-roofed
farm-houses set in the midst of grain-fields, and with rows of tall,
straight poplars extending to the water. This sight of peaceful homes
among the heavenly hills is like a vision of earth in mid-heaven.
Beyond, above, overlapping each other, rise these delectable hills. No
earthly air envelops them. No earthly feet tread their fair summits.
Upon the highest, among the eternal snows, rest the clouds. Truly, the
heavens declare the glory of God; but Switzerland showeth his handiwork!

Beautiful was the lake in the hazy morning light, when the hills cast
purple and green shadows over its bosom, when the breeze rippled its
surface, and the path in the wake of the little steamer widened into an
endless way; beautiful in the glare of the noonday sun, when a veil of
mist half hid the far-off mountains, and the water gleamed like molten
gold; but most beautiful of all when the mountains wrapped themselves in
the shadows of night, and stole away into the darkness, while upon their
white, still faces shone the rays of the setting sun. Then grim Pilatus
stepped forth; the moon, like a burnished globe, hung over the water,
across which the little steamer ploughed silver furrows, or tiny boats,
impelled by flashing oars, shot over the still surface, now near, now
far away; but dim, unreal, always.

It was a place of rest to us--this city of Lucerne; the "House
Beautiful," where we tarried for a time before setting out again upon
our pilgrimage. We wandered about the narrow streets, visited the dingy
shops full of wood carvings or ornaments cut in the many-hued crystals;
strayed over the low hills behind the town, through fields set with
painted shrines; paused before Thorwaldsen's Dying Lion, cut in the
living rock--the grandest monument that heroes ever won; and once, in
the stillness of a summer morning, sat in the cathedral and heard the
angels sing, when the old organist laid his hands upon the keys. Sabbath
mornings we sang the old versified psalms, and listened to the
exposition of a rigid faith from the lips of a Scotch Presbyterian
minister, in an old Roman Catholic church--the walls hung with pictured
saints and martyrs, the high altar only partially concealed, and a
company of women kneeling by the door to tell their beads. Not only
rest, but Christian charity, had we found here.

Almost every one who spends any time at Lucerne ascends the Righi to see
the sun rise. Accordingly, five of our number prepared to f