Produced by Bethanne M. Simms, Christine D and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. (www.pgdp.net) [Illustration] SCENES IN SWITZERLAND. [Illustration] PUBLISHED BY THE AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY, 150 NASSAU-STREET, NEW YORK. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by the AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern District of New York. Contents. Gretchen PAGE 5 A Night in the Cathedral 28 The Glaciers of Savoy 45 The Bride of the Aar 63 A Sabbath in Lausanne 79 The Guide of Montanvert 96 Mont Blanc 127 From Berne to Basle 135 Scenes In Switzerland. Gretchen. Time flies swiftly when we are sightseeing; and it was late in the autumn of 18-- when I reached Lindau. Lake Constance lay before me, a pale, green sheet of water, hemmed in on the south by bold mountain ranges, filling the interim between the Rhine valley and the long undulating ridges of the Canton Thurgau. These heights, cleft at intervals by green smiling valleys and deep ravines, are only the front of table-land stretching away like an inclined plane, and dotted with scattered houses and cloistering villages. The deep green of forest and pasture land was beginning to show the touch of autumn's pencil; the bright hues striking against gray, rocky walls; the topmost edge of each successive elevation crowned with a sharp outline of golden light, deepening the purple gloom of the shaded slopes. Behind and over this region towers the Sentis, its brow of snow bristling with spear points. It was altogether too late to think of the Baths, or even to look at the little lake of Wallenstatt; and still, I was unwilling to return without a friendly shake of the hand of my old friend Spruner, who had perched himself in one of the upper cantons. "You should have been here earlier," said the landlord; "in summer we have plenty of visitors." "I rather look upon the mountains in their parti-colored vests, than when dressed in simple green," I replied. "If you can stand the weather;" and he thrust his pipe deeper into his mouth, and twirled the button of his coat. Hastily making my adieus, the postillion cracked his whip, and we started. "There is no danger of bad weather for a month," said the driver, "and when we get up farther you will see what will pay you for the trouble of coming:" a speech that promised well for the day, I argued; and a certain share of respect leaped up for the man in his laced coat and steeple-crowned hat. A good specimen of his class--and once satisfied of this, I gave myself up to the present, without the least foreboding with regard to the future.