ravishing
beauties of the place. I cannot recall sensations of purer pleasure
produced by any scenery, than those I felt myself on this occasion, and
in which all around me appeared to participate.

Our pleasures, tastes, and even our judgments are so much affected by
the circumstances under which they are called into action, that one has
need of diffidence on the subject of their infallibility, if it be only
to protect himself from the imputation of inconsistency. I was pleased
with the Lake of Lungern in 1828, but the term is not strong enough for
the gratification it gave me on this return to it. Perhaps the day, the
peculiar play of light and shade, a buoyancy of spirits, or some
auxiliary causes, may have contributed to produce this state of mind;
or it is possible that the views were really improved by changing the
direction of the route; as all connoisseurs in scenery know that the
Hudson is much finer when descending than when ascending its stream; but
let the cause be what it might, had I then been asked what particular
spot in Europe had given me most delight, by the perfection of its
natural beauties, taken in connexion with its artificial accessories, I
should have answered that it was the shores of the lake of Lungern. Nor,
as I have told you, was I alone in this feeling, for one and all, big
and little,--in short, the whole party joined in pronouncing the entire
landscape absolutely exquisite. Any insignificant change, a trifle more
or less of humidity in the atmosphere, the absence or the intervention
of a few clouds, a different hour or a different frame of mind, may have
diminished our pleasure, for these are enjoyments which, like the
flavour of delicate wines, or the melody of sweet music, are deranged by
the condition of the nerves, or a want of harmony, in the chords.

After this explanation you will feel how difficult it will be to
describe the causes of our delight. The leading features of the
landscape, however, were a road that ran along the shore beneath a
forest, within ten feet of the water, winding, losing itself, and
re-appearing with the sinuosities of the bank; water, limpid as air and
blue as the void of the heavens, unruffled and even holy in its aspect,
as if it reflected the pure space above; a mountain-side, on the
opposite shore, that was high enough to require study to draw objects
from its bosom, on the distant heights, and yet near enough below, to
seem to be within an arrow's f