For
more than three weeks, this little party spent their time in
visiting the birth-place of Rousseau, and the former abodes of
Byron, Gibbon, Voltaire, De Stael, Shelley, and other literary
characters.
We can scarcely contemplate a visit to a more historic and
interesting place than Geneva and its vicinity. Here, Calvin, that
great luminary in the Church, lived and ruled for years; here,
Voltaire, the mighty genius, who laid the foundation of the French
Revolution, and who boasted, "When I shake my wig, I powder the
whole republic," governed in the higher walks of life.
Fame is generally the recompense, not of the living, but of the
dead,--not always do they reap and gather in the harvest who sow
the seed; the flame of its altar is too often kindled from the
ashes of the great. A distinguished critic has beautifully said,
"The sound which the stream of high thought, carried down to
future ages, makes, as it flows--deep, distant, murmuring ever
more, like the waters of the mighty ocean." No reputation can be
called great that will not endure this test. The distinguished men
who had lived in Geneva transfused their spirit, by their
writings, into the spirit of other lovers of literature and
everything that treated of great authors. Jerome and Clotelle
lingered long in and about the haunts of Geneva and Lake Leman.
An autumn sun sent down her bright rays, and bathed every object in
her glorious light, as Clotelle, accompanied by her husband and
father set out one fine morning on her return home to France.
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