to reproach ourselves. Are you not here completely happy, holy father, in your retreat?”
“Happy!”—replied he, slowly, stopping of a sudden, and casting an expressive look of grave severity towards the pale-purpled sky, which still faintly gilded the cross on the peak of Mount Rigi. “My son,” he continued, after a silent pause, “hast thou ever, in thy life, beheld one happy mortal?”
“Yes, holy father, I myself am happy. I have nothing to reproach myself with, I am young and healthy, and at home I have a beloved family and dear and valued friends; I have what I require, and even more than sufficient to satisfy my wants. Nothing pains or disquiets my mind, travelling delights me, and I am now in your beatiful country, where, at every step, nature unfolds new charms, and where God has manifested his great and ever-reigning glory, in so wonderful a manner.”
“Happy!” replied the venerable man, doubtfully shaking his hoary head, “hast thou no share in the afflictions of others?”
To this question, which sounded so strangely in my ears, I could only reply by casting down my eyes in confusion.
“And I too,” continued he, “have no reproaches to make myself. I likewise enjoy the blessing of health; I also have my family and friends, if not here, yet in the eternal home of peace above; I too have all that I require; I also, like thee, enjoy pleasure in the survey of God’s beauteous creation, and yet—I am not happy. The pains, the wants of my more unhappy neighbours too often oppress and overcome my feelings; for to me come only such unhappy beings as seek to pour into my heart those troubles and afflictions with which they are so heavy laden, and under which they would otherwise sink. But thou, who livest within the wide range of this world, hast thou never yet beheld the flow of bitter tears descending down the cheek of sorrow? Hast thou never heard the troubled sigh, when issuing from the breast of affliction? Hast thou never yet experienced the painful sensation which
