318 CHAMOIS HUNTING. 



my pillow, their tops clear and distinct against the bright 

 blue sky, I felt doubly the privations that sickness brings ; 

 and yet I was in some measure compensated for the 

 loss, for the scenes themselves were brought to my bed- 

 side, — " transcripts of Nature," as Constable would have 

 called them, fresh from the open air, and in which tone 

 and forms and colour were not copied merely, but felt. 

 I had just before made the acquaintance of Mr. Carl 

 Haag, who was staying here ; and from the moment I 

 was unable to leave my room, he brought me daily his 

 portfolio, and left with me the result of each morning's 

 or afternoon's work. Then there were effects to be 

 talked of and discussed, picturesque figures to look at, — 

 new acquaintances perhaps which he had made in the last 

 walk, — opinions to be interchanged as to which of the 

 masterly sketches laid out before me on my bed might 

 best furnish subject for a picture ; and in this way the 

 hours went pleasantly by, and I found that I was not so 

 greatly to be pitied after all. 



From my window I saw one morning a sight which, 

 touching as it was, had in it much of beauty. It was 

 the funeral of a little child. I heard the chanting of the 

 mourning train, and on looking into the street discovered 

 whence it came. The young child lay in the open coffin, 

 which was carried in the arms of a man ; its placid face 

 uncovered, and nothing between it and the blue heaven. 

 All around it were flowers, on its pillow and on both 

 sides ; and its pretty hands too were embedded on roses, 

 — buds as tender as itself. I had never seen Death ar- 

 rayed so winningly. 



