complete town of watchmakers. My uncle and Adele also sat the whole
day, and worked at wheels and chains. That was for Monsieur
Houriet, in Le Locle. His daughters I know; one is called Rosalie,
like myself. Rosalie and Lydia, they will certainly have forgotten
me! But it is true that we are upon our own journey! Now, thou
seest, at the end of the town we do not follow the broad road--that
leads to Besancon; we remain in the lesser one, here in the valley
where the town lies. The beautiful valley! The green mountain-sides
we keep to our right; on it are scattered houses, with large stones
upon their steep wooden roofs, and with little gardens tilled with
plum-trees. Steep cliff-walls shut in the valley; there stands up a
crag; if thou climbest it thou canst look straight into France: one
sees a plain, flat like the Danish plains. In the valley where we
are, close under the rock, lies a little house; O, I see it
distinctly! white-washed and with blue painted window-frames: at
the gate a great chained dog. I hear him bark! We step into that
quiet, friendly little house! The children are playing about on the
ground. O, my little Henry-Numa-Robert! Ah, it is true that now he
is older and taller than thou! We descend the steps toward the
cellar. Here stand sacks and chests of flour; under the floor one
hears a strange roaring; still a few steps lower, and we must light
the lamp, for here it is dark. We find ourselves in a great water-mill,
a subterranean mill. Deep below in the earth rushes a river--
above no one dreams of it; the water dashes down several fathoms
over the rushing wheel, which threatens to seize our clothes and
whirl us away into the circle. The steps on which we stand are
slippery: the stone walls drip with water, and only a step beyond
the depth appears bottomless! O, thou wilt love this mill as I love
it! Again having reached the light of day, and under free heaven,
one only perceives the quiet, friendly little house. Dost thou