Scenes in Switzerland | Page 4

and striking appearance, as of some floral temple or mosque, set in a great pavilion. The high pulpit was draped in white, and a voluminous white curtain covered the background. The effect was charming.
And as the pastor began the service, the melody of his voice broke away into tenderness as he touched upon the love of God in giving his Son to be the propitiation for sin: holding up the picture so vividly, and telling the simple story with a pathos and a power that little children even could not fail to see and to appreciate. How much better than studied and elaborate essays, diving into metaphysics and technicalities so deeply that beauty is lost, and the mind diverted by the difficulty of following the intricate windings.
First did he impress his hearers with the fact that God loved the world, and through the fulness of that love the Son came down to suffer and to die: secondly, that the natural heart is at enmity with God, not willing that God should rule. Thus a change must be effected; a reconciliation made. This could only be wrought by sacrifice; and Christ was offered once for all; his blood cleanseth from all sin. A plain, simple statement, and it sunk into the hearts of his hearers with a power sure to tell upon their future lives.
After the blessing, each remained silently upon his knees for a few moments. Then all was greeting and congratulation; all were friends; the idea never entered their heads that a stranger could be among them at that season.
At dinner I was introduced to the landamman and two other members of the council, and from them gathered brief notes with reference to the little democracy won, and held intact for so many years. The dessert was hardly removed before they began to come: first the old men in black coats and high hats, and women with white, pointed caps and wide ruffles; then the middle-aged, fathers and mothers, bringing little children, all with the same conscientious expression on their faces, the same "Happy Christmas," while the pastor's "God bless you," was a benediction that carried happiness to the hearts of those who heard it.
Lastly came the youths; maidens with eyes full of a childlike innocence, the quick color coming and going as they greeted the pastor and his friends, and received his blessing in return. Gretchen and her husband were with us, and Gretchen number two was my especial escort, leading me through the rooms, and introducing me in her naive manner, "Mamma's friend, and papa's, and uncle Euler's."
Christmas festivities were kept up during the week; and before that elapsed, I was won to add a month, and then another, it being quite impossible to slip away from the kind friends with whom I had so much in common; the fascination only the more potent as we listened to the beating winds, and looked out into the slippery paths leading down into the cantons beneath.
Spring had come when it was "fit to travel," as Gretchen said. The green of the landscape was brilliant and uniform; the turf sown with primrose, violet, anemone, veronica, and buttercups. It was time for me to leave; neither could I be persuaded to stay till the meeting of the Landsgemeinde. It was sad to leave them, and the little Gretchen was only pacified by my assurance that, if possible, I would return at no distant day. My friend Spruner had business at Herisau, and spending one more evening together, our prayers mingling for the last time, we parted.
Our way led through the valley of the Sitter, a stream fed by the Sentis Alps, and spanned by a bridge hundreds of feet above the water. The same smooth carpet of velvet green was spread everywhere.
"There is no greener land," said Spruner; "the grass is so rich that the inhabitants cannot even spare enough for vegetable gardens. Our tables are supplied from the lower vallies."
"In our country we should not dream of making hay in the month of April," I remarked, seeing several stout men already in the field.
"With suitable care they can mow the same field every six weeks," responded my friend. "And it is no doubt this peculiar process that gives such sweetness and splendor of color, seen nowhere else, not even between the hedgerows of England."
The day proved to be neither clear nor rainy: a steel blue sky brought out the broken peaks of Kasten, while the white shoulders of the Sentis were veiled with a thin, gray suit.
"A month later and we should see the herdsmen," remarked Spruner. "The leader of the herd marches in front with a large bell suspended from his neck by a handsome leathern band; the others follow, some with garlands of flowers and straps of embroidered