called Burgundy wine, has for centuries had a very perceptible influence upon the heads and hearts, the nerves and brains, the minds and bodies of half the crowned heads of Europe. This old town is rich in the history of the middle ages. It possesses a museum, a picture gallery, and a cabinet of Natural History. The place looks exceedingly quiet. It has a Place d'Armes or public square, in the shape of a horseshoe, which is in front of the ancient palace of the dukes of Burgundy. Those delicious wines, Chambertin and Romanee, are still made here in this immediate neighborhood. They are just as good now as they were in the days of the great Napoleon, who preferred them to all others. These rich Burgundy wines do not bear transportation like the Rhine wines, or those of the south of France, consequently no man who has not visited France, can even imagine what a real good bottle of Burgundy is. There is a richness and a delicious bouquet about this wine which no other possesses. It comes as near the nectar of the gods as any thing earthly can, for I believe in my soul that St. Anthony himself, who resisted all other temptations, could not resist a bottle-aye, a couple of bottles of pure, unadulterated, untravelled Chambertin !

Leaving Dijon, the face of the country becomes hilly and then mountainous, for we soon strike the Department of Jura, the Franche-Comté of the old régime. Here the mountains begin to crop out on all sides, for you are soon in the very heart of that

long chain of "Jura's rugged heights," which separates France from Switzerland. The French are close cultivators, but are far behind the English in the art of husbandry. They are generally small landholders, and consequently there are no fine castles or elegant lordly mansions in the country. You see neat cottages and pretty chateaus, surrounded with smiling vineyards and gaily dressed "nut-brown" maids, all of which is very agreeable and quite romantic.

I stopped at a vineyard in Burgundy, and inquired what price they paid their laborers. I was informed that the men were paid two francs per day during the vintage season, and the women one franc, board and lodging included; and strange to tell, each laborer drank eight bottles of wine per day! This seems almost incredible, but I have it from the very best authority. Every laboring peasant will drink two bottles of wine for his breakfast, two for his dinner, one for his supper, and the rest between meals, for your honest Frenchman despises water! He never takes it.

Well, let us return to Geneva, for here we are in sight of Mont Blanc, that looms up like a huge spectre in the distance. This is an old, and rather queer-looking city, delightfully situated on the lake Geneva, and at the head of the Rhone. Here the Rhone issues from the lake, in a few hundred yards receives the Arve, (a turgid stream coming down from the glaciers,) and passing Lyons, empties itself into the Mediterranean Sea. The meet

ing of the Arve and the Rhone is very similar to that of the Missouri and Mississippi-only on a much smaller scale, for neither of these celebrated streams is larger than the Amite. It was here, in Geneva, that Jean Jacques Rousseau, son of a watchmaker, was born. "Twas here that his first book, the Emile, was publicly burnt by the common hangman, and strange to say, it was here that Voltaire assisted in this persecution. The house where Jean Jacques (as he is called) was born, is shown to the curious traveller. On a beautiful island where the Rhone issues from the lake, is a bronze statue placed on granite, of this remarkable

man.

It was here also that John Calvin, the great Reformer, lived. He came to Geneva as an itinerant preacher flying from Rome, and in a few years became the Dictator of the Republic. From the Cathedral St. Pierre he thundered forth his severe denunciations against the corruptions of the times. Here he entertained John Knox when driven out of Scotland, and here it was that he ordered Servetus to be led to the stake for entertaining religious opinions not exactly orthodox. This is one of the darkest spots on Calvin's character, for he was a great and good man, and his memory here is much revered. He has left his mark behind him. A very large and respectable community, both in the old and new world, are his followers. His name will live as long as the Bible, for he was one of its greatest expounders. In the Cemetery of the Plain

Palais, on the banks of the Rhone, lie the mortal remains of John Calvin. No monumental marble marks his grave, but simply a plain rough granite stone, on which is cut J. C.

Geneva is a small city, only numbering about 40,000 inhabitants-still she, by her sons, has had a wonderful influence in the affairs of this world. In Theology, there was Calvin; in Literature, Rousseau and Voltaire; in Politics, Neckar and Dumont; in Science, De Saussure, and Huber, and De Luc. Among the living great men are De La Rive, the Chemist; Maunoir, the Oculist, and Merle d'Aubigné, the Historian.

Geneva is improving very rapidly. It has become a great place for fine classic schools, principally supported by English and Americans. Here is the place to learn the modern languages. The present occupation of the great majority of its laboring population, is the manufacture of watches, jewelry, and musical instruments. The jewellers' shops here are very fine-you can buy a good gold watch for $40, while diamonds and other precious stones sell for about one-half of what we have to pay in New Orleans. The water of lake Geneva is a deep indigo blue, while the high mountains which surround it give it the most romantic and picturesque appearance.

I leave to-morrow for Mont Blanc and the Vale of Chamouni in Savoy, and shall write you again from the region of eternal snow. Adieu.

Yours, truly,

H. W. A.

LETTER NO. X.

GENEVA, SWITZERLAND, August 24, 1859. REV. Z. BUTLER, D. D., Port Gibson, Miss.:

My Dear Sir-Inclosed I send you a sprig of fern, which I pulled from a tree that grows over the grave of John Calvin. Immediately upon my arrival here I procured a courier, and hastened off in search-first, of Calvin's house; second, his church; and third, his grave. They all are shown. His house in which he lived has been so much changed and remodelled, that scarcely a vestige of the old mansion remains. His church, the venerable St. Pierre, is still standing in its awful grandeur, and is visited by thousands of strangers, from every land. On entering it, I found a plain Gothic structure, of extreme simplicity. It is one of the finest uncorrupted specimens of Gothic architecture of the eleventh century, now in existence. I am just from Paris, where there are many churches, whose walls are covered with fine paintings, and whose ceilings are brilliant with frescoes. How dif