“The immediate vicinity of Vevey is entirely occupied with vineyards slanting to the south, and inclosed between stone walls without any kind of variety or relief. The walks are uneven and bad, and you in general see little (for the walls on each side of you) but the glassy surface of the lake, the rocky barrier of the Savoy Alps opposite, . . . . the green hills of an inferior class over Clarens, and the winding valley leading northward towards Berne and Fribourg.

“Here stands Gelamont (the name of the campagna which we took) on a bank sloping down to the brook that passes by Vevey, and so entirely embosomed in trees and ‘upland swells’ that it might be called, in poetical phrase, ‘the peasant’s nest.’

“Here everything was perfectly clean and commodious. The fermier, or vineyard-keeper, with his family, lived below, and we had six or seven rooms on a floor (furnished with every article or convenience that a London lodging affords) for thirty napoleons for four months, or about thirty shillings a week. This first expense we found the greatest during our stay, and nearly equal to all the rest, that of a servant included.

“The number of English settled here had made lodgings dear, and one English gentleman told me he was acquainted with not less than three-and-twenty English families in the neighbourhood. . . . . Mutton (equal to the best Welsh mutton, and fed on the high ground near Moudon) is threepence English per pound; and the beef (which is also good, though not of so fine a quality) is the same. Trout, caught in the lake, you get almost for nothing. A couple of fowls is eighteenpence. The wine of the country, which though not rich is exceedingly palatable, is threepence a bottle. You may have a basket of grapes, in the season, for one shilling or fifteenpence (the girls who work in the vineyards are paid threepence a day). The bread, butter, and milk are equally cheap and excellent.*. . . .

“Not so; I never tire of corn-plains. We have too much pasturage at home, and do not understand the economy of labour as well as in France. The cattle destroy more than they eat in England. We see, too, in every patch of cultivation, that the peasantry are something in France. This division of lands was one of the happy fruits of the Revolution. . . . .”

He asked him how he liked the society at Florence.

“We crossed over in a boat to St. Gingolph, a little town opposite to Vevey, and proceeded on the other side to Martigny, from which we could pass over, either on foot or by the help of mules, to Mont Blanc. It was a warm day towards the latter end of August, and the hills before us drew their clear outline, and the more distant Alps waved their snowy tops (tinged with golden sunshine) in the gently-undulating surface of the crystal lake.

“As we approached the Savoy side the mountains in front, which from Vevey look like a huge battery or flat upright wall, opened into woody recesses, or reared their crests on high; rich streaks of the most exquisite verdure gleamed at their feet, and St. Gingolph came distantly in view, with its dingy-looking houses and smoking chimneys. The contrast to Vevey was striking. . . . .

“We had a pleasant walk the next morning along the side of the lake, under the grey cliffs, the green hills, and azure sky; now passing under the open gateway of some dilapidated watch-tower . . . . now watching the sails of a boat slowly making its way among the trees on the banks of the Rhone

“The inn where we stopped at Vionnax is bad. There is a glass-manufactory at Vionnax, which I did not go to see: others, who have more curiosity, may. It will be there (I dare say) next year for those who choose to visit it: I liked neither its glare nor its heat We supped at Martigny, at the Hôtel de la Poste (formerly a convent), and the next morning proceeded by the Valley of Trie and the Col de Peaume to Chamouni.

“As we mounted the steep wood on the other side of the valley, we met several mules returning, with their drivers only. . . . . The view here is precipitous, extensive, and truly appalling. . . . . The smell of the pine trees, the clear air, and the golden sunshine gleaming through the dark foliage, refreshed me; and the fatigue from which I had suffered in the morning completely wore off. I had concluded that when we got to the top of the wood that hung over our heads we should have mastered our difficulties; but they only then began.

“We emerged into a barren heath or morass of a most toilsome ascent, lengthening as we advanced, with herds of swine, sheep, and cattle feeding on it, and a bed of half-melted snow marking the summit, over which we had to pass. We turned aside, half-way up this dreary wilderness, to stop at a chalet, where a boy, who tended the straggling cattle, was fast asleep in the middle of the day, and being waked up, procured us a draught of most delicious water from a fountain.

“We at length reached the Col de Peaume, and saw Mont Blanc. . . . .

“As we descended the path on foot, we saw before us the shingled roofs of a hamlet, situated on a patch of verdure near inaccessible columns of granite, and could hear the tinkling bells of a number of cattle pasturing below (an image of patriarchal times!).

“As we advanced into the plain, and before it became dusk, we could discern at a distance the dark wood that skirts the glaciers of Mont Blanc, the spire of Chamouni, and the bridges that cross the stream.

“We also discovered, a little way on before us, stragglers on mules and a cabriolet that was returning from the Valley of Trie, by taking a more circuitous route.

“As the day closed in and was followed by the moonlight, the mountains on our right hung over us like a dark pall, and the glaciers gleamed like gigantic shrouds opposite. We might have fancied ourselves inclosed in a vast tomb but for the sounding cataracts and the light clouds that flitted over our heads. We arrived at Chamouni at last, and found the three inns crowded with English We were glad to secure a small but comfortable room [at the Hôtel de Londres] for the night.

“We had an excellent supper, the materials of which, we understood, came from Geneva. We proceeded the next morning to Saleges. . . . . We passed this part of the road in a bright morning, incessantly turning back to admire, and finding fresh cause of pleasure and wonder at every step or pause; loth to leave it, and yet urged onward by continual displays of new and endless beauties.

“I have seen no country where I have been more tempted to stop and enjoy myself, where I thought the inhabitants had more reason to be satisfied, and where, if you could not find happiness, it seemed in vain to seek farther for it. . . . . Perhaps, one of these days, I may try the experiment, and turn my back on sea-coal fires, and old English friends!

“The inn at Bonneville was dirty, ill-provided, and, as it generally happens in such cases, the people were inattentive, and the charges high. We were, however, indemnified by the reception we met with at Geneva, where the living was luxurious, and the expense comparatively trifling.

“I shall not dwell on this subject, lest I should be thought an epicure, though, indeed, I rather ‘live a man forbid,’ being forced to deny myself almost all those good things which I recommend to others.

“Geneva is, I think, a very neat and picturesque town, not equal to some others we had seen, but very well for a Calvinistic capital. . . . . I was struck with the fine forms of many of the women here.

“We returned down the Rhine through Holland. I was willing to see the contrast between flat and lofty, and between Venice and Amsterdam. We left Vevey on the 20th of September. . . . . It was at first exceedingly hot. We hired a char-à-bancs from Vevey to Basle, and it took us four days to reach this latter place; the expense of the conveyance was twenty-four francs a day, besides the driver.

“The first part of our journey, as we ascended from the lake on the way to Moudon, was like an aerial voyage, from the elevation and the clearness of the atmosphere; yet still through the most lovely country imaginable, and with glimpses of the grand objects behind us (seen over delicious pastures and through glittering foliage) that were truly magical.

“The combinations of language, however, answer but ill to the varieties of nature, and by repeating these descriptions so often I am afraid of becoming tiresome. My excuse must be that I have little to relate but what I saw.

“After mounting to a considerable height we descended to Moudon. The accommodations at the inn were by no means good. . . . . The freshness of the air the next morning, and the striking beauty and rapid changes of the scenery, soon made us forget any disappointment we had experienced in this respect.

“Our driver was of a different opinion, was positive it was only a cloud; and I accordingly supposed I had mistaken a sudden fancy for a reality. I began in secret to take myself to task, and to lecture myself for my proneness to build theories on the foundation of my conjectures and wishes. On turning round occasionally, however, I observed that this cloud remained in the same place, and I noticed the circumstance to our guide, as favouring my first suggestion. We disputed the point for half an hour, and it was not till the afternoon, when we had reached the other side of the Lake of Neufchatel, that, this same cloud, rising like a canopy over the point where it had hovered . . . he acknowledged it to be Mont Blanc.

“Meanwhile we rode on. This kind of retreat, where there is nothing to surprise, nothing to disgust, nothing to draw the attention out of itself, uniting the advantages of society and solitude, of simplicity and elegance, and where the mind can indulge in a sort of habitual and self-centred satisfaction, is the only one which I should never feel a wish to quit. The golden mean is, indeed, an exact description of the mode of life I should like to lead, of the style I should like to write; but alas! I am afraid I shall never succeed in either object of my ambition.

“The inn at ——, where we stopped for the night, (the Rose and Crown) though almost a solitary house in a solitary valley, is a very good one, and the cheapest we met with abroad. Our bill for supper, lodging, and breakfast amounted to only seven francs.

“Our route the following morning lay up a broad, steep valley, with a fine gravelly road through it, and forests of pine and other trees raised like an amphitheatre on either side. The sun had just risen, and the drops of rain still hung upon the branches.

“We stopped at the Three Kings at Basle, and were shown into a long, narrow room, which did not promise well at first; but the waiter threw up the window at the further end, and we all at once saw the full breadth of the Rhine, rolling rapidly. . . . . It was clear moonlight, and the effect was fine and unexpected. The broad mass of water rushed by with clamorous sound and stately impetuosity, as if it were carrying a message from the mountains to the ocean. The next morning we perceived that it was of a muddy colour.

“We crossed the Rhine at Strasburg, and proceeded through Rastadt and Manheim to Mayence. We stopped the first night at the Golden Cross, at Rastadt, which is the very best inn I was at during the whole time I was abroad. Among other things, we had chiffrons for supper, which I found on inquiry were wood-partridges, which are much more highly esteemed than the field ones. . . . .

“We half missed the scenery between Mayence and Coblentz, the only part of the Rhine worth seeing. We saw it, however, by moonlight. . . . . It was like a brilliant dream.

“From Neuss to Cleves we went in the royal Prussian diligence, and from thence to Nimeguen, the first town in Holland. . . . . It was a fine, clear afternoon. . . . . We proceeded from Nimeguen to Utrecht and Amsterdam by the stage. . . . .

“The inconveniences of travelling in Holland are that you make little way, and are forced to get out and have your luggage taken into another boat at every town you come to, which happens two or three times in the course of the day. Let no one go to the Washington Arms at Rotterdam; it is fit only for American sea-captains. . . . .

“On inquiring our way, we were accosted by a Dutch servant-girl, who had lived in an English family for a year, and who spoke English better, and with less of a foreign accent, than any Frenchwoman I ever heard. . . . .

“There was a steam-boat here which set sail for London the next day; but we preferred passing through Ghent, Lille, and Antwerp. . . . We saw the Rubenses in the great church at the last. . . . . The person who showed us the Taking Down from the Cross said ‘it was the finest picture in the world.’ I said ‘One of the finest,’ an answer with which he appeared by no means satisfied.

“We returned by way of St. Omer and Calais. I wished to see Calais once more, for it was here that I landed in France twenty years ago. [We arrived in England on the 16th of October, 1825.]

“I confess London looked to me on my return like a long, straggling, dirty country town. . . . . I am not sorry, however, that I have got back. There is an old saying, Home is home, he it never so homely. . . . .

“The pictures that most delighted me in Italy were those I had before seen in the Louvre ‘with eyes of youth.’ I could revive this feeling of enthusiasm, but not transfer it. . . . .

“Since my return I have put myself on a regimen of brown bread, beef, and tea, and have thus defeated the systematic conspiracy carried on against weak digestions. To those accustomed to, and who can indulge in foreign luxuries, this list will seem far from satisfactory.”

At any rate, they never met again. Their union had been short enough. It amounted scarcely to more than an episode.