He who would ponder what _man_ is, should journey amongst the
mountains. What _men_ are, is best learnt in the city.

How, to a museful spirit, the heart and soul of man is reflected in
the shows of nature! I cannot see this torrent battling for ever along
its rocky path, and not animate it with human passions, and torture it
with a human fate. Can it have so much turmoil and restlessness, and
not be allied to humanity?

But all are not images of violence or lessons of despondency. Mark the
Yungfrau, how she lifts her slight and virgin snows fearlessly to the
blazing sun! She is so high, she feels no _reflected heat_.

* * * * *

How well the simple architecture of the low-roofed buildings of
Switzerland accords with its magnificent scenery! What were lofty
steeples beside Mont Blanc, or turreted castles beside her pinnacles
of granite? Elsewhere, in the level plain, I love the cathedral. I had
lately stood enraptured in the choir of that of Cologne, gazing up at
those tall windows which spring where other loftiest buildings
terminate--windows so high that God only can look in upon the
worshipper.

But here--what need of the stately edifice, when there is a church
whose buttresses are mountains, whose roof and towers are above the
clouds, verily in the heavens? What need of artificial reminiscences
of the Great King, here where he has built for himself? The plain, it
is _man's_ nature--given to man's wants; there stands his corn, there
flow his milk and honey. But the mountain, it is God's nature--his
stationary tabernacle--reserved for the eye only of man and the
communing of his spirit. If meant to subserve the wants of his earthly
nature, meant still more expressly to kindle other wants. Do they not
indeed lead to Heaven, these mountains? At least I know they lead
beyond this earth.

There is a little church stands in the valley of Chamouni. It was
open, as is customary in Catholic countries, to receive the visits and
the prayers of the faithful; but there was no service, no priest, nor
indeed a single person in the building. It was evening--and a solitary
lamp hung suspended from the ceiling, just before the altar. Allured
by the mysterious appearance of this lamp burning in solitude, I
entered, and remained in it some time, making out, in the dim light,
the wondrous figures of virgins and saints generally found in such
edifices. When I emerged from the church, there stood Mo