allowed me to follow all its changes, till the blush of morning glowed, and it paled before sunrise.
And now again was heard the Alpine trumpet. It was the signal of sunrise. I hastened up and out. The one hundred streamed forth pell-mell to the plateau, in costumes and physiognomies which looked tolerably bewildered and only half-awake.
The earth seemed as yet altogether “without form and void,” covered with the shades of night. But by degrees they became lighter, and you saw the little lakes down below vailed by thick clouds of mist, as of white cotton-wool. A gentleman stood on the summit with a couple of ladies.
“See,” said he in French, pointing to the cloud-covered spots, “see, there is the eternal snow!”
And when the people round him laughed, he began,—exclaiming, in great amazement, “Quoi?—Comment?—ce n'est pas?—Mais—Ah!” etc., to have a consciousness of, and an insight into his mistake, at which he himself laughed merrily.
And now people stand in silent waiting for whatever shall follow. The scene brightens by degrees, and an increasing glory is seen upon the white peaks of the Oberland Alps. Again the Alpine trumpet sounds, and immediately afterwards a dazzling ray flashes over the jagged mountains of the Canton Glarus. The giants of the Oberland gleam forth in its blaze, and soon the earth sphere grows clear in the sun's light. But the mist above the lakes seems to become denser, and to extend itself over the surrounding country. The morning spectacle is now at an
