ght home to the chateau, and desired to
call _Monsieur le Baron_ "Mon frere" and "Auguste." This part of
Madame de Stael's conduct seems incomprehensible; but her death is
recent, the circumstances little known, and it is difficult to judge
her motives. As a _woman_, as a _wife_, she might not have been able
to brave "the world's dread laugh"--but as a _mother_?----

We have also seen Ferney--a place which did not interest me much, for
I have no sympathies with Voltaire:--and some other beautiful scenes
in the neighbourhood.

The Panorama exhibited in London just before I left it, is wonderfully
correct, with one pardonable exception: the artist did not venture to
make the waters of the lake of the intense ultramarine tinged with
violet as I now see them before me;

"So darkly, deeply, beautifully blue;"

it would have shocked English eyes as an exaggeration, or rather
impossibility.

THE PANORAMA OF LAUSANNE.

Now blest for ever be that heaven-sprung art
Which can transport us in its magic power
From all the turmoil of the busy crowd,
From the gay haunts where pleasure is ador'd,
'Mid the hot sick'ning glare of pomp and light;
And fashion worshipp'd by a gaudy throng
Of heartless idlers--from the jarring world
And all its passions, follies, cares, and crimes--
And bids us gaze, even in the city's heart,
On such a scene as this! O fairest spot!
If but the pictured semblance, the dead image
Of thy majestic beauty, hath a power
To wake such deep delight; if that blue lake,
Over whose lifeless breast no breezes play,
Those mimic mountains robed in purple light,
Yon painted verdure that but _seems_ to glow,
Those forms unbreathing, and those motionless woods,
A beauteous mockery all--can ravish thus,
What would it be, could we now gaze indeed
Upon thy _living_ landscape? could we breathe
Thy mountain air, and listen to thy waves,
As they run rippling past our feet, and see
That lake lit up by dancing sunbeams--and
Those light leaves quivering in the summer air;
Or linger some sweet eve just on this spot
Where now we _seem_ to stand, and watch the stars
Flash into splendour, one by one, as night
Steals over yon snow-peaks, and twilight fades
Behind the steeps of Jura! here, O _here_!
'Mid scenes where Genius, Worth and Wisdom dwelt,[D]
Which fancy peopled with a glowing train