oneer to clear the way the world would stand still.
Look back. What do you see throughout the successive ages? War, with his
red eye, his iron feet, and his gleaming brand, marching in the van; and
commerce, and arts, and Christianity, following in the wake of this
blood-besmeared Anakim. Such has ever been the order of procession.
Mankind in the mass are a sluggish race, and will march only when the
word of command is sounded from iron-throated, hoarse-voiced war. Look
at the Alps. What do you see? A gigantic form, busy amid the blinding
tempests and the eternal ice of their summits. With herculean might he
rends the rocks and levels the mountains. Who is he, and what does he
there? That is war, in the person of Napoleon, hewing a path through
rocks and glaciers, for the passage of the Bible and the missionary.
Under the reign of the Mediator the promise to Christianity is, All is
yours. War is yours, and Peace is yours.

As we passed on, innumerable nooks of beauty opened to the eye, and
romantic peaks ever and anon shot up before us. Now the path led along a
meadow, with its large bright flowers; and now along the brink of an
Alpine river, with its worn bed and tumultuous floods. Now it rounded
the shoulder of a hill; and now it lost itself in some frightful gorge,
where the overhanging mountain, with its drapery of pine forests, made
it dark as midnight almost. You emerge into daylight again, and begin
the same succession of green meadow, pine-clad hill, foaming torrent,
and black gorge. Thus you go onward and upward. At length white Alps
begin to look down upon you, and give you warning that you are nearing
those central regions where eternal winter holds his seat amid pinnacles
of ice and wastes of snow.

Let us take an individual picture. The road has made a sudden turn; and
a valley, hitherto concealed by the mountains, opens unexpectedly. It is
some three or four miles long; and the road traverses it straight as the
arrow's flight, till it loses itself amid the rocks and foliage at the
bottom of the mountain which you see lying across the valley. On this
hand is a stream of water, clear as crystal; on that is the ridgy, wavy,
lofty mass of a purple Alp. The bright air and light incorporate, as it
were, with the substance of the mountain, and spiritualize it, so that
it looks of mould intermediate betwixt the earth and the firmament. The
path is bordered with the most delicious verdure, fresh and soft as a
carp