His short stay in the principal cities of the German Confederation,--now so wondrously consolidated and transformed into the German Empire,--though highly edifying and satisfactory to him at the time, yields nothing which calls for present record, unless, perhaps, a passing entry in his diary at Dresden be worthy of citation. "Rose from a refreshing siesta and walked upon the fashionable Terrace. The evening was calm and beautiful. The flowers and shrubs profusely growing, the music of a fine band, the rush and patter of children's feet, with the rapture of their voices in joyous sport, the eyes of their parents beaming on them with tranquillity and hope, made all around appear a paradise. My brow alone seemed clouded; it was, however, but for an instant, as a quick thought of home sprang through my brain, and busy memories of _her_ who had once watched my infant steps stirred about my heart. Would that, unimpeded by space, I could waft all my fond wishes to her at this moment!" An excursion in Switzerland yielded him intense enjoyment. His studies for the rôle of William Tell had made him familiar with this country, and he longed to verify and complete his mental impressions by the more concrete perceptions obtainable through the direct senses. To stand in the village of Altorf and on the field of Grütli, to row a boat on Lucerne and Unterwald, to scale the mountains and see the lammergeyer swoop and hear the avalanche fall, to pause among the torrents and precipices and cry aloud, "Ye crags and peaks. I'm with you once again; I call to you with all my voice; I hold To you the hands you first beheld, to show They still are free!" must have given him no ordinary pleasure. At Chamouni he bought a copy of that magnificent hymn of nature composed in this valley by Coleridge during his visit here. Printed on a rough sheet, it was for sale at the inn. Forrest had never seen it before. He climbed some distance up the side of the great mountain. Reaching a grassy spot in full view of the principal features of the landscape, he thrust his alpenstock in the earth, hung his hat upon it, and, seating himself beside a beautiful cascade whose steady roar mingled with his voice, he read aloud that sublime poem whose solemn thoughts and gorgeous diction so well befit the theme they treat. "Hast thou a charm to stay the morning star In his steep course? So long he seems to pause On thy bald awful head, O sovran Blanc! The Arve and Arveiron at thy base Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most awful form, Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines How silently!" Speaking of the incident long years afterward, he said he did not think of it at the time as any sort of religious service, but that his emotions really made it as genuine a one as the recital of a liturgy in any pettier and less divine cathedral.