Climbing for White Goats 



the thundering report of the moving gla- 

 ciers, or the long-drawn roar of the snow 

 slides. From lofty pinnacles he looks 

 down on mountains and valleys and lakes 

 far below him, and is thrilled by feelings 

 which he cannot put in words. The very 

 air he breathes is instinct with the solemn 

 spirit of the mountains, and he is awed by 

 its inscrutable mysteries. 



Moved by emotions which he but half 

 comprehends, he rejoices in each varying 

 aspect of the scene, whether the change 

 be a smile or a frown. After the dark 

 shadow of a moving cloud has passed, the 

 sun shines more brightly ; the bitter wind 

 that half freezes him does not seem un- 

 kind ; he welcomes the blinding snow- 

 storm, or the cold mist that sweeps along 

 the mountain side, shrouding peak after 

 peak, blotting out point after point, till 

 at last it has hidden all the view, and has 

 wrapped him in its chilling embrace. On 

 these heights he exults alike in sunshine 

 and in storm ; for here he has found na- 

 ture, pure and untouched, and for the time 

 has become a part of it. 

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