traveling-bag, and who, except for her name, and a pair of lovely eyes, certainly bore as little resemblance as possible to Julie of “The New Heloise.” My host and his family were to set out an hour later.
The little journey was glorious in the fresh morning air, and under the brightening sky. The clouds dispersed over the mountain tops, or sank into their clefts, and I gave them good-speed with my gaze. Here and there, people were seen leaving their dwellings in the valley, and setting out for the meeting. I seemed to speed along as if I had wings.
But now comes the climbing. Up! It is steep, and not to be done without labor, and pausing to take breath. My stout Julie puffs and pants under the burden of my little bag, to such a degree, that it goes to my heart. I perceive, with some surprise, that the poor, stout girl, labors under weakness of the chest. I hasten, therefore, to take a few small things out of the bag, which are absolutely necessary for me, and leave it at the post-house, which we are just now passing—and, in passing, it may be told that the post-mistress is a peasant woman, who carries on the business with good management and skill, since the death of her husband.
With light hands and hearts we proceed after this, onward and upward, continually clambering among stones, and only now and then consoled by a little piece of good road. On one side of the road lies a precipice, at the bottom of which is a mountain torrent, on the other a perpendicular wall of rock, here and there covered with pine wood. The valley becomes ever narrower and wilder. There again comes an
