I.

Throughout Switzerland, the summer of 1806 is always spoken of as “The wet Summer.” During May, June, and July, many and heavy showers fell, but in August it rained almost every day. In the Canton of Schwytz, the sky was so dark and forbidding that the clouds left the upper spaces, and chased each other quite down the mountain sides: and shut out the lovely little valley, which lay between Mount Rossberg and Mount Rigi, from the rest of the world. The people cared little for this, however, for was not the grass in the meadows on the mountain side as sweet as sweet could be? had the cows ever given richer milk? had ever such butter and cheese been made before, or so good a price received for it? And look at the gardens; such cauliflower! such cabbage! such potatoes! And above all, look around at the “over world,” the mosses, the vines, the shrubs, and trees, whose leaves, from the tenderest brown to the darkest green, seem as though tipped with diamonds, they sparkle so! And the flowers; were their colors ever more soft and lovely? No, everything was beautiful! beautiful! True, the tourists grumbled at the weather, but they always had a way of grumbling at something, and perhaps it might as well be the weather as anything else: and so the Fraus talked, and smiled, and nodded their heads, which made their words all the more reliable.

At the foot of the Rossberg nestled the pretty little village of Goldau. The mountain lifted its head five thousand feet above the village, but it smiled down upon it so kindly, and when the sharp winds blew shielded it so securely, that the people looked up with grateful eyes and spoke of it as their own beautiful mountain. And it was indeed beautiful. Near the top, and extending for a good way down its side, grew strong large trees, with little trees in between; quite a wood in fact; and when the wind passed over the mountain tops, the leaves rustled, shook hands, and laughed and talked in the pleasantest way imaginable. Below the wood, lay the great green meadows, where the grass grew soft and thick like velvet; and gardens too, for the people of Goldau not only kept many cows, but thought much of their cauliflower, cabbage, and potatoes. A little higher on the mountain side than most of the houses in the village, stood the home of young Kaspar Bernstein, Josepha his wife, three pretty children, and a little maid named Franziska Ulrich. Heinrich, the eldest, was a stout lad of eight years, who helped his father drive the cows to and from the pasture, and pulled the weeds in the garden. But the pet of the household was wee, blue-eyed Gretchen, a demure little maid of six years, who helped her mother, or thought she did, and made the hours pass happily for baby Fritz. Their home was a very pleasant one, clean and comfortable; the floors white with frequent scrubbings,--the pretty blue picture dishes at which Gretchen never tired of looking as the plates stood on edge in the racks on the wall; the tinware polished until it shone like silver; and the great square tile stove, with the bench around three sides of it, so that all could sit with their backs against the warm tile of an evening, while the top was large enough to make a bed upon in the coldest winter nights,--oh, it was as cozy and comfortable as a home could well be! And in the Summer time, how breezy the house was when the doors and windows were all wide open; why, one could stand in the front door, and look right out through the back door at the mountain. And the view of Goldau, with other little towns all lying so close together, and the shimmering water of the lake, made a picture always lovely to look upon; and when the sweet tones of the church bells floated up to them, morning and evening, their joy was complete.