hundred châlets dotted the Alps, or those mountain pasturages which spread
themselves a thousand fathoms above the Leman, on the foundation of rock
that lay like a wall behind Montreux, shining still with the brightness of
a bland even, but all below was fast catching the more sombre colors of
the hour.

As the transition from day to night grew more palpable, the hamlets of
Savoy became gray and hazy, the shades thickened around the bases of the
mountains in a manner to render their forms indistinct and massive, and
the milder glory of the scene was transferred to their summits. Seen by
sun-light, these noble heights appear a long range of naked granite, piled
on a foundation of chestnut-covered hills, and buttressed by a few such
salient spurs as are perhaps necessary to give variety and agreeable
shadows to their acclivities. Their outlines were now drawn in those
waving lines that the pencil of Raphael would have loved to sketch, dark,
distinct, and appearing to be carved by art. The inflected and capricious
edges of the rocks stood out in high relief against the back-ground of
pearly sky, resembling so much ebony wrought into every fantastic
curvature that a wild and vivid fancy could conceive. Of all the wonderful
and imposing sights of this extraordinary region, there is perhaps none in
which there is so exquisite an admixture of the noble, the beautiful, and
the bewitching, as in this view of these natural arabesques of Savoy, seen
at the solemn hour of twilight.

The Baron de Willading and his friends stood uncovered, in reverence of
the sublime picture, which could only come from the hands of the Creator,
and with unalloyed enjoyment of the bland tranquillity of the hour.
Exclamations of pleasure had escaped them, as the exhibition advanced; for
the view, like the shifting of scenes, was in a constant state of
transition under the waning and changing light, and each had eagerly