drowning child. After Altorf, the road
winds among the meadows, though the mountains rise on every side, with
_chalets_ perched upon points which seem inaccessible, so steep are
their sides. It is haying time, and men and women are at work in the
fields and upon the mountain-sides, carefully securing every blade of
grass. Once, when we had begun to wind up the mountains, where a
grass-grown precipice fell almost sheer to the valley below, a girl
clung to its side, and pulled with one hand the grass from between the
rocks, thrusting it into a bag that hung about her neck. She paused to
gaze after us as we dashed by, a kind of dull awe that never rose to
envy lighting her face for an instant. O, the hungry, pitiful faces of
these dwellers upon the heights! the pinched, starved faces of the
little ones especially, who forgot to smile--how they haunted us! At
noon we sweep up to the post-house at Amsteg, with a jingle of bells, a
crack of the whip, and an annunciatory shout from the driver. There is
no village that we can see. The piazza of the post-house is filled with
travellers, lunching before a long table; half a dozen waiting carriages
stand in the open space before it; as many hostlers, with knit caps
upon their heads, from which hang long, bright-colored tassels, are busy
among the horses. At a short distance the Reuss River rushes past the
house; upon its bank is a little shop, with its store of Swiss
curiosities and trinkets. A couple of girls fill a tray with the dainty
wares, and cross the space to tempt us. One has a scarlet handkerchief
knotted under her handsome, dark face. She turns her brown cheek to her
shoulder, tossing a word back as the young hostlers contrive to stand in
her way.

One by one the carriages take up their loads and go on. We soon follow
and overtake them, winding slowly up among the rocks, which seem ready
to fall upon us. We form a long train, a strange procession, bound by no
tie but that of common humanity. The meadows and soft, green
mountain-slopes are left behind as we ascend, crossing from one side to
the other by arched bridges thrown over the chasm, at the foot of which
foams the torrent. Higher and higher rise the rent rocks--bare, black
walls, seamed, and scarred, and riven, their summits reaching to the
sky. They close about us, shutting out everything of earth and heaven,
save a narrow strip of blue far above all. Even the sweet light of day
departs, and a gloom and darkness