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 ped at the wines, of which I had been led by thirst and hilarity to make copious libations. We wished him a good night, and away we went.

The evening was warm and delicious. All nature was hushed in solemn repose. The dew rested upon the herbage, from which balmy odours were wafted to us by gentle breezes, and the roaring of the cascade was heard in the distance. Before us, the head of the everlasting Jungfrau, magnificently tinged with a roseate hue, reared itself aloft in the dark concave of heaven. No pencil ever yet attempted a representation of this magical effect; how then can my feeble pen be so presumptuous? The radiant glow of evening had subsided: a faint light only glimmered in the west, and was wonderfully reflected by the topmost icy peaks of the stupendous Jungfrau, which seemed to have imbibed the fires of the departed sun, and to be pouring them forth again in a flood of pale rose-coloured effulgence.

I stood lost in the contemplation of this to me novel scene, and Mimili, with her eyes fixed on the brilliant Jungfrau, hung on my arm. “We will not go down into the basin,” said she softly; “it is cold, and dark, and gloomy there. Come with me to the seat where there is so much clover; there it is more cheerful and agreeable.”

We seated ourselves, and began to chat. She