhen will the example of equal citizenship 
 among all religionists be followed abroad, by Romanists towards 
 Protestants ? 
 
 There is an arsenal in Lucerne well worth visiting for its his- 
 torical trophies. Here you may see the very shirt of mail in 
 which Duke Leopold of Austria was struck down at the great 
 battle of Sempach. There is also the monument of Thorwald- 
 sen to the memory of the Swiss guards, one of the finest things 
 of the kind in the world, one of the few monuments of simple 
 grandeur and pathos speaking at once to the heart, and needing 
 neither artist nor critic to tell you it is beautiful. There are the 
 curious old bridges, like children's picture-books, amusing you 
 much in the same manner, where indeed you can scarcely get 
 across the bridge, you are so taken with examining the rude old 
 sketches. There are all the scenes of the Old Testament hang, 
 ing above you, as you pass one way, and all the scenes of the 
 New as you pass the other. This Scriptural bridge was 1380 fee' 
 in length, and when you are tired with looking at the pictures, 
 you may rest your eyes by leaning on the parapet, and gazing 
 over the lovely Lake, with the sail-boats flitting across it, and 
 the distant mountains towering above it. In the roof of another 
 bridge are represented the heroic passages of native Swiss his- 
 tory, and in yet another the whole curious array of Holbein's 
 Dance of Death. 
 
 Wordsworth says truly that "these pictures are not to be spoken 
 of as works of Art, but they are instruments admirably answer- 
 ing the purpose for which they were designed." And indeed 
 when they were first painted, and for a long time after, how deep 
 must have been the impression made by them on the people's 
 mind, especially the hearts of the children. Fathers and mothers 
 with their little ones in hand, from far and near, wandered up 
 and down in these picture-books of the history of Christ and of 
 the country, telling their stories and their lessons. It was a sin- 
 gular conception, and a very happy one, " turning common dust 
 to gold," and inviting every passenger of the bridge to get more 
 
132 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap, xxx 
 
 than the value of his toll (if there ever was any) by thinking on 
 his pilgrimage. Wordsworth says that the sacred pictures are 
 ■240 in number. His lines are beautiful, produced by the re. 
 membrance of them. 
 
 " One after one, its Tablets that unfold 
 The whole design of Scripture history ; 
 From the first tasting of the fatal Tree, 
 Till the bright star appeared in eastern skies. 
 Announcing One was born mankind to free ; 
 His acts, his wrongs, his final sacrifice ; 
 Lessons for every heart, a Bible for all eyes. 
 
 " Long may these homely works devised of old. 
 These simple efibrts of Helvetian skill. 
 Aid, with congenial influence, to uphold 
 The State, — the Country's destiny to mould ; 
 Turning, for them who pass, the common dust 
 Of servile opportunity to gold ; 
 Filling the soul with sentiments august. 
 The beautiful, the brave, the holy, and the just !" 
 
 Mount Pilatus is the Storm King of the Lake, always brewing 
 mischief; and a good reason for it, according to the strange old 
 legend that he who washed his hands of Christ's blood before all 
 the people, and yet delivered him up to the people, drowned him- 
 self in a black lake on the top of the mountain. How he came 
 to be there is accounted for by his being banished into Gaul by 
 Tiberius, and into the mountains by Conscience. There still his 
 vexed spirit wanders, and invites the tempest. If ever in the 
 morning sunshine you get upon the forehead of the mountain, 
 you are sure to have bad weather afterwards, but if in the even- 
 ing it is clear, this is a good prophecy. Translating the common 
 proverb of the people concerning it in the reverse order, 
 
 " When Pilatus doffs his hat, 
 Then the weather will be wet." 
 
 But when he keeps his slouched cloud-beaver over his brows all 
 day, you may expect fair weather for your e2(oursions, >he storm- 
 spirit not being abroad, bi^t brooding, 
 
CHAP. XXXI.] ASCENT OF THE RIGHI 133 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 Ascent of the Righi. Extraordinary glory of the view. 
 
 If you are favored with a fine clear sunrise, then, of all excur- 
 sions from Lucerne, that to the sunamit of the Righi Is unrivalled 
 in the world for its beauty. It is comparatively rare that travel- 
 lers are so favored, and the Guide-books warn you not to be dis- 
 appointed, by quoting, as the more common fate, the sad Orphic 
 ululation of some stricken poet, who came down ignorant of sun- 
 rise, but well acquainted with the rain. 
 
 " Seven weary up-hill leagues we sped, 
 
 The setting sun to see ; 
 Sullen and grim he went to bed, 
 
 Sullen and grim went we. 
 Nine sleepless hours of night we passed 
 
 The rising sun to see ; 
 Sullen and grim he rose again. 
 
 Sullen and grim rose we." 
 
 After hesitating some days, because of unpromising responses 
 from the cloud-sybils, we at length resolved to try it, for the 
 ascent is worth making, at all events. We chose the way across 
 the Lake by the village of Weggis, which place we reached by 
 a lovely sail in a small boat with two rowers, a thousand fold 
 pleasanter way, and more in keeping with the wild sequestered 
 scenery, than a noisy crowded steamer. There are several other 
 routes, as you may learn by the Guide-books, but I shall mention 
 only ours. Landing at Weggis, you immediately commence the 
 ascent of the mountain, fatiguing to the uttermost on a warm 
 afternoon, but filled with views all the way up, of Lake and 
 snowy mount, and wild-wood scenery, beautiful enough to pay 
 you abundantly, even if you saw nothing at the summit but the 
 ground you tread upon. We made our ascent in the afternoon, 
 so as to be upon the mountain by night, all ready for the morn- 
 
131 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap. sxm. 
 
 ing's glorious spectacle ; but it would have been far more com- 
 fbrtable to have come up one morning, and stayed till the next. 
 
 The sunset was one of extraordinary splendor, as regards the 
 clouds and their coloring in the golden West, and we enjoyed 
 also a very extensive view, but not the view. We had set out 
 from Lucerne with a burden of forebodings, almost every party 
 that had made the asce.it for weeks having returned with a load 
 of disappointments ; and though the evening was now fine, the 
 next morning might be cloudy. It is an excursion for which 
 you must have clear weather, or, as to the particular scene of 
 glory for which you make it, which is the sunrise upon the vast 
 range of mountains visible from the Righi, it is nothing. An 
 ordinarily fine morning will not answer ; you must have a clear 
 sky the moment the sun rises into it. Though the whole hea- 
 vens beside be fair, yet if there happen to be a stripe or bank of 
 clouds lying along the eastern horizon, your sport is up, you lose 
 the great spectacle. The fog, which sometimes breeds in fine 
 weather, is still more destructive. You might as well be abed 
 under your blanket. So it may easily be conceived that of the 
 many thousands, who travel thither, very few obtain the object 
 of their journey. Nevertheless, in other respects, as I have 
 said, the mountain is well worth ascending. A clear sunset, 
 together with the prospects bursting on you in your way up, are 
 rewards to give a day for, and a hard journey. 
 
 The brow of the mountain is as perpendicular as Arthur's 
 Crag at Edinburgh, almost cresting over like the sea-surf, or a 
 wave in mid ocean. In the evening, walking along the edge of 
 the precipice, the vast scene is of a deep and solemn beauty, 
 though you are waiting for the dawn to reveal its several features. 
 The lights in so many villages far below, over so great an extent, 
 produce a wild and magic picturesqueness. There at our left 
 is Lucerne, here at our feet is Kussnacht, a few steps to the right 
 and Arth is below you, with many glancing lights in the sur- 
 rounding chalets. The evening church bells are ringing, and 
 the sound comes undulating upward, so deep, so musical ! There 
 is no moon, but the stars are out, and methinks they look much 
 brighter, more startling, more earnest, than they do from the 
 "vorld below. How far we are above that world ! How pure 
 
CHAP. XXXI.] SUNSET ON THE RIGHI. 135 
 
 and still the air around us ! Is the soul as much elevated to- 
 wards the air of heaven ? Ah, if by climbing a mountain top 
 we could become spiritually minded, how easy would it be ! But 
 we have brought the self-same mind and disposition up the Righi, 
 that sailed with our bodies across the Lake, and there is the same 
 moral atmosphere here, as in the world below. There is no 
 place lower than heaven, that is above sin ; and here we are at 
 least a hundred people in all, and room enough for selfishness, 
 were it only in elbowing for room. 
 
 The summit where we are is called the Culm of the Righi, 
 because it is the culminating, or highest point, running up with 
 a turf covered slope, to the wa^e like summit. A few steps 
 down the slope stands the liule inn, with a second rough lodging 
 house below, though all accommodations are insufficient for the 
 crowd of sleepers waiting for the sun. Half an hour's walk 
 farther down, upon a lower summit, there is another inn, from 
 which those who spend the night there do generally issue too late 
 from their beds to arrive at the summit with the dawn, and so 
 lose the finest part of the vision. We slept little and unquietly, 
 and we rose while the stars were still bright, but beginning to 
 pale a little in the East with the breaking light of day ; and no 
 man who has not been in the same situation can tell the delight 
 with which we threw open the windows, and found a clear, fresh, 
 glorious morning. The sentinel of the dawn for the sleepers in 
 the inn seized his long wooden horn, and blew a blast in doors 
 and out to waken them, and then one after another emerged into 
 the open air, and hastened to the top of the mountain to watch 
 the movements of the sun. It was very cold, and the travellers 
 who had come away without cloaks, had committed a most un- 
 comfortable and nipping mistake, which they sometimes rectify 
 by wrapping themselves in the blankets under which they have 
 slept ; a practice which has suggested the invitation, in form of 
 a warning, to be found in every room, that those who carry off 
 the bed coverings shall pay a tax often latz each. So in a very 
 cold dawn, you may see the mountains covered with shivering 
 blanket spectres. 
 
 It was the sixth of September, and the most perfectly beautiful 
 morning that can be imagined. At a quarter past three the stars 
 
138 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap. xixi. 
 
 were reigning supreme in the heavens, with just enough of the 
 old moon left to make a trail of light in the shape of a little silver 
 boat among them. But speedily the horizon began to redden 
 over the eastern range of mountains, and then the dawn stole on 
 in such a succession of deepening tints, that nothing but the hues 
 of the preceding sunset could be more beautiful. But there is 
 this great difference between the sunrise and sunset, that the 
 hues of sunset are every moment deepening as you look upon 
 them, until again they fade into the darkness, while those of the 
 sunrise gradually fade into the light of day. It is difficult to 
 say which process is most beautiful ; for if you could make 
 everything stand still around you, if you could stereotype or stay 
 the process for an hour, you could not tell whether it were the 
 morning dawn or the evening twilight. 
 
 A few long, thin stripes of fleecy cloud lay motionless above 
 the eastern horizon, like layers of silver lace, dipped first in 
 crimson, then in gold, then in pink, then lined with an ermine 
 of light, just as if the moon had been lengthened in soft furrows 
 along the sky. This scene in the East attracts every eye at 
 first, but it is not here that tlie glory of the view is to be looked 
 for. This glory is in that part of the horizon on which the sun 
 first falls, as he struggles up behind the mountains to flood the 
 world with light. And the reason why it is so glorious 'is be- 
 cause, long before you call it sunrise in the East, he lights up in 
 the West a range of colossal pyres, that look like blazing cressets 
 kindled from the sky and fed with naptha. 
 
 The object most conspicuous as the dawn broke, and indeed 
 the most sublimely beautiful, was the vast enormous range of the 
 snowy mountains of the Oberland, without spot or veil of cloud 
 or mist to dim them, the Finsteriaarhorn at the left and the Jung, 
 frau and Silberhorn at the right, peak after peak and mass after 
 mass, glittering with a cold wintry whiteness in the grey dawn. 
 Almost the exact half of the circumference of the horizon com- 
 manded before and behind in our view, was filled with these 
 peaks and masses of snow and ice, then lower down, the moun- 
 tains of bare rock, and lower still the earth with mounts of ver 
 dure ; and this section of the horizontal circumference, which is 
 filled with the vast ranges of the Oberland Alps, being almos* due 
 
CHAP. XXXI.] SUNRISE ON THE RIGHI. 137 
 
 West from the sun's first appearance, it is on their tops that the 
 rising rays first strike. 
 
 This was the scene for which we watched, and it seems as if 
 nothing in nature can ever again he so beautiful. It was as if 
 an angel had flown round the horizon of mountain ranges, and 
 lighted up each of their white pyramidal points in succession, 
 like a row of gigantic lamps burning with rosy fires. Just so 
 the sun suddenly tipped the highest points and lines of the snowy 
 outline, and then, descending lower on the body of the mountains, 
 it was as if an invisible Omnipotent hand had taken them, and 
 dipped the whole range in a glowing pink ; the line between the 
 white cold snow untouched by the sunlight, and the warm roseate 
 hue above, remaining perfectly distinct. This effect continued 
 some minutes, becoming, up to a certain point, more and more 
 beautiful. 
 
 We were like children in a dark room, watching for the light- 
 ing up of some great transparency. Or, to use that image with 
 which the Poet Dante endeavored to describe the expectant gaze 
 of Beatrice in Paradise, awaiting the splendors to be revealed, 
 we might say, connecting some passages, and adapting the 
 imagery, 
 
 " E'en as the bird, who midst the leafy bower 
 Has in her nest sat darkling through the night, 
 With her sweet brood ; impatient to descry 
 Their wished looks, and to brine; home their food 
 In the fond quest unconscious of her toil : 
 Siie of the time pfevenient, on the spray. 
 That overhangs their couch, with wakeful gaze 
 Expects the sun ; nor ever till the dawn 
 Removeth from the east her eager ken. 
 Wistfully thus we looked to see the heavens 
 Wax more and more resplendent, till on earth 
 Her mountain peaks burned as with rosy flame. 
 
 'Twixt gladness and amaze 
 In sooth no will had we to utter aught. 
 Or hear. And as a pilgrim, when he rests 
 Within the temple of his vow, looks round, 
 In breathless awe, and hopes some time to tell 
 Of all its goodly state ; even sc our eyes 
 Coursed up and down along the living light. 
 Now low, and now aloft, and now around 
 
1?8 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap. mi. 
 
 Visiting every step. Each mount did seem 
 Colossal ruby, whereon so inwrought 
 The sunbeam glowed, yet soil, it flamed intense 
 In ecstasy of glory." 
 
 In truth no word was uttered when that scene became visible. 
 Each person gazed in silence, or spake as in a whisper. It was 
 as if we witnessed some supernatural revelation, where mighty 
 spirits were the actors between earth and heaven ; 
 
 " With such ravishing light 
 And mantling crimson, in transparent air, 
 The splendors shot before us " 
 
 And yet a devout soul might have almost felt, seeing those fires 
 kindled as on the altars of God made visible, as if it heard ihe 
 voices of Seraphim crying. Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord of 
 Hosts, the whole earth is full of his glory ! For indeed, the 
 vision was so radiant, so full of sudden, vast, and unimaginable 
 beauty and splendor, that methinks a phalanx of the Sons of 
 God, who might have been passing at that moment, could not 
 have helped stopping and shouting for joy as on the morning of 
 creation. 
 
 This was the transient view, which to behold, one might well 
 undertake a voyage across the Atlantic ; — of, a glory and a 
 beauty indescribable, and no where else in the world to be en- 
 joyed, and here only in perfect weather. After these few mo- 
 ments, when the sun rose so high, thtit the whole masses of snow 
 upon the mountain ranges were lighted with the same rosy light, 
 it grew rapidly fainter, till you could no longer distinguish the 
 deep exquisite pink and rosy hues by means of their previous 
 contrast with the cold white. Next the sun's rays fell upon the 
 bare rocky peaks, where there was neither snow nor vegetation, 
 making them shine like jasper, and next on the forests and soft 
 grassy slopes, and so down into the deep bosom of the vales. 
 The pyramidal shadow cast by the Righi mountain was most 
 distinct and beautiful, but the atmospheric phenomenon of the 
 Spectre of the Righi was not visible. 
 
 This amazing panorama is said to extend over a circumfer 
 ence of 300 miles. In all this region, when the upper glory of 
 
«HAP. XXXI.] SUNRISE ON THE RIGHI. 13 
 
 the heavens and mountain peaks has ceased playing, then, a 
 the sun gets higher, forests, lakes, hills, rivers, trees, and villages 
 at first indistinct and grey in shadovv's, become flooded with 
 sunshine, and almost seem floating up towards you. There was 
 for us another feature of the view, constituting by itself rne of 
 the most n(>vel and charming sights of Swiss scenery, but which 
 does not always accompany the panorama from the Righi, even 
 in a fine morning. On Earth, the morning may be too fine 
 This was the soft, smooth white body of mist, lying on most of 
 the lakes and on the vales, a sea of mist, floating, 'or rather brood 
 ing, like a white dove, over the landscape. The spots of land 
 at first visible in the midst of it were just like islands half emerg- 
 ing to the view. It lay over the bay of Kussnacht at our feet, 
 like the white robe of an infant in the cradle, but the greater 
 part of the Lake of Lucerne was sleeping quietly without it, as 
 an undressed babe. Over the whole of the Lake of Zug the 
 mist was at first motionless, but in the breath of the mornmg it 
 began slowly to move altogether towards the West, disclosing the 
 village of Arth and the verdurous borders of the Lake, and then 
 uncovering its deep sea-green waters, which reflected the lovely 
 sailing shadows of the clouds as a mirror. 
 
 Now the church bells began to chime under this body of mist, 
 and voices from the invisible villages, mingled with the tinkle of 
 sheep-bells, and the various stir of life awakening from sleep, 
 came stilly up the mountain. And now some of the mountain 
 peaks themselves began suddenly to be touched with fleeces of 
 cloud, as if smoking with incense in morning worship. Detach- 
 ments of mist begin also to rise from the lakes and valleys, 
 moving from the main body up into the air. The villages, cha- 
 lets, and white roads, dotting and threading the vast circumfer- 
 ence of landscape, come next into view. And now on the Lake 
 of Zug you may see reflected the shadows of clouds that have 
 risen from the surface, but are themselves below us. 
 
 It is said you can see fourteen lakes from the place where we 
 are standing. I counted at least twelve last evening, before the 
 night-veil of the mist had been drawn above them, but this morn- 
 ing the goings on in the heavens have been too beautiful and 
 grand to take the time for counting them, and besides they are 
 
140 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap, xxxi 
 
 too much enveloped with the slow-retiring fogs to detect them. 
 On the side of the Righi under the eastern horizon you behold 
 the little Lake of Lowertz, with the ruins of the village of Gol- 
 dau, destroyed by the slide of the Rossberg, and you trace dis- 
 tinctly the path of tha- destroying avalanche, the vast groove of 
 bare rock, where the mountain separated and thundered down 
 the vale. A little beyond are the beautiful peaks of Schwytz 
 called the Mitres. 
 
 All this wondrous panorama is before us. Whatever side we 
 turn, new points of beauty are disclosed. As the day advances, 
 every image, fully defined, draws to its perfect place in the pic- 
 ture. A cloudless noon, with its still solemnity, would make 
 visible, for a short time, every height and depth, every lake, 
 mountain, town, streamlet, and village, that the eye could reach 
 from this position, and then would pass again the lovely suc- 
 cessive transitions of shade deepening into shade, and colors rich- 
 lier burning, into the blaze of sun-set, and the soft melancholy 
 twilight, till nothing could be seen from our high position but the 
 stars in heaven. In a few hours we have witnessed, as on a 
 central observatory, what the Poet Young calls 
 
 ' the astonishing magnificence 
 
 Of unintelligent creation," 
 
 from the numerous worlds that throng the firmament at midnight, 
 
 " where depth, height, breadth 
 Are lost in their extremes, and where to count 
 The thick sown glories in this field of fire 
 Perhaps a seraph's computation fails," 
 
 to the beauty and sublimity of our own small world, revealed 
 when theirs is hidden, in the break of dawn, and revealed with 
 such an array of morning splendor, that not even Night and 
 the Universe of stars can be for the moment a more entrancing 
 spectacle ! 
 
 And for whom hath God arranged all this ? Not for the 
 Angels alone, but /or every eye /that looks to him in love, for the 
 \iumblest mind and heart, that can look abroad and say, My 
 
CHAP. XXXI.] SUNRISE ON THE EIGHI. 141 
 
 Father made them all ! He made them, that his children might 
 love him in them, and know him by them. 
 
 " The soul of man, His Face designed to see, 
 Who gave these wonders to be seen by man, 
 Has here a previous scene of objects great 
 On which to dwell ; to stretch to that expanse 
 Of thought, to rise to that exalted height 
 Of admiration, to contract that awe. 
 And give her whole capacities that strength, 
 Which best may qualify for final joy. 
 The more our spirits are enlarged on earth 
 The deeper draught they shall receive of heaven. 
 
 Thou, who didst touch the lips of Jesse's son, 
 Rapt in sweet contemplation of those fires. 
 And set his harp in concert with the spheres. 
 Teach me, by this stupendous scaffolding 
 Creation's golden steps, to climb to Thee !" 
 
 Young. 
 
 Before such a scene how ought the heart to expand with the 
 love of God, and the adoration of his glory ! Waken, O my 
 soul, to morning worship with the whole creation around thee, 
 and breathe forth, with all the works of God, the breath of grati- 
 tude and praise. What a scene is this ! How beautiful, how 
 beautiful ! And if our hearts were in perfect unison with it, if 
 there were within us a spiritual scenery, the work of divine 
 grace, as fitting as this material, the creation of divine power, 
 heaven with its purity and blessedness would not be far off from 
 every one of us. And why should the light of the rising sun 
 kindle earth and heaven into a smile so transcendently beautiful, 
 and our souls not be enkindled in like manner in their horizon 
 of spiritual glory ? We need Divine Grace to take away our 
 blindness. This rosy flame, into which the cold snowy moun- 
 tain tops seemed suddenly changed by the sun upon them, was a 
 symbol of what takes place with the truths of the Word of God, 
 when the Spirit breathes upon them, and brings them to the soul. 
 Then how they shine, with what lovely warmth of coloring, with 
 what intense exciting brightness, with what interpenetrating 
 glory, by which the soul itself is transfigured and raised to 
 heaven ! So must God shine into our hearts to give us the light 
 
143 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap, xxxi 
 
 of the knowledge of his glory, as it shines in the face of Jesus 
 Christ. When this is done, then all things are filled with mean- 
 ing and love. 
 
 And this whole scene of Night giving place to Morning, pour, 
 ing like a flood over the wide earth, viewed from a height so 
 commanding, may bring forcibly to mind the glory of the rising 
 of the Sun of Righteousness upon the nations, the light and holi- 
 ness of the gospel poured over the world and transfiguring its 
 tribes and institutions with blessedness. From their post of ob- 
 servation in heaven, methinks Celestial Intelligences enjoy some- 
 thing such a view, as they see Christ's kingdom advancing, the 
 troops of Darkness fleeing, the mists of Error rolling from the 
 earth, the shrines of idolatry falling, the true temples of God 
 everywhere rising, nation after nation coming to the light, the 
 world awakening to God's praise resounding. From every clime 
 they come, in every zone they kneel, from continents and islands, 
 in sun-burned Ethiopia and ice-clad Greenland, Eastern Java 
 and the natives of the farthest West, unfettered Africa and China 
 from the thraldom of her gods. 
 
 " One Lord, one Father ! Error has no place ; 
 That creeping pestilence is driven away ; 
 The breath of heaven has chased it. In the heart 
 No passion touches a discordant string. 
 One song employs all nations, and all cry 
 Worthy the Lamb, for he was slain for us ! 
 The dwellers in the vales and on the rocks 
 Shout to each other, and the mountain tops 
 From distant mountains catch the flying joy. 
 Till, nation after nation taught the strain. 
 Earth rolls the rapturous Hosanna round !" 
 
CHAP. XXXII.] THE ROSSBERG AVALANCHE. 143 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 Lucerne to Einsiedeln. — Dr. Zay'a history of the Rossberg Avalanche 
 
 We left Lucerne at five o'clock in the morning, that is, myself 
 and an English clergyman, whom I had promised at Geneva to 
 meet at Lucerne and travel vfith him into Italy, down the pass of 
 the Splugen. We were dropped by the steamer at the village of 
 Brunnen in the Canton of Schwytz, near the little republic of 
 Gersau, the whole of which occupied one village, and a princi- 
 pality of a few acres. The old town of Schwytz, from which 
 the country of Switzerland takes its name, a town of old heroic 
 remembrances and valorous men, is most romantically situated at 
 the foot of those curious hierarchical mountains called the Mitres. 
 We entered the old church, locked into the town-house with its 
 interesting antique portraits, of real ancestral nobility, passed the 
 Mitres, and the Goldau lake, and the Rossberg avalanche, and 
 wound our way towards the curacy of Zwingle and the Abbey 
 of Einsiedeln. There is much food for reflection, all the way, 
 as well as much natural beauty for enjoyment. A few mornings 
 ago we were overlooking all this scene from the summit of the 
 Righi, how beautiful ! But is there one spot in all this world of 
 ours, where the thought of beauty is not linked sooner or later 
 with that of pain and death ? 
 
 No man can pass this Rossberg mountain without thinking of 
 the dread catastrophe that here only a few years ago overwhelmed 
 in so vast a burial three or four whole lovely villages at once ; — 
 one of the most terrible natural convulsions in all the history of 
 Switzerland. Four hundred and fifty-seven persons are said to 
 have perished beneath this mighty avalanche. The place out of 
 which it broke in the mountain is a thousand feet in breadth by 
 a hundred feet deep, and this falling mass extended bodily at 
 least three miles in length. It shot across the valley with the 
 
114 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap, xxxn 
 
 swiftness of a cannon-bail, so that in five minutes the villages 
 were all crushed as if they had been egg-shells, or the mimic 
 toys of children. And when the people looked towards the luxu- 
 riant vale, where the towns had lain smiling and secure, the whole 
 region was a mass of smoking ruins. It makes one think of the 
 sight that met the eyes of Abraham, when " he got up early in 
 the morning to the place where he stood befort- the Lord," and all 
 the country, where the cities of the plain had been, was as the 
 smoke and scurf of a furnace. 
 
 But this history ought not to be related in any other language 
 than the simple and powerful narrative of Dr. Zay, of the neigh- 
 boring village of Arth, an €ye-witness of the tremendous specta- 
 cle. I shall give his words, even though they may be familiar to 
 my readers ; a paraphrase would not be half so interesting. 
 
 " The summer of 1806," says he, " had been very rainy, and 
 on the first and second of September it rained incessantly. New 
 crevices were observed in the flank of the mountain, a sort of 
 cracking noise was heard internally, stones started out of the 
 ground, detached fragments of rocks rolled down the mountain ; 
 at two o'clock in the afternoon of the second of September, a 
 large rock became loose, and in falling raised a cloud of black 
 dust. Toward the lower part of the mountain, the ground seemed 
 pressed down from above ; and when a stick or a spade was 
 driven in, it moved of itself. A man, who had been digging in 
 his garden, ran away from fright at these extraordinary appear- 
 ances ; soon a fissure, larger than all the others, was observed ; 
 insensibly it increased ; springs of water ceased all at once to 
 flow ; the pine-trees of the forest absolutely reeled ; birds flew 
 away screaming. A few minutes before five o'clock, the symp- 
 toms of some mighty catastrophe became still stronger ; the whole 
 surface of the mountain seemed to glide down, but so slowly as 
 to afibrd time to the inhabitants to go away. An old man, who 
 had often predicted some such disaster, was quietly smoking his 
 pipe, when told by a young man, running by, that the mountain 
 was in the act of falling ; he rose and looked out, but came into 
 nis house again, saying he had time to fill another pipe. The 
 young man, continuing to fly, was thrown down several times. 
 
CHAP. XXXII ] STORY OF THE AVAXANCHE. 145 
 
 and escaped with difficulty ; looking back, he saw the house car- 
 ried off all at once. 
 
 " Another inhabitant, being alarmed, took two of his children 
 and ran away with them, calling to his wife to follow with the 
 third ; but she went in for another, who still remained (Marianna, 
 aged five) : just then, Francisca Ulrich, their servant, was cross- 
 ing tlie room, with this Marianna, whom she held by the hand, 
 and saw her mistress ; at that instant, as Francisca afterwards 
 said, ' The house appeared to be torn from its foundation (it was 
 of wood), and spun round and round like a tetotum ; I was some- 
 times on my head, sometimes on my feet, in total darkness, and 
 violently separated from the child.' When the motion stopped, 
 she found herself jammed in on all sides, with her head down- 
 wards, much bruised, and in extreme pain. She supposed she 
 was buried alive at a great depth j with much difficulty she dis- 
 engaged her right hand, and wiped the blood from her eyes. 
 Presently she heard the faint moans of Marianna, and called to 
 her by her name ; the child answered that she was on her back 
 amoilg stones and bushes, which held her fast, but that her hands 
 were free, and that she saw the light, and even something green. 
 She asked whether people would not soon come to take them out. 
 Francisca answered that it was the day of judgment, and that no 
 one was left to help them, but that they would be released by 
 death, and be happy in heaven. They prayed together. At last 
 Francisca's ear was struck by the sound of a bell, which she 
 knew to be that of Steinenberg : then seven o'clock struck in 
 another village, and she began to hope there were still living be- 
 ings, and endeavored to comfort the child. The poor little girl 
 was at first clamorous for her supper, but her cries soon became 
 fainter, and at last quite died away. Francisca, still with her 
 head downwards, and surrounded with damp earth, experienced 
 a sense of cold in her feet almost insupportable. After prodigious 
 effiirts, she succeeded in disengaging her legs, and thinks this 
 saved her life. Many hours had passed in this situation, u hen 
 she again heard the voice of Marianna, who had been asleep, and 
 now renewed her lamentations. In the meantime, the unfortu- 
 nate father, who, with much difficulty, had saved himself and two 
 children, wandered about till daylight, when he carao among the 
 
 FAET II. 11 
 
146 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap. xxxu. 
 
 ruins to look for the rest of his family. He soon discovered his 
 wife, by a foot which appeared above ground : she was dead, with 
 a child in her arms. His cries, and the noise he made in dig- 
 ging, were heard by Marianna, who called out. She was extri- 
 cated with a broken thigh, and, saying that Francisca was not far 
 off, a farther search led to her release also, but in such a state 
 that her life was despaired of: she was blind for some days, and 
 remained subject to convulsive fits of terror. It appeared that 
 the house, or themselves at least, had been carried down about 
 one thousand five hundred feet from where it stood before. 
 
 " In another place, a child two years old was found unhurt, 
 lying on its straw mattress upon the mud, without any vestige of 
 the house from which he had been separated. Such a mass of 
 earth and stones rushed at once into the Lake of Lowertz, although 
 five miles distant, that one end of it was filled up, and a prodigious 
 wave passing completely over the island of Schwanau, seventy 
 feet above the usual level of the water, overwhelmed the opposite 
 shore, and, as it returned, swept away into the lake many houses 
 with their inhabitants. The village of Seewen, situated at the 
 farther end, was inundated, and some houses washed away, and 
 the flood carried live fish into the village of Steinen. The cha- 
 pel of Olten, built of wood, was found half a league from the 
 place it had previously occupied, and many large blocks of stone 
 completely changed their position. 
 
 " The most considerable of the villages overwhelmed in the 
 vale of Arth was Goldau, and its name is now affixed to the 
 whole melancholy story and place. I shall relate only one more 
 incident : — A party of eleven travellers from Berne, belonging to 
 the most distinguished families there, arrived at Arth on the 
 second of September, and set off on foot for the Righi a few 
 minutes before the catastrophe. Seven of them had got about 
 two hundred yards a-head, — the other four saw them entering the 
 village of Goldau, and one of the latter, Mr. R. Jenner, pointing 
 out to the rest the summit of the Rossberg (full four miles off in 
 a straight line), where some strange commotion seemed taking 
 place, which they themselves (the four behind) were observing 
 with a telescope, and had entered into conversation on the subject 
 with some strangers just come up ; when, all at once, a flight of 
 
CHAP. XXXII.] VILLAGE OF GOLDAU. 141 
 
 stones, like cannon-balls, traversed the air above their heads ; a 
 cloud of thick dust obscured the valley ; a frightful noise was 
 heard. They fled ! As soon as the obscurity was so far dis- 
 sipated as to make objects discernible, they sought their friends, 
 but the village of Goldau had disappeared under a heap of stones 
 and rubbish one hundred feet in height, and the whole valley pre- 
 sented nothing but a perfect chaos ! Of the unfortunate survivors, 
 one lost a wife to whom he was just married, one a son, a third 
 the two pupils under his care : all researches to discover their 
 remains were, and have ever since been, fruitless. Nothing is 
 left of Goldau but the bell which hung in its steeple, and which 
 was found about a mile off. With the rocks torrents of mud 
 came down, acting as rollers ; but they took a different direction 
 when in the valley, the mud following the slope of the ground 
 towards the lake of Lowertz, while the rocks, preserving a 
 straight course, glanced across the valley towards the Righi. 
 The rocks above, moving much faster than those near the ground, 
 went farther, and ascended even a great way up the Righi : its 
 base is covered with large blocks carried to an incredible height, 
 and by which trees were mowed down, as they might have been 
 by cannon." 
 
 The people of Goldau are said to have possessed such interest- 
 ing qualities of person and manners, such purity and simplicity 
 of domestic life, as well corresponded with the loveliness of their 
 native village and its surrounding scenery. How strange and 
 awful seems under such circumstances the transition from Time 
 into Eternity ! No thought was there of death, no effort of pre- 
 paration, no moment of prayer, but a, swift, dread crash, a wild 
 surprise, and those overtaken souls were in the world of spirits ! 
 What a lesson for the living ! Yet its power is all taken away, 
 in all probability, with the race remaining, and with the crowd of 
 visitors annually passing, its power as a lesson of sudden death, 
 by the mere fact that death under the same circumstances is not 
 likely to be the lot of those now living. No, answers the lesson, 
 not perhaps under the same circumstances ; but the solemnity of 
 the event is not io its circumstances, and your own death may be 
 as sudden, though you may not be buried under a mountain. It 
 •s sudden death, not the being crushed by an avalanche, that is 
 
148 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [uhap. xxxii. 
 
 SO awful. Wherefore, as you stand upon this great grave, and 
 moralize over it, remembering perhaps the prayer. From sudden 
 death, O God, deliver us ! — pray also that you may be prepared 
 for sudden death, for it may come to you at your own fireside. 
 Endeavor, by Christ's grace, so to live, that death cannot be sud- 
 den to you, whenever or however he may come. 
 
 Those are most striking and appropriate lines of an old poet, 
 telling us that though God has promised grace for repentance, he 
 has not promised time, but always says now. Good stanzas they 
 are for our pilgrimage, whether we be at home or abroad, a pre- 
 cious word of wisdom. 
 
 " Early set forth on thine eternal race ; 
 The ascent is steep and craggy ; thou must climb 
 God at all times has- promised sinners grace 
 If they repent; — but He ne'er promised time. 
 
 Cheat not thyself, as most, who then prepare 
 For Deathf when life is almost turned to fume : 
 One thief was saved, that no man need despair, 
 And but one thief, that no one might presume." 
 
CHAP. XXXIII.] BATTLE OF MORGARTEN. 149 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 MoTgarten, Sempach, and Arnold of Winkelried. 
 
 On our way from Schwytz to Einsiedeln, a short romantic 
 walk from the main road, lies the battle-field of Morgarten, on 
 the borders of the little Lake of Egeri, a spot next after Sempach 
 famous in the heroic ages of Swiss history. We have passed the 
 scene of a great convulsion of nature, a mountain tumbling from 
 its base, and " rocking its Alpine brethren ;" but what was this, 
 or a hundred such avalanches, to the war of human passion ? Is 
 it not strange that we stand over the ruins of a volcano, on the 
 grave of buried cities, or where a mountain has fallen on a ham- 
 let, and think so much' of the loss of life, and the sorrow and 
 pain and dread of sudden death, and the universal mourning of 
 survivors, but can visit a battle-field, where death revelled with 
 infinitely more of horror and fury, and think of nothing but glory ! 
 This avalanche of men at Morgarten was the death of thousands, 
 whirled in a storm of passion out of life, with desolating anguish 
 and ruin to thousands more ; but men gaze at the scene of the 
 conflict, and think only of the heroism of the living avalanche. 
 
 True, it was a battle against tyranny, and William Tell and 
 Walter Furst are said to have been there ; so, no wonder that 
 the Swiss fought so terribly ; but still it was war, savage, fierce, 
 remorseless war. And war for ages was almost the habitual 
 school of the Swiss Cantons. This great victory may well be 
 called the Marathon of Swiss history, the conquest of twenty 
 thousand Austrians by a band of only thirteen hundred men of 
 the mountains, a rushing, crashing ruin like a whirlwind. It 
 took place in the year 1315. A little commemorative chapel 
 stands above the lake, overhung by a rocky hill, from which the 
 scene is all before you; but it is very difficult to conceive the 
 position of the armies. The thirteen hundred hung like a small 
 thunder-cloud on the heights above the lake, and the twenty thou- 
 
150 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap, xxxiii. 
 
 sand were mailed and crowded along the narrow strand below. 
 The men of Schwytz were the leaders of the .patriots, joined 
 with four hundred from Uri, and three hundred from Unterwald- 
 en, and after this day, the name of Swiss designated the confede- 
 racy and the country — Schwytzer-land. 
 
 Seventy-one years afterwards, not far from the same region, on 
 the borders of the Lake of Sempach, against the same Austrian 
 enemies, one man, Arnold of Winkelried, gained a like victory 
 in 1386, by his own self^evotion, at the head of about fourteen 
 hundred men. The poet Wordsworth has finely connected his 
 memory with Tell's, at the shrine of patriotism and religion. 
 
 " Thither, in time of adverse shocks. 
 Of fainting hopes and backward wills. 
 Did mighty Tell repair of old, — 
 A Hero cast in Nature's mould. 
 Deliverer of the steadfast rocks, 
 And of the ancient hills ! 
 
 He too, of battle martyrs chief! 
 Who, to recall his daunted peers, 
 For victory shaped an open space. 
 By gathering with a wide embrace, 
 Into his single heart, a sheaf 
 Of fatal Austrian spears !" 
 
 It was indeed an amazing act of self-sacrificing courage, that 
 has no parallel whatever in the history of battles. We will let 
 Zschokke tell the story in prose, and then proceed upon our in- 
 terrupted pilgrimage. " It was the season of harvest, when the 
 sun darted his beams with great ardor. After a short prostration 
 in prayer, the Swiss arose ; their numbers were four hundred 
 men from Lucerne, nine hundred from the Waldstetten, and about 
 a hundred from Glaris and other places. Uniting now their 
 forces, they precipitated themselves with great impetuosity upon 
 the impregnable Austrian phalanx : but not a man yielded to the 
 shook. The Swiss fell one after another ; numbers lay bleeding 
 on the ground ; their whole force began to waver, when suddenly 
 a voice like thunder exclaimed : ' I will open a passage to free- 
 dom ; faithful and beloved confederates, protect only my wife and 
 children !' These words of Arnold Struthan of Winkelried, a 
 
CHAP, xxxnt.] ARNOLD OF WINKELRIED. 151 
 
 knight of Unterwaldea, were no sooaer uttered, ilian he seized 
 with both arms as many of the enemy's spears as he was able, bu- 
 ried them in his body, and sank to the ground, while the confede- 
 rates rushed forward through the breach over his corpse." 
 Nothing now could withstand the torrent ; helmets, arms, all, 
 were demolished by the blows of their clubs. Hundreds of 
 mailed warriors and nobles went down, and Duke Leopold of 
 Austria fell lifeless. Thousands perished in retreat, and the little 
 band remained victorious and free, to bless the devotion of Arnold 
 of Winkelried, and to cherish the legacy of his patriotism, and 
 the fireside of his wife and children. Nothing like this is to be 
 found either in ancient or modern history, and rightly pondered, 
 what a lesson of self-sacrifice it reads to the patriot and the Chris- 
 tian ! 
 
JSa PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap xxxiy 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 Pilgrimage of Einsiedeln and worship of the Virgin 
 
 EiNSiEDELN constitutes the very head-quarters of the worship of 
 the Virgin Mary. All day long, if you come into the region as 
 we did, nigh about the season for the great annual worshipping 
 festival, or virginal levee, you will meet pilgrims on the roads in 
 every direction, hurrying thither or returning from the shrine ; 
 old men and robust peasants, maidens and little children, troops 
 of old women telling their beads and repeating their prayers, as 
 they tramp along the wet road, as if praying for a wager. What 
 an intense, haggard zeal is depicted in some of their counte- 
 nances ; their lips move, and they do not look at you, but hurry 
 on undistraeted from their great work, for they probably have a 
 certain number of Aves to repeat, or perhaps a bead roll of 
 prayers so constructed, that if they miss one, they must go over 
 the whole again from the beginning. 
 
 And is this religion ? Is it taught for religion by beings who 
 have heard of Jesus Christ, and of the Sacred Scriptures, and of 
 the character of God ? Is this tlie influence of the Virgin Mary 
 upon the soul ? Do men expect thus to climb to heaven ? Pass 
 on to the great building, the spacious Temple of the Virgin, and 
 you will see. It is a vast and gaudy church within, a stately 
 structure without, enshrining a black image of the Virgin, almost 
 as black as ebony, which some believe came miraculously from 
 heaven, as fully as ever the Ephesians believed in the heaven- 
 descended character of the image of their great goddess Diana. 
 This singular shrine is frequented by multitudes of penance- 
 doing people, who go thither at the impulse of their anxious half- 
 awakened consciences, under guidance- of their priests, to de- 
 posit their oflTerings, perform their prayers, and quiet their souls 
 with the hope, by Mary's help, of escaping unscathed both Hell 
 and Purgatory. 
 
CHAP, xxxiv.] PILGRIMAGE OF EINSIEDELN. 153 
 
 The multitude of pilgrims is sometimes prodigious. When 
 the anniversary festival of the miraculous consecration of the 
 shrine comes on the Sabbath, it lasts fifteen days, and is a great 
 collective jubilee. From every quarter the pilgrims flock as to 
 the opened gate of Heaven. Here they may have pleasures by 
 the way, commuted for by light penances, or by the pilgrimage 
 itself, indulgences for future pleasure, and pardons, unlimited, for 
 sin. From the year 1820 to 1840, the number of pilgrims an- 
 nually has been at an average of more than 150,000. This vast 
 concourse of strangers keeps the town and parish of Einsiedeln 
 in a thriving business of innkeeping, merchandise, and various 
 light manufactures for the "Star of the Sea," the " Queen of 
 Heaven." As of old the Ephesians made silver shrines for 
 Diana, and by her worship got their own wealth, so the Einsie- 
 delners make images, shrines, and pictures for Mary, and by this 
 craft maintain a thrifty state. Around the great church in front 
 and on each side, as well as in the village, are rows of stalls or 
 shops for the sale of books, beads, pictures, images, and a thou- 
 sand knicknacks in honor of the Virgin, and as a portable Me- 
 moria Technica of her worship. The Pope's letter in her behalf 
 makes appropriate display among all these treasures, and as it 
 were fixes their value, just as the Pontifical stamp coins money. 
 It makes one's heart ache to see the mournful superstition of the 
 people. Indeed the whole Establishment of the Virgin in the 
 Romish worship is one of the most prodigious transactions of 
 spiritual fraud, one of the vastest pieces of forgery and specula- 
 tion in the history of our race. It is a great South Sea bubble 
 of religious superstition, by which thousands make a fortune in 
 this world, but millions make shipwreck of their souls for ever. 
 
 The Pope and the Priesthood are joint stockholders of a great 
 bank in Heaven, which they have reared on false capital, and 
 of which they have appointed Mary the supreme and perpetual 
 Directress. So the Pope and the Priests Issue their bills of credit 
 on Mary, and for the people the whole concern is turned into a 
 sort of savings bank, where believers deposit their Ave Marias, 
 their pilgrimages, their penances, their orisons and acts of grace, 
 receiving now, for convenience in this world, drafts from the 
 Pope, and expecting to receive their whole reversionary fortune 
 
t84 PILGRIM OF THE JtJNGFRAU. [chap, xxxiv 
 
 from Mary in Paradise. If this be not as sheer, pure, unsophis- 
 ticated a form of paganism, as the annals of Heathen Mythology 
 ever disclosed or perfected, we are at a loss to know what consti. 
 tutes paganism. The artful mixture of the Gospel scheme of 
 redemption, and reference to it, in this Marianic system, makes 
 it, if not a stronger poison, a far more subtle and dangerous de- 
 lusion for the mind. 
 
 The Romish scheme as here demonstrated is a system of me- 
 diators and courts of appeal, which puts the soul as far as possible 
 from the Great Mediator, and prevents all direct access to the 
 fountain of a Saviour's blood. Here we have the Pope accrediting 
 the saints, the saints interceding with Mary, Mary interceding 
 with Christ. The system in general, and Einsiedeln in particular, 
 with the legendary literature and litanies connected with it, con- 
 stitutes a great development of the common faith and literature 
 of the Middle Ages, the idea of which, examined not in the com- 
 mon mind, but only in a few great intellects, has been in some 
 quarters so applauded even by professed Protestants. Ages of 
 Faith, forsooth, where true faith was rendered almost impossible, 
 and all the life of the soul was one vast superstition ! 
 
 In front of the great Einsiedeln Church there is a fountain, 
 with fourteen compartments or jets, at one of which the common 
 people say and believe our Saviour drank, though when, or how, 
 or by what possibility, it would puzzle the staunchest Judaeus 
 Apellas to tell. If this place were Sychar, nigh to the parcel of 
 ground which Jacob gave to his son Joseph, or even if Einsiedeln 
 were on the way to Egypt from the Holy Land, such a legend 
 were morfe possibly accountable and admissible ; but here in the 
 Alpine Mountains, on the way from Schwytz to Zurich, no man 
 can imagine how such a tradition came about. And yet the poor 
 people believe it. I saw a peasant with the utmost gravity and 
 reverence taking fourteen drinks in succession, in order that he 
 might be sure he had got the right one ; and probably all the 
 more ignorant pilgrims do the same. Simultaneously with him, 
 a flock of geese were drinking round the fountain, but with much 
 more wit, to save the trouble of going the circuit, they dipped 
 their splashing bill-cups in the reservoir below, into which all the 
 
CHAP. XXXIV.] SUPERSTITIONS OF THE VIRGIN. 153 
 
 fourteen jets pour their streams together, heing sure that the con- 
 tents of the sacred one must necessarily be there also. 
 
 And do you really think that a goose has so much sense ? Do 
 you think a man can have so much folly ? I would answer • 
 Which ought to be the greatest marvel, that a goose should con- 
 clude, since all the jets fall into the pool, that there can be no one 
 jet, the water of which is not there, or that a man should have so 
 much sad and blind credulity, as to believe that Jesus Christ once 
 drank there, and that if he drinks at the same jet, his soul will be 
 benefited ? Which, I ask, ought to be the greatest marvel ? Is it 
 not a folly almost incredible, almost equal to the mad enthusiasm 
 of the tunic- worshippers at Treves, Holy Coat, pray for us ! 
 And what is to be said of a religion, which, instead of endeavor, 
 ing to cure people of their ignorance, just takes advantage of it, 
 enshrining and maintaining in state every absurd phantasm that 
 a frightened superstitious brain can coin 1 It is the veriest 
 trickery, worthy of a Turkish Santon, a religious jugglery, not 
 half so respectable as that of Jannes and Jambres, to cajole the 
 common uneducated mind in this manner. And it passes one's 
 comprehension how educated rnen, in other respects upright and 
 honest, can connive at the cherishing of such lunacies among 
 the people. 
 
 It is not merely the nature of these things as a curious system 
 of superstitions that we wish to look at. The philosophic travel- 
 ler desires to observe, and is bound to observe, their effect upon 
 the character of the people, the manner in which they take hold 
 of the mind, the sort of atmosphere which they form around the 
 common heart and life of the multitude. This is one of the 
 most curious and instructive investigations in all a man's jour- 
 neyings in Europe, especially when he comes upon an enclosure 
 into which the light and influences of the Reformation have 
 never penetrated, and where Romanism, not having come in 
 contact with systems or controversies, that might shake the faith 
 of its votaries, may be sounded in its depths in the souls invested 
 with it. There is too much of a disposition to set down a Pro- 
 testant Traveller's notes on the Romish system as he sees it, to 
 the score of bigotry or religious prejudice. This is both unfair 
 and unwise, for it tends to make travellers, neglectful of observing 
 
156 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap, xxxiv 
 
 the workings of foreign religious systems, or restricted and un- 
 candid in giving their impressions to the public. There is nothing 
 that a traveller ought to watch more closely, or report more fully 
 and fairly, than the nature of these two things, religion and edu- 
 cation, among the people where he journeys. What should we 
 say, if M. De Tocqueville in writing of us in America, had ab- 
 stained from all notices and remarks on our religious system, 
 because nhis would have rendered his book obnoxious to some, 
 and distasteful to others, and might have injured its popularity 
 and acceptableness ? A man travels in Europe blindfold, who 
 either does not observe, or neglects to record, the workings of 
 the great religious system, or who sees it, not in its effects on the 
 whole character of the people or on common minds, but only in 
 its festival ceremonies in gorgeous cathedrals. It is to be feared 
 that many persons look upon Romanism only with the outward 
 eye, and only in its outward observances, without attempting to 
 trace its progress and its influence on the mind and in the heart. 
 
 I purchased and brought avvay with me several of the little 
 images of the Virgin, which are sold in countless quantities for 
 the use of worshippers. They look very much like the portable 
 images of the household gods of Egypt, which I obtained several 
 years ago while travelling in that country. They may lie on 
 the same shelf in a man's cabinet of curiosities. And what a 
 curious concatenation, after four thousand years, which brings 
 the idolatry of the earliest pagan system, and that of the pro- 
 fessedly Christian system, at the two extremes, so singularly 
 together ! Looking at these two sets of images, which a man 
 may carry side by side in his trousers pocket, it is difficult to 
 believe that there was one particle more or less of superstition 
 and idolatry in the use of the one than of the other. For a poor 
 peasant now may be as complete and unconscious an idolater of 
 his " Star of the Sea," with the rude image which he carries in 
 his pocket, or about his neck, as the ancient Egyptian peasant 
 ever was of his Isis or Osiris. Indeed, the idolatry, whatever it 
 be, which comes after Christianity, must, in some respects, be 
 worse than that which preceded it. 
 
 I gathered likewise several of the little tracts issued at Ein- 
 Biedeln concerning the Virgin, the Shrine and the pilgrimage, 
 
CHAP. XXXIV.] IMAGES AND TRACTS. 157 
 
 constituting the catechisms of the people, and revealing, better 
 than anything else, the water-courses, so to speak, of the supersti- 
 tion in their hearts. One of these consists of Litanies for the 
 invocation of the Virgin, with an incredible number and repeti- 
 tion of her titles, and accompanying prayers and supplications 
 to her in all hours and circumstances of danger and distress, 
 from the first moment of temptation, to the hour of death and 
 the day of judgment, with a depth of earnestness and even 
 anguish of soul, that exhausts all the religious sentiment of our 
 fallen nature. " O Virgin Mother of God ! in all our pains and 
 tribulations come to our aid, and we will love and bless you to 
 all eternity. Amen." 
 
 Another of these tracts consists of an ancient song upon the 
 miraculous dedication of the Holy Chapel of the Virgin, which 
 is said to have been visibly consecrated by our Lord Jesus Christ 
 in honor of his most holy Mother, the fourteenth of September, 
 ' of the year 948. To this is added a long prayer to be said be- 
 fore the holy Chapel or the Holy Image of Our Lady, and a 
 shorter prayer to be said before a portable image, by those who 
 cannot serve the Virgin at her grand altar at Einsiedeln, for 
 which last prayer two hundred days' indulgence are gained by 
 gift of the Pope. Three jjaler nosters and three Ave Marias 
 answer instead of this prayer for those who do not know how to 
 read. Then follows a prayer to Saint Meinrad, the first wor- 
 shipper of the image, and a martyr in the Chapel, addressed in 
 the prayer as the mignon or dear one of Mary. Saint Meinrad 
 is called upon to intercede with the " Almiglity Mother," and to 
 obtain for devout penitents the pardon of their sins, and the pre- 
 servation of their bodies from all dangers and their souls from 
 damnation. In the supplication to the Virgin the soul is repre- 
 sented as fleeing from the wrath of God, to be protected by her in 
 the day of judgment ; and the sinner renders up his last sigh into 
 her hands, that his soul may praise her for ever in a blessed 
 eternity. 
 
 O wide and sad and powerful delusion ! To all this variety 
 of expedients, to all these successive ranks of spiritual lawyers, 
 men run with costly fees in their hands, rather than straight to 
 Christ ! All this stately apparatus of ages, altars and images 
 
158 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap, xxxiv. 
 
 with men adoring them, crosses on the garments, crosses about 
 the neck, crosses by the road-side, and pilgrims kneeling at them, 
 while the Lamb of God, that taketh away the sin of the world 
 stands by unnoticed, and the voice, " Come unto me !" is never 
 heard. 
 
 It is a beautiful, though quaint gem of rude poetry, by which 
 George Herbert has illustrated the difference between the vain 
 and thg true search after Peace. If any of my readers are tired 
 of the Pilgrimage to Einsiedeln, they may have something 
 sweeter to dwell upon in Herbert's lines. 
 
 " Sweet Peace, where dost thou dwell ? I humbly crave 
 Let me once know. 
 I sought thee in a secret cave. 
 
 And asked if Peace were there, 
 A hollow wind did seem to answer, No : 
 Go, seek elsewhere. 
 
 I did ; and going, did a rainbow note : 
 
 Surely, thought I, 
 This is the lace of Peace's coat : 
 
 I will search out the matter : 
 But while I looked, the clouds immediately 
 
 Did break and scatter. 
 
 Then went I to a garden, and did spy 
 
 A gallant flower, 
 The Crown Imperial : Sure, said I, 
 
 Peace at the root must dwell ; 
 But when I digged, I saw a worm devour 
 
 What showed so well. 
 
 At length I met a reverend good old man : 
 
 Whom when for Peace 
 I did demand, he thus began : 
 
 There was a Prince of old 
 In Salem dwelt, who lived with good increase 
 
 Of flock and fold. 
 
 He sweetly lived ; yet sweetness did not save 
 
 His life from foes ; 
 But after death, out of his grave 
 
 There sprang twelve stalks of wheat ; 
 Which many wondering at, got some of those 
 
 To plant and set. 
 
CHAP. XXXIV.] THE BREAD OF LIFE. 158 
 
 It prospered strangely, and did soon disperse 
 
 Through all the earth : 
 For they that taste it do rehearse 
 
 What virtue lie therein ; 
 A secret virtue, bringing Peace and Mirth 
 
 By flight of sin. 
 
 Take of this grain, which in my garden grows. 
 And grows for you : 
 Make bread of it ; and that repose 
 
 And Peace, which everywhere 
 With so much earnestness you do pursue. 
 Is only there. 
 The Bread of Life, for ever fresh and fair." 
 
160 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap xxxv 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 Zarich and Zwingle. — Banishment of Protestants from Locarno. 
 
 The Stork Inti* ! I know not why the hotels should be likened 
 to such fowl as the Stork, the Vulture, and others of that ilk, 
 unless it be on account of their long bills. Such as these are, 
 however, somewhat favorite appellations for the inns of Germany 
 and Switzerland, and a tired traveller may find himself very 
 comfortable in their hospitalities, not reckoning without his host. 
 A man may spend delightfully at Zurich much more time than 
 we did, whether he be lodged at the Stork, the Stag^ the Bear, 
 the Lion, the Peacock, the Black Eagle (if he can find any such 
 inns in the place), or at the hotel Baur, to which Mr. Murray 
 will direct him. I like a pleasant title for an inn ; there is 
 something friendly and attractive in it. The Quid pro Quo would 
 be an excellent cognomen ; whether you render it something for 
 somebody, or sure of your money's worth, or entertainment for man 
 and beast. There is more inn-ward significance in the titles of 
 Inns, than most men dream of; and probably a philosophic tra- 
 veller would find many a cud of contemplation both curious and 
 instructive, should he set himself to trace the character and 
 habits of nations in the names and sign-pictures of their inns, 
 from the St. George and the Dragon of merry England, to the 
 Three Kings of Germany, and the Hotel of the Universe in 
 France. 
 
 Zurich is a town of about 1.5,000 inhabitants, much given to 
 manufacturing and literature, careful of education, prudent, and 
 industrious, prosperous, ancestral, old-fashioned. You see here 
 a Cathedral of the tenth century, where Zwingle preached in the 
 sixteenth. Noble heroic times and spirits were here during the 
 fires of the Reformation. Coverdale's old Bible, the first entire 
 
CHAP. XXXV.] ZURICH AND THE REFORMATION. 161 
 
 English version of the Scriptures, was printed here in 1535 ; 
 and here great men, driven from England by the fatal reign of 
 Mary, came to worship as exiles, where in the enjoyment of the 
 hospitality of Zurich, they could cherish their faith, and wait for 
 God to help them. One of the greatest helps God ever gave to 
 the English Reformers was the bringing them to this place and 
 to Geneva, where the forms of glory in creation were so grandly 
 in unison with the excitement of their souls under the discoveries 
 of divine truth, and where they learned such lessons of freedom 
 from the republican simplicity of the Reformation out of Eng- 
 land. There they saw those wonders of the world, unseen before 
 for ages, those early simple forms of government, unhierarchi- 
 cal, unmonarckical, in the Church without a bishop, and the State 
 without a king. 
 
 I am not afraid of fatiguing my readers with landing-places 
 of good poetry, and they may be glad to see, what perhaps some 
 of them have not seen, a copy of the verses, which the Poet Mont- 
 gomery tells us appeared in nearly all the Genevan editions of 
 that translation of the Bible, which was made during the reign of 
 Queen Mary, by those illustrious exiles, John Knox, Miles Cover- 
 dale, Anthony Gilby, Christopher Goodman, and others. This 
 translation of the Bible may in some measure be considered as 
 one of the results of Queen Mary's fires. 
 
 " On the incomparable treasure of the Holy Scriptures. 
 
 " Here is the Spring, where waters flow 
 To quench our heat of sin ; 
 Here is the Tree, where Truth doth grow, 
 To lead our lives therein. 
 
 Here is the J udge, that stints the strife, 
 
 Where men's devices fail ; 
 Here is the Bread, that feeds the Life, 
 
 That Death cannot assail. 
 
 The tidings of Salvation dear 
 
 Come to our ears from hence ; 
 The Fortress of our Faith is here. 
 
 And Shield of our defence. 
 
 12 
 
162 PILGKIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [ohap. xxxt 
 
 Then be not like the Hog, that hath 
 
 A pearl at his desire. 
 But takes more pleasure at the trough. 
 
 And wallowing in the mire. 
 
 Read not this Book, in any case. 
 
 But with a single eye ; 
 Read not, but first desire God's grace 
 
 To understand thereby. 
 
 Pray stiU in Faith, with this respect. 
 
 To fructify therein ; 
 That knowledge may bring this effect. 
 
 To mortify thy sin. 
 
 Then happy thou, in all thy life, 
 
 What so to thee befalls ; 
 Yea, double happy thou shall be. 
 
 When God by death thee calls." 
 
 Of a clear sunset the view of Zurich down the Lake is most 
 superbly beautiful. There is a mixture of grandeur in its beauty, 
 owing to the magnificent outline of distant mountains, without 
 which it might be somewhat tame. But any scenery would be 
 tame after a few weeks spent from Night till Morn and Morn till 
 Eve, by sunlight and moonlight, amidst mountains covered or 
 crowned with snow. It is surprising what an exciting, passionate 
 effect those piles of snow hanging in the horizon produce upon 
 the mind ; you never tire of the sight, nor lose your sense of its 
 novelty and 'sublimity ; and when you are without it, you desire 
 it ; a portion of the mind of creation seems abstracted. It is 
 like the great sea in the landscape. 
 
 Zurich presents many points and sights of interest, but of all 
 the things offered to the stranger, the pet lions to me have been 
 Zuinglius' own old Bible, with his own notes in the margin, and 
 two or three letters from the lovely Lady Jane Grey in her own 
 most beautiful hand-writing. Zuinglius' notes were most fre- 
 quent, I observed, upon the minor prophets ; a very characteristic 
 indication, if it might be taken for a proof of his preferences in 
 the Word of Grod. For there is a fire, a boldness, and a straight- 
 forward simple energy and plainness of dealing in the minor pro> 
 
CHAP. XXXV.] ZURICH AND THE REFORMATION. J63 
 
 phets, which wonderfully marked the character of the Swiss Re- 
 former. The prophets Amos and Hosea would be likely to be 
 favorites with him. He called no man master on earth, and 
 labored faithfully for his Master in Heaven. He and Luther 
 and Melancthon must have had a joyful meeting with one another, 
 and with Paul and Peter and John, and other old disciples and 
 worthies. How they talked over the scenes of the Reformation 
 and of the great primeval spread of the gospel beginning at 
 Jerusalem ! 
 
 The Reformers, as well as the Apostles, worked and wrote, 
 much of their time, with Death full in view ; and there is nothing 
 like that to give fire to a man's thoughts, fervor to his feelings, 
 and such an earnestness and solemnity of tone to his utterances, 
 as will compel men to heed them. Almost every word was like 
 a last word, and like a testimony amidst the five. While this 
 was the case, their communications one with another, and with 
 the people, had a grave sublime impression and prophecy of 
 danger and of suffering, very powerful upon a soul under the 
 seizure of divine truth and grace. There was little room for 
 ■declamation, or superficial or artificial eloquence, in such circum- 
 stances ; everything came straight _/rom the soul, and went 
 straight to the soul, driven by conviction. Life was a great 
 solemn tragedy. The bare utterance of truth was like storming 
 a breach at the mouth of camion. Hence the decisive energy, 
 conciseness, and power of the Reformers. 
 
 It is not so now in Germany ; the new reformation is indeed a 
 revolution, but of a much lower kind ; the Spirit of God evi- 
 dently thus far has much less to do with it, and though it is 
 doubtless one of God's great shakings and overturnings, in pre- 
 paration for the administration of the Spirit, it must be regarded 
 thus far principally as preparation. The Question now is Re- 
 ligious Liberty ; in the first Reformation it was Religious Life : 
 there lies the difference. After Life comes Liberty, but you are 
 not so sure that after Liberty comes Life. Men may mistake 
 license for liberty, even in religion ; and as in the Canton de 
 Vaud, license and despotism may go hand in hand, imposing fet- 
 ters on the Church and on the soul. 
 
 Zurich owes much of the prosperity and learning by which it 
 
i64 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap, xxxv 
 
 is distinguished, to its hearty acceptance and defence of the doc- 
 trines and followers of the Reformation. It is a most impressive 
 lesson to compare the history of Zurich at the north, with that of 
 Locarno at the south, of the Swiss territory. About the year 
 1530 a devout monk from Milan, Beccaria by name, came to 
 Locarno as an earnest teacher of Evangelical Truth. The 
 Romish governor of the bailiwick had the preacher thrown into 
 prison, Tioping in this way to stop the fire of the Reformation from 
 spreading. But it had already burned too deep and too far ; the 
 people surrounded the castle of the governor and compelled him 
 to release their preacher, who afterwards escaped into the Val 
 Misocco. The next step of the governor, under authority of the 
 seven Romish Cantons, was to command all the disciples of the 
 Reformation to attend mass, under pain of outlawry. The Pope, 
 by his Nuncio with the Priests, continued to aggravate the per- 
 secution, until the resolution was taken to banish the Protestants 
 with their families from their homes for ever. The decree was 
 issued in March, 1555. In the town-hall of Locarno, one hun- 
 dred and fifty followers of the Reformed faith received sentence 
 of exile, and immediately set out, amidst all the severity of the 
 season, across savage mountains, to find a kinder home, where 
 the beliefs so dear to conscience, and so sacred to the sight of 
 God, would be revered by man, and permitted in their cherished 
 exercise. 
 
 From that period, the decay of Locarno in industry and pros- 
 perity followed, while Zurich received a new source of wealth 
 and an additional element of art and refinement. " The evan- 
 gelical confederates," says Zschokke, " welcomed them with true 
 Christian charity, and more than a hundred of these unfortunate 
 exiles, amongst whom were many affluent and learned men, as 
 Orelli, Muralt, and others, found an asylum at Zurich, where 
 their families are distinguished to the present day. By their 
 -means the art of weaving silk was introduced into Zurich ; they 
 also established mills and dyeing houses, and contributed so much 
 by their industry to the prosperity of the town, that its celebrity 
 was soon extended far beyond the limits of Switzerland." 
 
 After the sentence of banishment from Locarno had been pro- 
 nounced by the deputies, the Pope's Nuncio, with a couple of 
 
CHAP. XXXV.] ZURICH AND THE REFORMATION. 165 
 
 Inquisitors, made their appearance, and with great severity ex- 
 claimed against the mildness of the punishment. They demanded 
 of the council, on pain of the Pope's indignation, to add the 
 penalty of confiscation to that of banishment, to take away all the 
 properly of the exiles, and to separate from them their children 
 also, in order to have them educated in the Romish faith. The 
 Romish deputies, to their praise be it spoken, would not listen to 
 these cruel persuasions on the part of the Priests and his Holi- 
 ness, but made answer that they never reversed a sentence once 
 pronounced. 
 
169 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap, xxxvi. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 Scenery, on the Lake of Zurich. — Poetry for Pilgrims. — Grandeur of the 
 Lake of Wallenstadt. 
 
 The scenery on the Lake of Zurich resembles that upon Long 
 Island Sound, and upon some of our New-England rivers. It is 
 of a quiet beauty, with an air of neatness, freedom, and content 
 in the villages, which appear to great advantage, rising with their 
 church steeples and tiled roofs up the hill sides from the lake. 
 The day we left for Wallenstadt and Coire, the steamer was 
 crowded with pilgrims for Einsiedeln. Most of them landed at 
 Richtensweil, for a walk of bead-ielKngs and aves over the moun- 
 tains, to the si)rine of their faith, the " Star of the Sea." God 
 grant they may one day find in Christ that " rest unto their 
 souls," which they will seek in vain at the sooty image of Mary 
 in Einsiedeln. Neither age nor infirmity can move them from 
 their purpose. Dr. Beattie, in his excellent work on Switzerland, 
 tells us that while he and his friends were spending the month of 
 September near the Lake of Zurich, they saw among the pilgrims 
 a venerable matron a hundred and eight years old, who had walked 
 every step of the way from the remotest corner of Normandy in 
 France, for the performance of a vow to Mary of the Swiss 
 Mountains ! What singular energy of superstition, at a time 
 when all the faculties of life wear out ! The vesper hymns of 
 the pilgrims rose impressively upon the air in the still autumnal 
 evenings, and one idea, one principle, seemed to govern and ab- 
 sorb them all. Many of them. Dr. Beattie remarks, looked sickly, 
 wan, and exhausted, the health, which they came sadly to beg of 
 Mary at Einsiedeln, being lost still more hopelessly by the fatigues 
 and fastings of the way. 
 
 Poor, deluded pilgrims ! Is it not sad to see them, wandering 
 the world over after health and peace, but never coming to the 
 Great Physician ! Rest, rest, rest ; — ^this is the object of all their 
 
CHAP, xxxvi.] POETRY FOR PILGRIMS. 16T 
 
 toils, toils, toils ; — but no toils of the body can ever give inward 
 quiet, or allay sin's fitful fever in the soul, or prevent the remorse- 
 ful tones in the depths of our fallen being, that are ever and anon 
 rushing up with wild prophecies from the soul's inner chambers, 
 like the sound of a gong in subterranean dungeons. Alas, what 
 a mistake, to wander so far, so sadly, so wearily without, for that 
 which is to be found only within, and only in Christ within. 
 These angel will-worshippers, and voluntary humilitarians, and 
 body-punishers, are the strangest quacks that ever meddled with 
 disease. Physical blisters to soothe an irritated conscience, to lull 
 the. mental anxieties into forgetfulness, to draw forth the rooted 
 sorrow of a wounded spirit, to quiet the feverish apprehensions 
 of a coming judgment ! O for a word from Christ, a look, to unseal 
 the fountain of tears, a whisper, I am the Way, the Truth, the 
 Life. All the cantharides of penance, sackcloth and ashes, 
 stripes on the body, pebbles in the shoes, rough pilgrimages over 
 desert and mountain, fasts and aves and orisons in arithmetical 
 progression, — did ever one of them or all together put a man at 
 peace with his conscience, or extract the thorn, or charm the 
 serpent in one of his sins ? 
 
 What a simple thing is the Gospel ! How all heaven, in know- 
 ledge and blessedness, is comprehended in that one precious word, 
 / am the Way, the Truth, the Life ! The Gospel, applicable to 
 all, the same in all places, in all times, in the cottage and the 
 palace, in the city and the wilderness, in caves and dens of the 
 earth and great houses, with rich tables, or the crumbs from 
 them, in fine linen or in sheepskins and goatskins, with rich and 
 poor, with bond and free ; the Gospel, the same simple all-suffi- 
 cient food and remedy, Christ all and in all, the supply of all 
 wants, the recompense for all evils, the healing of all diseases, 
 the world's medicine, happiness and transfiguration ! Here and 
 here only you have the impulse and soul of all lasting reforms, 
 the reformation of all reformers, the beginning and the end of all 
 true pilgrimages, the consolation and support of all pilgrims. 
 " Must I forsake the soil and air," said Baxter, 
 
 " Must I forsake the soil and air, 
 Where first I drew my vital breath ? 
 That way may be as near and fair. 
 
168 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap. mxti. 
 
 Whence I may come to Thee by death. 
 All countries are my Father's lands ; 
 Thy Sun, thy Love, doth shine on all ; 
 We may in all lift up pure hands. 
 And with acceptance on Thee call. 
 
 What if in prison I must dwell. 
 May I not there converse with Thee ? 
 Save me from sin, thy wrath, and hell, 
 Call me thy child, and I am free ! 
 No walls or bars can keep Thee out. 
 None can confine a holy soul ; 
 The streets of heaven it walks about. 
 None can its liberty control." 
 
 Now, because it is suitable to this part of our pilgrimage, and 
 fine in itself, though rude and plain, I shall add Baxter's Vale- 
 diction, so faithful and bold in its rebuke of that vain show, 
 wherein all men naturally are not so much pedestrians, as they 
 are ambitious runners- and wrestlers. With this we will leave 
 our Einsiedelners, and proceed to Wallenstadt. 
 
 " Man walks in a vain show. 
 They know, yet will not know. 
 Sit stiU when they should go, 
 
 But run for shadows : 
 While they might taste and know 
 The living streams that flow, 
 And crop the flowers that grow. 
 
 In Christ's sweet meadows. 
 Life's better slept away. 
 
 Than as they use it ; 
 In sin and drunken play 
 
 Vain men abuse it. 
 
 They dig for hell beneath, 
 They labor hard for death. 
 Run themselves out of breath 
 
 To overtake it. 
 Hell is not had for naught. 
 Damnation's dearly bought, 
 And with great labor sought. 
 
 They'll not forsake it. 
 Their souls are Satan's fee. 
 
 He'll not abate it ; 
 
CHAP. XXXVI.] RAPPERSCHWYL. 169 
 
 Grace is refused, that's free, 
 Mad sinners hate it. 
 
 Is this the world men choose. 
 For which they heaven refuse. 
 And Christ and grace abuse. 
 
 And not receive it ? 
 Shall I not guilty be, 
 Of this in some degree. 
 If hence God would me free. 
 
 And I'd not leave it ? 
 My soul, from Sodom fly. 
 
 Lest wrath there find thee ; 
 Thy refuge-rest is nigh, 
 
 Look not behind thee." 
 
 From Zurich to Schmerikon, at the other end of the lake to- 
 wards Italy, is about twenty-six miles, the greatest width of the 
 lake being only three miles, and generally much narrower. The 
 banks are beautifully sprinkled with white cottages, farm-houses, 
 and thriving villages, the abodes of industry and peace. Over 
 the verdant wooded mountains, with such a green and richly cul- 
 tivated base, rise up the snowy peaks, like revelations of another 
 world, calling you away to its glory. If you are familiar with 
 the writings of Klopstock, Zimmerman and Gessner, you probably 
 know something of the inspiration which such scenery tends to 
 kindle and keep burning in a sensitive mind. Gessner was a 
 native of Zurich ; Zimmerman's residence was on the borders 
 of the lake at Richtensweil. 
 
 At Rapperschwyl, you are in the Canton of St. Gall, opposite 
 the longest bridge in the world, and probably the worst, taking 
 into consideration the vast extent of its qualities, four thousand 
 eight hundred feet. It is a singular feature on the lake, when 
 viewed from the mountains. The village of Rapperschwyl 
 is a place to put an artist with his portfolio in good humor ; a 
 feudal old town, an ancient grey castle, an old church, old walls, 
 and fine picturesque points of. view overlooking the water. 
 Thence we proceeded to Schmerikon, where we embarked on 
 board the diligence for Wesen, and then found ourselves at the 
 western extremity of the Lake of Wallenstadt, suddenly in the 
 
"O PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [ohap. xxxvi. 
 
 midst of some of the grandest, most glorious, most exciting scenery 
 in the world. 
 
 There is no describing it ; at least no possibility of justly con- 
 veying its magnificence. The Lake of Wallenstadt, about twelve 
 miles long, is preeminent in beauty and grandeur. It is inferior 
 only to the Lake of Lucerne, and that is saying much. There 
 is the greatest majesty and glory in the forms of the mountains 
 that rise out of it, while the side gorges that open off from it are 
 picturesque, rich and beautiful. We felt in going from the 
 scenes of open luxuriance around Zurich, that it was good to get 
 again among the mountains, it was like going back into the fort- 
 ress of the soul. Those mighty towering masses seem to prop 
 and elevate the inward being. They look down upon you so 
 silent, so awful, so expressive; you have the same feelings in 
 entering among them, that you have in going beneath the dome 
 of some vast religious temple, the same that you have in walking 
 on the shore of the ocean. We dined on deck on board the 
 steamer, but it really seemed incongruous to be eating amidst 
 such grand and solemn scenery ; the table of a restaurant set in 
 the middle of St. Peter's, would have seemed almost as much in 
 keeping. Nevertheless, men must eat, drink, and sleep, though 
 the scenery be ever so beautiful. In the midst of our dinner, we 
 came opposite the point, where in a mountain more than seven 
 thousand feet high, an immense cavern pierces entirely through 
 the summit, so that even from the lake you can look through it 
 and see the sky, though you would think it was a patch of snow 
 you were looking at. 
 
 After a few hours from Wallenstadt through the beautiful 
 scenery of the vale of Scez, we arrived at Ragatz, for a visit to 
 the astounding black glen of the Baths of PfefTers. The evening 
 threatened a storm, but we had enjoyed a day of great grandeur, 
 and for the night were in good time at the comfortable shelter of 
 an inn, which the guide-books tell you was an old summer resi- 
 dence of the Abbots. 
 
CHAP. XXXVII.] BATHS OF PFEFFERS. 171 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 Baths of Pfeifers. — Gorge of the Tamina. — Coire and the Orisons. 
 
 It rains in torrents. We can no more tell where we are, than 
 if it were midnight. No morn has come, as on the Righi, in 
 russet mantle clad, disclosing in heaven and earth a wide, won- 
 drous, exciting scene of glory and beauty, but rain, rain, rain, 
 grave, determined, steadfast, concentrated rain, and nothing else 
 sensible or visible. You could not guess that there was either 
 mountain, village, or horizon in Switzerland, but now and then, 
 as at breathing intervals, the huge dark masses dripping in mist, 
 loom out of the storm, like the hulks of a wrecked creation. It 
 is, to say the least, a very vigorous break upon the monotony of 
 fair weather, and inasmuch as we have no mountain excursion 
 to make to-day, but a gorge to visit, in which Dante might have 
 chained the tenants of his sixth hell, if the rain holds up, so that 
 we can get to the mouth of it, it may pour on afterwards, without 
 disturbing our progress towards the earth's centre. 
 
 The object for which most travellers stop, as we have done, at 
 Ragatz, is the celebrated cavern of the Baths of Pfeifers, the 
 most extraordinary scene, for its compass, in all Switzerland. 
 It is a gorge and cavern combined, a remarkable split in the 
 mountain, deep, dark, ragged, and savage, the sides of which 
 cross their jagged points far above you, so closely, like the teeth 
 of a saw, that only here and there you can see the daylight at 
 the top, and the sky, through the rift, with the trees of the ex- 
 tsmal world peeping down upon you. As far below, a torrent 
 is thundering, and you creep, hanging midway to the drippipg 
 shelves of the cliff, along a suspended footpath, a couple of planks 
 wide, nearly a quarter of a mile into the heart of the great fis- 
 sure. There, in a crypt in the deep rock, lies the hot fountain, 
 where a cloud of steam rises round you like a vapor bath, and 
 the gush of hot water pours its cascade into the roaring cold 
 
172 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap, xxxvn 
 
 torrent below. This torrent, for the convenience of which the 
 mountain seems to have been sundered, is called the Tamina ; 
 it bellows through the gorge with terrific din and fury, shoots 
 past. the base of perpendicular and overhanging mountains seven 
 or eight hundred feet high, and after plunging from precipice to 
 precipice in grand cataracts along its deep channel, pours itself 
 into the Rhine. 
 
 From Ragatz to the Baths, it is a constant gradual ascent of 
 about an hour, through scenery romantic and grand, and deep, 
 ening into sublimity as you reach, beneath the overhanging 
 mountains, by the sound of the deep struggling thunder of the 
 Tamina, the grim old Bath-buildings, that rise like a portal in 
 the jaws of hell. From hence up to the hot spring, along the 
 wet, shaking, crazy, old plank bridge, which I have described, 
 with the torrent boiling at the bottom of the chasm, about forty 
 feet beneath you, and the serrated, craggy, intertwisting, over- 
 lapping marble walls rising several hundred feet above you, the 
 passage is such an one as Bunyan might have taken for the type 
 of his Valley of the Shadow of Death. It is a most tremendous 
 scene, before which all your previous experiences of the wild, 
 terrible, and fantastic freaks of nature have to give way in sub- 
 mission. You will never forget this gorge of the Tamina, and 
 these Baths of PfefFers. 
 
 It is said they were discovered about the year 1000, and that 
 patients used to be let down by ropes from the cliffs into the very 
 fountain, to be steeped there for hours, and drawn up again. The 
 next progressive step in comfort was a number of cells like mag- 
 pies' nests, pinned to the walls around the fountain, where pa- 
 tients might abide the season. Far gone a man must be in 
 disease, and wobegone in spirit, before an abode in that frightful 
 dripping chasm would do him good. In the next age men's ideas 
 in" therapeutics were so advanced, that they conducted the hot 
 medicinal water by conduits out of the gorge, and built the grisly 
 bath-houses at the entrance ; and still later they have come to 
 the perfection of the system, by conveying the water down to 
 the comfortable inn at Ragatz. Its temperature at the spring is 
 about 100 degrees Fahrenheit. It enjoys a wide and thorough 
 reputation for its healing efficacy. 
 
*HAP. xxxvii.] REVERIE OF THE ALPS. 173 
 
 If it had not been for the rain, we might have enjoyed, from 
 the heights above this terriiic gorge, a view as vast and beautiful, 
 as the ravine itself is deep and dreadful. The sketch of it by 
 the artist forms one of the finest landscapes in the Swiss port- 
 folio. Here the Poet Montgomery might have stood at day- break, 
 as we have done upon the Righi, in bright weather, and dreamed 
 that Reverie of the Alps, of which the two opening and closing 
 stanzas are .so impressive and sublime. 
 
 " The mountains of this glorious land 
 
 Are conscious beings to mine eye. 
 When at the break of day they stand 
 
 Like giants, looking through the sky, 
 To hail the sun's unrisen car, 
 
 That gilds their diadems of snow, 
 While one by one, as star by star, 
 
 Their peaks in ether glow. 
 
 Their silent presence fills my soul, 
 
 When, to the horizontal ray 
 The many-tinctured vapors roll 
 
 In evanescent wreaths away, 
 And leave them naked on the scene. 
 
 The emblems of Eternity, 
 The same as they have ever been. 
 
 And shall for ever be ! 
 
 And ye everlasting hills! 
 
 Buildings of God, not made with hands. 
 Whose Word performs whate'er he wills. 
 
 Whose Word, though ye shall perish, stands ; 
 Can there be eyes that look on you. 
 
 Till tears of rapture make them dim. 
 Nor in his works the Maker view, 
 
 Then lose his works in Him ? 
 
 By me, when I behold Him not. 
 
 Or love Him not when I behold. 
 Be all I ever knew forgot : 
 
 My pulse stand still, my heart grow cold ; 
 Transformed to ice, 'twixt earth and sky. 
 
 On yonder cliff my form be seen, 
 That all may ask, but none reply. 
 
 What my offence hath been !" 
 
i74 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap, xxxvii. 
 
 From Ragatz we posted to Coire, in the Canton of the Grisons. 
 It is an old capital of some 5,000 inhabitants, enjoying some 
 peculiar commercial advantages by its position at the confluences 
 of various roads, and on the highvifay of travel from Italy into 
 Switzerland and Germany. The Canton in the main is Pro- 
 testant, and the democratic government is in a Council' of seventy 
 members at Coire. In the Cantons of St. Gall, Glarus, and the 
 Grisons, there are some delightful and rare examples of religious 
 toleration and equality between the two systems that divide the 
 population. Sometimes, the Protestants and Romanists being 
 nearly equal in numbers, the same church is used by them for 
 public worship in turn. This is the case in some parts of the 
 Rheinthal, a valley of the Rhine, which has its three sources in 
 the Canton of the Grisons. In the Canton Glarus, containing 
 about twenty-six thousand inhabitants, though the Protestants 
 number three-fourths of the population, the governmental 
 " coiyieil is composed of equal proportions of the inhabitants. 
 Catholics and Protestants," and in some cases the same chapel 
 is used for both congregations. The churches and schools are 
 established and paid by the government, and parents are required 
 under a certain penalty to send their children for instruction. 
 
 If the traveller wishes to know how that rare thing in Europe, 
 the Voluntary System, acts upon the happiness of the people 
 where it prevails, he may turn to Mr. Murray's short description 
 of the Engadine Valley, with its populous and flourishing vil- 
 lages, where they have " nine months of winter, and three of cold 
 weatlier." What the writer intended as a blot, appears only as 
 a seal of primitive truth and purity. " Poverty," he says, " is 
 rare, beggary almost unknown, and the people, who are, with the 
 exception of one or two parishes, Protestants, are creditably dis- 
 tinguished for their morality, and are exempt from the vices com- 
 mon in other parts of Switzerland. Their pastors are held in 
 great respect, but their pay is miserable, affording a striking 
 proof of the working of a voluntary system. The Sabbath is 
 strictly observed ; strangers only are allowed on that day to ride 
 or drivfe until after church time." A voluntary system that pro- 
 duces such fruits as these, is better than all the will-worship of 
 the most lavishly supportecl hierarchical or state est?iblishments. 
 
CHAP. ixiYin.] COURSE OF THE RHINE 179 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 Coarse oi the Rhine.— Louis Philippe, the Royal Schoolmaster at Reiche- 
 nau. — Reichenau to Thusis. 
 
 From Coire we pass through Reichenau, a little village at the 
 bridges, where the two branches of the Rhine unite, one from the 
 St. Gothard, the other from the pass of the Splugen, to form the 
 " rejoicing and abounding river," that runs in and out at the 
 Lake of Constance, thunders over the falls at SchafFhausen, 
 feeds the pride, patriotism and wine-vats of all Germany, and 
 after its long course of grandeur, fuss and glory, is sponged up 
 by the sands before it can reach the sea. Poor disappointed 
 river ! What an emblem it is of the closing life of some men, 
 who have made a great stir in their day, but go entirely out of 
 men's minds before they die ! 
 
 An emblem of some noisy reformers and agitators without 
 heart, who make a great show of patriotism, benevolence and 
 fearless zeal for a time, but by and by sink down and are heard 
 of no more, in the sand-banks of selfishness and expediency. 
 An emblem more fitly of some truly great men, like Scott and 
 Southey, in whom paralysis overtakes the nental faculties, after 
 they have enriched society with the overflowing treasures of their 
 great genius. But not an emblem of the Christian, who " like 
 the sun seems larger at his setting," and pours as a river of life, 
 into the Ocean of eternity. Nor is it an emblem of that River, 
 the streams whereof make glad the City of God ; for the gladden- 
 ing and glory of its course here, are but things by the way, 
 incidental results, by which it transfigures human society with 
 peace and beauty, while the depth and blessedness of its elements 
 are then only to be fully seen and known, when out of Death it 
 flows a shining Sea of Life through Eternity. 
 
 There is an inn at Reichenau, formerly a Chateau, which Louia 
 
176 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU [chap, xxsviii. 
 
 Philippe, King of the French, would perhaps be glad to have 
 transported into the Museum of the Louvre, as a sort of old 
 chrysalis of the living Monarch, more curious, in some respects, 
 than the Sarcophagi of dead Egyptian kings. In this Chateau at 
 Reichenau, in the days of his adversity, while the French Revo- 
 lution, with Napoleon as its Star of the Morning, its Lucifer, 
 was sweeping on its swift and awful wing across the nations, 
 Louis Philippe, the friendless young man, the future Monarch, 
 taught Mathematics and History in a common school ! Com- 
 pelled to fly from Baumgarten in 1793, he brought a secret letter 
 of introduction to M. Jost, the Principal of the burgomaster 
 Tschamer^s school, and being appointed a teacher, he found a 
 refuge for near a year, unknown, in this employment. A season 
 of much meditation it must have been to him, of hard and profit- 
 able thinking, of useful trial, and of much enjoyment in nature. 
 Sometimes he stopped in the midst of his Algebraic solutions, as 
 one surrounded in a dream by the din and smoke of the armies 
 of his country, and sometimes he was himself in a reverie in the 
 palace of the Tuileries, in Paris, while the boys were following 
 his compasses and calculations round the wooden globe. Many a 
 pleasant walk he must have had among the mountains, many a 
 refreshing swim in the blue and grey waters of the Rhine. The 
 schoolmaster may have been happier than the Monarch, and proba- 
 bly was. Fifty-four years ago, how little could he have dreamed 
 the scenes, through which his life of the next half century, as the 
 Actor, instead of the Teacher of history, was to be drawn ! The 
 young pedestrian, with a bundle on his back and a pilgrim's staff, 
 calling himself Monsieur Chabot, knew not that he was on his way 
 to the throne, instead of from it, or that the extremes of his life, 
 almost his first and second childhood, should be the instruction of 
 half a dozen Swiss children, and the governing of thirty millions 
 of French. 
 
 On our way towards this village we passed in sight of the 
 hamlet of Feldsberg, threatened with destruction from the fall 
 of an overhanging mountain more perpendicular by far than tlie 
 Rossberg. The danger was so imminent, that the inhabitants, 
 some months before, had begged to be received into a neighboring 
 commune, and united with it. But the people of Feldsberg were 
 
CHAP, xxxvnr.] INTOLERANCE. 177 
 
 Protestants ; so the authorities of the Romish commune refused 
 to grant their request, unless they would renounce the Protestant 
 Faith, and become P.oman Catholics ! This was truly charac- 
 teristic ; and the determination of the poor people to abide by 
 the gospel under the falling mountain, rather than take refuge in 
 Romanism f'om the Avalanche, was equally so. What disposition 
 has been made of the inhabitants, I know not ; but it is very 
 clear that the religious charity and freedom, applauded in some 
 parts of the Canton, have no place in the neighborhood of this 
 threatened convulsion of nature. There is in this very region a 
 mixture of the two opposite systems of i-eligion quite unexam- 
 pled, the village of Reichenau, for instance, being Romish, while 
 just the other side of the river the hamlet is Protestant. The 
 languages are quite as distinct, one village speaking German, 
 while its next neighbor talks in the Romansch patois. 
 
 The world has made the greatest mistake against its own in- 
 terests in being so intolerant, that ever was made. Sometimes 
 one portion of it has driven away from its bosom the most vital 
 elements of its industry and prosperity, because they could not. 
 conform to its hierarchical and religious despotisms. Spain im- 
 poverished herself by driving out the Moors and Jews. France 
 put back her own advancement in agriculture and manufactures 
 irretrievably by burning out the Huguenots, and at the same 
 time enriched other countries at her own expense. Italy im- 
 poverished and debilitated herself in like manner by the peremp- 
 tory banishment of some of her best manufacturers, because they 
 were Reformed, and in that measure took the most direct course 
 possible to build up the Protestant Ciiy of Zurich, where the 
 banished ones from Locarno found a hospitable refuge with all 
 their wealth, arts, and industry. They who will leave a country 
 for their faith, rather than desert their faith, are likely to be the 
 best of its citizens, and when you draw them oiT, you take away 
 the life-blood of the country. This is one way in which, by the 
 constitution of Divine Providence, men's sins come down upon 
 their own pate, and nations reap the fire of their own persecu- 
 tions. They sow their fields with fire, and gather the fire into 
 their own garners. They sow the wind, and reap the whirlwind. 
 But men do not learn this, until they see it in history, and even 
 
 VOL. II. 13 
 
178 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap, xxxriti 
 
 ihere they rarely turn the light of their own experience upon 
 the future, so that selfishness and passion often beguile one 
 generation to a plunge into the same mistakes that have ruined 
 the preceding. 
 
 t''rom Reichenau we posted the same evening to Thusis, a 
 village of about seven hundred inhabitants, situated against the 
 jaws of the wildest, most tremendous defile in Switzerland, on 
 a mountain terrace or projection of unequal height,, from which 
 you enjoy down the open valley the loveliest variety of pros- 
 pect, in river, plain, mountain, castle, and hamlet. By one of 
 those great calamities, which so often overwhelm the Swiss vil- 
 lages, this thriving little town has been but recently destroyed 
 by a conflagration. No man can measure the distress which 
 must fall upon the inhabitants ; indeed, there seems no possible 
 resource, by which they could recover from so desolating a blow. 
 It is most melancholy to think of the misery that must be en- 
 dured by them. 
 
 The romantic country through which we have now been tra- 
 velling possesses more remembrances of feudal tyranny and war 
 in the half-ruined castles, so thickly scattered along the Rhine- 
 vales, than any other part of Switzerland. Sometimes they can 
 scarcely be distinguished from the rocks on which they are built, 
 they have become so storm-beaten, old, and moss-grown. Some of 
 them surmount the crags in such picturesque boldness, apparently 
 inaccessible and impregnable, that you wonder both how they 
 were constructed, and how they were conquered. They are 
 remnants of a despotic, warlike, social state, like the huge fossil 
 remains of a past world of all-devouring monsters. The land- 
 scapes commanded by them are scenes of the greatest grandeur 
 and beauty, though that was the element least thought of in their 
 construction. Now the traveller winds his way along, and thinks 
 of the powerful spirit of beauty in Nature, which has subdued 
 them to herself in their decay, and dropping a veil of lone and 
 melancholy grandeur over them, has enshrined the forms of men's 
 tyranny for the delight of man's imagination. 
 
SHAP. XXXIX,] HEART IN THE UNIVERSE. 17» 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 Terrific grandeur of the Splugen. — The Via Mala. — Creation as & 
 Teacher of God. 
 
 Is it not perfectly true, that everything which is to have povifer 
 over man, must come to him through a human heart, must have 
 the tone of the heart ? To get within him, it must proceed from 
 within some one else ; all that is merely external is cold, unap- 
 pealing, lifeless. This is the case indeed with man's works, but 
 not with God's. There is never an object in God's creation, but 
 speaks at once to the heart, as well as to the mind, if the heart 
 be prepared to listen. The universe is glorious, because God 
 made it, and it speaks of Him. Whatever object he has touched 
 with the finger of his power, shall bear that impress till he has 
 annihilated it. Though it were but a withered leaf, driven by 
 the whirlwind, it sparkles with his glory. And there is as much 
 of Him, of his power and love, in a drop of dew trembling on a 
 rose leaf, if rightly appreciated, as in the snowy summit of Mont 
 Blanc burning at sunset. 
 
 All things are steps or links for intercourse with God. Hence, 
 Henry Martyn used to say, when tired of human company and 
 its depravity, and destitute of all Christian communion, that any- 
 thing whatever of God's works was sweet to him. " A leaf," 
 said he, " is good company," for it brought his Father near to 
 him, and he could talk with God. 
 
 It is a blessed, practical, and not merely imaginative habit of 
 mind, by which the things of sense are thus rendered subservient 
 to spiritual purposes, " auxiliar to divine." It is a heavenly 
 faculty, by which the hieroglyphics of himself which the Eternal 
 Being has deigned to write with the finger of his glory upon 
 created things, may be interpreted and read in their splendor and 
 fulness. The Universe is a type of Spiritual Intelligence to tlie 
 eye that reads it thus, disclosing and reflecting at every turn the 
 
ISO PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap, xxxix 
 
 knowledge of the glory of its Illuminating Sun. I have seen,, 
 says the Poet Wordsworth, in one of his most beautiful strains of 
 imagery, 
 
 " I have seen 
 A curious child, that dwelt upon a tract 
 Of inland ground, applying to his ear 
 The convolutions of a smooth-lipped shell, 
 To which, in silence hushed, his very soul 
 Listened intently ; and his countenance soon 
 Brightened with joy : for murmurings from within 
 Were heard, sonorous cadences ! whereby 
 To his belief the Monitor expressed 
 Mysterious union with its native sea. 
 E'en such a shell the Universe itself 
 Is to the ear of Faith." 
 
 ExcTTRSioir. 
 
 The thought thus beautifully expressed (and it is an exquisitely 
 beautiful image) is but the reiteration of repeated declarations in the 
 Scriptures in regard to the purpose and meaning of the visible 
 creation of God, Their line is gone mil through all the earth, and 
 their words to the end of the world. 
 
 In all God's works there is heart, God's heart, for God is 
 Love ; and he is happy, who feels this, for though every man 
 sees God with his mind, his understanding, no man sees him with 
 the heart, or hears the tone of the heart of Love in creation, 
 whohas not something of that love within him. In man's works, 
 heart is the rarest ingredient, the most precious, the most costly, 
 the most seldom to be met with. In God's works, love is the 
 universal element, though power is almost the only element which 
 man notices. But love is the element that speaks to the heart, 
 and happy is the heart that hears its blissful language. 
 
 Hence the beauty of that sonnet imitated by Montgomery from^ 
 the Italian of Gaetana Passerini. 
 
 " If in the field I meet a smiling flower, 
 Methinks it whispers, ' God created me. 
 And I to Him devote my little hour. 
 In lonely sweetness and humility.' 
 If where the forest's darkest shadows lower, 
 A serpent quick and venomous I see. 
 
CHAP. XXXIX.1 THE VIA MALA. IBl 
 
 It seems to say, — ' I too extol the power 
 
 Of Him, who caused me at his will to be.' 
 
 The fountain purling, and the river strong. 
 
 The rocks, the trees, the mountains, raise one song ; 
 
 ' Glory to God !' re-echoes in mine ear : 
 
 Faithless were I, in wilful error blind, 
 
 Did I not Him in all his creatures find. 
 
 His voice through heaven and earth and ocean hear." 
 
 But what poetry can give a human utterance to the voice that 
 speaks from that dread mountain-rift of Switzerland, the Pass of 
 the Splugen 1 Milton should be here to describe it, as he has 
 the war in heaven, with language, feeling, thought, imagery, all, 
 as it were, winged with red lightning and impetuous rage. All 
 the images of grandeur, power, energy in nature. Oceanic, Ti- 
 tanic. Volcanic, the whirlwind, the fiery tempest, the earthquake, 
 elemental war, deluges, convulsions, avalanches, crashing ice- 
 bergs, chained lightning, leaping from crag to crag, and thunder 
 bellowing through the vast and boundless deep, might be ex- 
 hausted, and yet fail to convey to the mind an adequate rm- 
 pression of this sublime pass. Four or five miles of it are called 
 the Via Mala, constituting one continued, tortuous, black, jagged 
 chasm, split through the stupendous mountain ridge from the 
 summit to the base, in perpendicular, angular, and convoluted 
 zigzag rifts, so narrow in some places, that you could almost leap 
 across, yet so deep, that the thunder of the Rhine dies upon the 
 ear in struggling and reverberating echoes upwards. 
 
 Sixteen hundred feet at least the precipices in some places 
 rise perpendicular to heaven, so serrated and torn, the one side 
 from the other, that if the same Almighty Power that rent them, 
 should spring them together, they would shut as closely as a 
 portcullis in its sockets, as a tomb upon its lid. Down in the 
 depths of this fearful fissure thunders the mad river, sometimes 
 lost from sight and scarcely audible in its muffled, subterranean, 
 booming sound, sometimes desperately plunging, sometimes 
 wildly, swiftly, flashing in white foam, sometimes whirling like 
 a maelstrom. 
 
 You enter upon this savage pass from a world of beauty, from 
 the sunlit vale of Domschleg, under the old Etruscan Castle of 
 
J 82 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap, xxxix 
 
 Realt, spiked in the cliff lilte a war-club, four hundred feet 
 atove you, and totally inaccessible on every side but one. Pass- 
 ing this from Thusis, you are plunged at once into a scene of 
 such concentrated and deep sublimity, such awe-inspiring gran- 
 deur, such overwhelming power, that you advance slowly and 
 solemnly, as if every crag were a supernatural being looking at 
 you. The road is with great daring carried along the perpen- 
 dicular face of crags, being cut from the rock where no living 
 thing could have scaled the mountain, and sometimes it com- 
 pletely overhangs the abyss, a thousand feet above the raging 
 torrent. Now it pierces the rook, now it runs zigzag, now spans 
 the gorge on a light dizzy bridge ; now the mountains frown on 
 each other like tropical thunder-clouds about to meet and dis- 
 charge their artillery, and now you come upon mighty insulated 
 crags, thrown wildly together, covered with fringes of moss and 
 shrubbery, and constituting vast masses of verdure. 
 
 I must here speak of the folly of passing through a scene so 
 magnificently grand in any other way than leisurely on foot. 
 My friend being an invalid, we took a barouche at Thusis, and a 
 fat, surly guide for a driver, but we had no sooner started, than 
 with my friend's consent I cleared myself of this incumbrance, 
 and resumed my old lonely pilgrimage, letting the carriage pass 
 on out of sight before me. Mr. H. soon followed my example, 
 and I could see him now and then with his sketch-book in his 
 hand, leaning over the parapet, and endeavoring to transfer with 
 his pencil some little likeness of portions of the sublime scene. 
 Now and then I got up with him, and found him vexed with the 
 impatient hurry of the coachman, who was very much disposed 
 to drive on alone without us. Without me he did go, and I en- 
 joyed the pleasure of walking back again, to the opening of the 
 gorge at Thusis, admiring the grand features of the scene in the 
 reverse order. And nothing can be finer than the effect, where 
 you look through the ravine as through a mighty perspective, 
 with the Realt Castle hanging to the cliff at its mouth, and the 
 sunny air and earth expanding in such contrast with the frown- 
 ing, gloom-invested, tremendous passage behind you. We leaned 
 over the parapet, and by dropping stones in the roaring torrent 
 below, and computing by our watches the time they took to reach 
 
CHAP XXXIX.] PASS OF THE SPLUGEN. ISJi 
 
 the water, endeavored to guess at the depth of the chasm. It 
 was dizzy to look at it. The tall black fir forest on the mountain 
 shelves, and the blasted pines on inaccessible peaks, seemed to 
 gaze gravely at us, as if we had come unauthorized into a sanc- 
 tuary of nature too deep and awful to be trodden by the foot of 
 man. 
 
 Just after the entrance from Thusis, the mountain is pierced 
 by the first gallery, at a point where of old the chasm was im- 
 passable and never passed. The peasants gave the unfathomed 
 profound abyss at this place the name of the Verlohren Loch, or 
 Lost Gulf, because no man could trace it, and to get to the valley 
 above, they had to ascend high mountains from Thusis, and come 
 down in a long fatiguing circuit. After some hundreds of years, 
 the engineer of the present road, Pooobelli, undertook to cut 
 through the overhanging mountain along this Lost Gulf a dark 
 tunnel of 216 feet, and then blasted a groove for a thousand feet 
 farther, under the rocky canopy, where your carriage passes as 
 on a shelf, with the tremendous gulf beneath you at your left. 
 Now and then the precipices on one side actually hang beetling 
 over the road on the other, and looking up to heaven, it is as if 
 you gazed out from the keep of a dungeon, and one would think 
 you might almost see the stars at noon-day, as from the bottom 
 of a well. 
 
 Looking up the pass from below the second bridge, perhaps 
 the view is finer than in any other part. The bridge itself, with 
 the appalling depth spanned by it, adds to the sublimity. You 
 gain this bridge by a gallery in an overhanging projection of the 
 mountain, and then cross to the other side, looking down and up, as 
 in the central position of the. gorge. Owing to the recent heavy 
 rain while we were at Ragatz, the river was now higher than 
 usual, and from the beetling precipices above us the white 
 streams, new-born, were leaping like jets of foam. We passed 
 a most singular and daring, but very simple air bridge that hung 
 above us for the purpose of getting the timber from one side of 
 the gulf, where almost perpendicularly it clothes the mountain, 
 over to the road on the other. A range of cables was suspended 
 from the trunks of enormous pines, some hundreds of feet above 
 the road, and being fastened securely on the other side of the 
 
184 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap, xxiix. 
 
 gulf, the timber being cut and trimmed for the purpose, was thus 
 swung high in its cradle of air to the place of landing for trans- 
 portation. 
 
 How tremendous would a falling Avalanche be in this place ! 
 But here the mountains, one would think, are too steep for the 
 snow and ice to congregate in sufficient masses. In a dreadful 
 storm in 1834, the river being dammed up by the fragments of 
 rock atnd timber wedged into the jagged narrow cleft, the water 
 rose near four hundred feet. It poured down the gorge as if an 
 ocean had burst into it, but its ravages were committed princi- 
 pally in the vales above and below the Via Mala. At the village 
 of Splugen twelve houses were swept away, so sudden and violent 
 was the inundation, in some of which, an hour before, the pea- 
 sants had been quietly seated at their supper. The same terrific 
 storm and inundation covered some other of the valleys with a 
 half century of desolation. 
 
 At Andeer I rejoined my friend, whose care had provided a 
 good dinner, besides making all arrangements for getting on to 
 Splugen for the night. There was nothing for me to do but to 
 sit down and rest myself. I had passed and repassed almost the 
 whole of the Via Mala, and would have been glad, if possible, to 
 return through the same stupendous pass the next day, but our 
 course was direct/for Italy. 
 
CHAP. XL.] THEOLOGY OF THE SPLUGEN. 189 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 Natural Theology of the Splugen. 
 
 Now, dear friend, what thinkest thou of the moral of tiiis 
 stupendous scene in the preceding chapter ? Dost thou set down 
 this mountain-rift, in thy natural theology, as a chapter of the 
 scars and vestiges of sin, one of the groans of nature in this 
 nether world, wrung out by man's fall ? Or is it to thee an in- 
 structive, exalting, exciting scene of Power, magnificently grand, 
 almost as if thou hadst witnessed the revealed Arm of Omni- 
 potence, and lifting thy heart, mind, soul, thy whole being, up 
 to God ? 
 
 Methinks you answer, that if God meant the world to be a 
 great solemn palace for the teaching of his children, on the very 
 walls of which there should be grand inscriptions and hierogly- 
 phics productive of great thoughts, rousing the mind from slum- 
 ber, rearing the imagination with a noble discipline, he would 
 have scattered here and there just such earthquake-rifts of power 
 and grandeur. We are immortal children in the school-house 
 of our infancy. It is not necessary to suppose that every scar 
 on the face of Nature, deep entrenched and jagged, is an imper- 
 fection or a mark of wrath ; for it may be a scene, where an 
 angel passing by would stop and admire it as a symbol of God's 
 power, a faint comma, as it were, in the revelation of his attri- 
 butes ; it may be a scene, which awakens great thoughts in an 
 angel's bosom, as a hidden lowly daisy does the more gentle 
 ones ; the daisy being a flower, which an angel might stop to 
 gaze at as an emblem of sweetness and humility. 
 
 And in this view, as a hieroglyphic of Power, this fathomless 
 dread gorge is also a proof of Love. It was Love that appointed 
 it as an emblem of Power. So is the great wide Sea, and that 
 Leviathan whom Thou hast made to play therein. So are the 
 
186 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap, xu 
 
 volcanoes, the ice-continents, and the burning deserts. All may 
 be works of Love, though they show nothing but Power. And 
 even if it be Power in exercise for the avenging and punishment 
 of sin, even then it is Love ; for every lesson of God's wrath is 
 Love, and where there is sin, wrath is a proof of Love, of Love 
 saving by wrath the lookers on from rushing into wrath. 
 
 There are places in our world, where we may suppose that 
 beings from another planet, conversant with the history of ours, 
 would stop and gaze solemnly, and speak to each other of God's 
 retributive justice. Such is that black dead sea with arid shores, 
 that rolls where Sodom stood. If angels went to take Lot from 
 the city that was to be burned, how often, when angels pass the 
 place, scarred now with retribution, do they think with shudder- 
 ing of the evil of sin ! Yet even that retribution was invested 
 with the atmosphere of Love, and had not God been Love, he 
 might have let Sodom stand, he might have let the guilty go un- 
 punished. If God were not Love, then there might be no future 
 retribution of misery to the wicked. But justice only does the 
 work of Love, and Love works for the purity and blessedness of 
 the universe. Where there is sin. Love without wrath would only 
 be connivance with iniquity. 
 
 It is a fact therefore, that in your natural theology, sin being 
 given, pain is absolutely necessary, in order to prove the benevo- 
 lence of God. So that the problem and the answer might be 
 stated thus : Given, the fact of sin, how will you demonstrate 
 that God is a good being ? Answer : Only by proving that God 
 punishes sin. In this view, the misery with which earth is filled, 
 so far from being a diificulty in God's government, goes to esta- 
 blish it as God's. A malevolent being wouli have let men sin 
 without making them miserable ; therefore, God could not be 
 proved benevolent unless, in a world of sin, there were the in- 
 gredient of misery. 
 
 Then as to the other problem : Given, a race of sinful crea- 
 tures : What sort of a world shall they be placed in ? You 
 would certainly answer. Not a world of unmingled softness 
 and beauty, not a Paradise of enjoyment, not the early and un. 
 diseased Eden of innocence and love, but a world, in which there 
 shall be enough of storm and tempest, enough of painful climate, 
 
CHAP. XL.] CREATION AS A TEACHER. 187 
 
 and of the curse of barrenness, and of the element of disaster 
 and ruin, to show God's frown and evident curse for sin ; but 
 yet enough of the means of enjoyment, if rightly used, to draw 
 men to industry, to show God's kindness and love, and enough 
 of beauty and sublimity to impress, delight and educate the 
 soul. It is just a world so mingled, a world scarred with evil, 
 as well as bright with good, that we, a sinful race, do really 
 inhabit. 
 
 The view which men take of the argument for the goodness 
 of God from the works of creation will vary much according to 
 their own states of mind. A man suffering the consequences of 
 sin, or a man under a cloud of care, and destitute of faith, or a 
 man burdened with present miseries, without any consolation 
 from divine grace, would see things very differently from a calm 
 mind, a quiet mind, a happy mind, a mind at peace with God. 
 The Universe takes its coloring from the hue of our own souls ; 
 and so, in a measure, does the solution of the question whether 
 the Universe, so far as we are acquainted with it, proves a God 
 of love. A heart that loves God, and rejoices in the happiness 
 that fills the world around it, will say instinctively that it does, 
 and will sympathize with God in his own feelings of delight in 
 the happiness of creation. A misanthropic heart, a sinful heart, 
 a rebellious heart, will perhaps be disposed to say No, or will 
 overlook, and cannot understand and appreciate, the power of the 
 argument. For a mind disposed to make difficulty, plenty of 
 difficulty exists. For a mind humbly disposed to learn of God, 
 there is confirmation of the soul's faith, even in difBculti(3s them- 
 selves, which are as buttresses supporting the spire that sublimely 
 points to heaven. 
 
188 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap. xm. 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 Pass o(j the Splugen into Italy, — The Cardinell and Macdonald*s army.— 
 Campo Dolcino and Chiavenna. 
 
 From the little wild village of Splugen, overhanging the young 
 Rhine-river, where there is an excellent mountain inn, having 
 supped, slept, and breakfasted, 4711 feet above the sea, you take 
 your departure at pleasure for either of the two Alpine passes into 
 Italy, the Splugen or the Rernardin. Both of them carry you across 
 scenes of the greatest wildness, winter, and sublimity, into almost 
 perpetual loveliness and summer. You pass the snowy recesses, 
 where Nature holds the nursling rivers to her bosom of glaciers, 
 feeding her infants with ice ; you go down into Elysian fields, 
 where the brooks sparkle and dance, like laughing children amidst 
 flowers and sunshine. The whirlwind of war has poured across 
 each of these passes, in the most terrific of the seasons, driven by 
 the French General Lecourbe at the Bernardin, and by Macdo- 
 nald at the perilous gorge of the Cardinell. They marched in 
 the midst of fierce tempests and falling avalanches, that swept 
 whole phalanxes as into the depths of hell, as if the avenging 
 genii of Switzerland were up in arms, the ministers of wrath 
 against the oppressor. The pass of the Splugen, rising more than 
 2000 feet above the village of Splugen, and 6814 above the sea, 
 brings you out at Chiavenna and the Lake of Como. That of 
 the Bernardin, rising 7115 feet above the sea, and about 2400 
 above Splugen, opens upon Bellinzona and the Lakes of Mag- 
 giore and Lugano. 
 
 We take the Splugen road, and following it through four miles 
 and three quarters of laborious ascent, come to the narrow moun- 
 tain ridge, which traces the boundary line between Switzerland 
 and Lombardy. The steepest ascent is effected by a great num- 
 ber of zigzags, so gradual, that they turn almost parallel on one 
 another. The pedestrian will do well to scale across them, as 
 
CHAP, xu.] PASS OF THE SPLUGEN. 189 
 
 one might cut a coil of rope across the centre, instead of running 
 round it ; and climbing from crag to crag, he will speedily see 
 his carriage and friends far below him, toiling slowly along, while 
 he himself seems to be mounting into heaven. The laborers 
 were at work upon the road above these zigzags, constructing a 
 tunnel or gallery for safety from the avalanches, so as to let them 
 shoot over the roof into the gulf below witliout harm to the pas- 
 sengers. But a man would not wish to be present either in the 
 tunnel or on the zigzags, when an avalanche thunders down. 
 One would suppose it would sweep gallery and all before it, tear- 
 ing a trench in the mountain, like the furrow of a cannon ball 
 across rough ground. 
 
 You reach the summit of the pass, the highest ridge, and as 
 usual there is little or no intermediate space, no debateable level, 
 but you descend as instantly, almost, as from one side of the steep 
 roof of a house to the other. The fierce wind cutting your face, 
 and sometimes blowing as if it would hurl you back bodily into 
 the inn at Splugen, or the thundering Rhine, tells you at once, 
 as well as the extreme cold, when you have reached the culmi- 
 nating point, for you get nothing of Italy here except an Aus- 
 trian bayonet, sharp and watchful as the ice-breeze. Perhaps 
 you may have been expecting to meet the warm breath of the 
 South, and to look down from the peaks of winter into the ver- 
 dure of sunny Italian landscapes. As yet the Italian side is as 
 savage as the Swiss, and there is an element of gloom besides, 
 almost sensible in the air itself, and visible as a symbol, in the 
 awful desolation around you, — grim despotism, vigilant, insolent, 
 remorseless. So pass on, if you please, and enter some of its 
 guard-houses, built as much like dread prisons as may be, and 
 where you feel as if in prison yourself, while your passport and 
 your baggage are under examination. How different this, from 
 the pleasant, hospitable reception on the Grand St. Bernard ! 
 
 The old road from this point passed through the terrific gorge 
 of the Cardinell, where Macdonald, at the will of Napoleon, un- 
 dertook a five days' fight with the rage of the elements. It was 
 winter and storm, but there was no retreating. He advanced with 
 his army in the face of a cannonade of avalanches, on the brink of 
 unfathomable abysses, where many a score of despairing men and 
 
190 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap, x„i. 
 
 Struggling horses, buffeted and blinded by the wings of the tempest, 
 and wrapped in a winding sheet of ice and snow, were launched off 
 by the crashing mountain masses, and buried for ever. Over this 
 gorge the avalanches hang balancedand brooding, so that a whis- 
 per may precipitate them. They have sometimes fallen like a 
 thunderbolt, and swept away one traveller, leaving another in 
 safety by his side. The mail carriers have seen their horses 
 shot into the abyss, not indeed from under them, but when they 
 had dismounted for an instant. It seems to be a pass shrouded 
 in more absolute terrors than any in Switzerland. 
 
 There are indeed more avalanches annually in this Canton of 
 the Grisons than in any other, and a greater number of lives lost 
 every year. There is no avoiding the peril, because no fore- 
 seeing when it may fall. A story is told, with all the evi- 
 dence of truth, of the whole village of Ruei-as in 1749 being 
 swept off by an avalanche so immense, taking such vast deep 
 masses of earth all at once, that the inmates in some of the houses 
 were not even awakened by the rush of the mountain, and when 
 they did awake buried, lay abed and wondered that the night was 
 so long ! Tired mountaineers sleep very soundly, but I do not 
 demand credit for this, though it is not absolutely incredible. 
 There are incidents enough, terrible and grand, and escapes 
 almost miraculous, which do not so tax faith's faculties. 
 
 In the passage of Macdonald's army through this frightful re- 
 gion, so far from being surprised at the number of men swept to 
 destruction, we only wonder that whole regiments were not buried 
 at once ; the amazement is, that passing in a winter's storm, with 
 avalanches repeatedly shooting through these columns, so large a 
 portion of the army escaped, not more than a hundred men, and 
 as many horses, being lost. One of the drummers of the army, 
 having been shot in a snow bank from the avalanche into the 
 frightful gulf, and baring struggled forth alive, but out of sight 
 and reach of his comrades, was heard beating his drum for hours 
 in the abyss, vainly expecting rescue. Poor fellow ! the roll of 
 his martial instrument had often roused his fellow soldiers with 
 fierce courage to the attack, but now it was his own funeral march 
 that he was beating, and it sounded like a death summons for the 
 whole army into this frightful Hades, if another avalanche should 
 
CHAP. XLi.] GORGE OF THE CARDINELL. 191 
 
 thunder down. There was no reaching him, and death with icy 
 fingers stilled the roll of the drum, and beat out the last pulsations 
 of hope and life in his bosom ! 
 
 Macdonald was struggling on to Marengo. The array suffered 
 more from fatigue and terror in the passage than in all their bat- 
 tles. Had they perished in the gorge of the Cardinell, the victory 
 at Marengo would perhaps have been changed into a defeat, which 
 itself might have changed the whole course of modern history. 
 What might not have been, had such and such things not been ! 
 and what mighty things might never have been, if such and such 
 things had been. Give me but the power to have put a pin where 
 I might choose, twice in the last forty years, and I could have re- 
 volutionized all Europe. If, is a great word. How many at 
 this moment are saying, J/" I had but done so and so, or, if this 
 circumstance were only so, or, if I had but avoided doing so and 
 so ! Sometimes, ifs are fearful things, especially on a dying bed, 
 when they balance the soul between hell and heaven. One half 
 the sentence presents it at the gates of Paradise, the other thrusts 
 it through the portals of the world of wo. 
 
 We pass now above the village of Isola, with the deserted and 
 unused zigzags leading to it, which you overlook completely, as 
 if you could jump down upon the clustered houses. The labori- 
 ously constructed roads and great galleries tell you, if you are at 
 all sceptical, what dangers lie in wait from the avalanches, which 
 you find it difficult to conceive, when crossing the pass in the 
 depth of summer and in fine weather. A space of about three 
 thousand feet, where the avalanches roar across the passage every 
 year, and would plough up an open road like the wedge of the 
 descending pyramids of Dgizeh, is nearly covered with these 
 mass've galleries, one of them 700 feet in length, a second 642 
 feet long, and a still longer gallery of 1530 feet by fifteen high 
 and wide. The solid smooth roofs slope outwards, and the travel- 
 ler beneath them, if he is there at a proper time, may hear above 
 him the sublime roar of the descending masses of iqe and snow, 
 impetuously sweeping the roof and shooting into the gulf like a 
 tornado. 
 
 The road crosses the stream of the Medissimo, at the very verge 
 of the precipice, where the little river takes a sheer plunge, of 
 
'92 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap, xli 
 
 near 800 feet high, down into the vale of the Lira, making one 
 of the most truly magnificent cascades in all Switzerland. But 
 you should see it when the stream is well swollen with rains. 
 You command the whole fall from above ; you have also the most 
 admirable points of view sideways and half in front, as you wind 
 your way beyond the river down into the Vale, by the rocky zig- 
 zags turning and returning upon the scene. It is indescribably 
 beautiliil. 
 
 If the day itself did not begin to be cloudy and severe, you 
 would have, even thus far up the mountains, a taste of the sweet 
 air of Italy, as well as an experience of its bitter, desolate and 
 dirty inns. Its golden delicious names begin to winnow the air 
 like winged words upon your ear at every step, and from the vil- 
 lage of Splugen, with its clattering consonants, and its comfortable, 
 excellent hotel, you pass to the village of Campo Uolcino, a paradi- 
 saical name, a dirty hamlet, and an execrable inn. This was the 
 Post inn, and here we had been promised a new carriage and 
 horses, not being able, on any condition, to persuade our obstinate 
 or faint-hearted young driver from Splugen to carry us in to Chi- 
 avenna. The governors of the stable at Campo Dolcino either 
 could not or would not provide us a voiture, whereupon, as we 
 would have ridden a rail rather than stay in this dram-drink- 
 ing, oath-swearing place over the sabbath (and it was now 
 Saturday evening) a peasant's hay cart, that stood in a melancholy 
 out-house, was harnessed, the postillions and horses of two 
 carriages that had just arrived on the way to Splugen were ap- 
 pended, and in this sumptuous style we set out for Chiavenna. 
 We came into Italy in the fog and rain, and into Chiavenna upon 
 .he vertebrsB of a cart, drawn by two horses, with six more fast- 
 ened behind, and three yellow and red-coated postillions on the 
 seat in front of us, with their brazen music-breaking horns of 
 office slung over their shoulders. 
 
 The pass down the valley is the very sublimity of desolatiottj 
 a chaos of huge blocks of rock from the surrounding mountains, 
 thrown and piled disorderly from age to age, in squares and 
 parallelograms, and now covered partially, and richly veiled, with 
 mosses and verdure. The rock is of a kind that reddens in the 
 air after long exposure, so that the color of the scene is dark and 
 
CHAP, xu.] CHIAVENNA. 193 
 
 rich, and the many magnificent chestnut trees, with their thick, lux- 
 uriant foliage, amidst the precipices, along which, the road winds 
 downwards, make the landscape most impressive for its solemnity 
 and beauty. Two or three miles before arriving at Chiavenna, 
 this narrow vale of Lira opens out into an expansive combination 
 of the lovely luxuriance of Italy with the grandeur of Switzer- 
 land ; glorious mountains broken into picturesque red crags, 
 embosomed in foliage, so that the sun, shining on them with the 
 slant golden light of setting day, turns them into jasper ; green 
 vineyards purpled with the luscious ripe grapes ; overshadowing 
 chestnuts, leafy figs, pomegranates, mulberries, almonds, and 
 everywhere the record of an inexhaustible life and fertility, in 
 the richest, most consummate vegetation. Here lies, romantically 
 situated, on the river Maira, at the mouth of the Val Bregaglia, 
 under the overawing mountains, ihe Italian town of Chiavenna. 
 
 You drive up to the Inn Conradi, if you come genteelly and 
 properly into the town ; but we had to walk as if we had dropped 
 from the clouds, for our roguish postillions were afraid their 
 owners should see them with the peasant's hay-cart, and kindness 
 to them, as well as respect for ourselves, prevented us from 
 insisting that they should parade our queer establishment in the 
 great square, so we got out at a proper distance and threaded our 
 way to the hotel, leaving them to follow with our luggage. Hard 
 by the inn rises a most romantic ruined old castle, on the summit 
 of a grottoed cliff, and a few steps from it are the antique ecclesi- 
 astical structures of the town, among which the most singular are 
 a couple of human skeleton-houses, with grated doors, through 
 which you see piled innumerable skulls and cross-bones grinning 
 at you ; an order of architecture more antique and solemn than 
 any other in the world. The priests are busy with their pro- 
 cessions, the bells are ringing, the world is singing, and the whole 
 population, especially of women, seem to be church choristnrs. 
 The two guardian genii of Italy are perpetually at work around 
 you. Music and Superstition. 
 
 PAET II. 14 
 
IM PILGRIM OP THE JUNGFRAU. [chap. xiii. 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 The Buried Town of Pleura. 
 
 There are in Chiavenna about three thousand people. The 
 great interest of the surrounding region is in the beauty of the 
 Valley of Bregaglia, above the town towards the pass of the Ma- 
 loggia, most grand and beautiful. About an hour's walk brings 
 you to a spot, which was to me one of the most interesting in all my 
 rambles, the spot where the village of Pleurs, with about twenty- 
 five hundred inhabitants, was overwhelmed in the year 1618, by 
 the falling of a mountain. This terrific avalanche took place in 
 the night, and was so sudden, complete, and overwhelming, that 
 not only every soul perished, but no trace whatever of the village 
 or of any of the remains of the inhabitants could afterwards be 
 discovered. The mountain must have buried the town to the 
 depth of several hundred feet. Though the all- veiling gentleness 
 of nature has covered both the mountain that stood, and that 
 ■which fell, with luxuriant vegetation, and even a forest of chest- 
 nuts has grown amidst the wilderness of the rocks, yet the vast- 
 ness and the wreck of the avalanche are clearly distinguishable. 
 Enormous angular blocks of rocks are strewn and piled in the 
 wildest confusion possible, some of them being at least sixty feet 
 high. The soil has so accumulated in the space of two hundred 
 years, that on the surface of these ruins there are smooth, grassy 
 fields at intervals, and the chestnuts grow everywhere. A few 
 clusters of miserable hamlets, like Indians' or gipsies' wigwams, 
 are also scattered over the grave of the former village, and there 
 is a forlorn looking chapel that might serve as a convent for 
 banditti. The mountains rise on either side to a great height in 
 most picturesque peaks and outlines, and the valley is filled up 
 with a snowy range at the north. 
 
 On this spot I read with great pleasure the Benedicite in 
 the Book of Common Prayer, which my friend lent me. ye 
 
CHAP. xLii.] THE BURIED QITY. 195 
 
 mountains and all hills, praise the Lord ! There is but one verse 
 in it inconsistent with the sublimity of the whole, and that is the 
 appeal to Ananias, Azarias, and Misael, which is as if the bel- 
 lows of an organ had burst in the middle of an anthenai ; he that 
 can tell me what it means, will have more knowledge than any 
 man I have yet encountered. My friend, though an English 
 Clergyman, could not solve the problem. O Ananias, Azarias, 
 and Misael, praise ye the Lord ! Who are, or were, these peo- 
 ple, or are they saints or angels, or how came their names in the 
 Benedicite ? The Romish Missal, from which it was doubtless 
 copied, may perhaps tell. 
 
 On the other side of the Maira, one of the most beautiful cas- 
 cades in the world was falling from the mountains. There are 
 four falls, close upon the foam of one another, two higher up, and 
 two lower down. Seen against the setting sun, nothing could be 
 more beautiful. Always falling, always falling, only beautiful 
 by falling and being lost ! Yet not lost, for all streams reach the 
 sea, and so it is an emblem of those acts of faith and self-sacrifice, 
 in which men lose their lives and find them, making as it were a 
 perilous loss, for the kingdom of heaven, which is admired of 
 the world, and rewarded in God for ever. 
 
 It was a solemn thing to stand upon the tomb of twenty-five 
 hundred beings, all sepulchred alive. No efibrts have ever dis- 
 covered a trace of the inhabitants, not a bone, not a vestige. The 
 mountain that covers them shall be thrown oflT at the resurrection, 
 but never before. It was the Mount Conto that fell ; the half 
 that was left; behind still rises abrupt and perpendicular over the 
 mighty grave. It is singular enough that the town was situated 
 itself on the tomb of another village, which had previously been 
 overwhelmed by a similar catastrophe. For that reason it was 
 named Pleurs, The Town of Tears. From the times of old, as 
 often as in Italy one city has been buried, another has been built 
 upon the very same spot, except indeed in the case of Pompeii, so 
 that it is no uncommon thing for the same earth to be leased to 
 the dead and the living. 
 
 The Town of Tears was one of the gayest, richest, laughing, 
 pleasure-loving, joyous little cities in the kingdom. It might 
 have been named Tears because it had laughed till it cried. It 
 
106 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap. xlii. 
 
 had palaces and villas of rich gentlemen and nobles; for its 
 lovely, romantic situation, and pleasant air, attracted the wealthy- 
 families to spend especially the summer months in so delightful a 
 retreat. 1 vi^onder that no poet or romance-writer has made this 
 scene the subject of a thrilling story. The day before the lid of 
 their vast sepulchre fell, the people were as happy andsecure as those 
 of Pompeii, the night of the Vesuvian eruption — and much more 
 innocenf. There had been great rains. Vast masses of gravel were 
 loosened from the mountains, and overwhelmed some rich vineyards. 
 The herdsmen came hurrying in to give notice that strange move- 
 ments had been taking place, with alarming symptoms of some great 
 convulsion ; that there were great fissures and rents forming in the 
 mountain, and masses of rock falling, just as the cornice of a build- 
 ing might topple down in fragments, before the whole wall tum- 
 bles. The cattle were seized with terror, and probably perceiving 
 the trembling of the ground beneath their feet, fled bellowuig 
 from the region. 
 
 Nevertheless, there was no dream of what was to follow. The 
 storm cleared brightly away, the sun rose and set on the fourth 
 of September, as a bridegroom ; the people lay down securely to 
 rest, or pursued their accustomed festivities into the bosom of the 
 night, with the plans for to-morrow ; but that night the mountain 
 fell and destroyed them all. At midnight a great roar was heard 
 far over the country, and a shock felt as of an earthquake, and 
 then a solemn stillness followed ; in the morning a cloud of dust 
 and vapor hung over the valley, and the bed of the Maira was 
 dry. The river had been stopped by the falling of the mountain 
 across its channel, and the town of Pleurs with the village of Celano 
 had disappeared for ever. All the excavations of all the laborers that 
 could be collected, failed to discover a single vestige of the inhabit- 
 ants or of their dwelling-places. The miners could not reach the 
 cathedral for its gold and jewels, and there they lie at rest, 
 churches and palaces, villas and hovels, priests, peasants, and 
 nobles, where neither gold, nor love, nor superstition, nor piety, 
 can raise them from their graves, or have any power over them. 
 
 How many a tale this green and rocky mound doth tell of ex- 
 pectations blasted, of plans suddenly broken, of domestic trage- 
 dies and comedies interrupted in the midst ; — of pleasure and 
 
CHAP, xm.] LESSONS OF DEATH. 197 
 
 prayer, of loss and gain, of poverty and wealth, of sickness and 
 health, all overtaken at once ; the dying and the living cut off 
 together, their death and burial being one and the same. They 
 did eat, they drank, they were marrying and giving in marriage, 
 as in the day when Noah entered into the ark. The gate of the 
 Eternal World received a crowd of spirits ; but that gate is al- 
 ways crowded, for the stream of life is not more full and uninter- 
 rupted on earth, than it is deep and ceaseless in its passage out of 
 Time into Eternity. And not a man in all this tide of unbroken 
 life (for dying is not ceasing to live but living anew), knows the 
 hour of his destiny, though the tide is as immutable, as fixed, as 
 regular, as the laws of the Universe, as Eternity itself. There- 
 fore, sudden deaths, deaths by tempests, by avalanches, by " the 
 all dreaded thunder-stroke," deaths at a word, and deaths without 
 detected cause, in the midst of health, deaths like the burning of 
 a forest, and deaths like the dropping of the autumn leaves, all 
 have their place calmly and quietly in this tide of life, and as 
 little interrupt or agitate its flow, as the ripples that die beneath 
 the weary worn out winds upon its sdrface. 
 
 Almost as fixed as the certainty of death, and the uncertainty 
 of the time of death, is the habit of procrastination in preparing 
 for death. Men still reckon on time, amidst all warnings, and on 
 a better time. " The lying spirit," remarks John Foster, " which 
 had promised to meet them at the assigned spot, to conduct them 
 thenceforward towards heaven, appears not on the ground when 
 they arrive there, unless to tell them that another stage, still fur- 
 ther on, will be more advantageous for commencing the enter- 
 prise." Youth, especially, deems it not probable that life will 
 terminate in youth. And yet, many die young, and vanish as 
 suddenly as a broken dream, so that there is no reliance to be 
 placed even on the most favorable account of probabilities. 
 
 " And," says Foster, with that thoughtful and imperative so- 
 lemnity, for which his sentences are often so remarkable, " a few 
 examples, or even one, of the treacherousness of the calcu- 
 lation, should suffice to warn you not to hazard anything of great 
 moment on so menacing an uncertainty. For, in all reason, 
 when an infinitely important interest is depending, a mere possi- 
 liUly that your allotme it may prove to be like theirs, is to be held 
 
198 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap. xLn. 
 
 of far greater weight on the one side, than the alleged probability 
 of the contrary is on the other. The possibility of dying impre- 
 pared, takes all the value from even the highest probability that 
 there will be prolonged time to prepare : plainly, because there 
 is no proportion between the fearfulness of such a hazard, and the 
 precariousness of such a dependence. So that one day of the 
 certain hazard may be safely asserted to be a greater thing against 
 you, than whole imaginary years promised you by the probability, 
 ought to be accounted of value /or you." 
 
 Many a man is brought to the gates of death, and even of sud- 
 den death, and yet forgets it at once, so soon as he is brought back 
 again. How beautiful is that old ode of Mason expressing abet- 
 ter purpose in a like deliverance. 
 
 Methought Death laid his hands on me. 
 
 And did his prisoner bind ; 
 And by the sound, methought I heard 
 
 His Master's feet behind. 
 Methought I stood upon the shore. 
 
 And nothing could I see, 
 But the vast ocean, with my eyes,— 
 
 A vast Eternity ! 
 
 Methought I heard the midnight cry, 
 
 Sehold the Bridegroom comes ! 
 Methought I was called to the bar. 
 
 Where souls receive their dooms. 
 The world was at an end to me, 
 
 As if it all did burn : 
 But lo ! there came a voice from heaven. 
 
 Which ordered my return. 
 
 Lord, I returned at thy command. 
 
 What wilt thou have me do ? 
 let me wholly live to Thee, 
 
 To whom my life I owe ! 
 Fain would I dedicate to Thee 
 
 The remnant of my days : 
 Lord, with my life renew my heart. 
 
 That both thy name may praise. 
 
CHAP. XLiii.] LAKE OF COMO. 199 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 Beauty of the Lake of Como. — Como to Milan.— Leonardo da Vinci. 
 
 How strange it is that the beauty of Italy is so mingled with de- 
 cay and death ! Between Chiavenna and the Lake of Como, if 
 you stop anywhere by night, you do it a' your peril. The 
 malaria fever lies in ambush where the mountain streams from 
 the Val Bregaglia, the vale of Lira, and the Valteline, have 
 slowly intruded their marshy shoals in plains that may of old 
 have been covered by the Lake of Como. We Started from 
 Chiavenna, through this desolate region, early in the morning by 
 the diligence, and in a few hours arrived at Colico on the Lake, 
 for the purpose of embarking in the steamer, that daily about 
 noon departs for Como. You bid adieu to the companionship of 
 mountains, that have so long been personal friends, with great 
 regret, though you are launched upon one of the most beautiful 
 water-scenes in the world, and one of the grandest also ; for the 
 mountains that invest the Lake of Como give it an air of sub- 
 limity and grandeur as impressive as its beauty is attractive. It 
 is about forty miles in length, bordered by a mountain landscape 
 of perpetual richness, magnificence, and beauty. But let no 
 man, who has leisure to explore its beauties, cross it in a steamer. 
 There are row-boats and sail-boats, and you should take a day 
 or two with a dear friend, or in quiet solitude, to run into its 
 nooks, its enclosures, to land at its picturesque cliffs and recesses, 
 and to watch the clouds, the rocks, and the foliage reflected in its 
 bosom, with nothing but the dipping oar to break its silence, or 
 ruffle its smoothness. There is great enjoyment in such a sail, 
 and it is only thus that you can become acquainted with the ge. 
 nms loci, the soul and spirit of the lake and the landscape. 
 
 At the town of Como you feel that you are in Italy, and how 
 vast the change from the mountains o*" Switzerland to this sunny 
 
800 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [uhap. xlui 
 
 clime ! We were in haste to reach Milan, and there being no- 
 thing to detain us at Como, we secured the only two remaining 
 seats in the diligence, and passed on. A tree fell directly across 
 the road in one part of our way, and falling between the horses 
 and the carriage, stopped us completely, so that the laborers were 
 obliged to cut through the tree on both sides of the road, before 
 we could be extricated. Besides this, we were delayed by an 
 angry altercation between our conductor and an English coach- 
 man, with whom he got into a squabble, raising the whole popu- 
 lace, together with the officers of justice, in a little village on the 
 road. Such a clatter and storm of fierce words and furious ges- 
 ticulations would have been rare to meet anywhere else out of 
 Bedlam ; but after all, we arrived safe, though late, the same 
 evening at Milan. 
 
 How heavenly the enchantment which, from the Italian side, 
 distance lends to the mountains of Switzerland ! Every step we 
 departed from them seemed to render the view more beautiful. 
 They began to appear like another world floating in mid-heaven ; 
 it was as if we were coasting a neighboring planet, battlemented 
 and turfeted with crags of diamond, and divided from us by fields 
 of cerulean space. Meantime, the open country, through which 
 we are travelling, is full of luxuriance. One can never forget 
 the transcendent glory of the horizon, with the evening sun 
 against it. It is the picture drawn by Milton, but reduplicated 
 in broad space in the heavens. 
 
 " Meanwhile in utmost longitude, where heaven 
 With earth and ocean meets, the setting sun 
 Slowly descended ; and with right aspect 
 Against the eastern gate of Paradise 
 Levelled his evening rays : it was a rock 
 Of alabaster, piled up to the clouds, 
 Conspicuous far." 
 
 The day shuts upon such scenery, just as the thickening tho- 
 roughfares, the passing and repassing peasantry, with wains and 
 donkey-wagons, and the glimmering of suburban lights, tell you 
 that you are Hearing a great city. At length you drive under 
 its proud arches, and in the strange romance that surrounds you, 
 
CHAP. xLiii.] SIGHTS IN MILAN. 20i 
 
 on first being set down at dusk among new ranges of buildings 
 and faces, as in the transitions of a dream, you wait for the ex- 
 amination of your passports. That done, you drive on again 
 through streets, now deserted and murky, and now gay and 
 crowded, into the well lighted centres of evening life and activity ; 
 perhaps you are whirled past the blaze of the great theatre. 
 What creature in all the crowd cares for you, or knows of youi 
 exLstence ? You are as a water-drop falling into a great river. 
 But you need not fear ; you are to be carefully sponged up and 
 preserved separate. There is now a watch over you, on earth 
 as well as in heaven. 
 
 But if you find as much difficulty in getting lodgings as we 
 did, you will begin to wish you had stayed away from Italy. It 
 was past midnight before we found any other shelter than the 
 ante-room of the post-house, for the city was literally crammed 
 with strangers ; but we did at length, by dint of runners, discover 
 a fine range of rooms over a common pot-house, where we estab- 
 lished ourselves very pleasantly. A fine range of rooms over a 
 common pot-house, and established pleasantly ! What ! and de- 
 cently also ? Yes, and far more respectably and comfortably, 
 than just at that time we could have been at any of the crowded 
 hotels at which we applied in vain for entrance. The juxta-posi- 
 tion of the extremes of refinement and of low life is no uncom- 
 mon thing in these countries. You may have luxury and quiet, 
 unsuspected and unenvied, far enough away from palaces. It 
 was amusing to us to see the goings on of life in the tavern below 
 our suite of apartments. The common people seemed to enjoy 
 themselves as freely and heartily, as if they were eating and 
 drinking in an atmosphere of genuine liberty. But no man can 
 forget that the quiet here is maintained by Austrian bayonets. 
 
 Milan is one of the first cities in Italy, though there is not so 
 much of curious and beautiful sight-seeing as in Florence or Na- 
 ples nor so fine a climate, neither a volcano with Pompeii at its 
 feet' nor a splendid bay in the Mediterranean. It is more health- 
 ful than many places in the kingdom. One might find many 
 things of the deepest interest to say of its legendary history, but 
 we cannot dwell upon this, nor upon the statistical province o. 
 the guide books. I had visited Milan some years before, but had 
 
*)2 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap. xLin: 
 
 entered it in the rain, stayed in it through the rain, and passed 
 from it in a rain-storm ; circumstances not the most favorable 
 for seeing a fine city. Almost the only thing I remembered 
 was its white glittering Cathedral, and its college of fine old 
 paintings, the College of Brera. 
 
 Then there is the dim shadowy spectre of Leonardo da Vinci's 
 great painting of the Last Supper. No man would visit it, if it 
 were not for what it had been ; it is like visiting the house in 
 which Shakspeare lived, or the room in which Milton died ; the 
 occupant is gone. In looking at the picture, you find yourself 
 gazing not so much at what is there, but endeavoring to see what 
 is not there. It is as if one led you to a dim room filled with 
 apparitions, some ante-chamber to the land of shades, and you 
 should vainly strain your sight for some known image, but y:u 
 only see 
 
 ■ " the shadowy forms 
 
 That seem things dead, and dead again." 
 
 Sixteen years did the Artist labor upon this painting with slow 
 and patient toil, the fruit of intense contemplation. He was one 
 of the most universal and commanding geniuses of Italy, and 
 doubtless the painting was in all respects the most perfect the 
 world ever saw. It would have matched the Transfiguration by 
 Raphael, had it been painted on canvas, in undecaying colors. 
 IJut one half century and a little more, sufficed, by various acci- 
 dents and exposure, for its almost complete destruction ; and by 
 so many hands has it been retouched, mended and painted anew, 
 that it would probably be impossible for the most consummate 
 judge of art to find in it a trace of the pencil of the original 
 author. 
 
CHAP. XLiv.] CATHEDRAL OF MILAN. 203 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 The Cathedral of Milan.— The Gospel in Italy. 
 
 You have Nature in Switzerland and Art in Italy. The tran. 
 sition is great from cloud and snow-capped mountains and thun- 
 dering waterfalls, to the ribbed chapels and aisles of cathedrals, 
 with saints and angels sculptured upon slender spires, and the 
 organ solemnly pealing. The Duomo of Milan is the first full 
 introduction for the stranger from the North into the Ecclesiastical 
 splendors of a past artistic world. From great mountains to some 
 gigantic supernatural structure, like the colossal Temple of Kar- 
 nak in Thebes, would be a change more fitting to the feelings ; 
 but coming from the cities or the plains of Lombardy, the sight 
 of the architectural pile at Milan is truly imposing and majestic. 
 
 The Cathedral is claimed by the Milanese as the eighth won- 
 der of the world. It rises in the very heart of the city, a mag- 
 nificent broad pile of white marble, sculptured and entablatured 
 on the face and sides with groups of statuary, and pinnacled at 
 every angle and corner with lofty and delicate spires, which bear 
 upon their summits each a majestic statue of white marble. One 
 hundred and sixteen of these spires are visible at once, and the 
 sculptured forms springing from their slender extremities look as 
 if suspended in the air by magic. The great tower of the Cathe- 
 dral is an almost interminable labyrinth of marble statuary and 
 tracery at so great height, and so light and delicate, that it seems 
 as if the first strong wind would prostrate the whole, or scatter 
 its rocky lace- work like leaves in autumn. 
 
 If you can conceive of a river of liquid white marble shot into 
 the air to the height of five hundred feet, and then suddenly petri- 
 fied while falling, you will come to some approximation of the 
 beauty and rareness of this magnificent vision. It seems like a 
 petrified oriental dream, and if it had stood in Venice, opposite 
 
204 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap, xlit 
 
 St. Mark's Church and the Doge's Palace, it would have been 
 more in keeping. There is a broad, ample, open space in front 
 of it, so that you command a full satisfactory view from a suffi- 
 cient distance, uninterrupted. The first time I saw it, I came 
 upon it suddenly and unexpectedly, on turning a corner in the 
 street, as if it'had sprung from the earth before me like an exha- 
 lation, and it instantly reminded me, with its multitudinous white 
 spires and images, of the very imaginative reference to it by 
 Wordsworth in his poem on an eclipse of the Sun. This is one 
 of the most exquisitely beautiful compositions in all the volumes 
 of this great Poet, and the measure in which it is written is 
 most melodious and perfect. 
 
 But Fancy, with the speed of fire, 
 Hath fled to Milan's loftiest spire. 
 And there alights, mid that aerial host 
 Of figures human and divine. 
 White as the snows of Appenine 
 Indurated by frost. 
 
 Awe-stricken she beholds the array 
 
 That guards the Temple night and day ; 
 
 Angels she sees, that might from heaven have flown ; 
 
 And Virgin Saints, who not in vain 
 
 Have striven by purity to gain 
 
 The beatific crown. 
 
 Far-stretching files, concentric rings. 
 Each narrowing above each ;— the wings. 
 The uplifted palms, the silent marble lips. 
 The starry zone of sovereign height. 
 All steeped in this portentous light. 
 All sufiering dim eclipse. 
 
 Look now abroad at evening .from this starry zone, over the 
 horizon around you. The sun is sinking towards the Mediterra- 
 nean, and the long snowy ranges of the Alps on one side, and 
 the Appenines on the other, are burning with almost crimson ra- 
 diance. The City and the vast luxuriant plains lie beneath you. 
 Can the human imagination conceive a sight more glorious, than 
 those distant flashingfmountains, ascending pile after pile, chain 
 behind chain, whiter and more brilliant into the heavens 1 How 
 
CHAP. XLiv.] CATHEDRAL OF MILAN. 205 
 
 immense and magnificent the ranges commanded from this centre ! 
 From this pinnacle of art in Italy could we fly " with the speed 
 of fire" to that of nature on Mont Blanc, it seems as if the change 
 from Time into Eternity would hardly be greater. Yet it is little 
 more than three days since we were in the midst of those snows, 
 that in this setting sun blaze like the walls of heaven. And now 
 we long to be there again. The sight of such mountains makes 
 the Cathedral dwindle, makes you feel as if, while Art can indeed 
 be beautiful, there is nothing but Nature that can be truly sublime. 
 
 Now we turn again upon the marble tower, along its wilder- 
 ness of spires and statues. How admirably the sculptures are 
 finished ! Half way up the grand spire, you have the best view 
 of them, more than four thousand in all, though not all at once 
 visible. The immense size of the building, and its innumerable 
 recesses, admit of their distribution in such a way, that you would 
 not dream there were more than five hundred in all. 
 
 The structure is indeed a master-piece of gorgeous art, and in 
 speaking of it Wordsworth observes that " the seledtion and ar- 
 rangements of the figures are exquisitely fitted to support the re- 
 ligion of the country in the imaginations and feelings of the spec- 
 tator." But does the piety of the people, does the religion of the 
 Cross, as well as the religion of the country, increase and 
 strengthen by the beauty of such gorgeous churches 1 It has 
 been remarked that the age of great architectural splendor in 
 churches is also an age of decline in spiritual worship. The 
 beauty and glory of the form are far more considered than the 
 indwelling spirit. Take Wordsworth's words as a definition, and 
 call the Romish Cathedral a series o? fgures selected and arranged 
 to support the religion of the country, and you have a most accu- 
 rate description. Whether the satire were intended, or the writer 
 was unconscious of it, makes but little difference. It is the reli- 
 gio loci, and not the preaching of the gospel, for which these great 
 edifices were destined ; it is the half paganized system of super- 
 stition, instead of the gospel, for which they are best adapted. 
 
 This magnificent pile, when Lanfranc undertook to rebuild it, 
 was styled a Church for the Mother of God, and on her account 
 the people brought their ofierings. Then afterwards did the fierce 
 Galeazzo Visconti take up the work of rebuilding, in order to ex. 
 
206 PILGRIM OF THE JTJNGFRAU. [chap, xliv 
 
 piate his great crimes. Then another uneasy sinner, on his death> 
 bed, paid, for the same purpose, the enormous expiatory gift of 
 280,000 crowns. After all this. Napoleon took up the work, as a 
 matter of imperial taste, splendor, and ambition, and nearly fin- 
 ished it. So, though it has been centuries in building, no man 
 can be said to have put a stone in it out of love ; it is all the work 
 not of Faith, but of Superstition ; so that, instead of regarding 
 these Crothic architectural piles as the consequence or proof of a 
 sense of religion in the Middle Ages, or as the natural growth or 
 expression of a devout spirit, they must rather be considered as 
 the price paid by an age of superstition, for a vast insurance on 
 the world to come. It is not the gospel in a believing heart, but 
 the Law acting on a guilty conscience, that has reared such struc- 
 tures. So, though some of them are a great material Epic, full 
 of beauty and grandeur, yet they cannot be considered as a true 
 product of the gospel, or of a simple religious spirit, any more 
 than the Iliad of Homer itself. 
 
 If they vxre religious edifices, then ought the ceremonies of 
 religion in them to be of such august simplicity and grandeur, so 
 free from mere human artifice, so superior to all superstition, so 
 shaped and imbued by tlie spirit of the gospel, that every man on 
 entering might feel irresistibly that it is the gospel. But, as 
 Wordsworth says, it is the religion of the country. You are made 
 to feel that while there is a great deal of worship in the Roman 
 Catholic religion, there is very little religion in the Roman Catho- 
 lic worship. You are compelled to make this distinction, by obser- 
 ving the round of superstitious ceremonies, and studying the crowds 
 kneeling before the multitudinous altars, pictures, effigies and 
 images. 
 
 As to the effect of the gospel of Christ, preached simply, plain- 
 ly, boldly, fervently, amidst all this power of superstition, I believe 
 it would be irresistible. The hearts of the Italians are human 
 hearts, as good naturally, as any other hearts in the world, and 
 perfectly accessible. Doubtless God will yet raise up native 
 preachers of the Cross among them, who will be as successful as 
 Paul ever was at Rome. He whose grace kindles tlie fire in such 
 hearts can keep it burning, can make it spread like the summer 
 lightning from cloud to cloud. No conclave of Inquisitors can stop 
 
ciTAP. xuv.] THE WORK OF GOD IN ITALY. 207 
 
 it, no persecution can put it out. The word of God shall "yet 
 have free course and be glorified" in Italy, and when it does, then 
 will that Man of Sin, that Son of Perdition (and I leave it with 
 my readers according to their own pleasure to say who or what 
 he is) be consumed by the Spirit of the Lord's mouth, and destroyed 
 by the brightness of his coming. 
 
WH PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU, foHAp. xrv 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 Silvio Pellico, and the Bible in Italy. 
 
 Milan was the city of one of Silvio Pellico's prisons. What a 
 touching account he gives of the power of the Bible over him ! 
 The time is hastening, when it shall no longer be a strange book 
 in Italy, nor its doctrines hidden. For six or seven days Silvio had 
 been in a state of doubt, prayerlessness, and almost desperation. 
 Yet he sang with a pretended merriment, and sought to amuse 
 himself with foolish pleasantries. " My Bible," he says, " was 
 covered with dust. One of the children of the jailor said to me 
 one day, while caressing me, ' Since you have left off reading in 
 that villain of a book, it seems to me you are not so sad as before.' " 
 Silvio had been putting on a forced gaiety. 
 
 " It seems to you 1" said he. 
 
 " I took my Bible, brushed away the dust with a pocket-hand- 
 kerchief, and opening it at hazard, my eyes fell upon these words. 
 ' And he said to his disciples. It is impossible but that offences 
 will come, but wo to that man by whom the offence cometh. It 
 were better for him that a millstone were cast about his neck, and 
 he thrown into the sea^ than that he should offend one of these lit- 
 tle ones.' 
 
 " Struck with meeting these words, I was ashamed that this lit- 
 tle child should have perceived, by the dust with which my Bible 
 was covered, that I read it no more, and that he should have sup. 
 posed that I had become more sociable and pleasant by forgetting 
 God. I was completely desolate at having so scandalized him. 
 You little rogue, said I, with a caressing reproof, this is not a vil- 
 lain book, and during the several days that I have neglected to 
 read in it, I am become much worse. My singing that you have 
 heard is only a force-put, and my ill humor, vifhich I try to drive 
 
CHAP. XLV.J SILVIO PELLICO AND HIS BIBLE. 20a 
 
 away when your mother lets you in to see me, all comes back 
 when I am alone. 
 
 " The little child went out, and I experienced a degree of satis- 
 faction at having got my Bible again in my hands, and at having 
 confessed that without it I had grown worse. It seemed as if I 
 were making some reparation to a generous friend, whom I had 
 unjustly offended, and that I was again reconciled to him. 
 
 " And I had abandoned thee, O my God ! cried I, and I was 
 perverted ! and I could even believe that the infamous laugh of 
 the cynic and sceptic was suited to my despairing condition ! 
 
 " I pronounced these words with indescribable emotion. I 
 placed my Bible on a chair, I kneeled down upon the earth to read 
 it, and I, who weep with so much difficulty, burst into tears. 
 
 " These tears were a thousand times sweeter than my brutish 
 joy. I saw my God again ! I loved him ! I repented that I had 
 so insulted him in degrading myself, and I promised never more 
 to be separated from him, never. How does a sincere return to 
 the path of duty comfort and elevate the soul ! 
 
 " I read and wept and lamented during more than an hour, and 
 arose full of confidence in the thought that God was with me, and 
 that he had pardoned my delirium. Then my misfortunes, the 
 torments of the trial, the probability of the torture, appeared to me 
 a very little thing. I could rejoice in suffering, since I might ful- 
 fil a sacred duty, which was to obey the Saviour, in suffering with 
 resignation." 
 
 There are still hearts like Silvio Pellico's in Italy, and when the 
 ■word of God comes to this people, it will have all the greater power 
 for having been so long kept from them. When the spirit of the 
 mouth of the Lord kindles the fire, it will spread among Italian 
 hearts like a flame in the dry grass of the prairies. Under this 
 fire the superstitions of Romanism would perish. The Idolatry 
 of forms can no more stand against the burning spirit of God's 
 word, than the seared leaves and withered branches of the woods 
 in autumn could stand before a forest conflagration. 
 
 Frank-hearted Silvio Pellico ! How many a man has let the 
 dust grow thick upon his Bible, not in prison merely, but even his 
 family Bible, even with dear children around him, and never con. 
 fessed his sin, never gone back with tears of contrition to that Holy 
 
 PART II. 15 
 
210 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap, xlv 
 
 Book, nor taught it in his household, nor had the light of Truth Di- 
 vine, the light from Heaven shining on it ! How like a dungeon 
 with false and foul thoughts, must every heart be, out of which 
 God and the dear light of his word are excluded ! Yea, though 
 there may be laughter there, it is like poor Silvio's false and 
 forced despairing merriment, it is like the crackling of thorns un. 
 der a pot. Heavy laws are upon such a man, and when friends 
 depart, and he sees himself in prison, sees how he is in prison, 
 even though, he walks in the open air, then there is desolation in- 
 deed. 
 
 "If there be one who need bemoan 
 His kindred laid in earth, 
 The household hearts that were hia owiit 
 It is the man of mirth." 
 
CHAF. XLVi.] SWISS I'REEDOM. 211 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 The Farewell. — Swias character and freedom. 
 
 We are no longer under the Shadow of the Jungfrau, and there- 
 fore it is high time that I close this second fasciculus of the 
 leaves of our pilgrimage. I might have extended it into the 
 Cottian Alps, amidst the interesting Churches of the Waldenses, 
 but such a ramble ought not to come at the end of a volume. 
 We will stop at Milan, in full sight of the glorious Alps, among 
 which we have been wandering. From a splendid spire in the 
 midst of a region of despotism, we are gazing across upon the 
 mountain shrines of liberty. My readers will' listen with pleas- 
 ure to the parting reflections of a young and gifted English lady 
 in regard to the Swiss character, the Swiss freedom, and in spite 
 of all disastrous omens, the hopes of Switzerland, and of the 
 hearty friends of that glorious country, for future, settled, perma- 
 nent, well-ordered liberty. 
 
 " You are not to suppose," says Miss Lamont, in her interest, 
 ing volume of letters on France and Switzerland, " that 1 have 
 taken up my opinions about the Swiss from occasional gleanings 
 by the eye and ear, as I went along. I got a history of Switzer- 
 land to read, since I have been here ; not, indeed, so extended a 
 history as I should like on such a subject, yet it still helped me a 
 little. At first, I did not like it much — it seemed to me nothing 
 better than war after war of tribes of red Indians. It improved 
 towards the last, yet still was but a detail of battles, year after 
 year, of the people against the nobles ; this can only interest 
 when the characters of individual leaders are portrayed — it does 
 not do so in masses. However, I was glad to have, even from 
 that history, a reason for the faith that was in me respecting the 
 obstinate prowess of the Swiss, and their honest love of indepen- 
 dence. And, had I wanted anything to confirm me in the love 
 
2)2 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap, xlti 
 
 of freedom which, untaught by any one, has become an essential 
 portion of my mind, I should have found it in my Swiss book, and 
 my Swiss journey. Not that there is here a more advanced 
 social state than in any other country of Europe, nor a greater 
 progress in science, the arts, and education ; but there is what is 
 a hundred-fold better— ;-thqre is a general diffusion of substantial 
 happiness, so to speak. After all, is it not disheartening to look 
 over the map of Europe, and behold only this one spot on which 
 liberty is to be found ? And what, though it was brought forth 
 amidst the contests of barbarian hordes, and baptized, re-baptized, 
 and baptized again on battle-fields reeking with blood, U is liberty; 
 and if the Swiss be but true to themselves, and permit this child 
 of theirs to grow to its full stature, it may become a guide to the 
 nations ! Yet, disheartening as it is, to see but one free land, it 
 is more so to reflect that ages must roll on before others can be 
 free ; for the more we know of the state of Europe, it becomes 
 the more evident that the chains which have been centuries in 
 forming, it will take centuries to break effectually. Look at Ger- 
 many, bound down by emperor, king, prince, duke, and noble of 
 every kind, each bond so weak in itself, yet all so impossible to 
 rend ! Look at Russia, where the barbaric forms of the undisguis- 
 ed despotisms of the East are adding to themselves the astuteness 
 of modern tyrannies. Look at England, where the despotism of 
 castes, a social despotism exists, of even a worse sort than that of 
 a tyrannical monarch ; and in France, where the contending ele- 
 ments of social corruption raised so terrific a storm, there is little 
 hope of the speedy establishment of liberty. Let the Swiss bless 
 their mountains, crags, and torrents, which, making their men 
 hardy in body, made them incapable of being trodden into slaves ; 
 made them able to renew the battle from year to year, from age 
 to age, until all has been gained ! and, now, let them dread the 
 love of gain ; they could be courageous and virtuous, being poor; 
 I distrust them if they shall become rich ! Here is declamation 
 enough, you will say; but I know you hope with me, that now 
 that they have gained all they desired, they will proceed in 
 the march of improvement. They have bought their freedom by 
 six hundred years of contest and bloodshed (not too high a price 
 for what is immortal worth), and now they have to do something 
 
CHAP. XI.TI.] SWISS FREEDOM. 213 
 
 more difficult than what they have done, they have to use their 
 freedom wisely. They have to make it the guide, the aid, to 
 piety, humanity, liberality, knowledge ; if wealth — if power, be 
 what it inspire them to seek, their freedom will slide from theii 
 hold, when the nations now so far behind them have attained it." 
 
 But more than all this, what Switzerland needs to make the 
 country a centre of light and hope in all Europe, is true Re- 
 ligious Liberty. God grant there may be no more conflicts of 
 armed men about religion. There can be none, when the question 
 of a man's creed and clergyman is once totally separated from 
 the question of his civil and political obligations and duties, and 
 made the business solely between his conscience and his God. 
 The choice of one's church is a civil right, in which all that any 
 government has to do, is to protect the subject in its unmolested 
 enjoyment. It is also a religious obligation, but an obligation to- 
 wards God, with which no government on earth has any right to 
 interfere. Every man has a right to the protection of the civil 
 government in the performance of his religious duties; no govern- 
 ment has any right to prescribe or enforce those duties. When 
 the State attempts to stand in the place of God, and to legislate 
 for the church, it becomes a despotism ; when the church attempts 
 to use the state for the enforcement of its own edicts, and the sup- 
 port of its establishments, it also bpcomes a despotism ; but where 
 the spirit of the Lord is, there is JjTBEETY. 
 
 Farewell, now, to Alpine nature, that world of such glorious 
 images and thoughts ! He who has visited it with a wakeful 
 soul, and felt the steadfast eye of its great mountains upon him, 
 whether beneath the glittering sun, or the mild melancholy moon, 
 whether at day-dawn or in the flush of sunset, and seen the rush 
 of its white Avalanches, and heard their thunder, and the billows 
 of its glaciers, with the invulnerable life and far-off roar and fury 
 of their cataracts, and the living flowers that enamel the valleys 
 and skirt the eternal frosts, has a book of glory in his heart, 
 where, in the words of Dante, Memory mocks the toil of genius, 
 a book which no man can write, a book on which the light from 
 Heaven is shining, and which he will carry with him even to his 
 grave. For him " Remembrance, like a Sovereign Pnnoe, main- 
 
214 PILGRIM OF THE JUNGFRAU. [chap, xlvi 
 
 tains a stately gallery," and there are, within the silent chambers 
 of his soul, treasures 
 
 " More precious far, 
 Than that accumulated store of Gold 
 And orient gems, which, for a day of need. 
 The Sultan hides within ancestral tombs." 
 
 In gathering the treasures and .receiving the suggestions of na- 
 ture, we need, more than all things else, a prayerful, kind, and 
 open heart. Mountains, to such an one, are as the stepping- 
 places of angels ; the forms and influences that inhabit them seem 
 supernatural. 
 
 " Less than divine command they spurn ; 
 But this we from the mountains learn, 
 And this the valleys show. 
 That never will they deign to hold 
 Communion where the heart is cold 
 To human weal and wo. 
 
 The man of abject soul in vain 
 Shall walk the Marathonian plain. 
 Or thread the shadowy gloom, 
 That still invests the guardian pass 
 Where stood sublime Leonidas 
 Devoted to the tomb." 
 
 THE END.