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each other between it and the edge of the rocky declivity. Notwithstanding the danger always accom panying the passage of such a place, thi3 was a favorite resort of the young people on account of the view of the surrounding country, pre sented to the eye from the top of the hill—un surpassed in extent and magnificence even in that land of enchanting views and superb pros pects. Morrison had been boasting, as they ascended the hill, of the superior fleetness and docility of his horse. The one on which Alice was mount ed, had for some time shown signs of impa tience at the restraint imposed on it, and she had just remarked that, when they reached a suit able place, she should have to challenge them both to a race to satisfy its restless spirit, when it suddenly became unmanageable and dashed off in the direction of the precipice. Morrison, spurriug his horse, started in pursuit: then sud denly checking his speed, he began to cry for help. A man who was laboring in the field by the side of the road, had his attention drawn to the approaching party, just as Alice lost control of her horse, and comprehending at a glance the state of affairs, sprang into the road and at the imminent risk of his life caught the excited ani mal by the bridle, checking his speed for a mo ment, while he told Alice to spring quickly to the ground. Scarcely had she done so, when, rearing high in the air, the horse plunged madly over the precipice, leaving the brave man who had so opportunely checked his course, prostrate only a few inches from its brink. Morrison now hurried up and, without even noticing her preserver, who had been stunned by his fall, began to enquire tenderly if she was hurt. Disgusted by his evident cowardice, she scarcely deigned a reply, but hastening to the side of the prostrate man, who was now recov ering, she thanked him warmly for her timely rescue. Morrison now began to talk of rewarding him for what he had done, but the man, casting a contemptuous glance at him, advised him to es cort the ladies to a farm house near by, while he would take his horse and go to Col. Lee’s for a carriage to convey Alice home. Col. Lee knew well the laborer who had saved the life of his daughter at the risk of his own, and that he was as poor as he was proud and brave, and that a young family was dependent on him for support; but while he expressed his gratitude in the warmest terms, he forbore wounding his sensitive feelings by any mention of reward. From that time John Brown found himself prospering in th 6 world as he had uever done before. There was a hand, unseen but not unsuspected, ever ready to assist him, and an eye ever watchful to promote his interests. Alice did not mention the cowardly conduct of Morrison to her father, for she knew he would despise him for it, and she thought it better that the social intercourse between the families should remain undisturbed. The young man could not help feeling that he had exhibited him self in a very unfavorable light, but as a short time only would elapse before the return of George Hastings, he determined to press his suit at all hazards. Entering the parlor of Col. Lee’s mansion a few evenings after the adventure on the hill, he found Alice alone, and at once proceeded to pour forth his tale of love. She listened composedly to his impassioned declaration of undying affec tion, and then calmly told him that she could not return his love. He was not, however, so easi ly satisfied, and continued to implore that she would give him some chance for hope, or, at least, that she would promise not to engage her self to any one else, until he could prove to hor that she was dearer to him than his own life; till, weary of his ungentlemanly importunity, she told him that the proof he had given on the hill, was all she ever cared to witness. Springing up, with a face in which all the evil passions of human nature were discernible, he rushed out of the room, swearing that she should be sorry for what she had said, some day.— Alice regretted that she had allowed her indig nation to so far get the better of her usual self possession and refinement, as to cause her to make this remark, but consoled herself with the thought that it was no more than he deserved. The next day George returned to his uncle’s, having graduated with high honors, and in the pleasure she felt in his society, she thonght no more of the threat of Morrison. chapter v. * George Hastings remained at home only a few weeks and again left, to commence the study of law in the city of Baltimore. During the time he spent at his uncle’s, his intercourse with Alice was characterized with the same brotherly affection which he had always shown for her. — It is true that he sometimes thought of her in a different light, but at the commencent of his col lege career he had marked out the course which he thought would be best for him to pursue, and to this course he rigidly adhered. As he had chosen the profession of the law, he resolved that no gentle imago should come between him and his studies; but when he had entered upon the active duties of his profession, then, and not till then, would he seek the socie ty of ladies, though he doubted not, if Alice’s heart remained free until that time, that she would ultimately become the chosen companion of his life. Free, indeed! Ho little dreamed that her heart was already his —bound by a chain, the severing of whose links would be like rending the very chords of life. Condemn her not, fair reader, for having given her affections unasked. Was not the image of George Hastings associated with every cherish ed recollection of her childhood? Had she not always been accustomed to consult him in all her little troubles, and had ho not been the sooth er of all her childish griefs ? Did she not know that his heart was good and noble, and that ho was every way worthy of her admiration and reverence? Where admiration and reverence are combined iu the heart of a woman, how al most imperceptibly does love follow ? When aware of its presence, we may call pride to our rescue, but the heart is not easily controlled— “ Oh! the heart is a free and fetterless thin?, Like a wave on the ocean, a bird on the win?; A riderless steed on the desert plain bounding, A peal of the storm thro’ the valley resounding.” On the evening before George’s departure for Baltimore he had sought Alice to bid her adieu. He found her in the old bower by the river, and there were traces of tears on her countenance which she in vain endeavored to conceal. A suspicion of the true state of the case flashed upon him, and for a moment he felt strongly tempted to tell her how dear she was to him, and that, with her permission, when his studies were finished, he would return to claim her for his bride; but repressing what he considered a weakness, he conversed with her as calmly as ever, though there was an expression in his eyes, when he finally took his leave, which made her heart bound with hope. She felt that she was indeed dear to him, and knowing his inflex SOVVSESUB VXK&B ajfs vhubsxjnb. ibility of purpose, she thought to herself, “he is only waiting to complete his studies, and then he will tell me all I so long to hear;” and with this hope sustaining her, she went on her way rejoicing. Morrison had left the neighborhood after his rejection, and of him she did not care to think. Busy with her many duties as mistress of her father’s household, and devoting every leisure moment to the improvement of her mind, time sped rapidly on. All that knew her, loved her, but, naturally re served, the little she had seen of society had not tended to increase her conversational powers, and but few suspected the real depth or the rare gifts of intellect which she possessed. Even George was not fully aware of them, though her letters, as has before been mentioned, some times displayed traces of mental power that surprised him; still, when he was with her, she was so quiet and unobtrusive, that even he saw not the true strength of her mind. She was particularly sensitive with regard to her deficiency in conversational power, and this but seemed to increase her natural reserve. Col. Lee had at one time thought of sending her to a boarding school, hoping thereby to remedy this defect, but believing that home education is always most desirable, and feeling that home is ever the most appropriate sphere of woman, he decided that he would not expose her to the temptations attending such a course, but pre ferred that she should be good and lovely, rather than brilliant and showy. (to be continued.) hi [For the Southern Field and Fireside.] FOBEIGN CORRESPONDENCE. Pass of the Stelvio, Oct 16,1859. Mr. Editoi•: I Lave a great fancy lor moun tain passes, and this you will not doubt, when I tell you that this is the third time I have vis ited the stupendous one known as the Stelvio — German Stiffs or Wurmser Yoch. It is the highest carriage road in Europe, and connects the upper valley of the Adige in the Austrian Tyrol with that called the Yaltelline, through which the Adda wanders until it falls into the lake of Como. Its course and destination re mind one of those lines of Moore — “ As a bright river that from fall to fall, In many a maze descending, bright through all, Finds some fair region where, each labyrinth past, In one full lake of light it rests at last” This road was made at prodigious expense by the Austrian government as a military commni cation with Western Lombardy. They desired to go through the Swiss canton—the Grisons— where the ffiain chain of the Alps is more de pressed, but could not obtain the consent of the confederation, and thus had to scale these awful steeps and mysterious solitudes where impend ing glaciers and vast snowfields hold uninter rupted sway. Leaving the chief station in Munich, we reach ed Rosenheim in a few hours, whence the rail ways diverge—one towards Saltzburg (whence came our Ebenezer —Effingham County emi grants) and Vienna, and the other towards Inns bruck—the capital town of Austrian Tyrol.— This last road we took, and soon came upon the rapid river Inn, making its way toward the Dan ube. This stream betrays by an unmistakable sign its glacial origin. This is the muddy or slate color of its waters, which hold in suspen sion the detritus ground out from the rocks over which the glaciers move. Though glaciers abound hereabouts, they are seldom seen from the valleys where the roads lie. They always come in view, however, when you ascend some of the circumjacent summits —as do “the Alps ” —as they are termed—or elevated natural ter races and plateaus. Here you find a popula tion, churches, Ac., which the traveler on the high road never sees, and yet higher are slopes to'which the cattle are driven during a few sum mer months only. The life of these cow herds, sleeping in dirty chalets, partly sunk in the earth looks very well on paper, but the reality is sad and miserable enough. We saw occasionally, on this trip, the “ cow processions,’’ returning from their summer excursions on the Alps—the bravest and best of the animals proudly taking the lead, with a quite heavy bell hanging from her neck, and a garland of flowers on her head. It was near night-fall, when we passed the mouth of the Zillerthal. The place brought to my mind a trout dinner I had bad a few miles up the val ley, four years ago—which dinner was season ed by the Ausbruch-Hunganan-wine, and the delightful “ iodeling ” music of the sons and daughters, nephews and nieces of my host— Franz Itayner—one of those who sang in New York some five and twenty years ago. The light of day had already given place to that of a brilliant moon when we sought lodg ings in Innsbruck. Purposely avoiding the best hotel, to which most of the traveling English and Americans resort, we went to a respectable one of the country, where not a word of English was to bo heard. You get on at these houses pretty well. A tall man can lie down in the beds by doubling up his legs, though they are often so narrow that the best way to turn over is to get out and then back again ! For supper, you have a pretty good soup, a fricasee of cha mois, a veal cutlet, and a little later in the sea son, hare, roebuck, Ac., and commonly, partrides and plieasants. If you will step into the kitch en, taking care to raise your hat with the cus tomary ‘good evening’ to the cooks, you can see how a veal cutlet is prepared. They take a heavy knife, with both edges blunt, and beat the slices until the fibre is well broken, so that the original form even is lost Then with a feath er, smear it with the white of an egg ; then roll it over in powdered crackers or rolls, and fry it in good butter. Try it, and see if it is not good. As to the cooking range, it is a mass of mason ry 8 or 10 feet long, by 5 or 6 wide, and 2 ) high, with various openings under which fires arc made and either an opening in the welh smoked and vaulted ceiling, or a vast funnel through which the fumes and smoke escape. The kitch en, both in the Tyrol and Austria proper, is a jolly place. In the principal room, where the farmers and peasants eat on wooden tables, and drink their beer or red Tyrolean wine, you will see, depending from the ceiling, various objects —perhaps “ Kerzen ” —(stearine candles) ar ranged in columns under glass, or it may be im plements of cutlery or other handiwork. Each of them have been suspended a year over the door of the inn. The poor apprentice, travel ing about to complete the required term of his education, on going into a town or village, in quires where these symbols of his calling are hung up, and going there, he receives an humble supper and bed in the garret which his guild provides for him. Sometimes, with respectful humility, these-persons will ask alms on the road —and the heart that is not accessible to such appeals must be a hard one. “Jocund day stood tiptoe on the misty moun tain tops ” —that enclose Innsbruck on one side, as we emerged from the town. At this early hour we met loads of wood, cattle, Ac., coming to market, and sad to relate, we met poor men, women and children, who could not afford the luxury of draught animals, doing the office of horses and oxen, in pushing or pulling along small laden carts. This is a thing you can see any hour in the day in these countries—early and late—a drudgery to which our negroes are never subjected, and yet no one of the modern philanthropists call this slavery. At this season of the year operatives in factories in this country are at work before daylight; but it is no slavery. Women and young children drudge in the fields and stables, carrying burdens that cause incipient goitres in the throat, and >nake them look old and ugly at the age of 30 years ; but I hear of no sympathy for them. In Aus trian Silesia, where 1 have lived, and where I have had twenty starving people at my door of a morning, the current wages for men is $lO a year, and of serving women ss| to $6 a year, and with this they must find clothing, though they are fed with such black bread and potatoes as the peasants eat My dear Mr. Editor, I have spent three years and more among just such people as these, where they cannot even afford wood and candles to while away the long and dreary winter nights; and I tell you that neither New England nor Old England philanthropy, with all its boasted world wide range, has ever penetrated into these and other European countries, equally desolate —nor even attempted it. What but a contemp tible sham and base counterfeit of the genuine article is that misnamed philanthropy which ex erts itself with ceaseless activity to do harm, and cooly turns its back upon those parts of the world where the great struggle of life is not to get enough to put on, but enough to eat? Why, sir, I have taken into the service of my family, young women with sallow, sunken cheeks, and feeble step, whom you would hardly recognize to be the same persons, after eating wholesome food a few weeks. Os course you will under stand that, as a general rule, the peasantry in in this part of the world never take tea nor coffee—only a few times in the year, meat, and hardly ever wheaten bread. I speak now of those well situated, and among other classes yet higher, there is an economy and even meanness practiced in matters domestic, to which every part of the United States is an absolute stranger. I advert to these facts because I I know and have seen them, and because they are either not known or not credited in our own country. Let it not be said that these re gions are “ out of humanity's reach." If the Northern societies will send me some of their surplus funds, I will undertake to relieve more real distress than was ever dreamed of in their conventicles. Our road lay along the lovely valley of the Inn—always ascending through fields of maize and other grains now mostly harvested, with noble mountain slopes on either side on which the dark foliage of the firs were in lovely con trast with the autumnal tints of beeches and other deciduous trees—with here and there open glades of the liveliest green. The conical sum mits are generally occupied by the ruins of old feudal castles—the «donjon towers being the most conspicuous objects. Passing through Zirl, Telfs, Stambs, Silz, and Imst, we arrived at Pfunds at about midday. Here the StiUwagon , which goes at a jogging pace, stops more than an hour. Thus, by taking “a hasty plate of soup,” and some bread and butter, we had an opportunity of walking some eight miles to Nanders through the magnificent pass of the Finstermuntz. The new Austrian road through this pass is a beautiful piece of master-work manship with revetment walls of fearful height, tunnels and galleries over whlcfi torrents, and av alanches of earth and snow slide into the guff below, without the least danger to the traveller, or injury to the road. At an immense depth be low, you see the Inn, to which you are soon to bid adieu, come flashing and sparkling from out the valley of the Engsdine, which is beyond the border in Switzerland. The climax of grandeur is attained when you approach the little Aus trian fort that blocks up the pass. I prefer the Finstermuntz to the Via Mala of the Splugen, which contends with it for supremacy. The lat ter is all savage grandeur, while at frequent turns of the road in the former, the highest sub limity is strangely mingled with traits of un common beauty. Resuming our seats at Nanders, near the.very source of the Adige, we soon came in sight of the immense mass of the “Ortler Spitz,” under the base of which lies the Stelvio road. The vast glaciers streaming down its eastern slopes were in full view. We passed this—our third night, at Mals. And here let me retrace my steps a little to remark that the second night was passed at Landek, beyond Imst. This place is surrounded on all sides by high mountains. — It was occupied by a battalion of Jagers, return ed from with a portion of the band that played for an hour under the moonlight. The inn and streets were filled with Austrian offi cers —always respectful, courteous and commu cative. At Mals, we left the coupe of the amia ble old Stillwagon , and took post horses—or ra ther a post horse —to Prad, at the foot of the Stelvio, distant about six miles, or three-fourths of a post. Our conveyance was a covered post chaiso, rickety enough, drawn by a crow-picked horse on one side of the pole, and guided by a deaf postillion, with his horn under his arm sus pended by large cords in which tho Austrian colors, yellow and black, were blended. At Prad, more soldiers, more officers —one of whom viseed ray passport, and gave a written permission to tho summit of the Stelvio. With a peasant to carry our traveling bags, we walked to this place —probably one-third of the distance to the summit, in about four hours. Yours, Ac., J. L. L. Milan, Oct. 23, 1859. Mr. Editor: At Trafoi is a tolerably comforta ble inn, though necessarily a dear one. You have approached it by a narrow and gloomy val ley under threatening precipices and along steeps where avalanches of earth are frequent, particularly in spring. Looking out into the night where the moon was faintly contending with gathering clouds, we could see across the valley two immense blue glaciers pouring over the steep, directly towards the inn. The sound of cataracts were wanting, however. The mysterious and awful silence was only inter rupted by the swelling echoes of the torrent that dashed through the gulf below. These to, o glaciers, and one other of prodigious size, come so near the road, that to visit them is but half an hour’s walk, and this is one feature of the Stelvio that distinguishes it from other moun tain passes. The next morning was bright, and we were early on foot. Soon after leaving Trafoi, you quit the main valley to gain a laie-al one, by a series of zigzag terraces. Looking up to the sky, you see not much else before you than the revetment walls and parapets of these terraces —apparently almost over one another, so sharp is the ascent. Winding around this projecting buttress, you reach, by yet other zigzags, a small natural plateau called “ FranZenshohe ,” about half way to “ Ferdinandshohe," which is tho summit. Here is one of the chief “ canton iere,’’ or station houses, and a small barrack, be fore which a young officer, whom we had seen beloq-, was drilling some thirty soldiers. He and they were Poles, from Austrian Galicia.— The soldiers spoke not a word of German. Here we saw the stern Austrian discipline. Our youngster, who, by his aristocratic bearing and breeding, might have sat for a portrait of the voting Pole in “ Debit and Credit,” carried it with a high hand. If a foot was out of alignment, he would give it a kick, and one awkward head too far advanced, was put into line by the point of his sword pressed continuously against the forage cap. And yet these men, any one of whom could have taken him on the end of his bayonet, and pitched him down the steep, had fol lowed him first through the baptismal fire of Mon tebello, and subsequently at Magenta and else where. At Montebello, this battalion, 1000 strong, lost 520 killed and wounded. It was touching to meet the poor soldiers; some woun ded, others recovered, traveling towards their humble homes, and hear them recite the tales of their fatigues and dangers. In every village sol diers were billeted on the inhabitants. In small houses, one little straw broom placed over the door by tho staff officer, indicated that they must receive one man. To larger ones, two or three brooms were affixed. Look up now, one moment, at the road before you, and you will experience that Byron’s line, “ High mountains area feeling,” is true in more senses than one. Up, up, up, to the very ridge or back bone of the Alps ; terrace after terrace, many of them with covered galleries, over which the snow avalanches may slide. It was after mid-day when we came upon the summit, prior to which our young officer, charmed to have a little company in these dreary solitudes, joined us, and wc were delighted with the tale of his adventures. Lt. Maraszani (pronounced Maras chani) was only 22 years of age. Speaking of the sudden and unexpected attack at Montebel lo—his first battle—he candidly confessed that when he first saw the Turcos, after delivering one fire, stick their muskets by the bayonets into the ground, and spring upon them with their long knives, he trembled from head to foot. "Ich ziterte," he said, trembling with amusing gravity. Do not let your readers misunderstand me. This young officer was a gallant soldier, and true to his colors. He trembled no more after that first surprise. Probably many bravo men could make the same ingenuous confession about their “ first impressions.” He paid the highest compliment to the cour age and-dash of the French, who are, no doubt, as soldiers, the first in the world. Arriving at the summit, he offered, with unaffected grace, some white bread and pure water, all ho had to give us, and made us taste the dark bread of the soldiers, which, with a piece of meat, constitutes their ration, who sleep there at the limit of eter nal snow, bivouacking on straw, under the gal leries. These poor fellows have suffered immense ly at times, from the insufficient supplies of the commissariat. The Lieutenant himself assured us that when the “ Garabaldini ” attacked the position of “ Sponda Lunga" he had nearly starved —having been among the snows for three days, with but a bit of bread to eat. Extending right across the road on the sum mit, is a barrier of wood four feet high, and two and a half wide. Here stood the Austrians on one side, and Piedmontese on the other ; not a word said; looking like strange cats in a garret Our Lieutenant, with a merry twinkle in his eye, asked us how we liked the appearance of our new friends? There was a contrast The blue uniforms, warm great-coats, and polished helmets of the Austrians set them off to advantage, while the clothes of the Garibaldini of dark mixture,with thin pantaloons gathered above the ankles un der their leather gaiters, were not very attract ive, although excellent for service in these moun tain passes. Bidding a kind adieu to our Lieu tenant, whose eyes kindled at the name of Kos ciusco, we began our descent on the Italian side, with a Piedmontese soldier, kindly detailed by the commanding sergeant to carry our luggage. This, you know, was during the armistice. All civil arrangements had given place to military ones, and the route could not be considered open to travelers. Wo were far down ere we lost sight of our gallant Lieutenant, who stood upon a projecting point of rock surrounded by snow, and waved his cap in reply to our handkerchiefs, as long as he had us iu view. It was with a sigh that we turned our backs upon the magnif icent scene we had so long enjoyed. The mon arch of these Alps, the “ Ortler Spitz,” had long kept us company with views ever changing.— First the enormous buttresses of rock with gla ciers between; then the vast snow-fields, and finally its summit terminating in a diamond pointed snow wreath of radiant white. Far up wo could see a lofty precipice of pale green ice, from which avalanches were daily falling. We heard one avalanche fall from this spot before we came in sight of it. The noise echoed with strange reverberations through those awful sol itudes, and w’e heard the mass, after it had beon partially pulverized, pouring over precipices with exactly the sound of a cascade, or rather cata ract. Having seen and heard glaciers fall from tho Jungfrau, Monte Rosa, and elsewhere, I have come to the conclusion that no sound in na ture so stirs up the feeling of the sublime. You seem to be iu the presence of some great and mysterious power that speaks to you from far up in the sky. A walk of an hour downwards on the Italian slope, brought us to the first cantoniere on that side—Santa Maria—where a large and massive stone building, with vaulted ceilings and echo ing corridors—serves habitually for frontier in specting officers, hostel, Ac., though it is now surrendered to the occupation of a large detach ment of Garibaldini, known as “ Cassiatori delle Alpi ,” —or Alpiue hunters, literally. Here we were introduced without much ceremony into the very room where the two officers on duty were taking their dinner. Our own lunch, con sisting of bread and butter, salami, cheese, red w ine and fruit, was on the the table before they had yet finished. The Ist Lieutenant in com mand was a noble looking soldier of not less than 50 years, named Luini. His 2nd Lieutenaut, of 2G years, named Feraresi , was a remarkably hand some young man. He was from Venice, and had been obliged to serve as conscript 5 years in the Austrian army, from which he deserted last spring, to draw his sword in the Italian cause. Our reception was perfect, so far as was consis tent with the dirt by which we were surrounded. I think I never saw so dirty a garrison. Both officers made a painful effort at apology, and found sensible relief when I told them I had been a soldier, and knew something of frontier life. I account for the bad police easily. Not only were most of these men volunteers, and as such unaccustomed to the strict cleanliness of a well ordered garrison, but they were changed once in a week from post to post, so that what was the business of all alike was naturally dodged by the detail for a particular week to w'hich the task of cleaning the Augean stables would have been Herculean. As I spoke above about uniforms, let me now add that in dash and entrain , in hopefulness, good sinews and elasticity, the Cacciatori left their antagonists far behind. The latter represented a passive, stolid, obedience ; the former, the im- petuosity, ardor, and self confidence of newly awakened life. The contrast in the fare of there soldiers was just what the young Polish officer described it His soldiers had for all their ra tions dark bread and a piece of meat. The Gara baldini had meat, wine, one ration of brandy rum or kirsch, one of coffee, and fair white bread’ nay sweet, for some was placed before me True, Italy is a more productive country, but on the other hand, there are few countries under Heaven more blessed by Nature than most parts of Austria. This difference may be in part at tributable to the neglect of its soldiers by the Austrian government. We know, too, that often even there rations have not been handed to the poor Austrian soldier, owing to the cor rupt administration of the Commissariat. A permanent court ma.tial is now sitting in Vero na, for the trial of these persons, and it will pro bably soon appear why the Austrian soldiers have marched and fought during two days with hardly a bit of bread to eat. Speaking of the food of some of the peasants : A friend of mine, just returned to Munich, went over the Brenner pass while I was passing the Stelvio. He saw on the table before a family, what I have often . seen—a large wooden bowl, in which he sup posed was hot dish water, but the dinner was not begun, for they threw in crumbs of bread, and then all ate, each with his wooden spoon. Yours, 4c., J. L. L. CHILDREN'S COLUMN. •‘PERHAPS I CAN HELP FATHER.” “ Porhaps I can help father,” says little John as he looks up into his mother’s face. He has seen her sad anxious look. He has watched his father coming home from his daily toil with a careworn brow, and casting a troubled glance towards the cradle where the twin babes are lying. He is sure that something is wrong • and looking, up with pleading earnestness as he' stands by his mother’s knee, he begs to know the truth, for “ perhaps he can help father.” John is too young to give his father much assistance. The strength and wisdom of a sev en-year-old boy will not be able to combat vig orously with the world. But the mothers pleased tender look, as she returns his glance shows that yonng as he is, his affection, his sympathy, have already been of use. The youngest child may help his parents Harry, Mary, when your father comes home tired from his daily work, your kiss of love or sympathy may be as refreshing to his spirit as the dew to the flowers. You may not be able to bring a day’s earnings in your hand and add them to the family store; and yet your father’s heart will bless you for your help. You may lighten your mother’s cares. You may spring quickly to do her bidding. You may hold Wil lie—the babe—in your arms, and still his fretful crying while your mother is getting ready the noonday meal. You may come gently to your mother’s side as she is tired with the toil of the day, and may whisper in her ear, “ Mother, I love you.” Again, like the dew upon the flow ers, shall your word or deed of kindness bring refreshment to your mother’s heart. “ Honor thy father and thy mother,” is the commandment to which God has annexed His especial promises. The child, if obedient and reverent in youth, shall have God’s blessing in his maturer years. The child who is a grief to his parent’s heart may yet live to know a child’s ingratitude to himself, and more than all, shall bring down upon himself, the displeasure of the Lord. Do what you can to help your earthly parents. They deserve from you all kindness and love Do what you can to help on the work of your Heavenly Parent. He has a work to be done in the world. Begin in your early days to love His service. There is a place for you. Find it. There is work for you. Do it— [Sunday-School Banner. ENIGMA, NO. XII. For the Very Little Ones. I am composed of seventeen letters: My 4,9, 10—is the name of a potato. “ 8,9, 4—is the name of a month. “ 7, 12,16 —is a beam of light “8, 3, 14—is what the cat says. “ 10, 1,1 —is what the cow says. “ 3,11, 7—is what we hear with. “ 3,4, 6—is what we see with. “ 13, 12, 10, 2—is a pretty little animal. 17, 15,14 —is a carpenter’s tool. “ 14, 5,6, 4—is drained from curds. “ 17, 13, 16—is what I hope no little girl is. My whole is what every little girl should learn to do. Cousin Jessie. ANSWERS. To Enigma Xl—Epaminondas. [Correct answer by L. M. Park, Greenville, Ga. Received an Enigma from the same. To Problem No. 2, (by “ James ”). The numbers are 20. 40, 60. tap Answers to Enigmas IX and X received from Wylie A. Mason, of Tuskegee, Ala. The person who is the subject of the Enigma sent by W. A. M., must not receive the compliment of even such notice in the F. 4F. The Enigma is therefore declined. 13?” Story from Bessie B. for this column is received and will appear soon. A. Longstreel H. has sent an algebraic solution of Problem No. 2, (by “James ”). The foreman says he has not the type characters to set up this solution, which must therefore be omitted. A correspondent, whose name the Editor says shall not be told, this time, lias sent the follow ing contribution to the Children's Column. It is printed exactly as it was sent: Solution to Problem No. 2, (by “James ”) 1. Since first and second, added together, equals 3rd and the sum of all equals 120, it fol lows that twice 3rd equals 120. Hence 3rd is 60. 2. Third and first equals twice the second— Hence the second, added to twice the second, (viz: Ist and 3rd) equals 120. Hence 3 times 2nd equals 120, or second is 40. 3. Second and third equals 5 times the Ist Hence the Ist added to 5 times Ist (viz.: 2nd and 3rd) equals 120. Therefore 6 times Ist equals 120, or Ist is 20. Answer: 20, 40 and 60 are the numbers. Very respectfully. “ Boh Syntax ,” a youth of thirteen, got hold of the above. Bob says he is not strong at Arithmetic (either by head-work, or on the slate) and he did not solve Problem No. 2, of which the solution is just above given—but Bob says he is “death upon grammar,” and he proposes as his grammatical problem “ for the little folks,” the discovery of the six grammatical errors which occur in the solution of Problem No. 2 as above given. It is hoped that some one of the boys or girls who take an interest in the Children’s Column will furnish for next week, the above “solution” grammatically written. If they can’t detect errors, suppose our friend “ James ” tries. 227