watch the gradual advance of light. The gray mantle of dawn now slowly unfolds its cloudy drapery in the east, while here and there faint red or golden bands are drawn across it, which slowly and steadily increase in brilliancy. Below lies the Lake of Zug, its waters dimly seen through wreaths of rising mist, which float round the base of the giant precipices on which we stand. Behind us slope the verdant pastures of the Righi, covered with fat, tawny, meek-eyed cows, lying quietly down, or wetting their feet and lips with the dews of night as they feed. And now was heard the song of many birds from bush and tree and distant thicket, while the first faint accents of reviving nature stole softly over the landscape, and in many a gentle whisper solicited each herb, tree, fruit, and flower to add its grateful tribute to the charms of blushing day. Here and there the foliage quietly nodded to the breeze; and from many a long and graceful tendril fell the pearl, that night had bestowed upon it; and from many a delicate fern and feathery grass and netted leaf glittering showers sprinkled the ground, or studded with silver knobs the filmy cobwebs that veiled the herbage. Thus, like an eagle shaking the dew from his plumage, the earth awoke and moved forth with majesty to meet her lord and master.

Above us the stars yet glimmered with a light which grew each moment more wan and paly, all save the morning star, which glowed with an unnatural brilliancy, till the golden screen of a brighter light

was drawn before it. Far off in long procession extend the Jungfrau and her attendant mountains, like a train of white-robed vestal virgins. But now the sun salutes their snow-covered foreheads, and as his first ardent rays strike them, like the angel, they

answer

"with a blush, that glows

Celestial rosy red, love's proper hue."

And now the sun strides high in the east, like a god going forth to battle; the clouds fall back at his approach, and exultant notes from every living thing and cheerful voices and clapping hands welcome the approach of the spirit of light. The rosy flush gradually fades away from the brows of those fair, stern maidens, and in the full effulgence of sunlight, their chaste forms, tranquil and majestic, stand forth, bearing the aspect of uninterrupted and eternal peace. Slowly we all retire from the scene, and a feeling of solemnity comes over our souls, for who can see unmoved the proud approach of the great symbol of power, glory, strength, and beauty? From such a presence we go with reverOne of the great mysteries of nature has been opened to us, and we have for a moment "looked beyond the veil."

ence.

CHAPTER II.

GOLDAU.

It was late in the afternoon when I approached the site of Goldau, and the setting sun was already casting the shadow of the Righi over its tomb. The road wound over and among the shattered débris thrown down by the mountain above. Huge splintered rocks, gigantic boulders, and the mossgrown trunks of aged trees were mingled in confusion with banks of gravel and smaller stones, which Nature had hardly yet covered with her green shroud. Over all hung the craggy precipices, whose bare shoulders had relieved themselves of this destructive burden, while gently gleaming upon the green slopes of the Righi was the first slender sickle of the harvest moon. Even among all this ruin could be seen here and there a cottage or little chalet, whose small garden-plot of fruits and vegetables, or strip of bright green pasturage, bore witness to the thrift which could extract the means of life from so desolate a scene. As I was meditating among these vestiges of the past, the evening air bore to my ear the sound of music. As its mournful tones, at first faintly heard in the distance, came

nearer and nearer, I distinguished the psalm for the repose of the dead which is usually sung by the Catholic Church. It came from a funeral procession which was winding slowly along the road, bearing to the grave with decent reverence the mortal remains of some fellow-pilgrim. The deceased had evidently been held in great respect, for the procession was long, and even though in time of harvest, when all the peasantry are needed in the fields, it appeared to me that nearly all the neighboring villagers must be present. Every one bore some marks of grief and sorrow. Some were in tears, some were dressed in black, while others wore such simple weeds of mourning as were suited to their means or condition. From the lips of all flowed that solemn chant, which had struck my ear from afar. Its mournful tones blended with the gentle voice and sad complainings of the evening breeze which sighed through the pines and birches around us, and journeyed on with it into the twilight, as when one finds a companion for whom he has long waited.

Touched by the scene, I followed the procession till it reached the graveyard, that green background of life which awaits us all. The bearers set down their honorable load at the edge of a newly opened grave. The dusk of nightfall was now over all, while the evening star, growing brighter and brighter in its descent, lingered on the edge of the mountain, like a parting Christian soul which, even as it approaches the gates of death, sends back

to weeping friends ever more and more abundantly bright rays of cheer and messages of peace. The coffin was opened, that the sad retinue of the dead might commune with him for the last time. I could not restrain the desire I felt to join with them in paying this final tribute to a fellow-mortal. He was an old man, whose white hair and venerable expression gave evidence of the length of his pilgrimage. His aspect was that of placid rest, and even in death the lineaments of heaven abode in his face. They seemed to express "the rapture of repose," as he lay there calmly before us. His life had evidently been that of the righteous, and his face was radiant with "the beauty of goodness."* The hand of death had almost effaced the wrinkles of age, and the tranquillity of the gently closed mouth and eyes seemed the mere unconsciousness of the sleep of innocence. The grave had evidently possessed no terrors for him; and like a weary traveller on arriving at his earthly bourne, he had laid down his staff, and "sweetly reposed forever."

Few words were said, though sobs and tears sprang forth unbidden. Many stooped to touch the coffin with reverence, some kissed it fervently, while a few of the older mourners pressed their lips to the pale cheeks of the deceased. The priest, a simple, kindly, pious man, advanced in years, was deeply affected. He could hardly pronounce the words of that last benediction with which the

* "En vieillissant, elle avait gagné ce qu'on pourrait appeler la beauté de la bonté.". Victor Hugo.