Introduction - Page 2

for those who could get
no better; laughed at the idea of their being sufficient cordage in the
world to reach the bottom of the Genfer See; was of opinion that the trout
was a better fish than the fêrà; spoke with singular moderation of his
ancient masters, the bourgeoïsie of Berne, which, however, he always
affirmed kept singularly bad roads In Vaud, while those around its own
city were the best in Europe, and otherwise showed himself to be a
discreet and observant man. In short, honest Jean Descloux was a fair
sample of that homebred, upright common-sense which seems to form the
instinct of the mass, and which it is greatly the fashion to deride in
those circles in which mystification passes for profound thinking, bold
assumption for evidence, a simper for wit, particular personal advantages
for liberty, and in which it is deemed a mortal offence against good
manners to hint that Adam and Eve were the common parents of mankind.

"Monsieur has chosen a good time to visit Vévey," observed Jean Descloux,
one evening, that they were drifting in front of the town, the whole
scenery resembling a fairy picture rather than a portion of this
much-abused earth; "it blows sometimes at this end of the lake in a way to
frighten the gulls out of it. We shall see no more of the steam-boat after
the last of the month."

The American cast a glance at the mountain, drew upon his memory for
sundry squalls and gales which he had seen himself, and thought the
boatman's figure of speech less extravagant than it had at first seemed.

"If your lake craft were better constructed, they would make better
weather," he quietly observed.

Monsieur Descloux had no wish to quarrel with a customer who employed him
every evening, and who preferred floating with the current to being rowed
with a crooked oar. He manifested his prudence, therefore, by making a
reserved reply.

"No doubt, monsieur," he said, "that the people who live on the sea make
better vessels, and know how to sail them more skilfully. We had a proof
of that here at Vévey," (he pronounced the word like v-_vais_, agreeably
to the sounds of the French vowels,) "last summer, which you might like
to hear. An English gentleman--they say he was a captain in the
marine--had a vessel built at Nice, and dragged over the mountains to our
lake. He took a run across to Meillerie one fine morning, and no duck ever
skimmed along lighter or swifter! He was not a man to take advice from a
Swiss boatman, for he had crossed the line, and seen water spouts and
whales! Well, he was on his way back in the dark, and it came on to blow
here from off the mountains, and he stood on boldly towards