in memory; the ladies stout,
red-faced, and showily dressed, with immense "charms" pendent from their
_chatelaines_--shovels, tongs, and pokers, _life-size_--the result of a
sojourn at Geneva, doubtless.

For some time after leaving the city, we could look back upon Mont
Blanc, white and beautiful, rising above the dark mountains, and lying
close against the sky blue as the waters of the lake. The likeness of a
recumbent figure of Napoleon--the head and shoulders alone,--in the garb
of a grenadier was startling, haunting us even after it had changed
again to a snow-white mountain. As though the hero slept, like those in
German legends, until his country called him to awake and lead its hosts
to battle.

At Ouchy we leave the steamer, where the gardens of the grand hotel
Beaurivage come down to meet us. How delightful are these Swiss hotels!
with their pleasant gardens, many balconies, wide windows, and the
flying flags outside; and within, scrupulous neatness, and even elegant
appointments. The rooms vary in size rather than in degree of comfort,
there being none of the sudden leaps or plunges between luxury and utter
discomfort, found in so many hotels--elsewhere. The floors are bare, the
strips of wood forming squares or diamonds, waxed, and highly polished.
A rug here and there invites bare feet. A couple of neatly-spread beds
stand foot to foot upon one side of the room, sometimes with silk or
lace coverlets, but with always the _duvet_, or large down pillow, at
the foot. There is no stint of toilet arrangements. A lounge and
easy-chairs tempt to idleness and repose; and a round table, of generous
proportions, awaits the chocolate, rolls, fresh butter, and amber honey,
when the last curl is in order, the last ribbon knotted, and you have
rung for your breakfast. Of course the rooms vary in degree of
ornamentation. The walls are often beautifully tinted or frescoed, and
the furniture elegant; but the neatness and comfort among these summer
hotels are almost universal. Sometimes, in one corner, or built into the
wall, stands the high, white porcelain stove, so like a stray monument
that has forgotten its inscription, and is sacred to many memories; and
the long, plate-glass windows, swinging back, open often upon a balcony
and a charming view. No wonder that half the hotels in Switzerland are
named _Bellevue_.

An omnibus bears you from Ouchy, which is simply the port of Lausanne,
back into the city, past pretty co