Bell! thou soundest solemnly,

When, on Sabbath morning,

Fields deserted lie!

“Bell! thou soundest merrily;

Tellest thou at evening,

Bed-time draweth nigh!

Bell! thou soundest mournfully;

Tellest thou the bitter

Parting hath gone by!

“Say! how canst thou mourn?

How canst thou rejoice?

Art but metal dull!

And yet all our sorrowings,

And all our rejoicings,

Thou dost feel them all!

“God hath wonders many,

Which we cannot fathom,

Placed within thy form!

When the heart is sinking,

Thou alone canst raise it,

Trembling in the storm!”

Paul Flemming alighted at one of the principal hotels.  The landlord came out to meet him.  He had great eyes and a green coat; and reminded Flemming of the innkeeper mentioned in the Golden Ass, who had been changed by magic into a frog, and croaked to his customers from the lees of a wine-cask.  His house, he said, was full; and so was every house in Interlachen; but, if the gentleman would walk into the parlour, he would procure a chamber for him, in the neighbourhood.

On the sofa sat a gentleman, reading; a stout gentleman of perhaps forty-five, round, ruddy, and with a head, which, being a little bald on the top, looked not unlike a crow’s nest, with one egg in it.  A good-humored face turned from the book as Flemming entered; and a good-humored voice exclaimed;

“Ha! ha!  Mr. Flemming!  Is it you, or your apparition!  I told you we should meet again! though you were for taking an eternal farewell of your fellow-traveller.”

Saying these words, the stout gentleman rose and shook Flemming heartily by the hand.  And Flemming returned the shake as heartily, recognising in this ruddy personage, a former travelling companion, Mr. Berkley, whom he had left, a week or two previous, toiling up the Righi.  Mr. Berkley was an Englishman of fortune; a good-humored, humane old bachelor; remarkable alike for his common sense and his eccentricity.  That is to say, the basis of his character was good, sound common sense, trodden down and smoothed by education; but this level groundwork his strange and whimsical fancy used as a dancing-floor, whereon to exhibit her eccentric tricks.  His ruling passion was cold-bathing; and he usually ate his breakfast sitting in a tub of cold water, and reading a newspaper.  He kissed every child he met; and to every old man, said in passing, “God bless you!” with such an expression of voice and countenance, that no one could doubt his sincerity.  He reminded one of Roger Bontemps, or the Little Man in Gray; though with a difference.

“The last time I had the pleasure of seeing you, Mr. Berkley,” said Flemming, “was at Goldau, just as you were going up the Righi.  I hope you were gratified with a fine sunrise on the mountain top.”