"
Before nightfall, occasional streaks of sunshine shot across the
mountain. It did not last, however, and when we reached our
stopping-place, it was raining below and snowing above us.
The next morning our road dropped into a ravine, bringing something to
admire at every turn. Leaving our course, we visited the Cascade of
Horsfall, the beauty of which amply repaid us for the delay it cost.
That night we slept at Herisau, the largest town in the Canton, and
here I was to part with Spruner. There was no difficulty in reaching
the lower valley. With many shakes of the hand, and "May God's
blessing be upon you,'" we parted: one to take the railroad to Zurich,
the other back to his household charms, and the work he had chosen.
A Night In The Cathedral.
Franz Hoffner's father was kappelmeister; and the old cathedral with
its grained arches and cloistered aisles resounded with rare music, as
the organist took his seat, and run his fingers over the keys with the
careless ease of one who knows not only to control, but to infuse
something of his own spirit into the otherwise senseless machine
before him. Under his inspiration it became a living, breathing form;
lifting the hearts of worshippers, and giving them glimpses of what is
hereafter to be obtained.
Herr Hoffner was a rare musician; but, alas, musicians are no
exception to the rule: the wheel is always turning; one goes up and
another goes down. A new star had risen.
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