Rousseau's island.

Geneva - Rue De Mont Blanc.

Dogs At Work - Geneva.

Lake Geneva.

Castle Of Ch1llon.

The poet Shelley narrowly escaped drowning in its waters. At one point Madame de Stael lived in exile; another saw Voltaire for years maintaining here his intellectual court; while at Lausanne, upon the memorable night which he has well described, Gibbon concluded his immortal work, "The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire." But of all portions of Lake Leman, that which charms one most is the neighborhood of Montreux and Vevey, and the historic Castle of Chillon. A poet's inspiration has made this place familiar to the world. No English-speaking traveler, at least, can look upon these towers, rising from the waves, without recalling Byron's "Prisoner of Chil-lon," and reciting its well-known lines:

"Lake Leman lies by Chillon's walls: A thousand feet in depth below Its massy waters meet and flow; Thus much the fathom-line was sent From Chillon's snow-white battlement".

Lausanne, On Lake Geneva.

This time-worn structure boasts a thousand years of story and romance. In fact, more than a thousand years ago, Louis le Debonnaire imprisoned here a traitor to his king. Here, also, five centuries ago, hundreds of Jews were tortured, and then buried alive, on the infamous suspicion of poisoning the wells of Europe. But of all the memories which cluster round its walls the most familiar is that of Bonnivard, the Swiss patriot, who languished for six years in its dark dungeon, till he was released by the efforts of his enthusiastic countrymen. During those gloomy years of captivity his jailers heard from him no cry and no com-plaint, save when some tempest swept the lake. Then, when the wind moaned, as if in sympathy, around the towers, and waves dashed high against the walls, they could distinguish sobs and cries, proving that, when apparently alone with God, the captive sought to give his burdened soul relief.

While The Steamer Waits.

Castle And Cathedral, Lausanne.

"Chillon! thy prison is a holy place,

And thy sad floor an altar - for 't was trod

Until his very steps have left a trace

Worn, as if thy cold pavement were a sod,

By Bonnivard! - May none those marks efface! For they appeal from tyranny to God".

When finally his liberators burst into his cell, they found him pale and shadow-like, still chained to the column around which he had walked so many years. A hundred voices cried to him at once: "Bonnivard, you are free!" The prisoner slowly rose, and his first question was: "And Geneva?" "Free, also!" was the answer.

One night, some eighty years ago, a little boat came toward this castle, leaving behind it in its course a furrow silvered by the moon. As it reached the shore, there sprang from it a man enveloped in a long black cloak, which almost hid his feet from view. A close observer would have seen, however, that he limped slightly. He asked to see the historic dungeon, and lingered there an hour alone.

On The Shore.

When he had gone, they found on the stone column to which Bonnivard had been chained a new name carved. The traveler sees it there today. It is the name of Byron. There is in Switzerland a village superior even to Chamonix in grandeur of location, dominated by a mountain more imposing even than Mont Blanc. The town is Zermatt; the mountain is the Matterhorn.

As we approach it, we discern only a tiny part of its environ ment; but could we soar aloft with the eagle, and take bird's-eye view of it, the little village would appear to have been caught in a colossal trap of rock and ice. There is, in fact, no path to it, save over dangerous passes, or through a narrow cleft in the encircling mountains, down which a river rushes with impetuous fury; while, watching over it, like some divinely-stationed sentinel, rises the awful Matterhorn, the most unique and imposing mountain of the Alps. No view can possibly do it justice; yet, anticipate what you will, it is here impossible to be disappointed. Though every other object of the world should fail, the Matterhorn must stir the heart of the most unimpressive traveler. Not only does its icy wedge pierce the blue air at a height of fifteen thousand feet above the sea, but its gaunt, tusk-like form emerges from the surrounding glaciers with almost perpendicular sides, four thousand feet in height. It is a manifestation of the power of the Deity, beside which all the works of man dwindle to insignificance. I never grew accustomed to this, as to other mountains. No matter when I gazed upon its sharp-cut edges and its ice-bound rocks, I felt, as when I first beheld it, completely overpowered by its magnitude. The history of this colossal pyramid is as tragic as its grim form is awe-inspiring. The mountain is known as the "Fiend of the Alps." Year after year it had been luring to itself, with fearful fascination, scores of brave men who longed to scale its appalling cliffs. Over its icy pedestal, - up its precipitous sides, -yes, even to its naked shoulders, baffled and wistful mountaineers struggled in vain. Upon its perpendicular rocks several men had all but perished; but the warnings were unheeded. At length, after persistent efforts for eleven years, the famous English mountain-climber, Whym-per, gained the summit. But in return for the humiliation of this conquest the Matterhorn exacted speedy vengeance.