in their hurry towards the smoking fabric which was to bear them away for a few hours from care and labour. Almost every European nation had there its representatives, for it is not difficult to the practised eye to detect them by their physiognomical differences. Then there was another distinction, as easily to be perceived, between the natives who were bent on a day's amusement only, and the foreigners who were setting out in right good earnest to explore. Those decked out so sprucely in their Sunday best, and with such evident attention to their toilette, are Genevese. What pleasure is in store for them, and what a blessing is the sabbath to them! From Monday morning till Saturday night have they been toiling for their daily bread-breathing, perhaps, the close air of confined rooms-wearing their fingers to the bone, and straining their eyes till the midnight hour, that the sons and daughters of wealth and luxury may rustle in their silks in the house of God-anxious, careworn, exhausted, discontented with their lot, and murmuring not only against society, but almost against Him who placed man in society. When this blessed interval of repose arrives, the sabbath morn has come; God has not forgotten to be gracious, even to the humblest of his children; the sun seems to shine more brightly, as if on purpose for them; the lake is sparkling with beauty; the air, oh! how balmy and soft it is!-and, spreading their wings, away they speed, forgetful of the toils and hardships and anxieties of the week, as joyous as any of God's creatures. Shall we call them back? Shall we put a beadle at their head, and march them away to their parish church, and thrice in the day extort from them unwilling prayers? Oh, no! let the poor birds cleave the air in freedom for one day in seven, at least. The evening will arrive too soon, bearing them again to their prison-houses. Devotion is a delightful sentiment to experience or to witness in its exhibition by another, but it is not confined to times and places; and perhaps they who worship this day in yonder cathedral, worship not more devoutly than those happy beings who have this morning broken their bonds, and, through a thousand channels closed to the cloyed child of fortune, drink pleasures in at every step they take.

But let us not forget our description of another party on board-the foreigners. There they are, attired as if they had just walked through the Jews' quarter, and snatched a hat here and a coat there. On their arms, they carry blouses or cloaks; and under their arms, Murray or some other friendly Guide, by whom they swear. There is bustle in every step and inquietude in every look, as if their brains were quite confused by the Babel of tongues, or by the immensity of the undertaking on which they had entered; and, followed by faquins and garçons and boxes, they arrive just in time to jump on board. If, again, amongst all these, I wished to make another subdivision, and hunt up some of my countrywomen, I should require no other indication than the number of boxes attached to each individual: for an Englishwoman has always fifty accompaniments in the way of little baskets and little bags and little boxes, biscuits and bonnets and pugs, caps and books and a little black tea, which, with parasols, camp-stools and umbrellas, make up a formidable array of articles, quite appalling to the unhappy cavaliere serviente, who, if he be tolerably patient, sighs and submits to his fate, or if otherwise, chafes and bites his lips. It was once my lot

to travel with a countrywoman and three boxes of caps. Alas! the caps were detained. What was to be done-proceed? Impossible! A fig for Switzerland! Put Mont Blanc in the scale with a cap-the trelliced vines of Vevay with a pair of laced lappets?-what a question! The caps, however, were found after the lapse of two days; and so, singing a "jubilate," we resumed our excursion, convinced, at least the lady, that there had been a special interposition of Providence in our behalf.-Though the steamer has detained me so long, I have no personal interest in it this morning, for I mean to remain in Geneva. So let us despatch it, with its varied load, and make another effort to

reach our café.

This visit, too, was soon concluded, and then we went to Petit Saconnex, to hear Cheneviere, fils, preach; and then, after following one of the prettiest paths in the world, we came down to the cimetière. Here meet alike the sorrowful and gay, drawn here, the former by some deep affliction, the latter by some inexplicable principle of our nature; the same, perhaps, which entrances us at the perusal of fictitious griefs, which rivets our attention at the recital of some dread disaster, which crowds our public ways when some terrible scene of death is to be enacted, and sends us forth more willingly in search of the painful than of the positively pleasing. For myself, a cemetery awakens within me a morbid pleasure I can ill describe. As if it were the monumental history of past affections, I roam from one grey stone to another, and dwell on the simple or more elaborate announcements of the inroads which death has made upon human happiness, till my imagination has conjured up full many a scene of mingled joy and sorrow as vividly as if they were passing before me. Oh! how frail then appear to be those golden chords which bind us to all that makes life most dear! How close we cling to the offered arm of friendship, and how softened become our very tones, as if our whole nature was melted by the voices which have spoken to us from the grave! We explain the effect in general terms by saying that we have been subdued; but if we analyze it, we shall find that the truth of man's mortality has entered more deeply into our soul, imparting a value to life and its affections which it did not appear to possess before. Besides ourselves there were many others, each engaged in some act of pious affection. Some were training shrubs which in their luxuriance had fallen over the green mound; others were watering the drooping flowers which a more recent affliction had planted there; whilst others, again, were praying! Almost every grave had its flower-border, and some were surrounded by acacias or willows; whilst at the head of many was suspended a little vase, and sometimes a glass case, enclosing a wreath of immortelles. How beautiful the offering, and how expressive of firm faith in another state are all these simple attentions! More eloquently and forcibly they spoke to me of another world than could the most laboured piece of oratory; for it appeared that God's truth was engaged in support of this most blessed hope, when I looked upon the many groups around me holding silent communion with the departed, as if their separation was but one of time. Can this persuasion, so firm and universal, be only a delusion? What become, then, of all my convictions founded on moral and mental phenomena? Is every thing a delusion, and are we called into being to be the objects of another's caprice

and sport? Impossible!-let God be true, I said, and every man a liar. And then I looked again, and saw a mother weeping at the grave of her child; yet her face, as she directed it towards heaven, was lighted up with a smile full of inexpressible love and faith; and the sweet persuasion stole upon me, "I shall live again." Amongst the many monuments were several which interested me as being erected to the memory of countrymen, and none more so than that to the memory of Sir Humphry Davy. It was in a sadly neglected state, and the letters so almost entirely obliterated that it was difficult to decipher them; yet Science has erected an imperishable monument to him, which nothing can destroy. Not far distant was another monument, which told a painful tale of two Englishmen who had perished in a storm in 1830-I forget in what part of Switzerland. One had fired a pistol which brought down an avalanche that destroyed them, and thus were ended all their wanderings. How appalling the tempest as it howled around them with savage fury, blinding them with the driving snow, and the crash and thunder of the avalanche, as it burst from its lurking-place above and came down upon them like a mountain, I can easily conceive. Twice have I been exposed to a similar danger; once when an avalanche fell right across my path, on Mount St. Gothard, and another time so as to intercept the road between my sledge and that of a friend in the rear; and such incidents are not easily forgotten. Near this monument was another which bore an inscription wonderfully in contrast, and illustrative of the flippancy of the GalloGenevese character. It was that of an infant, and bore the inscription, "Adieu bonne mere! au revoir!" Now, whether the fault lay in the sentiment or language, I will not decide; but to my ear it sounded harsh enough to hear a solemn and eternal parting thus compared to a parting for a morning's walk; for however strong be faith, and however capable, in union with a highly imaginative temperament, to lift the veil which hides the future from our view, yet a certain degree of doubt and apprehension will always cloud one's anticipations. There was, then, a flippant impertinence about this inscription which mightily displeased me. Adieu bonne mere!-Good-bye for an hour! Au revoir!-we meet at dinner! Ah! when and where shall that meeting be? I sickened at the thought, and turned to find where the dread idea was clothed in terms more solemn and appropriate. As we wandered thus about from grave to grave, careful not to disturb the prayers and sorrows of the mourners, we came upon the porter, who resides at the entrance, and from him we learnt the few and melancholy statistics of the place. All sects were buried here alike, and by their respective ministers, he told me; whilst the Hebrews had another ground, separate, though adjoining. The average number of burials was two a day, some graves being kept ever ready; and not, as in many a desolate city I have visited, did these narrow dwelling-places long lie vacant. How sure the speculation which builds for death! Sienna, Pisa, Piacenza, Venice, your marble palaces are untenanted! Cemetery of Geneva, in you they build by anticipation! The graves, we farther learnt, were given gratuitously for twelve years, to be then purchased for 300 francs, or to lapse; but so strong is the tie which binds us to the departed, that it will be readily believed that such a regulation provides for the expenses of the place. A heavy shower of rain detained us at the

gate, on one side of which stood the porter's dwelling, and on the other a building, similar in size, full of timely emblems of mortality. Coffins and crosses and head-pieces made up a sad array, and spoke with terrible distinctness of that event which awaits us all. There were many others besides ourselves who had taken shelter there; and the coarse obtrusiveness of that mourning shop whose door hung open to receive us, seemed to invite us to enter and fit ourselves with the habiliments of the grave. How many, as now I write, of those with whom I mingled then have since done so, and now, from their narrow house, furnish a moral to many a wanderer like myself! Yet, reckless of this sad vicinity, the crowd chatted and joked and smiled, as if they had not the slightest interest in these silent mansions; and when the clouds had passed away, and the sun once more shone upon us, and we resumed our walk, though we might at first have been somewhat more subdued, yet we quickly became as cheerful as before our visit. We had now three hours to wait before we received our summons to dinner; and, unwilling to lose any of the short time we could give to Geneva, we drove off to Diodati. The road to it is extremely beautiful, screened from the heat of the summer's sun by branches of overhanging trees, and offering by its frequent turns an ever-changing vista. Every now and then an opening on the right disclosed to view a pretty villa with its bit of land, too small for a park, and yet too large for a garden, being a kind of compromise between the two; and all so neatly kept, and so elegantly and inartificially laid out, that I could have fancied myself looking into the grounds of an English gentleman; whilst on the left, at intervals, appeared a portion of the glassy surface of the Lake, just eddying at the jump of some hungry fish, or beneath the perch of some unwary fly, and reflecting on its bosom here and there a sail which hung lazily against the taper mast. The showers of the morning, too, had cooled the before heated air, so that it now seemed like the breath of May, which stole upon us almost insensibly, cheering the many-feathered songsters which chirped or caroled above our heads, and leapt from branch to branch in the very exuberance of their joy. Driving at length down rather a steep declivity, we stopped at a gate which we were told opened on the grounds of what was once the residence of Byron. Here, then, said I, as I entered, that brilliant though erratic genius drew inspiration from the lovely scenes around me and before me. Less a dreamer than an exact painter of Nature, from these walks he looked over to the Jura and then down on the Lake, and then, with the glowing colours of his imagination, imparted fresh beauty to a scene which had before appeared divine. The house is simple enough, encircled, however, by a terrace which commands a view of extreme loveliness; and this, together with the profusion of flowers which clustered round the columns and filled the air with sweetness, seemed to make the place fit Paradise for a poet. It was but little that the gardener could tell us of Byron, for he was more intent on letting the house than gratifying our curiosity. Poor fellow! his interests were evidently connected with his success; and what cared he for Byron, provided he could add a few francs or sous to his scanty store! Too dependent on the material realities of life, he had but few thoughts for the ideal, and little cared he whether the great Poet had paced or not these walks which now we trod with so much enthusiasm.

I could have lingered many a hour there, had it been possible; and on that grassy lawn which slopes down to the Lake, willingly would I have spent the entire day. But every thing, as is usual, was against us: it was growing late, and the house was shut up and the garden gates locked. So, taking in at one full glance this glorious view-Geneva, seated like the Queen of Beauty, at one end of the Lake; and Jura opposite us, with its deeply-defined outline, and towns and villages innumerable, which, as the eye ran along the borders of the Lake, sprang into life-we took our leave, and, rolling over the smooth and parklike road, a half an hour found us at home and seated at our dinner. The labours of the day were now completed; for who, whether at home or abroad, does not endeavour to complete them all before the important meal of dinner? Nothing now remained but to take the quiet evening stroll; so out we turned in the direction of the confluence of the Rhone and the Arve. It was the evening of some fête-though I forget whatand fireworks were hissing and gleaming in all directions, and balloons trying to get up, but could not; yet, pleasant as it is to see the working classes enjoying themselves on a Sunday evening, I had but little sympathy with the noise and confusion attendant on these festive rejoicings; so returned to mine inn, and, gazing out on the starlit Lake, passed in review the various incidents of the day. What a variety had marked the last few hours! First, the voices of the Savoyard reapers had interested me. I had been running about collecting some details of their occupations, and then, flying from the real to the ideal, I had out of these rude materials formed a perfect romance of devotion. Their music died away, and then came the steamer hissing and smoking, and bearing its merry, careless burden from labour and anxiety and care to many a lovely spot on the borders of the Lake. The walk to Petit Saconnex and the services of the church, with the beauty of the road and views, formed another pretty episode. Nor was it a very inappropriate introduction to our visit to the cemetery, where we had mused and sentimentalized an hour not unprofitably and not unhappily. Last scene of all, came Diodati, with its roses and acacias, and pretty garden walks and sloping lawn, where Fancy might still have seen the immortal Poet courting the Muse in view of the lovely objects which here present themselves. And now I am sitting on my balcony, looking down on the Lake, which gleams upon me with a thousand eyes; and then up into the starry heavens, dreaming of the wonders of Divine Love and Power which each of those mysterious lights might tell. Each scene of this short day I thus again pass in rapid review. What variety, yet what harmony, had marked them all! For even the very noise and bustle from which I had fled, betokened the freedom and enjoyment which the day of rest had brought; and who shall say if, amidst that riotous mirth, some intervals of grateful thought did not arise to the Great Lord of the Sabbath for the repose and happiness of that day? It was the last earthly sabbath I ever spent with him whom I had travelled many miles to meet; and often since, with deep filial love, have I returned to the incidents of the day, dwelling on every word which gave token of his enjoyment, and reviewing every little effort of mine to give him pleasure, the memory of which now brings me a double consolation, from its having been rendered in utter ignorance of the final separation which awaited us.