Chamouni.

Mont Blanc in full view.

Figures in the foreground; two of them standing apart; one of them a gentleman of--oh,--ah,--yes! the other a lady in a white cashmere, leaning on his shoulder .-- The ingenuous reader will understand that this was an internal, private, personal, subjective diorama, seen for one instant on the background of my own consciousness, and abolished into black nonentity by the first question which recalled me to actual life, as suddenly as if one of those iron shop-blinds (which I always pass at dusk with a shiver, expecting to stumble over some poor but honest shop-boy's head, just taken off by its sudden and unexpected descent, and left outside upon the sidewalk) had come down in front of it "by the run."] -- Should you like to hear what moderate wishes life brings one to at last?
I used to be very ambitious,--wasteful, extravagant, and luxurious in all my fancies.

Read too much in the "Arabian Nights." Must have the lamp,--couldn't do without the ring.
Exercise every morning on the brazen horse.

Plump down into castles as full of little milk-white princesses as a nest is of young sparrows.