considerable portion of the chain. They dip on the primary rocks of the quartz and clay.
I reached Walchensee about half-past four. About three miles from this place I met with a pretty adventure. A harper and his daughter, a little girl of about eleven years, were walking before me, and he begged of me to take up his child. He went on with his instrument. I let her sit by my side; and she very carefully placed at her feet a large new box,—a pretty and accomplished creature, and already pretty well acquainted with the world. She had been on a pilgrimage on foot, with her mother, to Maria Einsiedel; and both had determined to go upon the still longer journey to St. Jago of Compostella, when her mother was carried off by death, and was unable to fulfil her vow. It was impossible, she thought, to do too much in honour of the Mother of God. After a great fire, in which a whole house was burnt to the lowest foundation, she herself had seen the image of the Mother of God, which stood over the door, beneath a glass frame,—image and glass both uninjured; which was surely a palpable miracle. All her journeys she had taken on foot. She had just played in Munich, before the elector of Bavaria, and altogether her performances had been witnessed by one and twenty princely personages. She quite entertained me. Pretty, large hazel eyes, a proud forehead, which she frequently wrinkled by an elevation of the brows. She was natural and agreeable when she spoke, and especially when she laughed out loud with the free laugh of childhood. When, on the other hand, she was silent, she seemed to have a meaning in it, and, with her upper lip, had a sinister expression. I spoke with her on very many subjects: she was at home with all of them, and made most pertinent remarks. Thus she asked me once what tree one we came to was. It was a huge and beautiful maple, the first I had seen
