The Heart of Monadnock
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claims and its tangled experiences and its smiting sorrows, an inner shrine—a sort of Sabbath of the soul, whither the mountain-lover may retreat as to an unassailable refuge. The wild clamor of the world, it is true, may shut out for weeks at a time the memory of that peaceful altar; his tired ears may become sealed to the echo of that mystic voice that brought to him marvellous things; and then suddenly almost without volition on his part, in some desperate moment he finds himself once more encompassed by the strange peace of that inner sanctuary. Again he learns that the strength of the mountain is indeed part of his very soul; that the whispers of the Wise Old Giant were no dream but a divine reality.
