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VOLUME I. | BY C. R. HANLEITER. IF © E “If U Y □ “ Much yet remains unsung'’ From.the Christloii World. VIOLA. AY MRS. AMELIA B. WELBY'. She hath phsscd like a l.ird from the minstrel throng, She has gone to the land vvhere the lovely belong ! Her place is hushed by her lover's side, Yet itis heart is full of the fair young bride i The hopes of bis spirit are crushed and bowed, As he thinks of his l ve in her long white shroud ; For the fragrant sighs of her perfumed breath, Were kissed from Iter lips by his rival —Death. Cold is her bosom, her thin white arms, All mutely crossed o’er its icy charms, As she lies, like a statue of Grecian art, With a marble brow and a cold hushed heart. Her locks were bright, but their gloss is hid, Her eye is sunk ‘neatlt its waxen lid : And thus she lies in her narrow hall— Our fair young minstrel —the loved of all. Light as a bird’s were her springing feet, Her heart as joyous—her song as sweet. Yet never again shall that heart be stirr'd, With its glad wild songs like a singing bird. Never again shall the strains be sung. That in sweetness dropped from her silver tongue; The music is over, and Death’s cold dart Hath broke the spell of that free glad heart. Often at eve when the breeze is still, And the moon floats np by the distant hill. As I wander alone ‘mid the summer bowers, And wreath iny locks with the sweet wild flowers, 1 will think of the time when she lingered there, With her mild blue eyes, and her long fair hair; I will treasure her name in my bosom-core — Bot my heart is sad—l can sing no more. |, fc.i ■■H —WI ■ I I ©EILtE© TIE® YALI@o THE BELLE OF THE BELFRY, Or the Daring Lover. nv N. P. WILLIS. A grisette is something else beside a ” mean girl” or a •* gray gown,” the French dictionary to the contrary notwithstanding. Bless me! you should see the grisettes of Rocliepot! And if you wished to take a lesson in political compacts, you should un derstand the grisette confederacy of Roclie pot! They were working-girls, it is true — dress-makers, milliners, shoe-binders, tailor esses, flower-makers, embroideress —and they never expected to be any thing more aristocratic. And in that content lay their power. The grisettes of Rocliepot were a good fourth of the female population. They had their jealousies, and lilllescandals.and heart burnings, and plottings, and counterplottings (for they were women) among themselves. But they made common cause against the enemy. They would hear no disparage ment. They knew exactly what was due to their superiors, and they paid and gave credit in the coin of good manners, as can not be done in countries of “ liberty and equality.” Still there were little shades of difference in the attention shown them by their employers, and they worked twice as much in a day when sewing for Madame Durozel, who took her dinner with them, sans facon in the workroom, as for old Mad ame Chiquelte, who dined all alone in her grand saloon, and left them to eat by them selves among their shreds and scissors. But these were not slights which they seriously resented. Wo only to the incautious dame who dared to scandalize one of their num ber, or dispute her dues, or encroach upon her privileges ! They would make Roche pot as uncomfortable for her, parb/eu ! as a kettle to a slow-boiled lobster. But the prettiest grisette of Rocliepot was not often permitted to join her compan ions in their self-chaperoned excursions on the holidays. Old Dame Pomponney vVas the sexton’s widow, and she had the care of the great clock of St. Roch, and of one only daughter; and excellent care she took of both her charges. They lived all three in the Belfry—dame, clock and daughter—and it was a bright day for Thenais when she got out of hearing of that 41 tick, tick, tick, and of the thumping of her mother’s cane on the long staircase, which always kept time with it. Not that old Dame Pomponney had any objection to have her daughter convenably married. She had been deceived in her youth (or so it was whisdered) by a lover above her condition, and she vowed, by the cross on her cane, that her daughter should have no sweetheart above a journeyman me chanic. Now the romance of the grisettos (parlous las!) was to have one charming little flirtation with a gentleman before they married the leather-apron—just to show that, had they by chance been born ladies, they could have played their part to the taste of their lords. But it was at this game that Dame Pomponney had burnt her fin gers, and she had this one subject for the exercise of her powers of mortal aversion. When I have added that, four miles from Rochepot, stood the chateau de Brevannc, and that the old Count de Brevanne was a proud aristocrat of the aneicn regime, with one son, the young Count 1’ elix, whom he had educated at Paris, I think I have pre pared you tolerably for the little romance I have to tell you. It was a fine Sunday morning that a mounted hussar appeared iu the street of a jFamflg iLeUi&jmgcr: BcOotcXr to Hiteratuvc, Agriculture, JHecnawicss, 22ftucatfou, Jforeisu aufc Domestic KutelUgrucr, &*c. Rocepot. The grisettes were all abroad in their holiday parvre, and the gay soldier soon made an acquaintance witli one of them at the door of the inn, and informed her that lie had been sent on to prepare the old bar racks for his troop. The hussars were to be quartered a month at Rochepot. Ah ! what a joyous bit of news! And six offi cers beside the colonel! And the trumpet ers were miracles at playing quadrilles and wallzes 1 And not a plain man in the regi ment—except always the speaker. And none, except the old colonel, had ever been in love in his life. But as this last fact re quired to he sworn to, of course he was ready to kiss the hook—or, in the absence of the book, the next most sacred object of bis adoration. Finisscz done, Monsieur!” exclaimed his pretty listener, and away she ran to spread the welcome intelligence with its de lightful particulars. ‘i he next day the troop rode into Roclie pot, and formed in the great square in front of St. Roch; and by the time the trumpet ers* had played themselves red in the face, the hussars were all appropriated, to a man —for the grisettes knew enough of a march ing regiment to lose no time. They all found leisure to pity poor Thenais, howev er, for there she stood in one of the high windows of the belfry, looking down on the gay crowd below, and they knew’ very well that old Dame Pomponney had declared all soldiers to be gay deceivers, and forbidden her daughter to stir into the street wdiile they were quartered at Rocliepot. Os course the grisettes managed to agree as to eacli othei’s selection of a sweetheart from the troop, and of course each hussar thankfully accepted the pair of eyes that fell toll im. For, aside from the limited du ration of their stay, soldiers are philoso phers, and know’ that “ life is short,” and it is better to “ take the goods the gods pro vide.” But “ after every body was help ed,” as they say at a feast, there appeared another short jacket and foraging cap, very much to the relief of red-headed Susette, the shoe-binder, who bad been left out in the previous allotment. And Susette made the amiable accordingly, but to no purpose, for tbe lad seemed an idiot with but one idea— looking forever at St. Roch’s clock to know the time of day 1 The grisettes laughed and asked their sweethearts his name, hut they significantly pointed to their foreheads and whispered something about poor Robertin’s being a privileged follower of the regiment and a protege of the colonel. Well, the grisettes flirted, and the old clock of St. Roch ticked on, and Susette and Thenais, the plainest and the prettiest girls in the village, seemed the only two who were left out in this extra dispensation of lovers. And poor Robertin still persisted in occupying most of his leisure with watch ing the time of day. It was on the Sunday morning after the arrival of the troop that old Dame Porr.pon ney went up, as usual, to do her Sunday’s duty in winding up the clock. She had previously locked the belfry door to be sure that no one entered below while she was above; but—the Virgin help us! —on the top stair, gazing into the machinery of the clock with absorbed attention, sat one of those devils of hussars! “Thief,” “vaga bond,” and “house-breaker,” were the most moderate epithets with which Dame Pom ponney accompanied the enraged beating of her stick on the resounding platform. She was almost beside herself with rage. And Thenais bad been up to dust the wheels of the clock 1 And how did she know that that teelerat of a trooper was not there all the time ! But the intruder, whose face had been concealed till now, turned suddenly touiid and began to gibber and grin like a possess ed monkey. lie pointed at the clock, imi tated the “ tick, tick, tick,” laughed tilt the big bell gave out an echo like it groan, and then suddenly jumped over the old dame’s stick and ran down stairs. “ Eh, Suintc, Merge !” exclaimed the old dame, it’s a poor idiot after all 1 And he has stolen up to see what made the clock tick! Ha! ha! ha! Well!—well! 1 cannot come up these weary stairs twice a day, and I must wind up the clock before I go down to let him out. “ Tick, tick, tick 1 poor lad 1 poor iud 1 They must have dress ed him up to make fun ofhim—those vicious troopers 1 Well—well 1” And with pity in her heart, Dame Pom ponney hobbled down, stair after stair, to her chamber in the square turret of the bel fry, and there she found tbe poor idiot on bis knees before Thenais, and Thenais was just preparing to put a skein of thread over his thumbs, for she thought she might make him useful and amuse him with the winding of it till her mother came down. But as the thread got vexatiously entangled, and the poor lad sat as patiently as a wooden reel, and it was time to go below to mass, the dame thought she might as well leave him there till she came back, and down she stumped, locking the door very safely be hind her. Poor Thenais was very lonely in the bel fry, and Dame Pomponney, who had a ten der heart where her duty w’as not involved, rather tejoiced when she returned, to find an unusual glow of delight on her daughter’s cheek; and if Thenais could find so much pleasure in the society of a poor idiot lad, it was a sign, too, that her heart was not gone altogether after those abominable troopers. MADISON, MORGAN COUNTY, GEORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING, FEBRUARY 25, 1843. It was time to send the innocent youth ibout his business, however, so she gave him a holiday cake and led him down stairs atid dismissed him with a pat on the hack and a strict injunction never to venture again up to the “tick, tick, tick.” But as she had had a lesson as to the accessibility of her bird’s nest, she determined thenceforth to lock the door invariably and carry the key in her pocket. While poor Robertin was occupied with his researches into the “tick, tick, tick,” never absent a day from the neighborhood of the tower, the more fortunate hussars were planning to give the grisettes a fete champetre. One of the saints’ days was coming round, and, the weather permitting, all the vehicle of the villages were to be lev ied, and, with the troop-horses in harness, they were to drive to a small wooded valley in the neighborhood of the chateau de Brev anne, where seclusion and a of grass were combined in a little paradise for such enjoyment. The morning of this merry day dawned, at least, and the grisettes and their admirers were stirring betimes, for they were to In eakfast :;vr V ho le, and they were not the people to turn breakfast into dinner. The sky was clear, and the dew vva3 not very heavy on the grass, and merrily the vehicles rattled about the town, picking up their fair freights from its obscurest corners. But poor Thenais looked out, a sad prisoner, from her high window in the belfry. It was a half hour after sunrise and Dame Pomponney was creeping up stairs after her matins, thanking Heaven that she had been firm in her refusals—at least twenty of the grisettes having gathered about her, and pleaded for a day’s freedom for her impris oned daughter. She rested on the last land ing hut cue to take a little breath—hut hark ! —a man’s voice talking in the belfry ! She listened again, and quietly slipped her feet out of her high-heeled shoes. The voice was again audible—yet how could it be!— She knew that no one could have passed up the stair, for the key had been kept in her pocket more carefully than usual, and, save by the wings of one of her own pigeons, the belfry window was inaccessible, she was sure. Still the voice went on in a kind of pleading murmur, and the dame stole softly up in her stockings, and noiselessly opened the door. There stood Thenais at the win dow, but she was alone in the room. At the same instant the voice was heard again, and sure now that one of those desperate hussars had climbed the tower, and unable to control her rage at the audacity of the at tempt, Dame Pomponney clutched her catie and rushed forward to aim a blow sit the military cap now visible at the sill of the window. But at the same instant, the head of the intruder was thrown back, and the gibbering and idiotic smile of poor Robertin checked her blow in its descent, aud turned all her anger into pity. Poor, sillyjlad !he had contrived to draw up the garden ladder and place it upon the roof of the stone porch below, to climb and offer n flower to The ii si is ! Not unwilling to have her daughter’s mind occupied with some other thought than the forbidden excursion, the dame offered her hand to Robertin and drew him gently in at the window. Anti as it was now mar ket time she bid Thenais be kind to tlx? poor boy, and locking the door behind her,trudg ed contentedly off” with her stick and oasket. I am sorry to he obliged to record an act of filial disobedience in the heroine of my story. An hour after, Thenais wis wel comed with acclamations as she suddenly appeared with Rolieitin in the midst of the merry party of grisettes. With Robertin— not as lie had hitherto been seen, his cap on the hack of his head and Iris under lip hang ing loose like an idiot’s—but with Robertin, gallant, spirited and gay', the handsomest of hussars, and the most joyous of companions. And Thenais, spite of her hasty toilet and the cloud of conscious disobedience which now and then shaded her sweet smile, was, by many degrees, the belle of the hour; and the palm of beauty, for once in the world at least, was yielded without envy. The gris ettes dearly love a bit of romance, too, and the circumventing ot old Dame Ponponney by his ruse of idiocy, and the safe extrica tion of the prettiest girl of the village from that gloomy old tower, was quite enough to make Robertin a hero, and his sweetheart Thenais more interesting than a persecuted princess. And, seated on the ground wliilt their glittering cavaliers served them with break fast, the light-hearted grisettes of Rojliepot wete happy enough to he envied b their betters. But suddenly the sky darkened, and a slight gust murmuring among the trees, announced the coining tip of a sum- | mer storm. Sauve quipeut ! The soldiers were used to emergencies, and they had packed up aud re-loaded their cars and were under way for shelter almost as soon as the grisettes, and away they all fled toward the nearest grange —one of the dependencies of the chateau de Brevanne. But Robertin, now, had suddenly become tbe director and ruling spirit ot the festivi ties. Theßoldierstreatedhim with instinctive deference, the old farmer of the grange hur ried out with his keys and unlocked the great store-house, and disposed of the horses under shelter ; and by the time the big drops began to fall, the party were dancing gayly and securely on the dry and saiootli thresh ing-floor, and the merry harmony of tbo martial trumpets and horns rang out far and wide through the gathering tempest. The rain began to come down very heav ily, and the clatter of a horse’s feet in a rap id gallop was heard in one of the pauses in the waltz. Someone seeking shelter, no doubt. On went the bewitching music a gaiu, and at this moment two or three cou ples ceased waltzing, and the floor was left to Robertin and Thenais, whose graceful motions drew all eyes upon them in admi ration. Smiling in each other’s faces, and wholly unconscious of any other presence than theirown, they whirled blissfully around —hut there was now another spectator. — The horseman who had been iieard to ap proach, had silently joined the party, and making a courteous gesture to signify that the dancing was not to he interrupted, he smiled back the curtseys of the pretty gris ettes—f:*r, aristocratic as he was, he was a polite man to the sex, was the Count de Brevanne. “ Felix 1” he suddenly cried out, in a tone of surprise and anger. The music stopped at that imperative call, and Robertin turned his eyes, astonished, in tbe direction from which it came. The name was repeated from lip to lip among the grisettes, “ Felix 1 “ Count Fe lix de Brevanne 1” But without deigning another word, the old man pointed with his riding-whip to the farm-house. The disguised count respect fully bowed his head, but held Thenais by the hand and dtew her gently with him. “ Leave her 1 disobedient boy 1” exclaim ed the father. But as count Felix tightened his hold up on the small hand he held, and Thenais tri ed to shrink back from the advancing old man, old Dame Pomponney, streaming with rain, broke in unexpectedly upon the scene. “ Disgrace not your blood,” said the Count de Brevanne at that moment. The offending couple stood alone in the centre of the floor, and the dame compre hended that her daughter was disparaged. “ And who is disgraced by dancing with my daughter 1” she screamed with furious gesticulation. ‘l iie old noble made no answer, hut the grisettes, in an under lone, murmured the name of Count Felix 1 “Is it he—the changeling 1 the son of a poor gardener, that is disgraced by the touch of my daughter 1” A dead silence followed this astounding exclamation. The old dame had forgotten herself in her rage, and she looked about with a terrified bewilderment—hut the mis chief was done. The old man stood aghast. Count Felix clung still closer to Thenais, hut his face expressed the most eager in qu is i five ness. The grisettes gathered a round Dame Pomponney, and the old count, left standing and alone, suddenly drew his cloak about him and stepped forth into the rain; and in another moment his horse’s feet were heard clattering away in the di rectimof the chateau de Brevanne. We have but to tell the sequel. The incautious revelation of the old dame turned out to be true. The dying infant daughter of the Marchioness de Btevanne had been changed for the healthy son of the count's gardener, to secure an heir to the name and estates of the nearly extinct fam ily of de Brevanne. Dame Pomponney had assisted in this secret, and but for her heart full of rage at the moment, to which the old count’s taunt was hut the last drop, the secret would probably have never been revealed. Count Felix, who had played truant from his college at Paris, to come and hunt up some of bis childish playfel lows, in disguise, had remembeied and dis closed himself to the little Thenais, who was not sorry to recognise him, while he played tlie idiot in the belfry. But of course there was now no obstacle to their union, and uni te! they were. The old count pardoned him, and gave the new couple a portion of his estate, and they named their first child Robertin, as was natural enough. TOO LATE. BV JOSEPH K. CHANDLER, ESQ. “ It is well,” said the venerable man to his wife, as they sat together late one even ing in July, IS4O. “It is well that we dis covered the character and habits of the young man, before he had advanced farther in our esteem ; he might else have invei gled our only daughter into marriage, and brought disgrace upon us, as well as misery upon our child.” “ Which would have been misery to us, too, surely,” said the wife. ” It would have been insupportable mise ry. But, thank God,” continued he, raising his eyes in heartfelt gratitude, “ I was in formed in season to prevent my child from the disgrace of a connection with a Willi a what 1” said a good-looking young man, bowing to the venerable pair, “with a what, sir! speak out now! 1 am your daughter’s husband ; and it seems not unfit that thete should be so much confidence b?tween father and son, as that the latter should know the opinion of the former up on his pursuits, when the former knows the relation in which each stands to tlie other.” “ If it is too late to prevent the marriage,” said the father— “ It is too late.” “ Then, at least, though my rights as a father may lurse ceased, those of a husband and a man are unimpaired ; anil if I cannot rule those in my house, I can, at least, say who shall be its inmates.” “ Father,” said the bride, kneeling, with clasped hands, “ do not cast me from you ; give my—give him time, at least, to prove that you have not done him justice. Moth er, dear mother!” The closing of the door at the other side of the room drew the attention of the sup pliant, and she found that her husband was the only one left with her. It was too late. Hand in hand, the newly-married pair left, what had been to the wife, an Eden of quiet happiness. The stern commands of a father were there, at least, to be obeyed; and she was yet to learn whether a serious act of dis obedience on her part, would ever be for given by one who had seemed wrapped up in her affections—whose life was apparent ly entwined with her obedience. She left that Eden then. Hand in hand the banished pair took their departure; and as the offending daughter, and confiding wife, turned back to look at the closing door of her parental mansion, it seemed to her, indeed, as if some angel, severe in awful beauty, guarded the portal against her en trance to the place which she had desecra ted by filial disobedience. The pride of the new husband was just too much for his situation. He was anxious, not only to maintain his wife independently of her family, but to give her many of those comforts to which she had been accustomed. He could easily have attained the former, and have met all her wishes in that respect; but his pride induced him to neglect rational means of acquiring ordinary comforts, and led him to resoit to what he deemed chances of sudden wealth. He had, before bis mar riage, suffered in the estimation of many respectable persons, by bis associating with certain dashing young men, who, to their other social qualities, were supposed to add that of fondness for games of hazard. He had amused himself in that way without pe cuuiarv profits, and by observation bad learn ed the’ tricks of tbe art without practising them upon others. Time passed onward, and tlie young wife became a mother, and saw, in the birth of her boy, a renewal of the attentions of her husband, which, without apparent lapse of affection, certainly without any other evi dences of unkindness, had been of late pre tern.itted. He hail absented himself from his house until a late hour at night, and had appeared haggard and care-worn. It was also obvious, that the means of support wore diminished, and the wife began to feel ma ny, very many, of her comforts curtailed. The descent was rapid, and with it, the re newal of absence of the husband at night; hut no open unkindr.ess was exhibited, nor was there reproach on her part, unless the pale cheek, the emaciated frame, and the heart-broken sigh could he so construed. Misery, wretchedness, absolute want, be set the family ; and the husband tore him self away from the bed of bis wife and child early in the morning, with the determination to bring back to them some means of com fort. He met an old friend, who informed him that a place was vacant in an office, which, with security for fidelity, would be his. “ And who will be that security!” “ Who ? Any ot:e —I will. I told you so two years ago.” “ Will you now, indeed 1” “ Present yourself to me to-morrow, free of debt, and I will insure the place.” He was not free from debt, luita few bun dled dollars would make him so. He felt assured that a few hours at the gaming table, the last time he would ever darken the ac cursed doors, would supply him with means to pay those debts —mote than that he would not receive. He hastened to the place, and paused nt the last step of the door. “ Why should I go in 1 The few hundred dollars which 1 owe, I can soon save ; and lie who, know ing my poverty, would he security for fidel ity, would not think worse of my character, if I confess my indebtedness, and my deter mination never to place myself within the chance of such dangers again.” The resolution so excellent relieved his heart, and he turned with new feelings to adopt a course of virtue. It was then “ too late.” He saw within a few yards of him, one of the officers of the institution in which he was to have a place of trust. To have turn ed from the door would be to expose him self, and he could not stand where he was. He entered, he played, and at midnight had won a few dollars. His “ luck had turned,” he said; lie “ followed up the luck,” and daylight saw hint possessed of more than the desired sum. He left the gambling room a man of bet ter resolves than lie had been, though he had always resolved well. He thought of the pleasure in store, of the good he would yet do, anil the delights he could yet enjoy. The outer door of the house in which he lived was open. He stole quietly up the stairs, and gently lifted the latch of his room door. It was dink and still. The child, at length, moved. He felt that his wife had occasion to complain of his long absence, but the joy of his heart was to make her understand the new resolution he had form ed, and the means he now possessed of car rying it into effect. He called her by name ahe did not ouswer. He fcdtthat his new j NUMBER 48. WM. T. THOMPSON, EDITOR. intentions deserved more kindness. He called again, but in vain. He then opened a window shutter, and the light of the morn ing poured full upon the face of his infant. He went to the bed to awaken his wife.— He laid his hand upon her arm, and its icy dullness struck to his heatt. He threw himself upon the bed, and groaned in an guish. The crying of the child called some of the tenants of the house to the room. The Coroner's aid was demanded over the dead body of the wife. /The verdict of the jury was, “Died of the visitation of God.” But one or two thought that distress had weakened her frame so much, that the anxiety and cates, the feeling of suspicion, or the sense of utter abandonment that night, had been too much. Her heart broke with its over-freight. The pride of the injured father at length yielded, and with quiet efforts, he traced out the efforts of his daughter. Determined to meet her at more than half way towards reconciliation, he came just as the husband had awakened to a sense of his misery. “It is too late,” said the latter, and pointed to the bed. The pomp of a funeral did not insult the wretchedness of the living, or the emacia ted form of the dead. The grave is on the very verge of the western declivity of Laurel Hill. There is no stone to tell whose heart moulders there. Why should there be 1 What lesson could it teacli 1 He whose reformation was almost begun before her death, tried the path of virtue afterwards, but it was “ too late.” He had resolved to reform for the sake of his ii'ifc, and not for the sake of virtue. THE SHEPHERD’S DOG. The valleys, or glens as they are called, amongst the Grampian mountains, are chief ly inhabited by shepherds. There are no fences or boundaries in these wild parts, bnt every shepherd has his own range, which reaches so far that he never sees the whole Hock together, except when they are collected together for shearing. Everyday he has to go to the distant parts of his range, and with his faithful dog to turn back any straggling sheep that might wander beyond his own bounds, into his neighbor’s land. In one of these rambles a shepherd took his little hoy, about thiee years old as it is the custom with the Highlanders, to season them to the cold of the climate. After going about the pastures some time, tire shepherd with his dog climbed a very steep hill, that he might gain a wider view of his scattered flock. But fearing to tire the child, he left him in a sheltered spot, charging him not to stir till he came back. But hardly had he reached the top of the hill when the sky was suddenly darkened by one of the very thick mists which often come down suddenly on these mountains, and shut out every object from the eye. The father, feeling anxious for his child, hastened down ; but owing to the darkness, and his own fright, he lost his way. He wandeied lung among the dangerous hogs and waterfalls which abound in these desert places, till night came on ; still he went on and ori till he came to the edge of the mist, and then he saw by the light of the moon that he had reached his own valley, and was a short distance from his cottage, ll was impossible to renew the search for the poor child that, night, hut as soon as morning began to dawn, he set out with a party of his neighbors. All that day lie cros sed the mountain to and fro, locking into every dark hollow and cleft; but to no pur pose. The dog. had returned home, and after receiving his usual allowance of cake, had run off, end was absent. Day after day the heartbroken father renewed his search, and the neighboring shepherds left the cate of their flocks to seek for the lost child in evety pait of their different ranges; hut still in vain. There was not the least matk ofa small footstep on the damp grass. The fa ther strained his eai to listen; but there was no feeble ciy mixed with the loud roar of the waterfalls and the bleating of the flocks. Yet still when lie came back to the cottage at night, he found that the dog had been for his allowance of food, and then gone off again. Being struck with this, lie stayed at home till the dog set offagaiii with his cake, and followed him. The faithful creature led him to a wild waterfall, at some distance from the spot where the child hdßhcen left. It was a dreadful place. The high cliffs on each aide almost met together at the top, hut below it was a fearful dark hollow. The dog began instantly to make his way down one of these steep cliffs, and at last went in to a cave neatly close to the roaring water fall. The shepherd followed w ith difficulty. You may guess what be felt when he saw his boy there safe, eating the cake which the dog had brought, while the faithful animal stood by,watching him withlooksof pleasure. From the child’s own account, and the place in which he was found, it appeared that lie had wandered to the edge of the cliff, and then either fallen or scrambled down, till he reached the cave —when there, “the fear of the waterfall prevented his leaving it. The dog, by means of his scent, had tracked him to the spot, and then had hindered him from starving by giving up to him his daily allowance. He seemed never to have left the child, night or day, except when he went home for his food, and then he was seen running at full speed to utid front the cot ta^-