little cottages. In the hollows of the valleys roars the
river; the clouds slowly roll along, dividing
themselves amongst the immense rocky heights. In whatever
direction you turn your sight, you behold Alps,
valleys, deep woods, soft, waving pasture meadows,
dark rifts of the mountain, whence, as you can see,
flow streams in the spring season. Every thing is
grand, wild, strong, but at the same time fresh and
peaceful. Are you weary?—are you thirsty?—sit
down upon that fragrant grass, beside this bank of
wild strawberries, as large as those grown in gardens.
More juicy, more beautiful ones cannot be found on
earth; and this air—ah! do you feel it? It is impossible
to describe its purity and freshness, its revivifying
power, both of soul and body. Look around!
Near you, and all around you, is a flower-world of old
and new acquaintance. Here the sweetly-fragrant
Alpine pink, with its spear-like leaf, Dianthus superbus,
well deserving of its name; there, tall and erect, like
a real king's candle, the stately yellow gentian,
Gentiana lautea, with thick clusters of gold-colored flowers;
and there, the most ornamental of all umbels, the
beautiful Astranstia major. Pretty, bright-colored thistles
shine out in crowds. Higher up come the Alpine
roses, Rododendrons, and many another sweet-smelling
plant which is only found there. But we will not go
any further to-day.
We will descend and enter some of the little cottages at the feet of the mountains. We must not leave the foot-path without having become acquainted with the principal places to which it leads, the dwellings where human beings reside, spirits who love or
