of Lausanne bounded the horizon; and rising from the margin, continuing one mighty range on the other side, was Jura. It was the finest view I had yet seen, and quite satisfied with my walk, hungry, and a little tired, I enjoyed a good dinner, and retired to rest.

Tuesday, 19th.

About 10 o'clock I went in a carriage to Carouge, a small town of 400 houses, and about 3000 inhabitants, situated half a league from Geneva. It is built on the borders of the Arve, in the midst of a richly populated country. Leaving the vehicle, I walked through the town, in the direction of Vieri, to ascend the Piton or highest point of the Grand Saleve. By some misdirection I missed the Pas des Echelle, and went by the Croissets: however, not before I obtained a bottle of vin rouge and some bread, both which were absolute requisites. The path I found excessively rugged, and difficult-sometimes I climbed up the bed of a torrent, and at others forced my way through briars and bushes; but I forgot all the annoyances when I reached the top. The view is of ravishing beauty and magnificence: hill seems seated on hill, mountain piled on mountain, to add to the height. From the spot where I stood, 3,070 feet above the lake, I saw the waters of Leman, the valley of Bornes, the course of the Arve, Bonneville, the Mole, and above all Mont Blanc. To the left, the silver aiguilles and the Giant, part of the lake of Annecy, and

14

LINES FROM THE SUMMIT OF PITON.

the Sion Mountains.

To my right, the gorge

formed by the impetuous Rhone and Fort de l' Ecluse. At my back was the chain of Jura, the town of Geneva, and the continuation of the lake. In the transports of the moment I seized my pencil, and wrote the following hurried lines-I dare not call them poetry :

Lines on beholding Mont Blanc from the Summit of Piton, 19th July, 1836.

Mont Blanc is chief of mighty Alps;

Below his vassals wait,

At his feet they stand submissive,

To minister to his state.

And when in wrath he shakes his head,

And on his brow the frown,

The Avalanche leaves its icy bed,
And headlong thunders down.

I gaze upon the snow-clad height,
I look upon the hill,

I muse on scenes the mass beheld,

On scenes of human ill;

For war raged in the valleys green,
Where peace should ever be,

And Roman legions swept between
The mountain and the sea.

Imperial Cæsar led the bands,

The laurel on his brow;

He saw, and conquered, when he came :
Where are his triumphs now?

LINES FROM THE SUMMIT OF PITON.

The world he won disowns his name,

And centuries roll between ;

But thou, proud King, art still the same,
And are as thou hast been.

Thy snows assumed a brighter gleam,
When Freedom's halo fell;

And mixed with thy eternal fame,
Are Mecthall, Furst, and Tell.
And Winkelreid's heroic stand,
In midst of war and strife,
To save his much loved father-land
He sacrificed his life.

Nor is the time far distant now,
When Gallia's thousands spread
Their meteor eagles o'er thy brow,
And flutter'd on thy head:
Led by their chief, Imperial Lord,
Not Cæsar's mighty name
Had more of conquest in the word
Than his-renowned by fame.

All-all are gone! Napoleon's sun,
Like Cæsar's, erst has set;
A few brief years and even I,
Scarce in my manhood yet,

Must pay the debt we all must pay,-
Even thou, when 'tis thy time.

But proud I'd be if I could say,
That on this earth, for many a day,

My name shall last like thine.

15

CHAPTER XVIII.

Tour of Lake Leman-Disembark at Villeneuve-ChillonByron's Prisoner-Vevay-Lausanne-Return to GenevaConcerning my passport-Commence my pilgrimageRoad to Chamounix-Cluse Cave of Balme-ChedeArrive in mist-Mont Blanc in the morning-Early MassAscend the Flégère-Panoramic prospect-The Alps-Impressions-Mt. Blanc-Mer de Glace-A slight mistakeSwiss peasantry-Chalets- Pass of Tête Noir-Trient to Martigny.

Thursday, 21st.

As I intended to go to the Oberland by Chamounix and the Col de Balme, I could not think of leaving Lake Leman without visiting Lausanne and the neighbouring coast. Accordingly, I was on board the Winkelried by nine o'clock, and we were soon tolerably filled. Passengers hurried along the quay, and the bell having tolled, we shot a-head under the influence of steam; the Isle of Rousseau was soon left behind ;—the Bergues and the quay opposite appeared in the distance, and the mists now began to cover the summits of the mountains. The lake widened considerably as we

advanced, bounded on either side by the lofty ridges of mountains, on whose brown and rocky sides thick mists were fast curling. At about 12 o'clock, Ouchy appeared on our left, and we moved near the shore to land some passengers. It is a

small place, about a mile from Lausanne, which we beheld on the heights. The country around seemed very picturesque, numerous villas beautifying the scene.

Leaving Ouchy, we went to Vevay; and at four o'clock arrived at our final destination, Villeneuve. Though the rain poured in torrents when we landed at Villeneuve, I could not resist the temptation of going immediately to Chillon, so dear to me by the memory of Byron's beautiful poem. The way was along the banks of the lakes, and as the waves rolled near in long curls, the surf breaking with the roar of the sea, it seemed as 'twere the voice of a departed spirit mourning the absence of some kindred shade. It was getting late when the round towers of the ancient Castle frowned through the trees above the dark and troubled waters. By the road side, lies, on one hand, a lofty and precipitous mountain; and, on the other, the wide spread lake. Chillon presents a formidable aspect, being embattled, and defended by a moat, portcullis, and flanking towers. I was met by a guard at the gate, who called the maitresse to shew me the interior. I passed through a strong iron barred door, under an archway, into a small