. The monk and the hangman's daughter. nd chasten my soul more and more. In these mountains are no feathered birds here utter only shrill cries. The flowers,too, are without fragrance, but wondrously beauti-ful, shining with the fire and gold of stars. I haveseen slopes and heights here Avhich doubtless werenever trodden by any human foot. They seem to 127 Ct)t i«onft 128 me sacred, the touch of the Creator still visibleupon them, as when they came from His hand. Game is in great abundance. Chamois are some-times seen in such droves that the very hill-sidesseem to move. There are
. The monk and the hangman's daughter. nd chasten my soul more and more. In these mountains are no feathered birds here utter only shrill cries. The flowers,too, are without fragrance, but wondrously beauti-ful, shining with the fire and gold of stars. I haveseen slopes and heights here Avhich doubtless werenever trodden by any human foot. They seem to 127 Ct)t i«onft 128 me sacred, the touch of the Creator still visibleupon them, as when they came from His hand. Game is in great abundance. Chamois are some-times seen in such droves that the very hill-sidesseem to move. There are steinbocks, veritablemonsters, but as yet, thank Heaven, I have seenno bears. Marmots play about me like kittens,and eagles, the grandest creatures in this highworld, nest in the cliffs to be as near the sky asthey can get. When fatigued I stretch myself on the Alpinegrass, which is as fragrant as the most preciousspices. I close my eyes and hear the wind v/hisperthrough the tall stems, and in my heart is peace,Blessed be the Lord !. XXVIII. VERY morning the dairywomen come to- my cabin,their merry shouts ringingin the air and echoed fromthe hills. They bring freshmilk, butter and cheese,chat a little while and goaway. Each day they relate something new thathas occurred in the mountains or been reportedfrom the villages below. They are joyous andhappy, and look forward with delight to Sunday,when there will be divine service in the morningand a dance in the evening. Alas, these happy people are not free of the sinof bearing false witness against their have spoken to me of Benedicta— called hera disgraceful wench, a hangmans daughter and(my heart rebels against its utterance) the mistressof Eochus ! The pillory, they said, was made forsuch as she. Hearing these maidens talk so bitterly and 9 129 2rt)e iKonft 130 ©auflljter. falsely of one whom tliey so little knew, it waswith diflficulty that I mastered my in pity of their ignorance I reprimand
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