"How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds
Makes deeds ill done."
Early in October 1832, a travelling-carriage stopped on the summit of thatlong descent where the road pitches from the elevated plain of Moudon inSwitzerland to the level of the lake of Geneva, immediately above thelittle city of Vévey. The postilion had dismounted to chain a wheel, andthe halt enabled those he conducted to catch a glimpse of the lovelyscenery of that remarkable view.
The travellers were an American family, which had long been wanderingabout Europe, and which was now destined it knew not whither, having justtraversed a thousand miles of Germany in its devious course. Four yearsbefore, the same family had halted on the same spot, nearly on the sameday of the month of October, and for precisely the same object. It wasthen journeying to Italy, and as its members hung over the view of theLeman, with its accessories of Chillon, Châtelard, Blonay, Meillerie, thepeaks of Savoy, and the wild ranges of the Alps, they had felt regret thatthe fairy scene was so soon to pass away. The case was now different, andyielding to the charm of a nature so noble and yet so soft, within a fewhours, the carriage was in remise, a house was taken, the baggageunpacked, and the household gods of the travellers were erected, for thetwentieth time, in a strange land.
Our American (for the family had its head) was familiar with the ocean,and the sight of water awoke old and pleasant recollections. He washardly established in Vévey as a housekeeper, before he sought a boat.Chance brought him to a certain Jean Descloux (we give the spelling athazard,) with whom he soon struck up a bargain, and they launched forth incompany upon the lake.
This casual meeting was the commencement of an agreeable and friendlyintercourse. Jean Descloux, besides being a very good boatman, was arespectable philosopher in his way; possessing a tolerable stock ofgeneral information. His knowledge of America, in particular, might bedeemed a little remarkable. He knew it was a continent, which lay west ofhis own quarter of the world; that it had a place in it called New Vévey;that all the whites who had gone there were not yet black, and that therewere plausible hopes it might one day be civilized. Finding Jean soenlightened on a subject under which most of the eastern savans breakdown, the American thought it well enough to prick him closely on othermatters. The worthy boatman turned out to be a man of singularly justdiscrimination. He was a reasonably-good judge of the weather; had diversmarvels to relate concerning the doings of the lake; thought the city verywrong for not making a port in the great square; always maintained thatthe wine of St. Saphorin was very savory drinking for those who could getno better; laughed at the idea of their being sufficient cordage in theworld to reach the bottom of the Genfer See; was of opinion that the troutwas a better fish than the fêrà; spoke with singular moderation of hisancient masters, the bourgeoïsie of Berne, which, however, he alwaysaffirmed kept singularly bad roads In Vaud, while those around its owncity were the best in Europe, and otherwise showed himself to be adiscreet and observant man. In short, honest Jean Descloux was a fairsample of that homebred, upright common-sense which seems to form theinstinct of the mass, and which it is greatly the fashion to deride inthose circles in which mystif