remarkable contrast to the ferocious tyranny recommended by Calvin and his brethren, at the same period, and in the same place. Bonnivard, the advocate of true religion, succeeded by his mildness. Christianity is always preached with success when it is preached in charity.

Bonnivard was a learned man; his MSS., which still remain in the public library, sufficiently show that he was well read in the Roman classics, and that he had studied theology and history profoundly. He was devoted to science, and believing that it would be a means of elevating the glory of Geneva, he omitted no means of promoting it in that city. In 1551 he gave his own collection of books for the public use, and thus laid the foundation of the public library at Geneva. His books consist generally of those rare and valuable editions which were published in the fifteenth century. In the same year he bequeathed to the republic all that he was possessed of, on condition that it should be applied towards completing a college which was then projected.

He died, in all probability, in the latter part of the year 1571; but this is not well ascertained, there being a vacuum in the necrology of Geneva, from July, 1570, to the beginning of the year 1572.

Having spoken of Bonnivard, it would hardly be just to omit the name of Pecolet, another of the Genevese patriots, whose history abounds in curious adventure. Being a man of wit, and of a gay turn of character, Pecolet was guilty of the sin to which wits are too generally prone, that of uttering a joke, not relished by their superiors. The most singular interpretation was given to

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his words; he was, in short, charged with entertaining the idea of putting the prelate of whom they were spoken to death. Upon mere suspicion Pecolet was seized, and put three times to the torture, in order to make him confess that he had meant to threaten the life of the bishop. For a long time he refused to make any such confession, until one day when the bishop was at dinner with a large party, they suspended their victim by a rope, the guests and attendants mocking and reviling him as he writhed under his torments. He was at length brought to admit all that had been advanced against him, which had not however the effect of inducing his tormentors to relent. The sufferer was plunged into a deeper dungeon, and was on the point of being again tortured, when his doctor declared it was doubtful whether he would be yet able to go through a fresh application.

This was a little perplexing; but the good bishop and the duke were obliged to submit to the disappointment. In the interval they agreed, as a sort of compensation, to accuse Pecolet of possessing some enchantment which had enabled him to undergo so much torment. The difficulty was to ascertain in what part of his body the charm lay concealed; but as he had a remarkably fine flowing beard, it was shrewdly conjectured it must be lodged there.

Having held a council, this opinion was very logically discussed and confirmed; and a barber was forthwith sent for to deprive the necromancer of his fatal gift. While the barber was earnestly engaged in preparing for the important operation, Pecolet, aware of the many interrogatories he had yet to undergo, suddenly seized the

razor and cut off his tongue, that he might not in future be compelled to accuse himself. Still his persecutors were not to be deterred; and were again about to put their victim to the question, when a tumult of the people compelled them to consult their own safety, and Pecolet was set at liberty. The courageous patriot, self-deprived of the power of uttering either his complaints or his witticisms, retired to end his days in a monastery of the order of St. Francis. He there continued for a long period to lead a quiet and silent life, till one day the friendly saint to whom he had devoted himself obtained for him the rare privilege of being able to speak without a tongue.

ST. MAURICE.

There is an air, which oft among the rocks

Of his own native land, at evening hour,
Is heard, when shepherds homeward pipe their flocks.
Oh, every note of it would thrill his mind
With tenderest thoughts, and bring around his knees
The rosy children whom he left behind,
And fill each little angel eye

With speaking tears, that ask him why

He wander'd from his hut to scenes like these.
Vain, vain is then the trumpet's brazen roar,
Sweet notes of home, of love, are all he hears;
And the stern eyes that look'd for blood before,

Now melting mournful lose themselves in tears.

MOORE.

Ir will be necessary that the tourist should penetrate a considerable distance into Switzerland, before he can form a correct judgment of the varieties of Swiss scenery, and more particularly of Swiss character. The inhabitants of Geneva and Lausanne can hardly be termed Switzers, in the true sense of the word; so mixed are they with foreigners, and their habits and manners so imbued with foreign association. The character of the sturdy Swiss can scarcely be recognised among the pliant graces of more polished nations. As the traveller posts from town to town in the interior, or rambles with more humility, but with far greater pleasure, from village to hamlet, he will soon discover the marked superiority of the hardy Swiss peasant over the effeminate inhabitant of the city.