THE MATTERHORN.
On my last evening at Zermatt, I lingered in the deepening twilight to say farewell to this unrivaled peak. At first its clear-cut silhouette stood forth against the sky, unutterably grand, while darkness shrouded its giant form. So overwhelming appeared its tapering height, that I no longer wondered at the belief of the peasants that the gate of Paradise was situated on its summit; because it seemed but a step thence to Heaven.
THE BERNESE OBERLAND.
At last there came a change, for which I had been waiting with impatience. In the blue vault of heaven the full-orbed moon came forth to sheathe the Matterhorn in silver. In that refulgent light its icy edges looked like crystal ropes; and its sharp, glistening rocks resembled silver steps leading to the stupendous pinnacle above. Never, this side the shore of Eternity, do I expect to see a vision so sublime as that of moonlight on the Matterhorn. For from the gleaming parapets of this Alpine pyramid, not "forty centuries," but forty thousand ages look down on us as frivolous pygmies of a day. Yes, as I gazed on this illumined obelisk, rising from out its glittering sea of ice, to where—four thousand feet above—the moving stars flashed round its summit like resplendent gems, it seemed a fitting emblem of creative majesty—the scepter of Almighty God.
A SWISS HERO.