I Laid My Hand On
It, And Thought His Hand Also Had Passed Over The Paper Which He Has
Made Living With His Thoughts.
Melanchthon, of whom a far more
delicate penmanship might have been expected, wrote a coarse, rugged
hand, quite like
Dr. Bishop's. It somehow touched my heart to see this
writing of Luther's, so fair, and clean, and flowing; and to think of
his _vive_ and ever-surging spirits, his conflicts and his
victories.
We were awakened, about eight o'clock this morning, by the cathedral
bell, which is near by, and by the chanting of the service. It was a
beautiful, sunny morning, and I could hear them sing all the time I
was dressing. I think, by the style of the singing, it was Protestant
service: it brought to mind the elms of Andover - the dewy, exquisite
beauty of the Sabbath mornings there; and I felt, more than ever, why
am I seeking any thing more beautiful than home? But today the sweet
shadow of God's presence is still over me, and the sense of his love
and protection falls silently into my soul like dew.
At breakfast time Professor M. and his daughter called, as he said, to
place themselves at our disposal for the castle, or whatever we might
wish to see. I intimated that we would prefer spending the day in our
New England manner of retirement - a suggestion which he took at once.
After breakfast the servant asked us if we should like to have a room
commanding a view of the castle.
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