Sunset At Interlaken

The sun is low;

Yon peak of snow Is purpling 'neath the sunset glow;

The rosy light

Makes richly bright The Jungfrau's veil of snowy white.

From vales that sleep

Night's shadows creep To take possession of the steep;

While, as they rise,

The western skies Seem loth to leave so fair a prize.

The light of Day

Still loves to stay And round that pearly summit play;

How fair a sight,

That plain of light Contended for by Day and Night!

Between Interlaken And The Jungfrau.

Now fainter shines.

As Day declines, The lustrous height which he resigns;

The shadows gain

Th' illumined plain; The Jungfrau pales, as if in pain.

On Lake Thun.

When daylight dies,

The azure skies Seem sparkling with a thousand eyes,

Which watch with grace

From depths of space The sleeping Jungfrau's lovely face.

And when is born

The ruddy Dawn, Forerunner of the coming Morn,

Along the skies

It quickly flies To kiss the Maiden's opening eyes.

The timid flush,

The rosy blush, Which then o'er brow and face do rush,

Are pure and fair

Beyond compare, Resplendent in the illumined air.

And thus alway,

By night or day, Her varying suitors homage pay;

And tinged with rose,

Or white with snows, The same fair radiant form she shows.

I have said that Interlaken was an admirable place from which to make excursions. Shall we not put this to the proof by entering now the charming and romantic vale of Lauter-brunnen, dainty and lovely as a dimple in the cheek of Nature? It is only half a mile in width, and is bounded on both sides by lofty mountains, over which the winter's sun can hardly climb till midday. And yet luxuriant vegetation covers it, as with an emerald carpet. The bases of these mountains seem to rest on flowers. The awful scenery which surrounds it makes it seem doubly sweet and fair; and one can hardly imagine a more striking picture than that of this peaceful valley, looking smilingly up into the stern and savage faces of the monsters which environ it, as if unconscious of its helplessness, or trusting confidently in their mercy.

A little distance up the valley, we note its most remarkable feature, the Fall of the Staubbach, or "Dust-brook," which here leaps boldly over the brow of the mountain, nine hundred and eighty feet above us. Long before it reaches the ground, it is converted into a vast, diaphanous cloud of spray, which the breeze scatters into thousands of fantastic wreaths. Whenever the sunlight streams directly through this, the effect is marvelous. It then resembles a transparent veil of silvery lace, woven with all the colors of the rainbow, fluttering from the fir-clad rocks. Byron compared it to the tail of a white horse, streaming in the wind; but Goethe's description is best, when he exclaims:

"In clouds of spray, Like silver dust, It veils the rock In rainbow hues; And dancing down With music soft, Is lost in air".

The Staubbach.

Valley Of Lauterbrunnen.

But the ambitious traveler will ascend far higher than the summit of this waterfall to stand upon the mighty cliffs which line the valley like gigantic walls.

Going To Murren.

Zurich.

Comfort In Switzerland.

The task is easily accomplished now. Ten years ago it was an arduous climb, on horseback or on foot; but now an electric railroad winds for miles along the edge of frightful precipices, and (where a vertical ascent is absolutely necessary) another kind of car lifts one a thousand feet or so toward heaven, as smoothly and as swiftly as a hotel elevator. Truly the visitor of a dozen years ago perceives amazing changes to-day among the Alps. Where, formerly, a man would hardly dare to go on foot, trains now ascend with myriads of travelers! Hotels and even railroad stations up among the clouds have driven from the lofty crags the eagle and the chamois. This to the genuine Alpine climber seems like sacrilege; but, after all, what contributors to the happiness of mankind these mountain railroads are! Without them, few would venture here; and all the pageantry of Nature in these upper regions would unfold itself through the revolving years with scarce an eye to note its beauty or voice to tell its glories to the world.