the dagger towards his heart, the other began to search the bundle beneath his head. Their two faces, grim, wrinkled, and ghastly with guilt and fear, bent over their victim, looking horrible enough to be mistaken for fiends, should he suddenly awake. Nay, had the villains glanced aside into the spring, even they would hardly have known themselves, as reflected there. But David Swan had never worn a more tranquil aspect, even when asleep on his mother's breast. "I must take away the bundle,' whispered one. "If he stirs, I'll strike,' muttered the other. But, at this moment, a dog, scenting along the ground, came in beneath the maple trees, and gazed alternately at each of these wicked men, and then at the quiet sleeper. He then lapped out of the fountain. "Let's take a drink, and be off,' said the other. "The man with the dagger thrust back the weapon into his bosom, and drew forth a pocket-pistol, but not of that kind which kills by a single discharge. It was a flask of liquor, with a block-tin tumbler screwed upon the mouth. Each drank a comfortable dram, and left the spot, with so many jests, and such laughter at their unaccomplished wickedness, that they might be said to have gone on their way rejoicing. In a few hours, they had forgotten the whole affair, nor once imagined that the recording angel had written down the crime of murder against their souls, in letters as durable as eternity. As for David Swan, he still slept quietly, neither conscious of the shadow of death when it hung over him, nor of the glow of renewed life, when that shadow was withdrawn. "He slept, but no longer so quietly as at first. An hour's repose had snatched from his elastic frame the weariness with which many hours of toil had burthened it. Now, he stirred-now, moved his lips, without a sound-now, talked in an inward tone to the noonday spectres of his dream. But a noise of wheels came rattling louder and louder along the road, until it dashed through the dispersing mist of David's slumber-and there was the stage coach. He started up, with all his ideas about him. Halloo, driver! take a passenger,' shouted he. "Room on top!' answered the driver. Up mounted David, and bowled away merrily towards Boston, without so much as a parting glance at that fountain of dreamlike vicissitude. He knew not that a phantom of Wealth had thrown a golden hue upon its waters, nor that one of Love had sighed softly to their murmur, nor that one of Death had threatened to crimson them with his blood-all, in the brief hour since he lay down to sleep. Sleeping or waking, we hear not the airy footsteps of the strange things that almost happen. Does it not argue a superintending Providence, that, while viewless and unexpected events thrust themselves continually athwart our path, there should still be regularity enough in mortal life to render foresight even partially available?” SWISSIANA. CHAPTER VIII.* The Valley of Chamounix. "Hast thou a charm to stay the morning star As with a wedge. But when I look again, Thy habitation from eternity! O dread and silent mount, I gazed upon thee, Till thou, still present to the bodily sense, Didst vanish from my thought: entranced in prayer, S. T. COLERIDGE. THERE is a cross in the centre of the stone bridge at Sallenches, whence Mont Blanc can be seen to greater advantage than from any valley in the whole range of Alps, although the view to its summit may be computed at four or five leagues, as the crow flies. There is a great similarity in this to the mind of man. The eye which cannot compass the hoary monarch of Europe, amid his own domains, which, from the immensity of the surrounding objects, becomes dead in virtue, is like the mind intent upon a gigantic study. Both have to retire a certain distance, ere they can grasp the matter in view. There, as from a lofty restingplace, calm, disturbed but by their own thoughts, they contemplate with coolness, encompass by a wide sweep, where before, excess of presence had fettered their views, and overwhelmed them as with a torrent, the grandeur, depth, and sublimity of their aim. Here is the mouth of the valley of Maglan. It has gradually increased in breadth since we quitted the wayside inn at La Balme, and the appearance which this gives to the eye when scanning the valley in its depths, is that of a pyramid. The mountains are loftier, and more rugged; some of the highest are slightly capped with snow, and awful precipices, with their ridges sharp as needles, jut out from the sides. The Arve, with the expansion of the valley, occupies a larger bed; its waters flow with less impetuosity, though with as rapid a course; it wears more the appearance of a river, than a mere mighty torrent; its surface untorn by blocks of granite, charged with fewer springs, and hill-streams, cold from its source amid eternal snow, black as Erebus, is like a long, dark, wintry night; its roaring in the distance, like the dull murmur of a coming storm. Thus, though more deserving the name of river, its sides are as cheerless as ever. Hard flints and stones wound the foot that approaches them, and form a fit border to its gloomy course. A few beeches redeem the banks occasionally, but they seldom attain their full growth in this poor soil. It is a common tree in Switzerland, and when sheltered from the devastating storms that sweep the Alps during the winter, it flourishes in great perfection. The glistening leaves are then carefully gathered by the peasants, and they form excellent beds. But it is the alder alone which may claim friendship with the Arve. It fringes its bed in thick clusters along the whole valley, and adds a degree of beauty which raises its scenery in some places from barren and untamed, to that of picturesque grandeur. However, it is from the cross on the stone bridge, that connects Saint Martin and Sallenches, looking out of the valley, that the scenery deserves most notice. As I have before remarked, and it has long been allowed as a fact, it is from this spot we have the finest and most complete view of Mont Blanc. We were also fortunate in the weather. The evening was that of a cheerful summer day, not the misty languor of an oppressive one. sky was blue and clear; there was not a cloud or vapour hanging upon any of the Alps; and the mighty monarch, spread out high and wide in the firmament, its several peaks seeming to touch the heavens, and its spacious wings and lower ridges forming, as it were, the boundary to the universe. There he sat The enthroned, white as with the snows of age, and surrounded by his court of Alps. The Aiguille de Miage bounded the horizon on our right, and Mont Maudit on our left. None of the glaciers were visible, being hid by the nearer mountains; but several of the needles shot out in beautiful relief. Though by no means the chief as to form and acuteness, in height they were only surpassed by the Aiguille Verte, in snow by none; and the ridge from the extreme summit of Mont Blanc, that ridge which has so often formed the track for the adventurous mortals who would scale the monarch, and which slopes so suddenly and fearfully with its three steps, as the Aiguilles de Gouté, Bionnassay, and Miage may be styled; how terrible did it appear! Saint Martin, on the right bank of the river, is a village of to-day; one of those spots which date existence from the traveller, and spring up in a thought. It may contain forty houses, besides the Hôtel du Mont Blanc, and the church. The latter is a very elegant structure for such a handful of dwellings, but I suspect that it affords accommodation for most of the people on the opposite bank of the river. The spire, surmounted by a large, gilt cross, is lofty and well designed, and forms a very prominent feature for several miles along the road to Servoz. We had no curiosity to inspect its interior trappings, they being, doubtless, in the most approved style of catholic village churches, that is, a gingerbread imitation of the gorgeous cathedrals of the towns. We must have come upon the good folk at the Hôtel du Mont Blanc at a most unseasonable hour, to judge from its larder, and the accommodation they offered us, for Murray very strongly recommends their house to all lovers of good entertainment. I noticed this the more, because we were charged for everything as highly as in the first hotels along the route. In the dusk of evening we crossed the stone bridge, and visited the town of Sallenches, an ancient looking place, and full of interest. On returning to Saint Martin, the view from the bridge wore a different aspect to that on our arrival; but one not less beautiful. Though the objects were the same, night rendered them still more solemn and awe-inspiring; all was hushed, save the perpetual fretting of the river at our feet; the mellow moonbeams, now flickering on the waters, now slanting from the mountain crags, or tinging the maiden snow with a golden hue, tempering the wild grandeur of the scene. We were early astir the next morning, eager for the realization of the hopes which the distant view of Mont Blanc had awakened within us, with regard to the scenery in its immediate neighbourhood. We had all three of us now entered so fully into the Hermined & stengt me my arent to the age, and gestioned caudes of the ver, they mement, ind, except opening s 10 answer to my ques Ther then tred to at the arve was not fit kula isice, and mzit paraAnown, ecause unfathomed. acu ny importance. I "au nu rushing, vas very shale Loies and under-currents vinardiness, vere I to Lerciore chose a smail branch ..s into the shore, and there posed that my companions at a times he preferred a cresent, he would not go that a it of insanity must Lugned at his brother's ccared that he should join 11 our caleçons, and sur mong whom were the two sarin plunged into the ne eserted. But oh! ye frosts Vue was plunging frantically vending us wir¬tance, to get myself “I mi nithe situations in streme coni. to bear comparison surembered that, when a as in Siberia must have sers, ampared with the intense |