prow to watch the morning sunshine break through the silvery haze that
hung over Villeneuve, dimly pierced by the ghostly poplars wandering up
the road beside the Rhone. As we started, the clouds drifted in
ineffable beauty over the mountain-sides; one slowly dropped upon the
lake, and when we had sailed through it we had come in sight of the
first town on the French border, which the gendarmes of the two nations
seemed to share equally between them. All these lake-side villages are
wonderfully picturesque, but this first one had a fancy in chimney-tops
which I think none of the rest equalled--some were twisted, some shaped
like little chalets; and there were groups of old wood-colored roofs and
gables which were luxuries of color. A half-built railroad was
struggling along the shore; at times it seemed to stop hopelessly; then
it began again, and then left off, to reappear beyond some point of hill
which had not yet been bored through or blown quite away. I have never
seen a railroad laboring under so many difficulties. The landscape was
now grand and beautiful, like New England, now pretty and soft, like Old
England, till we came to Evains-les-Bains, which looked like nothing but
the French watering-place it was. It looked like a watering-place that
would be very gay in the season; there were lots of pretty boats; there
was a most official-looking gendarme in a cocked hat, and two jolly
young priests joking together; and there were green, frivolous French
fishes swimming about in the water, and apparently left behind when the
rest of the brilliant world had flown.

Here the little English artist who had been so sociable all the way from
Villeneuve was reinforced by other Englishmen, whom we found on the much
more crowded boat to which we had to change. Our company began to
diversify itself: there were French and German parties as well as
English. We changed boats four times in the tour of the lake, and each
boat brought us a fresh accession of passengers. By-and-by there came