'I do like you English people, you part with your money so freely. A Frenchman leaves the settlement of his account till the last moment, and then finding all manner of fault about the charges, flies into a rage instead of paying his bill.'"

After breakfast we walked to the cemetery of Plain Palais, a little way beyond the Port Neuve, and found the graves of Sir Humphrey Davy, and Calvin, the latter distinguishable only by a small stone, with the letters J. C. cut thereon. We then proceeded to "the meeting of the waters" a point, about a mile distant from the town. Although the waters of the Rhone and the Arve meet at this junction, they do not blend for a considerable distance, but run in distinct currents,— the Rhone clear, blue and bright, and the Arve thick and brown.

Through the kindness of our friend the clergyman, who had a letter of introduction to the English Consul, and with whom he had spent the preceding evening, we had the pleasure of calling upon that representative of "Her Britannic Majesty," and was received by him with great kindness. After chatting for an hour, he kindly sent a person with us to show us the "lions" of the town. We proceeded, first, to the Musée Rath, or Museum of the Fine Arts. It contains some excellent paintings by Salvator Rosa, Paul Véronèse, Téniers, Rubens, and many others. Thence to the Academical Museum, principally filled with the native productions of Switzerland, and containing specimens of the chamois, the dog of St. Bernard, and all the fishes of the rivers and lakes of the country.

These places did not, however, possess sufficient interest to detain us long, as our time was limited,

and we were anxious to see the Cathedral, which we reached after a good climb. "Externally it is of an extreme simplicity of architecture, but its interior possesses interest as a very early and uncorrupted specimen of the Gothic of the 11th century." We ascended the pulpit, and sat in the chair and under the canopy which were in use in Calvin's time. From the Cathedral we retraced our steps to the Hotel de Ville, or Government House, and found it a curious building. In order to reach the upper stories, instead of a staircase, we ascended an inclined and paved way, which an official-who explained the various features of the building to us-said was constructed in 1570, in order that the councillors might ascend on horseback, or in a litter, to the very door of the Council Chamber. We made a hasty glance through the building, and then we wended our way to the Library. This vast collection of books, MSS, and other valuable documents, was founded in 1551, by Bonnivard, the prisoner of Chillon. By using the name of the English Consul, we were privileged to examine the following portions of the collection, viz. :- -394 MS letters of Calvin, almost illegible (one of which is addressed to Lady Jane Grey, while a prisoner in the Tower); 44 vols. of his MS. sermons; the manuscript of the "Noble Leçon,” a work of the ancient Waldenses; the discourses of St. Augustine; a MS on Papyrus of the 7th century; also letters of St. Vincent de Paul, J. J. Rousseau, and others.

Our time having expired, we returned to the hotel for our luggage, and had scarcely secured it and paid our bill, when the bell of the steamer, on the lake, warned us to make haste, if we intended to accompany our party

to Lausanne. At three o'clock, the steamer started, with a large number of passengers, that portion of them belonging to the country having a contented, well-to-do, look about them. Smoothly the vessel sped on its way, past some handsome dwellings on the banks of the lake, three of which were pointed out to us as the residences of Baron Rothschild, Sir Robert Peel, Bart., M.P., and Prince Napoleon, the house of the latter having a castellated appearance. As we went on, we neared the mountains that enclosed the eastern end of the lake, and we could discern, far in the distance, some of the snow-capped peaks of the St. Bernard. A party of pedestrian tourists, on board, described to me their adventures on these mountains, expressing their wish again to be amongst their never-tiring beauties.

We reached Ouchy, near Lausanne, in a few hours, and soon were quite "at home" again, in the Beau Rivage Hotel. We passed two hours of the evening in a small boat on the lake, and then sat on the terrace in the grounds, listening to a large party of vocalists, whose voices floated sweetly on the bosom of the water.

On the opposite shore, we could discern the outlines of the giant mountains, and as the shades of evening came on, they became lost in the sky or the floating clouds. Lamartine has beautifully said-"When you wish to admire, to pray, to dream, you look at the mountains in the morning; when you would hope, desire, enjoy, become wrapped up in the peaceful images. of rural life, you look at the mountains under their evening aspect. One is a picture of felicity on earth, the other a ladder of infinite aspiration to heaven. Each presents one of the most beautiful scenes in the

decoration of that drama of happy life wherein the Creator has delighted to employ his hands.”

Shelley's apostrophe to Night, was appropriate to the scene before us :

"How beautiful this night! the balmiest sigh
Which vernal zephyrs breathe in evening's ear,
Were discord to the speaking quietude

That wraps the moveless scene. Heaven's ebon vault,

Studded with stars unutterably bright,

Seems like a canopy which love has spread

To curtain her sleeping world. Yon gentle hills,

Robed in a garment of untrodden snow;

Yon darksome rocks, whence icicles depend,

* * * * * * * *

-all form a scene

Where musing solitude might love to lift
Her soul above this sphere of earthliness;
Where silence undisturb'd might watch alone,
So cold, so bright, so still.

CHAPTER XI.

"These tourists, Heaven preserve us! needs must live
A profitable life: some glance along,
Rapid and gay, as if the earth were air,
And they were butterflies to wheel about
Long as the summer lasted: some, as wise
Upon the forehead of a jutting crag

Sit perch'd, with book and pencil on their knee,
And look and scribble, scribble on and look,

Until a man might travel twelve stout miles,

Or reap an acre of his neighbour's corn.-WORDSWORTH.

Saturday. At the breakfast table this morning I was sitting next to our American friends, who told me that they intended to stay at Lausanne for a few days, and then return to Paris on their way to England. We had a long chat; talking about the Old World and the New, and the probability or otherwise of a speedy termination to the disastrous war in their country. We talked also of our travelling experiences; but I could not gather that they had learnt much, if anything, by their travels, and if, as I believe, and as they had previously intimated, they had only left America for personal reasons connected with the war, they might have accomplished their purpose; but, if that was not the reason, then I could only arrive at the conclusion that having the "wherewithal" to travel, they went from one part of the world to the other, for the sake of saying "I have been there." Bidding them adieu, I joined my friends, who were starting for the railway station, and at nine precisely we left for Berne and Lucerne. I must not omit to mention that our train was, what in England is called a "fast train," in