“September 28.

“Saw the tree planted in honour of the battle of Morat; three hundred and forty years old; a good deal decayed.  Left Fribourg, but first saw the cathedral; high tower.  Overtook the baggage of the nuns of La Trappe, who are removing to Normandy; afterwards a coach, with a quantity of nuns in it.  Proceeded along the banks of the lake of Neuchatel; very pleasing and soft, but not so mountainous—­at least, the Jura, not appearing so, after the Bernese Alps.  Reached Yverdun in the dusk; a long line of large trees on the border of the lake; fine and sombre; the auberge nearly full—­a German princess and suite; got rooms.

“September 29.

“Passed through a fine and flourishing country, but not mountainous.  In the evening reached Aubonne (the entrance and bridge something like that of Durham), which commands by far the fairest view of the Lake of Geneva; twilight; the moon on the lake; a grove on the height, and of very noble trees.  Here Tavernier (the eastern traveller) bought (or built) the chateau, because the site resembled and equalled that of Erivan, a frontier city of Persia; here he finished his voyages, and I this little excursion,—­for I am within a few hours of Diodati, and have little more to see, and no more to say.”

With the following melancholy passage this Journal concludes:—­

“In the weather for this tour (of 13 days), I have been very fortunate—­fortunate in a companion (Mr. H.)—­fortunate in our prospects, and exempt from even the little petty accidents and delays which often render journeys in a less wild country disappointing.  I was disposed to be pleased.  I am a lover of nature and an admirer of beauty.  I can bear fatigue and welcome privation, and have seen some of the noblest views in the world.  But in all this—­the recollection of bitterness, and more especially of recent and more home desolation, which must accompany me through life, have preyed upon me here; and neither the music of the shepherd, the crashing of the avalanche, nor the torrent, the mountain, the glacier, the forest, nor the cloud, have for one moment lightened the weight upon my heart, nor enabled me to lose my own wretched identity in the majesty, and the power, and the glory, around, above, and beneath me.”

* * * * *

Among the inmates at Secheron, on his arrival at Geneva, Lord Byron had found Mr. and Mrs. Shelley, and a female relative of the latter, who had about a fortnight before taken up their residence at this hotel.  It was the first time that Lord Byron and Mr. Shelley ever met; though, long before, when the latter was quite a youth,—­being the younger of the two by four or five years,—­he had sent to the noble poet a copy of his Queen Mab, accompanied by a letter, in which, after detailing at full length all the accusations he had heard brought against his character, he added, that, should these charges not have been true, it would make him happy to be honoured with his acquaintance.  The book alone, it appears, reached its destination,—­the letter having miscarried,—­and Lord Byron was known to have expressed warm admiration of the opening lines of the poem.