FEW, if any, of our commonplace sayings, are less contradicted than that which asserts all human expectations to be liable to disappointment. So I philosophised as I stood on blue Leman's shores, and beheld for the first time Geneva and her far-famed lake. I could scarcely remember a period in my life when I had not imaged to myself more glorious things than even poets, romancers, or philosophers, had sung or said upon these beautiful shores; and when the wish of my childhood was realised, and I beheld with my waking eyes the vision of my day-dreams, the sensations I experienced were those of keen disappointment, mingled with a degree of doubting surprise.

"Is this, then, Geneva?-is this the Lake of Geneva ?" I repeated.

"Oh, you will be more satisfied when you go to Vevay!" was the response.

And to Vevay I went, and at Vevay I was satisfied.

A curious little journey it was that I made to Vevay. It has supplied me with remembrances utterly unknown to those of the million who have travelled the same little distance in their own luxurious carriage and with their English-speaking courier.

The memory of that journey has floated over my brain ever since, until at last it has become a sort of necessity to put its history on paper.

I went in a small diligence from Geneva to Vevay. When I had entered it the other places were almost immediately occupied (with the exception of one) by some countrylooking women, who certainly had not the smallest pretensions, either in dress, manner, or appearance. One of them was, indeed, so remarkably and curiously ugly as actually to cease to be disagreeable. I contemplated the combination of ugliness in her face and features with a degree of interest. Another, who sat beside me, was the prettiest little old creature, for a woman who must

have been fast completing the latter part of our allotted scores of years, I think I ever saw. Her colour was a lively rose; her bright brown eyes shone with an animation which gave them more than the mere fire of youth. All her features, though, in correspondence with her figure, they were small, were almost perfect in form; but, alas! her lips, which had once undoubtedly been as the opening rose, or twin-cherries on one stalk, had considerably fallen in, for all the pretty dame's front teeth had fallen out, and the little pointed chin, with a sort of expression peculiar to itself, was more retroussé in consequence. As for the whole face, you could scarcely help smiling when you looked at it. Yet, while its expression was decidedly merry, there was something more than mirth to be read in it, at least by a discerning eye.

The ugly woman had an immense pocket in front of her checked apron, filled with roasted chestnuts, which she kept offering with assiduous hospitality to all our company. But while I was engaged in observing the beauty that had sustained the wear and tear of more than threescore years, and the ugliness that had, perhaps, become fondly familiar to some loving eyes for half that time, an exclamation of dismay, almost amounting to horror, attracted my attention to the door of our vehicle.

It came from such an animalsuch a contrast to the diligence and its freight. It-I use the neuter pronoun as the most appropriate,it was one of those beings who have appeared in France since Algiers became one of its country towns-halfArab, and, I was going to add, halfwoman, in costume. But let me describe it.

A short, embonpoint figure, with long curled hair, long beard and moustache; a cap of blue cloth, worked with gold thread, on its head, a loose pelisse of fine purple, with a capote or hood, and wide

sleeves, turned up with black velvet nearly to the elbow; very wide trousers, nearly of the same colour, terminating round the waist, with a splendid sash of heavy silk, brilliant in gold, crimson, and purple dyes,-a vest most daintily delicate.

Is it marvellous that the shriek of dismay had burst from such an exquisite creature on the prospect of being immured alive in a diligence full of such company as I have described? He declared it to be impossible he could enter; and we had to wait a full quarter of an hour in the street while he was debating the important subject. At length, after a violent altercation with the conducteur on the iniquity of transporting such people from place to place, some £ s. d. reasons probably made him compromise his dignity, and gathering his clothes as tightly as he could around him, with a deep sigh or moan, a look of suffering, and the prettiest air of mingled heroism and timidity, he put himself and his pelisse carefully into our vehicle, scarcely noticing the offer of the ugly woman to go outside, and leave more room for both articles in the corner he appropriated. I fear I was indulging in reverie on the follies and vulgar impertinencies of this strange world of ours, when I was awakened into a broad smile by the ugly woman asking the pretty one, with an easy nod of her head towards the fine young monsieur, if he were her garçon, using the word in one of its senses-bachelor or lover.

The hearty laugh of the little old creature it was difficult not to join in, although the horror and aversion depicted in the rueful face of the subject of their merriment might have been an antidote to its influence.

"My garçon !" she cried, turning fully round to the terrified-looking man, and gazing at him as if he were ignorant of their language, or a sort of nonentity with whom reserve was unnecessary,- my garçon! he is too young for that, I think; if you had said my son, indeed, it might well be."

66

66

Undoubtedly, yes," returned the other, with apparent simplicity, though it was easy to see the simplicity was assumed, and that they were both good-humouredly reveng

ing themselves for the contempt of our exquisite companion; "yes, so I meant, certainly. Your son, ah! he is too young to be your lover-I see that now!"

He

The half-Arab darted such a look at me, while pages of indignant notes of interrogation were written therein. In spite of my politeness, I smiled a well-pleased answer. clearly saw that the indignity and insult to which he was exposed met with no sympathy. Besides, he saw me eat some roasted chestnuts which the ugly woman offered me from the great pocket of her apron. So he prudently considered that it might be as well not to disturb the suppositions of the two old dames, since, as there were two other female tongues ready to spring into action, it might indeed be only stirring up a hornet's nest. So he stayed quite quiet, until, thinking they had gone far enough in their decisions respecting his relationship or future destiny, they began to look out of the windows, and the pretty woman, as if for the first time attracted by a great staring notice on the way-side, called

out,

"Look there! what folly!-they have written up The road for Italy,' and it is the road for Vevay!"

The utter simplicity of this speech, in our Algerian's opinion, quite conciliated his wounded vanity, for it was ridiculous to be mortified by such ignorant creatures; and his harmless countenance resumed its self-complacent expression, as he threw me a glance of condescending pity, and, repeating "The road for Vevay!" added, with infinite condescension, turning to the speaker,

"You have never been farther than from Geneva to Vevay in your life?" while his tone almost syllabled the inference, "I have been to Algiers."

"Yes, I have been farther," she replied, turning her bright, dark, smiling eyes, with a rather knowing sort of look, upon his face.

"Indeed!-not so far as Lyons, however ?"

"Yes, farther."

"Impossible! seilles ?"

What! to Mar

"Even to Marseilles," she replied, nodding her head, as if she might say more.

"Well, what did you do afterwards?" said her curious questioner, who was evidently relaxing into a singular degree of sympathy with the pretty old woman.

"I remained at Marseilles; the merchant was good to me; he had no children; I learned to manage his affairs; I was quick then, expert at all. Finally, the Revolution had broken out; it was the Reign of Terror. Just then I got a letter from my comrade at Vevay; she told me that my old lover, the widower, was dead, that my parents had suffered for me deeply, and her conscience accused her of favouring my departure from them; she told me that my Inclination was gone, no one knew whither, and that they were without joy or consolation. I resolved to return home; I wrote to my father, telling him I was alive and well. I did not ask his forgiveness, but I promised to return to him, and to obey him in all things except in marrying any one but my Inclination. It was very hazardous to travel then, but it was hazardous also to stay still. Some time after I had arranged to return to Switzerland our merchant came to me; he looked pallid and distracted. He called me into his closet, and, shutting the door carefully, asked me if I were determined to make that journey. I answered,

"'Yes.'

"These are perilous times, Minette,' he said. You are very young -you are so pretty, too! He went on thus as if thinking of something else. You are so very pretty, Minette, you are more likely to be observed.'

"Voilà un malheur de plus!' I replied; but I could not help it, you know.

"Yet you are prudent, Minette,' the old man continued, and you have courage; more, God help me, than I have!'

"I saw now that he had some real cause for anxiety or fear, and I answered him,

Yes, I have some courage if you wish to make use of it.'

"Not for myself, my girl, not for myself; but, in short, there is a young lady here who wants to get to Strasburg, if she could travel with you.' Certainly; why not?'

666

"Ah! these are sad times, my child- dangerous times. She is ill, Minette; she must be ill all along the road. You understand, you must be her bonne, her nurse, act for her, speak for her; she must not appear, she must recline in the carriage, and be supported when she descends, well wrapped up, so as not to be exposed to the air. There is much of this sickness abroad now, Minette!' "I looked at him, and then I said,

"Yes, there is, I know, much of this sickness abroad now; it is because the blood is let to flow so freely. You may employ me, I will be the poor lady's nurse.'

"Brave girl!' he cried, brave Minette, you have divined all! yes, we can trust you! Come, you shall see this sick lady-this poor bleeding dove!'

"I never had seen our master thus agitated before; he was always fearful, but now he had cause to be so. The daughter of a noted Royalist had taken refuge in his house. He led me upstairs, and, by a long passage, we reached a wall, in which he had made a secret door, to be used in case of danger. This conducted to a large loft beneath the roof of the house; on entering I beheld a spectacle that yet appears to be present to my eyes.

"A light and tall figure, clothed entirely in white, lay along the couch that had been carried thither; the dress was torn and disarranged, but the feeble lamp-light rendered its whiteness more discernible than the daylight would have done; for it was dirty, too. A veil of rich lace still partly covered the head, which had no other covering save the rich and beautiful hair which fell from it in the wildest disorder; pieces of white orange blossoms, fragments of a wreath that had evidently bound it for a bridal-day, were still caught, here and there, in its locks.

"A slight convulsive tremor caused that form to quiver as we entered; the head was raised; the eyes looked forward with a fearing, inquiring gaze. The paleness of

death was on the sweetest face I ever saw in my life. One small spot on the upper part of the cheek was flushed with a feverish red.

"She regarded me fixedly with

those large, open, deep blue eyes, as if scarcely conscious of what was going on, yet indistinctly sensible of the relief of a woman's presence. The merchant approached her with an air of deep respect, and spoke some words in a conciliating tone. She started on hearing them, looked eagerly at me, and, crying out in a broken and feeble voice,

"She will take me she will bring me to him!' stretched her arms towards me.

"I ran to her, she fell on my bosom; I wept, and a few tears then dropped from her eyes. The merchant said,

"Thank God she weeps!'

She

"After this I did not leave her. Night came on; she at first resisted my attempts to disrobe her of her soiled and torn, but rich dress. felt, however, as if against her will, the relief which a bath and a bed afforded, and sank into a sleep that restored her brain, and, perhaps, saved her from madness.

"She opened her eyes with a cry, an exclamation of fear and horror, and the words, My father, my father!' When she recognised me at her side, she held out her arms again like a frightened child, and, throwing herself on my neck, said,

-

"You are surely my good angel? I recognise your looks as such! God tells me by you He will save me. What are you called?' she added.

"Minette, madame.'

"Ah! you need not say madame, I am only mademoiselle. But listen, Minette, you shall know all. Our merchant here is afraid, he thinks you will be so too, and does not wish you to know all, at least till we reach Strasburg

66 6

Vevay, mademoiselle,-I go to Vevay.'

"Vevay, then; you will leave me at Vevay, will you? No matter, God sent you to me, He will send me another Minette.' I was touched by this piety, and the poor girl continued, Yes, you shall know all, I will not lead you blindfold into danger. I shall have courage now, and calmness, to relate it all to you; you will then know who you will have to do with; and if you have courage as well as goodness, well; if not, it is better not to deceive.'

"Mademoiselle lay quiet a few minutes, and then having tried to compose herself for the task, pressed her hand on her lovely brow, and said,

"You have heard, Minette, of the dreadful deed committed not more than nine days since in the neighbourhood of Vaucluse ?'

"Ah, truly, I had! and all the world beside; for the whole population of a village had been murdered, the village itself burnt to ashes, because the Tree of Liberty had been cut down in the night.'

"They cut down the Tree of Liberty!' cried mademoiselle, flinging her head upon the pillow, and burying her face in it as if to shut out some horrible image. It was in honour of my marriage the fires were kindled, and the guns fired at the poor people !'

666

.

Hush, hush!' I said; if you commence thus, you must not go on; and I have no wish to hear any thing, unless it may be of use to yourself by shewing me how I must act so as to serve you. But if, as you say, your good angel has sent me to save you, will you, by giving way to despair, lose the chance of saving yourself?'

“You are right, Minette!' she answered, with a sob;' you are wiser than I am. My senses at times fail me. Pray to God for me, Minette, that I may be calm. I want you to know all, that you may also know what you may have to expect. Listen to me now. My father, the Comte de V, was the proprietor of the ill-fated district you have heard of; his château was not far from that village-nearer to Vaucluse. I was his only child-his heiress-an idolised one, what need had I to acquire your firmness and patience ?—all was softness and peace around me. My mother, happily for her, died some years ago. Many have sought my hand in marriage; but even from childhood my distant relative, Henri de Renzi, alone had shared my heart with my beloved father. He had loved me, and I loved him as my life. Life! yet it is dear-oh, how dear!' cried the poor young countess, with an affecting look of feebleness; 'I never knew how dear until I saw that hideous death!'

"There was a youth brought up