tion of the picturesque magnificence of
this mountain-land. I have a plan, Rosalie. I know that in the heart
of a mountaineer homesickness never dies. I remember well how thy eyes
sparkled when thou toldest of the walk toward Le Locle and Neufchatel;
even as a boy I felt at thy words the light mountain air. I rode with
thee upon the dizzy height, where the woods lay below us like potato
fields. What below arose, like the smoke from a charcoal-burner's kiln,
was a cloud in the air. I saw the Alpine chain, like floating cloud
mountains; below mist, above dark shapes with glancing glaciers."

"Yes, Otto," said Rosalie, and her eyes sparkled with youthful fire; "so
looks the Alpine chain when one goes from Le Locle to Neulfchatel: so
did I see it when I descended the Jura for the list time. It was in
August. The trees, with their autumnal foliage, stood yellow and red
between the dark firs; barberries and hips grew among the tall fern.
The Alps lay in such a beautiful light, their feet blue as heaven, their
peaks snow-white in the clear sunshine. 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 dispers