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THE PASTOR OF THE LAC DE JOUX.

THERE could scarcely be imagined a spot more isolated from the world, its fashions, its allurements, and its cares, than the little valley of the Lac de Joux. Embosomed amongst the deepest recesses of the Jura, at the farthest western extremity of the Pays de Vaud, it lies encircled by a rude barrier of rocks and forests, as though Nature had never intended it to be known but to the wild teuants of the woods and streams. Yet here have human industry and contentment found a dwelling-place; and the silvery lake, shining like a mirror from its dark frame-work, reflects on its calm bosom, hamlets, churches, and cottages, smiling in neat array along its shores; the wild rocks echo to the tinkling bells of herds and flocks; and the Sabbath chimes ring out, with each return of the holy day, to summon the shepherd from the mountain, and the woodmen from the forest.

But it is not alone to rustic occupations that the inhabitants of this interesting valley are devoted. They are remarkable for their ingenuity in numerous mechanic arts; and watch-making, in particular, is carried on amongst them with great success. The fruits of their labours are sent to Geneva, to be inclosed in costly exteriors, and from thence forwarded to various parts of Europe; and many an elegant time-piece, with its loves and graces, and dancing hours, or musical box, encased in gold and jewels, admitted to adorn the gay saloon of London or Paris, has owed its original construction to the rough hands of the peasant of the Jura.

On approaching the valley from the interior of the canton, many miles of dreary solitude must be traversed. Dark woods of pine, huge masses of rock, or wide tracts of mountain pasture, afford no other traces of man than the occasional glimpse of some lowly chalet, its weather-stained sides and rugged roof, scarcely distinguishable from the dusky objects

* Chalet, the summer cottage of the Swiss herdsman. VOL. I. Feb. 1830.

H

which surround it. After a constant ascent of considerable length, the road begins to wind down a steep defile; and a sudden turn presents to the view, the valley at its full extent, lying stretched at the feet of the traveller; the lake, like a sheet of silver, filling up almost the whole of the long narrow hollow; the village of Le Pont sweeping round the curve of one end, and that of L'Abbaye, (so called from an old monastic establishment which formerly occupied its site,) discovered more in the distance.

The Lac de Joux is but little resorted to by the English tourist, yet there is in its vicinity much to interest the lovers of nature. The Dent de Vaulion, one of the highest summits of the Jura, forms the most striking feature of the landscape. It rises on the lake side almost perpendicularly, a shelf of bare and inaccessible rock; but in another direction extends into woods and pastures, and may be ascended with facility, in the little vehicles of the country. Nothing can exceed the brightness of its mountain verdure, the sylvan gloom of its distant forests, and the beautiful grouping of the tufts of larch and birch-trees which feather its sides: clear springs come gushing through its glades; goats and cattle browse its fresh pasture, shaking their bells at every step, and so familiarized with man, that they will even come up to be caressed by the stranger. Several chalets are passed in the ascent, where the herdsmen readily afford repose and refreshment; and the traveller may, if he desires, be initiated into the mysteries of the pastoral science, the making of curds and cheese, to which these good people devote themselves during the summer. The view from the summit is of surprising extent and magnificence, commanding the whole of the Pays de Vaud, great part of the plains of Burgundy, distant chains of Alps, and lakes without number.

At a short distance from the village of Le Pont are a series of singular cavities, (called by the inhabitants, les Entonnoirs,) partly the work of nature, and partly of art; where the waters of the valley find a subterraneous

vent, and after disappearing for the space of half a league, return to light in the source of the Orbe, gushing from between a lofty wall of rocks, and then gliding away at once, a full-grown river, over a bed of green mosses and variegated pebbles, to which the liquid crystal gives a thousand beauties. This spot has been compared to the consecrated fountain of Vaucluse; and there are not wanting those who assert, that even Petrarch himself could scarcely have denied to the 'chiare, fresche e dolci acque' of Valorbe, still more eminent claims to immortality than those of Avignon.

Not very far from this beautiful source is situated the Grotte aux Fées, a romantic cavern in the side of the steep rocks overhanging the river. Its entrance forms a spacious archway, embowered amongst the shadowing branches of ancient beech and pines. Many a wild tale is told of this grotto, and the adventures to which it owes its name; but it is chiefly interesting as the scene of an annual festival, when the inhabitants of the neighbouring village assemble to dance within its ample portico, after a trial of skill at shooting with the cross-bow. The prize bestowed at these meetings is a spinning-wheel, which is presented by the victor to the most virtuous maiden of the community.

But we are wandering away from our own little valley, to which let us return, as to a scene less rich indeed in loveliness, but not less fraught with interest; for though its rocks be barren, and its climate cold, and its soil unfavourable to the vine and the fruit-tree, it has charms of its own in that placid lake, those quiet green shores, and happy homesteads; and more than all, in the primitive virtues which flourish within its bosom.

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Annette, Annette, make haste! and Jeanneton, don't keep us waiting all day!' cried some little voices from behind a garden hedge, close by the side of the lake. A wicket gate stood invitingly open-I was tempted to peep in; and instead of being punished for my curiosity, was rewarded by the sight of one of the

prettiest pictures I ever looked upon. At the farthest end of the garden was a grass-plat, terminated by an arbour of rustic trellis, which five or six little blooming girls were busily decorating with garlands of flowers, ribands, and red berries. Down one of the walks, two of their lesser companions were slowly making their way, tugging along huge branches of larch and mountain-ash, and with their little aprons filled with stocks and marigolds; for it appeared that the garden had already been rifled of all its growing treasures for the adornment of the bosquet, whose original clothing had been but a scanty drapery of honeysuckle and sweet-brier. On the grass-plat was spread a table, the upper end of which reached into the arbour with benches round the other sides; and beside it sat, upon the ground, a little rosy girl of five or six years old, guarding, with dignified importance, a small wicker cage, from whence, through thick festoons of embowering chickweed, issued, ever and anon, the fairy notes of a piping bullfinch.

By going to the assistance of the distressed damsels in the walk, and bearing their ponderous boughs in triumph to the arbour, I speedily ingratiated myself into the favour of the whole company, and they soon became very communicative in their answers to my inquiries as to the object of all this joyous preparation. 'It is the name's-day of our good pastor,' said the eldest of the group, and we are going to give him a fête, and he is to sit upon this bench, under the arch which we have just finished;' and she pointed to the front of the arbour, round which, on a ground-work of dark-coloured moss, they had ingeniously contrived to form, in letters of yellow everlasting, the inscription-A notre bon pasteur.

And I am going to give him my bullfinch, which can pipe more than half of Les Armaillos," said the little Caton. And François and Pierre are gone to the Dent de Vaulion, to gather strawberries, and to bring fresh curds and cream,' cried another. And

*The Ranz des Vaches of the Pays de Vaud.

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