pursuits and rational advancement, which gives the place a distinguished name among continental cities. Among the foremost to embrace the Reformation, the inhabitants have ever readily afforded an asylum to the oppressed from all nations: at present it is a place of resort and settlement for intelligent strangers from all quarters. Latterly, Geneva has been greatly improved in appearance, and now possesses many fine streets and handsome buildings.

The environs of Geneva are beautiful, but so is the whole district bordering on Lake Leman. On its southern side lies Savoy, a generally high lying tract, over the top of which, and at the distance of sixty miles, is seen the white top of Mont Blanc, reposing in the midst of a tumultuary sea of black hills. On the north side of the lake stretches the canton of Vaud, which in its whole extent is unexampled for rural beauty. About the centre of Vaud, overlooking the lake, is seen the pretty town of Lausanne, situated on a low hill, amidst vineyards and gardens. At the small port of Ouchy, below Lausanne, steamboats take up passengers for various places on the lake. One of the most pleasant excursions is to Chillon, near the eastern extremity of the lake, on its north side. This interesting old castle is placed partly within the margin of the lake, at a part of the shore overhung by a precipitous mountain, and was built in 1238 by Amadeus IV., count of Savoy, as a bulwark for defence of his possessions, or a den whence he could conveniently make inroads on his neighbours. Since it fell into the possession of the Swiss, it has been used as a depôt for military stores. The buildings are entire, but uninhabited. It consists of several open courts, environed by tall, rough-cast structures, of immense strength, and shows on all sides the character of a feudal fortress on a large scale. The chief building, as may be seen in the engraving, next page, is a heavy square edifice, overhanging the lake. The most interesting part of this structure is a suite of gloomy arched vaults, which, from incontestable appearances, had been, what tradition affirms they were, the prison dungeons of Chillon. The last is the largest dungeon in the series, and is undoubtedly the prison in which Bonnivard was confined.

No one who has read the "Prisoner of Chillon" of Byron, can enter the low-arched doorway of this dreary tomb of living men without emotion. It consists of two aisles, separated by a row of seven massive pillars of stone; the aisle on the right, as we enter, being hewn out of the rock, and that on the left being of arched masonry. The floor is altogether of rock, and worn into various hollows. The only light admitted is by a small window, so high up the wall that no one could see out except by climbing; hence it could have afforded little solacement to the prisoners, more especially as the custom seems to have been to chain them to the pillars. On measuring the vault by pacing, it is found to be fifty-two steps in length, and it was at about two-thirds of

this distance from the doorway that Bonnivard, one of the last victims of the Duke of Savoy, was confined. On the side of one of the pillars a strong ring is still attached, and the surface of the stone floor beneath is trodden into uneven forms by the action of footsteps. No poetic license has therefore been taken in the forcible lines

"Chillon! thy prison is a holy place,

And thy sad floor an altar; for 'twas trod-
Until his very steps have left a trace

Worn, as if thy cold pavement were a sod-
By Bonnivard! May none these marks efface!
For they appeal from tyranny to God!"

The pillar thus connected with Bonnivard's imprisonment has been an object of curiosity to hundreds of visitors, both before and since the place was consecrated by the genius of the poet. It is carved all over with names, chiefly French and English; and among these Dryden, Richardson, Peel, Victor Hugo, and Byron, may be observed. Bonnivard, as has been mentioned in our previous historical sketch, was imprisoned here on account of the sentiments of civil and religious liberty which he entertained. In the dungeon we have just noticed he was immured for several years, without hope of release; and it must have been to him a joyful sound to hear the attacks of the Bernese forces by land, and of the Genevese galleys by water, which at length reduced this stronghold of tyranny, and gave liberty to its forlorn captive.

66

A STORY FOR THE YOUNG.

BY MRS CROWE, AUTHORESS OF "SUSAN HOPLEY."

CANNOT encourage a boy of your age in begging, said a gentleman to a little lad about ten years old, who intreated him to give him a halfpenny; "you should work, not beg." "I have not got any work," answered the boy. "Would you do it if you had?" inquired the gentleman. Yes," said the boy.

"What are your parents?" asked the gentleman.

My father's dead," replied the child, "and my mother begs, and sends me out to beg; but I keep away from her, because she beats me."

"And where do you sleep at night, when you don't go home?" "Anywhere I can-under a hedge, or in a doorway; sometimes I get into a stable-loft or an empty cart."

"That's a miserable life," returned the gentleman; with me and I'll give you a trial. What is your name?" "George Macmahon."

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come

"Come along, then, George Macmahon. Now, if you are wise, this may prove the turn of your fortune; but remember, beginnings are slow: you must work first for small wages till you are stronger and able to earn more; but if I see that you are willing to work, I will do what I can for you."

This gentleman, whose name was Herriott, was the overseer of some public works; so, as George's capabilities were yet but limited, he put a hammer into his hand, and set him to break stones, promising that if he were diligent, and broke as many as

he could, he should have eightpence a-day, and a place to sleep in at night.

George Macmahon set to his work apparently with a good heart. The stones were not very hard, and they had already been broken into small pieces-his business was to break them still smaller; and when he exerted his strength and struck them a good blow, he could do it very well. However, when he had worked a little while, he began to make rather long pauses between his strokes, and to look a good deal about him, especially when any well-dressed persons passed that way; and once or twice, when he thought no one was looking, he threw down his hammer, and applied himself to his former trade of begging for a halfpenny to buy a bit of bread. When he had in this way made out some three or four hours, he was accosted by an acquaintance of his, a boy about his own age, who was also a beggar. The only difference in their situation was, that the mother of the latter was very sickly, and unable to support him; but she did not beat him, and would not have sent him to beg if she could have done anything better for him.

"What!" said the new-comer, whose name was John Reid; "have you got leave to break stones?"

"Yes," answered George, "a gentleman has given me a job; I am to have eightpence a-day, and a place to sleep in ;" and George at that moment felt himself a person of considerable consequence. "I wish he would give me a job too," said John; "do you

think he would?"

"You can ask him if you like," answered George; "that's his office, and I saw him go in there just now." So John presented himself to Mr Herriott, and said he should be very glad if he would give him a job, as he had done to George Macmahon; and after asking him a few questions, Mr Herriott supplied him with a hammer, and set him to work.

It was quite evident, from the way he set about it, that it was John Reid's intention to break as many stones as he could; and accordingly, by night his heap was much larger than George Macmahon's, although he had not worked so long; but then he hit them with all his might, did not make long pauses between his strokes to look about him, and when any well-dressed persons passed, instead of slipping away to beg for a halfpenny, he only grasped his hammer with more firmness, gave harder blows, and appeared more intent upon his work; for, thought he, it makes one look respectable to be employed, but everybody despises beggars. At night they each got their eightpence; for although George had not worked as hard as he could, Mr Herriott did not wish to discourage him; and having bought themselves some supper, they were conducted to a shed, where they passed the night on some clean straw-a much more comfortable bed than they were accustomed to. On the following morning they both repaired to their toil at the sound of the bell

-John Reid with rather augmented vigour; but after the first half hour, George Macmahon's strokes became lighter, and his pauses longer, till at last he threw down his hammer and burst out into a fit of laughter.

"What's the matter?" said John; "what are you laughing at?"

"Why, I am laughing to think what fools the gentlefolks must be to suppose we'll work for eightpence a-day at breaking these stones, when we can earn a shilling a-day by begging, and our food besides; for people give us enough to eat at their doors, and then we can spend our money in drink."

"But, then," said John, "we are only beggars, and that's such a disgrace."

"Disgrace!" said George; "pooh! who cares for that? Surely it's better to live without working, if one can?"

"I don't know that," said John: "besides, you know, if we go on begging, we shall never get to be better off-we shall always be beggars to the last; but if we work when we are young, we may grow rich by the time we are old, and live like the gentlefolks."

"It's a long time to wait for what may never happen," replied George; "besides, I'm tired of work-it makes my arm ache. There's a carriage coming down the hill with some ladies in it!" added he suddenly, and away he ran to beseech the ladies to give him a halfpenny to buy a bit of bread. They threw him sixpence. "Now, look here," said he to his comrade; "here's nearly a day's wages just for the asking; one must break a pretty lot of stones before one earns sixpence. Come along; throw down your hammer, and let's be off before Mr Herriott

sees us."

"No, I sha'n't," responded John; "I shall stay here and break the stones; but I wish, if you mean to go, you would call and tell my mother where I am, and that she shall see me on Sunday."

"Sunday!" cried George; "you don't mean to stay here till Sunday, do you?"

"Yes, I do," said John; "I'll stay as long as they'll keep me." George went away laughing at the folly of his companion; and when he met Jane Reid begging, he told her she might expect to see John before Sunday, for he was sure his arm would be so tired that he would soon give up breaking stones.

But George was mistaken: John's arm was tired at first, it is true, but it soon got accustomed to the labour, and then it ceased to ache, and grew daily stronger. Mr Herriott paid him his eightpence every night, and let him sleep in the shed; but he took little more notice of him, for he looked upon it as pretty certain that he would follow the same course as George Macmahon had done, and disappear; and he was justified in thinking so, for he had put several beggar boys to the same proof, and