ude in the stainless sky, heaven-kissing, companions of the
unattainable ether, were the glorious Alps, clothed in dazzling robes of
light by the setting sun. And, as if the world's wonders were never to be
exhausted, their vast immensities, their jagged crags, and roseate
painting, appeared again in the lake below, dipping their proud heights
beneath the unruffled waves--palaces for the Naiads of the placid waters.
Towns and villages lay scattered at the foot of Jura, which, with dark
ravine, and black promontories, stretched its roots into the watery expanse
beneath. Carried away by wonder, I forgot the death of man, and the living
and beloved friend near me. When I turned, I saw tears streaming from his
eyes; his thin hands pressed one against the other, his animated
countenance beaming with admiration; "Why," cried he, at last, "Why, oh
heart, whisperest thou of grief to me? Drink in the beauty of that scene,
and possess delight beyond what a fabled paradise could afford."

By degrees, our whole party surmounting the steep, joined us, not one among
them, but gave visible tokens of admiration, surpassing any before
experienced. One cried, "God reveals his heaven to us; we may die blessed."
Another and another, with broken exclamations, and extravagant phrases,
endeavoured to express the intoxicating effect of this wonder of nature. So
we remained awhile, lightened of the pressing burthen of fate, forgetful of
death, into whose night we were about to plunge; no longer reflecting that
our eyes now and for ever were and would be the only ones which might
perceive the divine magnificence of this terrestrial exhibition. An
enthusiastic transport, akin to happiness, burst, like a sudden ray from
the sun, on our darkened life. Precious attribute of woe-worn humanity!
that can snatch extatic emotion, even from under the very share and harrow,
that ruthlessly ploughs up and lays waste every hope.

This evening was marked by another event. Passing through Ferney in our way
to Geneva, unaccustomed sounds of music arose from the rural church which
stood embosomed in trees, surrounded by smokeless, vacant cottages. The
peal of an organ with rich swell awoke the mute air, lingering along, and
mingling with the intense beauty that clothed the rocks and woods, and
waves around. Music--the language of the immortals, disclosed to us as
testimony of their existence--music, "silver key of the fountain of
tears," child of love, soother of