side of the mountain is here barren granite. It glides like
a spirit down the adverse and severe declivity. It is like Christ in
this world. The famous fall of the Griesbach, near the lake of Brienz,
thunders through the most luxuriant foliage; the Staubbach meets the
bare rock with touches of love, and a movement all grace, and a voice
full of reconcilement.

* * * * *

Mont Blanc! Mont Blanc! I have not scaled thy heights so boldly or so
far as others have, but I will yield to none in worship of thee and
thy neighbour mountains. Some complain that the valley of Chamouni is
barren; they are barren souls that so complain. True, it has not the
rich pastures that lie bordering on the snow in the Oberland. But
neither does it need them. Look _down_ the valley from the pass of the
Col de Balme, and see summit beyond summit; or ascend the lateral
heights of La Flegere, and see the Alps stretched out in a line before
you, and say if any thing be wanting. Here is the sculpture of
landscape. Stretched yourself upon the bare open rock, you see the
great hills built up before you, from their green base to their snowy
summits, with rock, and glacier, and pine forests. You see how the
Great Architect has wrought.

And for softer beauty, has not the eye been feasted even to
excess--till you cried "hold--enough!" till you craved repose from
excitement--along the whole route, from Lausanne to this spot? What
perfect combinations of beauty and sublimity--of grandeur of outline
with richness of colouring--have you not been travelling through!

It seems a fanciful illustration, and yet it has more than once
occurred to me, when comparing the scenery of the Oberland with that
of the valley of Chamouni and its neighbourhood; the one resembles the
first work--be it picture or poem--of a great genius; the other, the
second. On his first performance, the artist lavishes beauties of
every description; he crowds it with charms; all the stores of his
imagination are at once unfolded, and he must find a place for all. In
the second, which is more calm and mature, the style is broader, the
disposition of materials more skilful: the artist, master of his
inspiration, no longer suffers one beauty to crowd upon another, finds
for all not only place, but place sufficient; and, above all, no
longer fears being simple or even austere. I dare not say that the
Oberland has a fault in its composition--so charming, so magn