Yet I know I am not singular; others have felt the same:  others, who, capable of “drinking in the soul of things,” have viewed nature less with their eyes than their hearts.  Now I feel the value of my own enthusiasm; now am I repaid in part for many pains and sorrows and errors it has cost me.  Though the natural expression of that enthusiasm be now repressed and restrained, and my spirits subdued by long illness, what but enthusiasm could elevate my mind to a level with the sublime objects round me, and excite me to pour out my whole heart in admiration as I do now!  How deeply they have penetrated into my imagination!—­Beautiful nature!  If I could but infuse into you a portion of my own existence as you have become a part of mine—­If I could but bid you reflect back my soul, as it reflects back all your magnificence, I would make you my only friend, and wish no other; content “to love earth only for its earthly sake.”

I am so tired to-night, I can say nothing of the Jura, nor of the superb ascent of the mountain, to me so novel, so astonishing a scene; nor of the cheerful brilliance of the morning sun, illuminating the high cliffs, and throwing the deep woody vallies into the darkest shadow; nor of the far distant plains of France seen between the hills, and melting away into a soft vapoury light; nor of Morey, and its delicious strawberries and honey-comb; nor of that never-to-be-forgotten moment, when turning the corner of the road, as it wound round a cliff near the summit, we beheld the lake and city of Geneva spread at our feet, with its magnificent back-ground of the Italian Alps, peak beyond peak, snow-crowned! and Mont Blanc towering over all!  No description had prepared me for this prospect; and the first impression was rapturous surprise; but by degrees the vastness and the huge gigantic features of the scene pressed like a weight upon “my amazed sprite,” and the feeling of its immense extent fatigued my imagination till my spirits gave way in tears.  Then came remembrances of those I ought to forget, blending with all I saw a deeper power—­raising up emotions, long buried though not dead, to fright me with their resurrection.  I was so glad to arrive here, and shall be so glad to sleep—­even the dull sleep which laudanum brings me.

Oct. 1.—­When next I submit (having the power to avoid it) to be crammed into a carriage and carried from place to place, whether I would or not, and be set down at the stated points de vue, while a detestable laquais points out what I am to admire, I shall deserve to endure again what I endured to-day.  As there was no possibility of relief, I resigned myself to my fate, and was even amused by the absurdity of my own situation.  We went to see the junction of the Arve and the Rhone:  or rather to see the Arve pollute the rich, blue transparent Rhone, with its turbid waters.  The day was heavy, and the clouds rolled in prodigious masses along the dark sides of the mountains, frequently hiding them from our view, and substituting for their graceful outlines and ever-varying contrast of tint and shade, an impenetrable veil of dark gray vapour.