We stumble along, for the roads here are no
turnpikes, and we come to a place called the _Black Forest;_ not
_the_ Black Forest, but truly a black one. I always love pines,
to all generations. I welcome this solemn old brotherhood, which stand
gray-bearded, like monks, old, dark, solemn, sighing a certain
mournful sound - like a _benedicite_ through the leaves.
About noon we came to Rosenlaui. As we drew near the hotel the guide
struck off upon a path leading up the mountain, saying, by way of
explanation, _"The glacier!"_
Now, I confess that it was rather too near dinner time, and I was too
tired at once to appreciate this movement.
I regret to say, that two glaciers, however beautiful, on an empty
stomach, appear rather of doubtful utility. So I remonstrated; but
the guide, as all guides do, went dead ahead, as if I had not said a
word. C., however, rode composedly towards the hotel, saying that
dinner was a finer sight than a glacier; and I, though only of the
same mind, thought I would follow my guide, just to see.
W. went with me. After a little we had to leave our horses, and
scramble about a mile up the mountain. "C. was right, and we are
wrong," said my companion, sententiously. I was just dubious enough to
be silent.
