Range. Vineyards. Mountains. Lake of Neu- Auverney.-Striking Scene. - Neuchatel.- Jura Lake of Bienne. as a Chasseral. The Swiss Memorials of their heroic Deeds. An intelligent Landlord. ronne. Plan of Route changed. Soleure. -- The People. The Plain of the Aar.-Extraordinary Scenes. The Pass. The Old Castle. I BEGIN this with telling you that I shall take you as rapidly as possible over the ground that now remains; for did I enter fully on all that we saw in this part of our route, my letters would never come to an end. On the day after my nephew quitted us, we transacted some little matters of business in Geneva, such as taking up money at the bankers, and buying a few things that the wear-and-tear of the journey had rendered absolutely necessary. The best shops we soon found were not visible from the streets, as they were situated in rooms in upper stories, to which we gained access by flights of winding steps in some of the old towers and houses of the city. On the 30th of July, we once more set out on our journey, homeward bound, much regretting the loss of our compagnon de voyage, who was often the subject of our thoughts and conversation. Again did we pass Coppet, and that night we reached Aubonne, a small town delightfully situated on the picturesque summit of a lofty hill. The chateau, that was formerly inhabited by Tavernier, the Eastern traveller, stands on a most beautiful and commanding station. The neighbourhood of Aubonne resembles English scenery in its most striking features the bridge, the river at the base of the hill, the woods, and the distant view of the lake of Geneva, all had an English cha racter. Here we found the inn very miserable, because the landlord was building a new one, and did not therefore care about the old. This landlord was, however, an original, —very civil, very curious; and had his head filled with strange notions about the English, in consequence of his having had a mysterious English gentleman who lodged in his house for nearly two years, and who died in it not long ago. By his accounts it seemed to us that the poor gentleman must have been somewhat insane. We were delighted with the scenery as we drove from the town on the next day, nor did we halt till we reached Yverdun. This lastnamed town did not interest us much, though it was once a Roman station; and Pestalozzi resided here and carried on his system of education for many years. Respecting ourselves I have but one incident to note here. It occurred at the Maison Rouge, which Mr. Murray's book commends for its good and reasonable fare. For a most wretched dinner, consisting only of a few stale dishes warmed up, and half a bottle of miserable sour wine, we were charged ten francs, though it was so bad we scarcely tasted what was put before us. We thought there was something very knavish about the garçon who waited upon us; and so we are led to hope that the master of the house was not answerable for the imposition: we had not time to see him. On the night of the same day, we slept at St. Aubin, a village where we were comfortably housed at a homely but good inn. We were very civilly treated, and our arrival seemed to be quite an event, as it set the whole family in commotion. They were all eager to oblige us. We had some very good coffee, both evening and morning, with an abundance of excellent bread, cakes, honey, and preserves. Before our departure, when we asked the fille de la maison what there was to pay, we did not quite comprehend her reply, and asked her to write down the sum. She soon after appeared with an old playing card in her hand, the king of hearts: on the back of this was our bill. For our night's lodging and all that we had, we were charged but five francs -a sum so very moderate, that Mr. Bray added two or three francs more to it, as a compliment to the damsel herself. This brought out all the house to express their thanks, and they surrounded the carriage rendering their little services, and offering good wishes for the prosperity of our journey, till we drove from the door. The route from St. Aubin to Neuchatel was truly beautiful. There were abundance of vineyards, of the brightest green, and not so formal and ugly as the vineyards we had hitherto seen. The blue lake, calm and glassy as a mirror, lay before us all the way; and as we looked back on the town of Auverney, the scene was most striking: I wished for Stanfield; it was one made for his pencil. The lake, the shore on its opposite banks, the loftiest heights, the town, the tall spires of Auverney rising in the finest outline against a mountain in the distance, of the most grand and abrupt form these objects |