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cruel violence as we drove across innumerable avalanches, fallen so close upon each other that the road had taken the form of some hard frozen sea of billows; nor, as we galloped through the dark rocktunnels draped with weird icicles, did I forget-no, it was impossible to forget-the look of dismal despair upon the faces of those fifty hard-working men digging for the comrade they had lost, and whose body only the warmth of summer suns would restore to them.

"Somewhat farther on, in a trough-like depression of the mountain side, we came upon a chaos of huge rocky fragments piled high-relics, probably, of some sad catastrophe.

"With a sense of things that are over
A touch of the years long dead,

A perfume of withered clover,
An echo of kindness fled.

"We wake on this morn when snowwreaths

Silently thaw to rain,

And the love that the old years know breathes

Dying not born again.

"Cold and gray is the morning,

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Gray with evanishing rose;
We wake and I feel her warning,
I know what the doomed man
knows.

Stayed are the streams of mad

ness,

Dried is the fount of tears; But oh, at the heart what sadness!

And oh, in the soul what fears!"

The following is a fine description of dawn among the mountains: "I rose at four o'clock one summer morning. Dawn was going up behind the Tyrolese frontier, and in the south-west a buoyant, vast balloon of moon, greenish, like a lustrous globe of aquamarine, hung swathed in rosy air upon the flat slope of Altien. But up above, on all the heights, nature played her own divine symphony; the full moon sinking glorified, the dawn ascending red and tired already. Has it often been noticed how very tired the earth looks at sunrise? Like Michael Angelo's wild female figure on the tomb of San Lorenzo, dragging herself with

PAVILION OF THE WY-QUELLE.

anguish out of slumber. I felt this most three years ago, after spending a summer night upon the feldberg, those enormous German plains outspread around me. When the morning came at last, its infinite sadness was to me almost heartbreaking."

The mountain sympathy and literary skill seem hereditary in the family, as will be seen from the following sketch by his daughter of her adventures in hay-hauling in the Alpine

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snow:

"At the end of summer, when all the hay of the lower valleys has been gathered and housed, the peasants proceed to the higher pastures, and there they mow and carefully scrape together in the wildest and steepest places, and also in the pleasantest oases, those short and strongly-scented grasses which grow so slowly and blossom so late upon the higher mountains. This hay has a peculiar and very refined quality. It is chiefly composed of strong herbs, such as arnica and gentian, and is greatly prized by the peasants. The making of it is a process much enjoyed, and families will sleep out upon the heights above their homes for days together, till they have mown, dried, and staked the

berg-heu in those tiny huts which are built low and firm on mountain ridges. These huts are then shut and abandoned till winter snows have fallen and the valley-hay has been consumed. "Then comes a novel form of tobogganing, where the peasants' hard labour is salted with a pinch of exquisite excitement and a dangerous joy. The men climb up through the deep snow, dig out their huts, tie the hay into bundles, and ride down upon it into the valley. This process is a difficult and often very perilous one; for to steer such heavy and unwieldly burdens over the sheer and perpen

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dicular descents is no light matter. Asmooth

track is soon formed, and each day increases the speed of progression down it.

"Two nights ago a young peasant came to my father and said he was bringing his hay from the Alps on the dörfliberg, and that we three girls might go with him, which invitation we gladly accepted. The thing was novel and very exciting, owing to the element of risk which certainly attends it. Accordingly, at ten yesterday morning we started and drove to

CHURCH OF TARASP.

the foot of the mountain. There we left our sledge, and began the ascent of such a track as I have described above. But we followed the scent, so to speak, by noting the remnants of hay which lay here and there upon the snow, and we steered a straight course by the indescribably steep ascent.

But

"At first we passed over meadows, then struck into scattered forest. The trees stood out almost black against a sky so solid in its sapphire that it rivalled the pines in depth of tone. as we mounted higher the path became a smooth, unbroken surface, so shiny, steep, and even, that it was no longer possible to gain a footing on its icy banks, and we had to turn off as the

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THE CASTLE OF TARASP, SEEN FROM THE KREUZBERG,

men who had gone before us did, and climb the mountain-side by a series of short, deep steps which they had cut into the snow. This was a most laborious task; but up and over the slopes we clambered, and whenever we got to the top of a ridge we beheld another ridge beyond it,

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with the thin, green haytrack going up it straight as a dart, the footsteps by its side and above the great white mountains, blazing, unbroken by any rock or shadow, under the midday sun.

"We were very hot and very anxious to push forward, and we pulled ourselves up with scant intervals for breathing, till at length we came in sight of some men, with hay-packs ready for the downward leap, upon the

ST. PETER'S CHURCH, NEAR SENT.

hill-crest over us. To them we waved with frantic joy, and proceeded with renewed energy.

"We stood two thousand feet or more above the valley, in regions well-nigh untrodden; and here a light wind blew across the

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snow-fields full of the scent of

summer hay, for the châlet doors were open wide, and some men were working amongst the hay like moles, where the great white tracts of virgin snow were humped up on the edge of the hill, and three châlets nestled, all buried to their roofs in drift.

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