We entered immediately into the great church.  The gorgeous vaulted roof and long aisles were dim with the early evening; hundreds of worshippers sat around the sides, or kneeled in groups on the broad stone pavements, chanting over their Paternosters and Ave Marias in a shrill, monotonous tone, while the holy image near the entrance was surrounded by persons, many of whom came in the hope of being healed of some disorder under which they suffered.  I could not distinctly make out the image, for it was placed back within the grating, and a strong crimson lamp behind it was made to throw the light around, in the form of a glory.  Many of the pilgrims came a long distance.  I saw some in the costume of the Black Forest, and others who appeared to be natives of the Italian Cantons; and a group of young women wearing conical fur caps, from the forests of Bregenz, on the Lake of Constance.

I was astonished at the splendor of this church, situated in a lonely and unproductive Alpine valley.  The lofty arches of the ceiling, which are covered with superb fresco paintings, rest on enormous pillars of granite, and every image and shrine is richly ornamented with gold.  Some of the chapels were filled with the remains of martyrs, and these were always surrounded with throngs of believers.  The choir was closed by a tall iron grating; a single lamp, which swung from the roof, enabled me to see through the darkness, that though much more rich in ornaments than the body of the church, it was less grand and impressive.  The frescoes which cover the ceiling, are said to be the finest paintings of the kind in Switzerland.

In the morning our starting was delayed by the rain, and we took advantage of it to hear mass in the Abbey and enjoy the heavenly music.  The latter was of the loftiest kind; there was one voice among the singers I shall not soon forget.  It was like the warble of a bird who sings out of very wantonness.  On and on it sounded, making its clear, radiant sweetness heard above the chant of the choir and the thunder of the orchestra.  Such a rich, varied and untiring strain of melody I have rarely listened to.

When the service ceased, we took a small road leading to Schwytz.  We had now fairly entered the Alpine region, and our first task was to cross a mountain.  This having been done, we kept along the back of the ridge which bounds the lake of Zug on the south, terminating in the well known Rossberg.  The scenery became wilder with every step.  The luxuriant fields of herbage on the mountains were spotted with the picturesque chalets of the hunters and Alp-herds; cattle and goats were browsing along the declivities, their bells tinkling most musically, and the little streams fell in foam down the steeps.  We here began to realize our anticipations of Swiss scenery.  Just on the other side of the range, along which we traveled, lay the little lake of Egeri and valley of Morgarten, where Tell and his followers overcame the army of the German Emperor; near the lake of Lowertz, we found a chapel by the roadside, built on the spot where the house of Werner Stauffacher, one of the “three men of Grutli,” formerly stood.  It bears a poetical inscription in old German, and a rude painting of the Battle of Morgarten.