I was in a sorrowful mood; I was leaving my mountains! Then I wrote in my book--O, I remember it so well!--The high Alps appear to me the folded wings of the earth: how if she should raise them! how if the immense wings should unfold, with their gay images of dark woods, glaciers, and clouds! What a picture! At the Last Judgment will the earth doubtless unfold these pinions, soar up to God, and in the rays of His sunlight disappear! I also have been young, Otto," pursued she, with a melancholy smile.

"Thou wouldst have felt still more deeply at the sight of this splendor of nature.

The lake at the foot of the mountains was smooth as a mirror; a little boat with white sails swam, like a swan, upon its expanse.

On the road along which we drove were the peasants beating down chestnuts; the grapes hung in large black bunches.

How an impression such as this can root itself in the memory! It is five and thirty years since, and yet I still see that boat with the white sail, the high Alps, and the black grapes." "Thou shalt see thy Switzerland again, Rosalie," exclaimed Otto; "again hear the bells of the cows upon the green pastures! Thou shalt go once more to the chapel in Franche Compte, shalt visit thy friends at Le Locle, see the subterranean mill, and the Doub fall." "The mill wheel yet goes round, the water dashes down as in my youth; but the friends are gone, my relatives dispersed! I should appear a stranger there; and when one has reached my age, nature cannot satisfy--one must have people!" "Thou knowest, Rosalie, my grandfather has settled a sum upon thee so long as thou livest.