I sat down on the rocks to take, not a sketch,--for who can sketch a
mountain torrent?--but to note down on paper a kind of diagram, from
which afterwards I might reconstruct an image of this feathery, frisky
son of Kuhleborn.
And while I was doing this, little G. seemed to be possessed by the
spirit of the brook to caper down into the ravine, with a series of
leaps far safer for a waterfall than a boy. I was thankful when I saw
him safely at the bottom.
After sketching a little while, I rambled off to a point where I
looked over towards Mont Blanc, and got a most beautiful view of the
Glacier de Boisson. Imagine the sky flushed with a rosy light, a
background of purple mountains, with darts of sunlight streaming among
them, touching point and cliff with gold. Against this background
rises the outline of the glacier like a mountain of the clearest white
crystals, tinged with blue; and against their snowy whiteness in the
foreground tall forms of pines. I rejoiced in the picture with
exceeding joy as long as the guide would let me; but in all these
places you have to cut short your raptures at the proper season, or
else what becomes of your supper?
I went back to the cottage.
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