By a peasant girl, went through the woods to the highest point,
where were the ruins of the ancient chateau. Far be it from me to
describe what we saw. I feel that I have already been too
presumptuous. We sat down, and each made a hasty sketch of Mont Blanc.
We took tea at the hotel, which reminded us, by the neatness of its
scoured chambers with their white bedspreads, of the apartments of
some out-of-the-way New England farm house.
The people of the neighborhood having discovered who H. was, were very
kind, and full of delight at seeing her. It was Scotland over again.
We have had to be unflinching to prevent her being overwhelmed, both
in Paris and Geneva, by the same demonstrations of regard. To this we
were driven, as a matter of life and death. It was touching to listen
to the talk of these secluded mountaineers. The good hostess, even the
servant maids, hung about H., expressing such tender interest for the
slave. All had read Uncle Tom. And it had apparently been an era in
their life's monotony, for they said, "O, madam, do write another!
Remember, our winter nights here are _very_ long!"
The proprietor of the inn (not the landlord) was a gentleman of
education and polished demeanor. _He had lost an Eva_, he said.
And he spoke with deep emotion. He thanked H. for what she had
written, and at parting said, "Have courage; the sacred cause of
Liberty will yet prevail through the world."
Ah, they breathe a pure air, these generous Swiss, among these
mountain tops! May their simple words be a prophecy divine.
At about six we returned, and as we slowly wound down the mountain
side we had a full view of all the phenomena of color attending the
sun's departure. The mountain, - the city rather, - for so high had it
risen, that I could imagine a New Jerusalem of pearly white, with Mont
Blanc for the central citadel, or temple, - the city was all a-glow.
The air behind, the sky, became of a delicate apple green; the snow,
before so incandescent in whiteness, assumed a rosy tint. We paused -
we sat in silence to witness these miraculous transformations.
"Charley," said H., "sing that hymn of yours, the New Jerusalem." And
in the hush of the mountain solitudes we sang together, -
"We are on our journey home,
Where Christ our Lord is gone;
We will meet around his throne,
When he makes his people one
In the New Jerusalem.
We can see that distant home,
Though clouds rise oft between;
Faith views the radiant dome,
And a lustre flashes keen
From the New Jerusalem.
O, glory shining far
From the never-setting sun!
O, trembling morning star!
Our journey's almost done
To the New Jerusalem.
