Already, looking down to the shanty, I see the guide like a hen that
has lost a chicken, shaking her wings, and clucking, and making a
great ado. I could stay here all day. I would like to stay two or
three--to see how it would look at sunrise, at sunset--to lie down in
one of these sunny hollows, and look up into the sky--to shut my eyes
lazily, and open them again, and so let the whole impression _soak
in_, as Mrs. H. used to say.
But no; the sleepers have waked up, the guide has the horses ready,
and I must come down. So here I descend my hill Difficulty into the
valley of Humiliation. We stumble along, for the roads here are no
turnpikes, and we come to a place called the _Black Forest;_ not
_the_ Black Forest, but truly a black one. I always love pines,
to all generations. I welcome this solemn old brotherhood, which stand
gray-bearded, like monks, old, dark, solemn, sighing a certain
mournful sound--like a _benedicite_ through the leaves.
About noon we came to Rosenlaui. As we drew near the hotel the guide
struck off upon a path leading up the mountain, saying, by way of
explanation, _"The glacier!"_
Now, I confess that it was rather too near dinner time, and I was too
tired at once to appreciate this movement.
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