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 one is coming,” said I to the herdsman, who just then stepped out of the hut; “does any body else live here besides you?”

“Nobody,” replied he; “but Miss comes sometimes in the evening, and sleeps here.”

“Who is Miss?”

“My master’s daughter.”

I rose, while the herdsman went to meet her. She was not yet in sight, for the path led up in the rear of the hut, when I heard her call to him, with a sweet voice, “Good evening, Rütli. I am come to stop with you to-night; the weather is so beautiful, and it bids fair for a fine morning.”

The herdsman must have acquainted her that I was there, for I heard him say something about the stranger. She paused, as if hesitating whether to proceed or not; at least, I heard no more footsteps. I therefore walked round the hut to pay my respects to the mistress of my Alp.

Whoever has been in Switzerland must be acquainted with the theatrical costume of the damsels of the Alps. When I first entered the canton of Berne, and beheld the fanciful dresses of the Swiss girls, I was ready to imagine that some friend had played me a trick, and sent the most beautiful of their sex, arrayed after the elegant fashion of some tender idyl, to make me believe that I had found the Arcadian scenes of my youthful reveries. By degrees I became