sand hues, like volumes of sunset clouds, confining his journey within a narrow valley of purple pines and rainbow rivulets. At intervals, the bugles of his postillions, and the bells of their horses, brought out the picturesque population of small towns of grotesque architecture, particoloured walls, and green and golden steeples, all glittering through the mist of a world of water-mills. Then he had to descend mountains, diversified by foam and ravine, till he almost feared that the carriage would tumble over the horses; then he had to ascend others with toil and difficulty, till he was quite sure that the horses would tumble over the carriage. At last the night came on, but his fears for his neck were by no means so strong as his curiosity. He desired to see if the moon shone the same as she did on the Grampians; and so on he went, climbing up into her bright regions, and thundering down into black abysses, till his silver and sable rout grew dim in the mists of morning. Still he had good subject to keep him awake, for that mist was so like the mist upon the bonny braw Highlands. For two good hours, he could scarcely believe that he

was not amongst them; and then the sun darted his red rays over the mountain tops, and the-cold blue forest seemed partially on fire. He was, just at that moment, attaining the summit of a hill which appeared to be the highest he had as yet ascended, and had scarcely time to wipe his spectacles, when all Switzerland, like a land of dreams,lay glittering before him. No one can forget this first glimpse of mountainous confusion, of dark forests and variegated pastures, melting from green to purple, and from thence through a thousand gradations, till they mingled imperceptibly with the crimson skies. No view can ever efface the recollection of the sun refracted from the majestic lake of Constance, as though the bright waters had been lashed up by the fervour of his plunge. It must dwell upon the mind, thought Mac, in a poetical transport, like the memory of first love, which by all succeeding impressions is only buried deeper and deeper.

I must not dilate upon his journey along the margin of the lake. It was almost twilight when he began to wind gently up the Swiss side of it, towards the old chateau of his des

VOL. II.

E

tination. The road was a continued interchange of thick foliage and luxuriant vineyard, all dropping with an atmosphere of honey. As he advanced, the feathery branches of the acacia, intermixed with the weeping ash and the willow, trembled gracefully above his head, and beneath and around him a smoother sward, and fantastic summer-houses, gave token that he was approaching the very temple of taste. Every step grew more lovely, till the domestic

maze almost vied in enchantment with all that had preceded it.

The chateaux in Switzerland resemble very much the old-fashioned country houses in England. They are white stuccoed, red tiled, and contorted into shapes which give a fantastic idea of taste in its dying agonies. Such was the style of the chateau of Mac's future friends. But then it had a romantic hill above it, and a romantic slope beneath it, and an undulating lawn around it, and the chanting of distant peasants mingling with the sweet sounds of neighbouring cascades, and a thousand other agreeables, which fully atoned for its deformity.

Upon the above-mentioned lawn took place Mac's introduction to the proprietors, who were ruralizing upon rustic seats, and had been for some time speculating upon the prize which was announced by the sound of strange wheels. The whole party were somewhat amazed, and well they might; for the manner in which he plunged out of his carriage, and jerked himself to the encounter, was enough to drive elegant French folks into fits. Besides this, his person, which always looked wrong side outwards, was considerably the worse for wear. Mac, however, undauntedly twitched up his trowsers, clawed off his hat, and rummaged out his letter of introduction, with which he made a lunge at the lady of the house, who advanced to the charge, all flaring and fluttering with hues and fringes, like a man of war on a holyday. As soon as she had glanced over his credentials, Mac's stammering attempt at something like comment vous portez vous was completely overwhelmed by the volubility of his wel

come.

66 Ah, quel bonheur extraordinaire ! Une lettre de mon bon ami! Vous ètes déjà bien

connu, mon cher Monsieur. Nous sommes trop heureux de vous voir! Mais vous ètes fatigué. Vous avez besoin de repos! Ah, mon Dieu, mettez votre chapeau, je vous en prie!"

"Je vous remercie, madame, très bien; responded Mac, thinking that all this meant, "How do you do?"

"Ah! monsieur, je suis bien aise que vous parlez François si bien."

"Pardon, madame, je parlez très petit.” "Ah, vous ètes modeste, mon bon voyageur!"

"Pas voyage, madame ; je venir par terre." "Mais vous parlez François à merveille!" The next that marched up was mon bon mari, a little old wizened person, with a large nose, ornamented by a snuff drop, to which a retreating mouth and chin gave the appearance of the hand which we sometimes see upon a direction post, the fore-finger alone being extended to point the way. After he had sufficiently acknowledged the honour done him, and Mac had made a random answer of oui, monsieur, a young lady, who had been hanging