''Twas not for fiction chose Rousseau this spot, Peopling it with affections. 'Tis lone, And wonderful, and deep, and hath a sound, And sense, and sight of sweetness: here the Rhone Hath spread himself a couch,[1] the Alps have reared a throne.' At eleven o'clock we arrived at Lausanne, _via_ its port, Ouchi, for the town is a fourth of a mile up the hill. This is a large but irregularly-built town, and is much frequented by the English. The house where Gibbon lived yet remains, and is now occupied by an English family. Here I took leave of the friendly party, and am to proceed alone to regions as yet to me unknown. * * * * * BERNE, AUGUST 28.--Had a moonlight night-ride from Lausanne, whence we departed at seven, P. M. I am now coming to the Cantons where German is usually spoken, so I suppose I must play deaf and dumb, and talk by signs, _guessing_ the import of what they say to me, as I did, for example, at the diligence office, when I paid my fare; but in this case I was left in a non-plus. When I took my seat, they motioned me _out_; and I stood patiently waiting to be disposed of. My luggage was put on, the diligence was filled and started off, leaving me there, solus, in deep cogitation. Well, 'thinks I to myself,' they are _very_ polite! Presently, however, a smart buggy came along, and the driver civilly beckoned me to take a seat. Feeling very cool and good-natured, in I jumped, at the risk of going where 'the d----l drives;' for I really was somewhat in the dark, and I couldn't be positive whether it was not the 'old gentleman' himself. Soon, however, these dismal doubts were dispelled by our overtaking the diligence, and receiving an English gentleman into the buggy; and then the simple truth flashed upon me, that the diligence was full, and they were 'forwarding' me in an extra, as they are obliged to do, by law of the land, all who apply before the time. In some learned discussions about England, I happened to say that the law securing the descent of property of the nobility, there, exclusively to the oldest son, seemed to me very unjust. My companion said he 'gloried in it;' though he himself was a 'younger son, he abhorred democracy and equality.' And with some more talk, I fell asleep, and left him to his cigar. I was somewhat diverted with a prevalent custom of the Germans--that of embracing and _kissing_ each other, when taking leave. I refer, of course, to the _men_; for an affectionate salutation of this sort to the _ladies_, it would be unpardonable to omit. But to see the 'grave and reverend seignors' bussing each other, is a little queer. At two, A. M., we stopped at a place called Peterlinden, and got some coffee in a 'loft.' About daylight, we were riding in sight of Lake Neufchatel, and passed the little village of Morat, where the Swiss heroically defeated an invasion of the Burgundians, in 1440: of which Byron says:[2]