have assisted to cheer my beloved mother, who has done so much for

me."

A gratified smile played around the pale lips of the mother. She had been faithful, and was reaping the rich reward of earnest and prayerful effort to train her daughter for virtue and for God. Deeply had she felt her responsibility, and her prayer for guidance and strength had been answered, until the child of her ceaseless care repaid her amply, by her growing excellence and expanding piety. Rich and full was the joy of that good mother's heart, as her daughter came to her one morning, with some lines, saying, "There, dear mother, this is what I now feel." She had been for some time deeply sorrowing for sin, and her mother anxiously took the paper and read the lines which Mary had herself composed. They began thus:

"Sing ye of redeeming grace,

Sound the notes of dying love,
While ye fill on earth a place,

When ye warble hymns above."

Her mother then knew that Mary had learned to sing praise to God as her Saviour, and, from that hour, Mary's piety had been evident in all her actions, but in none more conspicuous than in her conduct toward her parents, whom she loved and honored "as the Lord hath commanded."

But we said the time of greater trial came, and it was in the form of loss of property, and deep bereavement. By a series of failures, Mary's father had become so involved that he lost all his property save the house in which they dwelt. Deeply grateful that the home of her childhood was still left, and her parents thus spared the pain of removal from familiar scenes and kind neighbors, Mary immediately exerted herself to assist in providing for the necessities of the family, and so successfully did she toil in her chosen vocation, teaching, that ere long the dark cloud of pecuniary difficulties rolled away. A darker one came, and Mary was called to part with her beloved father.

We would gladly dwell on the events of his last illness, and show how Mary strove to relieve his pain, and how, when all was over, she endeavored to comfort her bereaved mother. But our limits permit us only to say, that from that hour she was her mother's earthly stay.

The youthful pastor had, at the time of our commencement, resolved to seek such a good daughter for his wife, and he did not seek in vain. Mary could reciprocate his love, and, better still, was prepared to unite with him in all his labors for the good of souls, and with her mother's consent, after prayerful deliberation, she accepted the offered hand of Frederick Pauland, and became co-worker with an ambassador of Christ.

Her mother's home was still with her who had been so faithful as a daughter, and the happy husband had never occasion to regret that he sought for a good daughter, believing that she who was "faithful in few things, would be faithful also in much;" that she who was an excellent daughter would also be an excellent wife.

And, we doubt not, that, as Mary watched over her surviving parent, through all the remaining years of her life, and saw how happy she had assisted to make her, and felt the joy of that mother's companionship, and heard her beloved voice declare that her daughter's dutiful and affectionate conduct had cast a glorious rainbow light over all her pathway to her last repose, we have no doubt that her joy was in itself a rich reward; and if other daughters would experience the same, let them remember and obey that commandment which is the first to which a promise is attached, namely, "Honor thy father and mother, that thy days may be long in the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee.”

MOUNT BLANC, one of the summits of the Alps, is the highest mountain in Europe, being fifteen thousand feet above the Mediterranean Sea, and twelve thousand above the valley of the Chamouny. It receives its name from the immense mantle of snow which envelops it for many hundred feet, without the least object to interrupt its glaring whiteness. The very few travellers, who have ascended this lofty elevation, describe the sky above as of a dark-blue color, bordering upon black. The fantastic forms of glaciers, which resemble a stormy sea suddenly congealed and bristling all over with sharp ridges, increase the effect of this wonderful spectacle. Here is beheld a world of ice, extending far beyond the point where the straining eye vainly seeks to follow the interminable frozen leagues of glaciers, propped by towering pyramids and shapeless heaps, or opening into yawning gulfs and unfathomable fissures.

Avalanches, which often occur in these regions, consist of large masses of snow, producing great damage by their sudden fall from the mountains.

One kind of avalanche is caused by the wind, which carries along vast quantities of newly-fallen snow, and throws it in the form of dust into the valleys. This would be exceedingly dangerous were it not for the lightness of the material, so light, indeed, that persons

thus overwhelmed have been known to survive for twenty-four hours without being smothered.

The thunder avalanches are not blown off by the wind, but, during the spring, fall by their own weight, bringing along with them earth, rocks, trees, and sometimes entire forests, causing wide-spread devastation, and making mountain and valley to quake. In 1801 a portion of these mountains slid down at once into the lake below, causing a wave to rise with such velocity as to drown eleven men on the opposite shore.

One of the more

From these mountains flow numerous cascades. celebrated is produced by a small torrent, which descends eight hundred feet into a rocky cleft. The water is not only broken into foam by the fall, but is completely dashed into vapor before it reaches the bottom.

On the whole, this Alpine scenery affords the most striking contrasts. Icy peaks rise from the very borders of fertile valleys, and, in a single step, the traveller passes from the freshest verdure and most luxuriant cornfields, to regions of everlasting snow.

"And fearless flowers, that fringe the eternal frost,
Perfume the air and fill the hills with praise."

MY FATHER.

My father raised his trembling hand,

And laid it on my head:

"God bless thee, O my son, my son!"

Most tenderly he said.

He died, and left no gems or gold,

But still I was his heir.

For that rich blessing which he gave
Became a fortune rare.

Still, in my weary hours of toil

To earn my daily bread,

It gladdens me in thought to feel

His hand upon my head.

Though infant tongues to me have said
"Dear father!" oft since then,

Yet when I bring that scene to mind,
I'm but a child again.