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 send you up some supper; for the man has nothing but a crust of bread, butter-milk, and some dried fruit.”

She talked a great deal, sometimes as simply and familiarly as a child, at others expressing herself with all the elegance and intelligence of the best-bred lady. Her Swiss German sounded inexpressibly sweet from her rosy lips. It was only when she came to any of the expressions of common life that she employed her native provincialisms, but from my previous travels in Switzerland I was at no loss for their meaning.

We were soon as familiar as if we had been brought up together on this Alp. “What is your name, enchanting girl?” asked I.

“Father calls me Mimili,” replied she, with a tone that made every fibre of my heart vibrate. “Come,” continued she, “I will lead you higher: you shall see something still finer. I will show you a valley and two glaciers that are not to be matched in the whole country.”

I gave her my arm, and we ascended. She climbed the steepest places with the greatest agility. Her cheeks were suffused with a higher glow, and her bosom heaved quicker. It became cooler as we advanced, for we had not much higher to mount to the snow, which still covered the summit of the Alp. What the sun had melted in the middle of the day trickled down in a hundred little rills, and the most delicate