selves as stiff as caterpillars. Long and late did I sit up on those nights, my crib looked so forlorn away in the far off corner, and I am mistaken if any of the other listeners slept either. This was always some consolation.

One day when the leaves were falling, I was taken by my grandfather to Saardam. My aunt bade me adieu with tears, and I loved her so, that I wept also-though at the moment, I could not understand why, for I was going to school to become a scholar like Grotius, and a great man like Van Campau, as my grandfather expressed it. To school then, I went, and hailed with delight my dear little town of Brök, after an absence of several months.

But all was changed! when I made the remark, my aunt said, it was I who had changed; but she was wrong, I was the same, I had the same veneration and delight for old objects, whether they were,

"Auld nic-nackets;

Rusty airn caps, or jinglin' jackets;"

and I experienced the same sorrow at the change that had come over them, as I used to do when any of them were displaced in earlier days. There was the old arm-chair, wherein my grandfather used to dispense his advice and gossip, there it stood the same in the right hand corner as before; but it was no longer the same old veteran; it had received repairs, the mouldy, dotted corners had been patched with new wood, the rubbed and soiled elbows had been stuffed anew with some distasteful colour, and there had been a large addition, a new limb, I may say, added to the whole-namely, a stretcher which fitted beneath the cushion, and was pulled out to make a sofa for my grandfather to lie on. And he, too, was changed—the dear old man. It was the same blightsome, open, kind countenance, age could not alter that expression, for it was the mirror of his sonl, all calm, pure, unruffled, and immortal; but the cheek had sunk, the lips were tacked in, and the eye leaked unheeded tears, the tears of decay, which ran down, and found a channel in his furrowed cheeks. The dear, old man! and was this no change? And my aunt looked altered; she had taken to spectacles, and most of the faces that looked in now were new to me; the old ones had dropped off in different ways, and as I learnt their history, I found that they too had changed. Even the old, black forest clock had shared the general appearance, the monk and his mule were no longer certain in their movements-age had rusted their limbs, sometimes they merely peeped out, sometimes, on the rainy days especially, they made no sign of existence, sometimes they would give a jerk or two,

as if to make their old tour in earnest, but would halt in the middle, and crave the assistance of some sympathetic hand to ensconce them in their old nook again. Yes, all was changed-it was not I who had changed it first-I should have remained the same, had the old furniture to which I was so much attached done so too; but I followed it in all its movements, and by sympathy with each portion, became at last changed myself.

I returned to Saardam. When I had been there some years, I was sent to the university at Leyden. I was then a bashful, fair-haired youth, in that awkward age which precedes manhood.

As I was intended for commerce, I did not apply myself to all the branches of study that are usual in this great college, but confined myself chiefly to mathematics and chemistry. I made fair progress in both, and I looked forward to the annual examinations, which were then close at hand, with a good deal of pleasure and confidence. If I distinguished myself, I was to quit college, and depart at once for the Hague, where I was to be initiated into all the mysteries of the vat and sacchometer. As I was anxious to shake hands with independence, I determined not to let the opportunity slip.

At length the wished-for day arrived. It was winter, and a cold east wind cut through the streets, agitating the surface of the canals, and shivering the chimney-pots. A drizzling rain, too, fell the whole morning; so, when I left my lodgings, I enveloped myself in a large Spanish cloak, and took care to have my umbrella with me. I issued forth, all trembling, into the street, and had proceeded a considerable distance,-in fact the old stone walls of the college were in sight,-when I perceived a young lady battling against the wind and rain without any protection. Her figure was of surpassing elegance; she was rather short than tall, which I deem a great beauty in women; and had a sweet countenance, full of thought and good humour. I was struck dumb; I could scarcely breathe; I was desperately in love. Here is romance, thinks I to myself, loving at sight! We had not even exchanged glances; she had not observed me; it was only I who loved: till, on turning an angle of the street, a gust of wind came that forced her to look round. Our eyes met. I hesitated not a moment, but rushed towards her. When close beside her, however, I grew embarrassed, and knew that my feelings had conquered my better judgment. I gave a supplicating look in her face for relief; she blushed, and grew confused, and I, losing all command of myself, thrust out my umbrella to protect her.

"Sir-what do you?"

"I-the rain is so great, madam." "And you expose yourself to it.”

"Ah! and you suffer?"

"But a stranger, an entire stranger-really this is very kind. I will accept the umbrella. To whom and where shall I return it ?"

I could scarcely speak, I was so choked with confusion. At last I gasped forth my address. She thanked me again in words, and, what was far more eloquent, with a glance of her black eyes, and departed. I pursued my road to the college; passed with credit; found my umbrella waiting me at my lodgings; and the next day clasped the hand of my grandfather, in the little town of Brök.

My grandfather had now grown so infirm with age that he was no longer able to leave his bed, and my aunt was fully engaged in watching beside him; I was therefore left alone nearly the whole day, and had a little apartment upstairs apportioned as my study. But study was out of the question. I could not do it. Ever the adventure at Leyden with the fair one and the umbrella haunted me. I had the latter constantly at my side; I used to open it and to shut it times without number, and to kiss the handle which her tapered fingers must have clasped.

You must know that nearly every town in Holland has reflectors to the houses. These are a species of looking-glass which fasten to the windows, and enable the person inside to enjoy a range of the whole street. They are chiefly constructed to amuse the ladies, but yet the men do not disdain to satisfy their curiosity by a peep through them at times. There was one of these reflectors attached to the window of my study, and, as the thoughts of the fair girl of Leyden drove me from my book, I used to sit before it, and gaze upon its surface with a vacant eye. I seldom gave any attention to what it mirrored forth, except on one occasion, when a lady's dress and figure, exactly like those which haunted me night and day, shone on the reflector. I started up, opened my door, took several stairs at a time, and in a moment was in the street. I glanced up and down; no lady was to be seen. The glass could not have deceived me; she must have turned the angle of the street, so I followed swiftly in that direction. Without hat, and more like a madman than one who had passed with credit at the Leyden University, I flew up the street, and, glancing round the corner, I saw the dress and figure sailing away. I gave immediate chase, but, as I neared them, my speed slackened a little, and a few thoughts straggled back into my brain. Yet I could not be mistaken. It was the identical dress-nay, even to the shawl. There was the beautiful waist, the delicate ankle, the swan-like neck: the whole carriage was the same. No hesitation now-I darted forward, caught hold of the lady's arm, and

judge of my mortification, gentlemen, when, instead of the lovely features of the Leyden girl, I beheld the wrinkled, painted, and sallow ones of a woman of forty! But I will pass over this melancholy accident; it is too shocking to dwell on. I was ill of a fever for the next six weeks.

When nearly convalescent, they permitted me to leave my room; and I had descended to the parlour for the first time since my attack, when an old lady, who had come to drink tea with my aunt, complimented me, in the course of conversation, on my gallantry at Leyden. I stared with surprise, and asked an explanation.

"Were you not at the university during the last examinations?"

I answered affirmatively.

"And did you not pay great attention to a young lady, a strange-"

I interrupted hastily, and cried out, "The umbrella!" "Yes, yes, I see you recollect. Well, this young lady is at present in Brök."

"In Brök? in this very town? Are you sure of it? There is a horrid female going about, dressed like her; but as different-" said I, with a sigh.

"I am sure of it, for I met her last night at supper, when she told me, as a friend of both families, the affair of the umbrella."

"Now, heaven be praised! Aunt," added I, "I am better now; I am quite well, now, and I shall be able to go out, to

morrow."

I did go out, "to-morrow," and the kind, gossiping frau introduced me to the fair girl of Leyden. That fair girl, gentlemen, is now my wife-my Gretchen!

Tell me, have I not cause to regret the loss of my umbrella?

"

CHAPTER X.

Source of the Arveiron.

Silent and dark as the source of yon river,
Whose birth-place we know not, and seek not to know;
Though wild as the flight of the shaft from yon quiver,
Is the course of its waves, as in music they flow."

L. E. L.

THE history of Chamounix is that of Mont Blanc; and unless it be the scenes of science and adventure which have from time to time taken place on the latter, neither can be said to possess the materials for any. Before our enterprising countrymen, Pocock and Wyndham, explored its beauties, and gave their description to the world, the valley of Chamounix was comparatively unknown, at least to the man of science, or pleasure; a few monks, and a hardy race of chamois hunters, forming its sole inhabitants. This appears strange to us who visit it now; especially so, when we glance at the immense objects that surround the valley, serving, one might suppose, as marks or beacons to proclaim its existence and situation to the traveller. The curious at Geneva, on inquiring what were those mountains, whose snow-capped pinnacles he saw towering in the distance, received as answer, that they were unexplored by civilization, inhabited only by a race of wild men, and that they were the cursed mountains (Montagnes Maudites). In my account of the Glacier des Bossons, I gave the origin of this name, when I related the popular tradition respecting the fairies and the shepherds; and supposing that the neighbouring region was subject to the same spirits, which is quite natural, since its aspect is the same, we may understand how the valley of Chamounix remained for such a length of time divided from the rest of the world. That the stranger has been beneficial to its prosperity, there cannot be a doubt; that the morals of its inhabitants have benefitted by the change, is another question. However, the valley of Chamounix is far purer than spots of parallel attraction in Switzerland, which may be accounted for by the rigour of its winter, lasting for eight months of the year with such intensity as to expel all travellers, and prevent the hunters themselves from pursuing their game. When a tourist complains of the exorbitance of the charges, both for entertainment and guides, prevailing at Chamounix, he should remember that the harvest is but of short duration.