creatures; to offer them my help and succour, and that without even the prospect or hope of reward, or thanks in return! I fain would have wished to persuade myself that the language of the hermit was only the result of an overheated zeal, arising from the ascetic life he led; and that though his strict doctrine might well be put in practice by a penitent anchorite in his solitary cell, yet it could never be suitable for a being living in and for the world, having so many and various occupations and duties to perform. But all these evasive thoughts and arguments did not serve to tranquillize my mind; on the contrary, I felt convinced of the truth of the venerable man’s words, though it appeared to me difficult to be as he wished man should be.
On the side of the road on the way back to my inn, I passed the principal church of the town of Shwytz, situated on a declivity. The churchyard, where, according to the laudable custom of the place, all the graves are bestrewed with flowers, may be compared to a garden, and presents a very different aspect to the melancholy abodes of the dead, disfigured by crosses, tomb-stones, and wild weeds, as in our part of the country. It was the season of the Alpine pink (dianthus plumarius), of which millions were blooming here in variegated colours, while their delicious odours perfumed the dusky evening air. Here and there the flowers were overtopped by little stands of stone, forming basins to contain the holy water, with which they were sprinkled.
Seating myself upon a part of the wall which surrounded the church yard, I contemplated the lonely scene around me, amidst the deepest silence. In the little town beneath were slumbering the living—and here I was surrounded by the dead, reposing beneath the flowers. Again the discourse of the hermit occurred to my mind, while the deep solitude which prevailed around, rendered me still more susceptible of reflection upon the true sense and meaning of his words. I confessed to myself, that hitherto I had only been seeking after
