pushed himself at last, and stood, in indescribable delight, under the canopy of heaven.

The first object that saluted his eyes was the poor children, cowering under a large bush from the inclemency of the weather, and the terrors natural to their age at such an hour and place. They had wandered all the afternoon in the vain hope of discovering their old friend in the vicinity of his old retreat; and it was with no small surprise that they saw him emerge from a quarter of the ruins so opposite to the one which he had formerly occupied, and one to which they had only themselves been led by its affording an easier descent from the mountains, now rendered slippery by recent frost. The meeting was most affecting, and the efforts of the two kind children to gather materials for a fire enabled their exhausted friend to pass the night tolerably in an adjoining part of the ruins, his own apartment being much too distant, and difficult of access, to be reached under such circumstances. Even cheered by the presence of their benefactor, the children shuddered to traverse by night the gloomy halls, about which they had heard so many nursery stories: yet it was a reluctance which they both learned to

bear in so good a cause, during the long period which elapsed before he regained his liberty. This period, full of interest and incident, we must hurry briefly over. Assisted by George, the hermit next day contrived, by creeping in at the ivy-covered window in the roofless tower, and by piling rubbish in the inside, to make it henceforth an easy access to his dwelling, which he now permanently took up in the large apartment so often mentioned; furnishing it by degrees with a thousand comforts procured him by his little friends, to whose improvement. and education he in return devoted many delightful hours.

A singular instance of retributive justice brought back to the ruins his old enemy, the schoolmaster, who, having taken shelter there as a refractory conscript, was struck with lightning, and became a miserable cripple, indebted for the offices of humanity which soothed his last moments to the man whose life he had sought without a cause. To procure for this wretch medical assistance, the truly Christian hermit (whom the children had for some days been unable to visit,) risked his life by going down to the village. He reached it only in

time to expose himself to more serious jeopardy in behalf of the undeserving father of his little friends, whom a sudden turn of popular feeling placed in imminent danger; and having been arrested in consequence of this act of generosity, saw, as he thought, all the perils and privations. of eight months' solitary imprisonment rendered futile by a moment of disinterested self-devotion.

But Providence had determined to reward it, and that by means of the same instruments which had alleviated his long captivity. When thrown into prison at Colmar, on the old charge against him, it was Henrietta, who, in spite of her sex and youth, insisted on waiting on him, and cheering him with hopes of better days, while the absent George, she assured him, was not idle in his service. Just as the old gentleman expected to experience the usual summary treatment of revolutionary justice, George arrived breathless and exhausted at Colmar, bringing with him his grandfather, a worthy old man, of sufficient influence to procure, without much difficulty, the release of his former friend and benefactor. Fearing to trust to letters, (many of which he had already written. to implore the interference of this kind but in

firm relative), the generous boy had walked fifty or sixty miles to explain the necessity for his appearance, and bring him to the spot.

It now turned out, also, that a purchase of Monsieur N.'s house, made by the children's father, (which had grievously shocked him on returning from the mountain), had been the result of a plan between little George and his grandfather, for preserving to their late master his favourite residence, and restoring it when more peaceful times would permit.

Do you not, my dear readers, love and admire the persevering thoughtful gratitude of this uneducated peasant boy? You will rejoice to hear that it did not go unrewarded. He and his amiable sister were adopted, (with the full consent of their penitent father), by Monsieur N. They were the delight and solace of his happy old age; and near ten years after these memorable events, were seen accompanying him on a yearly pilgrimage to the ruins of K-, by the author of this interesting narrative, which I have abridged for your amusement and instruction.

WILD FLOWERS.

BY MARY HOWITT.

Go, Florence, get me wild-flowers;
My little merry Florence, do,
Run all about-see here and there,
In field and wood, and everywhere,
They spring up white and blue.

White and blue, and red and yellow,
Round about our pathway shine ;

Every where beneath our feet

Spring up wild-flowers fresh and sweet, To gladden hearts like thine.

But e'en now the earth was cold,
Brown and bare as it could be ;

Not an orchis to be seen,

Not a hooded arum green,
Not a ficary.