what they heard of his conduct to their injured young fellow-countrywoman.

'She, meantime, under the name of the Beauty of Buttermere, became an object of interest to all England; dramas and melodramas were produced in the London theatres upon her story; and for many a year afterwards, shoals of tourists crowded to the secluded lake, and the little homely cabaret, which had been the scene of her brief romance. It was fortunate for a person in her distressing situation, that her home was not in a town. The few and simple neighbours who had witnessed her imaginary elevation, having little knowledge of worldly feelings, never for an instant connected with her disappointment any sense of the ludicrous, or spoke of it as a calamity to which her vanity might have co-operated. . They treated it as unmixed injury, reflecting shame upon nobody but the wicked perpetrator. Hence, without much trial to her womanly sensibilities, she found herself able to resume her situation in the little inn. In that place, and that capacity, I saw her repeatedly, and shall here say a word upon her personal appearance, because the Lake poets all admired her greatly. Her figure was, in my eyes, good; but I doubt whether most of my readers would have thought it such. She was none of your evanescent, wasp-waisted beauties; on the contrary, she was rather large every way; tallish, and proportionably broad. Her face was fair, and her features feminine; and unquestionably she was what all the world have agreed to call "good-looking." But, except in her arms, which had something of beauty, and in her carriage, which expressed a womanly grace, together with some slight dignity and self-possession, I confess that I looked in vain for any positive qualities of any sort or degree.

A person who visited Cumberland in 1820, found Mary then united to a respectable farmer, and, unfortunately for her poetical fame, "fat and well-looking," and without anything in her appearance which might lead to the discovery, that she was a person who had at one time been the subject of the poet's song.'

A SOUL IN ALL THINGS.

THERE lives and works

A soul in all things, and that soul is God.
The beauties of the wilderness are His,
That make so gay the solitary place
Where no eye sees them. And the fairer forms
That cultivation glories in, are His.

He sets the bright procession on its way,
And marshals all the order of the year;

He marks the bounds which winter may not pass,
And blunts his pointed fury; in its case,
Russet and rude, folds up the tender germ,
Uninjured, with inimitable art;

And, ere one flowery season fades and dies,
Designs the blooming wonders of the next.
The Lord of all, himself through all diffused,
Sustains, and is the life of all that lives.
Nature is but a name for an effect,

Whose cause is God. One Spirit-His

Who wore the plaited thorns with bleeding brows― Rules universal Nature! Not a flower

But shews some touch, in freckle, streak, or stain,
Of His unrivalled pencil. He inspires

Their balmy odours, and imparts their hues,
And bathes their eyes with nectar, and includes,
In grains as countless as the sea-side sands,

The forms with which He sprinkles all the earth.—
Happy who walks with Him! whom, what he finds,
Of flavour, or of scent, in fruit or flower,
Or what he views of beautiful or grand
In Nature, from the broad majestic oak
To the green blade that twinkles in the sun,
Prompts with remembrance of a present God!

COWPER.

HOUSE OVERWHELMED BY AN AVALANCHE.

A SMALL cluster of houses, at a place called Bergemoletto, near Demonte, in the upper valley of Stura, in Switzerland, was, on the 19th of March 1755, entirely overwhelmed by two vast bodies of snow, that tumbled down from a neighbouring mountain. All the inhabitants were then within doors, except one Joseph Rochia, and his son, a lad of fifteen, who were on the roof of their house clearing away the snow which had fallen for three days incessantly. A priest going by to mass, advised them to come down, having just before observed a body of snow tumbling from the mountain towards them. The man descended with great precipitation, and fled with his son he knew not whither; but scarce had he gone thirty or forty steps, before his son, who followed him, fell down; on which, looking back, he saw his own and his neighbours' houses, in which were twenty-two persons in all, covered with a high mountain of snow. He lifted up his son, and reflecting that his wife, his sister, two children, and all his effects were thus buried, he fainted away; but soon reviving, got safe into a friend's house at some distance.

Five days after, Joseph, being perfectly recovered, got upon the snow, with his son, and two of his wife's brothers, to try if he could find the exact place where his house stood; but after many openings made in the snow, they could not discover it. The month of April proving hot, and the snow beginning to soften, he again used his utmost endeavours to recover his effects, and to bury, as he thought, the remains of his family. He made new openings, and threw in earth, to melt the snow, which, on the 24th of April, was greatly diminished. He broke through ice six English feet thick, with iron bars, thrust down a long pole, and touched the ground, but evening coming on, he desisted.

His wife's brother, who lived at Demonte, dreamed

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that night that his sister was still alive, and begged him to help her; the man, affected by his dream, rose early in the morning, and went to Bergemoletto, where Joseph was; and after resting himself a little, went with him to work upon the snow, where they made another opening, which led them to the house they searched for; but finding no dead bodies in its ruins, they sought for the stable, which was about 240 English feet distant, which, having found, they heard a cry of, Help, my dear brother!' Being greatly surprised as well as encouraged by these words, they laboured with all diligence till they had made a large opening, through which the brother who had the dream, immediately went down, where the sister, with an agonising and feeble voice told him I have always trusted in God and you, that you would not forsake me.' The other brother and the husband then went down, and found still alive the wife, about forty-five, the sister, about thirty-five, and a daughter, about thirteen years old. These they raised on their shoulders to men above, who pulled them up as if from the grave, and carried them to a neighbouring house; they were unable to walk, and so wasted, that they appeared like mere skeletons. They were immediately put to bed, and gruel of rye-flour and a little butter was given to recover them. Some days after, the intendant came to see them, and found the wife still unable to rise from bed or use her feet, from the intense cold she had endured, and the uneasy posture she had been in; the sister, whose legs had been bathed with hot wine, could walk with difficulty; and the daughter needed no further remedies.

On the intendant's interrogating the women, they told him that, on the morning of the 19th of March, they were in the stable with a boy of six years old and a girl of about thirteen; in the same stable were six goats, one of which having brought forth two dead kids the night before, they went to carry her a small vessel of rye-flour gruel; there were also an ass and five or six fowls. They were sheltering themselves in a warm corner of the stable till the church-bell should ring, intending to attend

the service. The wife related, that wanting to go out of the stable to kindle a fire in the house for her husband, who was clearing away the snow from the top of it, she perceived a mass of snow breaking down towards the east, upon which she went back into the stable, shut the door, and told her sister of it. In less than three minutes, they heard the roof break over their heads, and also part of the ceiling. The sister advised to get into the rack and manger, which they did. The ass was tied to the manger, but got loose by kicking and struggling, and threw down the little vessel, which they found, and afterwards used to hold the melted snow, which served them for drink.

none.

Very fortunately, the manger was under the main prop of the stable, and so resisted the weight of the snow. Their first care was to know what they had to eat. The sister said she had fifteen chestnuts in her pocket; the children said they had breakfasted, and should want no more that day. They remembered that there were thirty-six or forty cakes in a place near the stable, and endeavoured to get at them, but were not able for the snow. They called often for help, but were heard by The sister gave two chestnuts to the wife, and ate two herself, and they drank some snow-water. The ass was restless, and the goats kept bleating for some days ; after which they heard no more of them. Two of the goats, however, being left alive, and near the manger they felt them, and found that one of them was big, and would kid, as they recollected, about the middle of April ; the other gave milk, wherewith they preserved their lives. During all the time, they saw not one ray of light, yet for about twenty days they had some notice of night and day from the crowing of the fowls, till they died.

The second day, being very hungry, they ate all the chestnuts, and drank what milk the goat yielded, being very near two pounds a day at first, but it soon decreased. The third day, they attempted again, but in vain, to get at the cakes, so resolved to take all possible care to feed the goats; but just above the manger was a hay loft,