ark pines, huge cliffs, here and there a beech, as green and large
as in Denmark. Now we have the wood behind us, we are many feet
above the sea; thou canst perceive this by the freshness of the air.
Everywhere are green meadows; uninterruptedly reaches our ear the
ringing of the cow-bells. Thou as yet seest no town, and yet we are
close upon Le Locle. Suddenly the road turns; in the midst of the
mountain-level we perceive a small valley, and in this lies the town,
with its red roofs, its churches, and large gardens. Close beneath the
windows rises the mountain-side, with its grass and flowers; it looks
as though the cattle must be precipitated upon the houses. We go through
the long street, past the church; the inhabitants are Protestants--it
is a complete town of watchmakers. My uncle and Adele also sat the whole
day, and worked at wheels and chains. That was for Monsieur Houriet,
in Le Locle. His daughters I know; one is called Rosalie, like myself.
Rosalie and Lydia, they will certainly have forgotten me! But it is true
that we are upon our own journey! Now, thou seest, at the end of the
town we do not follow the broad road--that leads to Besancon; we remain
in the lesser one, here in the valley where the town lies. The beautiful
valley! The green mountain-sides we keep to our right; on it are
scattered houses, with large stones upon their steep wooden roofs, and
with little gardens tilled with plum-trees. Steep cliff-walls shut in
the valley; there stands up a crag; if thou climbest it thou canst look
straight into France: one sees a plain, flat like the Danish plains. In
the valley where we are, close under the rock, lies a little house; O, I
see it distinctly! white-washed and with blue painted window-frames: at
the gate a great chained dog. I hear him bark! We step into that quiet,
friendly little house! The children are playing about on the ground.
O, my little Henry-Numa-Robert! Ah, it is true that now he is older and
taller than thou! We descend the steps toward the cellar. Here stand
sacks and chests of flour; under the floor one hears a strange roaring;
still a few steps lower, and we must light the lamp, for here it is
dark. We find ourselves in a great water-mill, a subterranean mill. Deep
below in the earth rushes a river--above no one dreams of it; the water
dashes down several fathoms over the rushing wheel, which threatens to
seize our clothes and whirl us away into the circle. The steps on which
we sta