and cloak on my back; the guides from the inns are too dear and too tedious for me. The first honest-looking young fellow whom I find after two hours gets hired, and so I get on better on foot. How charming the lake and the path hither were is more than I can say. Fancy all the beauties you have ever delighted in—it is that. The footpath is always sloping upwards under the shade of nut trees, past country houses and castles; on all the slope down to the glittering lake lie villages scattered here and there, and the villages are full of the sound of streams and fountains splashing at every corner; most beautiful it was, and one felt so free and bright! Now comes the village-girl with her straw hat; she is wonderfully pretty, and her name is Pauline. She puts my baggage in the basket on her shoulder, and so we march for the mountains. Adieu!
Evening at Chateau d’Oex.—I have had the most charming journey. Could I get you such a day, I would give much for it, but then you would first have to turn into two young men, and be able to climb vigorously, drink milk when you had the chance, make little of a great deal of heat, a great many stones, also of many holes in the path, and still more holes in your boots. I fear you are much too tender for that. But it was wonderfully beautiful. Never shall I forget the walk with Pauline, who was one of the jolliest girls I ever met in my life, so pretty and healthy and full of natural cleverness. She told me stories about her village, and I told her stories about
