"The good pastor Ortler, with his fine voice and clear, earnest eyes,
was in possession at all times of a charm of manner that had for me
an irresistible fascination. But when he talked of God, his greatness
as seen in his works, the magnificent and matchless glory by which we
were surrounded: above all, when he spoke of His tenderness and love,
I realized as I had never done before the beauty of holiness, and the
happiness, in this life even, of a soul firmly anchored in the faith
of Christ.

"Once, I remember, he steadied my feet to a rocky point overlooking
the little town of Ferney, and the deserted château of Voltaire. And
then followed a conversation, in which the tenderness of the good
pastor's heart was manifest as he spoke of the fine mind wrecked on
the sands of unbelief. 'And to think of this man's influence,' he
said, with sorrow in his tones, and regrets over a lost life and a
lost soul.

"Upon the shores of the lake stood the old home of De Stael; and
nearly opposite, its white walls reflected upon the bosom of the water
the house where Byron lived and wrote. In the distance we could see
the gleaming roofs of Geneva, the dark cathedral, and the tall hotels.
As the weeks wore on I grew stronger. Winter was coming, and the good
pastor must go home. He would not hear of leaving me, and together we
went down into Savoy, and over the 'mer de glâce,' and trod on the
edge of frowning glaciers.

"We were sufficiently near the monastery of the great St. Bernard to
take it in our path; toiling along where the ice cracked in the narrow
footway, and the moon glittered on the waste of snow and glinted