“The battle you know between the herdsmen and the monks, with Austria to help.  It was a hard battle, and the knights were whipped; and ever since, on certain days, the herdsmen are seen armed with bows and pikes,” he continued.  By this time I had taken in his meaning, and turning my attention to the misty curtain rolling up into clouds about the sides of the mountain, I had no difficulty in picturing the discomfited Austrians flying from the pursuit of the hardy mountaineers.

“It was a great battle, and they have never tried it since,” and there was a ring in the voice that sounded like the echo of Gruetli.

“No wonder, if your herdsmen are still ready to keep up the fight.”

“You do not see them,” and he made a gesture in the direction where my eye still lingered.

“As plainly as any body can,” and I tried hard not to smile.

“It is quite true this;” and he gathered up the reins.

“I do not doubt it.”

As we passed on, the clouds rounded into islands, touched with silver on the upper edges.

“This is the place for fine muslin and embroideries,” said the postillion in a changed tone.

“Where are they made?” I asked.

“Every house has a loom,” he said.

A small way to manufacture muslins; but when the density of the population and the incessant labor is taken into consideration, it is not so strange.  With regard to the houses I was greatly disappointed.  Not only are they so near that neighbors can converse freely, but they are large, and even luxurious, in comparison with the same class in other parts of Europe.  Many of these houses are four stories, with large, square rooms at the base; the upper ones narrowed by the high steeple roof which projects several feet, forming balconies, beautifully carved and highly ornamented.  The outer walls are covered with shingles from two to three inches broad, overlapping each other, and rounded at the ends; reminding one of old roofs seen in the French quarter.  The lowest story is of stone, plastered, and whitewashed.  Such a house is very warm, very durable; and painted by the successive changes of winter and summer, the external appearance is altogether pleasing.  Our ascent was gradual; with stately houses one after another, and fruit-trees on the sheltered side.  In the balconies, pots of bright-hued flowers, and sometimes a face to greet us.

Towards sundown we halted at the little town where my friend had deposited himself; and as my foot touched the wooden step of the little hotel, whom should I meet but my old college chum; no longer thin and pale as when I knew him, but round-faced as an alderman, and merry as though his heart was full of new wine.

“You are not to stop here,” as the landlord came out to receive me:  “My house is not far off, and Gretchen, you remember her? will be glad to see you.”