Weary as I
was, I could not sleep. The glory of the day; the sad, sweet history
just related; the sick man, with the messenger waiting at the humble
door, thrilled me with a feeling that would not rest. Opening my
window, I enjoyed the stillness, the solitude, and the grandeur of the
scene: the glittering dome of Mont Blanc, and all the surrounding and
inferior domes and spires and pyramids that cluster in this wondrous
region, which fancy might conceive the edifices of some great city, or
the towers and dome of some vast minster. Far above the mountain-tops
the moon was shining; while her retinue of stars, seen through the
cool crisp air, seemed larger and more beautiful than I had ever
before seen them.
It would be impossible to detail all the thoughts that passed, and the
emotions that were excited in my mind. Every object around, beneath,
above me seemed in silent but impressive eloquence to celebrate God's
praise; from the moon that led the starry train, from the patriarch of
his kindred hills and nearest to the heavenly sanctuary, down to the
frozen glaciers and the roaring torrents of the lower valleys, all
seemed endowed with a peculiar language--a voice to touch the heart of
man, and to enter into the ear of God.
At length sleep overpowered me, and when I awoke the sun was shining.
Stepping into the outer room I was met by Franz, looking as fresh as
though sleep had not been denied him. Leading me to the bedside, he
spoke a few words to his father, while the trembling hand met mine,
weak and worn.
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