natural beauties of
the country, found much to commend in these little vagaries of art. A
lively bourgeoise, on whom we stumbled the next day behind the counter
of a glove-shop, ran up, openmouthed, to explain to us the beauties of
one of their show spots, in view of which a sudden turn of the river was
just bringing us. A conspicuous inscription on a large vulgar-looking
house painted red and yellow, informed us that it was styled the
"Hermitage du Mont d'Or." In the space of not quite an acre of ground,
on the side of a wooded hill of the highest natural loveliness, the
proprietor had contrived to commit a host of the most outrageous and
fantastical absurdities, which were hailed with a smile from Mons. C.,
and a burst of approbation from the rest of the party. At the top of the
hill were four scattered pillars of different diminutive forms, with
gilt balustrades; all painted with gaudy colours, and none large enough
for a moderate tea-garden, or sufficiently solid to have resisted the
point-blank stagger of a drunken man. Lower down were two holes in the
rock, which, from their size and appearance, I should have taken for a
rabbit-burrow and a badger's earth, but for the young lady's joyous
exclamation--"Ah! voila les hermitages. Messieurs, il y a deux hermites
la-dedans." "A la bonne heure, Mademoiselle; ils sont vivans, sans
doute"--. "Mais pour cela--pas absolument--c'est que--ils sont de cire,
voyez vous, mais d'une beaute! ah, c'est une chose a voir!" Then came
an inclosure so thickly studded with pillars of different sizes, as to
resemble a Mahometan burying ground. "Vous y trouverez des inscriptions
de toute espece, et la vous voyez la colonne de Trajan." This was a
wooden obelisk about ten feet high, painted white, at the base of which
ROME was written in large black letters, occupying the whole of one
side. Immediately above the house stood a small wooden building, with a
red and white dome, and pillars and windows painted on the sides. The
name COSMORAMA, which took up half the height of the side fronting us,
still left us in doubt as to its use or intention; and our fair cicerone
could no more explain the nature of her favourite building, than
Bardolph could the meaning of the word "accommodate." "Eh, Monsieur,
c'est ce qu'on appelle Cosmorama; je ne saurois vous dire precisement;
peut-etre il y a des betes sauvages;--ou--quelque chose de gentil, voyez
vous--mais enfin c'est un Cosmorama." "Mais voila ce qu