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 my mind to offer my hand to no other female in the wide world than to this angelic creature.

Mimili was fond of me! I had abundant assurance of that. For so holy a love as dwelt in Mimili’s virgin bosom no word in our poor language was sufficiently expressive. Could I not speak that very moment? Such were my meditations as I paced the floor. I still heard in imagination the soft tones of her adagio.

“But” Alas! how this provoking but poisons every enjoyment during our pilgrimage through this world! But will Mimili be willing to quit the paradise of her home to accompany me? Will she, who has grown up here, among the flowers of her pastures, be able to live in those sandy plains where the stunted heath can scarcely gain nourishment? Will she there find any thing to compensate for the loss of the thousand natural beauties which attach her to this spot? Will this heart—this poor heart alone—indemnify her for her separation from all she loves? Will her father assent to the removal of this girl, the joy of his old age, into our deserts? Will not Mimili be obliged to exchange her corset, her plaited petticoat, and all her native paraphernalia, for the French costumes which fashion has forced upon us? Will she not, with her Swiss apparel, throw off also her Swiss simplicity? Will the free maiden of the Alps be able to accommodate herself to the