mer was in its prime, the Swiss scenery in its full splendor; and I thought to myself, there is yet Paradise upon earth!
Nevertheless, there passed even now through this Paradise—“the ruins of the lost Paradise,” say the pious Swiss—sounds of dissevering discord, misfortunes, the result of want of prudence, or of fool-hardiness, which were dividing loving hearts, and led to death and sorrow in families where life appeared till then in its purest bloom. People make their “reflexions chretiennes et morales,” but for such griefs as these I know of but one consolation, and that lies in the courageous exclamation, “Fear not them who can only kill the body!”
At the close of July I returned to Geneva, in order from that place to commence my last mountain journey in Switzerland, to Chamouni, St. Bernard, and Monte Rosa.
But first to Chamouni!
Chamouni has been so frequently visited, and so frequently described, that I shall say but little about it, and that little principally for the purpose of endeavoring to deter others from going thither—like me.
The kind parents Coulin intrusted to me their eldest daughter, my young friend Louise, as my companion on this journey; for she, no more than myself, had as yet seen the celebrated Mer de Glace.
Early in the morning of the 31st of July, we left Geneva. The sleepy little maid-servants, the morning winds, were up late, but at length, however, they came to sweep aside the masses of cloud, and pile
