Climbing up to the loft, we were told the story of a former organist, a famous musician, somewhat independent, and yet sensitive and quick to feel. Under the papal power Louis Steinway incurred the displeasure of one of the dignitaries of the church, and his position as organist was taken from him. Overcome with sorrow he at once proceeded to the house of the bishop to make an explanation. Trembling with excitement he so poorly explained the misunderstanding, as to give the prelate even a worse idea of it than he had at first: the consequence was that hard words were added to the burden already laid upon him. The poor organist went home and was immediately taken down with severe illness, and a few days afterward eluded his attendants and flew along the streets to the cathedral, from which the people soon heard tones of the organ issuing majestic and ravishing but unspeakably sad. As soon as the wife knew of her husband's absence, she went to the cathedral. Her husband was in his old place, his hands upon the keys, as if in the act of playing, his head bent forward and drooping. He was dead! From Berne the road climbs a hill immediately on leaving the gates of the city, and passes between rows of trees, with a gentle slope on either hand, covered with a soft fresh green and smooth as the finest lawn. The glimpses of the city through the trees, with the windings of the Aar, were extremely interesting. But a far nobler scene was unfolded to the south, where an immense chain of Alps appeared like the boundaries of some new world, to which their fearful precipices, glittering peaks, and summits of untrodden snow for ever barred the approach of man. The purity of the atmosphere gave them peculiar distinctness of outline, while the beams of the setting sun gilded their lofty brightness, that seemed to have more of heaven in it than earth. Oh! if natural scenes can appear so lovely, what must that purity and lustre be of which they are only the shadowy emblems? We slept, and set out again at an early hour. Our route lay through the finest portion of Switzerland. The land is chiefly pasturage, and the meadows are extremely rich. Traversing a rocky pass, we came to the castle of Kluss. Issuing from the pass we entered a smiling valley, the hills gently rising to the right, clothed with forests of fir; while on the left, rocks towered to an amazing altitude. On the summit of what seemed to be an inaccessible crag, perched the ruins of Falkenstein, and a few miles on, those of Wallenberg.