her strong
domestic tastes, nor the vein of Puritanism that ran through her
opinions, harmonised with the lax and sceptical society around her,
and it was no sacrifice to her to exchange the splendours and the
gaieties of Paris for her peaceful retreat on the Lake of Geneva.

In this, as in most respects, her daughter was very different. In her
the Swiss element had altogether disappeared, and, as is often the
case with the eminent child of eminent parents, her character shot out
in directions wholly unlike both that of her father and that of her
mother. She was not beautiful, though her dark and eminently lustrous
eyes, beaming with intelligence, and her rich brown tint, gave some
charm to her large and rather coarse features; while her massive
shoulders, arms, and breast, her full lips and the firm grasp of her
vigorous hand, indicated a strong, frank, ruling, and passionate
nature, overflowing with life and with many forms of energy. Her
education was somewhat fitfully conducted, but she threw herself
eagerly into literary enthusiasms. At fifteen we find her annotating
Montesquieu. Raynal and Richardson were among her idols, but, like
most of the more ardent spirits of her generation, her ideas and
character were moulded chiefly by the genius of Rousseau. Her first
work of importance was an exposition of his doctrines, and his
influence left deep traces on both 'Corinne' and 'Delphine.' Her
strong sane judgment, however, her genuine humanity, and the
moderating influence of her father, saved her from being swept away,
like Madame Roland and most of the disciples of Rousseau, by the
sanguinary torrent of revolutionary enthusiasm; and in times of wild
passion and exaggeration she usually exhibited a singular soundness
and sobriety of political judgment. She was sometimes mistaken, but on
the whole it may well be doubted whether there is any other French
writer or politician of the period of the Revolution whose
contemporary judgments of men and events have been more frequently
ratified by posterity.

In this respect she was not of the school of Rousseau. In another and
less admirable way she was curiously untouched by his spirit, for few
superior intellects have been so openly, so utterly, insensible to the
charms of nature. She once spoke of 'the infernal peace' of her Swiss
home, and she candidly acknowledged that if it were not for respect
for the opinions of others she would not open her window to look for
the