the yearning heart of another may yet receive through some unknown osmose.
The Mountain-Lover thought of the mighty ranges of the Alps; of icy Matterhorn piercing the sky in its imperial isolation; of the Ice-Maiden in her white austerity standing by the Monk with the Youth beyond, drawing her white skirts haughtily about her feet; of Mount Blanc in mighty majesty and cold pride of expanse. These drew and thrilled their devotees as the desire of the almost inaccessible ever draws and thrills the heart of man for conquest. But did their devotees feel for these huge mountain-masses the depth of inexpressible tenderness and the personal longing and the sheer delight in intimate beauty that the lovers of Monadnock felt for the Wise Old Titan? The watcher had never heard such expressed. Myriads of men were yearly drawn to the attempt of those austere heights of the Alps as if with a lodestone, but countless men had those grim peaks—as if with rage at the attempt
